#←its in the context of their divorce IT COUNTS

[asterronomical]

ALL I WANTED WAS YOUUUU

[thegreatyin]

y'know in hindsight i think michael might be the only ""villain oc"" i have that's not like. actively pathetic in some capacity

[lelianaslefthand]

i need to make an oc that gets divorced with their li there are too many good songs about failed relationships they would have the playlist of all time

[formulawolff]

fanboy behavior - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: an older man having an insanely large crush on a woman thirty years his junior, ONE-SIDED PINING (LOTS OF IT OKAY), allusions to smut/sexual fantasies, toto is a mess, mentions of divorce, common fic tropes, yadayadayada

a/n: this is sort of a prequel to alkaline! this is set one year before the events of the 2024 bahrain grand prix. toto is super down bad in this already, so expect lots of pining and him being a flustered mess hehe! i figured this would provide some context/background for the first chapter of alkaline <3 (ALSO PLS LISTEN TO ALKALINE BY SLEEP TOKEN!!! IT REALLY ENCAPSULATES TOTO'S YEARNING!!)

his mind is other places.

he should be invested in the current conversation with his engineers and drivers, discussing the current status of the car and the potential modifications that needed to be made before sunday.

but he's not, his foot tapping against the concrete floor absentmindedly, body on autopilot.

it's almost as if his brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to compute any sort of coherent thought in correlation with the task at hand. yet, if he tries, it just sputters, trailing off, veering towards something else.

well, someone else.

he's thinking about a driver, merely a few paddocks down.

a williams racing driver, actually.

the american girl. barely twenty-one, a rookie in the second williams seat, preparing to compete in her first formula one race in approximately twenty-four hours.

her eyes were like starlight, bursting with a torrent of emotions and complexity, pulling you into their depths, begging for you to get lost within them. her hair was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her features no matter its state.

and her physique?

fuck, the team principal felt like a teenage boy very time he stole a glance, his slacks feeling a little tighter than usual.

with a smile that lit up every room she was in, a radiant aura brimming with kindness and humility, as well as a fiery determination to compete, she was comparable to the sun.

the woman who was starting to become routinely embedded in his daily pondering.

ever since that fateful day in december, when his eyes first drank in that photo of her, hand interlocked with james in front of that williams car, she was the last thing on his mind before he dozed off. and well, the first thing his mind wandered to in the mornings.

she even made an appearance in his dreams, the sound of her voice almost haunting him, so tantalizingly sweet and angelic.

fuck, he was a goner.

this was the third month now where she consumed every crevice of his brain. a continuous loop of all of the sins he wanted to confess, the ways in which he wanted to touch her, and the burning desire to take her under his wing, teaching her all of the ins and outs of racing.

was he obsessed with her? surely not.

not that he memorized every single one of her f2 stats or anything. not that he spent a majority of his free time lately invested in interview clips with her, jotting down all of her favorite things. not that he doodled her during meetings or anything.

not that at least twelve times a day he fantasized about her in a mercedes suit, his fingers carefully tugging down the zipper.

this was normal behavior after a recent divorce. completely normal behavior, actually.

the team principal clears his throat, "i need to step away for a moment. i can barely think straight right now. please, continue. i will rejoin the conversation once i get my shit together."

he can't help but notice the way his drivers exchange a concerned glance, lewis coughing slightly.

"um, all right. toto, is everything okay?"

not quite.

he was going absolutely insane, his mind already reeling at the anticipation of potentially catching a glimpse of her. he wasn't even sure if he would or not, but that possibility sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

those endless possibilities are what kept him up at night. what sent the blood rushing in the mornings, the stiffness in his boxers nearly pulling him out of his slumber. what had him pacing some days in his office, desperate beyond belief for some sort of way to break this spell.

as he strolls out of the garage, a warm breeze rolls through the track, strands of hair blowing all over. he curses slightly, running a quick hand through the tousled mess.

just to his left, a flurry of voice catches his attention, his head swiveling, searching for the source.

besides james is the object of his every desire, the apple of his eye.

as the sun dips below the horizon, he can barely make out her expression. she appears frustrated, her brows furrowed together, a deep frown etched across her lips.

"i just don't fucking understand why that dickhead felt the need to ask me if i was on my period!" she groans, shaking her head, "what the fuck was i supposed to do? let that slide?"

there's a sternness plastered across james' face, yet his voice is soft, laced with sympathy, "i know, but you have to realize that you're going to be asked questions like that because there are misogynists within the sport. no matter how much you prove to us that you deserve this seat, there are going to be pricks out there. we can do a little bit more media training, if you'd like. or, i can hire a publicist for you."

"a publicist? are you fucking kidding me?" her eyes widen, her tone growing more and more frustrated, "i'm not fifteen. i can speak for myself, james."

"it was just a suggestion," he shrugs, sticking out his hands, "look, i know you had a rough day, but let's focus on tomorrow. all right? you're tenth on the grid. that's monumental for your first race. you could win us points."

"we'll see," she scoffs, the toe of her shoe scuffing against the pavement, "i'm sorry for getting upset with you. i'm just really nervous. and well, scared."

scared of what? you have nothing to fear, sweet girl. you're one of the best drivers i have seen step foot on the grid.

toto narrows his eyes, lingering for just a moment longer.

"i just don't know if i deserve this seat," he can sense the falter in her voice, how it shakes, "i don't even know if i deserve a spot in formula one. i mean, look at me! i'm this upset over a dumb question. and i'm just scared everything is going to go to my head tomorrow and i'm going to overthink it."

james wraps his arms around the driver, pulling her in for a tight embrace as a sob wracks her body, "hey, when you're in doubt, you have alex and i. we will always be there for you. i know you're nervous, but you have to realize how special and talented you are to be in this position. you've deserved everything that has come your way, and you will continue to deserve this. i promise."

his biceps flex as he folds his arms against his chest, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to just walk over there and casually sweep her off her feet, squeezing her against his chest as he murmurs in her ear how fucking special she was.

james, she wasn't just special and talented.

she was a fucking star. a star that deserved to shine and hold every ounce of that spotlight.

just like the sun, she deserved to cast her rays of light all over the world.

the world deserved to know who she was. where she came from. how she got here. why she was a worthy competitor and excellent driver.

and by god, toto wolff was hellbent on making that happen.

one way or another.

he just had to be patient. play the long game.

every move from here was to be carefully calculated.

as toto harbored a plan. one that had been brewing the second that speculations swirled around the world of formula one that the first female american driver would be signing to a team.

he was going to have her by his side at mercedes.

fuck, he had been yearning for her this long already.

how much harm would a few more months do? a year?

he could wait a year. he was a patient man.

well, he could wait that long.

as long as that hunger gnawing away at him didn't kill him first.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Is it Casual Now? (Part 2) - Jennifer Jareau

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

This is part 2! It can be read as a standalone as PWOP but part 1 adds context to certain references & the ending. Part 1 can be read here.

Summary: Reader overhears a conversation between JJ and Morgan and wonders what she is to JJ.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I’ve been listening to Casual by Chappell Roan too much lately and this is what happens when I do that. This is an AU where JJ and Will are divorced, no cheating occurs.

TW: established relationship, dom!jj, fem + afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader, oral sex, fingering, penetration (by a strap, sometimes referred to as cock), slight degradation, praise kink, pet names, engagement announcement

Rating: R (this is almost all smut lol)

——

JJ pulled your hands away from the towel, letting it slip to the floor and leaving you completely bare as she pulled you by the waist to press her body against yours.

The stiff cotton of her white button up created a friction against your chest that had your nipples hardening, your hands working quickly to undo each button of the shirt in hopes of feeling her skin against yours.

You broke the kiss to look down at what you were doing, panting to catch your breathe as your brow furrowed, growing frustrated by the task at hand.

“Need help baby?” She laughed, taking over for you and making it look almost effortless. She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, reaching behind her back to undo her bra, finally exposing her perfect breasts. Your hands quickly cupped them, pulling her back into the kiss.

Her hands worked their way over your body, fingers ghosting down your waist before her hand found your cunt, fingers dipping into your folds to feel the wetness pooling between your thighs. She broke the kiss this time, watching your features as her finger found its way to your clit, rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped, rutting your hips forward to match her movements. You let yourself give into the pleasure for a moment before your hunger kicked in, your hand gripping her wrist and pulling her from you.

You moved to undo her slacks, letting them drop to meet the messy pile of clothing on the floor before pushing her back until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.

“Someone’s eager.” She breathes, positioning herself further up on the edge of the bed.

“I need you.” You practically moan, more desperate than you’ve ever felt before.

Your hands grip her hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear before tugging them down, letting her kick them off as she spreads her legs. You drop to your knees, ready to dive in when you feel her fingers tug on your hair, abruptly stopping you. You look up at her doe-eyed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you need?” She questioned, knowing how crazy being this close to her cunt without being able to touch would drive you. You whine, growing impatient as you tried to look down at her heat, but her grip held your gaze on hers.

“Use your words.” Her tone is firm this time, looking you directly in the eye.

“Need to taste you.” You whine, frustration building, your lips curling into a slight pout.

“You’re lucky you look so pretty like this, I usually don’t let pathetic brats eat me out.” She cuts, tugging your head back to expose your neck a little more.

“I’m sorry, I just want to show you how much I love you.” You whimper, eyes glazing with the threat of tears.

“My sweet girl, how can I possibly say no to that?” She eases her grips, guiding you to her center, fingertips gently massaging your scalp as you finally lay your tongue flat against her heat. You moan against her, the familiar taste of her arousal getting you drunk like your favorite wine. You lap at her, tongue surveying her folds until you meet her clit, already swollen and waiting for your touch. You gave gentle flicks with the top of your tongue, taking your time to work her up even further.

“No teasing.” She groaned, gently gripping your hair.

You listened, getting to work applying firm pressure with every movement of your tongue, closing your lips around the sensitive bud to suck in just the way you know she loves. Her moans grew louder as she began to grind her hips against your face, and you knew she was close. You brought your index and middle fingers to her entrance, sinking into her wet heat to massage her velvet walls, trying your best to bring her the release you so desperately wanted to provide her after shutting her out all day.

“Right there, such a good girl.” Her breathy moans were music to your ears, spurring you on. You increased your speed, curling your fingers up against the soft spot inside of her that drove her wild, finally feeling her hips begin to stutter against you. She moaned your names, probably a little too loud given that the team was on the other side of the thin walls of this hotel, but neither of you cared as she rode out her high, her walls contracting around your fingers in a death grip.

You slowly removed your fingers, pulling away to look up at her, making hazy eye contact as you sucked her milky cum off of your digits. She brushed a strand of hair away from your face, smiling softly at you.

“You did so good, angel.” She praised, her tone almost sickeningly sweet.

She moved to get up from the bed, walking over to her bag.

“I have something for you, but I need you to get on the bed and close your eyes, okay?” She asks, waiting for your nod of understanding and your eyes to close before pulling her harness out of her bag and securing it around her hips.

You felt the bed dip, her weight shifting as you could feel her settle between your legs.

“Open.” She commanded, her hand resting on your thigh.

Your lids fluttered open, eyes widening when you saw the strap situated against her hips.

“Did you bring that? What did the agents say when they checked your bag?” You asked, slightly stuttering over your words.

“I started keeping one in my bag because I know you love it when I use it on you, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Besides, the screening team knows better than to ask too many questions about my personal items.” She explained, and you almost felt silly for asking. At this point you should’ve known how one of her death glares would shut anyone up, what surprised you was how she had your pleasure in mind even when you were away from home.

“That makes sense, thank you for thinking of me.” You always felt so vulnerable under her, and now was no different.

“I’m always thinking of you.” She sighed, shifting over you, placing her left arms beside your head. Blush crept over your cheeks at her words, feeling so loved in that moment.

“Are you ready?” Her question breaking the silence. You nod, spreading your legs wider to give her ample space. She reached down, holding the base of the dildo and slapping it against your clit a few times, each hit sending a jolt of warmth through your cunt. You began to whine, growing increasingly needy as she ran the cock through your folds, coating it in your arousal.

She locked eyes with you, lining the tip up with your entrance before slowly sliding in, allowing you to adjust to the size of the toy. Each inch had you whimpering, your hand moving to hold hers, fingers intertwined.

When she was fully situated inside of you she paused, pulling you into a kiss before starting a steady pace pumping in and out of you. Your moans slipped out against her lips, each sound motivating her to drive harder into you.

“You're taking my cock so good, angel.” She praised, sending a shiver down your spine.

Her free hand hooked behind your knee, lifting your leg to rest it against her shoulder, the new angle heightening the sensation of her rutting into you. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing firm but gentle circles over it in tandem with the pace of her thrusts, the lewd sound of skin slapping and your overwhelmed whimpering filling the room.

“Mm gonna cum!” You cried, trying your best to hold it back as the tightening coil in your abdomen threatened to snap.

“Do it angel, show me how good I make you feel.” She encouraged, quickening her pace and drinking in the sight of your tits bouncing with each of her thrusts. Her approval was all you needed, relaxing into the rush of euphoria washing over your body, your grip on her hand tightening as you cried out.

“JJ!” Was the only coherent thing that left your lips, sounded by exhausted moans. She slowed her pace, still rocking into you to help ease you down from that incredible high.

You laid there spent, half-heartedly whimpering at the loss as she pulled completely out of you, too blissed out to protest.

“Are you good if I clean things up?” She asked, kissing you on the forehead when you nodded approval.

You heard the sound of water running and your exhaustion quickly took over, drifting off to sleep.

When you woke the next morning JJ was sitting on the other side of the bed, sipping her coffee as she watched you.

“Good morning my love.” She greeted you softly.

“g’morning” You mumbled, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“How do you feel about telling the team about us?” Her question surprised you but simultaneously filled you with joy, finally being able to tell your friends about the relationship you’d been hiding for so long.

“I love it.” You smiled, getting out of bed to get dressed and ready in time to meet the team in the lobby.

“What were you two up to last night?” Derek greeted the two of you while exposing just how loud you really had been. You both rolled your eyes, looking at one another.

“We have an announcement.” JJ said, getting the rest of the team’s attention.

“We’re engaged!” You announced, taking JJ’s hand in yours.

“So much for keeping things casual, JJ.” Derek joked, calling back to the conversation that led to all of this in the first place.

“So that’s what all of that noise was last night.” Emily added, knocking shoulders with Morgan.

Your face turned bright red, embarrassed by the attention brought to your late night activities.

“Congratulations, you’ll need to fill out the necessary paperwork as soon as we return after this case.” Hotch was the voice of reason, as always.

That wouldn’t be a problem, you couldn’t wait to have it down officially that Jennifer Jareau wanted to spend the rest of her life with you.

——

Tag list: @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Jennifer Jareau or general taglist :)

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 6

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

6/10

Note: Yes,i know the picture has a watermark. it's 2 am.

W/c: 4.2k (less painful to edit!)

Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)

You don’t know how long you’ve stared at the blank paper. Its thin blue lines taunted you. The questions on the tiny notebook assigned to you were intimidating. You’re sitting here, at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea and looking down at the paper. This is the first part of the assignment. Once you’re going to fail. There are several steps Cheryl gave to get things going for both of you. Answer the questions. Find something both of you like to do. Discuss them together. That should be easy, right? Wrong. It’s been four days and counting and you have yet to write anything. Not that there’s nothing to write. No. You have a lot to say. It just can’t be on paper. Neither of you has been good at expressing your thoughts. You’re worse. You come from a family where conflict was solved with abandonment and passive aggressiveness. Two things you do quite well. This venture into vulnerability is foreign. You’re afraid of being the bad guy again. You don’t want to address the unknown. What if even after all of this you and Natasha don’t work out?

You’ve been doing a lot of self-reflecting the past week. There’s always something in the back of your mind that says you’re ruining her life again. You’re ruining your children’s lives. Everything you worked for you ruined. This time would be different. You’re coming into this with a clear head and a fresh perspective. You want your life back. You want your wife back. You want your family. It’s not like you cheated. You didn’t step out of your relationship. You sometimes wish it were so easy. Maybe then your actions can be excused. That’s not the correct way to say it. Cheating is never excusable. You guess it would have been another way to avoid accountability. You blame yourself every day for what happened. Even then guilt is not enough. 

You sigh. Back to the questions. You hold the pencil in your hand—first question. 

“You lead separate lives despite living in the same household.” You read aloud. Wow. Okay. That’s a tough one right off the bat. It’s relevant. It makes sense considering the context. You write yes. You move on to the second question. “You mostly speak about finances or household chores. Question three you have sex less than once weekly.” You stop your reading right there. You’re three for three. If this is how this is going you’re going to be in therapy for a while. 

Were things really that bad? You wonder if Natasha is thinking the same things. 

Across town, Natasha is indeed wondering the same things. She’s just finished up her run for the morning, having gotten the kids out of the door and off to school, and now she has the morning to herself. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, as the notebook rests in her lap. She pushes her glasses further up her nose. 

“Sex less than once weekly?” She reads. ‘Sex never’. She writes. It’s true. Besides the phone sex last week she doesn’t remember the last time you two were so intimate. Well, she can. Emma’s fifth birthday party. She would hardly count that as something to brag about. While you’re skilled in the bedroom, she felt dirty afterward. She felt used in a way she wasn’t all that willing to share with you. Sex with you has always meant so much more to her. She hopes it’s the same for you. She doesn’t think about it for too long. She can’t dwell on the fact that her body aches for you. Natasha Romanoff knows her worth. She is aware she could go out and find anyone to fuck. She doesn’t have to go far truthfully. She doesn’t want that. It’s kind of pathetic and she would never admit it to anyone. 

Natasha is about to answer another question for the checklist when the doorbell rings. She glances at it, hoping that whoever it is will go away when the ringing becomes more insistent. Natasha rolls her eyes, slamming the book down against the coffee table, to go and answer the door. She swings it open, ready to give whomever it is a piece of her mind when she stops. She crosses her arms and glowers at her visitor suspiciously. 

“Romanoff,” Richard grins at her. “Don’t you look swell?” He admires her messy hair, tank top, and running shorts. He waves a file in his hand. “I have work.” He offers her one of the coffees in his and she takes it. 

“I thought we were meeting at the tower,” Natasha drops her hands from the door. She walks away without offering him a second glance. He would follow. What she doesn’t see is him checking out her ass as he steps inside. He closes the door behind with and walks with her toward the living room. 

“I thought this was much better,” Richard shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m sure you were,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Okay, give me a minute to change and I’ll be right back down. I have a couple of notes over there.” She waves her hand somewhere in the room. Though Richard is an asshole she knows he won’t do anything to put her in danger. She leaves him to his own devices to change out of her workout gear. Not that her new outfit would be much better. 

Richard stands, walks over to the couch to sit, and places the file on the coffee table. He spots the notebook she’s been writing in. It’s safe to assume it’s the one she permitted him to read. It’s not. 

“Healthy relationship checklist,” He reads to himself. “No sex?” He whistles. Wow. That’s disappointing. 

“I’m going to have to ban you from my house soon,” Natasha calls down the stairs. He quickly places the notebook back where he found it. Natasha comes into the living room in a simple blue blouse and slacks. She glances at the notebook, noting that it’s moved a few inches, and tsking. “Richard, seriously, you’re my partner. One I didn’t want. At least have the decency of giving me privacy.”

“I’m sorry I was curious,” He raises his hands in surrender. “If it makes you feel any better I haven’t done it in a while either.”

“No, it doesn’t make me feel any better,” Natasha shakes her head. “And I don’t believe you. You’re looking at a sexual harassment complaint and a broken nose if we keep talking about this.”

“Fine,” He shakes his head. “I just think you deserve better.” At Natasha’s warning look he clamps his mouth shut. “I need a consult. Fury wants the entire team on this case but we need your expertise.”

“Why would you need my expertise?” Natasha sits across from him. She takes the file, flipping through the pages before she shakes her head. “What is this?” 

“A recruitment center,” Richard describes. “Someone is recruiting young girls to be assassins. Training them to go out and do their bidding. We want to know the best way to, uh, get in there and get out.” He gestures. 

Natasha frowns. They could have very well asked Melina Yelena or anyone but her. She’s not an expert on brainwashed children. She only knows so much. Even then she provides him with an answer.

“You’re going to need to get someone on the inside obviously,” She says. “Preferably someone young. Wanda Maximoff could pass. She gets in. Find out who knows what. You protect her with your life. Make sure she feels safe at all times. Know that if it’s as bad as this film reads some of them will die.”

“That’s dark,” Richard comments.

“Well, it’s not all sunshine and roses,” Natasha mumbles. She sets the file back down. “Is that all you needed from me?” 

“Well, yeah,” Richard nods. 

“Well, I’d like to be alone in my home now,” Natasha says none too politely. She passes him the large envelope. They both stand. She walks him to the door and to both their surprises you’re on the other side. You’re a bit off-put by Richard being there. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I stopped by to..” You trail off. 

“Y/n, so good to see you,” Richard offers you a fake smile that you don’t return. 

“He’s leaving,” Natasha makes a face at him. She wasn’t really in the mood for this nonexistent love triangle thing that goes on every time you’re all in the same space. Not that it matters to her. Richard would never be someone that is on her romantic radar. Not when she only has eyes for you. 

“Right, leaving,” Richard nods. He’s about to make a joke when Natasha punches him before he can even open his mouth. He holds his sore arm, offering her an “ow!” Before he shakes his head. He walks down the stairs and to his car without another word. 

Natasha’s gaze returns to you and the brown paper bag you have in your hands. 

“Is that for me?” She asks and you nod silently. Seeing her with Richard does things to you. You follow her into the house where she closes and locks the door. She takes the bag from your hands to set it on the hallway table. You’re not sure who makes the first move but Natasha is in your arms, kissing you, feeling you, and walking backward toward the couch. Your hands are everywhere on her body. You feel the skin under her shirt, down her sides, and her hips, as you push her gently to lie down on the couch. Your kiss is hungry and rough and full of passion. She moans at the feel of your weight atop her. She kisses you back. When your hand slides up her shirt, pinching her nipple through the sports bra she’s wearing, she rips her lips from yours to moan. Her cries go straight to your core. You’re lying here between her legs, kissing her neck now, and holding her right where you want her. Natasha enjoys your touch. It excites her. It makes her feel wanted. She raises her hand to place it over yours. 

“Y/n,” Natasha begs. She doesn’t know exactly what for. She imagines it would be so easy to allow you to take her right here. Right now. The kids aren’t home. There’s no one here to stop her. Even so, she can’t help the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. “Y/n.” The tone of her voice stops you in your tracks. You lift to look into her concerned eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. You take in her kiss-swollen lips, her mussed hair, and her flushed skin. She looks so damn sexy. 

“You did this last time,” Natasha points out. Her voice is small and barely there. You can tell she’s trying to keep the conflict at a minimum. You give her a confused look. What was she talking about? “It’s… it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. “I can't help but notice. Every time Richard comes around you feel the need to stake your claim in some way.”

“I don’t do that,” You scoff. She gestures to the spot on her neck that’s formed into a slight purple bruise. When did you do that? You deflate, sitting up, removing yourself from her embrace. You take deep breaths. Were you doing that to her? 

“I didn’t want to bring it up to upset you,” Natasha instantly misses your touch. She fixes her shirt, adjusts her bra, and moves to sit closer to you. “I don’t want you to want me because someone else does.”

“Do you seriously think that?” You question. “Nat, baby,” You breathe. “I want you because I missed you. I want you because I find you attractive. I want you because you’re everything.” You take her hand in yours. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to show ownership over you. That’s not something I want.”

“I want to be yours,” Natasha confesses quietly. “Just not like that.”

“I understand,” You nod. Natasha kisses your pouting lips. You smile. The notebook on the coffee table catches your eye. “So you’ve been doing the assignment.”

“I have,” Natasha glances at the paper. 

“It’s pretty eye-opening,” You say and she nods in agreement. “I didn’t think things were that bad for us. I mean, I know, we got a divorce. I just…it puts things into perspective.” 

“It does,” Natasha runs a hand through her hair. 

“I want this to work for us,” You admit. “I’m sorry. I am. I want us to work.”

“Me too,” Natasha kisses your lips again. “Did you bring your book? We could go over some of the questions now.”

“I did,” You say as you reach over her legs to the bags you brought. You pull out the book, cracking it open to the page you’ve written on, while Natasha opens hers. “So, I’ve realized a lot of these are things we’ve done at the beginning of our relationship. We seemed to enjoy each other then. Pre-kids I guess.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. 

“Okay, this question,” You go to one you haven’t answered yet. “Please be truthful. Don’t hold back because you think it’s going to hurt my feelings.” Natasha nods. She could do that. “Do you feel comfortable being yourself around your partner?”

Natasha bites her lip. “I have always felt I could be myself with you. There were times I didn’t think I could. That maybe I needed to play a part to, um, make you happy.”

“I felt the same way,” You mumble. “Nat, I’m -”

“You’re sorry that’s understandable,” She shakes her head. “It’s something we have to work on. I love you for you. I’ve always loved you for you.”

“I’ve always been attracted to everything about you,” You begin. “I’ve always loved your personality. Your tenacity. Your humor. Your ability to be vulnerable.” Natasha blushes under your intense gaze. She takes her pen to write a few things before moving on to the next question. 

“You rarely hug, hold hands, or touch each other in a non-sexual way,” She reads aloud. There’s a silence that neither of you breaks. “The butt rubs stopped.” She points out. 

“What?” You look at her in surprise. “I guess they have. Was that the first indicator that something was wrong with you?”

“It was one,” Natasha shrugs. “I just thought you needed space and it’s not always a sexual thing but we stopped touching each other. It wasn’t only you. I stopped too.”

“Damn,” You curse under your breath. “We could try it now? I mean, one of our exercises was extended cuddling time. Now would be the perfect opportunity.” You offer and Natasha likes that idea. She takes both notebooks to sets them down on the table. You lie down first and she crawls on top of you. Her head rests on your chest, your arms wrap around her waist, and you simply hold each other. Your shared breathing and warmth lull you to a place of comfort. Natasha wriggles her butt, silently asking for your hands on her, and you oblige. You reach down, and your right hand travels over the slope of her soft, supple behind, before you rub. It’s tentative touches at first. Just a simple swipe of your hand before your rubs turn into kneading. You massage the covered flesh in your hands and Natasha hums. 

“I missed this,” She mutters into your chest. She peeks her head up at you. Her eyes travel from your eyes to your lips. She follows through with whatever thought she’s having and she kisses you. Her kiss is gentle and reassuring. She lingers, her lips brushing against yours before she opens her eyes again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” You kiss her again. “So much, Natasha.” She smiles widely. She can’t describe how happy she feels right now. She’s here with you, in your arms, and there’s no other place she’d rather be. Her happiness surges to something else entirely. Suddenly all she wants is you. She kisses you again, deeper, harder, this time it’s all teeth and tongue. She sucks her bottom lips into your mouth, eliciting a moan from deep inside you and your grip on her ass loosens. 

“We shouldn’t,” She breathes between kisses. 

“You’re right,” You nod in agreement. “Though she did say we could.”

“It’s not like we need permission,” Natasha smirks. “We’ve done this before.”

You shrug. She may be right. 

“Which means I know how to get creative,” You flip the both of you over in one swift move. You adjust Natasha against the pillows, her hair fanning out under her, as you lie beside her legs. “Interesting choice of attire today.”

“It was either this or the workout gear,” She laughs. 

“It’s okay, makes it more fun,” You take nimble fingers to the buttons of her blouse. Natasha watches as you unbutton to reveal her smooth skin. “Tell me to stop.” You say but she doesn’t say a word. 

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She challenges. You slide your fingers under her bra cap, feeling her nipple harden under your palm, and she shivers. 

“I’ve always liked you,” You joke and she nips at your chin. “I love you.” You correct and she hums. Much better. You twist her nipple, bordering on harsh, and Natasha practically jumps out of her skin. God, she’s missed this. You lean your head down, pushing the cup to the side, to suck her rosy nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue, alternating between licking and sucking and Natasha drops her head against the pillows again. You make sloppy sucking noises, only proving to turn her on further, as she rests a hand over your head to keep you there. “I want to make you cum.” You release her nipple with a pop. 

Natasha is a grown woman. She likes sex. She enjoys sex. She’s about to throw away all of her reservations and tell you to do whatever. You offer an alternative. You button her slacks, zipping them down far enough for your hands to reach inside and you slide in. Your fingers ghost over the lips of her panties, pushing to feel the wetness seeping through, and Natasha preens. 

“Like this then?” You say and she nods. That makes it more fun. You rake your nails over Natasha's pussy, finding the small nub peeking through the fabric, and you pay the most attention to that. Natasha arches her back and forces you to press against her deeper. “You like that baby?” You ask. “Is this what you wanted?” You ask as you work your magic through the cotton of her panties. Natasha nods her head, mouth open, eyes closed in complete pleasure. 

“Ngh,” She moans her words caught in her throat, as she rocks her hips into your fingers. It feels so damn good. This entire act may seem a bit immature but she doesn’t care. Your fingers are on her, practically inside of her, and even with the thin barrier of her underwear she feels everything. You are firm in your movements. You’re purposeful with every circling of your fingers. Your movements go from small tight circles to wide and rough as Natasha moans louder. “Yes,” She hisses between her teeth. “Yes.”She whines and you know she’s close. 

“Chase it, baby,” You encourage. “You’re so pretty like this. At my mercy.” You continue. “The perfect doll. So open and wet for me.” You kiss her bare shoulder, her neck, her chest. Anywhere you can reach. It feels so dirty here. The smell of her sex reaching your nose. The sound of shuffling and moving against the cushions is the only thing heard in the entire house. You want to give Natasha this. You need to give it to her. “My pretty girl. I want to make you my pretty wife again.” You find yourself saying and it’s the right thing. Natasha stiffens, and her left hand comes to grip your right arm as her hips thrust against your fingers. Even through her panties, you can feel the sudden gush of wetness from her. Natasha whimpers pitifully as you talk her through it. “That’s it, baby. I know. Your pussy feels so good.” You whisper closer to her ear. When she finally comes down, Natasha falls limp against the cushions and you catch her. You remove your fingers from her pants, resting them by her side, as you watch the rise and fall of her chest. Natasha opens her eyes a moment later, a bit startled by the fact that you’re watching her, and she shakes her head. You kiss her swollen lips. 

“You did so well for me,” You praise and delight in her skin turning into an even redder shade. “I liked seeing you cum.”

“Stop,” Natasha groans. You chuckle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for your orgasm,” You deny her. “I had fun doing it. I’d like to do it again soon. Maybe with that strap, you’ve been asking for.”

“I’d like that.” Natasha nods. 

“This didn’t change things for you right?” You question and she tilts her head. “I mean to say that I meant what I said about making you my wife. It wasn’t just something I was saying to get you off.”

“It worked either way,” She quips. “I want that too. With you. Someday.”

“Good,” You smile. You trade kisses with Natasha, noting her sudden fatigue until you fall asleep in each other’s arms. You weren’t exactly intending to but you know you both need it. 

************

A few hours later you’re awakened by the sound of the front door unlocking. The kids are home. You awaken first, tapping Natasha awake, and she only nuzzles into your body further. She’s not ready to move away. 

“Unbelievable,” Yelena Belova’s voice interrupts your bliss. You both pop up to see the blonde standing over the two of you with a look of disgust on her face. “I can’t believe it.” Yelena shakes her head. 

“Mommy!” Emma and Ryan chorus. Natasha makes quick work of buttoning up her shirt and pants without them seeing. It’s Yelena who notices and shakes her head. 

“Is this why you wanted me to pick them up?” Yelena asks but then she drops Emma’s backpack onto the ground. “You know what, I’m leaving, I don’t even care.” She heads for the front door. You watch in trepidation as Natasha races after her. 

“Yelena,” Natasha calls after her younger sister. “Yelena, you’re acting like a child.”

“And you’re being stupid,” The woman insults. She turns back to Natasha with a disappointed look on her face. “You can’t think one quick fuck is going to make her stay. She left you. She left your kids. I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Yelena, that’s enough,” Natasha speaks firmly. “You don’t know what’s going on.”

“Well I have eyes,” Yelena argues back. “ I think I can see.”

“She’s my wife,” Natasha pleads with her sister to understand. 

“No,” Yelena rants. “She’s your ex-wife that broke your heart.”

“And she’s trying to make things better,”

“And just like that, you believe her? You’re smarter than that, Natasha.” Yelena scolds her sister. Natasha doesn’t speak. “Don’t call me when she decides she doesn’t want to play house anymore.” Yelena walks away after that. 

Natasha watches as her sister gets into her car and drives down the street. How was she supposed to respond to that? She turns back toward the house to see you standing on the steps waiting for her. 

“That was intense,” You comment. Natasha nods. You hold out your arms for her to step into them. She hides her face in your neck. 

“Am I being stupid?” She mumbles into your neck and you almost miss it. 

“No, Natasha,” You assure her. 

“Don’t make me look stupid,” She pleads. “I won’t survive it this time.” 

“Me either,” You hold her. 

You wouldn’t give this up again. You understand that Natasha’s family has a right to be cautious. They have a right to hate you. You could only hope that they see that you’re trying.

---> next part

[katyspersonal]

Idk if you have enough to say since he’s a fairly minor character but can you give thoughts on the Hornsent (NPC)? I love him so much and I absolutely agree that he’s a huge parallel to Marika herself and I wanna hear more of your thoughts on that and him in general!

Hey, he is not THAT minor! xD All seven NPCs that were attracted by Miquella and are our guides through SOTE's lore are pretty much in the spotlight! Elden Ring's story just has these important Demigods and characters more strongly involved with them that their gravity makes it harder to focus on the Little Guy 😔 (and all Thiollier fans laughed sfdhfdh)

Okay so uhhh, I will post observations and thoughts in order, because yeah, with this guy you sort of need to pay attention twice or something?

1) He originates from Belurat

The kind of mask he is wearing could've created some confusion, but "the tower" exclusively refers to Belurat in the lore!

Freyja states this much at the beginning, and it is admittedly easy to forget because most likely you check this dialogue just on the first playthrough and before what 'tower' is clicks properly.. but yeah!

A more bold evidence here is that Hornsent will recognise the meal that is trademark of Belurat!

2) Don't be confused though, Grandam is not his mother!

He states in dialogues upon being killed by Leda and if he was not summoned to fight Messmer that his child, wife and mother were killed during Crusade!

2.1) He doesn't mention father nor gender of a child, though?

I think this on itself is interesting, and opens a bit more for potential backstory! His father might have been dead before the Crusade, or... maybe even divorced. x) Or maybe, he survived the Crusade, like Hornsent himself, but perished for another reason; maybe old age, maybe even upon seeking revenge as well? It would still make sense for him to not mention his father even then, because he would not count as massacred IN purge of the Tower!

Saying 'child', not 'son' or 'daughter', also gave me a kinda fucked up idea, listen! What if this means something? For example, his wife was merely pregnant, or the purge happened at the time when she just gave a birth, so he never learned whether it was a son or a daughter? I know I should not make it even darker than it already was, and it is probably just to specify the 'status' (he does say 'wife' rather than calling her by the name, after all)... But imagine...

In any case, his child was still very little! In Japanese he refers to his child as '幼子よ', and I checked... Yeah, it refers to basically an infant, it seems!

3) He is very reluctant to make a connection, even under spell!

After Tarnished gives him the Scorpion Stew, he gives them Furnace Visage (useful item for killing two Furnace Golems that can't be killed normally and to "wake up" one blocking the way in Ruins of Unte). His motivation is, "I desire not to be in your debt"!

And he refuses if you try to give him another Scorpion Stew:

The last phrase (お前と、慣れ合うつもりもな…) is more accurately says something like "I have no intention of getting used to you"! The only thing Miquella's spell did was to give him hope, but he can't open up even to "comrades"!

4) He is not likely to be a potentate, despite his mask!

He is wearing the mask that is otherwise worn by potentates, however, there is something else about potentates:

By the practice of his village of birth! It looks like this is basically a "family business" inherited through generations, something Hornsent already is probably excluded from, since he is one of the people of Belurat!

I think the simpler explanation for why he has this mask is not its context but its practical purpose: "to ward off thoughts and distractions (from his honorable quest of revenge)"! He must remain focused on vengeance; no friends, no falling into despair, no "wax nostalgic 'bout days gone by"... I also played around with the idea that this mask was from his mysterious never-mentioned father rather than something he picked somewhere! Maybe he was one of those Potentate barbarians that somehow climbed social ladder a bit by marrying a woman from Belurat! Don't know whether it is something possible in this society, it is hard to tell :p

Hornsent also doesn't use trademark weapon of Potentates, their butchering knife, but his weapon Falx - something created with the purpose of vengeance! I think it implies that he was not even a fighter before, and only started to wield weapon to begin with FOR vengeance!

4.1) He must not oblivious to where it comes from, though, so what does it say about his character?

Regardless of whether the mask comes from, I doubt he doesn't know its actual origin! I am positive that the people who executed Shamans are long ago dead, but the practice itself is alive. Besides, even Hornsent themselves get this treatment if they've convicted:

So you'd wonder what he is feeling avenging "his beloved people" who put other people in jars, and whether there is some hypocrisy, right? Well, I THOUGHT there was some awareness:

It makes it sound as though he is, at the same time, aware that his folks are not perfect either, and believes in Miquella's new world to fix their flawed, even barbaric culture as well, right? I double checked for Japanese text, and I do not really see it as translation mistake?

ミケラが、その誓いを違えず、一族をも救う神となるのなら

一族を、救って…

In Japanese, he uses 救, which means to 'save' or religious kind of 'salvation'! To 'redeem' doesn't seem to be too far removed from original meaning, but I'd say this gives off more of the vibe of 'salvation' that is justice for the martyred, for those who were murdered unfairly! Justice of God upon sinners and to help out the victims, rather than the 'cleanse our sins' kind of 'salvation'!

Maybe I am looking at it through the wrong angle, but I also kind of like this interpretation more! He is not exactly in the mindset to question imperfections or straight up hazardous religious practices of his nation when the wound of losing his own family, and countless other families being burnt in "cleansing" is what defines his whole life now! Hornsent culture deserves to be criticised, but it is not his priority for the long time now, maybe never again, and it is fair enough!

^ Another line pointing towards him certainly not having "criticism" towards his clan nor intending to, as this is translated very plainly:

…よくも、我らを汚物と呼んだものだ どちらが真に汚物なのか、自分でも知っていただろうに！

5) He disrespects Leda without crossing her boundaries

He never once addresses her by name! It is not just how he is, as he addresses not just Miquella by name, but also Marika and Messmer, his sworn enemies! However, Leda he addresses only as:

The thing is, she is not just Leda, she is Lady Leda! She has the title by her knightly status, and calling her by the name is something reserved only to either close people or those who wants to be an asshole on purpose x)

He surely would not call her Lady, and it could be not quite personal but just because he chronically dislikes Tarnished! But he also would not shorten the mental distance between them by using her name without honorfic. I think it is a neat detail!

6) He doesn't use the flasks to heal!

I actually only learned it from @slavonicrhapsody here ( x ) as I was not paying attention, but, yeah! Developers actually bothered to differentiate him by not having him use flasks, a thing of the Erdtree, that fits the lore!

7) His invasion location might be not coincidental!

Hornsent still invades us even if we helped him to complete his revenge upon Messmer because FromSLOP hates us and our desired bonds with the characters in case you haven't noticed that upon finding dead bodies of Ansbach and Thiollier lmao. But his invasion location is particularly quite close where Romina is, and in the place full of Scarlet Rot+! And Romina is herself form Belurat!

Perhaps, even though he called us a "comrade-in-arms", maybe meeting her made him turn upon us after all? Sure, he does say that after all, he doesn't wish Miquella's help but only vengeance upon everyone under Erdtree, but come on, dude, we are friends now!

But maybe meeting another Belurat survivor face to face after a long time knocked him back to his previous mindset harder, and he decided that "no, not a single person of Marika's world deserves to be spared, not even my comrade that helped me"! As opposed to just thinking up of a change of a heart on his own! It is one thing to keep the 'idea' of victims he is avenging in his mind as his compass, but another to meet one face-to-face, to see her living in the ruins now and latching onto twisted Eldrich God of endless death-and-rebirth that was not meant to be released similarly to Formless Mother! This is a far cry from Hornsent's religion and their worship of Divine Beasts from Heaven, Romina is "ruined" and so is the nature itself in some way, and it is all Messmer's and Marika's fault...

8) Another nameless character!

There are other characters in Elden Ring who abandon their names and instead take up titles that reflect their new purpose (like Dung Eater or Goldmask)! I can only assume that he forsaken his name, instead simply using title of his nation as one, after he lost his family. "The man I used to be died in the fires with them" kind of thing...

This is just an idea that I like, but I think if he was to ever find new relationship, he'd allow this person to refer him by the name or a nickname they pick for him! But he never wants to use his former name again. He might try to start a new life in the best case scenario, but never repair anything from the former one. Things once broken... you know.

9) You KNOW where his mapping skills come from!

He doesn't just also follow Miquella, but is an invaluable help to the team in picking and mapping his exact traces! He has been pursuing Messmer and his forces before in vengeance, and needless to mention that the size of Elden Ring's world is only scaled down for the sake of a videogame not making your brain AND computer explode x) He for sure needed a lot of spyoning, researching and seeking to both find his ways and not prematurely die.

I just think it works better if he lived comfortably in Belurat, a pretty high-class place, and HAD to develop both fighting and mapping skills as a response to his trauma and craving for revenge... I know there ARE military forces in Belurat too, but he is not exactly an armoured warrior, nor a Curseblade. And think about tragic drastic change of a character.... Miquella's charm sort of put those developed skills to a good use.

10) I am not sure what to think of his face data!

(From video by Zullie the Witch ( x )) I just had a flashback in black-and-white filter to the guy that passionately tried to prove us with the foam at his mouth that Fromsoft was super lazy, and honestly... all his arguments were super wrong, yet he never would mention something like THIS! You can absolutely tell that developers created one of these characters first, and then made the other one atop of these sliders instead of making a new one. 🙄

@slavonicrhapsody suggested that burnt marks on Hornsent's face could be from him surviving the purge, and I totally like this idea! Them making a unique character first with clear idea in mind and then remembering "ah, shoot, right we need a few annoying invader NPCs too" makes more sense! Especially since Potentates invaders are all generic, without variants! Basically, I think Hornsent holds priority in this kind of face data for obvious reasons, but, god, if they picked another type of beard, why not remove burnt marks? 🙄🙄 #FromSLOP

__________________

Tbh I already liked this character instantly upon first jumping into DLC! According to my friend @val-of-the-north people were thinking he was kind of an dick, which apparently absolutely went over my head as I didn't feel this way? Maybe it is because I am both familiar with distrusting other people as person with PTSD and not familiar with "being polite" as a concept as an autist lol dhsfh

I just found him intriguing, but his monologue after being summoned for Messmer scared me a little bit. The way he grows more obsessed with revenge, and doesn't intend to stop only at people who were actually guilty... Fun fact: I've summoned him on Messmer's arena by pure accident! XD I didn't know it could be done, I just randomly saw a summon sign while running from Messmer all over the place fhshfds Apparently it was a good call, because most people skipped this turn of character on their first play?

Also unpopular opinion, but I think him being "unlikeable" on some sort of objective level is good? I feel very strongly about the whole mindset of 'only feeling compassion for the 'good victim'' that lingers in society. Like... gooooood forbid if the victim becomes angry, or ends up hurting the world back, or otherwise develops the unlikeable traits, right? Only soft "likeable" victims that just weep and clearly never did anything wrong before OR after their trauma deserve compassion, right? (Slavonic I am using all my willpower to not link your post about Beebus rn fsdhfdhs) I think Hornsent developing negatively as a person is good and realistic. I praised the base game for how Dung Eater and Mohg were executed (not everyone who opposes the oppressive system or was a victim of it is automatically a good person), but Hornsent is not even a villain, and it is even better! He is "not good victim", and it doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve sympathy and recovery!

At the same time, really good character in his function, to show how revenge will only endlessly create more revenge infinitely! I think he deserves better than being automatically written down over what his mask item is given all the other context, and he definitely deserves all the "I can fix him" Tarnished bitches. 😔😔😔

[necrotic-nephilim]

I started in DC by reading fanfics, but as I began to read actual comics, I started to be unable to read the actual fanfic that got me into it in the first place because it's so out of character.

But there are still some stories that I love to read because I love the found family trope so much, even if it isn't really accurate to the source material.

As a comics purist (sometimes), are there tropes that you like enough that you'll still enjoy a fic even if it's not accurate to canon?

oh my god this is SUCH a fun question. bc while i started with the comics, there were certain characters and/or character dynamics where i was exposed to the fanon before the canon (just bc it's hard to read everything when you start out just to read some fanfic) and so i've definitely experienced the fanon to canon transition. (*especially* with Jason Todd. i had only read 80s/90s stuff where he was already dead or the New-52 bc that was on-going when i got into comics and man. the fanon misunderstandings i had about him before i got frustrated and sat down to read all his pre-Flashpoint stuff were absolutely bonkers.) and aside from that, whilst i tend to prefer canon over fanon, i'm not past giving fanon its flowers for occasionally having really interesting insights. occasionally. so some of my fanon "guilty pleasure" tropes would probably be

Morally Grey Tim Drake - this is one where if you try to back it up with canon, i *will* get salty about it. of everyone in the Batfam aside from maybe Bruce and Cass, Tim has the *most* black and white morals. often his internal conflicts are routed in such an inability to compromise his moral views and it can cause him to clash with other characters. he's *very* stiff and rigid in his beliefs and is *rare* to compromise in even the smallest ways. i mean, DC has repeatedly used Tim Drake of Tomorrow/Savior/Gun Batman!Tim for a reason. it's to demonstrate that of everyone, Tim *cannot* have his morals compromised. there's no grey area for him. he's zero or a hundred, so if he tips over the edge of "too far" he tips *all the way*, and doing so is one of his worst fears, how he could go "too far" if he let himself. a couple panels out of context from Red Robin (2009) (which was a grief spiral for Tim to begin with) don't change that. now that said. if it's done *right*, i sort of love Tim being morally grey in fanfic. it takes a specific flavor for me, and it's incredibly important to include that mental spiral along with it, of him struggling to justify it. i don't have any interest in "Tim Drake is loosy goosy with Bruce's morals and has the highest kill count and no one knows teehee" bc it doesn't play with the interesting parts of making Tim morally grey, which are fracturing his psyche. but all in all, i think it's fun to put Tim in a morally grey area and i will read it in fanfic and i enjoy writing it a lot

Joker Junior!Tim Drake - i've not written it on this account (yet) but on my main ao3 account one of my biggest fics surrounds this concept. this is one of those "well *technically* it's canon but only in a specific very divorced from the comics universe and would not work at all in the main timeline" so, i categorize it as fanon in that 95% of fics exploring the concept are not doing so within the Batman Beyond universe, but the main timeline. i just love it. I'll take any excuse to whump Tim, but this concept is so fun. psychologically breaking Tim will always be my favorite pastime. there are so many ways to explore the long-term effects this could have on him, how it could affect the Batfam. i'm not a fan of it being used as a "gotcha" to Jason or Babs' trauma with the Joker to paint Tim as the Ultimate Victim, but it is fun to see how their relationships would be affected by being mutual victims of him. (i have a vague JayTim idea where TIm fully retires from being Robin after being Joker Junior and killing the Joker, making Steph Robin for most of his typical Robin era and Jason still tracks him down out of curiosity bc he wants to know what happened and all. very underbaked but i've got thoughts.)

Renegade/Apprentice of Slade!Dick Grayson - this is another one where yes, this happened *sort of* in canon, but i highly doubt most people writing Renegate!Dick have read or are actually pulling from Nightwing: Renegade. it's just an exploration fo the concept fo Dick being Slade's apprentice and i will always eat it up in any capacity. whether Dick grows up with Slade from a young age, or chooses Slade for whatever reason later in life. it's not anything that works in canon bc it compromises Dick morally (similar to the above with Tim) and therefore will always come across incredibly fanon in most fics. but i can't say i don't enjoy it. it's fun to make Dick a little morally fucked up and see what you can make him under Slade's tutelage.

Jason & Damian Meeting in the League -there's no world where i believe this could work in the canon comics. (maybe in the Young Justice cartoon i suppose, but even then i think it's iffy) i would go as far to say it's wildly unrealistic. i don't see a world where Ra's would let Jason anywhere *near* Damian, bc Jason was Talia's pet project that he didn't approve of. that all said, there's something very interesting about how they *could've* met and them potentially bonding during that timeframe. them being somewhat brotherly during this time because Jason sees Bruce in Damian and sort of latches onto the kid and Damian is full of wonder hearing real stories about Batman and Robin, then that getting violently ripped away by Jason leaving the League is fun to me. it's fun how that could affect them within the Batfam and all. it's super fanon to me, but i do not care. i will eat it up

Bad Dad Clark Kent/Good Dad Lex Luthor - i will admit as a late, i've been less and less kind to this particular fanon bc of everything i've argued with people about, *this* one seems the most pervasive as misunderstood fanon. i don't mind when fanon exists, my gripe is when ppl try to claim it's canon. and the *arguments* i've had over this with people who can never seem to cite an actual comic are... frustrating. but that said, i think there is something fun to this strictly in fanon. the duality of who you expect to accept Kon and who you expect to hurt him being flipped is just sort of fun for the occasional guilty pleasure fic. it can make Kon's internal conflict a bit more interesting. the same goes for the Jon favoritism from Clark, it's not a canon thing (and i rlly wish ppl understood how complicated the timeline of Kon and Jon is and any distance from Clark toward Kon isn't malice, it's that Kon is from a timeline that Clark does not remember in the current canon so Clark just straight up doesn't know the poor kid.) but it's sort of fun to give Kon that complex of being overlooked and forgotten sometimes. making Kon just a *bit* more Luthor than Kent will *always* appeal to me in fanfic, especially if he *knows* it's wrong but craves approval from anyone who will give it.

Good Dad Bruce Wayne - i'll die on the hill Bruce is canonically a shitty father. maybe not to the extreme some people write him as, but he's not great at it. that said, i enjoy it in fanfiction. sometimes, i just want silly fluff or hurt/comfort where Bruce finally gets it right and manages to comfort whatever Batkid is in the fic. one of my favorite fics of all time is hinged on Bruce being a good dad, so i think it's just fun to explore how good the relationships *could* be, if Bruce was slightly less of an asshole. i usually prefer him as an asshole, but there are times i want low stakes nonsense.

Gotham Rogues Having Soft Spots for Robin(s) - just about every Rogue in Gotham has done something absolutely irredeemable, and most of them don't like or care about anyone in the Batfamily. but if there's a fic where one of the Robins inexplicably is sort of close with a Rogue and they have a cute silly relationship out of it? I'll eat it up i fear. Steph and the Riddler are besties? I'll believe it. Tim and Scarecrow get along pretty well? give me ten of these. Rogues protecting Robins just hits a spot. the unexpected nature of the relationship, as well as the fact they see each other regularly, can make a lot of good fodder.

[wisteriasymphony]

I have a feeling that you secretly hate this show and all the writing choices . I just do .

I mean, without this show we wouldn't have the fandom, ergo I wouldn't be able to mess around with the characters and put them in situations, so... no?

My opinions on the show are untraceable and entirely irrelevant, and I tend to agree on a take-to-take basis with people on all sides of the fandom. Were there some things that could've been done differently? Yes of course. But Miraculous is what it is and if it were something Emmy-worthy, I don't know if I'd be so enthralled with it as I am.

Think of it like this:

Most people in the fandom play with the ideas in mlb like Barbie dolls. You dress them up, take them through soap opera plots and (as the wonderful asukiess so eloquently put it) cocomelon tragedies where they're all screaming and crying and kissing and you have a grand old time with it.

What I have been doing, over here in my own little world divorced from reason and sense, is chewing on all of the Barbie dolls' hands, cramming their heads in jars of finger paint, and scribbling on the walls. (And occasionally, just occasionally... my unpredictable scribblings will form a coherent word or thought that might even be approaching something profound about... the human condition or struggles with self-actualization or whatnot. But it's not a guarantee.)

Can you say the latter really... 'hates' the dolls? Hates the way they were made? No. To hate the dolls is to refuse to engage with them altogether, or to make YouTube Essays treating the Barbie dolls like real people with real culpability for their actions and calling them Mary Sues. That's not what I'm doing, not by a long shot.

It's also worth mentioning that a lot of what I do would be lost without the context of the show itself and its decisions.

- Kuro Neko was the catalyst in why I started writing TWEOS, and a lot of the impact of how characters act in that is because you need the prior context of both the show and the fandom to back it up.

- Adrien Agreste as Byronic Hero has much less weight to it unless you're used to seeing a version of him that is so clearly not that. The lovesquare in that fic absolutely falling apart by every conceivable metric—down to things as minuscule as Marinette the baker's daughter pursuing Adrien who secretly hates the taste of sweets—feels like less of a betrayal if you haven't seen the way they are supposed to be.

- Adrien and Marinette being presented as a cruel inevitability of a universe that does not care what they have to say in the matter... in because in 37,847 universes and counting, they will be together. In canon, they must be together.

tl;dr Maybe I'm dodging the question, and maybe my actions in changing so much about how the characters act/the world works in my fic speaks louder than my words... But I can't bring myself to hate this show. Percussive maintenance is still maintenance.

[feministsouthpark]

South Park Filler Guide - Season 2

Link for Part 1

I find the existence of filler guides quite amusing, since for some shows it makes sense (like Naruto), but for others (like Pokemon) it absolutely doesn't and they still exist. So here is an attempt to do an absolutely unnecessary one just for fun. 😅

The classifications are CANON (an episode with major storylines present), LORE (in which we get significant backstory or world building, but could be skippable)  and FILLER (completely skippable episodic storytelling, not connected to overarching story arcs)

PLS my analysis will have spoilers, if you're a first time viewer, just scroll to the bottom and read the list and only read full text if you are familiar with the content of the show already!

S2E1 Terrance and Phillip in Not Without My Anus is FILLER

This is the definition of filler, and not even a good filler, but the one that drags. The whole episode is a waste of time, and a horrible season opener if you ask me. I don't even care if Saddam Hussein dies in this one, skip it anyway, all you need to know for his next appearance is that he is already dead, which will be obvious and TBH since the movie gives a different story about his death, this one might as well take place in an alternate continuity. S2E2 Cartman's Mom is Still a Dirty Slut is CANON

We're back with the conclusion of the season 1 mystery. For now. S2E3 Ike's Wee Wee is CANON

Kyle learns the secret of his brother and he also gets a great deal of character development that makes this episode a must-watch. S2E4 Chickenlover is FILLER

A great character episode for Officer Barbrady, nontheless a filler half hour of the show. S2E5 Conjoined Fetus Lady is FILLER

One might enjoy this one for Pip. Or for Nurse Gollum. But not for its long-lasting consequences, that one is for sure. S2E6 The Mexican Staring Frog of Southern Sri Lanka is LORE

This one is debatable, and the one that I would think most people would actually debate on, since most of it is a one off story, however there is a single scene at the end with Satan and Saddam, which acts as foreshadowing for the movie, so that one scene provides context, however the movie is enjoyable without this little introduction. S2E7 City on the Edge of Forever (Flashbacks) is FILLER

Again, you can't make more specific filler content than a whole episode that is just a dream. Stan dreams that Eric dreams that Ms. Crabtree falls in love. S2E8 Summer Sucks is FILLER

I was thinking about the Mr. Twig storyline. It does build up Herbert's identity as a gay man. However looking at it, this doesn't seem like manga original content, rather, this hits every usual beat of an anime-exclusive filler arc. Edit: I know South Park is not based on a manga, it's an elaborate joke. S2E9 Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls is FILLER

Anything that gets brought up later from this episode is counted as filler content, so in the long run it doesn't matter. S2E10 Chickenpox is FILLER

Stuart and Gerald get some backstory, but otherwise the whole story is a one-off. S2E11 Roger Ebert Should Lay off the Fatty Foods is FILLER

I believe this one was expected. Nothing in this episode matters by the next. S2E12 Clubhouses is FILLER

Randy and Sharon divorce. They get back together by the end. Bebe likes Kyle. She doesn't by the end of the episode. Typical filler stuff. S2E13 Cow Days is FILLER

The Terrance and Phillip dolls never appear again. Neither does Eric believing himself to be a Vietnamese prostitute called Ming Lee have any consequences. S2E14 Chef Aid is FILLER

Herbert Garrison's filler arc with Mr. Twig comes to an end. Chef sleeps with a lot of women. End of episode. S2E15 Spookyfish is FILLER

I love this episode, but Sharon being crazy and all the paralell universe stuff are solely for this one. S2E16 Merry Christmas Charlie Manson! is FILLER

Eric now has a bunch of family members, none of which we ever see again. S2E17 Gnomes is CANON

It may come as a surprise after such a long string of fillers, but since the gnomes return and Tweek becomes a major player later, it only makes sense for this episode to be seen as fairly plot-heavy. S2E18 Prehistoric Ice Man is FILLER

Stan and Kyle get into a fight and then make up. The iceman never returns.

… SPOILER-FREE RUNDOWN

Again, CANON means you should watch it, FILLER means you can skip it, LORE is somewhere in-between, any episode with the LORE label will have an explanation that helps you decide if you should include it or not.

S2E1 Terrance and Phillip in Not Without My Anus is FILLER S2E2 Cartman's Mom is Still a Dirty Slut is CANON S2E3 Ike's Wee Wee is CANON S2E4 Chickenlover is FILLER S2E5 Conjoined Fetus Lady is FILLER S2E6 The Mexican Staring Frog of Southern Sri Lanka is LORE* S2E7 City on the Edge of Forever (Flashbacks) is FILLER S2E8 Summer Sucks is FILLER S2E9 Chef's Chocolate Salty Balls is FILLER S2E10 Chickenpox is FILLER S2E11 Roger Ebert Should Lay off the Fatty Foods is FILLER S2E12 Clubhouses is FILLER S2E13 Cow Days is FILLER S2E14 Chef Aid is FILLER S2E15 Spookyfish is FILLER S2E16 Merry Christmas Charlie Manson! is FILLER S2E17 Gnomes is CANON S2E18 Prehistoric Ice Man is FILLER *Only for its last scene if you want a tease for the movie. Personal notes: You may notice that this season is a lot less plot-heavy than the previous one, with only 3 canon episodes out of 18 compared to the 9 out of 13 in the first.

[potato-lord-but-not]

hi jay!

so, i've been staying up until at least 3am as of late due to the simple fact that i cannot fucking sleep, so!

i've decided that i'm going to listen to all of these podcasts you make art for because i actually want to know context and whatnot for your art becuase your art is rlly fire and you're one of my favorite artists but pretty much the only fandom i know anything about that you do art for is will wood, and i love will wood. so,, automatically i think you probably also have good tastes in podcasts so im going to listen to them.

which should i start with?

(srry this is so long btw i like talking)

Well I’d say camp here and there since you’re a Will Wood fan !!! it’s very goofy and silly but also slightly disturbing and horrifically sad <3 also Will did the soundtrack so <33 AND if you enjoy that you can try welcome to night vale because they have similar vibes although it tends to stay more light hearted then chnt :))

Wolf 359 is both absolutely hilarious and also gut-wrenchingly tragic. it gets its own category bc it’s not entirely horror nor supernatural, I mean yeah there’s aliens but that’s sci-fi supernatural so it doesn’t count. Really really good one to start with if you like character centric stories !!!

Malevolent is like. really fucking good. I’m not even sure how to sell it it’s just amazing. Definitely the scariest out of the one’s I’ve listened to so far, but damnnnnn it’s so worth it. the themes… the growth…. the divorces……

And the Magnus archives also,, it was my first fiction podcast I really got into and it’s so so so good!! if you’re a causal r/nosleep enjoyer you’ll love this one. it’s basically spooky short stories with a plot happening in the background (at least. that’s how it seems)

Anyway yeah sorry !!! I’d say camp here and there and if you don’t like that one perhaps tma or malevolent, depending on your preferences. hope the sleep situation figures itself out tho !!

[ride-thedragon]

HOTD CHARACTERS AS ALBUMS:

Alicent Hightower as 30 by Adele.

Now that we are finally here, and I'm starting with my faves.

What is 30 by Adele?

It's her latest album that covers the topic of her divorce and the challenges she faces in the wake of it with the idea of motherhood impacting her decisions and thoughts around this time. Her signature ballads and intertwining of genres are apparent, but the story she invokes is that of trials and a time of change in her life.

So Alicent?

Yes. It's the album I think best fits her arc in season one and prepares for the rest. Let's go through this song by song. But also go listen to the album and think of her because at the end of the day. This is my interpretation.

30 x Alicent.

Strangers By Nature

Now, this first song is the introduction to the album. She's apologising to Lovers from the past, the present, and the ones in the dark. Taking back anything done wrong against them and saying that by the end, they were all strangers by nature to her.

If we are talking about Alicent I think that's were season 1 leaves her. So much is being uncovered about her and her character especially outside of Viserys in Episode 9 I think it's a good song within that context.

No one really knows her now, fully to her entire extent. How she loves, what she does to ensure she's kept aware of situations, what she stillnholds on to is kept guarded and compartmentalised for certain things.

Easy on Me.

This was the biggest hit off the album. It's a song about a dissolving marriage, a song dedicated to her child and childhood, and overall, it is very Alicent.

I think it applies well as a reflection of who she had been. Trying to balance her love for Rhaenyra and her duty to her father and Viserys. The betrayal and anger and disagreements she found herself in.

Say what you will but as the bridge of the song puts it,

"I had good intentions

And the highest hopes

But I know right now

It probably doesn't even show."

If that isn't her, what is?

My Little Love

Now I find Adele just extremely Alicent coded, but the reason I chose this album instead of 21 or 25, for example, is because this album was dedicated to her child.

I refuse to explain this one. Go think of these gay lovers and cry your heart out because it hurts.

But also, it's a song of her explaining everything up until her divorce to her son. Kind of reckoning with the failure she feels and how stuck and stranding it all is.

For Alicent, I think it's the same. By the end, she's reconciling her past with her future. Trying to appease her want for Aegon to be crowned with her love for Rhaenyra and to an extent Viserys. She's also around all her children in episode 9, which is interesting when thinking about the song.

Cry Your Heart Out

Hello, season 2 Alicent. I genuinely think this is the direction it is going to go in because its just tragedy after tragedy for them. Especially when we see her under water and near water so much, baby girl, cry your heart out, it'll clean your face.

Oh My God

Alicole girls. Hi.

This is entirely Criston and Alicent coded for whatever they have going on.

I'm having a hard time doing this because I want you guys to go listen to it. But basically, the song is about this guy who she's with during this time who's her place of refuge with all he conflicting narratives and lies around her.

Also religion.

Can I Get It?

Otto fans, Rhaenyra fans, Alicent fans, and fans of her children. You get to decide who this is about. It's about wanting to be someone's after everything you've done for them, everything you've been through to be at their side. Counting for someone to put you back together after everything is...

I Drink Wine

Hey alcoholism. Genuinely, this is thee Rhaenicent song of the Album. How can someone become so bounded by the choices somebody else makes? And it just goes down from there.

All Night Parking Interlude

I'm going to say Criston. I think they genuinely found a sense of home together.

Woman Like Me:

Hello episode 1 to 10 Rhaenicent. Hello, Viserys Targaryen. It's basically her saying, "How dare you?" Do you know who I am? What is expected? And slaying.

Hold On

Episode 8 Alicent Hightower, the woman you are.

To Be Loved

Season 2 Alicent. "I will choose to lose it's a sacrifice" and "you have no idea the sacrifices made to put you on that throne." That arc is going to play out so well. I'm geeked. An ode to her conversation with Rhaenys as well.

Love is a Game

The effect of Otto Hightower on women recorded by Adele.

Wild, Wild West

Now, this is such a random part of the album, but I do think it's a part of the charm. Unlike Larys Strong, who I hope burns in hell. Anyways, because big pivotal moments happen to her in different places, let's say rats what this is.

Can't be Together

Rhaenyra and Alicent, the tragedy you are. I'm so sorry I wasn't it westeros to save you from this.

Conclusion

Listen to the album Alicent folk. Listen and see if it's your pick. It's certainly mine.

Next up is her counterpart, Rhaenyra.

[dayslynthesix]

im currently obsessed with tennis and tennis is the only thing that's on my mind so i just doing what my brain cells are asking

first, the characters here were mentioned in another stories, but its not relevant at all, a little bit of context: lauren is priya sister (from delicate - lewis hamilton x volleyball!player) when i wrote delicate she was supposed to be a little younger than priya, so i made an adjustment just so the agegap wasn't so big and jeremy is yolanda brother (from match point)

i think this one will be like 2 parts

lets goooooo

Deuce | Daniel Ricciardo x tennis player girlfriend

laurencaspari

liked by priyacaspari, ccaspari, usaopen, danielricciardo and 45.876 others

laurencaspari had a little but not so much break time

danielricciardo looking good, laure

landonorris daniel clearly doesn't know how to impress a girls

laurencaspari i feel very impressed

maxverstappen1 wait, what?

robertcaspari everytime my daughter decides to take a break shes not taking a break at all!

georgerussell63 listen to me, you and danny against me and max, when?

maxverstappen1 who told your delulu mind i would play with you?

danielricciardo you did, yesterday, when lando threat to be his mate

laurencaspari i mean we can make it happen but i would rather to play with carmen

lewishamilton what about that grand slam you promised me?

laurencaspari at wimbledon!

ccaspari big sis doing big sis things, love yaaa ❤

user1 so this is the girl daniel is dating? wow, she's gorgeous

user2 i mean, i would date her too

user3 so this is the point where max and daniel go for the divorce?

danielricciardo

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, ccaspari, laurencaspari and 765.877 others

danielricciardo my date for the night

maxverstappen1 let's all of us pretend we don't know who she is

laurencaspari that pasta is looking good, wondering who made it

landonorris ew, pda

carlossainz55 you don't complain about pda when youre the one receiving the pda

redbullracing wondering when we will see her at the garage 🤨

danielricciardo soon adm, soon!

charles_leclerc that pasta is indeed looking very good

elisebutton yeah, ok, i got the clue

elisebutton wow, steeling each other's wife? dirty move, ricciardo

danielricciardo please, dont tell your dad

laurencaspari im still your wife!

maxverstappen1 lauren...

elisebutton everyone knows shes his girl now

user4 she's a roland garros champ!!!! how does danny ric got her is my question of the day

user5 hes a f1 driver, girl

user6 so the lauren caspari is dating a dude who goes vroom vroom very fast for a life?

user7 now she got herself a personal driver

laurencaspari

liked by mercedesamgf1, wimbledonopen, ccaspari, priyacaspari, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, elisebutton and 143.567 others

laurencaspari hey @lewishamilton what about that? im still shaking, i remember being a child and watching wimbledon on tv with my dad, never expected to be a champion here, and now dreams came true. thank you to my family and my partner and my friends for all the support. usopen see you soon! let's gooooo 🥇🎾

lewishamilton ok, youre a woman of word, i call mercedes to see about my part of the deal

robertcaspari immensely proud of you, my precious daughter is a wimbledon champion

ccaspari big sis doing big sis business once again

jeremyrossi wow, huge congrats lauren! well deserved, you've played a tennis i never saw in my 20 years playing tennis, very proud of you!

priyacaspari HAHAHAHAH i mean, now we all combined have more titles than the boys @yrossibutton

lewishamilton im still 7 times champion of the world

yrossibutton ok, were 3 times olympic champions

laurencaspari i didn't knew we were counting but im tied with jeremy, meaning i have 12 grand slams too

priyacaspari congrats sis, im very very proud!

maxverstappen1 how am i supposed to beat you when you keep winning grand slam after grand slam? congratulations, by the way

danielricciardo im very proud of you, my love, you're incredible and it was magical seeing you play.

laurencaspari i love you ❤

elisebutton wifey doing wifey things considering ferrari is not helping hubby so he can do hubby things

redbullracing hello, @charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc no

maxverstappen1 yes

laurencaspari hey redbull, what about that sponsors thing?

redbullracing come to the next grand prix and we'll see 😉

danielricciardo don't wink at my girl, adm

user8 "my partner" 🥺🥺

user9 she said "i dont have wimbledon yet, hold on" and she went there and won

user10 going 4 out of 4 for grand slams, wow

user11 imagine being bff with aryna and having to play her in the finals?

user12 wait, tennis and formula one world are colliding

user13 that's why charles and pierre have been at roland garros for the past 2 years, they're supporting danny rics girl

danielricciardo

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, ccaspari, laurencaspari and 587.888 others

danielricciardo back to where all started, happy 2 years to us and congratulations to your 12th grand slam, im insanely proud to share you highs with you and insanely proud to call you my girl, love you. ps: could you please get max and i tickets so we can see sabalenka play?

maxverstappen1 dude, i told you to be sutil about it

elisebutton oh, youre so cute its adorable (im crying)

charles_leclerc lis, baby, people will start to think that you're not happy with me 😭

elisebutton i am! im just missing my wife. but i love you, you're my invisible string

landonorris ew 🤢🤢

laurencaspari i knew it! you're with me just so i can get you to see aryna play with your husband! max, stop stealing my man! but yes baby, everything for you ❤

sabalenka_aryna congratulations, lauren! im very happy for you, looking forward to play you again! and please, bring you personal driver to see me play, i will love to see you guys again! xx 😘

ccaspari now we all know who does the cooking in this relationship

maxverstappen1 we all knew wayyyy sooner!

user14 i mean, they are indeed very cute

user15 i just love how lis is friend with her

user16 lauren sister, catharine, have a youtube channel called 3 girls at a boat where her and her sisters went for a boat trip every sunday, lis is one of her closest friends since i don't know 2014

user17 just saw they went to greece this summer with charles and lis

user18 catharine is very funny, i love how she's mocking on lewis and priya and lis and charles all the time

user19 aussie boy got the girl

user20 daniel 2 and a half years ago after watching a tennis match deciding that "hey laurencaspari would like to go out with me?" send tweet was a good idea

maxverstappen1 i was there and told him that yes, was a very good idea

an: ooooooookaay i started this one and at first i didn't liked it but now im just wow, i love it! missing my girl aryna playing and my man danny ric driving a fast car

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Words Unsaid

Summary: Bordeaux Pt. 2: “You know, Élodie asked me if you were single last night.” 

“Hm?” His heart stutters at this. The secret he’s held from you for a while now bubbling up with hot lava, singing the insides of his stomach.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Warnings: antisemitism (not explicitly written, not from reader), talk of divorce, death of a spouse, translations given at the end, reader is French but no other descriptions are given to them

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: Here she finally is! I hope you enjoy it! This can be read with the first part for more context or on its own. Thank you to @moony--stars for helping me with the French and to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me as well.

What had started as a relaxed game of charades, chosen specifically to surpass the language barrier between Marc and everyone else, had morphed quickly into a battle of sharp tongues and insults.

He thinks it’s political, but he’s not sure. Through the heated argument he’s managed to pick out the names of a few ministers and major contracts. 

Usually, with Steven’s help, he manages to understand quite a fair bit. But his alter’s been frustratingly stubborn on stopping the eavesdropping ever since the tense conversation Élodie had shared with you while he was playing on the ground. 

Even if he’s been abandoned by Steven, he’s still got Anaïs with him.

Exhausted from a long day at the beach and the excitement of the charades, she’s in the state between sleeping and awake, her eyes drooping heavily as she tried to follow the conversation around her and failing, in much the same way Marc is.

She’d given up quickly, and had crawled into his arms like a spider, holding onto his torso with all her arms and legs. 

Marc hadn’t been expecting to get along so well with Anaïs. He’d always assumed that he and children mixed together like oil and water. 

Yet he’d hit it off with Anaïs almost instantly. Sometimes, though he’d die than admit it, he prefers her company than that of some of the people here. 

There’s one of them, Adrien, whom he actively avoids. He’s your brother-in-law, and Marc’s tried, honest to God, to make at least some polite conversation with the guy but it’s impossible. It had been like trying to fight off nausea.

Then he tried, if not for you, for Anaïs. Tried to view Adrien as her uncle, since he’s starting to care for the girl a concerning amount. So he’d decided to help when it was Adrien’s turn to make dinner for the villa last night. 

And that lasted all of ten minutes before Marc wanted to throw the dinner set on the ground and decided instead to throw in the towel and go play Jenga with Anaïs. 

He drifts out of his thoughts and looks around the living room again, at the flushed faces around him. Their voices are starting to get loud, starting to get on his nerves. There are at least four separate conversations going on now, each overlapping over one another, twisting together like yarn. 

He tilts his head to the side and looks at the empty wine bottles on the table, wonders if everyone, including himself, has maybe had a little too much to drink. 

Anaïs shifts in his arms, restless like an ocean wave until she finds a more comfortable position and lays her head on his shoulder with a content hum. Looking now at the smooth, unbothered skin of her forehead, tinged a little pink from her insistence against wearing sunscreen, Marc can’t help but to envy the girl. 

Right now, he’d much prefer to crawl up into someone’s arms and fall right to sleep instead of whatever sort of chaos that’s happening around him. 

He wonders if she’s only chosen him because she knew that he for one wouldn’t be shouting the way Adrien is now. That really, it wasn’t that she trusted him to fall asleep on him like this, but because he was the only logical solution to her problem. 

Though he’s fairly certain that that is the case, the hours they’ve spent playing board games and wrestling until sand was caked into his hair no matter, he can’t help the implicit bitter taste it leaves in his mouth. 

Oh, Marc. Steven’s in the headspace again. Don’t think that, she adores you. 

Marc swallows down the pill of his alter’s words and it lodges at the back of his throat, stuck and persistent on not going down any further. His hand comes to rest on the girl’s back and starts to rub her comfortingly, maybe win some brownie points in his favour. 

Adrien cuts someone off for the third time, jumping away from his own conversation and to another one in at most five minutes, and he hears you suck in a frustrated breath and let it out slowly. You swallow down your words, finishing your wine, digging your thumb into the stem of the glass. 

He looks over at you now, at the mountains and valleys of your sloping profile. You’ve drunk the least out of all of them tonight. Your eyes are following the conversation, beady and focused; you’ve barely said a word since the abrupt change in conversation. 

Maybe he’s the one holding you back. 

Maybe if he wasn’t here you’d also be teetering on the edge between tipsy and drunk and yelling about things you have no control over, like politics. 

Maybe-

Adrien throws up his hands in frustration and mutters something under his breath that sounds like you’re hopeless and Marc can’t help the frustration that grows inside of him at having to look at the guy’s face, and he sighs out, softly, to not disturb Anaïs. 

Maybe this is why you moved away to London. 

The topic’s been pressing insistently in his mind for a while now, almost from the moment the two of you arrived in Bordeaux. Though he’s come to know you intimately, Marc’s not really sure of the reason why he’s come to know you in the first place.

First he was alone. 

Then you were there. 

And now Marc can’t imagine his life without you in it anymore. The time before you a hazy mess, the time after sharp and defined, crispy like the outer edge of fresh-baked bread. 

Well, Adrien could be one of the reasons why. In-laws at best were barely tolerable, and it’s clear that yours likes to balance on that border like a knife’s edge, but Marc knows it’s not a strong enough reason to uproot yourself the same way he did, plopping yourself in a foreign language with a sea of infinite variable accents. 

He has a sneaking suspicion it’s got something to do with Élodie’s frustrated reprimands from the other day, but he’s only got his gut to go by. 

A curl of frustration grows around him at being left alone in his thoughts and suspicions like this. At being abandoned by Steven, when he quite clearly understands everything going around them. 

The room suddenly goes quiet. Adrien is talking now, the multiway chitchat having stopped abruptly as his voice starts to reach the four corners of the room. The silence underneath makes his ears ring, and he latches onto it.

You fidget and take in a sharp breath, your body coming in closer to his on the couch.

He can smell you now. Your shampoo and moisturiser, the salt of the ocean and the sharp, tangy sword of wine. 

Your brother-in-law’s words seem a needle and thread as they sew a stitch into your forehead, turn down the corners of your mouth unpleasantly. Marc knows you well enough to know that there is a silent anger growing inside of you like you’re starting to enrich uranium. 

Another brief glance around the room shows shock and horror.

Marc’s about to send a half-ass threat to Steven to at least give some sort of translation when you straighten up beside him, your eyes aflame. 

“Hé!” It’s a loud shout and it makes Anaïs jolt awake, cutting Adrien off. The intensity of your gaze bores into him from the other side of the room. “Marc est juif!”

“Et alors?” he seems barely phased by your retort. 

It seems the wrong thing to say, for you scoff and mock him, muttering under your breath as you set your wine glass aside, “‘Et alors?’” You shake your head and gather your cardigan, your footsteps harsh as they go away, “T’es con!”

The air is heavy and tense around the room. Adrien is sputtering and stumbling over his words as he tries to recover from whatever you just said to him, but he’s just white noise now. 

Anaïs whines from having been woken up so suddenly and Élodie tsks, getting up, “Bon chérie, allons au lit.” She gathers her up and away from Marc and thanks him. She kisses her daughter’s head and quickly moves out the room as if it were filled with mustard gas. 

The moment they’re gone, Marc starts to miss her warmth. The feeling is so intense that, in combination with all the strange almost-glances he’s getting from around the room, it makes him stand up and go away. 

For the first time since arriving, he wonders if maybe it was a mistake to take you up on your offer. If he’s the reason for all the tension in the house now, the reason why your sister snapped at you and the reason why you snapped back at her a couple afternoons ago. 

He wanders aimlessly around the house, his only companion other than you getting put to bed at the moment. 

He finds himself on the back porch and lets himself enjoy the cool breeze running up from the ocean and into the leaves of the tree, the shade of which he’s fallen asleep in on many a hot afternoon to wake up to you and some of your friends drinking on the wooden porch together, laughing. 

He likes the image of you laughing so easily, your head tilted back and your chin tilted up. If he were more talented, he would have brought it out of marble with a convincing hand. Down to the last detail. The delicate gold necklace around your neck. The golden hoops in your ears that he’s never seen you without. 

A harsher breeze brushes past him like a thistle and he comes back to himself. 

There’s a restlessness inside of him that refuses to quiet and an ugly dissatisfaction settles in his legs. He goes back inside, this time set on finding you to see if you would explain to him what had happened, what your brother-in-law had done to make you so mad and almost ruin the vacation. 

He finds you on the balcony, half-heartedly eating a popsicle, your head leaned forward like it does when you’re deep in thought, your feet propped up on a chair in front of you, crossed at the ankles. 

“Hey,” he tries to say it softly but it still makes you jump.

“Oh…hello.” You straighten up considerably. 

“Mind if I-” Marc’s shy suddenly. Though he’s been living in the same house as you for almost a week now, he’s barely spent any time with you alone, the way the two of you usually do back in London. He swallows thickly and digs his nails into his palms, “Mind if I sit?” 

You hum in agreement and gather your legs up so he can settle in the chair across from you. 

Without thinking about it, he reaches forward and brings your feet into his lap. Your nails are painted red, the same colour as your hands, the polish faintly chipped from the ocean and the sand. 

The night air is humid and cool. It smells of saltwater and sunscreen and your perfume. The orange of your popsicle. 

You hold it out for him, “Want the remaining?” 

Though he could go without, he leans and takes it from you, if only to be closer to you. 

The flavour is synthetic, the sweetening harsh. It tastes the way your niece’s breath smells after meals. 

A sticky drop rolls down to his wrist and he licks it away. His other hand comes to rest on top of your foot. 

It seems he gives you the confidence to start talking, “I’m sorry about Adrien, I thought he would be…” you wave your hand around as you try to sort out your thoughts, place them neatly beside each other in English. “...more intelligent than that.” 

He shrugs, biting off a piece of the popsicle and sending a jolt of electricity from his teeth straight into his head. Steven curses out and calls him an idiot but he ignores him, “No need to apologise, I didn’t understand him.” 

“Not important,” you push back, that same fire starting to come back in your eyes, but much more tamed, and less direct. “He said bad things about you.” 

“Was it political?” 

You nod, frowning as you try to search for the proper word, “It was…was…” Sighing you give up, “It was antisémite.” 

Something inside of him falls at the word but he pushes through it, “It’s the same in English: antisemitic.” He wonders if Steven was listening when it was said, how he’s feeling about it now. 

You repeat the word, murmuring under your breath to add it to your vocabulary. In the sweet honey of your voice it loses close to all the negative connotations it usually holds for Marc. 

“I apologise,” you say regardless. “It was not good for him to say, no matter if you comprehended or not.” 

“It’s alright. You shouldn’t be apologising for what he said.” 

“Someone has to.” There’s guilt laced into your eyes. He can easily read it even if he can hardly make out your face save for the major contours in the low light spilling onto the balcony from the hallway. 

His hand trails forward and he holds onto your ankle comfortingly, “I don’t associate Adrien with you.” 

You hum, still deep in thought. 

Marc swallows and decides to leave it at that. For a brief moment he thinks about what else Steven has heard and has been keeping away from him, absorbing the blow of behind-the-back insults spoken clearly and deliberately under the guise of his supposed inability to speak French.

When he finishes the popsicle, he bites into the wood and bends it. 

“I understand…if you’d like to go back to London,” you speak suddenly. “I can leave too.” 

He entertains the thought for a minute, going back home, back to the sacred routine you two shared together. 

Lunch on Tuesdays. 

Brunch on Sundays. 

Late Saturday night movie showings, when it was just the two of you and he could steal handfuls of your popcorn and make you pout. When he’d buy you cotton candy afterwards to make up for it, cotton candy you regardless shared with him, simply because he’d bought it for you. 

The idea seems enticing. 

He misses you, that much he can admit. 

He’s barely seen you and usually when you talk with him it’s about trivial things. Asking about the name of the sushi place you went to together a few months before that had quickly become your favourite, if he wanted more wine or water, if he could help you set up the deck chairs. 

But in London he’s never seen you in your swimsuit, your face bare of any makeup, your hair loose and free. In London you’re constantly weighed down by the burden of a second language and work pants and blouses. 

Though he understands close to nothing of what you say, he’s come to appreciate truly how intelligent you are, your quick-witted retorts and your easy laughs. 

He also greatly appreciates your interactions with your niece, how much Anaïs enjoys spending time with you, coming into your room with picture books and falling asleep with you in the lazy afternoon sun. 

The images in his mind tug at something inside his chest, and he shakes his head, “That’s alright. I like it here.” 

“You do, really?” 

He nods, gives you an easy smile, “Of course. I needed a break from the city.” 

You exhale an easy breath, “It’s only Adrien that is the problem. The rest of them, they’re good…not…antisemitic.” You test out the word, the pronunciation perfect, the emphasis stumbling onto the fifth syllable instead of the fourth. 

Marc doesn’t correct you, though you insist on him doing so. He rathers you not learn a word like that. He rathers it not be reinforced as part of your vocabulary because of repeated use. 

He instead probes gently at the question plaguing him, trying to ask it without asking it, “Is that why you moved? Because of Adrien?” He anglicises your brother-in-law’s name deliberately, and revels when you don’t correct him, a bruise ringing out in pain as he thinks back to the argument in the living room. 

“Hm?” you laugh softly and shake your head. “Well, not just because of him. But he is stupid…and annoying.” 

“Is that what you said to him?” there’s a stitch in his heart that melts away as you laugh and your voice warms up towards him. “‘Con’. Is that what that means?” 

The corner of your mouth turns up mischievously, “More or less. It’s a good insult, you should speak it more.” 

“Okay,” he grins at you. “Okay, I will. Next time I run into him I’ll be sure to use it.” 

You giggle at his words delightedly, and stretch your hands above your head before a thought runs across your face and sours the mood. “Élodie will not be happy at me,” you groan and sink down into your chair.  

“Oh?” With both hands he starts to smooth up and down your calves. A selfish part of him delights at this information, that you’ve gotten yourself into trouble with your sister because of him. He rubs in it like a cat on concrete. 

You nod and look at him again, “Adrien and me, we never seen with the same eyes .” 

Frowning, he tries to make sense of your words, before laughing, “See eye to eye, you mean?” His bad mood has all but lifted now that he’s beside you and alone, the bitter taste gone from his mouth. Your old dynamic with him is starting to show again. 

“See eye to eye, that’s what I said.” 

He looks at you drolly, “No…you said you two don’t see with the same eyes.” 

“Same meaning!” you protest and roll your eyes playfully. “Besides, it sounds better when I say it like that.” 

Marc leans back in his chair and laughs easily. He wants to tease a little bit more, tell you that your English has definitely gotten worse over the past few days but he finds he doesn’t even mean it in a teasing way. 

You converse so easily in your native tongue. It makes him want to start taking lessons so he can talk with you, so he doesn’t hold the upper hand he does in your conversations together. 

Again, he wonders why you decided to move away. Away from your sister and your niece, your dickhead excuse of a brother-in-law. 

He’d hoped that this vacation would have helped him get to know you better, but you remain the enigma you’ve always been. He feels there’s a gaping hole in the image he’s created of you. He knows of the trivial things, and some non-trivial ones. 

You invited him over one weekend and he helped you make strawberry jam. Standing over boiling fruit and sugar you opened up to him, as he washed and cut the fruit, when you talked about your childhood, your parents and your sister. 

He was content with what you gave him. He returned much the same to you and he appreciates that you don’t try to stick your hands through the holes of his stories, why there’s the constant presence of his brother until suddenly it disappears, why memories of his mother are abruptly cut short at that time as well. 

But there’s a certain friction between you and your friends and family here in Bordeaux. It’s subliminal but the effect is still ever-present. In Élodie it manifests as some tough, older sisterly love. In everyone else, it morphs into quasi-resentment. 

And despite all his best intentions, he wants to know what it is. He’s not sure why he can’t let this rest, why he isn’t satisfied with the friendship you offer to him so selflessly. 

He’s murmuring your name before he’s had time to think it through. You look at him with a soft smile, softer than the blankets on your bed, he hates himself for what he’s going to do next, “Why did you move to London?” 

“What do you want to say?” The softness is fading into a hard defensiveness. Like the cornstarch and water experiment he did as a kid in a Chicago public school he’s long forgotten the name of. 

He goes suddenly shy at this, and he looks down at his lap, at your feet in his lap. The crash and sighs of the ocean behind him are a comforting white noise he enjoys listening to, as opposed to the argumentative chatter from earlier. 

With a shrug he tries to elaborate, “Well, you’d built a whole life here. There are people who care for you. I just…” with a deep breath he looks back up at you, at the wrinkles in your brow like the linen of the matching sets you’re partial to in Bordeaux. “Forget I said anything, hm? I think I’m drunk.” 

You tilt your head to the side, quite clearly neither letting it go or forgetting. He’d hoped it would have been both. “Marc, I don’t understand.” 

His hand is warm and soothing over your skin, he feels it is almost pleading with you. “It’s not you,” he waves his free hand around and tries to find a way to make it sound that he’s not breaking up with you. The alcohol having loosened the hinge of his jaw, he starts to ramble, “It’s not, really. It’s…I was being foolish, hm? What was it you said earlier? Con? I was being con, that’s all.” 

The last bit makes him wince. Steven would have pronounced it much better. Marc’s only gone and made a fool out of himself. 

“Why I left France, you mean?” you’ve barely noticed his nerves, eyes hazy as you look at him, almost through him. 

“Really, we don’t need to-” 

You don’t start to talk for a few, long minutes, but Marc’s stopped talking.

After a humid pause, you start to speak, “I…I wanted to go away. There was much going on in my life.” 

“Your sister misses you,” he says quietly, and regrets it almost immediately.

You laugh, a breeze running through your cardigan, “Of course she does. She was very persevering to stop me from going.” 

“Anaïs does too.” 

“Both of you manage quite well together, no?” 

His heart warms at the mention of your niece. Today, he’d played with her in the ocean for close to three hours. Had carried her in his arms until they reached the soft, warm sand and splashed around with her like two little ducks. He’d let her rub wet sand into his hair and his cheeks and his chest. She’d let him do it back to her and had burst out into a bouquet of giggles and the sounds had gone straight to Marc’s soul. 

He washed the sand off the both of them in the ocean, had held her underneath her arms and ran with her across the shoreline as she cried out in joy, her feet dragging through the water, so he kept going. He kept running to the point where a painful stitch started to form in his side. 

Once they were both considerably tired, he’d laid out a towel on the ground to let them dry off. Then she’d shown him the clapping games she plays at her daycare, singing along in words that Marc didn’t understand as her palm hit his over and over again. Her voice was soft like petals, slightly breathy and shy but gaining confidence the way a plant grows underneath the sun. 

“You’re her favourite now,” your smile is sweet. If he allows himself to read into it a little more, there’s an undercurrent of satisfaction, maybe even some smugness, “She doesn’t like her uncle Adrien nearly as much.” 

Marc is glad that it is dark enough that he doesn’t have to school his features into indifference. There’s a swooping seagull inside his stomach, it twists and bends and runs its wing in the clear waters of the ocean. 

Steven’s rings out in the headspace again, yet another smug, I told you so. 

Marc sometimes wonders if you would get along with Steven. If you would cherish your friendship with him the way he does yours. 

His alter is eager to meet you. On his best days, he’s always nagging about it and Marc always quips back that you’re still working at understanding English accents. Steven argues back that he wouldn’t even have to talk to you in English like Marc does, and that between the two of them he’s the more qualified one to be talking with you. 

That usually shuts the conversation up harshly. 

He’s considered introducing the two of you, and every time his fears get the better of him. Fear that one day a preference will grow inside of you like a weed and Marc will have to get shunned into a corner after having gotten a whole bellyful of your undivided attention. 

“Anaïs is a lovely girl,” he says, pulling himself out of his thoughts again. “I-I don’t really…get along with children well.”

“Really?” 

Marc is surprised to hear that you’re surprised. 

“Is-is that…” 

“You always seemed to me very good with kids.” 

He makes an embarrassed sound and looks down at his shorts, picks at some lint as his left eye closes in disagreement and uncomfort. “I don’t know about that.” 

He feels your eyes on him and he doesn’t look up. 

You change the subject again, which is strange because you usually push more on things like this. Times when he’s prone to brushing off kind words like dust off windowsills. First with the pad of his finger, then all at once with his palm, letting the dust pill up into uncomfortable little pellets that he’ll wash away with water and dishwasher soap to rid himself of the feeling.

“I got an email about a new play they’re showing.” 

The words are so familiar to him he may as well be on his lunch break with you, walking around London streets crowded underneath your plaid umbrella, your scarf a deep teal that compliments the colour of your hair. 

“Hm? What’s it called?” 

You shrug, lifting your chin at an angle as you try to think of the answer before giving up, “It was interesting. Should we go?” 

“When’s the showtimes?” 

“Next week, Saturday and Sunday.” 

He pretends to think about though he was already going to get tickets from your first mention of the show. “Alright, that’s sorted then, Saturday evening.” 

“What’s the idiomatic expression Americans say? It’s a date?” 

He nods, “It’s a date.” 

“But it’s not just for dates, is it?” 

He tells you that it’s not. “But try to avoid using it outside of it,” Marc finds he’s the most at ease when he’s talking to you about language. There’s very little ambiguity to it from his end, and if there is he usually can find the answer with a quick search. “It can cause confusion.” 

“So it’s not a date,” you tease back at him, bringing your knees into your chest. He misses your warmth and longs for it back, the lingering footprints of your touch against him a defiant testament against his wary mind. “You know, Élodie asked me if you were single last night.” 

“Hm?” His heart stutters at this. The secret he’s held from you for a while now bubbling up with hot lava, singing the insides of his stomach. You nod to set your words into stone, and he sighs trying to push through the panic wrapped around his lungs, “And what did you tell her?” 

You shrug, pick at a scab on your knee that you don’t know where from or when it came. “I said I thought you were.” 

“Why-” he tries to steady himself. “Why’d she care?” 

You shrug again. Marc leans forward and stops you from breaking skin again to let the scratch heal over without any setbacks. Your hand is both soft and rough. The saltwater’s been working away at it like sandpaper and he wonders if you’ve brought your hand cream with you or not. The one that smells like lilacs. 

“She likes to matchmake. Marie likes you, I think.” 

Marc’s embarrassed to realise that he doesn’t know who exactly Marie is. “I’m not…looking to date right now.” 

“Alright,” the word lies between your two chairs on the scratchy concrete. “I’ll tell her.” 

“Thanks.” He feels he should say something more, something along the lines of Marie being a great girl. Something that says he’s just busy with work at the moment, even if it would be a lie because he hasn’t clocked in overtime for close to a year now, the anniversary of your friendship looming up ahead in close to a month’s time. 

He swallows and tries to move through the cotton in his mouth, but you beat him to it. 

Marc should have read you well enough to know by the arch of your right eyebrow that you weren’t done with the subject. 

“I’ve never met any of your girlfriends.” 

Your persistence on this subject is like a thorn, but he answers you with the half-truth anyways, “That’s because I haven’t had any since we met.” 

You pause, but continue on, “Boyfriends, then.” 

He shakes his head, “No one. I haven’t dated anyone, not since we’ve become friends at least.” 

It’s clear you think he’s lying. You’re frowning and running your tongue over your bottom front teeth so that your lip juts out unnaturally.

He thinks about it for a moment and he feels like adding on that he isn’t lying about this thing, since he’s spending close to every prime date time with you. You’ve permeated his every free time like ivy. He’s turned his back on you and you’ve crawled up the walls and around the windows, filling in the spaces between his ribs inside his chest. 

For fear of more half-truths and quasi-lies eating away at the foundation of your relationship, he decides it’s time that you learn the truth about him. It’d been foolish of him to think that he could remain friends with you forever without you becoming curious as to his aversion to dating, his constant free time on the weekends, his eagerness to accept each and every suggestion you pose to him. 

“I-uh,” had he not drunk so much this evening, he thinks maybe he’d be more hesitant to say this to you. But it flows out of his mouth like sunshine from the sky and Marc for yet another time comes to learn how comfortable he’s become in your presence. “I’m divorced.” 

There’s a silence but Marc doesn’t know what to make of it. The night seems to have grown darker, the waning crescent in the sky not casting enough light for him to be able to pick cues from your body like flowers in a field. And even then, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you in such a situation for him to be able to recognise any familiar signs. 

“What was their name?” Your voice is soft, softer than he usually hears it. 

“Layla,” it comforts him a hair, through the pounding heart that’s ringing against his chest like a hammer, that her name doesn’t bring him any more pain. Right now, the greatest concern on his mind is losing the relationship he shares with you. “It’s been around a year and a half now.” 

“You miss her.” Your hands come to wrap around your knee and you let your other leg hang over the edge of the chair. Marc knows when you get up, there’s going to be indents of the wicker pattern in your skin like a shoreline. 

Though he can’t tell much, it comforts him that you’re only getting comfortable and not leaving. 

“I’ve gotten better.” 

He’s not sure he’s ever going to stop missing Layla, but he feels he stopped loving her for a while before they walked into that lawyer’s office together. He wonders if that’s going to make any sense to you, if he puts it like that. You must think missing someone means you love them as well. 

How does he explain to you the ten years he spent with her? The undeniable mark she’s left on his skin and the pieces of her hair he kept finding in his stuff as he unpacked and tried to settle into his new apartment. 

Maybe a little childishly, he turns the spotlight back on you, “I’ve never met any of your partners.” 

“I’ve never had any, since we met.” 

The words ring in familiarity through his mind. 

Something inside of him tells him that maybe you’ll understand the difference between longing and loving more than most would. He’d given up on Dr. Foster as a therapist because of that. 

He can’t help but chuckle at the similarities between your circumstances, as the true nature of the ease and comfort in your friendship is starting to get revealed to him like a new butterfly breaking free of its cocoon, its wings still crumpled and not ready for use. 

The heat of your breath falls over his legs and ruffles the edges of his shorts, “You asked why I moved to London…I was married once too.” Your hand runs through your hair and your leg is placed by the other, your feet on the cool concrete. Marc takes off his sandals and does the same. “He died. Five years ago. I moved because…well…” 

Finally you give a little shrug. 

The secrets the both of you have shared together rest on top of each other as would a precarious stack of books. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His words sound meaningless but he’s at a loss for what to say otherwise. He wonders what it was like for you, these past years when he didn’t know you. At least occasionally he gets to see Layla, hear her voice over coffee and meet the new girl she’s been seeing. 

“It’s alright,” you say it with a well-practiced ease. “It was a long time ago.” 

“Do you…” 

“Very much,” there’s a gentle pause and then you continue softly. “But I am like you, I’ve gotten better.” 

Everything seems to fall into place now, with low, quiet clicks. 

Why he’s gotten better, why you’ve gotten better. 

Why every single time he could have taken up Layla’s offer to get set-up with someone he’s instead made plans with you. 

Why every single Friday evening, you were free for a movie, or a play, or a concert or just had opened your door to him with Chinese in his hand and talked with him until the early hours of the morning over lo mein and egg rolls. 

There was a loneliness in you and was reflected in him. There was something inside you that seeked him out. And it’s been enough. For close to a year it’s been enough. It explains the familiar ease with which you and him share your time together. 

“So…” you continue in an easy voice. There’s a laugh hiding behind the corner. “You’re not seeing anyone?” 

“No,” his laughter comes so easily that it surprises him. “Not anyone at the moment. And I’m not looking to either.” 

The words you say next seem to hold a strange meaning for Marc, that he’s scared doesn’t actually belong there but he hears it anyways, “Me also, I’m not looking to.” 

From below, the ocean crashes like its kneading bread dough with itself, as if it’s the first time it’s happened, as if it’s done this for an eternity and will continue to as long as the Earth spins, as long as the sun shines, as long as you laugh and smile.

For the ocean, five years means nothing. The ocean understands what Marc feels for Layla, what you feel for your husband, what you feel for him, what he feels for you. It understands more than what Marc understands of himself. 

It understands from eternity to here. 

It understands from here to eternity. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

Translations:

Marc est juif! - Marc is Jewish!

Et alors? - So?

T’es con! - You're an asshole!

[autolenaphilia]

I'm happy the transunity blog is mostly dead or inactive. Because it and the theory it peddled was terrible.

Unity in this context was essentially a demand for ideological conformity. And that was to avoid critical scrutiny for the ideology it peddled. A large part of its argument was that all trans people experience misandry, even trans women because we are called men sometimes, and that's why we should feel solidarity with each other. The problem is that misandry is not real, i criticized the transunity blog post about it here. If it was real, cis men would be affected

And the very concept is anti-feminist, as it makes it impossible to talk about patriarchy and male privilege if men somehow experience oppression due to their gender, something I discussed previously here. Trans men experience oppression, but it's due to transphobia and not because men as a class are oppressed. We live in a patriarchy which means men are actually privileged for being men. And claiming transfems experiences of oppression is due to misandry is in itself transmisogyny and misgendering. It is a way of counting transfems as part of the class of men, but instead of arguing we thus have male privilege as terfs do, it makes an outright antifeminist argument that it makes us oppressed.

It's in itself a very offensive argument to transfems, and thus a shitty basis for trans community solidarity. Yet any criticisms transfems had of "transunitism" were seen by proponents as divisive, as undermining solidarity between trans people. The call for "unity" and "solidarity" (entirely divorced from real world organizing and activism too) became a way of dismissing any critical thought. The rhetoric made disagreeing with a transmisogynistic and outright anti-transfeminist ideology cobbled together online an act of community treason. The dismissing of criticism as "divisive" is of course an old one, used by men against all feminists for ages, and against antiracism and disbility rights activism as well. It presumes some kind of pre-existing unity and homogeneity that the critical thinker and activist is disrupting unnecessarily. It's a denial of the differences and divisons that already exist. As Umberto Eco said,"The critical spirit makes distinctions."

I do believe in trans solidarity. And you don't need to make up some new form of theory or analysis to justify such solidarity. It's called transphobia theory. All trans people have a shared interest in fighting transphobia. It's a shared oppression.

For example, the majority of us suffer from denial of healthcare. Many US states are moving towards banning it all together, especially for those under 18, but it's expanding into bans on adult care as well.. The ban on under 18 trans people is also the case in Sweden where I live, and for adults it's gatekept in a way that leads to years-long waiting times.

It's not exactly equal, some trans people don't feel a need for medical transition, and there are meaningful class differences. Wealthier trans people can pay their past medical gatekeeping, and afford procedures other trans people can't. Or access can depend on luck or circumstance in other ways. In Sweden, waiting times are actually growing longer, so someone who applies now will wait longer than those who applied earlier. We shouldn't deny these differences in access.

Yet fighting for healthcare access is a vital goal we can work together for, across many of our differences. My right to bodily autonomy and to transition as a transfem is fundamentally the same as the right for transmascs to bodily autonomy and transition. This means we can cooperate in the struggle for bodily autonomy and healthcare access, because we share an experience of oppression and we all serve to gain from it.

And that same analysis is valid for many struggles against transphobia. We have a shared right as trans people to not be discriminated against and recognized as the gender we are, so we can work together against transphobic discrimination.

We have to recognize the meaningful differences that exist in our community, such as those based on class differences, race, and being TME/TMA. It's not divisive to do so, because those divisions already exist, and fighting against oppression is the only way to end differences in privilege. Denying them only makes divisions worse. And there is no need for acknowledging these differences and fighting oppression within our community to hold back community solidarity in the struggle against transphobia.

[candlelightreader]

I am currently on a Jane Eyre bender, having watched every single adaptation since 1943 (I couldn't find 1934 or prior) in the last two weeks, and I have a lot of thoughts! But two thoughts are at the very top:

a) This piece of literature has had a TV or feature adaptation practically every decade, sometimes more, since the 1910s (and I'm only counting British and American version) and is we're due one this decade. Bring it on! I'll take a series after 2011, but hey 2006 is great already so maybe we just need another film? Or just give us the 2011 director's cut, you cowards!

b) (and this is the bigger point for today) I cannot explain to myself why, while I find age gaps intolerable in real life and especially in modern times, I really can't see it (and forget about it even) in Jane Eyre--for the most part. It doesn't truly bother me that she's barely 18 and Rochester 20 years older. Not even when you take into account the kind of life he led before he meets her and the added major power imbalance in their situation as boss/employee.

I mean, I have come to understand that the power imbalance given the norms at the time is the reason he brings in Ingram to try to get her to admit her feelings. He can't come outright and ask her for fear of appearing like a cad and stepping over the line if she doesn't reciprocate his feelings. At the same time, she can't ask him plainly because if she is wrong about his feelings, she'll only be the cliché governess who comes on to her boss and probably have to leave the very nice job and first refuge she ever had. So they are both at an impasse.

(I choose here to take at face value the idea that Bertha is truly mad and not driven mad and that the whole thing is tragedy because he's unable to divorce her. It's its own rant to discuss what she may represent or what the truth may be with her. Also noting that the age gap is only problematic because she's a teenager and he's basically middle-aged. If they had met later, at least nearer 25 for her, then it wouldn't be the same, although it really only stops being concerning after about 29, right?)

Anyway, I come back to the fact that I feel bothered that I am not that bothered that they have such gap. Because the other imbalances (wealth and employment status) adjust themselves eventually, but not age; he remains older and she younger. Is it because in the very specific context they are in they are equal in spirit and each really have something to teach the other? Or perhaps the time period? Because I definitely feel I would have an issue with the story if it was set in the 21st century, only because an 18yo today is not in any way the same as one in the mid 19th century.

She also has a superior self-awereness to her, given her life experiences that he lacks when they meet. He just has to first be humbled and taken down notches to get to her level. In that sense, he is no more mature for having lived longer and is stuck emotionally and perhaps mentally too in the age he was when his father and brother's died soon after his first marriage. But it remains she is a girl with absolutely no experience with men and he's a lothario who's been gallivanting the globe seducing women and being a sugar daddy.

One may say it's also because it is addressed by the characters themselves and that Rochester seems self-aware that he is much older, even at a time when many men of his station would see it as their due to get the 'young thing'. He makes remarks on his age in a way that diffuses the idea that she is blind to the potential for corruption that is there in their situation. He knows she deserves better.

But most important perhaps is that, in real life, the idea of a 38 yo and 18 yo getting together feels wrong because we have no insight into the relationship and only see the imbalance (justifiably because we know too well of the way older partners will manipulate their younger ones) no matter the gender. So the insight into Jane Eyre's mind manages to convince me of the validity of the relationship than if I was reading it as a document removed from her voice.

Jane Eyre is not the only story where I have contradictory views of age gaps. I am sure I've read other romances with gaps that don't bother me, when in real life I find it reprehensible for the most part.

Anyhow, I will certainly be looking into academic breakdowns of the couple to seek some answers, as I do.

These where thoughts I wanted to put down. Will come back later for thoughts on the adaptations.