#this is one of my favourite tropes to write

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

you've heard of 'enemies to lovers'. you've heard of 'right person, wrong time'.

but one of my favourite tropes ever is 'soulmates doing their hardest to avoid the inevitable (the inevitable being - falling hopelessly in love)'. (they likely avoid it more because of being hurt by past traumas and being emotionally damaged).

[casdeans-pie]

There's this really dumb season 5 era fic that I really want to write

I got this really vivid image of Dean going into Bobby's kitchen in the middle of the night because he heard a noise and he can hear the rustling of cutlery in the kitchen drawer and he's got his gun ready and he flips on the light and Cas is just standing there clutching one of those big salad forks to his chest.

And Dean is like ?? Cas????

And Cas is just staring at him like a deer in the headlights. and they just keep staring at each other cause thats what they do

And finally Dean is like Shall I leave you alone with your... fork???

But Cas is super cagey and Dean just gets more suspicious and playful about it. He manages to make it so that Cas says he 'needs a fork' and Dean is like Snort. Oh yeah. I'm sure. A good fork.

Cause yknow. fork sounds like

Anyway he manages to find out that Cas has an itch on his back that he just. can't. reach.

Which is what he needed the fork for.

Turns out that Cas is molting but the other angels are still actively hunting him so he can't go back to heaven to do it properly with real wings so he just has to suffer in his vessel with the phantom itch. Dean feels bad for him and does eventually agree to scratch his back.

Because of the intricate rituals. And that's what friends do. Friends help each other. They help their angel boy best friends during their angel wing molt thing.

So Cas is like Thank you Dean and takes off his coat and his jacket and his tie and his shirt and Dean is having a minor crisis.

He maneuvers Cas to brace his hands against the counter and Dean stands behind. He doesn't know what he's feeling but he's feeling a certain way about all of this. He starts to rake his fingers down Cas's shoulder blades and immediately Cas is like YES. THERE. HARDER. and Dean is like Jesus Cas! You'll wake the house shut up man! while trying not to show how unbelievably turned on he is

Just as the sexual tension between them really heats up Cas flies away.

And then there's a massive flash forward to present day where Dean has retired from hunting and Cas is still an angel and they're happy and alive and living together and so in love and Dean wakes up in the middle of the night because he can hear noises from the kitchen.

He goes down and flips on the light and Cas is there holding a spatula. And he's like Dean why do we not own any salad forks.

And Dean gently takes the spatula from him, kisses him, and is like Let me help you scratch that itch.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 08/08 // miscommunication 

wc: 2k // rating: M // cw: smoking, language, character death // tags: s4 missing scene, canon compliant, miscommunication, first kiss

divider credits @firefly-graphics

“Hey, Harrington, did we have any more nails? Think I can fit a few more on this bad boy.” Eddie swings his makeshift-trash-can-lid-shield around in an arc, whooshing under his breath. He feels a bit silly, but it’s what he does. Clowns around for the benefit of others.

Steve snorts, before looking around. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He shifts a crate of bottles over. “Somewhere around here…” Finally spotting the box of nails, he underhand tosses it over Robin’s head.

Eddie catches it easily, earning a raised brow from Steve, and points the box back to him with a nod. As Steve turns back to Robin, Eddie lets out a low whistle. Waiting for him to turn back, Eddie tilts his head, gesturing to the other side of the RV in a not-so-subtle follow me way. Frowning, Steve glances at Robin, who gives him an equally quizzical look in return, then moves toward him, following around the front of the vehicle.

“You good, man?” Steve asks as Eddie leans up against the side of the RV, dropping the shield and the nails at his side.

Eddie hums in the affirmative as he pats at his pockets, locating a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pops one between his lips before holding the box out in offering. Steve hesitates for only a second before taking one. Clicking on the lighter, Eddie waves him in. Steve leans closer, letting the end of his cigarette touch Eddie’s, both of them lit under the flame. Neither of them moves back immediately, caught in a smoky haze where their eyes are locked onto each other. 

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had caught Steve staring at him, hazel eyes travelling from his lips back up to his eyes. It happened the day prior, in the Upside Down, where Eddie had been running his mouth, talking endlessly about being not-a-hero and unambiguous signs of true love, all but shoving Steve in the direction of Nancy Wheeler. Despite this, Eddie got the sense that Steve wasn’t listening to a word he said. Barely responding, eyes locked on Eddie instead, who wanted to ask—because, hey, what’s that about?—but they were cut off by the freak earthquake.

Then earlier, when Eddie jumped into the driver’s seat of the RV to start hotwiring, Steve was right behind him. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was being magnetically pulled into Eddie’s presence. Like they’d constantly found themselves since the boathouse—in each other’s bubbles. Steve never once pulled away from the invasion of his personal space. Not when Eddie got right up in his face again, not when Eddie had blatantly flirted with him—don’t ya, big boy?—and not now, when their faces had no reason to be this close together.

It’s Steve who pulls back, who finally breaks the spell between them, taking a shaky inhale of his cigarette. “Robin’s worried… thinks maybe we might not make it out this time.”

“Shit…” Eddie says with a puff of smoke. “But, y’know. Who else is gonna do it?”

“That’s what she said too.” Steve taps the ash off to the side, before taking another drag. “D’you ever feel like… I dunno, like you might be missing something that’s right in front of you? Something that everyone else sees, but you just… don’t?”

Eddie snorts. “Only every day, Harrington.”

“I think maybe…” Steve hesitates. “Maybe I am. Missing something.”

“And what is it,” Eddie says, tapping his ash. “That you think you’re missing?”

Eddie turns his head when Steve doesn’t respond, finding those hazel eyes boring into him. He feels it again, that magnetic pull, that electricity that seems to fire up between them any time they’re near each other. It wasn’t like Eddie to second guess something like this, to wonder if he might be wrong. By all accounts, he knew when someone was attracted to him. But for some reason, when it came to Steve, he couldn’t help but question it. That said, Eddie felt… something. It was there, palpable and pulsing between them.

“Enjoying the view?” Eddie’s voice drips with sarcasm as he gestures down at himself, knowing he looks a mess.

Steve jolts, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he looks away. “I don’t know. What I’m missing,” he quickly clarifies. “That’s kinda the problem, right?”

Eddie hums as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “Anything I can help with?”

Looking at him like the answer is right on his lips, Steve falters. “You—you don’t—no, I couldn’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off softly. “It’s okay.”

What exactly is okay, Eddie isn’t actually sure. But if he’s right—and god, he hopes he is—then he’s willing to take the chance. And fuck, if he can’t find a little bravery right before jumping back into hell, then when will he ever? Eddie flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground, turning to Steve fully, stepping right up in his space again. Steve’s eyes widen, and Eddie spots the green flecks in them, but he doesn’t step back. Watching as Steve’s gaze jumps from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up again, Eddie feels a small smile pull at the corners of his lips. From the edge of his vision, he notices Steve drop the remainder of his cigarette.

Eddie brings a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw, leaning in closer, watching closely for any sign that he’s wrong, that he should stop. He feels Steve’s breath on his lips, and watches as his eyes become hooded. Eddie closes the distance. Steve’s lips are a little dry, but he moves softly, tentatively, gently. It’s almost… romantic. Feeling a hand come up to the side of his neck, then into the back of his curls, Eddie presses a little harder, just slightly parting his lips. He feels Steve’s tongue swipe at his lower lip, and can’t hold back any longer. 

Eddie surges forward, mouth opening and tasting Steve fully. It’s sloppy and frantic, teeth knocking and lips bruising, a sense of urgency suddenly taking over their movements. The hand that was cupping Steve’s jaw is now gripping, holding him in place, the other placed against the wall of the RV, pinning him there. Steve is twisting Eddie’s hair between his fingers, other hand pulling at his waist, bringing their bodies flush against each other. Their tongues slide together and Eddie thinks he could get high on this feeling. Whatever spark was between them has grown into a wildfire, and Eddie wants to chase it and burn up in it. The desperation they hold each other with, the desire that they kiss with, the sheer need that runs through both of them, it consumes him.

“Steve…” Eddie groans against his lips.

Steve lets out a muffled whimper. “Eddie…”

Eddie moans low in return. He wants to get closer, to feel more, to live in this feeling until his dying breath.

“Eddie,” Steve pants. “Eddie—stop. Stop-stop-stop.”

Once the words register in his mind, Eddie jumps back like he’d been electrocuted. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he breathes, chest heaving, heart racing.

“No, no, it’s—” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, it’s fine, I just…” He exhales heavily, lips shining with spit. “I just, I’m not—I don’t…”

Eddie’s heart drops as words seem to fail Steve. Oh… Oh, he was wrong. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of what Steve was trying to say, doesn’t need to hear I’m not into men, I don’t like you that way, I’m not like you, I don’t want you, or any other sentence that’ll tear his heart out. Taking another step back, Eddie tries to look anywhere but Steve’s face, mentally kicking himself for having read the situation so badly.

“It—I’m sorry, I just thought—” Eddie stumbles his way through his words as he backs away. “It’s okay though, uh, just. We can—we can act like it never happened.”

“What? Eddie, no, it’s not—” Steve sounds like the words are getting stuck in his throat, eyes wide and glistening. He looks lost.

“It’s alright, Steve,” Eddie cuts him off. “I don’t, like, blame you for, y’know, trying something at the end of the world.” Fumbling to grab his shield from the ground, Eddie creates more distance between them. “It’s fine. Like I said, didn’t even happen. Take it to my grave.”

Reaching out, Steve grabs for his wrist. “Eddie, please, wait, just—”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie cuts him off again, yanking his hand out of Steve’s, unable to stand the feeling of the heat between them any longer. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” With one final glance at Steve’s hurt expression, Eddie does what he does best, and runs.

He wants to go back. He wants to ask. He wants to know what Steve was going to say. But Nancy approaches soon after and tells them they need to get moving. Eddie tries not to watch as Steve and Robin huddle together, whispering to each other. Tries not to think about what they’re saying. Tries not to imagine that it’s something good. Maybe… there was a tiny chance it could have been… But no, it hurt enough to think that Steve didn’t want him. Eddie didn’t want to have to hear the words aloud. Ultimately, Eddie picked protecting himself over everything else, that’s how he survived this long. Did that make him a coward in his own opinion? Yes. But it’s what he did. 

Still. Eddie wondered. Maybe he reacted too quickly. Got scared too easily. Wouldn’t be the first time for him. Wouldn’t be the first time he ran his mouth and got himself into more trouble than if he’d just kept quiet. Wouldn’t be the first time he jumped to conclusions. Wouldn’t be the first time he bolted to avoid a hard conversation. Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe Steve was going to say something else. Maybe Steve wasn’t going to shatter his already fragile heart. Maybe, if Eddie hasn’t completely fucked this up, there’s a way through this for them. Him and Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he can fix it.

They don’t get a chance to talk about it. Eddie catches him more than once, staring at him with those eyes, filled with an unreadable expression—Hurt? Guilt? Longing?—before they both quickly look away again. They have to focus on the plan, have to put on the front for everyone else, for the kids. This can wait until after.

Once they’re back in the Upside Down, plans in motion, they share their parting words. Steve tells them not to be heroes, big-brother mask perfectly in place for Dustin’s benefit. Eddie tries to match it, going for a joke—that they’re not heroes—but a cold sick feeling travels down his chest as he says it. Steve already knows Eddie isn’t a hero. He can’t just leave it like this, so he stops Steve again. The mask has slipped now, and Steve looks close to tears.

“Make him pay,” Eddie says, finally looking Steve right in the eyes, begging him to hear the meaning behind his words. Make him pay. End all of this. Come back to me. We can try again. Maybe we have something. All the things he wishes he could say but doesn’t have the courage to.

Steve nods like he understands, and Eddie hopes to god he does. Hopes that he’ll give Eddie another shot, an opportunity to fix whatever was between them, a chance to show that he’s not the coward he claimed to be.

They don’t get to find out.

Because Eddie needs to save Dustin. Because Eddie runs out to distract the bats. Because Eddie regrets a lot of decisions he’s made—running away from Chrissy, leaving her for Wayne to find; not getting a chance to say goodbye, to tell his uncle how much he loved him; running away from Steve—but not this one. 

Because Eddie chooses a hell of a time to not be a coward for once in his life.

[stop-ur-losing-me]

my favorite lovers tropes

academic rivals to lovers (IS SO GOOD, plus when theyre forced to work together)

the "why didn't you answer my letters??" followed by "you wrote me letters???" HEARTWRENCHING

fake dating (enough said)

the 'you need to learn how to dance so im gonna teach you and oh gosh why r we this close?' (honestly one of my all time favs)

the two enemies dancing together at a masquerade dance (yes, just yes)

the screamed love confession during an argument "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU" (best thing ever)

one bed trope (enough said)

the 'i hate everyone but you' couple (yesssss)

one losing their mind if the other is hurt or captured (cough percabeth cough)

the bodyguard/princess trope I REPEAT THE BODYGUARD/PRINCESS TROPE

the 'we were flirting and everyone else knows we were flirting but we're in denial bout it' (this trope)

MUTUAL PINING MUTUAL PINING

additionally, the 'everyone thinks we're dating but we r not/ in denial bout it' (BEST TROPE EVER)

the hero falling for the villain (honestly one of the best ones out there)

lovers to enemies (SO ANGSTY)

there's more i'll add when i can :)

[clear-what-i-was-seeing]

artists have "draw this in your style", i think fic authors should start doing "write this in your style" where a ton of people write the same prompt but all do their own lil interpretations and characterizations and fun dialogue bits etc

[oofouchstovehot]

afterdeath doodles to satiate The Voices

[ablazenqueen]

“I can fix him.”

— the magical being about to toss some unsuspecting asshole into a time loop

[always-amity]

Shitty 15 minute doodle done on the bus today because O Superman by Laurie Anderson came on my play list and I was like "This is so Furious Core"

Also debut of my Young Furious design I guess.

[franklyimissparis]

the temptation to write a time travel au milex fic where alex wakes up in 2007 and thinks he’s there to fix his relationship with alexa but he’s actually meant to get his shit together with miles

[emily-mooon]

Nothing to see here, just a 1960s Jancy sketch.

[elminster-big-naturals]

durgetash but its gortash lying his lil hot topic ass off about them being married before durge disappeared in order to trick them into a partnership

[arlertaddict]

Teaching Armin how to masturbate for the first time fic? Anyone???

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The wanderer: Pt 1

I loved my ball. It had been with me for a dozen years, since I was but a child. To the untrained eye, it was a generic squishy ball, the sort you might find in a child's playset. But if you asked me, I could think of a dozen fond memories with it, playing with friends at parties, bouncing it while I was bored, squeezing it in my hand as I cried. It was, for all of its lack of anthropomorphism, a friend. Sure, seventeen year olds were a bit too old to play with toys, but I had always had a childish streak.

That was why, when it rolled into a drain, I jumped after it without a second thought. The drain was narrow, too short for me to stand fully, so I knelt to get in. My shoulders and hips were twisted to the side awkwardly, one leg trailing behind the other like I was lunging, but I kept shuffling forward.

It was dark, too. Light filtered through the fixed grilles, creating a patchwork of bright and dark that guided me. As I went on, my front knee aching from the strain, rough stone rubbing against my sides, I began worrying.

Had I missed the ball? It seemed like I had been walking on forever. It occurred to me that I wasn't quite sure how to back out again. I couldn't turn around, and moving backwards would be a laborious process. The pain in my legs grew, and so did my panic.

The stone seemed to entomb me, rubbing against my back and chest, keeping me from breathing deeply. What if I was trapped here, forever? Would anyone hear me when I screamed? Still I kept moving. Stupid, blind loyalty to my ball would not allow me to back out.

I wanted to crack my neck, but there just wasn't enough space. The hand that I used to support myself began burning, the skin rubbed raw. I was coated in a layer of dirty water and dust, my clothes clinging to me. Still I kept moving. It was too late to back out, now.

The lights became further and further apart, grilles turning to thick concrete slabs. Was the passageway narrowing? I felt squashed, compressed into a cube. Everything burned. Still I kept moving.

My breath came in shuddering gasps. It was so dark. Where was the light? I wanted to collapse, my thighs trembling with the agony of constant weight. But if I fell now, I would not get back up.

So I kept moving.

And eventually I reached an exit, where the drain led to an opening. Light, proper sunlight, shone in an uninterrupted ray. And where it fell sat my ball, haloed like an angel. I pushed myself forward and grabbed it, just as my legs gave in. Collapsing, I clutched my ball to my chest and rested.

After an indecipherable amount of time, I got up. My back ached, but the worst was over. Figuring that I could just follow the drain back home, instead of taking the gruelling underground route, I stepped out into the light.

I had no idea where I was, save that it was filthy. A layer of grime and rust coated every surface, and the light highlighted smog in the air. Suddenly the drain seemed to be a fine way back home.

Was it a scrapyard? There were machine parts scattered in heaps, serrated metal jutting out in piles. But there was flesh, too. Rotten, stinking corpses of things that were not human, their skeletons smashed to unrecognisable bits, blood like a dried up fountain staining the ground red-brown.

Was it a garbage heap? Perhaps a butchery was nearby, and these were the remains of their products. But the corpses were too whole for that, and they had been mauled rather than butchered. There was too much violence in the air, too much blood and fury.

So was I somewhere else entirely? I turned back to look at the fateful passageway. Here, in this strange place, it was a concrete tunnel, with walls and a ceiling thick enough to bear my weight. I stepped atop it, and began following it like a trail.

The desolation stretched as far as the eye could see, machine and monster intermingled endlessly. The sky was cloudless, the sun beating down on me relentlessly. The mud that was smeared all over me began to dry, leaving me caked in dirt. I fit right in, an explorer in a post-apocalyptic world.

Everything was red, from the viscera to the corrosion to the soil. Even the sun itself was a massive crimson globe hanging in a fiery sky. Only my little pathway home, my fateful drain, was a grey testament to a different colour.

My old taped-up sneakers were a blessing in that endless slog, the socks mercifully dry, even as my feet grumbled, a steady pain that was dwarfed by the anguish of the drain. I squeezed my precious ball repeatedly, as if to remind myself that it was still there, and kept a brisk pace.

It seemed that I was the only person for miles around. Nothing stirred in the red-brown meadow, not even buzzing flies laying eggs in putrefied flesh. Nothing breathed in the flesh-rotted air, not even carrion-vultures feasting on the dead. Nothing lived in the hellscape that I wandered, not even the crawling maggots that should have lurked in the rotten meat. I hummed to distract myself from the uneasiness of being all alone.

As if the sound awakened something, I heard a shrieking cry. It came from above, a haunting, sorrowful noise. 'Run,’ it seemed to say. 'This place is not for you. Whilst your heart still beats, you must leave.’

I heeded it, my pace quickening. The scream came again, closer this time. I looked up to see a great serpent in the sky. Blood gushed from a dozen wounds, and it released a third cry of agony. Even so, it twisted in the air magnificently, looping in the sky with peerless grace, silver scales glittering in the sun.

I stopped to stare, awestruck. Some things in this world can only be experienced, and the sight of that dragon was one of them. No words could describe the regality, the raw determination, the sheer terrifying power of it.

I was watching a god fall, and I knew it. My heart wenched as it released a final ululation, a serenade to the dying world, and hung in the air for an infinite moment.

Then it collapsed, dropping like a stone into the mass graveyard that surrounded me. When it landed, a thump resounded through the world, like the land itself had broken upon impact. The dead dragon was lost amidst the gore and gears, and I wept for it.

I wept for that dragon and the untold horrors of the world I wandered through. I wept for fear that I would never get home, for the pains in my body and the grime all over me. I wept and wept and wept, clutching my ball like a security blanket and walking all the while.

Finally, I let out a scream. It was a hoarse, thin thing, a poor mimicry of the full howl the serpent had produced, but it was all I could make.

When the cascade of tears subsided, I found myself standing at the end of the path. I was not home, not yet. But I had found something else, something that belonged to my world.

A train station.

[obessivedork]

The more I think about it the more annoyed I am by the amount of Deadwoman Sadmen in Fallout 4. Like @the head writer WHO THE FUCK HURT YOU???? @Todd Howard WHY did you approve SO many of the EXACT SAME character backstory for MULTIPLE characters in ONE GAME??

You know what? I WOULD rather a bitter divorced MacCready who nontheless is looking for a cure for his son because that's still his kid! I'd rather Kellog's wife?/gf? LEFT him because he was a piece of shit merc! Must it have been a wife dying for Deacon to feel bad and change his ways? why not some random community member or or a friend something? Time and time again this series uses women as plot devices rather than as characters and fallout 4 is the worst offender. Not only is it misogyny and showing a severe lack of anyone but the most generic cis white men they could pull off the street to sit in the writer's room but it's So. Lazy. Every. Time!!!!

Sexism aside are they not embarassed with their lack of imagination and hack storytelling?

[sparfloxacin]

hiiii I won't go into to much detail but last night I had a dream in which Olli and Joonas took turns in fucking Aleksi 😳 okay thx bye

well good morning to you too 😳

that is such a hot threesome, please go into detail I wanna hear it all 😫🥴

[alliaskisthepossibilityoflove]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Bobby Nash, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Howie "Chimney" Han, Maddie Buckley, Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, eddie's love language is acts of service and buck tries his hardest Summary:

Eddie shrugs. “Christopher mentioned to Daniel that Buck and I are partners. I mean, sure, it’s a little weird that she invited him over as well, but—”

“Partners,” Hen interrupts, “like work partners?”

Eddie and Buck glance at each other. “Uh, yeah?” Eddie says. “What other type of partner?”

Hen stares at them for a moment, before she bursts out laughing. “You dumbasses. She thinks you’re together.”

 or, Eddie joins the PTA.