#dynamic move

[xenobuster]

Flashing-BANG !

(Oc of @robotatertot for a dtiys)

[whywontvulcanseatreplicatormeat]

Just made myself so so sad thinking about Aang's marble trick because from a physics perspective, keeping dense spherical objects afloat on an airstream is not trivial, and he's doing it in a tiny little space without moving his hands. Bending is usually very gestural. So. Everyone in the era of the show is, at best, impressed THAT it is airbending. But Aang's an incredibly young master airbender. He wouldn't be acting like this was the bestest trick ever if it didn't take at least some skill; he's a goofy kid but he's also a prodigy. I bet other airbenders were absolutely blown away (pun fully intended) at the level of precision and force and minimalism of movement on display and now there's no one who understands at all why he expects accolades.

[star-pup01]

I was promised a vessel and got thrown into a teenager who has their own shit to work through that is not being helped by this situation, and if I ever give up then the world is covered in darkness.

[officialmiintee]

wind breaker / the sun and his moon

[atomicevacuation]

cloudward ho characters are making me lose my shit. like what do you mean the old crew all got plastered and passed around the captain's log making little doodles and predictions about Zood. what do you mean monty shows olethra how to repair the airship. what do you mean bert makes van bloomin' onions when she gets scared and lashes out. what do you mean olethra and marya and daisuke all sleep in comfrey's bed. what do you mean both van and maxwell are cursed. like????

[vaguely-concerned]

do you think that when rook stumbles out of the fade prison and through the eluvian to safety, there's a moment of everyone standing around in joyous (and probably exhausted) disbelief, where lucanis meets their gaze and recognizes the look of tremulous, hesitant uncertainty in their eyes -- that tentativeness of someone who feels they stand on the threshold of madness and one wrong move can send them over, the terror of something finally breaking apart in your head in a way that can never come back together and be whole again; the helpless is this truly happening? is this real? are you really here? confusion that verges on pleading. (the last time they saw him, he was dead. the last time they lost someone, their mind fractured around it for weeks, months, to spare them the knowledge, and they couldn't tell. until they could, and by then it was all too late. how could you know it's not all happening again? how could you not fear that it might be?)

yeah, lucanis recognizes that look immediately and with an instinctive visceral wave of empathy. because it's how he's felt so many times looking at them. anyway. anyone ever think about isabela's comment that lucanis looks at rook like he's afraid they're a fever dream. me neither

[inafieldofstarflowers]

and what if i said nicky is actually really important to neil’s development as a character and also to neil as a person? are we ready for that conversation

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,�� you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[keirahknightley]

That's probably Spycraft 101, isn't it?

Black Doves 1.02 "A Little Black Dove"

[wishing-well-art]

Violence duo

[trueloveistreacherous]

I left you alone. So, don't let it happen again. It's never gonna happen again.

Jeremy Allen White and Ayo Edebiri as Carmen Berzatto and Sydney Adamu in season 3 of The Bear (2022-present) created by Christopher Storer

[choccy-milky]

bird in her gilded cage 💙🪽

[osctwink]

waist-hug. hip-touch. was never a casual thing to do between teammates, both of you.

[descendant-of-truth]

I'm so obsessed with the modern Twilight Town gang, you guys

[superbatsbison]

thinking of poly superbat x male reader

you and bruce are an established couple

ofc he eventually reveals the fact that he's batman to you

it gets to a point. especially since you're living together

afterward, you become more involved in both bruce and batman's life

because of this, occasionally, you run into some of the other members of the justice league

mainly clark

sorry, i mean superman

he's always hanging around the manor

going over cases with bruce

sometimes coming back with him after particularly grueling missions

and who are you to turn away a handsome face?

who said that 👀

at first clark is surprised that bruce has such a kind boyfriend

or any boyfriend at all really

he didn't peg bruce as being emotionally available. or into men....

ANYWAY

he obviously doesn't need help patching up like bruce does

but often times his mind wanders...

thinking about what he could do differently

What would happen if things went wrong.

soon, he finds himself zoning out in the batcave

and- oh? you're sitting by him

your soft gaze and strong hand rubbing his back helps to calm his racing thoughts

he finds it easy opening up to you

you sit and listen to his worries. giving your input when you think he's running circles in his mind

meanwhile, bruce is across the cave watching you two

he adores you for your big heart and caring nature

watching you comfort his closest friend makes him feel warm inside

he also can't help the passing thought that you two look good side by side

wait what....

maybe he should call it a night

but the pattern continues

you and bruce continue to grow closer to clark

often making him a topic of your conversation

and poor clark

clark feels terrible for the feelings he's developing for you both

i mean you're a couple for god's sake!

a very kind....generous....attractive couple....

is he a bad friend?

meanwhile, in gotham, you're asking yourself if you're a bad boyfriend

you feel like the worst partner ever

you love bruce so much

and yet you've been thinking about clark almost just as often

oh, what would bruce think if he knew.

pan to bruce, who's already clocked onto what's going on LMFAO

i mean, he's not the world's greatest detective for nothing

clearly, he can see clark and his boyfriend are developing something

and he should be angry. right?

hurt at the least?

but all he can manage to feel is endeared

he thinks about clark joining your relationship

treating clark the way he treats you

clark... treating you the way, bruce... treats you

oh my god he's bricked

flash forward to you two laying in bed together

😏

in the silence of the peaceful moment, him blurting out, "honey I think we have feelings for clark"

you shooting upright off his chest

after the initial panic fades you both finally talk it out

speaking of talking it out, poor clark is left to relay his miseries to lois

when he gets done describing all the events of the past couple of months, she starts to laugh

clark: what? 🥺

lois: they're totally trying to say they like your vibe

this gives him hope that he's not making things up

soon you three are back in the cave

except the energy tonight isn't solemn like usual

it's charged

you and clark are in your usual spots side by side

bruce in his chair with his mask and gloves off

eventually, your conversation with clark fades, and you're left looking into each other's eyes

you both lean in for a kiss

after a few moments, clark remembers himself and pulls away to look at bruce

his eyes are wide as he expects bruce to unleash his wrath

but instead, he simply stands and walks over to the pair of you

he sits behind you with a hand around your waist

his thumb rubbing up and down on your stomach

he reaches the other out and puts it on the back of clark's neck

using his leverage, he pulls clark into a kiss

they're both so much taller than you

they're practically kissing over your head

not that you're complaining

it's the perfect angle to plant your own little kisses underneath their jaws

there in your own little cuddle pile, you all confess to each other

clark is over the moon to have the affection of you both

he quickly finds a home in your dynamic

now, instead of having weekly post mission meet-ups in the cave, you all decompress in bruce's comically large bed

[rulesofdisorder]

wait actually. yanno how when people complain about endgame steve leaving bucky and the dudebros go “oh my god not everything is about your stupid ship they were not in love steve and bucky were like brothers” and. arguably leaving your brother is worse in that situation i think. let’s look at steve and buckys whole dynamic through a sibling dynamic shall we.

like okay youre steve rogers in this scenario and your brother was presumed dead only for you to find out that he had been kidnapped by nazis and tortured and brainwashed for 70 years to the point where he didn’t even know his own name and had no bodily autonomy and when you found out about this you dismantled an entire sect of the government and then you’re brother in his confused state disappeared and you spent 2-3 years looking for him and then he was framed for murder and you believed him innocent despite the fact that he was an assassin for those 70 years when he was being tortured by nazis and maybe actually did do that for all you know but you fight the government (again) and a bunch of your new friends on his behalf and in doing so become a fugitive and spend another year(ish) on the run and then world gets attacked by this fuckass alien freak and you and you’re brother who is finally (mostly) himself again join the fight against the fuckass alien freak and you lose and your brother gets turned to dust and is dead for 5 years and so you join up with the friends who you had a falling out with to bring back all of the people who died and you succeed and your brother comes back to life and while he is much better than he was when you found him 4 (9?) years ago he is still fucked up in 15 different ways but you finally get the chance to actually be with your brother again after so long so that’s good right? wrong. you decide to leave that brother who you spent years trying to find and became a fugitive for to go back in time (a time where your brother is getting tortured by nazis and you can’t do anything to stop it because it will like break the timeline or whatever) to be with the girl you kissed once. like are you kidding me. who in their goddamn right mind would leave their sibling after all that. the answer is you wouldn’t and steve’s ending is stupid.