Is So Good - Blog Posts

|| NAAHHH THIS IS WILD, I LOVE IT. ||

HORIKOSHI YOU ARE A DAMN GENIUS!!!

Izuku said He Feels at Ease When Someone Holds His Hand.

Now we know that All for One is a Quirk capable of stealing or copying other Quirks and transferring them to whoever he wants or keeping them and using them if the user wants and we also know that he gave his supposedly Quirkless brother a gift of power accumulation… ok? Well that's when I saw this…

"Just holding hands soothes the heart."

Izuku says again that the simple act of holding hands calms the heart because it works for him, holding hands with his friends calms him down and makes him feel good.

Well, so far so good.

That's where THIS comes in…

It is then that Izuku can somehow feel the embers rekindling.

When his other friends arrive, Kacchan walks in and asks Izuku about the embers... "They flew you over here, but… are the embers okay?"

To which Izuku replies "Yeah" Because yes, the embers are so good that they burn again... And no, it was not the "Magic of Friendship" nor the "Power of Love" nor the "Izuocha"

then I was like...

Naniiiii? But what the hell happened here?! and I remembered the following...

Yeap! Izuku's hands in volume 417, and that's when it occurred to me that what a fucking genius Horikoshi-sensei is.

Well, now we all know that AFO steals quirks by touching his victims with his hands due to the holes in them that seem to absorb said quirks, right? ok, have you figured out where I'm going?… AFO is Izuku's father! YES!

So even though here it doesn't look like Izuku has the same holes as AFO, there does seem to be light in what would appear to be said holes, but that's because instead of absorbing Quirks, Izuku only absorbs energy, like the Quirk that AFO imposed on his brother stores energy and like AFO absorbs said power! So if when Izuku touched Uraraka's hand he absorbed part of the power of her quirk to revive the embers, wouldn't that mean that Izuku inherited AFO's mutated quirk somehow? Well you can say that Izuku would need the holes to absorb the power but do we remember what his mother Inko's quirk is? Attraction of small objects and she uses the movement of her hands to attract them, so if we add both quirks Izuku wouldn't need the holes, it would be a combination, and he would attract the power of the quirks just by putting his hands on people. And again you could refute me, "But Izuku has touched a lot of people with his hands" and I'll answer, Yes, but he was wearing gloves and it seems like he only activated his quirk recently in volume 417 of the manga by the looks of it since it's the first time those lights appeared on his BARE hands WITHOUT gloves, so Horikoshi, you damn genius, is this your way of revealing Dad For One in a plot twist at the end of the manga? Or am I just overthinking it?! Whatever it is, I'm happily sticking with this DFO theory!

Incredibly important Patrick fact mentioned in a previous post.

Sir Scary Cat

Swap Sans has the most fun faces to draw as always

ryan lang shared some of his couples’ portrait concepts for felix and calhoun on twitter and i just gained an extra ten years on my life

- listening to nfr on loop

- being so over people

- fighting The Urge

all point to signs period is coming but she's not due for two weeks... right? aunt flow honey please come early i'd really appreciate not hosting you while traveling <3

what don’t people get about the fact that “sokka raised katara” and “katara raised sokka” are not contradictory statements! they raised each other! sokka relies on katara’s support as equally as katara relies on sokka’s support. they both have a mentality of “ugh I have to do everything around here” born of frustration with the fact that they are kids with too many responsibilities, but in truth, they share responsibility, supporting each other both physically and emotionally. sokka raised katara, and katara raised sokka, because that’s what loving siblings who had to grow up without parents do.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OP’S MIND

NAME A BETTER WRITER ILL WAIT

IVE WAITED THE ANSWER IS NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE WE STAN LU AND THEIR CAVITY-INDUCING SWEET OC COUPLES

minho’s infallible guide to romance

Really, gender-segregated dorms were one of mankind’s most annoying inventions, and unfortunately, it was one the Kirlian Institute thought was a good idea. Minho thought they were supposed to be smarter than that. Minho thought they were supposed to be above most human concepts. Minho thought they were supposed to be finding a better way to do things, but he didn’t think this was a better way of doing things at all. If it weren’t for these stupid dorms, he wouldn’t have had to sprint across campus after dark. If it weren’t for these stupid dorms, he wouldn’t have to be sitting in a tree right now, hoping that Whittaker would still be awake. The point was if it weren’t for these stupid dorms he would be having a much easier time, and seeing as he was currently having a “this is a pain in the ass” kind of time, clearly these dorms were not, in fact, a better way.

He’d been about to knock on Whittaker’s window when he realised she was already standing in front of it, fiddling with the lock–it’d startled him a little, and by “a little” he meant he’d jumped and nearly fallen off the branch. Whittaker threw the window open and hissed a “what are you doing here?” but she was also already helping inside her room, so Minho (smugly, mind you) figured she wasn’t too irritated to see him, if she was even irritated at all. 

“Were you waiting up for me?” he teased, and Whittaker stifled a laugh.

“I heard you cursing when you nearly fell off the tree,” she said with a barely concealed smirk, and Minho made a mental note to maybe figure out a better way of getting to her dorm room. One that didn’t involve as much falling out of trees. “Why’re you here, anyway?” she asked, turning on the lamp that sat on her nightstand. It dimly illuminated the room in yellow-orange light, bathing their skin in a warm glow.

“Uh,” Minho said, because he was suddenly very distracted by the way the light changed the colour of Whittaker’s eyes and the way her wild hair framed her face when it was left unclipped. “I–” He watched as she flicked on the fairy lights she’d strung up around her room, interspersed with polaroid photos of their friends taken during various meet-ups and misadventures. Minho had thought of an excuse before he left his dorm–it’d been something about wanting help studying. But he was aware she’d see right through that anyway, and he was finding it harder to lie, even if it was just to be funny. “I wanted to see you,” he said simply.

Whittaker laughed a little. “What, do you not see me enough at school?” she asked, dropping onto her bed. “You’re clingy, Moon.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “What? No, I see you en–I mean. Not that I’ve had enough of you or anything or–uh–”

“Relax,” she said, raising her hands. “I was just teasing.” She paused, leaning back on her hands and staring at the wall, her lips pursed. “I wanted to see you too,” she said, as her cheeks slowly pinked. “Maybe I’m… also a little clingy,” she said, a shade too casually, with an overly casual shrug, and a casual expression that denoted trying too hard to look like she wasn’t trying at all.

Minho’s expression quickly transformed from a flustered, defensive look of panic to a goofy grin. He walked across the room and dropped onto the floor, resting his head on his arms–which he was resting in Whittaker’s lap. “Did you miss me, then?”

Whittaker’s face was now so red it was practically glowing. “Minho,” she said, though it came out more like a strangled squeak. Minho’s response was to raise his eyebrows expectantly and beam–his expression softened to one of contentment when Whittaker hesitantly ran her hand through his hair. “Guess so,” she said softly, and Minho got up and sat down next to her.

“You’re a dork,” he said, slipping his hand around her waist and pulling her closer, almost into his lap. He traced the side of her face with his index finger, feeling very pleased with himself when her eyes fluttered shut. “A very pretty dork, but a dork nonetheless,” he added, before leaning in to press his lips to her forehead. 

Whittaker leaned against his chest with a quiet sigh, playing with the fabric of his sweater. “Says the one who broke into my room at midnight just because he missed me.”

“I didn’t break into your room! You let me in.”

“Same thing,” she said with a grin. Before Minho could argue, she asked, “Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

“I can miss it.”

“Mm.” Whittaker pursed her lips and Minho wondered if she was going to kick him out, but instead she kneeled on the bed and tugged at his coat. “You should take this off then.”

Minho stared, his brain momentarily going blank. Whittaker gave him a strange look and cocked her head in confusion, quietly asking him what was wrong–Minho grinned at her as he collected himself, and then he said, “That’s pretty forward of you, ae-in.” 

Whittaker frowned, her confusion deepening. “What?” She stared at his coat, half of which she’d already pulled off of Minho’s shoulder–her eyes widened in realisation and she jumped back, burying her face in her hands. “I-I wasn’t–I didn’t mean–oh my god,” she whined, as Minho laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “It’s not funny,” she wailed–as close as Whitaker could ever get to wailing, anyway. “I was just–it’s just hot.”

Minho pulled off his coat and dropped it over her, snickering when she grabbed it and pulled it further over her head. “I would say undressing someone’s pretty hot, yes.”

Whittaker squealed and curled into a ball, disappearing under the coat entirely. “Shut up,” she whined again, and Minho wondered if it would be bordering on mean to point out the way her voice cracked. “You know I meant–you’re so mean, Minho; you’re turning everything I say into an innuendo.”

“Well. I’m not the one wrapped up in–”

“I could kick you out,” Whittaker mumbled. “I could magic you back to your dorm. Or I could make you walk across campus again.”

Minho nodded sagely before realising she couldn’t see it. “You could,” he said, before lifting up the edge of the coat with a smile. “But are you gonna?”

Whittaker stared at him for a few seconds before crawling out from under the coat, sitting up, and leaning against him. “No,” she said, huffily. “But I could.”

“But you’re not gonna.”

“No. You should take your shoes off too.” 

Minho didn’t need to be told twice–he kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed, twisting so that they were sitting face to face. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, taking both of Whittaker’s hands in his. “Or are you mad?”

Whittaker stared at his hands and then looked back up at him before climbing into his lap. “I’m not mad,” she said, placing both hands on his cheeks and pressing her lips to his. “I guess it was kind of funny. In hindsight, anyway. Kind of funny,” she repeated, and then she pressed a kiss to Minho’s jawline and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Minho turned pink. “Well. I–uh–” He could smell hints of her peach shampoo and feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin. He felt her shift in his lap–she placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him closer, planting her lips squarely on his temple, and he felt his face begin to get hot. “You’re. You’re just cute when you’re flustered,” he mumbled, and Whittaker laughed and kissed him again.

“So are you,” she said, caressing his cheek. “You know you’re glowing now, right?” She tapped his nose and then dropped back into his lap, leaning against his chest once more. “And you’re very warm. You’re like a cuter version of a personal heater.” 

Minho was staring at the wall, his mind having gone completely blank. This wasn’t something he experienced too often–Minho’s mind was often racing. Racing to figure out new solutions, racing to figure out a joke, racing to find the best way of getting around certain more annoying rules, or at the very least, how to break the rule and not get caught. But Whittaker, he was finding, had a different effect. Whittaker, he was finding, had the tendency to make his mind just stop–to pause, to hurl all thoughts out the window. It appeared to mostly happen when she kissed him, but Minho decided just to be sure, he would kiss her again.

“Were you cold, then?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. Whittaker leaned into his touch and he took the opportunity to run his hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. “Before I got here? Is that why you were still awake?" 

“Perhaps,” she said. “You also could’ve just woken me up by nearly falling out of the tree.”

“Did I wake you?”

Whittaker shook her head. “No. I was having trouble sleeping again,” she said with a pout, before twisting off Minho’s lap and laying down behind him, hugging her pillow to her chest and facing the wall. “It’s so annoying,” she huffed. “I can be tired but I still won’t be able to sleep at all. And then I’m just tired the next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that–” Whittaker cut herself off and rolled over to face him, burying her face in her pillow. “I don’t even know what it is! I barely drink coffee. I don’t touch my phone before bed. I don’t even read before bed if I can help it.”

Minho snorted and then twisted to be able to lean on the bed’s headboard. “Maybe you’re just an insomniac,” he said, gesturing for her to come to him–she wriggled closer and then rested her head on his lap, sighing when he began stroking her hair. 

“I would like to stop being an insomniac, then,” she mumbled, her face still half-covered by the pillow. “It’s extremely inconvenient.” 

Minho stared at her for a few moments, his eyes tracing over her form. "Gimme a second,” he said, reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the lamp. “Want the fairy lights off, too?” he asked, pointing at the lighted strings hung above her bed. “Or are you still afraid of the dark?” he teased, and Whittaker sat up, suddenly subdued.

“I think I’d rather leave them on for tonight,” she said quietly. Her grip on the pillow tightened and her cheeks began to pink, and she focused her attention on tracing the floral pattern of her comforter. “If that’s okay.”

Minho softened and leaned in to kiss her nose, gently tugging the pillow out of her hands and placing it back where it was supposed to be. “Of course it’s okay,” he said, cupping her cheek and swiping at the corner of her eye with his thumb. “It’s okay." 

Whittaker was still refusing to look at him. "I just… I just think they’re pretty,” she said, biting her lip. “That’s all.”

“I know.” Minho paused, thinking about the best course of action to take before deciding to just kiss her again, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “You don’t have to explain. If you want them on, we’ll leave them on. It’s alright.”

She appeared to be shrinking where she sat, her cheeks burning, her eyes still glued to the comforter. “I’m sorry." 

"And what are you saying that for?” he asked. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be sorry for liking your lights.” He waited, smiling when Whittaker finally looked up at him. “You’re tired, ae-in,” he said softly. “I think you should go to bed now.” He offered her his hand, adding, “C'mon. We have class tomorrow, anyway." 

Whittaker stared at his hand before taking it in hers, and saying "okay,” allowing Minho to pull her towards him and wrap his arms around her, letting him bury his face in her hair. “You have some very nice arms, by the way,” she murmured. Minho laughed and fell back against the pillow, taking her with him.

“That’s sweet of you,” he said, as Whittaker began to snuggle against his chest. “I suppose you would know, yeah?”

Whittaker was quiet for a moment. “I love you, you know,” she practically breathed. “I meant to say it sooner but I could never find the right… moment, I guess. But I like this one. I don’t think I’ll find a better one.” She was biting her lip again, fiddling with the fabric of Minho’s sweater. “That’s all.”

Minho felt his mind go blank again, but in a different way this time. All trains of thought had stopped, yes–all except for one. “I love you too,” he said, with barely a moment’s thought. “I may have. Also been looking for a moment. I think you’re right about this one.” He looked up at the ceiling and frowned. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it first,” he muttered, and he heard Whittaker giggle. 

“Go to bed, Moon." 

"You first.”

“You’re not just gonna leave when I fall asleep, right?” she said, with a small, breathy laugh. She was still fiddling with his sweater, and Minho took her hand in his and kissed the palm.

“I would never,” he replied, tracing the lines on her palm with his thumb. Whittaker twisted her hand so their palms were facing each other and then intertwined her fingers in his, rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I love you, again." 

Minho grinned. "I love you again too.” He wasn’t sure when he finally drifted off to sleep, fairy lights dancing in his blurring vision like stars, but he remembered thinking that despite the trouble these dorms caused, despite the lack of a better way–he’d do it again, and again, and again if he had to.

And if it led to more moments like this one? Well. It was worth it. And it would always be worth it.

They would always be worth it.

~*~*~*~

IM BACK AAAAA ive actually been writing a lot but i just havent been posting

i have a new project called the kirlian institute–these are two of the mains!! whittakers a witch/medium and minho’s ¾ths human and ¼th fire elemental–theyre also both 20 years old and in the institute’s college

their full names are whittaker de la rosa and moon minho btw, and minhos korean (obv) while whittakers biracial, specifically british/filipino

i might post more info on them later if anyones interested sfkdjhfsdgsdh idk

It Is Saturday

So I did it.

I succumbed to that shidge writing itch that you guys threw poison ivy on because this is something we all want and need apparently

Original post

The hardest thing that Takashi Shirogane had to do was get out of bed.

Not to say that he was sinking into depression and couldn’t arise, no, it was the exact opposite. His bed, their bed, was one of the safest and most comforting places he’d ever known, thanks most in part to his tiny female partner, and it was a daily struggle to convince himself to depart from it. He and Pidge had owned their cozy apartment nearing a year now, and the slab of mattress and tangled sheets that they rested on had become the most intoxicating setting in his home. There were days were they opted to stay in place for hours, only leaving to make food or bathroom runs and returning to collapse in the other’s arms and the sea of blankets. It was hard to leave because she was there, because they had comforted each other from the memories of the war there, because every good day, shit day, and night of love always ended in each other’s arms, on the bed.

But some days were harder than the rest.

The setting was always the same, posing the exact challenge it had for a while now; dark grey sheets that lay crinkled up between them, olive comforter sprawled around the two in uneven heaps of worn fabric. Her sleeping form was bundled up next to him, clinging at the arms that encircled her torso, head turned to the one that used it as a pillow. The rest of the bed seemed freezing in comparison to her, though with the pair’s legs tangled together and huddled figures smashed together, her presence chased off any remaining cold of the perimeter around him. Blinding sunlight poured from the gaps in the blinds, sloshing golden light inside the room in bouncing parallel strips.

Blinking into the realm of reality, Shiro instinctively tightened his grip on the woman in his arms, burying his nose in her curled, unruly hair with slow, fatigued movements. The sleeping Pidge made not a move besides the rising and falling of her sides, comfortably conforming to the ‘big spoon’ behind her. His senses were then filled with bright brown hair, blinding sunlight, and the scent of vanilla and burnt carbon as he was once again tempted by the thought of staying where he was for the remainder of the day.

Sighing, he blew her caramel curls away from his mouth, fingers knotting at his t-shirt that draped over her lithe frame. ‘Is showing up at a Garrison meeting really worth getting up from this? What day even is it?’

After a minute or two of contemplation, Shiro groaned and shifted away from the woman he loved, lifting the covers and throwing his legs over the bedframe, running a hand through his white-stained forelock. His muscles stung, the ache the familiar, momentary one that only existed because he had moved. Though the apartment’s heater tried its best, he shivered-everything was like ice compared to her. With a final shake, he made a move to heave himself up-

-until dull nails tickled one of the scars on his back.

As soon as his head spun, he met the soft, squinted gaze of Pidge’s honey eyes. Her arm extended out to him, hand blindly groping at any clutchable surface that he retained, eventually finding his prosthetic and then latching onto the metallic limb. She peeled her lips apart, blinking tiredly; her dreams must’ve been somewhat peaceful, then, as she wasn’t automatically running at full speed.

“..ome back to bed,” She offered, eyebrows kneading together and gentle smile painting itself on her soft, freckled features. She squeezed the bridge between his neck and shoulder, her other hand finding the parallel spot within a matter of seconds. The plea scratched at his resolve, itching and tugging at his head because damn just staying home today sounded really good.

He exhaled a quiet, desperate laugh and leaned over, pecking her nose. “I have to go.”

“..iot.”

“Hmm?”

Her freckled arms flung out and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him down over her lanky form and forcing him to catch himself out of instinct, the pair close enough to where their noses brushed together. Tangled hair guarded the tops of her half-lidded eyes, bottom lip jutting out and completing her pouty appearance. Pidge maneuvered her hands to press against the sides of his face, shaking it gently with every word.

“It. Is. Saturday.”

“Oh.”

Shiro’s elbows gave way, the fatigued super-soldier of a man succumbing to her earlier plea and falling onto the lanky, warm form of his partner, forcing his arms around her through the mass of sheets and digging his nose against her neck. She laughed softly, the sound tickling his chest as the past Green Paladin roamed Shiro's shoulders, the two now glued together by method of awkward cuddling. The cold was now longer felt, and the soft heartbeat in the chest under his own was loud enough to become a lullaby and lure him back to the realm of sleep, clinging onto the woman beneath him all the while.