#causing actual bodily harm

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"TWO CHARGED WITH ASSAULT," Vancouver Sun. May 29, 1934. Page 4. --- James Johnson, 42, logger, 31 West Hastings Street, and Walter I. Pearson, 25, taxi driver, Lotus Hotel, were formally charged with assault causing actual bodily harm in connection with the injuries sustained by Alex. Matoff, New Zealand Rooms, Main Street, when he was thrown cut and bleeding from a taxicab on Second Avenue near Vernon Drive on Sunday night.

Matoff's injuries were severe, but it is stated that they are not serious. Matoff is still in hospital. Bail was set at $3000 each for Pearson and Johnson.

Acting on the assumption that Matoff had been drugged by his assailants before they threw him from the speeding taxicab, police ordered hospital attendants to pump the injured man's stomach and turn the contents over to Inspector J. F. C. B. Vance, Police Bureau of Science, for analysis.

[wildechildwrites]

Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun. 

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush. 

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button. 

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask. 

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step. 

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline. 

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily. 

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone. 

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face. 

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard. 

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke. 

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?” 

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head. 

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could. 

 König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice. 

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.” 

 “Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears. 

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air. 

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack. 

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail. 

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness. 

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.  

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree. 

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately. 

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat. 

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear. 

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change.  “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask. 

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him. 

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear. 

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars.  “Say you want me to fuck you.” 

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge. 

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing. 

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands. 

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp. 

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs. 

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt. 

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.” 

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him. 

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin. 

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry. 

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before. 

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.  

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

[navree]

i'm sorry but this is sending me into the goddamn stratosphere, if you send people to physically attack my mom, torture my sister, cut my six year old son's head off, threaten to murder my toddler, and then also threaten to rape my six year old daughter, i would be very happy and jovial in declaring war on your psycho ass for pulling that shit on people who literally didn't do a thing to you.

consequently, if i sent people to physically attack someone who never did me any harm, torture my sister who never did me any harm, cut my six year old nephew who never did me any harm's head off, threaten to murder my toddler nephew who never did me any harm, and also threaten to rape my six year old niece who never did me any harm, i would be very full of regret and sorrow for what i've done, because those are bad things that i did.

[urlocalwhumper]

my girl and @sowhumpshaped's boy interacting bc yippee yahoo yay (yes that anon was me. again. i should really sign my anons lmfao)

also this is like a weird mix of my pet verse and theirs, tried to keep things consistent but i have adhd memory so do not count on it!! 🫡

anyways,

rayan couldn't believe it. not only had he finally, after years of attempts, been approved for his pet owner's license, but he was also heading to the shelter - not as a volunteer this time, but to finally, finally pick out a pet of his very own.

to say he was excited was an understatement, truly, but he also felt a little bad as he approached the building. he'd been so busy recently, he hadn't been in for volunteer work for a solid two weeks. he supposed it was all worth it now, though.

he only felt more and more excited, almost giddy, as he was brought back towards the kennels. no more pining and yearning, when he left this building, it'd be with his very own pet right by his side.

he already recognized most of the faces he passed, but he still bothered to go kennel-by-kennel anyways. this was possibly the most important decision he'd ever make, and he was going to take it very seriously.

there was one he didn't recognize, though. all the way in the back, curled up as small as possible on its bed, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, was a pet he'd never seen before. he couldn't even really make out any distinctive features, with the way it was hiding its face in its arms. it was blonde, he could at least say that, with floppy little dog ears of a matching color, but he couldn't pick out much else.

"when did this one get in?" he asked, frowning in sympathy. one of the other volunteers - who he admittedly didn't know very well - glanced at the pet in question and sighed.

"last week, i think." they said. "real nasty case. she was confiscated from her last owner after heavy suspicions of abuse, the pet hospital sent her here once she didn't need constant medical attention anymore."

they clicked their tongue derisively. "i don't know how someone could do that to their pet." they sighed again. "either way, she's very skittish. doesn't bite, though. not even if you corner her."

so it's a girl. rayan thought distantly, blinking silently as he processed that load of information.

"that's- that's horrible!" he spluttered, once his brain finally caught up with him. he glanced back at the kennel. the pet inside had raised her head a little bit, and he could make out one shining green eye looking warily at him. "what- what happened?"

the volunteer spun their ring of keys around their finger, before selecting one and unlocking the gate to the kennel. "see for yourself."

electing not to comment on that weirdly ominous answer, he obliged and stepped inside the kennel. almost immediately, the pet inside shrunk back, like she could somehow manage to retreat even further into the far corner of the space.

rayan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in worry. he didn't want to scare her anymore - the poor thing had probably already been scared enough for several lifetimes. so, with a soft grunt, he got down and sat on the kennel floor, a good six feet away from her.

"hi." he said, giving his best encouraging smile. "i'm rayan. i'm not going to hurt you." he kept his tone as soft and soothing as he possibly could. he eyed the tag on her collar, too far away to actually read it. "could i know your name too?"

she just stared at him for a few moments, sizing him up with her one visible eye, before slowly, cautiously rising to her hands and knees and taking a single step out of her bed.

and the moment she turned to fully face him, he immediately understood what the other volunteer meant by see for yourself.

only one of her eyes had been visible because the other was completely missing. almost the entire left side of her face, only ending less than an inch above her mouth, was made up of the rough scar tissue left by severe burns. where her left eye would have been, there was simply a shallow divot.

it took everything in him not to visibly recoil, because he knew it'd be interpreted the wrong way. the poor thing would probably think he was disgusted by her, when in reality, he was nearly floored by the depths of the cruelty she'd had to endure. even her tail, which was tucked firmly between her legs at the moment, had an odd bend to it, like it had been broken and healed crooked.

as she got closer to him, he could see just how terribly she was trembling, the way her ribs were clearly visible against her flesh. her single eye held so much fear, and her ears were pinned back against her skull, yet she continued to approach anyways.

until finally, she sat down in front of him, hunched and small and afraid. he wanted so badly to just reach out and comfort her, but he knew that escalating that quickly would likely scare her more.

slowly, so she could still keep a close eye on his movements and back away if she felt threatened, he reached for her collar. black leather - heavy duty, but impersonal. "NANA" was engraved on the front of the tag in bold, capital letters. The back was bare.

"nana." he repeated. her gaze immediately snapped from his hand back to his face. "is that your name?"

after a few hesitant seconds, she gave a single nod.

he smiled. "it's nice to meet you, nana." he said. "would it be okay if i pet you?"

she looked almost incredulous that he was asking, but nodded again anyways.

the moment his hand started to card through her hair, it was like her demeanor did a complete 180. she all but melted into the touch, leaning heavily into his hand as he scratched behind her ears. he could even see her tail starting to wag out of the corner of his eye.

poor thing. he thought sadly. is this really all it takes?

"you were just scared, weren't you?" he said. "scared i was gonna hurt you..." he couldn't even entertain the thought. "well, everything's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you, see?"

to his shock, she stepped closer again, and curled up in his lap, looking up at him with and eye full of pleas for more pets. he couldn't help but laugh to himself as he obliged.

"so," the volunteer from earlier said, nearly sending rayan jumping out of his skin - he'd forgotten they were there! "think you've found a keeper?" they gave him a knowing smile.

he looked down at the pet curled up in his lap, feeling the joy of finally achieving his dream once again.

he beamed as brightly as he could. "i- yeah! i think i did!"

[nobledragonflying]

Damian: Based on what I have researched, it is clear to me that I’m the one who has upheld the ideals of Robin the best-

Jason: Bullshit you have! You threaten everyone with a sword!

Damian: Like you’re any better Todd. What with your use of guns-

Jason: Not as Robin you little shi-

Tim: As the better detective out of the both of you, I think-

Jason: Did you or did you not blow up a base full of people. 

Tim: As Red Robin.

Damian: I seem to recall that there is still Robin in the name-

Steph, there to cause problems on purpose: Actually I was the best Robin-

More screaming, cat yowls and an almost shattered vase later   

Bruce: This is your fault you know.

Dick “parents killed by mobster at age 9, made a costume to murder a man about it” Grayson: I have no idea what you’re talking about

[buddiekinard]

not about anything in particular besides adding on to the discussion with something i've been thinking about for a couple of days now but it's also really fucking interesting to me how as a community we all realize now how harmful it is to ourselves and each other to joke about hurting/killing ourselves and how it doesn't help our mental health but rather perpetuates the feelings and intensifies them but we still have people deny that "harmless jokes" about killing gay men for being gay (as an example but there are other ones out there - this one just happens to be relevant at the moment to the discussion) don't have any impact on how safe people feel around their fellow fans

[void-botanist]

🪼🪓 for any character!

From this game.

🪓 - does your character have an axe to grind? a need for bloody vengeance against someone who wronged them? why?

I'm gonna answer this one first because there's a shortlist lol. Imagining a graph of "would commit bloody vengeance" (bloody being the operative word here) vs "is likely to commit bloody vengeance", you will find that only Isabel, Fay, and Edith clearly fall in the yes to both category. Isabel will enact bloody vengeance for relatively little (see: transphobe at the Svando's), but it's also not going to be that bloody. Fay is genuinely unsure how far she would go if she was ever faced with Lou again. Especially if his new wife was also there. She wants to stab somebody about it. Edith doesn't personally have an axe to grind with someone, but she would gladly step in and do some axe-murdering of Shirley in Leon's place. All he has to do is say the word.

🪼 [jellyfish] - what would your character do if they were stranded at sea or trapped underwater with monsters? (it could be sea gods, merpeople, sirens, etc.) or maybe they're stuck in a coastal town where they're sacrificing people to the sea. what do they do?

Isabel would have little trouble with being stranded at sea or stuck underwater (fight monsters? yeah okay), at least compared to being in a sacrificial town. Things on land are supposed to be normal, damn it! She'd try to blend in as long as possible if she wasn't able to actually escape.

As a planetsider Fay is the opposite: she would much rather deal with town drama than sea shenanigans. She is excellent at keeping a pulse on who said what and how everything is going down, and if she stays alive long enough she's going to break this case wide open. Out at sea though she would be one of the first to go.

Edith is not in as good of shape for fighting monsters as Isabel, but she would keep a level head in that sort of situation. Which might mean she's trying to survive by seducing the more humanoid ones. In town, she would be forming her alliances and trying to research her way out of the situation, but depending on how they're deciding on sacrifices she might be in harm's way pretty quickly because of her age.

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kk7-rbs @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[local-limebug]

what the fuck is up with the rise in trans hate how are people this sensitive about what someone else wants to do with their own body

[shorterstrides-fasterpace]

If these intrusive thoughts could stop, that would be great.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Jailed 3 Months For Assault," Vancouver Sun. May 29, 1934. Page 2. ---- Three months from the date of his arrest, April 7, was the sentence imposed by Judge Lennox in County Court Monday afternoon on John Halford, 28, for assault committed, His Honor held, when the accused lost his temper.

The charge against Halford, who was represented by T. G. McLelan, arose out of a fracas at the Cascade Gravel Co. plant in North Vancouver District on April 7, when he was accused of causing actual bodily harm to Chris Lund.

Walter S. Owen conducted the prosecution.

[iceyrukia]

Posting for these tags.

Guys is it unfemininist to consider that women have been socialized and groomed for over a millennia under the patriarchy into harmful practices in order to get validation from the male dominated society that we live in ?? Are we out of line for caring about the safety of women???

[renthony]

Bodily autonomy means that sometimes other people are going to do things with their body that you don't like, and you just have to deal with that. It's their body. You do not dictate what they get to do with it, even if you really, really want to. Even if they're doing something you think is really, really stupid.

Body mods. Drugs. Sex. Self-harm. Doesn't matter. It's not your body, it's theirs. You don't dictate what other people get to do with their physical form.

If someone is causing physical harm to their own body, you can't force them to stop through shame or punishment. It doesn't work. It never actually solves the problems causing the harmful behavior.

If you genuinely want to help in a dangerous situation, you cannot approach it from a perspective of "I am going to force you to stop doing this thing whether you want to or not." That's the fastest way to make everything worse.

[thcmcnstcr]

Alrighty folks, I'm distracted, but I am here. Fuck that blanket for today.

[zibah-ho]

nearly made a joke about seeing how many times I get burnt while cooking but like. You can’t actually get burnt every time you step in the kitchen right haha I put my hand on the goddamn tava

[noahstayed]

My over all feelings on Peacemaker

because this is my blog and I can say what I want.

There are good things and problems but S2 was green lit a while ago and if certain problems are addressed in that then I'd say it was pretty OK for what it was. On the nose sometimes but not too bad since it FEELS like a comic book show that isn't trying to be anything BUT a comic book show so it's heavy handedness in some areas doesn't feel out of place or too overbearing.

As a whole, the team was really good and got just enough screen time and development as they needed for their roles. While also leaving room to be developed further. They honestly nailed the landing in the finale and using the theme song for the big fight at the end was a *perfect* use of that trope. I have my favorites of course but overall I can see why each of them are there and they all have flaws and actual endearing qualities.

As usual, I won’t really post META here but I will say I will be watching S2 when it DOES come out and hoping for the best.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp prompt #1: Angel

I'd like to preface this by saying I'm incorporating tropes I've seen in other posts.

~~~

Jason has been a lot happier recently. His Pit Rage has been getting less and less frequent, he's cooking and coming over to the manor a lot more, and he even let Dick hug him last week without threatening bodily harm!

The rest of the batfam, while happy for him, are curious about the change. So one night at dinner they ask him what's up with him and why he's so happy recently. Surprisingly, instead of taking it the wrong way and getting mad Jason is eager to share.

Apparently, Jason has a boyfriend now. Yay!

He goes on and on about this civilian he met after stoping a cult who was trying to summon a deity and how he is this nerdy college kid who really likes space and how their civilian identies shared the same Gen Ed course so he made an effort to become friends. Turns out that nerdy space guy had caused the initial improvement in mood and his offer to go on a date to an incredibly diverse and well-stocked library had been the cherry on top.

The only thing is that Jason didn't want them stalking the guy and refered to him around the family exclusively as "Angel". Everyone thinks that's just a cute pet name he gave the guy as a way to both reference and distract the civilian from the cult ritual he was probably rescued from. Little do they know that it's actually because "Angel" was not a victim of the cult ritual but the summonee, that appeared in the form of a biblically accurate angel.

One day some supernatural entity decideds to attack Gotham and everyone is calling whoever they can think of for back-up. Batman calls Constantine, Nightwing calls Zatana, Red Robin and Robin are contacting the Justice League, and even Red Hood seems to call someone.

The situation is getting desperate. The JL is here but at most the can just slow the supernatural being down. Constantine and Zatana are still 20 minutes out and things are looking bad when another Eldritch Being spawns and seems to take down the threat in one move.

Everyone stands stunned as the being turns to them and in a booming voice exclaims "DON'T BE AFRAID. I WAS CALLED TO HELP". They all go through several emotions upon hearing those words. Where did this being come from? Is this a biblically accurate angel? Who called it here to help? Was it Zatana or maybe Constantine? Are they here yet? Upon looking around it is found that Zatana and Constantine are not here yet and the heroes get ready to engage this being carefully when a voice calls out

"Angel!"

Everyone whips their heads around to see Jason climbing over debris towards the Eldritch Being in front of them. The Batfam feels faint with a creeping realization and Superman swears he heard Batman's heart skip a beat for a second. Before anyone can ask Jason what he's doing the being shapeshifts into the much smaller form of a young fae-like creature with pointed ears, fangs, stark white hair, and vibrant green eyes floating in the air. He flys over to Jason before a flash of bright light leaves a young man deep black hair and frosty blue eyes in Jason's arms.

Jason turns to introduce his boyfriend to his family and the League only to find that Batman has fainted, a panicking JL, and a gobsmacked Zatana and Constantine have who've arrived in time to see the transformation. As Zatana and Constantine begin to freak out and prepare defensive magic Batman comes to and levels a scowl at Jason.

"Hood, I think you have some explaining to do."