pattinsonsupremacy:

andrew’s spiderman and ryan’s deadpool WHEN

thefuzzyaya:

Havent added anything here in a while so thought I’d update.

Thirsty Cyclops from X-Men

Anyways, I think male superheros should dress more like this:

Do you understand my vision.

Could'nt decide which Version I liked better so here you have both, Lennard as Minion and civilian, hope you enjoy.

so I watched Black Panther again & I had some thoughts

a short story told in bullet points:

• during marinette’s senior year, her class is assigned to write an essay about their favorite hero 
• most people write about ladybug or chat noir, some even write about rena rogue or carapace or queen bee
• adrien writes about ladybug of course 
• and nino about rena and alya about carapace
• and chloe struggles to decide between queen bee or ladybug 
• she chooses ladybug
• but marinette struggles to pick a hero
• she considers writing about chat noir
• he’s been there since the beginning of their fight against hawkmoth
• he’s helped her save countless civilians
• without him, she would be dead ten times over
• and the public never gives him enough credit
• but how can she write about him without mentioning the other miraculous heros?
• they’re just as important
• shechose them because she believed in them, and they haven’t let her down since 
• and what about non-traditional heroes?
• her parents have supported her in everything she does
• they’ve been there for both the bad days and the good
• they help her with her problems no matter how small and they’ve never given up on her
• and what about her teachers?
• or tikki?
• or master fu?
• how could she choose just one hero when she was constantly surrounded by them?
• she found a hero in the older man on the street corner who gave her directions when she was lost
• she found a hero in the little girl who helped her pick up her dropped books after a long day and an even longer night full of akuma fighting
• she found a hero in the young woman who told her her shoe was untied so that she wouldn’t trip
• hawkmoth may target people on their worst days but paris combated this by looking out for each other, by helping each other stand up whenever they see someone fall over 
• so she wrote about that
• she wrote about the exceptional kindness she experienced on a daily basis
• she wrote about how her classmates made sure she was eating enough and getting enough sleep 
• she wrote about how her father would teach her a new cookie recipe on the weekends 
• she wrote about how her mother would come home with a new fabric swatch once a month for marinette to experiment with 
• she wrote about jagged stone giving her the opportunity of a lifetime when he showed up on her doorstep and asked her to design him a hat, jumpstarting her career 
• she wrote about adrien and his desire to make people smile
• she wrote about alya and her fierce determination
• about nino’s ever-watchful protective eye
• she wrote about chat’s ability to make ladybug laugh even when it felt like the world was ending
• but most of all she wrote about the city
• she wrote about the people that she didn’t even know the name’s of
• she wrote about the people who saved her when she didn’t even know she needed saving
• she didn’t get a very good grade on her essay, but that didn’t really matter to her
• because ladybug belonged to Paris, and Paris was ladybug’s
• this was her city
• and no one could take that away from her 

river-bottom-nightmare:

always always thinking about superhero legacy, especially on civilians, because the idea of superheroes is absolutely fantastical for us but in universe? it’s reality. and just imagine how these types of stories linger in the shadowed nooks and crannies of a culture, of a people.

wars will rage, and injustice is a sickly, undying thing. but for every cruel boot smashing a face into the ground, for every act of senseless violence, there is someone ready to fight back. on one of these far-future days (yet, not really that far at all) a dictator is taken down by a team of vigilantes. corruption still reigns, and power is fleeting, but for the first time in years, the people feel a sort of flinty-eyed, clench-jawed hope. the next night, a group of kids with bruised knuckles and crooked smiles and kind eyes run over to their city’s courthouse to utterly deface it. one of the children, the artist among them, spray-paints a mural over the doors of the building, pouring their soul into every line and every stroke. for the following months, people in that city flock to the mural, take pictures and redraw likenesses and covet what soon becomes the freedom mural. a man stands on the edge of a building, arms outstretched, the ghost of a pair of wings stretching out behind him and a determined, relentless, compassionate smirk on his face. (the artist used a reference from an old photograph of a group of teenage vigilantes, drawn to the boy in the corner, dressed up in blue and gold, sheer life in his eyes. they thought he had a cool costume.)

no matter the shifts in the wind and the change in the tides, people will always have music in their veins, in their very blood. there is a ramshackle little pub in the heart of a midwestern city, with lights strung across the ceiling and food that makes you feel the good kind of warm and a beat-up old piano in the corner. it is at this piano that a downtrodden little musician likes to play, as often as they can. sure, they’ve got awards lining their mantle and invitations to play in the finest theatres known to man, but with that comes knee-shaking pressure and the cruelty of the rich and loneliness. no, they much prefer this pub, where they can laugh with the locals and bask in the atmosphere and gladly give away a part of their soul with every piece they play. once, a girl comes up to the musician during a furiously fast piece and asks, what’s it about? the musician grins and tells the tale of a man who could run faster than light itself, who left lightning in the traces of his footsteps, who protected his city from the horrors of the world with nothing but his wits and his power. the girl then asks, what happened to him? the musician sighs, tells the girl that nobody knows, then turns and keeps playing, a touch more somber than before.

small town legends are a curious thing, because more often than not they’re true. this one, though—this legend that’s blistering red in a children’s campfire tale or midnight blue in a student’s personal essay or even bountiful green in a farmer’s prayer—this one is fantastical enough, no one is foolish enough to believe it. the story goes like this: there once was a boy who fell from the sky. upon finding out he was trapped and could never returned to the world up in the clouds, he sighed, then turned right around and walked into town. he could not help himself, so he helped others with the powers he kept from the land he was from: lifted tractors and stopped muggers and fixed power lines (back when they still had power lines). and when that boy grew into a man, he bid goodbye to the town and left to help more and more people, until he gave every part of himself away, until he was gone. ridiculous, no? but despite it’s end, it’s light and cheerful and a good tale to tell. after all, no matter what the world has come to, stories of heroes carry on.

Keep reading

Wicked the musical quotes adapted to fit My Hero Academia:

Be brave young midoriya

Keep looking forwards and sprint towards your goal