#if you have the documentation of what they stated you should have a case against them

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Take Me Away [1]

Pairing: private investigator!Wooyoung x courtesan!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5k

Trigger Warnings: forced prostitution

Summary: While working on a new case in town, Wooyoung was captivated when he stumbled upon a beauty unlike any other. Just as he began to believe that he might have found a Lady Park of his own, word got out that she was merely the newest courtesan at the town's brothel. Disheartened by this revelation, he nearly abandons his pursuit of her until he hears whispers suggesting that she may not have been there of her own will.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"If you're just going to hide in the corner and not even attempt to attract potential clients, then make yourself useful and collect my new hair accessories from this shop," commanded Iseul, one of the more senior courtesans, as she handed you an invoice listing her orders for specific designs.

Rather than protesting or attempting to evade the task as she had anticipated, you enthusiastically agreed, "Of course, unnie!" before taking the document from her and dashing out of the brothel.

"Thank heavens. Anything to escape that dreadful place," you whispered to yourself, clutching the parchment close to your chest. You were relieved to be away from the hellhole that was supposed to be your new home, even if only for a bit.

Instead of keeping an eye out for the shop whose name and address were stated on the invoice, all you could concentrate on was the sight of ordinary people living their lives freely. You remembered once dreading the idea of having to marry out of obligation once you reached a certain age, but now you would gladly choose that life over this one. At least then, you would only belong to one man instead of any man willing to pay for your company or... services now.

Had you known a week ago how drastically your life would change, you would have run away from home much sooner. You should have done it earlier, if only it weren't for your tender, foolish heart that still felt sorry for your deadbeat father. He had done nothing but drink and gamble away all the money you earned from washing dishes at a nearby food stall. And all of that just for him to sell you off to a brothel when he realised he had no money left to pay off his debts.

A week before today, he stumbled home reeking of alcohol and vomit after being gone all night. He moved to drag you to your feet while you were tidying up the shabby little home you had grown up in, his tight grasp tearing a hole in the thin, worn hanbok clinging to your frail frame. You struggled against his hold, crying out, "What in god's name are you doing, father?! Let me go!"

Confused about his intentions, as he typically treated you as if you were invisible and only approached you when he needed money, you received no response. He dragged you toward the entrance and threw you out, causing you to land roughly on the ground.

As you gazed at the expensive fabric before you, you looked up to see a well-dressed woman with heavy makeup smirking down at you, "You'll do just fine. Thank you, Mr. Han. We accept your payment. I hope you're comfortable with never seeing her again, unless you decide to pay the Mansion of Midnight a visit, of course."

Your heart stopped in recognition of the name. The Mansion of Midnight—the notorious brothel that had haunted your nightmares since you were old enough to understand its existence.

You couldn't believe it.

Refused to believe it.

How could your father do this to you? How could he sell his own daughter to such a place just to pay off his debts?

Anger and disbelief surged within you as you struggled to process the enormity of his betrayal. Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought against the overwhelming sense abandonment. Clutching the torn fabric of your hanbok, you felt a profound sense of loss and despair. This wasn't the life you had imagined for yourself, and yet here you were, thrust into a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape.

Turning to look at him, you knew all hope was gone when you found him waving his hand dismissively in response to the woman you now recognised as the brothel madam, "Whatever, so long as this means my debts are cleared. Just take her and go."

His callous words pierced through you like a knife, confirming what you had feared deep down. There would be no rescue, no redemption in his eyes. He was willing to sacrifice you without a second thought, all for the sake of his own selfish reasons.

Disgust and rage bubbled up inside you as you stared at him, unable to comprehend how a father could abandon his own flesh and blood in such a manner. The man you once hoped would someday change for the better was now nothing more than a heartless stranger.

I guess I'm the fool for staying.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from him, silently vowing to never forgive him for his betrayal. In that moment, you knew you were alone in this world, left to fend for yourself in a cruel and unforgiving reality. But despite the overwhelming despair that threatened to consume you, you refused to give up hope. You would find a way to survive, to reclaim your dignity and freedom.

Now, trapped in this place, you cursed yourself for even pitying him when you should have abandoned him, just like your mother did when you were merely a child. She left him for someone who could offer her a better life, one with no room for you. She left you with this sorry excuse of a man. Sometimes, you wonder why they bothered bringing you into this world in the first place, just for you to endure a life filled with so much unhappiness.

Lost in thought and unaware of your surroundings, a startled gasp escaped your lips as your shoulder bumped into another man's, causing the parchment in your hand to slip to the ground along with a few items belonging to him, "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry! I should have been more attentive. Here, let me help you gather your belongings," you apologised hastily, scrambling to collect his things while he did the same. Your movements paused when he accidentally grabbed your hand as you both reached for the same item.

"It's fine, my lady. Let me take care of it—"

As you lifted your heads to meet each other's gaze, your breath caught in your throat upon making eye contact. While you internally chuckled with a mixture of disbelief and sadness, realising how romantic this first encounter with this good-looking stranger could have potentially been if only you were an ordinary girl, he was too captivated by your beauty to utter a word.

So beautiful.

As Wooyoung took in the stunning lady before him, his heart skipped a beat. After encountering a woman as beautiful as Lady Park, he had almost resigned himself to the idea that he wouldn't find anyone more gorgeous. Yet, today, he found hope as he marvelled at you.

Judging from your initial reaction upon bumping into him, you were clearly not some rich little spoiled brat. There was a genuineness about you, a humility that spoke volumes to him.

Now, he just had to put his investigator skills to good use; find out who you were, which house you hailed from, and whether you were betrothed to another. If all went according to plan, he envisioned courting you, and perhaps, finally experiencing what it was like to have the kind of connection General Park and his wife shared—a love that transcended time and circumstance.

With determination in his heart, Wooyoung made a mental note to uncover the identity of this intriguing woman. You were a rare gem amidst the chaos of this world, and he was determined to unravel the mystery surrounding you.

As his gaze lingered on you, self-consciousness crept in. What if he was seeing through your identity? What if he knew the kind of job you were meant to be doing? The thought made you uneasy. Was that why he couldn't take his eyes off you? Perhaps it was his first time seeing a courtesan up close?

He could be disgusted for all you knew.

Blinking rapidly, you pulled your hand away and hurriedly stood up. Without giving him another chance to speak, you bowed deeply and politely excused yourself. You could still feel his intense stare burning into your back as you ran off, eager to get away from him for fear of his potential reaction when he realised what you were.

Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you struggled to focus on finding the damn shop you were meant to visit. Your heart felt heavy with hopelessness, knowing that thanks to your father, your life would never be the same. It was ruined now, irreversibly altered by his selfish actions.

Even if you were to somehow make your escape from this nightmare, your reputation would forever be tainted by this part of your history. There was no way you'd be able to hide the truth from anyone—the truth that you were once a courtesan at the Mansion of Midnight. The thought filled you with despair. No one would ever be able to accept you, nobody decent ever would.

Each step felt like a burden as you trudged along the unfamiliar streets. The world seemed bleak and unforgiving, with no glimmer of hope on the horizon. You felt utterly alone, with nowhere to turn and no one to confide in.

Help. Somebody, please help me.

Watching the mysterious, beautiful stranger he had encountered run off in the opposite direction, the investigator felt his heart pound in his chest. He tried to commit the image of your angelic features to memory, already excited to learn more about you.

For once, after completing his last assignment at the general's estate, he felt a glimmer of hope. Seonghwa had dismissed not only him but also Yunho and Hongjoong as soon as his grand wedding ceremony in the palace ended, expressing his desire for some alone time with his beloved wife. It seemed like everyone was moving on with their lives; the last Wooyoung had heard, the physician had returned to his clinic, and the dressmaker had resumed operations at his shop, both happy to grant the couple their much-needed honeymoon.

Except for him.

He had missed the thrill of working for the great General Park. While he loved his job, no other cases could ever compare to the adrenaline rush of working for his role model. Besides, that wasn't the only perk; he also had the opportunity to see the beautiful Lady Park nearly every day. He had been feeling bored, merely going through the motions with his current case until now.

His passion for investigating was reignited.

Screw his current case; it wasn't that important anyway. He had been hired by some wealthy old noblewoman to investigate whether her husband was cheating on her. It was while he was tailing the sleazy old man that he found himself in this part of town. But it looked like his new employer's case would have to take a back seat for now. Perhaps he should thank the old couple; otherwise, he wouldn't have stumbled upon his new dream girl today.

Yes, his new dream girl, because until just moments ago, that position had been occupied by Seonghwa's wife. Luckily for him, the general never discovered his tiny crush on her; otherwise, leaving the estate unscathed might have proven difficult. Jongho and Hongjoong had graciously kept his secret, for which he felt eternal gratitude. For his sake, he sincerely hoped the two would carry this secret to their graves. After all, he now has a new goddess to worship.

Without wasting a moment, Wooyoung immediately approached the people around him who had witnessed his accidental collision with you. Although most shook their heads, claiming they didn't recognise you, he tried not to be discouraged. With his skills, he knew he could gather all the information he needed in no time.

That night, he returned home and sketched the enchanting features he still vividly remembered before going to bed. His mind buzzed with the possibilities of who you could be. The following day, he planned to inquire again, armed with the drawing he had created. As the famous investigator Jung Wooyoung, he believed there was nothing he couldn't find if he set his mind to it. And now, he was investing even his heart into it.

The next morning, he rose extra early, having barely slept as endless thoughts of the mysterious beauty consumed his dreams throughout the night. He hastily devoured the breakfast prepared by his servants, bid his parents goodbye, and rushed out of his family estate toward that part of town once again. Eager to learn more about you immediately, he clutched the drawing tightly in his hand, feeling a glimmer of hope.

As he questioned people with the help of his sketch, some claimed to have seen you around but didn't know enough about you to provide further details. Nonetheless, it was a promising start. Surely, as he ventured closer to where you first emerged the day before, he would come across people who knew you.

True enough, it didn't take long for him to find someone who recognised the sweet face from his drawing. The middle-aged man smirked as he glanced at the parchment in Wooyoung's hands, "She's quite the beauty, isn't she? That, right there, is the newest recruit at the Mansion of Midnight."

"The Mansion of Midnight...?"

"Yes, it's the most well-known brothel in town, young man. Don't tell me you haven't heard of it? I suppose your young age explains it. Most of the patrons are older men, but I expected you would at least have heard of it. If you're looking for a future wife, she might not be the one for you. Beautiful as she is, she's merely a courtesan. Go find yourself a proper lady, son."

Disappointment crashed over him like a wave, his heart plummeting at the revelation. A courtesan...? All his idealistic fantasies of courting you shattered in an instant. He should have realised it was too good to be true. How could he have thought he found his own Lady Park so easily? With a heavy heart, he stuffed the piece of paper back into his pocket and trudged away, head bowed in shame. What would his parents or friends think if they knew he had been foolish enough to pursue a worker from a brothel?

Determined to rid his mind of thoughts of you, he committed himself to refocusing on his current case. In the following days, he threw himself into his work, seeking distraction like a heartbroken man. He constantly reminded himself that it was irrational to feel such strong emotions for someone he barely knew. Deep down, he knew that his infatuation was only with an idealised version of you, and not the actual you. Yet, despite this awareness, he still struggled to let go.

With a sigh, he scolded himself for letting thoughts of you distract him again while tailing his employer's husband. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand—to observe the old man's interactions and track his movements. His heart sank as he realised the intimidating building his target eagerly approached. Numerous women, adorned in heavy makeup and revealing hanboks, lingered near the entrance, attempting to attract potential clients. The words 'Mansion of Midnight' adorned a large sign in the centre of the establishment, with red curtains billowing out from open windows of various rooms on the upper floors.

Of course, it had to be here.

Suddenly, a dreadful thought struck him.

He shuddered at the possibility of you being the company his target had been seeking all along. The mere idea felt repulsive—a vision of that old man with his hands all over your delicate form. He turned to leave, no longer willing to entertain such sickening scenarios involving you. At least the case was closed. He had obtained the answers his employer sought; her husband had been frequenting the brothel. Whether or not that constituted cheating would be for her to decide. He was finished and wanted to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible.

As he tried to leave the area, his steps faltered when he overheard a conversation between a stall owner and their customer, "Have you heard about the new courtesan at the Mansion of Midnight? I heard the poor thing is there against her will, that's why she always looks so sad. Apparently, her father sold her to settle his debts—"

That was all he needed to hear before a pang of regret pierced his heart. Why hadn't he investigated more thoroughly? Why had he given up on you so easily? If that were true, you must have been terrified. The idea of your own father doing this to you made his blood boil. Suddenly, he found himself understanding General Park's fury towards the former Minister Jang all too well.

Useless son of a—

A sudden wave of protectiveness engulfed him as he felt the urgent need to rescue you. Acting on impulse, he swiftly turned around and sprinted back toward the brothel. It wasn't until he reached the establishment again that he realised he lacked a plan. What was his next move after discovering your actual situation?

Think, Jung Wooyoung, think!

Before he could even formulate a plan, one of the courtesans approached him, her demeanour dripping with seduction. She pressed her chest against his side, trailing a seductive finger across his chest. Her mouth watered at the thought of entertaining such a young and dashing man after dealing with disgusting old men for so long, "Hello there, handsome. Would you like to spend a little time with us? Have some fun? Here at the Mansion of Midnight, we provide only the best services," she purred, winking at him. He struggled to push her off without appearing too rude, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with her touchiness.

"I-I... yes, I'd like to spend some time with the newest courtesan here, please," he stuttered, managing to free himself from her grasp.

With a scoff, she crossed her arms over her chest in disbelief, "You mean Miss Han? Why? Just because she's new? She's been here for a week and is still a virgin. I assure you, experienced courtesans like myself would know better how to satisfy you."

As she attempted to promote herself further, an older woman who appeared to be in charge intervened, glaring at her, "Enough, Iseul. What did I say about respecting our client's wishes? It's not you he wants. Accept it and move along," she reprimanded. Turning to Wooyoung, the brothel madam grinned, "So, you'd like to request Miss Han, hm? I understand. She's around your age and is still pure. If I were you, she might be the only one I'd want too. Tell me, how long would you like to spend with her? An hour or two?"

"I want her to myself for the rest of the day."

"Miss Han, you fortunate little thing! Congratulations on securing your very first client. This dashing young man seems utterly smitten by you, to have reserved your company for the entire evening."

You tightly clenched your trembling fists to your chest, suppressing a terrified whimper as you listened to the brothel madam's devious teasing. You had prayed fervently that nobody would request your services, doing everything you could to remain inconspicuous over the past week, hoping they might see you as more suitable for hard labour; you'd much rather be the lowest servant than do any of this.

Yet, here you were, already with your first client, and not just any client—this man had gone as far as to secure your companionship for the entire day. Such occurrences were rare, even for the most sought-after courtesans in this establishment. You couldn't fathom who this person might be, how he had learned of you, and why he'd spend so much to buy your time.

"Wh-who is it? This customer..."

"Wouldn't you like to know? It's none other than the famous private investigator Jung Wooyoung, known for his significant role in aiding General Park's capture of former Minister Jang. I suppose even men with a strong sense of justice are still susceptible to desire," The sly woman drawled, winking at you, "Don't disappoint us, girl. A client of his calibre could become a valuable long-term patron. Treat him well."

In anticipation of this highly significant new client, they went to great lengths to prepare you. After informing you of the news, the brothel madam called upon a team of staff to bathe you and dress you in a seemingly brand-new hanbok. It was almost as revealing as the ones worn daily by Iseul and the other popular courtesans. Usually, newer girls like yourself were given hand-me-down hanboks that were less appealing, given your status. However, this didn't alleviate the pressure you were feeling; if anything, it intensified, knowing how valuable this client must be.

God, why? Why me, of all people?

You should have known that all men were alike. No matter how noble or upright they might seem, they were ultimately driven by temptation. At the end of the day, they all desired the same thing. You could only hope that he would at least go easy on you. Your heart raced in your chest as you sat on the bed in the room assigned to you and him for the night, waiting for him.

To steady your trembling hands, you balled them into fists, feeling your nails dig into the skin of your palm with such force that you were certain they would break soon. Just as you were about to sink deeper into your endless pool of misery, you froze at the sound of footsteps approaching the room. Internally cursing your father once more, you braced yourself for what lay ahead.

"This way, Mr. Jung. She's ready for you."

Hearing those words turned your stomach. Yes, this was your current reality. You were nothing more than a commodity—a comfort woman for hire. An object for men to exploit when they sought release, to use as they pleased, as long as they could pay for it.

As you accepted your fate, you closed your eyes and bowed your head, the wooden door creaking open slowly. There was no escape from this—his reservation for the entire evening could only mean one thing. He hadn't bought your time just for conversation and a meal. No, he was here for the reason most men visited a brothel. This was it; this was how you'd lose your innocence.

"Miss Han...?" The man's uncertain voice echoed through the room.

Lifting your gaze to meet the individual who would be claiming your innocence tonight, your eyes widened in recognition as soon as you laid eyes on him. He was the handsome stranger you had collided with the other day. With a gasp, you uttered, "It's you..."

"So, y-you're the famous private investigator? Wh-what are you doing here?" You asked, then shook your head and cleared your throat, "Wait, I'm sorry. That was a foolish question; everyone knows why men come here." Inside, you couldn't deny the disappointment. His initial impression had been shattered now that you knew he was your first client. He didn't seem like the type to visit such places, but you supposed you couldn't judge a book by its cover.

His eyes widened at your implication, and he quickly shook his head, waving his hands to deny it as he stepped closer to you. Seeing you visibly shrink back, he made sure to keep a respectful distance, "No, you don't understand. I'm not here for that, Miss Han."

Lowering his voice, he took a seat in the nearest chair and continued, "I'm here to help you. My name is Wooyoung, as you already know, and I'm an investigator. I heard you're here against your will because of your father. Is that right?"

He fought to keep his composure, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on your features. He could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks as he struggled not to let his eyes wander further down to the sheer hanbok, which left your bare shoulders exposed thanks to its see-through material. Typically, such hanboks were reserved for married women about to spend the night with their husbands. The realisation that he was alone in a room with his dream girl dressed like that was enough to leave him flustered.

But he knew he needed to focus on the task at hand. Now was not the time to be feeling shy or distracted. He had a more important mission: to get you the hell out of here. So, he pushed aside his feelings and did his best to remain composed for your sake.

Nodding slowly, you furrowed your brows with scepticism, "Help me? Why? You don't even know me. What's in it for you? I have no money, and the only thing I can offer is..." Your voice trailed off as you glanced down at your body. Your distrust was palpable as you considered whether you could trust him. Just because he was the investigator who helped General Park capture the former Minister of Military Affairs didn't mean he had any obligation to you.

Understanding your hesitation, Wooyoung sighed deeply. He sympathised with your reluctance to trust a stranger, especially considering the betrayal you had experienced from someone you should have been able to rely on. He didn't blame you for questioning his motives; it was a reasonable response given the circumstances.

He looked into your eyes with a sincerity that struck you deeply, "Listen, not all men are like that," he said earnestly, "I know it may seem difficult for you to believe that someone would be willing to help you without expecting anything in return, but I'm here to prove to you that we exist. I'll admit your beauty captivated me initially, and I genuinely intended to court you. But after learning the truth about your situation, what kind of person would I be to not help? I won't rest until I get you out of here."

His words struck a chord within you, and there was a sincerity in his tone that you had rarely heard, not even from the people you called your parents. Despite your initial scepticism, you decided to believe him, if only for this moment. After all, if someone truly wanted to rescue you from this dreadful place, who were you to object?

You suppressed the shyness that arose upon his admission of his intentions to court you. Memories of your first encounter with him flooded back, making you ponder how different things might have been if you were an ordinary girl. Nevertheless, you were grateful he hadn't given up on you despite discovering your identity. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a friend in him.

Moving to sit across from him at the dining table in the centre of the room, you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, "Alright, Mr. Jung. I'll choose to trust you. I appreciate your efforts to help me, but... how do you plan to do that? The Mansion of Midnight isn't a small establishment. They've been around for as long as I can remember, and none of the girls working here have been able to just walk out as they please. As far as I know, I'm part of their property now."

"Not if I can help it. The larger the establishment, the more skeletons they have in their closet. Especially in a place like a brothel, I doubt their operations are entirely above board," he explained, "I'll keep returning for the next week, and buy up all your time. That'll keep other patrons away. Meanwhile, I'll use that time to snoop around. Trust me, we're getting you out of here, no matter what." He reassured you with a warm smile gorgeous enough to melt your heart, but you didn't let it show.

I most certainly hope so, Mr. Jung.

You couldn't help but admire his unwavering determination, even though a part of you hesitated to allow yourself to feel hopeful. You dared not raise your hopes too high, afraid of the crushing disappointment that would follow if his plan were to fail. Yet, at this moment, you were grateful to have crossed paths with him, whether or not he'd be able to get you out of here.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"Sir, Investigator Jung is here to see you," Jongho announced at the entrance of his master's study, an anxious Wooyoung standing beside him. The general raised his brows in surprise, "At this hour? Let him in."

Without hesitation, the investigator rushed into the room, "My lord, I apologise for showing up unannounced so late at night! I know you said not to bother you and Lady Park for the time being, but there's something urgent that I need help with—"

"Woah, breathe, Wooyoung. Calm down and take a seat. Jongho, please bring us some tea," With a bow, the assistant moved to leave before halting when Seonghwa called out to him again, "Wait! On your way back, let the mistress know not to wait up for me. I have a feeling this won't be a short meeting."

"Of course, sir," the assistant replied.

Feeling guilty for getting in the way of what should have been the couple's honeymoon time, the younger man sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Gosh, I really am sorry to intrude on your alone time with your wife."

The general smiled reassuringly, shaking his head, "Please don't worry about it. It must be important for you to rush here so late. Besides, you've helped me plenty before. It's only right for me to return the favour now. Tell me, what do you need help with?"

"I know I previously declined the bonus incentives you offered, but... would it be alright for me to accept them now?"

Wooyoung hadn't fully considered the financial implications when he confidently promised to return to the Mansion of Midnight every day for the next week. It dawned on him how costly even one night there had been. He couldn't possibly ask his parents for money to be spent on a brothel. Despite it being for a noble cause, they'd have a heart attack. So, he had no choice but to seek financial assistance from Seonghwa.

I was initially going to make this into a oneshot, but that would take me too long to post and I didn't want to make y'all wait any longer than you already have! So, voila! I'm breaking this into 2 parts. The next part will be the second and final part of this spinoff.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Today is the first day of Native American Heritage month. And in a little over a week, the SCOTUS is going to hear argument for and against the Indian Child Welfare act. ICWA was passed to stop the cultural genocide of Native American and Alaska Natives.

For hundreds of years, white people tried to destroy Native American and Alaska Native culture. What led to ICWA was a period of time from the 1800s until 1978. Native American, Native Hawaiian, and Alaska Native children were taken from their families and forced into residential skills. Parents who refused could face imprisonment or lose their other kids. There are accounts of tribes hiding their children on days they knew government representatives were coming...so when the govenment caught on, they started unannounced visits. In addition, children would be taken from their families and adopted out to white families.

In schools, children were punished for speaking their own languages. They were forced to dress in anglicized clothes and have anglicized hair cuts. They were physically, emotionally, and sometimes sexually abused. Some died of malnutrition. Some were murdered. And others survived but were traumatized.

For those adopted, experiences differed based on the family, but they were still forcibly assimilated into white culture and still experienced that trauma. Some never saw their birth families again.

ICWA was created to stop this. It allows Native Americans and Alaska Natives to control the foster care and adoption placement of tribal children. Now, it's being challenged.

There are a few white families who say it's racist to not let them adopt Native American and Alaska Native children, and they have taken the case to the same SCOTUS that defied the Constitution and years of precedent by saying tribal land was a territory of the state and that states could charge some cases for crimes committed on tribal land.

So a few things:

This cultural genocide did not happen a long time ago. ICWA was passed less than 50 years ago. There are boarding school survivors and adoption survivors today who are watching this and speaking out against this. Earlier this year, the Department of the Interior found 50 unmarked grave sites at former residential schools. Grave sites, not graves themselves. Each individual site would contain multiple graves. Unmarked. Children who were kidnapped, died, and were buried without a name. And some people think that white people are entitled to adopt Native American and Alaska Native children and that tribes should just move on and trust the government.

The trauma children who were forcibly assimilated faced is well-documented. They grew up not knowing their family or their culture. They are desperate to stop other children from going through that.

Native Americans and Alaska Natives have sovereignty. This is recognized in the Constitution, through the fact treaties were signed with tribes, and through years of judicial precedent. The idea that the SCOTUS decided to hear this case instead of letting the decisions of lower courts stand is alarming. Sovereignty means that Native Americans and Alaska Natives have the right to self-governance and self-determination. They are regarded similarly to a separate country. If the U.S. decided to tell England to hand over its children to be placed with American families, it would be seen as a joke at best and a declaration of war at worst. Because one country cannot just barge in and control another country's government on peaceful terms. But if ICWA is overturned, the SCOTUS will be saying that sovereign nations have no right to control the foster care and adoption placement of their citizens.

So what can you do? Spread awareness of this. Post about it on social media. Write to your representatives. Don't let this case slip from your mind. And if there are protests in your area, join them.

You can ask your state's Native American and Alaska Native tribes what you can do to help. If, like me, you live in a state with no recognized tribe, look into cultural centers run by unrecognized tribes. Or donate to organizations like the Native American Rights Fund.

[arowitharrows]

God how I wish there'd been articles like this years ago when people were tripping over themselves to deny any and all struggles asexual people face. The amount of times people demanded "proof" when we talked about our experiences. Well, there's certainly more research being published nowadays, if that counts as "proof". I hope they read it.

Today “asexuality is widely accepted as a sexual orientation in the literature,” Hille says, but cultural awareness remains in its infancy, especially compared with other orientations under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. Saying you don't experience sexual attraction is still like saying you don't eat, Hille explains, and “if you don't eat, there's something wrong with you, and you're hurting yourself.” Asexual people sometimes get this message not just from family and acquaintances but from their health-care providers. Shelby Wren, a health equity researcher at the University of Minnesota, published a study in 2020 in which 30 to 50 percent of respondents who had disclosed their asexuality in a medical setting said a therapist or doctor had attributed their asexuality to a health condition. The proposed diagnoses included anxiety, depression and, in one case, a personality disorder. “You don't know what's going to happen when you disclose your sexual orientation,” Wren says. “And for a lot of people, that stops them from talking about things that could be relevant to their health care.”

[...]

Refraining from disclosing one's asexuality to a mental health provider is often a “very rational decision,” Chasin says. “It's always much worse to be actively rejected and misunderstood.” For instance, asexual people are sometimes subjected to conversion therapy, a practice aimed at changing someone's sexuality or gender identity. It is banned for minors in 22 U.S. states because of its well-documented and extensive harms, including increased rates of suicide. A 2018 U.K. government survey of LGBTQIA+ people found that asexual respondents were the most likely to be offered conversion therapy and as likely as gay and lesbian people to receive it. A recent survey by the Trevor Project found that 4 percent of asexual youths in the U.S. were subjected to conversion therapy, on par with bisexual respondents. On the legislative level, bans on conversion therapy should explicitly reference asexuality, Benoit says. So, too, should professional associations of health-care practitioners, says Samantha Guz, a social work researcher at the University of Chicago. “Asexual people are made to be so invisible in our society that I don't think just having a broad call against conversion therapy is specific enough,” Guz says.

Even well-meaning doctors might unwittingly harm their patients. To a clinician, a patient who is worried that they should feel more sexual desire—and who does not know they are simply asexual—might initially look similar to patients who want sexual intimacy and could benefit from treatments aimed at increasing or restoring desire. Treatments for certain types of sexual dysfunction do help some people whose level of sexual desire leaves them distressed and unsatisfied, Brotto says. For some people, though, this distress may be coming not from an intrinsic desire to want sex but from external pressures such as partners or society as a whole. “I have worked with folks where it's taken us many, many months for the person to really understand how well asexuality fits with their identity,” as opposed to having an issue that is rooted in a health problem or a situational condition, Brotto says. Most doctors, though, don't know that such a distinction exists or is necessary, she adds.

[seraphica]

A Walkthrough of Project 2025

By Emily Galvin-Almanza, originally on Twitter.

You may have heard the term “Project 2025” floating around, and you may even have cracked open the 900+ page document yourself, only to see a lot of kind of bland, policy-wonk text. So let me crack through the policy-speak and tell you WTF is in this document.

This is, um, a long thread. But if you want a lot of info about Project 2025, all in one place, you've come to the right place.

This document is what Trump and his team will do if elected. It’s their document, their plan, their platform. So like…it’s not *me* saying what they’ll do, this is *them* saying so. documentcloud.org/documents/2408…

Shall we dig in? I’ll organize and give you page numbers. I’m going to start with criminal justice stuff (of course) and then we’ll wander through other topics like repro rights (none), discrimination (fine, unless it’s against nuclear power), environmental protection (gone), etc

Predictably, this is a document full of states-rights claims, but (true to form) there is very little left to the states when it comes to a Trump criminal legal system.

Generally, the Constitution reserves criminal law to the states, allowing localities to create criminal accountability as they see fit. But under a Trump regime, “small government” just means “no EPA or medicare and HUGE expansions of DOJ’s criminal division power.”

A primary target? The discretion and decision-making of local prosecutors.

Prosecutorial discretion is part of the foundation of our legal system—the idea that the people elect their prosecutor, and can elect (or not elect) a person whose judgment they agree with when it comes to what to focus on when it comes to criminal prosecution.

The Trump DOJ will basically override local voters and prosecutors, bringing federal charges where they deem states not punitive enough. (553)

I should note that this is a ridiculous, massively difficult thing to do—our criminal court system is spread across 3,143 counties.

So what it really means is that the Trump DOJ will troll for cases they find politically meaningful, and use the full weight of the federal government to prosecute specific individuals who stand for stuff they don’t like.

They’re not just going to take on targeted prosecutions, they’re also going to legally come after prosecutors who they feel aren’t prosecuting enough. (553) It’s like this, but EVERYWHERE politico.com/news/2024/04/1…

And somehow they’re also going to do everything they can to make sentences harsher, and increase utilization of the death penalty (553-554).

They’re going to double down on the war on drugs, prosecuting interstate drug cases much more harshly (and by “interstate drug trade” they also mean “mailing abortion pills”) (555, 562).

They will also take election integrity out of the hands of the Civil Rights Division and put it in to DOJ’s criminal division (563), which means you see a lot more cases like Crystal Mason’s, but at a federal level: nytimes.com/2024/03/28/us/…

The long and short of it is, we often think of “prosecution of political enemies” as, like, Donald Trump sending DOJ after Liz Cheney or Rachel Maddow or something. And we forget that this can also mean persecution of ordinary people like Crystal Mason.

People who are not high profile themselves, but whose conduct (or even mistake!) is in a subject matter area that makes them the political target. Under this regime, being in a state that would not choose to prosecute them may be no help.

It’s also important to remember the ramifications of highly punitive policies. A DOJ that seeks the max on every case, seeks the death penalty, increases immigration detention (below), is a federal government expanding (& lining the pockets of) the prison industrial complex.

We already live in a country where basically all social ills are funneled into our criminal court system. SCOTUS just increased that trend by allowing people who are living on the street with nowhere else to go to be prosecuted for…existing…outdoors.

But in this administration, we can see an expansion of what is criminal. You’ll see a lot of Torquemada-esque interrogatory stuff in the doc (especially at Treasury?!) but the most obvious expansion of the criminal system is into the zone of women’s health.

In other words, reproductive rights? Never heard of her. The document is pretty fixated on abortion, unsurprisingly, with plans to end all forms of abortion access (including pills) throughout the document (6, 104, 284, 450, 455 - 459, 503 - 529, 562)

There’s one point I’d like to hit on in particular: this week SCOTUS punted a case back to Idaho which was covered as a case allowing emergency abortions to save a woman's life.

But in fact, that's not what really happened here---the Court punted the issue back to the Circuit court, leaving the question of whether women need to be actively dying to receive an abortion open.

Reminder: long as there is legal uncertainty, there are doctors doing nothing while wondering what they're supposed to do as a woman lies bleeding and septic on their table. msmagazine.com/2024/06/28/emt…

The fact of the matter is, under a Trump administration, they could (and would) simply choose to stop fighting to make hospitals to offer abortion in cases where it is necessary to save a woman's life.

They could simply stop fighting for EMTALA, the statute that says hospitals that get federal dollars have to offer emergency care.

And also, in Project 2025, they want to go even farther than that, farther than banning abortion. They want to MAKE SURE DOCTORS DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO DO IT.

Specifically, this doc makes the Dept of Health and Human Services responsible for ensuring that training for doctors, nurses, and doulas doesn’t include anything about abortion (485-486).

Oh also DOJ is going to be the Abortion Police and go after anyone mailing abortion pills (562).

Side note: I don’t actually disagree with ensuring more coverage for things relating to women’s preventative healthcare but Project 2025 weirdly endorsing the rhythm method is hilarious

So they're gonna make you have all these babies. Who is going to take care of these babies? Were you thinking maybe you could get access to daycare? Oh no, mama, we want YOU to take care of the babies. What’s that? You had a job? Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.

HHS now, under Trump, thinks the gay agenda is destroying families, but the presence of a biological father can prevent all manner of bad things up to and including teen pregnancy (presumably because dad is going to meet your date at the door with a shotgun)

But also….having an adult male father figure who is NOT your bio dad is apparently the worst and most evil thing in the world. BAN BOYFRIENDS.

The Trump administration would like to make the federal government close its eyes, put its fingers in its ears, and hum loudly when anyone says “gender." Specifically...

...they will scrub out any mention of the existence of trans/nonbinary/LGBTQIA+ Americans in federal agencies, policies, regulations, and legislation (4-5, 62, 259, 333, 475).

To quote, “the terms sexual orientation and gender identity (“SOGI”), diversity, equity, and inclusion (“DEI”), gender, gender equality, gender equity, gender awareness, gender-sensitive, abortion, reproductive health, reproductive rights”

These terms are getting cut “out of every federal rule, agency regulation, contract, grant, regulation, and piece of legislation that exists.” (p 4-5)

Damn, who's the language police now?

This document—in a quest to be really, really fundamentalist about gender identity—also completely abandons the idea of supporting gender equality as a whole. Efforts to protect women and girls internationally? Hell no.

Like, USAID should “remove all references, examples, definitions, photos, and language on USAID websites, in agency publications and policies, and in all agency contracts and grants that include the following terms"

And the terms are “gender,” “gender equality,” “gender equity,” “gender diverse individu- als,” “gender aware,” “gender sensitive” (259)

They would very much like to kick trans people—and anyone gender nonconforming!---out of the military (103-104). Remember Demi Moore in GI Jane? Yeah the second she gets that buzz cut she’s OUT.

What about race discrimination, you say? Well, we will have no idea, because the Trump administration plans to stop collecting any data about that. The EEOC will stop collecting data about race entirely (583).

BTW when I say this is a tricky document, this is what I mean...

The document justifies ditching any data collection by saying that “Crudely categorizing employees by race or ethnicity fails to recognize the diversity of the American workforce and forces individuals into categories that do not fully reflect their racial and ethnic heritage.”

Which at first glance, a person could be like, yes! Racial identity is complex! Let’s not put people in boxes!

But then you step back and realize that NO LONGER HAVING DATA ABOUT WHETHER BLACK AND BROWN PEOPLE ARE OR ARE NOT GETTING HIRED does exactly ZERO GOOD THINGS it just makes us UNABLE TO TELL IF BAD THINGS ARE HAPPENING.

The document is full of this—really normal-sounding pablum that actually means “we are choosing to have no idea whether Black and Brown people are being shut out of the workforce, why would the government want to know that?”

The government doesn’t need to know! Because they don’t think disparate impact—when a particular group is disadvantaged in the workplace—matters anyway!

They would “eliminate disparate impact as a valid theory of discrimination for race and other bases under Title VII and other laws. Disparities do not (and should not legally) imply discrimination per se.” (583).

BTW on this point they get hella hella weird about the idea of racial equity at the Treasury Dept…where they would essentially like to have an Inquisition:

Essentially, under this administration, any agency that wants to think about whether race is playing a role in the fairness of their sector can GTFO.

If you go into the original doc and search for “DEI” you basically enter a forest of grandpas yelling I DON’T SEE COLOR YOU CAN BE BLACK WHITE GREEN PURPLE OR POLKA DOT FOR ALL I CARE

BTW you were hoping that a Democratic Senate could be an effective check of some kind, first thing in this doc is that they want to kind of tell the Senate to F off

Specifically, the plan is to get Trump-loyalist appointees into position, scrap the Senate confirmation process for a lot of these appointees and let the rest start working even before Senate confirmation. (p136-137, 173)

All of the agency heads are clearly designated as political in this doc, not expert/neutral. So EPA (428), DOJ (560), FBI (552), HUD (508), DOL (615)...basically the doc calls for the insertion of as many loyalists as possible

And yes, the job of these loyalists is, in many cases, to dismantle the agency they head.

I don’t really know where to categorize this, so I’ll put it here: they think the Department of Homeland Security suffers from “wokeness.” I’m not making that up, they said in black-and-white serif font. I can’t make this stuff up. Page 135.

So like, to be clear, in the same breath as they’re talking about the wokeness of DHS, they would also like to reinstate the Border Patrol officers (who work under DHS mind you) who were accused of galloping up on migrant families and whipping them from horseback.

“CBP should restart & expand use of the horseback-mounted Border Patrol. As part of this announcement, the Secretary should clear the records & personnel files of those who were falsely accused by Sec. Alejandro Mayorkas of whipping migrants and issue a formal apology” (139).

FWIW what they’re referring to is some CBP agents who nearly trampled a kid and used their reins in a way that was, er, whip-like (and before you accuse ME of being overly sensitive, I have ridden exactly this way in my life BUT I WAS MOVING CATTLE NOT HUMAN BEINGS.) politico.com/news/2022/07/0…

Anyway, because DHS is too woke, they need to shrink it down until it mostly just detains and deports immigrants.

They’re gonna bust its union and remove most of its programs and privatize both the TSA and also FEMA’s flood insurance program so you can get bilked if you live in a region prone to flooding (shhhh don’t say the floods are due to climate change).

SPEAKING OF CLIMATE, we’re definitely going back to the same “if you don’t have any information about the problem, the problem cannot exist” strategy they use on race.

To that end, they would like to get rid of Offices of: Domestic Climate Policy (61) Interagency Working Group on the Social Cost of Carbon (SCC) (61) Clean Energy Demonstration (381) The Clean Energy Corps (386) Environmental Justice & External Civil Rights (442)

This means getting rid of climate efforts in foreign aid programs (257), stopping the USDA’s efforts to focus on sustainable food production (293—who will need to eat in 20 years anyway? Certainly not our children, they will have evolved to photosynthesize and graze on plastic)

Anyway they’re getting rid of energy efficiency standards for appliances (378) as well as cutting down all EPA activity related to climate change, including repealing the Inflation Reduction Act programs providing grants for environmental science activities (440)

BTW, I think it’s worth noting that there are a lot of things stated as binaries that aren’t binary. Ending energy efficiency requirements for appliances, for example, to focus on cycle time and reparability.

I also want a right to repair! I also hate it that my car’s internal computer makes it really hard to work on my own car! I just think that we, as consumers, have the right to demand BOTH and this doc incorrectly insists that we have to CHOOSE.

I don’t have to choose between repairing an appliance that massively pollutes the planet or having an energy efficient one that will lower my bills but break every two years. WE CAN DEMAND BOTH. False binaries are a sneaky, crappy constant in this document.

I’m highlighting them in particular because false binaries are also a way of dividing us. There are things I can agree with conservative friends on…literally Monday I was having a fun, productive, common-ground convo w/a conservative friend. False binaries are toxic bullshit.

Toxic ideas abound in here. You know how TX created an abortion regulation scheme that incentivized members of the public to effectively be abortion bounty hunters? Project 2025 would do the same for *science.*

Project 2025 would incentivize citizens to come after scientists under the False Claims Act for research misconduct. This is p 438. Fun times!

This is all part of diluting expertise so that the scientists who are trying to warn us about massive danger ahead can get drowned out by “citizen scientists” whose research the EPA will…equally prioritize??? 438.

Housing and Urban Development also gets their climate programs cut (508) because, much like food, who will need housing in the future? We will return to caves, as we should.

Oh, if how much oil drilling the US is doing matters to you as a voter, Project 2025 basically says maximum drilling, all the drilling, all the time (523-524).

Just a quick note in case you were thinking this was a serious policy document: note the contrast between the doc’s desire to let states drill as much as they want bc “States are better resource managers than the federal government because they must live with the results” (524)

And revoking CA’s ability to set its own air quality standards (627)…because…states…shouldn’t be allowed to self-regulate, I guess, if their regulations make things harder for the oil industry?

Oh also they’re gonna freeze all EPA activity which wasn’t Congressionally authorized on Day One (436). How often does stuff get through Congress anymore? This one echoes the recent SCOTUS decision which also strips regulatory authority.

Basically more drilling, no windmills, don’t even think about encouraging electric cars (286).

Also open season on wolves and bears (534) and let’s just mass execute America’s wild horses (529)

To break it down, if you, like me, are a mom who is concerned about the quality of water your kids are drinking at school, and wants the gov’t to be quickly responsive to new discoveries and problems (like PFAS!) that might give your kids cancer, well, you’re fucked.

If there’s a new thing that is discovered that we should regulate/know about, too bad, because of things like this: “Remove the Greenhouse Gas Reporting Program (GHGRP) for any source category that is not currently being regulated.” (425).

Climate, of course, impacts migration. The more the US contributes to climate catastrophe, the more the consequences will be felt by the developing world, particularly in regions close to the equator and low-lying regions.

What will we do about immigration? Build more prisons for immigrants (142), send unaccompanied children away (148) increase the fees to apply for asylum + generally make immigration more expensive (146) & make it so gang violence & domestic violence no longer justify asylum (148)

Cut funding for NGOs that help immigrants find safety, and instead spend that on walls and jails (149).

Eliminate prosecutorial discretion on immigration cases (150). Oh and we’re doing the head-in-sand thing again by eliminating the office that tracks immigration jailing. 165. They don’t want an “impediment to detention.”

For Americans who rely on government programs to do things like feed their children, keep a roof over their heads, or get healthcare, things will also get worse.

They really hate healthcare: “In essence, our deficit problem is a Medicare and Medicaid problem.” (283).

Even though they want people to have a lot of babies, they’re putting in new requirements on SNAP (299), reducing eligibility for Medicaid (467), cutting school lunch programs (302-303), and eliminating Head Start (482).

Oh and also fuck Sesame Street (247) (and public broadcasting generally).

Safe baby formula? Not a priority. “As for baby formula regulations generally, labeling regulations and regulations that unnecessarily delay the manufacture and sale of baby formula should be re-evaluated.” (302).

Speaking of schools, they’re going to get rid of the Dept of Education, which they say is “a convenient one-stop shop for the woke education cartel,“ (285, 319).

Instead of schools, let’s give teens more dangerous jobs. “Some young adults show an interest in inherently dangerous jobs...DOL should amend its hazard-order regulations to permit teenage workers access to work in regulated jobs with proper training and parental consent.” (595).

There’s kind of a sharp contrast here between high trust of parents in some contexts (to let their kids work dangerous jobs) and low trust of parents in others (if a father isn’t father-y enough terminate parental rights as fast as you can (481-482)).

Obviously, the Biden efforts to forgive student loans are toast (354) but also public service loan forgiveness is toast! “End time-based and occupation-based student loan forgiveness.” (361).

Having a job may be overrated anyway, and so the Trump Admin will tell the Fed to only think about price stability, eliminating full employment as an economic goal (661). Actually WTH maybe abolish the federal reserve completely (also 661).

Oh also if you were looking forward to lower drug costs, they want to end the program where the gov’t can negotiate lower prescription drug costs. 465.

As a matter of fact, no one will protect consumers against fraud and dangerous products under this admin…they are going to eliminate the CFPB completely and return consumer protection to banking regulators who are SO GOOD AT CONSUMER PROTECTION OF COURSE (/s/) 839.

Education, of course, is critical to the ability to distinguish misinformation. Under Trump, we better get ready for a lot more disinfo, because they’re going to yank federal efforts to combat misinfo/disinfo online. Facebook free for all, now with AI generated videos! (155, 550)

Speaking of misinfo, there will be no more independent Federal Election Commission.

Headed by a Trump official (with or without Senate confirmation!) the FEC will only investigate claims the Trump administration wants investigated, and remove its authority to decide what to litigate by handing that over to DOJ. (803, 865)

Oh also the new president will have to have a way to quickly deal with any ongoing, er, litigation, like, uh, criminal cases (but also ongoing litigation that conflicts with his agenda, like, say, civil rights consent decrees or environmental enforcement litigation. (28)

In the name of EXPEDIENCY, they say, the President’s lawyer (the White House Counsel) should give high-level super fast advice without wasting time on, like, researched legal memos or anything.

In other words, what Trump does will be on the advice of a counsel who doesn’t write stuff down. Not great!

Oh also the person chosen need not have fancy credentials (oh okay I'm all for that) as long as they’re LOYAL (oh wait no). Also p 28.

I’m sorry to tell you guys this, but this is like…scratching the surface. This is the beginning. This is the stuff you should know now.

If there is something you care about in this world, I think you should dip into this document and search for it, because you might find something hideous. documentcloud.org/documents/2408…

[original thread]

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warnings: Violence against women, torture

...........................................

Chapter 15: The Great War

You groaned as consciousness slowly made its way back into your body. Everything hurt. Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your body felt stiff. "Ugh," you sighed as you tried to sit up from the wooden floor.

You slowly blinked to take in your surroundings. You shot up as the memories came back to you. You tried to stand but were quickly pulled back down thanks to a set of handcuffs that were attached to the floor beside you.

"Well, look who's finally awake, and just in time." Someone said. You snapped your head in the direction of the voice. "You." You sneered as Preston Baxter strolled into the room. "I should have known you were behind this!" You growled at him.

"Of course I'm the one behind it. I'm the only person who's life you ruined, aren't I? Or are there others?" Preston asks as he tilts his head to the side.

You flare your nostrils and tug on the cuffs.

"Now, now, don't hurt yourself." Preston chuckled.

"How are you out of prison?" You demand. "A good lawyer and a temporary insanity plea." He states before grabbing a chair and walking over to sit in front of you. You slide away, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me how I did it?" He says.

"How you did what?" You spit at him.

"How I kidnapped you silly." He exclaims.

"Okay, I'll bite. How'd you do it?" You ask him. You've seen enough action movies to know that if you get the bag guy talking, they might slip up and tell their plan.

"Well, first off, I had my baby brother Alex hack the White House so he could get himself a job on the security team. He forged all the documents and changed his last name to not raise red flags. After a few months, he was put on your detail. I waited for the right time until we had an opportunity. Once we had it, we took it." Preston tells you gleefully.

"You've been in prison. How were you able to plan all this?" You ask him

"You see, that's the thing about prison. It gives you plenty of time to plot your revenge. I spent two and a half years perfecting this plan, and you're not going to ruin it for me this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ransom call to make." He claps his hands.

"Ransom call?" You question him. "Yes, while kidnapping you is a great revenge arc for me, extorting your husband for money—it just sweetens the pot," Preston says before getting up.

"The president doesn't negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic." You spit at him.

Preston, let's out a breath. "In normal cases, he wouldn't. But he's already proven that when it comes to you, he doesn't think rationally." He tells you before Alex brings him a phone that looks like a brick. He taps his foot before the call connects.

"Hello, am I speaking to the president? Wonderful. Well, Mr. President, I'm not going to mince words. We both know that I have your wife, and if you ever want to see her alive again, I'm going to need one hundred million dollars wired to an offshore account. I just sent the information to Mr. Rodriguez's email." Preston says into the phone. There is a pause before he sighs and brings the phone closer to you. He clicks a button before holding it in front of your face.

"They want proof of life. Gone on. Let them know you're alive. But don't try anything stuipd." He urges you before placing the phone on speaker.

"Bradley. Bradley, Dearest. I'm alive. I'm okay." You assure him.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to get you. I promise everything is going to be okay." Bradley tells you.

You shoot your eyes up at Preston. It crosses your mind that Bradley might not know who took you, so you do the exact thing that you knew Preston wouldn't want you to do.

"Preston Baxter and Alex are the ones who took me!" You shout into the phone. Rage flashes across Preston's face. You continue to yell as he takes the phone away. "Don't give them a dime, Bradley! Don't give them—" a harsh slap across your face sends you tumbling to the floor.

"Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid you bitch?" He sneers as he crouches down next to you on the floor.

He grabs you by your hair and pulls your eyes up to meet his. "I hope you know just how much I'm going to enjoy making your life hell." He tells you.

"Fuck you." You growl before spitting in his face. He roughly drops you, and your forehead makes contact with the wood floor. You curl up, protecting your midsection before he gives a swift kick to your ribs and exits the room.

After a few minutes, you find enough strength to sit up. You drag yourself until you're leaning against the wall. A few tears prick your eyes, but you will them away. You won't let them see you break. You place a hand on your stomach and stroke it. You weren't sure how you were going to make it out of here alive, but for the sake of the child growing inside you, you knew you'd have too.

.................

It had been six days since you had been taken. News of your kidnapping had hit the mainstream media, and tips from all over the globe were coming in. Bradley made sure each one of them had been followed up, but nothing had come from any of them.

He sat at his desk with a now cold cup of black coffee, a copy of the Times, a stale muffin, and more cigarette butts than he cared to count. Dark rings framed his eyes, and his five o'clock shadow had morphed into a three a.m. blackout.

"Jesus, Rooster, you look like shit." Jake said as he came into the Oval Office to check on him.

"Well, Hangman, please forgive me for not looking front page ready while my pregnant wife has been missing for almost a week." Bradley snapped back.

Bradley saw the hurt face across Jake's face. "I'm—I'm sorry. I can't eat, I can't sleep, and we are no closer to finding her than we were a week ago. I'm going crazy Jake. Every tip we get gives me some hope, and then when it doesn't pan out, I'm back to rock bottom again. The only helpful information came from that couple who saw the abandoned car at that rest area. They said the SUV that was leaving was headed south. Do you know how many places are sound of D.C.? And what if they aren't even in the country anymore? It was hours after she went missing before the first call came through. And the ransom call wasn't until the next day. She could be anywhere in the world right now!" Bradley sighs before sinking back down in his chair.

"How the fuck did we not know that Preston Baxter was released? How did we end up hiring his brother for her security team?" He sighs.

"I did some digging, and apparently, his little brother is a genius. Graduated from MIT, ran a software company, but ended up getting mixed in with the wrong crowd and did two years from hacking a bank in the Midwest. IT found a hole in the White House firewall. They think he hacked a server and forged his information to get him a job here." Jake tells Bradley.

"I feel like this is my fault. No, I know this is my fault. If I had never run for president, none of this would have happened." Bradley sighs as he rakes his hands through his hair.

"You can't blame yourself for this Rooster. If you hadn't had done this, you never would have met Wise-woman. You never would have married her or made a kid with her. He'll, I wouldn't have met the love of my life either. It's not your fault. Y/N is smart. She left those notes for us. She told us who took her. She's going to be okay. She's strong. She's a survivor. She's a Bradshaw for crying out loud. Now, you might want to shower and fix your face. Yout in-laws and Mav and Penny just got here." Jake said as he patted Bradley on the shoulder before leaving.

Bradley did what Jake said. He took a shower, cleaned up his face a bit, and put on fresh clothes.

He wanted to shoot himself in the foot when he came face to face with your mother. He could tell that her tearful words and sullen expression were more of an act than anything. He'd tried to get in contact with them the day he found out you were gone, but they were in Greece and had finally decided to join in the search now that it was getting national attention. Your father seemed genuinely concerned, even offering to to man the tip room phone lines if that would be helpful.

Maverick and Penny tried their best to comfort Bradley. That evening after they had come to the White House, Bradley pulled Maverick and Penny into the Oval Office to tell them you were pregnant. He swore them to secrecy. It was on a need to know basis, and your parents were not in that loop.

Later that evening, Maverick made a few phone calls and called in a few favors. There wasn't much the Navy could do, but if Bradley needed them, Pete Mitchell would make damn sure the entire Dagger Squad would be ready for him.

...............

It's nine days after your kidnapping that Preston reveals the true reason why he has taken you. You're woken from a fitful sleep by the sound of a table and chair being slammed on the floor in front of you.

"Rise and shine sleepy head." Preston calls as he pulls you to your feet and plants you in the chair. Alex brings a laptop and places it in front of you before opening it.

"What do you want me to do with this?" You gripe.

"I want you to use that fancy security clearance you have to log in and get us into the encrypted server. Once we are in, my dear brother is going to steal something more valuable to us than you." He tells you.

"Nuke codes. It's always nuke codes." You breathe out. "Why would you need those?" You ask him.

"Let's just say that before I was in prison, I made some deals with some shady people. I borrowed a hefty sum of money, amongst other things, and promised to pay them back in nuclear codes once I was chief of staff. However, you came along and wreck those plans. Now that they know I'm out of prison, they are demanding I pay up. So, get me those codes." He demands.

"Can't your brother get them?" You ask him. "Unfortunately, the security is too good. Alex can't hack it, he's tried." Preston informs you.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but when you become First Lady, you don't get top secret clearance. My information doesn't work anymore." You cross your arms.

Preston slaps you hard enough to knock you out of the chair. He grabs your and jerks you up. His fingers dig into your arm.

"You wanna do this the hard way, fine, will try again tomorrow." He says before twisting your arm and leaving.

After two days of him not giving you any food, you realize that Preston is going to try and starve the information out of you. He tried beating it out of you, but the bruises on your face and arms are proof he didn't get anything. When the third day comes, you're almost ready to break. Not for you, but for your child.

When the door to your room unlocks, you expect him to come in again for another round, but instead, it's Alex, and he's carrying a bag.

You scamper to the far side of the room, trying to put as much space as you can between the two of you.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." Alex says as he holds his hands out like he his trying not to spook a wild animal.

"I brought you something to eat." He tells you as he brings the bag over and sets it next to you before walking away and sitting down on the floor across from you.

It's not a five-star meal, but you gladly tear open the pack of beef jerky and chips he brought you before gluping down some of the water that's also in the bag.

"Preston is out checking in with his parole officer and running some errands in the city. I went to the little gas station a few miles away to get this for you." Alex tells you.

"I know it isn't good for pregnant women to get dehydrated or starve." He says. You pause mid chew and look up at him with wide eyes.

"How—" you can't finish the question.

"I saw you leaving the clinc that day. And you got sick the first couple of days here. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell Preston. He's already done enough to you." Alex shakes his head.

"Why are you helping him?" You ask him. "I'm the reason he owes so many people money. A few years ago, I was trying to prove to some buddies of mine how good of a hacker I was. I stole money from the wrong people. Pres, he—he kept them from killing me. I owe him." Alex shrugs. You can see in his eyes that he never intended for it to go this far.

"I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this." Alex tells you before getting up and leaving the room.

Your eyes drop back to the plastic bag in front of you. There is a sleeve of powdered donuts and some peanut butter cups inside and another bottle of water. You grab the candy, and that's when you notice it. A small slip of white paper. You grab it and realize it is a receipt from the store. You quickly read over it and smile. There, printed in tiny black letters is the name of a town and a state. You know where you are. Now, you just have to figure out how to let Bradley know.

Two days later, Preston brings the computer set up back again. Only this time, when you refuse to do anything, he pulls a gun from his waistband.

"Recognize this?" He asks you as he cocks his head to the side. Of course you recognized it. It was the same one he'd tried to kill you with once before.

"Type in your information, or I shoot you." He states coldly.

"You and I both know you are going to do that." You tell him with a smirk. "And why wouldn't I?" He sneers.

"You're not going to kill me because you need me. You can't get the codes or the money without me. You've been sending Bradley dated proof of life videos every two days. If those stop, what makes you think he won't track you down and blow you and this shithole off the face of the earth?" You state. "Me being alive is the only barging chip you have. You may be dumb Preston, but I don't think you're stupid." You say.

"Shut your mouth before I blow your brains out." He threatens you.

"Just make sure you don't miss this time." You laugh as he cracks the handle of it across your face.

"Type. Now." He demands. And for the first time, you give in. But you purposefully type your password wrong. You know that after five incorrect log-in attempts, your account will be locked, and cyber security will be notified. You are praying that they look at the attempted passwords. Each one you type in is a bit of information about where you are. After the fifth attempt, the screen goes black.

"See. I told you. My credentials don't work anymore." You smirk as you point to the screen.

Preston shoves you out of the chair and screams. "You fucking bitch. You did this on purpose!"

"No, I didn't! I don't have access anymore!" You defend yourself before his fist makes contact with your face.

"Fine. If I can't get the codes from you, I'll just have to get them from your husband. Maybe a good old-fashioned torture video will be just this thing to motivate him." He says before storming out of the room.

..................

"Mr. President!" Dante yells as he bursts into the Oval Office. Bradley shoots up and looks at him. He can tell Dante has news.

"Sir, we think we know where she is." Dante breaths out. Bradley sucks in a breath as he waits for him to explain.

"It appears she tried to log on to the White House server, but used the wrong password five times and locked her account. IT looked at each incorrect attempt to see what was going on because they knew the activity was suspicious. Each one is a clue about where she thinks she is. Look." Dante says as he hands a paper to Bradley. He reads it. "North Carolina, RidgewoodFalls, House, GasStation, Help." He says.

"We looked into the town and found out that a few months ago, an old farm in Ridgewood Falls was bought in cash by someone named Peter Brandon. We think that might be the alias Preston is using. We are currently working to get a rescue team together. The only issue is that the farm is near the town. We have to be careful going in without alerting him." Dante says.

Bradley agrees before dismissing Dante. He leaves his office and makes his way to the bedroom. He sits on the bed and grabs the framed photo of the two of you from your summer in San Diego. He touches your face and twists his wedding ring. "I'm coming for you, Sweetheart."

Two days after finding out where you are, almost seventeen days after you were taken, the White House receives a video of what they think is proof of life. Instead, they are met with the sight of you tied to a chair and gagged while Preston breaks three of your fingers and punches your face until its bruised and bloody. It ends with demands for nuclear launch codes in addition to the ransom money.

Bradley's blood boils as he watches the events unfold. He throws the coffee he is drinking across the room, and the mug shatters into a million pieces before he screams in anger.

He demands that the Navy SEAL team that Dante and others were organizing be sent in immediatly to extract you. Dante informs him that it isn't so simple.

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT IT TAKES! If you won't have the SEAL team go in and extract her then you'll leave me no choice but to fly Air Force One to North Carolina so I can get her myself!" Bradley screams before slamming his hands on the table.

"Sir. I understand your frustration. But we haven't been able to arrange air coverage and support for them. We need jets and pilots and don't have them yet.

"You need jets and pilots? Well, why didn't you say so. Bring me, Rear Admiral Mitchell. Now." Bradley says as people scramble out of the room.

"Mav," Bradley begins as he enters the room. "Is Phoenix sit the commander of the Bush carrier?" He asks.

"She is." Maverick answers. "How fast do you think we can get the Dagger Squad to Norfolk? They are the only people I trust for this mission I'm about to send them on." Bradley says.

"I made some calls. They were stationed there last week. Just in case." Maverick tells him.

"Thank you, Mav." Bradley says before calling for Dante.

"Dante, I need a secure line set up now. I need you to get me in touch with Captain Natasha Trace on the U.S.S. Bush in Virginia. You need a team of pilots. I'll get you the best damn team in the entire world." Bradley says.

"Sir, with all do respect, how do you know that they are the best?" Dante asks him.

"Because they aren't just any old team of fighter pilots, Dante. They are my team."

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky

[sophieinwonderland]

An Anti-Endo's Playbook

Hello! Are you an anti-endo looking to convert people to your cause? Well you're in luck because I have the guide for you!

As more studies come out supporting endogenic systems, arguing against pro-endos is becoming harder every day. But let me tell you a secret, people aren't perfectly logical machines. We're emotional and irrational. You don't need science or logic on your side. Instead, your job is to exploit that irrationality.

Let's start with something simple.

Argument by Assertion "Endos Aren't Scientifically Possible."

This is your opening and is possibly the most effective tool in your toolbox. Just say something and repeat it ad nauseum.

See, you don't need to be right. You just need to be confident and state what you want people to believe as a fact. Then repeat it again and again.

Propaganda experts might also call this The Big Lie.

People are social creatures and naturally trusting, so if you say something bold and confidently, they're going to be inclined to believe you. You don't actually need to provide any scientific evidence to support your case, or quotes from doctors, or anything else. Just keep repeating that endos aren't scientifically possible over and over again.

This might not sound effective, but there's a reason a third of the United States still thinks the 2020 election was rigged. If you're confident and don't waver for a moment, and keep repeating the lie, people will believe you.

But... what about the people that don't? What if an endo starts citing actual sources that contradict your claims. Normally, I might suggest finding sources of your own, but given the complete lack of support anti-endos have in academic papers, this may prove impossible. Luckily, we have more tricks up our sleeves.

Appeal to the Masses "Everyone Agrees That Endos Aren't Real."

As we all know, science isn't determined by scientists. Science is a democracy where anyone can vote. That's why even though scientists say we use all of our brains, we can know that the truth is that we only use 10% of our brains, because that's what most people believe and there have even been movies about it and stuff.

This is an the appeal to the masses.

Likewise, most people don't believe in endos. Or at least, that's what you say. See, you probably don't have any reliable polls on hand to back up that assertion, so we're kind of combining techniques here. We're appealing to the masses, but without evidence the masses agree with us, we just kind of have to assert it. As long as it sounds true, then people will believe it.

Like how I bet most people believed me when I said "most" people think we only use 10% of our brain. It SOUNDS like it could be true, and confirms our pre-existing biases that humans are kind of stupid, and that's really good enough isn't it?

What if this still doesn't work though? What if the endos keep demanding evidence?

Well, you can just give them too much of it.

The Gish Gallop: Source Overload

(Example)

You may be wondering, since I mentioned that there aren't any sources that support anti-endos, how this will work.

First, let's take a moment to understand the Gish Gallop. This debating tactic is most commonly associated with live debates where you throw out a bunch of nonsense claims that your opponent doesn't have time to answer because refuting them would take more time than you're allotted. Then when your claims go unanswered, it tricks spectators into thinking the claims are true.

This isn't generally as effective online where people can take hours to compose a response if they want... except...

The online equivalent of this is to overload your opponent with too many junk sources so that they can't debunk them all.

These do not need to support your point in any way. And you should NEVER screenshot them. Remember, your goal isn't to make the information accessible to your opponent. It's to keep the pro-endo occupied reading a 30-page document to try to figure out what it means and how it relates to what you're saying.

If the pro-endo does debunk your first paper, call them out for not addressing your other 20 articles too. Make them out to be ignoring evidence.

If they do call out this tactic and ask for a screenshot or quote of specific lines that back up your argument, respond by self-righteously telling the endo that it's not your job to educate them.

Speaking of education, what do we do about the endo sources?

Ad Hominems: Attacking the Researchers

Ad hominems are great for combating sources.

At the most basic level, you can get a lot of mileage out of throwing around the word "quack" a lot without finding any dirt on the researchers.

You might want to also claim the research is biased in some way. Say for example that a researcher has a hypothesis and they conducted an experiment to test that hypothesis. You can say that this makes the whole experiment biased and therefore should be dismissed because the research already had an expected outcome. Someone might counter and say that most scientists start with a hypothesis. But luckily, a lot of lay people won't realize that.

Let's say, for instance, that someone cites this paper on Vineyard Evangelicals who hear the voice of God as an example of non-traumagenic plural-like experiences.

Instead of addressing the merits of this paper or discussing whether hearing an autonomous and seemingly self-conscious voice identifying itself as God is plural or plural-like, you can look up to see if any of the 200,000 members of the Vineyard Church have ever reported negative experiences. Get one article with people calling it cult-like, and then accuse the endo of using "abusive sources."

Other Strategies For Dismissing Papers: Just Make Up Reasons Why Studies Are Invalid

For these, we're going to rely again on our argument by assertion, and assert some qualifiers for why a study should be dismissed.

First, accuse a study of being outdated.

Now, science doesn't actually have an expiration date. There is some research out there that may be outdated in the way that newer research comes out that disproves it. But in the absence of further research, old papers are generally considered useful, and it's not uncommon to see professionals today still cite sources dating back to the 80s or earlier.

But if you just throw out a number of years for research to expire, you can be sure that many people will take it at face value. But be careful with this. People might believe that 20-year-old research is too old. But it will be harder to sell them on something like "any research older than 5 years is outdated." That's going to be a problem when a lot of endogenic research is actually pretty recent, coming out within the last decade.

Another tactic you can try is to Attack the Domain.

As we're all taught in middle school in the US, only .gov and .edu sources are valid.

This is an oversimplification and is no longer applicable in higher education. But luckily, you're not targeting educated individuals. If you're making this argument, the ones you're probably trying to convince will be traumatized children between the ages of 14 and 17. And for this demographic, this argument is perfect. Not only have they never been to college themselves but neither have anyone in their friendgroup.

They have no concept of what counts as valid source in academic settings, and it's your job to keep it that way. Indoctrinate them young, and they'll stay yours forever.

Demonizing The Enemy: "Endos are Harming Real Systems"

This can take many forms.

At the basic level, you can do the anecdotal "endos are bad because they said mean things about me once." (Be sure to remove any context of things you may have said or did to them first.) There are plenty of endogenic systems out there in the world, and some are going to be cruel and abusive. Just like any other group.

These people are useful to your cause. If you ever had contact with abusive endos or pro-endos before, make sure that you write in detail about your bad experiences and specifically make it clear that they weren't an endogenic system who happened to be bad, but they're bad because they're endogenic. Also, if they're a traumagenic pro-endo, be sure that in your post you just refer to them as an "endo." The goal is smearing the entire endogenic community, and differentiating between abusive endos and traumagenic pro-endos will detract from that goal.

A well known example is the term "traumascum." Despite the fact that its coiner is traumagenic and most of the endogenic community dislikes it, it's important that when you make your emotional arguments to show why endos are bad, you only refer to it as being created and used by "endos."

If you really want to go all-in on this, something else you can do is...

Blame Endos For All Ableism

For this part, you want to try to convince people that any fakeclaiming or ableism they've ever experienced is because of this small niche group of systems on the internet.

In actuality, fakeclaiming DID systems has happened for a long time. The Imitated DID narrative was heavily pushed in all the way back in the 90s. And many of the people fakeclaimed today are TikTokers who are IDing as traumagenic DID systems.

Don't let these facts stop you though.

For the first part, the good thing is that, as I said before, many of the people you're trying to convince are children. If you tell them that fakeclaiming is worse today than ever before, who are they to argue? They have no frame of reference. They're usually younger systems who have only known that they're systems for a few years.

For the second, you can just ignore it. Or better yet, just label all the "cringe" systems as endos, regardless of whether they are or not.

Is calling traumagenic systems "endos" fakeclaiming their trauma? Sure.

But really, you fakeclaiming their trauma is really the endos' fault. If they didn't exist, then you wouldn't be able to call people endos, now would you?

See how smoothly that works?

All Anecdotes of People Who Thought They Were Endogenic Are Proof Endos Don't Exist

Anecdotes are your best friend. If you can find a small handful of people who previously thought they were endogenic and turned out to be wrong, you can weaponize this against all endos.

You can use these anecdotes as both proof that endos don't exist AND that they're harmful to real systems at the same time.

This particular tactic has also been used to great effect by anti-transgender groups, using a small handful of detrans people as proof that transitioning doesn't work and as a means of limiting trans rights. The success of these groups at spinning that narrative is how you can know that this tactic is effective!

More Ad Hominems: Attacking the Opposition

Yup. We're bringing in more ad hominems. This is one of the most important tools in your belt. If you feel like you're losing an argument, you can just attack the person you're arguing with. Actually, you should do this before the argument even starts.

Discrediting your enemy right at the beginning, making people see them as a bad person, will immediately make people not want to associate with them and even make them inclined to disagree with whatever they say.

So try to dredge up anything you can on them to weaponize. Or just casually accuse them of being something-phobic or something-ist.

Calling them ableist is easy. You can shout out ableism accusations right from the start just on the merits of being pro-endo.

If they're a spiritual plural, you can call them racist. This works easiest with tulpamancers since tulpa has a Tibetan etymology. (And don't worry; you won't need to pretend to care about appropriation outside of this context, such as the tulpa appearing in creepypastas or media like Supernatural or X-Files, or Genshin Impact's Hydro Tulpa boss. This is about winning an argument, not being morally consistent.) But it can work with any sort of spiritual system. If you're feeling particularly bold, you can actually claim that all possession states around the world are closed practices and anyone who claims spiritual plurality is appropriating these cultures.

Also, if they use the word "sysmed," because this is derived from transmed, be sure to call them transphobic because they're appropriating trans words. Pay no mind to if they're transgender themselves, or how little sense it would make to appropriate their own language.

Bully into Submission

If simple ad hominems don't work, dogpile and bully them into silence. Invite your friends to join in. Bombard them with constant hate posts and harassment.

The goal here is not to convert people to your side, but to remove them from the conversation. Keep the accusations going. Make up rumors about them. Try to falsely report them to get them banned. You want to make them suffer so much that they never want to post again. To ensure, one way or another, that there is one less pro-endo in the world.

This will work best on people who themselves are traumatized and vulnerable. Luckily, there are a lot of people like that in the pro-endo community you can silence this way.

Be warned though of the emotional tank.

These people have personalities that can tank a shocking amount of abuse and emotional damage, and even turn abuse they receive around and use it as a talking point against your side. They take the old adage of "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" to heart.

If you try to harass an emotional tank, rather than silencing them, you're likely to only make them stronger and more determined.

Speaking of traumatized people...

Try To Make People Associate Endos With Trauma

Remember to know your audience. And your audience is a group of trauma survivors.

If you really, really want to ensnare them, play on that.

Use it to your advantage. One super simple way to do this is to throw around cult accusations. Just saying endos are a cult will immediately trigger cult survivors and make them want to avoid the pro-endo community.

A more complicated version of this can be done if an endo mentions that we don't have proof that DID or OSDD forms from trauma 100% of the time.

What you want to say in this situation is that "to prove all cases of DID come from trauma, you would need to traumatize children."

You can add a line specifically accusing the endo of wanting to traumatize children, or just let the implication hang in the air.

Now, someone paying attention might recognize that such a study couldn't prove what it claims to. Just like if you did a study where you hit a bunch of people in the arm with a hammer and broke their arms, you couldn't prove that 'all broken arms are caused by hammers.'

But you aren't saying this because you think it's logical. You're saying this because you're trying to get your audience of survivors of childhood trauma to think of endos as people who want to traumatize children.

If you can properly trigger them, then that rational part of their brain will just shutoff and they won't question your premise or logic too much.

How to Keep People Once Indoctrinated

Remember, the conversion process is only the beginning. After that, you want to make sure that they stay anti-endo. A good place to start is to...

Make Sure Friendship is Contingent on Them Being Anti-Endo

Pull people into anti-endo servers that have strict rules against pro-endos and even neutrals. Post "pro-endos" in your DNI to make it known that you don't ever want to interact with any pro-endos.

At the same time, encourage them to cutoff pro-endo friends and avoid pro-endo spaces. Ideally, you want the convert isolated from anyone who might be able to change their minds in the future.

Once you've cut them off from all pro-endos, their only system friends will be in the anti-endo community. And if they ever step outside of that box, they'll be instantly banned from their anti-endo servers and blocked by their anti-endo "friends."

With this, not only have you converted them, but you can reliably keep them on your side forever. Or at least, until they're willing to destroy all their relationships with other systems online in order to get out.

Just Let The Endos Do It For You

Endos thesmelves will actually be your secret weapon in this endeavor.

It's a well-known fact that hate breeds more hate. If you fakeclaim someone, they're going to be angry, and will likely resort to personal attacks. Once your newly-converted anti-endo has been successfully indoctrinated, get them to make some public anti-endo posts. The more hateful and invalidating, the better. Preferably where pro-endos can see.

When endos respond respond to the convert's hate post by sending hate of their own, it will only confirm that endos are actually hateful. It doesn't matter who started it. It only matters that you get an angry reaction out of the endos.

And the more the endos react to hate with more hate, the more the convert will double down.

The absolute worst thing for you as an anti-endo would be if endos stopped responding to hate with more hate of their own, and took a moment to consider if how they're reacting is actually in the best interest of their cause, of if they're just being baited into lashing out from hurt and anger themselves.

[incorrect-riordanverse]

Can you explain Palestine vs Israel. I have done my own research and still do not understand. From my understanding Palestine attacked Israel first, and this war has been going on for so much longer than just now. So why is it suddenly so important and how is Israel in the wrong?? Genuinely trying to understand since you are spreading news of the Genocide on your page.

hey so i cant really explain all the complexities and details in a singular tumblr post. i dont really know how much research you did if october 7th is your earliest knowledge of ‘attack.’ israel has been an apartheid state since 1948 and during that year they were downright deplorable to palestinians to get them to be conpliant. nakba is probably the most notorious case but there is more.

this issue is important because this is the first time we see such atrocities in mainstream media and online. Its so oversaturated with suffering that it sets a precedent for how the world (the general public in particular) reacts outside of politicians and activists. will we continue to care when we see other people suffer, or will we grow numb and desensitised? it’s important we don’t lose our humanity like capitalist neoliberalism would prefer. just because we live comfortable lives, it doesnt mean we should be ignorant to those who are suffering. in fact, we should inspect ourselves and ask whether their suffering lends to our comfort and vice versa (it usually does). for instance, many western countries are profiting from this apartheid, hence their support.

i’m not going to list through everything (plus i myself don’t know everything) but i can tell you where to go, and hopefully some others can add on to it.

for israel’s crimes against palestine since october 7th on the account of genocide i feel like south africa has done an amazing job putting together documentations of evidence against them in the ICC. you can find the full thing on youtube or online. some of the crimes include bombing and stopping aid trucks from reaching gaza, preventing women from giving birth by bombing maternity wards, bombing hospitals (there are now 0 active hospitals in gaza, whereas before october there were 36. this info has not been updated in the case) to prevent civilians from getting life-saving treatment, psychologically tormenting civilians until they lose the will to live (particularly in children), and so on.

of course please pay attention to palestinian journalists within gaza specifically— they will show you firsthand whats happening. there’s many apart of al jazeera. al jazeera has also done some articles on the history for you. here is one on nakba. amnesty also did a good job on explaining what an apartheid is.

theres also quite a few independent ones that have become journalists through this attack from israel. bisan is one of them if youre active on tiktok. noor harazeen is a journalist on instagram.

here is a link on how israel funded hamas to rival the plo

here is al jazeeras article on the cultural genocide of palestinians through bombing ancient historical sites and artefacts.

kind of seperate to all that but still related is how support for palestine affects other people. people are losing the jobs over supporting palestine (such as melissa barrera in scream). yemen, another third world country who has been going through crises such as food insecurity for years, has been suspended aid by the UN because it has been aiding palestine throughout the conflict.

The UN in general has been useless about calling for a ceasefire. The United States vetoed during a UNSC meeting because the USA sucks ass. you can look any of this up and they will come with multiple sources im just too tired to find something rn (i’m currently on vacay and heavily sleep deprived).

also general advice to not ask a percy jackson account but an account dedicated to spreading information on the palestine-israel apartheid because they would be able to help you more. yes, ive talked about it on this account but that doesnt mean i’m qualified to explain 75 years of oppression.

[hotchswifey]

thigh riding - rafael barba x reader smut

(okay, i wrote this 2 years ago, it's on my ao3 (same username), no judgements pls, i cba to rewrite it better or even reread it

WARNINGS: SMUT, THIGH RIDING

WORD COUNT: 1002)

---------------------------------------------------

When you woke up, it was only 2.43 a.m., according to the alarm clock. And yet - even at almost three in the morning - the lights outside the bedroom were still on. Which could only mean one thing: your boyfriend, who you loved dearly, had not. Stopped. Working. 

In your sleepy state, you decided to kill the man. Maybe not literally - but, yeah, maybe literally.

You sighed as you got out of bed, buttoning up Rafael’s shirt unevenly and rubbing your eyes, preparing for the harsh light of the apartment compared to the bedroom. 

Rafael looked up at you and smiled tiredly as you wandered into his ‘work space’, which was supposed to be a dining table, but you had sworn you had never seen anybody eat there. 

“Rafael, what the hell?” you shook your head, yawning, looking at the spread of documents over the glass table, and walking over to him. he was touching you immediately, pulling you down onto his lap, one arm around your waist, the other holding your thigh.

“I know, it’s late, but -” 

“It’s 3 a.m.,” you interrupted, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. You heard his sigh above you, and you looked up at him, “Come to bed.” he looked at you with his exhausted green eyes, an empathetic expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa, this needs to be finished by tomorrow,” he explained, the hand holding your thigh, squeezing it, in some form of apology.

“Then finish it tomorrow,” you yawned into his shoulder.

“I can’t, cariño,” It wasn’t like he sounded happy about it, which you supposed made it better. You sighed but sat up (as best you could whilst still on Rafael’s lap) and looked over at the laptop, paperwork, documents, and files. 

“Okay, what are we doing?” you asked, deciding that if he was going to stay up, so were you.

“Hermosa, you should go back to bed -”

“So should you,” you said sternly, “Now, what are we doing?”

After a while of working, you had wound up in the seat opposite him, reading over the files, trying to find the one that Rafael needed - which was easier said than done, considering that the size of the pile of files was equivalent to a small child. You sighed, dropping the file and leaning back in your chair.

“I’m giving up,” You rubbed your face as you looked over at the clock - 4.34 a.m. You heard another sigh from the man across from you as he shut the laptop. You got up before, more or less, throwing yourself on the couch. Rafael joined you seconds later, to which you straddled his lap, your hands finding his suspenders to fiddle with.

It had been about a week of the same thing - Rafael would get home late and work until late. You knew that when this case was over, he would feel so guilty that he would absolutely spoil you, but that didn’t make this week easier.

What also didn’t make the week easier was that you had been so incredibly horny; you would have thought you’d burst by now. 

With that thought in mind, you started subtly grinding against Rafael’s thigh, which you just so happened to be sitting on (something that you had definitely not done on purpose). The friction against your clit, something you hadn’t felt in a week, felt so foreign and sound that your subtle grinding turned into noticeable grinding. 

Rafael’s hands found your hips underneath your shirt (which, of course, was actually his), not moving you, just gently holding you, and his lips found your neck, humming against you.

“Hermosa...” you hummed back in response, continuing your movements and moving yourself up and down his thigh.

The pressure in your lower belly snowballed, having not had an orgasm for - what had felt like - a year, but in reality, it was probably only eight days. You had begun to moan at some point, whines and whimpers leaving your lips as your hips moved faster and faster, desperate for some release.

“Rafael,” you whined, your hands gripping onto the suspenders he was wearing. His lips were still attached to your neck, nipping, kissing, and sucking at you.

“are you going to cum for me, Hermosa?” you nodded rapidly, and a whiney ‘uh huh’ fell from your mouth, which fell open as you screwed your eyes shut. A mantra of ‘please, please, Rafael’ could be heard as you sped up your movements, moving more harshly against his slacks now as you got really close.

“Be a good girl, cariño,” his voice was husky, his words and his hands gripping your hips, and the friction made you fall over the edge. Your legs seized up, but you continued moving, hoping to make it last as long as possible, ‘fuck’s and ‘Oh god’s fell from your lips, alongside Rafael’s name. Rafael continued to talk to you through your orgasm, switching to Spanish, “cum para mí, niña bonita”, knowing it would prolong your orgasm and make you throb.

“Eres tan bonita, Hermosa,” Your hips slowed as your orgasm came to an end, and you practically collapsed against him from exhaustion, “Tan bonita,” he said, kissing your forehead before standing up, making you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms, around his neck.

He carried you to the bedroom, setting you gently onto the bed where you had been sleeping just hours before. He got on the other side, pulling your back towards him, spooning you. You felt his rigid member against your ass and tried to reach behind you to... help him, even in your tired state. However, Rafael intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling your body against his tighter and your intertwined hands to rest on your stomach.

“Don’t worry about it, cariño,” he mumbled against your neck, “Get some sleep.” You weren’t exactly happy about leaving your boyfriend unsatisfied, but you promised yourself that you would make up for it in the morning...

[kerink]

PMG's documentary on ZA/UM really illuminated just how complex the issue really is. the entire situation has been framed as one thing when really it's two: 1. were kurvitz, rostov, and hindpere wrongfully terminated and 2. did kompus illegally acquire the majority share of ZA/UM.

i think that, in order for the narrative to not get muddled and emotions to not get too high, fans must keep these two issues separate. it doesn't matter if you personally like kurvitz, rostov, or hindpere or what you think about their professionalism, those beliefs shouldn't play into what you think about kompus' acquisition. and regardless of what the evidence and/or outcome is on one, that should have nothing to do with the other.

ultimately the issue of kurvitz, rostov, and hindpere's firing comes down to whether or not the three of them were made aware of the complaints about their behavior and contributions to the project and whether or not they were given ample opportunity to address these grievances. so far ZA/UM has only been able to produce a single piece of evidence in writing that kurvitz was aware of concerns regarding his professionalism. and while this evidence strongly implies that previous conversations about his behavior had been discussed, no other documentation has been put forward. the burden of proving just termination is on ZA/UM, and if kurvitz, rostov, and hindpere contest the termination we have to believe them.

i personally am unsure what to think about the issue. while i believe kurvitz, rostov, and hindpere all had varying levels of personal and professional discord within ZA/UM, i have yet to see any proof that their conduct was addressed in a way that is in line with professional and industry standards. whether i think the complaints against them are valid or not doesn't matter. what matters is whether or not the three were made formally aware of the complaints and were given opportunity to address them and change their behavior. i haven't seen proof this happened, which in my mind is in-line with the accusation of wrongful termination.

and we also have to keep in mind that this proof may in fact exist, but due to this being an on-going legal battle ZA/UM may not be able to showcase this evidence in a public format. therefore, we have to curb our opinion until after the case is concluded and all the evidence has been examined.

with regard to kompus' acquisition of majority share at ZA/UM we have the same issue: kompus has the burden of proof. if kurvitz and rostov are claiming they were unaware of or misunderstood the nature of kompus' actions, it's up to him to prove that to be untrue. since kompus claims the conversation was had verbally with nothing in writing being exchanged, we're now in a he-said-she-said situation, and while kurvitz and rostov have each other to support their side, no one has been willing to comment publicly in kompus' defense (that i've seen or as i understood PMG's coverage).

what i find most interesting about this whole thing is that in the slack message sent to kurvitz about his behavior, havel states that they're trying to create a more professional culture at ZA/UM. the lack of paper trail on any of the issues i've discussed here makes me doubt that. this isn't a point i just think the hypocrisy is really interesting.

ultimately where i stand right now is that i think kompus' actions are extremely suspect and that i doubt his story. he lacks proof that kurvitz and rostov agreed to this, and the way in which kurvitz and rostov were meant to benefit from the arrangement doesn't make sense. the entire thing doesn't pass a common sense check, to me.

all in all, though, i think this documentary is a must-watch for DE fans because it grounds us in the reality of how complex this is, not just for those directly involved but those indirectly involved as well. PMG made a fantastic point when they ended with a plea that the fans stop hurting the current ZA/UM employees because they want to get back at kompus and others responsible for kurvitz, rostov, and hindpere's situation. we need to recognize that the people who work there now just want to make games that carry meaningful messages and they want to connect deeply with their audience. they're all artists caught up in business and industry and we, as fellow artists, need to stand in solidarity with them. and we need to make sure we don't jump to any conclusions until the evidence has been brought to light

[devildom-moss]

For the flash requests, maybe sfw 10 with raphael? He'd be adorable drunk I know it

Agreed! I got a little suggestive with this one, but given the prompt and that it's still SFW, I hope you don't mind anon.

1 year anniversary flash request event - SFW

(Raphael x gn!MC)

Prompt 10 – Drunk/Tipsy

“It sure was nice of Diavolo to give you this. . . entire case of Demonus, but why did you call? You said it was urgent.” You looked around Raphael’s room. Among his mess of sewing supplies, books, documents, and about a dozen spears, was a large case of a dozen bottles of premium Demonus. Raphael had already gone through two bottles by himself.

“It is urgent. I urgently needed to see you. You can’t expect me to enjoy Demonus this good alone, right?” Raphael flashed one of those handsome grins he kept hidden for special psychological warfare and manipulation, and you knew you were done for.

“I would have taken time to dress better if you had just told me that you wanted a drinking buddy.” You rolled your eyes and plopped down next to Raphael, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“No need. You already look good – good enough to tempt an angel.” He smiled and handed you a glass. He filled your glass half-way with an eerily steady hand. “Hey, MC, have you ever slept with a seraphim?”

“Excuse me?” You were shocked by his bluntness – which said a lot as far as Raphael was concerned.

“Ahaha, just kidding,” he teased, leaning towards you until his shoulder bumped into yours. “Now drink your Demonus. You have to catch up.”

“You do know Demonus doesn’t work on humans, right?”

“Really? Oh no,” Raphael pouted and dropped his head, staring intensely at the glass in his hands. When he popped his head back up, a smile was plastered on his face. “Well, what do you say you get drunk on me instead?”

Raphael crawled over you and straddled your hips. He took a sip of his Demonus, holding it in his mouth, before he dipped down and kissed you. He prodded at your lips with the tip of his tongue until you opened your mouth for him. With that, he pushed some of the Demonus into you, teasing you with his tongue and waiting until you swallowed before he pulled away with a boyish chuckle.

“How was that?” Raphael stared down at you, clearly delighted with his playful antics.

“No one warned me you were a flirty drunk.” You wiped your lips.

“Hey, don’t wipe my kiss off,” Raphael complained and placed another kiss on your lips – this one far more chaste than the previous. Yet, when he pulled back, he had the same content look on his face. “And, of course, they didn’t warn you. Y’know why?”

“Because only Michael and Lucifer can match your tolerance?” you guessed.

“No.” Raphael shook his head, paused, and then tilted it to the side like a confused puppy. “Or yes? But no. The real reason is a secret. A big one. Not even Michael knows it. Wanna know?”

“Are you sure you should be telling me your drunken secrets?” you asked, almost pitying him in his current state.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I wanna tell you most of all.” Raphael leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It’s ‘cause I’ve never felt this way before. You’re the first.”

“Aw, really?” You couldn’t hold back your surprised smile.

“Mhm. I like you so, so much.” Raphael nuzzled into your neck and wrapped his arms around you. He lowered himself until he was comfortably sitting on your lap. With an unusual affection in his voice, he whispered against your skin, “I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone ‘til I met you, and now I wanna kiss you all the time. I wanna kiss you. I wanna. . . I wanna. . .”

Raphael’s words trailed off and gave way to gentle breathing. He had fallen asleep in your lap, clinging to your neck, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He was going to be mortified when he woke up, but for now you wanted to cherish this. You held him and pet his fluffy hair until you were ready to get him in his bed.

A/N: requests are still open for a few more minutes if anyone else wants to enter. (rules here) I won't get to all of the SFW requests today, but I may be able to finish them up tomorrow or the day after.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

You are, I’m sure, familiar with Occam’s razor. It’s the old philosophical theorem that holds that the simplest explanation for an event, the one requiring the fewest assumptions, is probably the best explanation. If you wake up in the morning and there’s snow on the lawn, there are any number of possible explanations. Maybe some friends played a practical joke on you and dumped snow in your yard. Maybe space aliens visited during your slumber and dusted your lawn with the white stuff. Or—maybe it snowed last night.

Republicans keep asking, completely dishonestly, why so much criminal suspicion surrounds Donald Trump. They say it’s all being orchestrated by Joe Biden and Merrick Garland. They insist it’s an effort to interfere with his election campaign. They say a lot of things, but if ever there was a case where Occam’s razor applied, it’s this one. Trump is surrounded by criminal suspicion because he’s a criminal.

He’s been doing criminal things for decades. He just finally got cornered and caught on something. I’ve been writing recently that Democrats have to make sure every voter in the country remembers by Election Day, having heard it said thousands of times, that Donald Trump is a convicted felon. That’s true, and so far, Democrats and affiliated groups aren’t doing a terrible job of this. It’s a little sad that the best expression I’ve seen of this so far comes from a Republican—fiercely anti-Trump Republican Sarah Longwell’s group, Republican Voters Against Trump, has put up some blunt billboards around the country featuring photos of voters, with their names, under the statement: “I won’t vote for a convicted felon.”

But Democrats need to do more. Trump’s criminality, both past and future, should be central to the campaign. There’s a story to tell here, and it’s all true. No matter what the pollsters and the messaging gurus say, it’s impossible that all of this, taken together, doesn’t matter to swing voters.

To tell the story, you go through Trump’s record:

• convicted on 34 felony counts • determined by a court to have raped a woman and ordered to pay her $83 million • found by a court to have overvalued his assets and ordered to pay $364 million • ordered to pay a $2 million settlement after admitting that he misused his charity, which the state of New York shut down • found by the Justice Department to have refused to rent apartments to Black applicants; settled out of court • sued by the Justice Department for violating proper procedures in the purchase of stock; paid $750,000 in civil fines • charged by the New York State Lobbying Commission with violating state lobbying laws while purchasing a casino; paid $250,000 to settle fines • found by the courts to have grossly defrauded students at the so-called Trump University and ordered to pay them $25 million in restitution

This list isn’t even the tip of the iceberg. It’s the tip of the tip. Trump has spent four decades being sued for something or other, typically not paying his bills, like those famous cases where he stiffed the poor vendors for his casinos, filing his own ridiculous countersuits and libel suits, and paying fines to make things go away. If indeed he actually paid the fines. I wonder if anyone has ever really gotten to the bottom of that. And I haven’t even mentioned the current charges around January 6 and the stolen classified documents because, so far, they’re just charges. But whatever the courts end up saying on those two matters, we’ve all seen with our own eyes the insurrection that he obviously incited (as of this January, 718 rioters had pleaded guilty to various federal charges, and 139 had been found guilty in court) and the photos of the boxes of documents at Mar-a-Lago that he refused for months to turn over to the FBI.

Another important point: The criminality around Trump isn’t limited to Trump. Eight Trump associates were sentenced to prison time: Steve Bannon, Michael Cohen (joined the good side but still served time), Rick Gates, Paul Manafort, Peter Navarro, George Papadopoulos, Roger Stone, and Allen Weisselberg. Others copped pleas: Michael Flynn, Sidney Powell, Kenneth Cheseboro, and Scott Hall, another Georgia defendant.

This is not a coincidence. As GOP strategist Rick Wilson said, “Everything Trump touches dies”; he corrupts everything and everyone around him. And does anyone seriously think that if he gets back to the Oval Office, the same thing isn’t going to happen again? It’s going to be worse.

It’s going to be far worse. First, he’s going to start, on that dictatorial day one, by pardoning himself. Joe Biden and the Democrats need to try to get voters focused on this. If it happens, people will be completely outraged. Yes, the 38% or so who are MAGA world will be fine with it, but majorities will be flabbergasted at such an act. Is it possible to get voters pre-outraged about something that hasn’t happened? The polls will say no. But as I’ve written over and over lately, polls can either be accepted—or they can be changed.

Right now, what’s most terrifying to me about the polls is that they tell us emphatically that people forget. They forget all the horrible things Trump did. That includes presidential actions, like his lies to the American people about the pandemic, but it also includes his history of criminality and the way that history guarantees he’ll keep behaving that way.

In sum: Trump’s criminal record hardly begins and ends with Stormy Daniels. Somebody needs to make sure that, by November 5, voters know the entire, sordid history.

[sasheneskywalker]

Weekly Batman/DC Fic Recs (1)

This week I've read two delightful character studies, one focused on Barbara Gordon and the other on Jason Todd. There's also a hilarious SI/OC fic from the perspective of Tim Drake and two fantastic fics where Lonnie Machin/Anarky plays a major role. Apart from that, two delicious smutty fics got an update: Bruce/Dick/Jason college au and Slade/Jason western au. We also have an amazing DCU, MCU and X-Men crossover oneshot! Hope you enjoy the recs <3

Delta T by Havendance In one universe, mere seconds stop Barbara Gordon from sniping Black Mask. In another, she takes the shot.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman (Comics) | Helena Bertinelli & Barbara Gordon

this city is the place to be by Jezebunny Gotham city is going to be destroyed in twelve hours.

Jason doesn't see any point in stopping it.

What does he owe anybody, anyway?

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Domestication Protocols for Nocturnal Fauna by rozaceous, vermillion_crown It’s been years since Tim's thought about the secret identities of Gotham’s winged wonders. A chance encounter while searching for college roommates that won’t burn the place down gives Tim a lead and the hope of new accommodations. The only thing he has to do is pretend that he doesn’t know anything.

Easy.

("—and they were roommates!" SI/OC edition)

T | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Batman - All Media Types | Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Tim Drake/Original Male Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Tim Drake & Original Female Character(s)

The Assassination of President Luthor by the Radical Lonnie Machin by NiteWrighter "Hi. I’m Lonnie. So I guess I should start out by saying, I don’t believe violence is a sustainable tool. It’s not. It’s a reflection of our ugliest, most base instincts. But it is the current language of the state, so I apologize for bringing my voice to the conversation."

President Luthor has been brutally killed by a magical weapon, and Anarky has claimed responsibility. The Justice League is struggling with the ensuing fallout, instability, suspicion, and speculation, while a power vacuum opens up in the world of the Rogues. What does a world without Lex Luthor look like? Is he truly gone? Has a greater chain reaction been kicked off by this single death?

T | Major Character Death | Superman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) | Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Lana Lang/Pete Ross, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

The Half-Life of Sixty Seconds by sunnymusings "The problem with thinking like a detective is not actually that thinking like one is too strict or structured. There’s organization on a document, but Tim’s mind is not a bullet journal. It’s not a legal form, it’s not a spreadsheet, it’s not a ledger.

It’s messy and human and creative. Loose, unstructured, instinctual. Detectives aren’t good at solving cases because they work like machines; it’s much the opposite. It’s that creative mess which aids in seeing between the structure of presented facts, reading the code, and then cracking it. It’s like tracing a spider web back to its center. There’s an observable track leading exactly where one needs to go— a veritable method to the madness— but it’s still art, all the same, even to the broom that ruins it.

So, when Tim is presented with a countdown, it’s not just a mechanical, factual understanding of time that pushes hard against the inside of his ribs; it’s a too-clear visual of a digital clock-face, neutral and unyielding, counting down from sixty in his neocortex. Artistic and messy and emotional.

There is only one place to go once one is caught in the web."

Based on Red Robin #16. Missing Scenes and Relationship Building.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) | Tim Drake & Lonnie Machin, Tim Drake/Lonnie Machin

Making The Grade by MelodramaticMrTails Jason partners up with the rich and beautiful Dick Grayson and quickly finds out the Wayne family secret- and that Dick wants him to join in on it.

E | No Archive Warnings Apply | DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types | Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Nothing to Nobody by Jae_Cillian The kid—Jason—stared at Slade with wide, alert eyes. Big and round like a doe—startled in its grazing, frozen in the sights of a predator. He leaned forward, one hand still gripping the pistol but the other anchoring his weight against the floor as if to stand and chase after Slade. But with Slade’s eye on him, Jason didn’t dare move an inch. All tense lines and silent shudders of breath that Slade could see quake along the kid’s ribs, Jason reminded Slade of a stray dog. Snarling and snapping its canines when he got too close, but whimpering and whining when he walked away.

Slade wondered how long it’d take to tame the kid; and, thereupon, realized he might enjoy the challenge of it.

--

In which Slade, while chasing after the Joker gang's bounties and stolen payroll, finds Jason—battered, beaten, and abused at the gang's hands—alone in the mountains. Intrigued by the kid's feral tenacity, he offers Jason a chance at revenge.

E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics) | Jason Todd/Slade Wilson

Five Supersoldiers Walk Into a Bar by bittercape He spots him through the binoculars, far away and disappearing fast. Logan is, more than anything, a hunter. He knows how to watch, and he watches the sniper moving away, after a single well-placed shot. He moves just like Barnes did. Everyone has a particular way of moving, if you know how to watch. And Logan, as mentioned, knows how to watch.

Logan knows it cannot be him, knows he died, falling from a train. No normal human could survive that. And yet …

He drops down from the watchtower. He’ll catch hell for this, sure. But he has to know.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics) | Logan (X-men) & James "Bucky" Barnes, Logan (X-Men) & Natasha Romanov, Logan (X-Men) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Slade Wilson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Slade Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Slade Wilson

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mary L. Trump at The Good in Us:

Like most Americans, I too want the national temperature to be lowered. I want to see the violent rhetoric to stop. And I want to see our nation unified. But the other side seems to be saying that, in order for that to happen, we’re not allowed to talk about Donal'd’s record of lawlessness, cruelty, and incompetence and we must make concessions to the would-be dictator. On Monday, while Republicans tried to shame their critics into silence by making false and increasingly incendiary claims that it was Democrats who are responsible for creating the context in which Saturday’s shooting took place, we were reminded just how dangerous things will get if Donald wins this election. Today, Aileen Cannon, Donald’s personal pocket judge, took the shocking (but not surprising) and illogical step of dismissing the charges against my uncle. Her behavior since acquiring this case has been abysmal and partisan; she has frequently skated across the line of malpractice. Her repeatedly putting her thumb on the scale in favor of the defense (who am I kidding?—she acted like she was lead counsel for the defense) felt even worse, because we know Donald is guilty. We know he stole our national security documents; we know held them in non-secure locations; and we know he refused to return them. We know these things because we witnessed Donald commit the crimes—and he confessed to them over and over again.

There is no way to interpret Cannon’s decision other than as a political favor from a corrupt judge who, along with the illegitimate super-majority of the Supreme Court (especially Clarence Thomas) is determined to put Donald above the law.

[...]

What happened at Donald’s rally in Pennsylvania on Saturday was deeply wrong and un-American. The same can be said of his plans for this country if he’s put in the Oval Office again. We can’t be quiet. We can’t let the side that continues to traffic in violent political rhetoric blame us shame us or scare us into silence. We must continue to sound the warnings—there will be no pivoting to unity and peace. There will only be Donald and his sycophants and enablers being exactly what we have known them to be. This morning, while pundits and columnists were, once again, falling for the promise to pivot to unity, Donald simply couldn’t help himself. In response to Cannon’s horrifying ruling, he called for the “dismissal of ALL the Witch Hunts—the January 6th Hoax in Washington, D.C., the Manhattan D.A.’s Zombie Case, the New York A.G. Scam, Fake Claims about a woman I never met (a decades old photo in a line with her then husband does not count), and the Georgia ‘Perfect’ Phone Call charges.” 

[...] Not long after Cannon’s corrupt gift to him, Donald announced the selection of Ohio Senator J.D. Vance as his running mate. If his goal was to pick a hypocritical bully and revanchist sycophant, he could not have made a better choice. Clearly, Vance thinks he’s immune to the kind of consequences suffered by Donald’s former Vice President—you know, the guy who almost got hanged by Donald’s mob—but I’d still suggest that Vance watch his back. Vance is stronger than Pence when it comes to pursuing his own interests, but he’s as transactional as Donald. Pence has very few principles, but on one important days, he had least one when it really counted. Despite the enormous amount of pressure that was brought to bear on him, he showed up to do his job on January 6th. Vance will have no such compunction. If you have any doubts about that, consider his comments to George Stephanopoulos:

“If I had been vice president, I would have told the states, like Pennsylvania, Georgia and so many others, that we needed to have multiple slates of electors, and I think the U.S. Congress should have fought over it from there. That is the legitimate way to deal with an election that a lot of folks, including me, think had a lot of problems in 2020.” Of course, Donald gave this fellow-insurrectionist a promotion.  Jen O’Malley Dillon of the Biden-Harris campaign, put it this way, “[Donald] picked J.D. Vance as his running mate because Vance will do what Mike Pence wouldn’t on January 6: bend over backwards to enable Trump and his extreme MAGA agenda, even if it means breaking the law and no matter the harm to the American people. In other words, Donald didn’t want to take a chance that his new running mate would ever put the country first like Pence did. That’s one more guardrail that no longer exists. 

Mary L. Trump nails it in that we cannot unite around the fascistic and divisive Trump/Vance agenda.

[mightyflamethrower]

Thomas v. Biden. Ha ha ha

Escaping an electronic lynching made the justice stronger

JUL 03, 2024

Oilfield Rando tweeted, “Imagine if Trump wins, and both Thomas and Sotomayor retire.

“The United States Supreme Court would have a majority of justices appointed by Donald J. Trump.

“Imagine the media industry meltdown LOL. The headlines would be hilarious.”

I replied, “Thomas ain't going nowhere. That electronic lynching gave him the resolve he needed to be Nothing But A Man.”

And who led the Democrat lynch mob? Pedo Joe.

33 years later, Thomas delivered another slice of payback with his concurring opinion in Trump v. Biden (aka Trump v. USA). The five men on the court plus ACB ruled that a president has immunity from prosecution in carrying out his official duties, which would preclude charging him for any of the cheapfake J6 crimes.

The decision so shocked Freeze Frame Joe that he went on national TV and turned orange.

Thomas went one step beyond the majority opinion, observing:

I write separately to highlight another way in which this prosecution may violate our constitutional structure. In this case, the Attorney General purported to appoint a private citizen as Special Counsel to prosecute a former President on behalf of the United States. But, I am not sure that any office for the Special Counsel has been “established by Law,” as the Constitution requires. By requiring that Congress create federal offices “by Law,” the Constitution imposes an important check against the president—he cannot create offices at his pleasure. If there is no law establishing the office that the Special Counsel occupies, then he cannot proceed with this prosecution. A private citizen cannot criminally prosecute anyone, let alone a former President. No former President has faced criminal prosecution for his acts while in office in the more than 200 years since the founding of our country. And, that is so despite numerous past Presidents taking actions that many would argue constitute crimes. If this unprecedented prosecution is to proceed, it must be conducted by someone duly authorized to do so by the American people. The lower courts should thus answer these essential questions concerning the Special Counsel’s appointment before proceeding.

The prosecution of a former president is a very serious matter that Democrats have turned into a circus. In New York, Democrats made paying off an extortionist a 34-count felony indictment. The trial was so bizarre that I want a DNA test to determine whether Judge Merchan is a man or indeed a kangaroo.

But, this decision and Biden’s post-debate collapse in the polls have forced Democrats to postpone their sentencing of President Trump. Merchan just told Trump see you in September, which was music to his ears.

Clearly, the witch hunts failed miserably, forcing Democrats to re-assess their situation. Merchan does only what his party bosses tell him to do. It’s a New York thing.

The federal cases against President Trump are even weirder. How does holding a rally at the National Mall become an insurrection? How does holding documents Trump declassified become a violation of national security laws?

But most importantly, how does a bum hack lawyer like Jack R. Smith become the prosecutor in these cases?

Smith is the rare prosecutor who has had a verdict reversed by the Supreme Court. Only his lack of ethics and devotion to the Democrat Party got him this gig.

Obama sicced him on former Republican Governor Bob McDonnell of Virginia. While the Jack S. got the conviction, he did so in a dirty, slimy way that so violated the Constitution and the governor’s rights that the Supreme Court unanimously — RGB included — threw the conviction away.

The Washington Post reported 8 years ago:

The Supreme Court unanimously overturned former Virginia governor Robert F. McDonnell’s public-corruption conviction Monday and imposed higher standards for federal prosecutors who charge public officials with wrongdoing. Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. described the former governor’s actions as “tawdry” but agreed that instructions to the jury in his case about what constitutes “official acts” were so broad, they could cover almost any action a public official takes. McDonnell’s promising political career was derailed by his entanglement with a businessman who showered the governor and his family with luxury gifts and financial benefits. McDonnell and his wife, Maureen, were indicted and convicted after he left office in January 2014.

The feds refused to try the case again because Obama got what he wanted — an end to McDonnell’s promising political career. Ha ha ha. Cheating worked.

Thomas remembered and this time the justice is questioning Smith’s appointment.

NYT tried to blow off the concurrence by Justice Thomas, writing:

Despite Justice Thomas’s concerns, courts reaching back to the early 1970s have repeatedly rejected efforts to question the legality of independent prosecutors. Those have included the Supreme Court upholding the appointment of Leon Jaworski, one of the special prosecutors who investigated the Watergate scandal, in a decision that was largely focused on the issue of President Richard Nixon’s claims of executive privilege. Judges have also tossed out efforts to invalidate the work of special counsels like Robert S. Mueller III, who examined connections between Russia and Mr. Trump’s 2016 campaign, and David C. Weiss, who has brought two criminal cases against Hunter Biden, President Biden’s son.

However, this court is tasing bad precedent. Thomas signaled that the court will look kindly at an appeal challenging the constitutionality of appointing special prosecutors. He pointed Judge Cannon at Smith and said fire away.

Prosecuting a former president should be taken carefully because no one has ventured into this dark territory before.

FJB been haphazard, knowing that winning by any means necessary — or unnecessary — will result in zero penalties. After all, Obama got away with ruining a Republican, why would Obama’s flunky face any consequences for phony prosecutions?

In his concurring opinion, Thomas showed the wisdom of a man forged in the fires of false accusation and racism.

The three lib Ditzy Chicks on the bench were approved by the Senate because of their ethnicity; they have never been challenged. They coasted their way in and it shows in the wise Latinx’s dissent, in which she said:

Even though the majority’s immunity analysis purports to leave unofficial acts open to prosecution, its draconian approach to official-acts evidence deprives these prosecutions of any teeth. If the former President cannot be held criminally liable for his official acts, those acts should still be admissible to prove knowledge or intent in criminal prosecutions of unofficial acts. For instance, the majority struggles with classifying whether a President’s speech is in his capacity as President (official act) or as a candidate (unofficial act). Imagine a President states in an official speech that he intends to stop a political rival from passing legislation that he opposes, no matter what it takes to do so (official act). He then hires a private hitman to murder that political rival (unofficial act). Under the majority’s rule, the murder indictment could include no allegation of the President’s public admission of premeditated intent to support the mens rea of murder. That is a strange result, to say the least.

No one who lived through the Kennedy and King assassinations would be so cavalier and casual in referencing the murder of political rivals. Even the backstabbing Bill Barr complained.

Sotomayor, Kagan and KBJ are DEI hires as in Didn’t Earn It.

Thomas did. It shows in the higher quality of his work. Pedo Joe put him through the fires of hell, forging one of the greatest justices ever.

Biden's campaign Descending after his debate with TRUMP.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Sneak peak from my as yet unreleased fic, Shattered but Whole (this is an excerpt)

EXCERPT (from second part - Unravels. There is also Lena's Tale from The Event and Kara's Tale also in Unravels. A third part Integration is still being written. I'll post full fic at end of month hopefully):

Sam's Tale

Sam places the soup on the coffee table. The lack of sleep burns behind her eyes, partly due to Rory's tendency to wander. She sits down on the sofa and manages a smile for the huddled form under the pile of blankets.

Stubborn and unflinching like steel, Rory has failed to eat more than a few sips of broth for the past day. Frustration boils in Sam, but what can she do? She can't let that emotion show.

So she takes a deep breath to calm herself. Pictures the tidal pools, where her, Ruby, and Lena used to walk on weekends before Lex's escape and carefully crafted lies and manipulations that strangled the leadership of two countries and nearly killed them all.

Sam remembers the fires that raged from the satellite weapon. One blast had incinerated parts of Kansas, burning wheat fields, and destroying the town of Smallville. Then another blast had ripped through downtown Metropolis, obliterating one of the news stations and its neighboring buildings.

At the time, Sam had been making dinner when the flash of red swept across the sky. Next came the booms and the brief quake, then the horrid silence before the sirens started up. Most channels in town had gone off-air, but those from one state over functioned fine. It relayed images of the destruction, and how the Claymore satellite turned toward space again. Sam had started packing immediately, while she did everything she could to keep Ruby distracted.

Then hours later, Lena had called.

Sam won't ever forget how her voice whispered Sam's name over and over in a pained, panicked way, as if Sam was the rope she held tightly to keep from falling. In the background, she had heard booms and white noise. At first, she feared Lena had been near the epicenter, only to learn she was instead on the other side of the country. And the booms were just thunder.

Sam runs a hand through her hair. Stress and anxiety hangs like a shawl, the intense rush to reach National City still sizzling in her limbs. She should have returned sooner, before this tragedy.

“Rory,” Sam says gently. Grief coils in her chest when Lena's face turns to her, only for Rory's wide green-blue eyes to meet hers. As always, the haunted expression breaks Sam’s heart a little more. “It’s okay. I’m not angry. I’m just worried. Eating will help you feel better. So how about a few bites?”

Tentatively, Rory reaches out to prod the spoon in the bowl. It swirls the ingredients in little whirlpools.

For Rory to front this long? Without any sign of Kieran or Lena? Worry joins Sam's grief and exhaustion. It's been two — possibly three if she counts the night of Supergirl’s rescue— days with no sign of the others.

“We had to. We had to end the cycle.” Lena's words said so brokenly.

Sam isn’t a fool. Lena/Kieran killed Lex and burned the evidence. She still doesn't know how this came about or why it transpired in Northern California.

Will burning it all be good enough? Should she devise alibis just in case? This really isn’t her purview — Lena is the strategist or Jack. Sam is more of the ‘wild ideas and toss at wall to see if they stick’ person.

Advice definitely needed, but who to call?

Sam taps her fingers against her knee and teases her mind for solutions. How would Jack or Lena approach this? Systematically. Sam is decent with math, but she's never been able to keep up with those science geniuses.

Systematic she can do. She unlocks her phone to peruse her options.

Alex Danvers, FBI agent, who likely knows what they need for alibis. Can Sam trust Alex not to align with her job and bring in Lena?

The news this morning documented Supergirl's fight with Lex and the liberation of the alien power plant. Catco released the first part of a three-part article that exposes of Lex's megalomania and genocidal plans. Kara really outdid herself with that piece.

The tide favoring Lex shifts slowly. No, she can't trust anyone associated with the government. Not until Sam has definitive evidence they won't turn on Lena or Supergirl still.

Fine, whose next?

Kelly Olsen, Lena's therapist. Or soon to be ex-therapist due to Kelly dating Alex Danvers now. Due to Lex's brief reign of terror, Kelly and Lena — as far as Sam knows — hadn't had time to find a suitable replacement to continue Lena's work on integration.

Kara Danvers then? A rather naive journalist, who apparently is Supergirl's alter ego. Or maybe Supergirl is Kara's alter ego. That stormy night Supergirl rescued Lena confirmed they are one and the same.

Lena adores Kara, but her words that stormy night: “Did you know Kara is an alien?” had held a layer of pain.

Sam sighs and rubs her temple. The only other number she has is for James Olsen, who she doesn't trust farther than she can spit. He may have dated Lena, but he'd never truly let go of Lena's last name. Sam wishes she'd never pushed Lena to try, but that was before she understood the depth of Lena's feelings for Kara.

The clink of a spoon echoes softly in the sterile apartment. Rory still hasn't attempted food. Only swirls and swirls, the whirlpools sink into the depths of the cup and reveal bits and pieces of vegetables.

Sam watches and blinks back tears. Jack would have known what to do. He'd likely be mobilizing alibis and lawyers already, but he lay in a coma, trapped since the nanite catastrophe that destroyed Spheerical Industries. A memory Sam tries to avoid. Kieran and Rory had fronted for weeks after that disaster.

“Lena,” Sam whispers, “I know you're in there.” She reaches out to brush black hair from Rory's face. “How would you or Kieran handle this?”

Rory glances at her, her eyebrows scrunched as if in thought. Her other hand lifts from under the blankets and forms the sign for ‘endure.'

Yes, Sam knows Rory is the one that endures. Helplessness seeps through her limbs. She looks down at her phone and flips through the contacts again with her thumb. One by one names trickle by until she stops at Kara Danver's name.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” she tells Rory. “When I get back, I want at least some of this soup eaten. Then we can watch your favorite show. Or maybe play a game?”

Rory tilts her head, and her face contorts — wrinkles in forehead, scrunched eyebrows, flared nostrils, slight grimace, and sucked in cheeks — a sign of a possible switch.

Sam holds her breath in hope.

The expression fades, and Rory tugs blankets tighter around her body. One hand grips the spoon again and forms the whirlpools once more.

Sam lets out her breath. “Promise me, you'll eat? Otherwise, no games later.”

Rory narrows her eyes but reluctantly nods. Sam will take that as progress.

Standing, she glances at her daughter, who sits curled up in the armchair by the sofa. Her latest book — a science fiction novella about nonbinary monks and robots — lays open in her lap. Ruby's fingers crinkle the page right before she turns it.

Sam marvels for the millionth time how much Ruby looks like her. Only her nose and thicker build gives any hint of the worthless father.

Her baby, the reason for much of what Sam does. Today, Ruby's hair curls down past her shoulders, still damp from a shower, and her brown eyes scan the pages of her book. She looks up at Sam, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Keep an eye on her, Rubes. I’ll be on the balcony.”

Ruby gives her a thumbs-up. She knows the drill. In a way, she and Rory act as sisters, which puts Sam in the weird-ass role of mother figure when Rory fronts.

So very different from the best friend role Sam holds for Lena, and the nebulous more than friend role for Kieran. All aspects that leaves Sam in a strange limbo of not able to ever confess her feelings.

Outside, the wind blows cool, the taste of salt off the ocean. Sam leans against the railing and struggles to hold back her tears. Is this disaster the one that finally breaks her best friend?

Sam had promised herself long ago to make sure Lena was never alone wih Lex, and yet, three days ago that exact scenario played out while Sam was stuck in Metropolis. She'd been there for the past three months fixing a major production and accounting mishap, which meant Ruby temporarily enrolling in the school in the interim.

Convenient that such a mishap happened just when Lex strolls back into Lena's life. Sam rubs her eyes and slumps against the railing. The mishap she repaired had been sabotage, that Sam knows, but she can't scrounge up enough evidence to confirm by whom.

Even though in her heart she's positive it was Lex's way to separate her and Lena.

To isolate Lena slowly. Like he always does.

Sam can't ever forget the moment she learns of his abuse. During the initial merger, years ago, Lena had been sitting in her office after a meeting with Lex. Sam only came by to drop off her report, but what she found alarmed her. Lena's expression had been twisted in what looked like pain. Her red, chafed skin and the red mark on her left cheek ignited a deep need to protect in Sam.

Yet she'd failed. All their work to free Lena from the Luthors shredded by Lex. The urge to scream and rip apart the world seethes in Sam.

At least Lex is dead. The fucking bastard. But it should have been her hands that did it. Not Lena's.

She rubs away her angry tears and pulls out her phone. Thumbs through the unlock and hovers over Kara's name. A number she's had since the worldkiller crisis ten months ago. That time of horror is where Sam finally understood viscerally the amnesiac episodes.

***

Sam stands in an alley. Her boots are muddy, and her head stuffed with cotton. Her breath catches in her throat, her lungs raw. Her body feels not her own, like a puppet on strings. She looks down at her hands, the grime under her nails unfamiliar. Her stomach twists in knots, her head aches, and she wants to curl up and weep.

How did she get here? Where is she?

Fog coils in her mind and sizzles with lightning. The air charged with apprehension despite the cloudless night glaring down at her.

Memories seep through slowly: She was skating on a rink with Ruby, who easily kept pace with her. Sam had turned to skate backward and make faces at her daughter. Typical pre-teen response of rolled eyes, but the hint of a smile gave away Ruby's amusement.

She'd just turned to skate forward again when a ringing started in her ears. Ruby passed her, while Sam's vision fogged over. Whispers crept into her ears: let go, let go.

Dark woods loomed then, while the fog tugs her from the fluorescent lights of the indoor rink. Bare branches curved like hands that reach for her, until darkness coats her mind and body. Freezing cold slithers through her.

Only to wake here, in an alleyway, alone.

Terror ignites.

Ruby.

Where is Ruby? She digs through her pockets but finds nothing. No phone.

Wait, why is she in khakis and navy blue button-down shirt? Where is her jeans and T-shirt she'd been wearing skating?

Why is one of her sleeves caked with blood? But she has no wounds.

Ruby. Her feet jerk into motion, and she sprints from the alley.

Car engines and horns assault her ears. She’s a block from L-corp. Definitely phones there to borrow. She dodges through the slow, meandering traffic, and ignores the driver's curses and car horns.

She bursts through L-corp’s doors. To the left is the security desk, where a lone guard reads a magazine, his only light a small lamp. The rest of the building is dark except for the fluorescent lights near the elevators and stairs. Sounds of traffic fade into a faint roar, only interrupted by the crinkle of pages.

Shadows stalk across the foyer, like the woods of her nightmares. One shadow forms the figure of a woman, red eyes aglow. She takes a step backward, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach bubbling with nausea.

“Ms. Arias?” the voice cuts through her frozen terror. The figure vanishes.

Sam turns to see a plump, older man at the security desk. His hazel eyes look up from his book, his mouth in a confused grimace.

“Are you all right?”

No, she most definitely is not. She can't let it show. Breathe, she tells herself. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty… she counts until her hands stop shaking. “Bill," she asks, slowly, "can I use your phone?”

“Uh, sure.” He turns his desk phone around to face her.

Sam dials Lena’s number. Her fingers tremble despite her attempts to calm down.

To her relief, Lena picks up after one ring. “This is Ms. Luthor speaking.”

“Lena, oh thank god you answered," she clutches the phone, almost in tears at her familiar voice. "Please, where are you? Where is Ruby?”

“Sam?” Relief floods Lena’s voice. “Sam, I’m at the office. Where are you? I can—”

“I’m coming upstairs.” Sam hangs up and sprints for the elevator. As the elevator ascends, she paces back and forth, terrified and nauseated. Her body aches from head to toe as if she’d been in a fight, but she has no memory of the past few hours — days?

It's been two months of horrific nightmares and amnesiac episodes. One month of trying to hide it all under a veneer of practiced poise.

Shadows play across the elevator walls, and one sneers like a face of a demon. She jerks backward, her back hitting the wall. Whispers in a language she can't quite distinguish sinks into the dark. Strange symbols form on her arms, and she tries to rub them away to no avail.

The metal of the elevator forms a face with red eyes.

No. No, no! She hits the buttons on the elevator desperate to escape. The elevator shivers and clanks. Horror stalks her.

"Four, eight, twelve," she says, out loud, desperate to calm herself. "Sixteen, twenty…"

The elevator doors open to darkness, except for a red light at the end of the hall. No, she can't enter that. The doors shut, and she slumps to the ground, her arms around herself. The doors open three more times, and each time she's met with a gloom so deep, she swears she can hear the creaking of branches.

She’s never been more terrified in her life. For these episodes to increase in severity, for them to now impact her daughter? Sam wants to scream and rip herself to shreds.

The fourth time the doors open, light cascades into the room. She throws herself into the precious light. Scrambling to her feet, her boots pound against the tiles as she sprints down the hallway, past a conference room, past Jess' empty desk, and finally to the door of her office.

She tugs open the door, her breaths sharp and agonized.

A figure sits at the desk, the glow of a tablet across her porcelain features and glossy black hair. A fluffy scarf wraps around the woman's neck, her jacket open to show a shiny red shirt that is far too reminiscent of blood.

Recognition sparks. Lena. It's only Lena. Relief stops her mad dash. “Where’s Ruby?”

“Sam! Thank god you’re okay.” Lena sweeps to her feet, her Irish accent faint, which means it’s Lena fronting. Kieran always has a heavy Irish brogue. She takes a few hesitant steps around the desk, but pauses a few feet away. Her concern etched into her perfect features. “Ruby called me right away. I took her home. I — I thought I’d check the office again in hope you’d return here. Like you had the other times.”

“Oh my god.” Sam turns away and presses her hand to her forehead. “How could I do this to her?” She throws her hand down and starts to pace. “What if I’d been driving at the time?”

Her imagination unhelpfully provides a vivid image of a crash and a bloodied body. Bile rises in Sam's throat.

Lena holds up her hands as if to placate her. “She’s safe, Sam. She did the right thing by calling for help.”

Right, help. Good. Emergency plan enacted. Yet Ruby never should have needed it.

Sam takes a deep breath and turns back to Lena. “Was she scared?”

Lena’s shoulders droop then, but the tension in her body shows in her creased brows “Yes. We all are.” Cautiously, Lena approaches her, one hand still upheld. “Do — do you remember anything?”

Sam shakes her head. Whispers, shadowed woods, and fog provides no clues. “No. No, I don’t. Same as always.”

Lena tugs at her fingers. “Ruby told me about the other times.”

Sam stares at her, unable to fathom at first Lena's meaning. “She doesn’t know,” she says, finally. “I — I haven’t told her yet.”

“She’s a smart kid. Had a time-line of dates, times, and places —”

“You told a twelve year old that her mother is sick with a illness no one can diagnose?” A coiling horror mixed with anger shudders through her body. No, Ruby can't know. “Seriously?”

“Sam, she already knew.” Lena holds up her hands again, as if to ward off Sam’s anger. “I simply reassured her that you didn’t abandon her. That we’re looking into this.”

“Si—”

The world sears in sudden frigid cold. It weaves into her bones, as dark grey fog coils. Let go, a whisper curls into her ears. A face forms in the mists, skull with no eyes, and hands reach up from the ground.

Bare branches leer over her like clawed hands. She staggers backward, only to hit the desk.

She’s back in the office. “What — what…” Bile burns her throat.

Lena stands on the other side of her, her arms around herself, and a haunted look in her eyes. She blinks and drops her hands to her side. “Sam? Are — are you back?”

Sam slowly backs up until her legs hit a chair. She lowers herself, shaken.

“Sam? Did you just have a blackout?”

Terror throttles her breathing, her gasps sharp and pained. Nodding, she shivers and grips the chair.

Lena holds up her hands as if to calm her down. “You don’t remember anything you just said?”

Tears blur her vision. She shakes her head. “I need help,” she whispers. Something more than therapy, more than Alex’s MRI and CT tests. Something that can dig deep into why these episodes happen when it’s never happened prior.

“Sam, do you trust me?” Lena drops to one knee next to Sam’s chair, and gently grasps her hands.

Sam clings to Lena’s warm and grounding touch and nods.

“Let me run some tests. You’ll have to stay in the basement lab for the night.” Lena bites her lip and looks down at their hands. “If I’m right about this, you’re in grave danger.”

Dread weighs heavy on Sam. “Whatever is needed, do it.” If anyone can find what’s wrong, it’d be her best friend. The person who understands amnesiac episodes, the one who is a genius with biology and engineering — the person Sam trusts and loves more than anyone else in the universe. “You’ll watch Ruby?”

“Of course. She’s in a safe place right now, and with someone I trust to keep an eye on her.”

Her words help only marginally; Sam can’t help but worry for her daughter. To not be able to see her? Out of fear of what she might do in an episode? The tears escape despite all her attempts to hold them at bay.

“I promise you I’ll figure this out. We’ll find the cure together.” Lena wraps an arm around her shoulder, while her other hand rubs her thumb over Sam’s knuckles. Exactly the same way Sam does during Lena’s panic attacks or amnesiac episodes. Oh, how the tables have turned.

True to her word, Lena sets her up in a medical bed in the basement lab and runs the battery of tests. Her best friend says very little, her entire focus on her work — like always when she hyperfocuses.

Needles used shimmer with a hint of green and leave a weird ache after. Hum of machines scan her insides, and the tool to scrape a sample from inside her mouth feels cold and unnerving. The only words spoken are gentle but short explanations of each procedure.

She knows Lena does it to try to calm her.

Nothing will calm her. Not until they know the truth.

Sam wonders if feeling shattered or scared is how Lena is all the time. If so, how does she cope? Admiration for Lena’s strength and resiliency floods Sam. Lena’s spent a life like this, while Sam falls apart after only a few months.

“This last test relies on you sleeping.” Lena stands a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her. Her accent has stayed faint these last few hours, which means Kieran hasn’t fronted once. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Sam rubs her eyes. “Maybe. I’m exhausted enough.”

For a moment, Lena stands silently, her expression contorts almost in pain. She takes in a sharp breath, and her shoulders straighten, her posture rigid. A switch.

“Then rest.” Her best friend steps up to the bed, her accent a thick Irish brogue, where each word is pronounced slowly as if she tastes each one. That signals this is now Kieran. “We will watch over you.” She gently kisses Sam’s forehead and smooths back her hair.

Sam aches to hold her and be held in turn. Instead, she grasps Kieran’s hand. “Can — can you really cure this?”

“Not me, luv,” Kieran says, tenderly. “Lena can. She has a plan. We just need more data.” Her hand continues to stroke Sam’s hair, her other tightly holding Sam’s left. “Close your eyes now, and I shall sing you to sleep.”

Of Lena’s many parts, Kieran is the only one that can hold a tune, and she sings an Irish ballad. It ripples over Sam and encases her in warmth. She finally drifts to a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes, her head aches, her vision blurry, and her shoulder hurts. She reaches up and realizes there’s a device there, but she can’t quite see what it is.

“Lena? Kieran?” She’s not sure who is fronting for her friend.

“It's Lena.” Lena looks up from the desk, where several papers are scattered along with a tablet and a laptop. She gives her a faint smile. Dark circles line her eyes. Likely barely slept. Typical of her. “How do you feel?”

“Achey. What — what is this?” She taps the device.

“Precaution.” Lena stands and walks closer, only to stop a few feet away. “I — I have good and bad news.”

“Surely not as bad as the world ending?” Sam jokes.

Lena doesn’t laugh nor does she smile. Her eyes narrow instead. “I reviewed our data and the timeline of your episodes.”

The seriousness in Lena’s stance, the faint wisp of her accent, and the pain in her tone makes it clear that Sam isn’t going to like her next words. She braces herself.

“Your episodes align with when Reign appears.”

Sam jolts upright in shock. “No. That’s crazy.”

Lena frowns. “The data I’ve taken has provided proof. I suspect when you left on your trip ‘to find your origins,’ you were possessed. The time and date of that correlates to the timing of Reign’s cult leader escaping prison.”

Sam shakes her head. There’s no way.

“Let me show you then.” She picks up a remote and turns on the television. It plays a segment from a news report of a murder. “Two months ago you report a black out. Reign appears and kills three robbers and leaves an odd symbol all over National City. The same symbol the cultist gave Kara during her interview exactly two weeks before your ‘trip’ happened.”

Sam can’t believe her ears. She shakes her head again.

“A week later, you have another black out.” She hits the remote and another news segment appears. “Seven people killed at a warehouse. Their bodies mutilated.”

“Lena, why are you doing this?” Sam stumbles out of the bed. “You — you can’t— I get squeamish whenever Ruby asks me to kill a spider. Why — how — there’s no way I’d ever kill those people!”

Lena sighs. “I don’t think you did.”

“So what, I’m like you? Split personality now?” She snaps as she starts to pace. A weird energy tingles through her, and the area where the device is aches.

Lena takes a shuddering breath. “Sam, that’s —” She turns away and fiddles with her tablet. “Is that really what you think of us?” she asks quietly.

“No!” Sam put her head in her hands. “No, it’s not at all. I — I don’t know why I said that. You’re absolutely lovely. All of you.”

“Sure.” The flat tone to her voice hurts to hear.

“Lena, I mean it!” Sam drops onto the bed. “I’m not thinking straight. My body feels weird, and my head hurts, and — and I’m scared. Do — do you have dreams of dark forests with mists that whisper frightening things when you switch?”

Lena’s head shoots up, and she stares at Sam.”No, I don’t. I thought you said you don’t remember anything.”

“I don’t. But when — when I got angry at you at the office, I — I was briefly there, and, god, it sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Lena picks up the tablet and types something into it. “That’s valuable information.”

“Do you know what’s wrong then?” Sam needs answers. Some sort of tangible goal, not this nebulous grey.

“I think Reign is possessing you,” Lena says, bluntly. “When she fronts, you lose all awareness. Your DNA essentially rewrites itself. None of my alters rewrite my DNA. Believe me, I tested myself to verify. It’s likely the Reign cultists targeted you, but what they used to cause this, I’m still researching.”

Sam stares at her, shocked.

“Please, Sam, understand, I wouldn’t tell you this if I wasn’t sure.” Lena’s words are sharp, firm, but her hands tremble, her eyes red-lined as if she’s been crying.

“This is ridiculous.” Sam starts to pace. Her body vibrates with energy, and she feels ill. Like her stomach’s acid eats through her intestines. Looking at the TV makes it worse. “I’m going home to Ruby.” She turns and walks straight into a wall. Startled, she stumbles backward. There’s nothing there.

She reaches out, tentatively, and her fingers bounce against an invisible field. “Lena, what the hell? Let me out!”

Lena shakes her head. Tears shine in her eyes. “I — I can’t. You asked me to help you. This is the only safe way.”

“No!” Sam slams her hand against the field. “Let me out, Lena. I want to see my daughter.”

“Until I find a cure, no.” Her voice shakes, but she holds her chin defiantly.

“So this is how it is?” She has the urge to lash out, to draw blood. Energy jolts through her, and her vision blurs further. Whispers of a fog curls around her mind and body. “Lena Luthor holds her best friend hostage —”

Lena breathes in sharply. “Sam, you asked me to help you.”

“I didn’t ask to be held in a cage!” Sam shoots back. “This was supposed to be just tests.”

Lena closes her eyes and turns away. Her shoulders shake, and her expression contorts. A sure sign she’s fighting against a switch. “I need to check on Ruby.” She takes the tablet and leaves.

The door clangs shut behind her. Silence envelops Sam, and with it, shadows plague her periphery. The light flickers. Fear swiftly replaces her frustration.

The TV still plays news segments. A desk with a monitor and keyboard sits under it. Distract. Must distract, otherwise the shadows creep closer, and the eerie sense of being watched looms larger.

She switches off the TV and settles in the chair. Clicking the start menu, she finds only generic games and a word processor. No internet connection and the clock is hidden. Meaning, she has no clue of the date or time.

Turning, she slams her fists against the forcefield, but it doesn’t budge. She grabs her chair and hits it against it again and again, but still nothing. It stays firmly there. Trapped.

A scream erupts from her throat, and she throws her body at the field, only to slide to the ground in a fit of panicked weeping. Claustrophobia claws through her, and she desperately wraps her arms around herself. Taps her shoulders again and again until the soft beat of her hands transforms the panic into a quiet, anxious simmer.

She thinks through all the years she’s known Lena, and nothing implies a trajectory to this situation. Her blackouts is the new data-point, which means, Lena doesn’t trust her as long as she has them.

Sam doesn't trust herself as long as they keep happening.

She rubs away her tears. Decides to focus on Aikido exercises to pass the time. Thinking about her situation only induces more panic, and she needs to try to stay calm for when Lena returns.

Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time flows unsteadily, the buzz of monitors her only sound. When her muscles tire, she plays solitaire and later a generic racing game. Finally, sleep slithers up her spine, and she manages a nap.

When she wakes, Lena sits at the desk again. This time a picture frame lays on the desk by her tablet. “Good morning,” she says with her boardroom voice, a carefully modulated and emotionless tone. “Have you thought about what I’ve told you?”

“Lena, please, don’t play games with me,” Sam pleads. Being alone messes with her mind, and she fears the silence. “Let me go home. I told you, if I killed people, I’d remember.”

Her fingers tap against the tablet. “Amnesiac episodes would not allow you to remember such things.”

“Then give me a better explanation than, ‘hey, you’re a supervillain in your spare time,’” Sam snaps. “Aren’t we family, Lena? Locking me up like this isn’t cool.” Frustration tingles through her limbs, and the urge to lash out bubbles through her. “I guess the saying is right,” she says.

“What saying?” Lena frowns.

“Ask an oncologist what's wrong, they'll say cancer. Ask a pulmonologist, they'll say asthma. Ask a Luthor…” The words freeze on her tongue. What is she saying?

No, no, she can't finish that thought.

Fury radiates from Lena’s eyes, her fists clenched, and her accent is nearly nonexistent. “They'll say Supervillain?” she finishes for Sam. “Maybe on some deep level you do know.” Her voice is cold, deadly almost, as the most unnerving alter of all comes to the front.

Sam shakes her head. “No, no, I didn't mean —”

“Let’s take a look, shall we? How about Morgan Edge, the bastard who tried to poison a city for profit.” Angry Lena walks back and forth by the edge of the forcefield, while her thumb punches the remote.

The television turns on behind Sam to a news segment of the attack on Morgan Edge.

“What I wouldn’t give to see how that played out.” The sneer on Lena's face looks foreign.

Sam scrambles to her feet and backs away, only to hit the other side of the forcefield. “What — what — no.”

“Or what about Supergirl? What did it feel like to connect your fist with something that solid? That powerful?” Another news segment appeared on the screen, where Supergirl falls motionless from a great height. “Or those men?” A third one flashes into view that depicts entrails and mangled bodies. “You tore those men apart. Ripped their limbs from their bodies.” The fury in her voice accents each verb with deadly accuracy. “Did you delight in their deaths?” Angry Lena steps closer, her stormy eyes boring into Sam.

“No!” Sam clenches her fists. Her whole body vibrates, and she feels like she’s about to explode. “Stop this! I just want to go home to my daughter!”

“As if I’d let you near Ruby again,” Angry Lena snarls. “How did it feel living in that house with her day in and day out? When you could easily snap her in half with your bare hands?”

“Stop this!” The energy rattles through her bones, rises up toward her head, and she feels frantic. Something terrible looms, and she can’t stop it.

When Angry Lena speaks again, Sam fails to comprehend. Her words trigger a flare of pain that rips through Sam’s body, catapults her mind into a frigid, grey fog.

Her feet slide on rocky soil.

Branches creak but there is no wind.

Shadows coil in her periphery, whispers caress her ears. Let go. Let go.

Misty hands brush against her ankles. She kicks them away and staggers backward, only for her hand to hit something soft and moist. She screams and jolts her hand away. Her feet slip on the gravelly soil, and she tumbles into a ravine. She curls up with her hands above her head and whimpers.

“Four, eight, twelve,” she counts, just like she did many times with Lena, “sixteen, twenty...”

The coldness abates, the fog fades, and light warms her eyelids. Pain burns through her body. She gasps and opens her eyes to find herself flat on her back.

Around her, the bed has been torn in half. The desk shredded. The monitor is ripped apart, and the television swings back and forth on its cords. A video plays. She watches the last bit of Angry Lena's cruel words, then the monstrous change ripples through Sam's body.

Not-Sam unleashes heat vision and tears apart the room with her bare hands.

Terror freezes her, her eyes wide. Metal snaps off the bed and hurls at the force field. It shimmers brightly. Lena ducks behind her desk in the video, and that sours Sam's mouth with bile.

She leaps forward to stab at the TV’s buttons in desperation. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

The television goes silent.

“We — we needed you to see it for yourself.” Lena’s voice whispers, pain in her voice. “And we didn’t know how else to do it. You — you weren’t listening. I’m sorry, Sam.”

“All those people…” Sam crumples and breaks into tears. Her hands are coated in blood. How can she ever face her daughter again?

The forcefield flickers and drops on one side, while Lena springs to her side. “Sam, Sam, it wasn’t your fault.” She wraps her arms tightly around her shoulders and presses her forehead against Sam's. “You weren’t in control. When Reign fronted, I got samples of her DNA, okay? And knowledge is power. We’re going to get you through this, okay?”

Sobs cascade through her body. She doesn’t know for how long she cries, but Lena rocks her gently. Kisses her temple, and strokes her hair.

Her voice changes to the thicker Irish brogue of Kieran. “It’s okay, luv. It’s okay. You’re not alone in this. We understand. We can cure this. Lena has a plan, and I’m sorry we spoke so harshly. It won’t ever happen again.”

Sam clings to such frail hope. Slowly, her sobs slow. She shivers and pulls back. “Kieran, you — you can’t be in here with me then. Not — not if I could turn into Reign.”

Kieran brushes hair from Sam’s face and cups her cheek, her eyes a turquoise color instead of Lena's usual emerald. “We know the risk.” She pulls out a phone and gently places it in Sam’s hands. “Call your daughter. We’ll clean up.” She kisses Sam on the forehead, and stands with a sad smile.

The affection in Kieran's voice takes the breath from Sam. For a moment, she stares up at her best friend, the part that has stayed fiercely loyal to Sam, and always touches her with such reverence.

Kieran doesn’t just love her as a friend, but perhaps more than one.

But Sam can never act on this realization, not with her complex roles in Lena’s life — Lena’s best friend, this nebulous more than friends with Kieran, the almost motherly role for Rory, and the grounding role for Angry Lena.

Her current state mars her roles, darkens her impact, threatens to sever their connection. The hurtful words they hurled at each other fade to a dull ache. Instead, Sam holds back a sob of grief. Her roles in Lena's and Ruby's lives define her.

Without them, who is she? How can she be useful to anyone?

She looks down at the phone and sags against the wall.

Kieran pushes out the shattered bed and desk. Sweeps away the glass and metal. A new bed she rolls into the enclosure.

As she works, Sam unlocks her phone and stares at the number for Ruby’s emergency phone. What does she even say? Grief lances through her, her heart charred by the horrors.

Her best friend finishes and pauses at Sam’s side. “Call,” she says, quietly. “You need to hear her voice as much as she needs yours.” The thicker accent is gone, and Lena’s deep emerald eyes meet Sam’s. She reaches out to gently trail her fingers along Sam’s right temple. “I’ll be just outside the enclosure, okay?”

Sam nods. She waits until the hum of the forcefield activates before she finally speaks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier.”

“It’s okay, Sam. We’re sorry too.” Lena sits down on the other side, her tablet on the ground next to her. “We understand how scary this is. But a cure is possible. Whatever the cultists did, we can undo, okay?”

Sam shudders and tries to believe Lena, but her hope is fragile. Her mind keeps spinning back to the news segments, to the deaths by her hands — even if she wasn’t the one fronting. Images of entrails clog her thoughts.

No. Think of anything else. She takes a shaky breath and lets it out slowly. Thinks instead of the softness of Lena's hands against her face.

And the smile of her daughter as she eagerly shares a story from school.

Precious grounding moments.

She finally hits the dial button.

“Mom?” Ruby's voice shakes at first but then steadies. “Is it you?”

“Hey Rubes, it’s me. I wanted to check in on you.” She doesn’t dare tell her where she really is. In case it puts her in danger.

“Mom, are you okay? Is Aunt Lena with you?”

“Yes, she is. And the truth is, I am sick, so I have to stay in the hospital for a little while longer. But I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Can I come see you? I miss you.”

“Oh baby, I miss you too.” The tears flow harder, and she chokes back a sob. “But you can’t. It may be contagious, and I can’t risk you. Aunt Lena will be by to check on you, okay? And I’ll be home as soon as I’m better.”

It feels so futile. So banal of a promise. She can’t bring herself to lie further.

“But Mom, can't I just put on one of Lena's special hazmat suits? I'll be good!” Tears mangle part of her words, but Sam understands.

“No, you need to do what Aunt Lena says is best. She's good at what she does, okay? She's helping me too. I promise you, we'll get through this, okay?”

Ruby's sobs echo in Sam's ears. “Mom… I love you, okay? And maybe we can do a video call instead?”

No. No, she can't let Ruby see her in this state. “We'll see. I love you, Rubes. Love you so much. Be good for your Aunt Lena.” She hangs up before Ruby can say another word.

Lena speaks then. “Don’t worry about Ruby. I’ll take her to —”

“Don’t tell me where she is,” Sam interjects with a strangled sob. She looks up to see Lena fighting tears too. “Not until I’m cured.”

Lena nods as a few tears escape. That Sam can’t bear. To be the cause of it? She hides her face against her knees and curls up against the wall. Sobs broil down her body.

Behind her, Kieran’s Irish brogue sings a haunting tune that wraps around Sam, soothes her pain, until her sobs fade to ragged breathing and counting in multiples of four.

The next few weeks is torturous. Sam's hold on reality untethers as her sense of time and space evaporates into a haze of pain and fear. A war of fluorescent lights versus seething grey fog. They learn that the place Sam's mind goes is an alternate dimension related to the possession.

Waking from that dimension leaves Sam in a cold sweat. She leans against the forcefield with Lena leaning against the otherside. "How do you deal with this daily?" Sam wipes away her tears. "I — I don't know how to move forward. Not with — with that monster inside me."

"Acceptance of the truth is the first step," Lena admits. "I always had Kieran. They wrote in our shared journal and signed the entries. But to learn of new alters? Practice acceptance. You're already good at it."

"How can I accept that a blood-thirsty killer is inside me?" Sam whispers. "I never want to hurt anyone."

"It's not about accepting their actions, Sam. It's about accepting that they exist. You don't have to nor should you accept what they do." Lena shifts to press her hand against the forcefield. "Look at me, hun."

Sam turns and meets Lena's green eyes.

"My alters are me," she says, quietly. "We may have split into separate parts, each of unique in a way, but they are still me. But Reign is not you. Reign was forced on you. Accept she exists, but resist her control. This is your body."

"How do I do that?" Sam presses her hand over Lena's, the forcefield separating them from feeling the other's touch.

"You do it with me often. Ground oneself in the present. For you, ground yourself in your body. In your senses." Lena taps her ears and above her eyes. "It may feel like a fight, but you are strong." She taps her leg and tilts her head, her accent still the light one of Lena. "Since you go to that other dimension, try focusing on your body and how it feels. Imagine each sense, the height and weight, and clothes. Imagination is a powerful tool."

Sam ponders Lena's advice and wonders if she can pull it off while terrified out of her mind. Maybe if she practiced enough? "Can we go through this as an exercise? To practice?"

Lena smiles, faintly. "Sure."

They spend the next two hours practicing, and make it part of their daily activities. Each practice session, Sam feels a little stronger, more like she might actually be able to pull it off if she gets trapped in the other realm.

A week later, Lena attempts to capture data during Sam's times in the alternate dimension. One day she accidentally causes both Sam and Reign to manifest in that terrifying forest.

Branches curl toward her, and whispers coil around her. Shivering, she turns and freezes. An exact copy of herself stands a few feet away, clad in black, except her eyes are red. They shine in the dark fog.

She dives behind a tree.

“Sam, do you truly think you can resist me?” the words slide off the other's tongue like poisoned honey.

One second Reign is several trees away, and the next she's at Sam's side. Her hands reach for Sam's shoulder.

Sam throws herself backward. “Don't touch me.” She strives for bravado. Grabbing a stick, she swings it desperately.

Reign stalks her, moving unnaturally fast. One moment on Sam's left, the next on her right. Fog billows around her like monstrous wings, and the air charged with sparks of black lightning. Trees creak despite no wind. The cold leeches away Sam's energy.

Stay focused. Sam adapts her breathing to her Aikido training, her stance to a loose defensive one. This time her swing hits Reign in the chest.

Reign snaps the branch like a twig, and darts forward to snag Sam's throat. She's slammed against a tree. Red eyes bore into her. Whispers from the broiling fog chant, let go, let go.

No! She can’t leave Ruby. Or Lena.

She knees Reign in the stomach. The grip loosens enough for her to twist and perform a throw. Gasping in air, she stumbles backward. Her body — she needs to imagine what her body feels like. As she runs from Reign, who is staggering to her feet still, she pictures how her legs feel while running in the real world. How her muscles pump, how the fabric of her clothes rub against her skin, the way her hair falls across her neck and back, and the sweat that dampens her hair's roots.

She trips and falls through the ground and into the soft blankets of the medical bed. She's back in the forcefield room, far from Reign. Sam weeps and curls up, the fire in her veins pulses from the device on her shoulder. “No, no, don't do that again, Lena.”

“What happened?” Lena presses her hand against the forcefield, but she doesn't lower it or come closer.

“I was there with Reign.” Sam shudders. “God, that monster. You got to stop her, Lena. Please.”

“Oh crap.” Lena drops her hand to her side. “I — I got a sample of the enzyme causing the change just now. While you were passed out. I think I can synthesize a cure from it.”

Sam clings to the first good news in weeks. But like all good things, the very next day, the world erupts into chaos.

Two aliens rip apart concrete and metal and break into Lena’s lab. Seconds later, Supergirl and three others teleport into the room in a flash of red light. In the ensuing fight, Sam loses control.

She crashes into the nightmare realm. Mists seethe over her, and this time she can’t find her way back to her own body. Claw-like branches leer over her, whispers to let go tug at her ears, and the ground heaves like it breathes.

Desperate, she stumbles to her feet. Faces form in the mists and dive at her. She ducks and runs.

She trips over something soft. Turning, she gasps and jerks her leg off the body. A Korean woman lies there, her face locked in a silent scream.

Sam gasps and scrambles backward. Slipping, she tumbles down a ravine and into a cavern. Flickering blue light shimmers in its depths. One hand against the wall, she stumbles forward.

Turning a corner, she stops in shock. Black woman carves words into the sandstone rock. Names, places, but other words make no sense. Over and over, she carves and mutters incoherently.

"Hello?" Sam tries, but the woman doesn't respond. She only carves and shivers.

That’s when Sam sees firsthand how this realm eats away memories. Tears down the mind, until there is nothing left but to die.

She doesn’t know how long she’s there. But soon the whispers and growing pain starts to eat into her too. Her mind grows foggy, her memories slither away like oil.

She keeps the other woman company but struggles to remember why. Finds her own sharp rock and carves her name, Ruby's, and Lena’s along with anything else she can remember.

Faces form in the mists, and whispers slither like hands across her shoulders. She shivers and carves until her hands and arms ache.

The woman coughs, shakes, and freezes with glassy eyes. Sam watches in horror as the woman ceases to breath and tips over as if frozen solid. Mists coil over the body, faces form in the shadows, and mist hands sweep over the body.

Horror spikes, and Sam scrambles deeper into the cave. Near bubbling pools, one clear and one muddy. The walls of the cave close in on her.

Sobbing, she carves the names over and over. Figures coalesce, familiar until their faces twist into snarls, their eyes empty sockets. She huddles closer to the rock wall, ducks her head, and digs her rock deeper into the sandstone.

Her nails start to bleed, her palm raw. Still she carves.

A voice calls out her name. An almost familiar one. “Sam?”

She keeps carving. It’s another phantom. Another to distract her from her task.

“Sam. Sam, it’s me.” Gentle hands turn her face.

She looks into emerald eyes. “No — not real…” She tries to tug free, but this one is solid unlike the others. Fear curdles through her. She’s too weak too fight. Now they’ll kill her like the others.

“Sam, please, I really am here.” The green-eyed lady strokes her cheek in a familiar, almost calming way. “Count with me, okay? Four, eight, twelve, sixteen…”

“Twenty, twenty-four, twenty-eight…” Sam murmurs. Slowly, a memory surfaces of her doing exactly this with someone she loves. The name peels back. “Lena. You’re Lena.”

“Yes.” Lena embraces her. “Yes, it’s me.”

“But you — you’re not real.” Sam clings to her and a sob clogs her throat.

“I am. I really am.” Lena cards her fingers through Sam’s hair. “Supergirl and her friends helped me reach this place. She’s here with me, see?” She turns to look back, her arm still tight around Sam’s shoulders.

Two people stand behind Lena. One in a red cape with a red and blue suit. The other dressed in black with red hair cut short. Both familiar but the names escape Sam.

“Hey Sam,” the red-head says. “Remember me? We hang out a lot with your daughter. Gone clubbing a few times. You can drink me under the table.”

“Alex.” More names and memories bubble through the fog. “Supergirl?” She looks at the caped hero.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Supergirl smiles sadly. “Lena found a way to help you, but we need to find Reign first. We got to capture her. Go back to your body and signal us.”

“I — I don’t know how.”

“Hun, you do,” Lena says fiercely. “Just like you’ve always done for me when I’m lost in the fog.”

“Fog…” Sam struggles to remember, but the memories dance just out of reach. “What — what did I do for you?”

Lena breathes in sharply. She gently brushes Sam’s hair from her face. “I’ll teach you like you taught me. Count and breathe with me. Feel your body, use all of your senses.” She resumes counting. “Thirty-two, thirty-six, forty…”

Sam closes her eyes and leans her forehead against Lena’s shoulder. “Forty-four, forty-eight, fifty-two…” The multiples of four ground her, centers her breaths, and she feels a faint tug in her mind. She smells the air, feels Lena's touch against her skin, the weight of clothes on her body. As she continues to count with Lena, that tug grows stronger until it broils over.

She breaths in sharply and finds herself in a large cavern. On either side of her, two woman clad in a grey and black suit similar to her own chant in an unfamiliar language. Beyond them stands two people dressed in black robes with hoods, but they stand silent, eyes closed.

Energy seethes from the Reign-like women’s hands and her own. More sparks fly into the well in the center of the room. To her horror, with each pulse, the well burrows deeper, the bottom almost out of sight.

Quakes shimmer outward from the well, but the energy roots them. Meanwhile, the cavern itself shakes at each pulse, and a few stones fall near the hooded figures. Behind her, she sees a control panel with a blue crystal glowing in the center of it.

A memory surges through the simmering fog in her mind. That’s the same crystal she’d found when she went to speak to her adopted mother. It came from a pod in her mother's garage. Attackers had descended on them like rabid coyotes. She'd defended her mother, until a song ensnared her with pain. A dark fog blinded all her senses. She’d been trapped in a shroud of whispers, until she woke the next day in her bed at home.

Fury ignites. Lena is right yet again. Cultists did something, and it relates to that damn crystal.

It takes all of her strength to jerk herself out of the energy circle. Sparks sear across her skin.

She throws herself at the control panel, just as the two hooded figures call out in anger. She tugs it free. The energy currents flicker and go dark. She smashes the crystal against the console.

Howls of fury screech behind her. She’s ripped away from the panel, thrown across the cavern, and slams into stone. She stumbles to her feet, angry and desperate to stay in control.

The other two aliens attack, and she blocks their punches. Falls into her defensive stance. Throws one with a breath throw, and the other she dodges. Beyond them, the hooded figures start to chant, a harsh discordant melody. Black fog rises from the ground.

Sam knows she’s running out of time, but if she’s to get the signal out, she has to take out these assholes first.

She blocks their punches and tosses one of the Reign-like woman into the console. Strength beyond what she's ever felt burns through her, and she rips apart a rock to slam into the first Reign-like woman. She slumps against the broken console.

The second one catches her by surprise and slams a fist into her head. Sam stumbles, only to get another punch in the gut. She gasps and falls to her knees.

Dark fog curls around her legs.

But her body is still in the transformed state. She lets out a roar and ignites the heat vision. It slices through the cavern’s roof, burning through to the sky above.

The other Reign-like being punches her, and she skids across the ground. Her heat vision sputters to a stop. Another kick spends her spinning, and she lands far too close to the hooded figures. The dark fog coils around her, suffocates her breath, but dammit, if she’s going out, then she’s taking them with her.

She hurls herself into the hooded figures. One raises a hand, and she bounces against a shield.

Their feet still connect with the earth though. She digs her fingers deep and tugs upward with all her strength. The ground splits and the hooded figures shout. One tumbles into the pit, and the other snags a rock, holding on for dear life.

A chant sounds behind her. The remaining Reign-like asshole and sings a grating melody that bleeds into Sam's consciousness, like a worms burrowing into her flesh.

She can feel her consciousness start to slip away. She’s running out of time.

Desperate, she gathers the last vestiges of her will and rips up the ground and hurls it into the pit. The remaining figure falls screaming. Energy shoots upward, and the cavern shakes. Rocks slam down atop her. Her vision blackens.

She tumbles through the earth and hits the misty cavern of the nightmare realm. But no one is there. Lena and the others are gone. Shadows leer, lights flicker like sparks, and the pools behind her broil with wisps of light.

Terror threatens, but Sam grabs a rock and slams it against the sandstone. Ruby needs her. Lena needs her. She must hold tight to hope. Let it fuel her and burn away the memory-consuming fog.

She resumes her carving, and hours — days? — later violet energy sears into the ground around her. Pain rockets through her, and she screams in agony. Her cells rip and reform.

She’s thrown backward, through the earth, and slams into cold tile. There she shudders against the ground, spent.

“Sam?” Lena’s sweet voice, the one with the wisp of an accent, breaks through her exhaustion.

A warm blanket falls across her body. Sam blinks upward to see Lena holding a beaker stained with a black liquid. Relief surges at the sight of her beautiful face and emerald eyes.

“Do — do you have some Tylenol?” Sam manages a faint smile.

Lena drops to her side in relief, the beaker falls, and rolls under a half destroyed table. All around her lies the remains of a wrecked laboratory, and there, seated crosslegged near them is a cape-less Supergirl. She sights Alex and two others she doesn’t recognize sorting through the rubble.

“Sam.” Lena wraps her arms around her. Her warmth a balm to the cold that still clings to her from the nightmare realm. “God, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“You did it then?” She feels weak, shaky, but whole. Like a massive weight been lifted from her shoulders. “Destroyed Reign?”

“Obliterated her to dust,” Supergirl says, softly. “All thanks to Lena’s genius and a fancy, magical rock that hurt like hell to touch.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sam,” Lena protests. “That signal you sent worked.”

“You stopped the cultists too,” Supergirl says, proudly. “Found them unconscious in that energy well. And you knocked out Reign. Made capturing her easy.”

“She did get feisty during the administering of the antidote,” Lena adds. She smiles tentatively, but her eyes still shine with a deep worry and sadness. “but we handled it.”

The tears in Lena’s eyes hurt to see. To know that Sam — even if it was some creepy alien possession using her body — caused that hurt? How much did it hurt her daughter too? How will they recover?

She wants to go home and hug Ruby, to reassure her that she’s back for good this time. To return to being just a CFO for Lena’s company. Back to her singleton self — as Lena often calls her.

But first, she wants to wipe away that worry from her best friend’s face.

“What can I say?” Sam jokes. “I just got that killing punch.” Her joke falls flat, and she ends up in tears instead. Who is she kidding? She can’t ever go back to the way things were after this. Her hands are stained now, even if it was another entity that used them for evil.

Lena holds her, gently rocking her. “Let it out, Sam. You’re safe now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam whispers. She clings to Lena and huddles under the warmth of the red cape. “All this horror? All those people dead?”

“Hey, that wasn’t you.” Lena strokes her hair. “Don’t take on the crimes of another.”

“She’s right,” Supergirl says, gently. “Reign was forced onto you against your will. You are a victim. A survivor in this. And in time, you will heal. Take it in steps.”

Sam takes a shuddering breath. Those words are ones she’s often said to Lena. What had once been abstract prior, now blossoms into a deep understanding. Lena may not be trapped in a nightmare realm when other alters front, but the pain and fear that amnesiac moments cause? Sam understands now.

And now she can do better. For herself, Lena, and Ruby. To find a new path forward.

[genderfluid-jew]

I'm gonna be wild and put this on an account where it might be shocking to post, but it needs to be said.

There is a genocide going on in Palestine, it is inherently wrong, and anyone who disagrees is upholding islamophobia and colonization.

Yes I have posts on my account that go against that and are more zionist. Guess what? I found out I was fucking wrong and I'm ashamed of myself for ever siding with those people. They're all on the wrong side of this conflict morally and it's reprehensible. It's also against Judaism, and even though they might argue that it isn't, Judaism has never been a religion that celebrates murder and slaughter as a solution, even if all else fails, which it hasn't in this case.

If you disagree with me, look up the founding of Israel, how the British government didn't care about Jews and just wanted them to go away and to have a puppet state that was friendly to them in the middle east, so they used Jews to achieve that. How could a country founded that way ever be moral? How could it be truly safe for Jews?

Look up how the Balfour Declaration was supposed to give non-Jews in the middle east rights and keep the rights of Jews outside of Israel safe. That's been a complete failure, I read it for the first time and laughed out loud. I don't know how anyone can look at that founding document and say "yep that's what Israel is doing today!" It's never been worse for Jews and it's all Israel's fault for constantly promoting the idea that the modern state of Israel is inherently central to Judaism, and not an ethnostate that's trying to slaughter the minorities around them that they don't like.

Look up the massacres that have been going on in Palestine. Attacks on displaced persons camps? Imagine if that had been Jews in the DP camps shortly after WWII. How many Jews would no longer be in existence if that had happened? How can people call themselves Jews if they support that? Think of the most recent massacre after writing this (on 6/9/24) - who the fuck disguises themselves as aid workers to sneak into somewhere and slaughter them? I saw rightful outcry when Hamas was doing that, and no pro-Israelis I saw protested against the IDF checking ambulances to 'make sure the need was real', so why is that being supported now? It's fucking disgusting, and if you aren't wholeheartedly condemning this you should be ashamed.

If you want to know the actual facts of what's going on and not the version that's been astroturfed by Israel (yes they have done this consistently over the past decades, look it up, there are literally campaigns to talk about how 'good' Israel is for queer people and the environment, as long as it's only their colonialist view of 'nice queers' and 'the Israeli environment'), try some books! I've read a few that are really good - Walking to Jerusalem by Justin Butcher and Light in Gaza edited by Jehad Abusalim, Jennifer Bing, and Mike Merryman-Lotze. Those books make it clear how reprehensible the behavior of Israelis are (throwing rocks at people for fun, demolishing peoples' houses and laughing, not letting them eat, constantly arresting and harassing them), and how despite all of it there are still Palestinians who are willing to work with Jews and consider them friends as long as they put in a bare minimum amount of support.

Or, you know, you could ignore this post and call me, a Jew, antisemitic for pointing out how awful Israel is being and how it's all against the laws of Judaism.

I hope everyone who disagrees is ready to make massive amounts of teshuvah in the future.