#writing is impossible

[lunarriviera]

[sapphisae]

franz kafka, journals

[catmask]

when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people

the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Jack confronts the darkness. This comic is related to this animation and future chapter events.

--- GRACE INFO DUMP TIME!! How can Grace appear out of nowhere and disappear in shadows like what happened in this animation?

Grace Huffman is human. The thing that she carries around is not. She calls it Lily.

[halucynator]

okay so literally everyone is doing this so i decided to try it bc why not (i need the motivation bc i honestly CAN do it im just too lazy but if i promise people thennn !!)

okay so if you get this post to 6.9k by new years (i love how impossible im making it lmao) i will do the following things:

1. i will go finish all of my drafts (i have 7 wip's some of which might not be posted)

2. i will try to sleep on time next year.

3. i will talk this girl that i really wanna be friends with.

(i'll prolly do the first one either way lmao ☠️)

[bachissidehoe]

in which you're Reo's princess, and Nagi's his treasure. (w.c. 1049)

At first, you found it strange the way Nagi Seishiro would so casually throw his arm around your shoulder and hold you close to his chest. You were Reo’s girlfriend, after all. The girlfriend of his best friend.

“What are you playing?”

He sighed. “It would be a hassle to explain. You can watch though.”

And you did. You sat next to him on the couch, forcing your gaze past his toned muscles and shaggy, tangled hair to watch his little mobile game.

“Come here. It’s hard to play when you’re leaning on my arm.”

And he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side so he could access his screen better. Apparently, this position made him more mobile.

You were flushed. You didn’t think something like this would be allowed. You were nestled into the gorgeous, soft body of your boyfriend’s best friend.

“Oh cute! My princess and my treasure.”

That’s all Reo had said when he saw you. It surprised you, to say the least.

But it’s not like you were complaining. Where lying on Reo’s chest was warm, Nagi’s was cool. Where Reo was obvious with his praise, Nagi was nonchalant. You found yourself wanting the affection of both of them, in a weird way.

And it started to be less surprising when Nagi asked to hold you. In fact, you started to hope he would.

“Your thighs are soft, like pillows. I need a nap.”

And Nagi collapsed, right there on your thighs, letting his eyes flutter shut. So calm.

“Aren’t they?” Reo agreed from the opposite couch, encouraging the physicality.

What the two didn’t notice was how you shifted in your seat, affected by the warm breaths that dusted your inner thighs. It wouldn’t be comfortable for the snowy haired boy to sleep in a puddle, so you held on for dear life, your hands clenched around the fabric of the couch rather than tangled in his messy hair.

You hadn’t realized the effect Nagi Seishiro really had on you. How his subtle, casual affection had trained you to become a secret mess for him. For your boyfriend’s best friend.

But Reo- your smart, charismatic, beautiful boyfriend- he had realized. In fact, he’d been encouraging this for a reason.

“You’re bothered, aren’t you princess?”

For a moment you thought you may be in trouble. It’s wrong to get turned on by your boyfriend’s best friend. But the look on Reo’s face, the devious smirk, said otherwise.

So you nodded.

“How cute.” He moved to hover over you, Nagi still restful on your thighs. “My princess and my treasure get along so well.”

It became pretty obvious what your boyfriend wanted after that. You just didn't realize how you didn't notice it before. The way he looked at Nagi. The way he encouraged you two. He wanted Nagi just as badly as you did.

The burning growing between your thighs wasn't enough for just Reo to satisfy anymore. And he knew that.

"Princess, hm? That what you want me to call her too, Reo?" Nagi mumbled, his groggy eyes opening just enough to look up at your flushed face.

"You should." Reo pulled Nagi upward by his shirt, removing him from the comfortable spot he created on your thighs.

Nagi complained the whole way up, of course, he was never one to enjoy being forced out of a cozy position.

"You should also let her ride you." Reo smirked, bringing Nagi's face close to his, nearly touching his lips.

You gulped.

But Nagi Seishiro was less than nervous, the nonchalant type of person he was. He only glanced back at you, not struggling at all under your boyfriend's tight hold on his shirt.

"Yeah fine." Nagi agreed.

It was hard for you to tell whether Nagi really wanted to fuck you, whether he was interested in you at all or if he wanted to shut Reo up. But as it turned out, Nagi Seishiro was stubborn and ruthless. He wanted you just as badly, his cock constantly straining against his shorts whenever you were close to him, wanting any excuse to stuff his face into your pretty thighs. But he'd never admit it.

Not until you were bouncing on his thick cock, mouth hung open and hands relentlessly tugging on his hair. Right there on that couch. With your wet cunt soaking him, your movements squeezing juices into a messy coating for Nagi's bare thighs.

That's when Nagi Seishiro decided to be honest. "Fuck, I needed you. Fuck~ yes I need~ ah-"

And Reo couldn't have been happier about the beautiful scene he created. "You don't mind, hm? Can't expect me to just watch." He lined up behind you, letting his familiar, flushed tip plunge into the depths of your unused hole, forcing you to lean forward onto Nagi's chest.

"I'll get ya both off. Fuck~" Reo spat, his thrusts creating the friction both you and Nagi so desperately craved, your heavy breaths mixing into each other in the small space between you.

And you kissed him, because you couldn't help it. Your sloppy, drooly lips pressed to Nagi's in a desperate display of hunger.

As it turned out, Reo had been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than you had. Longer than the stubborn Nagi Seishiro had.

He rocked his hips in perfect rhythm, your cunt sliding and squeezing around Nagi's perfect cock while your ass was lubed and stuffed by your pretty boyfriend.

Reo was right about getting you both off, too. It took him practically no time, with your clit rubbing against Nagi's skin and the friction forcing Nagi's tip into your g-spot over and over again, it wasn't difficult. But that didn't matter to Reo, he never specified how many times he expected to get you two off. And it became clear very quickly that once wasn't enough for him.

He'd been holding back his desires for too long, he deserved to see you shaking, tears streaming down your face, cum dripping from all your holes. He deserved to see Nagi fucked out, hair sticking to his forehead, arms wrapped around you and lips attached to your bruised neck.

Your boyfriend deserved that much. After how long you made him wait to fuck his princess and his treasure.

[fineiguessimintowhump]

"Oh, just fuck off."

There's nothing unusual about Whumpee cursing Whumper out, nor is it strange for the latter to punish them for it. What is unusual however, is for Whumpee to flinch away from Whumper's hand. It stills in the air between them, while Whumper's lips slowly quirk upwards.

"Are you... scared of me?"

Whumpee swallows, forcing themself not to look away. "You don't scare me, you pathetic-"

Whumper's hand suddenly moves, and there's nothing Whumpee could do to stop their head from twisting away, eyes closing.

It never reaches them, Whumper's chuckles spreading through the room instead.

"Oh, you really are!"

[keferon]

Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

[sunny-knight]

Currently, my favorite potential Forgettable!AU Gaster and Papyrus dynamic:

My personal favorite interpretation of what Papyrus and Gasters relationship (whether it be (grand)father/son, or just mentor and trainee) would be like, is them both being equally as enthusiastic about everything, and in general just matching each others energy 100% 😭 ITS SO AMAZING ITS ALWAYS A TREAT WHEN A COMIC PORTRAYS THEM AS SUCH

“GASTER!!!!” “PAPYRUS!!!” “GUESS WHAT I DID TODAY!!!!” “WHAT DID YOU DO MY SON?????” “I FINISHED THAT PUZZLE I WAS WORKING ON!!!” “OH MY GOD!!! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!! GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW!!!!”

and sans sitting on the couch like: :)

Its just so pure….

SO ANYWHO, taking that dynamic and shoving it into this AU is currently my favorite thing to think about

Then its even better with Wingdings being canonically unnerved by Papyrus, and being (ID IMAGINE) not too thrilled with being in the same room as Gaster for too long.

I wanna make a Seinfeld ass sitcom series of all 3 of them living in an apartment together and also Sans and/or Alphys visits periodically

Gaster and Papyrus are like staring daggers at the newspaper puzzles tryna solve em, and Wingdings comes in all tired with a cup of coffee and as he’s about to greet them they both go “SHH!!!”

They’d kinda be like Spongebob, Patrick, and Squidward

There would be a running gag where they would always find clearly unintentional hidden messages in the horoscope because of the letters that they correspond to in the wingdings font

Gaster would just randomly talk in like jokerman font because he can

LET ME COOK 😭😭😭😭 id go on. And i probably will on my shitpost account

They should all have a group name like- “Papyrus and Co” or “The Three Skeleclones”

[boombams]

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[ursula-legun]

idk man i don't think anti-civ shit should be nearly this controversial.

"some societies, including most if not all contemporary societies, require slavery, state coercion, and/or environmental devastation to maintain the benefits that they provide to their citizens. we think that this is bad, and should not be done, and are willing to give up the benefits that require slavery, state coercion, and/or environmental devastation." -> generally admirable even if people don't put it into action that much; few would say somebody is a bad person for feeling this way.

"most modern technology, including motor vehicles, cheap computers, disposable plastics, our entire global transportation chain, and like half of 'renewable' energy solutions require either environmental devastation, capitalist coercion, or slavery to produce and maintain; i.e., they either cannot be made without destroying species or ecosystems, OR nobody is willing to do them except under threat of death - at least in the ways that we currently know how to produce these things" -> not considered to be in good taste to point out but generally hard to argue; usually handwaved with notions of "green tech" coming in to make things better, that we just need new engineering improvements, that we can harvest from the moon(??), that we can just stay inside all the time(???), etc.

"combining the first two things, we think that the production of these things should stop immediately, and that society should learn how to survive only on things that we know how to create and maintain without slavery or ecocide; at least until such a time as we develop means of production that are communal, and well-integrated into the rest of life on earth" -> generally considered naive and unrealistic but still admirable

"no, seriously, the slavery, societal unrest, psychic flood, and environmental devastation are all real, and directly responsible for the apocalypse that we literally all now acknowledge to be happening right now" -> also generally accepted, generally handwaved with weird "well what can you do?" responses

"so we really think we should stop making these things NOW instead of waiting on more far-fetched solutions that will come too late to save most life on earth." -> well now you're just the fucking devil. I guess.

[withclawandvine]

yes, there are more than enough barbarian!bakugou drabbles on this website. no, i do not care !! have another!!!

your father already has his heir and a spare, and therefore, has no real use for you. at least, until an advisor reminded him of the mournful tunes the bards have been singing since you came of age — a tragic face, they claimed. men have waged wars for less sweet a temptation.

soon after the announcement of your eligibility is made, the dining hall bloats with suitors and their emissaries, boasting and bargaining over their chances with wine-sour breath night after night, waiting for your father to make his decision. 

behind closed doors, members of his cabinet pitch the merits of this prince or that noble scion. there is talk of naval dominance and deep treasuries. but from where you listen — with your ear pressed to the door of a forgotten servant’s corridor at the back of the council chamber — nobody mentions that one of them is old enough to be your grandfather, or that one young king has already been widowed twice, under suspicious circumstances.

the contest was your idea, presented during a quiet meal with your father, in such a manner that made him believe it was his plan all along. of course these men should prove themselves. how else can he know which kingdom reared the strongest warrior? which ally would prove the wisest or most cunning? 

as your father expected, there are many challengers. and as time goes on, it becomes less about the honor of your hand than the glory of victory. consequently, the tasks become more and more improbable: piercing steel armor with delicate arrows made of blown glass, navigating rapids with neither sails nor oars, hunting down the fabled great horned beast of the northern mountains. 

as you hoped, months pass without a champion.

but the men chasing honor and acclaim bring riches and secrets, feeding your father’s treasury and arming his spies. you can almost taste the freedom of again being unuseful to him, sweet as the honeyed pear speared on your fork.

the fork falls from your hand when the massive doors to the great hall swing open and an imposing shadow comes into view. backlit by the setting sun, it is impossible to discern its features — beyond its size and the massive horns, curved and sharp as twin sickles. 

the stranger’s approach is slow and measured, and as he gets closer, the shadow becomes more corporeal. turns into a man. although, the ochre glow behind him makes him appear almost as a god. nobody in the hall dares to breathe.

only when he stops at the dias can you make out garnet eyes of a barbarian, peering at you through holes gouged in the pelt cloaking his entire form. he’s wearing the face of a beast you had never truly believed existed like a hood.

wordlessly, he closes a fist around the skin draped over his shoulder, whisking it off and tossing it unceremoniously at your feet. the horns hitting the stone floors crack like thunder, echoing off the cavernous ceiling.

he wears necklaces strung with teeth, but no armor. his bare chest should make him seem vulnerable. instead, it puts every scar and whirl of ink denoting his battlefield victories and royal blood on display.

you have no idea how word of the contests made it all the way into the formidable northern mountains, or why it would entice a chieftain’s son to try at winning your hand.

all you know is that he just did.

[littlefankingdom]

It's kind of annoying (and weird) how DC keeps trying to rewrite how Jason and Bruce met to paint Bruce in a worst light.

Originally, Batman finds Jason stealing the Batmobile's tires, the kid runs away, and Batman finds him. Discovering the kid is homeless, he gives him to the authority and Jason finishes at Ma Gunn's school. Ma Gunn is actually teaching the kids to be gang members, so Jason tells Batman. Together, they win again Ma Gunn, and Bruce takes Jason in because he sees himself in him.

Well, in Nightwing: Year One, they change it for "Batman kidnapped Jason when he found him stealing his tires and forces him to become Robin", with Jason ATTACHED AND GAGGED in the batcave. (I like this comic except for that because wtf)

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2011), they changed it for "Jason stole drugs from Leslie and Batman was ready to beat and throw a young teen in jail, but Leslie begged him to give him a chance", which again, wtf. Batman beating up a child. Okay.

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016), they changed it for "Bruce put Jason in Ma Gunn's school because he couldn't handle him after taking him in". The only good addition they made is "when Batman caught Jason stealing his tires, he bought him food".

I do not understand why they need to make him awful to this 12 years old so bad. What do they want to make it as if Bruce forced that life on Jason but also didn't want to deal with him. Why they cannot let it as it is, with Bruce having fun dealing with this lil shit that stole his tires and being there for him when he needs him later on, until he finally craves and takes Jason home.

And that's why I am so critical on how Batman and Bruce is written in Nightwing and Red Hood stories, because the writers are incapable to make their main character have conflict with Bruce, without changing his character and their story to make him abusive. They need him to be the bad guy of Jason's, and sometimes Dick's, story because they don't know how to make you side and care for their character without making the other side a monster.

[somerandomcockroach]

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I love Jason and dick being drinking buddies who love shit talking the rest of family but also

Sometimes

When I’m craving peak

I remember that their relationship is low key messyyyy

I mean from Jason’s side Dick is the ideal son who Bruce loves, Jason saw Bruce’s absolute grief when bludhaven was nuked as red hood. As Robin he was constantly and unfairly compared to Dick Grayson bc while Jason was great. He had a normal but sad ass life while being naturally gifted and brilliant, dick was training before he could crawl, Dick had never learned to stay still while also being naturally grifted and brilliant. Jason couldn’t do the things Dick could do at 12 bc dick had been training for 11 years by that point but neither he nor Bruce really gave himself that grace. Dick is proof of the concept of child heroes, while he is kinda like proof that children really shouldn’t be on the field. Dick became this well respected, important person. He got to grow from Robin whereas Jason is still burdened by his time in the pixie boots.

And from Dicks side? Dick got out, he LEFT Bruce’s shadow and when Bruce gave his mantle to some kid? He was nice about it! I mean he was too busy with his amazing girlfriend and his team to really become hung up on it! He gave the kid his number and his OG Robin suit and goes maybe we can form a relationship. And then the kid dies and Dick is destroyed, not only did his kid brother die, his kid brother DIED in HIS legacy. And the Jason comes back. Steals his suit, and begins killing people. Nearly gets Dick killed by the cops and spends so long trying to ruin Dicks solid reputation. Not only that? But in the suit father preformed in? With the name Clark Kent gave him??? One of the men he respects most in the world? WHICH he proceeds to do again?? With their Dead Dads costume? After all the SHIT he spewed about no one giving a damn about his death. About how Bruce and his crusade killed a child. And he goes and not only hurts Tim, the brother Dick worked SO hard to build a relationship with bc the last time he got out a Kid died. But also Damian, a literal 10 year old. Dick sends him to Arkham bc when he got sent to regular prison he killed hundreds of people? And sure now?? Jason’s working with the family sometimes? But if it was just a difference in morals Dick wouldn’t have that much of an issue? He’s friends with people who have differing moral codes! Hell he’s DATED people with different moral codes. But? Jason made their beef personal and now Dicks stuck with the knowledge that his younger brother DID a lot of that to HURT him specifically. Bruce was dead for a portion of this? Did that stop Jason from trying to ruin everything dicks ever believed in? Nope.

Like Dick has to exist knowing that he loves his brother and his brother very well could and would do what he did to him again.