#Operative Warren

[flochlicious]

I did not even recognize him 💀

[randomrottmntscreenshots]

[modelxis]

Do you have any mmzx oc?

I do, actually! you can check the mmzx oc in my search tag (i should make a separate tags for OCs and my arts on this blog)

tbh, i can't really say much💦

Not that i want to keep them as secret, more like my head is a messy place, even i forgot details from times to times Also like, i tend to re-use NPCs and give them roles...so...saying they are my OCs are... not correct😅

well, i can give you a quick run down about them here if you're interested in reading my messy writing

🛵Giro Express transporter

these two are the one so far that i'm fine with the designs (they are adopts from @/noeggets (go check them out, really cool artist) these aren't their real names, rather code-names that they used to hide their true identities, or precisely their old past 🛵Blue-hair girl is Mint, she focus on communicating with customers and all the paper works jobs, she good at hacking, has trouble with addiction which confuse a lot of people cuz' why a Reploid has that sort of problem, she actually exists since mmz era, and know Rouge, the operator of the Resistance. She was one of few people that works inside NA and help the Resistance by giving coordination to Rouge so Zero can have a safe transportation into certain areas. 🛵Purple hair girl is Campanula (the flower, Canterbury bells), a human (she is in mid 20s, just very short) , mainly works in storage, she is a skilled mechanic so she tend to helps with fixing the vehicles, mainly Aile because Aile tend to go into far more restricted-dangerous zones, sometimes the Guardian base would require her helps, despite her cheerfulness and outgoing attitude at first glance, she has troubles express her true thoughts and critics unless she feel comfortable around you.

(not final design) 🛵His name is Tomi, Yes, he count as an employees, he "disguise" himself as a motorcycle for delivering, mainly Aile use him. a mavericks gone "rouge" cuz' he got effected by the virus which was made by Campanula, it's not that he became more docile or kind, altho Campanula made sure he is incapable of attacking specifically her, he just...become more self-aware of his existence and decided that he prefer using his skill for st else other than be treated as a secondary mini-boss. He does genuinely like Campanula due to her carefulness when its come to machines, even to Mavericks like him. Other than her, Aile is another one that he also like because she impressed him with her riding skills (think of all the stunt from GTA video games) which lead to him admiring human tendency to seek danger as some sort of fun challenges. (he is one of the few OCs that i considered to be the oldest cuz' i had this concept for a long time ever since i played mmz)

(not final design, also thank you @/tyrantchimera for the sketch! Check their blog out, they are both cool artist and writer) 🛵Her name is Lake, she named it herself (or you can say OP is very uncreative when it comes to naming, lol) Another Mavericks gone "rouge", she became docile when failed to fully control Model L. she is one of few test subjects for Serpent to check how he can manipulate Ciel's biometals for his troops, Leviathan's subconscious "convinced" Lake to turn good which she success and Lake managed to escaped Serpent's controls but failed to take model L with her. She encountered Aile post-Ouroboros downfall, helping to pinpoint the leftover pieces of model Ws to ensure they stayed dead. (Aile didn't reveal Vent who was helping them finding the pieces, why tho? no idea currently, lol...) Then later on, she was saved by Aile and worked as some sort of submarine to transport packages and all sort of heavy stuffs across sea.

❌Others

(not the final design) This old Reploid guy is Leo (funny enough, he is "younger" than Mint) He was made around the same time as Prometheus and Pandora (he doesn't know them but aware of their reputation) but instead of staying youthful, he remain as old (simply for aesthetic choice, "old-looking people are cool") He is a skilled mechanic, also a trader for rare parts and "illegal" equipments for people who don't want Legion's eyes on them (especially with the news about Master Albert gone Mavericks, lots more people been looking into this type of service)

Well, these are the one that has designs I have a loooot more, but they are all from a long time ago, and i do wish i can find those old papers again but not like i will reuse the designs.

well, i hope some of these make sense if you managed to read it all.

[nothingbut10k]

10k in cannon has a BPM of six.

Now i am no doctor but man your blood pressure is gonna be so low.

As low blood pressure is a condition in which the force of the blood pushing against the artery walls is too low. It's also called hypotension. Blood pressure is measured in millimeters of mercury (mm Hg). In general, low blood pressure is a reading lower than 90/60 mm Hg

Which results in:

Dizziness or feeling lightheaded.

Fainting or passing out (syncope).

Nausea or vomiting.

Distorted or blurred vision.

Fast, shallow breathing.

Fatigue or weakness.

Feeling tired, sluggish or lethargic.

Confusion or trouble concentrating.

Agitation or other unusual changes in behavior (a person not acting like themselves)

So head cannon time!!!!

10k pants like a dog. Man can't for the life of him breathe

His fingers and toes are now nartually turning blue/purple (A finger turning purple ((cyanosis)) is usually a sign of reduced blood flow and oxygen supply to the area)

Has reallllyyy pale skin

His eyes bags are so much worse

He can and will passout anywhere(in the middle of killing a zombie boom passed out but still hits his shots[he does wake up after a couple seconds])

Man runs cold ( some one get him a blanket)

Time for with the group HC

Addy and red are his go too when he feels like he gonna pass out

Red and 5k both trained themselves over time to be like service animals. And tell 10k to sit or lay down when he is gonna pass out

Red loves the cold and runs hot so her and 10k hold hands alot

Sarge is trying her hardest not to over work 10k in there workouts

10k and 5k both hang out but its mostly 5k mother Henning his own sudo dad / big brother

Warren still calls him baby boy. But now its a threat and not a cute nickname (he is about to pass out but keeps pushing "baby boy" in a stern voice will be heard)

Doc is his sudo dad so 100% doc is on 10ks ass about not being okay and helping him

Murphy pretends not to care but does put extra blankets on 10k

Murphy also pokes fun at 10ks cyanosis and says he is "stealing his blue look"

[sarahs-secrets2]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[wenmistry]

Everyone please boo him and perhaps hit him with a mallet or other similar blunt weapon.

SHEEZY 🛸 ARTFOL 💫 COMMISSIONS

[reasonsforhope]

"In some cities, as many as one in four office spaces are vacant. Some start-ups are giving them a second life – as indoor farms growing crops as varied as kale, cucumber and herbs.

Since its 1967 construction, Canada's "Calgary Tower", a 190m (623ft) concrete-and-steel observation tower in Calgary, Alberta, has been home to an observation deck, panoramic restaurants and souvenir shops. Last year, it welcomed a different kind of business: a fully functioning indoor farm.

Sprawling across 6,000sq m (65,000 sq ft), the farm, which produces dozens of crops including strawberries, kale and cucumber, is a striking example of the search for city-grown food. But it's hardly alone. From Japan to Singapore to Dubai, vertical indoor farms – where crops can be grown in climate-controlled environments with hydroponics, aquaponics or aeroponics techniques – have been popping up around the world.

While indoor farming had been on the rise for years, a watershed moment came during the Covid-19 pandemic, when disruptions to the food supply chain underscored the need for local solutions. In 2021, $6bn (£4.8bn) in vertical farming deals were registered globally – the peak year for vertical farming investment. As the global economy entered its post-pandemic phase, some high-profile startups like Fifth Season went out of business, and others including Planted Detroit and AeroFarms running into a period of financial difficulty. Some commentators questioned whether a "vertical farming bubble" had popped.

But a new, post-pandemic trend may give the sector a boost. In countries including Canada and Australia, landlords are struggling to fill vacant office spaces as companies embrace remote and hybrid work. In the US, the office vacancy rate is more than 20%.

"Vertical farms may prove to be a cost-effective way to fill in vacant office buildings," says Warren Seay, Jr, a real estate finance partner in the Washington DC offices of US law firm ArentFox Schiff, who authored an article on urban farm reconversions. 

There are other reasons for the interest in urban farms, too. Though supply chains have largely recovered post-Covid-19, other global shocks, including climate change, geopolitical turmoil and farmers' strikes, mean that they continue to be vulnerable – driving more cities to look for local food production options...

Thanks to artificial light and controlled temperatures, offices are proving surprisingly good environments for indoor agriculture, spurring some companies to convert part of their facilities into small farms. Since 2022, Australia's start-up Greenspace has worked with clients like Deloitte and Commonwealth Bank to turn "dead zones", like the space between lifts and meeting rooms, into 2m (6ft) tall hydroponic cabinets growing leafy greens.

On top of being adaptable to indoor farm operations, vacant office buildings offer the advantage of proximity to final consumers.

In a former paper storage warehouse in Arlington, about a mile outside of Washington DC, Jacqueline Potter and the team at Area 2 Farms are growing over 180 organic varieties of lettuce, greens, root vegetables, herbs and micro-greens. By serving consumers 10 miles away or less, the company has driven down transport costs and associated greenhouse emissions.

This also frees the team up to grow other types of food that can be hard to find elsewhere – such as edible flower species like buzz buttons and nasturtium. "Most crops are now selected to be grown because of their ability to withstand a 1,500-mile journey," Potter says, referring to the average distance covered by crops in the US before reaching customers. "In our farm, we can select crops for other properties like their nutritional value or taste."

Overall, vertical farms have the potential to outperform regular farms on several environmental sustainability metrics like water usage, says Evan Fraser, professor of geography at the University of Guelph in Ontario, Canada and the director of the Arell Food Institute, a research centre on sustainable food production. Most indoor farms report using a tiny fraction of the water that outdoor farms use. Indoor farms also report greater output per square mile than regular farms.

Energy use, however, is the "Achilles heel" of this sector, says Fraser: vertical farms need a lot of electricity to run lighting and ventilation systems, smart sensors and automated harvesting technologies. But if energy is sourced from renewable sources, they can outperform regular farms on this metric too, he says. 

Because of variations in operational setup, it is hard to make a general assessment of the environmental, social and economic sustainability of indoor farms, says Jiangxiao Qiu, a landscape ecologist at the University of Florida and author of a study on urban agriculture's role in sustainability. Still, he agrees with Fraser: in general, urban indoor farms have higher crop yield per square foot, greater water and nutrient-use efficiency, better resistance to pests and shorter distance to market. Downsides include high energy use due to lighting, ventilation and air conditioning.

They face other challenges, too. As Seay notes, zoning laws often do not allow for agricultural activity within urban areas (although some cities like Arlington, Virginia, and Cincinnati, Ohio, have recently updated zoning to allow indoor farms). And, for now, indoor farms have limited crop range. It is hard to produce staple crops like wheat, corn or rice indoors, says Fraser. Aside from leafy greens, most indoor facilities cannot yet produce other types of crops at scale.

But as long as the post-pandemic trends of remote work and corporate downsizing will last, indoor farms may keep popping up in cities around the world, Seay says. 

"One thing cities dislike more than anything is unused spaces that don't drive economic growth," he says. "If indoor farm conversions in cities like Arlington prove successful, others may follow suit.""

-via BBC, January 27, 2025

[pricegotmedickmatized]

i cannot believe i haven't written more for gaz yet (i have, it's just in drafts until the actual porn is done) but he should definitely be the next for hybrid!141, so here, have some wolf!gaz and bunny!reader

wolf!gaz who's the most desirable operator price has ever seen in his whole fucking military career. he's smart and stealthy, strong and intuitive, and he's got a gut deep pack instinct that makes him adaptive to any team, within the span of a day he can ingratiate himself in a group and be ready to kill or die for them

wolf!gaz who has simon's intelligence, soap's speed, and price's bravery. he's the cornerstone of the team, balancing them all out when soap's running circles around them and simon's on edge and ready to snap it's gaz who can distract soap long enough for the captain and simon to get some fucking peace. it's gaz who bridges the gaps between the two more solitary hybrids and himself and soap, who can give soap someone to curl up with, who can invoke price's parental instincts to see them as his cubs, who can worm his way into simon's affections by bringing him food he's hunted for the pack

wolf!gaz who's selfless to an absurd degree, to the degree that the rest of the team has started to feel upset by it. he hunts but never for himself, always for them. he plays but it's always soap's (or on rare occasions simon's) games, or puzzles with price. he follows orders, he serves the pack, he loves the pack. he does everything he does for them, and they love him for it, they do. but they want him to have something just for himself. to be able to be selfish with, just once

wolf!gaz who gets separated from the team on a mission and has to hide out in hostile territory. he's looking for a place to hide out until he can get to the rendezvous point, someplace to rest for the night when he stumbles upon the little hidden door, tucked almost seamlessly in an alley. he forces his way inside and finds her: a soft little bunny with her snow white ears twitching at him, dark eyes blinking slowly, nose trembling, hunkered back in the corner like she's trying to get as far from him as possible, but still looking at him like she's as fascinated as he is

wolf!gaz who, despite his self control, despite his selflessness, despite his intelligence and kindness and sweetness is still a fucking predator, and if you put a pretty little bunny in front of a wolf he's going to do what wolves were meant to do. devour. he sweet talks her out of the corner with soft yips and beckoning growls while his blood burns beneath his skin, faking a kind, easy smile to hide the fangs that itch in his jaw. he talks her in close, those wide dark eyes on him as he rubs those soft ears and tells her how cute her little tail is. he just needs a place to stay tonight, bunny, a sweet thing like you will let him, won't you? he won't be much of an imposition, he promises, pretty rabbit

wolf!gaz who gets her pinned belly down on the floor, still talking sweet in her ear as he fucks her on his cock, right up against the growing knot, teasing her with it, promising he'll give that sweet little cunt what she's crying for, just be patient, he's gotta work her open, bunny, you're really too tight for this, but good girl that you are you're gonna take it, aren't you? making him feel so fucking good, bunny, so soft and pretty all for him to get some fucking relief after the day he's had, what a perfect treat for him to find all alone in your warren. and fuck, bunny, you better be careful, cumming like that when he's got his teeth in your neck, knot finally popping inside so he can fill you with hot cum. he may just decide you're too perfect to leave behind.

he's been so selfless...maybe the others are right. maybe he should have something just for himself. like a pretty bunny who cums untouched on his knot like a good mate should.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The CFPB is genuinely making America better, and they're going HARD

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

Let's take a sec here and notice something genuinely great happening in the US government: the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's stunning, unbroken streak of major, muscular victories over the forces of corporate corruption, with the backing of the Supreme Court (yes, that Supreme Court), and which is only speeding up!

A little background. The CFPB was created in 2010. It was Elizabeth Warren's brainchild, an institution that was supposed to regulate finance from the perspective of the American public, not the American finance sector. Rather than fighting to "stabilize" the financial sector (the mission that led to Obama taking his advisor Timothy Geithner's advice to permit the foreclosure crisis to continue in order to "foam the runways" for the banks), the Bureau would fight to defend us from bankers.

The CFPB got off to a rocky start, with challenges to the unique system of long-term leadership appointments meant to depoliticize the office, as well as the sudden resignation of its inaugural boss, who broke his promise to see his term through in order to launch an unsuccessful bid for political office.

But after the 2020 election, the Bureau came into its own, when Biden poached Rohit Chopra from the FTC and put him in charge. Chopra went on a tear, taking on landlords who violated the covid eviction moratorium:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cfpb

Then banning payday lenders' scummiest tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

Then striking at one of fintech's most predatory grifts, the "earned wage access" hustle:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

Then closing the loophole that let credit reporting bureaus (like Equifax, who doxed every single American in a spectacular 2019 breach) avoid regulation by creating data brokerage divisions and claiming they weren't part of the regulated activity of credit reporting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

Chopra went on to promise to ban data-brokers altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Then he banned comparison shopping sites where you go to find the best bank accounts and credit cards from accepting bribes and putting more expensive options at the top of the list. Instead, he's requiring banks to send the CFPB regular, accurate lists of all their charges, and standing up a federal operated comparison shopping site that gives only accurate and honest rankings. Finally, he's made an interoperability rule requiring banks to let you transfer to another institution with one click, just like you change phone carriers. That means you can search an honest site to find the best deal on your banking, and then, with a single click, transfer your accounts, your account history, your payees, and all your other banking data to that new bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

Somewhere in there, big business got scared. They cooked up a legal theory declaring the CFPB's funding mechanism to be unconstitutional and got the case fast-tracked to the Supreme Court, in a bid to put Chopra and the CFPB permanently out of business. Instead, the Supremes – these Supremes! – upheld the CFPB's funding mechanism in a 7-2 ruling:

https://www.scotusblog.com/2024/05/supreme-court-lets-cfpb-funding-stand/

That ruling was a starter pistol for Chopra and the Bureau. Maybe it seemed like they were taking big swings before, but it turns out all that was just a warmup. Last week on The American Prospect, Robert Kuttner rounded up all the stuff the Bureau is kicking off:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2024-06-07-window-on-corporate-deceptions/

First: regulating Buy Now, Pay Later companies (think: Klarna) as credit-card companies, with all the requirements for disclosure and interest rate caps dictated by the Truth In Lending Act:

https://www.skadden.com/insights/publications/2024/06/cfpb-applies-credit-card-rules

Next: creating a registry of habitual corporate criminals. This rogues gallery will make it harder for other agencies – like the DOJ – and state Attorneys General to offer bullshit "delayed prosecution agreements" to companies that compulsively rip us off:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/cfpb-creates-registry-to-detect-corporate-repeat-offenders/

Then there's the rule against "fine print deception" – which is when the fine print in a contract lies to you about your rights, like when a mortgage lender forces you waive a right you can't actually waive, or car lenders that make you waive your bankruptcy rights, which, again, you can't waive:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/cfpb-warns-against-deception-in-contract-fine-print/

As Kuttner writes, the common thread running through all these orders is that they ban deceptive practices – they make it illegal for companies to steal from us by lying to us. Especially in these dying days of class action suits – rapidly becoming obsolete thanks to "mandatory arbitration waivers" that make you sign away your right to join a class action – agencies like the CFPB are our only hope of punishing companies that lie to us to steal from us.

There's a lot of bad stuff going on in the world right now, and much of it – including an active genocide – is coming from the Biden White House.

But there are people in the Biden Administration who care about the American people and who are effective and committed fighters who have our back. What's more, they're winning. That doesn't make all the bad news go away, but sometimes it feels good to take a moment and take the W.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

[rlyehtaxidermist]

December 2-3, 1984

It's been forty years since a Union Carbide chemical plant exposed five hundred thousand people to methyl isocyanate in Bhopal, India. Thousands were killed in the initial event, thousands more died from complications months or years later, and at least a hundred thousand were permanently injured.

The cause of the incident was the introduction of water to a methyl isocyanate storage tank. This caused a runaway reaction, overpressurising the tank from 14 to 280 kPa over the course of two hours, at which point the tank cracked - but even with atmospheric escape of the gas, pressure continued to increase to nearly 400 kPa - at which point the gauge could no longer give an accurate reading.

After roughly 30 tonnes of gas escaped, employees triggered the plant's alarm system - which was originally designed to alert both workers in the plant and the people in the surrounding city. Company policy mandated that they not alarm the populace about "inconsequential" leakages, so the two alarms had been decoupled by the time of the release. For nearly an hour and a half, the plant's management continued to tell authorities that everything was fine and they had no idea what had happened. Hospital staff had to guess what gas was causing the symptoms. No shelter in place order was given; the public siren remained silent for an hour and a half.

Union Carbide had identified 61 hazards at the Bhopal plant in a 1982 audit, but never followed up on the inspection. Mere months before the incident, UCC discussed the possibility of a methyl isocyanate reaction similar to what occurred in Bhopal at one of their West Virginia plants - however, the report and its predictions were never forwarded to the Bhopal plant, despite the similar design and process.

The Union Carbide Corporation asserts that the incident was caused by sabotage performed by a disgruntled worker. They claim that workers conspired with the Indian government to hide evidence of sabotage in order to blame the company, claiming that the safety systems were sufficient to prevent the incident without human intervention.

On the night of the incident, the tank's monitoring equipment had been malfunctioning for years, reduced to a single manually operated backup. Management had shut off refrigeration of the tank, keeping it at more than 15 degrees Celsius above the recommended temperature. The emergency flare and gas scrubbers had been out of order for months - and even if they had been active, they had insufficient capacity. Deluge guns - a type of pressurised water cannon intended to dissolve escaping gas - lacked enough pressure to even reach the gas cloud.

No motive for the alleged sabotage was suggested.

Warren Anderson, CEO of Union Carbide, refused to answer homicide charges by the Indian government, with the US government denying repeated requests for extradition. He died in 2014, months before the thirtieth anniversary of the disaster in Bhopal.

Union Carbide have divested their stake in their Indian subsidiary UCIL, and refuse to fund any efforts to clean up the abandoned site, insisting that the fault lied with UCIL management and the alleged saboteur. The company paid $470 million dollars to the Indian government - which worked out to a cost of 43 cents per share of the company. Union Carbide's annual earnings were $4.88 per share after the Bhopal settlement.

The 2012 Global Intelligence Files leak revealed that Union Carbide's current owner, Dow Chemical, had employed the surveillance firm Stratfor to monitor activists seeking compensation for the Bhopal disaster.

Dow responded to the email leak that they were "required to take appropriate action to protect their people and safeguard their facilities" - an attitude that seems to have been very lacking in 1984.

[flochlicious]

I'm gonan explode

[contemplatingoutlander]

The Supreme Court began another term this week. Most court watchers and other analysts have been reluctant to accept the truth of something I’ve long argued: that the Roberts Court is as agenda-driven as the House or Senate Republican caucuses. They have already put their thumbs on the scale in this election and are poised to intervene again if the results don’t suit them. 

We are at least a decade past the point when we should be convinced of what Abraham Lincoln stated in his first inaugural address: 

"The candid citizen must confess that if the policy of the Government upon the vital questions affecting the whole people is to be irrevocably fixed by the decisions of the Supreme Court . . . the people will have ceased to be their own rulers.1 " [emphasis added]

[...] The interests behind the Federalist Society (FedSoc) – in particular the Kochs, Leonard Leo, and other plutocrats and theocrats – are the same interests who have spent the 21st century funding and organizing the MAGA takeover of the Republican Party. I’ve coined the portmanteau “plutotheocratic” as a compact way of describing this coalition of interests. (See the Appendix for a brief overview of the history and major players in the plutotheocratic coalition.)  The six FedSoc justices are properly understood not as “umpires” scrupulously “calling balls and strikes,” but as politicians in robes. However, it’s important to recognize what kinds of politicians we are dealing with. The FedSoc Six are first and foremost Federalist Society operatives. That means that they usually act in the interests of the Republican Party – except when the partisan agenda of the day conflicts with the long-term plutotheocratic agenda.  [...]

Creating a Death Spiral for Democracy 

For about 40 years, we saw a fairly predictable ebb and flow in the federal commitment to advancing greater freedom and equality and to constraining corporate threats to consumers, working people, and the environment. Under Republicans, this commitment would ebb; under Democrats, it would flow. But beginning in 2010 with the Citizens United decision, if not a bit earlier, Roberts’s agenda-driven majority turned that ebb and flow into a death spiral for American democracy. 

Decision after decision shifted more and more electoral power to the FedSoc Six’s plutotheocratic sponsors – who in turn used that power to take greater control of Red state governments and purge Republican congressional caucuses of RINOs – which in turn was used to place more and more Federalist Society true believers on the Federal bench, and eventually the Supreme Court. 

[See more excerpts below the cut.]

[...] The Supreme Court has, of course, made many rulings that overturned previous major precedents or led to significant social change. But consider:

Brown v. Board of Education - Earl Warren and the other eight justices joining him did not owe their positions to a cabal of civil rights activists who had contributed billions of dollars to law schools, foundations, think tanks and political campaigns.

Roe v. Wade - Harry Blackmun and the six justices joining him on Roe v. Wade did not owe their positions to a cabal of pro-choice activists who had contributed billions of dollars to law schools, foundations, think tanks and political campaigns. 

Gideon v. Wainwright - Hugo Black and the eight other justices joining him did not owe their positions to a cabal of indigent prison inmates who had contributed billions of dollars to law schools, foundations, think tanks and political campaigns.  

But the members of the Roberts majority do owe their positions to a cabal of plutocrats, who directly benefited from rulings like Citizens United and Loper Bright, and theocrats, who have a fierce ideological commitment to outcomes like Dobbs and Hobby Lobby, who together have contributed billions of dollars to law schools, foundations, think tanks and political campaigns. Again, per Lincoln, we have ceased to be our own rulers.

The Federalist Society literally planned and executed an unprecedented transfer of unchecked political power to their own loyalists.5 They brag about this in unguarded moments and in their “safe spaces.”

[lesbianmarrow]

WILLOW ROSENBERG THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE!!!!!!!!!!!! oh this is too much. when she says "bring her back" meaning tara and the show cuts to buffy opening her eyes. when she casts aside the surgeons operating on buffy because she knows she can do a better job than trained medical professionals and because nobody's allowed to bring buffy back to life but her. when she tells warren that he kills because it's the only way he can feel powerful BUT REALLY SHE'S TALKING ABOUT HERSELF. TORTURING WARREN WITH THE BULLET THAT KILLED TARA. BORED NOW!!!!! WILLOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[urdreamydoodles]

Alright hear me out…

X-men x Teen!reader who joined the brotherhood for vengeance after loosing a friend to a sentinel??

Imagine the reader and X-men had a parental bond. Like they were the readers real first loving father/mother figure?? (Maybe a sibling like bond for the younger characters?)

Possibly a hurt/comfort trope?

May I also ask for it to be with characters: Hank McCoy, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Logan Howlett, Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner, Jubilee, Erik Lensherr + [any of your personal favs!!]





[Feel free to ignore this, but for what it’s worth…

You’re so much stronger than you know and I wish the best of luck on your future operation and speedy recovery 💕 Your a wonderful writer and you brighten so many peoples day. WE LOVE YOU!!!]

X-MEN CHARACTERS X GN!TEEN!READER

You leave the X-Men and the person closest to you to join Brotherhood after you lost a friend to mutant-hate

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Kitty Pryde, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Jubilee & Alex Summers

Reply to Beatle: Someone asked for platonic hurt/comfort headcanons? HERE IT IS AND I FUCKING LOVE IT! Thanks for your words, I also hope the surgery goes well... "Brighten so many people's day" Oh my god, I'm going to cry. I'm so happy that my passion makes people as happy as it makes me. LOVE ♡

Logan Howlett

- He never believed in fate, never put stock in the idea that people were meant to be in each other’s lives, but then he lost you, and something inside him twisted, snapped, and reformed into something unrecognizable. He was supposed to keep you safe. He had held you close when you were small, when the world still felt like it had softness left in it. He had promised you, in that gruff and clumsy way of his, that no one would ever take you from him. Then the Sentinels came, and in their cold, unfeeling metal grip, they didn’t just take your friend—they took you too, in a way far worse than death.

- He had known grief. He had known rage. But when he saw you standing beside Magneto, eyes filled with something distant and sharp, he felt something worse than anger. You, who once curled up beside him on the couch, who followed him like a shadow and made jokes about how he smelled like cigars and trees—now you stared at him like he was nothing. He never thought anything could hurt worse than the sound of metal on bone, but the look in your eyes cut deeper than any blade.

- He never stopped watching over you. Even when you hurled your anger at him, even when you screamed that he hadn’t been there when it mattered, he stayed. He let you rage because he knew it wasn’t really him you hated. You were drowning in grief, and the Brotherhood was the only place that let you breathe. But he saw the way your hands trembled when you fought, the way your shoulders curled inward at night. You weren’t as far gone as you wanted to be. And Logan—stubborn, unyielding, impossibly protective—was going to make damn sure you found your way back.

- One day, when the war had quieted, when the rage had burned itself out, he would be there. He would open his arms, and whether you crashed into him like a wave or simply stood there, hesitant and brittle, he would wait. Because love, the kind he had for you, wasn’t something that faded. It was adamantium, unbreakable, buried deep in his bones. And no matter how far you ran, he would always be home.

Remy LeBeau

- You were always quick. Quick with your hands, quick with your words, quick to laugh. But grief had stolen that speed, replacing it with something heavy and leaden in your limbs. He saw it in the way you moved now—slower, sharper, less like the bright ember you used to be and more like a knife, waiting to be drawn. It hurt, cher, more than he’d ever admit. He missed the way you used to grin at him, full of mischief and warmth, the way you’d steal the cards from his deck when you thought he wasn’t looking. Now, the only time he saw you smile was when fire danced in your palm, ready to be thrown.

- He called you mon cœur once, absentmindedly, like he always had, and for a moment, just a flicker of one, your breath hitched. But then your expression hardened, and you sneered, called him a traitor, told him he didn’t understand what it meant to lose. His easygoing smirk faltered, just for a second. He wanted to tell you that he knew loss too well, that he had spent a lifetime running from ghosts, that the weight of regret sat heavy on his shoulders. But he just tucked his cards into his pocket and let you go. For now.

- Remy had always been patient. He knew that love—real love—wasn’t about forcing someone to stay. It was about waiting, about showing up again and again, even when it hurt. So he left small reminders, little things that only you would notice. A card slipped into your pocket, a joke thrown your way in the middle of a fight, a whispered “Take care, cher,” just before he vanished into the night. He wanted you to know that no matter where you stood, no matter how far you strayed, he wasn’t letting go. Not really.

- And when the day came, when the storm inside you finally broke and you stood before him, tired and aching, he would only smile, lazy and warm, like you had never left. "Took you long enough," he’d tease, but his eyes would be soft, filled with all the words he never said. He would deal the cards again, slide one across the table to you like an invitation. "Stay awhile, mon cœur. Ain’t no rush."

Kurt Wagner

- You were the first person to tell him he was beautiful. Not in a passing way, not as a joke or a hollow reassurance, but as if you truly meant it. You had cupped his face in your hands once, traced a fingertip over the indigo skin of his cheek, and smiled. "You're like the night sky," you had said, "full of stars." And he had laughed, unsure how to carry the weight of that kind of kindness. But he held onto those words, tucked them somewhere safe in his heart.

- When you left, he prayed. Every night, he prayed for your safety, for your heart to find peace. He prayed that one day, you would look at him again the way you used to—not with anger, not with grief too heavy for your young soul, but with love. It wasn’t fair, losing someone before you even had the chance to fight for them. But faith, his faith, told him that love did not die so easily. You were lost, not gone. And the difference between the two was hope.

- He never stopped reaching for you, even when you recoiled. He never flinched when you lashed out, never turned away when you called him naive. You told him he didn’t understand vengeance, that his faith made him weak. But he only smiled at you, that same soft, unwavering smile, and said, “I understand love, mein Schatz. And I know it still lives in you.”

- The day you returned, you did not fall into his arms. You stood, hesitant, uncertain, your fingers twitching at your sides. And Kurt, with all the patience of the heavens, simply reached out a hand. No pressure, no demand—just an invitation. And when you took it, his fingers curling around yours, he whispered, "Welcome home, my star."

Scott Summers

- You had always looked up to him. He had been the steady presence in your life, the one who taught you how to stand your ground, how to lead with both your heart and your mind. But grief had torn through you like a wildfire, and in the ashes, you had found something sharp and unyielding. You had traded caution for recklessness, traded kindness for anger. And Scott, ever the strategist, ever the careful one, saw you slipping through his fingers like sand, and it terrified him.

- He had never been good at emotions. He wasn’t like Logan, who could weather your storms with quiet strength, or like Kurt, who could soften your anger with warmth. He was rigid, controlled, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel. It meant that when you called him a coward, when you told him the X-Men’s way had failed you, he didn’t have the words to make you stay. He could only stand there, jaw tight, fists clenched, watching you walk away.

- But Scott Summers did not give up on his people. Not on his team. Not on you. He watched from a distance, saw the way you fought with fury instead of purpose, saw the exhaustion in your stance when you thought no one was looking. And so he waited, standing at the edge of the battlefield, offering you not empty words but a promise. "When you're ready," he told you once, voice steady despite the storm between you, "I'll be here."

- And when you came back, not as the same person you once were but as someone tempered by loss and experience, he only nodded. No lectures, no demands. Just quiet acceptance. Because that’s what family did—they waited. And Scott had always been willing to wait for the people he loved.

Jean Grey

- You had always been bright, vibrant, full of fire. She remembers how you used to lean against her shoulder, laughing at something she said, your energy like a spark catching onto everything around you. But when the Sentinels took your friend, they took more than just a life—they took the light from your eyes. Now, you burn in a different way, not as a star but as a wildfire, reckless and untamed, swallowing everything in your path. And Jean, who has seen what unchecked power can do, aches to pull you close before you consume yourself.

- She feels your pain like it’s her own, even when you refuse to speak it. Your thoughts, sharp and jagged, bleed into her mind despite the walls you try to build. She hears the echoes of your grief, the quiet whispers of doubt that haunt you in the dead of night. And no matter how far you run, no matter how fiercely you try to sever the thread between you, Jean holds onto it. Gently, patiently, like a mother refusing to let go of her child’s hand in the dark.

- There are moments, rare and fleeting, where she sees glimpses of the you she once knew. A joke muttered under your breath, the way your fingers twitch like you want to reach out but don’t. She never forces it, never pushes. She simply remains—an anchor, a presence, a warmth you can always return to when the cold becomes too much. "I’m not asking you to forgive," she tells you one night, voice as soft as the wind outside. "I’m asking you to remember who you were before the pain."

- And one day, when the anger has settled and the grief is no longer a wound but a scar, you come to her. You don’t say anything at first, just press your forehead against her shoulder like you used to. She exhales, a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and wraps her arms around you. "Welcome home," she whispers, voice thick with unshed tears. And in that moment, she feels it—your fire, no longer burning out of control, but warming, steady, alive.

Ororo Munroe

- She always knew you were a storm waiting to break. Even before the Sentinels, even before the Brotherhood, there was something untamed in you, something raw and powerful that the world never quite knew how to handle. But where you once raged like a summer thunderstorm—brief, intense, but passing—now you were something colder, a hurricane that never ended, a sky that never cleared. She watched you from a distance, a goddess unable to interfere, aching to call you back before you lost yourself completely.

- Ororo was never one for begging. She did not plead, did not chase. But that did not mean she did not care. She simply loved like the sky—constant, unwavering, always waiting. She sent rain when you were exhausted, let the wind carry her presence to you when she could not stand by your side. And when you looked at her with resentment, with the weight of your pain pressing against your bones, she did not flinch. "I do not blame you for your anger," she told you once, voice steady as the earth beneath your feet. "But I will not let it destroy you."

- She saw it in the way your shoulders sagged after a battle, in the way your hands clenched when someone spoke your friend’s name. You were tired, but you did not know how to stop. So she waited, standing at the edge of your storm, arms open but never forcing. And when the first crack of lightning faltered, when your rage finally gave way to exhaustion, she stepped forward—not as a leader, not as a mentor, but as the woman who had loved you like her own from the moment you first called her family.

- The day you returned, there were no words. Only the sound of the wind shifting, gentle and warm, as you fell into her embrace. She said nothing as she ran her fingers through your hair, as she held you like she had so many times before, letting the weight of your grief settle between you. She did not promise that things would be easy. But she did promise, in the silent way that only she could, that she would never let you stand in the storm alone again.

Rogue

- You had always been stubborn, always had that fire in your gut that made you stand taller, fight harder, push forward even when the world tried to knock you down. She admired that about you. Looked at you like a little sibling she never had, someone who reminded her of herself when she was younger—raw, reckless, full of fight. But grief had turned that fire into something else. Something colder, sharper. And it killed her to watch you go.

- She tried to stop you, back when you first left. Grabbed your wrist, held on tight, told you that revenge wasn’t gonna bring your friend back. And you had looked at her with eyes so full of pain it almost broke her. "Then what will?" you had asked, voice shaking. She hadn’t had an answer. And so you left, and she let you, even though it tore something inside her apart.

- But Rogue wasn’t one to give up easy. She still found you, still reached for you in the only ways she knew how. An old jacket left in your path, a song you used to love playing on a distant radio when she knew you’d hear it. She was never good at words, never good at convincing people to stay. But she was damn good at loving people even when they didn’t want to be loved.

- When you finally came back, it wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet moment, the two of you sitting on the steps of the mansion, looking at the stars like you used to. She nudged your shoulder with hers, let a slow grin spread across her lips. "’Bout time, shug," she said, like you had just been gone for a day instead of months. And in that moment, you knew—she had never really let you go.

Erik Lehnsherr

- He had seen many children lost to war. Had watched bright, hopeful souls turn into weapons, into shadows of the people they used to be. And yet, when he looked at you, something inside him twisted in a way it never had before. You were young, too young to know the true weight of vengeance, but still, you carried it like a soldier. He recognized the fire in your eyes, the hunger for justice that had consumed so much of his own life. And so, he welcomed you into his ranks, not as a leader taking in a follower, but as a man who saw himself in the child before him.

- He did not coddle you. Did not tell you to grieve gently or to find peace where there was none. He trained you, sharpened you, molded your anger into something useful. He taught you that the world would never be fair, that mercy was a weakness, that power was the only way to ensure you never lost another loved one again. And for a time, you believed him.

- But even as he strengthened you, as he guided you into becoming something unstoppable, he saw the cracks forming. The hesitation in your strikes, the moments where your fury wavered, the late nights where you sat alone, staring at nothing. And Erik—who had spent his life convincing himself that vengeance was all he had left—wondered if he had done you a disservice.

- The day you left, he did not stop you. He watched, silent, as you turned back toward the people who had once been your family. And when Charles asked him why he had let you go, why he had not fought to keep you, he simply closed his eyes and said, "Because they deserve a chance to heal in a way I never could.”

Charles Xavier

- He had always seen such potential in you, long before tragedy turned you into someone unrecognizable. He remembers the way your mind used to shine—full of curiosity, full of dreams, full of questions that made him smile. You had been more than a student to him; you had been a light, a reminder of why he built his school in the first place. And then, the Sentinels came. And in their wake, they left you hollow, bitter, distant. He had reached for you, but grief had made you untouchable.

- He had tried to speak to you, tried to offer solace in words he had spoken too many times before. But you had looked at him with eyes that burned, accusing, shattered. "You weren’t there," you had said, and it had struck him deeper than any blade. Because it was true. He hadn’t been there. He had failed you, as he had failed so many others. And so, when you left, when you turned your back on everything he had taught you, he did not stop you. He only hoped—prayed—that the path you walked would not destroy you.

- Still, he never let go. He kept you in his thoughts, in his dreams, in the quiet corners of his mind where he held onto those he could not save. He followed your movements, not as a spy but as a man who could not bear to lose another child to war. And when your thoughts occasionally reached him—flashes of regret, of uncertainty, of loneliness—he did not intrude. He simply sent back warmth, a reminder that you were not as alone as you believed.

- The day you returned, it was not with words, not with apologies or explanations. It was simply a presence, a step through familiar doors, a quiet acknowledgment that you had found your way back. He did not demand answers. He did not ask for promises. He only smiled, eyes soft, and said, "It is good to see you home." And in that moment, he knew—you had been lost, but not beyond reach. Never beyond reach.

Wanda Maximoff

- She understood loss better than most. Understood how grief could shape a person, twist them into something unrecognizable. When you left, she had not blamed you. How could she? When she had once stood where you stood, when she had once believed that pain could only be answered with more pain? She had watched you go with a heavy heart, with the aching knowledge that sometimes, love was not enough to keep someone from walking into the fire.

- But she had never stopped looking for you. Never stopped listening for your voice, even in the quietest moments. Magic had a way of finding what was lost, of revealing truths that words could not. And in the echoes of the universe, in the spaces between time, she felt you—angry, lost, searching. And oh, how she longed to reach through the veil and pull you back, to tell you that vengeance would never fill the emptiness inside you. But she knew. She knew you would not hear her. Not yet.

- So she waited. Watched from the distance, sent quiet spells of protection when she thought you would not notice. She never intervened, never forced her presence upon you. But when the nightmares came, when the weight of everything became too much, she was there—in dreams, in whispers, in the way the wind carried her voice when you needed it most. "You are not alone," she murmured into the spaces between reality, hoping—praying—that one day, you would believe her.

- And when that day finally came, when you stood before her with uncertainty in your eyes, she did not demand explanations. She only stepped forward, cupped your face in her hands, and smiled—soft, knowing, full of understanding. "You found your way back," she whispered, and it was not a question, not a reprimand. It was only love, unconditional and unshaken.

Pietro Maximoff

- He had never been good at patience. Never been good at waiting, at letting things happen as they would. When you left, when you turned your back on the X-Men, he had wanted to chase after you, to shake sense into you, to demand that you stay. But he hadn’t. Because he knew what grief could do. Knew how it could turn a person inside out. And for all his arrogance, for all his sharp words and sharper wit, he had understood that this was not a battle he could win by force.

- That didn’t mean he didn’t worry. He watched from afar, always keeping track, always knowing where you were. He told himself it was just habit, just a precaution, but deep down, he knew the truth—he missed you. Missed the way you used to laugh at his stupid jokes, the way you used to roll your eyes when he bragged, the way you had never treated him like he was just a fast-talking nuisance. You had been his friend, his sibling in all but blood. And losing you had felt like losing a part of himself.

- He never said it outright, never admitted how much it hurt to see you on the other side of the fight. Instead, he did what he always did—he covered it up with sarcasm, with teasing remarks, with challenges thrown your way whenever your paths crossed. "You’re slower than I remember," he’d quip, even when he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. It was easier that way. Easier than saying, I miss you. Please come home.

- When you finally did, when you stood beside him instead of against him, he didn’t make a big deal of it. Didn’t get emotional, didn’t ask for explanations. He just nudged you with his shoulder, smirked, and said, "Took you long enough." But later, when no one was looking, he stood next to you in the quiet, a rare moment of stillness, and murmured, "Don’t scare me like that again." And for once, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

Hank McCoy

- He had always admired your mind. You had been sharp, inquisitive, eager to learn. A student not just of textbooks and science, but of the world itself. He had enjoyed your questions, your endless curiosity, the way you challenged even him to see things from new angles. You had been brilliant. And then, grief had stolen that brilliance, turned your hunger for knowledge into a hunger for vengeance. And that had broken something in him.

- He had tried to reason with you. Had tried to make you see that revenge would not bring back what you had lost. "Justice and vengeance are not the same," he had told you once, voice heavy with the weight of experience. But you had looked at him with eyes full of sorrow and rage and said, "Then tell me what justice looks like when they’re already dead." He had not had an answer. And so, you had left. And he had let you go, because what else could he do?

- But he had never given up hope. Even as you fought against them, even as you stood with those who did not share his ideals, he had never truly believed you were lost. You were too bright, too thoughtful, too full of something deeper than just pain. And so, he waited. Watched. Hoped. And when you stumbled, when the weight of your choices became too heavy, he was there—not to scold, not to lecture, but to remind you that you had always had a place to return to.

- "It is never too late to choose a different path," he told you when you finally came back, his voice warm, steady. "No one is beyond redemption." And though you said nothing, though the guilt still sat heavy on your shoulders, you let him lead you inside. And for him, for the man who had always seen you as brilliant, that was enough.

Emma Frost

- Emma had always been good at reading people, at peeling back the layers of their minds and seeing the truth beneath. And you—once bright, once full of so much untapped power and potential—had been one of her most promising students. Not because you were eager or obedient, but because you questioned things. Because you had never accepted easy answers. And then, the world had turned cruel. Had taken something from you that could never be replaced. And instead of questioning, you had chosen rage.

- She had watched you go, arms crossed, face unreadable, offering no words of comfort or dissuasion. Because Emma knew better than anyone—when someone decided to burn, there was little anyone could do but wait for the fire to run its course. She had been there herself, once. Had felt the sharp edges of grief carving through her, turning her into something ruthless. But still, she had wanted—hoped—that you would not lose yourself entirely to the flames.

- When you crossed paths again, when you stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, she did not waste time with lectures. She only looked at you, eyes cool, sharp, assessing. "I see you’ve grown bolder," she remarked, voice almost lazy. But underneath, there was something else—something softer, something worried. She did not say it outright. Did not tell you that revenge would never satisfy, that grief would never truly fade. Because she knew you wouldn’t listen. Not yet.

- And so, when you finally found your way back—battered, exhausted, uncertain—she did not greet you with warmth, but neither did she turn you away. She simply placed a perfectly manicured hand under your chin, tilted your face up, and said, "Are we finished with the self-destruction phase, darling? Or should I prepare for another dramatic exit?" And when you laughed—shaky, real—she allowed herself a small smile, the kind that meant I knew you’d come home.

Laura Kinney

- Laura had never been good with words, had never known how to give comfort in ways that weren’t sharp and blunt and a little too honest. But when you had still been with the X-Men, she had understood you in a way others hadn’t. There had been something familiar in you—something raw and wounded and angry at a world that had taken too much. You had never feared her, never looked at her like she was a weapon instead of a person. And in turn, she had allowed herself to see you as something like family.

- When you left, she did not chase you. She knew what it was to be consumed by pain, to feel like the only thing left was the urge to strike back. She had seen it in herself, in Logan, in too many others. But that didn’t mean she had stopped caring. She still kept track of you, watching from the distance, stepping into fights she had no reason to be in just to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed. She never made it obvious. Never let you see. But she was there, always there.

- When she did see you again, it was in battle—claws out, movements precise, eyes locked on yours with something unreadable in them. "You're being reckless," she told you, voice flat. And when you scoffed, when you accused her of being a hypocrite, she only tilted her head. "Maybe. But I’m still alive. Will you be?" It was not a threat. It was a warning. A quiet, desperate plea that she would never say aloud.

- And when you finally returned—not with words, but with bruises and exhaustion and a weight in your eyes that had nothing to do with battle—she did not ask why. Did not demand explanations. She simply stepped beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, and muttered, "Next time, don’t make me wait so long." It was the closest thing to I missed you that she could say. And for you, it was enough.

Wade Wilson

- Wade wasn’t the sentimental type. At least, that’s what he told himself. And when you left the X-Men, when you joined the Brotherhood with vengeance in your eyes and grief clawing at your ribs, he had pretended it didn’t bother him. "Kid’s gotta go through their rebellious phase," he had joked. "I give it six months before they realize villain monologues get really old." But underneath the jokes, underneath the wisecracks, there had been something else—something that felt a lot like worry.

- He checked in on you more than he cared to admit. Showed up to Brotherhood hideouts just to cause trouble, just to see how you were holding up. "How’s the whole ‘vengeance’ thing working out for ya?" he’d ask, grinning, leaning too close. But there was something in his eyes—something sharp, something real. And when you snapped at him, told him to leave, he only sighed, exaggerated and dramatic. "Fine, fine, I’ll let you have your little angsty villain arc. Just… don’t get too murder-y, okay?"

- And then, one day, you were on the ground—wounded, bleeding, caught in a fight that had gone wrong. And Wade was there, standing over you, guns still smoking, mask tilted slightly to the side. "Wow, look at that," he mused. "Turns out I do care if you get yourself killed. Who knew?" And when you tried to argue, when you tried to push yourself up, he just crouched beside you, voice unusually quiet. "You’re not as alone as you think, kid. You never were."

- When you finally came back, when you hesitated at the mansion’s doorstep, unsure if you were still welcome, Wade appeared beside you like he had been expecting you all along. "So, does this mean I get to say ‘I told you so’ or is it too soon?" And when you actually laughed, tired but real, he just slung an arm around your shoulders and grinned. "C’mon, let’s get you inside before one of the serious ones gives you a dramatic redemption speech. I promise mine will be way more fun."

Kitty Pryde

- You had been like a sibling to her. Had shared late-night talks, had trained together, had whispered about dreams and fears in the quiet moments between battles. And when you left—when the weight of loss became too much and you turned your back on the X-Men—Kitty had felt it like a wound. Had wanted to reach out, to shake you, to tell you that running wouldn’t make the pain go away. But she hadn’t. Because she knew what grief could do. Knew that sometimes, words weren’t enough.

- Still, it didn’t mean she stopped caring. She watched from afar, always hoping—always believing—that you would come back. And when you crossed paths again, on opposite sides of a fight, she had hesitated. Had looked at you with something raw in her eyes. "Is this really who you are now?" she had asked, voice shaking, half-daring you to prove her wrong. And when you hadn’t answered, when you had only turned away, it had felt like losing you all over again.

- But Kitty was stubborn. And she refused to believe that you were gone for good. So, she left reminders in the places she knew you’d see—old photos, scrawled notes in places only you would think to look. "You’re not alone," one had read, written in the messy handwriting you used to tease her about. "We still love you." She didn’t know if you ever read them. But she hoped.

- And when you did return, when you stood in the doorway of the mansion with uncertainty in your eyes, she was the first to reach you. No hesitation, no anger, just arms wrapping around you in a hug so fierce it knocked the breath from your lungs. "Took you long enough, dummy," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. And when you clung to her just as tightly, she knew—you had been lost, but never truly gone.

Warren Worthington III

- Warren had always been something untouchable—golden, radiant, too bright for the world to dim. But you had been one of the few who had seen past the perfect façade, past the easy smiles and effortless charm. You had known him before the weight of expectations had settled fully on his shoulders, before the world had tried to clip his wings. And in return, he had been your light—your first real glimpse of warmth, of family, of something good.

- And then, you had left. Had walked away with fire in your eyes and vengeance in your heart, and Warren had watched it happen, powerless to stop you. He had wanted to go after you, had wanted to remind you that pain didn’t have to be carried alone, that grief didn’t have to turn you into something unrecognizable. But he hadn’t. Because he knew what it was to feel lost. Knew what it was to crave control when the world had taken everything from you.

- When he saw you again, it was mid-battle, and for a moment—just a moment—his breath caught. You were still you, still fierce and beautiful and untamed, but there was something new in your gaze. Something hardened, something tired. "This isn’t you," he had said, voice quieter than it should have been. And when you had laughed—bitter, sharp—he had only clenched his jaw, wings flaring behind him. "If this is what revenge is doing to you, then maybe it’s not worth it."

- When you finally returned, he was waiting. Not with anger, not with lectures, but with an understanding that settled deep in his bones. "Took your time," he murmured, wings folding around you like a shield, like a promise. And when you leaned into him, exhausted and undone, he simply held you there, unshaken, unwavering. Because he had lost you once, and he would not make the mistake of letting you go again.

Morph

- He had always been the first to make you laugh, the first to pull you out of your worst thoughts with some ridiculous joke, some exaggerated impression. He had been your safe place, your soft landing, the one who made the weight of the world feel just a little lighter. And then, in the wake of your loss, in the wreckage of everything you had once believed in, you had turned your back on all of it. On the X-Men. On him.

- But Morph wasn’t the type to let go so easily. Even when you had stormed off, even when you had sworn you weren’t coming back, he had never truly left you alone. He popped up in the strangest places, appearing as the most absurd disguises—a Brotherhood grunt, a news anchor, a lamp post, for God’s sake—just to remind you that he was still watching out for you. That he still cared. "You miss me yet?" he’d ask with a grin, but his eyes were always too serious, too knowing.

- And when battle forced you face-to-face, when you found yourself staring at the one person who had never stopped believing in you, he had only sighed, shaking his head. "You look terrible," he said, shifting into a mirror image of you, exaggerated and over-dramatic. "All broody and tragic. Really not your best look." But then, softer, quieter, he had added, "You know I’d still choose you, right? No matter what side you think you’re on?"

- When you finally stumbled back into the mansion, worn and weary, he didn’t make a big show of it. He just grinned, opened his arms wide, and said, "Took you long enough! I was this close to staging a dramatic rescue mission." And when you actually laughed—small, tired, real—he knew. Knew that, even after everything, he had never truly lost you.

Jubilee

- She had idolized you once, in the way younger siblings idolize their older, cooler counterparts. You had been the one to teach her things the others wouldn’t—the best ways to sneak out undetected, the secret stash of candy hidden in the mansion’s walls, the perfect balance between mischief and heroism. She had loved you big, had looked up to you like you hung the stars. And then, just like that, you were gone.

- She had been angry. Had felt betrayed in a way she hadn’t known was possible. "Fine," she had muttered to the others when they tried to comfort her. "They wanna be a villain? Let them." But even as she said it, even as she crossed her arms and pretended not to care, she had found herself keeping track of your name in news reports, hoping—praying—that you weren’t beyond saving.

- When she saw you again, her first instinct had been to blast you with fireworks, to demand answers, to shake you until you listened. But instead, she had only stared at you, wide-eyed and wavering. "Did it help?" she had asked, voice smaller than she wanted it to be. "Did joining them make the pain go away?" And when you hadn’t answered—when you had only turned your gaze to the ground—she had known.

- And when you finally came back, hesitant and uncertain, Jubilee did not hesitate. She threw herself at you in a hug so fierce it nearly knocked you both over. "Don’t you dare leave me again," she whispered, voice choked with something dangerously close to tears. And when you promised—soft, raw, real—she only held on tighter, refusing to let go.

Alex Summers

- He had always understood you in a way that few others did. Had known what it was to live in the shadow of grief, to carry anger like a second skin. He had seen the way loss had shaped you, had recognized something too familiar in the sharpness of your gaze, the set of your jaw. And when you had turned your back on the X-Men, when you had chosen vengeance over family, he had not chased you. But he had understood.

- That didn’t mean he had forgiven you easily. When you faced each other again, when battle had forced you to opposite sides, his expression had been unreadable. "This is really the path you wanna take?" he had asked, arms crossed, jaw tight. And when you had met his gaze—defiant, unyielding—he had only exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Do what you have to. Just try not to die being stubborn."

- And then, one day, you had almost did. Had nearly let yourself be consumed by the very fire you had been chasing. And it was Alex who had pulled you from the wreckage, who had stood over you with an expression torn between fury and relief. "You’re a damn idiot," he had muttered, helping you up. But his grip had been steady, his hands warm, grounding. And when he added, "Come home when you’re done running," you had almost believed you could.

- When you finally did, he was waiting. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Took you long enough," he said, but there was no real bite to it. Just relief, just familiarity, just the silent understanding that had always existed between you. And when you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, he only bumped his shoulder against yours and muttered, "Welcome back.”

[beckyninja]

To War

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much in this one.

The assault on Victor's stronghold begins.

Find the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. Comment and ask to be added to/removed from my Taglist. And remember, my Asks and DMs are always open!

“Missile launch!”

Standing resolute in the Command Center of the Macragge’s Honor, Guilliman didn’t hesitate. “Bring the fleet into Formatio Scutum.”

Shield Formation. Let us now see what TerraNovan commanders are worth.

He only had to look out the viewports to see the two largest voidships in his ragtag fleet lumber into position. The former mercenary flagship Predator on his right. The scarred TerraNovan battleship Eko Tuntun on his left. His keen eyes picked up the mirage-like shimmer flickering over their hulls.

Increased power to the shields. As we discussed. 

A grim smile curved his lips. It seemed Admiral Takahashi was taking well to her new command. His eyes flicked to the Eko Tuntun, remembering the lean face of its commander. 

Captain Eze is also proving competent.

The first of the missiles impacted mere moments after the three behemoths achieved formation. Burst of iridescent bio-incendiaries lit the void, but the ships’ combined shields held. 

“Have the TerraNovan cogitators-” he paused, “...computers… located the launch sites?”

A burst of vox static. “Affirmative, my Lord! Shall I give them the order to- they are launching counterstrikes!”

If only more Imperial naval commanders showed such initiative.

Numerous baseline crewmembers gasped as beams of white light streaked from the two TerraNovan ships to the planet below. Even Guilliman spared a fraction of a second to marvel at the great energy weapons, capable of pinpointing and vaporizing single buildings from orbit. With minimal collateral damage.

Within his gauntlets, his fingers twitched.

Theoretical: that bastard Victor has proven he wants you alive. Practical: he would not keep you near potential targets.

You are not there.

He willed it to be so.

“My Lord! Incoming transmission from the planet!”

At his side Commander Sicarious growled. “They wish to surrender so soon?”

Guilliman scowled. “You know well that nothing is ever so easy. Patch the message through.”

A long burst of static, then…. 

“Roboute?”

His hearts stopped. The last time he’d heard that voice, it had been screaming for help he’d failed to provide. In two strides he crossed the deck and stood before the vox terminal. The operator squeaked and scrambled out of her seat, ceding control to the looming Primarch.

“My Love.” He poured every iota of the anguished devotion that had torn through his restraint and reason into the words. “I am here. I have come for you.”

***

You could not have stopped your tears even if you tried. They carved paths through the grime on your cheeks, salt stinging half-healed abrasions. Beside you, Listener reached out and laid a gentle hand on your arm. No voice murmured reassurance in your mind, but you felt strengthened nonetheless.

Still, all that managed to force its way past the lump in your throat was, “Roboute.”

In all the time since your abduction, you’d been focused on the immediate. On survival. You’d only allowed yourself brief moments of melancholy memory. But now, standing here before this transmitter, in this warren of a military base, with explosions sounding in the distance and shaking dirt from the ceiling, you finally let yourself feel.

To know he’s here… to know he’s come for me… that it’s all almost over….

“My Love?” The impossibly deep voice on the other end of the transmission grew urgent. “Are you well? Are you safe?”

You closed your eyes. “I am as well as I can be.”

In a few halting sentences, you explained your situation. Your surroundings. The allies you’d found against all odds.

“You should speak to Captain Antoine, Roboute. I will call-”

“No.”

Despite coming from orbit far above the world you stood upon, the command sent electricity jolting through your nervous system. Even the imperturbable Listener flinched and backed away.

“Do not go.”

Something primal within you responded. “I won’t, beloved. I’m here.”

A sound that might have been panting rumbled through the speaker.

“Roboute-”

“Forgive me… for not reaching you before.”

You melted. “Oh, Roboute. I never-”

“I should have been better. I will be better. I will drown this planet in blood until I hold you in my arms again.”

His ferocity should have frightened you. Instead, you felt heat ignite in your lower belly. Your hands trembled.

“I will be waiting for you.”

“Yes.” A long, shuddering breath. “I will speak to your Captain. Remain near.”

“Always.”

When you turned, Captain Antoine stood behind you. He didn’t meet your eyes, a dark flush on his cheeks, one hand tugging at his mustache. Next to him, Listener gave another of her enigmatic smiles.

“I took the liberty of summoning him while you spoke with your intended.” She murmured.

You nodded your thanks, feeling your own cheeks heat at the memory of what they’d both likely overheard. “Your future Patron wishes to speak with you, Captain.”

He cleared his throat, still avoiding your gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he took your place at the transmitter, you pressed your hands over your racing heart.

By the Light, I ache for him. Soon.

In the distance, the explosions continued.

But not yet.

***

“Next magazine, Big Guy!”

Tarchus lifted the cylinder of ammunition with minimal effort, loading it into the heavy gun now mounted to the mech’s left arm. In the cockpit, Frenzy jabbed a button. Machinery whined and the multi-barrels spun.

“Aaaand that’s the last of the calibrations done.” A tousled head poked through the hatch and fixed him with a familiar grin. “She’s fully armored and ready to kick. Some. Ass!”

This time, he did not smile in return. “Your levity is misplaced.”

“What?” Swinging her legs over the side of the hatch, she fell to the hangar floor with a grunt. “Just because we’re about to face down an army of giant, horrifying bugs who can zombify me with a touch, I can’t be excited? Fuck that.”

He huffed a burst of air through his nostrils.

This woman will kill me sooner than the Tyranids.

“Yet again, you oversimplify.”

She planted her fists on her hips and looked up at him, grin still firmly in place. “Didn’t your mama ever read you stories as a kid? Look around you!”

She gestured at the hangar. At TerraNovan engineers and Imperial techpriests working in (admittedly tense) tandem. At soldiers, mercenaries, and armed civilian voidsmen loading onto Thunderhawks and TerraNovan Lightning-class gunships. All the familiar restrained aggression of a battle yet to begin.

If I must endure one more “Thunder and Lightning” joke out of her…. 

She continued. “We’re the heroes, here! The ones who swoop in, slay the dragons, and rescue the princess. We have to win. So quit fucking moping.”

“We do not face dragons.”

“Fucking Void!” She threw her hands in the air. “You’re hopeless.”

He clenched his jaw. “Refusing to acknowledge the strength of an enemy is a swift path to annihilation.”

“Another line from your precious Codex?”

Something in him snapped. “Damn you to the Warp, woman!”

Hundreds of heads turned their way at the bellow. Tarchus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

What has become of my control? Why does she test me so? Why does the thought of her death make me feel-

A hand on his gauntlet. He opened his eyes to see Frenzy standing nearer than she had before, grin gone.

“I’m sorry, Big Guy.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I know I’m… a lot to deal with. And I understand that what we’re about to face down there… fuck.” She gave a weak smile. “I’ve never faced anything like it before, and I’m fucking terrified. So, I laugh. It’s either that or cry.”

Another new feeling welled inside the Ultramarine. Similar to what he felt whenever he thought of the lost Lady. A desire to… protect.

“You will not face it alone, Frenzy.” He hesitated, then reached out and placed a massive armored hand on her shoulder. “By the Emperor, I vow it.”

Her eyes widened for a moment. She reached up and laid her own small hand over his.

“Tarchus, if we don’t make it through this, I just want to say-”

“VANGUARD ASSAULT SQUAD. BOARD NOW AND PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT.”

“Fuck!” Frenzy stepped back. “Give me a hand, Big Guy?”

He obliged, letting her use his gauntlet as a step stool as she clambered back into her mech’s cockpit. He watched her strap in, connecting various cables to ports in the black, reinforced arming suit she’d managed to scavenge from the wreckage of the Armory. 

“Void damn it… hand me my-”

Tarchus already had her helmet in his hand. She flashed him another grin.

“Thanks! We make a pretty good team, you and I.” She slipped it onto her head, the holo-visor automatically projecting over her eyes, and flashed him a thumbs up.

“Courage and honor, Lieutenant.”

Side by side, mech-pilot and marine marched toward a waiting Thunderhawk. 

***

Aboard another, specially modified Thunderhawk, Roboute Guilliman prepared for war. His Victrix Guard stood at his side, tension radiating from their Commander.

I understand your concerns, my son. But nothing will keep me from this battlefield.

So far, the plan had gone well. The mercenary fortress’ missile sites had been obliterated. The combined shields of the three battleships had allowed the smaller voidships huddled behind to launch their troops undisturbed. A landing zone was even now being cleared by the TerraNovan Rangers planetside. 

Only one detail set Guilliman’s teeth on edge.

“No, Roboute.”

He’d continued as if you hadn’t made that ridiculous objection. “You will come to the Landing Zone. My personal Thunderhawk will transport you back to the Macragge’s Honor.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You are being irrational!”

“I am their Matron Uncrowned! I cannot abandon them!”

“Do not make me order my sons to take you by force.”

The vox had gone silent for a long time after that. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would, my Love.” 

To keep you safe, I would.

“Roboute, I love you, but I’ve been either hiding or running all my life. No more.”

You’d cut the transmission after that… and he’d put his fist through the terminal.

The Thunderhawk trembled in such a way that he knew they were entering the atmosphere. Almost immediately afterwards the unmistakable sound of artillery filled the air. The vox came alive with pilots’ chatter.

“Anti-aircraft gun spotted! Firing energy cannons!”

“Whoo! That was a close one!”

“I’m hit! Mayday, mayday! Light help-”

“My Lord!” The Ultramarine pilot shouted to be heard over the chaos. “Landing Zone in sight. It appears heavily contested.”

“Open fire when in range, Lucius. Bring them wrath and ruin.”

“Yes, my Lord!”

Soon, the roar of Thunderhawk guns added to the cacophony. Guilliman closed his eyes, seeking the calm he always felt before battle. Instead, he saw your face. 

You’re close.

The thought made the beast within, the beast he thought he’d forced back into its cage, roar. He wrestled with it. He could not become a being of unthinking rage. Not again. He needed to plan, strategize, retain his rationality. Only then could victory be assured.

With a bone-shaking thud, the Thunderhawk landed. The ramp opened. Light and heat and screams and blood-

And you. My wife. My woman. Mine. Mine. MINE!

Vengeance Incarnate charged, flaming blade held high, into the fray.

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[wenmistry]

this is what the left wants your crime drama protagonists to look like