#can’t stop the a-train

[cadavorcist]

cant stop the Aft-train

[sadiecoocoo]

The how to train your dragon obsession never really leaves you, just goes away for a little while, and oh boy did mine come flying back like a bullet train!

[hannaxjo]

It’s cold af here, so I’m letting them enjoy some summer (their favourite day of the year)

[pallanophblargh]

“Do it for her.”

In this cursed timeline we all have been cruelly subjected to, I can admit that this lil lady is the primary reason I get up in the morning. I owe her so much and it’s really not an exaggeration.

We’ve been working on training and working through leash reactivity (she’s a frustrated greeter so her crime is “too much excitement”) but she’s so smart and willing to please, and it’s more me being trained than anything. She has days when she can’t focus or listen, but that’s the same for me. And that’s ok.

She takes up a fair chunk of my free time (easily 85% of it) so commissions and daily tasks are taking a hit, but she’s helped me with my mental health so much in the aftermath of my serious illness so that’s a net positive. I will learn how to balance better in the future I hope.

Love you to the moon and back, Raclette!

[bluejulius]

what got you to ship Eretlout??

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[moonpascal]

@mischievousmoony for our viewing pleasure

credit to @/slutforaaron on tiktok

[antleredweirdo]

DPxDC Writing prompt: A new circus is in town appeared seemingly overnight, a circus of meta humans with red eyes and equally terrifying and wondrous acts. It’s suspicious as all hell and even more suspicious when Jason suddenly feels overwhelmingly compelled to join it when he sees the commercial for it on the TV. Seriously, where the hell did this ‘Circus Gothica’ even come from?

Ok hear me out; y’know in that one episode where we’re introduced to Freakshow and he brainwashes Danny but then it’s ok because he’s saved by his friends?

What if Sam and Tucker and been too late? If Danny had been successful taken?

What if no one believed Sam and Tucker when they said Danny had been kidnapped and he’s not a runaway?

And what if he’s been brainwashed for over 3 years while travelling in the Circus, the only people caring enough to find him being unable to do anything about it?

And what if Freakshow made the mistake of preforming in Gotham where the Bats dwelled? And where they’ll take a deeper look into the circus’s suspicious behaviour…

[maruyaaya]

OHMYGOSH A SIMPLE LIFE FIC FROM U WUD ACTUALLY MAKE ME DIE NGL.

ur so right. they realy dont know how to be enemies, i fear they're obsessed.

they give me ethubs in a different shade ngl. they're always coming back to one another, equals. they've hurt each other, irreparably even. they know they shoudln't trust each other, yet they'll always come back to one another because thats what they know. they're the only people that they can truly show every ugly bitter part of themsleves and not worry they'll leave.

like. they want to move on, but they can't. they'd kill and die for each other but they hate it.

they're the same amounts of bloodthirsty, almost the same person. if not for the fact, grian will put himself first, and joel will put anyone but himself first.

sighhh. i love them and i hate them so much and they're just dropping lines left and right . like we're getting whole loaves of bread here forget crumbs. they just never leave each others orbit.

sigh some people headcanon joel is a blackhole in the celestial symbolisms and i think thats so perfect what with grian being the sun. they're the same, and yet wholly opposite.

they’re obsessed with each other genuinely they can’t stay away from each other :/ i’m still waiting for a confrontation to the hermitcraft blackmail bc i just know they’re gonna be mad at each other for like 5 minutes and then go back to their toxic yaoi

I REALLY DO SEE THE ETHUBS COMPARISON!! i’m crazy multishipper so i ship gribeans smalletho ethubs gritho shortgrass whatever it is, i probably ship it and IVE BEEN SEEING GRIBEANS/ETHUBS A LOT RECENTLY AND I TOTALLY GET IT??? they’re both pairings that know each other better than anyone else—they’re sickeningly codependent. they rely on each other in an unhealthy way, but they don’t know how not to rely on each. it’s just so much codependency. there’s nobody in the world who will understand them better than the other will so they keep going back to each other

and that’s really the gribeans thesis, isn’t it? grian and joel get each other. they understand each other. they don’t have to pretend to be anything else around each other bc they know that they’re the same. they can actually be themselves without being afraid of being judged and i see that for ethubs too. it’s both comforting and horrifying to recognize that someone understands you down to your very soul.

like gosh just thinking about simple life. “we could just go under and sit there and win” “nah we’d get bored and just kill each other” because that bloodthirst is part of both of them. they both love winning. they like a fight. they like to scratch and bite and kill. and they can be violent with each other because they know that the other will understand. this little convo almost feels like a callback to wild life for me because in wild life, they were the last two left—the only people left after they’d killed everyone around them—and they killed each other with no hesitation. because love is violence for them and they can only perform that violent love around each other. when grian and joel kill each other, it’s essentially the same thing as a kiss.

THEYRE DROPPING LINES LEFT AND RIGHT see i will never understand why gribeans isn’t a more popular ship in the fandom because there is so much content??? like grian and joel are always interacting and being gay as hell why don’t more of you ship this?? like every life series, i don’t have to worry about gribeans interacting because i know that at some point, they’re going to end up on a team together. that’s just what they do. they’re drawn to each other. they can’t escape it. they weren’t soulbound in double life, but that’s only because they literally share the same soul—they didn’t have two souls to connect because they’re sharing the same one.

IM ACTUALLY A HUGE FAN OF BLACKHOLE JOEL i think its my fav celestial symbol for joel (i like comet as well but i prefer blackhole because i think it really shows his thirst for blood and destruction) AND I DIDNT EVEN CONSIDER THE GRIAN SUN / JOEL BLACKHOLE COMPARISON. oh my god i can’t believe this didn’t come to me. this is sickening. they’re he same person, but somehow still different. they share the same soul, the same blood, the same heart, but they’re going to consume each other one day until there’s nothing left. every time they touch, the universe is screaming that they shouldn’t be allowed to do so. there are only two endings to this story: they destroy themselves or they destroy everything around them.

[soupiezskribblez]

snotlout realizing that he likes eret for the first time!! - idea from @mihaeltbh TY SIGMA

(astrid looks strange but ignore that)

[bmgmw]

Buck: You know, I don’t have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for and I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with!

Tommy: ….got it. *peaces out*

Truly wild stuff. And based on Buck’s convo with Maddie, Buck thinks he explained missing his best friend to Tommy “in the meanest way possible”. Like as if Tommy decided to leave because Buck was being a little mean or grumpy.

When in reality, Tommy saw the raw emotion that bringing up the idea feelings for Eddie provoked in Buck + “I don’t have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for!” being an unconscious admission of Eddie feelings, and Tommy realized that even though Eddie is not in LA, “the competition” isn’t really gone

Buck’s got a lot of unpacking to do these next episodes, and not just physically unpacking the house…

[neztune]

So uh

I got too many dumb ideas at once with this crossover

So have Hiccup showing off his inventions to Bruce after seeing all the Batgear-

[foreverppl]

I Put a Spell on You (Because You’re Mine)

Roxanne “Roxy” Rose/Samira Darcy | 1.1k words | IF: Can’t Save Your Love From Dying

God, Samira really doesn’t want to come. Doesn’t want to give Roxanne the satisfaction of making her come, not after the shit she pulled today. She wants to maintain her composure. Say in a sure tone, “Sorry, baby. You just don’t do it for me anymore.”

But Roxanne is fucking into her like her life depends on it. Working her up and tearing her down with each snap of her hips with such ease that it’s almost embarrassing. It is embarrassing.

More than embarrassing, it’s fucking annoying.

And it’s not even fair because Roxanne knows her body so well. She knows every place to linger, where to push, where to pull. Samira becomes absolutely certain she’s fighting a losing battle when she feels Roxanne getting that angle, hitting that spot and instantly something in her stomach is pulling taut and her head’s tilting back and she swears she’s seeing fucking stars behind her eyelids—

And then she’s there, at the tip of the spear. The piercing is sharp and sudden, but it just doesn’t stop. She can feel herself—distantly, very distantly—making a mess of the toy, of Roxanne’s thighs. Even then Roxanne—her lover, her worst enemy, her fucking baby—doesn’t stop working her through it, whispering downright filthy things in her ear until she’s all spent and boneless. And then Samira has to physically halt anymore movement because of the discomfort.

Fuck, she thinks with her sweaty forehead pressed against Roxanne’s shoulder, that’s probably the hardest I’ve ever come.

Roxanne, then: “I think that’s the hardest—“

Samira shuts her up with a searing kiss.

Later that night—or the next morning. Sometime in that nebulous period where one day melts into another, whatever—they find themselves still wrapped up in each other. Bed sheets slung across them, warding off the worst of the chill.

Samira loves it. Luxuriates in the ease of it. These moments somehow always feel the most real. Or the most normal, at least. Whatever normal even means anymore. Those moments when Roxanne’s eyes are unfocused due to sheer exhaustion rather than whatever concoction of drugs and alcohol she’s consumed. Where she gets to have Roxanne all to herself. No pathetic screaming fans or annoying bandmates looking to touch, to harass, to demand attention. Nothing to tempt Roxanne away. Just them. The way it should be.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad.” Samira starts, whispered voice breaking up the silence. Outside, somewhere below, she hears a car horn. Then a siren. The amalgam of city life drifting into the penthouse at a low hum. None of it can touch them from this high up. Not really. Not now. Samira shuffles back with some intent until she feels Roxanne’s arms tighten around her. Smothering. Secure. “Didn’t think I’d let it.”

“What,” Roxanne mumbles from behind, voice thick with sleep. “What are you talking about?”

“When we first met…” Samira continues on, only distantly registering the question. This is more for her than it is for Roxanne anyhow. Aimless stream of consciousness, whispered aloud in the dead of night. “I did get the impression that you could ruin me, but I figured it’d be a matter of me allowing it to happen. I mostly thought I could—well, this sounds bad, and change you isn’t even necessarily the right wording—but—”

“Fix me, then?” Roxanne cuts in, voice a little more lucid now.

“You’re not broken.” Samira deigns to respond this time, her tone resolute. “Misguided. Misguided, definitely. But not broken.” Not yet.

“Fine,” Samira feels the heat of Roxanne’s breath against her nape as she huffs out the word. “You thought you could… what? Mother me into being one of the many upstanding, reasonable, boring rockstars who go to bed at 9pm and eat quinoa salads or whatever. Is that it?”

Samira rolls her eyes at the heat behind the words, because that really hadn’t been the point she was trying to make at all. She ignores her sarcasm to focus on the part that catches her attention.

“Is that what you think I do?” Samira shifts, suddenly regretting her decision to respond at all. “Mother you?”

Roxanne is silent for a moment, two, then: “Well, you do like being called—“

“One time! That was one fucking time and I just wanted to see - stop laughing!” Samira defends, though relishing in the feel of Roxanne’s laughter vibrating against her back.

Samira has always loved her laughter. Always. Even when it’s the cruel kind. She’s told her this before, she thinks, on one of those late nights where she stayed up long enough to watch her coming down from whatever she took. She loves the look of it on her mouth, the way it sounds. Loves swallowing it up with a kiss, licking the edges of it with her tongue.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, baby.” Roxanne says once her laughter has calmed down. Voice faltering a little like she’s drifting off again. “Just wanna have fun.”

Maybe Samira could stand it better if she knew Roxanne hurt her on purpose as some sick form of entertainment. It’s better than her doing it repeatedly on accident. The idea that their lives are so incongruent, that they are so incompatible as people, that just by virtue of Roxanne being who she is Samira is the one who ends up getting hurt…

Samira eschews the thought. She knows—knows deeply, without doubt—that she could make this work. That if Roxanne simply listened to her once in a while that she could get them on track. There’s nothing Samira wouldn’t do to make her happy. Really, truly happy. A happiness that could be maintained even after the drugs wore off. Roxanne just has to let her.

Roxanne’s arms start to slip away from her, sleep loosening her hold or just general restlessness. Either way, Samira tightens her grip over the arm still slung around her, stilling the movement. Forces herself to ease up a little once she realizes her nails are digging into Roxanne’s skin. Rubs her thumb over the indents they leave.

Roxanne, now deep in slumber, doesn’t even twitch. Samira releases a sigh and allows her eyes to slip closed.

[spyderschaos]

Guys how long was the Bewilderbeast in Berserker Island there for?? Like do you think it was there since before httyd?

Would that mean the Red Death’s dragons didn’t raid Berserker Island? Since the Bewilderbeast stopped dragons from entering like the bottom part of the island.

Cuz the dragons didn’t just raid berk right? It was like an archipelago thing? Was Berserker Island not part of this?? Or was the Bewilderbeast just not there before??

What do you guys think???

[sanyu-thewitch05]

I’m sorry, but the bisexual to asexual(or aroace) train is wild.

More talk in the tags