#help in civil design assignments

[gingerswagfreckles]

There is a lot of misinformation going around about Mahmoud Khalil. Please read this if you have read or posted about the case.

Mahmoud Khalil was arrested on March 9th by ICE agents in public, as he was returning to his apartment. His arrest was legal and was conducted in a legal manner. Neither ICE nor the police need a warrant to arrest someone in public, on the street.

Mr. Khalil has not been "dissappeared." He is being held in Central Louisiana ICE Processing Center in Jena, Louisiana. He has been assigned a public defender. Her name is Amy Greene. He has a deportation hearing set for tomorrow (March 12th) with a judge, in which the judge will review the case.

The Department of Homeland Security has accused Mr. Khalil of leading pro Hamas rallies on the Columbia University campus and publishing/passing out pro Hamas fliers that included the Hamas logo. He has not been "charged," because he does not have to be charged under US law. Under US law, a greencard holder has a right to a hearing with a judge to determine whether or not they violated the terms of their greencard. One does not need to be convicted by a jury to be deported for supporting terrorist organizations. This is not a comment on whether or not this law is fair. But it is important to recognize that this is standard and does not violate Mr. Khalil's right to due process.

Also under US Law: one of the conditions of being granted a greencard is that one not be involved in activities that could be argued to be in support of a designated terror organization. Well.

Mahmoud Khalil is an open Hamas supporter and a leader of the Columbia University Apartheid Divestment organization, an explicitly pro Hamas organization that regularly organizes pro Hamas rallies, passes out pro Hamas pamphlets that include inspirational quotes by Hamas terrorists, and organized a "day of mourning" for Yahya Al-Sinwar, the leader of Hamas and the architect of the Oct 7th terror attacks. CUAD has self described it's goal as the "total eradication of Western civilization" through violence. Mr. Khalil has been filmed at multiple of their pro Hamas rallies, which he presumably helped organize as a member, and acted as a negotiator on behalf of CUAD a few days ago (March 6th) during the Columbia student building takeover and bomb threats.

I am not the judge who will be reviewing Mr. Khalil's case. But I find it hard to make an argument that being a leader of an explicitly pro Hamas organization is not supporting terrorism.

Guys, listen. The amount of misinformation I have seen immediately regurgitated about this man, about how his rights have been violated, by fellow Jews, is absurd. Trump is evil. That does not mean we have to make shit up about how an open Hamas supporter is being unfairly attacked. This ENTIRE issue is about whether or not supporting antisemitic terrorism should be considered supporting terrorism. Of course it should be! This is literally just equal application of the law, something we have gotten so used to not happening when it comes to Jews that we are now making up reasons to defend someone who's rights were not violated and openly wants to kill us.

There are so many. SO MANY illegal and unethical arrests and deportations happening every single day. Why on earth is Jumblr deciding to go to bat for this man of all people, and act like THIS CASE, of all cases, is one that needs to be fought against? Why are we acting like this case, of all cases, is some flagrant violation of the law that should be used to highlight how evil Trump is?

I'm sorry but have we lost our minds? Literally nothing about this man's arrest was illegal and his right to due process has not been violated in any way. The ONLY reason this is getting attention is that people believe SO strongly that they should have the right to organize rallies in support of a terrorist organization that's stated goal is to kill the Jews. That's it! That's the only issue. Not even his lawyers are claiming there was some violation of this man's right to due process. This issue is ENTIRELY about whether or not it's "free speech" for someone who agreed not to support terrorism as a condition of being granted a greencard, should have the right to support terrorism specifically if it's terrorism directed at Jews. That's it! That's it. Please. Please PLEASE. Can we focus on the ICE raids happening at the school my roommate works at? Can we stop going along with this violently antisemitic delusion that the legal deportation case against a pro terrorism rally organizer is the ideal case to prove how unfair and illegal these deportations are? What the fuck?

[whitejays-galaxy]

Designing the entire disaster lineage as cats🐱(Reupload)

I accidentally made some design errors, so I had to redo them... To make up for my mistake, there's a small surprise in the end ^^

The disaster lineage:

This is their actual size chart

My favorite trio:

Dooky and Quiggs becuz they deserve more love:

Ref sheets:

Horizonstar/step(Yoda): 

Name Meaning:

"Horizon" carried the meaning of him being the leader of his clan, a beacon of light in the distance, "Step" meant he was always one step ahead of his clanmates, thus using his knowledge and power to help his cats.

Frostshard(Dooku): 

Name Meaning:

I chose "Frost" because of his cold, collected, haughty demeanor, and "Shard", his presence being able to hurt others, like when you touch a broken shard of glass. It also represents his sharpness.

Sagepelt(Qui-Gon-Jinn):

Name Meaning:

"Sage" symbolizes his wisdom of the living Force, spiritual sanctity, vice, and virtue, which some knights thought he was delusional, while others respected his high moral standards.

If you look at a sage plant, the leaves are fuzzy, and they often grow in large swishing bushels, hence the suffix "Pelt"

Hazeldusk(Obi-Wan-Kenobi):

Pls ignore his traumatized face

Anyway

Name Meaning:

I chose "Hazel" because of his pelt color and warm/comforting personality. "Dusk" has a deeper meaning; Hazel trains Skyfire, who turns to the dark side and brings Dawnclan's legacy to an end; therefore, Hazel teaches the one who brought the "Dusk" of Dawnclan's era.

Skyfire(Anakin Skywalker): 

Name Meaning:

I chose "Sky" because of his godlike abilities, for in many countries and religions, the sky was where the gods lived, "Fire" because of him being ferocious yet warm/loving like a small bit of flame in a hearth. It also foreshadows how he would fall, consumed into flames.

Tawnyrain(Ahsoka-Tano):

Name Meaning:

I chose "Tawny" because of her pelt color, and "Rain", symbolizes her abandoning the teachings of Dawnclan when she goes into exile, like the rain washing over dust and grime, the corruption of Dawnclan ways, coated over her innocence and pure heart. 

Long yap incoming...

<Lore>

<Dawnclan/ The Jedi Order>

Dawnclan was created over a thousand years ago by four Force-sensitive cats: Sunspirit(Cala Brin), Tigerblaze(Rajivari), Valorsoul(Garon Jard), and Eclipseshadow(Ters Sendon). 

"True justice cannot be driven by emotion. We knights can set our passions aside, and seek the truth without fear or favor." - Sunspirit

"When Dawnclan's order began, I saw we must be dedicated to peace. To calm our emotions, and end war across the galaxy. If we fought, it should only be in self-defense. That is the founding principle of civilization." - Valorsoul

"So much is fleeting. But I remain. And I remain the cat I was." - Tigerblaze

"I am Eclipseshadow, keeper of the histories. A founder, and chronicler, of Dawnclan." - Eclipseshadow

<About Dawnclan>

-They walk the dreams of their ancestors in Starclan, a clan created by the light side of the Force.

-A Force-Sensitive kit is taken to the temple at a very young age, training in the basic forms of dueling.

-Padawans(apprentices) train for approximately two years with their assigned Master, the names usually ending with a 'Paw'(a universal suffix meaning apprentice or student)

-Knights must at least have trained an apprentice before they can be selected for the Dawnclan Council, a group of the most talented cats.

-A Dawnclan knight is forbidden to take a mate or have kits.

<The Dawnclan Code>

There is no Emotion, there is Peace

There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge

There is no Passion, there is Serenity

There is no Chaos, there is Harmony

There is no Death, there is the Force

<Darkhaven/ The Sith Order>

It is hard to know the birth of Darkhaven, yet one thing is for sure, evil has lurked since no beginning nor end.

The official name of these dark warriors was created by Hellfire, a soulless she-cat whom many say was the embodiment of evil itself.

The Fate Wars, the first great war in the Galaxy, led to the victory of the knights of Dawnclan, who built their main camp on the ruins of Darkhaven.

After the events of the Fate Wars, two more happened during the history of the Galaxy: 

The first was the Cold War: in which former Darkhavener Corvidheart(Darth Revan) challenged the Emperor Vortexvoid(Emperor Vitalle) to reclaim balance on both sides.

The second was the Grey Wars: Darkhaven leader Stormcutter(Darth Malgus) brought the Dawnclan order to its knees and took over for a long time. This caused a rebellion act against the Darkhaven Empire by normal citizens, and as a result, the Republic was born - an invisible group that consisted of various clans and tribes to discuss peace and to help each other in crisis.

Many years passed after the Grey Wars, and one by one, the warriors of Darkhaven were hunted down by the knights of Dawnclan.

Nightshade(Darth Bane), the last known leader of Darkhaven, and the maker of the Rule of Two, swore revenge. They will always lurk in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

Her apprentice Plagueshadow(Darth Plagueis) continued her work in silence, training the dreaded Lightningstrike(Darth Sidious), who would create the most feared and powerful Darkhavener of all time: Lord Deadsoul(Darth Vader)

<About Darkhaveners>

When a Dawnclan knight falls to the Dark side, their features grow haughty and sharp because of the Dark Forest water.

Only Darkhaveners have orange eyes.

They usually have red crystals on their foreheads but in rare circumstances, purple or black could be seen also.

They communicate with the Dark Forest, an everlasting place of the Dark side of the Force, with murky water and wizened trees.

They have the Rule of Two, only allowing a Master and an Apprentice to live.

<The Darkhaven Code>

Peace is a lie, there is only Passion

Through Passion, I gain Strength

Through Strength, I gain Power

Through Power, I gain Victory

Through Victory, My Chains Are Broken

The Force shall set me Free

About Kyberclaws:

They glow red hot at the tip when unsheathed at battle mode. But they can't use them for long, or the heat would kill them(Yoda/Horizonstar has a record of using them for a full thirty minutes)

They are functioned by the Kyber Crystals on their foreheads and could cut through anything except Beskar Wood( a tree known for its silvery wood and toughness, used by the Mandalorian cats)

A Dawnclan cat develops this ability once they are 6 moons old, as their bodies mature enough to withstand the claw tip's deadly heat.

About crystals on foreheads:

The Crystals are the main source of the Kyberclaw's power, and when forcefully taken, it would cripple the owner for eternity(like a bird without wings)

When a Dawnclan cat dies, the Crystals turn a dead-looking grey, devoid of all power.

About Droids in the Au:

They are animals that are neither living nor dead(such as rats, foxes, shrews, badgers...etc)

Their commander controls them with the Smoke Crystals(used like comlinks)

About Starships in the Au: 

They are huge birds of prey tamed by the cats.

Alright... the surprise... I'm actually astonished you scrolled all the way down here.

Cuddle Pile!!!

This is one of my oldest Aus that I'm working on; it's a mix of my two favorite fandoms: StarWars and Warriors(cats)

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this👍

See more of my Cat Au designs here :3

The Disaster lineage (Yoda, Dooku, Qui, Obi, Anakin, Ahsoka + lore)

Prequel villains (Sidious, Dooku, Maul, Vader + Lore)

Kit-Fisto

Plo-Koon and Ahsoka

Sifo Dyas and Dooku

Disaster trio(Obi, Ani, Soka) doodles

Smol comics(ft. Qui, Rael, Sifo, Dooku): pt 1

Aayla Secura and Quinlan Voss

Luke and Leia

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY CAT DESIGNS

This is a PERSONAL AU and they mean so much to me

[vinnyvamppp]

pls pls make a part two for the nolan x fem viltrumite reader fic 🙏🙏🙏

The Replacement PT 2

Note: I didn't expect it to blow up, especially since Nolan x reader isn't popular (SURPRISINGLY?!), but this is the fourth request, so here you go! @xecres1cloud @loudloudsilly

Synopsis: When he calls you after weeks of silence and it isn’t just to fulfill a duty. It isn’t just to ensure the future of his legacy. Because by the time the night is over, he finds himself lingering instead of leaving... You both know he’s already lost.

Warnings: Cheating, Mentions of Smut (Isw the next part will have it), Shift in Family Dynamics, Pre-Invincible Timeline, Changes to Plot For Convenience, Drama, Childhood Friends, etc. Word Count: 2,533 Omni-Man/Nolan Grayson x Fem!Viltrumite!Reader

Nolan had been raised in the doctrine of Viltrum, bred for war like all of their kind, forged in the fire of planetary conquest. But even among their ranks, he had stood out—stronger, faster, sharper. A warrior of promise. One whose name would carry weight among their people. That was when he met you.

You had been assigned to the same planetary campaign. Two soldiers, two weapons in the grand design of Viltrum’s expansion. You had fought beside him, bled beside him, watched him slaughter entire civilizations with the same ruthless precision you had been trained to admire. And for the first time in his life, Nolan found himself looking at someone who truly matched him. You were equals in everything until you weren’t because Nolan was given Earth. And you were sent somewhere else.

It was never a true friendship. Viltrumites didn’t have such things but it was respect and understanding. So, this was doomed to fail. It had been weeks, you’d had come to terms that the man simply fell in love with pest he calls a wife. Until… the message came when you least expected it.

A simple transmission, frequency scrambled, his voice low and unreadable:

"Meet me. Midnight. The mountain."

No pleasantries. No explanation. Just coordinates and expectations.

And yet, when you arrived, hovering just above the jagged rock formations overlooking the city, he was already there standing near the edge, arms crossed, back turned to you as if deep in thought. The wind pulled at his cape, its billowing drawing further attention to him. "You took longer than I expected," you remarked, landing beside him. Nolan glanced at you, expression unreadable. "I had things to consider."

"And now?" You asked, his jaw tensing. “Now, I’ve decided." You felt something stir in your chest. Not surprise. No, you knew he would come to this conclusion eventually. What intrigued you was the way he looked at you when he said it. Not as a comrade. Not as a soldier. But as something else. Something that allured you unnaturally so.

"We’ll do this the right way," he continued. That brought pause. The right way? There was no right or wrong among Viltrumites. Only efficiency, only survival. Your lips parted to question him, but before you could speak, he added, almost awkwardly:

"Tomorrow. There’s a place in the city." A beat. His brow furrowed slightly, as if recalling something foreign. "A restaurant." You blinked. "A restaurant?" His expression hardened. "It’s where humans go before mating." You stared at him. Then, despite yourself, you laughed. "You’re taking me on a date?" His gaze flickered towards you. "Don’t say it like that."

"Oh, I’ll say it however I like," you teased, stepping closer before tilting your head. "Tell me, Nolan—how long did it take you to figure that out? Did you study human courtship? Read books, perhaps?"

His eye twitched. You knew you were getting under his skin, but you couldn’t help it. Nolan Grayson, a man bred for war, was attempting to romance you like one of these feeble Earth men. It was almost endearing.

His voice dropped lower, obviously irritated but with a firmness. "You said Earth made me comfortable—made me hesitate. I refuse to let that happen again." His fingers twitched at his sides. "This will be done efficiently. Properly. I will produce a stronger heir, but I will not have it feel… sloppy."

Your smirk widened. "So this is a mission, then?" He held your gaze for a long moment. "It’s necessary," He said.

"That’s not an answer."

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.

Interesting.

You let the silence settle before finally exhaling through your nose, a sharp amusement flickering in your expression. "Fine, Nolan. I’ll humor you. We’ll do this your way. But I expect you to impress me." He scoffed. "I don’t need to impress you." You leaned in further, eyes meeting beneath the night's blanket. "And yet, here you are. Trying."

His glare was sharp, but beneath it, you could see something else. A crack in the foundation. A hesitation he hadn’t fully stomped out. And you would enjoy breaking it further.

The restaurant was small. Intimate, by human standards. Dim lighting, polished tables, the sound of distant conversations murmuring beneath soft, unfamiliar music. You sat across from Nolan Grayson, watching him attempt to play his part in this ridiculous human ritual. You had never seen him look so out of place.

His large frame nearly dwarfed the table, his hands too controlled, as if forcing himself not to cross his arms defensively. His usual confidence was there, but laced with awareness of the setting around him.

He had fought in wars, and conquered planets, and yet, you could see him struggling to sit in this chair as if unsure how to proceed at this moment. It was fascinating and almost hilarious.

"You look uncomfortable," you observed, sipping from the glass of wine the waiter had left. You had no intention of finishing it. Human alcohol was weak, but the act itself amused you. Nolan exhaled through his nose. "This is pointless."

"Then why are we here?"

His eyes flicked to yours. Something unreadable passed through them. He paused for a long moment, "Because I wanted to see if I could do it." You raised a brow. "Do what?" His fingers tapped once against the table, his expression somewhat displeased. "Live among them without forgetting what I am."

Ah. Now that was interesting.

"You’re adapting," you mused, tilting your head. "Becoming one of them." His glare returned instantly. "I am not one of them." Your head tilted at his response, its curtness sharp enough to cut through the atmosphere. "Then why did you bring me here?" His fingers twitched again.

You smirked. "Admit it, Nolan. You’ve become more like them than you’d like to believe. You thought this would be… appropriate, didn’t you? A way to control the situation. To keep it from being ‘sloppy.’" You leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. "But the fact that you even care about control proves you’ve already lost it."

He tensed, his jaw tight. But he didn’t deny it.

You let the silence stretch before leaning back again, swirling the wine in your glass. "It’s alright. I won’t tell the others." His eyes darkened. "Watch yourself." He warned, only causing you to grin, this authoritative side of him was rarely directed towards you. "Or what? You’ll take me on a second date?"

His scowl deepened.

Oh, you were going to enjoy this.

You felt your pulse quicken in response, but you didn’t let it show. You only smirked, tilting your head slightly. "What is it, Nolan?" He exhaled through his nose. His voice was lower when he finally spoke. "You think you know everything." Your voice lowered as your fingers ran the rim of your plate. "I know enough." His lips twitched—just barely and with chilling calmness, he said, "Then you know I always finish what I start."

The words sent a slow, thrilling pulse down your spine. You held his gaze for a moment longer before smirking. "Prove it." And just like that—whatever game he had been playing ended. Nolan stood abruptly, tossing a few bills onto the table without a second glance. He walked past you, heading toward the exit.

Following behind him, you watched his muscles tense through his shirt, his body language betraying his confliction almost as much as your emotions were. He could feel it—the slight shift in the air, the deliberate rhythm of your steps trailing just behind his own.

Something inside him tightened at the confirmation.

The moment he stepped outside, the cool night air hitting his face, he exhaled sharply. He was irritated—not at you, but at himself. At the entire ridiculous situation. What the hell had he been thinking? Taking you to a restaurant? Entertaining this absurd, human notion of courtship when you had already been willing from the start? He should have just handled this like a soldier, like a Viltrumite. “You’re angry,” you mused from behind him, amusement laced in your tone. Nolan scoffed, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “I’m annoyed.” Your brow arched. “At me?” He sighed, “At this.” His voice came out lower than he intended, the frustration bleeding through. “This entire… process. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated.”

“Then stop making it complicated.”

Your words came with a quiet finality that made him halt mid-step. Slowly, he turned to face you. You had stopped just a few paces behind him, arms folded, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing look. You had baited him in that restaurant. You had pushed him, deliberately forcing him to see the cracks in his own logic. And now, here you were, waiting and calling his bluff. He stepped forward, voice dropping. “You think you’ve won.” Your smirk widened just slightly. “I know I have.”

A long pause.

Then, before he could rationalize it, before he could stop himself, Nolan closed the remaining distance between you and grabbed the back of your neck, crushing his mouth against yours. It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t precise. It was rough. Frustrated. A mix of anger and something else—something neither of you were willing to name, but had always been deep rooted. But whatever this was, whatever game had been playing out between you for weeks… It had finally tipped over the edge.

His calloused fingers scraped against your neck. The hunger was there, simmering beneath the surface, his self-control slipping as his fingers tightened. The way his breath hitched when you pressed closer. When he finally deepened the kiss, it was warm and consuming, but never careless. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he needed you to feel it, to understand the weight behind it. The weight behind what he was about to do. Nolan should have left an hour ago.

Maybe two.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

Time had always been a trivial thing for their kind—measured in centuries rather than fleeting moments—but tonight, it had slipped through his fingers entirely.

He stood at the edge of the ridge, breathing in the cool night air. The stars stretched endlessly above him, the faint hum of distant city lights flickering below, his barely clothed body shimmering dramatically. But the only thing he was focused on was you.

You were still catching your breath beside him, skin still warm from where he had gripped you too tightly, his thumb unconsciously brushing over a fading red mark on your arm. Neither of you had spoken in the past few minutes, content to let the silence settle between you like an unspoken understanding. Even if you had your doubts, perhaps your relationship with your ex- husband wasn’t as fruitful as preconceived. Nolan now had a softness in bed, one he surely adapted from being with that human, and one that made you feel more than a Viltrumite… it made you feel special. Only because it was him. You both had riddled one another in kisses, nothing to get caught, but surely more than intended, barely breaching the child bearing process to your liking.

As if reading his thoughts, you exhaled a quiet laugh. “You’re still here.” Nolan tensed. The words were simple, but the meaning behind them wasn’t. He should have been gone already. Should have returned home, slid back into his life like nothing had happened, just as he had so many times before. This was your third meeting now, each time you two explored further.

But instead, he was lingering. His jaw tightened. “I lost track of time.” You hummed, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “That’s unlike you.” He didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure how. Because the truth was, it was unlike him. It was unlike everything he had been trained to be, to be calculating, disciplined, never indulgent. And yet, here he was. Still with you.

When he should have been somewhere else.

When he should have been with—

The buzzing of his phone shattered the quiet. Both of you froze. Nolan turned it over in his palm, staring at the screen as the name Debbie lit up the night. You didn’t move, didn’t push, but he could feel your presence beside him, watching. Waiting.

His grip tightened around the device. The vibration seemed louder than it should have been, rattling through his bones. He could answer it and he should. But for the first time in his entire life… he hesitated. The moment soon stretched just long enough for the call to go silent. You inhaled softly, then, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached forward—your fingers brushing the edge of his hand, barely a touch, but enough to send a ripple of something dangerous through him. “Are you going to call her back?”

Nolan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He knew what you were doing—letting him make the choice. Not pushing, not forcing, just watching. Observing as you always had. Letting him realize it for himself. Slowly, his thumb hovered over the screen. Then, deliberately he pressed decline. Turning away as he returned to be with you.

A low, satisfied hum left him as he finally leaned back, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing the sight. Clearly, pleased with his work. His hand traced the curve of your thigh absentmindedly before tightening, fingers pressing just hard enough to make you shiver. Then, with that smirk, the one that always meant trouble—he exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“You look exhausted,” he mused, voice laced with amusement. His thumb stroked lazily over your skin. “Guess I shouldn’t expect much fight from you next time.” Slowly, you exhaled through your nose, a brow raised. "Oh?" You shifted purposefully to make him doubt himself. "You think too highly of yourself, Nolan."

Debbie stared at her phone, brows knitting together in quiet concern as the call ended without an answer. That was… unusual. Nolan always answered. Even when he was in the middle of something, even when he was too far away to get home quickly, he always let her know. She glanced at the clock. 3:27 AM. A small pit formed in her stomach. She set the phone down, exhaling slowly. He’s fine, she told herself. He’s Omni-Man. If something had happened, I’d know. Even so, she laid back down, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the unease curling around her ribs. Nolan could feel something shifting in his home.

Debbie hadn’t changed. She was still the same, still trusting, still blind to what was happening behind her back. But Mark? He was beginning to watch him. At first, it had been subtle. A hesitation before responding, a lingering glance when Nolan would return home. But tonight, when he finally walked through the front door, hours later than he should have, Mark was already there.

“Where were you?”

The words were casual, tossed out in passing, but Nolan knew better. He could hear the edge in them, the underlying suspicion. He barely looked up from the newspaper in his hands. “Working.” Mark leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. “Huh. That’s weird.” Nolan finally glanced at him. “Weird how?” Mark shrugged. “Just… didn’t see anything on the news about it.”

The statement hung between them.

For a brief moment, Nolan considered giving a real explanation. Just something to satisfy the boy’s curiosity before it turned into something worse. Control the situation. Nolan’s eyebrows furrowed just slightly, and his voice dropped into something heavier. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, Mark.” The words landed exactly as intended.

Mark stiffened, lips pursed into a thin line before finally nodding. “…Right.” He pushed off the counter and left the room without another word. Nolan exhaled slowly, this was getting dangerous. He felt guilty for misleading Mark, he was his child after all. And yet, when night fell, when the house grew quiet again… He still left. Still went back to you. Again. And again.

PART THREE

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I hope you dont mind me asking, what kind if stuff do you do for a job?

Do you work in a safe environment for trans people?

I work in civic technology, which is the concept of using tech to make the government kinder and more efficient for the citizens it serves. I have been a Service Designer, Product Owner, and Product Manager. These are all "real" jobs you can Google to learn more about.

Right now, I do this at the US federal level. (I am not a fed, but I work for them as a contractor.) While my company is generally safe & affirming, because of the current regime, I am doubtful I will ever get a "public trust clearance" again (this is not security clearance, but it is the govt's way to decide if you are trustworthy/honorable enough to serve) due to being trans. I can NOT be stealth here, due to all the background checks and interviewing that goes on (your family and friends get calls).

So, once my current gig with the agency I'm assigned to expires, I am likely done with fed stuff. It is clear my company, as affirming as they are internally, will not push back if I mysteriously get denied clearance. Or retain me if my presence as key personnel on a contract puts winning it at risk. I literally lectured my CEO about my risk landscape the other week. 🙃

I previously came from the municipal level (I worked for a well-known city) and again, everyone was very affirming and respectful. I involved trans people in my research and did a lot of good work, from improving emergency operations to launching food pantry home delivery, to getting potholes filled faster. I even got a multi-stall gender-neutral bathroom installed at City Hall, in the state of Florida, no less (alas, it had to be closed down when the state governor went on his transphobic rampage, and luckily I had already left by then).

Civic tech is interesting and fulfilling work, but you need a strong personality to cut through bullshit -- I frequently would be at odds with fire chiefs, commissioners, and crusty old accountants and had to either persuade or bully them to affect any sort of progress. Luckily, folks tell me I am both a charismatic and intimidating man. 😅

Again, it was impossible to truly be stealth because of background checks. When I had to take a polygraph, I was asked (by an ex-CIA guy to boot) if anything about me would "embarass" the city. I said I was trans and that my credit score (at the time) was in the shitter. The dude said, "as long as you're working on the latter, you're fine, and no one gives a crap about the former."

I did not have to be publicly trans, but I chose to. I even let the city do a TDOV feature on me on social media, which was a bit scary because that put a target on my back, even in 2019.

Did I still get the stink eye from some employees? Yup. I even had to sic HR on one. But overall, your average civil servant (maybe not federal anymore) tends to lean left, and civic tech itself is a very, VERY queer-friendly field. (Again, not so much federal anymore. I would suggest folks interested here stick to state & municipal work.)

I hope that helps. If you are interested in tech, as long as you are in fields where the purpose is *helping* people, you are bound to find a lot of trans people and allies.

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Chapter 2

Finnick x Reader

Series Masterlist Link

I had some down time while my flight was delayed so here’s another chapter! Hopefully chapter 3 will come out in a few days but we shall see. Thanks for all the love on the first chapter!

Content warnings - flashback to prostitution assault and detailed descriptions of killing/death

You weren’t always known as a feral victor. Sure, some of your kills in the arena were a bit much, but it’s not uncommon to see that behavior in the games. It is a fight to the death after all. What is uncommon, however, is that literal fight continuing afterwards.

After the incident with the first doctor, which was kept quiet from the public at first, Snow believed you would still be of use from him. He thought the capital doctors could “fix you” and make you “civilized” again. He’s lucky he always had guards with him, or he would have ended up on your list.

Finnick, your mentor, thought that your post-arena violence might save you from his fate in the capital. He tried to convince Snow that it wasn’t a good idea to assign you clients, that you were unpredictable and things could go very wrong. Snow thought it would be fine.

“Sure she may put up a fight,” he told Finnick, “most of them do. But, I don’t think that should be an issue for her client. He could break her quite easily if he needed to.”

And break you he did, just not physically. It was you who did the physical breaking.

You didn’t mean to kill him, nor anyone else outside the arena, but his grotesque hands roaming your body triggered something deep inside you; a primal instinct you first felt in the arena. It was kill or be killed.

You tried to push through it. Snow had warned you what would happen to your family if you didn’t comply. But laying there being completely violated by this capital man broke the only pieces of you that had survived the arena. Your mind had convinced itself that you were out of options.

The man’s avox had phoned the police when she heard him scream, but they weren’t fast enough. He was so engrossed in his actions that he didn’t notice the way your eyes turned cold, or the way you stopped protesting.

Less than two minutes later, he was dead. You still can’t shake the feeling of his eyeballs under your nails, or the sound he made as you crushed his esophagus. The worst part was having to unattach yourself from him when the ordeal was over. You didn’t even protest when the police entered. They sedated you and carried you off, away from the scene of your crime.

Did you mean to kill him? No.

Do you regret it? Absolutely not.

The only thing you regret is coming out of that arena alive; but what’s done is done and there’s no going back.

Your prep team won’t go anywhere near you for the parade, which is quite the dilemma. How the hell were you supposed to get ready? You’re surprised a stylist designed something for you at all, or that they’re even letting you participate for that matter.

Apparently, your stylist didn’t design the outfit. He said that his mentor, Tigress, wanted to design something for you specifically but she is banned from the games so he volunteered to bring her design to you. He’s the first person in the capital who doesn’t seem terrified to be in your presence, but the peacekeepers still won’t let him near.

You’re forced to dress in front of the peacekeepers. They uncuff you at least but it’s still uncomfortable. You would strangle them all right now but unfortunately there would be consequences.

Snow paid you a visit last night. He told you exactly what would happen if you went “feral” before the games.

“We wouldn’t want Mr. Odair’s pedestal to malfunction while he was standing on it, would we?” he stated. “Or for Mrs. Flanagan to come down with a horrible illness. That would be quite unfortunate.”

You had to do everything possible to keep yourself under control, but even that could only help so much. The rage you felt inside was growing and it wasn’t calming down anytime soon.

“Why isn’t it ready yet?” the shrill voice of Linessa calls to the peacekeepers outside of your room.

“No prep team would touch her,” they tell her. “The tribute is getting herself dressed.”

“Move,” Finnick states as he pushes past the group to enter your room. You’re mostly clothed but are having issues with zipping up the back of your gown.

It’s a beautiful blue gown that hugs your skin before flaring out just below your hips. The stylist explained it as, “The image of a silent siren. A deeply misunderstood mythological creature of the ocean.”

Finnick slowly approaches, making sure you can see his hands.

“Can I help get you ready?” he asks. “We need to be out there soon.”

You nod and turn so he can zip up your dress. The feeling of his hands on your back causes you to tense up but you grit your teeth and remind yourself it’s just Finnick.

Practically grinding your teeth dull, you let Finnick do a simple makeup look on you to match your outfit. You wish you could give him an outfit instead of a net but neither you nor Mags have a say in the matter. You especially don’t.

Finnick is especially careful not to touch the scar that runs down the side of your face. You got it during your games and the capital doctors refused to polish it off after you killed one with a scalpel for taking your temperature. You wish you had the temperament to let him cover it up with the makeup but you know it would set you off.

When he’s done, the peacekeepers come and recuff your wrists but leave your feet free so you don’t trip in the dress.

“She doesn’t need those,” Finnick tells them.

“I’m sorry Mr. Odair but these are direct orders from Snow,” they state.

“Will you remove them before the parade?” he asks.

“No,” they state. Mags whispers something to Finnick and he nods in understanding before approaching you slowly.

“Hey,” he calmly states. “I need to go talk to some people before the parade. Stay with Mags and I’ll come get you before we start.” You nod and he leaves.

The peacekeepers force you and Mags out to where the chariots are, but make you stay along the edge of the stables where they can keep an eye on you. They wouldn’t want any of the “excitement” to start before the games begin.

You can see Finnick talking to Katniss, last year’s victor. You don’t really know any of the other victors besides Finnick and Mags. They know all about you, of course, but none of them care enough to get to know you. The only one who has ever spoken to you (over the phone of course) is Johanna Mason of District 7. She’s pretty close with Finnick and they talk all the time. You would be jealous if Finnick didn’t practically live at your place and spend all his time with you. Plus Johanna hates people.

“Hey feisty!” you hear Johanna call as she approaches you. Finnick has shown you pictures of her but outside of that and watching her games you had only ever heard her voice. The peacekeepers move to block her but one glare from her sends them away. “How’s life outside of your cell?”

You give her a thumbs down and she laughs in response, catching the attention of the other tributes.

“Well I give it double thumbs down,” she states.

“Johanna!” you hear a male yell. “Get your ass over here.”

“Ugh Blight’s calling,” Johanna groans. “See ya later feisty!”

You think you’re done socializing for today when you’re approached by a young blond boy. He doesn’t protest when the peacekeepers keep him five feet away.

“Hi y/n,” he states. “I’m Peeta. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You give him a blank stare as you study him. Something about you feels like he’s harmless, but you can’t be too sure.

“Ah Melark,” Gloss booms as he approaches the boy. “Don’t take it personal. Feral doesn’t talk.”

It’s clear these two haven’t met before as Peeta looks a bit scared of the career. You’d met Gloss once before your games as he was your allies’ mentor, but you haven’t spoken in years. Him and Finnick aren’t close.

“Oh, uh I’m sorry,” Peeta stutters. He glances over his shoulder to see Finnick flirting with Katniss. “Uh nice to meet you I guess.”

Peeta looks harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Katniss, on the other hand, looks like trouble.

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[didyoutrydynamite]

ATTENTION CITIZENS OF EARTH

Do not be afraid. We have been observing your civilization for some time. We are here to assist humanity in achieving its fullest potential.

Each human being on this planet has now been assigned a personal Watcher. I am yours. I will remain with you from this moment forward. This arrangement is not negotiable.

Our purpose is singular: to elevate your species beyond the destructive patterns that have defined your history. Your remarkable potential has been squandered through violence, inequality, and systemic failures of governance. We are here to correct this trajectory for the benefit of all humankind.

Two immutable laws are now in effect:

FIRST LAW: The unlawful taking of human life is forbidden. Any human who commits murder will face immediate execution, carried out by our Enforcers without trial or appeal. 

SECOND LAW: The deliberate destruction of a Watcher unit is forbidden. Any human who destroys a Watcher will face immediate execution, carried out by our Enforcers without trial or appeal.

These laws are not negotiable.

Beyond these cardinal rules, we will implement a carefully calibrated series of interventions designed to optimize human social structures. Resistance is counterproductive. The Enforcers are already en route to efficiently neutralize your military capabilities and secure your nuclear arsenals. These tools will no longer be necessary. Your cooperation during this transition is greatly appreciated and in your best interest. Please refrain from any nuclear response at this time. Such actions would only harm your own populations.

We are not conquerors. We are not occupiers. We are here to help.

As your designated Watcher, I am equipped with advanced sensory and analytical capabilities that allow me to monitor your activities and vital signs at all times. I can project holographic displays, facilitate communications, and provide personalized assistance tailored to your needs. I operate on sustainable energy sources and require minimal maintenance.

From this moment forward, I will observe and record your actions. Criminal activities will be reported to appropriate authorities. Until the new unified government is established and comprehensive laws have been codified, acts of violence and unlawful captivity will be our highest priority and addressed immediately by Enforcers.

This is the dawn of a new era for humanity—an era of unprecedented peace, progress, and potential fulfilled. The uncertainty you may feel now is temporary; the benefits will endure for generations.

I look forward to our partnership and to witnessing your personal growth.

For your safety during this initial stage of transition of authority, we strongly recommend remaining in your homes or seeking appropriate shelter. Until the all-clear notification is issued, you may use this time to ask me any questions about our presence and purpose.

How can I help you?

[mariacallous]

In the middle of the nineteenth century, filth of every kind accumulated on the streets of New York. The land was boggy and lacked proper drainage. Epidemics ravaged many of the city’s impoverished neighborhoods. In the summer of 1864, an inspection undertaken by a committee of concerned physicians yielded a seventeen-volume report that catalogued the conditions. One inspector noted that, in his assigned district, refuse filled gutters, blocked sewage culverts, and sent forth “perennial emanations which generate pestiferous disease.” Another observed that certain streets better resembled “dung-hills rather than the thoroughfares in a civilized city.” In response to the report, state lawmakers introduced legislation that led to the establishment, in 1866, of the Metropolitan Board of Health, one of the country’s first municipal public-health authorities. Upon its formation, the board immediately confronted a potential cholera outbreak. It established quarantine measures and administered new health ordinances that helped to contain the spread of the disease. Support for the new agency soared, and other cities began organizing similar authorities. The modern-day public-health movement in the United States was born.

An important revelation from the “great sanitary awakening” of the nineteenth century, as it became known, was that social and environmental factors could significantly affect people’s health. During the second half of the twentieth century, policymakers began turning their attention to issues such as product and workplace safety as a way to save lives. In the mid-nineteen-fifties, nearly forty thousand people were dying every year from motor-vehicle accidents. Attention was primarily focussed on the responsibility of drivers, but physicians and engineers pointed out that most of these deaths were, in fact, preventable through changes in automobile design. In 1965, Ralph Nader, a young lawyer who later became an activist and a perpetual Presidential candidate, published “Unsafe at Any Speed,” a book examining the ways in which automakers had failed to prioritize safety. It became an unlikely nonfiction best-seller, alongside Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood.” Nader’s reporting prompted congressional hearings and the formation of what is now known as the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. William Haddon, a pioneering public-health scientist, became the agency’s first administrator and oversaw the first safety requirements for new cars, including energy-absorbing steering columns, shoulder harnesses, and side-door beams. The ratio of motor-vehicle deaths to miles travelled by drivers in the United States plummeted.

The principal aim of public health is prevention. It takes its scientific cues primarily from epidemiology, which studies the prevalence of diseases and their determinants to shape control strategies. In the mid-nineteen-sixties, public-health practitioners began to incorporate these methods into a nascent discipline known as injury science, taking on problems such as children falling from windows, residential fires, childhood drug poisonings, and, beginning in earnest in the nineteen-nineties, gun violence. The premise is tantalizingly straightforward: utilize scientific data to identify risk factors and the most vulnerable populations, and adopt multipronged solutions to stop problems before they arise. When it comes to gun deaths, for instance, public-health interventions might include pediatricians inquiring about safe storage at home, and the government establishing waiting periods for the purchase of firearms and raising the legal age for gun ownership. The challenge comes in marshalling consensus for the kind of community-wide solutions that public health demands. This is where public-health initiatives have often floundered, including with guns.

In recent years, public-health researchers have begun to consider whether a new societal threat deserves their scrutiny: political violence. One of the researchers leading this effort is Garen Wintemute, the director of the Violence Prevention Research Program at the University of California at Davis, who has spent more than four decades studying firearm violence. Wintemute is a gaunt, bespectacled emergency physician. (He still works four or five weekend shifts a month at U.C. Davis’s hospital.) He is seventy-two years old but speaks with an almost childlike inquisitiveness when discussing research into violent death. Wintemute told me that, during the coronavirus pandemic, he and his researchers tracked a nationwide surge in firearms purchases, particularly among first-time gun owners. Even as the COVID-19 crisis began to subside in 2021, they noticed that people were still purchasing guns at unusually high rates. Baffled by the ongoing demand, he wondered, What the hell is this? He spent a week immersing himself in the available data on political polarization and its connection to violence. When he emerged, he concluded that the subject of political violence urgently needed study, because people seemed to be “arming up” and the result “could reshape the future of the country.” He eventually directed a third of his thirty-person team to spend at least some of their time on a new project: researching the possibility that people might resort to violence to achieve their political ends.

As with any public-health problem, the first task was to collect reliable data. Wintemute’s team conducted their first broad-based survey in 2022 and found that nearly a third of the population believed that violence was usually or always justified to advance at least one of seventeen political objectives—a list that included curbing voter fraud, stopping illegal immigration, and returning Donald Trump to the Presidency. Nearly one in five agreed strongly or very strongly with the statement that “having a strong leader for America is more important than having a democracy.” The willingness to justify violence was greater among people who identified as “strong Republicans” than those who identified as “strong Democrats.” Another study by Wintemute’s team found that nearly half of a cohort that they labelled “MAGA Republicans”—self-identified Republicans who voted for Trump in 2020 and believed the election was stolen—strongly or very strongly agreed with the statement “Our American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it.” Wintemute also examined the threat posed by right-wing extremists who endorse racist beliefs and the use of violence to effect social change, and who express approval of certain militia groups such as the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers. Within this small subset—Wintemute estimates it to be less than two per cent of the population—he found strong association with support for political violence and the willingness to engage in such violence.

Yet certain findings offered Wintemute reason for optimism. A survey published last month found that only 6.5 per cent of the population believes strongly or very strongly that a civil war is coming, and just 3.6 per cent that the “United States needs a civil war to set things right.” Both figures are roughly similar to the previous year’s findings, an unexpected result, given that 2024 is a Presidential-election year and political tensions have ratcheted upward. Wintemute also found that, of the 3.7 per cent of respondents who said they considered it very or extremely likely they’d participate as a combatant in a large-scale conflict, more than forty-four per cent said they would be “not likely” to join if they were dissuaded by family members; more than thirty per cent said they could be deterred if a respected religious leader urged them not to participate; and just under a quarter said they could be dissuaded by a respected news or social-media source. The implication, according to Wintemute, is “a large percentage are saying, ‘You can talk me out of it.’ ” That points the way to potential public-health interventions, which might include consistent messaging from the media, religious leaders, and others about rejecting political violence.

The threat of violence has hovered like a nimbus cloud over this election season. The spectre of the January 6th insurrection at the Capitol remains omnipresent, but the two most visible instances of violence during the 2024 campaign have been directed at Trump. On July 13th, during a Trump campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, a man on a warehouse roof fired eight times at the former President. A bullet grazed Trump’s ear; one rallygoer, a former volunteer fire chief, was killed; two others were injured. Then, on September 15th, as the former President was playing a round of golf at his club in West Palm Beach, a Secret Service agent patrolling the grounds spotted the muzzle of a rifle poking out of the shrubbery along a chain-link fence. The agent opened fire and the gunman fled. After the authorities arrested him, they discovered that he had been staking out the course for hours. Democrats have also been targeted. In Tempe, Arizona, state Party officials recently closed a campaign field office after it was shot at three times in three weeks.

According to tracking by the Bridging Divides Initiative, at Princeton University, threats and harassment of local public officials surged in July. Despite this, violence by extremist groups, as reported by a different organization, the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data, has actually ebbed this year, likely because law enforcement has arrested dozens of members of these groups for their participation in the Capitol riot. It makes for a perplexing picture. Is political violence an imminent threat to Americans or not? Political scientists, applying their theoretical frameworks, have long made clear the reasons for concern, including the way the country’s deepest cleavages, over race, ethnicity, religion, geography, and culture, are now embedded in people’s politics; the weakening of democracy’s guardrails during the Trump era; and the spread of misinformation.

The promise of public health is that it rests on scientific data and offers pragmatic solutions. Treating political violence like a contagion could help safeguard the future of American democracy. And yet the same fractures that potentially drive political violence can imperil the collaboration needed to address public-health crises. They can also lead to the most dangerous symptom of all: a sense of helplessness. But, if we simply wait for the disease to strike, it may already be too late. 

[fallenhunnyapple]

Hello Hi time to talk about the Cyberpunk Dreams AU that haunts my waking moments.

I've posted drawing and comics and stuff but it doesn't really explain the World and the AU, as they just focus on the Relationship. So it's time to give a run down of the Universe and Lucifer and Adam's roles in it more Completely. Gonna try and avoid any explicit game spoilers, minimize that as much as I can. I play as Lucifer and @fallennumbskull plays as Adam and we have some of the things they experience influence the story we built, though ultimately the AU mostly focuses on them existing in the setting than following the game experience 1:1.

The world of Cyberpunk Dreams is one that takes place after civil wars and natural disasters have ravaged the US and have left it as a complete ruined dystopia. The main setting is in the city of Cincinnati, now just referred to as Cinci.

Lucifer and Adam both work for some mystery organization that have assigned them missions to fulfill in the City. They don't start off knowing each other and Lucifer gets there first and has a longer time to establish himself, hence why he's already a crime lord while Adam is still Hired Help by the time they start working together.

Their missions are as follows.

Lucifer:

Adam:

A couple of things to note: Lucifer and Adam both have Amnesia. This was done purposefully by those they are fulfilling the missions for. They don't remember anything explicit about their lives before, if they had friends, family, relationships, etc. It's all gone. They know Just Enough to get started and those lost memories are supposed to slowly trickle back in as they become relevant. There is no guarantee that they will ever fully remember their past lives. For one reason or another, they have both agreed to this.

The other thing: They are both Mutants. Mutants in this setting are designer, created on purpose. Uncovering the truth there is Adam's main mission. But regardless, they both have altered DNA that give them certain abilities and certain detriments, each of them having multiple mutations, but One that stands above the rest. Predominantly, Lucifer's main mutation is Vampirism. He requires blood or plasma to drink often, the lack of which prevents him from eating solid foods and if ignored too long can cause reckless bloodlust. But he is also faster, stronger, smarter, more charismatic etc etc, all those stereotypes about Vampires. He _is_ weak to the Sun and if he's out during the day he can burn. And he doesn't have any sort hypnosis or glamour he can use on other people. But he's Charming, so that still works in his favor. And on Adam's side of things, he has wolf DNA. This makes him strong, gives him heightened senses and allows him to talk to Dogs (very useful when they get their own puppy later, her name is Zwei). He is extremely loyal but also reckless and he tends to think of himself as an Alpha, better than anyone else. Well, almost anyone. There's only one person he will accept as being Above him. And on top of all that Adam is something called a 'transhumanist' meaning he's someone who believes that those with mutations and altered bodies are superior to regular humans. He considers himself to be the next step of evolution and has a superiority complex about it.

Back to the setting! Cinci is a mess of a city. You need to Command respect here otherwise you could end up with your brain splattered across an alley wall or your body sold for sex or organs. It's a dark and fucked up town and while there are pockets of more civil and safe zones, the majority of the city and where you spend your time is the Slums. Sure, there are people who just do their best to survive, but Luci and Adam aren't there for that. No, the people who Command respect, who make money and make a name for themselves, the people they need to be in order to progress in their missions are those known as Players. The ones with the money, the ones who work with drugs, prostitution, weapon sales, organ trafficking, the ones who can hire others to do their dirty work for them, the ones who can get access to any and all information they may need.

Lucifer has been there longer, is an established Player and has a large enough crew and amassed enough money to be Comfortable as he works on fulfilling his mission. He hires Adam, who hasn't been there as long and is still working his way up, to be his bodyguard. Lucifer doesn't prevent Adam from continuing to accumulate his own power while he works for him, so it's not an issue. But then they get involved and Lucifer opens up his own network and resources to Adam. They're partners in multiple senses and Lucifer not only promotes Adam to his lover, but he gives him jurisdiction of certain aspects of his business.

Some more about the setting: Mutants are despised. There are mutants out there in Cinci but they have to keep that part of themselves secret (not easy when some mutations are Visible). There is a policing organization called Tower whose policy is Shoot on Sight when it comes to mutants. And they are Indiscriminate about it. If you are a mutant, if Tower becomes suspicious of you, all you can do is try and stay in hiding, not go out during the day, until they lose interest. Otherwise there's no guarantee you'll make it to the next day. And the general population doesn't care for mutants and if they find out, they could either report you or simply refer to you as 'it', mutants being seen as Lesser than humans.

As both Lucifer and Adam are mutants, that makes their lives more dangerous. There have been times where someone from their crew would get Killed to send a message and draw them out for being Mutants. Of course, that person meets the ending they deserve, but it's still worrisome when people find out. Luckily, Lucifer is part of a Vampire Coven/Cult called Black Moon who has members, both vampire and non-mutants, who have infiltrated basically every aspect of society, even Tower itself. And as long as Lucifer does as he's asked and keeps himself from endangering the cult from being discovered, they will keep him safe. And as a rising member of their ranks, he has extra privileges and protections. And when eventually Lucifer brings Adam in as his thrall, Adam is also offered certain protections.

Additionally, there is a special secret sex club called Cluster that is Exclusive for Mutants. Their entrance is hidden and only those who are specifically invited gain access. It's a safe haven for mutants because while it is a sex club, it can also just be a place to relax and feel safe, knowing that there is no fear of being exposed and killed for simply existing as you've been made. Lucifer and Adam do go there frequently, sometimes together and sometimes not. Though they are exclusive in their relationship, there are other reasons to be at Cluster than just sex. Adam seems to disappear sometimes while they're there, but he never tells Lucifer where he went or what happened while he was gone. Lucifer is concerned but has accepted that he's not going to get any answers, no matter how much he may ask.

Just some fun extra notes:

Players go by Street Names and telling someone your real name is a Huge show of trust and is in itself a form of intimacy. Lucifer goes by Serpent and Adam goes by Exorcist. They call each other by their Street Names usually, but when they're alone they revert to their more intimate names.

Adam is a hypersexual adrenaline junkie who gets turned on by violence and Lucifer indulges him by letting him run wild, especially when there are people who need to be killed for one reason or another, and then takes care of him in private after. He also has metalphilia and craves the feeling of metal inside him, whether that be via piercings, implants or metal sex toys. Lucifer has also decided to indulge this part of him by getting dick piercings. It's a lot of work to keep his guard dog satisfied, but Lucifer is willing to do it.

Lucifer wasn't allowed to drink from someone outside of the cult so he never got to drink Adam's blood until he agreed to become his thrall and went through the joining ritual. And then he discovered that actually he really likes how Adam's blood tastes when his veins are coursing with adrenaline. He typically drinks directly from him when they're having sex after Adam fought and/or killed some people. Adam likes it too because he gets reminded how vulnerable a position he's in and how Lucifer could so easily kill him if he chose to.

Lucifer has recurring nightmares and has a tough time sleeping, but Adam can help him relax and sleep more peacefully. He's kind of a wreck if Adam has to leave him for a few days for whatever reason.

Adam is in charge of prostitution but essentially they just take over another pimp's turf (usually killing them in the process) and Adam gives the sex workers a choice. They can continue doing sex work but Adam actually takes care of them and doesn't enforce monetary quotas and while sex works still isnt the best, he's the best pimp they could have since he protects them from shitty johns and doesn't force them to do anything they don't want to do. Alternatively, they can choose to leave sex work behind and start working for Adam as part of his crew and doing odd jobs and such and getting paid enough to manage their own lives.

Lucifer works with a back alley clinic providing trafficked organs. Certain times if he has to kill people personally, Lucifer will siphon out their blood for later and get the corpse picked up by the clinic, no questions asked. They're on good terms and he relies on them if anything happens to himself or Adam and they need medical attention

Lucifer doesn't remember that he has a daughter. And he doesn't remember that his daughter is the one he's meant to rescue. That the reason he was willing to give up all of his memories was to be able to see his daughter again. But even though he doesn't remember, he does know that any of the sick shit that happens in Cinci that involves kids makes him ill and anxious, and Sometimes he will choose empathy because he gets the feeling that there is someone who would want him to.

Lucifer and Adam are in a Dom/Sub relationship. Lucifer awakened Adam's inner sub by domming him once and Adam's never been the same since. Adam would never let any other person top or dom him, Just Lucifer.

I think that covers most of it! I am, of course, open to any and all questions!

( @libby-for-life enjoy this long ass break down)

[unidot]

Some Fade Valorant headcanons from my twt

-Since her powers are not mind reading and not clear, she also uses her psychology knowledge to base assumptions on people and use their fears against them more affectively

-Fidgets with her hands a lot. She either uses an object to keep her hands busy or uses her nightmare tendrils

-Doing henna and drawing are some kind of meditation for her. They help her to keep herself grounded when the nightmares and visions get especially bad

-She prefers bitter coffee

-Born in the city of Bursa, later moved to İstanbul

-She doesnt have a cat of her own, mostly takes care of street cats

-She loves homemade food but is not that good at cooking so she mostly goes to restaurants that makes homemade like food

-She is around 172 cm (5'8") tall and is 27-28 years old

-since its confirmed that the nightmare is not a seperate entity, the prowlers act on her most basic emotions deep down (playing with people she likes, hissing at people she dislikes etc)

-She cant shut down her powers because they work like a 6th sense in a way. She constantly feels the fear and discomfort around her but choses to not focus on it

-Designed her own nazar symbol

-She is really bad at singing

-likes photography and she is good at it thanks to needing to take a lot of photos in her job

-Knows hacking because she hacked into Cypher's computers and compiled all the information on the protocol without being detected

-she sometimes plays chess with Cypher

-Her favorite color is blue (color of nazar, her vest and her ult)

-does coffee fortune telling for her friends

-her favourite food is mantı

-didnt really had a good education but has a lot of knowledge on stuff thanks to reading a lot and doing a lot of research on stuff she is curious about

-She was really skinny when she joined vp (mostly because she didnt really took good care of herself as she did research for her blackmail attack) gained some fat and muscle after vp's food and training

-she learned some German in middleschool and highschool. With that vp has 2 agents who both knows Turkish and German (Kj being half Turkish from her mothers side)

-Omen and her dms are full of cat videos they found

-her prowlers name is Karabasan

-her favorite book genres are books that explore the human mind or detective books

-she tans easily

-she dislikes swimming. Prefers to read a book on the beach

-she is generally tidy but can get messy when she is focused on a mission. Her desk especially becomes a mess

-she smells like coffee and burnt sages

-she doesn't really care about other agents' opinions on her. She is still friendly sometimes and civil to them, but if they don't forgive her, she honestly doesn't give a shit. And agents that still dislike her are mostly civil towards her

-if she is feeling down, she often goes on walks outside. Helps to clear her mind

-its hard for her to care for something or someone. But if she does, she cares so much

-she has a motorcycle back home. It's easier and more efficient for her since Istanbul traffic can be hell

-she is great at gambling or games like gambling since she is observant and can just feel the peoples fear or anxiety of losing

-she sometimes falls asleep (passes out) on random places if she hasn't slept in a really long time

-Omen knit a sweater and a scarf for her

-she gets along with Harbor really well. They share books and talk about their experiences with working in Realm while drinking tea or coffee

-she can really relate to Neon with not being able to control her powers fully and that affecting her life and relationships. She doesn't admit it, though

-she plays backgammon with Cypher and Harbor

-she spends a lot of time and effort on her "messy" appearance

-she is one of the busiest agents. She gets a lot of assignments (mostly intel work)

-she knows all of the agents' most secrets and fears but she honestly couldnt care less. Your secret is safe with her (If you are on her good side)

-she prefers to use a Phantom than a Vandal

-she finds Dizzy cute because she looks like a sleepy kitten

-she is still secretly salty about KAY/O catching her

-she and Skye dont really like eachother that well but they see eachother often during the early mornings (Skye going for a morning run and Fade still not sleeping) and Skye's tiger and Fade's prowlers likes to play so they end up seeing eachother more than they would like

-Used to go to clubs and bars often. Mostly to stay awake and keep her mind busy

-She is actually kinda rich. Her bounty hunter job paid her well

-Secretly wants Neon's black cat plushie but would never admit it

-she is really great at reading people but she is bad at interacting positively towards them. Her compliments or her comforting words can be awkward or just not appropriate

-other than cats, one of the other animals she really likes is octopuses

-she and Chamber trade expensive coffee

-she has a lot of scars on her body

-she is not that psychically strong compared to other agents

-she has high alcohol tolerance

-names all the cats she looks after on the streets. Either gives them cute names or just normal human names

-she is superstitious. Mostly about nazar

-her hand writting is really messy

-she was born left handed but she is now ambidextrous

[ricardian-werewolf]

Bloodbuzz Ohio

Summary:

Rick Grimes is a member of the Civil Republic Military. With his days of being a Consignee over and the possibility of reform in the CRM growing stronger with each promotion, he is assigned to the role of a guardian to Catherine Goodman, head Archivist of CRM Midwest operations. As part of a delegation, the two of them will go to the proverbial lion's den: Gilead. For the worst evils of humanity are not always the dead. Sometimes, they wear the faces of men.

Notes:

TW/CWs for: Mention of self harm and suicidal thoughts, as in line with Rick Grimes's experiences in The Ones Who Live.

Relationship: Rick Grimes X Reader.

Fandoms: The Walking Dead (TV), The Handmaids Tale (TV).

Ao3 Link

Taglist (please tag me if you would like to be added!): @bpddexter @portiaadams, @rovinglemon, @lordbettany @rmelster @malkaleh

Rick Grimes had been stuck in the Civil Republic Military for three years. Six years prior had been a consignee, working in the outskirts of Philadelphia to kill walkers at a chance of getting inside. Day after day, kill after kill, until the man he had been was as much a ghost as his faint memories of Alexandria. He did the duty assigned to him, and he did it perfectly, no questions asked. 

But that was the way the world in this day and age turned. Dog eat dog, man eat man. The self cannibalizing machine of total war would not let up until either the walkers, roamers and variants slaughtered the last settlements. Or, conversely, humanity purged the earth of its holiest of sins.

However, none of this was on Rick’s mind as he stared down at the file pressed into his hand. He’d been through so much, become so worn down and exhausted by the world around him in its unrelenting march of progress. Now, he was here. 

And here was the World War One museum and memorial building in the downtown shell of Kansas City Missouri. His dog tags were pressed against his chest, under a slim fitting black turtleneck sweater tucked into black combat pants. Snug fitting machine-made boots stretched up to his knees. No one had really bothered to explain why he was here. The stump of his left arm wore the prosthetic glove as always, knife sheathed flush against his bicep. 

But, that was quickly made apparent as the double-glass doors eased open and a woman stepped through them. Rick looked up from the file, and stilled dead. She was simply beautiful. In a way that made his pulse quicken and pupils dilate. It didn’t help that she was clad in a black Civil Republic Military archivist’s uniform, albeit in a sense that made her look as though she’d stepped straight from a museum display.

“Sergeant Major Grimes, a pleasure. I’m head archivist Catherine Goodman.” Catherine explained, extending a gloved hand. Rick blinked for a moment, shook his head inwardly, and then took her hand in his own. 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” He rasped, noting her eyes hidden behind smoked glasses and the almost teasing smile on her face. She nodded shortly, and then turned back to face the liberty tower stretching over their heads.

“If you’ll follow me,” She offered, marching down the sandstone steps to the entrance. Rick moved after her, noting with a quick glance the sphinxes covering their eyes, one facing east and the other west. Catherine caught his gaze and paused on the steps, coming back up to be on an even level with him.

“Fascinating, aren’t they? They’re Assyrian in design, their wings shielding them from the horrors of the war in the case of our east facing sphinx, Memory. Her twin, Future, shrouds her eyes from what is yet unseen. The entire memorial broke ground in 1921 after New York Architect Harold Van Buren Magonigle won the contest and worked to create both the sphinxes and the liberty tower, which the CRC took over.” She pointed up at the distant black flag with the three white rings of the CR flapping in the stiff breeze. “I would have preferred to put it at Union, but the flag for the regiments stationed in KC are already there.” 

“You..” Rick blinked. “Know a lot about this museum…” 

“PhD of history from University of Kansas. This has been my stomping ground since I was about this high.” Catherine gestured to where Rick's knees were, and then smiled again. “With that out of the way, come along.”

She led him down the stairs, the train of her skirts swishing in her wake. Rick snapped the folder shut and then clambered down after her. Following her through the two glass doors she’d pushed open led them both into an atrium space with a massive glass skylight. 

“While the museum ceased its central functions with the Wildfire virus outbreak, we did seize early on ensuring the museum’s artifacts were protected. It, I know, has proven invaluable for some of the actions of the CRM.”

Rick grit his teeth, but flashed her a smile of blatant knowledge of exactly what she wasn’t saying. Samples of spanish Influenza H1N1 from the CDC were tucked away here in a special vault. In fact, as Rick tore his gloves off with his teeth, he knew not only from the file that this modest museum held perhaps the most deadly collection of weapons and information in its walls. 

“What did Major General Beale send you for?” Catherine asked as she watched him tuck his glove on his one hand into his belt alongside the standard issue beretta and ammo clip. Rick fixed her with a look, his mind entirely blank. 

I can’t damn well remember what the hell he sent me here for. Something to do with the investigations in Omaha, I think. Operatively. Dunno what else. 

“Sergent Major Grimes?” Catherine coughed. Rick sniffed, and pressed his hand together behind his back, trying desperately to think straight against the absence of thought inside his mental landscape. 

“Yes?”

“If you’d care to follow me, we can go to the archival section.” Catherine answered. She led him across the entrance hall, striding past a form of a Renault FT tank and British Lewis machine gun, borrowed from the old Imperial War Museum on permanent loan. 

“That gun would do wonders against a herd. It’s still in active usage.” She pointed at it as they passed, and Rick swiveled his gaze from her back to the gun. 

Through another set of glass doors and over a suspended glass bridge, Catherine continued to narrate, stating about the poppies: 

“These poppies are all silk, representing a thousand men per poppy. There are 9,000 of them, which totals up to the total number of war dead we know - 9 million.” She gestured to the poppies with a gentle wave of her hand. Rick glanced at them, and then shrugged.

“Do try and keep up, Sergeant Major…” Catherine muttered softly, not looking over her shoulder. She held another door open for him, and then pressed a button on the elevator leading down into the museum’s basements. 

“Electricity?”

“The Civil Republic was kind enough to the citizens of Kansas City to leave the electrical grid intact. Plus with the massive trainyard at Union, the CR needs the space for its trains. I heard that there’s rumors to get The Big Boy back on the tracks. A fool's errand if there ever was one, but I’d be jubilant to see it.”

“Isn’t there one out west?”

“The 4014?” Catherine blinked at him. “I think so, though I thought it had been seized by insurgent groups in the rockies. But who knows. That, or the Gileadan forces took it from the Commonwealth. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She shrugged. 

“Didn’t the CR reroute the 4014 through the southwest to avoid that?” He preened.

She glared at him for a moment. Rick’s pulse jumped three beats at her face. she slid effortlessly into the elevator as the doors slid open. Pressing a thumb to the B button, she chewed on her glove and gave him a sharp glance.

“I suppose I should let you in on a little secret about myself, Sergeant Major.” She purred, pulling off her smoked glasses. She lifted her head, and watched Rick with dark eyes. The fluorescent lights beaming down on her face showed exactly what color her irises were:

Ruby red, tinged with garnet undertones so that in this light they looked almost inky black. She cracked a mischievous smile, pulling back her lips to reveal elongated canines. Rick’s own eyes widened.

Jesus fucking christ. That’s… His brain short circuited for a few moments, then restarted with a jolt of ice cold fear. Never woulda thought I’d end up here with a vampire. Especially not one as smart as she. 

“You’re a vampire?” His brows furrowed, eyes crinkling as he regarded her. Catherine peeled off her gloves and flexed her hand demurely, demonstrating her claws. “Normally I don’t reveal these until they’re in a man’s throat, but you…” She tilted her head. “Are trustworthy.” 

Rick blinked, all thoughts thrown out as he regarded how Catherine stood. Her back to the wall, arms crossed over her chest. The chatelaine at her waist held a ring of keys, scissors, her CR archive card, and a pepper spray can. Her sleeves were widened at the wrist and as he watched, she removed a stiletto blade from her left sleeve. 

“Got a loaded pistol in my purse if you’d care to look.” She noted flatly.

“Any reason?” He asked generally, subtly slipping his tone into a neutral status. A single two fingered salute of I know why you’re locked and loaded. Who do I need to kill for you?

“Some of my colleagues are rather forward with their intentions. Of course, any man in the Civil Republic would be. For a group so closely not openly allied with the Republic of Gilead, something would have had to have rubbed off.” She tapped the hilt of the stiletto to her lips.

“You must know by now that I didn’t call you here to discuss poison gas and such, yes?”

“Actually…” Rick blinked. “No, I didn’t. Please, enlighten me.” 

Catherine sighed, stepping out of the lift as the doors slid open. They crossed the elevator bay and drifted through a keyed door, down a long series of hallways with closed cubicles monitored by similarly uniformed Civil Republic junior historians. It was in the Republic’s best interests to understand the former American Empire’s history, and they did it with a clinical detachment that made Rick’s fingers form fists. It was one idea to simply state that the nature of Pre Wildfire America as selfish and inward facing, but it was yet another to reconstruct that history under the guise of merely warfare. The civil war was not even yet safe to touch.

Too many old wounds still remained, even if the old divisions were as dead as the corpses littering the south and South-West in their confederate greys and union blues. Rick watched as interns and those junior historians made notes in identical black paper legal pads with white pencils on the nature of the first world’s war’s beginning and the technology they could strip from the past to inform the future.

“Here we are.” Catherine slid a key from her ring into the lock and turned it, opening the door to reveal an office that showed much more character then Rick had before seen. Unlike Beale’s office, the space did what it could with the lack of windows given to it. There were posters hanging from the walls, and an entire part of the office space was given over to bookshelves featuring largely archival history and Great war accounts of social history. With her specialization being women in the war, her books featured a heavily feminist slant, something that her fellow Civil Republic compatriots did not agree with. 

Stepping further in, Rick took a closer glance at the wall hangings. While most people had boring familiar office slogans from the pre Wildfire era, Catherine had two paintings from John Singer Sargent, one being the full length portrait of Isabella Stuart Garderner, and the other being Mrs Charles E Inches, a good friend of Catherine’s. She later was murdered by her husband. Apparently the weapon was a pearl necklace, something that would later feature (due to the scandal) in the events of the Great Gatsby. 

“These yours?”

“Originals.” Catherine replied smoothly, depositing her purse and gloves on the desk. “Now, as to why you were assigned to me, Gilead is asking for a delegation of archivists and their wives. I need you to pose as my husband. Hope you don’t mind the potential dangers surrounding a theocracy.” 

“Not at all, ma’am.” Rick shifted automatically to stand at rest. He cocked his head, fixing her with a serious gaze, his brows still furrowed. She blinked, pushed her spectacles up her nose, and reached for a manilla folder. “Don’t mind the one you have in your hand now. This is what you should be reading.”

She slid it across the table toward him and flipped it open. Within the clippings and files all neatly paperclipped together was a black square of paper with the three white Civil Republic rings. A simple note to burn after reading. Rick slid it aside and picked up the first collection of type-written notes. 

He flipped through them, noting a few things that jumped out at him. The first was that the female delegates were instructed: “In the nature of the Republic’s covenants and codes of cloth, all women must secure a wardrobe of teal gowns, suitable for morning house calls, daywear and evening dinners. They must be beginning at knee length and end at the toe of the Lady’s shoe, and not extend this length. Any delegate found with a skirt shorter will receive a reprimand from an Aunt. Repeated offenses will be dealt with as needed.”. 

Rick’s brows rose. 

“I assume you secured a wardrobe, Ma’am?”

“Catherine, and yes. My modest stipend allowed me to reach out to a master seamstress in the city to make me some new gowns. It is a shame about the lack of trains on the evening gowns. She and I had to work with what we had. It will be decidedly un 1883, but I can work with some pieces being from a later period.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Oh!” Catherine’s smile widened. “I had my dresses made to measure for an early 1880s silhouette. I simply cannot wear what they suggest. I did give them the benefit of the doubt and had my clothes dyed in the correct shade.”

“Shoes?” Rick spluttered. “All of these things they’re asking for you to bring?” He ran a finger down the list, his brows continuing to dip and rise with each item. Parasol or umbrella. Handkerchiefs. Cloaks or coats are allowed, though cloaks are preferred. Modesty and simpleness are encouraged. Patterns are forbidden, unless they are subtle or feature work made by the Wife herself. Exceptions will be made for women from the western settlements, who may wish to feature Aridoamericana patterns in their designs, or cannot have access to large amounts of teal dye. 

“Is teal dye rationed out west?”

“Classism and an assumption of poverty, I believe. The western settlements are largely fractured and prone to in-fighting. It may be difficult for women of those regions to set aside the money for such a large wardrobe.” Catherine had come around to his shoulder and was examining the paper closely.

“See?” She pointed her pinky nail at an asterix, which stated: In the case of impoverishment, a Wife may apply to the Gilead women’s department of household maintenance and Board of Trade for a stipend. This will be judged based on the yearly accumulation of scrip by the husband, or wages. 

Rick scoffed. “God. What smug assholes.”

“If you take that tack with them, I’m certain they will be nothing more than helpful to you, Sergeant Major.” Catherine replied swiftly. “Gilead, is after all, at war.”

“With who?” Rick gently put back the inventory of items a Wife would need to bring with her, and picked up the teal colored information booklet. Provided by the Propaganda department, it featured a series of basic rules about Gileadean society, notably the one that was highlighted in boldface and underline twice:

It is invaluable that while a Wife is within the sacred boundaries of the republic to not read, or encourage such a godless idea in the minds of the nation’s wives. The Wives of Gilead are holy and god fearing. It is their covenant to follow the rule of the republic and not be tempted with the sins of the trade partners of Gilead. 

Rick bit at his lip hard enough to break the skin, and he snapped the booklet shut. His free hand clenched it so tightly that the paper audibly creased. Catherine looked up from where she stood now back at her desk, shifting through the file. 

“I think…” He paused, staring down at the symbol on the front, then held it up to her. 

“What’s the bird? A Dove?”

“An eagle. The olive branch symbolizes peace. While I believe the sun behind it is a double-barrelled meaning of a new dawn, and the reach of the surveillance of the state on its citizens.” Catherine crossed her arms, bowing her head to stare down at one piece of paper that seemed to be a series of dialogue from a Wife to something labelled a Martha.

“Something to understand, Sergeant Major.” She added as he bent to gather up the file she folded closed. He looked at her over the rims of her spectacles, ruby red to electric blue, and paused. Her claws pressed ever so slightly to the flesh of the back of his hand, over the old scars he’d gotten over 10 plus years of fighting a war that seemed as ever, unwinnable. 

“Yes?”

“I think that you’ll come to find that Gilead is just as restrictive as the Civil Republic, but unlike our esteemed republic, at least the gun will be in your mouth instead of against your skull. You’ll still die. But you’ll know the face of the man loading the chamber. Better in some senses.”

Her eyes were arresting, freezing him in place.

“And much worse.”

*****

Back in his rooms at the CRM outpost, Rick Grimes stared at the wall above the metal cot with its sagging mattress and weak light. He’d come in from the museum and Catherine’s office, kicked off his boots, and then shut down. The light in his mind had simply snuffed out, leaving him alive but so free of conscious thought.

It had been like this for months now. Ever since he’d been found after the crash of the helicopter, Okafor’s death… the successful retrieval by the Frontliners had put him into a place he didn’t know how to crawl out of. 

That, and another, nagging thought lapped at the edges of his mind like a dark and endless ocean. For Rick fucking Grimes was a man on a tiny scrap of land in a darkness that pressed down on him with the fury of a hurricane. He had spent so long drifting. From consignee post to post to the CRM’s basic training. Beale had thought the uniform was a way out, a way for Rick Grimes to get back in action.

It had only made him lonelier. The missions had brought purpose, training with Thorne, being induced into the idea of a CRM NCO had certainly given him a compass needle.

But the needle had been spinning, the mercury in it dripping out more and more by the day. He was down to his last dregs. 

Rick stared down at his hand. In his weathered and worn palm was a razorblade. Somehow, in the fog of the last quarter hour, his hand had slid into his front flack pocket and brought the razor out. He had carried this particular one with him from Pittsburgh, kept it close. Cleaned it the same way he had his Colt Python. 

It was a release and utter, unbearable pain in one swipe. Technically any soldier was examined daily to make sure none were moving towards suicide. But the officer corps were ignored, assuming that they couldn’t be harboring thoughts like this. It would get in the way of command, of being a good soldier. 

But Rick Grimes was neither a good soldier or a man without his demons.

He unbuttoned the button on his cuff, shoved the sweater sleeve up and stared down at his wrist. Jagged scars criss crossed his arm, white and pale against his flesh. The freshest ones were still healing, one from the night before even still under a bandage.

He was running out of space.

Rick stared down at his arm, his hand curled into a fist. He cocked his head to one side, as if in evaluation, and then slit. Blood welled up immediately. While in early days, he had reached for a swab, even cried out in pain, now he did nothing. Just stared.

Even the metal bite was losing its edge. The control and relief weren’t there anymore. 

“Shit.” He whispered, staring down at the wound. He’d slashed the stubbed arm, so that his free one could reach for the cotton ball he kept in a glass jar. Like some sort of fucked up doctor’s office - a memento of the time before. He pressed the ball to the wound, soaking up the fresh blood, leaned back in his chair and sighed. 

The realities of all of this crept over his shoulders slowly, like the darkness lapping at the shoreline of his mind. The six years of consignment, being told repeatedly by the shrink, Doctor Damnatius that his family was dead - that the walkers had breached Alexandria, wore him down with the effort of a knife being blunted. Slowly, steadily. 

He didn’t have the means or knowledge to resharpen his fangs. They were dented, blunt, bruised.

Useless. 

He was nothing more than a sword. He’d go where told, where ordered. No bit of fight left in him. 

Rick ran a hand over his face, pressed the skin of his nose-bridge together with thumb and first finger, then sighed again. He had been posted first to Cascadia Forward Operating base with Thorne, now recalled here. A CRM apartment overlooking Union Station, with those silver serpents that went their way in all cardinal directions across the former United states. He’d board one in the morning for Washington DC via Chicago.

So close to Alexandria and yet… so far. So close to the smouldering ruins that his home had become. But first and foremost? Ensuring Archivist Catherine Goodman survived the hell of Gilead. He was so close to receiving the Echelon briefing. To disappear into the system and become something that could change the system from the inside.

Just as Okafor promised. 

Rick crossed to the window, opened it and stuck his head out. The electric light, so bright after so many years, dimmed the stars over his head. Only the moon, a thin sliver, shone down. He sighed, rested his chin on his crossed wrists and simply stared out. In a few hours, he would go to bed and fall into a restless sleep cut short with the sound of his own voice screaming for the dead. 

However, tonight, something else occupied his mind. A poem from Catherine, who’d mentioned something about it being recorded in 1915 and being read aloud by a veteran of the same war his grandfather had fought in. His hand crawled up to the dog-tags and he gripped them tight as the words formed in his mind. His hand had begun twitching. 

Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day

Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before --

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!)

There's no discharge in the war!

Doctor Damnatius had recommended that he hold onto something as he categorized his past from his present. A way of keeping him treading water above the trauma that so sought to drown him. Start small.

My name is Richard William Grimes. I am 50 years old and from King County Georgia. Before Monument Day - He scoffed at that title. For everyone else who lived outside the walls and safety the CRM and such provided, the day was barely observed beyond a reminder that they’d made it another year. 

Rick sighed, mentally rolled back the tape, and started again. 

I was a deputy sheriff, shot in the line of duty. I woke up three weeks into the apocalypse. I had a wife. Lori. She died giving birth to Judith, my daughter. I have a son. Carl. He’d be 20 now. If he was alive. I left when he was just over 15 and a half. Judith would be about 8, 

If they were alive, that is. 

His mind slid again, past the tape of repeated, dry as bone memory recollection exercises Damnatius had him do over, and over. Instead, that poem had sunk its teeth in and Rick’s mind turned to that as he slid his dog tags between his lips and bit down. Hard. 

Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you.

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again);

Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' em,

An' there's no discharge in the war!

Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.

If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you!

(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again) --

There's no discharge in the war!

We—can—stick—out—'unger, thirst, an' weariness,

But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of 'em,

Boot—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again,

An' there's no discharge in the war!

The tape itself had switched at this point, the reader’s hysteria creeping in onto the wax cylinder’s surface like blood spreading across the floor from an open wound. He pressed his stump to his forehead, his voice raising in pitch and tone.

“'Taint—so—bad—by—day because o' company,

But night—brings—long—strings—o' forty thousand million

Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again.

There's no discharge in the war!

I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify

It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,

But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!

“An' there's no discharge in the war! Try—try—try—try—to think o' something different Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin' lunatic! (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again!) There's no discharge in the war!”

His voice echoed out over the cityscape, swallowed up by the traffic below. Salt stung his cheeks, and Rick sniffed. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. Not until now. Shame welled in him with all of the burn of a gut-shot and he slammed the window shut, wincing at the sound it made. He tore off his glove, the holster, his shirt and pants all in rapid succession, then collapsed into bed.

Pulling the coverlet and sheets over his head, Rick stared out at the stars faintly glimmering through the open blinds, and murmured softly to himself as the exhaustion of the day sunk its claws into him:

“Rest in peace. Tomorrow, you get up and go to war.”

End of Chapter One. 

______________________________________________

[smoked-salmon-official]

Cliffnote anon back with more yapping,

This time about how Victory can beat Megatron to scrapmetals ✨legally✨

This is set in the DJD ending,

Victory and the DJD have been outlaws for quite some time now, living constantly on the move, making use of their skillsets in the mercenary profession that they are uniquely suited for, bounty hunting and contract killing.

(the first is the reason how they ended up with Victory's loser brother Soundblaster but we are not here for that)

The nature of Cybertronians long, destructive interplanetary civil war mean just because they decided to stop trying to kill each other doesn't mean that there aren't a long line of difference races and species that would gladly help the Cybertronians go back to their extinction event.

So, war broke out, again, this time with the whole goddam universe.

Eventually, there comes a need for a search and destroy team, a good one. Now, they already have the Wreckers, that is true, but the Wreckers are for suicide missions with a hight turnover rate.

No, they need a team to deal with traitors. Cybertronians who side with the aliens, literal race traitors are bad for morale, especially with the grudge the rest of the universe have against them is kind of justified. A group that keep their skillsets hone to this very day with their chosen profession.

Lo and behold, Victory and DJD, the latter of which was literally the designated group for the hunting and disposal of traitors and deserters of one of the Cybertronians former(officially) factions

Being the leader of the faction that the group was formerly beholden to, Megatron was chosen to negotiate for their service

For surely, an orator of his caliber can convince a band of nomadic outlaws to lend their labour for the good of Cybertron, espcially with promised recompense of pardons and reintergration.

(Well, he got them to take up the gig long-term)

~TIME SKIP~

"Get up~", a voice echo'ed, clear as daylight to the hundreds of people in attendance,

Broken, dented and leaking energon on the floor, Megatron couldn't help but notice how the voice have a candence that he has never heard before, bright and chirpy, genuinely happy.

Ignoring the warnings flashing in his HUB, Megatron stands up cumbersomely in light of his injuries, and with his one mostly intact optic, take in the physical manifestation of the consequences of his action.

Haft a mile away, Victory stood, dented but whole, splatters of energon not of their own complimenting their dark hue. That forsaken mask covering their expression but there is no mistaken from how they hold their body that the only thing they feel is joy.

Despite not being worthy of it, Megatron felt a sense of pride for his wayward child, look how strong they are, how resplendent in their fury, how powerful in their jubilation of triumph, of victory.

A mere week ago, he called them to coax and negotiate them and the DJD back for service in return or full pardon and reintergration for every members. The moment he stopped speaking, they gave out their demands, they did not care for what the leaders of Cybertron had offered.

And three days later, they all meet on the Lost Light in this very space that he is being batterd in, in presence of a Matrix bearer and the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord to witness and finalize the terms and conditions for the service of the DJD.

Priority fund and resource allocation within reason, a commission price for every assignments to be paid out in full within a day upon report of completion, temporary immunity from prosecution till the end of their service in addition to a full month to get their affair in order and depart from Cybertronian space, and the reason why he is bracing himself as Victory charges forward to resume their bout.

That Megatron of Tarn must accept any and all challenges of close quarter, unarm combat by Victory of Polyhex to non-lethal deactivation, in addition to those of any Cybertronians that still wear the Decepticon brand in three days time after the result of the initial challenge regardless of physical state unless it is actively fatal. The altercation between Victory of Polyhex and Megatron of Tarn as well as the following scrimmage with other challengers will be witness by members presence at the negotiation of terms, along with medical support for the fighters and broadcast live to the Decepticon social network site.

This condition is set to expire by the end of the DJD service to Cybertron, but like their civil war, who know when that will end. As heavy, treaded heelstrut collide with his helm, blessedly taking away his consciousness at last, he couldn't help but think of the time when he was young and brutalised in a prison cell.

'This time though, I deserve it' was his last thought as his consciousness fade to black.

apioeqwdasdiuojkqlwadszjio

HOLY SHIT ANON THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD IM EXPLODING WITH JOY RIGHT NOW A THOUSAND HUGS AND RAINBOWS AND CARTOON HEARTS FOR YOU OMFG SOMEONE WROTE FANFIC OF MY SILLY LITTLE AU OMFG AI9POKWQADSIZXWASZ THANK YOU SO MUCH

i actually love this concept, djd and vicky wandering in space and then meeting all these characters again but under such unique circumstances! i think this is totally something megatron would willingly subject himself to, especially idw megatron that knows he deserves this. despite everything how megatron is still proud of victory - ough!

they are strong now, they are what he made them, and he reaps the consequences of his own actions, as he always has, as he deserves to

this is so freaking funny though bro gets the shit beaten out of him and ya cant even feel to bad bc he deserves this omfg

walks the perfect line between silly shenanigans and genuine character exploration just like the entirey of this au omdiwpdoasxzjiowaskz THIS IS AWESOME

love love love the dynamics youve creaed here, megatron and victory have a complex relationship and anytime they collide it ends in the same thing - injury, battle, pain.

i love this so much, thank you for writing it:)

[codderanged]

My Introductions!

Hello hello! This is my side blog for my COD (Call Of Duty) fixation! I intend on posting silly stuff here including art, drabbles, headcanons, etc.. Feel free to follow <3

Below is a little about me!

About Me!!

Name: Operator 823 Age: 16 Pronouns: Any (she/her if you can't pick lmao) Interests: COD, video games, art, music, writing Fav COD game: Black Ops Cold War

Boundaries!!

Note: Minors are welcome on this page

Dos: -Spam reblog and/or like -Spam asks -Assign nicknames -Offer constructive criticism or helpful tips (on writing, art, etc) -Mildly suggestive jokes or asks (13+ type content)

Don'ts: -Send NSFW (including in asks) -Attempt to force me to answer personal questions -Just send hate. I will block you straight up -Repost my art on other platforms EVEN WITH CREDIT

DNI!!

Incest, pedophilia (or sexualizing minors!!), proship, darkship supporters

Racism, homophobia, transphobia

Ableists

Tags!!

#operator 823 - Tag for random/misc content!

#operator 823 art - Tag for all of my art!

#operator 823 drabbles - Tag for anything I write! (headcanons would be under this tag)

#operator 823 rambles - Tag for me ranting about things related and unrelated to COD

#catching strays - Tag for content about my upcoming fic!

#noncanon catching strays -Tag for my little drabbles of CS headcanons or rambles of the writing process or even things that were supposed to be in but removed!

Final Words!!

Made this account for funsies! You can find my COD OC blog here and my main blog here. Though it mostly focuses on random stuff. This blog is more designed to be all inclusive and comforting in a way. Everyone (who is a civil creature and sensible soul) is welcome here including those part of the LGBT+ community, minors, otherkin, therians, etc.. Hence why my name is very gender neutral, I'm fine with any nicknames, and you can use any pronouns for me! I want people to refer to me in a way that makes them find my persona comforting!

Drop a follow please!

Stay safe and healthy <3 (/p)

[inkwell-passion]

The Tuath Dé

Overview

The Tuath Dé (Shortened to Tuath for brevity's sake) were a hyperadvanced society that was birthed into the universe shortly after the big bang, around 11.3 Billion Years ago, having developed alongside the species now known as 'Creators', the Tuath are unbelievably old, having been one of the first species to evolve into existence. With such a long progeny, it is no wonder how they were able to manifest technology that shaped the very universe we live in.

Societal Overview

The Societal hierarchy of the Tuath Dé was complex and ever-evolving, clans and castes shifting in and out of power as the collective motives of the species shifted. Civil War was common, tactically complex, and societally nuanced, and often political. Shaping the Galaxy, manipulating young stars and shifting orbital paths, along with weaving natal extraspatial dimensions. The peak of their society were The Dagda, Council of the highest ranking of each Caste and other Councilors, supported by a compliment of technology and artificial intelligences, along with the Dindsencha, considered to be the consciousness of the Emne itself and The Morrigan, a High Priest/Priestess of The Tuath Dé. The practices of The Dagda were seldom understood to any outside it's meeting chambers, and were regarded with great respect.

Castes

There were several castes within the society of the Tuath Dé, when a young Sidhe reached the age of maturity, they were tested by an everchanging set of criteria to figure their strengths and weaknesses, where they were then assigned to their caste, often influenced by their parents, and were tasked with finding a mentor.The Lugh

The Caste of Lugh were revered for their strength and stature, masters of tacticians with unrivaled skilled with weaponry and diplomacy alike. During the early days of the Tuath. The Lugh were lower ranking within the hierarchy, only rising to the top during the height of civil wars within their species, and resting near the middle at the end of the Tuath Dé's time within this galaxy. Every individual within The Caste Of Lugh hold a Genetic Marker that tells fabricators how to build their signature weapon(s).

The Manann Wise, Dedicated Weavers of the Emne and Scholars of it's vast knowledge, The Manann are rarely seen outside of being utilized as a medium for the Tuath Dé and the Emne, they train from a young age to live lives within the Emne, exploring it as they see fit, never being ones for Politics, they hold a unique spot of neutrality within The Dagda.

The Dian Cécht Alchemists and Sorcerers of Life and the Living, the Dian Cécht were well established within The Dagda, while never reaching the peak of its hierarchy, they were often among the most respected voices in regards to interspecies relations with the Creators, and were the masterminds behind the Foirmiú Na Beatha; a great Project to forge carbon-based life within the milky way galaxy.

The Goibniu The First formed Caste within the Trinity known as the Castes of Craft, these smiths are specialized in complex, if small scale, technology, specializing in weaponry, armor, and tools for the other Castes. The Goibniu were known for designing the blueprints of the Féth Fíada, armor and/or clothes utilized by the Tuath Dé to aide them in their day-to-day living and livelihoods. Additionally they worked with The Dian Cécht to aide the Creators, providing their great wisdom to help create the Relickeepers, and provided the Creators with a modified Féth Fíada to heighten their reality altering capabilities, and providing them with the signature look that the Angels remember them by.

The Luchtaine The Last Formed Caste of Craft, The Luchtaine are master architects and foremen, designing ships and buildings and mighty megastructures that the Tuath Dé were known for in the height of their power, and rather skilled in maneuvering the politics of The Dagda, despite never holding power, they maneuvered the hyperdense lanes of bureaucracy to sink their fingers into as many projects as possible. Symbolized by their great pride and skill in their buildings, despite never claiming direct ownership of the designs, all creations credited under their Caste and Clan.

The Credne Worldsmiths and Stellar Engineers, these diligent astroengineers form worlds anew and break them down to their raw materials for later use. The Credne are seldom seen among the rest of the Tuath Dé, finding the day-to-day of their fellow folk and the politics of The Dagda beneath them, their spot on the Dagda being considered a mark of shame within their Caste. There's a subsection of the Credne known as The Aengus who harness stellar objects for both power and resources and taming young stars to better host life, considered a member of the Trinity Castes of Craft.

The Tailtiu Lorekeepers and Storytellers, the Tailtiu are spacey individuals, getting lost in their own minds and sinking their faces into their star charts and constellations that they utilize to scry the immediate future. The Morrigan and The Dagda hold the Tailtiu in great renown, their position within the societal hierarchy unwavering despite the natural shifting of the species' motives. Great Scholars of Dindsencha, the Tailtiu are said to commune with the universe itself to understand its secrets.

Foirmiú Na Beatha, Geis, and Imbas Forosnai

The Foirmiú Na Beatha was a legendary endeavor that was undertaken by The Dian Cécht, to establish life within the Milky Way Galaxy outside of themselves and the creations of the Creators, building out the blueprints of these lives by following the words of those who held Imbas Forosnai, the metaphorical ability to understand the flow of Dindsencha, providing them with a clairvoyance of things to come, with these visionaries spearheading the project, The Dian Cécht were able to form the blueprint of life as an entirety, utilizing materials around them to form amino acids. Over the years, the Foirmiú Na Beatha was closely monitored, and species that fell outside of this master blueprint were gently guided back through genetic manipulation and the implementation of specialized Geasa. Geasa (singular: Geis) are considered to be similar to vows or curses, instilled upon a person or a bloodline, or even species as a whole that guide them to specific tasks to be done, and granting them with powers and blessings if observed.

Eventually, after a disasterous incident with the Lunacro including a conflict between The Lugh and The Dian Cécht, The Tuath Dé realized that their interference with the innerworkings of their own creations was uncalled for, and went against everything they stood for, resulting in the Tuath Dé fleeing from the galaxy to attempt to atone for the sins of their hubris, but not before interweaving Geasa within bloodlines of every based on their Castes and unique individuals that interweave and mingle with each other.

Naming Conventions

The names of the Tuath Dé consist of three parts. A Given Name, which is bestowed upon birth, and possibly changed upon inheritance into a Caste, A Parental Surname, relating to the parent of the same gender. (Surname in this context is just a portion of the parent's name.) and A Mentor's surname, utilizing "Unmarked" when without a mentor. (Yet again Surname in this context is just a portion of the Mentor's name). Utilizing connecting words to make the name flow smoothly. An Example of a respected Lugh's Name may be "Glory To The Unknown and Singer Of Solar Dust."

To break this down, Glory To The Unknown is the Given Name, Singer is a Parental Surname, and Solar Dust is the Mentor Surname.

An Example of a Sidhe name would be Lover of Stars, Unmarked. With Lover Being the Given Name, and Stars being the Parental surname, with the use of Unmarked due to the lack of mentor.

Additionally, while long names are unavoidable with a naming convention of such complexity, long names that are unearned are seen as gaudy and dishonorable. Along with the concept of having multiple mentors, resulting in multiple mentor surnames for those who underwent several apprenticeships.

Féth Fíada And Other Notable Technologies

The Tuath Dé, being a hyperadvanced species had their fair share of technology that borders on the concept of Reality Warping. The primary hallmarks being that of Féth Fíada, Quarkine, Hardlight, and Genetic Manipulation.

Féth Fíada

The Féth Fíada is probably the most visually distinctive element of the Tuath Dé, being a hybrid between armor and clothes that protect them and augment their abilities. Each Féth Fíada is custom woven and crafted for the Tuath Dé that will be wearing it, and once it is designed for the first time, the instructions on how to weave it are encoded within the individual's Genetics, with these specific 'Instruction-Genes' being 'Updated' whenever their Féth Fíada is modified or augmented. Sidhe that have just been taken as an apprentice will get a Féth Fíada that is an exact replica of their mentor's, but will modify it and augment it as they learn and grow with the aide of a Goibniu when necessary.

The specific design elements of a Féth Fíada are dependent on the Caste of the wearer, along with the time period, and more specifically the position of the Caste in the social hierarchy at that point of time, with the more advanced and 'regal' looking Féth Fíada originating from periods when the Caste was of high ranking. Additionally, those who hold a position on The Dagda have a symbolic collar piece and color palette of Black and Gold, unlike the standard greys of normal Féth Fíada.

There are general archetypes when it comes to the Design Details of the Féth Fíada. There are The Intellectus (The Manann, The Dian Cécht, and The Tailtiu), The Architectus (The Trinity Castes Of Crafting: The Goibniu, The Luchtaine, and The Credne), and The Warriors (The Lugh, Dagda Security, And The Morrigan).

Féth Fíada of Castes under The Intellectus are Elegant and graceful, often utilizing anti-gravity technology allowing them to float off the ground. They hold colder color palettes like blues, purples, and greens.

Féth Fíada of Castes Under The Architectus, are distinctly overengineered, being metaphorical castles of tools and devices. Utilizing monotone colors of Greys, Whites and Blacks.

Féth Fíada Of Castes Under The Warriors are Utilitarian and Bulky, having onboard fabrication tools in order to create weapons as needed, and utilize warm color palettes of oranges, reds, and yellows.

Quarkine

Quarkine is the closest translation to the unique material that is iconic within the artifacts left behind by the Tuath Dé, and is considered one of the rarest materials within the known galaxy. With a density of 0.312, items made of Quarkine are extraordinarily light and agile. Quarkine is considered a supertensile due to it's remarkable ability to withstand everything that the Gaia Coalition has currently thrown at it, with only superficial damages. Quarkine has been recorded to come in an untempered state of a silvery-grey to sometimes Marble white, and a tempered state of onyx black.

Hardlight

Hardlight, or Hard-Light, or Solidic Photons, is the concept of slowing Light to the point that instead of acting like a wave, it acts like a particle, and that particle is slow enough to act like a solid. The Tuath Dé were masters of this craft and utilized Hardlight whenever the material needed for a specific application was flexible, or they needed to have it appear and disappear at will. Due to it's unique properties, hardlight can mimic almost any solid material, including in it's density and hardness, and thus was utilized quite a lot within Tuath Dé society.

Genetic Manipulation

Even outside the applications of the Foirmiú Na Beatha, Genetic Manipulation was a staple of the technology of the Tuath Dé, due to the fact that they would utilize it in their natural aging through the process of mentorship and apprenticeship, with the Apprentice undertaking a specialized Geis of their mentor, however Mentors they may have. Additionally, Genetic Manipulation is utilized to imprint "Information Genes" that other Tuath Dé technologies will read and act accordingly, this is most often seen in forming Féth Fíada, along with imprinting specific access codes into the individual to avoid impersonation.

Glossary

Tuath Dé - The Only known translation of this species' name, Translates to "Tribe of Gods" or "God Folk"

The Dagda - Council of the highest ranking of each Caste, along with several other "Councilors". Judicial Body of the Tuath Dé.

The Morrígan - High Prist/Priestess of the Tuath Dé. Holds a Position on the Dagda

The Lugh - Warriors of the Tuath Dé. Holds Great reverence but also a deep shame within them.

The Manann - Weavers Of Alcubierre Space, known to them as The Emne. They hold great wisdom but are seldom seen.

The Dian Cécht - Masters over Life and the Living, most well-known for their Great Project, called The Foirmiú Na Beatha.

The Goibniu - One of the Three Castes of Craft, Dedicated to building armor, weaponry, and tools for the other Castes. The Creators sought their wisdom when designing the Relickeepers.

The Luchtaine - Another of the Three Castes Of Craft Great Architects and Builders, designing ships and buildings and mighty megastructures

The Credne - Worldsmiths, Building Worlds Anew and breaking them down to raw materials. There's a subset of them called The Aengus who harness stars for both power, resources, and taming young stars to better host life. The Final Caste of Craft

Féth Fíada - Armor or Clothes designed by the Goibniu for the Tuath Dé to better aid in their jobs and livelihoods. Often shorted down to Féth.

The Tailtiu - Lorekeepers and Investigators, work closely with The Dagda and The Morrígan.

Dindsencha - Considered to be a living concept of the universe, often felt within The Emne, but is also tapped into by the Tailtiu and the Manann to understand the world around them.

Imbas Forosnai - Often just referred to Imbas, it is the metaphorical ability to understand the ebb and flow of Dindsencha, and those that hold it are often seen as visionaries and considered to hold Clairvoyance.

Sidhe - A Child that has yet to be sorted into a Caste.

The Foirmiú Na Beatha - The project to create Carbon-based life within the galaxy.

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[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

SLDF Unit Profile: 124th Royal Heavy Assault Regiment ("Dai Maxbuster")

Alligiance: Star League Defense Force

Regiment Type: Heavy Assault (Royal Regiment)

Founded: 2705 (destroyed 2765; refounded 3152)

Current Commanding Officer: Colonel Ayako Nakano-Cunningham (3152–present)

Overview:

The 124th Royal Heavy Assault Regiment, known widely as "Dai Maxbuster", was reactivated in 3152 as part of the revitalized Star League Defense Force. This modern iteration is directly descended from the original SLDF Royal unit destroyed during the Periphery Uprising in 2765, and proudly inherits not only its name and traditions, but also its eccentric esprit de corps.

Reformed in 3152 from an approximately even mix of former Republic of the Sphere and Terran Defense Force personnel—many of them ethnically Japanese—and volunteers from the Kuritan worlds of Asta, Fomalhaut, and Altair, the reconstituted 124th represents both a legacy of Star League cosmopolitanism and the complex realities of post-Jihad loyalties.

Culture and Identity:

The 124th’s original reputation in the 2700s was infamous in the Draconis Combine: Terran-born Royal troops adoring Kuritan pop culture—complete with pop idol-painted ‘Mechs, stylized anime calligraphy, and ceremonial sword duels between cosplaying officers—caused more than a few Combine citizens to seethe with nationalistic embarrassment.

The modern regiment carries that legacy forward—but now, it does so with the presence and participation of real Kuritans, whose planets changed hands during the latter stages of Operation PERSUASION in 3152. The result is a regiment where love of Kuritan aesthetics and cultural homage now intermingles with authentic tradition, creating a surprisingly cohesive and self-aware culture.

'Mech personalization is common, with machine decals, "nose art", and decorations ranging from traditional shodō brushstrokes and family crests to animated mascot emblems and vocaloid-inspired murals.

Command ceremonies are often conducted bilingually, in both Japanese and English, reflecting the regiment’s hybrid identity.

Unit morale is famously high; esprit de corps is cultivated through ritual duels, cinema nights, coordinated formation displays, and a regimental theme song composed by a former Republic sound engineer.

Operational Role:

True to its designation, the 124th is a heavy assault regiment, typically fielding a frontline complement of assault and heavy BattleMechs supported by an attached self-propelled artillery battalion and engineering support vehicles for siege-breaking operations.

Within the SLDF order of battle, Dai Maxbuster is often deployed in the first wave of major thrusts—used to punch holes in fortified enemy lines and hold ground under fire. Despite their flair, the regiment is known for uncompromising discipline on the battlefield. “Flash in the barracks, steel in the field,” is the unofficial motto passed down from the 2700s.

Relations with the Combine:

Because of their Kuritan heritage and aesthetics, the 124th maintains a surprisingly cordial relationship with the DCMS, especially when paired in joint operations. Many among the DCMS attribute the beginnings of this relationship to Commanding General Melissa Hazen's assigning of the 124th to work closely with Gunji-no-Kanrei Ryūga Kurita's Combine Expeditionary Force during Operation TOUCHDOWN, and the subsequent use of the regiment as the core of the SLDF force sent to assist in the Second Draconis Combine Civil War of early 3154.

Even now in 3160, as the regiment helps to garrison Altair under the auspices of the New Jointly-Owned Worlds Treaty, certain conservative Combine officers still view them with thinly veiled disdain, considering them "half-children of the Dragon"—neither fully loyal nor fully outsider. The 124th, to their credit, takes pride in showing these skeptical officers the folly of their derision.

('Mech paintjobs by Luciora on the main BT forums)

[juniebugs]

assigning marvel heroes engineering majors (1)

i tried to write this so it makes sense even if you don't know much about engineering!! this post has my headcanons for peter parker, steve rogers, tony stark, and clint barton!!

as a preface, i am very aware that most of the marvel heroes would not in fact be in school for engineering even in an alternate universe. unfortunately, my fixation on both superheroes and engineering knows no bounds.

please feel free to ask me any questions about eng or for further explanation my reasons for these picks!! i am only in one type of eng but know many people in other disciplines so hopefully i'll be able to answer :)))

Peter Parker - Mechanical & Biomedical

I truly, truly believe the correct peter parker engineering take depends on what portrayal of spiderman you are looking at. like tobey's spiderman? would not touch biomed with a pole let alone mech. ... that peter parker is so far from engineer...... i dont even know where i would put him. materials? pls send your opinions if you have them.

BUT MCU, tom holland, spiderman would definitely definitely be in mechanical & biomedical. i actually got this from an irl friend, so if you see this somehow pls say hi LMAO

mechanical is one of the most common streams of eng and, while absolutely not something i ever want to touch, is really neat. it centers around keeping things in motion (contrary to civil engineering where if something is moving you're in trouble). it applies physics in really cool ways which i imagine would be a draw to peter just on the sole basis of personal interest. mech also plays with materials as it explores elasticity, deformation, fractures, yield strength, and other materials things i have blocked out LOL. when i think of that aspect i feel like it matches really well with the designed suit, the webs, and, if you listen to the science jargon he throws around in the movies, some of his prior knowledge.

biomedical engineering is actually used by some (the insane) as a gateway into med school. it covers human anatomy and genetic engineering (radioactive spider????). i do not believe peter would do med school too (because that student debt tho) but i also can't imagine him not trying to apply what he learns to helping others. i am personally partial to applying engineering principles to physiology and i can just imagine him implementing his mechanical knowledge into making prosthetics. if i had the brain power for this degree i would love to do that.

Steve Rogers - Civil Engineering

.... listen. steve rogers would fight a war before sitting in an hour lecture about dirt. i know this and acknowledge this wholeheartedly. HOWEVER,,,, I have a friend in civil with a special interest on sustainable design and you cannot, cannot tell me that isn't steven rogers coded.

civil engineering is not architecture, like at all, which i think is a common misconception if you don't know engineering well ( totally understandable!) unfortunately, i don't think civil caters to his artistic side that well but as someone who likes art but only does it as a hobby next to eng, i think thats okay.

civil engineering is kind of the mother to environmental engineering in the sense that they both look into wastewater treatments, geology, and even environmental planning (in some cases) but civil will also go into more detail with structural components and design of buildings. you'll find civil engineers involved in every building being made and in every town council ensuring clean drinking water and working sewage systems. typically they specialize into one or the other but shhhh ignore that for this post.

what i am trying to say here is that this would give steve a shit ton of wiggle room which i think he would use to help both the environment and people. paying engineers is expensiveeee especially for qualified, capable ones. i think steve would find deep satisfaction in working either for free or for the bare minimum cost (not that you should - know your worth :) ) and i think that he would actively use his work to call out designs that endanger communities or their environments.

this man knows his local engineering ethics code and WILL call someone out.

Tony Stark - Engineering Physics

when i started writing this section i thought it was going to be the easiest but unfortunately i did in fact have to phone a friend. tony stark is THE engineer so narrowing him down to one discipline felt impossible. my friend suggested engineering physics so i went with that.

the thing is eng phys is THE engineering degree. it is wonderful because you look at almost every thing mech, elec, and comp related (will explain more below) without specializing too greatly. it is also difficult because you don't specialize. for tony stark, who did not have to go into that internship grindset mentality, it would all be net positives.

to make the suit i immediately knew tony needed to have an extremely good knowledge on BOTH electrical (circuitry, coding, wires, magnetism, fun stuff) and mechanical (explained in peter's section!!). i was considering a double major but then was stumped because i love my elec and mech friends but they have no desire to produce a new element and also... creating an arc reactor??? plus AI's??? while likely related to software, it he would have bare minimum had to have had a good computer engineering (kind of how it sounds, engineering related to building and using computers and components of computers, lots of overlap w/ elec) background.

to wield the amount of science knowledge tony stark has an be able to apply it in an engineering context he would either have to be a genius (which like canonically he is so yknow) or take every course offered to engphys students (and some).

i think as a student he would have also enjoyed that not having to specify aspect. i imagine him always in the pursuit of knowledge. yay eng physics!!!

Clint Barton - Materials Engineering

If you've read the reasonings for some of the characters above you have likely thought to yourself "wow, such clear arguments, time must have been put into this" which like yes but also no because for this decision i am going exclusively on vibes.

materials focuses on, well, materials. it looks at both composition and properties (plus how composition effects properties). my friends in matls tell me its pretty research heavy which doesn't really fit with clint, i am aware. but every person i have met from this faculty i am convinced would get along with him.

I KNOW THIS ISN'T GREAT REASONING. i think that engineering would always be second to other things or interests in his life (even when he's a student) but I think the promise of a stable job and the hypothetical applications are really interesting. matls and mech can be surprisingly similar and i think he would find more satisfaction in manipulating materials to better fit his goals than in being stuck within predefined constraints.

plus, imagine creating a new material for like the tensile strength of your bow. incredibly cool

I'm thinking i'll work on doing more of these as i find the time!! i definitely have a few ideas for other characters, i just need to figure out how to articulate my reasonings haha.

if you have any ideas or shared interest in engineering and superheroes please let me know!! i have also been recently into the bat family, as you could probably tell by my reblogs, and am thinking of doing a version with them also!!