#he always finds a way to include everyone

[hhughes]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[mageofmadness]

PUPPY CALEB GOING INTO RUT

(2.1k) ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ nsfw [18+] includes: puppy!caleb, fem!reader, rut, knotting, slight a/b/o themes (kind of, not really), dirty talk, pet names, creampie and breeding kink, messy, wet, 'n sick as always. questionable puppy hybrid dynamics but it’s porn so the how doesn’t really matter, right?

caleb loves nothing more than being your mutt. your puppy boy.

he belongs to you, and by your side is where he’s meant to stay. if you’re somewhere, best believe he’s standing close behind with an arm around your waist or a hand on the back of your neck. he’s territorial, something others have picked up on and caleb felt bad about it until you admitted how much it turns you on. how much you love it. crave it, too. how much you don’t care about what everyone else thinks, and how jealous you get over others looking at and admiring what is yours.

the chain around his neck might as well be a collar with his owner's information on it, and he never misses an opportunity to show you who he belongs to.

sure, you tease him sometimes for his inclinations. caleb can’t help it though—that he can smell when you’re sweetest and your body needs him the most. when he can sense how wet you're going to be before his fingers ever find your needy, little clit. every month, towards the end of the last week, he finds himself waking up and calling off work. caleb lets them know he won't be in for a few days, and he shoots off a text to your work as well, letting them know the same thing on your behalf.

[7:21 am] i’m so sorry, i’m feeling under the weather and am not going to be able to come into the office today. i’ve got a doctor's appointment later and will send you an update with what they say.

caleb is sensitive when going into rut. he needs you here, by his side, and you cannot stray.

he always has a bit of lingering guilt, looking at you curled up in bed. sweet and innocent, asleep in one of his old t-shirts and a raggedy pair of underwear from ages ago. soft skin that stretches for miles and fading bruises from the past week on your thighs and hips. you look so…precious. small. docile and perfect for him. it makes spit collect in his mouth, even more so than usual.

sometimes, he can’t help but fall back asleep, waiting for you to get up. if he’s lucky, caleb rouses later to you petting his ears. your fingers combing through his hair, brushing over the scruff of his neck, and all of it makes him shiver. caleb wakes from sleep hot and hurting, near drooling and whimpering from the ache trapped in his sweatpants and the way your fingers dance where he’s most sensitive.

you always ask if he wants to play, always ask what he needs, and the way caleb buries his head in the crook of your neck, rutting his aching cock against your hip, tells you enough. you sigh, turning around in bed and slipping your hand into his boxers.

caleb can’t help but bite.

he tries to be gentle, he really does, but when your warm fingers are wrapped around his cock and you’re letting him sloppily jerk his hips, he can't help but groan. he can't help but growl, low in his throat, as sticky pre-come slides over your knuckles.

caleb can’t help that he likes when his owner scolds him. says, in that tone of voice you get, “no biting, don’t make me get the leash.”

“bad dog.”

he whines. caleb hates the leash and the way it keeps you from him. the way he comes so hard when it’s wrapped around his throat and you tug just right as he spills inside of you. it’s pathetic, but how else is he meant to show you that he’s yours? what better way than to let you use the leash to bury his cock that much further into your pussy, kissing your cervix and using him however you see fit.

“m’a good dog,” he pants, begging for you to understand. “m’sorry baby, i–i can’t help it. i promise, ngh. wanna be your good boy, please.”

“i need to fill you up…fuck you sloppy. oh fuck.”

caleb can hardly breathe when you turn around, letting the blankets fall so he can see the way you present for him. knees in the mattress, back arched and ass up. he swallows, yanking your underwear down and tossing it away.

“show puppy where you want it, baby. m’too dumb to remember. need to know where you want it, sweetheart. show me your little hole.”

he watches in awe as you move to spread yourself. giving him a perfect view of your tight holes. caleb moans, excitement making him shake from how you’re going to look after he’s done with you. swollen and over-sensitive. red and slick from the abuse of his cock stretching you open and apart for hours. he runs a hand over the small of your back, squeezing your waist before he can’t help himself any longer and slips a single finger into your pussy.

feeling how wet you are, how needy you are for him. how one finger doesn’t seem to be enough. caleb leans closer, letting his breath ghost over your fluttering hole as he tugs it open. he fits another finger inside, spreads them wide and feels you shake. inspecting your perfect pussy, still just as perfect, to make sure it’s ready for him.

“you're so good to me, thank you, honey. so good for puppy. ‘m so, so lucky,” his words trail off as he plays with your sticky mess. seeing how far he can stretch you open before you whine and start to writhe. “always make puppy feel so good, can i make you feel good, sweetheart? please?”

“where do you want it?” he asks, brushing his thumb over your other hole. pawing at you as he bites his lip, knowing the first day of his rut is too rough. he can’t. caleb often loses himself, and he doesn’t want to hurt you with how wide he’d like to stuff every hole you have. how bad he wants to watch your tight ass take his cock. he knows it would feel like heaven.

still, he asks, “which hole, baby? c’mon, tell me where you need it.”

“m’pussy,” you whimper, pressing back into his prodding fingers.

“here? like this?” caleb asks, rutting his sticky pre-come mess against the back of your thighs, groaning when the tip of his cock catches on your cunt and you jump. “how does my girl want it?” he asks, leaning over and crowding you, whispering into your ear. “tell me, baby. you know i’ll give you whatever you want. anything you need, honey, it’s yours.”

caleb’s favorite thing is the lip you give him right before you slip under. right before you give in to the thick weight of his cock that’s too deep, when you’re meeting his thrusts, greedy about every inch of him and how it’s yours. how it’s only meant to be buried deep inside of you, driving you wild and dirty.

“h-harder,” you demand. “don’t tell me you dont know how to use that puppy cock.”

it always turns to begging in the end, though.

depending on how well he fucked you the night before and how sensitive you are from that. how well you slept or how much you feel like being a brat today. caleb lives for the moment he feels your hips settle, when there’s no resistance as he slams his cock into you over and over and you take it like such a good girl. the best girl. the sticky sound of your pussy wanting this so much it’s dripping onto the sheets. it drives you crazy but that’s when he loses himself, too.

when you’re babbling and whimpering. praising him, “m–my good boy. such a good boy, so–so good for me. p–please, hngh. please, can i come? i cant…i–i cant—”

he lives for your praise. he’d die by it.

“you take it so well, fuck. so good. wish…wish you’d let me let me knot you,” caleb pants. letting the fantasy take hold. he’s dreamed of it, but as much as you beg for it, he doesn’t want to hurt you. but right now, “oh, fuck. please, can i? know you can take it. it would feel so good sweetheart, please let me. please, please…i need it.”

you give in, immediately clawing at the sheets when you feel him begin to swell. caleb starts to feel the resistance and can’t help but curse, watching the filthy sight before him. your cunt struggling to take what he has for you, the way it stretches and you whimper but cannot help but fuck back, trying to swallow his knot whole.

it’s a tight fit and it looks like it hurts, but the way you beg for more makes him see stars and the look he sees on your face when you glance back, blindly throwing a hand behind you to search for him, teary-eyed and gone but no less determined to take it, is beautiful. you’re beautiful, from the blush on your cheeks, the sweat sticking to your skin, all the way to the thighs that shake from the stretch.

when his knot pops inside, when caleb feels it settle inside of your warm walls, twitching and coming around him, caleb actually loses his mind. 

“fuckin’ made for this, look at that. you took it so easy, honey. should have known it would fit perfect, you’re my princess after all, huh?”

“you want more? i think you do. sounds like you do, baby. wish you could see what ‘m seeing right now. don’t know if this pussy will ever be tight again.”

caleb's voice is rough as he whispers in your ear, "that's okay, though. good thing i like you like this, hm? i love it when you're a messy girl and oh, don't cry baby. 'm right here, yeah? right here, you feel me?"

you’re gone, and caleb does what he does best—takes care of you. he presses his chest to your sweaty back, protects you from the world as he fucks into you hard and fast. like an animal. unable to move too much from being locked by the knot, it bullies against your swollen cervix with every thrust.

“we just need to fill you up, see?” he pants, feeling the way your walls milk him as he swallows his groans. as he bites down the need to use teeth. caleb kisses away tears as they fall down your cheeks. “can you be good and take it all for puppy? yes? oh, it feels good? fuck, hah, baby. you have no idea. i…i—“

“not a drop—i don’t want a single drop to spill from this pussy, you hear me?”

“I know, i know. you’re all stretched open and sloppy, but you can do that for me, can’t you? it’s all for you, baby. please, hngh, oh fuck. take it. there you go baby, yeah. squeeze and tighten up. no messes.”

when he finally spills inside of you, when he feels his come settle deep in your cunt, right where it needs to be, caleb is out of breath and burning hot. 

“s–so tight,” he hisses. “being so good for me, sweetheart. shh, im almost done, just a little longer. i’ve got a little bit more for you, baby. you’ve gotta take it...need you to take it f’me.”

“no, no,” he tsks when you start to squirm. “no moving or it won’t stick, princess.”

“good princesses let their puppies fill them up, right? they let them breed them full. you’re so good to me, baby. so good letting me take care of this pussy when i need her.”

caleb loves letting his cock hold you down, buried to the hilt as you sigh and clench from the overuse. moaning about how it feels so good. so warm and thank you and when you panic the moment he goes to pull out, whining like a bitch in heat for the cock that just ruined you, he can’t help but laugh softly.

caleb licks and bites, taking the time to sneakily nip at your skin when he can finally pull all the way out. his cock gives a pathetic twitch at the sight of your hole. sticky and drooling, too. fluttering, trying to close around nothing, and certainly not as tight as it had been that morning. gaping slightly.

caleb traces a gentle finger around the rim as he places a kiss on your lower back, feeling you jolt. he watches as his come slowly begins to dribble out over his fingers, and sighs.

“i told you not a drop, baby. what’s all this drooling out of your pussy?”

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 226.171.198 245.214.227

[halliejaade]

Edelweiss

Joaquín Torres x Female Reader (Chapter One)

Disclaimer: Since there isn't much of a backstory for him, this is kind of setting up a background for both him AND you, plus, I gave him a little sister. I thought the dynamic would be fun to explore and could add to the story in a good way. :) Also, I just came up with a name for their mom because I wasn't sure if she's been spoken about canonically.

Synopsis: The seed of love once planted during your childhood with Joaquín never had the chance to bloom due to the weight of circumstance. Years later, you find yourself still totally and completely in love; but perhaps, after all this time, that love will finally be allowed to bloom.

Moving to Miami is as exciting as disorienting.

It had been incredibly hard; leaving all of your friends behind. But your father simply couldn't pass up the job offer that he had been given.

Being only twelve years old meant that you didn't pay any mind to the house your parents had bought. You did pay attention, however, to the fact that this neighborhood actually had other kids. Back home, there were only older folk, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with eager-to-face-the -world children.

It also helped that there was a beach only a few miles from this house.

You stepped onto the front lawn and observed your new home. The possibilities seemed endless; a sprawling front yard, perfect for the game of tag, a sidewalk just waiting to be drawn on with colorful chalk, and a huge tree sat in the backyard, beckoning you to climb it.

You were helping your father unpack boxes from the moving truck, relishing in the pride laced into his tone when you lifted a particular heavy box with ease. You set it on the curb, wobbling slightly as you noticed the neighbors that were chatting away with your mother.

A beautiful woman stood beside a gentle looking man, her hand hooked in the crook of his elbow, a smile splayed across her face. Between them, a young boy and even younger girl stood; the splitting image of both of their parents.

"Honey, introduce yourself," Your mother encourages softly.

You smile bashfully, fingers moving to grasp at your mother's long skirt. Bowing your head, you introduce yourself. When you peek back up, the boy is watching you carefully.

He catches your gaze, and smiles softly, dimpled cheeks becoming an instant comfort for you.

"I'm Joaquín," The boy says proudly, "And this is my little sister, Maria." He swings an arm over her shoulders.

Joaquín grins then, and it's so bright, that it makes you think that maybe he's the sun incarnate. In fact, you're almost positive that he is.

"Would you like to show Y/n around the neighborhood?" Their mother, Cecelia, asked quietly. Joaquín nodded enthusiastically.

You realized rather quickly that Joaquín didn't do anything half-heartedly. He didn't do anything without complete and utter certainty, and that apparently included becoming friends with you.

The little neighborhood you had moved into was safe. Kids could be seen wandering about the streets without supervision, because that's how secure everyone felt in their little community. You could turn a corner and be sure to see a familiar face.

You followed close behind Joaquín and Maria, rolling the sleeves of your shirt up your arms as rays of sunlight bit at your skin.

"We can stop by Max's and get a cold soda, if you'd like one," Joaquín says.

"I don't have any money."

"That's okay. Max always gives us our drinks for free!"

Maria, who had been quiet up until then, laughed loudly. "Yeah, but that's 'coz you annoy him. He doesn't want to deal with you."

In a few years, you'll look back on this moment and only have fond thoughts about it; the moment you met you're two greatest friends. Joaquín, who was always quick to say what was on his mind, always so ready to speak up about the things he believed in. And Maria, who was soft-spoken, always choosing to spill her thoughts on paper rather than from her mouth.

A cluster of businesses stood proudly in your neighborhood, all small, locally owned. In the middle, a group of men were attempting to set up what looked to be a fireworks display. Joaquín looked over his shoulder at you and then pointed toward the square.

"When it gets closer to Christmas, they'll put up a massive tree. It's pretty sweet! But one year, a hawk flew into it and knocked off one of the big bulbs. It hit Gloria in the head. Knocked her out, but it was kind of funny. She was fine, by the way. Well. Not really, 'coz she's kind of crazy, so I think it might have made her crazier-"

You were about to interrupt him and ask who Gloria was, but you didn't have to.

Maria jammed an elbow into her brother's ribcage, "Shut up."

A woman, who could have only been Gloria, based on the fear that emanated from the Torres siblings, was walking across the street. Right at you.

"Oh no, she looks like she's on a mission. Let's make a break for it," Joaquín whispered, beginning to turn in the opposite direction, toward the pharmacy.

"Hey, wait!" Gloria called. "I want to meet the newest addition!"

Joaquín grimaced. "Can you run fast?"

You shrugged. You weren't sure what fast was to him.

"Sorry, Gloria! Maria's real sick, you probably shouldn't get too close." And then he clapped Maria on the back. Maria bent at the waist, coughing loudly. Joaquín turned around and made a show of pointing at his little sister. "See! Nasty cough. Wouldn't want you catching that. We have to get her medicine, anyway."

The three of you took off running then, though Maria was still coughing wildly. "What is the matter with you?!"

Joaquín only giggled.

Even though you didn't really need to go into the pharmacy, you did anyway. The old metal sign hanging from the awning sighed loudly as the wind caught it, and you couldn't help but admire it for a moment. It was old, a testament to how long some of these businesses had stood in this little square for. The bell above the door chimed as the three of you stepped through, the elderly man behind the pharmaceutical desk greeting you all with a friendly smile.

You had only just moved to Miami, and already you felt like you belonged. That's just how it was there. It could get frustrating, not having much privacy, but you always knew you had people in your corner.

A month passes. Friendship festers.

Turns out, Maria did have a bit of a rebellious side to her. Though it only presented itself once she got comfortable with you.

The whole thing had been her idea.

Once July hit, the temperature spiked, and the days were often scorching. Playing outside was a no-go, with the weatherman warning of too high temperatures. Lazing around the house proved to be a hard task for a couple of twelve-year-olds, so you had to get creative.

It's how you find yourself climbing the tall fence running the perimeter of the Miami Shores Country Club swimming pool with Joaquín and Maria.

Joaquín climbed up with ease, lifting himself up and settling down on the top before reaching down to help you and Maria up.

You spent the day floating around the pool together, rummaging through your pockets once the sun got to be a little too hot for loose change so you could buy ice cream from the little concession stand. By the time you left, (that's how you all chose to tell the story; the real version was that you got caught and were kicked out), there was melted popsicle dripping down your fingers, and your hair smelled like chlorine, but you couldn't have been happier if you tried.

It was getting dark by the time you were finally heading home, so you wouldn't have come across it if it weren't for Joaquín getting distracted and crashing his bike. He had landed in a woody area, the thick grass breaking his fall. You and Maria quickly dismounted your bicycles and hurried after him. He had already gotten up and climbed through the brush. You weren't sure what you were expecting to find on the other side, but it certainly wasn't a massive meadow that you were expecting. It was as if the rows and rows of wildflowers were endless.

Without warning, you took off into the field, causing a swarm of fireflies to burst from the flowers. It looked like the stars were falling from the sky.

You caught one of the fireflies, and gently cupping it in the palms of your hands, you made a wish. You wished to always have these friends, to always have the security of the Torres siblings next door.

Joaquín wanted to keep catching bugs, and had been prepared to set some ground rules for a game (not that he ever really followed the rules back then), when you turned, and said the last thing he had ever expected.

"Come dance with me, guys!"

Heat burned Joaquín's cheeks. "Ah, I don't know...go ahead and dance, Maria. I think I'll just hang back here and look for bugs."

He wasn't sure why he felt so embarassed about it.

"Whatever, boys suck anyway," His sister announced as she brushed past.

The next few minutes were some of the worst that he'd ever endured in his short lifetime. He watched, partially in amusement, but mostly in horror, as Maria stepped all over your toes, as she apologized over and over again every time she did so. Finally, he got frustrated with having to watch you grimace and try to cover it up with a smile every time your toes got stepped on. He shoved off of the tree that he had been leaning on, and told Maria to watch and learn.

"Wait, where did you learn how to dance?" You asked, placing a hand on Joaquín's shoulder.

"Oh, our cousin got married last summer, so our Ma taught us."

There was a moment of silence, of pure joy as Joaquín twirled you slowly, and then...

You were so sure that you were going to have to break up a fight once the look of realization passed across Joaquín's usually passive face. Even more so once Maria laughed smugly at him.

Joaquín swore to never fall for one of his sister's deceptions ever again.

Another month passes, the gravitational pull grows stronger.

Daisy, your younger cousin, flew down with her mother to spend the remainder of the summer with you. It was a tradition you had back home, for your aunt and cousin to come and stay with you for one month out of the summer. You were excited that even though the location was different, that the tradition wasn't ending. You liked Joaquín and Maria, loved them even, but you were happy to have a familiar face around.

Joaquín had recently gotten into heroes, and nearly every day, at the crack of dawn, he'd drag you, Daisy and Maria to the meadow down the street to play a game of heroes with him. Though, on this particular day, only you were able to go.

Thankfully, you had proven to be just about up for anything, so when he asked you the night before if you still wanted to go, you quickly agreed. The next morning, he found you waiting on your front porch steps for him, and then you took off running for that meadow that had become a safe haven for your little trio.

The crack of a broken branch echoed through the muggy August air as you leapt from one tree to the next. Normally you'd be the sidekick in Joaquín's story, but now that Maria and Daisy were both at home, someone had to play the villain.

"That was sick, Y/n!" Joaquín broke character for just a moment, a shocked laugh escaping from his chest. "But please be careful."

You laughed wildly, feeling the freedom of air as you swung yourself from the branch and landed in front of Joaquín.

"This is fun. I want to be the villain every time!"

His mouth twisted down into a little frown, "But I like you being my sidekick."

"I do think we make a good team," You replied thoughtfully.

"Wait, really-"

He was cut off as a raindrop splattered along the ridge of his nose. You looked up, and took note of the angry gray clouds that were rolling in.

There weren't many things that frightened you.

Storms were one of the few things that did.

Not many people would've noticed that it wasn't just concern that danced in your eyes, but a deep-rooted fear as well. But Joaquín did. He always noticed things about you that no one else did.

"Hey, let's get home, yeah?" He commanded quietly, grabbing your hand. You stood in place, like a frightened fawn that hasn't quite learned how to leave its mother's side yet.

He realized then, that he would have to do anything he could to get you to move, that this was his chance to get a jumpstart on being a hero.

"Hey, rainboots," He said playfully, nudging your bright green boot with the toe of his sneaker. "Race you home? Winner gets the loser's dessert for the next week."

Now that caught your attention. Your mothers had grown close quickly and had implemented dinner's together three times a week. They collaborated on both dinner and dessert, but the dessert was always the best part of the meal.

Even though it was technically supposed to be a race, you didn't let go of Joaquín's hand when you took off into the rain.

He was quicker than you, but the both of you knew that he was going to say that you won the race.

You were only halfway home, when a crack of thunder tore through the sky. It wailed deafeningly loud, the ground shaking beneath your feet in response. Dense raindrops smacked at the tops of your heads as you ran down the street. You could barely hear over the roaring thunder, could barely see through the thick curtain of rain, but you weren't scared anymore. You couldn't feel anything but calm.

You just couldn't find it in yourself to be afraid when sunshine was running just a few steps ahead of you.

Summer descends, Autumn howling at its heels.

School was right around the corner, the dread finally settling in at the prospect of (forced) early mornings, homework, and shorter days. Daisy was due to go back home the next day, and then the following week, you'd start school with Joaquín and Maria.

You were spending the day with Joaquín, sipping sweet tea on the front porch as you played a game of cards. Daisy was down on the sidewalk, near the street. She was trying to catch a toad, and splashing around in the puddle's leftover from the rainstorm the previous night. The two of you were hidden from sight, so you didn't know what was about to happen until it was too late.

Joaquín always thought that it would be extremely difficult to envision you as an angry person. You were just so kind to every person you came across. You would sing to honeybees, even as everyone else was running away screaming. If Maria (or Daisy) dropped their ice cream cone on the sidewalk, the first person to offer theirs up would be you. Strangers would gawk at your sometimes unruly behavior, and would sometimes frown upon your boisterous laughter, but you'd just grin at them in response.

He came to a realization that day, though.

There was a boy who lived in your neighborhood. He liked to pick on people, but only if they were smaller than him and couldn't really fight back. He hadn't ever gotten brave enough to try anything with you guys, since he was always outnumbered. But he hadn't seen you or Joaquín up on the porch that day.

Neither of you realized what was happening until Daisy screamed. You watched in horror, as Beau shoved Daisy. She teetered back on her heels before losing her balance completely, her elbows skidding across the pavement as she landed. Her cries sent the both of you to your feet. Joaquín was the first to make it down to the sidewalk, his anger propelling him forward.

Joaquín was only inches from Beau, his hand reaching out to grab at him, when a blur flew past.

He slowed to a stop, watching in utter amazement as you gathered the back of Beau's shirt into your hands and yanked him back as hard as you could. Beau scowled as he turned, ready to strike. But then he saw you standing there, and laughter bubbled up in his chest, up and up, until it burst from his mouth, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He lunged at you, his fist raised as if he was about to hit you. Joaquín took a step forward as you took a step back.

Beau smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He tugged a piece of your hair, before turning on his heel.

You tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned back around, you smiled innocently up at him, and rocked back on your heels.

Your smile dropped.

"You forgot something."

And then you swung your fist into his nose.

It was at that moment that Joaquín realized that, yes, you were kind, and friendly, and often went out of your way to help others, even if it meant you got slighted in the end.

You were also fiercely protective.

A year passes.

Middle school came, and while schools changed and so did the students, you and Joaquín remained the best of friends.

You fell in love with art, and ballet. Joaquín joined various sports, intent on becoming strong so that he could protect and provide for his loved ones.

The two of you were really finding yourselves. It was beautiful.

Two years pass, then three.

The shift happens when your world suddenly turns on its axis.

Everyone called it the Blip. You called it the worst, yet most defining five years of your life.

It was odd, how your parents had been there and then suddenly...they just weren't. Maria, and Joaquín's father were gone too. But both he and his mom were safe, still in that house next door.

His mom had practically begged you to stay with them, but you couldn't bring yourself to. You couldn't bear the thought that your parents might show up again, that they might only appear just long enough that you'd miss them if you were out of the house. So you stayed, even as the echoes of what once was haunted you.

Home went from love and laughter and so much fun with your parents to the kind of quiet that was capable of driving someone mad.

Joaquín, however, was determined to redefine what home meant to you.

Having a bedroom across from yours had its perks, one of them being that he could very easily cross the tree that connected your bedrooms whenever he pleased. He had been doing it before the blip, when the two of you decided one night that it would be fun to have your own way of communicating. One flicker of your bedroom light meant 'lets watch the stars together', two flickers meant 'i'm bored, let's talk', and three meant 'sos come over as quickly as you can'.

So it wasn't necessarily strange for him to come over at all hours of the night, but it was different when the blip happened. It became less fun, and felt more like something you both needed.

It isn't a surprise for you when you hear that familiar knocking on your bedroom window at half past midnight. You call out softly, telling him to come in. What you are surprised about, is the tinge of nervousness you feel when he climbs through the window, moonlight washing over him.

You pull your covers up and around your shoulders, as if that could protect you from the newfound feeling.

"Are you cold?"

No.

"Yes," You reply.

Joaquín nods in understanding, and motions for you to scoot over in your bed. It shouldn't be strange, this had been the routine for a long while. But when he settles in beside you, face set in a peaceful expression, it gives you butterflies so badly that you think you might vomit.

"You okay?" He asks softly.

You only nod, too afraid that if you open your mouth that you'll say something stupid.

Joaquín shifts closer.

You're unsure of how and when this happened. You're unsure of when he became so...handsome. Somehow, it's only now occurring to you how much space he takes up in your bed, how broad his shoulders are when he rolls onto his side to look at you.

"Rain boots," He whispers, "Tell me what's wrong?"

Unable to look him in the eye, you roll over and stare at the blindingly red numbers on your alarm clock. "Just miss my parents."

It's not a lie.

You expect him to do what he always does. You expect him to offer some advice, to tell a joke so that you smile, you expect him to poke at your sides until you have no choice but to erupt with laughter.

You don't expect him to shift closer to you, an arm reaching out to drape over your waist. You don't expect the warmth of his breath against your neck. His chest presses to your back, and you have to stop yourself from dying right then and there. Tentatively, he slides his hand into yours, before he squeezes three times.

"Close your eyes, boots. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You do as he says, trying to get your breath back to its normal rhythm.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

"Night, Joaquín," You breathe.

The last thing you remember thinking, before sleep finally claims you, is that Joaquín's heart is beating in tandem with yours.

Two more years.

Joaquín always knew that you were destined for things far greater than you could have ever possibly imagined. It was apparent to him from the very beginning.

Growing up next to you had plenty of perks; one of them being that you had the ability to keep Maria entertained unlike anything else ever had. You had always managed to come up with fantastical scenarios, assigning the siblings their roles as you acted them out. From a young age, the world had been your stage.

You never seemed to mind that not everyone wanted to attend the show, you were always so unendingly free.

So it's absolutely no surprise to him that you seem so comfortable on a real stage.

You just...belong there.

The stage lights are bright, but not nearly as much as you are. You're radiant, a cosmic entity.

"This is beautiful," His mom announces quietly as she takes in the venue. After the blip, after everything was said and done, you decided not to waste any more time and accepted your offer into Julliard.

It had been difficult, moving away from home after everyone you loved came back. But if the blip had taught you anything, it was that life was short, and you wanted to make the most of it when you could. And now, here you were.

You'd always dreamt of performing in The Nutcracker. You weren't supposed to tell anyone when you found out, but you couldn't keep it from Joaquín that you'd gotten the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy. And to think, after all your hard work, you were performing with the New York City Ballet!

"She is so beautiful," Joaquín agrees.

"Not to diminish her, because she is very beautiful-but I said the venue was beautiful."

Joaquín looks to the side, at your mother's and at Maria. "That's what I said, too."

Maria snickers, and rolls her program up before smacking her brother with it. "That is definitely not what you just said, you dork."

He hates to admit it, but she's right. She was right all those years ago in that meadow when you were so excited to dance with them. She was right to trick him into dancing with you. Even when Maria was gone, he could almost feel her eyes on him any time he laid with you at night. He could almost feel the way she'd say, "Make a move you big dummy!"

But he was afraid.

He was afraid that he would put his heart on the line for nothing. He was afraid, because he was leaving in less than a week for the Air Force.

But mostly, he was afraid that he would get hurt, or worse, and that he would totally and completely break your heart.

So he kept quiet about it, though it was almost physically painful for him.

During curtain call, you take your final bows, and Joaquín can't help but leap from his seat. The entire audience follows suit, and he sees the way that your eyes light up. He sees the tears (that he knows are happy) that gather on your waterline. He sees, because out of everyone in the audience, you look for him.

And, damn it, if that doesn't make him want to drop to his knees and tell you right then and there how truly and completely he adores you.

But he's leaving, and you'll be here, dancing. He's leaving, and he'll be in dangerous situations that he'll be sure to not divulge with you. He's leaving, and you'll be here, safe and sound. So he keeps his mouth shut for a while longer.

Afterwards, you take them out to your favorite sushi spot. You're ecstatic, practically glowing. You had taken your hair down and taken the makeup off, but you couldn't have been more beautiful if you tried.

"This is insane," You gush, squeezing your mom's hand as you press the button on the crosswalk. "I can't believe this is my life right now!"

"Rain boots."

You glance at your greatest friend, the boy who isn't as much of a boy as he is a man now. "Joaquín."

I love you.

But he can't say it yet.

"I'm so proud of you."

You smile softly, and wrap your hands around one of his biceps before crossing the street as a group. He thinks that's all you're going to answer with, that this is where it ends. But right before you walk into the restaurant, you lean your head against his shoulder, and although you say it quietly, he hears you loud and clear.

"I'm proud of you, too."

Annnnd chapter one finished❤️ I'll get more into the plot of TFAWTS/CABNW, but I wanted to set up the back story and allow you guys to get a feel of the dynamic. (:

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your first day at work brings both excitement and anxiety. It's been a long time since you felt possibility ahead of you. You don't know that you ever really have. That's probably why you did what you did. No excuses. You made bad choices and didn't care who you hurt. 

You grab your new bag, in your brown blazer, a white satin blouse, and a black skirt, and head off. You feel like an imposter already. You get on the bus, standing as you avoid the musty seats, and figure you'll be sitting a bit too long that day. 

The office is building is just as it was before. Smaller than other business towers. The grey brick gives it an antique feel. Quaint, almost. You don't think you'll feel that way for long. 

As you enter, you recall the withering look from those green eyes. The timbre of judgment in his voice. The glint of mocking. You should be used to it by now, shouldn't you? 

You approach the office door and hesitate. What do you do? He gave you a time. You have no key. The door does not give off an essence of welcome. 

You knock and shift in your heels. You got the lowest ones you could find and they're still awful. You hear movement within. Mr. Laufeyson opens the door as you straighten your posture. 

"Good morning, sir," you greet. 

"You will fetch my coffee," he skips over any semblance of propriety. Even you know how to say hello. 

"Oh, yes sir," you reply, put off by his suddenness. 

"There is a cafe off the lobby. You must've passed it on your way in. Cortado." He demands. 

You take a breath. He could say please or thank you. You're used to a lack of manners but when you feel demeaned, you get a bit itchy. 

"Yes, sir, uh, I--" 

"You will be reimbursed. File a report," he turns away, "I would give a company card but... let's keep it all on file." 

He gets to his office door and you watch him in a silent simmer. You go to the empty desk and set down your bag. You dig out your wallet before tucking the rest underneath. 

You find your way down to the cafe, nestled between a law office and marketing consultancy space. You join the line and peer up at the menu. What did he say? C... something. Cortado, that's it right there. 

You step up for your turn. You pay for the drink and wait at the end of the counter. With your first task accomplished, you set off back to work. 

You enter the office. It's deathly silent. You can't help but look over your shoulder. Your hand balls to a fist instinctively. 

Before you can approach his door, it opens. 

"Thought I heard you," he struts out. "You may shut the door. And sit." 

You nod and offer him the cup. He points to the barren desk. You set it down and take your seat. He disappears. You frown. Was it some test? 

He emerges again, this time pushing a green leather chair. It looks much comfier than your own. He rolls it next to you and sits. You fidget and tug at the cuffs of the blazer. 

"Well, you can follow orders," he slithers. "Your attire is less... casual. The coffee is hot," he reaches for the cup and sips. "You will turn on the computer." 

You look under the desk for the tower. He scoffs and taps the laptop beside the monitor. You don't know how you missed that. 

"You will need to work outside the office at times. Now, I've a tracker installed and security, so there's no use in selling it," he warns. 

You seal your lips and nod. You won't show your irritation. Let him treat you like a criminal, at least he's paying you. 

You open the laptop and press the power button. It's very sleek and shiny. Brand new. 

"And the monitor," he directs and sips again. It's somewhat agitating to hear. 

You push the button along the bottom of the screen. He points to a post-it beside the touch pad. "Credentials." 

You type them in and hit enter. At least he's helping. Most of the courses you took were online and had zero support. You can figure things out on your own but you don't think he trusts you to do that. 

"I've had an employee ID set up. That is here," he points lower down on the post-it. "There is a folder here for you to review standard practices and expectations." 

He gestures to the smaller screen as you quietly observe. He sighs. 

"You have any questions?" 

"No, sir," you say. 

"And you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," you answer. I can read, tickles your tongue but you refuse to unleash it. 

"Wonderful, so let me take you through a few of our basic programs just so that you are set. There would be the email, then the task tracker, and finally, the most important, my calendar," he explains. 

"Yes, sir," you repeat. 

He wheels closer, his hand clasping onto the back of your chair. He keeps his cup in his other hand, extend one finger to motion to the screen. He helps you get into the inbox. 

"I recommend you review previous responses as well the templates provided in the Procedures folder." He explains. 

You bend and reach below the desk. You sift in your bag as he tuts, "whatever are you doing?" 

You sit back up with your notebook and a bic pen. You show him, "taking notes." 

He hums, "well, that is a good idea, isn't it?" 

He looks back to the screen as you flip the cover around the spirals. He's expecting you to fail, just like Dina, just like everyone else. You won't if you can help it. 

💼

You send another message to Mr. Laufeyson. For your first day, he insists on reviewing your emails. You let him know you have some waiting and go back to reviewing the folder of policy. It's not too difficult, only dry. You like that. 

How long did you live on edge, waiting for something to go wrong. It still could but there's no one actively working against you. Only your own bad habits. You just need to resist. You need to keep moving forward. 

'Send it'. His message is simple. No praise, no tips. Just approval. That's good enough for you. 

When lunch comes, you eat at your desk. You packed a plain peanut butter sandwich, a bottle of sparkling water, and small container of trail mix. Enough to tide you over. What you can spare. 

As you chew the crust, the door opens. Laufeyson sniffs and crosses his arms as he faces you. You swallow and wrap up the last bite. 

"Peanuts?" He says. 

"Oh, are you allergic?" You ask. 

"I prefer almond," he snips. "You're eating?" 

"Sir, you said twelve was my lunch." 

He squints then untangles his wrist to look at his watch, "so I did." 

You let out the heavy breath in your chest. You fold up the parchment around the sandwich and put it in your bag. Your stomach's doing those somersaults again. 

"You may finish," he says. 

"That's fine, sir, I was done," you assure him and grab a tissue to wipe your hands and mouth. You crumple it and put it in the bin. He looms close. 

"Well, if you aren't busy, another coffee would be in order." 

You look at him. You still have ten minutes. This isn't the yard, there's no guard counting down the minutes. You get up. 

"Yes, sir," you answer. 

"Oh, don't skip to the door," he says drolly. 

You tilt your head. His attitude drips from his posture as he checks his nails. You have to keep from scowling. You've been polite but he can't seem to show an ounce of decency. Well, he doesn't need to, he is your boss. 

"Just the coffee?" You ask. 

"Yes, dear, simple as," he assures flatly, as if you can't understand a coffee order. 

You bend down and grab your wallet. You put your hand on the desk to push yourself up and his shadow shifts. You glance over and his green eyes flick away from your skirt. You stand and tug it straight, worried it might have hitched up. 

"Excuse me," you sidle past him. 

"Do hurry," he bids. 

You're thankful to be away. You feel less suffocated by the guards with their night sticks, following you around as if you might make a run for the fence.  

It's busier at the cafe. You get to the counter and order. It's the same as before but even more crowded. Sweat speckles over your scalp as the walls seem to close in. 

You gulp for air as you get back to the lobby. You go up to the second floor and nearly burst through the office door. Laufeyson is by your desk, waiting. 

"Something the matter?" He muses. "I trust you didn't abscond with a coffee unpaid for?" 

You steady yourself and cross to him, offering the cup, "no, sir, it was only busy and I didn't want to be late." 

"Oh?" He arches a brow. "You seem rather worked up over it." 

"I'm not," you go around the desk and sit. 

"Ah yes, a different sort of cage now," he remarks, "no bars, just a wool blazer and a desk." 

You look at him, "I... no, it's not bad." 

"I suppose the comparison makes it tolerable," he snickers. 

"I guess," you agree and sign back into the laptop. 

"I've a client coming shortly. Please be sure to show them in with a smile." 

"I will, sir," you open the inbox. 

"You will?" 

"Yes," you repeat. 

"Let me see." 

"What?" You jerk back and pivot the chair toward him. 

"Smile for me." 

You stare at him then furrow your brow. He's taunting you. You know it. You can't let him get to you. 

You smile, or attempt to. 

"I know you might be out of practice but do try a little harder." He goads. 

You wipe your face and look down. You inhale. You smile again, this time resisting the tension tugging in your cheeks. He tilts his head. 

"Mm, you look almost like a lady," he sneers over the brim of his cup. 

You're starting to suspect he didn't hire you for good intentions. To be a helping hand. No, he's testing you. Trying to see how long it takes for you to break. Well, you won't. 

"Thank you, sir," you face the computer again. 

He sighs and struts away. The smile falls off your face and you open the newest email. You pluck away at it, falling back into a tempo between reading and typing. 

A knock comes at the door and you nearly slide out of the chair as you push it back. You get up and tap around on your heels. You brace yourself and remember. Smile. 

You turn the handle and pull the door open. "Hello, how are you today?" 

You sound stupid, like that churlish woman at the clothes shop. The man double takes and his lips slant, "I... the door says..." 

"Mr. Laufeyson is in his office," you explain.

The man nods and thoughtfully taps his chin, "ah, makes sense. He's hired a secretary." 

"Sir," you step back to let him in. 

"Aren't you polite?" He strolls in. "You might tell him Pine is here." 

"Yes, I will." 

You skirt around him and go to Laufeyson's door. You tap lightly. "Sir, your-- Mr. Pine is here." 

You wait at the door, trying to hear through it. It swings open and you teeter back. Pine steps forward, his hand outstretched. 

"Laufeyson," he shakes the others' hand. "Well, have you sorted it?" 

"You always bring me a challenge," Laufeyson waves him through then looks at you, "Pine, you take tea?" 

"As always." The man passes between you into the back office. 

"English breakfast," he points at you. "Quickly." 

[asheepinfrance]

A Night Over

an: enjoy this cute picture of mike because i literally finished this like 2 hours ago and spent so long worrying about making it aesthetic i stopped caring

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

He brushes past you as soon as you open the door, barely even a wide enough space to squeeze a body through. You huff, turn around just in time to get knocked into by his overstuffed messenger bag. It’s the same one you recognize from kindergarten cubbies and middle school lockers. 

“Well, hello to you too, Connor.”

You’ve done this all before. You recognize the sound of his body against the couch cushions before you see it, back turned to him to pull some blankets from the coat closet by the front door. You can feel his eyes, though, the way you always can. Intense in everything, even just in observing you move through your home. The home he’s been to more times than he can count on both his hands. He can’t help but to be fascinated by you, though, no matter how many times he’s been around you, bombarding his senses until the only thing his brain has a concept of is his existence relative to yours. 

He keeps a bag packed for nights like these, nights that are more frequent than they should be, and have just been growing more persistent. There’s a tone to his father’s voice he knows too well. Not necessarily anger, but a growing displeasure at everyone and everything around him, including the son that ruins his Facebook family photos and general public image of being a perfect, upper-middle class suburban family. He wouldn’t mind being in a miserable family if everyone agreed on the best way of doing it, but they still clash in that sense. So disjointed they can’t even find the same ways to hate each other, hate themselves.

You sit on the coffee table across from where he rests, hands clasped in your crossed thighs. There’s no need to talk about it anymore. The argument, the topic it took, isn’t the issue. It’s not what drives him out of his house at odd hours of the night to seek refuge in yours. It’s the feeling that if he stayed, there would be no escaping the idea that maybe, just maybe, his father is right. That he is ruining things. Sure, he’d internalized that feeling since birth, thinking and feeling it before his father could confirm he shared the same opinion, but it still hurt to know that he wasn’t his daddy’s little boy anymore. Now, he was the son that could’ve been better, should’ve been better with the resources provided to him. But he’s not normal in that sense, never has been. He wishes he could hit himself on the head hard enough to knock loose whatever is festering in his skull until it comes out his ears. Whatever neurochemical imbalance, whatever parasitic thought, whatever version of himself nestled its way in. 

You unclasp your hands, find your palms redder than they’d started, grabbing at his ankles to place them in your lap. 

“You can sleep in my bed, you know. Your back will thank you.”

You say absentmindedly, beginning the minutes long task of unlacing those scuffed, softened leather boots he always wears. They’d been a product of saved-up birthday money and weeks of not smoking, and he couldn’t help but to feel a little proud for having done something semi-responsible with himself. And now here they are, in your lap, sprinkling wet dirt onto your skin. It’s the same offer you’ve been extending his way for months, held in your palm like it’s fragile, like it means more than just a bed. He never takes it, curls your fingers back over it, nudges your hand back to your side. He means well. He means not to impose the way he does everywhere else. He knows how few places he’s truly welcome. He knows that the best one is wherever you happen to be. He won’t lose it, or he loses himself. But he can’t impose where he is invited. Welcome at all times. Your home is his home, because he doesn’t have one otherwise. Here he is wanted, and he just won’t let that be. 

You curl the undone laces around your fingers, watching the coils turn your skin just that little bit paler under the strained blood flow. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches, like he tends to do. You can feel his eyes follow the movement, whether it’s yours or the lace’s, you can’t quite make out. You look back up at him through weary eyes, the time of night clear in each fleck of color. It’s fairly late, but not late enough for you to look so worn. You’ve been tired for ages, and no amount of laying beneath woolen blankets has been able to rejuvenate you. Remarkably, there aren’t any real bags beneath your eyes. The one way you could cry out for the help you’d so desperately like without verbal confirmation of being anything less than mundane, and you can’t even supply yourself with it. How pathetic. He recognizes the look in your eyes, the plea for him to help himself so you can live vicariously through it. Feel better for having done something. He doesn’t give in though. 

So fine. He can have it his way. Boots are tucked beneath the couch, left to drip onto the wood beneath them. They can rot the whole house away for all you care. You squeeze yourself into that sliver of space he isn’t taking up, face to face so closely that it feels like this is the first time you’ve seen him at all. His left eye has a little spot of brown in it, stuck in amongst blue. A black sheep. He looks behind your head to the wall. It seems easier. He’s met with a framed photo of the two of you. No such thing as an easy way out. So, he does what he does best. Watches. Watches you move some humidity-frizzed hair from his face as if it won’t fall right back where it was, watches you attempt to get comfortable with the singular foot of room allotted to you, watches you pretend the proximity isn’t what makes your eyes look far away and yet so concentrated. He can’t point that part out, he’s sure he looks the same. He watches you sleep, too, for a while. Features softened, smushed, unfurrowed by stress. You look your age this way. You’ve shed years of forced maturation in a single shallow breath. He doesn’t feel it’s an invasion if it’s something beautiful to look at. Artistic, even. Biblical. He shivers, pretends it’s from the cold, the rain, the dampness of his clothes. You hadn’t actually put any of those blankets you’d grabbed to use. He doesn’t want to move. He can feel your heartbeat if he focuses enough like this, breath mixing with his own on your exhales. He thinks it’s almost kissing. It’s better. It’s nowhere near enough. He looks to the ceiling, then back at you. He smiles. Maybe someday he’ll say the obvious. Maybe someday he can impose. But for now feigned relative indifference will do. You know he cares more than he says. You will wake up rejuvenated.

[linkemon]

Boysband AU headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here. This part contains: Lilia Vanrouge, Cater Diamond and Kalim Al-Asim.

Lilia Vanrouge

• His signature trait is a scream with a capital "S." He has gathered a massive following of metal and rock fans. You could say he has attracted enough to form a mini fandom within the entire band.

• You stand up for him with the producers every time he wants to add another heavy track to the new album. He finds it incredibly amusing to drop these kinds of ideas on you without warning. Not too long ago, he brought it up in front of the board, watching your reaction with great interest. His long, drawn-out laughter always follows.

• Lilia loves pulling pranks on set while filming music videos. He also has an uncanny ability to jump out unexpectedly and scare people. You worry that one day you might actually have a heart attack.

• His symbol is a bat. It’s not only on his guitar but he also released a series of black plush toys that everyone adores and buys in droves.

• Lilia hates bright sunlight and early wake-ups. Sometimes, you have to obsessively call him just to get him up for rehearsals — especially when he’s stayed up late playing games, which he often streams for his fans.

• He once participated in a cooking show for publicity, saying it might be fun. He completely burned what he had in the pan and got eliminated right at the start. Since then, you and the rest of the band have kept him away from the kitchen as much as possible.

Cater Diamond

• The most media-savvy member of the band. If you need content for social media, he’s the first person you ask. A quick photo? He’s taken three. A video? He has a compilation of funny bloopers. A post? He knows all the trending hashtags.

• His signature symbol is a diamond — the same one that shines on his cheek every day. It’s also featured on his merch, from hats and shirts to jewelry.

• He has a very interesting relationship with the fans. He often engages in conversations with them longer than he should. He also signs an excessive number of autographs. If you left him alone with a phone, he would never refuse a selfie.

• Cater struggles with his self-esteem. He never lets anyone see it but the entertainment industry weighs on him, even though he’s addicted to it. One day, you found him in tears, scrolling through hateful comments. He had hidden away after a long day of rehearsals in the back of the recording studio. You’ll never forget how tightly he held onto you, soaking your sweater and apologizing over and over. You knew that, even though he looked beautiful in your eyes, it might be hard for him to believe it himself, so you just sat there in silence.

• Cater sometimes plays quiet songs and sings them only for those closest to him — including you. That’s when he shows a sensitive side he usually keeps hidden. His songs reflect his emotions and his inner world.

• Since he always keeps up with the latest trends, he’s the easiest to work with when shooting music videos. He knows how to dress fashionably, apply makeup and often has plenty of helpful ideas.

Kalim Al-Asim

• The brightest sunshine of the band and its heart. He was the one who gathered his friends long ago and, for fun, pulled them into playing instruments. Joy has always been his priority. He treats working with the agency as a great adventure but he would leave in a heartbeat if his friends ever felt unhappy with fame. Whether it’s a garage behind the house or the bright lights of an international stage, it makes him just as happy.

• Drumming is his way of channeling the incredible energy inside him. He often changes its look, decorating it with stickers and swapping out his drumsticks.

• Kalim is quite innocent, which leads to many funny situations. Fans make a huge number of memes with him as the main character but he loves them and enjoys the laughter they bring.

• His innocence, unfortunately, also makes him vulnerable to danger. More than once, famous idols or paparazzi have tried to use him for scandals to boost their own publicity. Luckily, since you’ve been on guard, you catch on in time and swat them away like flies.

• Sometimes, he does things that cross professional boundaries but you don’t always have the heart to tell him. Especially when he’s so happy — hugging you or encouraging you to sing a few lines of a new song with him. Kalim always makes sure to mention you when it’s time to give thanks while accepting various awards.

• As the son of wealthy merchants, he has inherited their talent for clever negotiation. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s casually, yet diplomatically, negotiated higher rates for album sales or performances.

[salternateunreality2]

Concept I CANNOT get out of my head: Lucretia ends up pregnant with identical twins. Sephiroth has a brother. How does this change the story?

Thanks for the ask! Lots of possibilities here, so there's a sad/likely one up top and some happy crack ones if you scroll down.

Angst answer (CW: major character death, Hojo shenanigans)

Hojo pits them against each other to encourage growth and competition. Fear of punishment plus natural ambition (they have 3 very ambitious parents) drive a wedge between them.

They bond a bit over shared trauma, but Hojo is invested in severing that bond every chance he gets, to make them more dependent on him.

Wutai falls almost immediately. Rhadore is wiped off the map mercilessly. Shinra's power grows at an even more alarming rate.

Due to their fierce competition, they don't spend time getting to know anyone. The saving graces that could have been in their lives (FS trio, Banora Boys, Zack) are shoved aside. They are very, very lonely men, or even boys because the plot progresses so much more quickly.

They are bitter, spiteful, and sharp. Cadets and underlings fear them.

Only one gets sent to Nibelheim, and Hojo knows what's there. The other is kept at home as a control.

He falls, of course. If he is younger because of the accelerated conquering, then Cloud doesn't stop him and dies as a child in the fires. Zack hasn't made rank and is probably just a trooper, and it's one of both of the Banora boys who tries to stop him.

Let's go with both for maximum angst!

Crazyroth wounds Angeal severely and Genesis manages to stab him and kill him while getting severely wounded himself and sliding down to meet Angeal. Zack is either killed in the river or by Crazyroth as a trooper.

Angeal and Genesis are picked up by Hojo for experimentation. Tifa's also dead because she was a younger child too and hadn't advanced enough in training yet.

Hojo is furious Crazyroth died, but he still has Normalroth...well, Jenova got activated somewhat during Crazyroth's rampage and is now in the lifestream with him...so Normalroth is getting constant migraines.

Angeal wakes up and breaks himself and Genesis out, following Zakkura's path. Thanks to Hojo's experimentation, they don't suffer degradation and thanks to their prior enhancements, Genesis wakes up sooner than Cloud did.

Genesis is furious and convinces Angeal to go to war against Shinra. Unfortunately, with no bond to hold him back and no clones to help GenGeal, Normalroth obliterates the pair, but does get wounded.

Meanwhile, Aerith is haunted by the planet's screams as Jenova taints the lifestream, just as Normalroth is haunted by his brother's voice echoing his mother's.

Avalanche proceeds as normal and the president drops the plate. Aerith is spared by the Turks, Hojo finds out, kidnaps her to make her make babies with Normalroth.

The only thing that saves her from that fate is Normalroth snapping after all his headaches and killing everyone, including her, in the tower.

The Turks sensed danger and got Rufus away, but now a planet-level threat is roaming around all rabid and there are no plucky teams of young adults to band together, collect friends, and stop him. Plus, Jenova+Twinroths starts from a stronger position with a living body.

Jenova gets her way, eats everyone on the planet, and uses it as a vessel to see the stars.

Twinroths are finally at peace, doing one activity they both always loved: stargazing.

As they fly, conquering worlds and living freely, they meld together more and more into one entity with Jenova, and enjoy it immensely. At long last, the connection they longed for ❤️😺😺🐙❤️

Precious boys:

Them riding Mother's coattails:

Crack answer 1:

It's Chadley. Chadley and Sephiroth.

In the most likely scenario, this just results in Hojo letting Chadley skip some torture as long as his scientific progress is beneficial to Hojo, but the boys both still get trained in war and end up in the angst case above.

Sephiroth cracks first, then Chadster.

In a more hopeful situation, both boys spend more time on science and the angst above is delayed by a few years! Woo!

In the best case scenario, they band together. Sephiroth wants to protect his "baby" brother and Chadley wants to protect his naive older brother and they work together to kill Hojo and Shinra and run off with Glenn and co. and live happily ever after as accomplished astronomers and maybe astronauts.

Crack answer 2:

They are gremlins of the highest order and enable each other in escape attempts, eventually finding Vincent, who falls for their chaotic charm immediately and protects them with his life.

[catwalks-on-high-if]

Welcome to the Requiem

Welcome to CORSAIR

Mech pilots, the heart and soul of CORSAIR. The mercenaries of legends fighting anyone and everyone as long as the price is paid. If you want a job done at the end of the day you hire them. But this story isn't about the pilots, at least not really.

You've never left your home, let alone your homeworld. But after an... incident at work you don't have much of a choice if you want to keep your freedom. Opportunity knocks in strange ways, that being CORSAIR Mercenary Company.

With a knack for being able to fix things along with a greater than average knowledge of mech scale weaponry this should be easy. That is till you're thrown head first into the arms of the Graveyard Shift mechanic team. They're not the problem though, that honor goes to Zweihander Squadron and their trio of bullet magnet pilots.

Find your place in the home for the lost and forgotten, make your time there matter before it all burns away.

[Catwalks on High is rated 18+ for: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Themes, Explicit Violence, Use of Drugs and Alcohol, and more]

Let Me Show You The Features

Customize your mechanic: Their appearance, sexuality, gender identity. How they work under pressure, what vices keep them steady and what reason they have to stick around with the Graveyard Shift.

Explore the relationship of replacing someone in a culture built around comradery.

Fall in love (if that's your cup of tea), make friendships that last the test of time (hopefully that's your cup of tea), burn bridges and make rivals, and make the Requiem your home.

Work grueling hours to let pilots do what they do best: Stand in the spotlight.

Learn the names under the callsigns by getting close, or pushing people to the brink

Get Injured! Yay!

The Graveyard Shift

Callsign: Gearshift [Team Lead] (He/Him) (Bisexual Greyromantic) 5ft 7in 35 Years Old

Gearshift is the most mechanic mechanic you have ever laid eye on, steady hands, steady temper, and an utter workaholic despite forcing the rest of the team to clock out on the dot. He's certainly interested in things outside of work but good luck getting him to talk about it. After all, work is work, social life is social life. When you replace someone's friend can you ever be anything other than the spare tire?

(Gearshift will not get into a romantic relationship with the Mechanic but is willing to have a one night stand)

Callsign: Slab [Stabilizing Factor] (They/Whatever Works For The Joke) (Pansexual) 4ft 10in 27 Years Old

Slab is the master of internal workings in a frame, crawling inside a mech faster than most people can tie their shoes, the reckless abandon of them is only matched by the crass humor. Providing the emergency repairs needed to make sure the mech doesn't blow up once it's in the Hangar Slab has a odd view on everything with a timer, which includes themself Can you plan for a future in which someone is already dead?

(Slab has a poly route with Callsign: Screwball)

Callsign: Chiptune [Diagnostics] (He/Him) 5ft 9in 44 Years Old

Chiptune is a methodical presence on the team, while he might not be doing the hardest job his knack for technology certainly pays off on keeping mechs in perfect electronic shape. He's always got a story to keep the chatter going no matter the time, though the others will claim that he's bound to run out of tales eventually... right?

Callsign: Vanaema [Hull Work] (She/Her) 5ft 5in 68 Years Old

Crass, abrasive, downright hostile, irate. All terms that could describe the woman who has to pound titanium alloy back into shape. She'll be late to clock in, late to clock out, hostile to the pilots. But so help the gods if you mess with her those she see's as family you'll come to understand that she's been nice this entire time.

Callsign: Lightfingers [Designated Medic] (He/They) 5ft 9in 34 Years Old

Lightfingers or just Fingers for short is the doctor, calm to fault he won't pick a fight in the team even for a second. Yet for all of his composure something feels melancholic about him. At the end of the shift he's your rock, he's the lighthouse for the pilots of Zweihander, and a ghost when off the clock.

(Fingers will not allow you to be his rival. You can hate him all you want but he won't hate back)

B "Callsign: (Player Choice)" Chesterfield (Variable Pronouns) 5ft 3in Same Age As The Player Character

Barnes/Becky/Barry has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. Years of getting lost in places you shouldn't together, tighter than any knot. They couldn't protect you the night of the incident. But that doesn't matter anymore now that you're both free of it.

Zweihander Squadron

Callsign: Siren Piloting: Penelope (She/Her) (Lesbian: Siren will only date Nonbinary and Female Mechanics) 6ft 2in 32 Years Old

Siren is the perfect ideal of a pilot. A ferocious killing machine on the battlefield, the perfectly sociable friend off the battlefield, even willing to help take on the work of others. Her team loves her, the company adores her, and something about her still feels off to you deep in your gut. Can you love a knight who isn't as shining as she seems?

(Siren is the only R.O who the Mechanic can be in a Rivalry with and have a one night stand)

Callsign: Walkman Piloting: Miami Calling (They/Them) 5ft 5in Unspecified Age

The most uncanny member of Zweihander Squadron, Walkman is a bizarre case. Starting from the refusal to not wear a hardsuit helmet with the face of a smiling catfish stenciled on they already make an odd impression. Throw in the fact they only communicate via chopped up audio bites and you have an uncomfortable experience for most. Despite this Walkman seems the least standoffish to your introduction to the Graveyard Shift.

Callsign: Screwball Piloting: Sweet Summer Tea (He/Him) (Gay: Screwball will only date Nonbinary and Male Mechanics) 5ft 5in 29 Years Old

Screwball is... odd. Deeply in love with his mech, no matter who he's friends with they will always come third in his life. The mech, his dog, then everyone else. Screwball adores his frame, treat it with such care most spouses would be jealous and sleep in it. Letting someone as new as you near the frame is risk, but for some reason one he's willing to take even if tentatively. You'll always come third, is that a sacrifice you're willing to make?

(Screwball has a poly route with Callsign: Slab)

The Repairman (And Child)

Callsign: Vent Bait [Station Repair] (He/Him) (Bisexual) 6ft 3in 38 Years Old

Vent Bait is the flexible one getting into every nook and cranny to patch all the problems that could crop up. He's overworked, exhausted, in pain, oh and a single father taking care of a teenager. He's even tempered and a shoulder to lean on, but from the looks of it he needs a shoulder more than you. It's not a question of getting him to like you. It's if Constellation (his kid) is willing to let you stay close. This isn't just a date, it's a responsibility, can you handle it?

(Vent Bait will not date anyone younger than 35 Years Old. Vent Bait will also leave the story quickly if the Mechanic is hostile or attempts to instigate a rivalry with him)

Constellation ??? (They/It) 5ft 10in 15 Years Old Constellation would currently rather shiv you than let you anywhere near it's dad. They're not interested in any of the work their dad does and it's not clear where they're headed in the Company. What is clear is the lengths they will go to in order to protect their father.

(You CANNOT rival the child)

[alexisalittleloony]

I WANNA ADD SOMETHING TO THIS BECAUSE MY GOD YOURE SO RIGHT

I think a really interesting moment in the manga is when Suika saves Charlotte in the Amazonas.

(for me Suika counts as an Ishigami because come on, That's Senku's baby! He's her big brother and she's his little sis!!!)

Suika have always seen Senku as an older brother/kind of parental figure in the same way she always saw Kohaku as an older sister/kind of mother figure. As you said, he's one of the first persons who saw her behind the melon mask and make her feel included by allowing her to help them, even if it was with something she didnt have experience with and had never heard of in her entire life: science.

By Senku's hand, Suika discovered the wonders of science. She saw first hand how it was able to help the helpless, how even in the darkest of times it always bathed everything with its light, and she fell in love with it too. The little girl who craved to help people discovered the ultimate tool to do so. And following Senku's example, she was going to give it to every person she encountered in her way.

On the other hand there's Charlotte. A woman who doesn't speak a word of Suika's languaje and has strict orders of murdering everything and everyone she finds in her way. Suika has already seen the danger the americans represent. They attempted and almost succeded in killing the man she considers her best friend. It will be infinitely better for her and her family(i'm sure she sees everyone in the kingdom of science as her family) if they dissapeared, right?

But then Charlotte is bitten by the poisonous spider. She is alone and helpless in the middle of a giant forest who doesnt spare anyone, not even the most loyal of soldiers. And Suika knows Senku would never turn his back at someone who is suffering on their own like that. Suika knows she's her enemy. She knows that, if the situation was reversed, probably no one on Stanley's team would have helped her because for them, she's just one of the kids who interfere with Xeno's plan. She's to blame for Stanley's king to be away from him even if they were the ones who didnt left Senku other choice. For them, they're nothing but rocks in Stan's boots and he is more than willing to flat them into dust in order to have his anchor back. But she doesn't care. When she saw Charlotte in the floor, crying in pain and fear while the poison traveled throught her veins, Suika didnt see her as her enemy, but rather as a woman who needed the kind of help she was able to give, the kind of help science was able to gift.

The Ishigamis and The Gifts of Science

Dr. Stone is a love letter to humanity and its sciences. The main character, Senku, often acts averse to all forms of affection, and the only love he doesn't deny is his love for science. But Senku is so so full of love. He just expresses it in a way other than physical touch or words of affirmation. He gives.

But let's go back to the one who taught him so– Byakuya Ishigami, his father. The love of Senku's life.

Byakuya is introduced in the tenth chapter of the manga as a dotting father who sells his car to present Senku with scientific instruments he will need for a more efficient research. This car is Byakuya's means of transportation, and given that he is crying and shaking in this scene, it could not have been easy for him to lose it. But his love for Senku is so big, that he wants to support his son's passion even if it means sacrificing a great convenience for him.

And Senku? Senku truly fell in love with science at this moment.

If there is anything that Senku is, he is Byakuya Ishigami's son through and through. They may seem like two very different people, as Byakuya is an openly affectionate guy while Senku is more closed off with showing his true emotions. But Senku takes more from Byakuya than not, and one of them is by showing his love and/or care for others through giving the gifts of science.

And it starts with Byakuya.

[Bodysuit Acquired!]

Byakuya had failed his first attempt at being an astronaut ten years back, but he doesn't give up and tries again. Senku then creates a bodysuit that manipulates muscle movement to help Byakuya pass his swimming test. And while the bodysuit doesn't quite help Byakuya to swim, the thought Senku had put into it had motivated Byakuya more than ever to pass the test. This is one of the fundamentals of gifting– sometimes, it really is the thought behind it that matters.

This motivation is what Byakuya credits during his interview with JAXA for passing the tests. He understands that Senku might not have given him any words of encouragement, but this bodysuit was all the words that were needed between them. Senku wants Byakuya to achieve his dreams just as badly. It's the way Senku shows his love for his father.

And it's the way Senku shows his love for others too.

[Glasses Acquired!]

One of the primitive aspects of the Ishigami village is that it considers bad eyesight as a type of "disease". Fuzzy disease, to be exact.

Suika wears a melon mask at all times to help clear her eyesight, which Senku later reveals is due to the pinhole effect. She, however, has never told Senku or the others about having the fuzzy disease. Senku himself notes how odd it is for her to wear a melon around, and confronts her about it once he decides to create glass. This is one of the most beautiful scenes in Dr. Stone, as Suika finds out that her disease was never a disease, and is finally able to see as clearly as the others. Senku basically gives her perfect eyesight, something she didn't even know was possible before.

[Antibiotics Acquired!]

One of the most beloved people in this village is the priestess, Ruri. Two of Senku's new friends, Kohaku and Chrome are deeply affected by her unknown fatal disease. Senku is such a person who would help a stranger even if there is no benefit to do so (though he would never admit to it), what more a person who his new friends truly love and care about. He cures Ruri of pneumonia, giving her a chance to live a life without the worry of it being her last day every day.

[Cola Acquired!]

Senku forms an alliance with Gen, who plays the role of Tsukasa's spy, for the promise of a bottle of cola. Both Senku and Gen are aware that the cola is only a front for Gen's loyalty to Senku and the Kingdom of Science, for Gen needs his superficial reputation as a comfort and cannot simply join them if there is no personal benefit for him to do so.

This cola is also the first gift post-petrification that Senku brands himself on, probably because it represents the first gift that is not out of necessity and leans toward a comfort/luxury that they both used to enjoy in the modern world.

For a modern man such as Gen, drinking his favourite soda in the stone world might have been one of the happiest days in his life.

[Cotton Candy Acquired!]

Senku cares about people so much, even if the people in question have tried to kill him. Senku sees Homura as a soldier who is merely following the orders given by her leader, but he also sees the Homura as a lonesome girl sitting by herself on trees day and night.

As usual, Senku hides his kindness and care by showing an evil ulterior motive, such as turning Homura to their side using the cotton candy, but Ruri points out that this is a facade. Similarly to Gen, a person with such an ego is unable to seem as if he is doing something good out of the kindness of his heart.

[Stove Acquired!]

As winter approaches, the elders in the village are worried about losing people to the cold. Senku hears about this and creates a stove which has a multi-purpose of cooking and also radiating heat for the people to stave off the coldness of winter. And speaking of winter...

[Christmas Acquired!]

Senku hangs up lights in the tree for the "light bulb test" on a random night. Except the date isn't random at all and he drops enough hints for Gen to catch on that it is the night of Christmas. The significance of the day is only appreciated by Gen and himself, as they are the only modern timers in the village. It is for the sake of nostalgia, but Senku would rather be caught dead than admit that he is a sentimental guy with such irrational feelings.

And well, it all comes back to that scene with Byakuya, doesn't it? If you recall, Byakuya calls himself "Santa" while giving the scientific presents to the young Senku. This indicates Senku received them during Christmas. Which means... Christmas is a sentimental day to Senku and his father. An anniversary of Senku receiving his Christmas presents from Byakuya, which led to his deeper dive into his science obsession. The beginning of it all, one would say.

And even though he's dead and buried, Byakuya never stops giving. He gives Senku the Ishigami village to provide Senku with allies. He gives Senku Lillian's music, because he believes in the light of music and understands the importance of media to society. He collects platinum till his last breath, because he believes that Senku will need it someday. Byakuya keeps on giving to Senku, because his love for his son is so huge and unconditional. And because he promised.

Surely, there is no greater love in the manga than Byakuya's love for his son and Senku's love for his father. Byakuya could easily win ten billion best father awards... well, not like there's much competition for that in shounen mangas.

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff

[impossible-rat-babies]

puppets bunker and ddos attacks have never been so much fun

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[tariah23]

Crying

[followerofmercy]

Networking/Knowing A Guy: A Guide

This is the autism website. Now, as an extension of the power of love and friendship, there are few things more useful than Knowing A Guy. Knowing A Guy means you have a support network. Knowing a plumber, or a tax accountant, or just that one dude that's really fucking good at finding the information you need when you're really overwhelmed, can be the difference between being able to pay rent and having a fun party with friends to fix your shit.

How does one end up Knowing A Guy? It's a skill you can develop called Networking and it is one of the foundations of society. Unfortunately making those connections with people is fucking hard and nobody makes a tutorial for it. So, here you go:

The golden rule is you scratch my back and I scratch yours

It is necessary for survival to seek out useful people

Great news! Everyone is useful in some form or fashion - including you! When given the opportunity to learn about someone, do it! Extroversion does not come naturally to some people and that's okay. Just take whatever falls in your lap.

Types of usefulness: trade skills, connections of their own, personality you jive with, pleasant to talk to, niche interest in shared hobby, security - the list is pretty much endless. I know a guy that lives in the metro area - no job, no major hobbies, inoffensively annoying to me personally, kinda ignorant, not attractive to me, but you know what? He knows how the fuck to get around the city by foot. My rural-raised ass APPRECIATES the guide.

Remember important information: general personality, background, skillset, likes and dislikes. You can find this information by making smalltalk about their life. There is no such thing as pointless conversation. (Yes, even the annoying smalltalk)

The more people you know, the higher the likelihood that one of them will be useful in a given situation - or will know someone who is.

It is overwhelming. In a given clique/community/workspace/whatever, there is A Guy Who Knows The Other Guys. This Guy is a shortcut. Find them. They're often elderly, extroverted, a little bit annoying, a secretary or in some otherwise forward-facing position. Look for people that are gossipy/talk about other people a lot but not in negative ways. If they constantly talk shit, they'll talk shit about you too. They're still useful but be careful with the information you share

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.*

If you have low self esteem, you're going to feel like you're using people. You're not. That's the devil talking. People like feeling valued and the connections you are making are the threads holding community together. Recognize people for their talents. It's only a problem when you're taking advantage of people

So: don't feel scummy about it. You're an animal. You have to claw out your right to survive and people will respect you more for it.

Luckily mutualism is the name of the game in the animal kingdom. Offer something back. The foundation of a Know A Guy relationship is Mutual Benefit

Sometimes that Mutual Benefit is just spreading news of the The Guy far and wide. My plumber friend is my actual friend and I love her to death, but I'm maintaining our backscratch relationship by pimping out her plumbing business to anyone that'll listen

Food is a good Mutual Benefit. People across cultures for all of human history have bonded over food. I have good success asking people for a favor and then offering to buy them lunch in return **

General compensation is also good. Offer a service in return and always do your best to offer financial compensation as appropriate. Having your plumber friend take a look at your drain: doable with a case of beer. Having your plumber friend redo the pipes in your entire house? You need to pay for that.

Being transactional is not necessarily a bad thing. I would advise against keeping an itemized list of things owed, but fish don't seek out cleaner shrimp just because they enjoy their company. Everyone gets something

Unfortunately being extroverted and generally personable is a huge benefit here, but that's the value of the Guy That Knows A Guy. There's someone out there that has consolidated All The Guys so you don't have to be the local expert. Always remember nobody can do everything and you don't need to master every skill

* This is the foundation of a functioning community. I have many acquaintances that I find incredibly annoying. They include doctors, welders, artists, social workers, lawyers, construction crew and random fuckers at the grocery store. I do not hang out with them. I do not have to in order to maintain a civil Know A Guy relationship. I can drop them useful tidbits and fuck right off so I don't have to spend any more time than necessary with them

** People may assume romantic intent. Be prepared for that. I generally denote that it's a friendly/work lunch by calling them bro at some point if they're my age. Otherwise my general demeanor is sufficient to show that I do this with everyone

Source: personal experience, mother's teachings of crime, booth vending and poverty

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

In Ghost’s eyes, the first time you smiled up at him was the moment you became his and his alone.

So what if everyone apart from you knew it?

Didn’t make it any less of a fact, as far as he was concerned.

Still though, he wanted to learn more about just who his pretty little wife was, including anything that might make letting you know about your marriage a little easier. And so like the good soldier he is, he goes about it as though it were a reconnaissance mission.

He asks you how you take your coffees and teas, holding his breath as he watches you take the first sip of whichever drink he’s made you that day, pride swelling in his chest when you tell him it’s perfect, even better than when you make it.

The first time he’d done so, your eyes widened in surprise when he put his large, gloved hands over yours where they were wrapped around the mug, leaning forward and bringing the rim to his lips where he took a sip for himself, eyes locked with yours. You were unsure of what to think or say, but he apparently decided for you that this was okay, returning the warm drink to your mouth where he encouraged you to take another sip.

You figured that it was alright, he did make the tea for you after all, right?

You even laughed when he started only serving you in a mug with ‘Mrs.’ printed across the side, certain that it hadn’t been in any of the common room’s cupboards before.

He eyes the book peeking out of your bag one morning as you tuck it away, purchasing his own copy the very same day, curious to know what you like reading. You’re pleasantly surprised, if not a tad confused, when you find the next two books in the trilogy sat atop your desk soon after, a small note written in chicken scratch lain on top reads ‘To : Wife’. He’ll make a point of commenting on the novel if he sees you holding it, slipping in tid bits of information to impress you show he’s read it as well, likes the same things you like.

He’ll joke about how the food on the dining hall is always subpar, trying to casually find out what you like eating, subtly pulling out his phone and typing anything new into his notes app where he’s been keeping track of all your likes and dislikes. He just wants to get things right with you, be good for you, prove he can be the husband you need. You’re already perfect in his eyes, his sweet little soulmate who just doesn’t know it yet.

Though this was the first military base you’d ever worked on, you couldn’t recall anyone having ever warned you about the way Lieutenants apparently like to haze the new hires, never mind the fact that everyone else was apparently in on it.

No one bats an eye when you go to take the empty seat next to him in a briefing, and he wraps his strong arms around you to instead plop you down onto his muscular thighs, carrying on with the task at hand as though this is perfectly normal and professional. Even the Captain hardly glances at the interaction, so you figure it’s okay, some strange form of team bonding?

Not a soul comments on the way the Lieutenant insists on being the one to cut up your food and feed you bites during meals in the dining hall, pretending as though they don’t hear him telling you about how “my wife works hard enough, don’t need to be liftin’ a finger wit’ me around, love.”

They know to move out of the way if you’re approaching a closed door, knowing if the Lieutenant is anywhere near, he’ll be rushing to open the door for you before you can even attempt to do it yourself.

Even Soap has stopped complaining aloud and only rolls his eyes when Ghost drops anything and everything he’s doing- whether it’s spotting the Sergeant in the gym, being out on a morning run, hell even being in the middle of a shower- to send you a good morning text at six o clock on the dot. Every. Single. Morning.

No, you never exactly anticipated this sort of a running gag from a hardened military base, but you’re not exactly complaining either.

Not when you find your heart fluttering every time your fake work husband dotes on you like he really would marry you at the drop of a hat.

Besides, it’s all just playful, innocent fun, right?

Especially when everyone begins to apparently forget your name and instead refers to you only as Mrs Riley.

And when the Captain tells you that your requested time off for a honeymoon has been approved, something which you definitely don’t remember requesting, well that’s all just fun too, right?