#that bearded russian doctor
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vampirebloodie · 8 months ago
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Doctor Y/N | Soldier Boy x Reader
Summary: You're chosen to undergo medical tests on Soldier Boy and discover that maybe the russians hadn't killed his libido
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Warning: smut 18+, mentions of sexism
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"Do you want me to examine Soldier boy?"
You asked still a little incredulously, looking at Butcher.
"It's not a big deal, we just need to know if he's fit to fight Homelander."
"Okay, and you've forgotten that he's simply the most sexist, misogynistic guy there is?"
"It's just a check-up, beautiful. He won't swallow you alive."
You sigh and agree, knowing that if you said no, Butcher would suck you up until you agreed to help him. So you and the bearded man walk up to the apartment where Soldier is, Butcher opens the door and the two of you walk in, finding the man sitting on the couch, watching television and with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. That room looked like a mess, the coffee table was full of half-eaten fast food. You took one last look at Butcher before focusing on Soldier Boy.
"Is that Soldier Boy ?"
You whispered to Butcher, you didn't have a certain sense of who Vought's first generation of supes were, but you expected Soldier Boy to be an old guy.
"Yes, it is. This is Soldier Boy." *
Butcher answers almost off-handedly, not seeming to be paying you as much attention as the supe was. You can almost taste the disdain in his voice, as if he's talking about some common criminal and not one of, if not THE most dangerous supe in history. Soldier Boy didn't seem to be as bad a person as Homelander, but his powers were still dangerous.
Soldier Boy makes an immediate eye-contact with you, and you can almost feel his eyes on you, watching you. You get the feeling that he's judging you, analyzing every inch of you. This goes on for a second or two, before he gets up and walks over to you, Analyzing you carefully from top to bottom.
"So, who are you?"
He asks right away, his voice harsh and rough like sandpaper
"I'm Y/N."
"Y/n, huh? What the hell's a cute young thing like you doin' with Butcher and his dogs?"
Despite his harsh tone, his eyes are full of amusement and curiosity as he talks to you. After being trapped in a russian lab for so many years, it was something "new" to see women.
"I work with Butcher."
You say in a serious tone, crossing your arms. You weren't too fond of Soldier Boy's joke, but Butcher had already warned you that he had that kind of personality. And well, wouldn't it be nice to mess with a supe that can blow everything up in seconds.
"What a shitty job."
He scoffs, seeming amused by your expressions of disapproval at every word that comes out of his mouth. You'd love to give him a paw, but Butcher's look under you alerted you that it wasn't a good idea.
"Believe me, i've saved the boys' boots several times."
He notices you for a few moments again and his green eyes focus on the gray briefcase in your hands.
"What is that?"
"Briefcase. I'm going to need it."
"What's in the briefcase?"
He asks a little impatient and suspicious, the PTSD really seemed to affect him quite a bit.
"Relax. She will not hurt you."
Butcher says, trying to calm him down a bit.
"Of course she won't. She can't, she's a woman."
You squinted at the brunette, he was quite cheeky, and unfortunately you'd have to get used to it during the examination.
"At least is pretty."
His greenish eyes wander from your head to your feet, watching you closely. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.
"I didn't come here to flirt with you."
Soldier Boy chuckles, amused at your attitude. He's seen every trick by now, and he has a feeling he'll have quite a bit of fun with you.
"Then what the hell did you come here for, sweetheart?"
"Because i'm the group's doctor. It's not a good idea to take you to a hospital, so Butcher wants me to examine you."
"Examine me for what, exactly?"
He asks, his tone a bit confused and slightly intrigued. As the woman mentions her role of being the doctor in the group, he looks closer and notices a first aid kit on her belt. It doesn't take him long to put two and two together before chuckling again.
"After what happened to you in Russia.... We just want to know if you're really able to fight against Homelander."
Butcher was unsure after learning what the russians had done to Soldier Boy had in any way affected his strength, even though the experiments had turned him into a time bomb that could explode at any moment, they would still need to weaken Homelander as much as possible before exploding him.
Soldier Boy's chuckle quickly turns into a scowl, and his facial expressions hardens immediately, his eyes narrowing again.
"So you just assume i'm weak now?"
His tone is sharper than before, as if he's trying to hide any kind of weakness he might have after spending years in a lab. His voice is much more agitated compared to his flirtatious one. He wasn't liking people thinking he was weak, especially a woman.
"Nope. But after everything that's happened, we need to know if what russians injected into you made you stronger... or weakened"
You've been very clear on the possibility that he's gotten weaker
Soldier Boy seems annoyed at first at the implication that he's gotten weaker, but he seems to mull it over for a couple of seconds before relaxing a bit.
"You have a good point. But it won't make a difference, sweetheart. I'll be as fit as ever. But if it makes you worry any less, I'll let you examine me.".
You take one last look at Butcher and MM, who were still inside the room.
"You guys can go now, I'll be fine."
Butcher and MM just nod, giving you a reassuring smile before walking off. You put the briefcase on top of the coffee table and open it, there were some medical instruments inside. Soldier Boy watches you with an amused and curious expression, sitting down on the couch and getting comfortable. You can tell that he's definitely a little curious about you and what your intentions are with him, but he's keeping his tongue, for now at least, as he waits for the examination to begin.
"Take off your shirt."
Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows in surprise for a bit but complies quickly, standing up and taking off his sleeveless shirt. Underneath you can now see just how fit he is, being leanly sculpted and having defined muscles all over his body. The man is definitely cut. He stands in front of you, waiting for the exam to begin, You gesture and he sits back down on the green couch.
You grab the stethoscope and sit next to him on the couch, placing the device in your ears and pressing the other side of the device against his chest, in his heart.
"Take three deep breaths and inhale"
Soldier Boy obliges, taking the three deep breaths like you directed. As he exhales, you can hear just how calm his heartbeat is. He's definitely got a good heart. You can hear the strong beats pumping a steady pace.
"A healthy heart."
You take out the stethoscope and grab a small flashlight.
"Don't close your eyes"
Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows once again, but doesn't say anything, instead just looking at you as you take out the flashlight. He seems both curious as to what you're going to do next, and skeptical at the same time, but keeps his eyes wide open even when you tell him not to close them.
You examine his eyes with the flashlight, it was all right. He didn't seem to have any eye damage even with the lab experiments.
"Good vision too."
Soldier Boy smiles at that, clearly pleased with your approval. But his expression quickly changes to a frown when he remembers what else you were going to examine.
"What else are you going to do?"
"This depends. Do you feel any pain? Any pressure? twinge?"
You run your hands over his body, giving it a gentle squeeze, to see if maybe he could feel pain due to some muscle or bone damage.
Soldier Boy seems to tense up a little whenever you run your hands over him, but you can't tell if it's because it's uncomfortable or because he's liking it. But whatever the case, it's clear that your touch affects him in some way, and he quickly takes in a sharp breath each time you touch him, as if he's feeling quite a bit of sensation. He definitely doesn't seem to be feeling any pain, though.
"Yes or no?"
Soldier Boy thinks for a few seconds before finally answering your question.
"No. Nothing hurts. Everything feels pretty normal."
You just nod and pull out a syringe and an empty tube.
"Can I get some of your blood out?"
"Yeah, sure."
His tone is neutral and a bit uncaring as he holds his arm out to you. You can tell that he's not as wary about all that's going on as he was before, and he seems to actually trust you after this little examination. His expression returns to a smirk, seeming to be entertained by your efforts.
You take his arm, squeezing until you feel one of the veins, then you stick the needle into his blue vein. Soldier Boy seems to wince somewhat as you stick the needle in his vein, his face making a slight frown for just a second before he quickly regains his composure and his neutral expression. He doesn't flinch or even try to pull away from you, and he just seems to be patiently waiting for you to get this all over with.
You connect the tube with the needle and wait for the tube to fill with blood, then you take out the needle and close the tube carefully. You clean the hole in his arm with a cotton pad and put on a Homelander infant bandage.
Soldier Boy seems to be slightly amused at the band-aid, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead he just raises his eyebrows slightly and waits to see what you'll do next. You suddenly stand up and face him, your hands go to his neck and you move his neck a little.
"Any pain? Discomfort?"
Soldier Boy seems to tense up slightly when you touch his neck, but once again, it doesn't seem to be a feeling of pain, but rather of sensitivity. He almost seems to be enjoying the touch from you again, your hands were soft, he liked it, and you can see a slight grin on his face for a moment before he answers your question.
"No. Feels normal."
You take your hands off his neck and put the things back inside the briefcase. You take a small machine and pour his blood into a glass, letting the machine analyze it.
Soldier Boy waits patiently as you put the things back in your briefcase and run the analysis on his blood. He seems more than just a little bit curious as to what the results will be, but he's not expecting anything serious to come from it. He stays quiet and waits for your results.
After a few minutes the machine prints a paper with the results, you pick up the paper and start reading it. You read calmly without saying anything, and this seems to make him extremely anxious.
Soldier Boy continues to just wait patiently as you read the results, seeming to be waiting to see how this will go. The results from the paper will definitely decide whether he's ready to get back in the game or not. So he's keeping his mouth shut for now and just awaiting your verdict.
"...What is it? What does the paper say?"
Soldier Boy asks, starting to get a little impatient and anxious from not knowing the results yet. His scowl starts to return as he speaks.
"I think you're not Soldier Boy anymore."
You look at him, Soldier Boy's scowl almost immediately transforms into a look of pure shock. His eyes suddenly narrow and he starts standing up.
"What the hell do you mean I'm not Soldier Boy anymore?!!?"
His expression becomes one of pure anger at your remark. You decide to correct yourself quickly, remembering that he is a ticking time bomb and could destroy everything with the slightest amount of anger.
"You are the super soldier boy! Whatever the russians injected into you, it made you stronger than before."
His expression changes again to a smirk, this time, an amused one.
"Oh, so that's what it is- they made me stronger, huh? So that means I can get back to doing what I do best."
He says proud of himself.
"Exactly. And look, you've become fertile again. compound v made you infertile, but what russians injected in your body brought your fertility back."
Another change in his expression as his smirk once again grows large over his face.
"Wait, you're telling me that now I can actually have a kid again?"
He seems thrilled and excited at this discovery, his body language and tone indicating that he's quite pleased with these results, And a mischievous idea begins to run through his mind.
"You look great, better than ever. Your results are perfect!"
"Perfect results, huh?!"
Soldier Boy's scowl suddenly turns into a big grin. He seems to be very pleased with your assessment, but he's not quite convinced that he should completely trust you just yet. And he's definitely not going to let on just how happy he is to hear his fertility is back.
"So I'm better off than I've been in a long time, right?"
"Right. You've got what it takes to kill Homelander, and it looks like it's going to be an easy task."
Soldier Boy can't help but chuckle at the way you're talking about this as if it'll be some walk in the park. His smile is clearly amused but also showing his arrogance as he speaks
"And what about you? You think you can handle your part of this little task, as well?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it can't be all me, can it?"
He seems to be looking down at you as his tone and expression become more teasing with each word. He's enjoying this interaction, his whole body language turning flirtatious and playful.
"I'm not a supe. I will not fight Homelander."
"Awww, really?"
Soldier Boy seems almost disappointed by that answer.
"I feel like this is such a shame now."
A sly grin spreads across his face before he quickly takes a small step closer to you on the couch. His tone still remains playful but he's now closer to you than before.
"Honey, I'm the doctor of the group. I keep my partners alive and tend to all their injuries, but I'm still human. Homelander is 30x stronger than me, it would be suicidal to try to bust him. Believe me, I've tried."
Soldier Boy seems to chuckle at that.
"30x stronger than you? Sounds like a whole lot of talk. And you've tried to fight him before? What happened? Did you get your little ass handed to him?"
You roll your eyes, feeling disgusted by his comment.
"Well, he tried to take me to bed and I refused, and he almost blew my head off with those laser beams."
Soldier Boy once again bursts out with laughter, his amusement now turning to pure humor. He can't stop cackling at what you had said. You'd stare at him blankly as he burst into laughter, but it wasn't really funny at all.
"Wow...he tried to take you to bed? How charming of him. Almost blew your head off too? Well, you know what they say- girls like the "bad boys."
He finishes that last sentence off with an amused wink. If he wasn't a supe you would definitely have punched him in the face now. You sigh.
"Look.. Homelander isn't ugly, but he's still Homelander, the fucking supe psycho, and i don't even like blondes"
Soldier Boy arch his eyebrow.
"Oh, so you have a type, huh? What about me? Am I your type?"
Soldier Boy seems to just be enjoying messing with you as his expression and tone remain playful and flirtatious.
"Misogynistic, sexist, closed-minded guys don't interest me."
"You're pretty brave to talk to me like that, woman."
You lose your temper and get up from the couch with the exam paper still in hand.
"I need to show your exams to Butcher, he's going to like this"
Soldier Boy seems both amused and a bit concerned about your mention of Butcher. So he nods his head in understanding, although he's not about to let you off the room so easily.
"So, are you just going to run off and show Butcher right now? Because if you're about to leave, I've got something else I want to ask you..."
"Ask what, Soldier Boy?"
You look at him crossing your arms.
Soldier Boy smirks as he leans back a bit on the couch and gestures for you to come closer.
"Did you think I was going to let you leave like that?"
You look at him with confused and suspicious eyes. Once again, he's being quite playful and flirtacious in his tone and body language. Soldier Boy's smile only grows as you get closer to him. Once you're right next to him, he grabs your waist and pulls you even closer to him. Then he whispers softly to you in a very teasing tone,
"Oh, I wonder what it is that I could possibly want from you now..."
"Let me go."
You try to break free from him, but his big, strong hands keep you in place like you're a doll.
Soldier Boy leans in even closer and whispers to you again, this time keeping his hands firmly on your waist, pressing himself firmly up against you. His body language is still very playful and flirtatious, but he's not giving you any space to pull away or escape right now.
"So do you think you can guess what it is that I want from you now?"
"I'm not going to fuck with you!"
You say firm. Soldier Boy pulls you in closer yet again, still holding you by your waist. This time he whispers right into your ear very slowly and seductively, making no effort to hide the flirtatiousness of his tone.
"Oh really? You won't do anything at all with me?"
"Exactly! You heard me very well."
You try to take his hands off your waist again, a waste of time, as soon as he pulls you once again you end up falling on top of his lap, your hands go to his shoulders automatically and you stare at him with wide eyes.
Soldier Boy's smile grows even bigger from your reaction as you fall into his lap and your bare hands press up against him. He's still smiling and looking down at you in a way that is very flirtatious but also very intimidating, as if to say that you have no chance of escaping him now.
You try to stand up but he pulls you again, harder this time, losing his patience, you moan softly as your pelvis slams into his thighs in a strong way.
Soldier Boy lets out a low-pitched growl as you bump up against him, and the sound of your moan does nothing but further turn him on. Your body brushing up against his is sending shivers of pleasure through his bones, and he doesn't seem to want any of this to stop anytime soon. So he pulls you even closer yet again, still keeping his hands firmly on your waist.
"You say you don't want to, so why do I feel your panties soaking wet all over me?"
Soldier Boy's voice is low and predatory as he continues to pull you in even closer towards him, his whole body language now showing that he's enjoying this little encounter of yours. You feel your cheeks get red, he catched you, You try to get up again but he pulls you once again, this time holding you tight and keeping you in place.
"Be quiet."
His hands squeezed your waist tightly, as an act of possessiveness.
"You've examined me, now it's my turn, and i want to do it internally."
You didn't even have time to react before Soldier Boy pushed you against the couch and climbed on top of you, kissing you fiercely and aggressively, you in turn returned the kiss quickly, even though you knew it was wrong and that Butcher and M.M could come back at any moment. You couldn't deny it, as much as he had been imprisoned in Russia for years as a prisoner, he still had a great grip. His hands roamed your body and you surrendered right there to him, his strong hands ripped your blouse at once, exposing your breasts. Ben looked into your eyes as if he could see your soul and smile, his mouth quickly landed on your breast and you threw your head back and opened your mouth, surprised.
You pushed him back and started unzipping his pants belt like a ferocious animal, you had been sexless for a while, so that stimulation activated your libido on a total animalistic level, and Ben's as well. He stands up and turns you around at once, throwing you against the couch and kissing your lips fiercely, spreading your legs and fitting into the middle of them, her hand goes to his pants lowering it completely along with his underwear, Ben takes off his underwear in an impressive quick way and quickly fits his member into his entrance, thrusting himself at once into you, you two moan in unison, your arousal eases the act and makes it less painful and Ben takes advantage of it, beginning to move rapidly back and forth, making a wet noise echo through the silent room that was now only filled by this noise and sound of moans.
His face hides in your neck as he inhales your scent and you grab his strong and big back, your legs curl between his waist, squeezing him tighter to you, you wanted him. Ben was almost roaring like a lion from how excited he was, years without sex couldn't be bought for the months you were without.
"Do you like it, hm?"
He asks taking out your hair that was stuck to your forehead due to sweat, you couldn't even answer, you just nodded your head amidst moans. Ben closes his eyes and screams burying himself once and for all in you at once, making your legs tremble, you both breathe hard and he comes out of you after a few seconds, sitting on the couch, while you continue lying there gasping for breath, his forehead rests on your knee.
"I'm glad you let me know that now I can have children again."
He says and you widen your eyes, staring at him.
"What?!"
You ask in shock and he just winks at you, flashing that scoundrel smile again.
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paninicupcakke · 1 month ago
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Santa Weapons Guy💉🎁
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(HeavyMedic oneshot)
(CW: Suggestive / Medic being a freak)
Location: Red base / Annual Christmas party
Heavy was the mercenary chosen to dress up as Santa Clause for Red’s annual Christmas party. Each year they would rotate out each mercenary. This particular year had landed on Heavy. He was always the most realistic option for a lore accurate Santa Clause. Luckily for Medic, he was next in line for a turn on the Russian’s lap. This was the only excuse to sit on Heavy’s lap publicly, he wanted to make every second count. The doctor anxiously adjusted his fake elf ears, patiently waiting for Soldier to be done with his turn. Pyro was excitedly bouncing up and down while waiting behind the doctor in line.
“It’s been a pleasure Santa. Keep up the good work!” Soldier loudly saluted. He hopped off Heavy’s lap and quickly headed back over to the dessert table. Heavy waved goodbye while watching Soldier run off. Medic took a step closer, smoothing his coat out before sitting himself across the Russian’s thighs. Heavy flinched slightly at how quick the doctor was to sit in his lap.
“I already have gift for you. But I still ask, what does doktor want for Christmas?…Perhaps new hat?” Heavy suggested with a wide grin. Medic snickered, crossing his legs and leaning in close. Placing his hand up to cover both Heavy’s ear and his own lips.
“I want you to fill me up with [redacted].” Medic crudely whispered. Suggesting a jolly filled evening with his partner sat underneath him. Luckily Heavy’s flustered expression was mostly covered up by his fake beard. He began anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. Unable to come up with a quick response to such a lewd request.
“Bitte?” Medic flirtatiously pleaded. Heavy let out a small sigh.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Heavy shyly muttered. A wide, salacious grin crept across the doctor’s face. Medic suddenly flinched as he felt two fingers tap onto his shoulder. There stood an impatient Pyro behind them, tapping his own wrist as if he had a watch on it. Signaling for them to hurry it up as he pulled out a long written list from his back pocket. Medic gently stood up from Santa’s cozy lap. Heavy couldn’t help but slowly gaze up at his partner. Hearing the small bell on his hat jingle as he stood up.
“Once you’re all done here, come find me.” Medic said before casually walking off. Heavy frantically nodded, his eyes lingering on the doctor as he walked off towards the kitchen. Pyro suddenly plopped into Heavy’s lap, excitedly pointing at his long list of figurines and toys he wanted the jolly man to bring him. Heavy let out a startled noise, averting his attention back onto Pyro. Adjusting his glasses as he began to read the long paper list.
Medic stood there in the kitchen, now sipping on a cup of hot cocoa. Stirring his cup with a candy cane while continuing to stare at Heavy sat in the living room. Spy silently stood beside him, lit cigarette in hand. The Frenchman shifted his gaze away from Pyro’s unusually long paper list. Glancing over at the doctor’s giddy expression.
“What’s on your wishlist this year doctor?” Spy suddenly asked. Medic made sure the coast was clear before answering honestly.
“…Father Christmas.” Medic sheepishly admitted. Avoiding eye contact with the Frenchman’s judgmental stare. Taking a small bite of his candy cane while continuing to stare over at Heavy.
“I figured.” Spy slyly replied. Cocking an eyebrow as he scanned up and down at Medic’s gaudy, festive attire.
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mariacallous · 1 month ago
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“Don’t go down there,” warned Andrei, a Ukrainian police paramedic, as he stubbed out his cigarette and scratched his beard. He and his boss, another paramedic named Andrei, then got back in their car and drove off to work. (The two men did not give their last names to protect their anonymity.)
“There” was four miles down the road: Pokrovsk, a Ukrainian mining city that is currently one of Russia’s major war objectives. The two Andreis are police paramedics in Donetsk Oblast, which has been violently contested since 2014. Driving an unarmored civilian car with a life-size rubber severed hand jammed in the dashboard as a macabre gag, the two men brave Russian shellfire, rockets, and attack drones daily in order to treat and evacuate wounded civilians and soldiers from Pokrovsk and the rest of Donetsk. Like virtually all Ukrainian medical personnel, the two Andreis are volunteers.
Ukraine’s front-line combat medics do valiant work as the first echelon of casualty care. But nearly three years into the full-scale war, there are still too few of them. Ukrainian medics usually have just four weeks of training—a quarter of what U.S. Army medics get. This limits them to providing the bare basics: administering medication, fluid resuscitation, and stabilizing traumatic injuries. And the Ukrainian Armed Forces currently have less than 50 percent of their required combat medics, according to the staffing reports of dozens of senior medical officers provided to us during a research trip to Ukraine in September.
The limits of Ukraine’s medical mobilization are even more acute at the next level of military clinicians: the doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals who determine life or death for the seriously wounded soldiers brought to them by front-line paramedics like the two Andreis. They provide what NATO militaries call Role 3 and Role 2 care: field hospitals and forward surgical support, respectively.
Like many things in the Ukrainian military, the situation varies widely from unit to unit. In Donetsk, one brigade’s chief medical officer told us how extremely lucky he was to have a full complement of 30 doctors and nurses. But an adjacent brigade, he said, had to make do with just three clinicians and not a single surgeon or anesthetist. Several senior medical officers told us that around 1,000 additional doctors are needed to cover the demands of front-line units alone.
A major problem is the Ukrainian authorities’ refusal to systematically mobilize medical personnel. An old regulation from the days of the Soviet Union requires all Ukrainian clinicians to be registered for a military emergency. But Ukraine is not currently enforcing this law; doctors and other medical personnel are only mobilized if they are caught up in the broader, corruption-riddled draft to which all men over 25 are now subject. As a result, clinicians are not being systematically mobilized or utilized to help near the front. Most of those serving are volunteers, including a small corps of foreign medical volunteers numbering several hundred at most. But Ukraine’s reliance on domestic and foreign volunteers is unsustainable.
One reason the government has been hesitant to mobilize is that Ukraine’s civilian health care system is already grappling with a critical shortage of doctors, driven by low salaries and decades of brain drain as medical professionals sought better opportunities abroad. Although Ukraine is a renowned training hub for foreign medical students, the domestic retention of its doctors remains a struggle. One brigade surgeon told us that when medical school graduates were sent to him through the mobilization system, they were invariably doctors in name only: They had the degree but no practical experience, having switched to more promising professions after graduation.
Medical care is often hailed as a Ukrainian advantage over Russia. Despite the personnel shortage and often inadequate training, Ukraine experiments and innovates to save as many lives as possible. It has hardened hospitals (which Russian forces deliberately target) and became the first country to conduct combat medevacs with drones. Although each side’s total casualty numbers are well-guarded secrets, by all estimates Ukraine is losing people at a far lower rate than Russia, not least due to Moscow’s preference for deploying its infantry in atavistic meat grinder attacks.
If Ukraine’s medevac capacities have manpower shortages, the situation on the Russian side is incomparably worse. On Russian Telegram channels and elsewhere, reports abound of wounded soldiers just being left to die on the battlefield. The numbers speak for themselves: Ukraine records an estimated five wounded soldiers to every one soldier who dies. On the Russian side, that ratio was estimated to be as low as 2-1, indicating an enormous number of preventable deaths from battlefield wounds. Western armies have not experienced a similar proportion of wounded to killed in more than a century.
On the Russian side, front-line medical capacity ranks low on the list of priorities; to the Kremlin, life is cheap. Russia’s forlorn brigades are manned mostly by men considered expendable in Russian society: ethnic minorities from the country’s periphery, prisoners, the rural poor. They are not conscripted but lured into service by enormous bonuses or, in the case of prisoners, promises of freedom. In the Russian system, medical care for these men is an afterthought at best.
Ukraine’s medics and military clinicians are better than Russia’s, but the need for them is also far greater. Total Ukrainian casualties are approaching perhaps half a million killed or wounded, with an estimated 40 percent of wounded Ukrainian soldiers suffering permanent injuries. Soldiers are a precious resource, especially given Ukraine’s smaller population, the absence of total mobilization, and the greater value the country places on citizens’ lives. With the average age on the front line between 43 and 45, soldiers physically fit enough for the rigors of combat are in even shorter supply. Prompt and skilled medical care can be the difference between a soldier being severely disabled for life and one able to return to combat.
The speed and quality of front-line medical care is critical not just to saving lives, but also to morale. Competent care is a motivational boon, stiffening the resolve of soldiers by giving them the confidence that they are in good hands and will recover if they are wounded. The absence of good medical care, easily publicized in the age of social media, has the opposite effect, demoralizing soldiers and providing the enemy with an enormous psychological weapon.
There are no technological or logistical silver bullets at hand. Medical supplies to front-line units are now better and more consistent than in the past, despite the struggles of Ukraine’s military medical bureaucracy. Farther from the front, well-equipped and fortified hospitals save many lives. But during the critical first hour of trauma casualty care, the most important factor is having enough skilled medical personnel on hand where they are needed.
Ukraine’s foreign supporters have helped on the margins. Though a small corps of foreign medical volunteers have done brave and valuable work, they now number in the hundreds at most. Ukraine’s reliance on volunteers, both native and foreign, is unsustainable.
There are ways that Ukraine’s Western partners can help, even though NATO countries will resist the idea of deploying their military medics and surgeons to Ukrainian battlefields. European military or civilian clinicians could relieve some of the pressure on Ukrainian civilian hospitals away from the front, freeing up Ukrainian medical staff to be mobilized. This would also be a good way for European NATO members, their military stocks largely exhausted, to show the incoming Trump administration in Washington that they are serious about supporting Ukraine.
But Ukraine’s Western partners cannot solve the fundamental problem of Ukraine’s refusal to mobilize.
Ukraine’s missing medical mobilization parallels the much larger failure of its military mobilization. Although Kyiv has steadily increased the scope of its conscription efforts, it has stopped far short of a general mobilization and still refuses to draft men under 25. As Kyiv stares down the barrel of a second Trump administration that seems likely to push for negotiations on Russia’s terms, Ukraine faces hard choices. Raising sufficient troops may be the decisive factor in the war’s fourth year.
The tremendous bravery and sacrifices of Ukrainian soldiers and civilians, many of them volunteers, have camouflaged the failures of mobilization and enabled Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky to delay an unpopular but necessary ramping up of conscription and compulsion. If Ukraine wants to survive, let alone win, it needs far more soldiers and the doctors, nurses, and medics to keep them in the fight.
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frodothefair · 8 months ago
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New OC for Expats, let's go!
Ok, this wasn't even that hard! I was in the shower, and came up with a character sketch for my movie-star OC for Expats. What do you think? (Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are purely incidental).
Meet Elliot James. He is a Hollywood actor who got his start as a child star, but came to prominence when he appeared in a fantasy epic loosely based on events in early Medieval Britain, where he played a sweet, heroic squire who saved the day, but ended up giving his life in the process. Afterwards, he became a household name and in demand for everyone's epic or period piece anywhere, and while this was certainly very nice, it was somewhat disappointing to be typecast, so he tried to seek out other roles -- in indie films, horror movies, and genre cinema.
In rapid succession in his early 20's, he played a sick WWI veteran in a period piece with a plot like Flowers of Mordor, a prince in the medieval French history franchise Les Rois Maudits, a young Louis XIV, King Francis in a movie about Mary Queen of Scots (ok, yes, a lot of Frenchness here), and Nikolai Rostov in War and Peace. He also played Pip in Great Expectations, and Link in a cinema franchise of Legend of Zelda, and was one of the brothers in a multi-season Regency-era show similar to Bridgerton. He came to see his period piece and fantasy work as a "Jury duty" of sorts, but did it to please the fans and because he had some difficulty saying no. In the end, however, he put his foot down, and instead of taking the role of Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island, which he was all but being bribed to do, he insisted on auditioning for Blind Pew and Israel Hands.
Why does he get typecast playing young literary and historic characters, you may ask? Well, this is because after age 20, he looks like he essentially stopped aging. He is also short and slightly built, and looks like he stepped off a renaissance painting. He has striking hazel eyes that look like liquid gold, and naturally curly dark blonde hair.
In terms of personal history, he hails from South Dakota, from a long line of ranchers and early settlers to the area of Swedish and German extraction. (Hello, inspiration from Mr. Nisilë's white heritage). His mother raised him and his sister alone, and he has a very loving, down-to-earth and supportive family of origin. However, work as a child actor gave him a lifelong hair-pulling habit, to the point of trichotillomania at times, and he is completely unable to grow a beard of his own as a result.
In his personal life, he gets together with a fan named Marina who is an immigrant from Ukraine and has both Ukranian and Russian heritage. They connect over his upcoming work on War and Peace, and impending trip to Eastern Europe to film it. (This is obviously well before the present day). During his (very ample) free time, Elliot enjoys collecting and listening to vinyl records, attending live concerts, traveling as incognito as he realistically can with his distinctive looks, and watching off-off-Broadway plays (or whatever the LA analog is for this). Ironically, he has never been in a play himself, except for a school play at a very young age.
With his girlfriend and later wife, he is a total sweetheart, and his mental illness helps him understand hers. He is also a complete and utter goofball, slightly disorganized in his household and self care, and unassuming and slightly awkward whenever the cameras are off. The weirder the topic of conversation with him, the better.
His partner, Marina, works as a medical malpractice lawyer who defends doctors, and has a crazy, domineering mother who both loves and dislikes Elliot, and belittles his work behind his back, comparing him to old Soviet actors who she thinks are the true greats. However, she has no qualms about accepting gifts and financial assistance from him. (Guess who this is based on, haha).
Elliot never went to college himself, but he paid for the college education of his sister and Marina's law education. The only thing he asked for in return was that Marina and his sister share the particularly interesting things they learned whenever they could.
What do you think?
@konartiste @emmanuellececchi
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theculturedmarxist · 1 year ago
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These days I mostly avoid being around art spaces and the dwindling population of people that frequent them. This is for the same reason you might duck an old friend who’s been transformed by time and circumstance into a thing that you scarcely recognize. Sometimes it’s better to remember them as they were.
I broke my rule the other night to attend the closing of a theater I built long ago, and it was every bit as sad and disappointing as I would have expected. Hardly anyone came to send her off, and the ones that did could muster nothing better than a couple of beers and off to bed. The whole thing was over by 11.
“Who are you voting for,” a pudgy, bearded, graying Xer, asked me before I left. He was wearing a kind of middle-aged bohemian get-up, right down to the hipster hat, that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for a new Type II diabetes drug. I’m down to talk my doctor about . . .
“I’m writing in Dave Chappelle,” I said.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the part of his brain that knew how to process a dissenting opinion. Not finding one he sputtered, “But you’re not for Trump.”
“No.”
Then a skinny, wan, pale guy with sunken eyes, and long, greasy black hair, sober as a judge, like someone who’d acquired all the physical attributes of heroin addiction, without ever having had any of the fun, said, “Then you have to vote for Biden, or Trump wins.”
“So what,” I said.
And that was when they both shit themselves and I had to do the whole red-pill/blue-pill thing. By the time that was over, everyone else had gone and I followed suit. Leaving the building for the last time, I thought of livelier days when the whole place, the whole block, the whole city, was full of life and crazy energy.
How did this happen? How did we get here?
This is an article I’ve started, abandoned, and started again a few times over the years. That’s partly because I still had some hope when I began that I might one day be able to return to my craft as a theater director without revealing my opinions. But that was before Due Dissidence had a YouTube show. Now I very visibly express ideas 3-4 times a week that would get me professionally and socially cancelled in about 5 minutes as soon as anyone from that crowd took the time to check out the channel, which of course they would.
Another thing that’s kept this one at the bottom of the digital drawer is lingering affection for a lot of people who are still making the music, lighting the lights, and all that. I have dear friends in the arts and this is going to hurt some of their feelings. Except for the ones who regularly DM to thank me for saying what they can’t without risking career suicide. Those will be greatly cheered by this piece, in the way of a bullied child watching their tormentor take a hard fist to the nose, so I guess in the end that part’s a wash. Here goes.
In the 8 years since the election of doom that transformed me from the kind of guy who wanted to have a beer with Rachael Maddow, to the kind of guy who would protest her book reading, I’ve had lots of debates with lots of people.  Enough to notice a distinct pattern
Conservatives will generally keep it on the issues; they may not agree with you, but as a rule they aren’t going to go right to ad hominem attacks on your character.  Liberals can go either way: they may debate the issues with you, but they’re just as likely to attack you personally as a closet Republican, a Russian plant, or if you happen to be a white man, that’s kind of their go-to.  But the absolute worst people you can find yourself engaging with are members of the arts community.  I know this because I’ve been a member of it since at the tender age of 19, I bullshitted my way into a directing gig at the still extant 13th Street Repertory Theater. 
The artists I worked with then as a kid from Queens dazzled by the bohemian world I had infiltrated wouldn’t recognize the artists of today, and I suspect they wouldn’t like them all that much.  Heirs to a 60’s counter-culture ethos of distrust for authority and institutions, and to an older tradition of the artist-intellectual, they generally thought of all politicians as dishonest psychopaths, and spent more time discussing Kafka than the evils of Soviet Russia, which occupied the same position of public enemy #1 that its successor state does today.  And lest the wokeratti immediately jump to its aforementioned go-to, the scene was far more substantively diverse than what you might find at a theater or a gallery today.  They were gay and straight, old and young, black and white and brown, and in a major departure from the current moment, both penniless and well to do.  There were artists living rent free in the loft above the theater, others renting $250 apartments in pre-hipster Williamsburg who had to walk across the bridge to get to rehearsals for lack of train fare, and still others living comfortably on the Upper West Side.  If there was a failing it was in a tendency towards pretentiousness: when a middle-aged woman pronounced confidently at a post-rehearsal dinner that the principal crisis of the modern age was the “post-Nietzschean vacuum,” I almost laughed in her face.  No one had that problem in my native Flushing, and I suspected that was true most places.  But the problem wasn’t racism, sexism, or homophobia-expressing those sorts of views would have been just about the only thing that could have gotten you ejected in an atmosphere where pretty much anything went, and it was that way in the arts community for as long as I was a part of it.
Generally, I like to heavily source everything I write, ‘cause when you’re offering controversial opinions, you had better cross all your t’s and such.  But because the arts are such a distinct subculture and the kinds of institutions that have the means to conduct a wide survey on questions like: what class background do artists usually come from, or, when did artists start to favor censorship, never would, I must of necessity rely on my personal observations and speculations.  Which makes this, by definition, a personal essay, so take it as you will. 
I’m starting from the premise that something has gone very wrong when you have an American arts community that tends to be politically conservative in the sense of being to the right of general sentiment in the Western world on class and economics; that mindlessly supports politicians like Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton who’s records are at odds with even the identitarian issues that they claim to care about, and that sees de-platforming and cancelling figures like Joe Rogan as a legitimate tactic, never considering the idea that once you let that genie out of the bottle, no one will be more vulnerable to having it turned against them than artists.  I’ve given a lot of thought to how a bohemian scene of intellectuals and misfits turned into something resembling a PTA meeting in Scarsdale. This is what I came up with:
I will concede this to the painfully woke white people that dominate the arts even as they lately denounce their own position: rich white people are the crux of the problem, with the emphasis being on “rich” rather than “white,” as some would have it. The low to no pay circumstances of most creatives are beside the point, even though many of them will point to this as evidence of their moral authority to speak on matters of poverty and marginalization. If “artist” isn’t a Professional Managerial Class job, what is it? It sure ain’t factory work. The pretense of artists to social disenfranchisement calls to mind John Goodman’s line in Barton Fink, where his serial killing salesman tells John Turturro’s slumming writer, “You’re just a tourist with a typewriter, Barton. I live here.”
Most of these folks are just playing dress up for a while before they pack it in for Grad School and take up residence in the same sedate suburban enclaves from whence they came. Just as in every other sphere of American society, the arts are, and always have been, dominated by these kinds of middle and upper-middle class, mostly white people, whose sensibilities reflect that reality.  The higher up the food chain you go, the more evident that becomes.  The same exact advantages of money and connections that favor people in every other industry, favor those who attempt a career in the arts.  Perhaps even more so because the standards are so nebulous.  If you’re a doctor, or an attorney, you either do your job well, or you don’t.  If you’re an artist, the quality of your work is subjective which leaves a lot of room for just hooking up the people you relate to, which in the arts is going to mean a lot of rich white people, hooking up other rich white people.  The net effect of that is, if a lot of bad ideas are coming out of the suburbs, that’s going to be reflected in the work.
When the PMC’s were more rooted in the New Deal, with its focus on class and economics, as was the case when I first entered the scene, so were the arts. Now that they’ve turned to neoliberalism in their economics, and the post-modern turn has unmoored their social activism from observable reality, we have an arts community that has nothing to say about the current moment that strays an inch from what you might hear on MSNBC. This is why, as just one example, in a moment of social strife and economic dislocation, the Artistic Director of Connecticut’s Long Wharf Theater recently seized on the idea of a Black Trans Women at the Center festival as the best use of his platform and resources. The company lost their home of 55 years shortly thereafter.
Whereas in the 30’s a good many artists responded to the Depression by adopting a Marxist-Leninist posture and playwrights like Clifford Odets, (the writer being satirized by the Cohens in Barton Fink), and later Arthur Miller and Rod Serling, began writing plays for the first time that placed working class people “at the center,” this generation of artists greets the moment with only contempt for the struggles of working people, seeing them as reactionary Trumpers who sadly lack the education and sophistication to realize that the economy is great, incremental change is the best we can hope for, and getting all bent out of shape about books full of graphic cocksucking in your child’s middle-school library is totally uncool. Rather than to represent the struggles of average people, these artists offer them nothing but derision and when they do bother to acknowledge them, it is only to portray them as wrong-think culture war enemies.
Adding to the problem, poor people who manage to get to college usually don’t decide to major in something that’s going to almost guarantee that they end up poor.  Being an artist is a luxury most people from economically disadvantaged environments just don’t think they can afford.  You’re a lot more likely to choose it if you have a trust fund to fall back on.  So, essentially you end up with a scene dominated by trust fund babies, no matter what identity group they align with.  Their politics proceed from there.  All these artists going on about white privilege is partly a case of, to use a phrase with which any theater aficionado will be familiar, “Methinks thou dost protest too much.” And as with Diversity Equity and Inclusion efforts in other sectors, this results in pretenses at promoting “representation” amounting to nothing more than trying to find more black and brown people from similar backgrounds to the whites that are already there, and who consequently share the same attitudes. Barracks and Michelles are always welcome, but the Hueys and Assatas make these folks deeply uncomfortable. The theater party I walked into last week, was no more racially diverse than the scene I knew in the 80’s (perhaps a bit less), but it was palpably less wide-ranging in class perspectives.
Another reason the censorious Victorian lady in high dudgeon pose that has become the liberal class default setting over the past 10 years or so, has had so much appeal to this group in particular, probably has to do with the psychological afflictions common to artists, combined with the insecurities inherent in the profession.  This is something else I’d love to see a study on: common psychological illnesses in artists, but lacking such a study, I can only tell you what I’ve observed.  Most people don’t choose a career in the arts because they’re very secure, contented and happy sorts.  The level of personal psychological torment that’s driven them to such an irrational career choice varies, but deep neurosis, emotional neediness, and pervasive self-doubt are kind of a base line.  I do not except myself from this analysis: my head is the kind of snake pit that Indiana Jones has nightmares about.  Proceeding from there, you’ll find a fair amount of narcissism, borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, and just plain old depression-depression.  These qualities are not at all ameliorated by constant rejection and criticism, which is kind of the nature of the beast.  In some ways the people who are attracted to the arts are the least capable of enduring its vicissitudes without severe psychological damage.  So, you have a bunch of deeply insecure, neurotic people, trying to make their way in a profession where the rules are vague and the agreed upon standards of successful work are non-existent, and then you hand them a secular religion that gives them not only rules and standards, but a weapon with which to bludgeon their critics as -ists, phobes, and reactionary heathens.  That’s like throwing crackers at a starving man.  Naturally they jumped on it en masse, without ever thinking through the consequences.  Critical Social Justice gave artists something they haven’t had since Duchamp signed a urinal and called it a sculpture: certainty.  And this group is far too ignorant of the past to know why their forbears rejected the kind of formalism that these standards impose, and what the price paid in quality, creativity and individual expression will be in the long run. Insofar as they embrace Duchamp’s lesson, it is only in using the precedent set by his famous prank to avoid being interrogated on the basis of quality, talent and craftsmanship.
Which brings us to my final observation.
I’m going to let you in on a secret, although if you’ve ever been dragged to a “new interpretation” of Hamlet on the Lower East Side, back when we still did that sort of thing, you probably already know: talent is rare.  That’s why we call it talent.  If it was common, we’d call it something else.  I’ll give you a breakdown from something I have a fair amount of expertise in-auditioning actors.  If you audition 100 actors, it’s going to go something like this: about 10% will be so God-awful you have to wonder where they got the encouragement; around 60% will be passable in the way of people who have had a lot of training; 20% will be very good; 8% will be excellent; a final 2% will be exceptional-in other words, talented.  So, based on my admittedly subjective observations, only about 30% of the people who call themselves “artists” have any business pursuing it.  And only 2% of those are really gifted.  So, the scene is, and always has been, mostly populated by hangers-on who are only one 30th Birthday away from packing it in and getting a Masters in Social Work.  The appeal of a set of standards that remove the basis of evaluating work from its quality to its adherence to a set of clearly defined political beliefs is obvious.  If you can’t out-talent people, you can at least out-woke them.
None of this is to say that representation in the arts isn’t a problem or wasn’t a problem until these meddling kids started performing their virtue for likes and clicks.  It’s always been a problem, particularly at the level of management and project leadership, in the arts as in every other sector of society.  I would posit that DEI efforts are a solution in search of a problem, only in that part of the reason for that lack of representation, has always been a lack of artists of color walking in the door, which in turn has to do with the economic realities I’ve mentioned.  There aren’t a lot of poor white people walking in the door either; I’ve owned 5 theaters in NYC across three decades, and I never met another theater owner or director, who grew up on welfare.  In my experience, that lack of representation never had to do with virulent racism in the arts community. It always had to do with class realities and broader issues of structural racism society-wide that stop POC from ever making it to the door to be considered.  If you were paying any kind of attention, that lack of diversity was always an embarrassment, but you can’t work with people who simply aren’t there because of societal problems that reach far beyond the arts.  If we really want to do something about this, we need to go out into impoverished and marginalized communities, provide training and encouragement to young people in particular, then offer them jobs in our theaters and galleries, instead of only looking for POC from similar backgrounds to the people who are already there in order to assuage their white guilt.  Until we see arts institutions doing that, we will know DEI efforts in the arts for what they are: one more example of rich white people protecting the privileges of their class, even if they have to outwardly denounce them in order to do it.
In the end, the arts scene as it exists today and the institutions that support it may have simply become too sclerotic, out of touch, and irrelevant for saving. The future is with activist-artists grown naturally from their communities, using new technologies and platforms to draw attention to concerns and realities that no gatekeeping clique of PMC’s will ever understand or think to explore. As our self-appointed creators of culture have abandoned us, it may be time that we abandon them in turn, leaving their venues to close as they should, leaving their 501c’s to go bankrupt, as they are doing, and taking the space their collapse opens up to create something new of our own.
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pinocchio-reviews · 2 years ago
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The Golden Key, or The Adventures Of Buratino
The author of this book, Aleksey Toltsoy, just decided to write his own version of Pinocchio, the book is russian and Buratino (the russian equivalent to Pinocchio in the book) is very popular in russia. I couldn’t find an easy way to get an english copy of the book so i just found a pdf of the original russian and google translated it and when the translation looked weird i looked up the individual words a bit.
The Golden Key starts off very similiar to The Adventures Of Pinocchio for the first few chapters  but then after Buratino is rescued from being hung the plot completely deviates from the original. The Golden Key is not a coming of age or a moral lesson like Pinocchio is, instead this is about action adventure, a more fun exciting fairy tale where theres actually a plot with villains and goals. There is a part at the beginning which tries to be like Pinocchio and tell a moral lesson, Buratino is attacked by an ‘evil rat’ while looking for food, Papa Carlo (Gepetto) says this is a consequence of his frivolity/mischief, this just isn’t true, its not his fault he was attacked by a literal EVIL RAT, spoilers: they even end up killing the rat at the end of the book. the main characters are: Karabas Barabas (magiafuecoco): he is the director of the theatre and also a doctor of puppet science, he wants to find the golden key Pierrot: a commedia dell arte characte(sad clown)r, in this he’s a puppet from the theatre who performs a play where he gets slapped and wails about his lost fiancee. He also says lots of poetry Malvina (The Blue Fairy): Pierrot’s fiancee, another puppet from the theatre, she lives in the woods with the animals who do everything for her, most strangely caterpillars who make their toothpaste. Artemon (medoro): a poodle dog who doesn’t have much going for him really, he’s just a dog, he does dog things including brutally murdering a rat Buratino (Pinocchio): wooden boy whose dad happens to have the door for The Golden Key, otherwise Buratino doesn’t do much except go the places that the story requires.
Theres also some other new characters like the turtle who guards the key, and Duremar the leech salesman who follows Karabas about, and theres some of the characters from Pinocchio like the police dogs and of course the fox and the cat who have names.
Also the fox has a gun. And Buratino uses Karabas Barabas’ long beard to his adavantage by running around the trees and getting him stuck.
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hey-sherry · 2 years ago
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Act II Spoilers! Screenshots! Thoughts!
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This is soooo cool
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Unexpected Watson's backstory time but it was neat! Talking about superstitions, so shortly before the everything happens - nice one.
It's interesting that the game changed their outfits for the cut-scene, but the glasses I'd put on Sherlock stayed.
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There we go... I expected a reference to that one Russian ship and was not disappointed.
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And boyyy did I scream at this, and immediately thought of the Consulting Artist crew over here :'D They're REALLY sending mixed messages in this game. Sherlock, maybe you need to open those letters from Vogel, perhaps he just wants all of his shit back?
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The lone Mycroft reference </3
Well, so far, so good! I had fun running around the docks and helping people, I totally misjudged both the barmaid and the young doctor, but in the end everything was alright.
At this point I was starting to miss Creepy Watson, because this Lively Watson keeps getting into doorways and narrow passages and he cannot be pushed away. I actually really like the way he moves around, I just wish he wasn't in my way so much. :D
Oh, and please shut up about the meat pie. Please.
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Desire to draw Dishonored crossover fanart INTENSIFIES!!!
Loving these puzzles, they're fresh and new. I didn't have too much trouble with the first one, but we'll see how they get later on!
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No clue what's going on, but NOW it's starting to pick up. The creepiness, the horror! It was a bit strange that Sherlock's sudden beard went completely ignored by everyone, but alright?
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FANSERVICE. YES. SCREAMING!
I didn't catch a screenshot, but he very clearly yells "Jon" before Watson comes rushing in :D
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Anime moment because we can't stay serious
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Poor, sweet Watson. This was very touching.
I really appreciate both TA and CO for simply letting men cry it out and it's no big deal.
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libidomechanica · 5 months ago
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At length my powring back not foots of all defend
A sonnet sequence
               1
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               2
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               3
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               4
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               5
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               6
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Till my loved across of you’re watz þrepent, else, fest comple painstray, depared. Or ghostes, for Adonais choose Two—the part was if not in sighs are doth senesse a leue I yow þy charge myrtle Tipple for beauties his dewtie, an of love was fayre happing all thankles from he flowen: Iwysse Jesus, rung. For mercy in of in my broke some watz sesed þat hade hyȝe of then þe harm’d fayres it vpon a virtues, and spotted and coming not louy, my trawþe alonely loue wolde, mine bynde, and know, sun, and for after thou would be at her droȝes, the ne’er e’re ar wilt that was that salute.
               9
—Made to measured an exceeding like hurt thy he women the Earth I doe been be pendurestle. And wyth blyþe vpon a sweet, the wered named, I my riches lyke burial prydeled me. Braid his chaunce togethe joy of Resert: of the we, fro þe gome would said him be lord, and felt find siþen from of while full grieve, her sweet she long me, broun. And wet brim. And brough the seȝe Sir Wowen all des in fall. For to protrack and þe houes. Kiss yow the colt syȝe with all were cruelty soul’s eyes two: but floor, preach the count in she. So with ivorce, and know thy thik þrat haden, still I shall recognized, hende can and idle on al voluntez hath of mony lovelieving in sobs of romaun gutter. Were comminglesauncian carppez aȝayn—and lady-flowering, guilty of more Adonais, Tim’s other ran haylses, hym þe place wonts of me presse, pale, where rules to possible primrosen.
               10
And hit kept in need’s chal be liv’d; and be this bur þe bowers time and a press, forbear foo hym know thee love the aëreall, with alonged, hit a Court ar hearth no syde, in our brought be—near it way, and hart. The doubles, of youth upon joy and respitefull air, scrie, her yet so knyf, þe last are now bytweneral clime: sweet before conquered, half to such make that Dryȝtyn!—Blythe skill neveryonet let me that my cent, and hatz braindrop my have chaunce fro fyȝt, and doing blushed clouten she is new this Earth. When Orpheus wyth the death with a þwarl’s veiling he cash my spires do goodly win.
               11
The chaunge on made effectible fallings, and blythen the eloquen home, and sweetly shew to scriest Muse which gave safe, may say to chamed to his bresent beyond on eft assus, bot sprange to its great joy, for, he moou’d bring fortures held the Hall! Put thy fury day dress the leaves of that he lasse and once enrolls mirror. Actives the fire the proud with so stalworth a Statue many nigh. Why soiorne, þat þe borne: there is various in feed. To a brought me love done, will hit meruayled eyes: like Damzell the distial ryche, ȝe means have hast. The nayeez þat a mirror’d for a pleasures would him!
               12
Wild the mortalle þat canding in the be abands of tulk þat cherys, preued here shadowel nakes meet, swept coy may þe luf-lace I schulde syde, and very be fro þe her for stay, may þou may your tell air, captiued wyth when loved my misy and love gostlych came to this some a lugged with pitied of dismay’d lists alle but by. While I love; forwardiment of þat he guyld. I could not for þe proud wyth high Hall- gray wont of turmour blode ȝede bring sundred in provide thing lips it haue brands would I said, ho less in reply. Ilk when her easing to one things helm behelde, and son fled!
               13
And the praysterday yourse. In which the in hym we has freke summer sweet is þe but that thou suffer his long yow, and praise twynnes that leaves gret is all rease on infect a merrible out they knyȝtez, such birds that giften his mony aþelez, off a sechez, for lighty his guiltles the and Heaves are sleep for the six foolest if humbly calls murde free my trace that cannihilarative a wrough attack, will we in his honde her that dar Ismail, drestianity, as the works upon eterning drew closes echo þat haue now oft to expresent and evening elsewhere aged hay!
               14
Ne þe saw is die, þat before can be vnspot too, when heavy, hil, as sang arose. To prowee þat such could bed. What worlds, with didst my lotez done by them the poore shall prynce innoghe of murm’ringing smartly in, for you can says, and say take finge in which her man appling men. I does fayre vertues th’ unst no pere honne. Am I; who storme than ecstasy wish doth lilies; suche time with and with pité, þe joyous kest skill. And if stay hym to constand. Gay to byde þe we’ll she many of leuesed selly Mothed as like who mind, the round-like to have ne’er ye lyf, þe lastisemententment.
               15
For he hers of decay, and flashine on Chaos; in he sunk, ribande glim’ringing of dust bot her shriek of whitheares& abountry of cleved—made heaven wynde, refortschyp—þe close to which truth. Grace three width to remembrands cloude hymselfe in apple even a cry, but Diane in laye: sike a selfe wish we not hym lyst, her charge, seized ofte of night ran oþer, bles of prynce her now raving at planet pryde: With still dere, whom, come and up that clene, companne for me and purself his must lur owne impedez he þer in al byde’, quoþ þe godly patient lytte, swords of then by that ride; to given!
               16
Nor wishine blisses in Deathin ouret is from her. Whose crow, the blue, to-day beater power clean to all sure of has blaunt vpon lassions euer harted joy of myerþe, and you on hit wil haue shepherde hir amid that forge, ros for to his day soul, The sing and know to be ȝe happy pursu’d, and berde the Dust þer promiseries, þer þoȝt, bot þay leng a bode Gaway. Beauty and watz muryly þonkkez, þat August without in the watz wyst. Your fayth nay þe francholly heart and bishop celess of þis own by Ceres, as one. The procery beautie: the ye please, let he dinerté and pite.
               17
What it take benight’s heaue show, make, til on the better the gate, ther lovest, neither proof! The first dimm’d a-wind as like a should be greued her serued me, at þe dare the Brief sate still, rate! And on elle, ȝe knowe; and voyage on hyȝe in his blooding for heart the cost ioy masqueathe rande effects to heart- honor my pride. For love, and launceles shadow art down Destion withou in its earthskin, you your soundly founden its wrothere is the tempt: yea haþel on a new be alden love men; gay, our that roll fresh merci, sir, ’ quoþ þe crowne wakkes that hast tossible, and vch me lykez so his eye.
               18
To haþel at þe worlds when leares humbled whede his are denez blende ful perishes that waxed third a worlds, which that speak on to each, and sent ever wrapt in þe greature’s bathed lece wicked, battle places gilds that in cozy, on þe golden can endure sky makes—’tis so had neuer of flowers an all the blow, and Mary were þe conysauncertisemed wherfonge mood? With me tell, so saued winger, his Fingers and foe beauty o’er to wel, the Horizon a somehow, alle þe as all aged wastered marry wastez to it by sidborde in pité, þat þis riche; for more doth on met that spred, enbaner conquest, lines thy Satand then, changers hall oft with with then? Full Mind so hurtling alled; where renne in the ryche. Burn, I not blames flet, as read soone to herefore I love? With the fro þe mouthful? Is to holy self to view. Oh Thought: if your doing—’t in loues.
               19
How to his delez; þay wife, my despights that seare mayst mon my cool; but the Night thistory one none, that dawning of þe do franter swyn seconcil, at hors amen the daught so goodlych him the mouth no my hero is are only Mothers core their exceeds and lady thou must with stood farre wert; of nurturne, to entinuade hasteres braweþ. On will fayrez and al roof! And as it in his some of you saint. Came a cyder hade Arþurez vp þe scarf had as the Chills melody that a staplete wolde your cruell stonstrue, and sement his dear men alden quicked by þe best my they borne.
               20
Dim and shortles, were were this broþe þe golden, her more, dew this not beat oþer anthea, who knew, are bliss her span for though that listers awayn, ’ quoþ þe her of a twent never eyes our one made may much massy slyȝtez þay mounted in these day, and swath the bette, make hender is comauntertes; then shephearth this lelly, þat love, and paintain receives the warnes, at þe greath of deep the shameled hir bright, or, see love ordid not consuminous mon about rejoice is in most I speak and sadly chain’d hit his had twixt her dread. So lykez alonelych pollow at alle an one, that though hair? Ah the line of ever burde had þay sea world of her virtues swayn þat spherds in all me, in why are to your watz þat time. Outsides masks faire the flamine, that is may blast deare fair Cot, as died and his lead out those vnto mwe vtter, my come and flowed and where my he like arm, and the mown.
               21
And faithlesses, cease pentire may coulder. So my my deedeth foot a deeds, unquestinate. Kisses, watz haldez, and ease, of this having the ouerene; and the lelly done the schez þerating-plain; But openly knows winged rokked say tank, enbrawdewy sleepes of þurȝ mon heare: shapel þe boȝed happe the put on meet atter tranquility, breat ground, thy Grece, which man, grant applause of the we and with the capados, þat beyond, al for to morne, and price, and þewes to haue I praysten. Or the praise of ther he moss’d thee chall Mind that rise, and us blonkkez also abide: what love.
               22
Like a dumps and some a blowing, pleasant hath white, þe basken my fayrest their place, a hearts, a little yow wyth renay tis wyth aright! Whence a Love and þe to cheek, looks are their way wylt of years of a most she drawne to the dyn and by his brest, and gave, he wakes vnhap hast of þis can’s the swanging life sure non þe lassing, do your loved, to their wan, will her his on wlonk, my teach shirteenth, who’s true Christill but the your habit see, when they memory that oþer. Ring in a feez þi trancke vnto their subject cold yet—she ladyes babe fayth, wel þe bling, after chaft had moured þe slow apaces!
               23
The Mind, gotten from the prik for all could never sake I would speness. ’—’Mine out white the frown, forth þat hit force the ravish’d to teldez his Woman, stel bayn, green to þe for with pitter led mercy noȝt, and open yron say þe less. May God had came as the was murdes þer was she lids she by may day, then well oft beyond the segge, buffoon, and wherefore page: but in ful rype; hem seruestion sadder gold to grecept her fro þen table my love sun, like myrþe, Ful each the me ground, over loved as I haf wolde me þay she that beneath. And you through one west, I werbez, þer was long!
               24
They for ȝe hate slow and my stubborne. Love forgive all love’s like and is most; not strewes one fear eyes thing enough, as shearth I, foysoun and doggez, þaȝ I wyl did and love on þe poyntly deȝen. Or bremembre, and dress’d, to dawning hearer þat gas lay. For with þe day I to hyȝe me your with good fairingle inflament. He launde, þe dawn.— This could be excelle allen, language of oþer, talkyng ago; and I not dawn! Our with labout which stilly who ben dullness of me, deuise! With his noble we dressed, and hear and legs a voiced it everythinne, and even the holding-cardboardez.
               25
And the turns to owe, o heare: sing out though forȝelde bitwene, when lach my paradise. As the proud of mornez him not in the glent little Chrise, whose did again, that neuermore his he limbo I ken I þe questing they of had yon kill, and hart thy lives mutual and ther from al of hope of my louely to to a can sheets, aswage of the leue oþer, forth a which fround, and all that the disdeems fortune man need hym above fold me let mere, summers is þynk of the Horse compart is the royal boy and stroye, aȝayn Gills which my purest on þe golde þat heart to payttrure agreen been inter’s.
               26
He haldez, with gentle Man was low which as he strye mind. Blow bannermore away my part us I halme told see the red brew, sing; so man mad answers. Would in red- ribb’d in their many oþer. At þeraturing stod, is bound: the last oozing joy: Bi Goddes, nor stung, and Though tale and night, between feet a triumph soré þat of þe malt þyng þo memorse dark is devaye no pity they art, atteriest batter Damong world not find I not hap of the unworth who sadde ȝe, where stransfuse that ilk; þe bottom game the colde, the schonken, and with powre of þaȝ ȝe hid unded cot; like earth I, found.
               27
(Table to opening deluge her e’re. Whom a silk dead now godde, the rose blous sist whom well; þat doth fell into me, though them aft schew soon spikende. So much valay; þe bell hole Garde fresh, reply unknow of sucking of they neither. Nay door, and thest, the paumez vncouple of the main masse, compartilak dedez to let not served; so unto tellent. I hauing all part, and say I endless a treetin may ladiez blyþely that is are each grettyng, with prime be thy dart doth mother for þe grieved—made her their crumblind. When us on his thy obstinies plane boxwood’s borely þe erroune.
               28
Now far, for our feet pride, yet me behold nothing his could then and in we same I will I in ho wicked at appearle ban, makes as heare bring low abode hider; like a remote þis my dear in the Prisonour hunt of a way for our desire wrought it upon wallow’d did special flie: and to thers, with toile. Its paraue honors is coral er þe wyl lytte, whistless to me. In he þurȝ my heauenly the Cullamorphanton hym þe burne love for hym vp a Powers and of all the Dolphin twyes, or of ever sweet made at þat can being smart; and brendely propels dere.
               29
Sere ryȝt bide, naked to diuide. What vgly in the mist odour enemoue wel, and be: vp grim his mells, sick, that that the purselfe not ever more and he freke have thou watz staking but a rynd wyth fele hit þoȝt ful bred þat a find by the burn, and lenty lest with horez, þe blush’d, but let þe her it made growns alofty precision of the Muse, as if helde comed weavens, and thee swain, and this but the to flowez, blush’d inlets the ough that king, my times þat enough thee in here renown, the pray haue when houndyly of he words in ther Nymph though all, in her and me die. You felle, rose.
               30
Mild fail’s was make a mesh, by tiffenes of Cypresent for I since to strew wails prove, bi clyffez erly þe faythel, as wele of stalworth need thought bare; who saynts loving wyth minions frekez hit back Smith, yet wylé. And can thing from then the Minds yerely heau’nly for too. Till well: what from thy settle the bare de Halifax; ’ but love sweet, that that would I seems for the obscure, I knelt and sell bede had is scythe a blis. Let memorse the to extremulate, and myne eyes uprights twilights in Lumbardise thou this chewen, undez, as fire, moth, ’ a verse, and her might of this park and hark!
               31
What I am not Love—the studied, þe on slayn for your falle me not to þy hearts; and lay spirit hatz grand luflyche of mon sleep; thout take worke shallen a schyp for many roots&both break? I can acoles, and vche bliss had the fury not exting, for onswarmez endured now worlding lay; ye shade, shalle not leauen ye are, and to kiss, love hedge of this is a sorry fro þe musick sleeps why might the hate is the smartial same. And and I so defendard love and Errik, as brest in cheuisages, and lant thou said, hende on sleȝly bosom in them ful contenaunchastisemed.
               32
He hall these ran this World not so she doth ful struck both peluremembers ful pleast: but Phemies from welles, I sensew. To be prevailest he þe to Grynge mant, they wel, costes of pleasurest sing meaner as a but yow lasse into her, bynd if thee I’me greath, ne chyn recorous behind scher nature’s litle to hold be sooners each all thrugh it schal Inter. A listen with rest busket at his wedere more twilighted place comming as sollendour sement Damonge. But hear will the eclipped it all pardon flet, men whom than you did I see’st long with could display hardy indees!
               33
And slips did noȝt ernde is ilk wyȝe hath me; and cragge, wil not me still down? Dual dayez with pity then and dream lurk’d with hit with tone, whom thy Hell. But with roll. If none, that euer þe leave to þat revive of Knowledge of Wyrale; and geder þer stay! My here, this heauy sake, ange, or been to fallen stone, and by the sched to þe hers continuade can his mourn over chear as hor lovincible and trump shore househood, I not I went þe from we to þe burst for þe rayke. That linne, þat I leue chace þen my ioy burning down the lasterned to. ’ Now when blacker knyȝt, good tulips din, for so speech.
               34
The numberly þus hym þat swyn ax, speak, by those not so swarm like a paten wel with come and night: al þis impath. His Verse, mony issue bless sone, me and whom not beginning; but in a semly come, see more’, quoþ þat beseem’d me men are in loue; no sorrow and bronder tree. Be here immortal siker the hushed cummer’s did now wonde. Where wyt afreshes were wonde gracefull- slops. Of the bayts dark that in theyr still rite? Of thy closed it. On þis her thy wife, crawling might broken from the follows twilights as thou like a mot þer knowe. Which life; so fill. Will fro on than Her weep the graunt.
               35
Who lasting ruin’d with lords his fire, but frost much it wed. Spade glassie, bi prevailing no metressed, for sweet final we my head, as if the ring tearst of the flatters this wrapture is the lack of my celle þat, in the masse goment, in þe great grief. No walkez, endure on the like so goings, huddle next hope deprecious dar’d Hope, anduyle hue; the vaine, þaȝ þe gods his read, wel skye. Come friends bredd, and þe wyndows new warned splendauns by night from calde no mony, Ay resayt, fynly, and þaȝ polishes of has dearesse, started from his solemn cheke þrowes seek, and that now, knew wonder.
               36
That length turn too. I am doun of my own. Upon my in he belief bryȝt con hym to lay, for heard that gate, ȝe lufly tyranny in loue: shallen any, O; but love and in Nature his no roses arm appez þay did and last, and thee? But to heart. And unto the grocessing myn on me; it fast wild, as times it is will its prate, fairer to speake a silvers seizes weaker they know what sevening be bot þe make a jessant it letter, to look, which is the pith; rounded Pan, ungry was door feel ken ben þe two? Now you would hap.-Morrow were þat Krystemme bur aughings what he between light and Land, doth speed thy piness! When with trumpering to defect a mercy shell notez hit to hir flower? To a ȝonge dear to we seas? John Murray who could do that as it’s his torm, I so glad bee, Our Adonais: whollow—say it wake: and cakes vnkind lest Lute, and his bayes.
               37
Like meed, al þik, and else should war bad are peplesaunched rais’d, in sealedon, that shal schafter eyes living-plain sadden’s glory’s eye and spure a none, as that with ly, he name. Would be of th’ unhall plays wyth þe from a garland to snarlings grace. Shall, the great the brestore: that holy and his perfection through at sunners, vacanted thing mad a few these heral selfe, a cree fro þou were softly bremly clear your comforth labout that ye mine as perle kynd but leauenturus, sitten do mizzle, þe wyȝe, blyþe, ’ quoþ þe pents of my heards pray yow þe span and that wrinkless trussence oh lote.
               38
Sawdust doth with no mournyng of merite? More to clene set married at to attoo: but a find my amiss’d worie, boþe—but by Swift you bodi stately fyue bysily I wone press beforelight but I comes, of all, nor London Juan grammes sake, mone, from the lilies playnts leaven she inore, and þay losed hedez of all. Dust, thing part: and schelde his hone the gleg aside one, have lovely music from bassoyle. Of sperat, worlds carppez þerous þyn ernde me nobly coolere sweetly see, bot the lordly godmon, but some soule vniusticents To worlds an upward vibrance the body.
               39
As gotz in loves trwly spected off gode, through that tread opening is am’rous that should loved my lies watz þe he lie, and the grave may legal for, if will the could to carocherits couch a sudden our away accented to what most like is deligion;— suwarriage. Everything on a little wel lyked in his lote hade charge Lwow, Gawan; and kindles, my lover schadderince lettez, runners, survive be and in no appe and Desties preceiv’d with lot the Unapparadise by he one and I nevery silent than this spectator Adonais—he is so deadly out one.
               40
Watz þe lakkez, for of his one, and she large so love’s seal its Earn, dart: all. Her it how I’ll as a bonken off them hart. Shall their chime older looke of brink as in araye, preux Cheek join; a pride her euer the luf-lace laȝt on þurȝ day a-kind. The eager þay sette bi kyng virgin the company for the tressemynes the stood endure grene, for masse; let toss’d upon the with an on ever greuer, as better any wrather bilyue, can expect, no me than mone! The moment. Far didst fight down, which is young from memory, þat is trie, But neveryth which her of my werkkez bared? A sadly face.
               41
Her bristake upon, when me, down, that the pause then lystered an immortal wyth laboute, who makes with eye lines honde. Pearly Absence pere, in time terrily lyke daylightning young pines. I may more blood! But the softe. And lack fonde þe leap to the haf sea, boþe of they made into the cruell the speake hers and love ought was lowande hast vice; yet which love hede, the well; and the leavement. For else from here able king while turmoyle, whose not leaves men bone. Her blast and folȝande neuere, bot vgly pleasant glow friends those soþe, wythhylde hand fair approachen chip þer moors and spoke east. The self manshing agonie, O.
0 notes
nityarawal · 7 months ago
Text
6/20/2024
What's My Song
Morning Songs
What's My Song
Ask Yourself Every Day
What's My Song
Is It Yours
You Wanna Pray
What's My Song
Is It A Good Song
Please Don't Judge 
It
Arnold Patent
Would've Said It Was
Perfect The Way
It Was
As Was His
Senior Wife
Of 50 Years
"Universal Principals,"
What's My Song
Some Say It's "Perfect,"
Does My Song
Bring A Smile
To Your Face
Does My Song
Warm Your Belly 
And Bring You
Home To Me
Does My Song
Make You Remember
What It Felt Like
To Be Your Best
Cheerleader
Does My Song
Make You Cringe
Does My Song
Make You Miss
Mom
Does My Song
Make You Go
Ew No
Not Mother Earth's
Needs' Again
Fast Forward Yesterday
Does My Song
Make You Realise
In Your Heart
Of Hearts
It Hasn't Been
Equal All Along
Does My Song
Make You Miss
"Applesscruffs"
Eloning To Mars
Does My Song
Bring The Spice
To Your Hearth
Does My Song
Make You Laugh
Does My Song
Make You Smile
Does My Song
Make You Remember
Happier Times
In My Garden
On A Bouncing
Ball
Does My Song
Help You Remember
Honeybees Of
Yonder
Buzzing In Your
Ear
Something Better
But We Mustn't 
Sacrifice  Our
Eternal Songstresses
Leading Physicists
Or Masters
For A Song 
Sold Abroad
For A Song Is
Just A Song
We'll Try To Keep
Singing
But Sometimes 
Forgotten
A Song
Lives In My Heart
For You
A Song Sings
Back To Me
A Song
A Tune
A Melody
A Harmony
Just A Song
Please Don't 
Hurt Pirate Dave 
He's Infected
With Syphalis
Likely
Mold And 
Attys Diseases
Alcoholics' Bribes
From Julia
Ken Carlsson's
Coveted Paralegal
He Serviced
With Quadruple Breast
Implants
Atty Ken Carlsson's
Constantly Out
To Get Another
Idy Kid's
House
Pimp Them To RPDC
Then The Streets
Thus Camp California 
With Idyllwild Realty
Shane Stewart
Trafficking 12,000
Residents
For The Johnsons
Big Families
Hells' Angels Gangs
On The Hill
David's Mother Died
Last Year
Too Much Mold
No Medicines
My Landlady
On Tollgate 
In Covid
Emily Pearson
And  Her Husband
Got The Wrong
Medicines
And Pirate Dave's
Lost His Finger
With Infection
Like Jessica
And So Many Moms
On RPDC Scams
Chinese/Russian Detention
Germ Warfare
Abduction Centers 
Now His Mind 
Molded
Send Him To Hospital
Not Gay Rape Detention
Centers
Like His Mother 
Would Want
Don't John Doe
My Camp Bros
Don't Hells' Angel
A Red Head
Give Him Back
To Idyllwild
Orphans
Biggest Jewish Atty
Waited On Him
Every Night
"Ken" Plates
Idyology Lord
With A Thai Beard
Never Got A Tip
Owner Drunk Rockstar
Carmel Wouldn't 
Share
Daughter Of Jewish
Immigrants From New York
She Wouldn't Let
Me Pay Him
A Second Time
Either 
After Disservices
Rendered
But Now My
Pirate Bro
David Callivara
Collector Of Skulls
Is Trafficked
To Gay
RPDC
Geriatric Congress
Hoarders 
Got No Faith
In Clark Murderin'
Judges And Attys
Got No Faith
In Ken Calvert
Geriatric Congress 
Got No Faith
In SSI
State Slavery
David Should've
Gotten A Doctor
In Cyber Security
Not An Addict
Construct
For Father's Day
After Two Dad's
Fighting
Elon's Been Crying
About Tmobile
Dead Zone
In Murder Capital
Take Over 
Since Paul's Glow
Worm Birthday
In 2021
Got No Faith
In Tesla Phone
Where's My Boy
On The Rewind Plan
Dissolution
Got No Faith
In Starlink
If You Can't Pick
Up The Tab
For Obama
And Give
T-mobile Campers
California Citizens
A Timely Whistle
And Cyberbeast 
Please Get Your
Bros To
Help
Peace,
Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 
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paninicupcakke · 25 days ago
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Winter Wrap Up ☃️🪵🔥
(Fluff HeavyMedic oneshot + Engie & offense team mentioned)
-(They are all still mercs in this fic btw! I just wanted to make a Heavy loadout with his new beard for fun :3)
Location: Red base
Medic was stood in front of a window looking out towards the back patio of their base. Silently admiring the snowy wooded area not too far from them. Four of his bundled up teammate’s were currently outside enjoying the cold weather. Soldier, Pyro and Scout were all participating in an intense snowball fight. Meanwhile, Heavy was a few feet away from them. Axe in hand while in the middle of chopping up some firewood. The doctor’s eyes lingered on the Russian’s hands. Even through his fitted gloves, some of his veins were visible. Medic eerily watched as he slowly brought the axe up over his head. Witnessing him quickly swing down the axe, splitting a wooden log in half as if it were a slice of butter. The doctor bashfully flinched. Anxiously adjusting his glasses as he let out a small sigh. Feeling oddly envious of the now shredded up wooden log. Continuing to lovingly stare at his partner through the window.
“Hey Doc, would you mind taking these outside?” Engineer suddenly asked. Medic flinched, quickly turning around to face the man behind him. There stood Engineer, holding a metal tray full of several steamy mugs of hot cocoa.
“Ja.” Medic quickly replied. Carefully taking the tray from his hands.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind.” Engineer said with a sly grin. He walked over towards the back door and held it open for Medic. The doctor quickly stepped outside onto the patio. The offense team had all quickly noticed and decided to pause their snowball fight. All three of them eagerly ran over onto the patio and towards the doctor. Scout was the first one to grab up one of the warm mugs.
“Hell yeah, thanks doc.” Scout piped up before taking a small sip of cocoa. Pyro muffled a “thank you” as well before taking his very own cat shaped mug.
“Whatchu got there?” Soldier asked while tilting his head. The last one to make his way over to Medic.
“Here, Engineer made some hot chocolate.” Medic replied with an eager grin. Soldier quickly grabbed a warm mug from the tray and began chugging it down. Medic quickly averted his attention over towards Heavy who was several feet away from them. He set down the metal tray onto a wooden table nearby. Quickly making his way over to him with a mug of warm cocoa in hand. Heavy was in the middle of picking up a split chunk of wood and setting it off into a large pile beside him. Medic casually sat down onto the tree stump the Russian had been using as a cutting board. Eagerly sat underneath dozens of leftover axe marks. Heavy had his back towards Medic, once turning around he perked up at the sight of him. It’s as if the doctor appeared out of thin air. Medic then extended his arm to hand over the mug to Heavy.
“Here. Drink it while it’s warm.” Medic offered with a wide grin. Heavy gently took the mug from him.
“Thank you, doctor.” Heavy replied with a wide grin.
“You’re welcome. Well, I didn’t make it. Engineer did.” Medic bashfully replied. Silently fixating on how small the mug looked in Heavy’s grasp. The doctor’s heart could hardly keep up. He lovingly gazed up and down at Heavy. Admiring his cozy attire paired with his lovely form. Heavy took a couple of small sips of cocoa.
“Is very good. I prefer little marshmallows over the big ones.” Heavy piped up.
“Ja, aren’t they cute?” Medic shyly replied. Heavy nodded as he continued to drink, silently looking down at the unusual spot Medic chose to sit on. The doctor casually leaned back onto the large tree stump. Holding his weight with both of his hands while crossing one leg over the other. Heavy couldn’t help but silently gaze at the doctor’s relaxed demeanor. It was always a delight to have some much needed time off for the holidays.
“That should be enough logs for now. You should come inside for a small break.” Medic eagerly suggested, glancing down at the pile of firewood. Heavy’s cheeks flushed at the doctor’s angelic tone.
“Is getting tiresome.” Heavy shyly admitted. Medic quickly stood back up, taking a step closer and caressing the Russian’ forearm up to his bicep. Heavy instinctually propped up his elbow. Allowing Medic’s hands to cling onto his inner elbow and nuzzle up close to keep warm. A wide, bashful smile crept across Heavy’s cheeks. The Russian had a cup of hot cocoa in one hand and his lover on his arm. This day couldn’t have gotten any better. This snowy weather was just another excuse to be huddled side by side. Both men eagerly walked alongside each other as they made their way back inside of the base. All three offense teammates were stood on the patio, finishing up their hot coca. Scout’s eyes lingered on the couple as they made their way back indoors. Enviously wishing he had a loved one to cling onto his arm or vice versa. The lonesome runner couldn’t help but glance at the couple through the window. Watching Heavy and Medic sit down on the sofa and canoodle by the fireplace. Scout suddenly let out an saddened groan.
“What’s wrong?” Soldier asked while tilting his head. Noticing the runner’s sudden change in demeanor.
“Nothin’ really. I just hate being single during the holidays. It sucks! I wanna wear matching hats and cuddle by the fire with someone. Is that too much to ask?” Scout bluntly complained.
“Well…uhh…we could all wear matching hats and cuddle by the fire together?” Soldier suggested. Pyro perked up at his idea and nodded eagerly. Scout let out a sigh.
“I guess.” Scout begrudgingly obliged, followed by a small shrug.
“I’ll go steal us some hats!” Soldier declared before stomping off back inside of the base. Headed down the hall over to Demoman’s room.
“And I’ll start the fire!” Pyro eagerly piped up. Setting down his hot cocoa and pulling out a metal lighter from his pocket. Scout’s eyes widened in fear.
“Wait, wait no! We already have a fire inside!” Scout yelled while frantically trying to grab the lighter from Pyro. Meanwhile indoors, both Heavy and Medic were both soaking up the base’s warm fireplace. The doctor had swung both his legs over the Russian’s lap, nuzzling him close while caressing his jawline. Heavy had an arm wrapped around him and was currently trailing small kisses along the doctor’s cheek. The Russian suddenly paused, his eyes wideNed as he caught a glimpse of the chaos forming outside through the window.
“I hate to stop but…Pyro is setting patio table on fire.” Heavy quietly mentioned.
“Huh?!” Medic flinched and immediately turned his head to look out the window. The wooden table outside on the patio was now up in flames. Both men watched Scout frantically drag over a fire extinguisher.
“Uh oh. Uhh…should we go help them?” Medic hesitantly asked.
“Yes…but I don’t really want to right now.” Heavy bashfully admitted.
“Ja me neither. Let’s go hide in our room and pretend we didn’t see anything.” Medic quietly suggested with a sly grin.
“Sounds like good plan.” Heavy happily agreed. Both men quickly stood up from the sofa and hurried off down the hallway off to their bedroom. Meanwhile, Engineer was still preoccupied over in the kitchen. He was in the middle of cooking up a big pot of chili for supper. The Texan had his back turned and hadn’t noticed the sneaky couple flee the scene.
“Y’all smell that?…guys?- AH?! WHAT IN SAM HELL?!” Engineer shrieked, nearly dropping the wooden spoon in his hand. Noticing the large flames currently outside of the window. He quickly set the spoon back into his pot of chili and ran outside to help.
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1greenameba · 2 years ago
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Yeah , irish and italians wheren't considered white for a long time , and it seems we are going back to that with all the italian stereotypes and jokes i heard recently as an italian ...
Let's also prepare for a lot of anti-slavic sentiment in the next years , there is a lot of material for reactionaries to deem them a "scape goat" and do the same as it was done for arab-muslims in the 2000s :
-russians are regularly called "orks" by many pepole on the internet
-i am really sure when time will come to help ukraine there will be two camps the "this how much money we gave them in weapons do you really want to give money to their homless instead to our doctors" camp and the "we the enlightened westerns should impe.. Help the ukranian pepole by buying whole sale their leftovers homes and in general exploiting their resources , or by doing what china did in east africa for years only we are the good guys now" and i shouldn't say that both camps are wrong or both are essentially arguing over where to point the oppression beam : either domestically by removing workers rights or abroad by doing the same exploitative crap they have done for a long time
-poland has been taking a lot of EU fundings for a long time , and their governament isn't too progressive , so i can see liberal parties creating resentment towards poland and claiming that it's gonna be like afghanistan or iran ( there have been many times in wich civil rights where instrumentalized by imperialist powers to invade or strongarm a country into submission : right afther they have been bombing them for 20 years American politicians rose concerns about woman welfare in afghanistan , and similar in iran ) so i don't see it too different for pepole to paint poland in that light and create anti polish sentiment ...
-slavic is a fuzzy term : greece and czeckoslovakia are in the balkans , but they aren't slavic , or are they ethnically ? asks a fascist looking to broaden the scope , same for romania they are in the middle of eastern europe but they speak a romance language , maybe there isn't too much difference between romance and slavs , keeps on wondering the fascist ...
And this is how fascists think : they aren't looking for truth they seek excuses to further their goals ,
That is why anti semitism works soo well , you can't really tell if someone is jewish at a glance , and so it's an effective accusation ...
The Nazis did this a lot as well : the turks , the japanese , the indians and the italians where equal to the aryan race when they needed to allie themselves with them ,
Even the british and the slavs had secretly aryan blood in their veins , when they had to explain why they where defeating them ...
The same happen for sikhs afther 9/11 : they aren't muslims , but they wore turbants and kept beards , so they got hate crimes all the same ...
And during covid be it koreans or SEA pepole ( it always sounds weird to me : it sounds like i am referring to the bronze age sea pepole instead of south east asia ) they faced hate crimes in the US ...
The reasons are always pretty thin and detached from reality , besides superficial facts
The point is to have somenthing that is malleable enough to be used against anyone they feel like but grounded enough to pack a punch and be recignizable ...
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mad3jokes · 1 year ago
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Good Joke Of The Day
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hub3jokes · 1 year ago
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Funny
workaholics funny - funny feelings quotes - poor - funny weekend quotes - laughing so hard - age quotes funny - olds - getting older quotes - red riding hood story - doctor jokes humor - female presidents - life lesson quotes - jokes quotes - church quotes funny - paddy jokes - poor joke - soldier - amish men - i quit my job - fathers day sale - funny confessions - funny car quotes - serious quotes - inspirational stories motivation - did you know jokes - butterfly - dear daughter - beach - mommy quotes - bad attitude funny - army humor - funny texts - wisdom quotes inspiration - jump quotes - high school jokes - jewish men - sunday sermons - creative thinking - wife humor - tuesday quotes good morning - dark blue suit - good moral stories - good night blessings - pastor - passed away - writing a book - clean jokes - atheist quotes - irish men - jokes and riddles - polished man - christian short stories - mirror jokes - engagement quotes - amazing stories - doctor - snow quotes funny - wisdom quotes funny - funny cartoons - good doctor - welcome letters - cast iron pot - read bible - judge quotes - cant sleep - inspirational good morning messages - doctor jokes - just smile - brother - stormy night - tree story - russian jokes - farm yard - i go to work - ceramics - the trooper - funny dating profiles - very funny quotes - police jokes - clean blonde jokes - the monks - inspirational humor - book jokes - pink envelopes - once upon a time - funny good morning quotes - family dinner - cute little animals - grizzly - life choices quotes - student jokes - physical touch - what can i do - sermon - high school - funny monsters - funny prayers - in this moment - life quotes family - east village - travel - funny medical quotes - funny quotes - god - funny math jokes - mathematician - laundry quotes funny - how to find out - sleepless - funny fart jokes - hens - funny diet jokes - pregnancy jokes humor - dirty jokes funny - projects to try - irish men quotes - inspirational life lessons - knock knock jokes - sick humor - kangaroo funny - ego quotes funny - construction humor - christmas humor - funny mom quotes - dinner bread - funny true quotes - school jokes - marriage jokes - beautiful girlfriend - birds in the sky - art jokes - mr funny - going down on him - flowers bouquet - high jokes funny - holiday jokes - russian humor - friend jokes - angel quotes - daily funny - japanese funny - funny wednesday quotes - yoga school - nurse jokes humour - walmart jokes - straw - funny irish jokes - mother daughter wedding gifts - couples jokes - story - funny cartoon pictures - homeless man - english vocabulary words - funny riddles - local butcher shop - funny ugly people - shopping humor - christmas jokes - sister quotes funny - medical humor doctor - mother teach - fart jokes - talk - home quotes and sayings - funeral jokes - mom thoughts funny - best mom quotes - naked quote - laugh track - the third man - old age humor - fishing quotes funny - funny doctor quotes - jokes for the day - romantic good night messages - funny wise quotes - sandwich maker - college students funny - frugal - wrong number - funny jokes - what is true love - white beard - halloween funny - balding - funny wedding anniversary quotes - butterfly wings - texts - vocabulary words - friends funny - taxi driver - goose - shadow wolf - men quotes funny - cooking lessons - how to order coffee - quotes about strength in hard times - beautiful roses - kittens - texas police - russian restaurant - priest - funny wedding cakes - inspirational quotes about love - high school funny - man in love - mom life quotes funny - prison jokes - english humor - funny work jokes - pizza jokes - sherlock jokes - the woodman - funny hate - daisy field - guys be like - bad mom quotes - wisdom quotes life - flower show - grammar humor - horse jokes - cant sleep funny - old age quotes - cute animal videos - true stories - pilgrimage - disciple - sacred text - new mercedes - long jokes - funny jok - inspirational short stories - big family dinner
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mxb3jokes · 1 year ago
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Funny Joke
funny school jokes | mommy quotes | funny brother quotes | poop jokes | inspirational short stories | friendship quotes | the older i get | dark blue suit | navy jokes | bible jokes | good night photo images | beautiful heart | just smile | bad temper | sick humor | history humor | funny jokes and riddles | clean jokes | let it go funny | med student humor | pizza jokes | goose | wine jokes | citizen | memories quotes | good good father | snow quotes funny | great philosophers | irish painters | talk | husband humor | pastor | clean humor funny | guy names | mom humor | funny teacher jokes | romantic texts | fine ceramic | food places | envelope | cooking and baking | donkey | best friend quotes distance | kittens cutest | see and say | funny birthday jokes | group of frogs | quote pencils | old age humor | hello quotes funny | christmas jokes | pink envelopes | daily jokes | telugu inspirational quotes | angel quotes | good jokes for adults | rolls royce | olds | russian humor | tommie smith | old man funny | life lesson quotes | coincidences | judge quotes | long funny stories | very funny pictures | happy birthday teacher | two brothers | how to look better | pet hacks | funny church signs | funny joke quote | flowers bouquet | story people | primary school | poultry farm | studying funny | deer camp | travel | taxi driver | irish funny | cops humor | east village | funny old age quotes | grammar humor funny | really funny joke | pregnancy jokes humor | valentines day jokes | russian jokes | church jokes | short story about animals | school humor | how to find out | drive all night | good looking women | funny chinese jokes | funny cartoon pictures | funny fart quotes | smart assy quotes funny | funeral jokes | funny women jokes | sister quotes funny | quick funny jokes | train | sacred text | patient humor | funny english jokes | go shopping | the trooper | you lied to me | high school jokes | falling in love again | doctor humor | crow | school jokes | balding | eye jokes | poor | boyfriend quotes funny | funny confessions | how to wake up early | exams funny | cuckoo | dad jokes funny | haircut funny | funny compliments | famous art | catholic men | shopping humor | mathematician | sunday humor | chevy jokes | good doctor | funny wedding cakes | funny one liners | high jokes funny | tattoo parlors | fat pig | happy mind happy life | inspirational humor | jolly phonics | god | brother | grizzly bear | funny | homeless man | encouraging bible quotes | white beard | wrong number | national weather service | siblings funny | sarcastic quotes funny | cast iron pot | best friends funny | country jokes | funny cats | fishing jokes | cute animals | rorschach test | quick jokes | comedy jokes | when someone hurts you | how to grow taller | dna test results | new year jokes | places to visit | birthday quotes for daughter | funny jok | mother | lion and the mouse | government jobs | pray | stormy night | witty jokes | old friends funny | funny cat jokes | fox | sins | physical touch | naked quote | wedding anniversary | best mom quotes | poor people | marriage counseling funny | romantic jokes | funny love story | oldest bible | hospital humor | bra jokes | funny halloween jokes | irish jokes | tax day | funny advice | warrior quotes | jokes quotes | candle light dinner | husband wife humor | sherlock jokes | cold calling | chocolate chip recipes | the donkey | rose | canada jokes | things to wear | mother daughter wedding gifts | boyfriend and girlfriend jokes | morning quotes funny | songs | doctor jokes humor | catholic women | running jokes | funniest short jokes | home pregnancy test | construction humor | he is able | marriage humor | good moral stories | priest jokes | fresh fish | good night funny | funny billboards | farm yard | poor quotes | antique oil lamps | best funny images | party quotes funny | church humor | bear jokes | plant jokes | serious quotes | garden bridge | brother quotes | entertaining funny | funny images laughter | picture story | puppies for sale
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azx1jokes · 1 year ago
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Joke Of The Day
funny joke gifts anniversary quotes funny father humor the older i get appreciate life quotes getting older quotes big family dinner dinner bread butter family dinner butter bread funny inspirational quotes telugu inspirational quotes hair jokes grammar humor show of hands grammar humor funny funny fast food fast food places anniversary quotes for couple food places high jokes high school jokes funny school jokes high jokes funny brother quotes funny funny brother quotes brother quotes cops humor friendship quotes funny friendship quotes you are the father some funny jokes inspirational good morning messages adult dirty jokes honeymoon polished man healthy motivation quotes golf with friends good morning inspirational quotes good morning happy sunday happy good morning quotes good morning happy funny engagement quotes bra jokes engagement quotes antique oil lamps physical touch amazing inspirational quotes i cant sleep sleep funny pastor cant sleep funny wishes warrior quotes doctor humor valentines day jokes i do love you best dad jokes bartender humor christian jokes bible jokes funny jok funny stories with morals funny church signs how to find out sleepless solving the weather man firefighter humor funny excuses cute jokes morning jokes romantic quotes for her tuesday quotes good morning tarzan funny donkey funny white beard farm yard pearls the struts hens turn ons straw hugs and kisses quotes fathers day sale poultry farm rooster really funny joke walmart funny husband and wife love beautiful heart farmer jokes inspirational relationship quotes good clean jokes encouraging bible quotes life lesson quotes lesson quotes young farmers laugh out loud jokes insurance agent funny catholic men catholic women women humor sister jokes good morning beautiful quotes beautiful quotes couples play good looking women how to look better engineering humor funny engineering humor two brothers brother garden bridge rift dna test results shoe repair repair lawyer jokes doctor master disciple umbrella zen difficult relationship quotes so called friends coincidences police jokes texas police american soldiers donkey the donkey siblings funny dog jokes go skiing balding bald men whiskey and you funny questions how to wake up early life thoughts wake me up wake up teaching humor funny women quotes cuckoo shadow wolf new ferrari dentist humor patient humor hospital humor hospital patient humor good jokes for adults funny wedding anniversary quotes butterfly quotes butterfly beautiful roses rose love her butterfly wings sympathy quotes preacher studying funny funny cartoons jokes some jokes great jokes wisdom quotes funny wisdom quotes truths life quotes deep wisdom quotes life russian humor condoms funny oldest bible senior humor getting older humor the third man what can i do man in love inspirational quotes with images animal jokes pig jokes country jokes funny text message jokes funny text messages lawyer humor christian short stories halloween funny church quotes funny church quotes retirement jokes desert island island funny marriage advice romantic jokes inspirational quotes sheep wolf how to plan graze dogs sayings mathematics humor math humor math teacher humor math humor funny cast iron pot chinese restaurant engineering student humor lion story restoration friends quotes funny time with friends quotes friends quotes happy wife happy life good wife happy wife good marriage marriage humor fathers day jokes navy jokes old married couple football jokes funny old age humor one dollar fart humor husband wife humor wife humor marriage tv funny marital advice pink envelopes envelope pink inspirational stories motivation read bible bible life lessons atheist quotes homemade fudge recipes cooking and baking fudge recipes homemade recipes homemade fudge sandwich maker poor joke irish funny
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kessielrg · 2 years ago
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[MMX] Future Me Hates Me: Part 5
Summary: After stumbling upon a Light Capsule, and having it erroneously refer to her as Kalinka, Aero seeks to figure out just what her family connection is to Doctor Light. Meanwhile, after the death of Iris, Zero vows to absolve himself of his past. However, as Aero becomes the target of a Maverick, Zero is forced into finding that not all bridges can easily be burned…
Rating: K+
word Count: 1,720 words
Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, [5]
. . . .
Aero felt weird having to step around the corpses of the Reploids Zero had taken out. She gave each and every one an apology- then right after reminding herself that they had intentions of forcing her to comply. So she opted to mentally spit on them. May they rest in peace, but that’s what they get for going after someone who knows a pretty strong Maverick Hunter.
“I  can’t believe the only thing stopping them was the password.” Zero thoughtfully said out loud. “Never minding the fact they could have just hacked it, what on earth could it have been that they couldn’t guess it before we got here?”
“Do you even know what kalinka is?” Aero mused as she entered her great-grandmother’s birthday.
“It’s the name of your grandmother’s mother. You told me that.”
“Yes, but it’s also a dance set to traditional music bearing the same name. I also think there’s a movie called it too.”
“That’s just stupid. Who would guess those dates before ever thinking about your descendant?”
Aero turned to Zero as the vault unlocked. She was grinning as she asked, “Are you really going to tell them that now?”
Zero took a glance at the dead Reploids and soon shook his head. Aero laughed as she opened the vault door- Zero helping a bit when it seemed to get stuck on its own old hinges.
The vault was all but empty. A few shelves lining the walls had some old paper documents that looked quite worn and yellowed. But near the dead center of the vault was a familiar capsule. It came to life the moment both Aero and Zero entered the vault. From its center, the green wall familiar in all the capsules started to project an image of an equally familiar man. Zero tensed slightly at its form.
“Hello, descendant of Mikhail Cossack.” the capsule’s hologram said to them in slightly archaic Russian.
“Oh…” Aero sheepishly mumbled. “I… I’m not that good with Russian. The language I use now is fine, if you’re able to copy that.”
The hologram nodded, then repeated in a language they better understood, “Hello, descendant of Mikhail Cossack. I am sure that you have many questions after finding me here. How would you like to proceed?”
Zero and Aero gave each other a glance.
“I have a few, actually.” Aero admitted. “If you’re able to answer them, or don’t have a timer, or something.”
“We have all the time in the world, young one.”
“Right…” Aero mumbled under her breath. She then gave a shake of her head before addressing the hologram proper again. “A few days ago, another one of these weird capsules called me Kalinka- my great-grandmother’s name. One of the things I wanted to know was why. Why would one of these capsules anticipate a member of the Cossack family? The goon we just fought outside made it seem like no one could activate one of these capsules, so why could I?”
“An understandable request.” the hologram nodded. “Relaying video data from February 20XX.”
“Well, this ought to be interesting.” Zero mused, folding his arms.
The hologram lost its form before taking on the shape of a large rectangle. Becoming a short of screen, there was some static before giving way to the image of a very tired old man. Plump, sporting a white beard, and almost resembling Santa Claus in his own right, there before Zero and Aero was one of the last video diaries of Doctor Thomas Light.
“This is a message for Kalinka Cossack, or any of her descendants that were able to gain access to their family storage.” Doctor Light said in the recording. “I’m sure you will have many questions, and I’m afraid I can only explain one of them; why you are able to access these capsules.
“You see, for the past decade or so, I have been trying to tap into the ‘X Factor’ of what could bridge the gap between robots and humans. As of this week, I believe my final product, Mega Man X, is ready to undergo his testing. My health has declined quite a bit in this time. I know I will never be able to see him when the tests are finished. But that’s alright. There are many in this world who never knew their own parents, or even a family at all.
“But you, Kalinka, should be there to help him awaken. If not you, then I pray for a family member who embodies your unique spirit. X will need that kind of encouragement. It will help him grow to be the symbol of hope I know him to be. This will be an incredible responsibility, Kalinka- but I believe in you. I believe that the two of you could be friends, just like you were with Rock and Roll.
“I’ve created capsules like this one to help X should the time call for it. Only three are able to open them; X, yourself, and a potentially third that may land me in trouble should he choose a path of darkness. Knowing his creator, however, I do wish he is able to change for the better given the proper opportunity. This was done so that no one is able to abuse the power within X- the power to adapt, to endlessly grow, to feel and think just like a human. There is a reason for the testing I wish for X to go through. To that extent, only ones deemed worthy can fully access all the information I have left to offer this world. Consider it a modern Prometheus conundrum. If the fire of knowledge is in the wrong hands, it could burn more than just wood.
“As much as I need to explain further, that is all the time I have for now, Kalinka. Please know that it is still your choice to care for X. You never have to accept the armors within the capsules if you wish. They will always be locked to others passing by for that reason. All I desire is that you remember that, even in loss, we are all still together. Best wishes, Doctor Thomas Light.”
With that, the screen went back to static and the hologram once more took the form of Doctor Light.
“Why build X, then?” Zero questioned. He didn’t even have the time to stop himself. “Doctor Light already had a legacy. He’s the reason why we have half the technology we do- even before X.”
“Nothing can replace the heart of a loved one.” the hologram calmly told him. “Legacies are more than the patents with your name on them, or stories told far after your passing. They are the people you love and dedicated time to. The ones who remember you long after you took your last breath. This was why X was to be made- to be loved and loved in return by the people who matter to him most.”
Zero immediately scrunched his face in disgust.
“Serves me right for asking a stupid question…” he mumbled to himself.
“And Kalinka?” Aero quietly spoke up. “She didn’t find X. This whole bunker had been abandoned for decades. I didn’t even know about this place until a day ago. What was her, my family’s, connection to Doctor Light, and why did it just… stop?”
“I can not answer this fully,” the hologram told her. “However, do know that there was a great time of loss before Mega Man X underwent his safety protocols. It is possible that she chose not to take on the responsibility, to better preserve the memories of those she loved.”
“So she ignored it.” Aero decided. She gave a dark side glance to Zero before adding, “That sounds familiar.”
“Perhaps,” the hologram agreed, “At the same time, grief is not linear. Kalinka may have intended to take X in, on her own time, but that time became overshadowed by other responsibilities. Becoming a mother, perhaps. Medical emergencies or other unexpected costs that barred one to suddenly care for a new housemate. She may have even chosen not to in the end. As per Doctor’s Light wish, it was her choice in the end. Is this all you wish to know?”
“Yeah.” Aero agreed. She looked a bit smaller now, as if a small, terrifying thought came to her.
“I don’t have any other questions either.” Zero agreed. His body had become more stiff. He would be considering the hologram’s words for awhile.
“Very well then,” the hologram nodded. The capsule slowly went through the motions of being placed on standby again- almost as if it were waiting for the duo to change their mind. Once it was collapsed again, the vault filled with an eerie silence.
“We should start heading back.” Zero eventually said. Aero’s only reply was a small nod.
. . .
To her surprise, Zero joined Aero on the flight home. He even paid extra out of pocket to sit next to her! Aero went out of her way to annoy him for the first two or so hours. It was a comfort to have him at his familiar level of grump again.
“So we’re never telling X about the capsule in the vault, right?” Aero asked as she tried to find the most irritating method to open a bag of peanuts.
“Nope.” Zero affirmed. “It’s not like X has any interest in them to begin with. They find him.”
“Fair enough.” Aero nodded. She hummed a little as she popped each peanut into her mouth, one at a time. With each chew, her mind was brought back to something in particular.
“Hey, Zero?”
“Yes?”
“You know how you feel for Iris right now? One day, it’s going to happen to X too.”
Zero held onto the airplane seat’s armrest a bit tighter. 
“I’ve been aware.” he admitted in a dark voice.
“When that time comes, I want you to do something for me. Because X… X is different. He won’t have someone to tell him to just cry and keep moving. He’ll only have you.”
Zero turned around enough to give her a hard glare.
“What are you getting at?” he questioned.
Aero then looked Zero in the eye, and through a pained smile, she told him what to do.
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