#also little sprinkle of

[vorbarrsultana]

one of things that drive me insane about the grisha trilogy is the fact that nikolai consistently is a non-factor in the political calculations of both, the darkling and his father. even genya, whose job is to spy on the tsar's inner circle, is like "it's just nikolai, they call him puppy, he surprised everyone by joining the army and then left to study in kerch or something, who cares".

meanwhile nikolai in question:

was a major of the first army. a senior officer one rank away from colonel, and two ranks away from major-general!

was person no. 2 in his regiment, the one in charge of 2000+ men daily. and, considering how much colonel raevsky and his soldiers seem to love him, managed them well.

was a decorated war hero of the struggling nation perpetually at war with its neighbours.

what i mean is that there absolutely should have been the party of grand duke nikolai aleksandrovich at the court (re: the succession), opposing the party of tsarevich vasily, the official heir. the people who want him to be ravka's next tsar, bastardy allegations be damned for the good of the country.

it could have been such an easy way to explain why nikolai was exiled sent to study abroad — his military record would have made him too popular compared to his brother. and it could have explained why nikolai is so sure of himself in siege & storm: he already has his own political party, and alina throwing her support behind him simply completes the puzzle.

also, when tatiana called nikolai "puppy" in ruin &rising, i was like. m'am, hate to break the news to you, but your cute puppy hasn't been that for the last five or so years. by now he is actually a wolfhound with very long and very sharp teeth.

(very much not the point of that post, but when i find time to work on my pre-canon!darkolai fic series, i usually imagine the ravkan political landscape before alina as "the army party" (nikolai, the darkling, senior officers of both armies + probably some diplomats, who also see what's going on with shu-han and fjerda) vs "the court party". by the shadow & bone events, the first splits into nikolai's moderates & aleksander's radicals, and the latter became irrelevant after vasily's death.)

[mipexch]

I WAS MADE FOR YOU // YOU WERE MADE FOR ME

[heckyeahponyscans]

The cover of the 1986 "My Little Pony 'n Friends" press kit, go hard or go home

[fear-no-mort]

favourite thing: his new habit of saying uhuh/mhm and also this

[nanstar200]

Hi gueys 🧍 (run away again)

[okartichoke]

at a concerrttt yyessss yessss

klapollo >:3

design notes

link to masterpost || some quick justifcations/explanations below cut!!:

Birds of paradise <333 Them being of the same bird family is important to me... (honorary mention to the snowy owl for Kristoph) (also honorable mention to the paradise crow) (but i like them having matching ribbons (and the two birds i went with are more closely related))

I originally tried giving Klav the whole fluffy back of yellow/white feathers, but (a) he looked SO over complicated (especially compared to everyone else) and (b) I realized that no other character has back feathers, anyways. so it would make sense he does not either.

The ribbon-tails are similar to Apollo and Trucy's hearts: they both inherit this feature from one of their parents. (One parent is a stephanie's astrapia, one is a lesser bird-of-paradise). (Also of note: the lesser bird-of-paradise also has two long wire plumes, if you look closely)

Tails: (Klav's is basically a ribbon-tailed astrapia's tail btw.) Because the tail is such a notable feature of these species, I'm including it, though they also come from the base of the wing (though I'll probably just draw them as essentially tails in the future), and are much shorter than they would be, were they proportional.

i got very lazy on the individual introduction sheets they're so bad 😭😭 specifically klavier pls just imagine he and his wings look better there 🙏🙏🙏 LOL i hope the other drawings make up for it !! >:3

FINALLY MY CAT!!!! it’s been a while,,, this is him everyday after taking his pills cuz he knows it’s milk time now (image from my dad) (also flat colors and zoom bc me likey this image)

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[ghostlyboysstories]

Writeblr introduction!!!

Hi!! I write original works and am happy to ramble about my ocs or writing to anyone who asks(I’m dying to share help-).

You can call me Rufus!(I swear if I get they both die at the end notes from this-)

I’m an adult, but I don’t really do 18+ content besides swearing and innuendo/dark humor. So I’d say my content is rated Mature, but not Explicit.

My pronouns are he/him!

Fun fact, my favorite color is dark neon-ish blue!

Can’t wait to post more original stories here!!

Stay spooky!

[sideblogdotjpeg]

the most tortured litttle boy in neverafter <3333

[bo0tleg]

GEMS MY FRIEND SAID WATCHING 'TOP GUN: MAVERICK' FOR THE FIRST TIME:

"The jacket! The famous jacket that pulls women, pulls men, pulls the world!"

"Oh look how hot~ he looks on that motorcicle. He's even pracing his ass!"

(Maverick, on screen: "Well... He's not here yet.") The mans madness has begun."

"MAVERICK DON'T DIE YOU STILL NEED TO HAVE YOUR GAY ROMANCE!"

"He lasted two months at Top Gun? HA. He probably was a bigger piece of work than the students."

"From what I can tell, Maverick tamed Iceman. In the first one he was the little annoying bitch and Maverick saw a challenge."

"I mean, at least these two (Penny and Mav) have chemistry. They hooked up in a plane, after all."

"Iceman solves his problems, Iceman keeps his job, what a simp. That's dog behavior."

"Maverick doesn't look likes he's flirting with her, he's just confused. His confused face looks like his flirting face, and people assume. I know this because people do it to me."

"Yeah, he's kinda like that one Olívia Rodrigo song that she gets confused when she sees her ex... What was it again?" ('bad Idea right?' by Olivia Rodrigo)

"I like him (Bob)! He's pathetic like me!"

"Oooohhh they're (Phoenix and Bob) gonna be besties! I can feel it."

(When Phoenix racks Rooster with the cue) "OHOHOHOOOO I LIKE HER ALREADY."

(Didn't notice Hangman taking Bob's cue, I relayed the information) "Aaaahhh don't steal Bob's cue. Bob's cool, Bob's nice."

(After rewinding the scene) "NO, NO, NO! WHO IS THAT? NOBODY CAN STEAL BOB'S CUE! I don't like him (Hangman)."

(Hangman, on screen: Bradshaw! As I live and breathe!) *Slowly turns towards me with dead eyes*

"That's not enemies to lovers, that's just enemies."

"With just this scene, I can tell this guy (Hangman) comes and goes. 'Sometimes I flirt with you, sometimes I hate you.' He's like a tsudere."

"Oh, got it. Phoenix is adopted into the man's group. She's a bro."

"I wouldn't say that they're his support system, but those two are the people that know him the best. Hangman is paying attention because he wants to be the best and needs to defeat Rooster. Phoenix is demonstrating a more sibling like worry."

"Hondo is like Mavericks babysitter."

"Oh. Oh, now Mav's flirting with her."

(Following the 'Baby on Board' comment) "Don't talk shit about Bob! I don't like Hangman."

"Maverick is like a step father to Rooster. Not in the 'HAHA I FUCKED YOUR MOM' kind of way, but in the way that he helped raise him."

"Where is Iceman? I'm here for the two of them, I don't give a fuck about Aeronautics."

"I think Ice and Maverick had a long relationship, but they're not together anymore. They maintained a friendship, but their lives probably went in different directions. I'd say they were together for 10, maybe 20 years."

('I ain't worried' by OneRepublic starts playing) "This song is from 2022? OH MY GOD THE SCENE"

"DON'T PLAY AROUND WITH GRANDPA!"

*Started chanting "BOB! BOB! BOB!" When he got picked up*

*Eeriely quiet during the bird strike, until Maverick starts talking to Rooster* "OH THEY'RE NOT DEAD. THEY COULDN'T HAVE KILLED BOB! IF THEY KILLED BOB I WOULD STOP AND NEVER WATCH TOP GUN EVER AGAIN!"

"Definitely 20 years. Ice is probably the only person Mav actually loved. Like, not a fling?" "Yeah, probably." "He's been with lots of women, and men, but Iceman is the only person he was ever in love with– maybe still is."

"I think his (Ice's) wife knows. That's probably why she recognizes Mav and is kind of friends with him." "That's probably why she just let him go up to see Ice." "YEAH GO AHEAD, FUCK MY HUSBAND!"

"It's pretty easy to notice that Snowman– No, ICEman."

"That is the face of a man who just lost the love of his life."

"Damn, the mans a beast. If It was me I'd already have cried, alone, in a room absolutely destroyed, never to come out again."

"He's got nobody, dude! I just want his step child to come back, because If he doesn't that man's gonna kill himself!"

"Why does it always have to have a romantic ending. Just leave him with his adoptive son. Go away."

"They (Penny and Mav) aren't going to end up together."

"I have a theory! Fanboy is obsessed with women! Cus he's 'Fanboy'." "But wouldn't he be called Simp, then?" "Ah, then he's obsessed with men." "... simp can be for men too."

"There's gonna be a Top Gun Three? Who's it gonna be about? It ain't gonna be Maverick, that man has a foot in the grave already."

"Bob is my favorite in the second movie. I have no favorites in the first one because everybody is very macho and very gay, and that's boring."

[viiioca]

[ roevember day 4 - ship ]

From the journal of Estelle de Laussienne, 24th of the 4th Umbral Moon, 5 7A.E.

Is it not funny what tricks our eyes can get up to? Medical literature on the visual system has been coming out of Sharlayan at an efficient clip, but it's hardly the brand new frontier of study the Studium's psychology department is touting. We have known about its oddities since the first spearfisher discovered that water lies about a fish's location. Such progress in that time! Humanity has embraced this imperfection of ours with great relish. Traditional Ul'dahn religious art, for example, relies heavily on ambiguous images, with both Nald and Thal coexisting within the same figure at the same time, the dominant shape shifting with the viewer's perception; Thavnairian folk art, too, often employs similar tricks to depict the harmonization of Manusya and Mrga, blending man and animal two ways in a single piece when observed right-to-left or left-to-right. Even the cities we build delight in the simple joy of fooling the eye. The limited space of Ishgard combined with the nobility's hunger for grandeur has made forced perspective a popular architectural flourish; it is not uncommon to enter some immense gallery with a distant statue of Halone on the far wall, only for the illusion to break some four or five yalms into the room with the realization that the statue is all of two fulms high. Ala Mhigan muqarnas create phantom scales of depth, emerging or receding by the angle of the light and the inclination of the viewer. Sharlayan itself has tucked optical refinements inside its colonnades and entablature: the impression of sharp geometric perfection -- straight lines and right angles -- is a fiction told by its many hidden curves.

What a marvelous little engine we have in our heads. I've been thinking about this in the weeks since Raha has returned to us.

Physically, nothing has changed. He is a twenty-four year old man in fine health. The stasis was absolute: no growth to speak of in the nails and hair, no atrophy of the muscles, no softening of calluses or fading of scars that might indicate cycles of skin regeneration. It's as if he has simply slipped between calendar years like a city native knows an alley shortcut. And yet he is different. Like blinking away an afterimage, there is the lingering negative of something that no longer exists.

When the Coerthan cold gusts northerly into Mor Dhona, Raha will disappear into his thoughts, hunched over his mug of coffee, ambling about the Rising Stones' common room as if afflicted by a ghostly rheumatism, and I will think, There is the Exarch. How strange, then, to see him without the burden of his crystal; without the grey in his hair where all that lively red has bled out. There is a compartment of my mind that struggles terribly with this. Could it not be a glamour? A bit of Allagan showmanship? Then, hours later, I will watch him jaunt up the battlements of the Toll, flirting gamely with gravity as if it were a pretty classmate, where he will settle into a crenel to watch the Gloom roll in from Silvertear, and I will think, There is the G'raha Tia I knew. Unmoored from the moment, I will think -- Has Rammbroes banished him from camp again? Has he come to find me for that archery lesson? And then he will spot me from his perch, and I find myself startled back to the present by the royal red of his left eye. Is that the same boy? Surely not. That eye ought to be as blue as the waters off of Corvos. The future can't have happened yet.

Binocular rivalry. Two distinct images in competition. It's hardly fair to the man he's become, but I wonder, too, if this is how he saw me that day in Lakeland -- if his own mind fought to reconcile my reality with the composite of me in his mind's eye, patched together through secondary sources, blurred by decades and distance. Perhaps we never truly see each other. Perhaps it is time to find the same joy in it as our artists and architects do.

There is only one thing for it. I must correct my vergence. No sooner than it is announced that we make for Azys Lla, Raha leaps for the prow of Tataru's airship, and I do not see that young man of years past ready to bolt for the horizon; and he reaches back for me, to ensure that we are not separated, and I do not see the reserved elder who carefully accounts for each soul around him, made cautious by loss. With my eyes shifted just-so, with no expectations for the image I am meant to see, the man in front of me -- bright-eyed, wide-grinned, laughter clear and steady -- resolves into something new.

[juniorsized]

no matter what you do, don't think about xaden writing to Sloane during Liam's first year, giving her updates on how her brothers doing (and stupid things he does). Don't think about Liam telling Xaden things to include in his letters, advice on how to climb the gauntlet, information about Deigh and flight lessons. Don't think about Liam then rushing back to his room, writing down all the things he forgot to tell Xaden to tell Sloane (and all the little things that are just for them).

Don't think about Sloane getting a letter from basgiath, excited that Liam's year of no-letters is finally over, only to see Xaden's handwriting telling her that her brother is dead.

[jasonsbruce]

Jason had started to notice that Bruce's gaze lingered sometimes—just a second too long. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence, that it held no deeper meaning. It wasn’t abnormal to sometimes stare while your mind was drifting off. But the glances kept happening. It had been quite late at night in the Batcave, and they were the last ones there, running through some data side by side, keeping it surprisingly civil. As they talked, Jason noticed Bruce’s eyes drift—not to the screen, but to him. Bruce’s gaze slid from Jason’s eyes, over the line of his jaw, to the curve of his lips, then back to the monitor. And once Jason noticed, it was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the glances; whenever Jason stood a little too close, Bruce would tense. It was barely noticeable, but easy to catch with a perceptive eye. Intrigued, Jason began testing the boundaries, seeing how far he could push before Bruce would finally tell him to stop. It started innocently enough. Just a casual touch here and there, or leaning in a bit closer than necessary. Each time, Bruce would tense, his eyes lingering before something like frustration would cross his normally stoic face. But Bruce would never acknowledge it—he never said a word. Jason was finding it harder to resist pushing even further, wondering just how much Bruce would allow.

・・・・・

Bruce sat by the edge of the couch, arm leaning against the armrest, newspaper in hand. The lamps were off and the only source of light came from the warmth of the fireplace. Its flames casted shadows across the room, occasionally making a comforting cracking sound.

Jason stood at the doorway, watching the way Bruce's eyes would scan over the articles, pretending to read, like he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts as usual.

Without announcing himself, Jason sauntered into the room, making his way toward the couch. He could feel the warmth from the fireplace brush against his skin as he passed it, his long shadow making Bruce glance up from the paper.

He didn’t say a word as he flopped down onto the sofa, sprawling out lazily. He stretched his legs out, brushing against Bruce’s thigh as he shifted to get comfortable. Jason felt Bruce stiffen, informing him that he had the older man’s attention. He carelessly reached for a book on the coffee table, his arm extending as his shirt pulled up with the motion, exposing a sliver of his midriff.

Jason retracted back into the couch, book in hand, leaning comfortably against the cushions. His shirt was still ridden up, and when his eyes flicked sideways, he noticed how Bruce’s gaze was locked on his exposed skin. Jason didn’t move to adjust it, he simply flipped open the book as if he hadn’t noticed and it was all an accident.

Bruce shifted, just slightly, the paper crinkling in his hands. Jason sprawled out further, one arm resting sluggishly against the back of the couch, his legs extending along the length of the couch. His calf brushed against Bruce’s knee this time. Bruce lifted the newspaper, blocking Jason from view, but it didn’t stop Jason from feeling the way his body stiffened again.

He wasn’t interested in the book at all, his eyes just glossing over the words. With a casual sigh, he let his head roll back against the armrest, his shirt riding up even higher. The fabric of his t-shirt barely covered his stomach now, exposing the sharp lines of his lower abdomen to the warm light of the fire.

The sound of Jason’s exaggerated sigh seemed to catch Bruce’s attention, the newspaper lowering just a fraction. Jason angled his head slightly, peering under the book in his hand, and his eyes locked with Bruce’s. Neither of them said a word. Jason watched as the shadows danced across Bruce’s face and his furrowed brow.

He saw Bruce’s eyes briefly flick down toward his exposed skin again, the muscles in his jaw slightly tightening, barely visible. Jason let his attention drift back to the book, but the sentences were nothing but an uninteresting blur in the background.

He glanced over to Bruce again, catching him staring.

Bruce snapped the newspaper shut with a sharp crackle, then stood abruptly. His movements seemed stiff, off. “I… need to check something in the cave,” he muttered, his excuse half-hearted and weak, like even he wasn’t convinced by it.

He didn’t look at Jason as he turned on his heel, leaving the room with quick steps. Jason let out an amused breath, his lips curving into a full smirk as he watched Bruce leave. He could still feel the tension lingering in the room.

・・・・・

Jason stood in the training room, muscles tense and ready, waiting for Bruce.

Bruce entered, focused as ever. He offered no small talk, not even a greeting. He went straight to business.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jason smirked, giving him a lazy nod. “Always.”

They soon fell into the familiar rhythm of their sparring. They had done this countless times before. But after a while, Jason’s tactic shifted. He began moving closer than he needed, dragging his body just a bit too intimately against Bruce’s with every dodge and strike.

Each time their bodies connected, Jason made sure Bruce felt every inch of skin, every press of muscle. It was subtle at first, like there was a reasonable explanation behind it.

Jason threw a punch, aiming for Bruce’s side. But he quickly caught his arm with fingers tightening around Jason’s wrist. The impact made them step closer, their chests nearly touching. Jason glanced upward, looking at Bruce through his dark lashes, his breath brushing against Bruce’s jaw.

Bruce froze. His gaze dropped, landing on Jason’s lips for just the briefest of moments, and the air between them felt electric. But then suddenly, Bruce let go, stepping back. The movements were a little too sharp, like he was trying to create distance both physically and from his own thoughts. But the tension still lingered, thick like smoke.

Jason wasn’t going to give him that space, though.

Bruce looked almost rattled, clearly still unfocused. So, without warning, Jason surged forward. Bruce blocked his attack, but Jason didn’t stop. He pressed harder, his strikes swift, strong, determined. He ducked under Bruce’s counterattack, slipping past him, and then sweeping his legs out from under him.

Bruce’s back hit the mat with a solid thud, but Jason wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. In an instant, he straddled Bruce, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, pinning him down to the ground.

Jason leaned in, his face inches from Bruce’s, their heavy breaths mingling. “Seems like I got you this time,” he murmured with a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

Bruce said nothing, just stared up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Jason shifted slightly in his lap, and he could feel Bruce stiffen underneath his weight. There was something darker flickering across his eyes, something Jason wanted to investigate further. He shifted again, pressing down more firmly, his body aligning perfectly against Bruce’s.

He could see Bruce grinding his teeth together. And then his hands moved, gripping Jason’s thighs, fingers digging into him. In one swift motion, he shoved Jason off, rolling them over until he was standing.

“Stop playing around,” he muttered, sounding rougher than usual.

Jason chuckled at that as he sprawled out on the mat, unbothered. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Bruce didn’t reply, but Jason got up to his feet again and they began sparring. Punches were thrown and blocked in quick succession, but Jason wasn’t playing fair. He continued to push closer whenever he had a chance and each time, without fail, Bruce would be thrown off by it. It was almost unnoticeable, but Jason knew him well enough.

As they moved, the fight grew more intense and suddenly Jason found himself being spun around, slammed chest-first into the wall. Bruce’s body pressed against him from behind, one hand firmly between his shoulder blades, and the other wrapped around Jason’s wrist, holding it above his head.

Bruce had him pinned and Jason didn’t resist. He glanced over his shoulder, the smirk back on his lips. Bruce’s grip was firm, his body flush against Jason’s, trapping him completely.

Jason leaned back into the warm, steady body behind him. “Getting a little rough, aren’t we?” he teased.

For a brief second, Bruce’s grip on Jason’s wrist tightened as he seemed to tense. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but Jason had noticed it, felt it. But just as fast, Bruce’s hands released him.

He stepped back, his face was unreadable and his movements seemed a bit stiff.

“We’re done,” he muttered, turning his back and walking toward the exit.

Jason’s smirk lingered as he watched Bruce leave and pretend like everything was still normal.

・・・・・

Jason pulled off his gloves and threw them onto the bench with a heavy sigh. It had been a long night, one that had left everyone involved worn out. His body was still buzzing with the aftermath of the adrenaline. Bruce was a few feet away, unbuckling his utility belt in silence, face as expressionless as ever.

Jason peeled off the top of his suit, letting the armored material fall to the floor. He removed the shirt afterwards, tossing it next to the gloves. His muscles were slightly aching after tiresome fighting, the sweat on his upper body glistening slightly in the harsh light of the cave.

Jason bent down to remove his boots. The subtle scent of sweat and leather filled the air, mixing with the slight metallic tang of blood from earlier wounds, and Bruce’s expensive cologne.

Jason glanced over, catching Bruce’s gaze lingering on him for just a moment too long before he quickly averted his eyes, focusing on removing the rest of his gear. There was a tension in Bruce’s shoulders, and he was doing that thing again where he pretended everything was normal, and Jason’s behavior was nothing out of the ordinary.

“You still owe for that back there, you know,” he said playfully, mostly to fill the silence.

Bruce grunted in response, a noncommittal sound that did nothing to contribute to the conversation. He seemed focused on his own suit, but his movements had slowed down.

Jason saw his opening. He moved closer, his fingers reaching for the clasps of Bruce’s suit before he began working them free.

Bruce froze, his head snapping up to look at Jason, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

Jason didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. His lips twitched into a smirk as he worked the last clasp free. “What does it look like? I’m helping you out.”

He gripped Bruce’s gauntlets and tugged them off, letting them fall to the floor with a low thud. Jason reached for Bruce’s cape next. His arms slid around Bruce’s neck, fingers easily working the fastener that held it in place. Jason leaned in close, his bare chest brushing against Bruce’s hand and lower arm.

The shift in his posture was obvious; his body was taut and he turned his head away from Jason. But he was still rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on the wall as if he was determined not to acknowledge how close Jason was, how their skin was touching.

The cape came off, pooling below Bruce’s feet.

“I’ve got it from here,” he muttered and turned abruptly to leave, like he always did.

Jason had grown quite fond of the game they were playing.

・・・・・

The Batfamily had gathered around the long table in the cave, discussing the night’s mission in detail. Jason had agreed to assist them, now sitting at the far end by the table. Tim and Dick were currently talking over each other, and Jason wasn’t really listening to them.

Bruce was standing next to him, at the head of the table, telling them to quiet down and barking orders as usual.

Jason leaned further back into the chair as his legs stretched out under the table. His elbow rested on the table, with his thumb supporting his chin and the middle and index fingers pressed gently against his lips and nose, seemingly uninterested in the meeting.

His attention lay elsewhere.

Slowly, carefully, he let his leg brush against Bruce. The touch left no room to question whether or not it had been an accident. He let it linger. And Bruce stilled for the slightest second, a flicker of awareness passing over his handsome features before he quickly regained his composure.

But Jason wasn’t done.

Bruce was in the middle of giving instructions to Tim when Jason shifted again, this time allowing his knee to press against Bruce’s leg.

Bruce’s voice faltered for just a moment, the flow of his words slightly halting. But he refused to acknowledge it, kept his eyes ahead. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to continue. “Tim, I need you to—”

Jason shifted his knee again, rubbing it deliberately against Bruce’s upper leg. He felt him tense immediately, stumbling on the words. “To—uh… to monitor the surveillance—footage…”

Jason smirked, partially hidden behind his hand. “You okay there, Bruce?”

He received no answer to that, instead, Bruce pressed on with whatever he was talking about. “…and cross-check it with the logs Oracle has provided.”

The others nodded along, caught up in the debriefing. Bruce sat down on the chair behind him, probably thinking it would help him regain control of the situation. That was a big mistake. Because his reaction only fuelled Jason’s confidence, only spurred him on to push further, and explore where the boundaries lay. To see when Bruce would finally acknowledge him, to stop pretending nothing was going on.

Jason shifted a little, letting his fingers lightly brush against Bruce’s thigh. He felt Bruce tense immediately at the touch and heard the slight hitch in his breath. But still, he did nothing, didn’t even look at Jason. He kept his concentration on the others, jaw tight, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

His fingers continued to trace a subtle, slow line along Bruce’s thigh. Barbara was talking in the background, agreeing with whatever Dick had been saying, and Bruce nodded along, clearly trying his best to stay focused.

He let his hand slowly slide higher, and that’s when he felt it—the unmistakable hardness under the fabric of Bruce’s pants. Jason sucked in a breath by the surprise. He couldn’t deny the thrill, the way his heart picked up its pace. And Bruce could pretend all he wanted, but the proof was right there. He found this just as thrilling as Jason did.

Jason’s hand inched just a bit closer, fingers brushing over the bulge. Bruce’s entire body stiffened, the tension in his shoulders so taut it could snap at any given moment.

And then suddenly, Bruce’s hand shot under the table, grabbing Jason’s wrist, gripping it tight enough to hurt. Jason glanced up at him, watching the way Bruce tried so hard to keep his composure and focus on Tim’s yapping in the background. Bruce didn’t meet his eyes, his jaw clenched as his fingers tightened around Jason’s wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

Bruce didn’t say anything, instead, he just squeezed his wrist harder as a silent warning. Jason’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand fall away. Bruce still refused to look at him.

The rest of the group continued to plan the mission, but Jason’s thoughts were far away, wondering how long Bruce could go on without acknowledging whatever this thing was between them. 

・・・・・

The mission hadn’t gone according to plan at all, in fact, it had gone sideways fairly quickly. It left the Batfamily stranded in one of their backup safehouses. The place was cramped with barely functional amenities. They had crashed in whatever space they could find.

Jason had ended up sharing a small bed with Dick, but every time he started to drift off, Dick would roll over, nudging Jason further and further toward the edge of the bed. He was tired and sore, and after a while, his patience wore thin.

With a frustrated sigh, he got up and left the room to find somewhere else to sleep. But every corner he checked was already taken, filled with the sound of quiet breathing or snoring. The wood boards under his feet creaked wearily as he made his way down the dark hallway. He stopped outside of Bruce’s door. Of course he had his own room.

“Screw it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open.

Moonlight slanted through the moth-eaten blinds, casting a faint glow across the room. Bruce was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. Jason padded over to the bed and without overthinking it, he carefully lay down on the other side. The bed shifted slightly under his weight, and Bruce’s breathing changed just enough to show he was awake too.

They lay in silence, staring up at the dark ceiling. Even after a long mission, Bruce still managed to smell good.

Jason was too exhausted to pick up his usual teasing, even if now would have been the perfect moment. And somehow, the air felt different. Maybe it was the rawness of his body after the mission, or the quiet of this isolated safehouse—it felt like they were somewhere completely else, almost like in a dream.

After a long stretch of silence, Jason turned his head, just slightly, to check if Bruce had fallen asleep. But Bruce was already looking at him, the faint glimmer of moonlight catching in his blue eyes. His expression was unreadable, and the atmosphere between them felt thick in a way it never had before.

For the first time since this whole thing began, Jason didn’t dare to push it any further. Bruce didn’t look away, he held Jason’s gaze. The way Bruce looked at him made his heartbeat quicken and suddenly, he didn’t feel as bold anymore. His confidence wavered under Bruce’s steady, dark eyes. There was something so calm about it, yet intense enough to make him feel bare, exposed.

For a few long, quiet moments, neither of them moved, their breaths almost in sync at this point.

But then suddenly, in one slow, careful movement, Bruce leaned in. His body shifted slightly closer, closing the small gap between them. Jason’s breath caught, his pulse drumming in his ears, and he found himself frozen in place. He’d been teasing, pushing—even fantasizing about this—but he’d never truly expected Bruce to actually do something about it. Now, with him leaning closer, his presence invading Jason’s senses—it felt surreal.

The faint warmth of Bruce’s exhale ghosted over his skin, making his skin tingle, his pulse racing. Then Bruce’s lips brushed against his, softly at first—almost like testing the waters. Yet it was enough to send a sudden jolt of electricity through Jason’s nerves. It was only when Bruce leaned in a fraction closer, lips pressing more firmly against his, that Jason felt his mind start to unravel, his nerves catching fire.

But soon Bruce deepened the kiss with a quiet confidence, like this was nothing but another skill he’d mastered. It was like Bruce knew exactly how to kiss him, drawing sensations out of Jason he hadn’t even known he could feel, making his mind go entirely blank. He’d kissed before, sure, but nothing had ever left him this breathless, this affected.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kissing lazily as if nothing else existed outside of this room, but eventually, they drew apart. Neither of them said a word. Bruce lay back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Jason mirrored the movement, feeling slightly dazed and more relaxed than before, finally able to drift into sleep.

When he woke, though, Bruce was already gone. Jason wasn’t surprised. He got up and stepped into the hallway, hearing soft voices drifting from the kitchen. As he made his way toward them, he saw some of the members awake, talking over coffee. Bruce was standing by the window, already dressed, hands in his pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Bruce looked up when Jason entered, their eyes meeting for a split second. There was no hint of acknowledgement from last night in his gaze. He simply greeted him with nothing more than a curt nod.

Jason felt a flicker of something unwanted—disappointment, frustration—but he buried it deep, slipping into a mask of indifference. He joined the others, leaning against the counter, forcing himself not to glance in Bruce’s direction.

Jason found himself wondering how, in a game he’d thought he controlled, Bruce had so quietly taken over, leaving him feeling unsure and strangely exposed.

・・・・・

i've been occasionally writing this when i wanted to write more FUN and not so serious scenes! fyi i'll probably take a break from writing since dragon age veilguard is released tomorrow! but let me know if you'd like me to continue this, and i might need to pause dragon age lmao. (literally all it takes is for one person to say pls do this 🥺 and i'll drop everything for you cause i love validation and people telling me what to do (jk) (or am i?))

[legionofpotatoes]

star wars outlaws

[a-hollow-forest]

i'm not joking or being hyperbolic when i say joining an adult roleplay website with an 'extreme' section for nasty kinks the literal moment i turned 18 might have saved my fucking life

do you know what it feels like to suddenly develop serial killer fantasies (<-- flippant way of referring to my OCD intrusive thoughts) when you're like 14 and never talk to anyone about it because you're scared you'll get committed or sent to prison (or just fucking murdered/hurt by people) but you're also terrified that having those thoughts mean you're a monster and you should kill yourself to save everyone from what you 'might become'

only to stumble into a community where people are just like 'lol yeah we're horny about that. you're fine. we're fine. it's fantasy, it's thought. you're fine'

genuinely contributed to me recovering from being suicidal because until then i thought i was irredeemably evil because of something so wildly out of my control. it gave me peace with those specific intrusive thoughts that never went away but cannot hurt me in that way anymore (i still have OCD, don't get me wrong, it just moved onto different tactics)

this puritan version of fandom and writing and anti-kink bullshit is going to get people like the scared kid i was killed. it is going to make the ones that don't kill themselves hate themselves and think they're monsters that deserve nothing but abuse. you aren't protecting anyone by accusing people whose number one fear is that their thoughts make them evil of being evil. fuckasses.

[ryssbelle]

Asked the folks in trolls server what their characters race and class would be if they were in DnD and here are the results! I designed most of them except Navy who was designed by his creator!

I wonder what adventures they will go on?

Featured OC's and their owners in order from left to right:

Pete Moonshine @melonmass-art

Smiggles @navy-scribble @ivory-rose-art and me teehee

Sprinkle @creta291

Patty @felsicveins

Lief me!

Navy @navy-scribble

Cerulean @secret-citrus

Pigeon @folktroll

close ups of each character are under the cut!

Pete Moonshine, Weretouched humanoid Ranger, not a fan of the full moon

Smiggles the Tiefling Fighter, Chaotic is his only alignment

Sprinkle the Tiefling Sorcerer, hot pink bitch named BREAKFAST

Patty THE PAIN the Half Giant Barbarian who brings the PAIN

Lief the (half) Elf Cleric, just a little guy (or is he?)

Navy the humanoid shifter Rogue, human by day, part animal whenever (emo forever)

Cerulean the half-elf Monk, keeps a level head and knows when not to hold back

Pigeon the Kenku Ranger, all bird and all cowboy