#let me know if you want posts about this to be tag with something else

[bokunokamijirou]

lowk hear me out:

post war, touya is recovering in the hospital, and rei comes and visits reader in jail to learn more about her son since they were dating 🥺

A Mother's Word

TouyaxF!Reader

ft. Rei Todoroki

You had told the guards no visitors. You knew if anyone were to come see you, it'd just be to laugh in your face.

The war wasn't kind to you, but it was harsher to your boyfriend, Touya. While he was burning alive with his family, you were attempting to subdue heroes far from your love.

It's what All For One insisted upon, so you had to listen.

But you didn't join the League for him. Not even for Touya. The message that Shigaraki was spreading about a world where people who were seen as villains had the same chances as heroes? That was something you wanted, no, needed to believe in. Your family abandoned you when you were younger, and you'd been running along the streets ever since.

You joined the League and found your new family, purpose, and the love of your life.

You just didn't know what it meant, loving Dabi. Because you didn't love him, no, well- maybe you did. But it was Touya, the man he was when it was just you two, alone- that's who you love.

So, imagine your surprise when you discover his own mother had arrived to visit you. You had only heard short stories about Rei, and you weren't entirely sure what to expect when you met her.

The guards approach you, asking if you'd see her. She hid behind them clutching her bag, but the sadness and exhaustion across her face made you feel sympathetic. He had her eyes, after all.

"Okay, just this once," you manage to croak out as you suddenly feel self-concsious. What could she want? Is Touya recovering still? Is Endeavour coming too? He better not, you'd go feral trying to hurt him. Even if Touya didn't want you to, you'd always hate that man for what he did to his family.

"I- I was just visiting Touya in the hospital yesterday" Rei says quietly as she stands in front of the bars caging you in. "He was asking about you."

"Typical Touya, worried more about me than he is about himself. I'm doing fine..." you reply coldly, avoiding eye contact.

"He- he said he wanted me to meet you." Rei placed her hand gently on the metal bars separating you both.

You stop and glance up at her, the way her eyes were pleading for answers made you freeze. "He said that to me too, before, you know-" you respond softly this time.

"Can you... can you tell me about him?" Rei's voice cracks as she asks.

"About him?" You look at her puzzled.

"My son, he was so young when he disappeared that I- what's he like?" Rei questioned, her eyes wide.

"Touya... Touya he's-" You start and choke back the tears that are trying to fall. "He's an idiot. He doesn't think before he jumps into danger because he's not afraid to die... that's how we met actually." You smile fondly as you wipe the small drops of water off your cheeks.

"I was supposed to just do recon for the League, my first solo mission. But it was a trap and the heroes had me cornered. I didn't know what to do- I froze. I was ready to give up. Then Touya just kind of showed up, right in front of me. Didn't even think twice."

Rei hesitantly smiles as she nods, "That sounds a lot like Touya, glad to know he didn't lose that part of him."

"He's protective, that's for sure. Got jealous easily... whenever they'd send me on missions without him he'd find some way to tag along. I think that ever since we met, it was like he felt he had to protect me... like he was afraid to ever lose me" you start to cry and let your head fall into your hands.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry dear. I didn't mean to make you cry," Rei frowns.

"I love him so much... you created a beautiful son- I just miss him so much" you manage to sob out.

Rei nods, wiping her own tears, “what else do you love about him?”

“He was honest with me… he told me about you all too, before we even started dating…”

Rei freezes, but continues listening.

“He’s a great listener. Lets me talk about anything. And god, when you get him started, he never shuts up…” You smile to yourself. “What I’d do to hear his stupid voice again…”

"He's going to be okay... he's recovering..." She smiles reassuringly but with a pang of sadness.

"Can you tell him something for me the next time you see him?" You ask her hopefully. Rei nods in response.

"No goodbyes, I'll see you soon, idiot." you smile and finally lift your head to meet Rei's eyes once more. She smiles and nods.

You didn’t think this was how you’d meet your future mother-in-law, but your relationship with Touya had never been predictable anyways.

[manonssunset]

"COSA NUESTRA"

pairing: kim minjeong x fem!reader

synopsis: minjeong, a regular like you at the jazz lounge, decided to challenge you, unaware of what was about to unfold.

warnings/tags: language, suggestive, the story takes place in 1978, ending hints at nsfw content, minjeong is wearing the same outfit as the photo, heavy sexual tension, reader is kinda nonchalant help

wc: +2,5k

a/n: I was heavily inspired by my man's new album, I literally fell in love with the retro/1970 vibes, and also, minjeong in that outfit made me lose my mind. in this fic, I describe pool dynamics using specific terms. if you need some clarifications, I made a post with what everything means.

The warmth of the lounge atmosphere was a great contrast to the typical november cold weather, an atmosphere you were quite used to: young beautiful women dancing to the band’s jazz melodies, swaying their bodies to the rhythm, their partners chattering and laughing while clouding the room up with a thin layer of smoke. you passed the pool tables, the unmistakable sound of the billiard balls colliding and cristal glass clinking filling the air. you slid through the crowd and found your way to the bar, taking a seat on one of the black leather stools. 

“excuse me, could you pass me the newspaper ma'am?” you requested the gentlewoman sitting beside you, noticing the pile of papers stacked neatly in front of her. saying she was beautiful was an understatement, she looked sharp in the suit she was wearing, her tie perfectly knotted, and her vest hugged her waist deliciously. she was a regular just like you, you’d seen her before, but you’d always kept your distance, never quite summoning the courage to strike up a conversation.

she turned towards you, offering a timid smile. a shade of pink colored her cheeks, probably caused by the alcoholic liquid she was drinking. she answered “absolutely, here you go, ma'am”, extending the arm that wasn't holding the glass to grab the newspaper and handing it to you. your eyes met each other, and it felt like a spark had just been ignited between the two. 

“thank you so much.” you thanked her, smiling back. your heart beating faster, this was your opportunity to get to know her, you had to quickly think about something else to say before the conversation could end. 

“it's my pleasure,” she said softly, fixing a strand of hair behind her ear. “the pleasure is mine… may I ask your name, madam? it's not the first time I've seen you here.” you didn't know where this confidence came from but you sighed in relief when her face cutely lit up at the sudden question, her already pink cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. 

“no I don't mind, it's minjeong, nice to meet you.” she replied, shaking your hand, the soft grip lingering longer than expected, leaving you wanting more. you greeted her back, introducing yourself, settling into a comfortable conversation with the girl, getting to know each other, the newspaper long forgotten. 

“I've seen you play pool before, you're good, but I don't think you can beat me.” she suddenly challenged you, a smirk appearing on her face as she eyed you expectantly, knowing that you wouldn't let someone you just met belittle your skills like that.

“oh, you think you can beat me ma'am?” she was still giggling and repeating herself, stating that she was indeed able to win against you.

a wicked idea formed into your mind, you chuckled slightly before speaking “okay, since you're so sure you can defeat me, let’s make a deal. if you win, I'll let you do whatever you want to me, if you don't, it's the other way around, huh?”. when she grasped what you were insinuating, the face minjeong made was priceless, her smile suddenly dropped and her teasing demeanor quickly faded. you caught with your peripheral view her thighs press tightly together, sensing her newfound feeling of mixed fear and excitement. “s-sure,” she slightly stuttered.

as you two stood up to move to one of the pool tables, you realized how tiny minjeong was, not that you were the tallest or the most muscular but she just looked so easy to manhandle. and, unsurprisingly, you weren’t the only one affected by the size difference, the other girl unconsciously gulped when she had to look up to meet your gaze. “how do we determine who breaks?” she asked, grabbing a cue from the stand.

“well, since you decided to challenge me, I think it’s fair if you start, don’t you agree?” you responded, sliding your long black coat off your shoulders, hanging it to the wall, remaining in your three-piece suit. as you grabbed a cue and the triangle to rack the balls, minjeong nodded affirmatively, her eyes following your every move, exhaling through her nose and mentally preparing herself before starting the match.       

you watched her get in position, sliding the cue between her fingers, hand placed on the table, aiming at the center, taking a deep breath and shooting. a loud thud was heard and the colorful balls started rolling around on the play field, bouncing on the bumpers. it was an impressive start, she managed to pot three striped balls, the decision of the group a predictable and easy task, the advantage she had was clear.

however, that was what an inexperienced person would have thought, minjeong being the example. a more acute observation would have made her realize that choosing to pot another striped ball was going to be her downfall. sure, she was in the lead with only three balls left to pot, meanwhile you still had all seven, but the disposition made reaching the remaining spheres almost impossible. you couldn't help but smile to yourself seeing her concerned face as she realized the challenging situation she had put herself into. 

minjeong adjusted her stance, her brows furrowing in concentration. she leaned over the table, eyes narrowing as she calculated the angle. The cue hovered over the white ball, but she hesitated. her fingers trembled slightly, and she repositioned herself, then again, a growing uncertainty flickering in her movements. a bead of sweat gathered at her temple. the tension in her posture deepened. you could sense the change, the pressure of the game was getting to her. every small shift in her stance seemed to reflect her internal struggle.

you stayed silent for a moment, giving her space to gather herself, but there was something about her now: a vulnerability that had crept into her demeanor. you knew she needed help, not just with the shot but with her growing unease. you took a slow step toward her, feeling the tension between you both build in the air.

you stood behind her, close enough that she could feel your presence, yet still leaving to her the decision to close the distance. minjeong didn’t move at first, but you could tell she was aware of you, her posture slightly stiff as if unsure how to react. then, without asking, you gently placed a hand on her waist, guiding her to shift just a fraction. the contact was light but intentional, enough to make her freeze for a moment.

“let me help,” you said quietly, your voice calm, almost reassuring. there was no force in your words, just a quiet offer. minjeong took a breath, the smallest of nods acknowledging your proximity. her hesitation remained, but she didn’t pull away. as you moved your hand to gently adjust her wrist, you could feel the heat of her skin under your touch. it was subtle, but the way her body first tensed, then relaxed ever so slightly, was telling. you could feel her breath quicken, though she tried to keep it steady. 

"you know that it’s impossible for you not to foul with this layout?” you murmured, your voice low, just above a whisper. “you’re overthinking it. relax a little.” your hand on her waist shifted ever so slightly, guiding her posture, your touch light but firm enough to reassure her that you were there to steady her.

minjeong let out a small breath, her body shifting as you gently moved her hand into a more natural position. the proximity between you felt charged, the space between you both compressed with an electric tension. she didn’t pull away, even though there was a shift in the air, an unspoken awareness between you both.

"if you aim like this, you can at least pot one of your balls, you’re still going to hit one of mine but better that nothing, right?" you added softly, your voice almost a reassurance just for her. she nodded in agreement, her fingers tightened slightly on the cue, but now it felt more controlled, less uncertain. her breath steadied as she prepared for the shot. with a final, silent breath, minjeong lined up her shot once more, her body moving fluidly as she struck. the ball, as you predicted, hit one of yours but thanks to your help she was still able to pot one of hers.

now it was your time to shine, you loosen up your neck and back, grabbed your cue and got into position, aiming, shooting and changing posture repeatedly. the balls were rapidly going in one by one, you used some tricks, showing off your skills you acquired over time. potting the first six balls had been quite easy, the real challenge was the last one, you were having the opposite problem that minjeong had, one of her striped spheres was in the way to pot your seventh. the only way to escape this situation, was to try a complicated shot.

you bent over the table, aimed, calibrated the strength you would need, and forcefully shot. your eyes fixed on the ball, following its movements, hoping for the best. the trick had worked, your ball hadn’t collided with minjeong’s one, running to the other side of the table, getting closer and closer to the pocket. you were ready to celebrate when the ball started to slow down and stopped right before falling in. “damn it! It was so close!” you exclaimed, disappointed in yourself.

the other girl, who had been attentively watching you play, walked over to you and gently lifted her arm to pat your shoulder as a sign of sympathy. “don’t feel sad for one bad shot, you did amazing until now,” she reassured you, a warm feeling spread through your body making you blush. “thank you minjeong, I really appreciate it,” you replied, caressing her arm back to show gratitude. you saw her cheeks redden when she heard you say her name, averting her gaze and softly smiling. 

you were now taking in the fact that minjeong was probably going to win, it was easy, you cleared the table for her, she just needed to do some simple shots to succeed. and that's exactly what she was doing, potting her last two balls before aiming for her victory. you were observing from the other side, apprehensive of your evident losing condition, resting your chin on your hands that held the cue vertically. 

but when everything seemed to be already written, the unpredictable happened: yes minjeong did indeed pot the eight ball, but she also potted the cue ball, automatically making you the winner of the match.

as the game came to its unexpected end, a grin stretched across your face. you couldn’t help it: there was something intoxicating about this power shift. minjeong’s bright eyes flickered with frustration, then embarrassment, and the slightest hint of disbelief. she had lost. the moment was almost cinematic, the dim lighting casting a golden hue over her features. she looked... entranced, still processing the outcome.

her gaze was fixed on you, lips slightly parted. you could see the vulnerability beneath the surface. her hands hung loosely by her sides, but you could feel the tension radiating from her, like a pull between the two of you, a magnetic force that neither of you could deny. as you moved closer, her breath caught, and her body stiffened, but there was something else now: a faint glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. she bit her lip, her pupils dilating as your face came nearer.

you paused, contemplating your next move, her eyes were begging for proximity, flickering between your lips and your gaze, a slight tension building up in her shoulder as if she was anticipating your touch. her body leaned your way as a silent welcoming sign, and you took it, cupping her face gently, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your palms. the hum of conversation and laughter around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble. her breath quickened. “relax, minjeong,” you murmured, your voice low, comforting, and commanding all at once. “it’s going to feel good.”

you took a deep breath, you were engulfed in the sweet scent she emanated, surely not a cheap perfume. the richness of the jasmine mixed with vanilla acting as an invisible thread that pulled you in every time she was near, a fragrance you’d come to associate with her. minjeong’s eyes narrowed, hesitation made clear by her parted lips, mouth muscles slightly twitching as she was trying to say something, but was too scared to. should she risk it all like this? her heartbeat louder as it echoed in her chest.  

a beat passed before she found the courage to whisper, almost too quietly to hear, “can you kiss me... please?” her hands, trembling slightly, found their way to your waist, pulling you in. the uncertainty in her voice made the request all the more enticing. she wanted it. she needed it. you could feel the weight of that simple plea hanging between you, thick with unspoken desire. 

you sensed some unwelcome eyes turning your way, a few lingering glances that had you unconsciously tighten the grip on her face in possessiveness, wondering if it was the right thing to continue right there. the bubble that you were both in had dissolved just for a second, you were now hyper aware of your surroundings, the laughing and clinking had become an unwanted intrusion to your intimate moment. your attention swinged back to her face, your furrowed brows trying to communicate your discomfort non-verbally to the other girl.     

you hesitated before speaking “in front of everybody? don’t you think it’s a little… dangerous?”, the question hung in the air, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you were giving her a moment to decide. she glanced around, eyes darting from yours to scan person per person, the idea of kissing you in front of so many people was suddenly very real. minjeong’s gaze flickered back to yours, a blush crept up her neck, she let out a soft laugh, more of a nervous exhale than anything else. her lips remained parted, but no words came out, just a soft hum of uncertainty. 

that was the telltale sign that your feelings were mutual. you then let go of her cheeks, you gently placed your hand on top of hers, taking her arm, fingers curling around her delicate skin. the soft warmth of her pulse under your touch was a subtle reminder of how close she was. “let’s go to the bathrooms, it’s more secluded.” you speak in a low and controlled voice, keeping the whispery connotation of your last conversation. you let the words linger just enough to make minjeong feel a heat spread through her body, making her wonder what exactly you meant by “more secluded”. 

her train of thoughts interrupted by a graceful pull on her arm, with every step you took, you drew her closer to the promise of something more. she followed without thinking, her feet moving on their own, a warm tension building within her with each step, her pulse quickening as the distance between you two seemed to shrink, leaving her breathless with anticipation.

a/n: should I do a part 2?? 🤔

[choshasan]

Why do we find it okay as artists to redo "the greats" arts, to make 1:1 of them, to use them as practice, to refference them in our own works,

But then if you did the same with a small artist's work, you're suddenly an art theif, a cheater, a liar, a terrible person??

Why is it acceptable for me to make fanart of any anime character I so please, but if I come across someone's OCs online I'm expected to ask their concent if I wanna make fanart?

Small artists and "the greats" are the same, we're all just artists.

I genuinly don't understand it. If I want to paint a 1:1 of The desperate Man (Gustave Courbet), or if I wanna make a thousand fanarts of Deadpool that's fully okay, but if I even think of doing that with a small artist, it's suddenly one of the worst treasons I could have ever commited on art and I get stripped of my title of artist??

That's the thing I hate the most of the art community too, you're expected to know from the beginning all these sets of "rules" and are never given an explanation to them

Like, I remember getting fucking torn to shreads on instagram once, when I was fucking 11-12 years old, because I found a drawing I liked on google, decided to redraw it in the exact style with different colors for the characters, like?? Sorry, I am a *child* who doesn't know shit about the internet and tried to do something I thought was nice and neat???

And the worst part is, deppending where your art lands? Some artists will tell you it's okay, there's no rules to art, do as you want!

And others will send you death threats for so much as existing bruh.

To me personally, I fall in the category of art has one rule; don't claim another person's work as your own. Don't just screenshot someone's art, post it and say you made it.

(Obv with the new age, don't use A.I., but that'll never be art so.. 💀)

For everything else, there are no rules. Trace, copy, make a 1:1, build upon pre-existing works, draw someone's OCs, share your own OCs, inspire yourself of different works and mediums, do as you wish, share what you want, art is not something to be gatekept, it's the most human thing there is. Music, drawing, painting, writing, feeling inspired, Creating. it all comes to us naturally as humans. We all love beauty and creating it. Let's not stop eachother from experiencing the beauty of creation. ♡

Also, never try to ruin someone else's work or tear them down, but that mostly applies to everything in life, not art specifically..

Lets build a beautiful community together and nurture eachother's talents with love and appreciation ♡

Feel free to reblog & add any tags to this! I tried to tag as many art forms / communities as I could think right now ♡

[pinkandpurple360]

yikes at that anon lecturing you, but especially at this part

Paying attention to Stolas language in Murder Family, fucked up context aside, he don't bring up consequences if Blitz didn't accept the trade neither mentioned his power to threat him to accept it either, he offered and even asked if it's fair, someone as powerful as Stolas could control Blitz easily, yet he doesn't and it shows a lot about his character, but of fucking course you all don't care about that, Stolas is a big meanie.

what is it with Stolas fans and acting like what he says is the only thing that matters in that scene? saying 'fucked up context aside' is just trying to sweep away the entire problem people have with that scene

the context is what makes it unfair. the context is the threat to make Blitzo accept the deal - Stolas knew Blitzo was in danger and couldn't think straight and kept the call going anyway. there was a literal threat to Blitzo's life that Stolas was leveraging to get him to agree. the context is also where the control comes in - Blitzo needs access to the book therefore Stolas has control over him, because Blitzo has significant reason to agree regardless of whether he wants to or not to be able to keep being able to eat and house both himself and Loona. this isn't that hard to understand; it's no different than a power difference between a tenant and a landlord. except Stolas is worse because he's literal royalty and Blitzo is part of a species considered less than dirt

and Blitzo especially has reason to think there will be consequences for saying no because Stolas is showing him through ignoring all the signs he's in danger on that phone call that he does not care for his wellbeing - he called when Blitzo's life was in danger and he knew that full well. there's no 'yeah but'-ing to get out of that one. saying 'well Stolas could have been way more overt with his control!' is not a defense. Stolas is such a malicious abuser because he's the one person in the cast who isn't a mustache-twirling silent movie villain about it, because he'll do things like say 'sound fair?' when everything about the situation is weighted in his favor. this part is basically saying 'he could have been super obvious about how he was going to force Blitzo into sex but because he tried to pretend like he was being fair (even when he blatantly wasn't) that shows what a good person he is!'

also this:

This misconception you all have that Stolitz fans think all this needs to happen is Blitz to confess, and that Stolas has nothing more to improve is just wrong. Just plain wrong. I love both of these characters and I hate seeing an enormous mischaracterization of both.

I personally haven't seen the (remaining) Stolitz shippers saying this for one simple reason: I avoid their spaces. I don't like seeing posts similar to anon's where anything Stolas does wrong is the result of a misunderstanding or just Blitzo taking it badly because he's insecure or something, or worse where the very obvious signifiers of abuse on Stolas' part are handwaved away. I know that stuff will bug me so I avoid it

but anon clearly doesn't abide by the same rules. they're so bothered by a 'mischaracterization' of their faves that they're marching into people's inboxes to write long screeds about how antis are just missing the point or whatever else.

if there's only one anon or several my advice is the same: stay out of anti spaces. you clearly can't handle it and you need to stop making it everyone else's problem. if this ramping up of pestering people is some strange attempt to shut down criticism of the next ep before it even drops, you're wasting your time. the view counts on helluva show it's turned off a lot of people and you can't debate someone back into loving something that's let them down too many times

just go enjoy the show in your own spaces and block tags/people whose takes you don't want to see. trying to police people's critiques on helluva is both a losing battle and a waste of time

“Stolas is great if you just pay attention to his sad backstory and try not to think about the bad stuff he did. And attribute all the bad stuff to Blitz being a mentally ill tsundere”

Any time I am exposed to a owlizard shipper it’s always against my will despite my best efforts, because they are absolutely everywhere. The creator of the show is one of them, the entire show was thrown out to instead be catered to them and their headcanons. They make up almost the entire fan space and in fact shippers write and animate the very show itself.

But it’s still not good enough? They still have to rant about people that aren’t on their team?

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[toddtakefive]

thinking about todd and his resolve toward… not quite isolation, but being alone in a room full of people again. he goes along to the study room to sit on his own and do his homework, he sits at the poets table and follows along with what’s being said while keeping quiet, he goes to the meetings at all but doesn’t necessarily contribute (in fact, if you watch him when cameron is telling the story ‘from camp in sixth grade’, you can see that he recognizes it before any of the other poets but doesn’t voice it until they all have). he’s not alone, necessarily, if you want to get technical about it, he’s just lonely, and he’s generally okay with that. he doesn’t have friends and that’s fine, he doesn’t participate in class and that’s fine, he doesn’t have a relationship with his family and that’s fine—he could live without any real connection and he’d have been, more or less, fine.

the thing about when he says “i can take care of myself just fine!” is that he isn’t really wrong, you can infer that he’s been doing it his entire life anyway, it’s that ‘taking care of yourself’ isn’t the same thing as really living or being happy. todd’s an introvert, certainly, and even as he gets closer to the group he defaults to sitting quietly in the background, but he’s also denying himself community out of fear not introversion. todd isn’t friendless because he’s an introvert, although that definitely plays a part, he’s friendless because he pushes anyone that might want his company away. if anyone has every wanted for his attention in the first place. (neil’s unwavering interest in him is unique (even when it comes to the rest of the poets, who are fine with todd coming along and joining the group, but aren’t really hellbent on him being there in the beginning) and his refusal to accept it is a direct result of being so lonely growing up.)

there’s obviously something to be said about the implications of his parents neglect, and the more than likely fact that he grew up friendless, and how those both play a part in in him being so skilled at dodging social interaction/being so avoidant of it, but by the time we see him in the movie he’s all but accepted his fate as being alone his entire life. he’s already accepted being the family disappointment, and he’s already accepted he’ll never amount to anything, and he obviously doesn’t like it, but he’d have managed living with that knowledge without the confirmation that it was all wrong. would he have been miserable? almost certainly. but he’d have managed. he’d done it for that long already, anyhow.

[quietprocrastination]

Hey so, like, not to be super critical of a piece of media that has a lot of toxic tropes and messages in it but like. I Do Not like Nesta's whole power character arc like

Gains power from a cauldron when after she's drowned (awesome, literally a witch they couldn't drown)

2. Visibly intimidates others (lol Rhysand)

3. Gets a cool mentorship (friendship) with another magical and feared character (Amren)

Okay at this stage you have a Cool Character, what now?

She's depressed and not paying attention to her powers. Fair! She literally just survived a war.

Oh wait her old mentor now suddenly thinks she's a waste despite saying previously to give Nesta time (hm, weird, okay).

They now don't want her to learn more about her powers (too threatening) give her a sword to solve her problems!

She is now handed over to an abusive asshole, while in a vulnerable state, to learn something new. (The asshole is Cassian btw.)

They fuck (?????? Romance ?????????)

Brief interlude to introduce the very evil and very promising evil prince who's like. Hey your powers are cool we could kick ass together.

Hm, no. Power of the Sword. (Is this a phallic thing that dick makes everything better??????)

??????? She now wants to become a mother ???????? Anyways the powers are gone and she is no longer a threat! No longer on equal standing! She's broken in, she is now acceptable :)

Anyways I find it really weird that it goes from potential female friendship with Amren to being shoved under the training (and by extension authority) of her male "romance" partner.

I think Sarah J Maas has an unhealthy thing with women only gaining validation through male approval and training. Like. Why can't they learn from other women? Her power now depends on Cassian (kinda like how Feyre's power depends on Rhysand, how Rhysand gave Morrigan her position, etc. etc.)

Also why does all power have to be physical. Boring.

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

What is the "tong incident" that your bio refers to? I've looked it up, but Tumblr's search is awful haha

Sorry it took me a bit to get to this! (although if you've ever sent me a poll ask, you're probably used to it)

I don't have a link, but the "Tong Incident" refers to a poll that got a LOT of notes for a very specific reason a few months ago, entirely centered around this

Yup. A pair of tongs. The problem is, they had EVERY name for this, EXCEPT tongs! And people LOST IT over that! I think it has somewhere between 150k and 200k notes by now?

Now I'm not sure if everyone else refers to things like this, but to me "Tong Incident" type polls means when people make polls that intentionally make people feel negative emotions just to get notes!

I have a personal rule, when it comes to having an online presence (I may not be a big blog, but it makes a difference!). I want to make something that people can be happy browsing, no matter what. Everything I post, I do everything I can to avoid making things more unfriendly. Not every opinion has to be put on the internet! Not every take must be talked about! Not every upsetting thing is a 'problem'!

I'm ranting.

The point is, the Tong poll made me realise that a lot of polls are made to upset people into giving them more notes. I love to get notes; reblogs feel amazing. But I refuse to get those at the expense of upsetting people! I would rather get my following the right way, rather than exploiting the system of tumblr.

[thecherrygod]

/

[cynical-crypt]

proshitter fucking weirdo,,,, liking kids isnt cool!!

buddy. buddy. do you know how to read?

^^ do you see that? i know this is gonna be difficult for you to fathom but *THAT* little bit there means don't fucking talk to me. i don't need or want you and your puritan dipshit friends on my page bugging me all the time like you have been. judging by the general lack of intelligence behind your message i'm gonna assume you're some kid that was brainwashed by tiktok and/or twitter and you need to chill the fuck out. go find a hobby that doesn't thrive solely off of annoying everyone else with hatemail. normally i wouldn't respond to these but i found it hilarious how sad it was and also clearing out my inbox constantly is annoying

[levil0vesyou]

Having a post get popular enough to be independently reblogged by someone you follow but aren't mutuals with is. Wild

[heartratehibernate]

I'm supposed to post here every now and then, huh? Sure would be fucking great if I remembered I made this blog for a reason.

I promise not all my self portraits are me sitting and looking depressed. Different version under the cut.

Kinda dig the black and white. Dunno if it's my style though. Was cool to play around with anyway. Been struggling to find my style, actually. Guess I gotta do more art for that.

[queenangella]

.

[notimminent]

@herhaunts ;; starter call

" apple? " she wanted it to come out as if she was just offering from the goodness of her heart, for no specific reason. some kind of olive branch of sorts, though the two had nary a word shared between them before. they shared classes together but they didn't exactly run with the same crowds. emma wasn't popular, not in the slightest. she tried talking to the in-crowd but it never moved past her saying hello. but, eating lunch by herself, she noticed things. it was people watching or reading for her, and one thing she noticed day to day was chrissy. the fact she seemed to talk more than she noshed.

maybe it was just that it wasn't peak eating time for athletes, or something. emma was never able to really be athletic to know, but she does know the telltale signs of exhaustion and overexertion. chrissy seemed to fit the bill for most after practices. so, emma decided to break the ice between the two.

" it's not poisoned, i promise. i'm not an evil stepmother nor do i have magic powers. i do have a mean witch cackle, though. "

[monstrsball]

hq!! pkmn au masterpost

since i've been talking about it a lot lately, i decided to make a post gathering (almost) all of the posts i have made about this au.

links under the cut

rundown i gave on the au a few months ago.

elite four & champion teams.

aone's team.

tendou's team & a question i answered about regions/regional gimmicks.

my thoughts on the karasuno adults in the au. (takeda, ukai, saeko, akiteru, tenma, takinoue, & shimada. i threw in miwa for fun)

my thoughts on hinata, atsumu, & kenma.

another post i made about hinata's team.

lev's team.

kyoutani: 1. 2.

iwaizumi and his tyranitar.

suga's team.

suga's aipom.

yachi, yamaguchi, and tsukishima's teams.

shiratorizawa.

tenma, akaashi, akiteru teams + thoughts on design elements for characters.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.