#Potentially Windy

[malfnction-54]

[raintailed]

silly mons for a pokemon/warrior cats crossover group thing :]

Shockpaw (any pronouns), a joltik :] When they spin webs, their star particles sometimes get stuck on the webbing. Also, Shockpaw would much rather cling to a larger warrior and take a nap rather than actually participate during dawn patrol lol

Bouncepaw (she/her), a gastly who had been released by her previous trainer (the trainer was not prepared to care for a gastly, but instead of returning her to the breeder, they decided to release her instead...). She likes to play pranks on trespassers, usually by staring ominously at them from a distance >:]

[killerchickadee]

What's unfair to Milwaukeeans though re: hot weather is we have beaches here! Beautiful Lake Michigan! Where the water temperature is currently 60 degrees, which is not really safe to swim in, especially in 90something degree heat.

[inklingofadream]

i understand why the convention for so long was for women to wear their hair up now. today i got an earring stuck in my hair half a dozen times, in my overalls buckle once, and also managed to get a SEEMINGLY INFINITE amount of sweet and sour sauce in one braid. gotta go back to the gibson girl hair this is untenable

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

[puppyluver256]

I'm anxious driving lately for different bridge-closure-related reasons so

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Three ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, southern charm still thick as molasses in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark starts tweakin’ a lil’ bit on the low LMAO

Word Count: 2,449

Synopsis: Mark shows up to school early only to be immediately wrecked by you, who’s handing out muffins & heartache. Mark finds himself caught between charm, jealousy, and the slow realization that he is already in waaay too deep.

a/n: thank you for the feedback on the poll but y’all are just as torn on the direction to go with this thing as I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i really don’t want to drag this series out too longgg cause i feel like y’all will get sick of her, but there is so much fun potential with them!! so when i do wrap it up i definitely still plan to do random drabbles/blrubs/headcannons. so if you have a particular scenario you want to see played out with these two let me knowww

read part two ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The next day, Mark got to first period a full fifteen minutes early.

He wasn’t trying to be extra—he just, y’know, happened to wake up earlier than usual. Showered for an extra minutes. Stared into his closet for even longer.

It was row after row of sweaters.

Gray sweater. Navy sweater. Slightly-different-gray sweater. The exact same maroon one he wore yesterday, and probably twice last week.

“Why do I own so many sweaters,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not even cold.”

He glanced at the clock. He had exactly twelve minutes to leave the house if he wanted to be on time. But today wasn’t about being on time.

Today was about impressing the southern goddess who fed him homemade pie and called him sugar like it didn’t wreck his entire nervous system.

He yanked the maroon sweater off its hanger and immediately dropped it again. “No. You wore that when you met her. You can’t wear a sweater twice in a row, she’ll think you’re... sweater guy.”

He reached deeper. Somewhere in the back—past the knit graveyard—and he found an old, forgotten denim button-up he hadn’t worn in ages.

“…Okay. Alright.” He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite. “It’s not not cool. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

By the time he was out the door, he was buttoned up, hair freshly styled, smelling faintly like his dad’s aftershave (too much? was it too much?), and on track to arrive at school earlier than any teenager had ever willingly arrived before.

He passed one of the janitors on the way in. The guy looked at him weird.

Mark nodded like a man with a mission. “Big day.”

The janitor grimaced and went back to mopping.

Mark made it to class so early the lights weren’t even fully on yet.

He sat down, tried to play it cool, tapped his pen like he wasn’t losing his mind.

And then—you walked in.

Suddenly the semi-lit classroom felt too bright.

You were wearing another one of those flowy dresses—soft blue this time, with little white daisies scattered all over like a watercolor painting. Your hair was curled again, bouncing around your shoulders, and there was a tiny yellow bow tucked just behind your ear.

You were smiling, too. Big and bright, like it wasn’t still technically dark outside.

Mark forgot what breathing was.

“Good mornin’, sugar!” you chirped, dropping into the desk beside him in a way that almost made the hard plastic seem comfortable. “Ain’t it just the prettiest day?”

Mark looked outside.

It was overcast. Kinda windy. A bird hit the window and flopped off.

“…Yeah,” he croaked. “Gorgeous.”

You opened your notebook with a little hum, pulling out a pen that had a fuzzy pink pom-pom on the end. Different from your rhinestone student pencil from yesterday. Of course you had a whole arsenal of beautiful writing utensils.

Mark stared at it like it held all the answers to the universe.

“I brought peach muffins today,” you said, casual as ever. “Meemaw said I should bring a whole batch with me ‘cause they were too good not to share. I figured I’d bring you one.”

Mark’s felt like a fist had closed around his heart. “I’d die for a muffin.”

You laughed, light and lovely, not even fazed. “Well shoot, I don’t want you dyin’ for one. You just wait ‘til lunch and I’ll hand it over easy, no crime involved.”

Mark stared at you, helpless.

You turned your face to the window with a little sigh, completely unaware you’d just accidentally ruined him for every other girl on planet Earth.

The bell rang.

Mark didn’t even notice.

He was too busy falling deeper in love with the girl who brought sunshine and muffins into first period like it was nothing.

He was still riding the high of being called sugar and getting a personal smile when the classroom started to fill in.

You were already sitting beside him, scribbling little daisies in the margins of your notes and humming to yourself like you were the only one immune to Tuesday energy. You pulled a small zip-lock pouch from your tote and opened it to reveal a cluster of wrapped muffins, all neat and warm and clearly made with care.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” you said brightly—to the teacher.

Mark watched with stars in his eyes as you stood, walked to the front desk, and handed the teacher a muffin with both hands and a smile. “Mama always says nobody should have to start their day without a little somethin’ sweet.”

The teacher blinked, clearly caught off guard, then smiled back. “Well... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Mark practically swooned. Look at her, he thought. She’s so thoughtful. She’s so considerate. She’s like a vintage greeting card but better. An actual saint.

You turned around, still holding one more muffin in your hand—and then you walked right past Mark’s desk.

He froze. Wait. No muffin for him?

But then—worse—you stopped beside Brian.

Brian. The kid with glasses thicker than bulletproof glass. The one who wore suspenders without irony. Who once gave a ten-minute speech in class about his favorite graphing calculator.

You handed him a muffin.

“There ya go, sugar,” you said sweetly. “You always look so focused in here—I figure you deserve a treat.”

Brian turned bright red. “Oh! Uh! Thanks! That’s, um—wow. Thank you.”

Mark, from two desks away, silently short-circuited.

Brian?? He liked Brian! Brian was harmless! Brian was also now the luckiest man alive and probably didn’t even know it!!

Mark stared blankly at his own desk. The jealousy was illogical. He knew that. You were just being friendly. It was who you were. That was why he liked you so much.

Still.

He looked down at his empty hands, then at Brian, who was carefully placing his muffin into a Ziploc bag like it was a museum artifact.

Mark was still trying to pretend he didn’t feel weird about the whole Brian Situation™ when you turned back to him with your usual sunny grin—muffin bag in hand.

He straightened in his seat like a dog hearing the treat bag rustle.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” you said, tapping the top of the bag like it held gold. “I got your muffin all safe and sound for lunch.”

Mark blinked. “Oh—cool. Thank you.”

“But,” you added, eyes twinkling, “you look like you could use a little somethin’ sweet right now.”

His heart started to race. “I—I mean I—uh—”

You reached into the bottom of the muffin bag, broke off a little piece of golden, peach-flecked heaven, and held it out to him between your fingers.

“Open up.”

Mark’s soul left his body.

He opened his mouth automatically, like he was under some kind of southern-fried spell, and you gently popped the bite in—still smiling, totally casual, like this was just what people did.

The muffin was warm and soft and ridiculous. A spiritual experience.

You went right back to your notes like nothing had happened.

Mark sat there in stunned silence, chewing slowly, eyes wide like a soldier returning from war.

LATER THAT DAY — LUNCH.

Mark was already outside when you arrived—waiting under the tree like a man on a mission, trying to act like he hadn’t sprinted there the second the bell rang.

You showed up, bright as ever, holding that pastel lunchbox like it was the Holy Grail.

“Well hey, handsome,” you greeted, sitting gracefully beside him. “Hope you saved some room. I brought you the biggest one.”

He smiled—more like grinned—more like beamed. “Yeah, totally. Been thinking about it all day. Like… not in a weird way. Just. Y’know.”

You laughed, pulling out your container.

Then, completely oblivious to the emotional avalanche you were about to cause, you added: “Oh! And where’s your little friend? The one from yesterday? I brought extra for him too!” You took another cheerful bite of your muffin and glanced around the courtyard.

Mark froze mid-chew.

“William?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

You nodded, casual as ever. “Mmhmm. I could’ve sworn he was in line for those lil’ curly fries they serve.” You pulled the spare muffin from your bag, holding it up delicately in its wax paper like it was a peace offering. “Wouldn’t feel right eatin’ this one without givin’ it to him. Poor thing’ll think I forgot about him!”

Mark’s smile was pained. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… thoughtful.”

You grinned, totally oblivious to the internal meltdown you’d just triggered. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in there honey. Go get him!”

He blinked. “What?”

You laughed gently, like he was being shy. “Go on, darlin’! Tell him I saved one just for him. He can come sit with us.”

Mark’s brain:

💔 This was our thing.💔 Our spot.💔 Our tree.💔 Our muffin moment.💔 Our marriage announcement was going to go here.

But all he said was, “…Right. Be right back.”

He stood up slowly, like he was going to the guillotine. “You sure you don’t wanna… I don’t know… surprise him later?”

You laughed again and shook your head. “Now don’t be silly. Ain’t no sense lettin’ this thing go cold!”

He nodded, a broken man. “Right. Of course. Warm muffins. That makes sense.”

You waved him off with a sweet little, “Tell him I said hurry, before I eat it myself!”

As he turned toward the cafeteria, he muttered under his breath, “…I was gonna marry her.”

Mark all but slammed through the cafeteria doors, eyes scanning the room like he was hunting prey.

There. At the far table. William, munching on curly fries like it was just another day, chatting with some guy from math class like the fate of Mark’s entire romantic future wasn’t on the line.

Mark rushed over, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. “Will,” he hissed, out of breath, eyes intense. “Please don’t ruin this.”

William blinked. “Ruin what? What’s happening? Are we being hunted?”

Mark leaned in, voice urgent. “She sent me to come get you. You. Personally. She has a muffin for you.”

William raised both brows. “...Oh. So this is about Muffin Girl.”

Mark looked around, already twitching. “She’s waiting under the tree. Our—my—spot. Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t linger. Just take the muffin, say thank you, maybe one polite compliment on her dress if you have to, and leave.”

William paused, chewing slowly, savoring the moment like it was his own muffin.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m in hell,” Mark whispered. “I am in hell and she’s passing out baked goods like this is a church potluck. I need this.”

William popped one last curly fry in his mouth and stood. “Alright, alright. Don’t rupture anything. I’ll be cool.”

“You won’t be,” Mark muttered, following him out. “I know you. You’re gonna make this weird.”

William grinned over his shoulder. “Buddy, you brought me a muffin invitation like it was a golden ticket. This is weird.”

Mark groaned.

You spotted them before they even made it halfway across the lawn.

Mark looked like he was dragging William toward you by the soul. William, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered—curly fry in one hand, mild mischief in his eyes.

“Well there he is!” you called out, waving that sweet little wave that made Mark’s knees go weak. “I was just about to send a search party.”

William grinned as they approached. “Sorry, ma’am. He tracked me down like a bloodhound. Said I was urgently needed.”

Mark muttered, “I did not say urgently.”

You patted the blanket beside you without hesitation. “Well come on, then! I don’t wanna be handin’ out muffins while they’re all cold and sad.”

Mark shot William a look. One that screamed: Don’t you dare.

William, of course, ignored it completely and sat down like he’d been invited to a five-star brunch. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, stretching out a little. “Beautiful day, huh?”

Mark stood awkwardly beside the blanket, hovering like he wasn’t sure if this was now a group event or if he should go lay down in traffic.

“It is!” You agreed with another beaming smile before handing William the wrapped muffin “Now these are peach flavored—my favorite,” you said, then added with a wink, “but I’m biased.”

William opened it like a kid on Christmas. “Man, you bake and you’ve got charm? Mark wasn’t kidding.”

Mark snapped his head around so fast it nearly detached. “What.”

William bit into the muffin like it was the last joy on Earth and moaned dramatically. “Holy crap. You trying to kill us with kindness? These are so good!”

You giggled. “Well shoot, if I knew y’all were this easy to impress I’d’ve brought somethin’ fancier!”

Mark finally sat down, a little stiff, very tense, watching William like a hawk. He took a bite of his muffin (a big one), and tried to look normal.

He did not look normal.

William, fully aware, turned to you. “So, how’d you learn to bake like this? You go to some kind of southern baking academy, or is this just genetic perfection?”

You laughed, delighted. “Lord, no! My grandma just taught me when I was little. Said a lady should always know how to whip up a good peach pie and a sharp comeback.”

Mark, halfway through his muffin and very much not chewing like a normal person, tried to chime in. "That's really cool," he said, muffled through a mouthful.

William glanced sideways at him with a smirk that had way too much knowing in it. "Didn’t know you were so into peaches, man."

Mark nearly choked. "I’m not—I mean, I am. I like muffins. Just—these muffins. Or... muffins in general."

You looked between the two of them, brows raised ever so slightly, and let out the softest little laugh. “Y’all city boys sure are funny,” you said, sipping your drink with a smile like this was all just playful nonsense.

Mark practically melted. God, she’s sweet, he thought. She doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s literally just—

His eyes flicked sideways—and immediately caught William staring straight at him with a smirk that said everything.

Mark’s brain screeched back to reality like a record scratch. He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, took another too-casual bite of muffin.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “uh… yeah. School’s wild, right?”

William didn’t say anything. Just took another bite of his own muffin, eyes full of judgment and joy.

read part four ❀ꗥ～ Here! ～ꗥ❀

[llamagoddessofficial]

So I saw these tags on one of your imagines about Skull

And now I would like the full story about that presentation please.

Despite several people telling him it probably wasn't a good idea, Skull decided to make you a powerpoint on what he'd bring to the table as a potential husband. Though no one could talk him out of it, he was talked into waiting at least a year before showing it to you. Giving someone a presentation on why they should marry you only a month after you've met them probably wouldn't go down great.

Some of the (excellent, if you ask me) points he brought up;

Height. He can reach things on very high shelves. If you want to go to a concert he can put you on his shoulders and you'll be able to see everything. If it's windy he can be your windbreak!

Strength. He can easily lift heavy things, you'll never strain to carry stuff again. Can carry all the groceries, all your bags, and you! If you want to move house in the future it will be very easy, don't have to pay for a moving company.

Loving. Every day with you is his favourite day and nothing brings him more joy than simply being around you.

Very self-sufficient. He repairs clothes and knits his own, he can hunt and forage, if the apocalypse ever happens you won't just survive with him; you'll thrive. He wants to start a garden for you and grow his own veg... you won't have to pay for groceries anymore.

A great long term investment. As mentioned before, he'll save you so much money over time.

Loves providing. He will cook for you multiple times a day every day, because that's his joy, his way of showing love. Happy to take recipe requests, anything you like or are craving in the moment.

Takes pride in a cosy/clean home. Will clean up after himself, unlike certain other skeletons, and will keep the place warm and comfy.

Loves animals, great with pets. Cats love him. He's not sure why but he's putting it down as a husband qualification anyway because he did research on humans and apparently disliking cats/dogs is a 'red flag'

Speaking of dogs; scary dog privileges for the rest of your life. You can go anywhere you like, at any time of day, because when he's with you no one will approach you or talk to you. You can rest easy knowing that if anyone breaks into the home, they'll soon realise their only objective is surviving long enough to get out

Purrs when you're around. Built-in massage chair whenever you need it.

[s1ater]

potential.

pairings. levi ackerman x fem!reader

about. levi has an eye on you.

warnings. gifs not mine, foul language

rickey rocks. okay something different for my blog. I know this has some flaws and inaccuracies with the cold and titans but whatever. I am also scheming up a reiner fic hehe

the frigid weather soaked every particle of your body as you trudged through snow that continued to pile up on the mountain you trekked on. the thick flakes that invaded your vision made it hard for you to even remotely focus on where you were going--where you needed to be.

you'd be buried before you'd reach camp.

the 104 cadet corps were set on the footpath of a mountain as a training exercise despite the ruthless weather. the blizzard was weather meant for death, and even as months of training beat down on you and your fellow cadets practically prepared you for such harsh conditions, some of you were still yet to grow immune to rough circumstances.

you pulled daz, a fellow comrade, on a makeshift sleigh in order for easy transportation through the snow. but even with that and as time had passed and snow had begun to pile, it wasn't as easy as the first hour. the boy who had seemed to have fallen ill with the more time spent in the cold was passing the similar feeling on to you.

fucking hell.

sometimes you felt keith sadies only lived to watch you all suffer.

training had to be one of the biggest pains in your ass. especially when your fellow comrades lacked the level of aptitude you solely possessed. and especially after the large interest levi ackerman had shown of you.

the training corps had been bustling for the past week over the matter of you and your level of mastery at anything thrown your way. it was always like that; it was hard for your skill to go unnoticed or grow accustomed to for that matter, but this time, the only difference was the matter of who was noticing you.

levi ackerman was a highly admired man among your comrades--well really anyone within the walls. humanities strongest soldier. he was agile and had genius combat skills. he always seemed to know the enemies next move before they did.

so when levi ackerman, captain of the levi squad, somehow found himself wandering amongst the cadet corps in search of girl who possessed the same level of skill that they said mirrored his own--he couldn't help but come see for himself.

and what he saw... he must've liked.

"god, help me," you grit your teeth, giving the rope you had slung around your shoulder one last tug before halting.

it was quiet here, windy, but quiet. you truly and finally felt alone up on this snowy mountain, even more so that it seemed you were so close to death. but at least it was quiet.

you glance down to daz's bundled up body, almost wishing you were him instead of the one dragging his body to possible refuge. this could all be for nothing... your decision to stay back in hopes to save another body might lead to your death too and--, "no."

you can't think like that. not now.

"gotta keep moving," you pull the rope again. "think of something else, y/n."

think of him.

"you're impressive, miss y/l/n," you sat in the dining hall watching this so called "greatest solider" with careful and timid eyes as he paced before you. "but I'm sure you know that already."

he watched you train. he watched you get tested by your head commander with screams. he watched you send anyone who fought hand to hand combat against you to their ass. he watched and he almost admired you.

even with the slight crack in his usual stoic shell, you were still at a loss as to what he was doing here. he kept his true intentions to himself, not even caring to speak to commander sadies. requesting you to the dining hall was his first move out of observing, but you sat here still, wondering, what did he want?

"I want you, y/n."

your slight recollection is broken by a loud, ground shaking sound.

thump. thump.

you freeze, feeling every bit of your body grow colder than it already was--if that was even possible.

"shit, shit, shit," you knew that sound. you knew exactly what that meant. you were quick to press your pace faster and onward as if to escape it, but you knew better. "not now."

you stop just as fast as you started, looking around fastly; looking toward daz's body. you needed to find coverage.

thump. thump. thump.

your eyes survey the scenery around you, seeking for something that could not only hide you, but the boy that was getting harder and harder to keep alive.

it was like fate didn't want you to be a good person.

your eyes settled on a lower tree line. you had to get higher. to have the advantage, you needed height. there was no way getting away from this thing and there was no way you’d kill this thing at your small height.

you had to climb.

but daz.

“you’re becoming a real pain in my ass,” you grit your teeth, lugging him toward the tall pine trees.

you’ve disregarded the rope, now pulling him by the cotton fabric sleeping bag he was wrapped in. you huffed, shuffling backwards as fast as you could till you felt a wall of branches push against you.

thump. thump.

it was close now. the sound of its footfalls were earth shattering—you could feel it in your bones. this drove you to move faster than you could barely process. you got on your hands and knees, pushing daz’s body into the underbelly of the tree, deciding this would be the best place to store him as you would attempt to butcher the oncoming titan.

you're swift to pull off your pack now, shuffling through the contents inside looking for the thick dagger you didn't go anywhere without. this would be hard without ODM gear, nearly impossible, but your level of skill would be just enough to get you through this.

once you possessed the blade, you dropped your pack under the tree--

thump. thump. thump.

there it was.

it's ugly face barely peaked over the top of the pine trees as it guided itself through them in search of you. it's jaw was already unlatched and salivating at the mouth.

"fuck me," you pulled yourself into the pine tree, now scaling to the top as fast as possible. "levi, you fucking bastard."

"you're from shiganshina."

you nod.

he does as well, slowly his pace, "is that why you want to become a scout? for revenge"

"no," you shook your head, still keeping your eyes strictly trained on the table you sat at.

"then why?" he sat before you now, taking you by surprise and causing you to finally looking at him--just like he wanted.

you swallowed sharply. you didn't understand this level of intimidation that suddenly took over you--you had heard all of the stories of levi ackerman, but you didn't find yourself swooning like your fellow comrades. what was so special about him? nothing--is what you thought... and yet you sat here in slight anxiety as if you were sitting in the presence of royalty.

"I'm not sure... honestly," you glance up at him. "all my life I had my father telling me what I was and what I wanted. he told me my purpose was to become a scout—but now that i’m here, i’m not so sure.”

levi is silent as he thinks over your words, then, humming, nodding slowly, “i’ll give you purpose, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

you now fully look at him, almost taken aback by his choice of words, but intrigued.

levi felt pitty for you. you were polluted with so much potential and yet you lacked a drive to fulfill it. he knew there was more to you than just a skilled soldier who overruled their comrades, and he so desperately wanted to see it. if you were so good now, he couldn’t imagine how good you’d be with the right motivation.

“i want you to join levi squad, y/n,” he folds his hands. “you’re very excellent for your age and i know you know it. your comrades know it. i know it.”

levi is typically reluctant to admit admiration for another, especially upon first meeting. admiration and praise was earned, but it seemed you were different.

“you’re too good for training, i know you think that, but you need it. you already possess an advantage over all your peers, better for them to think they still have a chance rather than initiate you weeks into training,” he gets up now.

“wait,” you stand with him. “what does this mean?”

“this means you’re an upcoming scout of levi scout.”

you curse levi now as you hold your self tightly to a pine tree, attempting to push yourself far from an unlatched jaw bearing its teeth at you.

yeah, fuck levi and his request to cushion the egos of your fellow comrades.

**

"can't believe she would ruin her chances with levi squad this easily."

"what do you propose she should've done; leave daz to the wolves and let him freeze to death?"

jean doesn't say anything to eren's response, knowing that's exactly what he would've done, or at least left him to someone else to drag him along.

"that's probably why captain levi took so much interest in her, jean," armin sets his gaze on the side of his campions face, shining light to what some of them may have considered your act of courageousness, stupidity. "not only is she impressive with battle tactic, but she also looks out for her fellow comrades."

"just like we're going to do," mikasa's hollow voice catches all of their attention.

"you don't mean you want to go all the way back out there?" jean looks at the side of the girl's face like she's almost insane. "after the long trek we already went through?"

“what is that?” eren's voice covers jean's whiney protests once his eyes size onto the faint sight of a dark figure. "y/n?" his voice is faint as he squints, attempting to clear up his vision, but it's no use with the excessive amount of wind and snow plaguing every inch of his sight.

"no way that's not her."

it becomes more and more abundantly clear what they were looking at, especially as they take steps closer--but your appearance doesn't match the one of which they last saw you at.

"I'll go get commander shadis," armin leans toward the cabins, running off.

you are drenched in blood. everything about you is staggered and it wasn't just because of you still carrying daz. you limp roughly, leaving your comrades to their imagination on what could have caused that, but they don't have a choice after you collapse into the snow.

**

"you should've left that boy behind," his voice pierces your ears despite his low tone. "it's not smart to risk your life for another who's deadweight."

you dig the heal of your palm into your eyes as you attempt to push on to listen to levi. you fail. your head throbs and your body still aches from days before.

"what can I say, I like a challenge," you scowl at his distasteful comment once you summon up enough energy to respond.

he resists to roll his eyes at your comeback, staring down at your slouched over figure, "I can't have my best solider dead."

it didn't take long for word to reach levi about his prized possession not only saving a fellow cadet, but also killing a titan--even if that titan was a small baby one.

"technically I'm not yours yet... according to you."

"smartass." he scoffs, "your compassion is admirable, but I'd appreciate it if you kept yourself subtle from here on out. got it?"

"yeah, whatever," your lack of energy and exhaustion was clear now to levi with low of an effort you were putting into being snarky with him. you expect him to say nothing in return but by the way he examines you, it's almost like there's more.

"don't make me regret my decision," he turns on his heal, "not a lot of people are lucky enough to have the talent that you have or the opportunities you'll be given. don't make me look like a fool.”

you watch him walk out without another word, his footfalls echoing in the empty hall outside the private room. you resist the urge to clench your fists too hard at the sound of his last words ringing inside of your head. they make your chest tighten at thought of just one more person to please, especially with it being someone's judgement you actually care for.

you didn't need this.

but you want it.

"fuck you, levi."

[pastafossa]

Drama and shenanigans have occurred.

My home in the neighborhood is known as THE DRAGON HOUSE due to our dragon decor. Fittingly, this includes christmas dragon inflatables in the yard in winter.

One, a big 6 foot blue boi with a candy cane and present, is now MISSING.

That's right. Vamoosed right out of the yard, cord and call.

There WAS a storm last night, somewhat windy. In theory, the dragon could have blown away - cord ripped out of the outlet, stakes pulled up, and down he went.

Dad, however, went driving to look for our potential flown away friend. And I shit you not,

Dad: ...how well do you know the dragon you put up?

Me: really well. Why?

Dad: because someone eight houses down the street now has what might be an identical one up in their yard

Me: NO

Dad: I can't be sure, but you can go down and look at it.

MY DEARS, I walk this neighborhood with the dogs every night. I go the entirety of our street up to major roads. There was NO other dragon on this street last night. I need to see if this is OUR DRAGON because WHO PUTS A NEW CHRISTMAS INFLATABLE UP ON THE 12TH???? I AM SUSPICIOUS.

[onlydylanobrien]

Dylan O'Brien still wears Teen Wolf character's episode 1 shirt on first day of everything he's shot since: 'Super nostalgic'

The "Ponyboi" star tells EW he brings a blue Beatles shirt his character, Stiles, wore on the first episode of the MTV horror series to every set he's been on.

Teen Wolf's nostalgic fangs have sunk deep into series actor Dylan O'Brien. The star tells Entertainment Weekly he still wears the first piece of clothing his character, Stiles, wore on the season 1 premiere on the first day of every movie or TV project he's shot since then.

In an interview alongside writer-star River Gallo for their upcoming thriller Ponyboi, O'Brien tells EW he's unsure about a potential cast reunion or another revival project (following the 2023 movie) for the 2011 MTV horror series, which ran for six seasons through 2017, but he's still sentimental about the show.

"That job will always be near and dear to me. I still wear my t-shirt on every job. I bring a t-shirt that was the first one I ever wore on screen as an actor in my career. I still have it," he explains. "As a little tradition, I wear it to my first day of shooting on every job."

The 33-year-old Maze Runner actor's insistence on bringing the article of clothing with him to each shoot also led to "a scary moment where it blew away in the wind at a park in Australia" in the recent past.

"I thought I lost it. It was a crazy, windy day, and I’d hang my t-shirt on my shorts like a towel, and it blew away in the wind. I sprinted across the park to retrieve it. I found it in a bush," he says of the blue Beatles shirt. "I’m a super nostalgic person like that, so that would’ve been devastating for me."

O'Brien again stresses that he wears it "to every first day of shooting," including production of Ponyboi, a new crime drama about an intersex sex worker (Gallo) who becomes entangled with Vinne (O'Brien), a dangerous drug dealer in early-aughts New Jersey.

While he's unsure about a potential revival of Teen Wolf ("I don’t run the ship over there," O'Brien says), the star still has warm feelings about the franchise — even though he didn't return for the 2023 Paramount+ movie that continued the story.

"It’s amazing that that show still gets so seen by young people, that was a tiny little engine that could when it first started," reflects the performer. "We never thought we’d get a full season, let alone the staying power it has. I’ll always be grateful for that in my life."

Though O'Brien didn't reprise his role as Stiles in the 2023 film, Tyler Posey, Crystal Reed, Tyler Hoechlin, Holland Roden, Colton Haynes, and other OG actors did.

In a 2023 interview, creator Jeff Davis revealed that he was able to secure a character he desperately needed to bring back in the movie.

"There's one character that I really wanted to get back that I did get back, which is Seth Gilliam as Deaton," Davis said at the time. "We weren't able to have him for the finale and everything was so rushed that season that I missed him in it because he was an emotional anchor for Scott. He was a big part of the series. And to be able to give him this role was a joy."

Ponyboi is in theaters Friday.

Source: ew.com

[dandylovesturtles]

oh yeah so Yes pretty overwhelmingly won the poll so you guys only have yourselves to blame for seeing this nonsense I will probably not do much more with lol

anyway I've been mentally calling it the Draxum's Kids AU or Step-brothers AU because I didn't come up with anything creative

high level premise is that, due to ~mystic shenanigans~, Draxum from the OU (post-movie) gets pulled through a portal to another dimension, about a year behind the OU dimension, where he kept the turtles and accomplished a lot of his human eradication goals but was also a terrible father. Draxum sees the writing on the wall that his AU self's foolish actions have led to an impending apocalypse and finds the AU's Mikey (who is only called Boxshell) to help him get back to the original dimension. But as soon as he meets back up with Boxshell his Dad Instincts kick in and he realizes he can't just leave "his" kids here to die, so he decides to kidnap all four of them back to the original dimension.

this is complicated a bit by all of them hating each other

under the cut is about 3000 words of Draxum getting abducted

Draxum would really appreciate it if they could make it six months without a potentially world ending threat.

This one seems particularly suspicious. Giant black swirling vortexes giving off massive mystic energy signatures don’t simply <i>appear</i>, not for no reason. The fact that Michelangelo had been the first to notice it, cocking his head to the side like a bloodhound hearing a rabbit, was not putting him at ease, either.

“Soooo,” says Leonardo, swords already drawn and held loose at his sides, “what is it, Draxy?”

That is not his name, but because the situation is serious, he answers anyway. “You expect me to know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Come on, you’re our mystic guru! So get with the guruing!”

Draxum just gives him the look that the kids are coming to call his “not mad, just disappointed” face. He doesn’t have any more answers than he did two seconds ago. On the plus side, it doesn’t seem like anything is coming <i>out</i> of the dark swirly vortex, nor is anything getting sucked in. It’s just hanging there, in the sky over the Hidden City, menacingly.

“Doesn’t it feel familiar?” asks Michelangelo. Unlike Leonardo, he still hasn’t drawn any weapon. He’s just watching it, curious.

“I don’t remember the Krang portal looking like that,” says Donatello. “We could see the Prison Dimension on the other side. That’s just… an indistinct vortex of doom.”

“Not like the Krang,” says Michelangelo, but he doesn’t offer any further guesses. He just watches it with big eyes.

“But we gotta do somethin’ about it, right?” asks Raphael. “We can’t just leave it up there.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone,” says Leonardo slowly.

“Just because it is not doing anything in this instant does not mean it will stay that way,” says Draxum.

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonardo slices through the air, a blue and less chaotic looking portal opening up. “Let’s check it out, Dee. Get some energy readings and all that nerd jazz. The rest of you, stay here in case it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it’s me,” says Donatello, but he steps up to the portal anyway. 

Draxum feels uneasy, because he doesn’t know what that thing is or what it will do, and because he doesn’t want the two of them going alone. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and when the kids give him a look, he quickly adds, “I may notice something that Donatello would miss.”

“I don’t <i>miss</i> things,” Donatello snaps back, but that’s factually untrue, so Draxum just grunts in response to it. 

“Sure, goatman cometh,” says Leonardo airily. “Let’s just go!”

Just to be sure nothing bad will happen, Draxum steps through first. The twins follow him.

They’re on a rooftop now, just under the vortex. Draxum had been expecting… something, but there are no threats, no signs of anything amiss. It’s a bit windy, and the vortex is making an ominous buzzing noise, but that’s all.

“Can you tell anything from here?” asks Leonardo, looking between the two of them. Donatello has his goggles down and a holoscreen up, incomprehensible numbers scrolling by at a fast pace. For his part, it seems the same to Draxum here as it did across town.

Donatello’s readings slow, and he raises the goggles again. 

“It’s… definitely massive, but I can’t tell much more than that. Though… I think Mikey was right. That it feels familiar.” He looks at his brother, something complicated in his expression. “Like we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” says Leonardo, before turning his attention to Draxum. “How easy is it to make an interdimensional portal, anyway?”

Draxum snorts at this question. “For a pocket dimension, relatively simple. For an actual, separate world… Theoretically, it could be done, but it would take a massive amount of mystic energy and decades of experience. Especially if one does not have a mystical object to channel a portal through, like the key that was used for the Krang’s prison dimension.”

“But Mikey was able to do it,” Leonardo points out.

“Yes. And need I remind you it almost killed him.”

“You needn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m just saying… <i>if</i> it can be done, it really seems like someone’s trying it right now.” He still has his swords out, watching the vortex warily. “And what’re the odds that they’re coming here for a friendly visit?”

Draxum doesn’t argue there; he’s already treating whatever this is as hostile. Better to assume wrong and apologize later than to let down his guard and let one of his kids get hurt.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind them, and the three of them turn at once, startled. “Well, there’s Mikey,” Leonardo is already saying in a resigned sort of way, like he knew Michelangelo would join them before he gave the command.

“Sorry, Leo,” says Raphael, landing with heavier tread on the rooftop just behind Michelangelo. “He gave me the slip.”

“Guys, it’s fine!” Michelangelo argues, in that tone he uses when he feels like he’s being babied. “I’m telling you, whatever’s making that portal isn’t here to hurt us.”

“And you know this based on what evidence?” asks Donatello.

“It’s a feeling!”

“Ah yes, feelings, how quantifiable.”

“Well <i>you</i> don’t have any evidence it’s evil either, Donald!” Michelangelo retorts.

Draxum is about to step into the middle of this quarrel when Leonardo stops it for him.

“Guess we’re about to find out who’s right,” he says, eyes locked on something above them, and Draxum looks up just in time to see that there’s <i>movement</i> coming from the vortex now. “Dee, take Raph; Miguel, you’re with me.”

“Wait, guys, we should just-” Michelangelo tries again, but a shimmering blue portal under his feet stops him. Leonardo and Michelangelo reappear in the sky above, Leonardo using his portals to stay airborne while Michelangelo catches himself with his mystic powers. There’s the roar of a jet, and then Donnie is after them, his shimmering mystic tech carrying himself with Raphael dangling underneath.

And of course they’ve left him on the roof. Draxum sighs. <i>Children</i>.

He pops several vines on the roof and uses them to propel himself skyward, eyes searching for what has come through the portal, if that’s what it is. It’s difficult to see against the black coloration, but the boys seem to have gathered under a figure in a dark cloak, who emerges slowly from the middle of the vortex. It seems to cling to them like dark, black ink, the mystic energy drawing out behind them in long, gooey ropes. 

Draxum knows he is still many meters away, but even still, he doesn’t think the figure is very large. It’s a surprise, given that the vortex itself is at least fifteen or more meters across, but the figure coming out is short and slight, not even as big as Michelangelo. Of course, that doesn’t mean much; plenty of yokai are small statured naturally, as are some humans. Even Lou Jitsu is small, now, but still mighty. He can’t let the size of the person put him off guard, especially when they have summoned such massive mystic energy.

“Hey!” cries out Michelangelo. “Can we talk to you!?”

The figure in the cloak seems to startle at being addressed. For a moment, they hang in the air, the ropey energy of the vortex growing thicker on their arms and legs. Almost like it’s trying to pull them back.

The figure seems to realize this, too, because they jerk forward and raise their arms in a panicked arc.

Fire comes out - dark flames with incandescent blue cores that Draxum knows are hotter than any normal flame. If the boys are struck, the damage will be severe. Thankfully, Michelangelo yelps and whirls aside before he can be burned.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking!” calls Donatello.

“That’s alright,” yells Raphael, his ninpo lighting his body red, “because <i>I’m</i> interested in smashing!”

The midair fight begins in earnest now, the boys darting around the figure with their weapons drawn, even Michelangelo. The cloaked figure fights back with the flames, dark and so hot that as Draxum’s vines carry him closer, he can feel the heat coming off of them. Yet, despite the intensity of the attacks, Draxum notices that they are unwieldy and unpracticed, like the wielder has no real experience in fighting, and certainly not midair against so many opponents. Add to that, the strange, inklike properties of the still-spinning vortex seem to be actively trying to pull the figure back; each time they make progress, the moment their attention is drawn by one of the boys, they’re yanked back another few feet.

Draxum sprouts a few more vines off his main one, so that he can move more freely. Aerial combat has never been his forte, but he can make it work. So long as none of those desperate fire attacks burn through his vines and send him tumbling to the ground (he can only hope, in that event, that one of the twins notices him). 

The cloaked figure is still attacking wildly, and the boys have to move fast to keep out of the way. It’s easier for Michelangelo and Donatello, who can stay airborne indefinitely; Leonardo, meanwhile, has to use his portals to catch himself and Raphael periodically, portalling them back to the sky or giving them a portal to ground to launch off of. This leaves them open to attack.

Draxum couldn’t have made it in time if he’d wanted to, but in the moment he isn’t thinking he has to.

One of the unfocused black flames strikes Raphael; his ninpo projection protects him from being harmed, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise as it burns rapidly through the ninpo itself, leaving him exposed. Donatello swoops in to catch him before he can fall, and all the boys hang back for a moment, stunned by this development.

“What was <i>that</i>!?” Leonardo calls out, portaling above Donatello and landing on his constructed battleshell (Donatello says, “Oof!” loudly, but doesn’t throw him off). “It just burned through Raph’s shield like it was tissue paper!”

“Augh… that felt… weird.” Raphael is rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “Raph did not like that.”

“Alright, clearly this guy is dangerous.” Leonardo is tense, eyes focused as he watches the cloaked figure yank free of the stringy ropes of magic from the vortex, coming closer. “But see how the portal’s trying to pull them back in? We just gotta get them close enough and send ‘em back where they came from.”

He glances over at Michelangelo. Draxum looks, too. The boy’s brow is creased, like he isn’t happy with this outcome, but his eyes are focused on Raphael.

“...Yeah,” he says finally, and gives his nunchucks a swing. They light up with his orange ninpo, the bright fire a stark contrast to their enemy’s dark flames. “Let’s send ‘em back!”

The boys spring back into action, and Draxum follows suit, his vines carrying him up, closer to the vortex. Now he can feel more of the thing’s power directly, a great gusting wind that pulls rather than pushes. He hangs back from the direct fighting and instead watches the boys closely, should he need to intervene the way he hadn’t for Raphael. If the fire can eat through their ninpo, then any of them being struck would be disastrous - especially if one of the others could not catch them in time.

The kids are succeeding in their gambit to push the figure back towards the vortex, but that means they are also increasingly putting themselves in range of its dangerous reach. The ropey strands of dark mystic energy reach out like hungry tendrils, latching onto scales before being cut or shaken off. Leonardo has all but abandoned the fight against the figure and instead puts his efforts into slicing the strands apart any time they touch one of his brothers, either directly with his katana or with a well placed portal. He leaves the strands that attach themselves to the mysterious person, and they wrap more firmly around the legs, arms, and neck of the one in the cloak.

And that’s when they finally speak.

“No!” they cry out, in a voice unmistakably juvenile. “No, please! I just want to escape - don’t make me go back!”

Michelangelo stops short, bobbing uncertainly only a few meters from the screaming figure (a boy, Draxum thinks, but cannot be sure). “Guys,” he says hesitantly, lowering his weapons. “I really think we should-”

Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a burst of flames from the cloaked boy’s hands, spiraling directly towards him.

“MIKEY!” shout several voices at once; Draxum only realizes a beat later that one of them is his. He’s the closest, and he moves fast, putting himself and a wall of vines between the flames and his son.

The flames make such short work of the vines, it’s almost comical. Draxum watches as the fire races down the towering stalk he’s made, eating them away and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. The vine Draxum was standing on is, of course, completely obliterated, and he feels the swoop in his stomach as gravity starts its relentless pull.

“Dad!” he hears Michelangelo call out. The boy reaches a hand toward them, and in his panic Draxum reaches back. They are only a few meters from each other, and then less and then less, fingers almost touching-

But it is something else that grabs him first.

The vortex’s dark energy feels disgusting and slimy where it touches Draxum’s fur, like a leech pulled from some noxious bog. Its tug is ferociously strong, and he realizes that if Leonardo had not been quick, if the magic had wrapped around any of his brothers’ limbs the way it’s wrapped around Draxum’s arm, disentangling them would have taken massive effort. As it’s going to take to free him now.

There’s a yank, and he’s ripped away from Michelangelo and towards the vortex.

“No!” screeches the cloaked boy, and sputtering flames spill out around him, forcing the turtles back before they can move in to rescue him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!”

“Gladly!” Draxum shouts back, ripping and yanking to try and free his arm. “Just close this foolish portal and go back where you came from!”

“I <i>can’t</i>!” the boy screams, and he sounds so wretched, Draxum almost feels some sympathy for him. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“You must!” Draxum argues, because he can tell. The energy has wrapped too securely around the cloaked boy now; there will be no freeing him. The portal he made is impressive, <i>especially</i> as young as he sounds, but it is not complete. He could not be severed from it, even if they tried to help. In fact, if they fully pulled him from the vortex, it would likely kill the child.

No; he must go back. But… is there still time for Draxum?

“Barry!” he hears the boys call out. They try to get close, but another burst of searing heat from the panicked boy in the vortex keeps them from advancing. More of the stringy ropes of magic are wrapping around Draxum now, on his arms, his torso, his legs. His neck. They yank him back, hard, and he gasps as the air leaves his lungs. The mystic energy slithers over him like a living creature, wrapping him up more and more securely in its snare.

It seems… there is not.

“<i>NO</i>!” screams the cloaked boy, one last panicked, desperate cry, but then his voice is abruptly silenced. There’s a roaring noise, incomprehensibly loud, and Draxum faintly wonders if this is how it sounds when a star collapses in on itself.

The last thing he sees as the portal closes around him is Michelangelo’s face, eyes wide and afraid, mouth open in a shout, hand outstretched as far as it can go.

And then all is dark.

…

When Draxum wakes, he’s laying on the ground in an alley in the Hidden City.

He feels a flash of <i>something</i> markedly unpleasant when he realizes he’s alone: sadness, betrayal, perhaps even, Titan forbid, <i>loneliness</i>. It seems the boys have left him to his fate and gone home.

Then he remembers the portal, and Donatello and Michelangelo’s guess that it was interdimensional. It’s likely the boys don’t know where he is. It’s possible he’s not even in the same time.

Or the same world at all.

Disturbing as that thought is, the part of the Hidden City he can see from his vantage point seems familiar enough. He recognizes this as a part of the old downtown, not far from where he and the kids had been fighting the cloaked boy. Even if this isn’t his time, at least he should still be able to navigate - that makes things easier.

He gets to his feet, shaking the soreness out of his limbs. He hears something pop, and is suddenly immensely glad the boys aren’t here after all. He’d rather not endure another round of teasing for being “old”.

The Hidden City he travels through seems largely the same as the one he left, to a degree that he starts to wonder if it wasn’t an interdimensional portal after all. If it was, the dimension he’s in now seems to have only slight variations.

Or that’s what he thinks, until he makes it to the nearest portal back to New York City.

There’s a checkpoint set up in front of it, one that didn’t exist here before. There are guards standing sentinel, ushering through a line of yokai and occasionally asking questions. They don’t seem hostile to the yokai, but it does seem like precautions need to be taken for… some reason.

More startling to Draxum are the crests that adorn banners hung around the checkpoint, matching emblems blazed on the uniforms of the officers.

His family’s crest.

It seems this dimension is quite different after all.

[dire-vulture]

Tumtatarp is definitely my clan's biggest gremlin! well she's not even in my clan dfsg but she hangs around the outskirts and occasionally sneaks in to pilfer random supplies. that my clan would happily give her if she asked dfsgsdf

and this dragon doesnt exist but fdgs when trying to find a mistral banescale today i have discovered some green colors absolutely take stinky dragons to new heights. and based on dragon search no one seems to be taking advantage of this yet fgsfd

Got some bad health news just now. Could use some dragon therapy

Show me your professional gremlins, trash goblins, and stinky bastards?

(I'm coming down from an anxiety attack so I may not respond to them but know that I see and appreciate all of them)

[ju111cybbysmut]

Drunk In Love

Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader

Part One - Part Two

→ Masterlist

☆ Sypnosis → Katsuki doesn’t realize he has feelings for you until your last year of UA.

☆ Content Warning → lots and lots of yearning, bakugo being a stubborn shit, slow burn, eventual smut, there’s gonna probably be multiple parts to this, bakugo yearning, mutual pining, lots of perspective from bakugo, tried to make this as in character as possible. there’s no smut this chapter

Katsuki was already aware that you had more potential than the rest of your classmates. In his eyes anyways. Everyone who wasn’t in his own inner circle were wannabes, extras. Even his inner circle, he barely tolerated. But you, you seemed to stick out to him. And despite his nonchalant demeanor towards you, on the inside was a maelstrom of emotions. Confusion, frustration, anger, perhaps even admiration?

But he kept his distance, and you kept yours.

As much as the two of you could, sharing the same class and all. The first years of UA, he found it easier to bottle up his feelings, ignore you, pretend to hate you like he does everyone - But this final year of UA, hiding his feelings became much more difficult.

You were already fairly attractive in his eyes. Well, in everyone’s eyes. From the way your hair framed your face perfectly, the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke. The big, dopey smile you seemed to never rid of. Or the way your voice always stood out in a room full of chattering scholars. A sight for sore eyes some would say, and Bakugo couldn’t get enough of you. He hated it.

Katsuki rested head on his fist as he scribbled away on a piece of paper, death grip constricting the poor pencil. Brows furrowed as he tried to concentrate, but how could he when you ended up sitting at the desk in-front of him? Not that you did it intentionally, of course, the bell was about to ring and you needed a seat!

Katsuki gritted his teeth, trying to get over the way your honey-sweet perfume tickled his nose. The way it ran through his immune system and spread through his body, forming butterflies in his stomach. He swore he felt as if he were spiraling.

He shook his head, bounced his knee, and waited impatiently for the bell to ring. Eventually it did, but it felt like forever. The two of you didn’t interact much, so it was easier for him not to make a fool of himself. And when you two were around each-other, it was never often. Until this year, when the two of you shared last period together. Last period was gym, a favorite class of many students. Often, students would get to spar or run the track. And once that bell rang, most would leave. Some people left and went straight home, others went to their dorms, some went to the locker room, and others stayed back and just lingered for a bit.

Katsuki was walking to the locker rooms, when he noticed you on the same path in front of him. You wore the casual white tank and sweat pants that every student wore for gym, and hair pulled backed out of your eyes. It was hot and windy outside. A typical summer day, where everyone just wanted to get the hell home. You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned your head slightly to see who it was. Oh? Bakugo?

You stopped walking and that same smile spread across your face, “Oh- Hey, Bakugo!” You greeted as he continued walking, striding past you. “Hey.” The blonde said gruffly, not even looking back. But of course, as he predicted, you were following him like a lost lamb.

“You’re off to the locker room too, aren’t you? Let’s walk together.” You hummed, following your classmate. Normally, if you were anyone else, he’d tell you to fuck off. Go to hell. Something of the sorts. But it was you, and all he did was grunt in response.

You talked… a lot. Something Katsuki hated in other people, but for some reason he didn’t mind too much when you yapped his ear off about finals, training, or just anything that came to mind. Katsuki liked it, but he’d never admit it. The way you snickered at your own jokes, even if the blonde didn’t laugh. Not even a chuckle. Not that it was anything personal.

The two of you made it to the entrance of the locker room, two doors. One that led to the ladies’ and one that led to the men’s.

He didn’t go until he made sure you went inside. It was late and he wasn’t a complete douchebag. Plus he didn’t realize he did it until you left, causing him to furrow his brows and drag a hand across his face in annoyance. He went into the mens’ locker room, and began his shower.

Like usual, he spent about an hour and a half in the shower. Not that he was doing anything, he washed his hair, body, and face like 45 minutes ago. Katsuki just liked to be in the shower. It was quiet at this hour. The warm June weather meant most students skipped the locker room, decided to get out of this heat faster. Others went straight to the pool. It was the perfect time for Katsuki to be alone. It just felt different in this stupid locker room.

He exhaled, warm water cascading down his toned back. Bakugo had certainly grown since the first year of UA. He gained more weight, more muscle. That was something he had realized with you too. You were the first he noticed. You were scrawny for the first year, long hair always pulled back neatly for school. And now you were more toned and built, fit for hero work. He knew you’d have no problem finding an agency to start at, your quirk was useful after all.

Eventually, he did get out the shower. Katsuki got dressed in clean clothes, a simple black t-shirt and sweat pants, grabbed his dufflebag, and left.

When he stepped outside, the familiar sound of cicadas chattering and birds chirping greeted him. The sky was a melted mixture of pinks, oranges, and purples as the Sun descended. That’s when he turned his head and saw you standing there with your arms folded, leaning against the building wall. When you noticed him, that big smile spread across your face like usual.

“What are you still doing here?” Katsuki managed to ask, approaching you with his bag in hand. “I wanted to walk you home. You did make sure I made it into the locker room. So I figured I could return the favor and make sure you get home safely.” You hummed, standing up straight and stepping forward.

Katsuki felt his cheeks burn hot — he didn’t know you saw that. He looked away, “I don’t need you to walk me home.”

“Pleaseee, Bakugo! It’s only fair!” You pleaded, putting your hands together and fluttering your lashes. Katsuki groaned and began to walk away, “Fine, whatever, just keep up. I won’t hesitate to leave you behind!” He growled and threatened, but even he knew deep down he was bluffing. He wouldn’t do that. Not to you.

You followed him happily, continuing to talk about whatever would come across your mind.

He found himself enjoying your company. And you enjoyed his. The two of you arrived at his dorm room and stopped at his door.

“This is where we part!” You smiled and held your own bag close to you. Bakugo grunted in response and you lulled your head to the side, honeyed grin beaming. “Bye Bakugo!”

…

It was silent for a moment.

“Katsuki.” He broke the silence, looking away.

“Huh?” You raised a brow.

“Katsuki.” He repeated, covering his face with one hand.

…

Oh! He wants you to call him by his first name!

“Ohhh! Bye, Katsuki!” You repeated and Katsuki felt as if his stomach flipped.

You waved and walked away, leaving him with just his thoughts. His heart pounded and he brought a hand to his face, groaning and resting his forehead against the frontdoor of his dorm.

The way his name rolled off your tongue. Katsuki wanted to hear it again. Over and over until you lost your voice.

You were sweet like candy, and Katsuki was not. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to you. These feelings were all so new to Katsuki, he was always so focused on his personal goals. But you seemed to challenge him without even saying a word to him. He’s caught you looking before.

In rare moments, when the room around him feels calmer and Katsuki looks up from what he’s doing, his crimson eyes will meet yours. You both look away so quickly, and Katsuki swears his whole body is on fire, spreading through his spine and creeping up his neck.

This feeling in his chest and stomach had been building up for nearly three years. What was he gonna do?

[covid-safer-hotties]

How safe would you say being outside without a mask is? I've been anxious to take my mask off even outside around people because I've been unsure of how safe it is. I'm mainly talking about groups that aren't crowded but are still close together or with another person.

Visualize exhaled smoke: If you could tell what brand of cigarette they were smoking by scent, you're too close. Things like wind-speed, humidity, sunlight, and other atmospheric factors make it more complicated and increase or decrease risk in varied ways. Still air = masks on. Windy air = lots of dead or grounded covid. Stay decently far away and up wind and you'll be okay. If there's a group of people tho, that increases potential virion concentration and raises the risk, especially in their immediate vicinity. If you're out on a walk and cross face-to-face with someone, you can literally hold your breath long enough to avoid the most risk. If there's a lot of people, your risk increases, and you should mask. My personal rule of thumb is if I have to yell to talk to someone, I'm probably safe outside without a mask. If they get closer, I'm putting on a mask.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Give and Take 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Steve and Charity

Summary: the women's shelter harbours a particularly suspicious character.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Hey, Steve,” Leanne greets him as the door blows shut behind him. The unusually windy day has him out of sorts. “Breezy out, huh?”  

“Yeah,” he does his best to tidy his hair. So much for that new pomade. He straightens the lapels of his jacket his tie swept over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late.”  

“Right on time.” She assures him.  

The door opens and blows back on its hinges. Steve turns as a flurry gusts in around the figure. Charity trips through and barely saves the box in her arms from overturning. Steve is quick to steady it, his skin tingling as he touches her tweed sleeves. She smiles at him with a thanks.  

“I’ve got some surprises,” she announces over his head, “it’s why I’m behind.” 

She’s breathless. He is too. He stays close. Do something, Rogers. She’s right there. 

“Can I help?” He asks. 

She bats her eyes at him and her full cheeks get rounder, “sure can. You're such a doll.” 

She hands him the box and he takes it without falter. It’s heavy but he won’t let her see that. He peeks at the hastily closed flaps, he can see something peeking in the small space between the cardboard. 

“There’s more in my car,” she says. “Lea, you mind if I leave my bag with you while I get the stuff?” 

“Sure thing,” the receptionist replies. 

Everyone likes Charity. She’s a bright spot even when times are tough. At the shelter, almost every day is rough. Of course, they don’t have to be there but they choose to be. Those who come seeking help don’t have that choice. 

Steve watches her swirl out and stares dumbly after her. Her beret is crooked, the bow of her blouse is half out over her jacket, and her pleated skirt catches the wind dangerous. Her full calves and the bottom of her thighs peek out at him with the rise in her hem. 

“What’s in it, then?” Leanne asks. 

Steve turns and clears his throat. He comes forward and leans the box on the corner of the desk. He squints as he pulls back a flap. He hums as he reaches in. 

“Tampons,” he takes a package out. 

Leanne laughs. Steve is slightly embarrassed but why should he be? Women need those things and that’s what they do here. Give women what they need. 

Charity returns again. She has a whole wagon of boxes behind her. She bounces in proudly. 

“Forgot I still had this thing in my car,” she beams. 

“I could’ve helped,” Steve snaps out of his daze and shoves the package back in the box. 

“Oh, no, all good.” 

“Where’d you get all this?” Leanne wonders as she taps the box with her pen. 

“Work! We did a promotional deal with a pharmacy and I was talking to the local owner. He donated all this back stock.” She explains bright, “just took a bit of convincing!” 

Steve hesitates. He could be convinced to give her anything. Still, the suggestion makes him uneasy. What did she do? 

“We can do some care boxes,” she declares. “I got some stuff to put it all in too.” 

“Oh, right, well, everyone else is serving dinner,” Leanne clucks. 

“I can help,” Steve offers. 

“Sure,” Charity agrees. “Is the back room free?” 

“Yeah, movie night’s in the rec room so just don’t go in there.” Leanne girds. 

Charity goes to drag the wagon forward but Steve blocks her. He sets the box of tampons on top. 

“Let me,” he insists. 

“Oh, Steve, thanks.” 

She remembers his name! His hand grazes hers as he takes the handle and she brushes by him. Her perfume, a discount brand that smells like cherry, wafts from her. He follows her through the heavy door she unlocks with the code and down the hall. 

They get everything into the backroom, slightly crowded by the shelves of toilet paper and cleaner. She tuts and looks around. “Hope you don’t mind working on the floor.” She’s happy enough to get down on her knees as she takes a box from the wagon. “I got some zip-up pouches. That way they can keep using them after.” 

She takes out one of the floral plastic pouches. He wonders if this was actually all given to her. He’d give her most anything but would a corporate shill really succumb to her so easy? 

He starts moving the boxes off the wagon then folds it up out of the way. He kneels down with her, padding him knees on his coat. He’s too boney to be on the floor. 

“Thank you for helping,” she says. “So, tampons, pads, lip balm, vaseline, lotion, body and face, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste,” she goes down a pretty extensive list as she packs the first kit. “And I even got some chocolate truffles as a treat!” 

“Wow, that’s quite a haul,” he says and takes a striped pouch. 

“Oh, and there’s kids’ stuff especially for the youngins,” she says, “they get a puppy or kitten keychain too.” 

“So you... what do you do for work?” He asks, even though he knows. 

“I do communications. Mostly promotional events and all that.” She shifts onto her butt. Her hips look even wider as her skirt fans around her bent legs. “Boring. I’d love to work here full-time but a girls’ gotta pay the rent.” 

“Right,” he nods thoughtfully as he takes a tub of lip balm. 

“And you...?” She peeks up at him, “oh don’t forget, there’s little slots to tuck the small stuff.” She shows him the inside of a pouch. 

“Um, if you think your work is boring, mine’s... dull. Museum. I do tours mostly.” He answers.  

He likes his job but he’s used to people teasing. Well, he gets to look at art and cool relics and talk about it whenever someone happens by. He likes the renaissance ones with the fuller figures, they remind him of her. 

“No way! That’s so cool. Do you have anything about Letizia Borgia? I read an article the other day.” 

“Some, mostly artists but we have some papal stuff too,” his pulse evens out a bit. It’s easy to talk about his expertise. 

“And the Medicis?” She wonders. 

“I thought you were in communications,” he teases. 

She laughs and it blooms in his cheeks like fire. “Between everything, I do find some time for hobbies. Though I might lose a bit of sleep.” 

He chuckles, a little more tension slaking away. This isn’t as scary as he imagined. He’ll have something to report to the discord at least. 

 “Ha, yeah, tell me about it,” he grins.