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.

Keep reading

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 … “

Keep reading

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:

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

Clark/Lex Drabbles

Look, guys. I wrote some things. And recently.

Lexicon - Words about Lex. Beginning with the letter L. (Fluff. 181 words.)

Make Up - The morning after make-up sex. (Lex Luthor draws on his eyebrows. 268 words.) [Smallville/All-Star Superman]

Pink Bunny Suit - It’s Easter and someone is threatening Lex Luthor. (Prompt by impalafortrenchcoats. 315 words.)

Um. Happy Easter?

anonymous asked:

Trope: gender swapped Gwen/Morgana

[ meme | ask ]

“I am king now,” Morgana says, offering his hand to Guinevere.

Guinevere hesitates. He remembers vaguely a kiss shared with Arthur, and it could not be. His status is far too lowly for the attention of a future queen or king, as is Merlin’s although the serving maid can’t seem to pry her eyes from Arthur anyway. He cannot fathom that Morgana is truly offering him a position in the court.

Morgana steps down from the throne and does not hesitate, simply cups Gwen’s cheek and raises an aristocratic eyebrow. “Will you not join me, Guinevere?” His mouth turns down, but it is more pout than frown. “You have been so loyal for so long… I would have you at my side.”

Gwen swallows. “And what of Camelot, my king?” The words feel strange on his tongue, wrong in a way that he is ashamed to realize that he could quite easily get used to.

“I will rule with magic. Innocent people will not die as they did under my mother’s rule. Your mother would still be alive.”

Guinevere feels the ache in his heart left by his mother’s loss, but he cannot crumble at that. Morgana has murdered to reach the Pendragon crown and he knows that Camelot will suffer under Morgana’s rule. He cannot say nothing. ”And what of all who oppose you? What of your sister?”

Morgana shrugs. “I’m sure my sister and Merlin will be quite happy on a farm out in the countryside. How Arthur has gone so long denying her feelings proves how much influence our mother has had over her.” He looks as if even the thought of his mother has left a foul taste.

That Morgana has avoided his most important question has not gone unnoticed, but there is something else there. His voice does not waver—it never does. “And you, sire? What are your feelings for me?” He should not ask. It should not matter. He cannot raise his hopes too high, but if his desires are returned…

Morgana smiles now, and it is wicked. “Come,” he says, his hand strong as it takes Guinevere’s. “Let me show you.”

He guides Guinevere to the throne beside his own.