#Actions and Consequences

[littler3d]

“YoU sHoUlDn’T dRaW AM hUmAnOiD yOuRe MiSsInG tHe PoInT” I think we should draw AM extra humanoid simply because it would piss him off

[uhhjay]

[ Sitting in silence ]

[Empty seat, no Will]

[...Fuck]

[arcsimper5]

Masterlist Post

Thought it was about time I put together a Masterlist of fics I've written :)

Please see below the cut!

Requests are currently open :)

Series:

Digital art tag - #Simper-arts

Writing Tag - DaniWrites

Spice is denoted by RED, angst by BLUE

Yai'mol - Sev x F!Jedi OC Cin, Scorch x F!Jedi OC Cin

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Mar'eyce - Delta Squad x Jedi!OC Jerra - Masterlist

Requests:

Hardcase x Jedi!Reader - Prompt: “Can we please kiss? I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we left that place.”

Hunter x F!Reader - Prompt: First Kiss (Hands on Cheeks)

Echo x GN!Reader - Strawberries

Fixes x F!Reader - Prompt: I thought I lost you

Shorts:

The Return (Missing Scene) - I'm Sorry (Season 3 Spoilers!)

Been Too Long - Echo x F!Reader

Passing - A letter from Omega (post series)

What a Sight - Echo x F!Reader (inspired by an amazing edit by @isthereanechoinhere96)

Flutter - Hunter x F!OC - (Pregnancy Fic)

The Beach - No Pairing (based on @amorfista's amazing art series)

Left Behind - No Pairing - Scorch (Republic Commando) centric fic about remembering brothers.

Completed:

Marching On - A one shot continuing @dystopicjumpsuit's amazing Martyrs and Kings fic. Kix x Maree Finall (F!OC)

Mirror, Mirror - Hunter x Shapeshifter!OC x Echo (written for @anxiouspineapple99's Halloween Party 2023)

The Hunt - Vampire!Fives x F!Reader (Halloween '23)

Taking Notes - Vampire!Tup x Vampire!Reader (F) (Halloween '23)

Not Alright - No Pairing (Post Plan 99) (AO3)

In Progress:

Returns - Fives x F Jedi!OC - On hiatus (AO3)

Phases - Echo x F!OC - On hiatus (AO3)

Additional:

Bad Batch Season 3 Fan Content

Gregor's Cookbook

[lyledebeast]

Power, Coercion, and Seduction

One of the most bizarre popular interpretations of The Patriot for me is the idea that Colonel Tavington forces Benjamin Martin to become involved in the Patriot war effort when he targets his family. This reading presents Martin's violence as merely a reaction to Tavington's choices. What it overlooks is not only that Martin has agency, but he has more than anyone else in the story. That agency should come with some responsibility; instead, all responsibility for Martin's violence within the narrative falls on the shoulders of a man who has to ask his general for permission to terrorize civilians in the film's third act. For all the pearl-clutching over Tavington killing surrendering soldiers first, he is also the only officer in the film to take prisoners, which only happens because General Cornwallis ordered him to give quarter. Do we not think he would have been torturing civilians for information about The Ghost before the militia was even trained if Cornwallis had allowed it?

People often use Tavington's desire for power to contrast him unfavorably with Martin, but Martin has no lack of power to produce a craving. Colonel Harry Burwell gives him orders when he puts him in charge of the militia, but he follows or does not follow them based on his whims. He allows his men to murder surrendering soldiers until his son and subordinate calls out his hypocrisy. His orders are to target supply trains, but he uses his force to rescue his own children and attempts to do the same for his friend, John Billings' family. When they fail, he gives his men a week's furlough and marries off his son, all while the Continental Army is planning a major engagement with the enemy. Either Martin has extremely poor communication with the Army, which the film never addresses, or he is simply a law unto himself. While Tavington languishes in impotence because his general will not allow him the brutal tactics that ultimately prove so effective, Martin is riding around doing exactly as he pleases, the Ron Swanson of the American Revolution.

He even makes plans to leave on the eve of battle after Gabriel's death, and all Burwell can do is plead with him in the words of his late wife to "stay the course," that his men need him and . . .

That's desertion, Harold. If one of your Regular officers tried that, you'd court martial him. Clearly, no one can make Martin do anything he does not want to do, least of all Tavington.

Since Tavington actually is subject to the authority of his superior officers, he is reliant on seduction and manipulation to get what he wants. In the case of Cornwallis, he offers the general glory free from consequence, a tall order that he definitely cannot fill . He gets what he wants from Captain Wilkins, who is under his orders, not by threatening him but by appealing to his desire to save face. Wilkins said those who stood against England deserved to die traitors' deaths; Tavington frames himself as giving him the opportunity to prove it, and it works. Burning the Patriot civilians in Pembroke Church is Wilkins' choice like granting Tavington carte blanche is Cornwallis's choice.

Coercion compels a person to do something against their desires; seduction gives a person permission to act on desires already present. When Tavington murders Thomas, he does not transform Martin from a pacifist to a man for whom violence is the only option in that moment. Martin already has a stockpile of weapons in waiting. He knows exactly where to find his French and Indian War buddies, and he has better battle plans than any of the Continental generals. When it comes to violence, Benjamin Martin stays ready.

I would argue that killing Martin's sons is an act of seduction as well as an incitement to violence, but as is the case with the other two men, these acts have only as much power as Martin gives them. The face-off in which Martin tells Tavington "Before the war is over I am going to kill you" and Tavington replies "why wait?" represents another attempt on Tavington's part to seduce Martin into violence, but this time he fails. In a later scene, cut from the theatrical release, he tries and fails to seduce Cornwallis into assuring his reward, and the two scenes share striking visual similarities. Both feature over the shoulder shots that position the two men far closer than they need to be for the purpose of conversation. The scene with Cornwallis is more on the nose. Tavington's shirt is open, his hair is loose, the orderly leaves without bidding as the two draw closer, almost as though similar scenes have played out between them recently that had very different endings to this one. But there is no lack of heat between Martin and Tavington at the gate of Fort Carolina, particularly compared to the single seduction scene that actually precipitates sex, between Ben and Charlotte. Yikes.

Neither Martin nor Cornwallis gives in to Tavington's seduction in these scenes, which should reinforce that they are in charge of their own behavior and thus culpable for their choices. And to the extent that blame for the British defeat falls on anyone but Tavington, it falls on Cornwallis. That seems fair enough; he is the general of the British Army in the southern colonies. But when the blame for Martin's poor choices somehow also falls on Tavington . . . the story loses me. But I suppose that is part of the fantasy for the film's intended audience. Martin gets the benefit of both ultimate authority over his actions and complete immunity to their consequences. Perhaps he should have run against George Washington given that these are the very qualities some Americans seem to look for in a president.

[b0bthebuilder35]

[destielmemenews]

source 1

source 2

source 3

[gin-juice-tonic]

thinking about artist alleys made me recall a memory

[phantom-shell]

I think it's super interesting how Jimmy's fear of Anya and the baby manifests in his mind as the Pony Express mascot.

Unlike every other character, Anya ISN'T in Jimmy's guilt/regret hallucinations near the end. He sees Daisuke walk towards the dark, he sees Swansea chase him through a cemetery, he sees Curly on fire in front of him but ANYA? Anya isn't given that kind of treatment. No, instead, we see a hallucination of the baby, a tiny horse in a womb that has no face attached to it (Anya's face specifically, all he sees is the womb), turning into a deformed monster that hunts him down the moment it's born.

Polle (the baby) is seen as a danger in Jimmy's head in the beginning of the game too, after he walks out of the cockpit. The more he walks, the louder the baby noises get and the more deformed Polle looks when he runs into it!

Jimmy doesn't give a damn about Anya, nor does he regret anything he did to her, but he is scared of that baby and what it means. The living proof of what he did to Anya, manifesting as a monster that hunts him down throughout the game.

[salparadiselost]

Every couple years or so, the Bats are required to take a group photo to update the JL website (idk why, they are required to take a vigilante group picture), and Jason consistently refuses to show up. So this year, Tim just draws the lines of the Red Hood helmet on a bright red balloon and then floats it between him and Nightwing. They absolutely refuse to acknowledge that it isn't Jason. They put it up on a billboard instead.

Jason finds out about it when he drives back into Gotham and the highway going into the city has a 'Keeping Gotham Safe' billboard and it's a picture of the Bats looking extremely serious with the Red Hood Balloon floating behind them.

[damazcuz]

"I could fix him" well DON'T, I'm trying to breed a new generation of trembling pursedog freakboys and I need his cringefail loser genes.

[lastoneout]

the whole guilt-tripping language in posts about important topics paired with how I'm still getting bitches in my notes talking about why it's actually good to tell "bad" people to kill themselves continues to prove to me that a lot of people have absolutely no concept of social justice or activism outside of assuming the worst of and then viciously attacking strangers on the internet

[internutter]

Challenge #03959-J307: Habeas Testiculos

A knomira refuses to listen about safety protocols when entering a space station animal exhibit. They see very fluffy, bright purple and bright red, creatures with signs that read DON'T TOUCH! AGGRESSIVE! POISONOUS BITES!

They learn the hard way what happens when they try to force their way into the cages to pet the fluffy, seemingly cute, animals. -- Anon Guest

The signs were everywhere around the cage. In several common languages. Including pictograms for those not familiar with those languages. There were also guards. There was a constant voice over on the public address system concerning the dangerousness of the animal within the cage. The peak technology had gone into building it. It was clear that they had done everything they could.

There is always someone who flaunts the rules.

There will be a full review, later. What could be improved about the enclosure. Or, more accurately, what could be improved that would also enable the experience to remain similar. Once again, they would conclude that there was little they could have done.

[Check the source for the rest of the story]

[arcsimper5]

Actions and Consequences - Chapter 1 Resolute

Delta Squad are forced to seek help from within the fleet for their injured Jedi, Jerra. Mixing with the GAR general is... an issue.

Pairing: OC!Jedi Jerra x Delta Squad Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, some blood, language. Rating: M (Explicit content in later chapters, minors DNI)

Kix huffed as the hangar medical alert rang out into the med bay, the low buzz of it echoing through his skull.

It had been a long day already, the Resolute in orbit above Pravada 9, a large group assault on droid production bases having been ordered by the GAR while data was gathered by a specialist assault team.

Looking at the chrono, he frowned in confusion; the last of the teams from the 501st and 212th had returned hours ago, with no reports of lost ships or units. Everyone deployed from the ship had been accounted for.

So why, then, was the medical alert sounding if all troops had returned?

Grumbling in annoyance at the inevitable extension of his shift, he grabbed his medkit and made the short journey to the hangar, looking around for his new patients.

There were a few groups of troopers milling around, but none that seemed to need attention. One lot of four were playing sabacc on some nearby crates while another small gathering of softshells were working on a gunship which had taken quite a bit of damage in the incursion.

None of them seemed to need his attention, his annoyance growing further.

“Anyone call for a medic?” he asked loudly, several heads snapping in his direction.

A murmuring response of ‘no’ and ‘not me’ came from the troopers, Kix letting out a growl of annoyance.

“Then who the kark is wasting my time by calling me down here?” he snapped, some of the sabacc troopers exchanging concerned looks.

He was about to head back to medbay and file a false alarm report when a gravelly voice called across the hangar, a large, imposing clone in distinctive armour appearing from the end of a gunship, a large sniper rifle in his hands.

“I am,” the trooper called, the entire hangar silent now, watching the interaction.

Kix raised an eyebrow, looking the trooper up and down. He could tell by his bucket, which was still firmly in place, that he was a Commando. His bulk on its own was intimidating, but the paint job on his armour completed the picture, the white plastoid flashed with red on his legs, arms and midsection, what appeared to be a bloody handprint covering the area around his visor, giving the impression of it being fresh and dripping.

“You’re not 501st or 212nd,” Kix huffed, the sniper letting out an amused huff.

“What gave it away? You a medic or not?”

Kix stared at the Commando for a moment, caught between actions.

“You’re not on my treatment compliment,” he stated firmly, the sniper staring back. Even under his visor, Kix could practically feel the coldness of the look.

“But you are a medic,” he growled in return, “and we need you.”

“For what?” Kix questioned automatically, the larger clone almost certainly rolling his eyes.

“A fifth for sabacc. What do you think, di’kut?”

Kix was about to offer a sharp retort when another Commando appeared behind the sniper, his posture communicating his impatience.

“Sev! What the kriff is taking so long?”

It only took the other man a moment to register Kix’s presence, his size matching this so-called ‘Sev’, though his bucket was off, exposing a frustrated expression.

Even though he looked like a clone and his hair was slightly longer than regulation, the Commando armour he wore, mostly green with a white flashed chestpiece, he gave off the air of someone much more superior.

“You, medic! We’ve been waiting on you! Get your shebs back to the ship!”

Kix frowned, his frustration growing.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” he huffed, “but I’m assigned to the 501st. You can’t just turn up on a republic fleet ship, call a medic and demand medical attention without registering first.”

“Oh, look, the little shiny doctor doesn’t know who we are,” Sev chuckled lowly, the other Commando rolling his eyes and glaring at him.

“Can it, Sev. This is about Jerra, not you.”

“Look,” Kix sighed, shaking his head, “let me call the on-call medic. I’m sure they can…”

“No time!” the unidentified Commando cut him off, shaking his head, “Our Jedi is injured. Now are you gonna do your job or not?”

As Sev chuckled, Kix felt the urge to decline simply on principle, but hearing there was an injured Jedi piqued his interest, not to mention his innate need to help was kicking in. Whether it was in his genes or in his heart, he couldn’t fight it, relenting with a long suffering sigh as he trudged towards the commandos.

“Ugh, fine! Just… register after, okay? I need to record all treatment.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” the Commando nodded, waving behind him in a gesture for Kix to follow.

“What Battalion are you even from?” Kix asked as they weaved through the gunships, most in various states of battle damaged, towards the rear of the hangar.

“Battalion?” Sev rumbled, his tone amused, “That’s cute.”

“We’re Delta Squad,” the other clone responded tightly. “I’m Fixer, this is Sev. Boss and Scorch are still on the shuttle with Jerra, our Commander.”

“Delta Squad?” 

Kix froze in place for a second, Sev almost walking into him, barely dodging his stock still form. 

“The Delta Squad? The ones who ran the demo job on Geonosis during the first battle of the Clone Wars?”

“History lesson later,” Fixer urged him, reaching back and grabbing his arm, the medic stumbling a little as he was pulled along, “first, medic stuff.”

“But… You guys are… You’re a myth! You’re not… You’re not supposed to exist!”

“And yet, here we are,” Sev chuckled, a hiss sounding as he reached up with one hand, unclipping his bucket and pulling it off.

Kix took in his features, surprised. Again, although he looked the same as the rest of his brothers, Sev had a certain… severity to him, as obvious as it would seem.

Two large scars ran across his face, one down from the top of his hairline to just below his cheekbone over his right eye, the other across the same eye, from the bridge of his nose to the curve of his face. It looked oddly like a crosshair.

His hair was thick, tight curls cut short, shoots of grey showing through. Light amber eyes stared back at Kix, a wicked smirk tilting at chapped lips.

“Got an issue?” he grinned, Kix immediately shaking his head.

“N-No… Kriff… Rex is not gonna believe this…”

Turning to Sev, he hesitated for a moment. “Is it true the four of you took back an entire republic cruiser from trandoshan pirates on your own?” 

Sev smirked, raising an eyebrow at the medic. 

“Is that what they tell you?” he teased, the low tone of his voice sending an uncomfortable shiver down Kix's spine. 

“Like I said,” the other commando huffed from in front of them, “history lesson later. And to be fair, it was mostly Boss.” 

Within moments, they were free of the field of battleworn gunships, the path to a beat up looking attack shuttle appearing. Another Commando was waiting outside, this one with a white chest piece, grey and gold covering his arms and legs.

“Took ya long enough!” he yelled as they approached, his voice somehow softer than the average clone’s, “What were ya doing? Teaching him how to practice medicine?”

“Can it, Scorch,” Fixer snapped, releasing Kix’s arm as they approached the ramp, Scorch’s face scrunched in an unimpressed expression.

His hair was much longer than the others, thick curls pulled back into a loose braid at the back, a few ringlets falling around his face. He leant against the ship with his arms folded over his chest, eyes scanning Kix suspiciously.

“How’s she doing?” Sev quizzed Scorch, the expression on the slightly smaller clone’s face faltering a little.

“In pain,” he replied quickly, looking pointedly to Kix, “Boss is with her. He’s been pushing bacta, but you know how she is with supplies.”

“You,” Sev grunted at Kix before nodding to the door, sharp eyes locked on him, “inside.”

“Going, going!” Kix assured him, drawing in an attempt at a steadying breath as he pushed through the doorway of the ship, the insides dimly lit.

It was a modest set up in the shuttle, a bunk room off to one side, labelled as such on the door. A small refresher was marked at the back, top and rear gunner mount positions visible from the main gangway.

Looking down towards the rear, Kix soon found his target, watching curiously as he crept closer.

The Jedi, Jerra, was sat on one of the navigation seats, her left hand supporting a limp right arm, face twisted with pain as she let out a hiss.

She was human, at least she appeared to be, warm skin over tight features. Her eyes seemed to dance with a green light in the darkness, focused on the Commando in front of her, the clone kneeling as he looked over her knees, one of which was exposed and covered with a bacta patch.

Her long dark hair was pulled back into multiple braids that trailed down her back, pulled together with a gold band. The clone in front of her was helmetless, hair short and mussed, curls spilling onto his skin haphazardly as he rested on one knee, hands gentle as he rubbed bacta in a nasty looking cut on her leg.

Visibly, it seemed to be her only other urgent injury, save the small cuts that littered her face. They looked like shrapnel wounds, ones that Kix was, unfortunately, all too familiar with.

“Not long now, mesh’la,” he grumbled lowly, his accent thick and low, a warmth to it that made Kix raise an eyebrow, “we’ll get some meds into you.”

“I can wait,” Jerra replied with a forced smile, adoration clear on her face as she looked the commando over, letting out a huff of laughter, “you shouldn’t be wasting bacta on me, Boss, I told you…”

“Hush,” Boss ordered, his voice stern, though his smile betrayed his tone, “bacta can be replaced. You can’t.”

A moment stretched between them, intimate and deep, simply sharing a connection, and for a second, Kix felt like he was intruding on something private.

“Uh… Sorry to interrupt,” he managed, his voice cracking a little as Jerra’s intense gaze turned to meet him, Boss’s smile fading entirely as he stood back up to full height, “I’m Kix, the medic from the 501st.”

“About time you got here,” Boss grunted, stepping back to allow Kix access to Jerra, “does ‘rapid medical response’ mean something different in the fleet?”

“Boss,” Jerra chastised the Commando gently, Kix trying his best to keep his expression set as he approached, the large clone’s white and red armour adding to his intimidating presence, “leave him be. It’s not like we were announced.”

“Still,” Boss huffed, his eyes softening a little as Kix placed his back at Jerra’s feet, offering a weak smile.

“Sorry about them,” Jerra grinned softly, “they can be a little demanding. I hope they weren’t rude to you.”

“No more than any of my other vode,” Kix smiled back, earning a huff from Boss. “Now… the others mentioned you being in pain?”

His eyes travelled over her, noting the bacta patch on her leg and the way she still held her arm.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?”

“Big ass explosion!” a shout came from the doorway, Scorch leaning around it, watching intently, “Got caught in the shockwave. Uh… sorry, again, about that.”

“Out!” Boss yelled, stamping towards the ramp, his face set. Jerra simply rolled her eyes and let out a breath of laughter, focusing back on Kix.

“We were infiltrating one of the maintenance facilities while the battle distracted the main forces,” she explained as Kix reached up, flattening his palm for her to lower her arm onto it, “our objective was to take it out and get intel on the newer battle droids they’re pushing out. Things got a bit heated, more security than intel thought there’d be, and I got pushed off a walkway by one of the breach blasts. Boss caught me before I fell all the way down, but it jarred my arm some.”

Kix hummed as he listened, eyes now intently fixed on her arm as he rolled the fabric covering it up as gently as he could. Her robes were a dark brown, the tunic underneath faded greens and greys, all tattered and smelling distinctly of explosive residue.

“Lucky escape,” Kix smiled, Jerra wincing as he tried to straighten her arm, hissing in pain. In his peripheral, he saw Boss turn sharply at the noise, trying his best to focus. 

The skin around the joint was purple and black, bruised badly. The swelling was quite severe, but there seemed to be no obvious deformation.

“I can’t tell from just looking, but there’s some bruising and irritation around the joint. Did you hear a pop or crack when you were caught?”

Jerra hesitated for a moment, looking towards Boss, her expression caught.

“I need you to be honest,” Kix explained softly, “or we might miss something that could cause complications in the future. We can heal whatever it is, I promise.”

With a long exhale, Jerra closed her eyes and nodded, something close to shame echoing across her features.

“It dislocated when Boss caught me,” she murmured, gaze averted to her feet, “and I popped it back in. Hurt like a jawa-kriffer, but it let me keep going.”

“Mesh’la…”

Boss’s call cut through the silence, the pain in his tone apparent.

“You should have told me… I’m…”

“Don’t,” Jerra frowned back at him, watching cautiously as he approached, “you did what you had to. I’m alive, we’re all here, that’s what matters. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry.”

“Damn right I’d worry,” Boss glared back at her, “It’s my job to look out for you all!”

“And you did!”

“But you got hurt…”

“Instead of falling to my death!”

Boss considered her words for a moment, hovering over her as Kix looked between them, the tension growing.

“Well, uh, there might be some small fractures in the elbow joint,” he explained quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation, “but I’d need to do a scan to be sure. It might also be good to look at the rest of your joints too, mainly your shoulder. A force like that can dislodge things or pull other muscles. It’s nothing that a bacta wrap won’t fix overnight, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“No,” Boss growled, Kix’s gaze darting to Jerra as she rolled her eyes, letting out a huff, “we have orders to be back en-route by oh-four-hundred. We’re only here for medical attention, resupply and refuel.”

“And you’re getting medical attention,” Kix replied sternly, releasing Jerra’s arm back to her as gently as he could, gathering his pack and standing, “and I’m telling you she needs more treatment.”

“We’re not leaving without her.”

“Then you’re not leaving at all,” Kix frowned, gesturing at Jerra. “If you want to deny her treatment and possibly aggravate what is currently a minor injury, be my guest. But if it is broken, bone fragments could shift and damage both muscle and tissue, not to mention the pain will only build. She needs rest and recuperation, and as a medic, I am able to pull individuals from active service for that.”

“Need a hand, Boss?”

Sev’s deep voice echoed through the ship, two other faces also peering in, their expressions stern.

It was clear that they were willing to step in if there was an argument, Jerra huffing in frustration as Kix stood his ground, shouldering his bag.

The Commando and the Medic stared each other down for a long moment, Boss’s eyes searching Kix’s face.

After what felt like an eternity, Boss let out a frustrated huff and stepped back, allowing Kix to pass.

“One rotation. No longer,” he growled, looking back to Jerra, “and one of us is always with her.”

“Boss,” she protested, quickly cutting off her own reply as he glared back at her.

“That’s an order.”

“I outrank you,” she shot back, hissing again as she stood up, following Kix as he made his way through the ship, though she made no further argument.

Boss looked her up and down, putting out a hand against the durasteel wall on the other side of the galley, blocking her path while the medic disembarked, his intense gaze finding hers once more.

“Boss,” she breathed again, swallowing hard when his free hand moved to her face, tracing his knuckles down the side of her face, “I’ll be fine.”

“You should have told me,” he grumbled after a moment, the guilt in his eyes making her chest constrict. “I hurt you.”

“You saved my life,” she reminded him, stepping into his space, tucking her head under his chin.

Taking another deep breath, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tenderly, taking the upmost care not to put pressure on her arm. “Better broken than a pile of goop on the floor of a maintenance facility.”

Boss let out a soft chuckle, his expression softening once more. Pulling away slightly, he looked down at Jerra, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ll make it up to you, cabur,” he promised, voice little more than a whisper, “we all will.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she teased gently, shivering at the sensation of his breath ghosting over her cheeks, “it’s been too long, Boss.”

“I know, cyare,” he smiled, leaning down to brush his lips over hers, drawing a whimper from deep in her throat, “but what was it you taught us about patience?”

“Gar chayaikir,” she moaned softly, growling as he pulled away, “you’re going to pay for this.”

“Hey, riddurok’la, your medic is getting twitchy!” Scorch shouted from the doorway, leaning in with a sly grin on his face, looking over the scene with amusement. “Gar me'dinuir, vod?”

“Mir’sheb,” Boss growled in response, moving towards the door, Jerra following with a blush on her cheeks. “Come on then, my lady,” he teased bowing as he reached the door, “your medic awaits.”

*-*-* Translations: Di’kut - idiot Shebs - Ass/Butt Mesh’la - Beautiful Cabur - Protector/Guardian Cyare - Beloved/One who is beloved Gar chayaikir - You tease Gar me'dinuir, vod? - You share, brother? Riddurok’la - Married Couple (rough translation) Mir’sheb - Smartass

[nidbaesenpai]

I'm always sad whenever I think about the implications of Loop having no mouth.

[cadillacjohnf1]

all the CEOs shocked that the general public would celebrate their deaths...as if they wouldn't sign off on the deaths of thousands of 'customers' just to get a slightly bigger Christmas bonus

[aparticularbandit]

Lilia knew that he would become Billy Maximoff.

Lilia knew and she saw and she knew and she put that sigil to protect him.

(Who protected Tommy.)

Lilia do you realize that maybe if Wanda had been able to find him she wouldn't have felt the need to EVERYTHING IN DSMOM