#yes i am still proud of this

[i-am-a--lionheart]

Gravity

@sunorweek2023 Day 5 - Kalmar Union (with delay, obvi)

Originally written for @sunor-hq Zine in 2018, with minor alterations (ever asked yourself why some nations need glasses? Here is a possible explanation and it is eh, no fun)

Names:

Kjetil - Norway

Björn - Sweden

Christian - Denmark

TW: abuse, hinted SA, post torture

R: T+

Everything was dark in this chamber; the air was as cold as ice and still so full of humidity that breathing had become a terrible exercise for him. Breathing in, breathing out, and in again.

This was nearly the only thing he could do, the only thing he could do except from experiencing this terrible pain in his whole body.

There was something cold dripping on his surely bruised cheek, something even colder than the air and the cold floor made of stones in his back. If Björn hadn’t been able to hear just the softest, the faintest of sobs, he would have thought those cold drops were plain water from the ceiling and nothing else.

The dark that surrounded him was so deep without even the slightest source of light and he was not sure anymore if it was the natural dark of the cellar he knew so well by now or if he had been blinded. He had tried to open his eyes a couple of times already since he had awoken from his painful slumber, but it was absolutely useless. His head ached so much while he tried to remember what had happened yesterday. Yesterday? The day before? He was not even sure when exactly Christian had locked him in here after another violent fight that the Swede had lost against his elder. Björn had lost his sense of time and not only this sense – the only thing he could smell was dried up blood and the fould scent of a cell that was all moldy and cold, the only thing he could feel were the cold stones in his back and the chill metal around his wrists and, of course, those cold drops that fell so steadily on his face. His mouth tasted like death to him – what differed this from death anyways?

His heartbeat was slow and shallow, his lungs were ripped, his breathing rigged, his body torn – now what was different? Everything was cold, everything felt meaningless except for the warmth he could suddenly feel on his broken arms. And those quiet sobs that echoed so loudly between these walls of stone, those sobs gave all of this a meaning. If even always-not-caring Kjetil was crying, Christian must had beaten him to the very verge of dying.

Strangely the sadness, the desperation and fear that he could sense in Kjetils behaviour made him angrier than the fact he had been abused and locked away again.

Honestly, by now Björn was used to it, was used to the weekly arguments, the fights – he had always known that a union between the three of them would destroy their bonds rather than strengthen them. It had been tough during the Viking ages once they had drifted apart and what started as the idea of a united, strong North, had ended in violence and anger.

Those arguments would always star slowly, but exploded within mere minutes into unfair fights, first with insults and accusation. But since a few months it never stayed verbal at all.

They were nations – that was the reason his weak, hurt heart kept beating – they were nations and they were bound to be brutal, merciless creatures.

His hopeless thoughts were suddenly ripped into pieces by a sharp pain coming from his eye sockets – the warmth of Kjetils hands was gone and instead he could sense a cold liquid pouring on his face and into his opened, bloody eyes. The sobs hadn’t stopped completely but they were disrupted by chanted words uttered by a shivering voice. Björn had opened his cracked lips, probably in an attempt to scream because the pain was worse than anything, but a soft hand was clenched onto his mouth while a second pressed his jaw back with gentle force.

“Quiet.”, the Norwegian’s voice was back to his usual cool tone as far as Björn was able to hear it with the exploding pain in the back of his head. If he had listened more closely, however, Björn could have heard that the fear still stained his heavy, melodious tone. But the only thing that kept the Swede busy was pain, pain, and even more pain.

Was that even Kjetil? Why would he hurt him like that? Especially in this state?! Especially even when he always proclaimed that he loved him even though he behaved so cold most of the times.

His anger got worse, filling his veins with burning blood, but a small voice inside of him told him that it was probably just a way to quicken his healing progress. Kjetil was a healer after all.

And it was just this.

When the explosions in his brain finally had stopped, his vision had begun to clear up. Björn wondered if his eyes had ever been closed at all or if they had been bloody sockets with a mess of flesh inside of them. He still wasn’t able to see the lines of the stones at the ceiling, but the face of his companion appeared in front of his now restored, sea blue eyes.

Kjetil looked sick, his face even paler as usual, his dark blue eyes held a shade so red that they stood out like drops of blood on fresh snow. On the left side the red, puffy eyes were accompanied by a deep purplish greed spreading around it. Unshed tears still filled the deep orbs of the younger, whose face was stained by those he had shed and his whole figure was shaking, from fear or cold, Björn couldn’t tell.

He felt the need to sit up and pull him into his arms but a hand on his chest stopped him from doing so.

Just now he realised the soft blue light radiating from the places that the younger one had touched.

His arms didn’t feel as cracked as before and even though his clothes were still stained by his dried blood, he could imagine that his ribcage was closed again, with fresh, sensitive skin stretching over healed bones. Björn didn’t want to imagine what amount of energy sick, sick Kjetil had used to repair him like that. And even though he tried to raise his voice to tell him to stop, it was as if Kjetil controlled every movement of him.

It took hours and hours for him to heal, even with the energy and the chants of the Norwegian and after a while the both of them could hear hard and heavy steps coming down the stairs. Kjetils eyes – now even more tired looking than before, shifted from his patient to the metal door that separated the cell from the hallway. He froze for a second – of course he should have thought about this more closely, the sleeping potion did not last as long in Christian’s body than it did in Emil’s. The Norwegian wanted to stand up but a hand around his wrist kept him on the ground – even though Björn had looked so weak and destroyed during those hours he had spent by his side – he still was far stronger than he himself war. The Swede had finally managed to free his tongue from whatever Kjetil had used to keep him quiet. “Stay.” He could not even bear the thought of Kjetil going out there, having to face this monstrosity of a nation alone. “Please.”

Kjetil turned his gaze downwards to him again, his face softer than it had been in a very long time. He looked him with a mixture of warmth, desperation and the quietest love while his lips had curled into half of a smile. “I can’t. I am sorry.”, the younger one reached down with his free hand and loosened the grip of his elder, intertwining their fingers for the shortest of moments. “I can’t.”

The sounds had become louder, and Kjetil stood up, his eyes gleaming as he tried to pull all of his courage together. For little Emil, for Björn, even for little Tino. Then he went to the door once he knew that Christian had stepped onto the last stair, opened it and locked it behind him, very well knowing that once his mostly muffled screams had reached the inside of this cell, Björn could break his chains.

[mango-peach-strawberry]

Happy 37th, Kid Icarus! Redraw from 2 years ago to celebrate

[lillazyboithings]

"You better leave your hopes behind,

No one's gonna stop him"

This WIP is no longer a WIP lol, this thing has been unfinished for 2 months and i finally got to continue it :DD!

anyways this is basically me being inspired by my classmate drawing a frame from the musical so i thought "Hey! that would be fun to do", it was not fun to do when you have multiple art deadlines y'all

Left is rendered with background, right is the initial base colors (didnt like the color of pete's pants lol)

[dromaeo-sauridae]

THE WORST IS YET TO COME!

i think i spent 3 days on this?? every day i'd get tired at like 11 pm, think "i'll post it tmr" and then find something wrong with it the next day. BUT IT'S FINALLY DONE! click for better quality or i'll cry :) AND i made it a speedpaint

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

And that’s a wrap for Comic Con 2024! Ha, it was a lot of fun, but I really enjoyed dressing up as Mondo today! I even had a couple people recognize him! And a few others just liked the hair, one of whom asked how long it took me to get my hair like that, which tells me that at least it looks natural enough for people to mistake it as my actual hair, ha.

Overall, Comic Con was cool! On Thursday, I attended a live podcast recording for Braving the Elements, which is an Avatar the Last Airbender podcast hosted by Janet Varney and Dante Bosco (the voices of Korra and Zuko, respectively), and I actually got a trivia question right and I should (hopefully…) get an email from them soon to get a prize for answering the question right. If not… oh well. At least I’ll be featured briefly on the podcast answering trivia correctly, even though I usually suck at trivia, ha.

The rest of the days were a bit more meh, but I still had fun. I won a Pokeball ornament from a Hallmark panel, since I knew how many Squirtles were in the Squirtle Squad, aha. Which leaves my trivia score 2 for 2 at the moment.😅 I also got a free shirt and scarf for the upcoming Yakuza live action show, which was neat. I’ve never played Yakuza, but my brother has, so I was able to give him the shirt at least.

Still, while Comic Con was fun, I’m definitely glad it’s over so I can go home and clean up from my frantic cosplay creating the last several weeks, oof.

Also! On the first day I dressed at Taka, but since I was by myself I only have the one photo my dad was able to quickly take of me before he had to drive off and a quick selfie I took in the car.

[ravangie]

I am 100% confident that there is no way Princess Charming would miss her chance to join her mama's business.

She would create her own make up line and the main item would be, of course, Cherry flavoured lip gloss💋

More Princess Charming here💕

More Shrek fanart here

[eli-am-confused]

More family members gossiping at the reunion.

Yes I’m posting more stuff about the Jon Matteson (+ Curt Mega) character family tree. This time including more Jon Matteson Characters!

I went to bed thinking about this last night btw.

Bonus: Ed knows when he’s being talked about and Peanuts will hear about it. They interrupted his nap.

If you can’t read it’s all under the cut.

First picture-

Boy Jerry: Little Ed has a son? But he was so good at being celibate! I can’t believe he’s a dirty sinner now!

Officer Bailey: I didn’t even know he knew how to talk to girls.

Daniel: guys, it’s a squirrel.

Second picture-

Officer Bailey: Oooh! Yeah that makes way more sense!

Boy Jerry: taking care of another one of Gods creations in need, he’s such a good child of the Lord unlike the rest of you.

Daniel: Hey! I’m just 15!

Third picture-

Proud Papa Ed: Someone’s talking shit Peanuts. I bet it’s Bailey.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[princeson]

Won't You Shake A Poor Sinner's Hand?

I imagine Reigen and Serizawa were going for a lovely early morning stroll through London and on their way home Reigen offered they try taking a shortcut through a very suspicious foreboding looking alleyway and ended up running into this equally suspicious foreboding looking man, Dimple, who greeted them like the Shadow Man from Princess and The Frog and sang Friends From the Other Side -- or maybe he tried selling them sketchy multi-purpose tonics or used watches or whatever -- Anyway, Reigen's frantic rambling is not helping the situation AT ALL and Serizawa is just standing there nervously, eyes wildy darting back and forth between Reigen and Dimple until he starts silently and anxiously eyeing Reigen and shaking his head hoping Reigen would stop digging his own grave by interacting with this mysterious (and possibly dangerous?) man and, for the love of Mob, just get the heck outta of there lol

Dimple Friday #19

[cloudycocoa]

Sleepy lads 💤

Ft. my sorta updated future designs for them

[hnnny]

Who was gonna tell me that this guy is literally the worst >:( Contender for biggest loser award.

[thethingsido4]

Qui-Gon: And the award for the best Jedi this year goes to Ben Solo-Organa...

Ben: I am thankful and humbled!

Qui-Gon: ... for bringing his loved one back from the dead unlike some other Jedi I know.

Obi-Wan: For the love of the Force, Qui-Gon! Not here!

Anakin: Troubles in paradise again, my old master?

Padmé: Like you have any right to giggle here!

*Rey just cheering in the first row*

[iraprince]

Hiii, i love your stuff and kinda from a distance really look up at you for, in my perception, being able to express yourself without giving a fuck. Thats sick dude, Im so so afraid, of absolutely everything, its nice to think like i might grow into someone less apologetic of my existence. Nice to see people just being yknow

hey, thank you, this is really really nice. the secret that is probably not a secret is that i am also deeply afraid a lot of the time lmao -- but less than i used to be, and in ways that feel less stifling and self-suffocating, if that makes sense.

like, it used to be "i'm scared that if i express myself the way i want to, everyone will find me obnoxious, so let's just sand those edges down to be safe" -- now my fears are more like "now that i'm expressing myself in a way that feels natural and real, i'm afraid that it's all stupid/vapid/not worthwhile or meaningful" (<- specifically abt my art) or "i'm happy that i talk and act the way i want to now, but what if it makes me impossible to befriend," etc etc etc. which still feels bad and puts me in a funk a lot of the time but at least it's a fear that comes After/in reaction to doing stuff, rather than a fear that STOPS me from doing stuff, you know? like, it's evolved into a kind of fear that's less in my way.

anyway. i believe you'll experience something like this, because wanting to grow is the first step of growing. the fact that u hope or wish for something different means you're already on your way. to fewer fucks!! or at least distributing the fucks u give in a way that serves u better

[bibururokku]

So my brother, who I should mention is a child less than half my current age, also likes Blue Lock and randomly told me if a certain character were real, I'd make a good couple with them. I thought it was funny, so I jokingly asked who he'd like as a brother-in-law if that were the case, but the kid took it very seriously and ended up listing SEVERAL boys WITH reasoning.

However, after he was done, he gave it some extra thought and went, "But I don't think you'd like them that much..." so he made a SEPARATE list of boys who he thought would be a good husband for me, and that basically killed me inside. I didn't want to laugh in his face and make him feel bad, so I held it in, but the genuine thought he put behind his lists broke me internally.

He's so sweet, but sometimes I wonder what goes on inside that little head of his. Anyway, at some point, I started to take notes as he made his lists, so I'll put his lists and the gist of what he said UTC just because I think it's cute, but also, bro...???

List of his ideal in-law(s) 1. Bachira Meguru → He has a lot of energy, slick moves on the field, and can fight. So basically, if Bachira were his brother-in-law, they could play and run around everywhere together. Plus, he can teach him a few tricks and moves himself and how to throw hands if needed. The fact that Bachira is, if not one of, his absolute favorites in the series is an added bonus. 2. Nagi Seishiro → He's chill and feels familiar because he thinks he is similar to me, as he believes I'm a low-energy, game-loving genius. He also thinks Nagi would just give him the answer if asked to help with homework because it's a hassle to explain, and he wants that and for him to carry him in a game. Plus, his godly control over the ball when playing football/soccer is really cool. 3. Michael Kaiser → He's technically famous as one of the New Generation XI, which means he could flex to his friends. Also, he was very impressed by his ability to take down police officers with the football/soccer ball and thinks he could teach him how to do that to other people, as his in-law. 4. Isagi Yoichi → He's really nice and smart, so he can generally rely on him for things, as long as it has nothing to do with playing or practicing football/soccer with him. Isagi also matched Bachira's energy, which led him to believe that he could also pretty much play with him all day long as well. 5. Mikage Reo → He's rich and has a tendency to pamper the people he is fond of. Basically, if I were married to Reo and we were to visit my family as a couple, he'd get pretty much anything he wanted, as Reo seems to be the type of person who would give his in-laws a whole bunch of gifts when visiting.

List of who he thinks would be a good husband for me 1. Michael Kaiser → He's a famous athlete who is good at what he does, which means stability and security. Plus, he can fight and thus protect me. According to him, Kaiser's past traumas and current issues wouldn't be a problem because he thinks I could handle it and even help or support him in dealing with some of it. 2. Chigiri Hyoma → He's a sassy princess, and I, too, am sassy. Therefore, he believes we would get along as a couple. Plus, he's into people who are calm and understanding, and that's what my brother thinks of me, especially when I'm angry since I don't yell and just ask for logical explanations to understand. 3. Itoshi Sae → He makes me laugh a lot, leading him to believe we'd get along as I'd be unphased by his aloofness and would likely enjoy the freedom that somewhat cold nature would bring. He's also good at his job, so we'd have a stable and secure life. Plus, I'd probably make up for what he did to Rin (💀). 4. Karasu Tabito → He also makes me laugh a lot, so he thinks he would humor me. Also, he thinks I also fit Karasu's type since he thinks I'm strong, smart, and have a good voice. Additionally, I could make up for Karasu's inability to be nice to mediocre people, as I am generally nice and polite even if I hate someone. 5. Nagi Seishiro → He's similar to me, so naturally, that means we'd get along and be a decent and "hassle-free" couple. Especially since he's very chill, he's likely to just go along with whatever I wanted and give me the freedom to do as I please. Bonus Yukimiya Kenyu → He was joking, but he brought him up because we both have poor eyesight LMAO.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Petition found in Oliver Stark's trailer alongside a carefully crafted collage of photos with a sticky note attached

[Oliver's version | Ryan's version]