#this has been floating around in my head for a while

[ohtobeleah]

touch starved Logan with a physical touch reader… yeah….

Touch Starved is a good way to describe Logan in two words. I think after so many years of only ever being touched when someone was trying to inflict some sort of physical pain on him, he just decides touch isn't something he's inherently interested in. It's worth more trouble than its worth seeking.

But I can see it now. Logan would be sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. Your legs, are spread on either side of him as you sit on top of the very couch that Logan spends most of his nights on.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” You coo all the while you card your fingers through Logan's hair. Your hands tend to wander absentmindedly down his next and to his exposed shoulders from time to time.

“Huh?” Logan barely hears you speak. He's so tuned out right now. He's floating on cloud nine because he's never had a massage like this before. One that's so nonchalant. One that's so casual and unintentionally intimate when he lets out a sigh of a moan at your handiwork. “Sure, yeah—sorry, I wasn't here for a moment.” You take it as a compliment while your eyes remain trained on the TV ahead as your hands work magic into Logan's scalp, neck and shoulders.

“That first day,” You begin. “When you came into the cafe looking for Wade but he wasn't around?” Logans listening, he swears. But your touch has always been something that could captivate his every sense and have him completely under your control. He'd never craved something so natural before. Your touch. “I think that's one of my top five days, ever.” You admit.

“How so?” Is all Logans mumbled back. His voice is deep and full of gruff undertones.

“Because I'm just really grateful I got to me you is all,” You shrug. It's not that big of a deal. Whatever you and Logan were was something that wasn't defined by traditional labels. But he knew you loved him. And you knew Logan loved you back. You couldn't explain it, but that mutual understanding that you'd show up for each other when it mattered the most made your heart ache at the thought that until now, Logan never felt that level of love, compassion or understanding. “For the worst Logan, I think you go alright.”

Logan had never had someone in his corner the way he knew you were. And he feels that in every aspect of your relationship. But the thing he notices the most…is your touch. How you aren't afraid to touch him. How you value his body for more than just its mutant abilities. You see him, Logan Howlett, for the man he is and wants to be and not the weapon they designed him to be.

Your hugs ignite his skin like a solar flare. Your kisses, your lips on his, set his heartbeat into overdrive. Sixth gear overdrive. The way you cling to him when you fall asleep at night soothes his soul until he decides the couch is a safer place for him.

The way you weren't afraid to hold his hand when no one had ever done so before made Logan's head spin. His brain couldn't compute the sensation on another persons fingers intertwined with his in the way yours fit so perfectly between his. Like you weren't afraid of what you were arresting your hands on. Adamantium claws.

It wasn't until Logan met you, that he realised just how long it had been since he'd experienced the loving and gentle touch of a woman who truly loved him. And once that thought had materialised, Logan realised further that he'd never actually felt the gentle touch of a woman who loved him…because no woman had ever loved him before. Not like you.

“You’re still betting on losing dogs I see?” The corner of Logan's mouth curved up into a smile when you reach down to wrap your around around his shoulders. His heart skips a single best inside his chest when he felt your lips against his scruff-covered cheek.

“What can I say, I’m always a sucker for a stray.”

Ilya

[r0se1111]

Stan Pines x Reader

This man won't leave my head get OUT!! Ford is a little hm... silly in this I love the guy but he was kinda crazy at this point rip. Loosely based on this. Might continue but I'll prob diverge from the og post a bit for completely selfish hurt/comfort purposes >:)

1982

You hadn't planned on getting your best friend sucked into a portal that leads to who knows where. You'd begged him to stop, trying desperately to convince him that together you'd figure something else out. But once Fiddleford left in a fit of hysteria, there was no one else to make sure Ford didn't end up killing himself over this project.

Maybe he'd be better off that way. Not floating past incomprehensible dimensions, armed with only a pair of out-of-date glasses and a worn coat. The bitter thought crosses your mind for a moment before the crushing guilt of even considering that punches you in the gut.

But no, you had stayed by his side, his ever-faithful research assistant. Every time you saw the dark circles under his eyes, the shake in his hands, and the madness written across his pale face, your heart just broke.

So when he'd told you he had reached out to his brother for help, and when his brother actually showed up, you could have cried tears of raw relief. Stan, as he introduced himself, was a little rough around the edges, broader and a bit taller than Ford, but had the same sort of tired wild hope in his eyes as Ford did when he was convinced the portal "just has to work this time!" And when Ford snapped at you in his exhaustion, Stan was quick to fly his hand out in front of you as if he could physically shield you from your friend's words. You decided then and there that you trusted him.

Things got worse as Ford explained his plan to his brother, all but pushing him out the door in his urgency to hide those damn journals. The two quickly fell into a fist-fight, you frantically hitting at shoulders and tugging at rouge elbows as you attempted to break them apart. Then you watched, horrified, as Ford floated through the air and into the blue glowing veil of the portal, disappearing from this dimension.

You heard the power shut off, and vaguely heard Stan screaming something you couldn't make out over the ringing of your ears and beating of your heart. Your wide eyes started blankly through the circle of the portal, as if you would see Ford simply standing on the other side.

You didn't.

Hands roughly grabbed your shoulders and a figure knelt down to make eye contact with you. Before your eyes focused and you could only process the basic shapes of that face, you had a wild thought that it was Ford, that the events of the past few minutes were just a bad, stress-fueled dream. But when you returned that hard stare, you saw longer hair and a slight raised scar across a lip moving in speech.

"You can get it to work, right? You made this with him?" Stan kneaded the skin of your shoulder, whether to soothe himself or you, you couldn't tell. His voice sounded raw and tired in fear and overuse, and it cracked a little with his desperate questioning. You gulp and stand, methodically walking to the control panel and repeating steps you had practiced hundreds of times before. Except, just like 99 out of 100 times before, there was no flicker of blue, no jolt of energy that brought Ford back. You tried again. No response. Again. Nothing.

You stood there working the knobs and buttons, doing the math in your head for what seemed like hours, until your hands were numb, and you were aware of tears wetting your cheeks. That hand was back, doing that funny little kneading motion which actually did a damn good job of grounding you.

"Hey... Y/N, right?"

You jerk your head around to look at Stan and see that he had those same tell-tale wet marks running down his cheeks. He had been watching you for all that time. His lips looked red and bitten at, and he'd lost that nice warm splash of color in his face. It suddenly hits you that while you'd lost your best friend, this guy had lost his brother. A wave a nausea makes you keel over.

"Oh-oh god," You choke out, pulling away from his comforting touch. You don't deserve it, not now. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Jesus, he's your brother Stan and I- I took him away, I let him do this-"

Stan is looking at you with a complicated expression, almost like he's in physical pain. He pulls his hand away from where he'd reached out again for you and formed a tight fist against his thigh. "You didn't-" A quick, sharp sigh. "Look." He brings his hands up to fiddle with his fingers in front of his stomach. "This whole situation is fucked, and if anyone is to blame for it it's not you. I want," He cuts off into another hitched breath and you notice his hands are shaking too. "I need to fix this." Stan fixes you with a suddenly determined gaze. "But I don't know shit about..." He gestures vaguely to the mess of buttons and pasted notes before you.

"You want my help." You don't ask, because there's no question about it. Of course you're helping. Even if this Stan guy had kicked you out and told you to get lost, you'd figure something out to get Ford back. Even if Stan turns out to be completely hopeless and obnoxious, you are staying in this sleepy little town and this run-down shack until your friend is home.

Stan nods, and the way he mutters a hoarse "please" makes you think he's not used to how that word feels, tastes. He's tangling his fingers together again, looking like a guilty kid awaiting his punishment. Your heart clenches. This guy is gonna kill me. You decide then and there that you were going to take good care of him.

This time it's you who reaches forward to press the weight of your hand into his shoulder. "I promise you, Stan, I'm not going anywhere until Ford is back."

Stan looks up at you and you realize those dark eyes you can never say no to run in the family. You spend a moment categorizing Stan's features, how his mouth twitches a little further left when he frowns, and how his strong nose looks a little snow-burned, red and raw. You stare at him a bit longer, feeling penitent and dizzy with the weight of the night's events.

Turning back to the control panel, you pick up a notebook haphazardly leaned against the wall the panel was tucked into. You flip it open to a miraculously blank page and rummage through your pocket for your spare pen. You let Stan lean into your space then begin writing. "So, quantum mechanics..."

[kusanagihaku]

the promises carved into our tears 

⭢ haku x mc, 3.6k

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time.

or: a red string soulmate au where hotarubi works for yuelao, 如果可以-style. on ao3 here.

“Nightmares again?” 

Haku sinks into a chair, blinking blearily at Subaru as flames clear slowly from the edge of his vision. “Mm.” 

Subaru smiles sympathetically. He sets a warm teacup down on the table in front of Haku, and motions for him to take a sip. “Gyokuro blend, from Nakamura Tokichi. Zenji’s just stepped out to get this week’s list of clients from Yuelao.” 

Haku murmurs a thanks as he cradles the teacup in his hands. It is nearly too hot to hold, but the weight in his hands is grounding, and it doesn’t take more than a few sips before the fog behind his eyes clear. 

Good. He has a full day of work ahead of him. 

It started after The Incident back at Darkwick – after the smoke had cleared, all major and minor deities had descended on the island, eager to recruit a freshly dead ghoul into their ranks. 

Once most of them had gotten over the shock of also needing to work in the afterlife (Daikokuten had laughed, saying, “How else do you think the gods keep this world running, if not for the behind the scenes work of us supernatural beings?” before promptly offering Taiga a job) and the shock of there being another ghoul in their midst (Zenji’s non-apology was rather sheepish, and mostly directed at Jiro), Towa was the first to be recruited, enticed by Yuelao’s stories of soulmates tied together with red string and destined lovers with fates written in the stars. Haru had followed, of course – only for a while, until Towa gets settled, he said. I’ll worry about him. 

Naturally Zenji got pulled along too, claiming the red strings he’d tie would be brilliant source material for his next manuscript. After all, love sells, doesn’t it? 

Subaru didn’t have the heart to remind him there would be nobody around to publish his manuscript, now that none of them were corporeal, but had followed him anyway, despite an offer from Ame-no-Uzume to work as a kabuki talent scout. There was something repelling about going back to his old life, he said, and left it at that. 

Of course, they pulled the shell of their vice-captain along too. It was the least they could do, with what was left of Haku. 

Not that Haku minded – working for Yuelao isn’t particularly taxing. He sends them a list of soulmates meant to meet that week, each pair of serial numbers complete with the time and location; all they have to do is map out their routes each day, show up at the correct place and time with the red soulmate strings, then let the latent magic floating in the fabric of the universe do its work. 

It’s mostly paperwork anyway, with the biggest part of their job being signing off on each pair after the soulmate strings tie themselves. He can’t complain; it’s been easy work for the past twenty odd years, the days slipping by like water between his fingers. Not a bad way to spend eternity. 

And it’s fulfilling too  – like what Zenji says, there’s something special in seeing bonds form between two people that are two sides of the same coin. It reminds him of–

Haku sets his empty cup down. Shakes his head to clear it. 

Subaru looks up from the book he is reading, but does not say anything. He picks up the teapot, instead, and refills Haku’s cup. 

Haku nods in thanks. 

The comfortable silence stretches out again, drifting like dust motes in the late morning light. It is only interrupted when Zenji arrives back home, banging his way through the entrance of their shared home with a triumphant, “Guess who I met on the way home!”

Haku cracks a smile. There is always something infectious about Zenji’s enthusiasm, no matter how tired he is. “Who?” 

“Towa!” Zenji exclaims. He sets his messenger bag on the table. “Still as floaty as ever. He rejected my offer to let him listen to my latest plot idea, though. It seemed like he had somewhere to be.” 

Subaru laughs. “He must have been heading to a binding. He’s still on morning shift, after all.” 

Zenji hums as he unzips his messenger bag and pulls out their soulmate lists for the week. “I told him he and Haru were welcome over for dinner any time. Don’t think he heard me, though.” 

Subaru nudges a freshly-poured cup of tea away from Zenji’s stack of paper. “I’ll text Haru. It’s been a while since we last saw him.”

And it has been – the last time Haku remembers seeing the red-haired ghoul was sometime two or three months ago in April. All five of them were slated to work a freshman orientation at a university, easily one of the busiest times of the year for the entire Yuelao organisation. Instead of going to his allocated location and waiting, however, Towa had just tossed all the red strings he had in his box up in the air, waved a hand, and trusted that all the strings would go where they were meant to go. 

Haru had cried at the logistical nightmare, then promptly banned Towa from holding the box containing their soulmate strings ever again. Haku wonders idly if Haru ever recovered from the stress. 

Zenji shuffles the stack of paper into three smaller piles, then hands one pile each to Subaru and Haku. They descend into silence, the way they always do with a new list, quietly setting virtual push-pins on their Maps apps to plan out their individual routes for the week. 

Haku is at the end of his list before he sees it. Tucked under entry number 85, his last pair for the week, is a single serial number, slid in at 5.17pm at a park in Meguro. 

He blinks. That’s not supposed to happen. Don’t they usually come in a pair? 

He waits until Subaru looks up from his own list before carefully highlighting the problem. 

Subaru glances over the strange entry, brow furrowed. “Must have been an administrative error. Perhaps whoever was compiling the lists forgot to copy paste the second serial number in?” 

Haku looks doubtfully at the lone serial number sitting at the bottom of the page. Administration has never made a mistake before. “Perhaps.” 

Zenji leans over, peering over his glasses. “My last one for the week is there too,” he says. “At 5.09pm. We can go together to figure it out.” 

Subaru rests his chin on his hands. “My day ends at 4.28pm. Shall we head there together? I’m curious to see what happens.” 

A wave of gratefulness for their wiling companionship slides a smile onto Haku’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, why not?” 

-

The end of the week does not come soon enough. 

They meet at the corner near the Meguro River as the summer sun begins to dip lower in the sky. It is a short walk to the park they are meant to be at, and along the way Zenji regales them with how one of his bindings this morning looked like it was right out of a romance novel. 

“Was it better than the one last week?” Haku teases, and Zenji laughs, bright and loud. 

“The one at the cat cafe? No, nothing can beat that! I could tell right away those two were meant to be, I swear.” 

The park they stop in front of is small, more like a playground than anything else. There is a small child sitting on the swings, blue push-popsicle sweating in his little fist. His feet barely touch the floor as he swings gently back and forth, looking around the neighbourhood with wide, curious eyes. 

“That’ll be him, then,” Haku says. He leans over to check Zenji’s list, then flicks his wrist to check the time. “Any minute, now.” 

Subaru sighs, smiling. “I love it when they find their soulmates young. It’s the best kind of friendship, isn’t it?” 

“Exactly,” Zenji coos. He tugs open his messenger bag to retrieve his box of red strings. “It’s always adorable. Goodness, I want to pinch his little cheeks… he has no idea what’s in store for him.” 

Haku snorts fondly at the two of them. Thank goodness they weren’t visible to humans – three strange men standing in a playground staring at a child? Never mind they still looked like they were in their mid-twenties, they’d be reported for kidnapping straight away. 

Before he can say anything, though, a slightly older boy rounds the corner on his bicycle. It is evident he is new to cycling, shiny orange bicycle wobbling from side to side as he banks hard to the right, trying to make too sharp of a turn. 

Haku barely has time to blink before the boy’s bicycle screeches too far to the right, flinging the boy onto the soft, packed earth of the playground. 

There is a teary “ow,” as the boy sits up, cradling a scraped knee. His hands are bloody, too, roughness of the ground having rubbed abrasions onto the skin of his palm. 

The boy on the swing slips off his seat neatly. He barely comes up to Haku’s hip. “I saw that.”

The boy on the floor whips around at the sound, scowling through his tears. “No, you didn’t.” 

“I did,” he confirms. His tongue flashes blue as he speaks. “It’s okay, though. My brother says it’s normal to fall when you just start learning. Do you need help?”

The older boy hesitates. “Maybe.”

As he helps him up, Zenji slides his box open, and lifts a single red string out of it. He blows, gently, and they watch as the thin thread rolls off the tips of his fingers and drifts over to where the older boy has just regained his balance. It loops around their arms and knots around both their little fingers, giving off a gentle glow as both ends seal, before disappearing. 

The only evidence that anything ever happened is Zenji’s beam as he scribbles a quick signature beside their serial numbers. “Lovely!” 

He clicks his pen closed before tucking everything haphazardly back into his bag, and they watch as the boys pick up the bicycle and begin to walk away. Subaru turns to face Haku. “It’s going to be 5.17pm soon.”

Haku looks down at his watch. Two minutes. 

He has barely retrieved his own box of strings out from his bag when a voice sounds out behind them – “Excuse me. Coming through.”

Time stops. 

It is a voice he can recognise anywhere, a voice he hears in the moments between closing his eyes and falling asleep, one he hears echoing through the threads of his dreams and nightmares alike. It sinks into his skin, past the beat of his heart and the pulse of his nerves, and fills his veins with a feeling he does not quite dare to describe as hope. It sends tremors down the tips of his fingers; it calls open a rift in his memory he has never attempted to heal.  

He turns around, almost mechanically, and sees you. 

-

You swear to every deity there is that if the universe has a reason it’s making you late to your part-time job today, it better be a fucking good one. 

First the trains weren’t running as frequently as they were supposed to, then there was an issue with the gantries malfunctioning at the station exit, then you dropped your bottle and had to run after it for a bit to get it back and in the process missed the green light to cross the road… and now, finally on the home stretch to your employer’s place there are three fucking idiots standing in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking your way. 

You huff. Your employer better be flexing their omniscient powers to read your situation – what for work for a minor god if they make you relive every tiny inconvenience to explain why you’re fifteen minutes late to your job? 

(Never mind that they’re actually incredibly nice and don’t really care when you head in for work as long as you get their paperwork done.) 

“Excuse me,” you call out. “Coming through.” 

All three men whip around. On their faces are various states of astonishment, frozen almost comically in their surprise. 

You’re about to sigh and push forward, when you suddenly notice the colour of their eyes. 

Shit. 

They’re not human. 

Fuck. 

You send a quick prayer to your employer. Hopefully they’re listening – the last time you ran into another supernatural being he made you look for his glasses for two hours before receiving a call saying he left them at home. 

You don’t generally mind helping minor deities here and there, honestly, especially not since they bless you right after for your help. Most of them are really nice. In fact, you’d even say you’re used to doing little things for them, having grown up with the Sight and being able to see supernatural beings for most of your life. But these three don’t look like they need any help, and you’re going to be late to what you know is going to be a mountain of paperwork and— 

You think the tallest one might be crying. 

Ah.

Before you can ask if he’s okay and if they need any help, something bright and glowing rises from the box one of them is holding. 

It elongates, spinning itself slowly mid-air, one end gliding over to you like it has found its target. The other end floats up to the man with green hair. As you watch in bewilderment, it gently wraps around both your little fingers, then tightens with a flash of gold. 

It sends a searing pain through your arms, a shock that slams the air out of you and turns your vision an inky black. 

-

You are standing on a wooden porch, shade of dripping wisteria providing you a little shelter from the grey drizzle. The quiet patter of the rain is only interrupted when someone calls your name, a soft summoning that fills you with warmth. You turn your head to see the brown-haired man – Subaru whispers into your mind, like his name has been there all along – smiling at you. Tea is ready, he says. Come inside. 

You are looking down from the top of a long staircase, closely packed torii gates lining the path down. The stone steps beneath your feet are faded with age, but the red of the dates are vibrant, almost as if they were recently painted. The blue haired man in front of you turns, grinning brightly; his ruby eyes sparkle in the dim light as he extends his hand backwards. Zenji – the flash of his name brings along with it a swell of affection. Come, my dear, he says. They’re waiting for us. 

You are sitting on a cushion laid out on the porch of a traditional Japanese house, back resting against doors made of paper and wood. It overlooks a quiet garden that extends on all three sides; the peacefulness of the stone lanterns makes it feel like a secret you are bound to keep. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, covered by a black blazer with gold trim and pressed against the long legs of someone else. Your hands lay in your lap, fingers intertwined with his graceful ones. When you look up at the man with green hair, his eyes closed and dozing, something in you shifts like a sunbeam – Haku. His name is a cloud on your tongue, painting the inside of your lungs a new, different, golden sort of warmth. It tangles itself into the base of your throat, all tender and sweet; your heart aches with a fondness you’ve never thought possible. Haku. 

You are dangling your feet off the edge of a dock, watching diamonds of moonlight dance off the ripples in the water. Translucent fish float lazily around your feet, drifting in invisible eddies only they can see. An arm is curled behind you as you lean against someone’s shoulder; you don’t have to look up to know the giddy feeling running through your veins is because of the soft kisses Haku is dropping into your hair. He raises his hand to brush your cheek, to tilt your chin up to face him. You watch the monochrome of the moon wash his eyelashes a silvery grey as he dips towards you, before your eyes flutter closed at the gentle warmth of his lips on yours, languorous and insistent and exploring. How lucky you are, you remember, to be able to love him like this. How lucky you are, to have him love you. 

You are pressed up against the back of a door, your shirt half unbuttoned and blazer long discarded somewhere on the floor. Haku’s hands are everywhere, mouth hot on the hollow behind your ear as your fingers scrabble against the buttons of his vest. Princess, he groans, all teeth and tongue on your neck as he slips a leg between yours. Please. And you acquiesce, as you always do, melting into him under the deftness of his fingers and the heat of his breath. He hangs stars on the ladder of your spine and his name on the roof of your mouth; you dance in the fire he lights in the kiln of your hips. You think, as he pulls gasp after gasp from the scorch of your skin, that if it is for Haku you will burn yourself inside out, if only he asks. 

You are sitting - no, lying - in a pile of rubble. There are flames licking up the walls around you, ghastly bright and smokeless, unending despite the rain that seems to be pouring around everything else. You are dimly aware of how close the flames are to you, but the burning that flickers from under your skin is infinitely more unbearable.   

There are sobs above you from the figure who has pulled you into his lap, cradling you in his arms and shielding you from the rain; you barely need to open your eyes to hear the guilt leaking out each breath Haku takes.  

“Don’t cry,” you rasp. Some part of you recognises the irony, given the tears staining your own cheeks, but you raise a heavy hand anyway, thumb brushing the wetness away from his cheeks. It is hard to form words. You hope Haku understands. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He are shaking uncontrollably, tsunamis rolling off the tense slope of his shoulders. “I should have tried harder—“

“No,” you say, again, this time a little more vehemently. The scratch of your throat worsens, but you no longer have the strength to cough out the petals that have lodged themselves in your lungs. 

You want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, it was never his fault, that he has done nothing but try as hard as he could to break your curse the moment you stepped into Darkwick. He has spent so much of himself making your final months lovely, and even now with the walls crumbling around him he still has not let you go. 

I’m sorry, you want to say. For meeting you on the train that day, already like this, already cursed. For not meeting you earlier in this life, from the beginning already too late. For being filled with flower and fire, even though all I want to be is filled with my love for you. 

But it is getting hard to breathe, and it is getting dark, and you are so, so tired. 

“Wait for me,” you say, instead. You tilt your face into the palm of his hand, and inhale the last of his scent as best as you can. 

When you gather the strength to speak again, your voice is an oath made, fierce and low, carved into the ache of your tears. You look up at Haku, your love, your light, radiant even in his grief, even as your vision is blurry and fading. “We’ll meet again, I promise.” 

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next, until we meet again. I will look for you in every lifetime. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time. 

-

You blink, and suddenly you are back, gasping for air as an ache cracks open in your chest, gaping and yearning. 

You are vaguely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and that the tallest man – Zenji – is openly bawling now, but the moment your eyes meet his the rest of the world blurs. 

Haku. 

He has not moved, you think, all hesitance and incredulity, frozen with the helplessness of a man who has wanted so much for so long but has only dared to hope for so little. His gaze shines with unshed tears, disbelief wrapping itself taut around the clench of his fists, like he is trying not to reach out for you, trying to keep the spark of his skin from setting your world ablaze again. 

But, oh, in this life you’ve been raised fireproof, heart forged into a glass-clear that sings for the sunset of his hands. In this life, you are not on a train, you are not too late, and you are not filled the potency of a curse but the promise of a happy ending. 

We’ll meet again, I promise. 

You take a small step forward. The red string wound around your finger ripples, flashes gold in the evening light. 

“Haku?” 

[dinoserious]

lightly chewing on de again. disco buggys

[wet-paiint]

i really wish that every anti-porn post on this site wasn’t made by some unhinged bioessentialist terf and i DONT want to hear “maybe there’s a reason that all the anti-porn people are terfs” because i’m not thinking about this from a “porn is bad” angle. i would like to have a conversation about how western society effectively has two completely separate versions of sex; how the sex people have is a totally different thing from the sex they watch, and how porn is inherently objectifying (i say this in a neutral, literal sense of the word) because it’s a material you’re consuming, not an interaction. and how i wish we could actually acknowledge these things and talk about the dissonance between porn and interpersonal relationships!!! but every anti-porn post on this godforsaken site is like “men are just naturally born evil but also porn is eroding their brains but also they were like that in the first place” and i want to tear my hair out. can we please talk about the effects of porn (<- NEUTRAL PHRASE) without those fucking freaks showing up. also this post has been edited a bit because terfs keep twisting my words and i’m losing my goddamn patience

i ❤️ trans women

terfs don’t fucking touch this post i understand the complexities of porn on a deeper and more nuanced level than you could ever hope to

[inexplicably-spookified]

smth experimental

[dood1e-bug]

When I rewatched the second season some tid bits of dialogue got me thinking about the spider butler.

So "into the mouth of darkness" Doyle and Van Rook go after a guy named Baron Finster thats associated with Argost to maybe get some info on his past, yes they find out Argost had nothing but the cloak and mask but the other thing

Argost designed the scorpion lover body for Baron then he add that Argosts first option was more "organic"

Then in "And your enemies closer" Zak while controlling Munya tells Argost "I've always wondered how much cryptid spider DNA you put into him, I guess the answers enough"

So that got me thinking was Munya like Baron at first without legs, arms or just in a tough spot then Argost struck a deal, oooor he was a human that died and Argost brought him back to life all Frankensteins monster in this. (I mean he looks like the monster too, especially the human form)

After pondering I had a weird dream that involved the undead after that a scene of Argost and Munya where in the lake with subs like if they where in the first bit of "Van Rooks apprentice" seems like I'm sticking to the Frankensteins monster one xD

Adding some little things/headcanons

-Munya is more cryptid then human and probably because of that he is unable to speak

- "Munya" isn't actually his name Argost gave it to him.

[spooscribbles]

What to do when a child (half sea dragon and apparently son of your brother’s dead acquaintance) falls into your cave and you know you have to send him back but he’s so small and cute so you accidentally on purpose adopt him into your pod and awaken his sea dragon side and now you have to raise a half human half sea dragon child while hiding him from your brother

[pikslasrce]

[fidgetspringer]

- Marten & Nohren -

[beanie-vamp-draws]

I may or may not have been thinking about BOTW a lot, especially since I've started playing TOTK. This idea is one I've had for a long time, and I mayyyyy be doing a little writing~

[thefangirldownthestreet]

Bakukami concept: The bakusquad are hanging at the mall when a couple of thugs try robbing some of the stores and naturally the bakusquad try to go after them, so one of them uses their quirk which ends up hitting either Bakugou or Denki, causing the boys to switch bodies

A while later the thugs are apprehended and the one with the body switching quirk is interrogated on his power specifically since it's affected both Bakugou and Kaminari, and he explains that his quirk simply causes you to switch bodies with your soulmate for a while which leads to a very long very awkward moment of silence as the realization sets in

[ehatnow]

Travel Across Dimensions

All the bosses are just copies of the originals, so theyre a bit weak

Anime/Game crossover. (Cmonnn i had to do my own) So basically Tiff, Tuff, Spanish Meta Knight, Rude Dedede, Lil Kirby, and Escargoon go to a cave to go check out some artifact. Rude Dedede touches it, opening a portal to the GameVerse. Kirby, Bandee, Meta, and Dedede all come out of it. They do the "wtf who are u" thing, and Kirby's like "oh yea lol this has happened before lolz" and the AnimeVerse is just like "h u h"

So they get settled in, find the Wave 1 gang, and then BAM. Rude Dedede steals all the food in Dreamland. The GameVerse is like "oh fuck not again" and go beat up Rude Dedede. And it turns out that Dark Matter was possessing him. So they beat up Dark Matter to. AND THEN ZERO APPEARS. (Zero also dies)

Then they find the Wave 2 group and Dark has been somewhat shattered. They bring him back to the castle and let him recover. 02 and Dark Nebula show up to fight, die, and then Dark's alive and well again. And none of the people from the AnimeVerse were ready for him.

Then comes Wave 3. Magolor needs to fix the Lor a bit before it can go dimension hopping again, so they go around and look for the parts. Rude Dedede tries to hide some of them, but Escargoon's all like "the faster they get the parts the faster theyll leave" (he doesnt wish to experience anymore Horrors). But anyways, they fight Master Crown Magolor, Sectonia, and Star Dream.

Then Elfilin, the Meta-Knights, and the Helpers appear. Void Termina shows up and all if the Star Allies are like "aight lets go beat up Void Termina again"

Then of course, to end it off, Kirby runs over Elfilis with a truck. Doing this, the GameVerse people get back to their Popstar. Though they still check up on the AnimeVerse from time to time.

Yayayaya tysm for listening to me rant abt this when i should be sleeping

Bye

[orestes-hungry-and-pylades-sober]

A headcanon for you all that’s part sad and part funny:

After the Catacendre, Marsh lets his hair grow out again and keeps it at shoulder length because it helps hide the spikes in his head. It’s also something that separates him from the Inqusitors (and all the horrible things Ruin had him do), seeing as that’s a small aspect of his appearance that he CAN control.

He eventually shaves his head again out of pure spite when Kelsier won’t stop teasing him about his long hair. Sazed joins in on the teasing once Kelsier gets his own eye spike and pretends to get the two brothers confused with each other. They both hate it.

[pankomako]

been thinking SO much about the gang war arc and what shipwreck and sharky might come out of it looking like. thresher's a maniac so of course there's gonna be some scars. these concepts go hard though

[weather-mood]

Thinking about a potential Claudia/Charlie one-shot where she manages to get Charlie back in time to be saved?? Feat. Family arguing over coffin logistics?