She didn’t know how to leave an ask properly, but I did the things anyway.

(You finished your paper. Good job. I belieeeeve in you.)

I just feel like Deadpool is so visual and has so many facets to his personality that I just can’t do him justice. But I tried, okay? Here’s a silly one and a somewhat more serious one.



Peter has seen Deadpool get stabbed, burned, body parts chopped off, and all-in-all mutilated about six ways ‘til Sunday, so it surprises him when he hears the yelp of pain.

He turns around expecting to see massive trauma or gushing blood or maybe even an eyeball popping out. He doesn’t know. Deadpool goes through a lot.

What he doesn’t expect is Deadpool hugging his leg to his chest and hopping up and down.

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Prompt fill: "Deviant Behavior" (Frostiron, explicit)

For the prompt:

impalafortrenchcoats answered: Frostiron, media response to finding out.

and also, slightly, the prompt:

ellipsisobsessed answered: Loki/Tony/Loki/Loki/etc aka happy fun times with clones!

(The clone one is a fudge–I may circle back around on it!)


Title: “Deviant Behavior”
Word count: 499
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Loki snorted, not looking up from his book. “‘Deviant behavior?’ They obviously aren’t aware that your favorite position is missionary-style.”

It was a sunny Sunday morning, around 10 a.m. Tony was looking hopefully at the second half of his perfect bagel, slathered photo-perfect with cream cheese. He silently promised it, “Later,” took a sip of coffee, and glanced over at his lover.

Loki sat on other side of the small round table, paging through a book, his own breakfast barely nibbled at. Bagels, reading, robes: their lazy-morning ritual.

Then, JARVIS: “Sir, you asked me to inform you if your relationship with  Master Loki were covered in the major media. I have accessed a feed that is particularly … impassioned.”

“Put it on.” The screen on the far wall showed, unsurprisingly, a gaggle of conservative pundits, red-faced with outrage. The audio picked up with “–and one can only imagine the deviant behavior that–that *alien* is subjecting him to!” Nods all around. “What do we even know about Loki’s background–who his parents are … “

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Title: chemicals keeping us together
Author: allourheroes
Artist: impalafortrenchcoats
Pairing: Peter/Harry
Universe: Movies - Webb
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Mpreg, sexual content, drama
Summary:  There are some unintended side effects to having your genetics altered. Peter and Harry find out the hard way. (Sure, Harry’s been cured of the Osborn curse, but he’s pretty sure that at least he couldn’t get pregnant before.)
Link to art:
Link to fic:

impalafortrenchcoats​: Hartwin mpreg

“Oh, Eggsy.” Harry sighs, running his hand over the young man’s abdomen, easy enough in their current position–he’s the big spoon to Eggsy’s no-longer-so-little spoon. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Eggsy pulls away to lie flat on his back, gets a better look at Harry. “I ain’t takin’ the responsibility for this, ’Arry,” Eggsy tells him with a wide yawn.

Harry’s laugh is light and genuine. “Yes, well, I know this is a tremendous inconvenience for you…but I find myself rather excited.”

“You’re not the one who looks like a freak,” Eggsy complains, huffing out a sigh and staring at the ceiling.

Harry hums in sympathy and presses a kiss to Eggsy’s cheek. “I am sorry about that, dear,” he admits. “I can’t help thinking of a child I met twenty years ago. Think ours will be like him?” he asks, and he is not just playing innocent.

Eggsy turns to scrutinize him, genuinely curious. “What were you like as a kid?”

Harry chuckles. “An absolute terror, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, right,” Eggsy returns, but his disbelief is muddled by his concern.

Harry’s smirk does not put him at ease.

fic: And Let Me Kiss You

for @impalafortrenchcoats

Steve/Tony | ~1200 | G | Marriage of Convenience | Outsider POV

{{ ao3 }}

The picture is in the paper, big and bold and in everyone’s face.

Iron Man. Captain America. In suits–not costumes, no–and locking lips under a white arch, an officiant behind them.

It’s official, then: The world has gone crazy.


Fox News thinks it’s the end of America if these are the people considered heroes and expected to save the day. They call for the deposement of the Avengers and better military backing. In one breath, they’re on about the liberal agenda these heroes are pushing to the nation, the nation’s children, and in the next, they’re talking about the Avengers as a threat of destruction.

A twelve-year-old boy sees these claims as his father watches on, telling the boy, “Always knew they weren’t right.”

Fox doesn’t like to show the picture–it upsets their core values–but the boy understands what has happened, as a so-called body language expert shows cell phone clips of battles, explains that if Captain America and Iron Man hadn’t been so wrapped up in each other, fewer lives would’ve been lost.

The boy doesn’t know if that’s true or not.

He sneaks back into his room and pulls out the figures his aunt had bought for him. Slowly, he puts his Cap figure next to his Iron Man and, with a glance at the door, presses Cap’s plastic lips to the front of Iron Man’s plastic helmet.

Just as quickly, he puts them down, puts the figures away so that his father won’t take them from him.

But a spark is lit inside of him.

Maybe… Maybe if Captain America and Iron Man could like each other like that, it was okay that he wanted to kiss his best friend.

Maybe he’s not broken like he’d thought.


“I can’t believe we’re doing this, Stark.”

“Please, call me Tony.” He holds up his hand, gold band on his ring finger. “We are married, sweetums.”

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anonymous asked:

Legolas and Gimli's last moments, being ridiculously cavalier and light, exchanging jokes and laughs, even though the imminent end is hanging over their heads. Both are fighting off the guilt, Legolas for not being able to save Gimli by taking him to the undying lands, even though that promise was pretty thin to begin with, and Gimli for basically killing his love by his own death.

This is all I could manage because you’re the worst.

“You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot!” Gimli complains, loudly.

Legolas actually huffs. “And yet I do, Master Dwarf.”

Gimli stays sullen, but staring into his One’s eyes, it softens quickly and his lips quirk into a smile. The words he murmurs in Khuzdûl are faint, but he knows Legolas hears him anyway. He breaks off into a coughing fit and Legolas clutches his hand. “I am quite alright, Legolas,” Gimli says sternly, but there is pain behind his eyes.

“Of course,” Legolas agrees, but his heart is shattering.

Gimli’s hand turns to squeeze Legolas’s. “Do not worry about me. You have eternity to go.”

They are silent and Legolas presses his forehead to Gimli’s, knows the very moment the dwarf’s spirit has left him. “Ai, what is eternity without you?”

It is not long before he fades.

anonymous asked:

Gotham penguin/riddler mpreg.. I did the pregnancy test.

meme | ask ]

Hahaha. Yes. This is…kind of Gotham-meets-comics in characterization maybe? Oh. And bird puns. They…got away from me.

“Riddle me this.”

Edward Nygma glares at the Penguin, annoyed. “Hey, that’s my line.”

Cobblepot smiles that close-lipped smile that absolutely means he’s up to something. “My apologies, Mr. Nygma, but I thought my news deserved the introduction.”

Interested, Nygma tilts his head in invitation and Cobblepot steps closer.

“Wonderful news, in fact, my dove,” Penguin says and presses a kiss to Nygma’s lips. It’s chaste, although he hooks a finger in the waist of Nygma’s slacks as his other hand adjusts Nygma’s glasses. The hand slides down to Nygma’s chest. His grin is devilish and Nygma returns it.

“What does a bird—”

Penguin shakes his head ever-so-slightly, his face so close that his nose brushes Nygma’s. “There’s no need for riddles here,” he says.

Nygma frowns at the loss of his riddle. There is always a need for riddles. How else are they to separate the worthy from the unworthy? His impending complaints are silenced by a more thorough kiss from his partner, however.

Cobblepot’s hands are firm but gentle—possessive, if anything. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled…” His smile turns coy. “In a few short months, we’ll be hatching something other than a plan.”

Nygma is shocked into silence for a moment, overwhelmed even. “You mean—”

Penguin nods and Nygma’s palm goes to Cobblepot’s abdomen as if he can’t help himself.

Fantastic,” he says with the sort of joy usually reserved for solving an arduous test of wits.

impalafortrenchcoats  asked:

D/D : detergent

I just assume the powers aren’t forever. But whatever. These babes.

Damian doesn’t expect to see Grayson, but there he is.

Dick is leaning against the dryer, head down. His hair has gotten longer, falls past his eyes now.

Damian has to swallow down the words that try to come. Any clever or not-so-clever dig that he might have offered another does not convey what he’s feeling.

“Grayson,” he addresses instead, and lets Dick call the shots.

It takes a second for Dick to process. He looks surprised. Tired. But when his eyes land on Damian, his face breaks into a wide, genuine smile anyway.

Damian has to swallow down the elation that swells in him. His heart has taken the opportunity to beat like it wants to burst from his chest. He allows himself the smile—not smirk, not now—that comes so naturally when Grayson smiles like that at him. For half a second, Damian is normal, can be convinced that it is just—ever, only—for him.

Dick stands up straighter, opens his arms, and Damian is practically flying into them. Not that he can fly. Not anymore.

“It’s good to see you,” Dick murmurs, face pressed into Damian’s hair, but they are of similar heights now. Damian might even be taller.

Damian’s hands clutch Grayson’s back and they pull apart only enough to look at each other. Dick looks at Damian like he’s trying to memorize everything about him again.

Damian kisses him then. It’s like he can’t help himself, doesn’t want to. He’s spent too long not knowing.

There’s no hesitation when Dick kisses Damian back.

Damian has to swallow down the sounds Grayson makes because Dick is noisy and happy and overenthusiastic. He hoists Dick onto the dryer and Dick laughs and it’s perfect, even as they knock the laundry detergent onto the floor and it makes a huge mess.

They’re a mess.

Birthday Fics

I wrote these for Tru last night, but I’ll link them here as well.

Spoils :: Thor/Loki | G | 290 | Arranged Marriage

The Asgardians have defeated them. To save himself, Laufey offers the hand of his smallest son.

Bearing :: Arthur/Eames | PG | 250 | (Pseudo) Mpreg

Arthur isn’t sure if Eames is kidding.

Burden :: Thorin/Bilbo | NC-17 | 1180 | Fuck Or Die | Dub/Non-Con*

If the only other option is to watch Bilbo die, Thorin will accept his hatred.

Lesson :: Peter/Wade | PG(-13) | 208 | Fluff

Wade wants sex. Peter wants breakfast. Okay, Wade also wants breakfast. (Peter will accept sex.)

Of Coffee, Beards, and Braids :: Gimli/Legolas | G | 667 | College AU

Gimli was busy irrationally hating the tall man in front of him in the coffee shop.

anonymous asked:

16. I did a pregnancy test - brujay

[ meme | ask ]

(You’ll get the longer mpreg later!)

The Red Hood appears and Bruce is ready to fight him, despite everything. The last time they met, he and Jason had clashed, parting on less-than-friendly terms.

It’s a surprise then, when Red Hood holds up his hand, tells him, “Wait.”

Bruce’s stance loosens. He is always at the ready, but he will not outright threaten if Jason is not doing the same. He waits as instructed.

Jason pulls off his helmet and tosses it to the side, keeping one hand up like a white flag. “We need to talk, Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, all unyielding Batman. He knows what Jason usually wants to talk about.

Jason doesn’t let him go that easily, his jaw tensing before he seems to intentionally relax. He smirks. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we do.”

Jason moves in closer and Bruce does not back away. He watches the way Jason approaches him, the touch of apprehension mixed with excitement. Jason has news and it is sure to lead somewhere.

“C’mere,” Jason murmurs when he’s close enough.

Bruce allows him, the proximity making him weak in ways that little else can. Jason does not go in for the kiss, however, instead nuzzling into Bruce’s armored throat like a cat, his hands settling on Bruce’s sides as Bruce opens up to him. Bruce almost says Jason’s name, but finds himself swallowing instead.

“I took a test,” Jason whispers.

Bruce is confused, but he senses that Jason isn’t done. He has melted slightly beneath Jason’s embrace and when Jason moves to kiss him, Bruce responds. It’s unexpectedly languid, almost tender.

Jason breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to the cowl. “Off,” he says. “I don’t wanna say this to Batman.”

“I’m on patrol.”

“And what? Someone might see?” He laughs and tugs it off anyway, revealing Bruce Wayne for all to see. Taking Bruce’s gloved hand, he presses it to his abdomen. “I’m having your fucking baby.”

Bruce’s eyes widen and he searches for the lie, but there is none. “Jason,” he says, and it’s reverent.

Jason is inexplicably, inordinately pleased.

They will be family once more.

impalafortrenchcoats  asked:

Hannigram - 'finger-food'

Can be connected to this one. Or not.

Will is excited and terrified in equal measure for his daughter’s third birthday party.

He contemplates this for the hundredth time over breakfast with his husband and their child. Abigail is away at college, but she will be home for her sister’s birthday. It’s just…

“What will you be serving?” Will asks, to confirm—again.

“‘Finger food,’” Hannibal replies, as has been ingrained by Will’s constant nagging. The words come out like an alien language, however. The inflection is all wrong and Hannibal’s accent is thicker as his usually cunning tongue stumbles over the plebeian phonemes.

“Which is not actual fingers,” Will reminds him.

"Yes, dear,” Hannibal agrees, somewhat patronizingly.

Will sighs and leans in for a goodbye kiss, gives Hannibal a look before he ruffles their daughter’s curls and heads out the door.

Hannibal turns to the child the second he hears the latch. “When prepared properly, fingers can be quite delectable.” He grabs one of his daughter’s chubby little hands and pretends to munch on it for effect, much to her delight.

She giggles and Hannibal begins slicing vegetables, overly pleased with himself.

impalafortrenchcoats  asked:

Barduil: wax

Elves are quite apart from Men.

There are the obvious differences: their endless lifespans, their pointed ears, the way they seem to glow.

The first time Bard lays with the King of the Woodland Realm, what he notices is the distinct lack of hair. Elves are beardless, yes, but it is not that.

Thranduil’s thighs are pale in the candlelight, impossibly smooth beneath the gentle touch of his fingertips. Beneath the Elvenking’s robes, there is only soft blonde hair at the apex of his legs, curling around a cock that is just as elegant as the rest of him.

Thranduil watches him drink in the sight with a hunger that Bard returns.

Their bodies meet like the gentle crash of waves over the western sea.