Do you guys really believe that killing is the singular bad thing that cops do?
Or even that killing is the most frequent bad thing that cops do?
Are you saying that if cops didn't kill, then they'd be the same as Batman? Because then you're suggesting that effectively Batman already is a cop, with the exception that he hasn't killed (just like the majority of U.S. cops, who have never once shot or killed anybody).
I'm a bit worried to see opinions suggesting that only killing is wrong—and that violence, stalking, and humiliation are okay. In real-life, police commit countless acts of those "little" abuses, terrorizing entire communities, before they murder anybody.
Invading people's privacy is wrong. Hurting people to the point of hospitalization is wrong. Forcibly drugging people is wrong. Putting people in cages is wrong. Torture and "enhanced interrogation" are wrong. Ambushing people in their homes and safe places is wrong. Keeping inexhaustible wealth is wrong.
Superhero comics are power fantasies. Not all fantasies need to reflect our ideology in reality. But once you apply your real-life values to fiction, once you decide that fiction showcases exemplary real-life ideology—then your praise for Batman's ideology does become a worrying reflection of your real-life understanding of social issues.
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Imagine crawling under the Horned King's robe to cuddle with him ... It doesn't necessarily have to be a sexual situation (though it could possibly lead to that if you're both up to it - I mean does he even wear anything else underneath there?👀), but could also simply be a tender moment of both physical and emotional closeness.
Author's note: This was originally supposed to be an imagine at best or simply just me yelling out my thoughts about the Horned King, but somehow it kind of accidentally turned into a short story. Things you do at 5am I guess. This man probably has to much control over my mind at this point (not that I'm complaining).
The Horned King x Reader - Cuddling under his robe
It's cold this evening, though this is not something particularly unusual. The wind is howling around the walls of the castle, and you're snuggling a little closer to the Horned King as you're resting in your shared bed together. You feel his grip around your waist tighten ever so slightly, when suddenly an idea sparks up in your mind. Maybe there is an even better way to escape the cold than just pressing yourself up against him ...
He tilts his head, but doesn't say anything yet when you wriggle yourself out of his embrace and crawl towards the foot of the bed. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually decide to lift the hem of his robe.
"What are you doing, my dear?"
You can hear mild confusion in his voice, and stop in your motion for a moment, one of your hands pulling up the fabric a little while the other is resting on his calf.
"Just trying to escape the cold ..."
With that, you lean forwards and start crawling under the king's robe. The thick fabric holds off any light, so you let your hands follow the contours of his body as you move upwards, careful not to put your weight onto him in an uncomfortable way. You can feel a smile forming on your face as you finally stick your head through the collar - which luckily is wide enough to fit both of you.
"I thought it might be warmer underneath here, and I have to say that I'm not disappointed. But I also just wanted to be close to you ..."
The Horned King's gaze turns soft - over time you've learned to read his more subtle facial expressions - , and when you lean forwards a little to press a kiss onto his lipless mouth, you can feel him eagerly reciprocate the motion, to the best of his abilities at least. He lets out a content sigh as you rub your nose against his cheek and wraps his arms around you, resting his hands on your back. You allow your body to relax completely as you lay down on top of his own, and although he's not giving off any body warmth, you relish the feeling of being pressed up against his bare skin.
"This is perfect ..."
You mumble as you're nuzzling your face into his neck. Your eyelids are starting to get heavier as he gently rubs your back, and a yawn escapes you.
"Rest now, my dear."
Your king's soothing voice still reaches you as your consciousness starts to drift off into the shadows.
"Rest well. I will not be going anywhere right now ..."
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i could never be a hunter for many reasons but one of the big ones is that i just hate road trips. i don’t like being in the car for more than like an hour. i would slowly go insane if i had to drive across the country all the time like sam and dean do. if i were dean when he met castiel in s4 from that moment on i would pray to him any time i had to drive anywhere. make him my heavenly transportation angel. you know cas would do it for dean if he asked. then i’d cry when the angels lost their wings.
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Unfinished Friday
Thank you to the lovely people who have tagged me recently in WIP snip posts - pls expect reblogs soon, I am sort of off Tumblr atm and have a lot to catch up on but I am so grateful to be tagged and to get to read all your fucking phenomenal writing.
Writing loads atm. Long wartime AU/ multiverse fic is progressing well. Here is a snip from it. Seven years after the war began, Draco has gone undercover with the Death Eaters to try to get close to Voldemort. Draco visits the Order HQ when he can. Draco and Harry are best friends and have been hooking up in secret. They're also in love but haven't really talked about it.
Downstairs in the Order meeting, Draco had been chilly and controlled—a gloved fist, a bridled Abraxan. He had barely looked at Harry the whole way through the meeting, but after the reports were all in, he had stood up in front of everyone and held a hand out to Harry across the table, and Harry had leaned right over to him and taken it. It didn’t seem to matter anymore who knew, or what they thought. There was no need for the smallness of subtleties in the face of something so horribly huge as Draco having to leave, again and again and again.
Together they made for the stairs, bumping shoulders as they went out the big double doors, Harry’s skin overheated where Draco’s hand made a bracelet round his wrist, not caring who was looking. They ignored the wolf whistle that followed them (Malfoy, no doubt, the smug prick), racing together up the steps two at a time until they reached their corridor and then finally Draco was a warm and moving thing under Harry’s demanding hands.
And he was different here in the shifting shadows of their old shared room, both of them jammed into Harry’s single bed, the moon a sick yellowed disc through the window. He looked glossy and well-fed, flesh solid over his ribs when Harry spanned them greedily with both hands, skin soft and rich-smelling, his hair swooping over one eye with the sheen of a starling's wing. His clothes, discarded on the floor, were too formal, too many pinnings and fastenings, too stiff with ornamentation and embellishments. He looked like what he was, Harry supposed; Lord Malfoy, the Viscount.
As Harry tried to undo him, he wondered for a moment how easily Draco slipped back beneath the trappings, but then he felt the frantic tap of Draco’s pulse under his fingertips and the familiar warmth of his breath as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, carelessly, like he couldn’t wait any longer, and Harry knew he had him back.
“How long have you got?” Harry asked, breathless already, fingers slipping wet with lube over Draco’s skin, and Draco kissed him almost angrily.
“Long enough,” he said. “We have time. God, you’re all I can think about.”
If you've read this far then please consider sharing your own WIP snip - I would love to read it. And artists/reccers/other creators too, if you have a WIP you're working on!
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