#I don’t know how we ended up here

[latibvles]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON).

I have ... no explanation for this. this is technically a "three times dick thought Charlie was beautiful, and one time he said it" which also meets ... boxer! Charlie x former boxer! Dick universe. And it's in 90s New York for the visuals. And Harry is a boxing trainer. I don't know what happened here but I like it. Yes I know her main fic isn't even published. Everyone stop looking at me like that. I am also now well-acquainted with boxer jargon I otherwise would not have known.

I.

Just one match,  Harry bargained, just one and I’ll leave you alone.

So here Dick sat, as close to the ring as Nixon money could buy, the man sat right next to him, and the final round’s timer shaving down precious seconds.

This girl, “Chuckles” as Harry calls her, is light on her feet and hard to keep track of. Her shaggy black crop falls into her eyes and he can’t get a good look at her face as she hops from one foot to the other, bobbing and weaving with almost dancer-like grace.

It’s a little hypnotizing.

It’s either gonna be a knockout, or she’s gonna run this clock down.

Parry, cross, feint, corkscrew — it’s dizzying trying to keep up with her. There’s no pattern to it, but somehow she maintains a rhythm that he can’t hear. The crowd around them is in an uproar, the only thing he can hear is cheering and heckling in his ears. Across the ring, Harry’s face is lit up with the same fire he’s had since they were in the ring themselves. Dick’s own heart is pounding a little harder.

Her head snaps to the right as her opponent lands a decisive blow to her cheek. She stumbles, knocked off her balance, and takes another blow to the opposing cheek.

Dick holds his breath.

Lead right.

Another uproar, Harry shouting something unintelligible, drowned out by the din of the people around them. She shifts her weight. She winds up the fist.

Haymaker.

It’s a decisive, heavy, sharp blow to her opponent’s jaw that almost sends the other woman spinning. She stumbles, then crumples to the floor.

It’s the longest eight count Dick’s ever seen. Then the ring of the bell, cheering, and “Chuckles” turns around to face them entirely, face him, as the other woman is brought to her feet, and moved to a seat on the outside of the ring. Harry quickly slides in to grab her wrist and thrust it upright with a smile.

She pops out the mouth guard, with the free hand, looks out with a wicked grin — all bloody teeth and sweat and pointy canines. There’s a cut on her swelling cheek, dark hair sticking to her forehead, chest rising and falling as she takes labored breaths. Pride oozes from those red-stained lips, and now that he’s got a better look at her face he sees that fire in her eyes. It stirs something in him and he feels a flush creeping up his neck like he’s just gone the distance himself.

She wears that pride and those bruises like a starlet’s gown — and it looks gorgeous on her.

II.

The rain casts a hazy glow on the street outside, and makes this diner that much warmer in comparison. He watches for a moment, lip twitching into a grin as she dunks a fry into the Oreo shake. Feeling his eyes, she looks up and raises a brow.

“See something you like?”

And he could say a lot of things to that. The burger in front of him. The coke and fries. The rain droplets clinging to her hoodie (and in that respect, the hoodie itself, how cozy it looks, how it almost swallows her frame, and the bright red RICHMOND on the front).

Instead, he gestures to the fry.

“You get that one from Harry?”

“He’s persuasive when he wants to be.”

There’s a fond annoyance to the way she says it, coupled with an eye roll and a ghost of the smirk she always wears, be it for self-gratification or pride or the secret third thing Dick hasn’t been able to discern yet. Dick chuckles a little, bowing his head for a moment to take a bite out of his own burger, watching through his lashes and trying not to grin as she plucks pickles from her own with a look like they’d just insulted her.

Evidently, he fails at that.

“Winters, whatever pickle-related remark you’re about to make, I’d keep it to myself if I were you.”

“I didn’t have any remark. Should I?” he tries, teasing. But Dick watches as Charlie’s smile drops immediately, her face becoming deathly serious.

“Pickles took out my mother, Dick.” The way she says it, with no room for laughter, knocks him off his own balance. He stares at her, lips parted, in the midst of confusion and trying to discern if this is a joke or not.

“You’re messing with me.” He throws back, and the corner of her lip twitches as she tries to maintain that serious expression. But it cracks and Charlie ducks her head as she snorts.

“Caught me — but if I wasn’t you wouldn’t be living that one down, so we’re clear.” Dick rolls his eyes. When she looks back up the smile is softer, less challenging — he doesn’t know this expression of hers very well. Amusement brimming at the surface, but softer edges, less deprecating, more playful like a kid who might’ve told a knock-knock joke.

Her smile’s pretty, even when she’s not baring her teeth.

“Of course I wouldn’t.” is what he settles on, with another fond roll of his eyes.

III.

Dick has half a mind to turn back.

He doesn’t know when, during his visit, that he became Harry’s stand-in but he suspects it had something to do with last week, when Harry came back, and when his eyes lingered on Charlie for a moment too long at the gym and his smile grew and Harry, ever the perceptive one, refused to let him live it down.

Well I already told her you were coming, Harry defended, and it’s just a cabinet, Dick.

One day, he and Harry will sit down and have a chat about his friend volunteering him for things, but that’s a discussion for a later time.

The sweet old lady two doors down directed him here, to the right apartment number, and outwardly wondered about “Charlotte never mentioning a boyfriend,” to which Dick had to speedily correct her.

Now he’s staring at the door with the peeling paint and the peephole and the golden “6D” on the front, trying to surmise the courage to knock on the door, as if this is anything more than what it is. It’s just a cabinet, Dick, Harry’s voice is an annoyingly correct echo in his skull — and he wraps his knuckle on the door, cringing when he thinks it’s too heavy-handed.

There’s some shuffling, a hushed swear, and then the door opens, just enough to see the chain, and a pair of dark eyes meeting his.

“Oh! Dick just — give me a second,” The door slams, there’s a clicking of a lock, and then it opens again, Charlie in the doorway in a dark blue crewneck sweater and faded jeans. “Alright, come in. Pretend you don’t see the mess.”

He steps into the apartment, recognizing that scene from Dirty Dancing playing on the small TV, the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and a handful of children’s toys littering the floor. Barbies with their clothes strewn about, a discarded teddy bear, and an unfinished game of Candyland — the blue gingerbread man is, evidently, the winner. Dick grins a little bit, looking over to her — and the way her cheeks almost seem to flush is a sight to see.

“Do I need to cover your eyes or something?” The thought of her hands on his face is… not an unwelcome one. Less in the light of covering his eyes, but a hand on his cheek, maybe. He gestures to the TV, to Patrick Swayze laid out on the floor.

“It’s Annie’s favorite scene.” He offers, and that gets a smile out of her.

“Should get her in contact with Hazel then. She has me watching this once a week,” She guides him into the kitchen, with the toolbox on the countertop, and sure enough, an old cabinet door with broken hinges. He looks back, at the flush returning to her cheeks. “I’d do it myself but…” she waves her hand, flippantly, at the two bandaged fingers that she’d ended up with after that heavy apartment door slammed on them.

She came to the gym fuming and Dick wrapped those fingers himself — they took a rain check on training, which she begrudgingly agreed to.

“I don’t mind.” Dick affirms, with what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. Charlie nods at that, leaning against the small table. She went through the work of buying new hinges and the right sized screws, it was just a matter of fixing it now. He’s a little grateful for his father’s refusal to ever call a repairman and his insistence on showing Dick how to do this stuff in his teens.

They lapse into comfortable silence — Charlie pours apple juice into mismatched cups. Real high-society stuff here, trust me, she drawls as she tucks the Motts bottle back into the fridge beside him. He’ll catch her staring every now and again, as she works around him with the sort of precision he can only assume comes from living in a seven-person household. Sometimes her gaze is on his arm, or his face, the screw he’s holding in his teeth, and they won’t say anything of it but her cheeks will flush scarlet and something in Dick will stir. He doesn’t know if it’s pride or nerves. He doesn’t care.

He… likes seeing her that way — the one blushing, instead of him. And the color is lovely when it’s dusted on her cheeks like that.

IV.

There’s a lot of things about New York that make his head spin.

The way people will scurry across crosswalks even during the greenlight, the impossible parking, the way she draws her curtains at night to keep the bright lights of the city out (and even then, cars will honk all through the night regardless). It’s busy and it’s loud and it’s nothing like rural Pennsylvania.

But there’s a welcomed quiet here, in her bathroom of all places. She’s propped up on the sink, one of his flannels tucked tastefully into faded jeans, her fingers grazing his skin. He swears this is the only place where his routines get disrupted, and one of the few places where he doesn’t actually mind it. So if he forgoes shaving a couple of times — getting her like this just makes it worth it.

She’s doing away with the beginnings of his beard in slow strokes, lips pulled into a pout, her fingers tilting his chin for a better look at what she’s doing.

Dick likes the feeling of her hands on his face. She likes knowing that her touch is still gentle — even with the scabbed knuckles and the callouses. It’s a win-win, really.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks, because she doesn’t hit the gym until six, and she has the day off today, too. She looks at him through her long dark lashes.

“Paulina wants to do ax-throwing in Brooklyn. She invited us — I think Alice might be going too, if you wanna give Lew some incentive. But Joe should be there anyways and if there’s Joe there’s gonna be Bill and so on and so forth,” Dick has to do his best not to shudder and break her concentration, but Charlie still snorts nonetheless. ��It’s a birthday thing. Could be fun.”

“Can you guarantee I won’t get axed?” Dick poses, teasing.

“No but I can put a band-aid on it and kiss it better.”

“Mm. You may have to talk to Alby about that. He takes those Rugrats band-aids very seriously.”

At that, she pauses and laughs, tilting her head back for a moment and setting the razor to the side. Dick turns his half-shaven face to look at her — at the mark on her collarbone peaking just past his shirt, at the amused look in her eye, the smile stretching across her face. When she looks at him again, he reaches out to let his fingers graze the curve of her cheek.

“What is it?” She raises a brow at him, curious. Dick shakes his head.

“Nothing, just…” he lets his hand drop, leaning fully on the counter to bump their noses once. “You’re beautiful, y’know that?” It tumbles from his lips clumsily and unapologetically — he’s never been much of a smooth talker, but apparently it’s endearing.

Charlie smiles, and her face flushes, and it just further proves his point as she runs her hand down the shaved side of his face, and mutters a quiet thank you.

[bluebutlikenotalways]

Laddies we got an Au

Long post below the cut and some disturbing imagery, so be advised.

So it takes place after Pearl sunk Abalone and his fleeting. This time however her sisters actually stuck around to check on her after everything and actually managed to help her open up…some how.

Though her heart wasn’t stained black she will never be the same.

However she was able to build up the strength to talk to Lord Oyster again. She never fully forgave him for giving away her pearl, but he was there after the attacks to take care of the pirates who had somehow managed to avoid dying to take them to justice. This showed the mermaids that some cookies could be trusted. Because of this Pearl became a guardian for The House of Oyster and oh boy did that do wonders for their reputation!

With her making peace with all her pain she didn’t fully become Black Pearl and is kinda grey(-ish purple) I need to work on her design a bit more obviously, but she followed a lot closer to Crimson and takes her job as a protector seriously enough. Some may wonder if she enjoys a good fight more than defending her friends.

Also her sister and Frilled Jellyfish have her tokens to try and brighten her up some.

Through all this Lord Oyster swore he would redeem himself to his moon (she asked him not to call her that anymore lol) So he dedicated a good chunk of resources to trying to locate her pearl! This mission was passed down through the generations until finally…

Oyster Cookie had finally gotten a big lead and was able to send one of the best captains and his crew out to try and recover it.

Unfortunately they ran into a slight problem.

The sea the pearl was said to be found in was rough and could capsize a ship twice their size. Caviar wanted to go alone, but with a crew as stubborn as he they braved it together as one! (Candy Diver died in a different accident and Caviar still managed to find them and bring them aboard because he’s just that good at sniffing out crew mates.)

Alas it wasn’t just a storm.

It was a trap.

A band of pirates forged a letter hoping Oyster herself would show up so they could get a nice tidy ransom, but when a harder than nails crew showed up in their place they were far from pleased.

The Salty Shark crew hold their ground well, but being outnumbered four to one never seems to end in your favour.

Caviar was the last to go down and was thrown overboard to his watery grave like the rest of his crew. After The Silent’s crew was demolished completely the pirates set out to “commandeer” her, but immediately things started to go wrong for them. Things went so wrong that at least two were killed on their scramble to get off the boat while many more met their soggy fates as they threw themselves overboard in preference to whatever was on their with them.

Guess what movie franchise this is based on :D

As the legend says the captain pulled himself up out of the deep that night and sails his waters of the Duskgloom searching for his crew to bring them safely aboard and finally leave that damned place. However the captain’s kindness runs short with strangers who cross his path, especially those who fly the skull and crossbones.

The Silent is still under his full command and all orders are carried out will full efficiency.

Now Oyster wanted the return of her pearl to be a surprise with a big celebration after, but when the captain never returned and those she sent to look for him disappeared she had few other choices than to send her most capable guard.

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

As most of you know I try my best to be civil and kind. I’m too exhausted and the world sucks too much for me to go about making other people feel like shit, it’s not really something I see worthy of my or anyone’s time really. I try to keep things positive not only because it might brighten someone else’s day but for my own sake. I curate this space because I know a lot of you feel and experience the same things I do. Do not twist this into me being delusional. I am fully aware the internet can be an unkind place, but that doesn’t mean my blog, my space, has to follow that example.

Be kind, be patient, and be respectful, not that the majority of you haven’t already been doing so. Asks are open again. Anonymous will be turned on again when I feel comfortable.

Apologies to those who used anon because they were nervous/anxious. I completely understand where you’re coming from and this is nothing against you. Regardless I do hope you stick around, and maybe one day work up the courage to be open with me. Or continue to keep your distance, I completely understand that too.

[myfairkatiecat]

Okay I’m going to say it, some of y’all treat the KOTLC tag like it’s a tumblr community instead of an organization system that gathers together everything people post and tag as KOTLC

[tenwhiteandalusians]

so no one was going to tell me if i got literally one episode further tenax drops that he’s the one who saved scorpus from his mom’s pimp AND that he’s intimately familiar with scorpus’ dick when he was younger. guys. guys.

[hanzajesthanza]

dandelion is indeed the worst but if he’s not present in the next book i would legitimately be sorrowful as the whole thing will become a slog . you basically cannot have the “short stories” era-of-the-timeline iteration of geralt without dandelion, it would be like eating unbuttered bread.

though it’s not like season of storms did them dirty, i wasn’t disappointed with it (… with regards to them), but since it’s literally been over 20 years since the saga was finished i’m trying to prepare for any potential reality

[dazed-diary]

sugar, spice, and everything nice

summary: you decide to bake brownies in the middle of the night, bakugou just wants a glass of water, the two of you have a conversation

bkg x gn!reader - wc: 3.5k

warnings: just some cursing here and there, that's all!

“Ah, shit.”

You let out a curse under your breath, already moving to get a spoon to retrieve the piece of eggshell that had managed to escape into the batter. With slow and careful movements, you guided the spoon up the inside of the bowl while balancing the frivolous escapee that was threatening to slip back into the batter on the tip.

It was the middle of a Thursday night and the U.A. dorms were asleep, the students being exhausted after the recent spike in villain activities. It was understandable, being tired with everything that was going on, although for some reason, you couldn’t seem to fall asleep at all, seemingly too much on your mind. After alternating between tossing and turning in your bed and mindlessly staring at the dark ceiling for what felt like hours – a look at the time told you it actually had been hours – the urge to bake brownies had inexplicably taken a hold of you. 

For a moment you had just laid there, weighing the pros and cons of a spontaneous past-curfew, definitely-against-the-rules trip to the dorm kitchen for a midnight baking-session, when, after a couple seconds of inner debate, you had decided to just go through with it, throwing the covers off of yourself with a quiet “fuck it”. 

Now you were here, in the kitchen, trying really hard not to make a sound in order to not wake any others – you had even resolved to mixing everything with a whisk instead of a hand mixer, even though an annoying voice at the back of your head was telling you that the bedrooms were too far from the kitchen for anybody to hear you, anyways. 

Nevertheless, now you were dedicated to see this through to the end and continued on whisking away. Once you were satisfied with the look of the batter, you moved on to measure the flour, when, all of a sudden, the ceiling lights of the kitchen turned on, startling you. Originally, you had only turned on the small light above the stove in order not to draw attention from outside, even resorting to your phone flashlight to find the ingredients you needed in the cupboards, so the bright lights from above were a little blinding.

“What the-“, disoriented, you shielded your eyes and turned around to the direction of where you thought the light switches were, trying to identify whoever had busted your little baking session. Still blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness, you expected Mr. Aizawa to be standing in the doorway, ready to give you a lecture. However, you were proven wrong as a gruff voice that definitely did not belong to your sensei cut through the silence.

“The fuck are you doing?” 

Bakugou Katsuki stood at the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, both in black, and looking at you as if you had just grown a second head or something.After recovering from the initial shock (and relief at not receiving detention for your stupid idea), you tried to think of a reasonable way to justify still being up.

“Uhhh…”, you said dumbly, trying to think of an explanation that wasn’t just ‘I couldn’t sleep so I did what any sensible person would do and started baking brownies in the middle of the night in our school’s dorm kitchen. Any more questions?

Instead, you uttered a lame “I’m…baking?”. 

Wow, what a great explanation. He surely wouldn’t think you were weird now.

If he doesn’t already think that, you told yourself.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow at that, looking even more irritated than before and like he wanted to say something else, but he stopped himself, huffed out a breath of air and walked towards the cupboard with the glasses and cups, muttering something about him being “way to fuckin’ tired for this shit right now”. 

Still a bit stunned, you watched him fill a glass of water under the tab, lean on the counter and chug it. Before he could fill it up again, though, he seemed to notice your stare on him and he side-eyed you. “What.” 

Realizing that you must’ve probably looked even more insane now, you quickly avoided his piercing gaze and turned back to your brownies-in-progress, resuming your previously interrupted task of measuring the flour after muttering a quick “nothing!”

Pressing a few buttons on the scale, you added a quieter “I was just surprised to see someone else up, is all.” 

You grabbed another bowl and set it on the scale, daring to look up at him again, only to find his eyes still focused on you, much to your surprise. Somehow, the feeling of his eyes on you made you feel…nervous. You tried not to let it show and instead busied yourself with your phone, checking the rest of the recipe. Because he did not immediately make the move to head back to his room, you tried to drown out his presence as best as you could. 

Your relationship to Bakugou was…normal, you thought. As far as you were able to tell with his fiery attitude, he didn’t hate you. That was something, you supposed. He didn’t seem too concerned with you; in class when you were teamed up with him or pitted up against him in teams, he seemed to know enough about your quirk in order to form fitting strategies either with or against it, but when the two of you were teamed up there was someone else from class with you pretty much every time so the two of you had never quite been…alone like this, now that you thought about it. 

“The hell you making, anyway?” 

His voice interrupted your thoughts and you turned back to him, still leaned against the counter but his body angled more in your direction.

“Just some brownies for everyone, I thought we could eat them tomorrow after school or something.” Suddenly you had a thought. “I’ll probably just say I made them yesterday or something, they’ll probably think it’s weird I made them in the middle of the night. Like, who just bakes brownies instead of sleeping, right?”, you let out a nervous laugh at that. 

He stayed silent at that, leaving you to wallow in slight embarrassment, mulling over how you would explain to your classmates where the batch of brownies had magically appeared from. Was there a student with a brownie quirk at U.A.?

“You’re a dumbass.” 

“Huh?” You looked back up at him dumbfounded, eyes having unfocused with your internal chaotic monologue.

He rolled his eyes and walked past you, the scent of his cologne drifting past you in a wave of sandalwood and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. It smelled good. Not that it mattered.

“I said, you’re a dumbass.” Now on your other side, he grabbed the knife and cutting board with the chocolate you had prepared and started chopping.

“Wha-“, you cut yourself off, having to shake your head in order to process what was going on. “What are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like I’m doing? Cuttin’ your dumb chocolate for your dumb brownies or whatever,” he shot you a dirty look.

You wanted to argue that neither the chocolate nor the brownies were ‘dumb’, but you held yourself back. Instead, you rephrased the question because technically he had answered it. “Why are you doing that?”

He tch-ed. “Because it’s fucking late and we got team exercise tomorrow and I ain’t losin’ because some teammate of mine was too tired!�� His brows were furrowed now and he was chopping faster, the chunks decreasing in size at an almost alarming rate. 

You stopped short. “There’s no guarantee for me being in your team, though.”

“What’d you say?”

“Huh? Uh, nothing, nothing.”

Choosing not to argue with him about his…peculiar way of talking, you watched him cut the chocolate. The pieces were pretty small now, however you figured it would be useless to tell him to stop at this point. Instead, you continued working on the batter, mixing the flour and cocoa powder into the bowl with the eggs, sugar and butter. A sort of comfortable silence settled over the two of you, the crunching of the chocolate under the knife and the whisk scraping the sides of the bowl somehow added to the atmosphere. 

After a while of whisking and spacing out you realized that you could no longer hear the chocolate being cut, so you turned to your right to see Bakugou rinsing off the knife in the sink. Your eyes then drifted to the cutting board where you beheld…chocolate…powder.

What in the-

You snorted. Before you could stop yourself, your whole body was shaken with giggles and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Bakugou’s head snapped towards you, his face contorted into an irritated frown.

“What the fuck?”, seemingly more irritated with each word, he got louder. “What’s so funny, huh?” Dropping the knife in the sink and drying his hands on a kitchen towel which was unceremoniously thrown somewhere on the counter, he walked so he was standing right in front of you. 

“Shhh”, you managed between giggles, “you’re being too loud!” After wiping a tear from your eye and taking another look at his face, where you thought you could see some confusion and maybe uncertainty hidden behind the irritation, you decided to explain the reason for your amusement to him. 

“The chocolate-“, you giggled, “you-“, you pointed towards the now-powder when you broke out into another fit of hushed laughter. 

“The fuck’s wrong with it?” he spat, looking at it for a moment before his eyes snapped back to your face. You failed to notice the tips of his ears reddening as his gaze lingered on your grinning mouth.

He genuinely seemed unaware as to what you were laughing about, so you tried to collect yourself. Taking a deep breath and holding back any more laughter that threatened to escape you, you changed your mind. “You know what? It’s fine.” Grabbing the cutting board, you dumped the powder into the batter and mixed it. “It’s perfect, see?” For better emphasis, you held the bowl so he could look at the contents, not that there was much to notice, but you somehow felt like reassuring him.

He scoffed. “Whatever.”

From the far end of the counter, you grabbed the tray you prepared and poured the batter inside before putting it in the oven, closing the door and setting the temperature. As you straightened your back, it was quiet again and the sudden awkwardness that filled the air made you want to busy your hands with something, so you started cleaning up. 

All the while you were putting back the ingredients to their places in the cupboards, you felt Bakugou’s eyes on you. For some reason, he hadn’t moved from his spot and all of a sudden you were reminded of the pajamas you were currently wearing: checkered blue pajama pants and an oversized, washed-out t-shirt with a character of a children’s TV show and the word SMILE! in bold, glittery letters on the front of the t-shirt. You felt blood rushing to your face and tried to subtly angle your body away from Bakugou. 

After another moment of silence that felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat from behind you. Currently, you were putting away the sugar (the last of your ingredients still standing around – after remembering your outfit you had tried to avoid having to use the cupboard closest to Bakugou) when you stole a glance at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. 

“Don’t-“, he cut himself off, as if he was struggling to find the right words. After a pause of another few seconds, he said, “Don’t think so fucking much.”

“What?”

You turned towards him; ugly shirt forgotten. Out of all the things you’d expected him to say to you – hell, you wouldn’t even have been surprised if he’d just left without saying another word, seeing as you had basically made fun of him for cutting the chocolate weirdly – this wasn’t one of them. You didn’t even know what he meant. 

Bakugou’s brows were furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“It doesn’t matter.”, he said. “When you made the brownies, or whatever. It ain’t any of their business. You baked and they get to eat them, ‘s all they gotta know.”

You were dumbfounded. Staring at him, you searched for a reply, anything to respond, but he beat you to it. 

“Bein’ a hero too, and everything. I see you,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Hesitating. Overthinking. You’re not weak, so what the fuck are you doing?” 

You found it impossible to break the eye contact, his red eyes filled with anger and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. I see you.

He continued. “I’ve seen what you can do. Last week you fucking kicked four villains’ asses alone because they were an immediate danger to surrounding citizens. You acted fast because you knew waiting for backup from pros would have been too late and you immobilized those damn fuckers with a move that could’ve hurt the civilians if you were some extra without proper control over your quirk. But you aren’t. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You have a strong quirk and unlike some other extras here,” his eyes narrowed at that, “you actually know how to use it. So do it. To win.”

To say you were shocked silent was putting it lightly. For a few moments after he was done talking, all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears and you hoped your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. At your expression, he seemed to realize the impact of his words at least a little bit. 

“Ah, shit- I didn’t mean-“ He slapped one hand over his mouth. You think you heard a muffled “fucking idiot”, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. 

In the meantime, you had somehow managed to regain a little bit of your composure to finally respond to him, albeit you were still stuttering a bit.

“Uhh, you-” Suddenly it was very hard to look him in the eyes. “I never knew you paid so much attention to me.”

That sent him over the edge. “What?!” Stumbling backwards, his expression contorted with some of his usual anger, but you could sense there was something more behind it. Embarrassment, maybe? You didn’t miss the way his eyes were darting around the room nervously, now anywhere but on you or how his cheeks seemed to just slightly redden in color, but you might have been imagining it, of course. 

Suddenly curious, you stepped forward. Untouchable, closed-off, self-centered Bakugou had just given you an extremely personal (and accurate) pep talk. He had read you like an open book, and although you’d known he was intelligent, somehow this hadn’t felt all that analytical and more…emotional.

Taking another step towards him and trying to fight the smile from coming onto your face, you whispered, “You’re being loud again, Bakugou.” After a pause, you got serious, “But, thanks, I guess. Hearing something like that coming from you means a lot to me.” 

At that, he regained his composure, narrowing his eyes. “Just stating the obvious. The only thing holding you back is yourself, it’s stupid.”

Wow, so much for some comforting words. You let out a breath of amusement, shaking your head, gaze travelling to the clock by the door. 

“Oh wow, it’s already two.”

At your words, Bakugou’s head also lifted towards the clock. “How long do these things take to bake, anyways?”

“Like, 20 minutes, I think. I better finish cleaning up, wouldn’t want to have to stay up much longer.” As you grabbed the dishes you had used, you realized something. “Hey, I’m not keeping you up, am I? I didn’t mean to make you stay here just because I started talking to you or anything.”

“You’re not doing shit.” Before you realized what he was doing, he grabbed two bowls from your hands and put them in the dishwasher. 

“Wha-”

“I told you you’re gonna be fucking tired tomorrow, so don’t complain.” He was facing away from you now, fishing the knife out from the dink and finishing cleaning it off.

You just stood there with your hands still in front of you from when he had taken the bowls, mouth opened in a slight gasp. 

When he noticed your silence, he turned around. “Stop standing around like some idiot, you wanna stay here until everyone else wakes up, or what?”

That woke you up from your stupor. He was right, you had already lost enough sleep time as it was, although even as you wiped the counters and took a look at the brownies in the oven, you were still wondering what was motivating Bakugou to stay up and even help you clean the kitchen. Especially knowing how particular he was about his own sleep schedule.

When you were finished, you took a look around the kitchen, checking for anything you might have missed. Satisfied when you couldn’t find anything, you turned to Bakugou, who was putting away his glass of water.

“Thanks,” you said, fiddling with your fingers. Him putting away the glass probably meant he would be going back to bed now, but you weren’t sure what to say. ‘Sleep well’? Internally, you laughed at yourself, picturing him counting fluffy little sheep.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He started walking towards the door, pausing once in the doorway. “Don’t stay up too long, [name].” And with that, he was gone. 

For seemingly the twentieth time this night, you were stunned silent. He had called you by your name. He hadn’t said ‘idiot’, ‘nerd’, or anything like that. He had said ‘[name]’. 

His words replayed in your mind over and over, until you remembered that the brownies were probably almost done now. You had to force yourself to move from your position, holding your hands to your cheeks in a futile attempt to cool down the blush that had formed on your face.

The next couple of minutes passed by in a haze, and before you knew it, you were lying in your bed again, having put the finished brownies in a box in the kitchen, hoping they wouldn’t be noticed by everyone immediately. 

“What just happened?”

You found yourself staring at the ceiling again, still hearing his voice at the back of your mind. It seemed your plan to bake some brownies and then to hopefully have an easier time falling asleep was not working out the way you had envisioned. 

“Ugh, freaking Bakugou,” you groaned, dragging your hands over your face. You remained like that for some time longer, before turning to lay on your side. You took a deep breath, attempting to calm your raging heartbeat, and closed your eyes.

Sleep finally embraced you, and you slept without interruptions for the rest of the night.

BONUS:

The next day, the class was gathered at Ground Beta and preparing for the already announced group exercise by drawing lots. You were one of the only ones left who hadn’t been assigned a team yet. As your name was called, you walked to the box with the lots in it and pulled a slip of paper out.

“You’re in team C, which makes that team complete.”, Mr. Aizawa said, although you weren’t really listening, frozen in place because if you remembered correctly, team C was-

“[name].”

Your head snapped to the owner of the voice, who was none other than Bakugou. Because of course.

“[name]. You gonna stand there all day? Get over here.”

He was using your name again and you found that it made operating like a normal person quite difficult. Your body moving in the direction of your team felt almost robotic; as you tried to avoid his gaze, you nearly stumbled over your own two feet. That woke you up from your stupor, and you mentally slapped yourself for acting like such an idiot.

“I fucking knew it. Because you didn’t sleep, you’re tripping over nothing like some dumbass,” he rolled his eyes. “I fucking told ya not to stay up so long, should’ve listened to me.” 

Now you were blushing furiously and you were pretty sure your heartbeat could be heard all the way back in the classrooms, but before you could think of something to say to him, Kirishima, who was another one of your teammates, cut in. 

“What? Dude, hold on! You were with [name] last night?” The redhead looked at his friend incredulously.

You were pretty sure you saw a vein popping on Bakugou’s temple as he yelled, “Ain’t none of your business, shitty hair, nobody asked for your opinion!”

Your mouth fell open. What a way to make this sound absolutely not weird.

“Alright, alright,” Kirishima laughed, holding his hands up in mock defence and shooting you a not-so-sly wink over his shoulder. “I won’t ask, man. I won’t ask.” 

Oh god. 

While Bakugou yelled some more about how that was not what he meant with some tiny explosions coming out of his palm, you pinched the bridge of your nose, already wondering how you got yourself in this ridiculous situation.

[mabaris]

ok the thing about the implication that everything is interconnected (the elven gods are connected to the tevinter old gods/archdemons and also are possibly what humans interpreted as the maker and also they were underground so it’s probably going to be some BiG rEvEaL that they’re behind the dwarves’ connection to lyrium/the stone) is that it just makes the world feel incredibly small. all these different cultures have different mythologies, except it turns out it’s the same. that sucks imo

[melrosing]

anyway in an absolutely wild turn of events I think I’m free of my hideous job and like. substantially richer for it??? lmao 2023 you really owed me

[deus-ex-mona]

rage is a ✨way of life✨

[thebookowal]

school doodles

I know I haven’t post anything like for a long time about DJ it’s because I need to pay attention or nobody would ever tell me what the fuck is going to go down

soooo

here we have

me and human DJ I know my feet a little bit far away from the ground because I was way too lazy to actually just make myself a little taller. Specially I am probably the shortest person in my friend group.

He’s a big fella, but he needs an emotional support partner

(I’m going to draw this tomorrow in good graphic)

this is how it’s felt when I first joined in

oh yeah yeah oh yeah, forgot somebody

I want you guys to meet Mr. weirdo

Probably the weirdest being you’re going to meet that if he is being

he basically lives in Wonderland

in his head

as he always say

(Alice curiosity, made insolent possibilities)

He know it doesn’t rhyme he just……. this is probably the only thing that is logical about whatever he says

[rowanthestrange]

The thing is, you could’ve made Rogue entering to “I’m The Bad Guy, Duh.” easily make sense if you’d wanted to. You’d have just written that he thinks he’s a bad guy all cool and nefarious - Rogue neither refers to himself negatively, and the Doctor says he’s cool not him (admittedly you’d still have to explain him pre-approaching the string quartet to play it, or it be magic but whatever).

You have Rogue think he’s A Bad Boy, but the Doctor be all ‘no you’re not there’s a heart of gold there’. He wouldn’t have freed himself with an I Am A Time Lord speech giving himself authority over Rogue, it would be appealing to Rogue’s good side that he doesn’t actually want to incinerate him etc. Rogue would choose to do the ‘good guy’ decisions himself, not have them imposed. He’d convince Rogue killing the birds is wrong, not just take his stuff and modify it - he’d get Rogue to reveal his better nature. The Doctor would convince him to leave his gun on the ship.

This is what would bite them later, where they’d both know, maybe with just a look, that if Rogue could have just shot the birds stuck to the glue trap, they wouldn’t have been in this mess. With Rogue then acting correctly ‘sometimes you need someone to be the bad guy’ by taking the controller when the Doctor was busy snogging him and dispatching Ruby himself.

Leading into a finale where Ruby is in a different dimension and relying on her battle-earpiece skills to fend off 5 murderous birds as long as possible, giving us an opportunity to engage with whatever her reality warping powers are but it ‘could’ just be dimensional weirdness, and if the TARDIS was still the one who programmed the teleport she knows where Ruby is, and luckily for her if unluckily for the universe, the dimensions are now all bleeding at the edges and seeping out and Doctor Who is a TV show, yada yada yada.

[pallases]

stabbing my lab partners with a plastic fork

[skillzissuez]

Depression is all fun and games until your skipping school even though you’re weeks behind because you quite literally can’t get out of bed

[steviescrystals]

i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane

(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)

[googletranslateofficial]

Dude this Oas*s thing has me on the verge of tears already if it ends up being nothing I’m going to vomit and cry. And if it ends up being something then I’m also gonna vomit and cry