Oopsie - Tumblr Posts
I forgot to post these OOPS
@sophietheskelly ‘s character C is here too :3
yknow that feeling when you havent worn your binder in a week and you put it on and can feel your lungs dying?
I'm reading, as ya do, and I may or may not have gotten inspiration and written the ending for How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have....
that was not very cute of me. goodnight 🫶
Okay
Probably made an accident
Sorry tumblr
Okay context:
I was trying to report those weird nsfw by randos
But i think i misclick and pressed community label
Again,I apologize for my accidental mistake
Update:
Found that post again,and I reported it this time
I’m probably gonna get a lot of flack for this, but I could not possibly care less about Morbius
I burnt my hand :D how silly of me LMAO— I DIDN'T KNOW I COULD GET THIS FRUSTRATED LMAO— DIJDKSBSIANAJA
Six months ago, when the protagonist had first appeared in the middle of the villain’s compound, scrawny and half feral, the villain hadn’t thought much of it.
And then it happened again.
And again.
The villain thought something of it.
“Let me work with you,” they had begged. The villain was almost certain the protagonist was homeless. “Please, I have powers, I can—”
The villain said yes.
Maybe it had been whatever remnants were left of the villain’s stupid heart. Maybe it was the chocolate donut they had that morning. Maybe it was the desperation coming off the protagonist in waves.
Maybe they were just bored.
They paid it no mind.
The protagonist did have powers, but they were minor. The kind you see in small children, the first in a bloodline to mutate powers. Their great grand children would wield enough power to level buildings, be heroes and villains and everything in between. But for now, they sat in preschool classrooms and summoned the tiniest spark of flame.
The protagonist, trembling like a fawn, sweat slicking their brow, seemed to be one of those children. Albeit an older version.
Not useless, exactly. They had a startling affinity for picking locks—which explained the ability to get into the villain’s compound—a willingness to fight anyone, and a lack of fear. But they weren’t exactly the most useful sidekick the villain could have picked.
The villain wouldn’t trade them for anyone else, though.
Their stupid, half dead heart, it seemed, cared for the protagonist.
So, when the hero set out to kill the protagonist, the villain knew they would do anything to keep them safe.
They caught the hero’s hand, twisting to shove them backwards a step, and they felt rather than saw the protagonist wince.
“Violent today, aren’t we?”
The hero was seething, and it unsettled something in the villain. The hero was unstable, yes. But the villain had never seen them try to kill someone before; they hadn’t even considered the hero might try.
They dodged another blow, the hero’s power blasting apart a building behind them. Their spine prickled, and they dropped to avoid the next hit.
“Just itching to go to prison for homicide, hm?”
When the hero didn’t even attempt to respond to their half-assed banter, the villain’s gut roiled.
“Protagonist,” they said between breaths. “Leave. Now.”
“No.”
They managed to throw the hero to the ground, risking a glance at the protagonist. They were covered in dust, supersuit dirty and torn across one calf, but their feet remained planted, shoulders set. “You heard me. Go back to the compound—“
The protagonist’s eyes widened, and the villain knew they had turned away for too long.
The villain went down hard, ears ringing, as the hero shook out their fist.
“Stop it,” the protagonist’s voice cracked. They took a step forward, wavering like they weren’t sure if they should run or fight.
“Go,” the villain coughed, and the protagonist flinched. They rolled onto their back, struggling to stand as the hero’s power flickered dangerously.
The villain knew, innately, that the next hit would kill them.
The villain sucked in a painful breath.
The hero lunged.
And the protagonist, voice wrecked with fear, screamed, “Dad.”
The villain’s heart stuttered.
There was a flash of light.
In front of them, panting for air like they would never get enough, was the protagonist. The hero’s fist was planted against their chest still, and the villain could tell it had been a death blow. Anyone, even the villain, wouldn’t have survived.
And yet—
The protagonist stood, unharmed.
“Dad,” they said again, and the hero didn’t quite flinch, but it was close. “Stop.”
The silence was deafening.
Something in the hero’s jaw tightened.
“Move,” the hero said lowly. The protagonist didn’t falter.
“No.”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
“What exactly will you do to me if I don’t listen,” the protagonist gave a sharp laugh. “Hit me? You tried that already.”
The hero sucked in a breath.
“I am your—“
“You are my nothing,” the protagonist corrected. “Certainly not my father. You lost that right when I was eight.”
The villain managed to push themselves to their feet.
“That was stupid,” the villain murmured, but it didn’t have any heat to it. “You couldn’t have known that would work. You had no idea if you could survive a hit like that.”
The protagonist very pointedly did not turn around, shoulders tense.
“I did,” their voice was strained. “He lost the right to fatherhood when I was eight, remember?”
The hero didn’t say anything, but the villain thought that might have been shame creeping its way across their face.
Oh.
Oh.
The hero—
The villain had been harboring the child of the most powerful being on the planet for six months. A child the hero had tried to kill, or at the very least, hurt.
Their heart stuttered.
They had been harboring the most powerful being on the planet, their mind corrected. A drop of blood slid its way down their spine. Power grew with every generation, and with the hero already so powerful, any child they had would be something close to a god.
“You said you had mild telekinesis,” the villain said numbly. The protagonist half turned to look over their shoulder, eyes shiny.
“My mom,” the protagonist. “I got it from her. The rest…”
From the hero.
The protagonist scanned the villain’s face.
They were searching for signs of violence, the villain realized. The protagonist wasn’t afraid of the hero anymore; no, the protagonist had seen the worst they could do. But somehow, the protagonist had begun to care for the villain. And they were terrified the villain—the person they trusted the most—was going to hurt them over a secret. The villain could see it all, scrawled across the protagonist’s face clear as day.
The villain was going to kill the hero. Painfully.
“Protagonist,” the villain kept their voice even. Gentle. Slow. “I’m not mad. And I’m not going to hurt you.” Their eyes slipped past to the protagonist to the hero.
“Him, however, I will be.”
The protagonist worried their lip between their teeth, and the villain watched as their power—their true power—sparked along their shoulder blades.
The villain stepped forwards—
“Don’t,” it was little more than a whisper.
The villain stopped.
The protagonist slid in front of the villain once more. “Just,” they raised a hand, as if taking a moment to choose their next words. “Stay.”
The villain stayed.
When the protagonist’s attention turned back to the hero, it was bloodthirsty. It spoke of war, and hatred, and revenge.
“You’re going to leave,” the protagonist’s voice was sharp enough to cut skin. “And you aren’t going to come back. I don’t care if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you know that if you do, I will kill you and I’ll like it—you won’t come back.”
The hero swallowed.
“The city needs me.”
“You are a plague to this city, and I am ridding it of you. Get. Out.”
The hero stumbled a step backwards, as if they had been hit. Their expression twisted.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” the protagonist seethed.
They all knew the protagonist meant it.
The hero was halfway down the block, news vans and reporters scrambling their way onto the scene with cameras raised, when the protagonist called after them.
“Oh, and Dad?” The cameras snapped to them, and the protagonist grinned. It was vicious—it looked like the villain’s. “Parents who abuse their children don’t get to be heroes. Especially not you.”
They waited a beat, two, three.
The press exploded.
Above the din, power crackling around them, the protagonist mouthed two words.
“I win.”
hm i want to incorperate my language studies into this blog with all my analysis and stuff but idk how. like i can tell you jimin uses the ~것 같아요 ending a lot when he's talking but how is that super relevant information? i dont really know
...I may have forgotten about it.
Oops.
I will be setting to work after this week!!! Because right now I am a student leader for a bunch of middle schoolers and a few high schoolers and yeah no time to focus on the kids.
Anybody have any fic recs for the McCallisters finding out what Kevin did in the Home Alone movies?
I couldn't find any and thought I'd ask before setting to work on a post Home Alone 1 fic.
I HATE ACCIDENTALLY POSTING ON WRONG BLOG!!
For @billythephoneguy
Oc goes by he/him, OCs’ owner goes by he/they/it
This is what happens when you let her in a kitchen
Also my first post with this oc!! Yay! Her code name is fruit bomb and she’s my oc for the show Carmen Sandiego (2019). She’s also a menace to society :3
Jay bursting in and making things worse
Reuploading cuzBRUH I FORGOT 2 PUT MY SIGNATURE
I forgot homophobia existed and made a whole ass gay wedding out of legos when babysitting my cousin. She had my INCREDIBLY homophobic aunt and uncle watch the whole thing while I reconsidered my life choices.
on my knees for him ૮꒰ྀི ୨ ៸៸៸ ୧ ྀི꒱ა ⠀