reason!

sroloc--elbisivni  asked:

I understand you must have many many things going on but you seem like the best person to ask: do you think the Justice League is registered as a company and as such do you think they pay taxes?

… there’s not really any reason for them to incorporate, as a non-profit or otherwise? they do not participate in business activities. they are an international/intergalactic vigilante organization operating outside the law, who do so basically freely because no one wants to deal with the logistics of stopping them from doing so (if 2017 has taught us anything it’s that you can apparently just kind of do Whatever if the people who are supposed to stop you from doing that decide they don’t care enough to bother). if you don’t profit from a nation’s citizens or use their infrastructure, you don’t pay taxes to that nation, and the justice league is not a profitable enterprise (that is probably a grimdark au somewhere tho). they also don’t need to worry about separating themselves as individuals from the justice league as an entity for liability reasons (another reason to incorporate) because everything they are doing is technically illegal anyway. otherwise they’re just cops, and that’s a totally different grimdark au.

while generally large-scale construction projects are undertaken by corporations, they don’t need to be, so regardless of what you think their headquarters looks like (personally i think that putting it in space is dumb because it creates way more logistical problems and failure points than necessary while also increasing the likelihood of pissing off nations who were already barely tolerating your extralegal organization, you’re way better off with a Sealand-like structure in international waters that’s Themyscira/Atlantis adjacent to utilize their existing defense infrastructures) it’s likely to have been built using the private resources of various members and informally gifted to the group as a whole. they don’t really have a staff, i think it’s usually implied that maintenance is performed by robots. possibly alien robots, or else built by a genius superhero whose whole deal is robots. or it’s just roombas. noisy-ass bulk warehouse roombas knocking over all the potted plants, dragging charging cables and their attached devices all over the fucking place.

so mostly the only legal issues are around ownership and i’m not convinced the watchtower, etc, are actually legally owned by anyone, being outside the united states and not governed by any country’s property laws. being built outside of any country’s jurisdiction means they didn’t have to purchase property which means it doesn’t need to belong to anyone. i mean the general purpose of property laws is the ensure that randos can’t just take your shit and say “this is mine now” and if someone is trying to steal justice league headquarters they were probably never going to try to settle that issue in court. i guess some enterprising member of the league could try to be clever and plant a flag but everyone would probably just ignore them and go about their business. or else it would become a game of capture the flag with no meaningful consequences. “someone broke the window again, barry fix ur building” “it stopped being my building yesterday, i think it’s hal’s” “hal why are you such a slumlord”

in summary:

  • if they’re headquartered inside of a country they’ll need to pay property taxes to that country, but why would they do that
  • if you’re going with a space station then you probably shouldn’t look too closely at the legal situation or other practical considerations anyway because it’s a goddamn mess
  • otherwise they are kind of just an informal club that hangs out in the weird clubhouse they all built

anonymous asked:

Hello! It's Detour anon :) So I'm on the 3rd day of my field work and sharing my room with a colleague. I have pretty bad wheezing and my roommate stares at me all the time and is always trying to help me out but I try to let her know that I'm ok. That sort of reminded me of the whole cancer arc and how M and S would have shared a room back then. I know its been done numerous times but I would love your spin on it from either pov or both (this is what happens when you spoil someone rotten)

Tada! It’s done! Thank you sooo much, Detour anon for this prompt. I also used another one I still had in my inbox from who knows when: 19. “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “Well then stop fucking looking.” So here you go. Cancer arc fic. 

When the receptionist tells Mulder that yes, she has two rooms, but no, they’re not adjoined, and no, they’re not on the same floor, he doesn’t think, he just reacts.

“We’ll take one room, please.” He finds himself saying, nervously looking over his shoulder, checking if Scully is there, catching him. She is not. She is still over in the lobby sitting on the dingy couch, her legs outstretched, her head leaning heavily against the wall. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open; it wouldn’t surprise him if she’s fallen asleep. Mulder hates this. Hates dragging her places, like this one, seeing her do autopsies, working her ass off like this. She keeps telling him that she’s fine of course, and while he believed her at first, wanted so badly to believe, he sees it’s a lie. No amount of make-up can cover up her pale complexion. The exhaustion that follows her around, palpable in every move she makes.

“Here you go, Sir.” The receptionist hands him the room key, jolting him back to his deception. The motel is one of the better ones; he refuses to stay in yet another hellhole just because the FBI is cheap. He’ll pay for the room himself if he has to, because Scully deserves more than a flee-ridden, way too soft mattress and dirty bathrooms. He approaches her slowly, the key dangling from his hand, jingling gently. She does not wake.

“Hey.” His fingers brush her cheek, cool against his touch, and she startles awake.

“’m sorry.” She mumbles stretching, but not getting up just yet. “Did you get the rooms?”

“Room,” he says swallowing his guilt and handing the key over to her, “They only had one room left.” If Scully is on to him, she doesn’t comment on it. She merely nods at him, accepts this fate like any other. She gets up with difficulty, wincing once she’s on her feet. Mulder wants to sweep her up and carry her. Not that she would ever let him, sick or healthy. He lets her lead the way and stays a few steps behind her, giving her space. She tries her best not to let him know, to let him see, in how much pain she is. As much as he loathes it, as much as he wants to tell her to lay it all on him and let him in, the only decent thing he can do is respect her wishes, ignore her pain and his own, and pretend not to see.

“It’s a nice room, at least.” Scully sounds surprised when she enters and she is right; the room is spacious, bright and smells clean.

“Only the best for my partner.”

“Yeah right.” But she chuckles when she says it. Mulder puts down their bags on the queen-size bed and tests the firmness of the mattress. Seems all right, he decides, and hopes that Scully will find some rest here. Right now she looks dead on her feet. As if sensing his thoughts, she turns to him.

“Can I use the bathroom first?” Mulder nods and watches her disappear into the small room, closing the door quietly behind her. Unable to move, he sits there on the bed and listens to the intimate sounds of her nightly routine. There is comfort in these noises he’s heard a thousand times before. It’s as if nothing has changed, as if everything is as it should be. When in reality nothing is. One day, maybe soon, this will be gone. This is not the first time they’re sharing a room, but what if it’s the last? There will come a day when Scully won’t be with him. Not in the same room, not in the same hotel. She’ll be home withering away; barely able to breathe, to hang on to life. Then, one day, she’ll be gone. He swallows hard, tasting tears, tasting guilt. One day is not today. Tonight he’ll keep an eye on her, pray silently to a deity he’s never believed in. He’ll do anything to keep her here, to breathe life back into her until he finds a cure. And he will find one. There is no other way.

When Scully returns a few moments later, she is barefoot and wearing green satin pajamas. Green, the color of hope. She looks cute, but Mulder bites his tongue, not sure she’d appreciate it.

“I can sleep on the floor if you want.” Mulder offers when he sees her glance at the bed. Singular. They might have shared rooms before, but not the bed. He doesn’t plan on sleeping much anyway. All he wants is to be around her.  

“No. No, it’s fine. I was just wondering if you have… a side you prefer.”

“You choose. I usually sleep on a couch, remember?” Scully gets in into the bed and the mattress barely moves. He watches her for a moment like someone might watch a child.

“Stop staring, Mulder.” Scully tells him, her eyes closing already. She’ll be asleep in no time, he realizes. He’s glad.

“I wasn’t staring. I just – is the bed comfortable enough? Do you need another pillow? Another blanket?” One of her eyes pops open, shimmers in an angry blue.

“Mulder, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure because I can-”

“Can you just shut up? I’m fine.” Both eyes are open now as she puts emphasis on the fine. This time he can’t stop himself, huffs, keeps going as his mouth opens and the words just tumble out.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well then stop fucking looking.” The words feel like a slap against his cheek, sting feverishly, and he bites his lip, nods. He’s gone too far. Maybe he should just tell her that there is another room available after all. Not even on the same floor, Scully, you can get as far away from me as you want. Instead, Mulder grabs his pillow and sits down in the small armchair across the bed.

“Mulder, I’m sorry. Please come to bed. I’m just really tired. I didn’t mean it.” He turns to her. Her eyes seem huge on her sunken, pale face. She might be a lot of things, fine is not one of them. If she were, he would not have needed to lie, to take just one room. The thought of not being with her, of making sure that she sleeps peacefully, doesn’t miss one breath, is unbearable. But she doesn’t want him here, worrying, caring about her.

“You’re not fine.”

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Can you just admit it, Scully? Just this once?”

“Mulder, I feel fine,” she sits up to be able to look at him, to make him see it if he can’t believe her words, “Now please come to bed so I can sleep.”

“Oh Scully,” he says, carrying the pillow back to bed, treading softly, “you just want to sleep with me.”

“Hm.” Half asleep already, eyes closed, but a small smile playing around her mouth. Mulder watches her a moment, lets himself enjoy the sight, before he rummages through his own bag to get changed in the bathroom.

He expects Scully to be fast asleep when he returns. He sits down at the edge of the bed carefully, scared to wake her up again. She doesn’t stir and he reaches to switch off the light before he too lies down, facing her. He keeps his eyes on her, not ready to let sleep claim him just yet.

“Mulder?” Her voice is soft, an unsteady sigh, and at first he is not even sure he is just imagining it. “I’m not fine.” She admits finally, a sob breaking free. For the second time this day, Mulder doesn’t think. He moves closer, takes her into his arms and holds her tightly against him.

“What do you need?” He whispers into her hair, kissing her there.

“Can you just hold me for a while?”

“Of course, Scully,” he presses another kiss against her forehead, where the intruder sits and waits his turn, “I’ll hold you for as long as you let me.” They fall asleep intertwined, no beginning, no end.

Meet Billy and Bobby. Both Billy and Bobby are friends, and both Billy and Bobby equally hate the Joseph/Robert ship.

Bobby hates it so much, in fact, that he sends hate to the artists and comments on their posts about how disgusting he finds the ship and why he believes it is bad.

Billy, instead, though he finds it equally terrible, simply ignores the content, blocking it if it really bothers him and continuing on down the Joseph and/or Robert tags in peace.

Bobby has hurt a lot of people’s feelings this way, while Billy has respected that his opinions may not be shared by others.

Don’t be like Bobby. Be like Billy.

lmao every time Zayn destroys the misconceptions about his person I ascend so high and so fast, i break the sound barrier. he is only here to live his best life and try to be the best he can be, works his ass off and is proud of his work and you can tear yourself apart trying to dismantle that and it won’t affect him. I love him and i love that haters have no say in how he lives his life. 

Marriage Material - Part 1 - Jim Kirk

Summary: in this chapter, you’re aren’t asked. you’re told.

Warnings: alcohol, language

A/N: this should be interesting to write. that drunk friends gettin’ married trope.


Street upon street lined with lights brighter than you’d ever seen. Reds, yellows, greens, blues— colors you’d never encountered in your life stung your eyes as they flashed over the building-sized television screens, the bulbs lining each tower, and the clothes of every creature stumbling along every sidewalk just like you were.

You imagined that’s what Las Vegas looked like back on Earth— you’d heard stories from the old bitties in your family and you’d seen pictures of its heyday, but the sight of such excess, of such unnecessary glitz was nearly overwhelming in person.

Your eyes were hooded and foggy from the drunkenness that warmed you to the tips of your toes while your steps managed a certain degree of stability, your arm looped through that of one of your closest friends.

You let your arm fall from his, catching his hand instead and pulling him closer into your side. His hip bumped against yours and you took a deep breath, feeling the cold air burn your nostrils as you inhaled. “Remind me to never go to another Chekov party. I swear the boy wants me hospitalized with alcohol poisoning.”

Jim laughed through his nose, his glassy blue eyes sliding shut for a moment. “He didn’t force the shots down your throat, starlight.”

You mouthed his words imitatively and laughed loudly when he shot you a dirty look. “You know, Nyota said she and Spock might get married.”

“What, like in the future?” he asked, pulling you along the sidewalk until he came to a brief stop before a large white marble fountain.

You sighed at the feeling of the cold mist splashing against your warm skin, shutting your eyes as he continued walking to let him guide you blindly. “No, like, soon. Like before we leave the base.”

His steps halted and you opened your eyes, nodding upwards as he stared at you with his head tilted. There was a soft red tint spreading over the tip of his nose and the highpoints of his cheeks, his blonde hair sticking up every which way from the ongoing breeze.

You were tempted to smile and pinch his cheek adoringly but stopped yourself when you read his confusion and mild shock. “What? This place is loaded with little wedding halls probably for every religious faith and culture in the Federation. We even passed one for atheists, like, fourteen feet from the junior officer barracks.” You pointed ahead of you at a plain white building which looked misplaced amongst all the excess. “There’s one for Vulcan atheists right there.”

He blew a raspberry, the sound childish and inspiring another one of your smiles. “Them getting married would be a mistake.”

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