#23 days to go!

[renegadesstuff]

THEY WERE HOLDING HANDS 😭💔

[ahotknife]

the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself

[andstuffsketches]

girl who lives in a cave

[lioniheart]

Finished IWTV and wanted to say, yet again: I STAND WITH MY CANCELLED WIFE

[faunandfloraas]

I haven't lived that long yet, but as I've lived, I've collected every nook and cranny, even the things that might have simply passed by, and recorded them in my voice.

Details - SONG by episode 7.

[freyadragonlord]

The Mr Villain's Day Off anime is beautiful and it's honestly a great adaptation, but I need anime-only fans to know that in the manga, the "Mr Villain can't sleep" arc from ep.6 ended like this:

LOOK AT THEM!!

THIS IS THE MOST FHDSFGSDHFGSHDHD THING EVER!!!!

[hubba1892]

1/? Kloppo farewell posts | Believe "A message to the Liverpool supporters?! We have to change – from doubters to believers." (2015) // "And since today I'm one of you and I keep believing in you. I'll stay a believer - one hundred percent!" (2024)

[necromash]

Something something, one of my Pelle WIPs because I turned 22 today or whatever, twinning! 😁👍🏻

[marzipaint]

extremely late barricade day post. barricade month

[bidoofenergy]

snippet from an AU that started on discord that is, briefly, an AU where Tango is a retired footballer (soccer) turned sports commentator/interviewer and Jimmy is a popular footballer that's desperately trying to seem Smart and Impress Tango.

part 2 | part 3

"You know, I remember watching you play as a kid." Jimmy is smiling as he says this, a sort of sideways smirk. But even the (beautiful) playful look in his (beautiful) brown eyes cannot distract from the actual words being said.

"Oh?" Tango replies, managing not to sound like he was actively being stabbed—instead, only that he had recently been stabbed. Behind the camera, Tango's annoying coworkers cover their snickers. Jimmy nods, thankfully ignoring them.

"At the Olympics!" He says cheerfully. "I finally remembered—that's when I saw you the first time."

"At the Olympics," Tango repeats and closes his eyes for a moment. Sure, playing at the Olympics were definitely one of the highlights of his career, a great memory even though they didn't medal. The Olympics were also over 20 years ago.

Tango opens his eyes and tries to recover. He makes plenty of jokes about being old; he can roll with this. He laughs and says, "I'm not sure I even want to ask how old you were."

"Eight," Jimmy says easily—another horrible horrible blow. "I remember seeing your assist, in that first match?" He does a little kick with his left leg, a shockingly close recreation of the assist in question. Tango remembers that assist, can practically feel the ball against his cleat, hear the yells of his team as the ball hit the net.

"I can't believe you remember that!" Tango says with another self-deprecating laugh because, well, he can't. There's so many other moves Jimmy could remember, even just from those Olympics, from other more impressive players.

Jimmy just shakes his head, ruffling his (beautiful) hair. "It was really cool," he says with frank, almost painful honesty. "I think that was the first time I seriously thought about what someone other than a striker could do."

What can Tango even say to that? How can he possibly convey how amazingly old and horribly impressive that makes him feel? To have any sort of impact on Jimmy's career—but for it to have been when he was stupid and 22. He can't even begin to explain any of it—and he's certainly can't do it on air.

Instead he laughs again and says, "You still became a striker though!" and pretends he doesn't see the tiny way Jimmy's (beautiful) smile falters.

[renegadesstuff]

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER 😍😍

[loopplays]

Loop played for the puzzles, stayed for the bird!

[euphreana]

Started hand-painting this one back in January, using sketches I'd done last October. Finally seeing the light of day!

Page 2

[delilahhyuuga]

Day 23, 27 & 29 of Inktober 2023: Celestial, Beast & Massive

[harbingersecho]

happy new year

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 23 || “Gunshot Wound”

Why do you always have to be the hero? 

As Reagan stared down at her little brother, it was that one sentence that consumed her thoughts. It was the sentence that had once fuelled her life, a bitter resentment bubbling inside her, this pathetic need absorbing her entirely. It was this sentence that she had clung to, in the wake of death and this terrible, numbing grief, the weight on her shoulders pushing her down, the very world seeming to rest on top of her. 

And it was with this sentence that she stared at the curled-up figure of her bedridden baby brother, his cheeks burning pink from the bite of the cold. Dried blood cracked along the side of his neck, dark bruises blooming along his face, scratches etching across the skin. Pale bandages peeked from underneath his collar, a dark colour stained through them.

The area where he’d been shot. 

He had not awoken, despite being stuck inside this cramped, suffocating restaurant for an entire week. And as the days passed, slow and frost-bitten, Reagan was beginning to lose the last remnants of her sanity. 

She’d done everything in her power to protect him from this. From long-winded conversations about how truly dangerous the world was, the terrors he would face, terrors he could not even fathom. To the times she lost control, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, a sort of fear thrumming off of her, one that would always leave Felix scared, guilty.

A part of her hated herself for it, the way this fear, this want, controlled her. It never left, slowly warping every decision she made for herself. It was the thing that followed her as she packed up their things for the tenth time in the year, running away from any problem that came their way. That threatened to sacrifice the life she had built for them. 

But a small, ugly part of her was glad for it. Maybe it was selfishness; the way a horror churned in her gut for the dangerous sparkle inside his eyes, that terrible exhilaration at fighting, at doing something rebellious. Maybe it was horrible of her, to want him to be scared, just as terrified as she was, as she had been forced to be. 

But when he was safe inside her arms, alive and away from all the people who had decided he could not be allowed to enjoy life, who had decided he was too different to….

Well, then it didn’t matter so much. 

Because if Felix was safe, then she must have done something right. If Felix was safe, and good, and protected, then she would take the terror at his inclination for violence, for an adventure. She’d take the bad grades and the attitude and the idiotic delinquency, as long as he was by her side, smiling. 

But now, she could see that it wasn’t true. 

Because Felix was by her side, but he was not smiling. No, he was hurt, injured beyond belief. Bullet holes peppered into his fragile figure, bandages and wounds encasing his body. And she was here unharmed. 

Unharmed because she had stepped aside while he put himself in danger’s way. Unharmed because he had this stupid, annoying desire to be some hero, to be the saviour in the end. Even if it meant she lost him, even if it meant that he died. 

Staring down at him now, his curls a tangled mess, falling limply in his face, his expression this beacon of calm, the comatose state having brought a sort of contentedness to him, Reagan could only think one thing: He was a complete replica of her father. 

It was this helplessness that had followed her while standing in front of her own father’s grave, a steady flow of tears slipping down her cheeks, the small hand of Felix curled up in her own — the only thing anchoring her to this life. It was this helplessness that had followed her after strangers, these people she did not know, did not care to know, told her how lucky she was. How her father was a hero, how she should be proud.

It was this helplessness that had trapped her inside her room, Felix asleep under the sheets of her bed, as she sobbed, angry at the world, angry at her life. But most importantly, angry at him.

I didn’t want a hero, she had once screamed at his smiling picture, the only thing she had left of him. I wanted my dad.

“Lo lamento.” She whispered, her breath a tickle upon Felix’s skin. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, tears splattering along his hairline. 

Why him?

masterlist || next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

taglist || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

✩ Send me an ask/dm to be added/removed from the taglist ✩