#and also land reform right now

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Our second DCXDP au has Danny hiding in Gotham with the cores of Dani, Dan and two other clones who survived. They need DNA to be able to reform but it's in a ‘it doesn't have to be now’ kind of way. Not just Danny’s DNA but another to to balance out their genes.

They'll become babies and be raised up. Dani was melting but forced Danny to promise he wouldn't find someone right away he'd take his time to fall in love first. Dan did the same and the twin clones did to.

Danny decides it's a good idea but keeps the cores safe. He ran to Gotham in the DC universe because the GIW were to close to killing him. His parents, Jazz, Sam, Grandma Ida and the Foleys all followed. Grandma Ida is running some gang down in crime alley having a blast with Sam, constantly trying to hook Sam up with Jason who Ida is in a turf war with. Tucker is happily running a tech company that will soon outstrip it's competitors., his parents helping Jazz is terrifying in Arkham as she tears our corruption.

Maddie abd Jack found out about the Leauge of Assassins and went: study time. Danny, knowing its corrupted ecto and also not wanting to deal with assassins lets then have fun. So Ra’s is dealing with liminal mad scientists who keep stealing the Pits and also have uncovered two Damian clones they kidnapped. Their kids now.

But we’re focusing on Danny who is in college and living a peaceful life which is what he wants most of all. The cores of his kids are always on him just in case and he's casually dating. It's great. He can just be Danny the guy who is super into space and plans on being a mechanic for the watch tower.

Then one day Two-Face attacks the cafe he's at (because of a sale it was having where it was two for one on some sort of new treat). Danny has to run for his life. He gets hit and the bag he has the cores in is harmed. One falls out and he freaks, diving for it. He grabs it just as Black Bat swoops in to save him. She flies him up to a roof.

They land and then she moves to grab one of the cores that fell out. Danny gets antsy but it requires skin contact so it should be okay, she's wearing gloves after all. It'll be fine!

On her part, Cass is wondering why her hand feels tingly but there isn't anything malicious in the mans face so she thinks it might just be the orb she caught being weird. She swings off, noting that she has a hole in her glove.

Danny goes home and doesn't think about it until he realizes that the core the hero touched is growing. And it's getting sick without the touch of its other parent.

Cass on the other hand feels strange. Like she's pulled somewhere. She instantly thinks of the guy and alerts the others to him. They hunt him down to find him on a rooftop. He's surprised to see them, holding an Orb that’s glowing.

“I thought it would take longer…” the man says. He shakes his head. “Umm… rip the band-aids off- I'm nottotslly human.”

The Batfam kinda pauses cause he's giving this info up for free. Cass is eyeing him closely. It's just her, Batman and Robin in front of the man. Everyone else is listening in or in the shadows.

“I ran away from my home dimension cause they were hunting me down to kill me because they believed I was non-sentient. You know sad trench- I mean, John Constantine? I think he put in the word we’re friendly,” the man babbles. The orb shines. “Okay, okay. I need to… Black Bat did your glove have a hole in it when you touched this?”

Cass hums but nods. Barbara has Constantine on the line (and no one wants to know the blckmail she has to make him answer) and he's confirming it's a friendly.

“Okay, okay… this is a Core and it's the heart, soul, brain, everything of an ecto-entity like me. And it… it’s my child. But it needed a second set of DNA. It's fine dormant, it doesn't hurt the baby. But it…” the man swallows. “Skin touch.”

Cass knows in a second what he's leading up to. She touched the orb. It needed DNA.

That's her baby in his hands.

Que the chaos.

[reasonsforhope]

"Colorado is poised to be the first state to to expand automatic voter registration to Native American reservations, thanks to a new registration system.

Tribal members have the right to vote in elections, from the local to the national level, just like other U.S. citizens. But actually casting a ballot has been an uphill battle for many tribal residents, including those here in Colorado. Even after obtaining official U.S. citizenship a century ago, Native Americans’ ability to vote has been consistently ignored or actively undermined. In recent decades, unequal access to in-person voting, early voting and election funding on tribal lands has been a particular issue...

Working with Colorado tribes, state lawmakers passed a set of election reforms earlier this year to expand voting access for Native Americans. Those reforms include the nation’s first automatic voter registration program of its kind for Native Americans. The program will cover both of the federally-recognized Native American reservations in the state—the Southern Ute Indian Tribe and the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, and will allow the tribes’ governments to submit lists of members to be registered through the Secretary of State Jena Griswold’s office.

Griswold said the new registration system could make a big difference for Colorado's tribal communities.

"Seeing registration rates and turnout rates being much, much lower on tribal lands is a big problem that we want to solve,” Griswold said. “I personally believe automatic voter registration is one of the best ways to register voters in the state of Colorado, and all of our data shows how highly effective it is.”

Colorado is one of more than two dozen states that have automatic voter registration systems, but Colorado is the only state so far to extend its system to cover Native American reservations. When Colorado rolled out its system for the first time in 2020, about 250,000 people were added to the state’s voter rolls within the first year.

Now, [Secretary of State] Griswold hopes the new registration program will have a similar effect on tribal lands in the state. She wants to see the program in place in time for the 2024 election. For now, tribal leadership is reviewing the plan and providing feedback on it.

“It will not take us much time to register people once we start receiving data,” Griswold told KUNC. “But I think there's a couple of logistics to still work through.”

Measures to keep tribal members' information confidential were added recently at the request of the Southern Ute tribe, and lawmakers have also increased the number of on-reservation vote centers available for early voting and on Election Day.

This year’s election reforms also build on a slew of changes in recent years. For example, in 2019 Colorado lawmakers guaranteed in-person voting centers on tribal lands and loosened address requirements for voters."

-via GoodGoodGood, December 15, 2023

[hedgehog-moss]

On the eve of planned nationwide demonstrations, I want to offer an overview of the ways the protests in France are being handled by the government so far (and if what you’ve heard is that this is over a 2 year increase in retirement age, please do take a minute to read this post to get a better idea of the context)

1. In Paris on March 21, a CRS (cop) threw a tear gas grenade in the air towards protesters (they’re supposed to throw them near the ground); the grenade landed and exploded on a protester’s head. (x)

2. Massive use of tear gas at every protest, on this vid from March 17 you can see the Place de la Concorde (largest public square in Paris) drowned in tear gas. (x)

3. In Paris on March 20, video of a CRS with a baton hitting protesters who are cowering against a wall (x)

4. CRS grabbing demonstrators in (illegal) chokeholds and dragging them by the neck (x)

5. In Strasbourg on March 21, police trapped about a hundred protesters in a narrow alleyway and tear gassed them from both ends of the alley so they couldn’t escape; an asthmatic person lost consciousness; people who lived there opened their doors and let the protesters enter their houses to get to safety. (x)

6. In Paris on March 20, a CRS shot a protester with an LBD riot gun (rubber bullets) and shouted at him “Pick up your balls now, fucker” (x) (an allusion to the several instances in recent years of protesters having testicle injuries from LBD guns - and non-protesters too, in 2015 a Muslim teenage boy lost a testicle after being shot by a cop with rubber bullets when he was shooting firecrackers in a park on July 14th / Bastille day). A few seconds later in the video another CRS tells the one who said that “careful there’s a camera”

7. In Paris on March 21, a group of 4 or 5 CRS who were dispersing demonstrators, threw a homeless man to the ground who had been shouting at them (hard to hear what he said, the first sentence is “How can you do this job?”), kicking him in the head while he was down and mocking him when he couldn’t get up, calling him a ‘fatso’ and ‘sack of shit’ (the woman you can hear at the end of the video is yelling at the CRS to help the guy get up and telling them “do you lack humanity to this point?”) (x)

8. That same day Macron gave a speech on TV in which he said “the crowd [= the protesters] has no legitimacy against the people, who express themselves through their elected representatives” even though he passed his reform without a vote from the elected representatives—and considering polls show the vast majority (>70%) of the country is against the reform, the “people” and the “crowd” are one and the same. Today (March 22) he gave another TV speech in which he compared what’s happening in France right now to the January 6 US capitol attack.

9. During today’s speech Macron also said “minimum-wage workers have never seen such an increase in purchasing power” which is a mad thing to say in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and he used the term ‘smicard’ in this sentence— the minimum wage in France is called the SMIC and smicard is a derogatory word for minimum-wage workers. He decried the “extreme, unregulated violence” of protesters but had nothing to say about the unregulated violence of his police forces, and instead stoked the fire with contemptuous language that angers people the day before a planned mass protest.

10. Hundreds of protesters (and even people who weren’t protesting but just nearby) have been arrested and taken into custody in “preventative arrests”; the vast majority were then released due to “absence of an offence.” Here’s a thread by a woman who was arrested in Paris along with 11 other women (one was a 17 year-old girl) for taking part in a peaceful protest. They spent 20 hours all in one cell, were only allowed to go to the toilet if they left the door open, were frisked and had their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. Also, in Nantes on March 14, four young women age 18-20 reported having been sexually assaulted by police during body searches while participating in a student protest.

And a thread by a 19-year-old Black student who spent 48 hours in custody last week along with 4 other people who were arrested in Paris as they were walking down the street. Lots of racist shit in this thread. He had already spent 14 hours in custody after a protest a couple of days before, and ended up being charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken.

This article in Le Monde from yesterday (it’s in French and unfortunately paywalled) talks about people who took part in last week’s protests having been handcuffed and searched in their underwear then released free of charges the next day; a lawyer comments how this is clearly meant to discourage people from demonstrating. The article also mentions two 15 year old Austrian boys who were on a class trip to Paris and were rounded up with a group of demonstrators, so the Austrian embassy had to intervene. (Journalist mentions sarcastically “We don’t know if these high schoolers’ DNA samples were taken.”)

11. There are videos from various protests of journalists wearing the press armband being threatened, hit, or shoved to the ground by police. In Montpellier yesterday, a journalist took this photo as a CRS was pointing his rubber bullet gun at his head and another was running at him with his baton telling him “I don’t give a fuck about your press card” —the photographer managed to run away. (x)

This is all from the past ten days (and mostly from the past two days) and far from an exhaustive list, there's so much outrageous stuff happening (like the Minister of the Interior lying and saying participating in an undeclared demonstration is illegal, when it’s not) but it gives a good idea of what French democracy looks like under Macron. The above photo says it all really. And thank you to all the people who continue taking part in the protests and strikes.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[copperbadge]

I SCRUBBED THE BATHTUB.

I know it doesn't look very impressive but you didn't see it before. The remaining "stains" are actually where the enamel has worn away, though at least it doesn't seem to have spread since I moved in.

I do clean it, but not as often as I should -- I get very nervous because the cats LOVE the tub. The first time I scrubbed it after I got them, Polk came leaping into the tub and landed right in a puddle of cleaner. I had to grab four pounds of Cat Who Does Not Like Being Held and hold her under the tap until I was sure she was clean, traumatic for us both. Now I close the door when cleaning but that means I have to clean fast because their litterbox is in there and the only time they couldn't access it when they needed to go, they pooped in the bed.

Anyway, I went over the tub with CLR, then rinsed and went over it with bleach, then rinsed and hit a few problem spots with the steam cleaner. I'll do the actual tiles some other day. I got up about 90% of the hair dye, all of the soap scum, and later today I'll wax the taps. I was considering waxing the whole tub but it sees so much water and soap I'm not sure it'd be worth the elbow grease.

Listened to the latest episode of Criminal, "Extraordinary and Compelling Reasons", which is about the difficulties that profoundly sick prison inmates in America have in getting treatment and compassionate release. Difficult listening but also I think very important for anyone interested in prison reform or abolition. I used to be a big true crime buff when it came to podcasts but I've slowly been whittling them away; I think there are arguments to be made in favor of discussing crime and the criminal justice system, but sooner or later most of them either stop doing their research or get so scared to air an opinion and lose advertisers/patreons that they start just reading from Wikipedia. Criminal is one of the few I've kept around in part because it's a wholly different and much more journalistic approach than most. Also Phoebe Judge could read the Begats and I'd listen raptly.

[lilyginnyblackv2]

I think a lot of Buddy Daddies fans will be interested in this article by Unseen Japan entitled:  How discriminatory comments by Japanese Prime Minister Kishida Fumio's secretary may lead to actual reform on LGBTQ+ issues in Japan.

Here is an excerpt from the article (with text provided underneath):

Text: Just days after Prime Minister Kishida minced words on legalizing same-sex marriage, his secretary Arai Masayoshi made things worse. Speaking to reporters off the record, Arai expressed his distaste for sexual minorities, saying, “I don’t want them living next to me either. ”Arai’s comments very much made it on the record. The ensuing backlash led to Kishida summarily sacking him. Arai’s blatant discrimination prompted politicians and activists to decry his comments and reignited discussions on the government’s failure to protect sexual minorities.

(Bold done by me for emphasis and to highlight what Arai said, specifically.)

There are also a lot of quotes by politicians in the article as well. One, Koizumi Shinjiro, makes this comment:

Text: Looking at the news reports on these statements, once again I feel that the government’s efforts to tackle the declining birth rate on a different dimension will never come to fruition if their policy is based on denying diverse values and ways of life [3].

It should be noted that many of the politicians, activists, and every day people in Japan do not agree with these sentiments and actually support same-sex marriage rights. Unseen Japan made a Twitter post about this, which I will link below.

Text:  A new telephone poll by Kyodo News says that, in the wake of discriminatory comments against LGBTQ people by PM Kishida’s (former) secretary, a full 64% of people in Japan support same sex marriage rights. Only 24.9% oppose.

And the wild thing is that Buddy Daddies is airing right now, right when it seems like issues regarding same-sex marriage, discrimination, and general rights are all starting to reach a boiling point in Japan. We have this show airing about two hitmen living together and raising a child together. IN MODERN DAY 2023 JAPAN.

That’s the big thing. They aren’t raising a kid together in a made up fantasy land or in a sci-fi future world or in a city based off of NYC. Kazuki and Rei are raising Miri in modern day, 2023, Japan. 

When Kazuki and Rei are at Miri’s daycare, listening to her speech with all the other parents (moms, really) like this:

They are going to be perceived as a same-sex couple. When the government official was looking over their paper work like this:

He was perceiving them as a same-sex couple. 

We know that one of the theme’s of the series is “two people of the same sex raising a child together.” That was a modern day theme that they wanted to explore. And they are exploring it so mundanely. Like, there are some ridiculous aspects to the series, but those aspects aren’t connected to them being two guys raising a child. The ridiculous stuff usually stems from the conflicting aspects of their job and caring for Miri + their general personalities.

Instead, we are getting a story that is normalizing the concept of a same-sex couple (as society would perceive them) raising a kid together. Right when there is a shitstorm going on in the Japanese government around discriminatory statements about sexual minorities by the PM, the PM’s secretary, and other politicians in PM’s political party in the past (like back in 2018).

This is kinda revolutionary by not being revolutionary at all, and just presenting everything in a realistic and normal way (in regards to the more SOL aspects, anyway). And that, in the current Japanese social and political climate surrounding LGBT+ based issues, makes it a very queer series. Even if the creators weren’t intending on that. 

And now, I am done finishing on this topic (at least for now), lol.

[sgiandubh]

Never on Mondays

Cue in the Reporting Bitch, re: my last post on stalking and inciting others to do so. To be honest, I was counting exactly on a reaction like this one:

Ok, dolls - fasten your seat belts.

It is my (and at the same time the general) understanding an NDA, signed either by cast or crew, protects anything that could be construed as 'confidential information' related to a film/TV series ongoing project, in order to prevent any unwanted leaks, before the release of said project.

Have a look at this widely used template in the industry:

[Source: https://employmentcontracts.com/nda/film/]

It is also my understanding the above is a template only, which is always adapted to the specific/detailed needs of the ongoing project it aims to cover. More often than not, it does cover any set related information, especially in a situation like OL's Season 8, where a lot can be speculated about adaptation choices and open ending. An ending which may or may not coincide with Future Book Ten (I hope I shall still be alive by the time she finishes it and mark me, I have just turned 46).

Peel your eyes here, punk, for a very informative thread about GoT - a much bigger production. But also one that went ahead of the source books, with the results we all know, by now:

[Source: https://www.quora.com/Do-people-working-in-the-TV-show-film-industry-extras-and-post-production-sign-NDAs-How-would-this-be-enforced-on-GoT]

But what happened? As many of you already know, a local newspaper, the Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald, released some pics of the alleged set, with the following comment:

[Source: https://www.ardrossanherald.com/news/24494143.outlander-filming-taking-place-eglinton-country-park/]

Also, dolls and FYI. There is no 'Right to Roam Law' in Scotland. The only thing that deals with the 'freedom to roam' is the 2003 Scottish Land Reform Act and the Scottish Outdoor Access Code, detailing in very precise terms its enforcement. Your reference is useless (spare to give an impression you've got a smattering of law under your belt), because the two above texts cover just about any type of land you could think of, including public domain. For this is what Eglinton Country Park is, nowadays:

There is a difference, as far as law is concerned, between freedom to do something and the right to do that something. Freedom is general and abstract in scope: for example, the freedom for you to write whatever you want and look like a twat by doing so. A right is whatever that freedom grants you, limited by common sense obligations - it is personal and practical, as opposed to general and abstract. In the situation I have just mentioned: your right to write whatever you want and look like a twat by doing so, as long as it is not slander or libel.

In the Eglinton Country Park case, Mr. Gemmell had the entire right to photograph a public domain feature, as long as no restrictions to do so were enforced by the local authorities. They would have been, if filming were underway - but that was not the case, that particular day. I see no problem with that and I suppose the info was even tipped by the local OL production team, as it is almost impossible to control access on public domain without a reason to do so (see above filming limitation).

However, that was not the question asked by yesterday's Anon, nor the Fascist's response to it.

Let's take a look again:

Anon was wondering what scene could the Eglinton Park set be used for, but then moves on to 'the new house', which she thinks might be 'nearer the old location, but no one seems to have found it yet'. The Fascist answers, very logically, referring to the same New House: 'will be interesting if some fans find there [sic!] way there and take a few pix of filming'. There was no logical point to refer to Eglinton Park, a location that was already disclosed by local press.

Taking a pic of a set erected on public domain is not stalking, nor the result of an NDA violation, as long as there is no filming underway and the NDA violation cannot be substantiated. Taking a pic of a set whose exact location and legal status (private property or public domain) remain undisclosed, in the process of filming is both stalking and probably the result of an NDA breach by crew or secondary cast. According to paragraph 2.11 of the Scottish Outdoor Access Code, free access rights do not apply on

Failure to do so is considered as aggravated trespass, by the UK's Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994 (Section 68):

[Source: https://www.outdooraccess-scotland.scot/]

Considering the above, the honest question to you is: are you guys idiots on a daily basis, or just on Mondays?

Asking for a friend.

[This post has been slightly edited several times, to clarify a couple of things. Sorry for that, but it had to be done.]

[emperor-kumquat]

Hello there!!! How’s your day going so far emperor?

Old time fan here! I’ve been catching up on Some of my old transformers fandoms ever since I watched transformers one, and I remember about this awesome project you and many other creators made (btw your work is outstanding, Keep it up!!!) and I’m amazed at how much has changed and it makes me feel incredibly happy that my favorite transformers prime fan-storyline is still here! I remembered finding your videos when it was back in 2020 during quarantine. I always played through the beta version of “mercy” when it first came out and I remember feeling so excited for it; and I’d always wanted to best path for starscream be at least a good guy since he was my favorite character (and still is today)

And now seeing that the game is still in the works and seeing so many new bots is so exciting and happy to see the dedication to this!!! I know I have to catch up on the lore and stuff but it’ll be a fun experience for me, though I just wanted to ask a few questions before I end my first ever question that wasn’t anonymous,

Question 1: is there a discord server where I could possibly join? I want to make sure I could keep up with the latest updates for this project!

Question 2: I know I’ll need to read the Ao3 storyline for mercy but how does predaking and starscreams relationship grow over time during one of the paths? (I can’t remember but I think it was the one where predaking spears him and just keeps an eye on him— along with the predacons going to live in the wild or something? Can’t remember much lol)

And for my last question;

Question 3: Hows the process of “Mercy” going so far? Seeing all the art being made its absolutely stunning and beautifully done!

And that’s all the questions I have for now; until then I’ll be catching up on all the transformers lore that I’ve missed for so many years! I hope you’re having an amazing day Emperor!

————-J

Thank you so much for being a fan of Mercy! I still work on it almost every day! Editing the stories to improve quality, writing new content, drawing, instructing artists, etc.

Have you seen all the art on the Ko-Fi page? I post the commissions there, so there are hundreds of images to see!

For all the latest updates, here is the Discord server. Just so you know, there is a glitch when you enter that doesn't let you interact right away. Stay in the server until I can fix that for you, then you can write your introduction to unlock the whole server. Please read the rules too.

For the storyline you are referring to, I have fully written the story where the Predacons live in the wild of Cybertron with Starscream as their guide. It is THE Starscream story of Mercy and is a tale of friendship. Your adventure gets dangerous later on, so it turns into a fun survival game too! This is the written version of the choose your own adventure story. It's called "Discovery".

The main paths of Transformers: Mercy are on AO3. There are three full length story games available right now and the fourth is in progress. Check out my complete list of works and you may be surprised just how much has been completed since the beta part 1!

Mercy Part 1 (2020): A collection of the various starts to the game. A bit under construction right now to adapt to new plans. Quality is being improved (and the videos will be redone)

Space Adventure (2021): the choice to work with the Autobots on the landing site/spaceport at the end of Part 1. Travel to other worlds!

Reformed Predator (2022): the choice to eat Starscream in Part 1. Become a carnivorous monster then get therapy.

Discovery (2023): the choice to live in the wilderness at the end of Part 1. Explore beautiful lands and befriend Starscream.

Monstrous Heart (2024): the choice to work with the Autobots in the city at the end of Part 1. Discover the dark secrets of the Autobots and Decepticons, thwart the Vehicon mafia.

Right now I'm trying to do a lot of editing for my older content to improve it. I'm also doing a massive effort to prepare Part 2 videos for the Mercy stories so far. And doing my own Mercy art, annd I really need to write Monstrous Heart to completion this year! One novel-length game every year is the goal.

[hero-israel]

As a black person I actually find the logic of many Zionists to be audacious.

My people were sold and kidnapped. We were enslaved for hundreds of years. We had the most despicable things happen to us. I’m sure you may relate, we were put into breeding camps, they used our parts to make clothes and furniture, allegedly they ate us, they tortured us, etc.

There is more than enough proof I am indigenous to Africa hell I found and reconnected with the family one of my ancestors was taken from. I am very lucky.

At no point have I ever thought about going to West Africa and taking the land back, stealing property, imprisoning, and murdering people who’ve lived there for centuries and still live there today. Even though there’s a possibility that they’ve participated in the selling of at least one of my ancestors.

Just because I can trace my heritage there doesn’t suddenly mean I have a claim on the land. I have heard so many Zionist say they belong there more than Palestinians, that there claim on the land is stronger. Maybe it’s not all of them but it is enough to be concerning.

Also bring up Liberia if you want. We didn’t ask for that.

This is a fair critique and it brings up one of the most important aspects of Zionism, and of all Jewish life in the modern era and from now on: that Zionism was always morally RIGHT, but it did not have to be morally NECESSARY.

For decades there was a raging, controversial, legitimately two-sided intracommunity debate over Zionism, like nothing you see among Jews today, memorably portrayed in Chaim Potok's novel "The Chosen" (and subsequent film version). The Reform Jewish Movement, our largest denomination, was governed by an explicitly anti-Zionist platform for over 50 years..... until they changed their minds in 1937. The Jewish people always trace their heritage to Eretz Yisrael, always could claim a rightful place there - but things should never have been allowed to get bad enough, fast enough, that in the truest sense their only choice was to create a state of Israel or die.

As early as 1920, Hitler said his goal was total extermination of the Jews. Nobody cared. America sealed its gates to Jewish immigrants in 1924. Germany began visibly prepping for genocide around 1935, again nobody cared. At Evian 1938 - "the great betrayal" - pretty much every powerful state in the world acknowledged that the Jews were about to be wiped out, and knowing that, refused to allow refugees to enter (except for the Dominican Republic, the mensches). England bowed to Arab terrorism and sealed off immigration to Mandate Palestine - which was a violation of international law under the League of Nations but, again, nobody cared. Nobody, not one single country, fought to protect the Jews or to help them escape. The Allies couldn't be bothered to bomb the tracks into Auschwitz, but they would heroically sink refugee ships. After the war, 250,000 Jews lingered miserably in displaced persons camps for YEARS, with not one single country being willing to admit them, and in nearly all cases there being nothing to return to anyway. There were still Jews kept in Dachau, guarded by Germans, until 1951.

From a 1945 report to Truman: "Many Jewish displaced persons … are living under guard behind barbed-wire fences … including some of the most notorious concentration camps … had no clothing other than their concentration camp garb…. Most of them have been separated three, four or five years and they cannot understand why the liberators should not have undertaken immediately the organized effort to re-unite family groups…. Many of the buildings … are clearly unfit for winter…. [Author contrasted these conditions with the relative normal life led by the nearby German populations and wondered at the contrast] ...We appear to be treating the Jews as the Nazis treated them except that we do not exterminate them. They are in concentration camps in large numbers under our military guard instead of S.S. troops. One is led to wonder whether the German people, seeing this, are not supposing that we are following or at least condoning Nazi policy...."

Those who attempted to return to their former communities were routinely murdered (seen at the end of "Maus"). There was a massacre of Holocaust survivors in Kiev, Ukraine in September 1945, another in Kielce, Poland in July 1946.

The Jews saw Palestine as their only hope, because it was. And when they saw their enemies there were led by actual red-handed Nazi war criminals, and heard that the stakes were once again their total genocide? Well, that's when you fight.... damn hard... to build the state and the military that will, FOR ONCE, protect you.

You talk about "At no point in my life have I considered claiming a part of Africa and fighting the people who I find there". Well - what if it was extremely obviously that or death?

A popular saying among Jews: "Israel was not created because there was a Holocaust. The Holocaust was created because there was no Israel." It's true - but it should not have been necessary to have an Israel to prevent the Holocaust. The rest of the world should have done that, and they didn't so much fail in preventing it as much as they succeeded in enabling it. You are correct to say that African-Americans did not ask for Liberia. The concept was made up by white people to try to get blacks out of America (though it gained popularity with black people after "milestones" of new cruelty such as the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act, and I believe Marcus Garvey is well-liked to this day). Well, Jews did not ask to have no government in the world grant us equality or defend us from genocide. We did not ask to have no choice. And we do not ask for our response to the latest attempted genocide to be condemned by the same nations that enabled the last several.

Today about 90% of Jews are Zionists. Not just out of the everlasting moral principle, but because of the life-or-death reality that when we needed ANY OTHER OPTION TO WORK, NOTHING DID. And since then, there has been even clearer demonstration of the tenuousness of Jewish survival and the depths of inhuman hatred we face from our enemies, as the 3,000-year-old Mizrahi Jewish civilization was successfully uprooted and purged from dozens of countries (which had already been oppressing and massacring them long before Zionism) as collective racial revenge against Israel. The mere fact that that was logistically possible - that it could be done, quickly and repeatedly - speaks worlds about the normalized culture of eliminationism surrounding us. What do you really think are the chances that African-Americans could be altogether physically purged from the USA or some of its states? Yemen, Syria, Afghanistan, and Eritrea finished their Jews within the last 5 years.

As "critics of Israel" have made it extremely clear that all Jews worldwide remain legitimate targets, that all "colonizers" (unquestionably including Americans like me) "deserve it" ("it" to include infanticide, rape, kidnapping, and mass murder), and as America visibly decays into algorithmic racist authoritarianism and climatic desperation.... you should not expect that 90% to change.

[odinsblog]

“I sometimes hear people say that Russia was forced to attack Ukraine because Ukrainians wanted to join NATO. Those people also often say that NATO promised it would not expand to the East, but later broke this promise. And this, allegedly, is the reason why Russia keeps attacking its neighbors.

If you have ever heard people say something like that, please know that this is not true. And it will take me less than five minutes to prove with facts that both statements are false.

First, let's have a look at the timeline of events.

Russia first invaded Ukraine in February 2014 by occupying the Crimea peninsula. At that moment, Ukraine was a neutral country by law and expressed no intention of joining NATO whatsoever. For instance, during the Revolution of Dignity, the protesters insisted on Ukraine joining the EU, not NATO. It was only in autumn 2014, after many months of war, that Ukraine abandoned neutrality.

So what came first? Russia attacking Ukraine, or Ukraine wanting to join NATO?

The answer is clear.

Had Russia not threatened Ukraine's existence, there would be no reason for our country to seek collective security. So please do not repeat the lie that, I quote, “Russia attacked because Ukraine wanted to join NATO,” end of quote. This does not correspond with the facts.

Now let's have a look at the story of NATO allegedly promising not to expand to the East.

If you ask people who say this, when exactly, such a promise was made and who made it, most of them will not be able to provide a clear answer. Spoiler, because no such promise has ever been made and the whole story is a Russian fairy tale.

Those more sophisticated will tell you that the promise was made to the President of the USSR, Mikhail Gorbachev. They may even refer to the 1990 U.S.-Soviet negotiations on the reunification of Germany. Again, let’s consider the timeline.

In summer 1990, when these talks were held, the Soviet analog of NATO, the Warsaw Pact, still existed. Its dissolution, let alone the Soviet Union's dissolution, was not on the cart. No one even talked about it or imagined it. It was only next year, in 1991 that the Warsaw Pact, and later the USSR, quite unexpectedly ceased to exist.

Now explain to me just how the very issue could be even discussed in the summer of 1990. It is not surprising that Mikhail Gorbachev later himself refuted this falsehood. When asked by a journalist whether any such promise had been made, he said this was a myth.

Now let's look at it from another perspective. How could NATO even promise anything like that?

Initially, it is not NATO that decides which country joins it. Countries themselves need to want it. And actually, the membership criteria are very difficult. It requires a lot of political will and reform. All the NATO members that joined it after 1991, really wanted to be part of it.

Their people wanted this.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question for Russia: Why were all of the nations that had been part of the Soviet Union or the Socialist bloc so eager and desperate to join NATO?

Well, maybe because in three decades, Russia has invaded or incited war in at least three of its neighbors, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine. At the same time, Russia has not dared to invade any of its NATO neighbors.

Do you see the pattern?

The only reason for countries in the vicinity of Russia to seek NATO membership has always been and remains the need to protect their people from Russia.

Therefore, Moscow has only itself to blame for the fact that all of the central European and Baltic nations ran away from it and hid under the NATO umbrella as quickly as they could.

Do not let Russian officials or their supporters in the West fool you. Russia attacked Ukraine not because NATO expanded to the East, or because Ukraine wanted to join NATO. Russia attacked because it denies Ukraine's right to exist and wants to conquer our land and kill our people. It is through our shared strength that we can and must stop Russia and put an end to its aggressive plans for the rest of Europe.

For this to happen, keep supporting Ukraine and don't buy Russian lies.”

👉🏿 https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2014/11/06/did-nato-promise-not-to-enlarge-gorbachev-says-no/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/686191406300184576/appeasement-does-not-work-appeasement-didnt

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/684530801484922880/believing-putins-reasons-for-invading-ukraine

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/742088177664344064/violated-agreements-1991-russia-cosigns

[dailyanarchistposts]

A friend of mine, a Trump supporter, recently sent me a social media post from an anonymous Seattle police officer about the “organized protest” zone, or autonomous zone, established by the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement in the city’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. The officer argues, in part, that “there is a part of our country that is no longer under our control,” and that “we [the police] have been castrated.” The post is mostly filed with misinformation, that the protest space has its own currency, ID system, and that the former police precinct, abandoned by the mayor and the city at the height of the protests, is being used as a BLM headquarters – no doubt a kind of black witches coven in their imagination. Indeed, in the language used in the post, “terrorists” and “anarchists” are stock piling “ammo and chemical weapons,” and are headed by a “warlord” who “drives a tesla and has been arrested for drugs, guns, pimping and crimes against children.” The officer concludes that “this is real,” and that “you can’t make this up.” These developments they call “unthinkable.”

The police are not the only ones hysterical at the loss of their station. Right wing media have also chimed in, exacerbating and stoking the fears of the Right. Fox media personality, Tucker Carlson, for example, bloviates on his nightly show that the founders of the Capitol Hill Organized Protest (CHOP) are “just like the conquistadors” because they’ve seized and occupied already established land and are extorting local businesses. Not to be outdone, President Trump, searching for an election year issue, called on the city of Seattle to attack and retake the space. He tweeted angerly, “Take back your city NOW. If you don’t do it, I will. This is not a game. These ugly Anarchists must be stopped IMMEDIATELY.”

What is unthinkable, or was at the beginning of the month, is the power of the Black Lives Matter movement in the streets. The emergence of the autonomous zone is a pinnacle of that power, a significant victory. It demonstrates the ability of popular power to win the impossible from structures of white supremacy – the state and the propertied interests they represent. That victory, and the subsequent diminution of state violence, is a major step forward for community self-control and autonomy. It shows that ending anti-Black violence is the first and most basic step to honoring Black life.

But it is just the beginning. Honoring Black life means constructing a society where Black autonomy and Black power are the cornerstones of community, and one where Black freedom is the foundation for broader, collective liberation. The advent of the movement’s autonomous zone was a step in that direction. Taking the city’s east police precinct demonstrates not only that our movements can win, but we can win previously unimaginable victories for Black lives.

There is another legacy now that must be dealt with from the CHOP. Much uglier, it is about the violence that took one life and left several in critical condition in a series of recent shootings. The shootings and the lack of direction for the space sadly demonstrate that our movements are not yet mature enough to know what to do with victory. As I write, the Seattle police are threatening to retake the building in the wake of the violence.

The shootings happened as the movement languished. With no clear direction, political, strategic, and tactical infighting broke out, reminiscent of Occupy Wall Street’s failures. Questions emerged over whether the encampment was for abolition or reform, taking the police station or not, “autonomy” or remaking existing institutions, marching or occupying, and others. This infighting was rooted in a lack of decision-making process that made even the most basic agreements impossible to gain collective consent.

In the autonomous zone, a diverse flowering of self-activity emerged, a variegated patchwork of mutual aid projects, support, care, and action that reflected the full diversity of the movement’s politics and people. That beautiful moment must not be lost in its downfall, but now with violence in the space, it must also be held within a more complex picture of the movement’s failures as well.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Matt Wuerker, Politico

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 30, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 31, 2024

On Friday, October 25, at a town hall held on his social media platform X, Elon Musk told the audience that if Trump wins, he expects to work in a Cabinet-level position to cut the federal government.

He told people to expect “temporary hardship” but that cuts would “ensure long-term prosperity.” At the Trump rally at New York City’s Madison Square Garden on Sunday, Musk said he plans to cut $2 trillion from the government. Economists point out that current discretionary spending in the budget is $1.7 trillion, meaning his promise would eliminate virtually all discretionary spending, which includes transportation, education, housing, and environmental programs.

Economists agree that Trump’s plans to place a high tariff wall around the U.S., replacing income taxes on high earners with tariffs paid for by middle-class Americans, and to deport as many as 20 million immigrants would crash the booming economy. Now Trump’s financial backer Musk is factoring in the loss of entire sectors of the government to the economy under Trump.  

Trump has promised to appoint Musk to be the government’s “chief efficiency officer.” “Everyone’s going to have to take a haircut.… We can’t be a wastrel.… We need to live honestly,” Musk said on Friday. Rob Wile and Lora Kolodny of CNBC point out that Musk’s SpaceX aerospace venture has received $19 billion from the U.S. government since 2008.

An X user wrote: “I]f Trump succeeds in forcing through mass deportations, combined with Elon hacking away at the government, firing people and reducing the deficit—there will be an initial severe overreaction in the economy…. Markets will tumble. But when the storm passes and everyone realizes we are on sounder footing, there will be a rapid recovery to a healthier, sustainable economy. History could be made in the coming two years.”

Musk commented: “Sounds about right[.]”

This exchange echoes the prescription of Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon, whose theories had done much to create the Great Crash of 1929, for restoring a healthy economy. “Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate,” he told President Herbert Hoover. “It will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living

will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people.” 

Mellon, at least, was reacting to an economic crisis thrust upon an administration. Musk is seeking to create one. 

Today the Commerce Department reported that from July through September, the nation’s economy grew at a solid 2.8%. Consumer spending is up, as is investment in business. The country added 254,000 jobs in September, and inflation has fallen back almost to the Federal Reserve’s target of 2%. 

It is extraordinarily rare for a country to be able to reduce inflation without creating a recession, but the Biden administration has managed to do so, producing what economists call a “soft landing,” rather like catching an egg on a plate. As Bryan Mena of CNN wrote today: “The US economy seems to have pulled off a remarkable and historic achievement.” 

Both President Joe Biden and Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris have called for reducing the deficit not by slashing the government, as Musk proposes, but by restoring taxes on the wealthy and corporations. 

As part of the Republicans’ plan to take the country back to the era before the 1930s ushered in a government that regulated business and provided a basic social safety net, House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) expects to get rid of the Affordable Care Act. 

At a closed-door campaign event on Monday in Pennsylvania for a Republican House candidate, Johnson told supporters that Republicans will propose “massive reform” to the Affordable Care Act, also known as “Obamacare,” if they take control of both the House and the Senate in November. “Health-care reform’s going to be a big part of the agenda,” Johnson said. Their plan is to take a “blowtorch to the regulatory state,” which he says is “crushing the free market.” “Trump’s going to go big,” he said.” When an attendee asked, “No Obamacare?” he laughed and agreed: “No Obamacare…. The ACA is so deeply ingrained, we need massive reform to make this work, and we got a lot of ideas on how to do that.” 

Ending a campaign with a promise to crash a booming economy and end the Affordable Care Act, which ended insurance companies’ ability to reject people with preexisting conditions, is an unusual strategy.

A post from Trump last night and another this morning suggest his internal polls are worrying him. Last night he claimed there was cheating in Pennsylvania’s York and Lancaster counties. Today he posted: “Pennsylvania is cheating, and getting caught, at large scale levels rarely seen before. REPORT CHEATING TO AUTHORITIES. Law Enforcement must act, NOW!” 

Trump appears to be setting up the argument he used in 2020, that he can lose only if he has been cheated. But it is increasingly apparent that the get-out-the-vote, or GOTV, efforts of the Trump campaign have been weak. When Trump’s daughter-in-law Lara Trump and loyalist Michael Whatley became the co-chairs of the Republican National Committee in March 2024, they stopped the GOTV efforts underway and used the money instead for litigation. They outsourced GOTV efforts to super PACs, including Musk’s America PAC.

In Wired today, Jake Lahut reported that door-knockers for Musk’s PAC were driven around in the back of a U-Haul without seats and threatened with having to pay their own hotel bills if they didn’t meet high canvassing quotas. One of the canvassers told Lahut that they thought they were being hired to ask people who they would be voting for when they flew into Michigan, and was surprised to learn their actual role. The workers spoke to Lahut anonymously because they had signed a nondisclosure agreement (a practice the Biden administration has tried to stop).

Trump’s boast that he is responsible for the Supreme Court’s overturning of the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the constitutional right to abortion is one of the reasons his support is soft. In addition to popular dislike of the idea that the state, rather than a woman and her doctor, should make decisions about her healthcare, the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision is now over two years old, and state examinations of maternal deaths are showing that women are dying from lack of reproductive healthcare. 

Cassandra Jaramillo and Kavitha Surana of ProPublica reported today that at least two pregnant women have died in Texas when doctors delayed emergency care after a miscarriage until the fetal heartbeat stopped. The woman they highlighted today, Josseli Barnica, left behind a husband and a toddler. 

At a rally this evening near Green Bay, Wisconsin, Trump said his team had advised him to stop talking about how he was going to protect women by ending crime and making sure they don’t have to be “thinking about abortion.” But Trump, who has boasted of sexual assault and been found liable for it, did not stop there. He went on to say that he had told his advisors, “I’m going to do it whether the women like it or not. I am going to protect them.” 

The Trump campaign remains concerned about the damage caused by the extraordinarily racist, sexist, and violent Sunday night rally at Madison Square Garden. Today the campaign seized on a misstatement President Biden made when condemning the statement from the Madison Square Garden event that referred to Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.” They tried to turn the tables to suggest that Biden was calling Trump supporters garbage, although the president has always been very careful to focus his condemnation on Trump alone. 

In Wisconsin today, when he disembarked from his plane, Trump put on an orange reflective vest and had someone drive him around the tarmac in a garbage truck with TRUMP painted on the side. He complained about Biden to reporters from the cab of the truck but still refused to apologize for Sunday’s slur of Puerto Rico, saying he knew nothing about the comedian who appeared at his rally. 

This, too, was an unusual strategy. Like his visit to McDonalds, where he wore an apron, the image of Trump in a sanitation truck was likely intended to show him as a man of the people. But his power has always rested not in his promise to be one of the people, but rather to lead them. The pictures of him in a bright orange vest and unusually dark makeup are quite different from his usual portrayal of himself.

Indeed, media captured a video of Trump’s stunt, and it did not convey strength. MSNBC’s Katie Phang watched him try to get into the truck and noted: “Trump stumbles, drags his right leg, almost falls over, and tries at least three times to open the door…. Some transparency with Trump’s medical records would be nice.” 

The Las Vegas Sun today ran an editorial that detailed Trump’s increasingly obvious mental lapses and concluded that Trump is “crippled cognitively and showing clear signs of mental illness.” It noted that Trump now depends “on enablers who show a disturbing willingness to indulge his delusions, amplify his paranoia or steer his feeble mind toward their own goals.” It noted that if Trump cannot fulfill the duties of the presidency, they would fall to his running mate, J.D. Vance, who has suggested “he would subordinate constitutional principles for personal profit and power.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[lesbiansforboromir]

Why you don't like Galadriel?

WELL. I mean this would need a complex answer, for one thing because you could say I don't actually dislike Galadriel as a character really. She's interesting, she has layers, her position in the story creates intriguing mysteries and insights into elven realities and her actions are always percieved in multiple different ways by different characters. She is both an object of world building and a lense to view it through, she had only contempt for Feanor but is the character MOST like him in the end, there's lots going on!

So as usual what I'd say I dislike is more fandom's perception of Galadriel than Galadriel herself, although don't get me wrong in terms of sympathy for her I have none to spare. But to the fandom she's like... well she's whatever anyone wants her to be, so long as that's pretty much perfect and always more right than anyone else around her. Idk if this question came because of my RoP Galadriel tirade post of a week ago, but the fact that people seem to believe Galadriel's right to the 'good guy' role is so irrefutible that it makes any negative portrayal of her 'bad' and 'tolkien's rolling in his grave' etc etc- it's just flabbergasting to me and is a symptom of this problem.

Like Galadriel's entire motive for coming to middle earth, declared and narrated, is to rule over people. She wants to be a Queen of a land that she controls with people inside it whom she has power over. That's it. Now, far be it from me to be on the Valar's side, lord knows I don't support their right to unquestioned rule either and the Eldar's urge to rule themselves is completely valid and Galadriel's no worse than any of her male counterparts who were also looking for the same thing. (In fact, given this is something she is apparently required to 'overcome' when none of those male elves must do the same, I'm inclined to believe this is another of those 'eowyn must reject violence for peace because war is bad except when men do it and for sure the men do continue to do it that's fine' misogynist tolkien moments.)

BUT STILL.. that's not like... a GOOD motive is it? It's neutral at best, right? And Galadriel never actually does anything that could be called more than polite for the rest of the time we know her. She never risks anything for the good of middle earth, she never solves any problems, she goes from place to place to avoid any conflict that threatens her until she and her husband finally decide to usurp a Silvan kingdom and magically isolate it from the rest of the world. They change Lindórinand's name to Lothlorien, thereby overwriting the language of it's native population and Galadriel then uses the power of her ring (that was given to her she didn't make it heself) to EMBALM (tolkien's words) the forest in time just so that she could make it appear as much like Valinor (her home, not the silvan's) as possible. Like!! This is not some paragon of virtue character!

Honestly RoP's portrayal of Galadriel is actually vastly more sympathetic than her actual character. PTSD, survivor's guilt and the maladaptive cope of needing to hunt down evil fanatically for all eternity is, to my mind, 100% more understandable than just... staying in Middle-Earth because she still wanted to rule over people and never believed she did anything wrong in the first place. Which is the canonical reason she's still in middle-earth post the first age, technically a sin by the Valar's standards! Galadriel is rebelling against the will of the west in doing this, but apparently SHE gets all the grace and chances to 'reform' in the world, unlike some other characters I could name >:|

... Maybe she aggravates me a little, but she does so IN COMPARISON to the criticisms other characters must bear as 'the reason they had to die to redeem themselves'. Like if Boromir wanted to take the ring once in order to save his people, is death really the only way to atone for that when Galadriel has been power hungry for 7000 goddamn years nonstop, acquired and used her own ring of power to satisfy that power hunger and then managed to 'overcome it' at the very last minute JUST before middle-earth became 'less elven' (and therefore her position there would be less prestigeous) to demurely sail off home to a gilded cage paradise where literally all her family are alive and waiting for her. Like is 'power hunger' really the sin Boromir comitted here that he needs to die for. Is Tolkien really criticising the desire for power. Is the narrative of lotr really so cohesive and consistent as to allow you to put all the characters into good and bad little boxes and declare those categorisations infallible?

Am I making sense, is this coherent. Does it make more sense if I say like... I do not dislike Galadriel as a character, I dislike what her fandom-reputation reveals about the way the story is engaged with by and large? When I am getting heated about this or that misconception or aspect of her character, it is not because I hate she has that aspect, I like a lot of morally questionable characters, what I am railing against is the double standard that her having that trait reveals. (And I'm not even really angry about it I'm more just very activated by what it reveals about the story, like it makes me feral) The narrative loves Galadriel, Tolkien loves Galadriel, characters regularly threaten violence in order to defend Galadriel from even mild verbal criticism and no one appears to see this as a kind of ominous aspect of her when she's done very little to deserve it. Other than, of course, be ontologically 'pure' and 'divine' due entirely to the circumstances of her birth. I'm a bit manic right now so I hope literally any of that made sense.

Actually addendum example just to further affirm my point. So catholic tolkien scholars will tell you that Denethor's use of the Palantir was a sin, apparently even using a tool you have 'the right' to use to observe reality as it actually exists and then extrapolating that observation into a prediction of the future (ie seeing frodo is captured and the ring gone and extrapolating that the enemy has it and you're all doomed) is a sin. Because only god is allowed to see into the future. And this is somewhat backed up by the way characters treat Denethor's use of the Palantir, it was apparently foolhardy and bad and reckless and nebulously wrong etc. Remember, the Palantir is not a mystical artifact, it is like a satallite imaging tool + a one way video only skype.

.

Galadriel's mirror literally sees the future 😂LIKE? WHY DOES SHE HAVE IT? WHY IS SHE ALLOWED TO USE IT? WHY CAN SHE JUST SHOW IT TO OTHER PEOPLE? It's because she's holy!! But that doesn't mean anything about her actual character, it's just an attribute she inherited from her family and her place of birth that actively changes what her existence means entirely by it's own virtue. Imagine living in this world for a second, imagine if it was ontologically true that you (an unblessed child of eru) would never be as right or as good as Galadriel, no matter what the reality of both your actions were. LIKE. !! WOULD YOU LIKE GALADRIEL?

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 5

Yes, I'm aware my premise descriptions suck. I don't know how to write these things without giving away the whole damn plot. Sorry.

Premise: Leona exposes some weak points

Words: 1,951

Music Inspirations: Forget You Now - Big Time Rush

~~~The Consequences of Petty~~~

               Fists clench tight enough they might draw blood, not that I care. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting as far as I can away from the royalty. It takes every shred of self-control I have not to fly through the halls and slam my bedroom door behind me, but I manage. Though the lock clicks harshly.

               Immediately, my hands reach beneath the mattress for my phone, his face lighting up the lockscreen. Even as the words blur in my sight, I tap away.

               Instant regret sets in. I shouldn’t have sent those. However, before I have any chance of taking back my tantrum, I see the dots pending a response.

               I really shouldn’t have done that, but it’s too late to take it back now. Pacing the room, I scramble to compose my frustration. But even as I do, another message comes.

               He’s in the midst of typing more, but I do as he asks.

               I know it’s not, yet I still have responsibilities. But I’ve also crossed a line that’s not easy to take back. The tears won’t stop dripping and the anger bubbling in my chest brings about pathetic hiccups.

               Magic easily whisks me far away from my offenders, granting me instant access to the room of my lion. Immediately, I plop onto his bed, trying to focus on his remnant scent rather than the events leading to my impromptu visit.

               Then Leona arrives, door nearly slamming shut and the lock taking hold.

               “What happened?” Straight to the point.

               I groan at the trouble I’ve cause. Wiping my face feels futile but I hate to have him see me like this. “It’s nothing. I just felt a little overwhelmed at the fitting and got put in my place. Honestly, by now one would think I’d be used to how they treat me.”

               In my best efforts, I put on a smile. Leona does not return the sentiment. Instead, anger seethes off him. Reaching out, I let the man pull me back on my feet. He’s suspiciously quiet, but lets me step into his arms to hide my face and quell my resentment.

               The next few hours pass in much better company. I dwell not on what happened but on this moment with Leona and, soon enough we’re up to our usual catty antics.

               A hand lifts to cover my mouth as I laugh. “Active reform isn’t a term I would immediately associate with you. Sorry Leo.”

               “Yeah yeah.”

               His chin rests on my shoulder. Above Sunrise City, Leona and I peer across the night-addled capital of his country. From the balcony of his room, the wondrous city of civilization and wilderness begins to settle as lights set aglow across the land. It’s so vastly different from my own, but perhaps that’s why I find it so intriguing.

               “But hell, Kifaji keeps riding me about making myself useful as a member of the royal family, then immediately shuts down whatever I say.”

               “Well stuff that crochety old bird.” I love that baritone laugh in my ear. “I think you’d make a decent king.”

               “’Decent?’”

               It’s my turn to laugh. “Come now. You know you need someone to temper that ego of yours. Or at the very least convince you to get out of bed.”

               “Oh yeah? And I bet you think that someone’s you, right?”

               I can’t fight the smile on my lips.

               His head bumps against mine. “Now who’s got an ego?”

               “Probably still you.” Reflexively, I lean into his affection. “But I know you could do great things—whether or not you’re king. You could change lives for the better.”

               “I’m not sure my ego is that big.”

               I laugh. “It’s true. You changed mine.”

               There’s a lapse in his response. Suddenly, my heart hitches. Leona’s nose skims my neck, goosebumps creeping across my skin as warm breath whispers against it. My fingers slide into his hair, encouraging his attention. However, at the feel of his fangs, kind fingers turn cruel, pulling him off.

               “Leonaaa,” I warn lowly. A breathy growl retorts. “We talked about this: no marks.”

               Retreat comes with a huff. “One of these days you’re gonna leave here marked head to toe.”

               “Yeah right.” Turning in his grasp, I press a finger to his chest. “You, on the other hand, are free and clear to be marked.” That harlequin gaze closely follows the tongue that traces my lip. “I quite like the sound of that. Great and mighty Leona Kingscholar—marked as mine.”

               “You’re outta yer mind.”

               “Come now.” A line drawn from his collar to his jaw using my tongue causes tension in him. “Wouldn’t it be so lovely on that beautiful skin of yours. Let me show you my desire—just a taste of the things I want to do to you.”

               Our proximity is the only reason I detect the quiver in his exhale. “You could at least fight fair.”

               “Oh you can’t fool me. I bet you’re thrilled. You can’t wait to feel my mouth on you.” It’s his turn to bristle with goosebumps while my lips ghost across his neck. “Because I know you’re dying to know what I would do. Isn’t that right?”

               Surprise and pride fuel my lust when the haughty man has no answer. So I make good on my words.

               The feel of his hands digging into my back as I latch onto his neck is so gratifying. Spiced citrus fills my nose while my tongue presses against the spot I chose. This time, the shudder that escapes comes more noticeably. With each little movement, Leona’s body betrays his cool composure. Even his voice gives away his weakness with each pitiful whimper he fails to contain.

               I could ride this high forever, coasting on the toxic fervor of having this man under my control. His strength, his power, his smarts, cunning, charm—his attention: all of it belongs to me. Everything I’ve ever wanted exists in this moment and I want more.

               I really never had a chance.

               My hold breaks, making way for my tongue to clean up the mess. Another shiver wracks his chest at the feeling. What’s left behind is a beautiful, violet stain against his olive skin. That mark along with his embarrassed expression—I couldn’t be more thrilled.

               “What’s wrong, Leo,” I purr, tracing my work with a finger.

               Ears flat, eyes clenched shut, Leona recomposes himself. When he turns on me again, I’m met with a gaze of burning hunger.  

               The rumble of his voice hits like a shot of adrenaline. “You’re gonna regret that.”

               My lips quirk. “I’d never regret claiming you.”

               His mouth descends on mine, that ravenous mouth devouring everything I offer and more. Lips crash together eagerly, stealing kiss after kiss. His tongue asks for no permission before finding its way into my mouth to claim all it can reach. Space no longer exists between us. That rapid thumping between us is no longer distinguishable and can only be described as our heartbeat. I thought that I wanted more, but Leona is demanding it.

               However, greed breaks softer than it began. It appears that predator’s façade is wavering though that spark of desire holds true. Hot breath mingles together, not a word breaking through. His brows furrow, almost conveying pain. That grip has only gotten tighter, even his tail coiling around my leg.

               I never could’ve prepared for his admission.

               “I love you.”

               My mouth hangs open, struck speechless.

               It’s hard to believe that this is the same man that so coyly convinced me to indulge in this taboo. All that haughty, smug attitude is gone, baring a brutal honesty that I’m sure he’s never shown before. My heart may just burst.

               Finally, some of that elation manages to respond.

               “I love you too.”

               Rather than another kiss, Leona pulls me flush against him in the purest embrace.

               This is where I belong.

               A buzzing sends my stomach lurching. Immediately, a hand flies to my pocket to silence the alarm. Disappointment immediately washes over us. I really don’t want to.

               “I should go…”

               His face nuzzles against my hair. “Or you could stay.”

               “I can’t. I have to attend dinner with some potential trade ambassadors. You know that.”

               His heavy sigh cracks at my heart.

               “Besides, I believe you also have some ambassadorial duties to attend to, right? Something with the Scalding Sands?”

               A groan is muffled in my shoulder.

               “Come on, Leona.” I encourage with an affection head bump.

               Reluctantly, the lion pulls away, his touch lingering against my skin until I’m physically out of reach. I already miss it. Poorly contained woe rolls off him, seeping into my weakened heart. This is always the worst part of our relationship.     

               “I’ll see you soon.”

               Thorough hands straighten my clothes. In some attempt to regain contact I’m sure, Leona reaches out to fix my hair for me. When his hand rests against my cheek, I smile.

               “Good night.”

               With a dip of his head, one last kiss graces my forehead.

               “Night.”

               It takes sheer willpower for me to turn away from the prince. In my usual fashion, I draw a line through the air. Sparks of magic trace my movement, parting space to insert a doorway to somewhere far away. Though my heart yearns to stay, I step through the portal into what is my bedroom.

               I peer back through the magic. Regret sits on his face as he watches. Unfortunately, this isn’t something I can change. Still, I hate to see him like this. With my hopes, I blow a kiss, elated to draw even the smallest simper from my surly lion before the portal closes.

               With that, I hastily strip of my clothes and bustle into the shower where I scrub my skin nearly raw. Wild wind whips across my skin in my haste to dry off and I pull on a new set of clean clothes. Once I’m clean and presentable, I pick up the bottle of perfume gifted to me and proceed to spritz generously.

               Lastly, before I leave the room, I retrieve the velvet box from the nightstand. Inside sits an intricate silver ring twisted with black meant to resemble briar thorns. At the top, a glittering peridot nestles among the strands. On my finger I slip the ring, just as someone knocks on my door.

               The usual guard, Silver, calls through the door. “Your highness, dinner is nearly ready and our guests are here.”

               “Thank you.”

               I follow the royal guard down to the dining hall where chattering can be heard. Introductions give names to faces and nations.

               As we make our way to the dining hall, one of our guests addresses me.

               “That is a lovely perfume you’re wearing,” she compliments.

               I rest a hand against the arm of the man at my side. “Thank you. I’m told it’s made from the briar roses grown in the castle’s very own garden. It was a gift.”

               “No doubt from your wonderful fiancé.”

               How easy it is to wear this comedy mask. “Of course.”

               The dragon speaks. “You’ve been wearing it quite a lot recently.”

               The slightest fear burns in my ears. “Unfortunately, I lost the bottle for some time in my closet and only just found it again.”

               I didn’t lose it.

               “I see.” He glances me up and down just once. “Then no doubt you’ll be needing more soon.”

               “Oh yes, that would be much appreciated.”

~~~~~

Part 6 (Coming Soon)

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[olympeline]

@fireandspiceland’s recent posts made me realise I never knew how much I needed a USUK cardverse/omegaverse combo AU in my life. Well now I do! So have a Situation Involving Them that I just came up with:

The King of each of the four Suit Lands is always an alpha, the Queen an omega, and each kingdom has their own way of choosing their royal pair. In the Land of Spades, the Queen is born with his or her Royal Mark and so taken from their family and raised to rule from a young age. Meanwhile the King gains the Mark once he or she beds the Queen in heat for the first time. This means the Queen is born to rule, but the King can be anyone so long as they’re an alpha. To make sure they get someone worthy, a potential King must face a series of trials. Ending with the most treacherous of all: catching the Spade Queen in the traditional hunting grounds of the Garden of Thorns. Catching the Queen, subduing them, then bringing them back to the castle to be wedded and mated during their next heat. While the Queen can fight to kill, obviously the would-be-Kings can’t. Which puts them at a huge disadvantage right from the start.

The Spade Queen is always a powerful mage so the threat of facing them one-on-one is enough to repel all but the most elite warriors. Nevertheless, there’s usually a new Spade King a year or two after the Queen comes of age. The prize of a kingdom is a big motivator after all. Enough to bring the greatest warriors from all over and make them daring. But - unfortunately for the kingdom - their latest Queen is different. Their latest Queen is one Arthur Kirkland: green-eyed, straw haired, peasant son of a sailor turned Spade Queen-in-Waiting from the moment his midwife spotted the Mark before the cord was even cut. As is traditional, Arthur is a mage. But even for a Spade Queen, he’s not just powerful but stupidly powerful and ruthless with it. He’s also proud, haughty, and absolutely bound and determined that no one, but no one, is going to subdue him. He’s nobody’s broodmare, goddamnit! He’s his own man! Arthur bloody Kirkland is not getting wedded and bedded, not ending up wasting his talents raising litters of babies while some meatheaded brute usurps his place in the kingdom he’s been learning to rule since he was barely more than a babe himself! Arthur has a razor sharp mind and many plans for the Kingdom of Spades. Plans to reform society and make life better for all who live there. Something he can’t do if bound to a Spade King and forced to do his or her bidding. The laws of the land make the King of Spades monarch supreme. The Queen utterly subservient to them and there to birth royal children - Dukes and Duchesses of Spades - who can then be married off to forge alliances with other kingdoms. Excuse Arthur while he seethes at the thought of all of his brilliance being squandered on a life of endless sex followed by birthing royal brats in a nest.

Arthur had his first heat in his early teens and the kingdom officials started the tournaments as soon as he did, confident they’d have a new King of Spades in a year or two at most. Only to grow increasingly horrified as Arthur destroyed every champion brought in to chase him. Most of the time he didn’t even bother to run as a Queen usually would. Instead just calling on his litany of flesh melting, bone shattering spells to finish each encounter in mere minutes. His sixteenth birthday passes, then his eighteenth, nineteenth, on and on. Now the Queen of Spades is close to his twenty-first year and still he’s unmated! Not only that, but his reputation has grown so fearsome that the kingdom officials can barely find any champions willing to face him. The old fossils are close to despair and Arthur is smugger than a smug vendor at a convention of smuggery. He knows if he can make it past his twenty-first birthday then he will legally be an adult and the kingdom’s steward will have no choice but to hand all the powers of monarch supreme over to him. The old King of Spades is long dead and so is the old Queen. Making Arthur the undisputed highest authority in the Kingdom of Spades once he comes of age. Then no one can stop him making himself Queen Regnat, able to rule with no King. Able to change whatever laws he wants. Able to put a stop to these cursed tournaments once and for all and choose his own Spade Prince - not a Spade King, a Spade Prince! Subservient to his Spade Queen! Definitely a Prince - in peace.

He’s so close now, just one more month to go. All the years of training and endless sleepless nights of practicing spellcraft til he keeled over from exhaustion will be worth it. Arthur knows he can do it. He’s powerful now, so, so powerful. Who could ever hope to match the sheer force of his black magic? As far as he knows, there’s only one challenger left who’s been stupid enough not to throw in the towel. A young knight from a minor noble family by the name of Albert or Alfred or some such. Arthur barely listened to the details when Councillor Yao told him he had another challenge coming up. Arthur has practically been through more would-be-Kings than he’s had cups of tea. He’s heard it all before. He’s sure this Alfred or whatever will be no different.

Quite sure.

(This is getting long so end of part 1! Hopefully you guys will be interested in reading more once I type it up. 😘)

[yona049]

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part 4

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

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𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧!!!

𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀! 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖! ^○^

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Warning!!

>Blood

>fainting (again ik)

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Superman was flying right beside the bat jet, fully in thought when the comm in his ear beeps.

"She left you a voice message, you know." Batman says sitting comfortably in the cockpit of the jet.

Superman smiles a little with his fists stretched out in front of him, per usual.

"Did you listen to it?"

"Of course, she could've been contacting another villain."

Superman rolls his eyes. "She's not a villain! Why do you always have to be so suspicious!"

Batman turns his head slowly and Clark didn't have to use x ray vision to see Batman's eye roll.

"You know what! Nevermind, play the message."

The light banter between him and Batman brings little smile to his face before he straightens up and listens to the voice message.

(Voice message Y/n recorded in Part 3)

Clark smiles hearing the nickname 'Glasses' then hears a little chuckle from batman.

He looks back to see batman totally straight-faced and not having moved since the last time he looked.

"I have super hearing remember?"

Batman presses his lips together, a little embarrassed getting caught laughing, before quickly starting the jets decent.

"We're here."

Superman snorts before following behind, and the jet finally landing on a small decserted island.

Once their both firmly on the ground, Batman confidently walks into the jungle.

"Who exactly is our lead? We're really far off from Gotham right now, there's no way any bad guys are around here."

Batman shakes his head, pushing a few leaves out of the way.

"I wouldn't call them bad guys, more like, reformed, thanks to my help-"

Making a quick side step, Batman avoids a vine charging right at him that superman effortlessly catches with his hand. Only after he grabbed it a red and black hammer is swung against the back of his head and breaks into hundreds of little woodchips.

"Hey! That was my favorite hammer!" a girl walks out from the bushes. Harley Quinn! Dressed in casual clothes but hair still tied into two ponytails.

"You should've warned me you'd be coming Batman!" Ivy, also wearing casual clothes stepped out of the bushes and yanks the vine out of Superman's hands.

"I sent a communication through hours ago, you should've gotten it by now."

Ivy's eyes slowly slide over to Harley, who giggles innocently.

"Red! Baby, did I mention Bat's is gonna swing by?"

~~

Y/n was slumped down on the floor right where Batman and Superman left her. Her fist was clutched shut tightly with blood leaking from between her fingers.

"Why is my hand bleeding? Why can my blood burn things?!"

Her heart beats quickly but she quickly takes deep breaths in through her nose then out.

"Ok, ok! Calm down, it's probably fine! Just bandage it up!"

She shakily pushes herself back up to stand. She slipped suddenly and almost sent herself flying over the railing and into the cave rocks below.

She growls and hits her head with her free hand.

"C'mon Y/n! Pull yourself together!"

She quickly runs to the medical cabinet, grabbing a hand full of bandaid and wrapping her bloodied hand quickly.

Once it was neatly and tightly wrapped up, Y/n felt herself breath again, until the bandages drop from her hand as the blood melted through the cotton material.

Y/n growls and squeezes her first shut again. She looked around for anything she was able to use to keep her blood frop dripping holes into the ground.

"Computer! Is there any way you could contact Batman right now?!"

The computer beeps once before it's voice echoes though the Bat-cave.

"I'm currently unable to reach him due to comm's being out of range. I will alert him as soon as he's back in range. Is there anything I can help with?"

Y/n scrunches her nose before stomping her foot on the ground in frustration.

"UGH! Shit!"

She looks back down at her hand before getting a small idea.

"I-I need something indestructible! The Bat's gotta have something like that here!"

The computer takes a moment before it makes a accepted sound.

From one of cases where Batman's suits are displayed, a door opens to a suit that looks close to all the others with the exception of bits of a golden metal embedded in it.

"This suit is made of Nth Metal. A metal that is used by Hawkman and others of his kind, nearly indestructible."

Y/n bites her lip and takes hold of the chest plate before yanking it off the mannequin.

"Sorry Batman!"

Feeling a bit of relief she looks around before spotting a notebook and pen.

After a few moments she's comfortably sat against a wall on the ground with her hand resting in the chest plate letting her blood drip from her palm into the chest plate like a bowl.

The notebook was resting on her leg as she scribbled down notes. Perfectly content and distracting herself with small doodles and notes.

"I really hope Batman and superman get here fast!"

She mumbles before leaning back and looking up at the roof.

"Clark, I really need you right now."

~~

Back in the jungle, Batman and superman were sat up in Harley and Ivy's small tree house.

The house walls made from vines and wooden floors, of course mixed in with some solar panels for electricity for Harley.

"This girl, she's got my Toxin in her blood? And she hasn't died? That's not possible, her organs should've melted from its acids by now."

Batman spots a visible flinch from Superman before quickly adding,

"Well, they haven't, we believe that the Joker venom and Scarecrow toxin have something to do with that. Was there anyone on the island recently?"

Harley was sitting next to Ivy playing with her hair when she chimed in.

"Well, There might've been some nasty looken guys on the island a few nights ago."

Harley pouts and looks up at Batman.

"They grabbed some of the Hogweed on the far side of the island, one of the plants carrying Ivy's toxin."

Superman growls before yelling,

"And you let them?!"

"Of course not!" Ivy yells back.

"We killed alot of them, but one guy got away! With a very small amount of the toxin."

Batman lifts his forearm and types onto the small screen in his cuff.

"This means they didn't have enough to make more than 1 green vile. Their intended target was one person from the start."

Superman clenches his fists with a few small knuckle clicks.

"That night I went to the storage, there weren't any other viles, only the one I took straight to you. It was a trap intended to poison Batman."

Batman looks down thinking for a second before swiftly standing up.

"We need to get back to the Reporter, make sure there aren't any other Toxin's we missed!"

Superman agrees and they both walk to the exit together before hearing Harley's voice, stopping them for a second.

"If I know anything 'bout Mister J, it's that he never makes mistakes. And if he does, it's always included in the plan somehow."

Batman only nods back at her before using the grappling hook to swing down from the tree.

It was a few minutes away from the island when batman gets a notification in the bat jet.

"What is it?" Superman asks having heard the alert.

"It's the girl, she asked the computer to call for us about 2 hours ago."

Superman feels his heart skip a beat and without another word a sonic boom follows his speeding up.

Batman puts the jet into super-speed and follows quickly behind Superman.

Landing aggressively onto the floor of the bat cave he scans for any sight of Y/n. When he spots her sitting on the ground, the chest plate was almost overflowing with blood and Y/n was out cold. The note book she'd been writing in had fallen onto the floor beside her.

He speeds over to her and lifts her hand out of the pool of blood that had burned her sleeve and only slightly burned her skin.

"She's lost alot of blood!" Superman yells to batman when he puts her back down on the med bay bed.

Batman makes quick work of her hand when he uses a thicker bandage used for Super's to wrap her hand.

"Stupid girl! Get her linked to the monitors!" Even for Batman, he had a slight bit of worry entangled in the anger in his voice.

Superman takes a stick on heart rate monitor and placing it on her chest right beneath her collar bone.

"She needs blood, but no human blood is gonna save her now!" Batman declared.

Superman realized what Batman was suggesting and shakes his head quickly stepping back.

"No! We have no idea what my blood will do to her! We don't even know if my blood is Human compatible!"

"CLARK!" Batman yells aggressively grabbing Superman by the shoulders.

"She may not have a choice! Save her, Clark. I know what she means to you."

Superman clenches his teeth giving Y/n a small glance over batman's shoulder.

"Alright, but I don't know how she's gonna handle Superman giving her blood."

"Then don't be Superman."