#idk where this came from lol

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

giggling to myself rn

Headcanon that Commodus used ai to get an accurate picture of Apollo to throw knives at but for obvious reasons was never satisfied with the results.

Also he would have criticized even the slightest imperfection anyway.

[gil-shalossssss]

Izuku: Kacchan, what's your password?

Bakugo: Fuckingnerd.

Izuku: Please Kacchan just tell me the password.

Bakugo: That is the password.

Izuku:

Izuku: That's your password?

[trapped-inside-the-vortex]

Headcannon Time #2

Ianto’s Welsh accent was quite strong growing up. When he moved to London, he wanted a fresh start so he tried to mimic the accent until it became pretty much natural. After Canary Wharf, when Ianto moved back to Wales, he noticed his accent coming back. It slowly got stronger and stronger until the day he died.

[nexus-centered-au]

Hello, Vi. :)

I’ll make this quick. Come to the location I’m sending you right now or I kill Horatia. You know I can.

-🩸

:0

[uncharted-constellations]

Them, your honor

Anyways thank you echoes for giving poor a-ttp link a rest

[fandomfloozy]

Oh, I'm pretty boy?

pairing: katsuki bakugo x sick!reader

c/w: fluff, early relationship, petnames (katsuki calls reader babe, reader evidently calls katsuki pretty lol), sprinkles of hispanic!reader/spanish-speaking!reader, gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

~°•*~

You've been sick the last few days.

You're on the tail-end of recovery now, thank god, but for most of the week you've been bed-ridden, and snotty, and sweaty, and hot, and cold. It's been miserable, if you're being honest. With the light at the end of the tunnel in view, you're glad the worst of it is over.

There has been one upside to being sickly, though--one aspect that makes you wish you could be sick just one more day: Ever since you fell ill, since the moment he'd heard you were taking leave off work to rest at home for a bit, you've been under the thorough care of your very own, self-appointed nurse, Katsuki.

There's this saying: "You'll never truly know someone well enough until you've seen them struggle financially, grieve a lost loved one, or witness them while they're sick."

Your relationship is new. Not early days, but still far too soon for him to be seeing you sick, for your liking.

But when he showed up at your door a couple days ago--masked up, worry-eyed, and holding all the essentials for treating a typical head cold--how could you refuse him?

And to be fair, he's been a rock. He's changed your compresses (water bowl kept at optimal temperature), given you medicine in intervals (timed and administered to the MINUTE), and even cooked you palatable meals (anything you could keep down, but namely the caldo recipe he got from your mom when he asked her what you ate when you're sick). He did everything short of rubbing Vick's vapo rub on you (not for lack of trying), all while keeping a level head and brushing aside your concerns over feeling like you're burdening him.

"You're my partner," he'd say matter-of-factly. "This is my job, ain't it?"

A rhetorical question. He said it as if it was an irrefutable truth, as if he hadn't even considered an alternative, as if the very thought of leaving you to fend off this cold by yourself was an affront to your relationship, scowl on his face and all.

His bedside manner needed work, but when he said those words to you... let's just say the flush rising up your face probably had nothing to do with the cold.

So, yeah. While you're happy to be feeling better, you can't help being a little disappointed that the doting will soon come to an end.

Which is why you now sit with your head resting in your hands, elbows on the kitchen bar, making the most of admiring a now unmasked Katsuki as he cooks your dinner on what will be the last of your "sick days."

You're unashamed in your ogling. You feel bold. It might be the relaxed atmosphere. It might be the way Katsuki let you wear his hoodie tonight... It might just be the cold medicine. You feel dozy, comfy, and so dopily content as you watch your boyfriend chop vegetables.

He does it with ease--so practiced that it's like he's on autopilot. His defenses are down, completely in his element.

"'Ya sure you want all this cooked in with your rice?" Now that you're feeling better, he's less inclined to hold his tongue about his thoughts on your childhood dishes.

You yawn and nod. "Mhm, it's the way my mami always makes it."

"Just sayin', I could make ya rice without all this extra stuff."

"It's a good thing you're not making rice, Katsuki." You pout dramatically for emphasis. "You're making sopita."

"Sopita," he repeats, shaking his head with a sideways grin. "Alright, babe. I've got you covered. Sopita coming right up."

You switch to resting your cheek in one hand, continuing to observe your boyfriend as he works. He looks so serene this way. With his smug little half smile, even his expression screams "relaxed"--very unlike his usual frown and furrowed brow.

You're not used to seeing him like this. Sure, you've seen him in a good mood, upbeat, excited, even downright elated, like on the day you agreed to go out with him.

Katsuki has always been an... expressive person, even when it doesn't grant him the most flattering of expressions.

Right now, though, while he's contented and caring for you in the comfort of your own home, his features are on display in such a way that you wonder if the cough syrup really is getting to you.

He looks almost...

Pretty...

"You're starin'."

You know you are. "Sorry," you laugh. "I was just thinking how it's a shame you have such a cara de fuchi most of the time, Kats. You're so pretty."

His head snaps toward you. "Fucking WHAT." The furrow is back in his brow. If you were paying proper attention, you'd notice the flush rising up his neck and the back of his ears, but your eyelids are feeling a bit heavy at this point.

You wave your free hand dismissively. "You know, cara de fuchi," you explain. You're sure you've used this phrase in front of him before. "Like you're a sour puss, you pull faces--"

"I'm not fucking pretty," he interrupts.

You open your eyes slightly to squint at him. "Pfft," you laugh. "Has no one ever told you that?"

"Hell, no." He turns back to the task at hand. Grumbling under his breath.

With his signature grimace making its return, the allure is gone; but now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. He's beautiful. His eyes are a nice shape, and the crimson color of his irises is striking against his light complexion. The way his hair falls just above is strong browbone makes you want to push it back and rub at the scrunch between his brows. And you know he has soft lips, but on top of that, they're such a nice shade of pink. His jawline. His cheekbones. His chin.

It's a fundamental truth. Katsuki Bakugo is pretty.

You fold your arms on the island and press your cheek into the crook of your elbow. "I'm sure people would tell you more often if all the pretty wasn't covered up by your perpetual stank face."

Cue said stank face. He bumbles over his words in frustration for a second. "You're sick and loopy, stop bein' weird."

You giggle. "And you have a nice face when you're not acting chronically disgusted by the world."

He looks at you properly and you smile to yourself in pure delight and fondness.

"You're pretty when you're happy, Katsuki."

He deliberates over it for a moment, stank face semi relaxing. He's about to say something else when you cut into the silence with another yawn.

His gaze softens into an amused smirk as he reaches for your cheek and pinches softly. "Alright, alright. Don't fall asleep on me just yet, you gotta eat properly before goin' to bed."

You swat his hand away and rise to attention while rubbing your eyes. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

He smiles and goes back to cooking your half-prepared meal. "Ponte las pilas, or whatever the hell your mom says when you start lazin' around."

You huff at that. "I regret teaching you Spanish, you always pick up the worst phrases."

Katsuki barks out a laugh and you can't help the snort that follows as you giggle right along with him.

You two settle into the monotony of the last evening of your first of many sick days together. You're sure your boyfriend has had more than enough of witnessing you sick to satisfy stipulations. Suffice to say that he felt he knew you and your "sleepy freak tendencies" a bit better now.

There's definitely an addendum you'd make to that old saying, though: You'll never know how pretty someone is until you've seen them care for you while you're sick.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via ara-kan (deactivated)

[eddiesxangel]

18+ only. Smut.

“Please, Eddie! please! I want to cum so bad, please…I can’t I can’t” you cried.

It has been so long, days really, where you just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Something just wasn’t clicking.

Eddie’d been working at your clit for an hour at least. Mostly with his mouth but he would switch to his hands. Your could feel it build and build but nothing.

“You can baby, you’re too in your head.”

“No I can’t!” You sobbed.

“Shhhh it’s ok baby, I’m going to try with my cock see if that helps”

“Okay.” You sniffled. All you wanted was to be normal again. It’s not like you can’t cum, just life hasn’t been so kind to you recently. To say you’re stressed would to put it mildly.

He feels like he is failing you. He has been trying so hard to please you to, to make you claim him as yours. To be washed over with the same pleasure that you give him.

Eddie sighs a breath of relief as his solid cock slides inside of your tight wet cunt. He watches as he pulls out is glistening from your juices, before you swallow him back in.

A breathy moan leaves your throat. You feel like you’re on fire, the way Eddie stretches you out never fails to make your burn for him. He fills up every inch of your being.

“Come’on baby, you can do this. You’re being so good for me. Such a good girl.” He praised knowing it should help. He would rather die than not have your cum tonight. He will stay up all night if he has to.

“Honey please.” You’re almost sobbing from how badly you want it. How badly you need it.

“I got you, yes that’s it, squeezing me so fucking good” his hips snapped into you relentlessly, just like he knows you like it.

“More, please” he could hardly hear your voice cracking. Emotions took over, your head filled with nothing but desire and want.

Eddie grips the backs of your thighs and pushes you deeper into the bed. Your knees basically beside your ears as he folds you in half, his cock only slipping into you deeper as he does so.

“Stay there” he commands as his one hand slips from your leg to work at your swollen clit.

“Yes yes yes” you pleaded as his cock brushed the walls of your cunt and his rough but delicate fingers teased your bundle of nerves.

You could feel it building again. You were begging your body to give in this time. Your core tightened as the coil just kept getting stronger.

“You can do this baby, I got you. Let go for me” Eddie kissed on you. He adored you and loved you and finally you felt like you were about to snap. A bolt of lightning traveled through you as your orgasm took over. A cry of relief leaves your lips but Eddie seals the sound with a kiss as Eddie ruts into you. His own orgasm washing over as his cum fills you.

As Eddie’s speed spills out of you so do tears.

“Shhh baby it’s ok”

“Thank you” you can help but sob, tears of pleasure, pain and relief all rolled into an orgasmic ball.

“I’m so proud of you.” Eddie stokes your hair lovingly as he wraps his body around you protectively. His love, his life, he would do anything for you.

[twasforresearch]

oh mabel pines i care you so much

[pizzaqueen]

Eddie calls Steve up and he’s like “Steve! I need you to come over ASAP! I’m in a real pickle!” So, Steve goes over and finds Eddie in a giant pickle costume, laughing his ass off

[mrsoharaa]

I can imagine husband! Miguel to be a bit of a tease when going grocery shopping with you. Like oh, his cute little feisty wife needs that box of frosted flakes on the top shelf? well of course he'll get it down for you, easily — just only to dick around and lean over from behind you. Long, beefy arms stretched out perfectly, grazing his fingertips along the frosted cereal within his grasp.

He'd even chuckle at the adorable pout and scowl you'd give him, adoring plush lips puffed out at him, brows knitted and arms crossed over your chest. Swearing at him that it wasn't funny to mock you, that you'd ban him from all tasty treats/desserts that you planned on making after dinner later this evening, if he kept up with his childish behavior. And of course, being such a good, loving (down bad) and generous husband, that he was (this man is utterly WHIPPED when it comes to you...and your tasty sweets!), he'd inevitably cave in and willingly comply to your every demand.

In asking for forgiveness, he'd carefully hug you from behind, nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and gently, cutely, plea for tender kisses, in which you'd gladly give him. Peppering one kiss on his cheek, one on his lips and the final kiss to his refined nose. ♡

[gil-shalossssss]

[nanamis-baker]

You just loved leaving your marks on Satoru's soft, pale skin.

One thing about him? It's just so easy to mark him, to make people know he is taken - that he is yours.

And he loves it too when you leave your marks on him, titling his neck back to give you better access - his girl could have anything and everything she wanted, after all.

He would happily show it off, not even bothering to cover it up, because he is so proud of his girl's handiwork.

In fact, he would intentionally take off his shirt at the gym, showing off those scratches you left on his back- let the women stare at him all they wanted; he didn't care - he was taken, after all.

But it doesn't stop there, of course. For every mark you left, he leaves twice as many marks on you. And they aren't just love bites, you know. There are scratch marks on you too, along with crescent indentation of his nails on the taunt skin of your waist, as well as the bruises from his grip while you were riding him like your life depends on it.

Your body was lovely as it was, but when it is covered in his marks, you become sinfully irresistible.

Oh, you become the loveliest map with all those marks adorning your body. A map Satoru loves to explore, get lost in, and never find his way back.

[theloveinc]

There's a lot of validity in the idea that older Bakugo is a traumatized pro-hero with major PTSD... but you know what's kinda fucked up to think about? The fact that Bakugo is also a 22-year-old pro-hero with major PTSD even before that, too.

It's almost easy to imagine that things are actually better when he's older (the therapy finally a routine, the trauma long set and on the path to being healed)... and that it's his whole 20s that are spent as a pool of disaster trying to recover from the war(s).

He looks back and barely even remembers being twenty, much less twenty-five or twenty-seven. Barely remembers how little he slept, not at the hands of trying to balance hero work and getting a degree at the same time, but just out of the pure insomnia that came from trying to move on and every nightmare attached.

Hardly ever showering, never shaving (not that he ever grew much of a beard, but the facial hair was definitely there. There's pictures of him on the news with an awkward, grown out haircut and patches on facial hair that make him look positively... immature), barely even eating more than a few protein bars or an energy jelly drink-a day. It's a blur, and his friends are hardly there to pick him up out of it because they're all going through it, too. Somewhat.

It's definitely weird if you meet him during this period. He's not all there, at least, not all of the time. He doesn't really register your interactions, the friendship you extend to him (a younger, or ever older, version of him would've shown you that deep seeded ferocity in response, tried to bite the hand that fed him, even if it were love... but 20s Bakugo... doesn't seem to notice). Even though only one of his eyes is clouded over, the good one never seems to brighten up.

There's definitely moments when the old him shines through: when he's with Deku, when he's in the midst of battle, when he finds out that Todoroki still does a shitty job at chopping scallions. But it's a long time before he's even close to the same, able to step out from underneath the fog of simply surviving and into the sunshine of recovering.

But I think sticking through it with him is worth it.

(It's a weird moment, a happy moment, the first time you realize that Bakugo has changed. That the pouring rain outside hasn't bothered him since he showed up at your apartment. He forgot his umbrella, he's been quite careless ever since the war—wet and shaggy hair frizzed up, cheeks red from cold—but he doesn't seem to mind, with his bare feet up on your coffee table, his eyes gazing out the window. You hand his tea, and instead of gulping it down in one go, letting it burn in his throat, he winces at the heat.

"Tastes like shit," he says, and you laugh because it always does. Just this time, he noticed.)

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album