#irl otp

[alexbrecks]

[regalbadass]

tracylord:

★ My Classic OTPs (alphabetical order) - 13: Richard Burton & Elizabeth Taylor

“I might run from her for a thousand years and she is still my baby child. Our love is so furious that we burn each other out.” ~ Richard Burton

On the first day they worked together; Richard was suffering from a hangover. Elizabeth had to help him hold his coffee cup steady. When he blew his lines, it brought out her maternal instincts. Within two days, according to crew members, they had started their affair, which caused such a scandal that even the Vatican condemned it. 

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “date ideas but make it a little more… out there. unconventional. possibly illegal” prompts 

Exploring abandoned train tracks together; taking those aesthetic Pinterest photos for the gram. 

Exploring actual haunted houses, with the full gear equipped.

Cemetery hopping.

Painting the walls with your bag of spray cans, in the narrow alleyways and where people won’t see you guys having a blast. (They call it graffiti, you call it art.)

Going to a thrift shop and buying clothes for each other (set a budget), going off on what you think their style would be, and only revealing what you bought to your date when you’ve purchased the articles of clothing and are out of the shop. Do a bit of a fashion show for each other!

Exploring abandoned properties together. (Beware: no trespassing if you want to up the thrill of it.)

Go to IKEA and pretend you guys are an actual couple; start an argument with each other over those tables that are put there for decoration. Or… Make it more tame. Pretend you’re shopping for your dream home, together. 

Going to a rage room together to fuck shit up and relieve some stress.

Ghost tours!

Sneaking into the movies without paying. On top of that, sneak in snacks from your local supermarket chain instead of paying for the ones at the cinemas/theatres. Tip: Don’t get caught.

[jessmalia]

We hereby conduct this post-mortem I was a hot house flower to her outdoorsman Our maladies were such we could not cure them And so a touch that was my birthright became foreign

[petridumps]

so how do we feel abt kitsune gojo? 🫣

i was abt to make a halloween piece w/ kitsune gojo (& some other yokai for nanami that i haven't decided yet, so he's human here🥲) but i never got around to finish bc i am dead tired lol but have my draft anyway!!

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[pansexual-puppy-pack]

society if we got the thiam elevator kiss

[blogthebooklover]

Happy Belated Earth Day! 🌎 🌱🌳

DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION

Here is Mae & Noa from Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, recreating the Tarzan & Jane scene! 😂❤️😍

This is my first time drawing Mae, and either my third or fourth time drawing Noa. This is possibly one of the hardest pieces I've worked on, so far.

The polls are in, I will be posting fan art from time to time! I work with traditional art, preferably mixed media. I would like to do digital art as soon as I have a proper laptop or tablet. I was very hesitant about sharing my art on this site. I am still learning and practicing how to do shading and lighting, especially with colored pencils.

Edit: I added the reference photos below.

Reference Photo(s)

[elvenbeard]

This started out as a joke on Discord, but then I wanted to draw it so badly, so here we go xD I just love the idea of Kerry, Johnny, and Rogue being millennials and having grown up more or less with the same (or similar) media I did. As they get older it just gets more likely to run into people like V who just don't know certain things anymore that were integral to their youth... I feel like everyone can relate to that, right? VHS anyone, floppy disks, cassette tapes?

(bonus: V might actually have seen the old Gremlins film, should it exist in this universe, bc he is a bit of a nerd... but he sometimes just enjoys teasing Kerry about stuff like that a bit too much XD impromptu movie nights with him as a follow up are an additional plus xD)

P.S. I totally borrowed the idea of Kerry's V-pendant from @timaeusterrored because I loved the idea of him getting sth like that so much xD

[badlydrawnbabydirk]

I am giving baby dirk some cute valentines day toys and candy have fun with the heart shaped stuff kid

[ You receive an ASSORTMENT OF VALENTINES GOODIES and.. some blood bags? Well.. you guess they go well with the fangs! ]

[i-mybrunettelady]

hail, mighty hero

zaeim and nyra share a moment in kourna. set during long live the lich (lws4). mind the spoilers. 2k words. mature.

Allied Encampment is bustling with life. But it’s not the kind of life that would indicate happiness; in Zaeim’s head, that kind of life is almost a fragment of his imagination. It certainly is for the poor souls of Istan, or even Vabbi. Here in Kourna and the real world, it’s a life of anxiety, a life of uncertainty, of vague hope. People are carrying their restlessness with them and looking up at the leaders of this makeshift resistance group to make sense of it. 

Zaeim feels that burden intensely. He guides his Sunspears, makes plans, tries his hardest to not break nor bend under pressure. Every time he sees a wounded or dying Elonian, he sends a prayer to Kormir and it weighs his heart down even further. Every time there’s an accident, or a failed scouting mission, Zaeim wonders if they’re all going to die and Joko will remain the tyrant of Elona forever. 

So when he feels this way, he turns to Nyra. She stands tall, proud, indomitable and entirely mad. Her eyes shine with something wild and barely restrained, like fate itself had carved a chasm in her soul so now she’s trying to rebuild it back with parts of the real world. She attracts attention wherever she goes and people flock to her like moths to flame. From a distance, she looks radiant. Up close, Zaeim wonders when she’s going to burn out entirely. 

She can’t seem to fight off a sunburn from days in the sands and amongst the army. Her hair, short, messy and in constant disarray, has lightened to a near blonde, a contrast to the areas of her face that caught the beginnings of a tan. She has growing dark circles under her eyes and ever-present dirt beneath her nails, be it blood or tar or whatever else. Comfortable tunics she wears are more filled with creases and dust by the day, patched where they’d gotten nicked in the fights with Awakened. She hardly looks like their leader, Zaeim thinks, as worn out and bitter and restless as everyone else. 

He knows deep down, however, that it is her light this whole thing is centered around. And so, he can’t look away. Especially not when they’re discussing tactics, when she’s explaining things in that strangely accented Elonian of hers, or when she settles on a decision and cuts a clear line in the sand. I have listened to your suggestions. From this point on, you are with me or against me. 

Hardly anyone dares oppose her.

And thus Zaeim finds himself drawn to the moments where he’s with her. He likes the reassurance in her eyes. He likes the subtle nature of her smiles. “I’ve never been very expressive, in terms of.. Face,” she said one night, reclining against a wall. Zaeim raised his gaze to her face. “Do you mind that?”

“Some people are simply not,” he replied, with more eagerness than he’d intended. “I don’t doubt that you’re genuine about this and about Elona. Kormir knows you want Joko dead as much as anyone else here.” 

“There can only be one biggest dick in this desert, yeah?” she huffed and blew a curl of hair away from her nose. “For fuck’s sake, I need my hair to grow faster.” 

Zaeim smiled. “That growth spurt went elsewhere with you, it would seem.” 

Nyra laughed. It was a solid, deep sound, echoing in the small cottage they’d claimed as their base of command. “I’d say Joko stole it and I wanna get it back.” 

“Or Sayida.” 

“Sayida is wiser than Joko.” 

Zaeim shook his head. “Debatable, but I will not argue with you.” 

“That’s smart,” Nyra said, in a gravelly tone. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve suspected a threat. “You are wise too.” 

Zaeim doesn’t consider himself wise. He doesn’t think Nyra herself is wise, either. All he knows is that between them, and supposedly Sayida, and the Olmakhan and the Primeval ghosts, they can take down Joko and see a free Elona. 

Sometimes, that is enough. 

Other times, though, he wants to see Nyra the woman, Nyra the person behind the legend. Then he watches her movements, and notices, rather quickly, that her right shoulder is almost always stiff by the end of the day. She’s careful to not move her right hand much unless she has to, and the occasional stretch she does brings about a pained expression. She doesn’t bring it up, however. 

He understands. He has old wounds too. But in the grand scheme of Alysannyra Ainsaph, that one thing feels like a game changer. She goes from a symbol to a person, and from person to a symbol in a way Zaeim is familiar with, as the Spearmarshal. It makes him want to hold her close, feel the heat of her skin and the roughness of her sunburnt cheeks, in a union that so few people can actually understand. 

She comes to him in a dream, once, and there, she kisses him. And maybe Joko kills them all without Zaeim ever having tried to recreate that dream in real life. Zaeim hopes he musters up the courage to try. 

Opportunity presents itself rather unexpectedly. There is an Awakened Inquest incursion that Nyra herself chooses to annihilate, and that has her painfully rolling her shoulder to try and relieve the ache of it all day. In a break between planning, when the maps are in the safety of Canach’s hands for the moment, Zaeim takes a chance to lean in and whisper in Nyra’s ear, “Does your shoulder hurt?” 

Nyra almost hits his head as she raises hers. “What?” 

Zaeim blinks and steps away. “I noticed your shoulder is stiff and I wanted to offer relief. There is something that us Sunspears use and that I have a little bit of in my pack for old injuries.” 

“Relief, Spearmarshal?” Canach snickers, still looking at the maps. “I do think our dear Commander would love some relief! She’s had so much on her shoulders for this little war of yours–” 

“That’s what you take from this,” Nyra drawls, unimpressed. “Anyone you wanna fuck, Canach?” Zaeim blushes. 

“My hand suffices, Commander.” 

“Good. Stay out of the poor Spearmarshal’s business then. Maybe his hand doesn’t suffice.” 

Miraculously, Canach backs down. He offers Nyra a smile and returns the maps in her hands. “I will ponder on the tactics, Nyra,” he says quietly. “I will also see if Gorrik has any advice on the matter.” 

“Gorrik?” Nyra raises an eyebrow. She huffs out a breath and leans in. “Lie better next time, you asshat.” 

Canach grins. “He knows more than you think he does, Nyra.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed.” 

“Get lost, though,” she jerks her head towards the door. “Think about tactics elsewhere.” 

Canach salutes her and heads to the door. He makes sure to close them as loudly as he possibly can without breaking the damn thing. Zaeim watches him go and crosses his arms over his chest. His face feels hot still and he digs his nails into the exposed skin of his upper arms. Yes, Kormir curse him, he does want to sleep with Nyra, and is that a crime? Is it a bad thing if a man wants to sleep with a woman? 

“Zaeim,” Nyra says, “if you frown any harder, you’ll get a permanent wrinkle.” 

“Wrinkles are the least of my concerns,” Zaeim grumbles and looks away. He then clears his throat. “I hope you’re not offended that I–” 

“That you find me attractive?” Nyra taps a nail against the table. The wide stance she’d assumed earlier when talking to Canach now becomes a long, lean form. The wood creaks under her weight when she leans against the table. “No.” 

“But?” Zaeim looks back at her again. She’s rubbing her clothed arms. She’s the only fully clothed and covered person in this entire camp, barring Gorrik and Taimi. She has bandages up to her knuckles. “Are you hurt?”

“Zaeim, I’m more scar tissue than skin behind this patched up tunic,” she says after a while and laughs awkwardly. Zaeim stares. It somehow never crossed his mind that she too might have insecurities. His head has a hard time wrapping itself around that notion, that the Godkiller and Dragonslayer is insecure about her scars of all things. 

“That is hardly a concern to me, if it is any consolation,” he offers softly. “There are a lot of scarred Sunspears.” 

She looks him up and down. Her eyes linger on his arms and legs and on the peek of his chest, before she looks him directly in the eye. Zaeim squirms under inspection. He knows he looks older than he is; life of a Sunspear is hardly easy, and beauty is the first thing to go when you choose to defy Joko. In the grand scheme of things, it’s least relevant. But right now Zaeim wishes very hard that he’d been born a noble, a prince of Vabbi or Istan, someone she would find easy to look at. 

“For what’s worth, I think you’re attractive too,” she says and Zaeim’s head shoots up. She sounds a little sad. 

Zaeim breathes out. “I still have my ointment, if you’d like it.” 

She considers for a moment, and as if to prove a point, goes to roll her shoulder. She stops halfway. “Yes,” she says. She rises from the table that creaks thankfully, and carefully pulls some of her tunic down to reveal her right shoulder. Zaeim sees the tail ends of angry, dark pink burns, but when she catches it, she raises the sleeve so they’re covered again. 

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he points towards a little stool near him. She walks over, playing with the material of her sleeve, and turns her back to him as she sits. His breath catches in his throat. The scar there is gnarly, deep, like something had tried to tear her spine off. It sits in an uneven line at a weird angle too. 

“It would’ve been worse without surgery,” she says, distantly. 

“Is there a way to–”

“No.” The finality of her response makes him close his mouth and dig through his pack. He unscrews the little clay pot and a familiar, slightly pungent scent spreads across the room. Zaeim says nothing as he softly rubs the cream into the knotted flesh. The only sounds in the room are the scoops his fingers make and their breathing, rugged and tense. 

She has tan lines, he notices. Her skin is hot where he touches it. Every so often she turns her head to look at him, and her eyes seem so impossibly big and insistent, conflicted in a way he can’t possibly decode. The sunburn makes their purple hue stand out even more. Zaeim’s hands itch to touch and caress more of her. He imagines his lips on her exposed neck, his hands in her hair. This close, she’s less of a symbol and more of a living, breathing person, with dark circles and a haunted stare and greasy hair, and he cannot get enough of it. 

“Kiss me,” she says. Her voice is rough and rich and breathy. It echoes in Zaeim’s ears like a drum. 

“Gladly,” Zaeim mutters and closes the clay pot. He could die tomorrow; it would’ve been a damn shame if he didn’t leap at an opportunity to kiss her. The pot clinks as he returns it carelessly to his pack and washes his hands free of the ointment. Nyra watches him with a strange expression. 

“What?” Zaeim asks and his heart wants to beat out of his chest. He feels its thunder in his throat. 

“You remind me of someone,” she says softly. “It’s– it was a man as dedicated to his dream and his duties as you are.” The way she implies the man is dead makes it seem targeted, almost a reproach. She’d mentioned a lover before, back in Tyria, but that he is dead. Zaeim has no idea who this man is and senses the topic is too raw to discuss further, but he wonders.

Self reproach is the only thing worse than regret. 

Zaeim crouches before her. This close, she smells like the cream he’d put on her and sweat. “Do you want me to kiss you? Truly?” 

Her eyes blaze. “Enough consideration,” she bites out, “I’m not fragile, for fuck’s sake!” And she pulls him to her and crashes her lips to his, digs her hands in his locs. Zaeim moans under the attention, and he would’ve felt bad about it if it wasn’t swallowed by the domineering force of her lips on his, even if closed. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

After a moment, she takes her head back a little, as if snapped out of a daze. “You probably wanted something sweeter,” she says quietly. “This was anything but.” 

“I will not lie,” he replies, “my usual idea of a first kiss is something that isn’t a metaphorical devouring.” 

Nyra blinks. “We can kiss slowly, if you’d like,” she says and plays with his locs. And then adds, with a grief so big it could swallow the world, “It’s been a long while since I had one of those. Probably don’t deserve them either. But..” 

Zaeim stands up. “This chair is a little uncomfortable,” he says. Nyra follows suit, close enough so he can feel the heat of her body. “I am certain there are more comfortable places in this house for people to kiss.” 

“Walls have hardly ever failed,” she suggests. Finding a little nook that’s big enough for both of them is a challenge, but when they finally do, and when he kisses her again, with his hands on her ass, the world falls away. 

Kormir knows they both need this. Kormir knows they both need a lot of things. And thankfully, Kormir, bless Her, provides. 

[alexbrecks]

[pendarling]

The Heat

As soon as the first signs of Hero's eyes started to flutter, Villain showed concern. They knew they were strong, maybe even too much to handle for Hero, but they admired their resolve to never lose.

The sun hounded them, and although Villan should've made an effort to commit a crime on a cool night and avoid the heat, their resolve to make it as difficult as possible was too strong.

However, staring at the dishevelled protector across from them made them rethink their choices.

Hero steadied themselves and held their position again for another strike. "…what? Too afraid you might get a little messy?"

"Not quite." Villain raised a hand over their head and scanned the empty blue sky. Not a cloud in sight; they'd have to hope Hero didn't pass out yet. Their intentions were not all evil, they just wanted to stir up a bit of trouble like usual, but they couldn't afford to have Hero pass out.

Besides, they were always too stubborn to ask for help. Something about "being a hero means never showing weakness," in all fairness, they never thought of Hero as weak, but pushing their health this far was not doing them justice.

Hero maintained their posture, pressure rocking them slowly against their heels to keep their weight off just one side of their body. Their eyes stayed targeting Villain with some distortion to the air. For some compelling reason, Villain felt the urge to jump out and catch them before they fell, but Hero had yet to topple.

Hero swallowed tightly and then made the next move. The Villain moved back just in time and flung Hero onto the simmering rooftop. They hopped back onto their feet reflexively and tried a second time.

Pulling their fists out was much more complicated than it seemed; their moves began to slow down, their reaction time became later each time, and sloppier stances led to eventual failure.

The damned suit was choking them.

When Hero finally caved, they didn't just stumble. They collapsed. Breathing, finally succumbing to the unbearable heat and sweat pouring down their face.

"Hero!" Their nemesis sprang up and ran over to their aid.

"Don't come any closer!"

Villain stopped and looked at Hero's figure, struggling to get back up again. Their small frame looked contested in the sunlight, with a lost composure, and their strangled breath heard panting desperately.

Villain frowned and, despite their request, knelt down next to them.

They turned them over and analyzed the growing sweat on their face. "Hero?" the sun beat down on their back as they cast a shadow over the other. Villain pulled Hero's head into their lap and watched their eyes give in, and their consciousness slip away.

"I told you to not touch me,"

"Fuck."

Villain removed their glove and checked their pulse. It was rapidly slowing down but didn't seem too terrible. They gathered their rival into their arms and held them close to their chest.

They would need water and some rest, but Villain would have to risk exposing their base of operations.

They couldn't leave them here, though. It would be worth it once they saved a life for once.

~~~

MASTERLIST

[oakt733]

i just think that joel smallishbeans and lizzie ldshadowlady

[mischievous-thunder]

*After a fight*

Person B: You've been so damn annoying. I'm going to ignore you for the rest of the day.

Person A, the chaotic spouse: Oh is that so? How are you going to do it when I'm right here in this very room?

Person B, a myopic: *Promptly takes their glasses off*

[peaches2217]

I have so many varied and fun WIPs I could work on but my brain continues to scream “BE WEIRD ABOUT CHILDBIRTH! SURELY YOU WON’T WEIRD ANYONE OUT IF YOU KEEP WRITING ABOUT CHILDBIRTH!” and I’d like it to sTOP