Where’s that post like “gay people don’t like guns” and then the 4-chan screenshot where a guy revives his local firearms range by telling local gays that if they CC they could shoot homophobes
“Did…did I do good?” You did amazing sweetie. This is perfect.
I’ve lost so much. I’ve lost everything I thought I was. Who am I now? How do I go on?
You have lost nothingthat matters. Now do you see?
[image: an edit from DC comic panels featuring Barbara Gordon. The first three feature her when she was able bodied. at first she’s dressed in the armored batgirl suit she had in the new 52 run, jumping off a building with her cape and arms outstretched. then, we see her in her civilian guise. she’s holding a coffee mug and in front of her is the joker, who is shooting her in the back. the final image has her as batgirl again. she’s posing with determination on a rooftop and the wind is blowing her cape and hair. her face is in shadow, making her look more mysterious. her hand is clenched in a fist. The text on these three images is “I’ve lost so much.” (with I’ve on the first, Lost on the second, and so much on the third)
then there’s a black background and plain white text. this reads “I lost everything I thought I was.” the background changes to gray and the white text shrinks, like she’s fading out. the text reads “who am I now? How do I go on?”
there are then two panels from barbara’s dream in Oracle: Born of hope. the background is red and there is (on one side of the image) a woman in an oracle mask with a cup of tea in her hands. the other side of the image has that woman having taken off her mask, revealing herself to be barbara gordon. she is green against the red background. the text between these two images reads “you have lost”
then, four images featuring Barbara in her wheelchair, as Oracle. First, we see her in an alleyway, hitting a man in a suit with a gun so hard he flies at us (the viewer) and a tooth pops out of his mouth. then, a close up of barbara’s chin as she speaks on a headset. then a picture showing barbara in her wheelchair, holding bloody escrimas, one of which has a knife sticking out of it. she is gritting her teeth and looking up at the viewer in a challenge. the final image shows barbara blocking a knife that is thrown at her face with an escrima. we see a close up of her eyes and she looks very unphased. the words on these images are “nothing that matters.“ the last image has a black background, a glowing green oracle face, and the text "Now do you see?”
end image]
i still had some hi def images saved from back when I had DC universe, so I made an edit to my favorite barbara gordon quote.
CW: captivity, false imprisonment, pet whump, blood, bruising, abuse, beatings, guns, vaguely implied threat of noncon
-
Carlo woke afraid, from dreams that seemed real and surroundings that seemed dreamlike.
The floor left him sore and cold. He shivered, tasting blood and noticing the cut on his lip had left a series of stains on the cement.
As he pushed himself gingerly to sitting, his Master’s heavy black coat slid down his shoulder. Holstrom had placed it over him open like a blanket, keeping him from the worst of the cold.
He sat against the wall and clung to it, wincing at a pain in his ribs.
“Look at me,” Erik said from beside him. Carlo turned his head.
A gentle finger brushed his bruised cheek, traced the unhurt part of his lip as of surveying the damage. “Laying hands on another man’s pet. They ought to be shot in their sleep.”
Carlo shivered. He closed his eyes and leaned into his Master’s touch. Far away a dog was barking. A metal door slammed down the hallway, the clanging wound reverberating through the door that kept them trapped.
“What else?”
Carlo opened his eyes. “Sir?” he whispered.
“What else did they do to you? Those men?”
Carlo swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth. “Nothing.”
The familiar, square fingertips slipped up by his ear and Erik’s palm cupped his hurt cheek, so tenderly it did not press on the bruising.
“Are you sure? I heard them talking.”
“One kicked me,” Carlo said. He didn’t want to seem like he was complaining. His Master had a cut on his eyebrow that had bled and bled, and was swollen now, making one eye appear half shut. But he did not want to lie.
Erik searched his eyes a moment longer. “It’s alright, love. You’re going to be alright. You know that, don’t you?”
Carlo swallowed harder, a painful lump rising in his throat. He had been scared before plenty, entire days in the warehouse he’d been afraid and alone, and he’d been scared when he’d first come to his new home and Erik had slapped him.
But he couldn’t think of a time when he had been this afraid. The men who took them from the back of the car had guns— not handguns like Keith carried at his hip but big guns like in movies, and thick green vests on their chests that made Carlo think they might be soldiers.
Erik sighed, and did something he never did— he took Carlo’s cold hands in his big warm ones and squeezed. “You’re with me, pet. I’m here. Remember that.”
CW: captivity, false imprisonment, pet whump, blood, bruising, abuse, beatings, guns, vaguely implied threat of noncon
-
Carlo woke afraid, from dreams that seemed real and surroundings that seemed dreamlike.
The floor left him sore and cold. He shivered, tasting blood and noticing the cut on his lip had left a series of stains on the cement.
As he pushed himself gingerly to sitting, his Master’s heavy black coat slid down his shoulder. Holstrom had placed it over him open like a blanket, keeping him from the worst of the cold.
He sat against the wall and clung to it, wincing at a pain in his ribs.
“Look at me,” Erik said from beside him. Carlo turned his head.
A gentle finger brushed his bruised cheek, traced the unhurt part of his lip to survey the damage. “Laying hands on another man’s pet. They ought to be shot in their sleep.”
Carlo shivered. He closed his eyes and leaned into his Master’s touch. Far away a dog was barking. A metal door slammed down the hallway, the clanging reverberating through the door that kept them trapped.
“What else?”
Carlo opened his eyes. “Sir?” he whispered.
“What else did they do to you? Those men?”
Carlo swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth. “Nothing.”
The familiar, square fingertips slipped up by his ear and Erik’s palm cupped his hurt cheek, so tenderly it did not press on the bruising.
“Are you sure? I heard them talking.”
“One kicked me,” Carlo said. He didn’t want to seem like he was complaining. His Master had a cut on his eyebrow that had bled and bled, and was swollen now, making one eye appear half shut. But he did not want to lie.
Erik searched his eyes a moment longer. “It’s alright, love. You’re going to be alright. You know that, don’t you?”
Carlo swallowed harder, a painful lump rising in his throat. He had been scared before plenty, entire days in the warehouse he’d been afraid and alone, and he’d been scared when he’d first come to his new home and Erik had slapped him.
But he couldn’t think of a time when he had been this afraid. The men who took them from the back of the car had guns— not handguns like Keith carried at his hip but big guns like in movies, and thick green vests on their chests that made Carlo think they might be soldiers.
Erik sighed, and did something he never did— he took Carlo’s cold hands in his big warm ones and squeezed. “You’re with me, pet. I’m here. Remember that.”
