#the tension... the dynamics

[enbyfication]

god ive been really into switching lately like nothing beats those early moments in the conversation when you're both horny and figuring each other out, figuring out how hard you're gonna fight today, whether you wanna win or just give in, if you're gonna do anything you can to see them beg or if it's time to just switch off your brain for a while

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

delicately holds up 2 characters (specimen) with tweezers whilst peering sagely through a jeweller's lens: "why yes. oh yes...they'll make a marvelous divorced couple"

[echofades]

You won, and you broke my heart. / You broke mine first. HACKS | 4.01

[grechkathekasha]

I’ll show no mercy for you, you had no mercy for me.

[ongshimi]

. . . whatever tf is going on here

[astro-candii]

Old manga redraw, I like giving Shadow cute kitty claws <3

[darcania]

For all of the flaws in X-Men Evolution there was a lot it did very well, and letting Wolverine be this grumpy father figure to most of the X-Men was one of them.

[qoldenskies]

i rewatch rottmnt a lot because i try to pick up on new things to improve my characterization and i think its so funny that one of the most noticeable things about mikey is his complete inability to read the room. oblivious king

[pandemoniumplots]

had a really funny thought about bruce/danny/talia the other day

so older danny gets mixed up in the league for whatever reason, and ends up in a relationship with talia and raises damian with her. he ends up going with damian when he gets sent to bruce and bruce is kind of stunned you know. cause like. surprise son and his surprise stepfather sent for safekeeping by your ex. and eventually danny and bruce get together bc danny is... very compelling. bruce batnip, one could say. of course talia shows back up eventually and it's awkward cause you and your ex are both in love with the same guy. only for the guy to go "well, yall could always share?" and danny & damian end up in split custody between bruce and talia lol

[aventurineswife]

Hellooo!! Could you possibly do Pirate!Reader x Mermaid/siren!Aventurine?

Here’s an idea: They’ve known each other long enough to the point Reader genuinely starts questioning if Aventurine is constantly stalking their ship or not, since he seems to pop up nearby whenever their ship stops somewhere.

The Tide Pulls Us Closer

Summary: Every time you dock your ship, Aventurine is already there—waiting, watching, smirking like he knows something you don’t. It’s happened too often to be coincidence. When you finally confront the siren about his apparent stalking, he only offers cryptic smiles and half-truths. But you know Aventurine well enough to recognize when he’s playing a game… and this time, you’re making sure the stakes are even.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Pirate!Reader, Siren!Aventurine, Slow Burn/Mutual Pining, Flirty Banter, Power Play & Mind Games, Cat-and-Mouse Dynamics, Underlying Tension.

Warnings: Mild language, Subtle manipulation & mind games, Mentions of piracy & smuggling, Light tension & suggestive implications, Aventurine being a charming yet dangerous menace.

A/N: tried a new style? Let me know if you guys like it, I'm not so sure about myself 🧍‍♀️

The sea had its own laws, its own rhythms. You had learned to read them like a gambler reads his cards, knowing when to fold and when to play. But no amount of seamanship could explain why every time you made port, he was there.

Aventurine.

The first time you saw him, you thought he was just another wandering soul of the sea—a siren with a voice like velvet and a smile like a dagger wrapped in silk. The second time, you thought it was coincidence. By the fifth, you were convinced he was stalking your ship.

And now, here he was again, lounging on the warm rocks of this nameless cove, half-submerged in the shallows, watching your crew unload cargo as if he had all the time in the world. The water lapped at his skin, iridescent scales catching the afternoon light. His eyes gleamed, pupils slitted like a predator’s, and that infuriating smirk never wavered.

You crossed your arms, standing at the edge of the dock. “Starting to think you’re following me, fish boy.”

Aventurine chuckled, low and smooth, the sound carried by the wind. “Oh? And here I thought it was you who kept stumbling into my waters.”

“You’re in every damn port I visit,” you shot back. “Unless I’m mistaken, you don’t exactly have legs to walk around, so either you’ve got a terrible sense of direction, or you are following me.”

He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Mm. Or perhaps the sea itself wants us to meet. A little wager between fate and the tides.” He lifted a dripping hand, gesturing lazily. “Besides, can you blame me? Your ship leaves the most delightful chaos in its wake. Plundering, smuggling, outwitting the Navy… I do love a good gamble.”

“You are stalking me,” you muttered, running a hand down your face.

He only grinned wider.

With a sigh, you stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Alright, Siren. What do you want?”

“Want?” He dragged a webbed finger through the water, tracing idle patterns. “Now, that’s an interesting question.” His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “Would you believe me if I said I simply enjoy your company?”

“No.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, Captain, you wound me.”

“Try harder,” you said flatly. “You don’t just ‘enjoy company.’ You like winning. What’s the game here?”

Aventurine’s gaze flickered, the easy amusement in his expression giving way to something more calculated, more dangerous. For all his theatrics, there was always something unreadable beneath the surface.

“Perhaps I’m simply keeping an eye on my investment,” he mused.

You raised a brow. “Investment?”

“You.”

The word settled between you like an unspoken challenge.

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant cry of seagulls and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

Then you laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Aventurine merely shrugged. “I do try.”

Despite yourself, you smirked. ��Fine. You want a game? Let’s make it interesting.” You crouched at the edge of the dock, fingers trailing over the water’s surface. “If I can outmaneuver you, get my ship out of here before you find me again, you stop lurking.”

His slitted pupils narrowed, intrigued. “And if I win?”

“You tell me why you’re really so interested in me.”

For the first time, Aventurine’s smirk faded just a fraction. Something in his expression shifted—too quick to catch, but unmistakable.

Then, just as fast, the mask slipped back into place. He grinned, sharp and bright.

“Oh, Captain,” he purred, “you do love to gamble.”

You leaned forward, mirroring his smirk. “And you do love to lose.”

The game was on.

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

Within a Drop

In this macro video, various chemical reactions swirl inside a single dangling droplet. Despite its tiny size, quite a lot can go on in a drop like this. (Video and image credit: B. Pleyer; via Nikon Small World in Motion) Read the full article

[itsalliny0urhead]

Good Boy (Dick Grayson x fem!reader)

💀🖤 I think this is my favourite one I’ve written so far. Do you want more parts? You left the League and never looked back — trading justice for blood and silk and the thrill of taking exactly what you want. When Dick shows up at your door years later, rain-soaked and desperate, asking for your help… you decide to say yes.

For a price.

Dick Grayson x fem!reader — enemies to lovers / ex-lovers / villain!reader

The penthouse is decadent.

Moonlight spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the city in silver at your back. Crystal glasses glint on the bar. A man’s wristwatch ticks softly on the marble countertop — its owner nowhere in sight. The whole place hums with something warm and wrong, like luxury pressed over rot.

He steps inside uninvited, though the lock’s already broken. You never leave doors intact. They don’t deserve that kind of mercy.

Then he sees you.

Reclined on a velvet chaise like a serpent in silk, legs bare, neck glowing in the pale light. Wine glass in hand, fingers lazy around the stem. A bloodstained blade resting on your thigh. Casual. Intimate. Like it belongs there.

There’s a smear of red across your collarbone. Still wet.

“Grayson,” you purr, not bothering to look up. “I was wondering when you’d come crawling.”

His mouth goes dry.

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

Your gaze lifts — slow, deliberate. Your eyes gleam like a blade unsheathed.

“Which ones?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

This penthouse belonged to someone else — their coats still hang in the entryway. A framed photo smiles from the wall. A child’s drawing on the fridge, curling at the edges. You haven’t erased them. Just claimed the space like a queen conquering a kingdom.

You’ve never tried to be clean. You made yourself unholy.

“I need your help,” he says, jaw clenched.

That earns him a laugh — low, husky, deliciously cruel. You tilt your head, silk slipping lower on your shoulder, revealing the edge of a bruise or maybe a bite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathe, “you must be desperate.”

You set the glass down without looking, the clink of crystal against marble slicing clean through the quiet.

Then you rise.

Slow. Languid. Every movement deliberate. Your bare feet whisper across the hardwood, silk sliding over skin like it was poured there — clinging to the swell of your hips, the line of your thighs, the sharp curve of your collarbone still kissed with blood. Not a costume. Not armor.

You wear danger like perfume.

And he — he stands frozen, soaked from the rain, boots bleeding water onto the polished floor, pulse hammering under his skin like it knows.

You stop in front of him, not touching. Just hovering. Close enough that he can smell you — not just wine and something floral, but something darker underneath. Copper. Smoke. A hint of gunpowder that makes his stomach twist.

This close, you’re both everything he remembers and nothing like the girl he used to know.

Once, you used to laugh when you sparred — wild, breathless, too sharp for your own good. He used to call you reckless. You’d grin and say he was just afraid to lose.

Once, you used to braid your hair before missions. Sit on the edge of the rooftop, tongue caught between your teeth as you wove it tight with shaking hands. He’d watch you from a distance, pretending not to care.

Now? Now your hair’s loose — wild, untamed, drying in waves that frame your face like something feral. Your eyes glint like broken glass.

“You look good,” you say, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “Little worn. Little wet.” Your gaze drops, lingers. “Still pretending you’re not exactly where you want to be.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“No,” you hum, “you came to beg.”

You take one slow step closer, and he doesn’t stop you.

Your fingers trace his jaw — featherlight, but it burns. Like contact with something holy and forbidden. You touch him like you have a right to. Like you still own the map of his skin.

“You want my help,” you whisper, thumb dragging over the edge of his lip, “but you’re choking on it. On me.”

He doesn’t breathe.

There was a night — years ago — after a mission that went sideways. You’d stolen a bottle of vodka from the med bay. Pushed it into his hands. Sat beside him on the floor, your backs to the wall, your knee pressed against his. Your voice had gone quiet when you’d said, “We’re not built to be good forever.”

He hadn’t believed you.

Until you proved it.

“You’re not the same person,” he says now, barely audible.

You smile — slow, sharp, brutal.

“No,” you murmur. “I’m better.”

Your hand trails lower — down his chest, over the line of his belt, not quite touching. Teasing. Threatening. You’re not sure which would be worse for him.

“And you,” you continue, voice a blade wrapped in silk, “still clinging to that broken little moral compass like it ever pointed north. But you came here. To me.”

You lean in — lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and cold all at once.

“So say it, Grayson. Say the words. I want to hear them bleed.”

There’s a version of you in his memory, sitting cross-legged on the Watchtower floor, humming under your breath while disassembling a prototype bomb — hands steady, eyes shining, voice soft when you said, “Do you think we’ll ever get out?”

That girl is gone.

And yet — when he looks at you now, standing there in blood and silk and sin — he’s not sure you didn’t become something more terrifyingly honest.

“I need you,” he says, broken and raw.

Finally.

You exhale like a slow smile, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Good boy.”

You move like you own the room. Like you own him.

He doesn’t follow when you turn away — just watches you glide toward the bar again, silk whispering over skin, blood still drying on your shoulder. The room smells like wine and metal. Like sex and death.

You finish your drink in a single, slow swallow, red lips staining the glass. Then you set it down, turn, and lean back against the bar — arms folded, head tilted, smiling like you’re already undressing him with your eyes.

Because you are.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” you say. “I’ve killed for less than the way you looked at me when you walked in.”

His voice scrapes low. “You’ve killed for less than everything.”

You grin. “Exactly.”

There’s a flicker — just a breath of memory:

You were sixteen the first time you went off-mission. The intel was bad. The target was worse. You slit a man’s throat in an alley while Dick watched, stunned, heart thudding in his chest. You didn’t flinch. Just wiped the blade on your sleeve and said, “If we leave him breathing, he follows us.”

He hadn’t slept that night. You had.

Now, you step forward again, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving his. Your fingertips skim along the back of a leather chair as you pass it. You’re circling him again — like hunger in human skin.

“But I’ll help you,” you say, almost sweetly. “For a price.”

You stop behind him. He can feel the heat of you, the press of the silence between.

“I want a night,” you whisper — right at the edge of his ear, voice thick like molasses, like something you drown in. “With you. Not Robin. Not Nightwing. Not whatever mask you’re wearing this week.”

Your hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms — slow and teasing and cruel. “I want the part of you that still wants me,” you breathe, “no matter how hard you’ve tried to forget.”

His hands curl into fists.

He remembers the night before you left. No uniform. No orders. Just the two of you on the Watchtower roof, watching Earth rotate in silence. You’d kissed him like it was a secret. Like you didn’t know when you’d get the chance again. And when you pulled back, you looked him in the eye and said:

“One day, I’m going to do something you can’t forgive.”

He hadn’t said anything.

Maybe you were waiting for him to ask you not to. Maybe that’s why you left.

Now you pull around in front of him again, your lips so close he can taste the wine on your breath.

“When this is over,” you say, dragging one finger slowly up his chest, “you come back here. And I’ll ruin you properly. Take my time with it. Peel off every pretty lie you’ve wrapped around yourself just to breathe.”

You lean in — tongue flicking the edge of his jaw. Your lips graze his skin like a brand.

“I want you kneeling. Bleeding. Mine.”

His voice is rough. “You always wanted ownership more than love.”

You smile. “Ownership is love, darling. You just never learned how to take it.”

And god help him — something in him still aches for you.

Still remembers the way you used to laugh when you trained together. The thrill in your eyes when you landed a hit. The sound of you, breathless in the dark, whispering:

“We could be legends, Dick.”

He wanted to be a hero. You wanted to be a god.

“…Deal,” he says again, quieter. Like a confession.

You step back — satisfied. Triumphant.

“Good boy.”

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

This has most definitely been said before, but we were robbed of the core four quarantining on-screen together at Buck’s place. ROBBED I say

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

We could have had it all...

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[stxrshxpxd]

his precious

pairing: jim halpert x reader

word count: 1k

warning: none

prompt: reader is nervous about a sales meeting and her flirty office bestie jim helps her out

I couldn’t stop the sigh that ripped from my chest as I sat down in my chair and dropped my bag on the floor all in one heavy movement. I had dreaded this day for about a week. Jim’s eyes were on me instantly from my left.

“Morning,” he said cautiously, almost in a question.

“Goodnight,” I replied and laid my head on my forearm, enjoying a moment of pitch black behind my closed eyelids. Jim laughed weakly and it brought a little joy to my dark core.

“What’s up?”

When I peeked back up I saw he had lowered his head too, peering at me from under his soft fringe and with his chin pressing into his own forearm. It felt strangely intimate and the whole thing made my belly flutter shortly.

“Sleep bad?” he asked again.

“I guess.”

Sitting up straight, I sighed again and watched him mirror my action. His eyes were big and sweet and seemed to have no interest in abandoning me for his computer screen.

“I have that sales pitch with the library today, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m the worst salesman this office has ever seen.”

I truly couldn’t remember the last sale I had closed and the last time my salary was anything above bare minimum. Knowing that in about an hour I would have to sit in that meeting and fail once again made my stomach twist with anxiety.

“Wait, you’re going with...” Jim started and his face contorted with some amusement as he knew the answer but wouldn’t say it.

“Dwight,” I finished his thought with a firm nod and Jim tried to contain his playful smirk at my misery.

“By all means, bask in my pain.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed and leaned forward, petting my arm swiftly with his hand. His warm fingers sent tingles through my body and another type of anxiety settled in my abdomen. I definitely thought Jim had begun touching me a lot more in the last few weeks. He always seemed to stand closer than normal and went out of his way to whisper inside jokes during meetings. It all made me terribly hopeful that he might be feeling what I’m feeling.

“Dwight’ll close it though, you just-“

“No, cause I’m supposed to lead the whole thing. So that I learn or whatever,” I cut him off and sank down in my seat. “Besides, I don’t think Dwight possesses enough empathy to step in and save me from failing.”

“He definitely doesn’t,” Jim agreed and I sighed once again, readying myself to lay my head down against my desk and close my eyes for another few minutes. But then Dwight came back from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand, and, more interestingly, Jim fully grabbed my wrist. It made my heart jump and I stumbled after him, allowing him to lead me away with a mischievous smirk.

Pulling me into the kitchen, Jim let go of me but stayed close as he fished his cell phone out of his pant pocket. Hushing me, he leaned in even closer and pointed at Dwight’s back in the distance while he held the ringing phone between our ears. I had caught on to what he was doing, but I couldn’t focus at all with his nose an inch away from mine. For three dial tones everything was still and quiet and I swore I could feel his soft breaths. Then Dwight picked up.

“Hello.”

“Hey, uhh,” Jim began in a deep, contorted voice. “Is this Mr. Scoot?”

I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling at Jim’s indecipherable accent and he silently hushed me and then bit down on his lip, his smile slightly slanted and so pretty.

“It’s Mr. Schrute.” Dwight corrected and I glanced at him shifting in his seat.

“Right, right. My bad, sir. Well. I have a truck full of hay here at your door and there ain’t nobody here to sign for it. Now, I could-”

“It wasn’t supposed to come until next Thursday!” Dwight cut off and I smiled at Jim’s animated sigh of relief. His plan had worked.

“I will be there as soon as I can,” Dwight blurted in our ears and I watched him slam the phone, already heading in our direction. Jim was quick to hide his phone in his pocket again and swiveled around to act occupied, scanning the insides of the nearest cupboard.

“Jim! I have to go. Hay emergency. You’re taking my place on the library sales pitch with your precious Y/N,” Dwight exclaimed with some disdain and was out of there as quickly as he had entered, leaving me alone again with Jim and his now violently blushing cheeks. My heart had dropped and then jumped up to my throat. It took a moment before he looked at me again and either of us spoke. His precious Y/N. Had he been talking about me with Dwight? That didn’t sound right. Were we that obviously flirty?

“Thank you,” I laughed emptily and Jim looked at me for a second before gazing down at his shoes.

“Yep, no problem,” he laughed back and rubbed his neck.

Yet another long moment passed of quiet and discomfort. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at Jim’s golden brown hair and down his tall body, dressed in his usual black and white. He looked so good.

At last I tried to steer us back to our normal repertoire.

“Man, I can’t wait to see Dwight’s face when he gets back here.”

“Oh, he’ll kill me,” Jim nodded, his cheeks having lost some of their red tint and the tension easing again. “Luckily I’m bigger than him.”

“He’s stronger,” I teased and began heading out of the kitchen.

“Hey, I just helped you out majorly. Watch it, Y/L/N!” Jim joked and followed me out to our desks. I caught a big glimmer in his eyes as he smiled and laughed with me, and my belly flipped again.

“Okay, let’s go over this pitch.”

[september-skeleton]

andrew garfield chicken shop date video of all time to ME. somehow simultaneously has the most (seemingly) romantic and natural chemistry while ALSO being the one that most blatantly acknowledges and almost criticises the pretence and orchestration fundamental to the format of the show. like it’s inherently paradoxical which makes it so FASCINATING. despite their flirting and dropping lore of their real life previous encounters (quote unquote meet cutes thanks for that one mr garfield) they also explicitly mention the facade of the show AND break the fourth wall- when he repeatedly touches the boom mic between them, and when they keep looking at the camera.

they deliver more successfully than ever on the central idea of the show while also actively deconstructing it! while breaking its established conventions! absolutely insane media experience 10/10