#under the nova

[justlikeazzy]

HERES SOME ARTFIGHT STUFF I JUST NAILED OUT!

I’m going to be on team seafoam! I made little icons for both teams though, har har. I’m very excited for this year! [:<

(Oh by the way, forgot to mention, if ya wanna use the little icons your free to! You don’t have to credit me or anything, just don’t claim that you drew them haha)

[keulixeutin]

Lovelorn & Laughable

a/n: tried something more casual and shorter.

summary: it’s laughable that your friends think that bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you. bakugou x gn!reader.

cw: fluff. established relationship. mentions of drunkenness and alcohol. mentions of friends being afraid that reader is in an abusive relationship (they're not).  gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 986.

You’ve been dating Bakugou for eight months, and your relationship with the infamous explosive hero is a confusing case among your friends.

However, you don’t know how confused they are until Uraraka pulls you aside one day to ask if you’re okay—read: to ask if you’re safe.

You almost laugh in her face, but you’re able to keep it together in front of her honest expression.  It’s surprising how little they know, and it’s hilarious how wrong they are (which is wild to you, because aren’t they close with Midoriya who considers him one of his closest friends?).

It’s laughable that they think Bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you.

Bakugou, who gives you his credit card three months into the relationship.

Bakugou, who changes his phone background weekly because he can’t decide on one favorite picture of you.

Bakugou, who searches for your hand to hold even in his sleep, who jerks awake whenever he feels you shift too far away in bed, whose frantic fingers search the sheets for you in his half-sleep.

That Bakugou.  Right.

Though you have enough self control to not laugh, you do let out a wicked snort.  You tell her to watch carefully next time you’re all together, and even when she tries to tell you that she has been, you shake your head and repeat it—watch carefully.

At the next group outing at a pop-up carnival, you arrive arm-in-arm with Ashido, Bakugou following close behind.  Midoriya’s the only one who eagerly greets your boyfriend, though you wouldn’t say the others give an unkind welcome.  You grin at the ones you know are worried—Asui, Iida, and Uraraka—though they don’t find this as funny as you do.

Watch close, you mouth to them.

And they do.

At first, they think you’ve got some mild form of Stockholm Syndrome; they think that you must be used to trauma and that you can’t tell your relationship is a bomb ready to go off.  All they can see are his scowls and shouts.  All they can see is the angry child who grew bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he was a decade ago, a man who must be utilizing all of his strength and anger to keep you trapped.

Watch, you tell them again when they try to pull at you for a quick intervention.

They’re still doubtful, but for you, they try again. 

This time, they see things—they see Bakugou, maybe not the way you do, but different than how they used to.

They see how his shoulders always touch yours when he’s seated, how he accompanies you to the food stall so he can pull his wallet out, how he always glances back to see where you’re at as you linger at each stand.  They see him scowl with cheeks colored pink as you fix his hair in the whipping wind.  They see him lean into your ear and whisper something that makes you laugh as he points to an ugly pig plush prize.  They seem him pull you away from the group and sneak off into the crowd when he thinks no one’s watching.

Still not fully convinced, they finally approach Ashido about your relationship, about whether or not you’re truly safe and loved.  She’s first taken aback because she thinks they’re making a dumb joke.  Then, when she sees that they’re genuinely concerned, she doubles over in laughter, cackling so hard and so loud that there are hot tears in her eyes and painful cramps in her stomach.  She gasps out in between giggling and snorting about how incredible it is that they could believe something so obviously impossible, ignoring their expressions of irritation and shame.

Well, Bakugou doesn’t drink around you guys, so that’d probably help, huh, she says when she’s finally calmed down, wiping at her eyes.  At their confusion, she explains that he’s needy when he’s drunk.  I’ll give you a sneak peek, she smiles conspiratorially.

Pulling out her phone, she opens up the folder created specifically for sentimental Bakugou photos.  Ashido shows them a picture of him passed out on the couch, face resting against your lap with a firm grip on your calf (This was last week when he was plastered after four drinks!), another of him with you up on his shoulders in the pool, fiery smirks on both your faces (They beat me and Denki in Chicken, ugh!), and finally, a picture of him kissing you around a corner, which was immediately followed by a blurry photo of Bakugou swinging at the camera  (I don’t remember this one, actually, but this happens pretty frequently!).

Perhaps they hadn’t been watching closely after all, they think.

Ashido shows them several more photos, each with Bakugou sappier than the last, and she ends it by cooing about how cute the both of you are.  She says she’s surprised that neither you nor Midoriya have shown them anything, and Midoriya stammers out something about privacy, and they mention that they hadn’t expressed their horror in full until recently.

Horror, Ashido repeats, and then it turns into another full-blown cackle in public.

When you and Bakugou make it back to the group, you take one look at your friends and grin, seemingly aware of their newfound understanding.  They look back at you, abashed, but you’re too preoccupied with your bag of souvenirs and the ugly pig plush in your arms to be mad about their misconceptions.  Anyways, the pig was bought, not won, and you’re excited to share the story with the others.  Bakugou is on his phone again, subtly leaning against you; when Uraraka passes by behind him, she sees that he’s not scrolling through his apps but deciding a new background photo, stuck between one of you throwing the camera a kiss or laughing in the sunlight.  She watches him pick one and then favorite the other one.

[fisheito]

i told myself that yakuei only had one position then i proved myself (sorta) wrong

my fave face here:

[will80sbyers]

So much potential… All cancelled

[catdadeddie]

credit to whoever made that post about Chris and Eddie not spending this father's day together. I can't find it rn but I'm thinking about it and am UPSET

[novasintheroom]

Smell is one of Vash’s favorite senses.

It wasn’t before he met you. Before you, smells were just smells. The hot air of the desert, the metallic tang of bullets too close, B.O. in a bar, the smell of the day’s stew being boiled in the back. All information telling him a million different things. Some of them he even likes! Especially donuts.

But then you come along and you rub your hands with apple scented lotion, you spray yourself with rose water, your breath is minty fresh and you smell clean. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the smell of cleanliness ‘til he travelled with you. He only smells cleanliness when visiting Home – and you’re becoming a second home to him. It’s hard to stay clean out in the wastes, he knows better than most. He appreciates what you put into your cleanliness so much.

He gets into the habit of looking for lotions or body sprays you (and he) would like. You complain once that you’re nearly out of your lotion, and the next day a new bottle is sitting on your bag, because he keeps emergency bottles just for cases like this. He starts smelling his own clothes, trying to not bother you with any sweat smells (though he’s been told that he only ever smells fresh, which must have something to do with his Plant DNA). He becomes so much more aware of scent after you.

And when you aren’t travelling together, when you must go your own ways for a day, or a month, or a year, he looks for you through scents. A whiff of apples will bring back memories of your soft hands and bright grin. Roses are subtle and remind him of the jokes you’d say to get him smiling after being run out of town. He buys these things now and uses them every once in a while when he’s feeling lonely.

Vash always waits for the day when roses and apples will come back into his life, and you always do.

[supurrb]

we’re taking turns of who gets to be crushed under the box

[novatheastropirate]

Artist in your area? Drawing angels in the wee hours of the morning? Again? It’s more likely than you may think!!

(You can probably see the exact moment this went from warm up sketch to 🏃‍♀️💨🎨 in the speedpaint under the cut!!!)

[nkn0va]

Chie, Yukiko, and Wagner being surprised by their S/O for their birthday and them also finding out their S/O is a master at cooking and baking? (Honestly they need an s/o who can cook since canonically they all suck at it.)

Fun fact, I almost had this ask finished by but my fucking browser crashed and I lost everything. God fucking dammit.

-Chie's cooking had...improved a bit at least, though that would be rather generous. People weren't in danger of going catatonic from it, but it was just bland.

-She tended to end up using so many flavors at once that they all cancelled each other out and made something completely flavorless, almost like eating water.

-You thankfully were not nearly as helpless, so much so that you ended up being assigned to making the cake for her party that the rest of the IT were throwing for her. Yukiko and Rise were rather disappointed they couldn't do it but the boys all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

-What you end up making isn't good, it's really good. The aforementioned ladies weren't even mad about it anymore once they had a taste of it for themselves. Chie especially was happy about it, and proud to call herself your girlfriend in that moment.

-She definitely knows who she's relinquishing cooking duty to when you eventually get a place together.

-Until that time comes though, expect to get a lot more requests from her to make her lunch most days. It'd be a reason for her to look forward to school now.

-Yukiko was in a similar situation to Chie in regards to her cooking skills, or lack thereof. Thankfully she's pretty aware of it and is trying to improve, as much of a mixed bag as that is sometimes.

-You'd suggested spending a day at the Amagi inn together to celebrate her birthday, let her relax and take advantage of it's services for once and not have to worry about taking care of guests.

-Naturally given your hobby, you end up doing some cooking beforehand, making a nice homemade dinner for both of you to enjoy. Yukiko had known you were a cook but hadn't yet had the chance to try for herself.

-The moment Yukiko puts the fork to her mouth she instantly gushes about how good it is, quite the contrast to her own skills. She very quickly scarfs if down despite her attempts to control herself.

-She then has the spontaneous idea to make a date out baking cookies together using the inn's kitchen with you teaching her how along the way.

-She has some...interesting ideas to say the least. Mostly not in a good way. Odd ideas for ingredients/flavors to use, wrong ideas about how to use kitchen equipment, and everything in between.

-You nearly have a heart attack when she suggests setting the oven to a higher temperature so that they bake faster. You just barely manage to talk her out of it so that she doesn't start a fire, knowing damn well what she would do if left unchecked.

-Wagner had been fully aware for a while now that cooking was not her forte, after several failed attempts. She knew it was for the better not to try again as well.

-Despite her snide attitude, she learned to be grateful for anyone who provides food for her, and an S/O who can cook quality scratch meals is definitely an important box to be checked for her in a relationship.

-Her birthday rolled around and you decided to make something a little extra special for her. Using your experience you used an entire week taking what you learned cooking in general and about what she liked best in a dish to make what you felt would be her new favorite food.

-Wagner was a big fan of tempura in particular so that was your focus. Opening up the box with the food inside, she could feel her stomach rumbling as she looked at it.

-She'd heard many times before that cooking was a labor of love. An activity that one continued to get better at when they cooked for the people they cared about. By that logic how much you loved her was practically palpable in every bite.

-As you go about the rest of the day together celebrating her special day, she still can't get that food off her mind. She's not exactly one to admit things out loud too much of the time, but she does sincerely admit how grateful she is.

-What she can't seem to figure out how to communicate though is that it might just be the best damn thing she's eaten in her life, and that really says something considering the type of lifestyle she was born into. She's absolutely going to request you recreate that recipe more often.

[justlikeazzy]

MORE ART FIGHT PROFILE PICTURES!!!!!!!

[crimeronan]

falin's harpy form is Bangin. as i'm sure everyone is already aware. i'm sure everyone who's been telling me to read dungeon meshi has been waiting with bated breath for me to discover just how bangin falin's harpy form is, so rest assured: Wowza. I'd Like To Thank The Academy,

anyway. i'm pretty sure too much plot and drama and murder-horror is gonna get in the way for this to happen, but there's a canon divergence in my head where falin and laois get into a huge shouting match not long after this high-stakes harpy fight because laois is like "if you hadn't saved me then I'D be the one with the sickass harpy form, i can't believe you let yourself get eaten and you DON'T EVEN HAVE A VORE KINK" and falin is like "......YOU ARE AN INSANE PERSON??? I'D TELL YOU TO GO TO HELL IF YOU WOULDN'T THINK IT'S HEAVEN.....??"

[keulixeutin]

Hard, Harder, Hardest

a/n: hi.

summary: during a hero panel, bakugou thinks about how he can’t help but orbit you and obey.  bakugou x fem!reader.  

cw: suggestive. 18+.  no pronouns used, but fem!reader in mind while writing + mention of female anatomy; also, reader wears lots and lots of pencil skirts.  bakugou pining after you and imagining the nasty.  sub!bakugou and dom!reader vibes (at least, i tried anyways lmao).  reader wears glasses.

word count: 2,183.

Despite the nonchalant way Bakugou was leaning back in the chair, anyone could see he was stiff and irritable: he was scowling and rigid, the curve of his back not quite following the curve of his seat.

He couldn’t help it though.  He was supremely uncomfortable.  He hated this shit, hated being on the stage, following some stupid itinerary, dealing with stupid activities and games to get people to see the “softer” side of him.  What the hell did people need that for?  Wasn’t it enough for him to do his job, protect the city, beat down the shitty villains, and be the fucking best?  Number two hero or not, he didn’t sign up for this stupid celebrity shit.  They could write a slew of articles complaining and criticizing him, but he hated sitting around in the spotlight.

You, his personal assistant, fucking knew this, yet you still, behind his fucking back, worked with his PR team (and that fucking Shitty Hair Hero) to accept the Hero Convention invite and add it onto his schedule (his schedule that you knew he didn’t look at because he trusted you to be good at your job)—and then to not even to tell him until ten minutes before he was supposed to get ready for it?  He had been fuming.

Bakugou’s leg shook underneath the table impatiently and irritably.  A woman dressed in a maid outfit with home-made Hawks wings stepped to the microphone and asked Round Cheeks about her martial arts usage in battles.  The next fan, someone with blue scales scattering across their face and arms, asked a question to a sidekick three seats away whose name Bakugou didn’t know and didn’t care to know.  Internally, he was pleased with this current line of questioning.  As long as no one addressed him, he could sit and pass the time with an annoyed glare until this whole thing was fucking done.

But, obviously, the universe loved dashing his hopes.  The next person that stepped up to the microphone was cosplaying an older version of the Dynamight costume, which was ego-boosting and cool to see, of course, but that itself wasn’t enough to make any of this entertaining or interesting.

“This question is for Dynamight,” the fan began.  “What would you consider your hardest battle?  Also, I’m your, um, number one fan…!”

It was an easy question.

People wanted to know battle specifics, but his hardest fight?  To date?  Currently?  

Controlling his fucking raging hard-on whenever you with your stupid perfume and your mean laugh entered the room.

Bakugou hadn’t wanted a personal assistant.  Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes stubbornly pushed their agenda onto him whenever they noticed at the beginning of the year that he had been swiftly losing control over his wildly hectic schedule.  Between the patrol, the agency work, the hero work, and the unending meetings—all just the tip of the iceberg—he had been struggling to find any time for himself, personally and professionally.  Despite his violent vehemence, Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes still strong-armed him by nagging him until they were red in the face and accepting applications on his behalf, narrowing it down to a set of five that he was to choose from.

He had picked you because you looked meek in your photo and you were soft-spoken in the interview; he figured that you’d run off after being on the end of his short fuse for a week straight.

But, by the end of that week, with him having just yelled about the type of tupperware his food was packed in, you had very softly and very firmly told him to watch his fucking tone, or you’d make sure that the only time he sat down for the next six months was on stage in front of an interviewer and audience with a fiercely binding contract that ensured he couldn’t skip without heavy monetary punishment.

(“I have my ex-lawyer-boyfriend wrapped around my finger,” you had said, your voice deadly calm as though you were telling him you had started a new hobby and not threatening your boss, the number two hero.  “I will make sure there is so little wiggle room in that contract—every single Hero Convention from here to goddamn China will have you by the balls for the next six months in the strictest legalese.  Do you understand me?”

He couldn’t lie—he was shocked into silence by how fucking hot that was, how fucking hot you were, wearing the tightest pencil skirt, shifting your metal glasses while you threatened him.

“Now eat your rice.  The leeks, too, please.”)

He couldn’t explain it.  Ever since then, things were—different.  He was hyper aware of you, of how far away or how close you stood near him, of how you were usually in some sort of skirt; his eyes were glued to your backside, to the sneak peek of upper thigh every time you shifted in your seat, mind wandering to how it’d feel to have that thigh pressed against his neck and his face. He was suddenly obsessed with how you spoke, realizing he had mistaken your quiet for meekness, for submission. You were soft-spoken, yes, but there was a weight to your words, one that required obedience from those you were speaking to.  Now he could see that your smile sometimes curled at the corners into a sneer, and that your eyes were sharp, narrowing with a finality he found himself unable to ignore.

Fuck, he was even aware of how you smelled.  He often caught himself inhaling deeply as you passed by, trying to preserve the smell of your shampoo inside his chest.  Whenever you leaned over to show him something on his calendar, he had to fight the urge to press his nose into your hair, to bury his face into your neck where your veins pulsed with perfume. Once, you had left your jacket at his place after a long night of explaining and rearranging the weekend itinerary to ensure nothing would be amiss while you were out of town. He had fallen asleep with his face pressed into the fabric the entire weekend, your scent lulling him into the most comfortable and serene sleep of his life.

Things got even harder when you caught on.  Quick, too, two months in.  The skirts got shorter; your shirts were unbuttoned enough for a heated glance of cleavage; and he frequently found you in compromising positions, bending over his table to grab something instead of walking around, or dropping things at his feet requiring you to lean over to pick up.  It was hardest when you used this newfound power of yours to get him to do things he didn’t want to do—like attend interviews or take off-days.  In his frustration and confusion in the early days, he had once furiously asked if you had a quirk he didn’t know about, to which you laughed wildly in your eyes but coolly said no.

“Dynamight?”  The host pulled him from the memory that had began to take over Bakugou’s attention—the one where, after getting caught in a heavy downpour, you had graciously changed in front of him and cruelly wouldn’t let him touch.

Bakugou was about to respond that nothing had been hard because he was too fucking strong, but he made the mistake of glancing to you, standing off to the side with your phone against your ear.  You were good enough at your job that you were able to efficiently multitask, paying attention to both the conversation on the phone and the Hero Panel.  As if you could feel his intent, you gave him a hard stare, your fine eyebrow raising expectantly at him, almost daring him to put one toe out of line in this nationally broadcasted panel.

The look boiled his blood—and the heat went straight down south.

Yes, things had gotten extremely bad when you had realized your effect on him.  

He was grateful for the table.

Bakugou gave an answer about a villain whose name he couldn’t remember but whose shadow soldier-producing quirk had irritated him the entire fight, and then he ended the response with a muttered thanks to the fan.

He glanced back to you, another mistake—“Good boy,” you mouthed.

Fuck.  He bit back a groan.

There was a mean glint in your eye as you held his stare; it wasn’t a long one, but it was enough to create a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach; it was enough to make his heart stutter and jump.  You turned away first, breaking the eye contact to finish the conversation on the phone, yet it felt like he was the one who had caved.

The rest of the panel continued with Bakugou scowling at a spot on the table or the wall behind the audience, but he participated more than he had originally decided to.  He answered the questions directed at him and remarked offhandedly on other people’s answers whenever he felt like it, eliciting laughter from the fans and eye-rolls and playful arm smacks from Round Cheeks. 

At the end of the panel, the heroes had twenty minutes to decompress before the meet-and-greet. Bakugou and the others were ushered off the stage and back into the make-up room to relax.  After the make-up artist checked that nothing needed to be reapplied, you appeared with a phone against your ear still and a tote bag over your shoulder.

“I’ll check his calendar and get back to you,” you said.  “By the end of tomorrow at the latest.  He’s currently doing the Hero Panel, but if I can find a moment to check and confirm, I’ll let you know earlier.”  

You paused, listening to the person on the other side.  Bakugou took the moment to rake his eyes over your form.  Your pencil skirt stopped inches above your ankle, but there was a slit over your left leg that traveled up—up, up, and up—to your tantalizing thigh.  Your skin was creamy and smooth with lotion or oil.  Whenever you shifted your weight in irritation at something that was said, the fat of your thighs rippled in a way that had his mouth watering.

 “…As I said,” you continued, “Dynamight is currently occupied with the Hero Panel.  If I can grab a moment, I will check with him and his calendar, but I’ll be sure to give you an answer by the end of tomorrow.  Yes, of course.  Yes, you, too.”

Your voice was light and polite, but dry and firm.  You hung up, and then your attention was fucking finally on him.  

You pulled several plastic containers out of your tote bag and set it on the table in front of him.

“Don’t scarf it all down,” you advised.  “But eat a little.  Regain your energy and pick up your mood so you can meet the fans.”

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, wondering if he could convince you to let him rip the slit a little higher.

“Eat the fruits at least,” you said, moving the containers around until the smallest one was on top and opened, revealing grapes and cut apples and mangos. 

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No, but I’m fine,” you said, but you picked out a grape anyway.  His eyes honed in on the way your fingers push the fruit past your plump lips.

Bakugou swallowed, neck tense, heart hammering in his chest.  He didn’t know when the leash had tightened so heavily.

“What?” you asked, noticing his gaze.

“Nothing.”  He averted his eyes.

“Oh, I see,” you said, amused, and he found that he hated your tone and simultaneously ached for it.  “You want a reward for earlier, hm?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to.  Despite his attempt at disgruntled nonchalance, his body was obedient to your voice in a way he couldn’t physically deny or control, no matter how much he dug his nails into his palms or ground his teeth.  There was always a twitch and shift in your direction; there was always a fiery red on his cheeks; there was always the need to orbit and obey.

“You don’t get anything for properly answering a question the way you’re supposed to, Katsuki,” you remarked.  

“Tch.  Whatever,” he grunted, suppressing the involuntary shudder at his name on your lips.

“But if you do well today”—you plucked another grape and then pressed it against his mouth—“maybe you can get a reward later.”

You slid the grape into his mouth, fingers lingering at his lips in a scandalous way that journalists would kill to capture.

His body was buzzing at your words.  He couldn’t help but hoarsely ask, “What’s the reward?” 

“Whatever you want it to be,” you answered, smug as if you could read his thoughts, as if you knew he was imagining you suffocating him with your cunt and thighs, as if you knew that he hadn’t been able to help himself on stage, looking to you as though he would’ve said anything to hear good boy again.

[anastasiamaru]

Kherson

russia blew up Kakhovska HPP.Another act of terrorism and a global threat, the consequences of these actions could be colossal and unpredictable.

[nova--spark]

ihateTexasihateTexasihateTexasihateTexas--

[endtimeillusionist]

Forever hurtling towards the earth...

Behold, my long overdue redesign of my ancient Galactic Nova catification. Or I suppose it's a CBC now? Nova doesn't really have much of a personality (or personhood, even) in canon so anybody who makes it more of a character than a plot device of course winds up having to make up their own characterization. Why on God's green Earth would a wish-granting entity with any modicum of a conscience grant wishes indiscriminately? Why would such an entity be created? It should never question this.

Old design (warning for bright colors and a GIF, in two separate images) and Cat Marx (also posted here) under the cut!