#i still like the posings so i wanted to post it

[daemonhxckergrrl]

[ID: tags reading "Also understand how detrimental to your health it can be. HAVING ABUSE KINKS AND DETRANS KINKS AND RAPE KINKS IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!! # SORRY BUT THERE ARE MANY MANY CASES OF CNC TURNING INTO ACTUAL RAPE # PLEASE BE SAFE OH MY GOD PLEASE TREAT YOURSELF KINDLY AND REALISE THAT SEX SHOULD NOT BE HURTFUL # not safe" End ID.]

you come onto a pose about keeping nuance in discussions about kink, and declare a blanket statement like that. on a post that's about wider worldview. the example OP gives as something that should be criticised is so bc it's about how you see POC in a wider context.

two people who enjoy heavy impact play scenes together (a common example given for "bdsm is abuse" type rhetoric) are not inherently viewing or relating to a demographic of people in a particular way. are there straight men into power dynamics where they can hit their partner because they're abusive and sexist and therefore think they should be able to treat any women however they wish ? yes. there are and i wish there wasn't.

are two transfems who have built a longstanding and deep trust, actively work to deconstruct harmful parts of their own worldviews, and still enjoy scenes where one beats the other bloody and bruised, ensuring proper aftercare targeting physical, emotional, and psychological needs, are they engaging in abuse ? is this some sort of secret misogynistic desire ? no, it's practicing kink w/ high awareness of the risks involved. which includes "is this influencing how i think outside the bedroom" and "is this coming from real unexamined biases i have".

now if you're not transfem but have a transfem partner and expect her to embody a dominant role, an aggressive role, then we have an issue. much like in OP's racism example.

you talk about there being many cases of CNC turning into actual rape as if there aren't also many cases of vanilla sex turning into rape.

i promise you, mommydoms aren't all out here secretly wanting to molest kids. you sound like you only saw the part of this post saying "stop assuming all kink is inherently pure" and decided "only my Approved Wholesome Soft UwU Kinks are good and everything else is bad and evil".

and not that this post is asking like, "hey you should rethink why BBC is a porn category"

the elevation of kink and sex into a pure untouchable Good that cannot be criticised is, in fact, not a good thing! kink is - if you'll forgive me - a breeding ground for indulging socially-programmed stereotypes; assigning dark-skinned characters dominant roles by default, and worse, assigning them animalistic, predatory, or forceful roles, diminishing their need for intimacy and care, placing them at the bottom of the rung in terms of sensitivity, receptiveness, and vulnerability, remains racist even if it's in the context of sex and sexuality, and speaks to the way you view and relate to people of colour. it's not a difficult concept to grasp.

[kd89-3dstudios]

💖🍬My Valentine Praline 🍬💖

Hey 😚

I wanted to post this pack yesterday but it took me the whole day to take the pictures with my Sim in the game because my Sims 4 is already very broken, lots of bugs and blah. So I had to clean up a bit. I'm also one of those people who still buys packs even though I haven't played Sims for 2 years. But hey, now for Valentine's Day I'm also coming up with a few pose packs for you and I think you'll love them as always, just like you do. ❤️ You get: 11 couple poses I hope you'll like it. You need: Andrew's Pose Player Teleport Any Sim - Download DO NOT USE THE SLIDER MOD Generally don't use the slider mod with my Posing or Animation. Requirement Teddy bear & Iphone included in the Pack -

Made by StudioK and Natalia-Auditore   HOW TO USE MY POSES LOOK HERE T.O.U: PLEASE ❌ do NOT claim as your own ❌ do NOT edit and reupload ❌ do NOT reupload behind a paywall ❌ do NOT share without my permission Plaese tag me when you use it 🙂 @kd_3d_arts @kd89_3dstudios

DOWNLOAD

[jule116]

I posted a little story my little sister wrote in the arcane fandom a couple days ago, and people really seemed to like it! She just wrote another bit about ambessa and Mel so yeah enjoy! 😅😅😭😭

The first time Ambessa Medarda saw war, she was eight years old.

Her father did not shield her from it—he led her into its jaws.

The sun had barely risen when he took her by the hand, his grip unyielding, and guided her through the charred remains of a village whose name she would never know. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning wood, a noxious perfume that clung to her skin, her hair, the very marrow of her bones.

“Do you hear it?” her father asked, his voice calm, unaffected.

Ambessa did not answer. She did not want to hear it. The cries of the wounded, the wails of mothers clutching lifeless children, the desperate whispers of men begging for mercy—none of it was meant for her ears.

And yet, it was all she could hear.

A man lay sprawled in the mud at her feet, his chest heaving in shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes found hers, dark and wet with terror. He was missing an arm. The stump was jagged, raw, and weeping crimson.

“Please,” he rasped.

Ambessa turned to her father, expecting him to call for a healer. Instead, he drew his blade and drove it into the man’s throat with a sickening crunch.

She gasped, stumbling back, her small hands flying to her mouth.

“Never hesitate,” her father said, wiping his sword clean on the dead man’s tunic. “Mercy is for the weak. Hesitation is a death sentence.”

Ambessa did not answer. Her pulse was a war drum, hammering against her ribs.

They walked deeper into the ruins. The corpses grew thicker, the devastation more complete. Some had been burned alive, their bodies curled in unnatural poses, their mouths frozen in silent screams. A child no older than Ambessa lay beneath the rubble of a collapsed house, a wooden toy sword still clutched in his tiny fist.

Ambessa looked away.

Her father grabbed her chin, forcing her to look.

“Do not turn your back on this,” he said. “This is the world. It does not care for you, and it will not be kind. You will either stand above it or be crushed beneath it.”

She wanted to tell him she understood. That she had learned the lesson he wanted her to learn. But she could not speak.

So she only nodded.

The lesson did not end that day.

She watched her father command armies, wage wars, cut down men with a steady hand and an empty gaze. And he made her watch. He made her understand.

“Strength is all that matters,” he told her, time and time again. “Weakness is a death sentence.”

Ambessa learned.

She learned to wield a sword before she learned to read. She learned to kill before she learned to love. She learned to bury her heart so deep inside herself that even she could no longer hear its cries.

By the time she took her first life with her own hands, she did not flinch.

By the time she led her own battles, she did not hesitate.

By the time she stood at her father’s grave, she did not weep.

She had become what he had forged her to be.

A Medarda.

Unyielding. Unforgiving.

A conqueror.

And yet, sometimes—only in the silence between battles, only in the dead of night when sleep eluded her—she would remember that village.

The bodies.

The fire.

The boy with the wooden sword.

And for the briefest of moments, she would wonder—if she had never seen those things, if her father had let her be a child instead of a weapon—

Would she still be capable of love?

Ambessa Medarda did not believe in love.

She had seen what sentiment did to men—it made them foolish, weak, vulnerable. She had cut down men who begged for their lives, not for themselves, but for the people they loved. She had heard warriors, mighty in battle, cry out for their wives as steel pierced their flesh.

Love was a wound. And she had never allowed herself to bleed.

Until him.

He was not like the men she conquered beside. He did not seek power for the sake of it, did not wield a sword as an extension of his arm, did not believe that war was the answer to all things. He was a diplomat, a scholar, a man of ideas. He spoke of peace, of building rather than destroying. And against all logic, all reason—she loved him for it.

With him, she felt something she had never felt before. Softness. He touched her as though she was more than a weapon, as though she was something worth cherishing, not just wielding.

And when she told him she was with his child, he smiled as if she had just handed him the world.

“Mel,” he whispered, resting his hand against her stomach. “She will be brilliant.”

Ambessa was terrified. She had never known how to be anything but a soldier. How could she be a mother?

But he showed her. He was the warmth she did not know she needed, the balance to her unyielding nature. He held her when nightmares pulled her back to the battlefield. He whispered to Mel while she grew inside her, telling stories of a world Ambessa had long given up on.

For a moment, she believed that perhaps love was not a wound after all.

Then war came.

It always did.

It did not matter that she had tried to build instead of destroy. It did not matter that she had hoped. The world did not care. It never had.

She fought, because that was all she knew how to do. But this time, she was fighting to protect. To defend the life she had built, the family she had sworn never to allow herself to have.

And in the end, she failed.

She found him in the ruins of their home, pinned beneath the rubble, blood painting his lips. His breath was shallow, his eyes distant.

She dropped to her knees beside him, pressing her hands against the wound in his stomach. It was too deep. Too much.

“You’ll be fine,” she told him, because she did not know what else to say.

He smiled, weak and fading. “I suppose… you finally learned to lie.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, her voice breaking. “I will not let you die.”

His fingers found hers. “Take care of her,” he whispered.

Ambessa did not cry when the light left his eyes. She did not scream, did not wail.

She stood, her hands stained with his blood, and ordered the city to burn.

That was the last time she allowed herself to love.

Mel never knew of her father.

Ambessa made sure of it.

She did not speak of him, did not keep his memory alive. What use was a dead man to a girl who would inherit the Medarda name?

Love had made Ambessa weak once. She would not allow it to make Mel the same.

She raised her daughter in steel and silence. There were no bedtime stories, no whispered words of affection. She taught her strategy instead of lullabies, strength instead of sentiment.

She made sure Mel understood the truth of the world—the truth her father had been too blind to see.

Power was all that mattered.

Mel was ten years old the first time Ambessa told her she was weak.

She had always known her mother’s love was different from what she saw in others. The other children had mothers who embraced them when they cried, who kissed their wounds and whispered reassurances.

Ambessa Medarda did not believe in such things.

“You are soft,” she told Mel one evening, after watching her hesitate too long during a strategy lesson. “Weakness is a disease. If you do not cut it out, it will be your downfall.”

Mel wanted to argue, wanted to say that hesitation was not weakness, that there was value in thoughtfulness, in caution. But she had learned long ago that Ambessa did not tolerate defiance.

So she nodded, swallowed her words, and tried to be what her mother wanted.

But it was never enough.

Years passed, and the lessons grew harsher. Ambessa tested her constantly, pushing her harder, waiting for her to break.

And Mel did.

Over and over again.

She was not like her mother. She could not kill without question, could not silence the part of herself that wanted to create rather than destroy.

And Ambessa saw it.

“You are not strong enough to be Medarda,” she said one night, standing over Mel with cold, assessing eyes. “You are not strong enough for Noxus.”

Mel’s breath caught. The words struck harder than any blade. “Mother, I can—”

“You cannot.” Ambessa’s tone was final. “I have no use for weakness in my house.”

Mel stared at her, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that would tell her this was not rejection. That Ambessa was not throwing her away.

But her mother’s eyes were unreadable, her face carved from stone.

“You will leave for Piltover,” Ambessa continued, as though this was nothing more than another lesson, another strategy. “You will find power in their wealth, in their politics. You will use your mind, since your heart makes you unfit for war.”

Mel did not know when the tears began to fall. She wiped them away quickly, but it was too late. Ambessa had already seen.

Her mother sighed. Not with sadness, not with regret. With disappointment.

“You see?” she said. “This is why you will never survive here.”

Mel wanted to scream. To beg. To prove she could be strong enough.

But deep down, she knew it was pointless.

Ambessa had already decided.

And just like that, Mel Medarda was sent away—not as an exile, but as an investment. A tool to be sharpened in a different kind of battlefield.

She did not cry when she boarded the ship to Piltover.

She did not look back.

Because if her mother had taught her anything, it was this—

Weakness had no place in the Medarda name.

Piltover was not Noxus, but it was its own kind of battlefield.

Mel learned quickly—power did not come from brute strength here, but from influence, from the ability to manipulate, to control without ever drawing a blade.

Yet, it was not enough.

No matter how high she climbed, no matter how deeply she wove herself into the city’s politics, she still felt weak. The voice of her mother echoed in her mind, a ghost she could never silence.

And then, the Black Rose found her.

They whispered to her of power beyond anything her mother could comprehend—power that did not come from steel, but from the unseen forces that ruled the world from the shadows.

She listened.

She learned.

She took that power into herself, let it change her, shape her, sharpen her into something new.

By the time war came for Piltover, by the time Noxus marched at Ambessa Medarda’s command, Mel was ready.

The battlefield was not a throne room. It did not care for politics, for manipulation, for whispered deals in the dark.

It was blood and fire. Steel and death.

And now, mother and daughter stood across from each other, two figures amidst the ruin of war.

Ambessa had always imagined that if she saw Mel again, she would find a woman broken by the softness of Piltover. But the daughter before her now was something else.

There was darkness in her eyes, power curling around her like shadows given form. The Black Rose’s mark was upon her, unmistakable.

Ambessa almost smiled.

“So,” she said, raising her blade. “You finally found strength.”

Mel did not answer. She only lifted her hand, and the battlefield twisted at her command.

The fight was brutal.

Ambessa had fought countless warriors, had cut down kings and warlords alike. But this—this was different.

Mel did not fight with swords, but with sorcery, with a will that bent reality itself.

Ambessa countered with steel and experience, pushing forward, relentless. A lesser opponent would have faltered, would have been crushed beneath her might.

But Mel did not falter.

She did not hesitate.

And in the end, it was she who struck the final blow.

Ambessa staggered, feeling the cold grip of death wrap around her. She fell to her knees, blood spilling from the wound Mel had carved into her.

She looked up at her daughter—her victor.

And for the first time in her life, she felt something like pride.

“You did well,” she murmured, voice thick with blood.

Mel’s hands trembled, her expression unreadable. But she did not look away. She did not weep.

Ambessa gave her the faintest nod.

“Good.”

And with that, Ambessa Medarda, the great conqueror, fell.

Her daughter had surpassed her at last.

[fictionalcharactersownmyheart]

Light of the Flame

Touya x f!reader

‘We can’t know each other anymore, Touya. I’m a pro-hero now.’

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut. A pro-hero. Of course you were. Because you were perfect and good and everything he’d never be.

After waking up for the first time since that night at Sekoto Peak, Touya thought he would spend the rest of his years in solitude. He had no idea how wrong his prediction would be.

contains: strangers to friends to enemies to lovers, yes wild I know, slow burn, canon-typical violence, will follow the canon for the most part, hawks shows up in later chapters, fluff and angst

note: This fic begins with Touya and the reader at 16, though it'll soon get to them when they're older. I’ve always wondered how Touya lived during those years when he was on his own, before joining the League, which inspired this. I’ve written more chapters on AO3 already, but I’ve decided to put the first chapter here. Not sure if I’ll continue posting this one to tumblr, so if you’re interested pls do keep reading there! Link is at the bottom.

Chapter 1 - A Convenient Arrangement

When Touya was thirteen, he thought he’d died.

He woke up three years later to blinding lights and the sickeningly colorful walls of a nursery in a body he couldn’t recognize. Older, taller, and scarred.

The strange people he woke up to told him to stay, but Touya doesn’t do what people want. The only person whose words carry any weight is his father. He’d go back home, his father will welcome him back, and he’d be trained by him as before. And… Touya would make things right. He’d go to his family, apologize, and everything would be good again.

That fantasy shatters when he discovers the same cold, oppressive house. Unchanged. Through a crack in a doorway, Touya sees his replacement: a boy in familiar poses, fists clenched, face set in a look of raw determination. He sees his father, eyes angry and proud, training his new project without hesitation. There was no pause for the son he had lost. Did his death mean so little to them? That’s how fast they forget?

Replaced and forgotten, Touya clenches his fists and leaves the house with a rage simmering like embers reigniting into flame. With nothing to his name, he’d nicked a few items from a convenience store and made an abandoned building not far from the city his home. It would have to do.

He steals a laptop to entertain the mind. He finds a mattress in the abandoned building, dirty and decaying, but it was no worse than returning to the house he grew up in.

He spends hours - days, weeks - watching videos of Endeavor, learning his techniques. In that way, he was still being trained by him. Videos of people praising Endeavor fills his heart with endless rage, and it’s enough to drive him to wake up the next morning.

Touya quickly accepts that this would be his life for the years to come. It'd be a life of solitude, but his chance at a normal life died three years ago at Sekoto. He would be better alone. He’d train, and swore to eventually expose his father. Touya would often envision the confrontation - his father’s face twisting in disbelief as he laid bare the truth. He envisions a face of regret, of pain, and sometimes he envisions his father in awe of how far his quirk had come. Though he never envisions the latter without pure, unbridled hurt accompanying his father’s expression.

As he sits in the corner of the room lost in these thoughts, a month into his solitary routine, a sound breaks through the silence.

Footsteps echo through the building.

Touya tenses. The sound ignites panic in his chest, but he quickly shakes it off. Whatever. He’d burn his way through, as usual. He stays silent, listening attentively. There's only one person, it seems. The footsteps become louder. He prepares to see some criminal - who else would enter an abandoned building? But that's nothing he can't handle-

A girl his age walks in, adorning sportswear. You.

He observes you quietly, his body relaxing all at once but his mind still on guard. You don’t notice him and put your bag down, sighing. The stress of school has been catching up to you, so you regrettably haven't been able to return to this building in a while.

As you turn you see a white haired boy - wearing a black jacket, loose jeans and slouched in the corner of the room - and let out a startled yelp, jumping slightly.

"Oh my god! Holy shit- sorry, I’ve never seen somebody else here before-"

"Who the fuck are you?" Touya snaps, his defenses rising again. He was curious at first, but now all he registers you as is a nuisance.

Touya doesn’t know how to deal with you. This building doesn’t belong to him. Also, the most he’s ever done was burn down that nursery and steal. Can he really threaten some girl away? Or worse?

You freeze for a moment, taken aback by his tone. You give him your name. "I’m… I’m usually here to train. I haven’t seen you before." You take note of the light pink burn marks on his face.

"Well, I haven’t seen you, and I’ve been here for a month." He shoots back.

You huff. "That’s because it was exam season. Couldn’t come for a bit. Didn’t you have that too?"

He pauses. There’s no need to reveal information about himself. But also, he hasn’t had a real human conversation in three years. He decides he can let himself entertain this. "I don’t go to school."

"Oh, shit" That’s when you notice the mattress, the resources at the back - right. You really screwed that one up, well done. "Oh, well, I’m sorry." You pause. Clearly he needs this space more than you. You consider leaving, finding another building, but this is the closest one to your house. "...D’you mind if I continue training here?"

"Yes”

"Okay great-"

"I said yes. I do mind."

"Oh."

He sees you stuck in place, clearly hesitant to leave. He feels the need to tell you to fuck off, to leave him alone, but a month alone with nothing but Endeavor's face on a screen had become a little unbearable. "…you said you were training?"

You grin, an eager spark igniting in your eyes. "I wanna be a pro-hero-" Touya immediately groans, "-I know it sounds like some stupid dream everyone has when they’re, like, twelve. My quirk isn’t much right now, but in theory, it could be super useful."

He eyes you up and down. For an aspiring pro-hero, your frame is a little weak. You don’t hold yourself with confidence- and, shit. Now memories of training with his dad come rushing back to him. He quickly pushes them aside. "What’s your quirk?"

Oh, so now you look excited, he notices. You eagerly extend a hand out slightly, pointing a finger. The light from the setting sun pouring into the window becomes a little dimmer, and you create a projection of a small, glowing bird flying through the air. Light manipulation? It lands on Touya’s shoulder. He can feel a slight weight. No. That, and light materialization.

He looks at you unimpressed. "That’s it?"

You panic. "Wait- don’t you see? If I manage to create bigger things- I could make any weapon I’d like. I could also materialize light under my feet as I step, and then I’d be able to travel through air- look, I’ve been trying-"

He observes as you lift a foot. Sure enough, he sees a slight glowing platform form underneath.

"But it’s not strong enough yet to carry my weight" you continue, "It’s a work in progress."

Your determination feels oddly nostalgic, Touya thinks.

"What about you?" you chirp up, "What’s your quirk?"

He hesitates. He creates a blue flame in his hand, and you gasp in awe.

"Pretty flame… and powerful. God, you’d make a great pro. You’d easily get into UA."

He ignores the pro-hero comment. That’s a dream he can’t entertain again. "UA? You trynna go there?"

You nod. "Mhm. Their entrance exam is in a few months. Otherwise… My parents really want me to go to a normal highschool. But they’re willing to hear out my stupid dream for a little, I guess",

"Stupid dream, alright" Touya mutters, mulling over something. He figures he can turn this situation in his favor. After all, what good is training if he can’t practice against someone? You seem pliant. He’s sure asking some villain to fight with him would be more trouble than he needs at this stage. And if he does tell you to get out, he’ll have to find somewhere else to stay incase you tell somebody, which he sure as hell doesn’t want to do after spending ages finding a suitable building. He could also… get rid of you, or threaten you, but given that he’s currently working with nothing, maybe you can be of use. After a pause, he looks at you directly and decides to speak. "You can keep training here. As long as you train with me."

You look at him dumbfounded, eyes widening. What? "You would? You’re not messing with me?”

"Yes." He doesn’t know if he should find your reaction irritating or amusing. You seem naive and harmless enough that you wouldn’t go talking. Plus, you’ve been training in this dump. Doesn’t take him long to figure out you’ve been keeping your little training sessions private. "I need a sparring partner."

You have no idea who this dude is - hasn’t even given you his name - but you mull over his suggestion anyways. He seems confident in his abilities. Anyone else you’ve asked to train with you has brushed you off. So…

"Okay. Yes."

He stands. "Alright, we start today." He walks to stand directly in front of you, but retains a good distance. "Can you defend yourself?"

You sheepishly respond. "If you throw a ball at me, I can materialize a light shield and deflect. Figured that one out during dodgeball…"

He hums. "What about a flame?"

Your eyes widen a little, "I think that’s too much of a jump-"

"Gotta try."

With that, he ignites a small flame, its blue glow brightening the room. You brace yourself, anticipating his next move. He launches fire toward you, and you instinctively create a barrier of light, absorbing the impact whilst flinching away. The heat washes over you, and you can feel the strain of maintaining the projection.

"You need to be faster."

"That-" you look at him incredulously "you almost killed me!"

He rolls his eyes, scoffing. "That would’ve given your arm a burn at most. Do you want training, or not? You’ll face worse at UA.”

You huff, crossing your arms. "Give me a moment to prepare next time. And make your fire weaker-"

He laughs, slightly taunting but genuinely amused. His attitude irks you. Fine. You send a materialized boomerang at his face. He dodges easily.

"Easy there. Predictable, try harder." Touya’s smirk widens. Holy shit, he muses. He forgot what having fun was like.

He sends flames at you again - weaker this time, you note - and with much effort and frustration you create barriers. He continues until he notices that they’re becoming weaker.

"You need to counter-attack."

"I’m trying-"

"Then try harder.”

He continues his attack. You try your best, using one hand to shield, the other to send materialized darts at Touya. It’s the best you can do, for now.

"These darts are weak-"

"I can’t make anything stronger whilst I shield-", you shoot back in frustration.

After an hour of training, you suddenly let up, exhausted. You didn’t land a single hit. Touya stops his fire, barely tired, running on an adrenaline high. You try to catch your breath.

"Maybe-" you try to calm your breathing, panting, "Maybe they’re right- maybe I’m not suited for this- my quirk just isn’t made for it-"

Something about your resignation hits Touya harder than it should. A surge of heat rises through him, though he’s not angry - at least not at you. Another memory flashes in his mind.

"That’s not true." The words slip out before he can stop himself, coming out harsher than he expected like you’d just insulted him. He then stays silent, closing his mouth, unsure of how to follow that up.

"No, but it is-"

"You’ll train." He speaks against his own will again, with more conviction than intended. "You’ll train, and you’ll get better. You’re spouting bullshit."

"But you see, I suck-"

"Yeah you do. But that’s temporary." He wants to deck himself. Since when was he the type to comfort? But maybe, he knows exactly what you need to hear right now. And he can’t stop himself.

You look at him a little shocked, his encouraging words contrasting his harsh attitude from earlier. Your surprised reaction annoys him, and he’s about to throw an insult to make up for his words until you respond. "Okay…. Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m done for today, though…"

He watches you carefully as you pick up your bag, seemingly lost in thought.

"Are you always here?"

His immediate reflex is to say no. Because a normal person wouldn’t stay in an abandoned building all day. Because a normal person would have a family, or friends, or a hobby - but he doesn’t have any of that, not anymore. He only goes out to steal, and to use the public showers at a sports center.

"…yes" He hesitantly responds. "Yes, I am."

"Okay. I’ll be back then, weekly around this time. Or- well, I didn’t consider when you’d want me here."

"Anytime. Don’t care."

You stand there, pausing for a moment. He still hasn’t told you his name, you point out to him. He considers his options, then concludes you’re harmless enough. You won’t know any better.

"Touya."

You smile. "Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Touya. I hope I can be a good training partner… eventually."

He hums. He watches you wave at him and walk out of the building and the sun goes down. He sits back down on the rusty mattress, and for the first time he becomes acutely aware of how quiet the building is. There’s no hum from the air conditioning, no sound of Fuyumi and Natsuo playing in the courtyard, no sound of his mother running a bath for Shoto - no sound of the world moving on without him. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

His mind wanders back to you. He wonders whether he’d made a mistake agreeing to let you stay. I’m just using her, he thinks. It’s a convenient arrangement. I can actually spar with someone. Don’t have time for silly shit. She’s just using me, too.

But as he sinks into the worn mattress, a nagging thought lingers. A small, stupidly hopeful thought that creeps into the back of his mind - that maybe, for the first time in his life, he would worth something to someone. Touya hates to admit it, but he craves more of the admiration you expressed when he showed you his quirk.

He pushes down that thought as quickly as it comes, replaced by the satisfying image of his father looking up at him in anguish again. Right.

[beatlblog]

#they should have had this treatment during 68-69#they wouldnt have broken up imo 😔 (via @jarsfullofstarrs)

#ringo john paul and fifth beatle (via @misunderstandings-georg)

#this is what mark david chapman should've fucking done (via @ossifer)

#john no ass TRUE (via @necrophagesaint)

#is george in the fucking peter griffin death pose???#i’m dying 😂😂😂 (via @verydazedveryconfused)

#this will go into my list of favorites I have seen born out of#the glue trap posts. Like yeah this is just what the beatles look like (via @icarianarts)

#this really happened I seened it (via @rusholme)

#this is yoko ono erasure#unless thats her face down in the glue idk i dont know my beatles (via @ourladyoftheflytrap)

that may be the answer they were looking for in why don't we do it in the road (via @stumblngrumbl)

#ivan simon's worst nightmare (via @theflirtmeister)

#ringo’s horrified dying scream is genuinely disturbing me#also WHY DOES GEORGE HAVE MORE ASS THAN JOHN#this is biblically innacurate (via @thegalaxyinapaperbag2)

#this probably isn’t it but based off my doctor who mutuals this is basically the new episode?#I know the new one got something to do with the beetles#and the maestro (via @birdy-bird27)

#did wingo gonge bong & beatle really deserve this? (via @sylviaaaaaaaaaaaa)

#yknow this is actually precisely what they deserved#& the fact no one did this to them is the exact reason the world is so bad today (via @anarcho-sexual)

#imagine theres no heaven (via @brainw0rm5)

#stooooooooooooooop ringo looks like a fucked up moomin (via @dijon-mayonnaise)

#i hate the Beatles all of them.. gringle gongle pongle and john#/j (via @spirking-and-sparkling)

mostly john

Ob La Di? Heh. More like...

Ob LaDIE

(via @voxblade)

#okay ❤️ yay ❤️#the beatles#i need a clever queue tag#george harrison family guy fall pose real (via @cheriboms)

#yoko put them there (via @damagedlemons)

#it's what tolkien would've wanted (via @screwdisimgoinhome)

#ringo would somehow survive (via @realrogerhours)

#good riddance#the beatles#just noticed how cheeked up george is wowza#mr no ass gets the cheeks as a treat (via @nyxnoxxx)

#very earthbound image (via @bigbroemen)

#so soulful (via @h4ngedm1n)

#stu sutcliffe dodged being in the beatles and dying in this glue trap (via @baylen)

#i really enjoy that this is beatles circa sgt pepper (via @auxphonographic-dysphonia)

#how they lost the original paul (via @vault76)

#yuo should have given them little penisses (via @normalbrothers)

#LMAOO#is yhe tiny booty not enough for u??? (via @mmeathead)

#choosing to read those tags in a gollum voice (via @sumikatt)

John's buttcrack is too small (via @bi-ace-acle)

#holy FUCK this post has 17k notes???#my little beables blew up#oh now there's an idea#someone should draw that.....#the beatles being kerploded........ (via @70snasagay)

Smesrhglre will not apologize for messagesses (via @oneofathousentdumbasses)

#their penises got eaten off 😢#by the mice (via @wolfcrush)

#the ripped off during their attempts to escape (via @quirkybird)

#bingo starr finally got them all ....... (via @gayrmlin)

#the oenises would add to it for sure (via @hardcorehashbrown)

#unreleased beatles single dying in glue trap with your mates its called#boy's world (via @edgarware)

#nooo q les paso (via @itwasmaroonnn)

#the complete anguish in johns expression. good#also i love that you gave george an ass. that man was flat as a board thanks for the charity (via @wronglennon)

#1969#know your herstory#the bottles (via @brltpop)

#imagine all the people#dying in a glue trap (via @i-arch-my-backula)

#I love this art so much!!#still insane I have it tattooed on me (via @bandi-off)

#society if etc etc (via @soldiermywinter)

#the beatles#no wait these are#the bottles (via @noleygonteevee)

good on the correction

All of the Beatles dying in a glue trap

[lleeeee1]

Flowy tallests

[buttercupshands]

(Forgot to post again)

A birthday present for a friend :)

[intramoon]

To be reborn, you have to die first.

[heartorbit]

the star you've longed for

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[sergle]

When ppl will create a "curvy" girl character and get pretty much the whole body's proportions right, obviously they're putting emphasis on bust/hips but it seems like it's being executed well--- except that they completely, fully, and deliberately, skip the stomach entirely. Just nothin there. Not even a whisper. I'm like. Just sack up, make it make sense and be honest with yourself by making it official and say it's canon that they got a tummy tuck. You cowardly ass, yellow bellied, wet brained, upside-down dog mouthed dirty bitch.

[anonymouscheeses]

They are everything to me.

[quieticmoss]

Finally drew Goldfinch fan art! They are definitely my favorite duo

[mars-ipan]

so we all saw @dr2-hell's updated bunnymaeda design right. because i sure as hell did

[crystallizsch]

“I don't remember the last time I went waltzing in fancy dresses... Come dance with me! You’re my guinea pig for tonight to see if I still got the moves, hehe. Maybe then I’ll have a shot at this ‘Midnight Princess’ thing. …Chill, I’m just kidding. Or am I?”

Yuusha Tala Midnight Waltz (fan event by @midnightmah07)

MAH HI HI CONGRATS ON 1.5K FOLLOWERS 💥💥💥🎉🎉🎉

i’m really glad to have met you, it’s fun chatting and seeing you in the dash!! thank you for doing this fun event and being such a cool person and sharing your art/writing/ocs!! i hope you keep doing what you love, you deserve this so much and more!! 🫶🫶🫶💖💕💖💕🔥🙏

[buwheal]

BEACH OUTFIT 💥💥💥💥

He used to surf the web back in 98'.