#Redding Convention Center

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

PRIDE stimboard for : a black wolf based off the asexual pride flag requested by 🐺⚔️anon

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[charmwasjess]

That One About the Temple Clones AU

Here's an underexplored and juicy plot point in the prequels that I can't stop thinking about! Because Sifo-Dyas was killed so early in the new canon timeline of the creation of the clones, with Dooku impersonating him to handle the subsequent details, we don’t even know exactly what he intended the clone army to be.

I think there’s even an argument to be made that Sifo-Dyas intended the clones to be culturally Jedi. Raised and trained in the Jedi Temple(s), learning Jedi skills and ways of life, growing up in a shared community alongside the Jedi. The clones serving not as an emergency button to hit in case of war, but as a support to the overstretched, under resourced Jedi Order in an increasingly violent, chaotic galaxy, one that might prevent the war he foresaw from ever even happening.

To begin, I’ll briefly touch on the galactic situation immediately before The Phantom Menace. Time and time again, we’re given a picture of the Jedi Order that is being stretched to its limit. All across the galaxy, Jedi temples such as the ones we see operating in the High Republic era in the Acolyte, are being shut down because the Jedi just can’t staff them. The novel The Living Force, set immediately before TPM, deals with the repercussions of these shut downs for the people living in those sectors - destabilization, a vacuum where the power hungry and corrupt can come into the space left and make life awful for the people. Problems arise, these systems go to the Republic for help, the Republic can't help due to bureaucratic red tape and lack of Jedi resources, and this creates more bad feelings about the Jedi and a great environment to grow the Separatist cause.

"I always heard so much about the Jedi. I never saw one, but they told me that was because you saved people -- and then you left!" - The Living Force

Enter Sifo-Dyas. As a member of the Jedi Council in this era, he would have overseen dozens of these painful but unavoidable closures. More, he was trained by Lene Kostana, a High Republic era Jedi, who remembered the golden age of the Jedi, all of these Jedi outposts, temples, and cultural centers being open and thriving, and surely filled her Padawan’s head with these stories. When Sifo-Dyas foresaw a coming cataclysmic war that would destroy the Jedi Order, it's not hard to see where he might have made a connection between the pervasive problem that was a lack of Jedi resources, and the galaxy falling further into darkness. In fact, it's exactly what happens in the prequels with a little push from the Sith.

The Living Force novel tells us outright that Sifo-Dyas’s original plan before deciding on the clones was to use his role as a Jedi Seeker to fill the Jedi Order with as many new Jedi as possible to counter the coming threats:

“(Sifo-Dyas) was always in a big damn hurry. Like the Republic would end if he didn’t swell the ranks.” - The Living Force 

Wow, Even Piell, that line aged like milk, buddy!

 Ki-Adi Mundi frowned. “Indeed, sometimes those he brought to us were not even viable candidates.”  - The Living Force 

So, Sifo-Dyas was originally trying to bring as many kids into the Order as possible, and didn’t particularly care if they were very Force sensitive. An intriguing detail, when considering how closely he might have imagined the non-Force-sensitive clones to work in Jedi roles.

Interestingly, he didn’t actually abandon that “swell the ranks” plan - he got his ass fired, so he couldn’t bring any more Jedi in the conventional way. Sifo-Dyas is in a desperate situation here, he feels he's running out of time, and he needs to get as many people into the Jedi Order as quickly as possible. I think you might see where I'm going with this.

“The future should remain unseen, but unfortunately, Sifo-Dyas has little choice in the matter.”  -Lene Kostana, Dooku Jedi Lost

We know he arranged the initial order for the clones, but not how he intended to use them, or saw their role, or even if he would have agreed with Jango as the DNA donor, since that part came in from Dooku.  If Sifo-Dyas, lifelong Jedi and true believer in the Order, was creating something to help defend his people in their darkest hour, it stands to reason that he might look within his own culture for their training, instead of outside of it.

Did he see them as a secret weapon, a surprise help in the hour of greatest need, as they would ultimately function as on Geonosis? Or did he envision the clones being raised with Jedi involvement on every level of their development, growing into keepers of the peace to fill those hundreds of empty temples and outposts and restabilize a galaxy sliding toward darkness?

I think an important clue that supports the latter argument is that as Sifo-Dyas is literally falling out of the sky to his death, he is busy trying to get a message to the Council that he ordered the clones via a recording: 

I've seen a vision of the future that I feel warrants an army. You've disagreed with me, but I felt I had no choice. Therefore I have ordered one: a clone army from the Kaminoans. Something must be done, and I made that decision. - Sifo-Dyas, Force Collector

He's hardly trying to keep the (currently embryonic!) clones a secret here. He seems to think he's done his part and the Council has no choice but to take it from there, and follow through with his unmentioned plan. He has delivered the needed personnel. And bear in mind, Sifo-Dyas did not expect his death to be a 10 year old mystery. He seems to have spent his very last breaths protecting Sillman and therefore leaving a witness to everything that happened. His last words are literally “Come find me!” 

These are not the actions of a man who has set his plan into perfect motion and a magic army will appear just at the right time in ten years. This is a man who is facing his unexpected death and realizing that he needs to tell the Council, who disagreed with him but he clearly still trusts, what he did because he won't be there to handle the details himself. It's almost poignant.

-

I worried about making this post at all because I’m not actually interested in blorbo apologism. Sifo-Dyas’s story is much more interesting if he is a good man forced to go to desperate, awful lengths to keep the apocalypse from happening. Whatever he intended the clones to be, it ended in Order 66; in a way, it doesn't even matter.  And yet, I think there’s something compelling there too, and I think canon gives us just enough - at least make an argument for a culturally-Jedi clone army what-if.

[girl-lostconnection]

Hello!!!

I’ve been reading your works for a while and I’m hyperfixating adore you’re writings! So I saw this Red Bull ad during the Super Bowl and the penguin reminded me of Soap. Could I please humbly request hybridpenguin!Soap x reader fluff/comfort/romance/head canons anything really. I think you can bring this idea to life :3

It’s your lucky day cause I’ve been watching “Good luck Chuck” and there are some penguins that caught my eye. So I’ve been thinking about it whole day, googling penguins because I honestly don’t know much about them.

I chose Adelie Penguin for Soap because the blue-eyed stare this birds have is perfectly uncanny (I urge you to google them, they stare right in your soul) and also, they have very interesting courting rituals.

Also the wiki page for them said, I quote: “Despite their size, Adélie penguins are known for their bold and boisterous personality and will challenge other animals, including predators far larger than them.” And that reads like canonical Soap, because yeah, he would. Bold personality is right up this man’s alley.

But imagine hybrid Adelie Penguin!Soap and human Reader where he tries so fucking hard to court you properly but you don’t know jackshit about courting methods.

Male Adelie Penguins offer female penguin the perfect stone, polished to perfection, they spend quite some time looking for the best one and once found — they present it as a courting gift. It depends purely on the female penguin whether to accept courtship or not.

But if she does they can start mutual courting involving leaning closer to each other, grooming each other, familiarising with how each other sound — it helps them later to find the mate in the big crowd.

So Soap knows that maybe it would have been better to go with flower or something more conventional but he likes you, god, he really does. So there’s no harm in looking for a pretty stone for a pretty you, right?

Right?

Man spends his whole leave on Scotland’s shores, practically on all fours as he picks up decent stones, washes and polishes them at home before throw them all out because no. All wrong. Not prettty enough, not smooth enough, not shiny enough.

No mate would accept a shite like that, why would he even bring this ugly thing to your attention? What kind of potential mate would he be?

He returns to his searches even more determined. Soap will be damned if he comes back and he still doesn’t have a perfect stone for you.

And finally, luck smiles at him and dedication pays off — the perfect prettiest little stone he has ever seen. Smooth from cold waves, shiny in a way that makes you want it touch again and again, perfectly round. No ridges or bumps, no sharp edges or cracks.

Perfect stone for perfect you.

He returns feeling victorious and on top of the world and presents you with a stone without a second word. Quite literally he just extends his hand and there lies the stone. He doesn’t say anything, he’s just waiting for your reaction

And you have no fucking idea what’s going on, because the man is staring you in the eyes with his ungodly blue eyes and a little stone on his palm and you’re like…okay?:,) alright?🥹

So you take the stone to look closer (Soap tenses up like you have his heart in your hands, eyes hungry on you, still waiting for your reaction) and truth be told, it is a really nice stone. Shiny and smooth and perfectly polished. The kind of stone you’d want to fumble with all day, just rolling through the palm, massaging the center of your palm with it as you work.

It is a bloody lovely stone. You really like it.

But Johnny is not saying it, still watching you with the same hungry look, it’s just that now his grin is widening slowly because you look like you really like the stone. He did a good job, right? There’s no way you found his courting gift lacking.

And it is a perfect stone but the thing is…you don’t know if it’s a gift to you or if penguin part of Soap is simply showing off (crow!Simon does similar things when he brings you shiny stuff). So you don’t know if you are at liberty to keep the shiny pebble.

And Johnny is still completely fucking silent watching you with bated breath.

You carefully place the stone back in his palm, murmuring softly that it’s a very lovely stone, it looks incredible and you think it is absolutely gorgeous.

Soap stares at the stone for a few very long moments, his grin slowly fading because…don’t- don’t you like the stone, hen? You just said it’s gorgeous, but you are giving it back. Why are you giving it back?

He stares at the stone, absolutely crest-fallen in the face because he was so sure you’d like it. He was so proud of it and so excited to give it to you and of course there is no pressure for you to take it, after all it’s gift for you and you shouldn’t just settle for things.

But still.

What was wrong with it? Was there a crack he didn’t notice or is the texture of it not to your liking? Maybe you prefer sharper stones, maybe you like some roughness to them?

He looks back at you, feeling upset and anxious, stone still in hand while you try to gauge what the hell caused the reaction. Because Johnny is looking at you like you just kicked him in the stomach and you don’t know why.

“Ye didnae like it, hen?”, he swallows his pride and asks because obviously, you didn’t, what kind of fucking question is that. Mate just returned his gift back to him, means that gift is not up to standards.

You blink at him slowly, because what is he even talking about.

“I liked it. It’s really pretty. Where did you get it?”, you try to steer conversation away, since maybe there’s something you don’t seem to get about the stone.

“Why- ye didnae take it”, Soap’s voice is unusually soft, as he tilts his head to the side, stone clutched in his hand as some anxiety bleeds out of him.

Maybe he can still salvage it.

“Was it for me?”, the question leaves him now being the one who gives you a slow blink, before his gears kick in, realisations slowly creeping up his head. So that’s what was wrong.

“Aye”, stone returns to your palm, gets pressed into it by Johnny’s — warm and smooth — your heart skipping a beat. “If ye like it, Ah’d be happy if ye took it. But ainlie if ye like it, hen”

There’s a weight to this moment that you aren’t sure you capture fully but there’s something in Soap’s eyes that makes your fingers intertwine with his, head leaning closer to him. You are so close you can see the tiniest freckles on his cheeks.

Pretty.

“I really like it”, admitting it feels like you are ten again and sharing a silly secret with a boy you like, but Johnny looks at you like he couldn’t be happier.

His throat bobbing when you lean in closer, small shiver going down his spine because it’s really happening. His gift is accepted, his mate is accepting him — holding his hand, leaning into him, looking at him like that.

Best day of his life, truly.

So he presses a short tight kiss to your temple and nods at you like there is a shared understanding between you two now. Like you are partners in crime.

Soap practically jogs away, excitement evident in every step, shoulders spread out proudly. He fucking did it. He got the perfect stone for perfect you and you accepted it.

Now, the courting can really begin.

(It will take you an evening of google searches before you understand the meaning of the stone and why the hell, Soap is helping with your hair routine/skin care routine/nail polishing and even offers to “wash with the penguin, save the water, hen”)

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[latenighttalkinqwp]

kk arnold x dancer!reader, maybe some smut too

kk arnold x dancer!gf

as they finished calling your entry number and the applause quieted down, the walk onto the stage felt like forever. your eyes darted across the room, looking for a specific pair to meet yours. the first few beats of your song began to play, and your mind immediately went quiet. this was your last time competing on stage before college, and you knew you couldn’t risk it. you have put every bit of your soul into perfecting this solo for this exact moment, and everyone in the room was able to tell. weather it was your technique being near to perfect, or the story being told with your body, the judges were loving it.

as you knee-dropped to the floor, you slowly looked up and met her eyes across the room. her smile was wide, and her phone was recording this moment for you. the emotion on kk’s face was evident, and it gave you the motivation to continue performing to the best of your ability. she has been with you training all these months, and she’s one of the few people who know how hard you have wanted this. being on the stage at nationals your senior year has been your forever dream— and now you’re finally here. “bum roll up…hold this leg. dear god hold this leg baby.” kk whispered, having every moment of your choreography memorized.

the angle of your body shifted, and your leg slowly began to come up into a développé for five counts. your toes were pointed, and your back slowly began to arch as you fell into a back-walkover. the audience cheered, as you began to walk off stage. your eyes were watering, and your team ran to hug you as the audience was standing to applaud you. “that was so beautiful.” your teacher whispered in your ear, hugging you tightly. you muttered a quiet thank you, just trying to get out from backstage. as the next number was called, you were finally able to break away and start looking for your person. kk was doing the same thing, looking around the convention center looking for your navy blue costume.

“kk!” you waved, speeding up your walk as you noticed her in the distance. she smiled, pushing past a few other dancers to finally pull you into a tight embrace. “you did so amazing baby.” she immediately said, wrapping her arms around your waist. you could feel your cheeks heat up, her compliments still having that affect on you. “thank you.” you mumbled, pulling back from her embrace slowly. you began to look around for a more quiet place, the constant flow of people overwhelming you. “i found a place we could go when i was walking over here, cmon.” she said, knowing what you needed. her arm wrapped around your waist, as she led you to an empty meeting room that the convention center had left open. you immediately sat on one of the couches, pulling kk down with you. she laughed, handing you a bottle of water she had bought for you earlier.

“i’m so proud of you.” she leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your red lips. you pouted, “what kind of kiss was that?” you said. “i didn’t want to mess up your stage makeup.” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a deep kiss. kk’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into her lap. your emotions were still going haywire, the adrenaline from performing still surging through you. “you looked so good up there.” kk mumbled, pulling away to start leaving kissed down your neck. you let out a quiet moan, throwing your head back. her hands ran up and down your open back, and your body covered in chills. “kamorea..” your eyes flutter shut, as your body begins to melt into hers. “what is it baby?” she pulls you back in for a kiss, her hands wrapping your waist firmly. “mm..need you.” you say against her lips, still kissing her intensely.

“are you sure? so many people could hear us..” she leans up to whisper in your ear, then kisses down to the nape of your neck. “fuck- yes kk. please” before you could even finish your sentence, she had begun pulling your costume off, and leaving kisses down your your bare chest. your breathing picked up, as you pulled her shirt off quickly. she began to pull the rest of your costume off, and pulling down your tights gently so they didn’t rip. “you looked so good up there baby-“ she rubbed her hand up to the inside of your thigh, feeling the heat coming from your core. your hands come out to hold the back of the couch, as kk slowly begins to take off your underwear. it all happens fast after that- her slim fingers sliding into your core, while her thumb rubs circles on your clit. “fuck- oh my god.” you moan, biting down on your bottom lip. “you feel so good baby- so wet f’me” she rasps out, her fingers pumping in and out of you at a fast pace.

you can feel the knot in your stomach forming, and your hips begin to grind against her hand. “i’m so close- kk. oh my god.” your hand comes up to your breast, as you throw your head back. “that’s it baby, come for me” her fingers slow down for a moment, as you slowly come down from the high. kk slides her fingers out slowly, pulling them up to her mouth. your slick had covered her pants and nearly her entire hand- but that clearly didn’t bother her as she licked off her fingers. “you did so good baby.” she kisses your cheek, trying to find something to help clean you off. your chest is still heaving as you are trying to catch your breath, and your mascara is definitely running. “i can’t believe we just fucked at a dance competition- kamorea!” you giggled, pulling her back down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “what? don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” she laughs, helping you put your costume back on.

“you’re lucky i love you.” you both laugh, trying to make each other look presentable again.

- thank you so much for reading all the way through!

- guys this has been in the drafts for a hot minute… but lmk if this is good pls ( im not much of a smut writer so be kind 😣 )

[wrongbodies]

The Worst Science Convention I Ever Went To

The main expo space of the convention center was abuzz with activity. Everywhere around me nerds and geeks of all sorts milled about, looking at the various experiments and research presentations. The main sessions were separated into different viewing rooms, but the floor of the main space was littered with all sorts of wackier research.

I stuck out like a sore thumb, I imagined. Well, me and my teammates. A couple of us guys on the lacrosse team had taken the same class expecting an easy grade. Turns out Intro to the Scientific Method was a bit more involved than we had thought. We had to go on field trips like this, or we'd get a shit grade. So here I was with my friends, Luke and Rocky.

"Seth!" Luke called out to me. I turned to see him standing in front of a strange machine, his short hair sticking up from static electricity. I approached amused.

"This is a van de graaff generator. It generates a direct current, and when the energy reaches your strands of hair, they repel each other. It appears to 'float.'" The dorky old man said. He was giddy with excitement. I was less amused now that he explained it, if I am being honest.

"Cool... uh, let's go check something else out Luke." I said. Rocky approached, gesturing to something away from the static machine.

"I don't get how people like this stuff." I said. "It's neat, I guess... but I'd rather be outside. It's so nice out, finally."

"I know. At least we have practice later. 'Sides, we need the extra credit from this. It's worth it." Rocky explained.

"True, ugh." I lamented. "Where are we going, anyways?"

"I saw something pretty crazy down this way. The guy is still setting up, but I'm actually wondering if it will work." Rocky said, a little mysteriously.

Luke, and Rocky, and I approached the small stage that the experiment was set up on. A small crowd of onlookers were already collecting. I noticed that there was a large group of dweeby high schoolers on the other side of the stage, all of them starry eyed at the machine set up on the stage. One of them kept glancing at me, though. A beanpole kid with messy red hair, bad acne, and watery blue eyes. A nerd, I could not help by wrinkle my nose at.

I and my lacrosse friends pressed in closer. When they pushed past some old women, I was able to read the plaque finally.

"Dr. Lark's Mind-Drift Experiment"

Seth had no idea what that meant, but Rocky seemed excited about it. He kept babbling about what a high it would be to try it. They were interrupted after a few more minutes by a broad-shouldered man stepping to the front of the stage.

"Greetings, convention goers and fellow scientists!" The man called. He sounded more like a carnival barker than a scientist. "I have a fantastic experiment to showcase today. I assure you it is possible to merge two minds, to wade into the memories and feelings of another!"

The crowd murmured in incredulity. Rocky was bumping Luke and I on the back. This was apparently what he was excited to try out.

"Now, I would like to give some trial runs. Could I have some volunteers?" Dr. Lark asked. Rocky grabbed Luke's arm and lifted, throwing his other arm up. Dr. Lark seemed amused at the exuberance, so he beckoned the two boys up.

The doctor got to work preparing the device. It actually looked quite similar to the van de graaff generator, from before. A single silver orb stood in the middle of the stage, atop a similar silver stand. It was so sleek and shiny, it looked more like some piece of scifi decoration that an actual experiment.

Sure enough, though, when the doctor finished turning the power source on, the sphere hummed faintly. The two lacrosse boys were commanded forward, and then instructed to place one hand each on the sphere. As soon as Luke and Rocky did so, they immediately seemed to slump into a stupor. Their heads drooped forward, eyes rolling back up in their head. They made no noise, except every once in a while a big breath. The doctor let them stay that way for about 2 minutes, before he shut the power off.

My friends came to, almost immediately. As they looked around, they looked at their hands, and then at each other. Grinning, they turned to the doctor and expressed their surprise.

"What did you experience, boys? Tell the crowd!" Dr. Lark asked.

"It felt like I WAS my friend, Rocky." Luke said. "I could hear his thoughts, and his memories... it was like I was in them, but I knew it wasn't me those things happened to."

"Same! I could feel his emotions, man. I didn't realize he had such a crush on my sister... Eww, wtf!" Rocky laughed. He was a little disgusted.

The crowd seemed a bit more convinced. Others were asking to have another demonstration. Dr. Lark sent my friends off the stage.

"I'll try it!" I yelled out. I was not about to let my friends have all the fun.

"Very well, then, step up here." Dr. Lark waved me up.

"Now, who would we have to drift minds with this strapping young man?" Dr. Lark asked of the crowd.

"Me! Oh me! Please!" A nasally voice cried out. I looked around and felt my heart sink when I realized it was that geeky boy from before, the ginger-haired boy.

"Excellent! Get up here and let's drift your minds together." Dr. Lark said.

I wasn't happy about sharing my mind with this loser, but I put myself in this situation, so I'd suck it up. I wasn't looking forward to swimming through memories about star trek or whatever.

When the hum returned to the sphere, after Dr. Lark turned the power back on, he instructed us to place one hand onto the sphere. I did so, along with geek boy. As soon as we both did, it felt like I was falling. Time ceased to matter, I was dropping into a void. I couldn't feel my body as a thousand other sensations took front stage of my mind.

What was striking immediately was how unfamiliar these feelings were. There was raw excitement like a bright sun, shining into me, through me... it defied my understanding. Suddenly memories of beating video game bosses, solving math problems, winning a quiz show, getting badges from a troop leader... everything felt like it happened to me. I was Randy. Randy? That's his name. My name. Our name.

Then I realized I could feel him. He was all around me, as I was all around him. It was like oil in water, we played across the surfaces of one another. We couldn't talk to one another, per se, but we could interpret each others feelings. I could tell he was a little wounded from my disgust with him. I felt guilty, but still couldn't help my dissatisfaction from seeping out.

We stayed like this for so long, I was wondering how it could possibly be less than a minute or so, but I knew that is what happened with my friends. So when we started to emerge from the shared mind, I was startled to hear screams and what sounded like a huge commotion all around.

I didn't even have time to take stock of my situation or look at Randy before I was knocked to the ground. It was jolting, but at least it spurred me to take notice. A fire was raging behind the stage. Dr. Lark was nowhere to be seen, the sphere had toppled over, seemingly what knocked us out of the drift.

Smoke was rolling over the top of the crowd, and everyone was dashing about in a panic. I looked for my friends, but they were gone. Randy was gone too, it seemed. I decided 'gone' was the right idea, and scrambled back to my feet and started pushing through panicked people to get to an exit I had seen before.

After several times nearly tripping over some nerd or crying geek, I was able to slip out a fire exit. Once I was outside and following a crowd to a safe distance, I reached for my phone to call Luke and Rocky. Except, when I reached down instead of the tight joggers I was certain I put on this morning, I found myself reaching into the pocket of a cheap pair of jeans. Strange... and what was weirder was the phone I pulled out was an Android, not my cracked Iphone...

Looking at the phone I was then alerted to something else. The fingers curled around the phone weren't mine. These fingers were spindly, with little freckles dotting them. The chewed nails definitely were not mine either. I opened the phone somehow, and found the camera app. I was starting to get even more freaked out than the fire had made me. Sure enough, the camera did not refute my suspicion.

Looking back in the camera was Randy. His face was my face now! Actually, it seemed I had his whole body now. I looked down the front of my torso. I could feel through the hoodie a narrow chest, with absolutely no definition except where bones peeked through.

"Randy! Thank goodness you are safe!" A stern looking woman called out. I spun, realizing that she was talking to me. "Let's go! We are doing a head count on the bus."

"But I'm not-" I started to argue back when I was bumped by someone stumbling through the crowd. The woman steadied me and then tugged, leading me to the yellow school bus. I was mortified, but everything felt like it was happening too fast.

How was I going to get out of this?

To be continued

[firewasabeast]

Okay, here’s a prompt: I know everyone wants to see Tommy’s helicopter crash and Buck go save him (I do too obvs), buuuuut what about Buck gets into a dangerous situation on a call and Tommy has to save him 👀

first, I didn't see the "on a call" so oops, but here you go! trigger warning: mass shooting, blood, reference to child abuse.

He couldn't stop staring at the blood that covered his hands as he waited in the hospital lobby. It had long dried, some of it flaking away when he'd curl hands into fists. Most of it stayed though. A harsh reminder of how their perfect day turned into a horror show in the blink of an eye.

His legs shook with anxiety. He was usually so calm and collected. Even in the worst situations he could hold himself together. He wasn't one to panic.

But he was panicking now.

“Tommy,” Eddie's voice was gentle as he sat down beside him, “you need to go wash that off.”

Tommy tore his red, wet eyes away from his hands to look over at Eddie. “I can't.” His own voice shaky. “I can't leave here. I have to... I need to wait on the doctor.”

“You're not going to miss the doctor. I promise I will get you if she comes out while you're in the bathroom.”

Tommy shook his head, his gaze returning to the blood. “No.”

Eddie sighed. He didn't want to push the issue, but there was a fairly extreme amount of blood still on the man, and there were certain people who didn't need to see it. “Tommy, Maddie and Chim are about to get here, and they...” his voice trailed off as a tear dropped down from Tommy's face and onto his shirt. “I'll, uh, I'm gonna go get some wet towels from a nurse,” he offered instead. “You can clean up here.”

It had been such a good day. They'd woken up early together, still wrapped in each others arms from the night before. Buck had heard about an art show that was happening at the nearby convention center so that's where they headed after breakfast.

They were supposed to go to lunch afterward, head home for a while, then to Bobby's that night for dinner.

Tommy would have been fine with toast or a frozen waffle for breakfast, but Buck had insisted on making him something special.

“I think I've perfected omelettes,” he said excitedly as he hurried out of bed.

“You've been making perfect omelettes for a while now, Babe,” Tommy informed him.

Buck shook his head. “No, these are on another level. I'm sure of it.”

He wasn't wrong.

It was the best damn omelette Tommy's ever had.

Unfortunately, it had all come back up after he arrived at the hospital. Now, he wasn't sure if he could ever look at eggs again.

While Tommy was more of an art buff than Buck ever claimed to be, he had done a lot of research on the artists that would have their work displayed at the show. Buck had led them into the convention center hand in hand, a wide smile on his face.

Tommy may have loved looking at art, but he enjoyed looking at Buck even more.

They took turns talking about each piece. Buck would tell Tommy about the artist, Tommy would tell Buck about the art.

There were certain pieces that would grab Buck's attention more than others. They were usually colorful, abstract paintings. He'd tilt his head, think about it for a second before telling Tommy how it made him feel.

There was one certain painting, a slew of colors and chaos in the background with two figures in the forefront. One was a deep shade of blue, holding on tight to a red figure. Their bodies seemed to almost melt together in the center.

“What are you thinking?” Tommy asked, wrapping an arm around Buck's waist.

“It's me and you. You're blue, I'm red.” Buck made no effort to look away from the painting.

“Oh yeah?” A smile rose on Tommy's face. “How so?”

“Our, uh, our lives can be a little crazy sometimes, but you... you keep me steady.”

Tommy stared at Buck briefly before placing two fingers up underneath his chin. Buck turned to him and Tommy pressed their lips together gently.

“That's the most-”

His words were cut off by a loud bang. Followed by multiple bangs going off one after another.

Gun shots.

It happened so fast. People were screaming, crying, running all around.

The man with the gun was brought down quickly. There were security guards nearby who didn't hesitate to respond.

But all Tommy felt was something wet on his hands, up his arms, splattered on his shirt. All he saw was Buck dropping to the ground beside him with a loud thud.

Eyes wide, it felt like his heart was pounding but his breathing stopped at the same time.

He fell to his knees beside Buck as soon as reality hit.

“Ev- Evan. Evan!” He put his hands to Buck's face, tapping his cheek.

Buck's eyes fluttered open, but he didn't do much else.

Tommy searched over him, tearing his shirt to find the bullet wound.

No. Bullet wounds.

“Evan, I need you to keep your eyes open,” Tommy said, trying and failing to hide the panic in his voice. He pressed down on the wounds, one near his lung, the other over his abdomen.

“Evan, babe, can you keep them open for me?”

Buck's eyes opened again. He reached up to grab at Tommy's shirt, but he was too weak. His arm flopped back down fairly quickly. It looked like he was trying to speak, his lips moving without any words coming out.

“It's okay, Evan, you'll be okay. Someone call 911!” he yelled. He knew other people had been hurt, killed even. He knew there was most likely multiple people on the phone with 911, but it wasn't enough. He needed them there now.

There was so much blood. No matter how much he pressed, with every labored breath Buck let out, more blood poured between Tommy's fingers.

He kept his focus on Buck's eyes. “Stay with me, hon. That's it! Stay with me. I've got you, Evan.”

The paramedics arrived just as Buck's eyes closed, his body going limp.

*****

Tommy didn't remember calling Eddie. Or maybe it was Bobby? He'd look at his phone later to check. Didn't seem to matter right now. But most of the 118 was in the waiting room, scattered all around with their own worried faces and anxious ticks.

He must've asked Bobby to please leave him alone at some point, because he was sitting a few chairs away, and Tommy could feel his eyes on him every couple of minutes.

The feeling of a warm towel being placed over his hands brought him out of his trance. He hadn't even noticed Eddie crouching down in front of him.

“Want me to do it for you?” Eddie asked. He was talking to Tommy like he was a child. In any other circumstance, Tommy might have laughed about it, but there was no laughing happening right now.

Instead Tommy nodded. He wasn't sure he could do it himself. Not without breaking down in front of everyone.

Eddie began working on his right hand, the blood slowly transferring from his hand to the towel. He watched as it changed the towel from white to pink. He worked his way up his arm, just below the elbow. Tommy wasn't even sure how that much blood made it that far up his arms. The thought of it made his heart ache even more than it already was.

Once the right arm was done, Eddie picked up a second towel and started on his left hand.

Tommy tightened his hand when Eddie began to pull at the wedding band around his finger.

“Just need to get underneath it,” Eddie explained. “I'll put it right back.”

Tommy relaxed again and Eddie resumed cleaning him up.

He'd just finished when Maddie walked through the doors. In his peripheral Tommy could see Bobby getting up, could hear Howie's voice, Maddie's sniffles.

Eddie got up with the towels, walking out of view as quickly as he could.

Tommy could feel someone walking up behind him. He knew who it would be.

He couldn't even manage to get up. His legs felt like jelly.

There was a hand on his shoulder, then Maddie came into view.

Their eyes met. Maddie's were dark, filled with tears. Her lip trembled.

He was sure he didn't look much different.

She didn't speak, didn't ask questions. Just bent down and wrapped him up.

He held her as tightly as he could, letting himself sob into her shoulder. He didn't even know he could make the sounds that were coming out of him. Each one a deep, desperate plea for this all to be some horrible nightmare. He hadn't hyperventilated since he was fourteen, after his dad found out he'd been tearing out posters of all the boys from a teen magazine. Tommy had tried to convince him, unsuccessfully, that he was deciding on a new hairstyle and didn't know which one to choose. He felt the sting from his dad's belt on his back for nearly a week.

Maddie cried with him, yet somehow managed to soothe him at the same time. She ran a hand up and down his back, telling him it was okay over and over through her own hiccuped cries.

It took a few minutes, but Tommy managed to calm down. Maddie took a seat beside him, keeping a tight hold on his hand until the moment Buck's surgeon entered the waiting room.

Everyone was up and surrounding him within seconds. Tommy felt like he was about to throw up again, but he kept himself together.

“He's being moved to recovery now,” she said, and Tommy felt like he took his first real breath since Buck fell to the floor nearly six hours ago. She continued talking, going over exactly where the bullets hit and how much damage was done, but Tommy would have to ask about that later because he didn't hear anything else past Buck being in recovery.

Maddie squeezing his shoulder brought him back to the present. “Can we see him?” she asked.

“It'll take a few minutes to get him transferred, and he will probably be out for the night, but I'll have a nurse come get you as soon as he's in his room.”

*****

It took a couple of days for Buck to wake up enough to have a real conversation. Tommy was in the middle of making up the extra bed a nurse had managed to bring in for him when Buck asked where his wedding ring was at.

Tommy dug through the bag he'd been handed after Buck's surgery. He ignored the bloody clothes and went straight for the ring at the bottom.

He held it up as he headed back over to Buck, sitting beside him on the bed.

“Put it on for me?” Buck asked, holding out his hand.

Tommy did, gently gliding it over his finger until it was back right where it belonged. Tommy brought Buck's hand up to his mouth, softly kissing over the ring.

“Perfect,” Buck said, a content smile on his own face.

Tommy sighed. He rested Buck's hand between his own. “You were wrong the other day, you know.”

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “When?”

“At the art show, you remember that one painting?”

“The one I was looking at when-”

“Mhm.”

“I remember.”

“You said I was the blue one, and you were red. That I kept you steady.”

Buck nodded, unsure where Tommy was going with this.

Tommy kept his eyes on their intertwined hands. “It's the other way around,” he admitted.

He was met with silence, but after a moment Buck lifted his hand and pressed two fingers under Tommy's chin, lifting his head so their eyes met. “Come here,” he said, unable to raise himself up.

Tommy leaned forward until their lips met in a chaste kiss. Once they parted, Tommy kept his forehead pressed against Buck's.

“I love you, Mr. Buckley-Kinard,” Buck whispered in the space between them.

Tommy closed his eyes, letting the words soak in before whispering back, “I love you more, Mr. Buckley-Kinard.”

[constantlyvornypredator]

We're going to a con so we obviously need money for artist alley and merch. But, unfortunately, I only have $500 in quarters and who wants to hit up a coin counter? They take a cut. And I don't have rollers for the bank to accept all these coins. That's why you're going to be Mommy's coin purse.

We're still on the road. The uncomfortable moans escaping your lips don't go unnoticed. Neither do the ominous groans and insatiable hunger growls begging for real food coming from your gut. But I have to keep it in my pants and focus on driving. That doesn't stop me from taking a peek from the side of my eye. Seeing you rub your taut and bumpy belly full of 1600 coins in a vain effort to soothe it is very cute. But it's futile. Every bump, turn, and even a small lane shift causes the weight in your gut to shift sounding like someone shaking sand in a bottle.

We finally get to the convention center. I park a little too hard in the parking space on purpose to hear that jingling belly jostle forward as you clutch your stomach and makes the cutest moan. I give your upset belly a nice pat as it rumbles under my hand. We exit the car or, at least, you try to. It was easier getting into the car with that belly. Getting out? Not so much. But I'm a good Mommy, so I help you get out. Suddenly all that weight is pulling your stomach down and you suddenly realize it was much more comfortable sitting in the car then standing. I ask you to pose for me.

"You look so cute in your Loona cosplay," I praise, "especially cuz it shows off your bare tummy so well. Everyone is gonna know you're my coin purse. Now remember, any coins you end up accidentally hacking up are going right back in. So save yourself the effort of having to drive more stuff down into that already overpacked tummy. And don't you DARE let any of them slip into your intestines. Is that clear, puppy?"

You nod, but you're pretty sure some slipped into the GI tract already. It's too heavy for it not to. You just hope she doesn't notice. I call you a good dog as I clasp a leash onto your choker, reminding you that good dogs get leashed as I pull you towards the front entrance.

In the line to get in people keep staring bumpy outlines on every inch of your swollen gut. The noise inside the convention center has hidden how loud and whiney your gut is. But that doesn't change the fact you feel both nauseous and dying of starvation at the same time. You already haven't eaten in days to cleanse your body. Now you have a gut full of non-food that your tummy is upset about on top of that. And you still have to stay starving for possibly the next 3 days?

Once we sign in and get our 3 day passes, we continue walking down the halls, your belly jostling with every step. You try to keep a brave face, but it's breaking hard. You finally ask me, "Mommy, can I have some real food to eat? Just something small to settle my stomach."

"No," I respond sternly, "no eating until we use all the money. Even if it takes us the whole weekend to use it. We don't want to give hard working people dirty money coated in food and sludge now do we?"

You can't defy me. Or, at least, you don't want to. Despite the discomfort, you're enjoying this a little too much to use the safeword. So you shake your head and agree with a gentle, "Yes, Mommy."

To tease you further, we hit up one of the food vendors. Even though I'm not hungry, I order a plate of food and we go to a quiet place so I can eat it in front of you. The smell is driving you crazy. I casually enjoy my food while you stare, mouth drooling, and belly roaring.

We hit the merch area. We see some things we like, and whenever we decide to make a purchase we make note of the price and move onto the next booth assuring the vendors we will return. Some of the booths even ask what's going on with your stomach, and I get to tell them all about how you're my piggy bank for the weekend as you stand there flushed red in embarrassment. Some of the people even wanna see it for themselves. So for the small purchases like $2-$5 stickers I force you to put in a show for these patrons. Congoers even gather round to watch the cute Loona cosplayer hack up coins from their distended belly. Once we've satisfied our quota, about half our budget, we head to the hotel room for a little privacy.

Hunched over the bathtub now I give you a bowl to deposit our money into. I rub your back while I praise and encourage you. I assist by giving the mound in your stomach gentle squeezes to encourage more coins to come up. Each time you hack up a bundle of coins I call you a good puppy. After you finish depositing about $225 worth, I give you a pet and shoo you out so I can clean the money of your saliva and acids.

You sit idly on the bed. Your stomach has deflated somewhat, but you don't feel all that much better. There's still another 8 pounds worth of coins still swirling in your stomach. I come out of the bathroom, grab your leash, and we return to the merch area and complete our purchases.

Now that you've emptied half the contents of your stomach, your belly is a lot more jingly since the coins have more room to shift about. We proceed with the rest of the con, attend a few panels, even getting kicked out of one because your stomach was growling so loudly it was causing a disturbance.

As the day draws to an end, we settle into the hotel room for the night. I cuddle up and rub your full, yet empty belly as you try to fall asleep through the hunger. The praises Mommy is giving you for being a good wallet does help.

The next day, we start immediately by going back to the merch area since new vendors have shown up. As we walk you spot something - a custom, oversized blahaj. You beg me if you can have it. I approach the vendor.

"So," I begin, " how much for the shark?"

"$250," the vendor replies.

I walk behind you. You're a bit confused until you feel familiar hands cusp the sides of your belly. I shake your stomach as it jingles and rattles loudly for the vendor to hear. Holy, how embarrassing! I look at the vendor and say, "I think I have enough." You are burning red.

We go back to the room to empty more of your stomach into a bowl. You're still hungry and nauseous after this, but at least most of the coins are gone now. There's probably still close to 100 left somewhere in your system but, hey, at least it's only 100. We go back and buy the blahaj. You clutch it near and dear forever a reminder of this weekend.

You were such a good money bag for me. And as a reward, I take you to the food court so you can pig out on some real food. You deserve it. ❤️

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

PRIDE stimboard for : flutterbat (mlp:fim) with apple and vampire themes based off the transmasc pride flag

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

[growth-opportunities]

A flat-chested woman wants her cosplay of busty anime characters to be as accurate as possible.

It had been an exhausting day. The panels, the artists alley, the games. Sure, Morgan had narrowly missed out on tickets to the upcoming premiere of Suit & Tie: Salaryman to the Rescue to someone in a low-poly robot costume but the con had been incredibly fun and that was the most important thing. Her legs ached as she trudged down the hallway to her hotel room, relief washing over her as she heard the door unlock. Her bed, freshly made, looked so inviting, careful to flop down on her back. She couldn't help a smile as she felt her breasts slosh on her chest for the first time in her entire life. The massive breastforms she needed to complete her costume from I Used to Live a Boring Life but now I Do the Demon King's Accounting were easily the most expensive part of her costume but, by god, did they make her feel good.

Her flat chest never got much attention. Her breasts were just... not there. Not 'small', not 'petite', non-existent. Morgan had learned not to trust people who said that they liked small breasts or that "all breasts are good, regardless of size", their look of disappointment revealing the truth. And there would be some twinges of that pain when she finally took off the breast forms, but at least she had one day of sexiness. In one act, she had gone from flat chested to being bustier than every girl that had ever made fun of her combined. The company that made them didn't even bother assigning them a cup size like the rest of their models; it was just "Humongous". They dominated Morgan's otherwise slender, diminutive frame, but neither she nor anyone else had a complaint about that. She rather liked being a short stack, even if she was ridiculously top-heavy. A part of her wished... Morgan chuckled at her own silliness, breathing out a deep sigh. Things just didn't work that way.

With a few hup!s to build momentum, Morgan pushed herself up to her feet to start the process of changing into pyjamas. She started with the easy stuff, pulling off the brightly colored wig to reveal her mousy brown hair, running a hand through it to get it to unstick from where it matted to her scalp. Colored contacts were retrieved, albeit a bit clumsily, revealing her natural rich brown (now slightly red) eyes. The process came to a halt as she emptied her pockets, finding the tarnished coin once more. The woman who gave it to her was incredible. A witch cosplay, though from what series, Morgan couldn't say. The staff had an ethereal air to it that was almost mesmerizing and the way the woman embodied the spookiness, that power... The words 'step on me, mommy' had popped, spontaneously, into Morgan's head, thankfully unspoken. But, instead of that treatment, the witch simply pressed this coin into Morgan's palm before walking off, a knowing smile on her lips. Morgan didn't see the woman through the rest of the day, but it was a big convention center. The dim light of the hotel room caught on the grooves of the coin as she turned it over in her hand. A faint, shimmering green emanated from the coin. It was impressive dedication to whatever character. The coin was heavy and it felt old, worn smooth by eons. Or a rock tumbler. Either way, it was a good memento. Morgan squeezed the coin tightly in her hand, bringing it up to her lips. "Fuck... I wish I could make my outfits look that real."

With an envious shrug, trying to seem casual about it, Morgan placed the coin on her nightstand alongside her phone, wallet, and credential lanyard. She felt a slight shifting on her chest, a new weight, but she just chalked it up to exhaustion and the fact that she had been sweating like crazy under the form; it did not breathe well. Her trousers came down, shimmying her narrow hips and trying her best to savor the sloshing of her breasts, a feeling that she knew would soon be a memory. The shirt was next, taking one last look at her cleavage before removing it. Ah well. It was fun while it lasted. She made a mental note to check their website about discoloration, pulling her arms inward to remove-

...

Next to be removed was the breast form, which-

...

A look of confusion flashed across Morgan's face. Was she that exhausted that she couldn't find the arm hole? She marched over to the small bathroom, having to turn sideways to fit through the door. The sterile light that flooded the room at the flick of the switch made Morgan flinch but, as her eyes adjusted, her jaw dropped.

The edges were completely smooth. Around her shoulders, around her neck, at her waist. It was just... skin, no different than any other part of her. Her mind reeled at the possibilities, wondering if her sweat had just made it stick to her, but no matter how much she clawed at the places where the edges had been some twelve hours ago, the silicone didn't come up. All of that motion had made the breasts wobble which was what drew Morgan's attention. They didn't slosh like fake, inflated tits. They sloshed like real ones. Real tits with heft and weight and made of real skin and flesh. The perfectly rounded, slightly shiny nipples that had capped the breastform when she bought it were gone, replaced with ones that, well, that looked a lot like her own. Just bigger. She reached a timid hand out to one, not an easy feat considering her size, only to moan, clapping her other hand over her mouth, as she gave the nipple a good squeeze. Her knees almost gave out under her, catching herself on the vanity. If she had fallen all the way to the floor, she might not have been able to get back up again. These were her tits. They were a part of her. She could feel them! They were huge and heavy and sexy and they felt so fucking good. Morgan didn't know whether to cry or moan. She staggered back to the bed, sitting on the edge and feeling her breasts fill her lap. Her breasts. She still couldn't get over it. She knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth but still, the curiosity over what had happened to her stuck in her mind. Right up until the light caught-

The coin!

Morgan nearly fell off the bed reaching for it, just barely stopping herself in time. As she turned it over in her hand, the green glow was gone. It felt lighter, too, though that might just have been in comparison to the new weight on her chest. She bit her lip, smiling, bringing the coin up to her lips to kiss it, offering thanks for everything it had done for her. She wasn't so shallow to think that finally growing tits would fix all of her problems, but it certainly helped with some of them. She giggled, enjoying the sight of her breasts, her tits wobbling with her motions. A single finger traced down the deep line of her cleavage, Morgan moaning as she pushed it between her massive breasts. If she ever met the witch again, she'd have to think of some way to repay her...

[sosomonimagines]

Rewriting: House's girl - part one.

"House, overnight, needs to learn how to be a father"

⚠️ abuse, but not very explicit

The previous night had been hell.

Sean, that pretentious guy your mom met at an art convention, had another meltdown directed at you. All because of a single dirty plate. Just one plate. You were exhausted — you’d spent the entire day at school and had planned to wash it the next day, no excuses. But Sean didn’t care. He hurled the plate at you. Shards flew everywhere, some even got stuck in your hair. Then he punched the wall, screamed some more, and stormed off to bed.

Your mom did nothing.

She never did.

It was insane, to say the least.

She spent a few hours a day acting like a normal person, then would snap and say she couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. That because of you, she’d had to work as a lawyer and give up her talent for art. That you were holding her back from soaring.

She used to be a real mom, once. Before Sean. Two years ago, he started messing with her head. And now, to both of them, you were just a burden. Someone to take their anger out on. Your mom had turned cruel. She let Sean be cruel to you.

And you were tired. You were tired every single day. You spent as much time as possible at school—studying, joining every extracurricular activity you could. Anything to stay away. Anything to make sure your future didn’t end up trapped there.

But the few hours you had to spend at home were becoming unbearable. So, you decided to leave.

That night, at just 15 years old, you packed your things.

You stuffed some clothes into your backpack, along with your tablet for studying, your Kindle, your phone charger, and $50. You left the house at 2:30 in the morning.

That night, you slept on the street.

It was Saturday, and for a moment, you felt relieved you didn’t have to go to school. You had a whole weekend to figure out what to do with your life.

The street was terrifying. Cold. You curled up in a parking lot, hoping no one would bother you. You were ready to scream, kick, make a scene if you had to. But you couldn’t sleep properly. By 7:30 a.m., you were already up, walking to the social services office.

You filled out a form. Minutes later, you were called in. The woman who helped you looked to be in her fifties, with short, dark red-dyed hair. She wore round glasses that were too big for her thin face. Her eyes were tired but firm.

“You don’t look a day over eighteen,” she said, serious.

“Well, I’m not. I’m 15.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“My stepdad got aggressive last night. My mom did nothing, as usual. I decided to leave before it got worse.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“No.”

“What about your dad?”

“Well…”

“Why didn’t you file a report?”

“Because he didn’t hit me”

The woman sighed, leaning her elbows on the desk.

“Look, without a police report and with you being a minor, options are limited. Your dad… is he in jail or something?”

“No.”

“Does he live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“And can he support you?”

“He’s a doctor.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Let me get this straight. Your dad’s a doctor, and you’re here at social services looking for shelter? Do you know what the options are for a minor? Either a shelter or a juvenile detention center if you have a criminal record. Do you have one?”

“No!”

“Then we’ll contact your dad.”

“But he doesn’t like me.”

“Is he abusive?”

“No.”

“Not emotionally, not physically?”

“No, he’s just… hard to explain.”

The woman closed the folder.

“Listen, kid. The shelter isn’t a good option. People do what they can, but the state doesn’t provide enough resources. Go to your dad. You don’t want to end up in a place like that.”

You took a deep breath as she picked up the form, read your dad’s name, and typed something into the system. The report about your running away was there. And within minutes, she was on the phone, relaying everything.

You definitely didn’t want to go to his place. Gregory House was a man built to be alone. Brilliant and cold. People said he had no feelings. You’d seen him only a handful of times in your life, and you were never greeted with a hug. Never with warmth. He fulfilled obligations, sent you money, but never tried to be a father. Now, it seemed like that was about to change.

“He’s on his way to pick you up.”

“He agreed?!” You blinked, surprised. You thought it would be a long, complicated process.

The social worker took your hand and gave you a warm look.

“No matter how much you think he hates you,” she said, “no father likes to see his daughter in a situation like this. Well… almost no father.”

He arrived a few minutes later. He wasn’t alone.

Beside him was a man you’d never seen before. They approached, and it was the stranger who greeted you first.

“Hi, I’m James Wilson, your dad’s friend,” he said, smiling.

Your father stood beside him, leaning on his cane, with a look that said he’d rather be anywhere else. Did he even care?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied. “Hi, Dad.”

House just nodded, without much enthusiasm. He definitely wasn’t thrilled to be pulled out of his routine so early.

“So, your mom finally lost it for good?”

“House!” James scolded him.

He sighed, impatient.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asked, cutting off any attempt by his friend to lecture him.

“Just this backpack. I left in a hurry.”

James gave you a sympathetic look.

“Let me carry that for you,” he murmured, taking the strap of the backpack and guiding you to the car.

When you got in, he glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“Are you hungry? We can stop to eat.”

“We’ll be late,” House grumbled, annoyed.

“You’re always late, House. And this would be the first time you’d have a good excuse.”

You forced a smile.

“I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.”

You hated being a burden. And at that moment, you knew you were—especially to your dad.

James didn’t push it. He just drove to Baker Street, apartment 221B. You’d never been to his place before and were surprised. The place was… cozy. A huge bookshelf filled with books, a piano, dark upholstered couches, a full kitchen—though you doubted he cooked anything more complicated than grilled cheese.

“There’s a guest room at the end of the hall. It’s yours until we figure this out,” House said finally, still leaning on his cane, with his usual sarcastic expression. “I have to work. I’ll probably be back late.”

“Good luck with work,” you replied, trying to sound light.

James smiled and thanked you. House simply ignored it.

The guest room was good enough.

A large bed, a spacious wooden wardrobe, and a small desk that could double as a study area. It was dusty, probably from lack of use, and the lamp didn’t work.

You sighed in relief. Maybe you’d finally have a little peace.

You tossed your backpack onto the bed, grabbed some old clothes, and headed to the bathroom. You let the hot water run over your body, feeling the tension slowly melt away. You only realized you’d wet your hair when it was too late—and the only shampoo available was a men’s one that smelled like mint and something woody. You used it anyway. You grabbed the rough loofah and scrubbed your skin until it turned red, as if you could scrub away the remnants of last night. As if you could wash it all away.

After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen and drank more water than you had in a long time. How long had it been since you’d had a proper drink? Your body felt starved for it.

Finally, you decided to clean the room. You found a rag and a vacuum cleaner tossed in some corner. You dusted everything, vacuumed the floor, and changed the bedsheets—you found clean linens in your dad’s room and knew he probably wouldn’t be happy you’d taken them. But at that moment, you didn’t care.

By the time you finished, it was already 9 a.m. Your entire body felt heavy. Not just from the physical effort, but from the exhaustion that had built up over the past few months. From the anxiety. From the tension.

You closed the curtains, lay down on the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a cane poking your face—not subtle at all.

Your father stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Did you take my sheets?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

You stared at him for a few seconds, not answering. He cleared his throat, as if he didn’t have the patience to wait.

“I brought dinner. You’d better come out before I have to deal with another headache about you being mistreated.”

You slowly pushed the sheets aside, feeling the weight of your body. Maybe you’d slept too much.

On the table, you found a takeout container from the hospital cafeteria. Pasta with tomato sauce and meat. You felt immediate relief—you hated mac and cheese, but any other kind was welcome. Did he know that? Or was it just a lucky guess?

“Thanks for the food,” you said.

House didn’t respond.

You served yourself and sat down at the table. He did the same, with a burger on one side and a bottle of whiskey on the other. He poured himself a shot.

The silence dragged on. Long minutes. Maybe hours.

“So… how was work?” you asked, trying to lighten the heavy air.

He didn’t even blink.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make small talk. Try to be polite. I’m helping because you’re my daughter. My legal obligation.”

The coldness of his words didn’t hit you as hard as it should have. Maybe because you’d expected something like this. Maybe because, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as bad as he pretended to be.

"And you don’t have to be a jerk all the time," you shot back, crossing your arms. "I know something hurt you in the past and made you build this wall around yourself, but you’re not a sociopath. Or a narcissist… okay, maybe a little narcissistic. But aside from the depression, there’s nothing seriously wrong with you. So, please, just tell me how work was. I care about you."

House rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Oh, great. Not only do I have a daughter, now I have a therapist. I don’t know which is more annoying."

You smirked.

"Any interesting cases?"

"A girl with cancer having hallucinations."

"Is the tumor pressing on her brain or something?"

"No. We don’t know yet."

"You should check for a blood clot."

He didn’t respond, but you saw the analytical glint in his eyes. A glint that said your suggestion wasn’t as absurd as it might have sounded. House knew you were smart—with his genes, it would’ve been hard not to be—but he didn’t expect your intelligence to lean toward medicine.

After dinner, he went to the living room, and you followed.

He sighed audibly, giving you a sarcastic look before turning on the TV to some generic medical drama.

"I thought doctors hated these kinds of shows."

"It’s fun watching them get the diagnoses wrong."

"Got it. What’s this one called?"

"My God, do you always talk this much?"

"Usually worse. But come on, I’m 15 and I barely know you. I have questions."

"Please don’t ask them."

"Aren’t you even a little curious about your own daughter?"

"Not really."

You laughed.

"You’re so boring."

Silence settled as you both watched. At some point, even though you’d slept all day, you ended up dozing off.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you were covered with a blanket.

And you knew it had been him.

Maybe your dad wasn’t so bad after all.

Part Two:

[anomaly-hivemind]

Horror Convention || No. 9 Gloryhole w/ Horror Characters x Fem! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Part 2

Word Count: 1995

Warnings: gloryhole, free use, exhibition, overstimulation, large cock, vaginal sex, gangbang if you squint, vagianl fingering, mask kink, stranger sex, cosplaying oral sex, blow jobs, hand job, spit as lube, multiple orgasms,

You were going to a horror convention, it was your first one and you couldn't be more excited to go. You were wearing a slutty freddy krueger outfit excluding the knife coves because they sold out at the spirit halloween. It was too late to buy any online. You were wearing a ripped up black and red cropped top, a jean mini skirt, some stressed thigh-highs and wedges.

When you finally got inside the convention center, there were a lot of things going on with an unsettling low amount of security personnel around. It was a bit overwhelming but you were going to push through it just fine. It was full of cosplaying horror characters, new and old, popular and niche. Even horror shorts films, tv shows and games.

“Can I take a picture with you? I really like the freddy outfit,” the muffled voice of a guy said behind an old respirator.

Oh yeah sure, I like your outfit too. It's from my bloody valentine right?” you lean into the guy so he could take the photo. The guy pulls you close to him for the picture, then he turns to face you.

“Yeah I've had this for a while now.” he laughs and crosses his arm.

“Well it's super cool, practically identical to the movie.” you look him up and down, he was a carbon copy of the original.

“A bunch of my buddies and staff are hosting an event on the west wing in an hour. You should totally go. “ The Harry warden cosplayer handed a pass for the event. ‘Glory Horror’ printed on the card.

“Yeah I will be there.” you nod and take the pass. You can't believe you got an event pass for free.

=========================================================================

An hour had passed, you had bought a scream poster, a friday the 13th shirt and the regret of your shoe choices. You push past the last part and make your way to the event. It was a ways away from everything else which was a bit suspicious but not enough for you to turn around. You show the bouncer guy your pass and ID, because you guess this is an 18 plus event.

You take a seat in the front, the seats were really comfortable. The lights were dim and the walls around the panel looked sound proof. This was super fancy for a panel. It makes you wonder what's going to happen, especially with how fast the room is getting filled with horror fans such as yourself. Most of them were wearing masks from what you can see in the dark space.

A bright red stage light hits the middle of the stage. The familiar guy from earlier that gave you your pass to this event walks to the center. Two other people dragged something onto the stage behind him, also dressed up, one looked like Amanda the pig from the jigsaw moves or the dead by daylight game. The other person was dressed like the monster from Jeepers creepers. There was a large box with a set of holes of different sizes, odd but you find the tv and cameras placed inside and outside the box.

“Welcome to this year's Glory Horror event. Many of you who know about this event already know what's up, but for our virgin Marys let me explain what’s up.” Harry warden cosplayer says through the microphone, his mask muffling his words.

“We’re going to pick a lucky Slasher Slut in the audience to go into the box.” The man snickered as the crowd went wild. Harry looked into the group of seated people, presumably to find someone to put in the box.

“Anything goes when you're behind the veil.” he points to the closed door.

You look around the audience that you were in and they all seemed excited to either be picked or see who was going to end up being picked. You just stare at everyone in confusion.

“You, are you willing to take a dive into carnal pleasures and try out the box?” He points to you from the crowd, when you point to yourself he nods. You stand up, nerves run down your spine as you walk onto the stage. You were surprised with how excited every person in the audience seemed to be that you got picked.

“What am I supposed to do?” you asked while looking at the box.

“It's pretty self explanatory, but you get in the box, the cameras are already set up, we gave you a screen to see the reactions you're giving people.” You nod at him and step into the box, it was large and you could stand up right without being seen by anyone, not counting the screen that was broadcasting you to the outside.

“You can strip down any point and if you want out of the box just push the button to unlock the door.

“You want me to do what now.” you asked from behind the wall, your voice muffled mostly.

“Strip, take off those slutty clothes and either open that pretty mouth or a hole. Prepared to get stuffed in whichever you choose and you can switch at whatever time doll.

You think for a moment, you could back out right now but a part of you wanted to see what happened. With a shaky breath you take off your freddy krueger fit and finally take off your dreadful shoes. You were just in your bra and underwear, taking a seat on your knees in the middle. The bigger hole was covered with a black sheet.

A knock on one of the sides catches your attention, you turn your head and your eyes widen. A veiny cock filled the hole, making it look smaller than it was and it makes your mouth water. You looked over at your screen to see what you're working with, a guy wearing a Michael Myers mask. Your lip quivers as you wrap your fingers around his length.

His balls twitch as you tighten the grip on this stranger’s cock. You use your saliva to wet the tip of his dick. You hear the faint groan of the Myers look alike, it was hot and a turn on for sure. You take his cock deeper in your mouth, almost gagging on it, using your hand to massage his balls and or stroke the rest of his meaty meat.

Another knock from the others size makes you pull your lips off Myer’s member. Someone else had slid their dick into the other hole, the screen splits so you can see the masked figure. It was Brahms, down to the black messy hair, even matches the drapes decorating the base of this man’s uncut dick.

You take your other hand and start to rub at his cute dick. Both of your hands were being filled with their cocks. You were soaking wet from how hot this was and if your hands went filled you would be touching yourself right now. You placed licks on both the dicks one after the other. Even the thought that there were a bunch of people on the other side of this box, watching and listening or maybe even waiting to take a turn with you.

It was hot, you felt hot and you wanted more of all of it. You squeeze the guys dicks as you jerk them both off with determination. Michael myers’ dick twitching was the only short warning you get before he shoots a hot load onto your chest. Your bra ruined with cum makes you pout for a moment before you take the thing off. You put your mouth onto the remaining man and take him down your throat. Brahms cums down your esophagus, his seed tasting weirdly sweet on your tastebuds.

You lick your lips after pulling away the dicks both gone from the holes, making you sigh. You slide off your panties and just as you thought you dripped in arousal. You rub yourself and let out short moans, a guy that was looking like Jason Voorhees pushed his phat cock through the hole. It looked heavy, craving your touch. You touch yourself with one hand while sucking off this fat dick. Even if you couldn’t fit all or even most of it into your mouth you sure as hell tried. You moan against the length of this Jason.

Your fingers thrust into yourself at a similar pace as you sucked and stroked his dick. You come to a stand and turn around, your wet cunt fluttering with horniness. Lining your slit with a guy who looked like a slasher’s dick. You let out a hearty moan as this fat cock stretches you out. You could feel his dick twitch and the man moan from the intrusion. He bottoms out in you, your walls clench around him and then he starts to move slowly in and out of you. You rub your clit as your hole gets pounded into. Another dick pops into the hole in front of you and wraps your hand around it with hesitation. Peaking at the screen in the box you see that it's a guy dressed up in a ghostface outfit.

“Ohshit ohshit ohfucking hell.” you were on the verge of coming and the mix of a Jason hitting all your spots with his girth was making it harder to focus on stroking the guy in front of you.

You try your best to get the other guy to completion but your own impending orgasm was a bit of a distraction to say the least. This Jason guy’s thrust was getting relentless and it was super hot to say the least. You hold on for as long as you could but when you feel the man’s load start to pool down your leg sends you down the edge. Before you could complain about how fast the guy pulled out another guy pushed into you, somehow even thicker and longer than the Jason guy.

You squeeze the hell out of the ghostface and your thumb pushes on his slit. It makes the guy come all over you and hand it a messy gush. The new masked covered hottie was fast enough to work you past that previous orgasm but Jason had given you but now you were getting a bit overstimulated. The faint tapping of the man's pyramid helmet on the box wall makes you giggle. Yet the humor in all of this was cut short from the brutal thrust this pyramid head was giving you.

You were already about to fall into another climax, you couldn't help but scream out a moan that you're sure everyone in the panel heard. Maybe even people outside nearby could hear your whorish moans and whales. This massive curved dick was rubbing your insides just right and your lower half couldn't take much more of it, not standing up like you are right now at least. You reach another chaotic mind altering, pussy spasming, leg trembling, back arching, toe curling climax that almost gives you whiplash an.

You feel the sticky seed fill your cunt and pull out with lackluster pace, almost like he didn’t want to leave your warmth so it takes a minute or so before he actually does . When the pyramid head finally pulls out, your body drops to the stage ground with a thud. You were panting like a dog, cum was dripping out of you and sticking to your thighs. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you try to catch your breath.

“This is the best Horror con ever.” you say breathlessly, as you look at another dick slipping into one of the holes. Checking your provided inside the box you see who it is, the host of this event… it’s Harry warden.

[lvmimis]

cw: fem!reader. minors dni. part of enemies to lovers au. reader is leads spokesperson for and president of an organization that calls for hero society reform. a/n: i'll probably be releasing a few parts to this and this is actually a follow-up with permission to an idea work-shopped with a lovely friend. first part here.

Your first night together doesn’t end up being hasty, heated and heavy in the stall of an overly luxurious convention center bathroom, but in a similarly over-the-top hotel room, the type that swears it’s not a love hotel but doesn’t separate the shower and the bedroom and has too many towels, and even more places to rest your body when you fuck nasty for hours. 

And Deku takes complete advantage of that. By the time the night is over and you’ve regained your senses, your core and everything below feels like jelly and your heart pounds in your chest, but over time, growing up with the unforgiving camera and the sting of negative online opinion, your poker face is immaculate. You’d hoped that Izuku was the type to fuck and fall asleep immediately, but he’s still awake, staring at the ceiling with a smug smile on his face, and you feel as though you should gloat somehow, just to knock him down a peg, but you know your voice will come out raspy and breathless.

He’s doing something with his hands, and you’re not sure what. Fidgeting. This is the time that either of you should leave the bed and go get a smoke, but neither of you smoke, and neither of you really want to leave this bed. You turn and pretend there’s something important for you to check on your phone; when you shift, you see that he’s rested on his side now, watching you with an amused expression on his face, waiting for you to speak, his head propped up by his elbow. The way his skin glows with a thin layer of sweat, and soft red underlies the smattering of freckles on his face, makes your stomach turn again. You see too much of him for the first time tonight, all broad muscles and scars and smiles, careful, gentle hands and wanting mouth. You know that you hate him, hate everything he represents, but it’s hard to quantify that when you’re still damp between the legs.

You have to regain power somehow, you tell yourself. 

“What are you looking at?” you ask. Immature and snarky, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t matter. He smiles. 

“You.”

You scoff but his grin is steadfast. It annoys you. You look at your phone again as if someone could have possibly sent a pressing email at 3 am in the morning. He’s still watching you carefully and you feel analyzed from your toes to your nose.

“You’re not the best I’ve ever had, but I have to give it to you, the pro hero body is at least good for something.” You reply.

He blinks, and you hope he takes offense, but instead an arm pulls you closer. He breathes deep and part of his exhale tickles your face. Your body tenses and you suppress a whimper.

“I still have time.”

Your head spins for a moment but you think quickly. Pulling back just a slight bit - he lets you, easily - you steel yourself again. Perhaps you should leave, even if it’s late, although there’s nothing you want more than to be rendered breathless again. 

“I think that’s enough,” you reply. Your pulse stabilizes, and you resume your mask of stubborness. “Momentary lapse of judgment, not saying I regret it though.”

With that you make your way out of bed, suppressing the urge to wrap your body in blankets so he can’t ogle you anymore, trying not to look at his perfect body bare and lose the resolve to walk confidently out of the front door. 

He sits up, crossing his legs and arms over his chest. A quiet moment passes as your footsteps pad towards the bathroom sink. The water turns on, and then he speaks again.

“You sprayed perfume on your ankles.”

You turn, confused, spotting him again, his gaze dark from your vantage point. He runs his hands through tousled curls and you remember why so many horny netizens bomb your social media, any time you mention the Symbol of Peace in an interview.

“Your point?”

“Your lingerie is expensive and the set matches,” he adds, eyeing remnants of lace strewn on the ground. You follow his gaze, your cheeks burning. 

“Maybe I enjoy the finer things in life?” you reply, lower lip wobbling and you bite your lip quickly, embarrassed. His eyes narrow and his lips curl into a smile. Devilish, unlike anything you’ve seen on television before. Before he says the next thing, you can tell he’s already pinned you again in this quick battle of words.

“Like me.”

Checkmate.

You can’t think quickly enough, instead retreating to turn on the shower, hoping it’s as loud as possible. Drowning him out, drowning yourself out, drowning this moment out of existence.

It won’t happen again.

[goqmir]

as someone casually into spider-man peter parker being a bant character is like jumpscare level territory for me. he's .... obviously centered in izzet right? a major focal point of his character is his cleverness, which is definitely represented by blue, but he also cares little for convention or laws and often makes his plans on the fly with his quick thinking, which is not only very red traits but also like,, the all-time most izzet trait ever?

you couldd say the fact that he famously operates on instinct is a green trait, but i think the fact that he relies on that so much in a pinch makes it almost more of a red concept to me-- he puts himself in dangerous and risky situations constantly, using his instinct to bail himself out. even if the spider sense itself could be characterized as a green enchantment, the way peter uses the spider sense is red as shit right?

i agree that spider-man can be white, but in my opinion it should be as a secondary color compared to blue and red as primary ones. i mean, he's the menace! he's a vigilante that chooses so often to operate outside of the law and is constantly punished for it! so peter definitely doesn't tend to embody white's respect for order or authority, which imo means white should definitely not be a main color for him. he does believe in white's classic "be a protector of the meek" mentality absolutely though!

so like,, is he green because his creature type is fucking spider. because he's gonna have reach. that kinda pisses me off lol. maybe spiderheads could chime in about it because im no expert on the character but dropping red for green on peter parker seems like a next-level L to me. he seems like he's only bant because he's the main hero of the big spider-man set frankly. and i dont like that!

[zomboivex]

What ‘core’ personality each Tokyo Debunker Character has!

This is not meant to be taken seriously at all. Hence why I’m only sourcing the info I get specifically from one of my favorite books, Surrounded by Idiots by Thomas Erikson.

Pretty much any information I use will be from the front of the book. I won’t go too deep into the whole study or whether or not this is actually scientific. It’s literally just for fun on my end. Take it as it is.

I am doing this solely based off of their face-value self presentations and not a deeper dive.

So- without further ado-

Red

Extrovert/Active/Implementer

Task-oriented and Issue Oriented

Aggressive - ambitious - strong-willed - goal-oriented - pushing - problem-solver - pioneer - decisive - innovator - impatient - controlling - convincing - performance-oriented - powerful - results-oriented - initiator - speed - timekeeper - intense - opinionated - straightforward - independent

Jin Kamurai

Aggressive - Ambitious - Persuasive - Distant - Pushing - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Objective - Impatient - Controlling - Convincing - Powerful - Initiator - Intense - Straightforward

Leo Kurosagi

Aggressive - Ambitious - Talkative - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Problem-Solver - Pioneer - Decisive - Innovator - Impatient - Controlling - Convincing - Persuasive - Creative - Correct - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Speed - Timekeeper - Intense - Opinionated - Social - Seems Insecure - Expressive - Charming - Analytical - Self-Centered - Methodical - Seeks Facts - Needs Attention - Scrutinizes - Sociable - Logical - Questioning

Taiga Hoshibami

Aggressive - Ambitious - Goal-Oriented - Persuasive - Creative - Innovator - Impatient - Spontaneous - Expressive - Pioneer - Self-Centered - Powerful - Adaptable - Initiator - Speed - Flexible - Intense - Independent

Romeo S. Lucci

Aggressive - Ambitious - Talkative - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Persuasive - Impatient - Controlling - Convincing - Performance-Oriented - Powerful - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Speed - Timekeeper - Intense - Opinionated - Straightforward - Independent - Social - Expressive - Charming - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Needs Attention

Ritsu Shinjo

Aggressive - Ambitious - Strong-Willed - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Problem-Solver - Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Conscientious - Systematic - Decisive - Expressive - Correct - Conventional - Controlling - Convincing - Performance-Oriented - Powerful - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Objective - Structured - Analytical - Perfectionist - Intense - Opinionated - Straightforward - Independent - Communicative - Methodical - Seeks Facts - Quality-Oriented - Scrutinizes - Follows Rules - Logical - Questioning - Meticulous

Edward Hart

Aggressive - Talkative - Patient - Pushing - Problem Solver - Persuasive - Producer - Convincing - Spontaneous - Conceals Feelings - Powerful - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Charming - Intense - Opinionated - Self-Centered - Adaptable - Needs Attention

Lyca Colt

Aggressive - Ambitious - Strong-Willed - Goal-Oriented - Enthusiastic - Reliable - Problem-Solver - Creative - Optimistic - Loyal - Modest - Decisive - Expressive - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Persistent - Reluctant - Impatient - Sensitive - Adaptable - Inspiring - Kind - Powerful - Open - Speed - Timekeeper - Intense - Opinionated - Straightforward - Independent

Yellow

Extrovert/Active/Implementer

Relation-oriented

Talkative - enthusiastic - persuasive - creative - optimistic - social - spontaneous - expressive - charming - full of vitality - self-centered - sensitive - adaptable - inspiring - needs attention - encouraging- communicative - flexible - open - sociable - imaginative - easygoing

Kaito Fuji

Talkative - Enthusiastic - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Seems Insecure - Optimistic - Social - Reluctant - Thoughtful - Follows Rules - Expressive - Considerate - Kind - Full of Vitality - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Needs Attention - Encouraging - Communicative - Open - Sociable - Easygoing

Haru Sagara

Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Creative - Optimistic - Social - Spontaneous - Expressive - Charming - Full of Vitality - Self-Centered - Patient - Relaxed - Ambitious - Strong-Willed - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Problem-Solver - Pioneer - Decisive - Innovator - Impatient - Controlling - Convincing - Adaptable - Inspiring - Reliable - Speed - Encouraging - Helpful - Producer - Persistent - Sociable - Easygoing - Kind

Towa Otonashi

Aggressive - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Creative - Optimistic - Relaxed - Controlling - Spontaneous - Expressive - Loyal - Powerful - Full of Vitality - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Intense - Opinionated - Needs Attention - Imaginative

Zenji Kotodama

Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Creative - Optimistic - Social - Spontaneous - Expressive - Charming - Full of Vitality - Patient - Relaxed - Sensitive - Loyal - Inspiring - Needs Attention - Encouraging - Communicative - Understanding - Lengthy - Open - Sociable - Imaginative - Easygoing - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Persistent - Thoughtful - Considerate - Kind

Green

Introvert/Passive/Reserved

Relation-oriented

Patient - relaxed - self-controlled - reliable - composed - loyal - modest - understanding - lengthy - stable - prudent - discreet - supportive - good listener - helpful - producer - persistent - reluctant - thoughtful - conceals feelings - considerate - kind

Lucas Errant

Aggressive - Ambitious - Strong-Willed - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Problem-Solver - Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Patient - Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Loyal - Modest - Understanding - Decisive - Optimistic - Social - Stable - Performance-Oriented - Charming - Full of Vitality - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Persistent - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Speed - Adaptable - Inspiring - Thoughtful - Straightforward - Independent - Encouraging - Communicative - Flexible - Open - Sociable - Considerate - Kind - Easygoing

Alan Mido

Patient - Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Loyal - Modest - Understanding - Consciousness - Systematic - Distant - Problem-Solver - Stable - Conventional - Straightforward - Independent - Objective - Structured - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Reluctant - Needs Time - Reflecting - Conceals Feelings - Considerate - Kind - Seeks Facts - Quality-Oriented - Follows Rules - Questioning - Reserved

Sho Haizano

Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Loyal - Modest - Understanding - Objective - Structured - Stable - Quality-Oriented - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Reserved - Conceals Feelings - Considerate

Subaru Kagami

Patient - Enthusiastic - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Loyal - Modest - Understanding - Lengthy - Stable - Prudent - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Seems Insecure - Creative - Optimistic - Social - Reluctant - Thoughtful - Conceals Feelings - Considerate - Kind - Perfectionist - Needs Time - Reflecting - Charming - Quality-Oriented - Scrutinizes - Sensitive - Adaptable - Inspiring - Meticulous - Reserved - Sociable - Easygoing

Haku Kusanagi

Patient - Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Social - Modest - Understanding - Charming - Stable - Adaptable - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Encouraging - Communicative - Flexible - Open - Sociable - Thoughtful - Conceals Feelings - Considerate - Kind - Follows Rules - Easygoing - Reserved

Rui Mizuki

Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Creative - Optimistic - Social - Patient - Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Reliable - Composed - Expressive - Charming - Full of Vitality - Modest - Understanding - Sensitive - Adaptable - Stable - Prudent - Discreet - Supportive - Good Listener - Helpful - Producer - Encouraging - Thoughtful - Conceals Feelings - Considerate - Kind - Flexible - Open - Easygoing

Blue

Introvert/Passive/Reserved

Task-oriented and Issue-oriented

Conscientious - systematic - distant - correct - conventional - seems insecure - objective - structured - analytical - perfectionist - needs time - reflecting - methodical - seeks facts - quality-oriented - scrutinizes - follows rules - logical - questioning - meticulous - reflecting - reserved

Tohma Ishibashi

Patient - Relaxed - Conscientious - Systematic - Ambitious - Composed - Conventional - Goal-Oriented - Stable - Objective - Structured - Analytical - Problem-Solver - Prudent - Discreet - Supportive - Methodical - Seeks Facts - Quality-Oriented - Performance-Oriented - Helpful - Producer - Persistent - Logical - Questioning - Meticulous - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Conceals Feelings - Reserved - Intense - Straightforward - Independent

Ren Shiranami

Relaxed - Self-Controlled - Distant - Modest - Objective - Discreet - Scrutinizes - Follows Rules - Logical - Reluctant - Reserved 

Yuri Isami

Aggressive - Ambitious - Talkative - Enthusiastic - Persuasive - Creative - Conscientious - Goal-Oriented - Pushing - Problem-Solver - Pioneer - Decisive - Innovator - Impatient - Controlling - Convincing - Performance-Oriented - Systematic - Results-Oriented - Initiator - Speed - Timekeeper - Intense - Opinionated - Self-Centered - Sensitive - Adaptable - Correct - Needs Attention - Seems Insecure - Communicative - Structured - Analytical - Perfectionist - Needs Time - Methodical - Seeks Facts - Quality-Oriented - Scrutinizes - Follows Rules - Logical - Questioning - Meticulous 

Jiro Kirisaki

Patient - Conscientious - Systematic - Distant - Reliable - Composed - Loyal - Modest - Objective - Structured - Analytical - Supportive - Needs Time - Reflecting - Methodical - Seeks Facts - Quality-Oriented - Helpful - Producer - Follows Rules - Logical - Conceals Feelings - Reserved

I would give input on why I selected these but I really don’t want to right now.