#and put them in that situation. you understand.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Ways I can think of that “DanDaDan” differs from other shonen series:

* Female MC is as important as male MC

* Canon romance gets consistent development through the series. I think that’s part of the reason why the MC ships with the rivals (Aira, Jiji) aren’t as popular with the fandom for once. The main ship is actually getting good development, so the fanbase doesn’t have to make up headcanons to fill in the space.

* Flips the found family trope on its head by having the main group despise new people whenever they show up and they even actively try to kick them out. The new people only end up staying because they keep lingering around to the point that the main group just gives up and lets them stay.

* The rivals aren’t emo or angst-ridden. Aira is a delusional tryhard popular girl while Jiji is a himbo drama queen. I’d even go as far to say that the MCs are the ones who are emo and angst-ridden.

* Supporting cast is more than just important, they become integral to the story. I’d say that the further you read into DanDaDan, the more it becomes an ensemble cast where everyone is a protagonist in their own right.

* World-building is all over the place, but in a good way. Most other shonen are pretty consistent with what kind of world their characters live in. MHA is superhero-based, Naruto is ninjas and magic, Bleach is spirits, and so on. DanDaDan feels like the author just throws whatever cool shit they can think of into the story. That’s actually the reason why I wrote in a different post that DanDaDan reminds me more of Marvel/DC than any other shonen series, it manages to capture the catch-all insanity of those comics.

* Doesn’t rely on hidden power-ups. The main characters either have to outsmart the villains or they have to train to get better with the powers they already have.

* The pervert comic relief guy is actually endearing for once. Not because of his pervert tendencies, but because he’s so oblivious to how socially inept he is that it’s kind of funny. This is gonna sound strange, but he sorta reminds me of Thor in Thor Ragnarok. Full of himself and oblivious to how dumb he can be. He’s Thor without the good looks lol.

* Flips the “nerdy outcast loser somehow gets a harem” trope. Instead of making Okarun cooler than how he actually is, the story emphasizes that the women who fall for Okarun are as weird as him. Momo is a weird outcast, Aira has main character syndrome, Vamola doesn’t understand how to human because she’s literally not one, Rin thought Okarun was a vampire (and wanted him to be).

* Flips the “elderly figure in charge of the teenagers” trope. I don’t really get motherly figure vibes from Seiko Ayase, I get more “cool wine aunt who is stuck with her niece” vibes. In fact, there was the arc where Okarun showed up to her in spirit mode to get her help with fighting off the alien invasion and Seiko’s response was, “Well, I’m not in the area and I have other shit to do, so you kids figure it out.”

* The series takes the piss out of the trope of mystical/magical items that the group acquired to get their powers. I mean…the main mystical MacGuffin in the series are Okarun’s balls.

* Okarun was about to go into an “I’m weak / I wish I was stronger / I want to get stronger for my friends” breakdown, but Turbo Granny told him to shut up and keep fighting.

* Not afraid to put the “cool girl” in as many funny situations as possible. Off the top of my head, the series built up Momo as this cool, tough girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone…then several chapters later, Okarun found out she got a job at a maid cafe.

(Feel free to add to the list!)

[myownconsultant]

As someone who gave my “parents” a “second chance” and moved back in with them again & again, don’t do it, if you can. I only did it because it was a quick decision, I had no real support system. I was on the verge of tears, panic attacks, and I couldn’t find shelter or anywhere else that would take me in in a short amount of time. But there’s plenty of reasons of why this is so hard to permanently cut ties in the first place, and I’m not going to get into all that..but if you’ve never had to deal with these types of parents you would never understand, and if you’re not gonna help the person get out of the situation safely & actually support them fully, and not demonize them, then you have no say, no right to judge, and should be minding your business. Yes, I’ve realized we all have that choice to make, and sometimes you may need to trust strangers, but that’s not easy either, let’s all try to give each other grace no matter what peoples situation is. The last I want to feel is a burden, so it was easier to decline offers, (most are working w/ your family / parents so you gotta be careful) ofc I didn’t/don’t want to rely on abusive/toxic people anymore. And if you’ve had parents like mine, you would know that you can’t even talk to them about any problem or about moving out without them trying to sabotage it or getting angry, pretending to help, only to go back to putting your life in danger again. Then if you’ve ever gone no contact or tried to cut them off, they will get revenge on you, in my case they thought it was justified. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So yes it’s really that easy and your life will be a walk in the park after, anything but that..This sh*t is hell and I pray we all find a way to cope and move forward.

[milktiicup]

Can you make a Mr. Silver or Mr.Machete fic. I've barely seen any fics of them :(, just kinda been consuming what I can for a fic. The most common ones I encounter are Mr.Crawling and Mr.Scarletta (which I've finished all of them possibly)...

Any tag is good, fluff, angst, uh... smut? I'm just gonna read anything since I'm so content-deprived 😭

anatomy of feeling

He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together. The least he could do is kiss you in return, right?

‧₊ ᵎ�� 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ hhelellooooo have this mr silvair fic realising he actually kinda likes u lol

warnings. AAAAAAAANGST, unrequited feelings (kind of), mr silvair typical research (u know what i mean), hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING! :D

You don’t mind being a test subject- you were too far gone to even consider going home anymore. You were human, you were monster- and now you’re somewhere in between that you don’t have anywhere you can exactly call home, but Mr. Silvair was ‘kind’ enough to lend you his room, a bed to sleep on, all in exchange of hacking your body to a mushy pile of meat from time to time!

It’s not an ideal situation to be in, head over heels on the guy who researches your body inside out- and it’s not like he even likes you- you’re not even sure if Mr. Silvair is one to understand romantic feelings, anyway.

You remember the first day he indulged you- missing human skin to skin contact, missing a real connection to somebody. Mr. Gap had so kindfully lent you a magazine from the human world, and you can only imagine he gave you it free of charge because you were so down. Of course, it just had to be a magazine promoting some romance movie, the lead couple all snuggled up and kissing on the front page.

You broke down crying. You mean, of course Mr. Gap meant well, but really? It was an embarrassing state you were in, fat tears running down your face and dropping onto your legs.

Mr. Silvair had found you, obviously. Your new home was a research room. 

“You okay?” he asked, lips tugging into a frown. “Pain? Hurt?”

“Sad,” you corrected, using your raincoat sleeve to dry your eyes. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Me sad. Miss home. Want home.”

Mr. Silvair kneeled down in front of you. “This home.”

You bit your lip, and looked away. “Miss…” Stuff? Things? “...stuff from home.” You gesture to the magazine. “Humans. Touch.”

“Miss this?” he questioned, taking a seat beside you. He picked up the magazine, eyeing the front cover through his bandaged eyes, and flipped through the pages momentarily. “What miss?” 

You pointed to the front page. “...This ‘kiss.’”

“Mouth touch?”

You nodded. “Mouth touch.”

“Kish?”

You shook your head. “Kisssss,” you hissed the words out. 

“Kisssss,” he repeated, your hiss echoing.

You giggled, cheeks still wet from your tears. You wipe your eyes once more. “Miss kiss. Miss hug. Miss… human touch.”

Mr. Silvair set the magazine down and faced you. He patted the spot next to him, and you scooched yourself over. He tilted his head at you, a smile on his face. “Me kiss you?” he asked, and you froze. “Kiss you, you happy. Interested in kiss.”

The weight of his words settled over you like an uncertain storm. You studied Mr. Silvair’s face. The suggestion caught you off guard, yet his sincerity was unmistakable.

Your lips parted to speak, but no words came. Could he even comprehend what he was offering? Did he understand what kissing meant to humans, or was he simply trying to imitate the concept based on your longing? He had always been practical, clinical even, in his interactions.

Who were you kidding? Of course he doesn’t understand. He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together.

The least he could do is kiss you in return, right? 

You nodded, and Mr. Silvair didn’t make a move to kiss you at all.

“Teach kiss,” he said.

Oh. Right.

His lips, cold as they were, carried a surprising softness, almost cushiony. It was strange, almost surreal, feeling such a delicate part of him when so much of your life in his presence had been sharp edges, instruments, and prodding hands. There was no pressure in the kiss, no demand- just a willingness to learn. It was methodical, curious, like an experiment he was determined to get right.

After that moment, his kisses were a frequent part of your life. He sliced you, diced you, and put you back together and kissed you so softly afterwards that whatever remaining pain you felt was an afterthought. 

And you still weren’t happy. His kisses were to keep you in check, to keep you from being a sad little subject. And of course, your body may not be human, but your feelings and heart were. It just reminded you that no matter how much he touched you, or when he learned where to put his hands as the kisses deepened, that he was still unattainable. He still wasn’t yours, but you were his. 

“You okay?” he asks, offering you a hand off of the table. “Mind flawed? Shape flawed?” 

“I’m okay,” you reply with a shake of your head, and grasping his hand. “Mind good.”

Mr. Silvair smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist and interlocking your fingers together. His head ducks down, silver hair falling off of his shoulder and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes, indulge in the moment, and move your lips against his.

It hurt.

It was like pressing against a bruise you couldn't stop prodding- painful, but addictive in its familiarity. Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, you couldn’t forget that these kisses weren’t rooted in love or desire. They were a kindness, a calculated gesture to keep you "fixed," to stabilise his research subject.

And you couldn’t bear it anymore.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what his closeness did to you- how much it fed the ache of your loneliness while also making it worse. He didn’t understand the depths of your feelings, and he never would. For him, this was just another experiment, another connection to study and emulate. But for you, it was everything.

So you decided, silently and painfully, to stop kissing him.

The next time he leaned in, tilting his head expectantly, you pulled away ever so slightly. “Not now,” you murmured, offering a small, strained smile. He tilted his head, confusion flickering over his face, but didn’t press further.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. He continued his work as usual, observing, dissecting, and repairing you with the same meticulous care. But when the moments came- those pauses where he’d normally press his lips to yours- you’d shift away, redirecting the moment with a comment or a question.

And he noticed.

At first, he didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his brows furrowed whenever you turned away, the way his hands hovered near you, uncertain. He started lingering after procedures, watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. You could tell he was waiting, expecting.

One day, after yet another procedure, he hesitated longer than usual. His hand brushed against yours, his face mere inches away as he whispered, “Sad again?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No. Not sad.”

He frowned. “No kiss,” he said, more a statement than a question. His voice carried a weight you hadn’t heard before. 

You swallowed hard.“I don’t need it,” you said softly, though your heart screamed otherwise. “I’m okay.”

He stepped back slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d let it go. But then he spoke, “Kiss… make you happy.”

Your chest ached at the simplicity of his words, the sincerity behind them. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know how much more it hurt to keep pretending, to keep grasping at something that wasn’t real.

“It’s not about that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m okay. Really.”

Mr. Silvair didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded slowly, and turned away.

In the days that followed, he grew quieter. His usual precision faltered, his movements distracted. He still cared for you, still treated you with the same careful attention, but the pauses- the moments where he’d once leaned in for a kiss- were now filled with silence.

One evening, after he injected the medicine into your arm, you heard him speak from across the room. “No kiss… you not happy.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned your head to look at him. He sat at his desk, his hands clasped tightly together, his head bowed.

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back. Just how much more of this could you take before you break fully, and he couldn’t put you back together anymore? 

He looked up, his bandaged eyes meeting yours as though he could see straight through you. “Me not enough?” 

The words broke something inside you. Because he wasn’t enough- not for what you wanted, not for what you needed. But the truth was, you weren’t enough for him either. You couldn’t make a man who doesn’t understand like you. Any attempt was futile. 

So you stayed silent, letting the weight of your unrequited feelings hang in the air between you.

Days passed, and the silence between you and Mr. Silvair grew heavier, though neither of you addressed it directly. You carried the weight of your feelings alone, trying to convince yourself that distancing was the right choice. Meanwhile, his quiet melancholy lingered, each unspoken word from him carving a deeper ache in your chest.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

You sat on the bed, fiddling absentmindedly with the corner of your raincoat. Mr. Silvair had been working at his desk for hours, his silver hair catching the faint light as he scribbled notes and adjusted instruments. You thought he was too absorbed in his research to notice you, but suddenly, he turned.

“I…” he began, his voice hesitant, and he stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.

You glanced up, startled. “What is it?”

He stopped just in front of you. Your legs hung off the bed. “You… stay sad,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “No pain. No hurt. Shape good. Mind good. Why?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“Explain,” he pressed, his tone more insistent. “Want you happy.”

It was as if someone had dumped ice cold water on top of you. Want you happy. Why? He shouldn’t have cared in the first place if you were happy or not- he should’ve just cared that you were sound of mind, and not trying to kill everything in this place. Your hands shook. Your breathing picked up. Your heart hammered uncomfortably against your rib cage.

Your fists clenched. You scowled. “Why care?” I’m nothing but a subject. “Me… only research.”

Your question caught him by surprise. He frowns, and takes a seat next to you on the bed. Mr. Silvair is silent for a moment, processing, thinking. “Not-...” he stops himself. You gaze at him from the corner of your eye, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. “Not only research.”

Great. Friendzoned. 

“You don’t understand,” you say, “You don’t feel like I feel, Mr. Silvair. You can’t understand.” And under your breath, you utter, “Told me that a million times already…” 

“Teach me,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught at his words. They were so simple, so stark in their honesty, yet they cut through all your swirling thoughts. Teach him? How could you possibly teach someone like Mr. Silvair something as complex, as human, as love? Did he even have the capacity for it?

You stared at him, analysing. Was he being… for real? His bandaged eyes stared intently at you as if he could see straight into the messed up web of your emotions. His lips, which had been both your salvation and your torment, were pressed together in a slight, thoughtful frown.

“Teach you…” you repeated, your voice trembling. “How?”

He tilted his head. “Teach ‘kiss,’” he pointed out softly. “Teach this. This feeling.”

You knew better than to believe in it. He didn’t know what it meant to love, not in the way you felt it, not in the way humans could. He was a scientist, a researcher, so lost in his experiments that he’d forgotten what it meant to simply feel without measuring it, calculating it, dissecting it into pieces. He wanted to understand, yes- but could he really? 

“Can’t…” you mumbled. “I don’t think I can. Cannot learn to feel. You don’t feel like me.”

Mr. Silvair’s frown deepened, and he reached out, his cold fingers brushing yours. The touch was hesitant, almost unsure, but it made your heart ache all the same. “Feel... something,” he said, voice low. “When you sad, me… don’t like.”

You stared at him, startled. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not by any means, but it was more emotion than you’d ever heard from him before. More than you thought he could express.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why do you care if I’m sad?”

He hesitated again, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. You half expected an Me interested in you, but… “You… important,” he said haltingly, as though the words themselves were foreign to him. “You hurt, me feel wrong. Dislike. Interested in you… care you.”

Your heart ached. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Want you happy. Interested… learn. Want learn.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, hope stirred in your chest. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the fairy tale romance you’d dreamed of, but it was real.

“Then… let’s figure it out. Together.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Together.”

This time, when he leaned in, you didn’t pull away. The kiss was still awkward, still unsure, but it carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before—a promise, fragile but genuine.

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you’d found a place to call home. Not in a room or a world, but in the arms of someone who wanted to learn how to care for you as much as you cared for him.

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ keep on comin’ back

babydaddy!toji x fem!reader

the reason he keeps on comin back.

tags: dilf toji, explicit language, dirty talking, creaming, squirting, mentions of breeding, missionary, riding, creampie, nipple play, spanking, etc.

note: shoutout to oomf who said toji keeps coming back to me, you the inspo for this.

“What are you doing here? It’s not my week—hi megs, mimi!” you diverted your attention from your baby daddy to your adopted son and your daughter, hugging their small bodies; before letting them inside of your house.

Turning back around to block him from getting in, you bring up your question again. “What are you doing here? Don’t think you’re getting any, last time was a mistake.”

“Last time we almost gave those two another sibling and I didn’t hear you complaining when you were screaming my name and scratching my back up, while i made you cum back to back.” You bit your lip as he helped you remember the last time he unexpectedly came over, which led to you having multiple mind blowing orgasms that night; and a pregnancy scare.

“well that’s never gonna happen again. now are you gonna answer me?” you stared at his green eyes, arms folded over one another—unconsciously pushing your boobs up through your black beater.

“megumi’s supposed to be having a sleepover with his best friend, yuuji, at our place, but the plumbing’s backed up for like a good week. so, he asked could we do it at mommy’s house. plus, mimi said she missed her mommy.” you cooed and looked back at your daughter and step-son, watching them play with one another.

and before you could open your mouth up to ask a follow up question, toji beat you to the punch.

“tried to find somewhere else for me to go. but, there wasn’t any hotels available. and i think it would be great for the kids to have both parents under one roof. what do ya think?” he asked and you sighed, before moving aside to let him in.

“bags are in the truck,” he smiled and kissed your cheek, turning on his heel to grab their things from his car.

being in an on again and off again relationship with each other was took a toll on you both, but it was also tough for the kids. they couldn’t understand why mommy and daddy aren’t together, however it was moments like this they were happy to have. and deep down inside, you both felt the same.

Toji returned with their bags and made his way up their stairs to the kids room, and the guest bedroom, with mimi hot on his tail. While the two of them got situated upstairs, megumi followed you into the kitchen to help you with tonight’s meal. You giggled as you watched him put on his mini apron before stepping onto his stool to watch you clean some meat for dinner.

Megumi watched with an intent stare as you moved with ease, learning from you while you cooked. “mommy? do you love dad?”

his question caught you by surprise and you nearly sliced your finger off. “yes, but not as much as i love you,” he giggled when you ruffled his raven locks before focusing back on the meal. although megumi’s mom died when he was a baby, you still loved him like he was your own. and truth be told, you really did love toji; no matter how many times he annoyed you.

“so, then why aren’t you guys married? my friend yuuji said that his dad said if two people love each, they should marry each other. plus, i saw this shiny ring in dad’s room at the other house—“

you eyes were wide. a fucking ring? there’s no way—maybe he’s got someone else in mind…right?

“mm…i don’t know. hey, you wanna have that sleepover still? go get the house phone and I’ll call yuuji’s dad.” you nervously laughed and watched him leave, before sighing out.

there’s no way, right?

—

the next couple of hours flew by, your mind was practically a blur—still caught up on the fact that toji has a ring and that he could possibly propose to you.

even though you guys broke up on good terms, parts of you missed him. real bad. you missed having him in your arms at night. missed his scent being all over you. missed him being with you and the kids. missed having him so deep inside of you almost every night.

and the reason the two of you broke up was because of him. he pushed you away, pushed you away from his heart.

yuuji came over and was having a ball with your kids, before the three of them crashed for the night, finally allowing you to have some time for yourself. you lounged on your plush brown couch, glass of wine in your hand as you caught up with one of your favorite shows, when toji’s deep voice echoed through your ears.

“knew I would find you here. what are ya watching?”

“uhh supernatural….toji can i ask you a question?”

“ya just did,” he chuckled and ducked when you hit him in the head with a throw pillow. “you know what i meant.” he nodded and you sipped some more of your wine before turning to look at him, your heart beating out of your chest; while you felt a heartbeat elsewhere.

“the ring you have, is that for me?” there was pause and his eyes caught yours. and before he could open his mouth, you spoke once more.

“meg’s told me you had it. do you really wanna marry me? do you think—“ your nervous rambling was caught off by his lips. the scar on his upper lip rubbing smoothly against yours, making you moan out. and when he pulled away, you whimpered; yearning for more.

“gotta teach him to keep secrets. damn big mouth.” he teased megumi and you gave him a slight kick, giggling at him, before he pulled you onto his lap—your plush thighs melting against his waist.

“but, yeah. ‘m gonna marry you. make you mine and pump you full of my babies,” his last comment sent shivers up your spine and you could feel your panties moisten with arousal. the tension was overwhelming and you couldn’t take it anymore. you crawled off his lap and swiftly pulled his dark grey sweatpants down to his knees, making his fat cock spring to life; before you immediately wrapped your plump lips around his head.

toji sucked in some air and tangled his thick fingers in your hair, pulling it while you worked your way down his dick. his cock was coated with your salvia, dripping down from his angry red tip—to the top of his balls, before you scooped it up and rubbed it all over him.

he was in pure bliss. basking in the sheer pleasure you were giving him. his jaw clenching as you made a sloppy messy on him, trying to suppress the moans that wanted to slip; until you swirled against his frenulum & teased his tip, making him loudly groan out.

you released him with a ‘pop’ sound echoing, your small hands jerking him off while you maintained eye contact with him, “shhh don’t wanna wake them up. now do we?” the look on his face sent a jolt of electricity up your spine and to your aching cunt, causing a switch to flip inside of you.

he watched you quickly pull your panties down, your slick sticking to the fabric, webs of your arousal following; before you squatted down onto his lap once more. “need you inside. need you to cum deep inside of me.”

you whined when you pushed him in, walls immediately stretching out and wrapping around him. this is what he missed. this is why he kept coming back…..well, one of the reasons.

his hands met your hips and helped guide you up and down on his dick, tip pressing into your cervix every once and a while. it didn’t take long for the moans to flow out freely from your mouth as you continued to bounce, stuffing you. and soon, you became even more gushy, cunt squelching while cream started form around his base—sticking to your skin while you moved.

“fuck you’re so tight. missed this pussy,” his hands collide with your ass, the fat rippling from the impact. he gripped the globes of your ass, loving the soft fat, before resting his hands on one of your cheeks.

everything about this felt sooo good. the noises you created and the touches he was giving you, was sheer bliss and you could feel an orgasm approaching. toji could feel you clenching down on him repeatedly and he groaned at the sensation. with his free hand he pulled the sleeves to your beater down—pushing it down a little—before putting one of your plump mounds into his mouth.

the warm, wet feeling of his mouth made you throw your head back; still enduring the workout of bouncing on his fat cock.

he didn’t know how he was able to last this long inside of you, especially with how long it’s been since the last time and the unbelievable head you gave him. but, he was nearing his end too.

you could feel his hands move to your waist, before your back met the soft plushness of the couch and your legs were planted at his sides. now, his cock was nestled deep inside of your tummy, hitting your spot each time he thrusted.

toji reached underneath your thighs and pulled out your wet sticky underwear, putting it into your mouth to muffle the lewd noises that left your lips. your eyes was rolling back into your head as he fucked an orgasm out of you. well, that is until he pulled you by your hair; forcing you to watch him fuck everything out of you.

“look at the mess yer makin—shit! cum for me mamas”

oh the mess you made.

specks of white blurred your vision as you stomach caved in and a stream of clear fluid splashed out, drenching his black t-shirt and the cushions underneath. you had reached nirvana, but the pleasure didn’t stop there.

toji’s grip on your hair tightened while he pounded your cunt silly—splitting you open, pumping thick white ropes of his seed inside of you.

unable to formulate any words, he just smashed his lips onto yours; hands around your neck as the two of you shared the best orgasms of your lives.

this was it. this is exactly what you wanted. what he needed. why he kept coming back.

he sat back, catching his breath while you started to come back to reality, staring at you with pure love. “guess we gotta order a new crib. hm?”

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

❥𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧;

Crew members x Afab! Insecure! Reader.

summary: you express to your partner that you are insecure about your acne and stretchmarks.

a/n: this is going to be a pretty self indulgent thing because I struggle with body image as well.

warnings: sensitive topics,body image.

𝓒𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷,𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓵𝔂.

this guy is physically unable to grasp the concept that you're insecure, about your body.

he is genuinely at a loss of words,like... are you being fr? acne? stretchmarks? such trivial things?

he finds your acne cute,and your stretchmarks sexy,the thought that they could be sources of insecurity for you didn't even occur to him.

—"y/n such things do not make you any less beautiful,these things are a normal aspect of human life,why would you ever feel bad? If you ever even think,that these things will make me love you even slightly less,then you've gone crazy. I love you y/n,i love everything about you".

𝓒𝓸-𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓸𝓽, 𝓙𝓲𝓶𝓶𝔂.

He didn't even notice them in the first place.

Jimmy is a cold bastard,sure. But judging your body? Such things are below him. He couldn't care less.

Jimmy loves you, because of who you are,not what makes you. he couldn't be less bothered about acne and stretchmarks,why would he? They aren't things to be afraid of.

—"wow just how privileged you have to be for your concerns to be so trivial,y/n if you really think such silly things make you any less beautiful then maybe you should get your head checked out first,c'mon really?,stop being goofy and get up, let's go and watch tv instead".

𝓝𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮,𝓐𝓷𝔂𝓪.

she's baffled that you would even think like that,she understands that insecurities are a normal aspect of the human psyche.

but still,she's speechless,she thinks that someone as gorgeous,as jaw droppingly attractive as you could even be Insecure? Over things like stretchmarks and acne?

—"y/n,these stretchmarks and acne which you have? they make you beautiful,they don't take away anything from your beauty, you're a human being,being. these things are not on your body for you to feel bad, they're here to remind you that you're human,plus I think your stretchmarks are gorgeous. You're the best thing to have ever happened to me y/n, don't you ever feel like you're worth anything less than the best".

𝓜𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓬, 𝓢𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓪.

he has experience with situations like these.

this man doesn't give two fucks about your acne or stretchmarks.

—"tsk,if ya really think that stuff like this is gunna make you any less gorgeous, then ya better just stop thinkin' put ya brain to rest. c'mon let's get some bagel and coffee"

𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷, 𝓓𝓪𝓲𝓼𝓾𝓴𝓮.

HUHHHHHH? WHAAAAAT?™

Bro is befuddled, bamboozled, hornswoggled, hoodwinked, outmanoeuvred at your words.

nah this man can't even understand as to acne and stretchmarks could be bad things.

"Y/N YOU ARE LIKE LITERAL PERFECTION PERSONIFIED, WDYM SOME STRETCHMARKS AND ACNE MAKE YOU FEEL UGLY???????", I'M SAYING THIS EXTREMELY SERIOUSLY. YOU ARE THE PRETTIEST,COOLEST, BEAUTIFULLEST GIRL I'VE EVER LAID MY EYES ON. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU.

Proceeds to smother you in kisses.

[zorbik-guligan]

Not really sure what incongruous means so I'll look it up after but it does feel like as i get older life gets more complex theres more things i understand now that sure i knew about them before but not in great detail but it feels like I've become so fucking complex as a person that if i tried to explain what i actually think and feel it would just overwhelm a person so i try and section myself off into pieces and just use different parts of me with different situations or people and it may just be because ive spent most of my time these past 2 almost 3 years now alone with nothing to do but think and figure myself out that when im asked what i think about something slightly personal its kinda hard to say it just got lost in my head somewhere and that whatever i think will change at a moments notice like i can bring up memories of lots of things and remember nostalgic times but i spent so long thinking about why i feel a certain way or what makes me feel a certain way in order to try and get a better hold of myself that ive kinda forgotten alot of my past like so many memories that i made are just gone because remembering them made me feel a way i dont want to feel like i remember realizing the beginning of 6th grade that i had completely forgotten 5th grade and the reason why was because that time i had was so nice yet not at the same time my brain just frogot because it didn't want a reminder of how good yet not something can be like great teachers who for the first time ever actually seemed to care as far as i could tell class mates who were generally friendly and occasionally checked on me if i seemed off yet i felt so alone cause nobody there really seemed like a real friend like the friends i had before who even when we were in deep trouble wouldn't rat me out and would stick with me who genuinely cared and missed me if i was sick getting older and not having anyone to socialize with for really formative years off my life has made understand those really old dudes who are nice and always up to make friends but just seem extra lonely for some reason despite knowing so many people i guess technically being that alone did hurt me but i kinda learned that im just not alone ever when im outside theres always some squirrels birds or plants nearby that make it more lively its why ive grown so fond of certain forested spots they are always lively and it feels like hanging out with all my friends its also why i enjoy making things like with metal or wood stone or even writing and painting those things feel alive in a way same with music and having time to think so much has made me reflect and realize that no day is the same and even when something changes something else stays the same or gos back to how it was in a weird cycle like growing but remembering where you were growing older for me anyways is like gaining more skills and more knowledge not just on the stuff around me but on myself too obviously people change sometimes pretty quickly too but getting older makes you learn more about yourself which duh that how life works but still it feels weird to be aware of it at 17 when it feels like i should still be trying to figure out my favorite youtuber or something not contemplate who i am as a person and what makes me feel the way i do but its a good kind of weird and theres always more to learn and find so i still have plenty of room to learn more about myself still not being able to really fully let a person know you kinda sucks but to be fair that is a rather special thing its also nice being able to put into words why i feel a certain way so that i can actually explain myself instead of just going quiet cause i dont know myself that well still kinda funny to know your own problems but not be able to jusy fix them when you know its a very deep problem even when it seems surface level and damn i got kinda personal there woops also just noticed that im shaking so might be overwhelmed remembering 5th grade which is probably why i frogot it or at least thought i did

anybody else feel that being human is like being a long-time syndicated cartoon character watching the world get more complex while your own design stays the same until youre incongruous with the reality around you??

[amethystfairy1]

Regarding the Iskall Situation...

I've received a lot of asks wondering about what my take is on it, and since I'd prefer to have it all taken care of in one swoop so we don't have to continue to focus on it, here's my stance on the subject.

A: Yes, I have seen the credible evidence from Kasszki, I read the doc they posted, and I feel awful for them and the other victims that they had to deal with this. I'm glad to hear that the Hermits and others were supportive of them and helped them handle this situation in as professional a manner as possible. I have also seen the credible information from False that Stress left for her own separate reasons.

B: I strongly denounce Iskall's behavior, and I have absolutely zero intention of supporting him as a creator ever again.

C: Please don't pester the creators or the victims. I said it in my initial response to this situation before we knew what had happened, but my opinion remains the same here. Any information we get from the Hermits is a privilege, not a right. Hermitcraft and it's associated fandoms are well known for being healthy, good spaces, and I'm proud to be a member of this community. Now our money is where our mouths are. Please don't feed into the rumor mill, please continue to support the Hermits as you always would and don't pry or demand more details from them. This is a very difficult situation for all of us, and I'm certain it's even worse for all of them. Please keep in mind the Hermits are all grown adults, many of them had professional careers before they joined Hermitcraft, and they are handling this in as professional a manner as they are able. I applaud them for that. As their fans, we need to do the same.

What are my plans for Iskall and Stress in TTSBC?

Understandably, I've received several asks about what I plan to do about Iskall and Stress's characters in TTSBC. I've answered them individually, but I just want to put this here as a one-stop spot for what my stance is so it's clear.

I've always been a 'character not content creator' author. My characters are just that, characters. Does that mean I can completely remove them from the creators upon which they are based? No, of course not. That's not how this works, either. So here's my plan moving forward.

The two stories that heavily feature Iskall in TTSBC, "Run with It' and "Carry me Home Tonight" will remain up. They are timestamped with their dates of posting which was long before any of this came out, and again, they are very clearly meant to be characters, not the creators.

Iskall will be removed from the TTSBC: Wiki, and I will not be writing any new content for his character.

Does that affect the plot of TTSBC? Yes, it does. I'm not going to pretend it doesn't, and those of you who have followed the series at length can likely see where the issues arise...but I'm an author, and I can pivot. I also have an awesome little team behind me of @silver-sunray, @boo-the-ahh, and @khoirkid who are helping me to make sure TTSBC carries on smoothly despite this unforeseen struggle.

Stress will not be removed from the TTSBC: Wiki. As I mentioned in an ask earlier, her role in the story is very minor, and I hadn't planned for her to have any other pieces to herself outside of Hermit-a-Day May anyway...so aside from specific instances where it might be necessary to mention her, she will not be making any more major appearances. This is mainly because I'm a Hermit/Traffic/Empires writer, and I plan to stick to that notion unless future events cause me to pivot otherwise.

Lastly, I would appreciate if we could avoid anymore asks about the situation. If there are any further updates I'm sure I'll find that out on my own, I'm very active in this fandom and I see things pretty quickly when they spread, so if any new things related to this situation spring up, while I greatly appreciate your concern for me and my work, please don't send it to my inbox or in DM.

I'm very saddened by this, as I'm sure many of you are. Hermitcraft and it's associated fandoms have been my safe space for many years, through some of the hardest moments of my life, and with the mess that MCYT has proven itself to be at times, it felt like we were untouchable here. But like Doc said, the Hermits are good, and they are strong. And as their fans and supporters, we need to be the same.

Be good, be strong, and let's make sure our lovely community continues to be the positive space it always has been.

-Amethyst

[maxdibert]

“Sirius killed people-“ so did Snape, supposedly loved Lily but betrayed her location to Voldemort because he was jealous of James actually winning her heart, not to mention convincing Harry the abuse was his fault, nearly giving Neville PTSD to the point where his boggart was Severus Snape himself, being a racist pos to anyone born of muggle parents, and becoming a high ranking member of the death eaters so what? He could protect Harry?

“It’s easier to cry in a Ferrari-“

it’s easier to defend a terrible character and play the racism and eat the rich card when you can’t understand context and inference clues that JK Rowling laid out.

What’s easy is inventing canon. What a load of made-up nonsense, mate.

1. Learn to read. I didn’t say Sirius killed anyone, but he did attempt murder. And he did it because he thought it was funny to torture Severus.

2. There’s no evidence that Severus killed anyone before Dumbledore asked him for euthanasia. This is made quite clear when Dumbledore talks about his concern for Draco’s soul, and Severus immediately questions him about his own soul. If Severus is so worried about it, it’s implied he hadn’t killed anyone before—or at least not in cold blood.

3. Have you even read the books? The only person who knew the Potters’ location was Peter. He’s the one who betrayed them.

4. There’s no evidence he was a racist. First off, equating racism with the concept of blood purity not only trivializes a serious social issue but also makes it clear that some of you have no idea what racism is or its history. The discriminatory dynamics and their foundations are completely different. But anyway, putting that aside, there’s no evidence whatsoever that Severus discriminated against Muggle-borns. The only time he makes a comment is during the incident with Lily—which, conveniently, happens when James and Sirius are sexually assaulting him, and Lily seems to smile at James. I don’t think you can judge someone’s ideology based on a comment made in an extremely tense moment. Canonically, Severus doesn’t treat Muggle-born students worse in class or make comments about their heritage. Nor does he badmouth Muggles. At most, he makes condescending remarks—which, let’s be real, all the characters do, even the “good ones,” because they’re ridiculously patronizing toward Muggles.

5. Severus was literally a double agent and reached the highest ranks of the Death Eaters to, yes, protect Harry. That’s literally why. He’s following Dumbledore’s orders. Like, have you read the books, or are you just pulling this stuff from fanfics? 99% of what you’ve said so far is pure fantasy, mate.

6. Yes, love, it’s actually pretty easy for me to defend people whose actions are a direct consequence of their life circumstances, and whose poor decisions were directly influenced by a lack of opportunities, security, and the violence of their environment. In fact, that’s literally my job. That’s what I do for a living.

Look, I don’t give a damn if you’re a Sirius fangirl. You can love a character while admitting he was a massive piece of crap. I love The Penguin, and there’s no way to justify him at all. Like, it’s fine, you know? You also have every right to feel sorry for him—I’m not going to judge you for that or anything. I’m not invalidating other people’s feelings if they think Sirius’s life was super tragic and feel a lot of compassion for him. Everyone has their own feelings and points of empathy. But that’s not the case for me. I don’t feel sorry for him. There’s no excuse for being an abusive bully with sociopathic tendencies toward someone who was canonically in a position of social and economic disadvantage. If Severus had come from a good family, with money and power—or if Sirius had been someone without a name, wealth, or status—then I’d view the situation differently because they would have been on equal footing. But just like the Black family chose Muggle-borns to torture because they knew they could, Sirius chose Severus because he knew he could. He’s a hypocrite and a piece of garbage. At least Bellatrix admitted her tendencies.

[penpatronuswhump]

I’m angry at Eddie.

Right now I want the version of him who raised his voice when Chris stayed up late to play video games (and - for once - it’s not just because he was totally hot when he was so stern).

Moving to El Paso is - forgive me - a cowardly choice. He’s actually running away from his responsibilities, not relocating closer to his son.

He’s acting like Shannon, actually.

He’s letting his parents win. They’re spoiling Chris.

And Eddie is - forgive me - being a poor role-model for his son.

Has he even once asked, “When do you want to come home” or said “I want you to come home” to Chris? Let alone something like, “I will be picking you up and bringing you home on Saturday and, no, that is not up for debate”?

It’s been enough time. He’s given Chris enough space. Now is the moment when he should inform his child that he will be returning home where they will go to therapy together and work out their issues as a family.

And when his parents put up a fight, he should say, “I am picking up my son. I do not need your permission to bring him home. Chris is returning to LA.” And when they fight harder, he has his rights.

I want to shake Eddie and remind him that he’s not powerless. He is the authority in this situation. He is Christopher’s father. Chris is a child and it is Eddie who decides where he lives.

Coddling Chris, being overprotective, letting him call the shots and not talking about what happened is only making things worse. It will be painful to talk to Christopher about Kim and Shannon and his grief but that’s better for them both. Eddie wants to avoid that pain. I get that. But in doing that he’s teaching his son that we just ignore the elephant in the room instead of confronting it. Frank would not approve! Ha.

Eddie should inform his parents and son that he’s on his way to El Paso to bring Chris home. He should put Buck in his truck and drive.

And Chris will be mad. But, later - maybe years later - he’ll understand that was the right choice.

[definitivelydrivel]

As someone with very very very bad but effectively treated OCD, this. All of this. Though for me, it's more, because pragmatism is the name of the game for me, because morality is subjective enough that the inherent doubt used to eat me alive until I found a new way to look at things.

I used to have this terrible perfectionistic OCD dread about a vague sense that there's some ethereal impossible perfect way of being and doing that I'm always falling short of. It ate my mind and tore apart my life for years till I finally took off the values judgement punishment goggles and started thinking about things more objectively.

And it's funny. Once I stopped trying to moralize every little thought and deed, I started looking at my actions based on a combination of intent and cause and effect. Focus on actions and consequences instead, things got so much better. I wasn't wasting all my time hating myself instead of putting in work to do better.

And that is the thing. Feeling bad because you're obligated to feel bad is useless as penance. It doesn't fix anything, doesn't help anyone, and it actively hurts you. Others too, sometimes.

If feeling bad does fuckall to help improve your outcomes and actions, then fuck it. It's a useless pointless waste of time. If you insist on performing penance then seek absolution in action. Take steps towards habits and actions that align with your values and produce meaningful outcomes instead of torturing yourself needlessly.

Cuz guess what? Torturing yourself needlessly, wallowing in your emotions makes you more of a burden, but the people who love you are already putting up with that. Feeling bad for burdening them doesn't help. So if you feel bad then stop focusing on ot, stop drowning in those bad feelings. Try to accept yourself and your situation and focus on what you can do to do better.

Trying to do better while throwing all your energy into feeling bad is like trying to drive while stomping on the brake. You're just fucking up your car, dude.

I think the bit about thinking about who you want to be is good but for me that means living based on my values. I know what I want and what's important to me. I know my priorities and how I want to treat people, so I try to think about whether my actions and decisions fit my values, because being kind and understanding is one of my most important values and frankly, living up to that is tough but I am always happier living up to my values. There's a satisfaction in it that you just can't get by hounding yourself over every little failing of flaw.

We're human. Flaws come with the territory. Please, if you're stuck in a punitive mindset, please try to make peace with the fact that perfection is impossible, some people will always be shit and we can't fix that. Focus on moving yourself forward instead of tearing yourself and everyone around you down.

It's not a green light to let people hurt you but ffs give yourself and others some empathy.

Every single day people on tumblr say "what if the shit moral OCD tells you was true and living by it was the only way to be a real progressive"

[3hks]

How to Write Emotional Dialogue Without Being "Cringy"

Did you ever want to write an emotional scene between characters but suddenly felt so conflicted because you're worried it might seem cringe? I, for one, have (and still do) worried about this! So today, I'll share some tips on how to make your dialogue LESS cringy and MORE emotional!

But for starters, what exactly makes something "cringe"?

Our media actually plays a big part in shaping what we find to be cringe, so certain words or phrases tend to stick out to us as "cringe". But when it comes to writing, it depends mainly on the context given.

So, with that being said, something that's meant to be emotional might seem cringy and awkward because the scene falls flat. Now that you understand the base cause of this, let's explore some ways to avoid it!

>>> OMIT, DON'T SAY

If you ever found yourself writing out a line that, no matter what, still seems awkward, then the problem may lie in the line itself. Sometimes it's unnecessary to say everything; your readers are smarter than you might think! There's a lot you can omit in dialogue while still maintaining a natural feel, whether it be through body language or hidden meanings behind certain words!

EX:

Prompt: "You're so fake, you think you can hide from the world, but you can't. What if someone finds out the real you?"

"I'll just put on another mask."

V.S

"What do you think?"

Regardless of whether you find the first response cringe or not, you can also see that the alternative response hints at a similar answer despite not confirming or denying anything!

>>> BE BRIEF

Unless your character is ranting or you're strategically elongating their dialogue, try to keep their lines concise. Many people will speak briefer as a result of uncomfortableness, sadness, and/or anger.

If a piece of longer dialogue looks odd to you in a certain situation, that might be because your character seems to be trying to explain something too much when it wasn't your intention to create that effect. Filler words (uh, um, oh,) are fine because they're a part of natural speech, but sometimes it's better to get straight to the point!

>>> FILLERS

Speaking of filler words, they can become really useful when writing emotional dialogue because they can portray a variety of emotions! (They can depict feelings of anxiousness, sadness, and more.) Additionally, stutters and ellipsis are helpful for the same reason! Overall, these incorporations really spice things up! Unnaturalness can be a cause for cringiness, and fillers assist in making dialogue feel more natural!

>>> ITALICS FOR RANTS

Okay, but what about rants and purposefully long dialogue? How do we make these more meaningful when essentially, we're just talking about big blobs of text?

Here, it's important to add dynamic to catch the reader's attention. When we read, it's like a voice is talking in our heads, and the voice is ultimately determined by subtleties like italics!

So, with that being said, use italics (I suggest incorporating them regularly, actually) when writing LONG texts! It creates a flow and rhythm for our reading, and most importantly, adds emotional weight to certain words/phrases, which highlights what your character prioritizes and cares about most!

EX: "I-I thought we promised! You said you wouldn't leave--so why are you leaving now? Was it my mistake? I'll change, I swear! (etc...)"

V.S

"I-I thought we promised! You said you wouldn't leave--so why are you leaving now? Was it my mistake? I'll change, I swear! (etc...)"

See? With just a few italicizes here and there (although you do want to be strategic about which ones you italicize), the simple dialogue quickly grew more weighted!

>>> DON'T RE-READ TOO SOON

In the end, the most effective way to tell whether something is cringy or not is to have someone else read it and tell you! But if you don't like the sound of that and prefer to check on your own, I suggest to not re-read your dialogue over and over. Instead, give it some time!

When we re-read our work too soon, we already know what to expect, which influences our decision making and opinions. By approaching it after you refreshed your brain, it'll feel more like you're reading it for the first time; and therefore, you'll form more effective ideas!

***

Still, it's also important to keep in mind that something that's cringe to you won't be cringe to someone else and vice versa! It's ultimately based on the readers, which we have no choice but to accept. However, if you were concerned about your writing because of such reasons, I hope this has helped!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Long-Distance Call | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: lots of arguing, angst, everyone's saying things they don't mean, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5056

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For hours most nights recently, you watched Dean sleep. In the dim light coming in through the cheap curtains in motel rooms, you would make out the details of his face and trace your eyes along them. He was just so beautiful, and you considered yourself incredibly lucky for every day you got to spend with him; despite the fact that those days were coming to an end. 

Dean knew you hadn’t been sleeping, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

Sam was driving himself crazy talking to witch doctors, professors, and demonologists trying to wrap his head around a way to break Dean’s deal. You didn’t get involved, though; you knew it was futile to do so. 

You weren’t sure if feeling helpless and knowing the situation was helpless was better than feeling helpless and trying to gain control of the situation, but you knew Sam probably felt as horribly as you did. 

“Y’know, someday, if we ever get a house— it could happen!” you assured Dean off his skeptical look. “We should get a couch. It’d be better for our backs than sitting on Baby or these shitty mattresses.”

You sat up facing Dean who lounged on the headboard in your shared motel room. Tension had been high between the brothers recently, and you decided it was best for the three of you to bunk separately. 

“You are annoyingly optimistic, you know that?” he replied. 

“I like to think of myself as more of a realist,” you returned. “But I’m trying to be more like you lately.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. His eyes held such an intensity when he looked at you. 

In vulnerable moments like these, you couldn’t bear to look back at him. You opted for looking down at the mattress or, really, anywhere other than his face. “I mean, your whole thing is being annoyingly biting and sarcastic and— I mean, you just have the most amazing sense of humor— even when things suck major ass. And I don’t know how you do it. But… it’s admirable.” When your eyes returned to his face, he was looking at you with such pride and admiration. 

“What?” you asked.

“I just love you,” he said. 

You grinned widely and reached for his hand. You held it for just a moment before speaking again. “When are you gonna tell Sam?”

“What?”

“That we can’t save you.”

He sighed. “(Y/N)—”

“No, Dean, he deserves to know.” You shifted to your knees from your cross-legged position. “He’s on a wild goose chase instead of enjoying the time he has with you.”

“He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices,” Dean insisted, hand retreating from yours. He crossed his arms over his chest.

You gave him a look. “And maybe he’d make different choices if he had all the information about the situation available to him.”

“Alright, professor, no need to lecture me,” he grumbled, getting out of bed.

“Dean—! Don’t get mean just because you’re pissed at yourself and this whole situation,” you said, standing to face him. “Look, I’m only saying something because I don’t want the last few weeks of your life to be spent fighting with your brother.”

“Way to put that in perspective, (Y/N), thank you,” Dean spat. 

“See, this is when your attitude pisses me off beyond belief,” you argued. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and you’re being a complete dick. This didn’t have to turn into a fight, and I’m not understanding why it did!”

“Because you’re my girlfriend, not my fucking therapist,” he responded. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life.”

“Okay, this clearly isn’t about me.” You shook your head, turning away from him to grab your shorts and shoes. 

“Then, what’s it about, (Y/N)?” 

You turned back to him. “Clearly, this is about your deal.” “Oh, my god,” Dean scoffed.

“You’re runnin’ out of time. You’re scared, and you’re lashing out. It’s crap. I only wanna help you because I love you,” you told him. “And I’m not gonna tolerate you getting mean with me just because I told you something you didn’t wanna hear.”

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, seeing you stomp toward the door. 

“Out,” you replied. “Don’t follow me.”

***

That night, after yet another argument, you convinced Dean to let you sleep in his car and have him take the bed because you knew you wouldn’t get much sleep anyway. You were hurt and angry, but you missed holding Dean. You missed memorizing his features while he slept and finally seeing him at peace. 

And the next morning, the situation was no better. Now, instead of Dean and Sam fighting, it was you, Dean, and Sam fighting. 

Sam had gone to talk to another person about how to potentially break Dean’s deal. “So, the professor doesn't know crap.”

“Shocking,” Dean commented. “Pack your panties, guys, we're hitting the road.”

“What? What's up?” Sam asked. 

“That was Bobby.” He gestured to the phone he’d just hung up. “Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio, and he thinks there's a spirit involved.”

“So, you two were talking a case?” 

“No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favorite boy bands,” Dean replied dryly. “Yeah, we were talking a case!”

“Dean, stop being an ass,” you scolded. 

“Well, get Sam to stop asking stupid questions.” Sam huffed. “So, a spirit? What?”

“Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer was flipping on and off,” Dean explained. “This is not ringing your bell?” He pressed when Sam looked at him skeptically. 

“Well, sure, yeah. But, Dean, we're already on a case,” the younger one replied. 

“Whose?” Dean asked. 

“Yours!”

“Right. Yeah. Well, you coulda fooled me,” the older scoffed. 

“What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?” Sam protested. 

“Chasing our tails, that's what. Sam, we've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer and two-bit carny act in the lower forty-eight. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job.”

“We should summon Ruby,” Sam suggested. 

“I'm not gonna have this fight with you.” Dean shook his head. 

Sam continued anyway. “She said she knows how to save you.”

“About that, Dean has something he wants to tell you.” You turned to your partner expectantly with your arms folded. 

“What?” Sam asked, looking between the two of you. 

Dean was giving you a glare which you returned. 

“Dean, what?” Sam asked again. 

“She can’t save me,” Dean answered finally, still holding your glare. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam turn back to you. “(Y/N)—?”

“She told us she can’t save him, Sam,” you admitted. 

Sam turned his anger toward you. “Whoa, so you’ve known this whole time and haven’t told me?” 

“It wasn’t mine to tell, Sam!”

“Yeah, but the both of you still kept a secret from me,” he responded. 

“You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?” Dean snapped. 

You turned to the car. 

“Where are you going?” Dean called after you. 

“Guess we’re going to Ohio.”

***

You were silent for the entirety of the ride to the deceased’s house. Dean and Sam only spoke to make a snarky remark directed at each other or at you, but you refused to respond. 

You asked the woman what happened to her husband, and she reluctantly told you that he kept talking to a woman named Linda on the phone. However, there was no one on the other line when she would pick it up to check. 

Curious about who this woman could have been, you and the brothers returned to the motel to research. 

“Linda's a babe. Or, was,” Dean commented. 

Your heart dropped. You knew he was kidding, but now was so not the time to make jokes like that. “Don’t say shit like that, please.”

“She’s dead, (Y/N),” he replied dryly. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I just think it’s in really poor taste to say that right now considering the state our relationship’s in,” you told him, trying to remain as calm as possible. 

He slammed his laptop shut. “Are you seriously picking a fight with me over this? Right now?”

Sam interrupted before you could respond. “Oh-kay! That’s enough. Who’s Linda?”

“Linda Bateman.” Dean turned his eyes away from you. “She and Ben Waters were high school sweethearts.”

“So what happened?” Sam asked. 

“Drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away.”

“So, what then? Dead flame calls to chat?” Sam wondered aloud.

“You would think, but Linda was cremated. So why's she still floating around?”

“You got me,” Sam shrugged. 

“What about that, uh, caller I.D?” Dean asked his brother, referring to the number he’d found on Ben’s phone. 

“Turns out, it's a phone number,” Sam replied. “It's about a century old, back from when phones had cranks.”

“So, why use that number to reach out and touch someone?” Dean returned. 

“Got me there too, but we should put a trace on it.”

“Well how the hell are we going to put a trace on something that's over one-hundred years old?”

Sam suggested that the three of you should head to Ben’s phone company’s local office posing as representatives of their headquarters. 

“You guys go ahead without me,” you said. 

“Oh, c’mon, (Y/N)—”

You cut Dean off. “No. Both of us need space before we kill each other. So, please. Go.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled and stormed out of the room.

Sam stayed behind with you for a moment. “I’m sorry about him,” he said.

You sniffled, wiping away tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “It’s okay. Just a rough patch, I guess. Call me when y’all have something.”

He nodded and pulled you into a hug. Sam placed a quick kiss on the crown of your head before following his brother out of the door. 

***

Sam called to inform you that the number had called over a dozen people multiple times over the last week. So, you and the Winchesters split up to investigate. Without a car, you stayed in the motel room and called the numbers Sam had forwarded to you posing as a representative of the phone company. One of the people you’d spoken to said that he’d been hearing his deceased brother calling him to reconcile the broken relationship they’d had when his brother passed away. 

Just as you hung up the phone with him, Dean burst into the room and immediately started pacing. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

Dean didn’t answer. 

Sam sat at the table in the room. “He said our dad called him.”

“No fucking way,” you breathed out. “You really think it was him?”

“I don't know, maybe,” Dean grunted. 

“Well, what did he sound like?” Sam asked. 

“Like Oprah!” the older brother snapped. “Like Dad; he sounded like Dad, what do you think?”

“What did he say?” you questioned. 

“My name,” Dean replied. 

“That’s it?” Sam pressed. 

“Call dropped out.”

You shook your head and folded your arms, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s bed. After the recent fights with Dean, you’d decided to get a room separate from the two brothers and had been hanging out in their room all day. “Why would he even call in the first place, Dean?”

“I don't know, (Y/N)! I’m not a fucking psychic,” he snarked. “Why are ghosts calling anybody in this town? But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?”

You wanted to chew him out for snapping at you like that, but you truly had no energy to put up another fight. 

“Yeah, I guess?” Sam replied in your place. 

“Okay, so what if....” Dean trailed off, only looking at his brother. “What if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back? What do I say?”

“Hello,” you suggested. 

“Hello?” he scoffed. 

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. 

“That's what you come back with. Hello?” Dean continued. 

“Fuck off, Dean,” you sneered. 

Dean huffed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. 

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look and turned to the door to stare after his brother. 

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You picked your head up. 

“What’s happening to you guys?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tearing up. “We started fighting ‘cause I told him to tell you about the whole ‘Ruby’ thing, and I said some mean shit, and he said some mean shit, and it’s just a mess now.”

Sam gave you another puppy-dog-eyed look. 

“It’ll be fine, though. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

If it was even possible, Sam’s face dropped even further. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you smiled lopsidedly, knowing he just didn’t know how to help. “Can we talk about something other than my boy drama?”

Sam nodded. “Sure.” 

***

For the next few hours, you scoured the internet for information on the “SHA33” number that was calling these poor people. 

Dean returned with caustic remarks to spare. “Find anything?” he asked Sam while pretty much blatantly ignoring you. 

“After three hours, I’ve found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here,” Sam sighed, shutting his laptop. 

“Me neither, Dean, thanks for asking,” you said. 

“Well, you know, you think a Stanford education and a high school hook up rate of zero-point-zero would produce better results than that,” Dean scoffed at Sam.

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned, hoping to elicit some sort of a response from Dean. 

He shot you a glare, but other than that, he said nothing. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. “Motel pamphlet rack.” He dropped it on the coffee table along with a few books. “Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison.”

“So what?” you asked. 

Sam grabbed a book and leafed through it. 

Dean just raised his eyebrows at you as Sam looked up from the book. 

“You're kidding,” he said. 

Dean smirked as his brother. 

***

Well, a huge waste of time was the only thing Dean’s suggestion led to. The tour you went on at a museum showed the invention Thomas Edison believed could communicate with spirits and informed you that he was a devout occultist. However, the “spirit phone” didn’t set off the EMF detector. 

Sleep refused to claim you. Your anxiety kept your mind racing through the long hours of the night. You sat at the table in your room staring at the door just waiting for Dean to knock. However, despite it being three in the morning, he hadn’t come yet. Your fights had all been stupid and petty, but both of you were too stubborn to be the first to admit fault. 

And with each passing night, you could feel the clock ticking. You knew Dean was running out of time, and you just wanted him to hold you again. As the sun rose, your heart sank knowing he hadn’t come to make things right with you. 

You stayed in your room upset until Sam called you to come over to theirs. 

“What’s up?” you asked upon entering. 

“That girl Lanie—” Sam was referring to the victim he’d spoken to— “her Mom's ghost spooked her out pretty bad last night.”

“That sucks,” said Dean, typing furiously on his laptop. 

“What… are you doing, Dean?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked at you briefly; the expression on his face confusing. He looked back down at his computer. “I think my dad’s right. I think the demon is here. Check it out.” He handed you some papers and dug around in his bag. 

“What is this, weather reports?” you asked, leafing through the papers.

“Omens. Demonic omens,” he responded. “Electrical storms everywhere we've been for the past two weeks.”

Trepidatiously, you said, “I don't remember any lightning storms.”

“Well, I don't remember you studying meteorology, either,” he snapped.

‘So much for us being civil,’ you thought. 

“But I'm telling you, that bastard's been tailing me; wearing some poor dude's meat,” Dean finished. 

Sam took some of the pressure off you. “And it’s following you because…?” he asked. 

“I guess I'm big game, y’know? My ass is too sweet to let outta sight.” Dean threw a wink at you, and you were getting incredibly thrown off by his changing attitude. 

“Okay. Sure,” Sam snorted.

Dean snatched the papers back from you. “Don't get too excited, Sammy. Might pull something.” He stood from the bed and moved away from you and his brother.

“Dean, look, I wanna believe this man, I really do…”

Dean cut his brother off. “Then believe it! if we get this sucker, it's Miller Time.”

“Yeah, that's another thing. Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean, not just send it back to hell, but kill it?” Dean’s eyes lit up. “I've checked it out. This is heavy duty Dark Ages. Fifteenth century.”

“Dean,” you said softly. “I checked on it, too. So did Sam. So did Bobby.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

Sam jumped in. “Look, it definitely is an exorcism, okay, there's just no evidence it can kill a demon.”

“No evidence it can't,” he rebutted. 

“Dean…” you trailed off, not wanting to start a bigger fight. 

“Hey, as far as I'm aware the only one of us who has actually been to Hell is my dad. And maybe he picked up a couple of tricks down there, like which exorcisms work,” he snapped. 

“Maybe!” you replied. “I hope so; for your sake. But we gotta be sure.”

“Why aren't we sure?” he asked. 

“’Cause I don't know what's going on around here, Dean!” you cried. “I mean, some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her wits—”

“Wow, a couple of civvies are freaked out by some ghosts. News flash, (Y/N), people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!” he shot back. 

You held his stare venomously. Dean eventually dropped his head in frustration. 

“Dad tell you where to find the demon?” Sam asked carefully. 

“I'm waiting on the call!” he shouted. 

The tension in the room was thick, and you had no idea what to say.

Sam sighed deeply and tried to change the subject. “I told Lanie I'd stop by.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, good, yeah. No, you go hang out with jailbait. Just, uh, watch out for Chris Hansen. Meanwhile I'll be here getting ready to, y’know, save my life.”

Sam shook his head and turned to the door. You just stared at the floor. 

“You two are unbelievable, y’know that?” Dean shouted. “I mean, for months, we’ve been tryin’ to break this demon deal. Now, Dad’s about to give us the fuckin’ address, and you blink? The man is dead, and you’re still butting heads with the guy?!” He turned his attention to you. “And you? What happened to us? What happened to your ‘unconditional support’?”

“Dean, you still have it!” you replied. “That was never in question! What I’m questioning is where your fuckin’ head’s at. Because this is not you.”

“Oh, god.” He rolled his eyes and began to pace. 

“I’m not gonna mince my words,” you began, anger boiling to the surface. “This is fuckin’ crazy. I mean, there is no proof. At all. All you’re acting on is blind faith.”

“Yeah, well, maybe!” He shouted back. “Y’know, maybe that's all I got, okay?”

You held his stare, the anger melting out of you at his words. When you could see tears forming in his eyes, he looked at the floor. 

Sam piped up. “Please. Just please don't go anywhere until I get back. Okay, Dean? Please.” 

Dean stayed silent. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You looked up at Dean. For the first time that week, he offered you a kind word. “Go. It’s okay.”

You nodded. As you turned to go, you stared over your shoulder back at Dean. 

***

At Lanie’s house, the young girl got you up to speed on what happened to her the night before. 

“Have you told your father about any of this?” Sam asked her.

“And bother him at work?” she replied. “No. He wouldn't believe me anyway, he'd just chuck me into therapy.”

“So what did your mother say?” you asked. 

“She wanted to see me. So at first I thought I was supposed to go to the cemetery,” she sniffled. 

“Did you?” Sam prompted. 

Lanie nodded meekly. “Nothing happened. But then she started asking me to do other things.”

“What sort of things?”

She almost seemed embarrassed to say. “Bad things.”

You crouched down and looked up at her, breaking her gaze from the floor. “Lanie, please. Can you tell me what happened? It’s very important.”

She teared up, young eyes swimming in fear and sadness. “Mom told me to go to Dad's medicine cabinet.”

You waited patiently for her to continue. 

“She wanted me to take his sleeping pills.” She stopped for a minute to gather her courage. “Take all of his sleeping pills.”

“She wanted you to kill yourself?” Sam couldn’t help himself from saying. 

She nodded, crying harder. “Why would my Mom want me to do that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“She just kept saying, ‘come to me,’ like, a million times,” she hiccuped. 

Your eyes widened. “Oh, sweet girl, that's not your mother.” You stood from the ground. 

Sam told Lanie, “Listen to me. Don't answer the phone. Don't use the computer. Don't do anything unless I say to, alright?”

You started down the stairs and listened carefully; just one set of footsteps was following you. You turned back to see Lanie still at the top of the stairs. “You okay?”

Her breathing was quick. “Where's Simon?”

“Simon?” you asked. 

“My little brother,” she responded. 

The next thing you knew, you were watching Sam shove the little boy out of the way of a speeding truck from the porch of Lanie’s house. 

Immediately, you called Dean. “Dean, it’s not your dad,” you rushed out. 

“Then what is it, (Y/N)?” he asked flippantly. 

“A crocotta,” you answered. 

“What is that, a sandwich?” he scoffed. 

“They typically live in filth. Mimic loved ones. Whisper, ‘Come to me,’ then lure you into the dark and swallow your soul,” you stated. 

Sam motioned for you to head to his rental car as soon as he delivered Simon to his sister safely. You followed quickly. 

“A crocotta, right, damn, that makes sense,” he snarkily replied. 

“Dean, c’mon, babe—”

He cut you off. “Hey, don't these things live in filth?”

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“Oh, god, at the phone company there were these flies. Pretty much as soon as we got down to the basement where this guy Stewie was hangin’ out,” he rushed out. 

“Okay, uh, okay,” you nodded. “Meet us there.”

You brought Sam up to speed on the conversation you’d had with Dean, and as night fell, he sped to the phone company. 

***

Despite calling Dean several times, you and Sam had to keep moving forward with the case. You watched as the man Sam described to you as Stewie unlocked his car. Silently, you rushed him with a metal spike. You shoved him down onto the car and held a metal spike to the back of his neck.

Stewie grunted. “What the hell?!”

“I know what you are,” you spat. “And I know how to kill you.”

“Wait, wait— Please! If we're overcharging you for the call waiting or something I- I can fix that. I am your friend!” he stammered. 

Confusion overtook you, and you turned to an equally confused Sam. You suddenly noticed a man standing behind him with a bat. “Sam, look out!” you cried. 

But it was too late. He was hit over the head with a bat, and you released the man in front of you. You threw your spike at him, but he caught it just before it hit him. He stalked toward you, and the man smiled widely. The man you’d been holding down shoved you to the ground from behind, and you were knocked out, too.

***

When you next came to, your wrists and feet were bound; that was the first thing you felt. Your head pounded, and your wrists ached from how tight the bindings were. When you opened your eyes, you turned your head to see Stewie was dead and bleeding profusely from his chest. 

You shrieked in horror, and then, the man who’d knocked you out appeared in front of you. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” you snarled.

He just laughed mockingly as he stalked between you and Sam. 

You realized something. “My last call with Dean. That was you. You led us here.”

“Some calls I make, some calls I take, but you have to admit, I had you fooled for a while. All that Edison phone crap,” he chuckled. He moved over to a telephone exchange cabinet and sighed in ecstasy. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. 

“I’m killing your brother,” he smiled. “Or maybe I'm killing another guy. We'll just have to see how it goes.”

***

The creature removed the knife from the chest of the man beside you. You grimaced at the wet squelching sound it made as he did. 

“Y’know, mimicking Dean's one thing. But my Dad?” Sam complimented mockingly. “That's a hell of a trick.”

“Well, once I made you two as hunters, it was easy. I found Dean's number, then your number, then your father's numbers. Then, emails, voicemails, everything. You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn't. You'd be surprised how much of yourself is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked,” the creature grinned. 

“Dean’s not an idiot,” you stated sharply. “He’s not gonna kill that guy.”

“Then the guy kills him,” he shrugged. “And I kill you two. And here I thought I was only getting one hunter.” He stalked toward you, and you struggled harder. “Now, I’ve got another. And a pretty one, at that.”

You reared back and spat in his face. Almost like a reflex, he immediately backslapped you. 

Unfazed, your head returned to a neutral position and you just glared at him. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said, tracing the knife down your cheek. “Technology. Makes life so much easier. Used to be, I'd hide in the woods for days, weeks, whispering to people, trying to draw them out into the night. But they had community, they all looked out for each other, I'd be lucky to eat one or two souls a year. Now when I'm hungry, I simply make a phone call. You're all so connected. But you've never been so alone.”

Just as the man’s jaw unhinged like a snake to reveal rows of teeth, Sam came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his neck in a chokehold. You sat patiently while Sam and the crocatta struggled for the knife. You watched both men slam each other into various surfaces until they disappeared from view. 

You couldn’t do anything to help yourself, and you anxiously waited for— hopefully— Sam’s return into the room. 

Much to your relief, Sam stumbled back in minutes later. You grinned up at him happily.

***

You were the one to drive Sam’s rental car back to the motel seeing as he was injured and sore from his fight with the monster. You went at least twenty miles-an-hour over the speed limit for the entirety of the drive. 

You burst into Sam and Dean’s room, and you began to panic when you didn’t see him there. 

Then, you checked your room, breathing out in relief when you saw Dean holding a wash cloth to his eye. “Dean!” You ran to him, kneeling down in front of him.

He looked up at you, and you immediately kissed him passionately. He returned your kiss eagerly. When you broke away from him, you took the cloth from Dean’s hands gently to help him clean the wound.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I— I’m so sorry.”

You placed your free hand on his knee. “We’ll talk in a minute, alright? Let me clean you up first.”

He nodded. 

***

“There,” you told him having placed the final bandage on his assortment of cuts. “That guy kicked the shit out of you.” Although Dean would normally laugh at jokes like that, his countenance was completely serious. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. 

“I know,” you said softly. “I am, too.”

“I just— I lashed out, and that wasn’t fair to you. You were right,” Dean admitted. “It scares me how well you can fuckin’ read me. And with everything going on, I just—”

“I get it,” you cut him off. “I’m sorry, too. I was being petty. I got mean, too.” You paused for a moment. “I’m sorry it wasn’t really your dad.”

Dean looked down at the ground. “Naw, I gave you a hell of a time on this one.” He huffed. “I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way outta this. I mean, I'm staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just…” he trailed off, unable to finish. 

Your eyebrows scrunched sadly, and your eyelashes flickered. 

“I’m scared, sweetheart. I’m… I’m really scared.” As tears pooled in his eyes, he couldn’t seem to meet yours. 

You nodded, tearing up as well. “I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man,” he tried to joke through his stifled cries. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with having hope, Dee,” you told him gently. 

“Hope doesn't get you jack squat,” he scoffed. “I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can't expect anybody to, y’know? I mean, the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And I’m right there with you,” you told him. “Every step of the way. To Hell and back.”

Dean offered a lopsided smile. “To Hell and back.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[wonderhomeland]

I have never written anything in a long time and English is not my first language, but this idea has been in my head for a long time, so...

Warnings/tags : BAd English, fem!reader, obsessed!Simon Riley, possessive!Simon Riley, I have been waiting for years!Simon Riley, Age gap( more than 10 years-simon is older-Simon acts like age doesn't matter.), smat (Only Simon loses his mind thinking about his wife + the things he want to do with her.), Arranged marriage, fluff, A general explanation of the idea at the beginning of the post. Tell me if I forgot anything!

~

An AU where the government uses tests to choose a partner for you, based on DNA, blood type, etc., to find a good match for superior genes. And these tests continue until your early twenties (not like they're in a lab, it's in real life and the tests are taken at school, like exams) and finally by the age of 22 or 23, the person you should "marry" is determined for you.

And during this time, you shouldn't have a relationship with anyone, and you can't break this pre-arranged marriage in any way.

There are people who, for whatever reason, such as their weak genes, never get a partner chosen for them, and even if someone is suitable, they never send their files for two people to get to know each other.

They are not ridiculed or humiliated, They are just not accepted.

And here we have Simon Riley. A boy who is the victim of his parents' forced marriage. He has a bad situation at school and an even worse situation at home. Since childhood, he has always tried to distract himself from all his problems and try to hold on until he realizes what the future holds for him. Simon, who has never felt like he belongs anywhere or to anyone. Even blood relations have not made him to have a good relationship with his brother, now he understands that there is only one person for him and he is only for one person. In his eyes, she is an angel , not just an angel who is going to save him, but an angel who is going to be by his side forever. As he grow up this childish excitement turns into a obsession.

All the people who work on the projects always encourage him and say that he has very strong genes, a very strong and resilient body, he is patient and careful and has a very high leadership intelligence. They says that he is very cooperative in the tests and does his best.

But it never happens. No one in a fancy suit ring his doorbell to give him the good news. To give him the introduction to the person he's always been waiting for. He never hear "Congratulations, Mr. Riley."

Not even after years.

This was strange, he was always complimented, he was always told that he would find someone great, he always hoped that he could be with someone who would love him.

He visited the centers many times. He tried to follow up and even asked to do all the tests again. Surely he wasn't supposed to be alone, right? There must have been a mistake in the results. His file might have been lost.

They never answered him. He was told to wait, some people wait years to get the files.

He waited.

He was a patient man.

Even now, in the garrison corridors, with multiple scars on the body, and a mask on his face, as he was heading to his room after a hard mission, He was waiting.

He packed up his things to go back to his dark, empty apartment for six months. Six months. Half a year. It seems like a long time. But not long enough.

His teammates don't talk to him about it. like this big, strong man who's amazing at everything failed his tests. The big dog who destroys everything on the battlefield, isn't strong enough to beat the tests, the smart leader who always outsmarts the enemy, not smart enough to pass the tests. it was ok for them.

Not for the others though. For other It's a shame. It's a waste.

Unfortunately, he doesn't care about what others think, otherwise he wouldn't have made it this far.

When he gets home, he takes a quick shower and comes out, hungry but tired, so he puts on his pants and lies down on his bed. Just as his eyes are getting ready to fall asleep, the doorbell rings.

It used to be joyful, but now it's just annoying.

He grumbled, open the door.

Tight suits were never his thing, they made him look too big. Too scary for others. But not on this guy.

"Mr. Riley, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, "That's me."

"Well, congratulations! According to the research our team has done, after a long review of the files, we were able to find the best match for you!"

With a cheerful face and a smile from ear to ear, he looked at him and held out the file towards him.

But Simon's reaction was unlike anyone else. There was no joy on his face, no indifference to the news. It was anger. and it wasn't the anger that some people showed because of being caught up in this system, it wasn't the anger that came from stubbornness.

It was pure rage. It felt like he was about to tear out his throat.

He just wanted to deliver the news and at least get a smile in return. He would have been much happier if he had seen tears of joy. Usually he would have stopped so that the others could tell him how happy they were and how much they had been waiting for this moment.

But not now. He just wanted to run for his life.

Maybe he's not having a good day? Maybe he woke him up? Maybe he's a man who goes to bed very early and it's late at night?

"Um, I know it's a little late..."

"A little late?" His fist lost control. Simon could break everyone's jaws as much as he wanted at work, but not now, Not here, not his. he just brought the man closer to his face, "A little late?"

His voice trembled with anger. If no one saw this man, they would think he was scared from the way he sounded. "Do you know how fucking long you've kept me waiting for this?"

His face sank, whether from pain or confusion, it didn't matter. He released his jaw and stared at him with his sharp gaze. After a few seconds, he glanced at the files and the man unconsciously handed them to him. "Thank you." There was no sense of gratitude in his voice.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and closed the door. He threw the files on the counter as he walked to his room. He couldn't believe it, and most of all, he didn't have the courage to face this. The last time he had followed up, five years ago, they had told him it was too late, that after all these years the files would be reorganized and the old ones would be moved, he wondered, did they throw away the old information? When he asked, they looked at him like he was stupid. "I don't know if they'll get rid of it completely, but it's no longer used."

Even after that, he waited, but he lost hope. He knew it would never come. He convinced himself it would never come.

Simon Riley couldn't sleep that night, and he couldn't sleep the nights after that. Even looking through the files didn't help him sleep. When he finally got to them, after much struggling, he came across a photo of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He let out a breath he had been holding and stared at the image. After a few minutes, he looked down at her information. Name... her last name... age... age?

OH, she was so young. Much younger than him. Much, much younger for him.

A beautiful young woman, with a bright future and a great position, and here's an old dog like him. he's not an old dog, he's old for her, very old. he's just a dog, you know, a dog that can tear everything to pieces. In the battlefield, not in normal life. In the battlefield, he's a good leader. he is a good dog.

he can be a good dog for her.

he pushes away anyone who comes near her, protects her when she's scared, in return he gets lots of kisses and hugs, lots of attention and sweet words, he wags his tail, shows his belly to her to rub it. damn it, she can rub anything she wants, touch anything she wants .Anywhere he hasn't let anyone even see.

Anything she wants.

Yeah, he's panting like a dog when he sees her picture, it's clear that he'll let her do whatever she wants with him.

The more he looks at her beautiful face, the more his guilt about her being younger than him fades.

Just because they have more than a ten-year age gap doesn't mean he can't be a good man for her.

He wants to be a good man for her. He promises to take a bath with her after a hard day, massage her whole body to relieve her Tension, and when When he dried her, he'll gently place her on the edge of the bed and massage her beautiful legs. If she lets him, he'll kiss them.

from top to bottom, from bottom to top. He will LICK her clean.

She can crush his face, under her feet... or between her thighs. She'll press them so hard that he feels like his skull is breaking, she'll sit on his face so long that he can't breathe, so long that his chest hurts.

She's not going to cry because of some people are asshole's at work, he's giving her something to cry about. From joy, happiness, and a good feeling.

He wants to wake up with her in the morning, the first thing he sees is her beautiful face. He wants to wake up a few hours earlier so he can stare at her in her sleep.

He wants to wake her up with his kisses.

He wants to wake up with her kisses.

He wants to kiss her everywhere, he wants to do a lot of things for her and she kisses him in return, he wants to do nothing and she kisses him, he wants to kiss her for no reason, kiss her because he loves her.

he wants to cook for her. His cooking is terrible but he tries his best, he makes her heart-shaped cupcakes, even if she doesn't like it because of the taste, she still smiles at him and says sweet things . She can Teach him how to cook, so she doesn't have to do that anymore. Just sit there and look pretty for him. What if she can't cook? It's okay, we'll learn together. What if she hates cooking? I said it's okay, just sit and watch how your husband cooks for you.

Husband, please call him husband, it sounds so sweet when it comes out of her mouth. He wants to be called husband everywhere. Especially when she goes out. Everyone should know that a beautiful angel like her has a wild dog like him. You shouldn't go near her, he's only friendly with his owner. He even gives her a collar, you can take him wherever you want.

And instead, he wants to call you his wife. Everyone needs to know that he belongs to someone. Someone is waiting for this scary beast at home, not just anyone, an angel, a real angel.

He wants to say that my wife won't let me, my wife doesn't like it, my wife said no, my wife is waiting for me at home, my wife bought it for me, my wife chose iy, my wife loves it very much, my wife must agree. Everyone knows him by your name. You own him.

At the end of the day,That man is hers. At the end of the night That woman is his. He wants to go to sleep with her, wrap his arms around her and bury her head in his chest. Maybe she let him sleep between her beautiful tits. Does that mean she'll let him kiss them? Oh, he's hopeful, so hopeful.

He lowers his kisses, kisses her belly and goes lower and lower. FUCK, does she wear nice panties for him? The ones with the bras? If he didn't, it wouldn't be a problem, everything on her body is beautiful. Does she let him take them off? He asks permission for everything, I told you, he was a good dog. Did I say he licks her? Oh, he licks her, like it's the last ice cream on earth on the hottest day of the year. He moans, he knows she likes it, her pussy gets wetter when she hears his pleasure, her grip on his hair tightens...

When she comes, he rests his head on her thighs, looks at her as her breathing becomes stable, waits for her to look at him, pats his head and tells him well done. Damn it, she won't regret it, he promises.

He always asks her how she wants it this time. "Whatever you like, angel." Is she tired of the same place? Does she need a little variety? Baby, he, bends her over every surface.

He'll go on for several rounds, but he'll get tired, old dog, remember? If she still feel like it, how about she put her beautiful thighs on him and ride him? Oh, I'm sure he'll enjoy the jiggling of her tits.

tired? It's okay, Princess, he presses his feet into the mattress and do all the work.

After they're both satisfied. If she feels like it, theu can go Take a bath together, right? If she's really tired, she can sleep and he'll clean her up without disturbing her sleep, and then join her in bed.

He is very happy, he waited so long to see her and put the ring on her finger. He will have a big wedding party for her, with lots of guests. But he has to wait, he doesn't know what she likes yet, he shouldn't rush.

There is time, there is a lot of time. It took a long time, but it was worth it.

His little angel will soon be by his side.

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

I genuinely think This Simon Riley taking his angel like an animal for the first time.🤭

Simon, who is completely defenseless against his wife, I love him.

As I said, English is not my first language. And in my language the pronouns (he, she, it and... all of them ) are the same, so forgive me if I made a mistake.🫠

I know bad writing takes away the joy of reading, but please forgive me.🥲🙏🏼

If anyone writes something with this idea, please tag me! I would love to read this idea written by someone whose English is better than me!😔

[questionablehuman444]

THANK YOU. Someone put my thoughts into the correct words, and it makes me thoroughly happy.

Dick definitely has eldest daughter syndrome, but Tim was "really mature for his age"

(more below cut)

Okay, Dick holds the weight of the world on his shoulders as the oldest. He's the one everybody goes to when they're having problems with Bruce. He's the "trusted adult". He's the guy who has the ability to get people to open up, and let him help them. It weighs on him a lot as a result.

Dick feels that if he isn't constantly there for people, then he's failing, not only as a hero but as a brother and a friend. (I could also talk about how he leans into the himbo persona because his self esteem is a tripping hazard in hell, but that's for another time)

Then, you look at Tim. He's self sufficient, he's easy, and he's smart. Tim has gifted child syndrome. People think that since he's more mature, he can handle more. So they start treating him like an adult and whenever it's convenient, they double back to treat him like a kid.

So often, the adults in his life were emotionally inept, and their love for him was so often conditional. He had to grow up quick because nobody else wanted to.

Something I think about is how, despite Dick and Tim having similar experiences and bearing the weight of the world, they don't want to hurt each other more. Dick doesn't want to fuel Tim's gifted kid syndrome and Tim doesn't wanna fuel Dick's eldest daughter syndrome. They can't talk to each other because they're aware of the other person's situation, and don't want to continue fueling the other person's problems when, in reality, it would probably be the best course of action for the two of them.

They're so afraid of making the other's problems worse by talking, that they're don't realize that they're actually just harming the both of them. They fail to realize that they're stripping away the only other person who could fully understand in a way beyond just comprehending the words and feelings being told, the only other person who knows the family on a personal level and can empathize from a place of mutual feelings. They taking away the one person who *Gets It* fully and completely.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, I really like talking about things like this. Thanks for reading if you made it this far lol. I had a lot of fun writing all this.

Dick is for the eldest sibling while Tim is for the parentified children and I think that's the most important difference between them

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 7 Infamous Lover

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6.5k

Chapter 7/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Some things are set into motion in this chapter.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

It was an unusual morning for the two of you. Natasha stood in your kitchen, looking more at ease than you felt. Her mug was half-empty, cradled in her hands, while yours sat untouched on the counter before you, its steam curling upward in lazy spirals. The silence was deafening as you tried to process what Natasha told you. Isabella was still asleep in the other room.

Allowing Natasha to stay over had been a line you weren’t ready to cross, but the look on her face last night—the heartbreak she tried so hard to hide—left you with no choice.

You cared about her more than you could put into words, which made this more complicated. You didn’t want to be angry, but the way she’d shown up, raw and vulnerable, with a piece of her past you didn’t know how to navigate, was testing your patience.

Natasha broke the silence first. “I’m sorry for showing up like that. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

"Don't apologize for coming to me," You shook your head. You checked the time on the stove clock. 8 am. Neither of you had gotten much sleep. Isabella would be up soon, but she'd have many questions and comments. To feel like you had a handle on the situation, you began to make breakfast. Something simple. French toast and eggs. "It's just, I don't understand why she would call you, of all people."

"I don't hate her..." Natasha began. Then she stopped. Those weren't the right words. She set her mug down and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not what you think.”

You paused, spatula hovering over the skillet. Your tone was even when you spoke, and it wasn't as hard as before. "Then explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like she still has a hold on you."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “She called me out of nowhere, drunk, stranded... I didn’t want to leave her like that. It sounds stupid, but I felt I had to help.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” you said firmly. “She’s not your responsibility anymore, Natasha. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I know,” Natasha replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “But it’s hard. Carol... she was a big part of my life for a long time. Walking away from that hasn’t been easy.”

You softened at her admission, the frustration in your chest giving way to something more tender. “I get that,” you said after a moment. “But you’ve got to figure out what you want, Nat. You can’t keep one foot in the past and expect the future to wait for you.”

She glanced up, green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the vulnerability in them. You weren't sure what else to say, but before you could come up with something, Natasha closed the distance between you and gently cupped your cheek. You held your breath as she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours.

"I want you," she whispered, her words feathering against your lips. "I'm trying. I don't want to screw this up. I don't want to screw us up."

"Then don't," You muttered. "If this isn't what you want. If there's even a chance you want her, then you need to be upfront with me. If this is just sex for you..."

"It's not," Natasha said firmly, her eyes flashing with something fierce and protective. "It's never been like that. You know that."

"Do I?" You asked. "I'm trying to be levelheaded. You tell me your ex calls, and you go running."

"Not like that," Natasha sighed.

"You went to her," You pointed out.

"Because she was alone, drunk, and in trouble," Natasha shook her head. "I wouldn't have stayed. I just... wanted to make sure she was okay. That's all."

"Did she try to kiss you?"

"What? No," Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "God, no. She was drunk. Really, really drunk."

"So, nothing happened," you asked.

"Nothing," Natasha nodded.

"Okay," You nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," you said, returning to the stove and plating the food you'd made.

Natasha hesitated, then slid her arms around your waist, pressing her front to your back and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "I promise."

You hummed, leaning into her warmth. The knot in your stomach loosened, but it didn't completely disappear.

"I trust you," You nodded to yourself. It wasn't something you had to convince yourself to believe. She came to you. She told you the truth.

"That's good," Natasha nodded, a relieved smile gracing her face. She kissed the side of your head and then your neck.

"Mm, what are you doing?" You asked.

"Nothing," Natasha smirked.

"That doesn't feel like nothing," you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but a small voice interrupted.

"What are we talking about?" Isabella yawned, shuffling into the kitchen with messy hair and sleep-heavy eyes.

"Nothing," you and Natasha said in unison, the words tumbling too quickly to sound convincing.

"Whatever," Isabella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, as she climbed onto one of the kitchen stools. Her gaze shifted to Natasha, and she grinned. "Natasha, you're here."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded, taking a small step back from where she'd been standing close to you. She looked unsure, her hand brushing awkwardly against the counter. You understood the hesitation—it was a delicate situation, having her here when things between the three of you were still so new.

But Isabella didn't seem to share your reservations.

"Good," Isabella chirped, swinging her legs under the stool. "I was wondering when Mama would let you come."

Your cheeks flushed. "Bella," you said, trying to keep your tone even.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I like her. You do, too, right?"

Natasha stifled a chuckle, and you shot her a look.

"Natasha's just visiting," you said, redirecting the conversation.

"Sure," Isabella said with a sly grin, clearly not buying it. She turned her attention to Natasha. "Anyway, Mama, could you do my hair today? In a different style? Something that isn't babyish."

"You are a baby," You pointed out as you slid her a plate of French toast and fresh fruit.

Isabella rolled her eyes again. "I'm almost ten, Mama."

"Still a baby," You stepped around the counter to wrap her in your arms. "My one and only baby."

Isabella squirmed away, giggling. "Mama," she whined. "Stop. You're embarrassing me in front of company."

"Sorry," you apologized, smiling at Natasha, who was watching the scene with amusement. "Old habits die hard. I'll think of something to do to your hair. Eat your breakfast now, and we can walk the dog."

"Yay!" Isabella cheered.

Natasha's hand found yours, her fingers entwining with yours and squeezing lightly.

"We?" Natasha asked softly.

"Yeah," You nodded.

Natasha gave you a soft smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made your knees weak. You were falling for her, and there was no stopping it.

********

A part of you was glad Isabella was talking to Natasha. The other part was concerned. There were still things you needed to talk about that you hadn't figured out yet. And this whole Carol situation last night had left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't like the idea of her and Carol reconnecting. Not when it meant Natasha was spending time with someone who had hurt her before. Especially when that someone was her ex, especially when that someone was Carol Danvers, you didn't hate the girl. You barely knew her. Simply hearing of her reputation was enough for you.

You didn't want to get too in your head. Not as you were walking with Isabella and Natasha around the neighborhood.

"I'm in intermediate-level gymnastics," Isabella explained to Natasha. She held loosely onto Bear's leash as the dog pulled her over to a random bush. He really was a good walker most of the time.

"That's pretty cool," Natasha grinned, her hand holding yours. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Since I was six," Isabella boasted.

"She's pretty good," You added. "Gymnastics, ballet, and dance. She's the busiest kid I know."

"It's fun," Isabella smiled. "Keeps the mind going and the body healthy. Did you play sports as a kid?"

"I did ballet," Natasha admitted."Yeah, it was a long time ago."

"Did you like it?"

"I did," Natasha nodded. "I was good at it, too."

"Were you any good?" Isabella asked.

"Kind of," Natasha chuckled. "It was a long time ago."

"When did you stop?"

"Well, I didn't quit," Natasha explained. "I got older, and my body changed. The type of moves they have us do can be hard on the body."

"Oh," Isabella nodded, a little less cheerful. "So, did you ever hurt yourself?"

"Not seriously, no," Natasha shrugged.

"That's good," Isabella sighed, relieved. "I hurt myself last year. A twisted ankle."

"Yeah," Natasha nodded.

"I cried because it hurt," Isabella continued.

"Of course, it did," You smiled. "We'd take a break until you were feeling better. Then you were back at it."

"Yeah," Isabella sighed. "Rookie mistakes."

"You could say that," You grinned.

"Are you busy on Wednesday, Natasha?" You could see by the smile in her eyes that Isabella was about to ask her something without your permission.

"Wednesday? What’s on your mind?"

Isabella's face lit up with a mischievous grin, her eyes darting toward you briefly before returning to Natasha. "We have this recital rehearsal, and we get to bring a helper for some of the moves. Can you come?"

You groaned internally, already anticipating how this was going to play out. "Bella, we talked about this. You’re supposed to ask me before inviting someone."

"I know," she said innocently, twirling a strand of her hair. "But Natasha’s really strong. She’d be great for the lifts!"

Natasha glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lifts, huh?"

"It’s true!" Isabella insisted. "And besides, you said you used to dance. You’ll understand better than Mama. No offense," she added quickly, glancing your way.

"None taken," you muttered, trying not to roll your eyes.

Natasha seemed thoughtful for a moment. "When is it? I could probably stop by," she said, looking at you for permission.

"Great!" Isabella cheered, jumping up and down. "It starts at four on Wednesday, and we can pick you up."

"Or you can meet us there," you suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Isabella said, waving her hand dismissively. "Can we go to the park now? Pleeeease?"

"I think we can manage," You said, reaching out and taking Bear's leash. The dog had been patiently waiting during your conversation. You didn't think he'd wander off but didn't want to risk it.

"Yes!" Isabella cheered, throwing her hands up.

"Actually, I have a studio session now," Natasha checked her phone. "I'm pretty late, and Wanda's going to kill me."

"Oh, well, do you want us to walk to the house with you?"

"No, I have my car keys," Natasha denied. "I'll find my way."

"Oh, well, okay," You nodded. Isabella gestured for you to kiss her goodbye. You rolled your eyes at your kid and pulled Natasha down the sidewalk out of earshot. "So, I'll talk to you later?"

"You bet," Natasha nodded. She pressed her lips to yours, giving you a sweet, tender kiss. You leaned into it, savoring the taste of her and the feel of her. You'd never get tired of this.

"Okay," You whispered as you broke the kiss.

"Okay," She smiled, squeezing your hand. "Bye, Isabella."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella called.

"See you, little one," Natasha smiled, winking at her before leaving.

You watched her walk away, admiring the view. It wasn't until she disappeared around the corner that you rejoined your daughter.

"You're in looove," Isabella teased.

"Maybe," You smirked.

"You should totally marry her," Isabella commented.

"Oh, should I?" You asked. "It hasn't even been that long."

"When you know, you know," Isabella said sagely.

"That's very true," You nodded.

"She makes you happy, right?"

"She does," You agreed.

"And I like her." Isabella listed. "You should totally marry her."

"How about we take things slow, okay?" You chuckled. "Let's see how things go."

"Whatever," Isabella giggled.

"What's with you and this whatever thing?" You wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Isabella shrugged dramatically, leaning into your side. "It’s just a vibe, Mama. You know, like, whatever happens, happens."

You couldn’t help but laugh at her sass. "I don’t know about you, but you’re too young to drop wisdom like that."

She grinned mischievously. "Maybe, but someone’s got to keep you in check."

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you hugged her tighter. "I think I’m the one who needs to be keeping you in check."

Isabella hummed, content to let you have the last word for now.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the morning together, laughing and playing and making up silly songs.

******

When Natasha arrived at the studio session, initially, she didn't know what to write. She'd had a list of songs in her black book that she knew she wanted to lay out. But for the last hour, she'd been staring at the blank sheet, her pencil hovering uselessly over the staff.

"Are you writing?" Wanda asked.

"I am," Natasha nodded.

"Then why aren't we recording?"

"Just... a little writer's block," Natasha said.

"Writer's block?" Wanda repeated. "Do you have anything in mind?"

"I do, but..." She shook her head. "I try not to write such personal things. I have a melody and a couple of lyrics in my head, but I don't know if I should do it."

"Becuase you're in a love triangle?" Wanda guessed.

"No, it's not even a love triangle," Nataha shut her book. "It's not even a love anything. Carol is my ex. I blocked her number. Y/n is my now."

"So why the blockage?" Wanda asked.

Natasha paused momentarily, trying to figure out what was holding her back. Her heart told her to write, but her head told her to be smart.

"It's not like I haven't written love songs before," Natasha started.

"But these are about Y/n," Wanda nodded. "And Carol. I get it."

"Carol was a long time ago. What we had... it wasn't good. We didn't end things on good terms. Y/n, on the other hand, is something I want to try. Someone that means something to me."

"Then write about it," Wanda shrugged.

"I just don't know if I should," Natasha said. "Writing a song about Carol? Fine. We weren't happy. But Y/n. She's someone special. If I write about her and it doesn't work out..."

"You can't live your life worried about the what-ifs," Wanda pointed out. "If you want this relationship and're serious about her, then you must be willing to put yourself out there. That's what people do. They take risks. They have faith in one another. It's a leap of faith."

"When did you become a philosopher?" Natasha teased.

"I'm not," Wanda chuckled. "I just think you're overthinking it. Write the damn song, Natasha. Or I will."

Natasha opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. "Okay, it starts like this..."

"I love her, I want her, but my heart cannot recover,

Stuck in a whirlwind, won’t you get me out?

Fading in and out of what we were before,

But I'm losing me when I keep begging for more."

Natasha sat back, tapping the pen against the notebook's edge as she let the words flow through her mind. Wanda watched her carefully, a knowing smile on her face. Natasha had always been cautious, especially regarding matters of the heart, and Wanda had seen it enough times to recognize the hesitation.

"You know," Wanda began, leaning forward, "that song is pretty powerful already. The emotions are raw. You don't have to have everything figured out right now. Sometimes, you just need to let the music do the talking."

Natasha nodded, eyes still focused on the page, her mind racing with the thoughts of Carol and you of the past and the present. The confusion between what she'd been through and what she now had with you. It wasn't easy, but it felt right.

"You’re right," Natasha finally admitted, her voice softer. "I just... I don't want to mess things up with Y/n. She’s different, Wanda. She’s... real."

Wanda reached over and squeezed her hand, her expression gentle. "I know, and that's a good thing. It's a sign that things are changing for the better. Take it one day at a time, and don't overthink it."

"That's easier said than done," Natasha sighed.

"True," Wanda chuckled. "But I'm always here for you, even if it means reminding you not to be so damn stubborn all the time. Now, let's write some more of this song."

Natasha grinned, picking up the pen and turning back to the page, her fingers already itching to start composing. "You know, I'm glad we decided to work on this project. It's been a long time coming."

"Me too," Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up. "And hey, we might actually finish something. We recorded three songs with the guys. If we finish this and like it...we might actually be getting somewhere with the album."

"Don't jinx it," Natasha laughed. "But I wouldn't mind recording more. Especially with this."

"Yeah, yeah," Wanda waved her hand. "Let's just get this song finished. Then we can talk about the next one."

"Deal."

As they worked, the two women found themselves in a comfortable rhythm. The back and forth between them was familiar, and they quickly lost track of time. The song began to come together, and Natasha found herself getting more and more excited. This was the kind of music she wanted to be making—deep, soulful, real.

They spent the rest of the day working on the song, taking breaks only to eat or use the bathroom. When they finally called it a day, both women were exhausted but pleased with their progress.

"Okay, now for the next one," she said with a knowing grin.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Another one already? You don’t waste any time."

Wanda chuckled. "What can I say? We’re on fire. So, I thought… maybe we should try something different for the next single."

Natasha tilted her head in interest. "Different? How?"

"I’m thinking we stick to the punk vibe, but… I want to experiment with something soulful, a voice that's a little outside of our usual sound." Wanda's eyes sparkled with the excitement of the idea. "I was thinking Y/n could be a good fit for it."

"Y/n? As in, my girlfriend?"

"Yes, and my friend," Wanda nodded.

"You think she could do it?" Natasha asked, her chest warming at the mention of the you.

"Yeah, absolutely. She's got a great voice, and her lyrics are killer. Plus, she's not afraid to be vulnerable. That's the kind of emotion we're going for. What do you think?" Wanda began to pack up her things.

"I think it's a big ask," Natasha said. She sighed, her thoughts racing. "I guess I get the appeal. It’s just… Y/n's got her own sound. I don’t want to pull her into something that’s not authentic to her. Plus, she doesn't sing anymore."

"I get it, and I wouldn't be suggesting it if I didn't think she was right for the song. I've heard her sing before. She's got the range and the passion." Wanda looked at Natasha, her expression serious. "It's worth a shot. Maybe if she hears the song, she'll feel inspired to sing again."

"Maybe," Natasha said, though she wasn't sure. The thought of you singing again filled her with hope, but she didn't want to get her expectations too high. You'd clarified that singing wasn't part of your life anymore. Still, the idea of having you collaborate with them was intriguing. "Okay, I'll bring it up with her. But no promises."

"Fair enough," Wanda nodded. "I'll let you take the lead. Just don't wait too long. I think it could be a game-changer for us."

Natasha gave her a skeptical look. "A game-changer? Isn't that a bit much?"

Wanda shook her head. "Nah, not when it's true. Besides, the world could always use more soulful artists. It's a win-win."

"All right," Natasha relented. "I'll talk to her."

"Great," Wanda smiled. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Wanda," Natasha said, waving her off. She had a lot to think about.

The question was, where did you stand on all of this?

[patricide1885]

Loosely connected observations I'd love to hear people's thoughts on:

As the video I just posted pointed out, people are remarkably receptive to new rules in a new setting. Often you can obey more than the people making the rules even expected, therefore you end up giving away more freedom than you would have been expected to.

In hypnosis (a topic I've been looking into for a long time but still don't seem to fully understand) there is a common tactic where you greet someone and reach out to shake their hand casually, and when they give you their hand you suddenly yank it towards yourself while acting normal and like you didn't just do something extremely weird. This functions as a hypnotic induction that puts the person into a highly suggestible state and they will start looking to you to tell them what to do for a period and will be more receptive to it. I understand this specific tactic to work by essentially dislodging a person's confidence in their understanding of the world and going into a sort of baby brain child-like state where they look to the confident person that has thrown their expectations into disarray to re-establish reality for them.

You might be familiar with this phenomenon if you're in a new social situation where everyone is doing things you don't understand or is operating based on ideas of reality that would normally sound weird and you go along with it because you have made the judgement that you don't inherently understand the culture or the situation and you are afraid of acting weird/you don't view your understanding of the world to be accurate. You are allowing those people to dictate reality to you. This generally happens without you realizing it.