#you can’t fucking stop me

[the-gnomish-bastard]

Something about listening to The Red Baron by Sabaton fills me with so much adrenaline that I always end up setting villages on fire with lightning storms.

Im serious, listen to the song. It’s my favorite. Am I using wizard posting to push my own preferences? Yes, yes I am. Are you gonna be able to fucking stop me? No, you’re gonna sit there and listen to the song because it fucking slaps.

[yantao-enthusiast]

genderfluid icon

[kelin-is-writing]

How… Do I recover from this…?

[apollos-boyfriend]

my favorite part about the dsmp as it currently stands is that since the creators are done they’re over it you can just say whatever the fuck you want. there’s no possible future canon to dispute it. there’s no creator who’s going to step out of the woodworks because they’re not touching that again with a 30 foot pole. i can say the most insane bullshit never be proven wrong and i think that’s beautiful

[yourlocalabomination]

I am not immune to funny crackships.

+ Bonus

[shelf-of-knicknacks]

My new personality is taking characters from media I like and turning them into homestuck with my friend

[artchixs]

in another life

love affair that is the walk home

[jinxedjackie]

Sevika who stays quiet and pouts when she’s upset, or when you’re upset at her, or when Silco is upset at her, or when she can’t say anything to not upset/disappoint Silco or the chem barons, or when you won’t ride her face—

[ricky-mortis]

Young man with potential…

[rendevok]

you ever forget you have different usernames in different places? Anyway I remembered how to use Tumblr just for u mwah 🎲🥰

22~ kiss with tongue

[rowanisawriter]

elektra talking to her mother hello?? hello?? hello????? Hello?????????

[sqrkyclean]

Society if there was anti anxiety medication that didn’t make me go into a coma for several days at a time

[emotinalsupportturtle]

I can’t stop thinking of how despite it baffling most non-brits, and most of the Hollywood a-list audience, David Tennant decided to do a skit on his little lockdown rpf show, make a bunch of puns that only people familiar with British culture would get, wear a kilt and be his usual manic self when hosting an internationally prestigious award show

fucking power move

[kelin-is-writing]

I am: Heartbroken…

[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.

[medusa-was-innocent]