#Little Obsolete Soldier Thing [ LOST ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinfulsalutations · 8 months

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𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ/ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɪᴛ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ :), ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ʜᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 2ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ᴜʜʜʜʜ ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ. ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ɴᴏᴡ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :)

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Your heart nearly stops when you see that helmet rightfully placed on his head again.

The batch had already lost so much, from Omega getting captured by the Empire to Tech disappearing into the fog; Crosshair was just another one of those losses that added to the group’s misery. Though, calling any of the events just one of many feels like you’re undermining their importance.

The tight band of brothers you so abruptly became a part of during the Clone Wars turned into a fractured group of obsolete, defective soldiers drifting through the galaxy, their inherent purpose wasted away like the fading remnants of the Republic. And you’re forced to watch, equally aimless and discouraged, and see Hunter’s once determined stature be chipped away, loss after loss. You see Echo’s connection to the group being severed and fading with every setback; Wrecker’s optimistic disposition becoming grimmer and grimmer. Their key characters remain, yet they feel so out of reach, cocooned into their bodies out of self-preservation.

When the cavalry arrives and the batch reunites, you’re not sure how to feel.

Everyone’s relieved, no doubt. Wrecker envelopes Crosshair and Tech into a loving, suffocating embrace; Echo and Hunter converse and exchange vital information to help benefit their hopes to save more of their brothers. And Omega, little Omega’s eyes regain all their color when she sees all of you again, giving each a long, savoring hug to say all she wants but is too overwhelmed to express.

Suddenly, everything is back to normal. Back to before .

Yet the first time you see Crosshair’s face as he slides his bucket off his head, you realize that still, so many things have changed since the end of the war. His hair is gone, leaving a nasty scar on the side of his head that could compete with Wrecker’s spider web of damage. Wrinkles are etched into his face, any sense of youth gone from his complexion, eyebags you could trace with your finger and a droop in his mouth and eyes garnered from months of misery and torture in solitude and confinement.

The sight upsets you. It makes your skin crawl and tears swell up in your eyes because you think about the last time you truly got to talk to Crosshair. Not on Kamino after he’d chosen the Empire, when the air was tainted with the drive to escape alive; but on the Marauder on their way to Kaller to assist Master Billaba and Caleb.

It had been the first time you got him to smile your way. Genuinely, and not one of those smug or sly ones he likes to give regs when he emerges superior.

The two of you had been… close. Somewhat. When you first joined the batch as their medic you got along easily with the rest of the crew, making friendships and memories as time went on. But Crosshair always remained that pesky lump in the carpet you couldn’t seem to flatten.

Eventually, or so you believe, he warmed up to you; and began to actually talk on the nights you both found yourselves restless sitting beside each other in the cockpit or the barracks. He’d offer you little slimmers of guidance as you patched up his injuries, telling you what hurt and what didn’t, guiding your hands when you shook and struggled to stitch up a cut.

You two became familiar with your unfamiliarity.

Now, he’s eerily silent– not the cold, stern silence he typically used to wear– deafening, stomach-twisting silence. You can’t keep your eyes off of him, scanning his little behavior patterns and actions, searching for anomalies or changes, trying to prove to yourself that’s still the same man you once knew; just tainted with something else.

When Crosshair catches you staring, he huffs and puffs out his chest.

“Something wrong?” He asks, snide as ever, and the familiarity makes you grin.

“Nothing,” you respond, leaning back on the side seat in the cockpit, but not once severing the eye contact. “Just taking you in.”

He tilts his head.

“What do you mean?”

You shrug. Each of your voices are soft, save for the occasional slither of Crosshair’s voice curling over a word. You speak lowly in the dead of the night, still awake when everyone has fallen asleep. It had always been this way even before the war; the two of you would find yourselves late at night with wide eyes and lively minds and would sit beside each other in the cockpit to just talk. For a moment, nothing has changed.

“I’m taking in that you’re really here. In front of me,” You continue, running your tongue over your bottom lip. Not once does Crosshair look away from you. You’re unsure if he’s even blinking. “You’ve– you’ve been gone for so long that I almost got used to it.”

“Hm,” He gruffs, and his chin dips up and down in the barest slimmer of a nod. Silence falls over the space between you before he talks again. “I understand what you mean. I think the same thing happened to me.”

Your jaw slacks, lips parting dumbly. You wish you had more to say.

“Yeah?” you mutter.

He nods again, more stiff and clear. You take a deep breath through your mouth, then exhale. You breathe again, then exhale. There’s so much you want to say, and also nothing at all. Do you let the moment rest? Do you let him process just as you should? Or do you speak? Confess all your past fears and worries and grievances and all the kriffing guilt you’ve carried this past year?

You inadvertently choose the former. Silence sweeps through the two of you again.

Eventually, Crosshair decides to say something, much to your surprise. He clears his throat and finally drifts his stare away from you.

“The empire…” He begins, and immediately you sigh and shake your head, reaching a hand out to rest over his.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you say, taking a deep breath again as you compose yourself. “I know it must be a lot to talk about.”

“I want to tell you about it,” He rebukes, stare as piercing as his crosshair. You still. He doesn’t move until you give him a response.

So you straighten your back and nod, gulping shallowly.

“OK.”

Crosshair sighs.

“You know as well as any other clone what we’ve been taught our whole life.” His voice curls into something lurchingly sharp, and defensive. “And… because I was never good, we were never good, just a ‘bad batch’... All I wanted was to be good at something I could feasibly be. A good soldier.”

He takes a pause that weighs heavy on his tongue.

“And good soldiers follow orders .”

Everything in you wants to reach out and hold him. Suddenly the few inches of space between you becomes miles upon miles, and all you need is to wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him to your chest, so you can squeeze him tight and make sure he’s there, so he knows that it’s okay and that you’re here for him, always. But you let him make space for himself. You’d feel selfish otherwise.

“That chip , it changed how I thought,” he continues, voice cracking slightly at the word chip . “And they told me they took it out. That it was just my inherent nature to follow them. They made me think their thoughts were mine .” He becomes more strained with each second he talks, and you almost feel guilty letting him keep talking. But then you remember he wanted to tell you.

Your stomach twists.

He wants you to know.

He wants you to listen.

He wants you to understand .

“The chip fought against my body. It made me sick. I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t see straight. Could barely shoot a kriffing target. I felt– I felt mad ,” He exhales darkly and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunched and head heavy. He brings it up again to finish. “And they tried to fix it on Tantiss. Tried to make me a good soldier again.”

You keen further as he does, your heads so close it only would take the slightest movement until your foreheads were pressed together.

“But by then, I found Omega. We found Tech. They got the chip out of me. We came here. And... Now everything’s clear again. I can see, hear, understand better. I can think freely. Can hear, talk freely. I’m… finally something not attached to another.”

He finishes his words and for good this time. It takes a moment for it all to process, and once it does, you still take the time to rethink and reprocess them again. Every single word you meticulously file into your cognitive wheels that turn and click together while you try to come up with a feasible response just as eloquent or thoughtful. But not enough comes to mind. You’re afraid to just let it sit, but there’s no conclusion otherwise.

So you do. You let it sit. You keep his eyes on his and let his words travel from his mouth to your ears and into your brain. The tears that began to swell up in your eyes are now dry and your breath is steady again, and the stability is comforting in just the way you’d hoped it to be.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk for that long,” you finally, finally let out, a breathy chuckle escaping your open mouth. Crosshair chuckles dryly, lips still downturned.

“Me neither,” He agrees.

For a moment, the two of you just laugh; it’s a nice sedative, a buffer between the tense air and postures just to enjoy each other’s company again. Crosshair doesn’t laugh often. It’s hard to make him genuinely chuckle with actual joy or excitement. Seeing this sight makes your heart erupt in overwhelming warmth, and strangely enough, relief.

“ Kriff , I missed you.”

You don’t expect it to come out.

Crosshair blinks, tilting his head to the left. You slack your jaw, lips parting slightly and your eyes widen in your own surprise.

You wish there was more for you to do or fix. But there isn’t. What’s said is said. All you can do is wait for his response.

He methodically darts out his tongue and kicks his bottom lip, sucking it in to bite it harshly, not once looking away, stare still pensive and almost impossible to read. At least that hasn’t changed.

“…I should have figured,” he says.

You huff and bite the inside of your cheek.

“I’m just so empathetic?” You ask sarcastically. Crosshair frowns playfully.

“Sounds about right.”

A bubbling giggle leaves you as he exhales darkly and his gaze softens; there’s something new in his eyes, something peculiar and hard to place. Yet you can tell just from it that he feels comfortable in your presence. That the tense air comes from your circumstance, not his reluctance. You sigh pleasantly and offer a helplessly wistful smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cross,” you confess. He raises an eyebrow. You string your lips tight and run an arm up and down your thigh, up and down, containing the urge to reach out and touch him.

“Likewise,” he answers, voice curling into his chin as he finishes.

There’s nothing else you can say. Frankly, there’s nothing else you want to say. Crosshair’s eyes drift elsewhere, but you watch his hand slowly inch closer and closer to yours in your peripheral vision. You meet him in the middle, and clumsily, you take hold of each other’s hand. His skin is much more coarse and rough and cold, but they’re just as pleasant to grasp as you imagined. He deliberately flexes each finger, letting them trace your skin and elicit gentle, held-in exhales. Crosshair looks up. You follow suit. And there does the wordless exchange speak louder than anything else.

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roughdaysandart · 2 months

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The GENIUS use of ✨️symbolism✨️ in this scene ugh

Aka, another mini Din charachter analysis for my own RD Comic script editing/dialougue brainstorming purposes, but wrote it on my phone and just had to share it with how cute it was.

Though I speculate and infer quite a bit, I don't think my analysis is too much of a reach, meh take it or leave it I wrote this at 3 am 🫠: literary girlies, eat your hearts out!

Mando saves g from a killer droid, just like his mentor saved him from a killer droid. In this act, he is distinguishing himself from the bounty droid next to him. Aside from the obvious parallel of his mentor rescuing him from a killer doid, It is very symbolic for the change that mando is undergoing as a person in that moment, and I think it gives alot of Insight into the emotional arc he undergoes both before and during the show (and what we'll be exploring ALOT in the comic 😁)

The droid's only motive and scope of concern is fundamentally limited to the parameters of its programming: get the job done, be efficient, etc. It cannot violate these protocols unless it is physichally reprogrammed by another person (happens with kuille but not really the purpose of/relevant to this point): it is stuck that way, never able to change, never ever meant to.

Mando lived life in a similar way. Having lost everything, hyperfocusing on following the Creed (getting stronger, better, etc) and providing for his tribe gave him anchorage, a sense of control and stability: it became his identity: his programming. He clung to it, and the fear of possibly losing or the unpredictability of compromising the thing that made the world make sense with something else ultimately drove him to emotionally and physichally iscolate himself, set strict parameters he was not to violate. It was a warped use of and him hiding behind the Creed to cope: he remained loyal to his tribe, to his duty and the role he was supposed to fulfill as a Mandalorian, but never let himself really feel or live, only focus: get the job done, be efficient, fulfill your purpose...like a droid.

A killer droid...

He tried to tell himself that he was nothing like a droid, not even like soldiers: he was a warrior, who lives to fight...he didn't fight to live...to carry on. He couldn't be one, he didnt follow orders, he followed a duty, a higher purpose, a conviction...

But...only that.

He had become just like the thing he hated in the first place.

Even if the purpose and culture he followed were good, that's all he was doing: following, not living for himself while maintaining that discipline. He didint know how, couldnt grapple risking trying to be a Mandalorian in any other way except this...his identity: his self-imposed programming.

But...

The symbolic difference and distinguismnet from the droid next to him is that unlike IG-11, Mando is able to break through, undermine and render this programming obsolete.

In seeing himself, a innocent little boy at the mercy of the terrible evils of this galaxy, reflected in G's eyes, he's able to feel...to be human...to be alive...

and it might be the first time he's felt like it in decades.

Finally being brave enough to venture beyond the parameters of his rules and habits, those built on and sustained by a visceral fear and anxiety, for something more, something precious, our little G.

"I am...nothing like them"

Fuck I can't wait to incorporate this 😭😭😭

Funnily enough, sweet girl reprograms Din in a similar (albeit a little different) way a few months later, and may or may not have been involved in the reprogramming (specifically insisting on med protocols) of another very important tin can, though she had no way of knowing that one would eventually come save the other's life.

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a-bucket-of-trash · 2 years

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Extra Baggage – Kelvin x Female Reader – Part 1/2 (maybe)

Prompt: There are certain things shouldn’t happen in the island of the horrors, and get fucking pregnant is one of them.

Tags: Angst with fluff (tw for abortion mention)

You had not expected that you, a mercenary with some military training, specialized in the use of melee weapons, with a somewhat acid and rude personality, would fall in love with a clumsy deaf and brain-damaged soldier, in the middle of an island full of monsters and horrible things, but that's how it had been.

You had met Kelvin basically in the helicopter, you barely exchanged a word in the air, it was a mission like many others, you had no reason to socialize with someone you'd never see again when you finished. At least that's what you thought, until you were forced to drag yourself out of the helicopter in pieces, through the snow, with your whole body aching like hell.

And that, besides you, the only survivor now being deaf and with the brain capacity of an amoeba, hadn't helped. You came very close to doing him a favor and decapitating him, but your mercenary brain thought that maybe he could be useful for something. Maybe as bait if there were predators on the island, as emergency food if you couldn't find anything to eat (because meat was meat, you'd learned that the hard way), or even as a hostage if that was the case. So you reluctantly picked him up and helped him wake up a bit so he could follow you down the mountain.

Seeing him stumble with every stone, like a newborn deer, made you grunt and regret not taking him down when he was still half unconscious. Having him around was like having a dog, but worse, because the dog could at least hear and bite if necessary. That Kelvin guy made you lose your temper, but you didn't blame him entirely, he wasn't mentally obsolete by choice.

But over the weeks you noticed that he wasn't as lost as he seemed, it just cost him a little extra to do the basics, but he tried. "You won't have a brain, but you have spirit" you used to tell him every time he came running back with logs that you couldn't even lift. Which he didn't hear, but he smiled. He always smiled when you interacted with him, even if it was just to roughly shake him and point him into the river to fish. He would nod, smile, and serve.

And his constant attention and smile despite your angry mood for being in a place like this, with bloody cannibals chasing you, began to have some effect. He seemed to care little if you pouted at him or moved him around like a huge backpack. Perhaps he understood that his clumsiness annoyed you, maybe he liked it when you put a hand on him, even if it was only to get him out of the reach of an enemy, you didn't know, but he followed behind you, attentive and subservient, wherever you went.

Eventually, your eyes softened at his helpful manner, your manner softened at his comic clumsiness, and the island's loneliness eased a bit with him at your side. What started with sharing a bed on a particularly cold night, went on to share all the beds, to hold his warm hand, to see his tender eyes. And when you wanted to realize it, your mouth had already found his, your heart had found some peace in his arms, your smiles had his name, your skin knew his. Together, in that hell.

Some months had already passed, and that morning you were alert, very alert and exaggeratedly worried. You had calculated everything, you had always done it, you had been careful, you had set rules and everything, but evidently you had played too much with destiny and now you were losing. You kept counting, even though you were throwing up behind a bush. Days, weeks, months... The island made it difficult for you to accurately control the passing of the days, but even so, you knew that something was long overdue, something had not arrived.

It couldn't be. But it was. What else did you expect? You'd slept with Kelvin a few times already, and despite your “always outside” rule, there were no birth control pills or condoms on the island, it was just a matter of time before that happened.

You went back to the cabin, still nauseated, added to the nausea of being almost sure that you had gotten pregnant on a bloody island with cannibals at the door. You insulted yourself two hundred times for falling, for falling in love, for not denying your own hormonal impulses.

You sat on the bed and fell to the side, distraught, thinking like crazy. What were you going to do? How the hell were you going to have a baby there? Were you going to have it? Could you force yourself to lose it before 4 months? You felt sick, not only physically, but also emotionally. You had always believed that you were a mercenary that left no stone unturned, that you always took charge of your mission, always minimizing risks, fast and clean work, and yet, you had let that happen.

You saw Kelvin enter the cabin, approaching you, crouching down, worried to see you looking pale, sweaty and visibly not in condition.

"U luk bad" He said, with what little he could speak now, a mixture of barely recovering a shred of hearing and his brain somewhat less groggy, while he gently combed your hair "Sick?"

You nodded, a lump in your throat. You couldn't tell him, not yet. You couldn't break the news that he was going to be a father, that he had a child on the way. You were going to hide it from him, for now, until you figured out what to do. Perhaps, by a miracle, it was a mistake and you were not pregnant.

“Uat u need?” Kelvin gently took your face, seeing your sad eyes and some tears. He knew something was wrong, you weren't one to cry very often “Hooney? Sad? Uat jappens?”

You shook your head softly, gently tugging at his clothing so that he sat next to you. You hugged him, trying not to cry, feeling his reassuring embrace, his warmth, the kisses on your head. You hated that situation, but you loved him, you loved him too much for you usually loved someone. His kindness and peace had made you thirsty to live, to see the world with his eyes, to the point that, a week ago, you had thought that, if you were rescued, you would leave your services as a mercenary, to dedicate yourself to him, to help him with therapy to rehabilitate his poor head, to stay with him, to love him, to have a life as one more civilian.

And now there was the possibility that, if that happened, you might have to explain to your acquaintances how hell that you had gotten pregnant on a mission.

Part 2

#kelvin #sons of the forest kelvin #sotf kelvin #kelvin x reader #sons of the forest #i still have ideas lmao kill me to stop me

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 2 years

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The theme of Ironwood not caring about the people of his kingdom only further takes on a grimmer tone when you realize that what he really cared about was the STATE of Atlas, the backbone of his POWER.

All he truly cared about in the end was the power Atlas had given him to enforce his will on others. The technology to silence others. The obedience and culture of worshiping him as its dictator.

But the cruel irony is in the parallel to how Jacques' power with the SDC was ultimately stoppable once the State of Atlas turned against him and kept him from being able to do anything with the embargo, so too does Ironwood's power vanish once the people decide to abandon him.

Ironwood only views the power of Atlas in terms of the State, the big broad picture of his country. But he refuses to recognize that the only reason Atlas had that power to begin with was only because of the people who enabled and enforced its culture. The technicians who kept the place going. The geniuses like Watts and Dr. Polendina who designed the machines. The people who brought commerce and lived there maintaining it's economy. The people who put their lives at risk being soldiers and huntsmen, and those who served under him. The people of Mantle who toiled and suffered to keep their sister city alive.

But all of those things meant nothing to him, because he believed that being at the top meant that he had absolute power over them, and was willing to silence or discard anyone who dared to challenge that image. Never truly understanding how brittle and fragile his position of power really was, or how easily it could be taken from him if the people, or some people had enough of him.

And tellingly, once he lost his power, he stopped being a threat to anyone except those closest to him (figuratively and literally), because he was at the end of the day, just a man. A tiny, self-important little man who thought himself a giant, while eroding the very foundations of the monolith that gave him the power to begin with.

And once that was gone, all he could do was fall.

Of course, the State of Atlas is not entirely gone yet. It still lives with those who have survived the Fall of the Kingdom. The question remains is what they plan to do about it. Will they repeat the same mistakes and allow a new Ironwood to come into play, or will they make the choice to finally change and forge a better destiny?

All of the above. And the killer is....he never realizes it. Power is his motivation but he never admitted that to himself even at the very end. It was always something bigger, something greater, the abstract idea of Atlas....but Atlas always seemed to require what he wanted, with all of his biases and fears, rather than anything related to the people or even the state. Too often, an abstract greater purpose is just what we want but are unable to rationalize claiming for ourselves.

And yeah, there is no way they're gonna drop a bunch of Atlesians into Vacuo and expect it to all be hunky-dory. Salem might have lost the Crown as her catspaw but Vacuans hate Atlesians and barely have enough resources as is, of course they aren't gonna welcome refugees when they could barely handle extra students from Beacon and Haven, and of course the Atlesians will use that as a pretext to try and take those resources by force. I don't think she'll pull off the complete victory she plans here, because RWBY and co. are about to come in on the z-axis and tear her foundation from under her by rendering millennia of acquired knowledge obsolete, but I wouldn't be surprised if Atlas and Vacuo end up going to war and she manages to grab the Relic in the chaos.

#rwby analysis #james ironwood #rwby theories

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nobuverse · 2 years

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@mysticallities said: Miriam stares knowingly at the mini-nobu. From one gremlin to another~

“...Nobu?”

LOST is very confused as to why she’s being stared at for a prolonged period of time-! It’s like they’re trying to convey a message but...she doesn’t know what!

#LOST is actually smol angel #smol clumsy angel who steals cookies sometimes #Nobunaga is the real gremlin in the house lmao #A Man's Life is Fifty Years - It is but A Dream! { Asks }#Little Obsolete Soldier Thing [ LOST ]

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wkemeup · 4 years

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Sunrise (4)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: symptoms of depression, PTSD, anxiety, some really sweet moments to balance it out, more book recs 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“You’re staring at the doors again, sweetie.”

Chin resting on your hands, arms folded out on the countertop of the library’s front desk, you tore your eyes away from the entrance to find Mrs. Jefferson peering over at you from over the bridge of her glasses. She smirked as she returned to her book, knowing she’d caught you in the act.

“Have patience,” she said simply.

“Book club is tomorrow and—” you sighed, a heaviness returning to your body as you slumped back against the counter, stare drifting back to the doors at the entrance. The sun was beaming outside, reflecting in beautiful rays as it illuminated the walkway and touched over old oak and the colorful bindings of novels.

You frowned. “I really thought he was going to come.”

“This James Barnes... he’s a soldier, yes? Like my boy?”

You nodded, disappointment burning like a lump in your throat, though you swallowed it back. “A Sergeant. Sam said he came home a little under a year ago.”

“Then he’ll come,” Mrs. Jefferson pressed confidently, sliding her glasses up her nose, the chain of purple beads clicking against the gem stones on her sweater. “Boys like that don’t break their word. Even if he is a bit of a hesitant one.”

You knew what she meant by that. Hesitant.

No one liked to talk about the dangers of a soldier post-war. It was uncomfortable; the idea that they could still be fighting a battle long beyond the absence of a weapon in their hands and the threat of present danger. Heroes weren’t supposed to have chinks in their armor. They weren’t supposed to crumble and break under the weight of what happened beyond borders and the guilt they carried.

They were supposed to be strong; a symbol of a great country and a willing tribute to place upon a pedestal. It was unacceptable to be a burden, unacceptable to do anything other than seamlessly integrate back into a society that they never really knew to begin with.

It was all a farce; a rigged game set to line the pockets of the rich and exploit everyone else in its path – sent off to fight for a cause no one really understood or believed in. It left behind good men and women to the rubble; Bucky Barnes among them.

Sam hadn’t told you much about Bucky before you met him, but you knew enough to tell that it was a struggle to get him to leave the apartment. He was isolated and quiet and hardly recognizable from the man you’d seen in photos. Only, it wasn’t the lack of his left arm that drew your attention when you first saw him, but the lingering sadness in his eyes.

Sam had a picture hanging in the office that often pulled you in. Bucky stood on his left side, smiling so wide it left lines on his face. He was bright, light as a feather, only weighed down by Steve’s arm slung around his shoulders. You wondered if the man in the photo would have flirted shamelessly with you, if he’d have corny pickup lines or offer to take you dancing. He looked like the sort of man who had girls chasing his tail, a line of heartbreak in his wake. He was beautiful.

It was strange to see him like that, comparing him to the man he was today. Now, it was like a cloud lingered over his head, draining the color from his skin and chipping away at his soul until it dimmed and crumbled and faded away.

But you’d seen glimpses of the man in the photo. He was still beautiful; a little hurt and dragging his feet, but beautiful. His smile wasn’t quite as wide and the cloud was still present, but there was a peak of sunshine peering through. A single ray puncturing over stormy skies, but it was something. He’d laughed and teased and it was more than Sam had known him to do in months. You were determined to see the sun touch his skin again. If only he’d let you guide him there.

“I’m going to go restock on the second level,” you conceded, pushing yourself up from the counter and sauntering over to the cart lined heavy with books.

“Alright sweetie. I’ll be sure to page you when your Sergeant shows up.”

You felt a heat burning in your face at the very idea of ‘your Sergeant’. Mrs. Jefferson chuckled to herself, eyes still down on her book. She waved you off, not giving you a chance to object, even if you could string together a coherent sentence.

***

Bucky couldn’t get out of bed.

He’d been in this predicament hundreds of times before; staring up at the ceiling, wasting the days away as the curtains blocked the light and shielded him from the reminder of another sun daring to rise beyond his window. His energy would be drained and his willingness to so much as brush his teeth was obsolete. He’d known what it felt like to not be able to get out of bed.

This was different.

He had somewhere to be. He actually wanted to get up. He really fucking wanted to.

But the pain in his arm had flared to one of the worst episodes he’d had in months and it rendered him useless; the arm that was both there and not there. He could feel his left hand curl to a fist, could feel the itch on his palm, but when he tried to scratch it, he was only met with thin air, his right hand sinking to the mattress in search of the sensation that didn’t exist.

It was infuriating.

The nerve endings in his shoulder were going haywire. It felt like his arm was being ripped from his body and it took nearly all the energy he had not to let it consume him. He’d even gone as far to bite off a piece of his cheek in an effort to suppress the lump in his throat.

Sam would have frowned at that, spewed him some bullshit about how crying can be therapeutic and Steve would nod his head annoyingly in agreement, but Bucky was tougher than that. He had to be tougher than that. If he allowed himself to unlatch that gate, it would consume him whole. He’d drown.

Hinges squeaked at the front entrance as the door swung open and a pair of heavy footsteps came rushing into the apartment.

“I’m coming, buddy! Hold on!” Sam called, the plastic swish of the grocery bag handing off his arms dropping to the floor. Bucky tried to concentrate on the sound of running water, the bottle of pills shaking in the small orange bottle, and not on the pain threatening to tear him in half.

The door to his bedroom flung open and Sam rushed in with a glass of water and his fist closed around two red capsules. He paused in the frame, a frown pushing down at his mouth, and Bucky could only imagine what he looked like; disheveled, sweating, laying in day old clothes and muddled sheets. His right hand was shaking.

“Alright, help me out, Barnes,” Sam said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He placed a steady hand on Bucky’s back to help push himself upright. Bucky swung his legs off the side of the bed, finding his balance before Sam placed the pills in his hand.

Bucky threw them back into his mouth, holding his hand out for the glass of water that would come next. It landed in his grip and he gulped down the medication. There was no instant relief with pain like this, but the knowledge it would soon wear off to something manageable was enough.

“Thanks,” he mumbled out, voice tense as he struggled to find it.

“Insurance companies are assholes,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head, though he patted Bucky on the knee. “Cutting off coverage for a fucking vet with no warning like that? Can’t believe you’ve been without this stuff for almost a week. It’s messed up.”

Bucky had come to expect it. He knew something had to go wrong eventually with how things were starting to turn around. He’d actually been looking forward to seeing you at the library and almost went that next day if it wasn’t for the sudden attack on his own body. He'd tried to deal with it on his own, thinking he might sleep it off, but then it became unbearable. Insurance wouldn’t budge and he didn’t have the energy to argue on the phone with them all day. Thankfully, Sam did.

Except now it was a day before the next book club meeting and Bucky didn’t know how he was supposed to face you. Part of him wondered if you'd be disappointed, if maybe you’d steal a glance over the doors and hope that it was him walking through, only to be let down as each day passed by. The other half wondered if you’d care at all.

But he’d seen the way you’d smiled at him, how you’d lit up at the idea of him stopping by.

You’d care.

He wasn’t sure if that hurt worse, seeing as he never showed up.

“You could still go.”

Bucky sighed at Sam’s suggestion. He wasn’t teasing him, wasn’t wearing that shit-eating grin. He was being serious. It was the kind of look that reminded Bucky that under it all, Sam was one of his closest friends, one of the few that stuck around when everything went to shit.

“She’ll want to see you,” Sam continued, nudging Bucky’s side with a soft smile, but Bucky shook his head, unconvinced.

“What am I supposed to say to her, Sam?” Bucky groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “’Sorry I stood you up, but I felt like my hand was being sawed off on an arm I don’t even fucking have?’”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, earning a glare in response he let roll off his shoulders with ease. “She’d understand, Buck. She knows what comes with the territory here. She’s a lot more familiar with this stuff than you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a pang of jealousy burning hot in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe you should ask her why she got involved with the VA in the first place.”

Bucky pressed his lips to a thin line, a silence coming over them. That was an immensely personal question; one akin to someone asking him how he’d lost his arm. He wasn’t sure that was an answer you’d be willing to share.

Sam exhaled a heavy breath, patting Bucky three times on the knee before he stood up. “Let the meds kick in, but promise you’ll try to go, alright?”

Bucky stared up at Sam for a moment before he conceded with a short nod. The pain in his shoulder was starting to lessen, at least. It didn’t feel like his arm was being torn from his body or a knife was plunging into a part of him that didn’t exist anymore. It would likely get back to a place he could deal with within the hour.

“I promise,” Bucky said. “I’ll go.”

***

A brush of warm air filtered in through the vents as Bucky stepped inside the library. It was bigger than he remembered with large stain glass windows on the outer walls, filtering in a colorful sunlight onto the aisles upon aisles of books. At the center, just ahead of the entrance, was a reception desk. Bucky exhaled a tense breath in an attempt to rid himself from the nerves rattling in his veins and made his way to the woman sitting behind the counter.

She was reading quietly in her seat, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain perched at the very tip of her nose. She didn’t look up in his direction until he stood at the edge of the desk, and only then, she caught glance of him over the top of her glasses before a smile rose on her lips.

“Can I help you, young man?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to meet someone. She, uh, works here. Y/n.”

The woman nodded. She wore the kind of smile on her face Bucky was familiar with. He’d seen it in Sam about a dozen times in the last week; the kind of smile that said ‘I was right.’

“You must be Sergeant Barnes,” she said as she picked up the radio from the desk.

Bucky nodded quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he felt jittery. He tried not to let the fact that you’d clearly talked to this woman about him throw him completely off his game. If he even had game to begin with…

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied with an even tone. She smirked.

“Y/n,” she called into the radio, “you have a guest at the front desk.”

The woman held up a finger to him though it trembled with age, signaling for him to wait a moment. Bucky nodded, tucking his hand into his pocket as he silently made his way over to the series of chairs lined along the wall.

He gripped his fist tight inside his pocket, trying to ignore the pulsing in his shoulder. It had lessened considerably since Sam brought him his meds, but it hadn’t gone away completely. Showering had taken longer than usual and it took him nearly four minutes just to pull a shirt over his head. His army jacket hung over his shoulders, wrapped in a protective layer, loose sleeve at his side.

“If you’re pulling my chain, Mrs. Jefferson…”

Bucky perked up at the sound of your voice. You were crossing the main entrance from the staircase, half jogging to the counter where the woman, Mrs. Jefferson, was grinning to herself from behind her book.

You draped over the counter, toes barely keeping hold on the tile floors as you attempted to reach for her book, but she snatched it from your grasp just in time. You huffed, sinking back down the floor.

“It’s not funny!” you whined and Bucky almost felt a little guilty for not making his presence known yet, but you were just so cute the way you slumped your shoulders and glanced back at the entrance.

Mrs. Jefferson pointed over to where Bucky had slowly begun to make his way towards you, but you folded your arms over your chest. Bucky cleared his throat when he stood a few paces off your shoulder, but you didn’t seem to hear him.

Mrs. Jefferson caught Bucky’s eye before she turned her attention back to you. “Sweetie, he’s—”

“He’s not coming, okay?” you groaned and Bucky felt a stone drop into his stomach. “I—I thought he would but… I was wrong.”

Bucky parted his lips to speak but suddenly his throat was dry. Mrs. Jefferson’s smile started to fade. Clearly, Bucky wasn’t the only one who heard the disappointment in your voice, the sliver of heartbreak, too. He tried to speak, to call your name, to say something, but he was marbled stone.

“I’m going back to work.”

There wasn’t time to pull his words together before you slammed head first into Bucky’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces, surprised, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—” You stilled, taking in who was standing in front of you. “Bucky?”

He pressed out a smile, though his ears were burning red. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No! N-no, you’re totally fine! I didn’t—I didn’t think you were—” You blinked a few times before your eyes darted back at Mrs. Jefferson who only smirked from behind her book, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose. You turned back to Bucky, brushing out the hem of your skirt and wrapping the thick layer of a lavender colored cardigan tightly around your waist, almost like a blanket.

You exhaled a nervous breath, a nervous smile lifting into your cheeks. “I’m happy you came.”

“It would have been sooner, I swear,” Bucky replied quickly, watching helplessly as your smile brightened into a laugh. “But, um, my uh—”

He chewed on the edge of his lip. Was he really going to tell you what kept him held up in his room for days on end? Would it bitter the sweet way you looked at him to know that he was a mess under a poorly constructed surface, tied together with string and scotch tape? But you were looking at him so fondly, he wondered if there was anything he could say that could take that away.

“My arm,” he admitted, waiting for a flash of disgust on your face that never came. You softened a bit, but your eyes never left his. He cleared his throat. “It, um… It was just acting up. I ran out of meds and the pain it—it got bad. The kinda pain that sorta makes me wish I had the arm just so I could saw it off myself.”

Shit. He hadn’t mean to say that much but there was just something about the way you looked at him that made him feel like he couldn’t say a damn wrong thing. You pursed your lips, nodding in as much understanding as you could offer. You gestured to the staircase and Bucky followed you without question.

“I would have been here last week,” Bucky finished because he needed you to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of you being upset, of that sliver of disappointment in your voice when you’d accepted he wasn’t going to show. He needed you to know he’d tried.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said simply, though he could tell you appreciated it nonetheless. You offered him a smile, one that washed away any feelings of doubt that crept up to the surface. The pain in his shoulder was long forgotten when you looked at him like that.

“I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know I’m trying.

He had something to look forward to now, a reason to get out of his bed and open the curtains and look at the fucking sun for once. He had reason to shower and go outside and shove away all the thoughts of self-doubt and paranoia because there was something incredible waiting for him beyond the door.

I just wanted you to know you’re the reason I’m trying.

“Come on,” you grinned, leading him to the staircase. “I have a few books in mind you might like.”

Your hand extended in his direction, but you caught yourself when you realized what you were doing. It was seamless enough that you easily played it off as you tugged your sweater tight around your body, but he noticed. It was an intimate gesture, a closeness he hadn’t known in years.

He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to crave something like that.

***

It didn’t take long for Bucky to settle on The Martian by Andy Weir. It was the first book you pulled from the shelves, one amongst a series of alternatives you had ready in the event this one didn’t appeal to him. All it took was a single glance over the back cover, a slight incline in his brow, and he was sold.

“I trust you,” was all Bucky had said; so simply, as if it didn’t take the breath straight from your chest.

Bucky didn’t have a library card you realized as you brought him back to the front desk. He’d sheepishly asked to check it out on your account, but you were determined to see more of him and you hoped that by getting him his own card, he might be more inclined to come back. Not that you explained it that way per say, but he didn’t object at least.

It had taken a lot less time than either of you anticipated and you found yourself following him to the exit, both of you dragging your feet.

“So, um…” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice. “That was easy.”

“Yeah,” you scratched at the back of your neck, glancing to the clock hanging high on the eastern wall. “I hope you like it after all this trust you’re putting in my judgement.”

“I’m sure I will.”

A short silence swept over. Neither of you moving to leave. A couple swerved around you in an effort to get to the doors. The silence wasn’t awkward, but there was a nervous energy in it, like you were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Only, you both did it at once.

“Would you want to—”

“I’m off at four—”

You bit down on your lips, suppressing a laugh. You gestured for him to go first. His looked so sweet with the pink in his cheeks. A man who had been once rendered as a weapon and he wore a blush in his cheeks. Your stomach held butterflies in its cage.

“There’s a coffeeshop nearby,” he continued nervously. “I was thinking I could replace that coffee of yours I spilled last week…”

Your cheeks were starting to ache from how wide you were smiling. “Give me five minutes? I just need to wrap things up with Mrs. Jefferson and then I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second, a flash of something unreadable on his face. He shook it off quickly and nodded, telling you he’d wait by the chairs along the wall until you were ready. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the desk that you’d realized what you’d said.

I’m yours.

A harmless saying; one people used every day in passing. Still, you felt that same surge of energy at the thought. From the twists in your stomach and the stammer in your heart, you knew that if he’d asked, it would be true.

***

Bucky watched as you scurried back to the main desk, a few quick glances back over your shoulder in his direction like you were making sure he was still there. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it ached in your cheeks. He’d never known anyone to smile as much as you did, like you had this limitless supply of joy eager to be tapped into. He couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach, knowing he had been able to syphon some of that joy and bring it to the surface. It was him you were smiling at. It felt like a dream.

He glanced down at the book nestled into the sleeve of his bag; a stunning ombre in shades of orange to red to black, a lone astronaut in the center – like he was floating adrift. You’d told him it was a story of survival, of the intricacies of humanity and human connection. It was funny at times and filled with science beyond your pay grade, but it was mesmerizing.

There was an unspoken hope he could read in your eyes that he might connect to the main character, Mark Watney in his search for connection, in his desperate hope to free himself from the isolation, in his resilience. You’d said Mark was an exceptional character, one with courage and determination to be admired.

Bucky wasn’t sure he could stand up to the likes of Mark Watney, but he would certainly try.

The glimmer in your eye as you spoke about the book, almost as if it were an old friend, was enough to convince him. For the first time in years, he felt the urge to read when he got home, just so he could see the look on your face in book club when you realized he’d already started it. He wanted to make you proud, wanted to see more of your smile. It was his new drive.

A few minutes later, you came jogging back up to him. Your purse hung over your shoulders, a few new books of your own tucked under your arm. You’d done more than finish your shift at the desk though, he realized, because his eyes flickered to a reflective shine on your lips, one that hadn’t been there before. You’d put on lip gloss.

His heart flipped.

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the doors. All bright eyes and sunshine as you looked at him.

“There’s a café called Luciana’s not too far from here. I’ve heard good things about it. Might be quiet,” Bucky offered and a flash of something unreadable crossed your features. “Do you know it?”

“I go there every Sunday before book club! It’s my favorite,” you replied, nearly skipping in your steps. “Replacing my coffee and getting it right down to the same shop? I’m impressed, Bucky.”

He chuckled, hanging his head as he followed you down the descending staircase and into the heavy flow of pedestrian traffic. He’d forgotten how busy the sidewalks could get at rush hour and the smile quickly drained from his face, though he wouldn’t let you see.

Bucky tried to focus on you as the strangers circled in around him, how you were laughing at the coincidence of it all, starting on a tangent of your favorite donuts at the shop. Your voice was like a beacon and he did his best use it as a guide.

But he could feel the quicken pace of his heart inside his chest, how it thumped through his ribs and pulsed into his head the closer strangers got to him. He swerved out of the way of a tourist who was too busy looking down at his phone to notice Bucky in his path. He kept his head down, hand clenched tightly in his jacket pocket, eyes staring at the concrete.

Teenagers were whispering behind him, snickering under their breath, and Bucky could hear the harsh ‘shhh’ of a father at wit’s end. His lungs felt tight, certain that the boys were mocking the loose sleeve hanging down by his side. He could have taken it if here were on his own. His ears would flush red and a wash of shame and embarrassment would flood his senses, but he could have taken it.

Not with you by his side. Not when you could be privy to the harsh stares and the cruel voices, the validation to a fear he’d known to be true long before he met you – that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and he would never find that sense of normalcy again. He was kidding himself into thinking that you could ever want someone like—

“Bucky?”

When he looked up at you, your smile had fallen away, replaced with concern. It must not have been the first time you called his name. He didn’t know what to say. He felt small, like a child, embarrassed that even on a good day the influx of people still rendered him to a state of panic.

“Come on,” you said quietly, glancing around to an alley off your shoulder. “Let’s take the scenic route.”

He followed gratefully, staring at your shoulder blades as you led him away from the busy hustle of the crowd and along empty side streets and residential neighborhoods. It would take longer this way, but you didn’t seem to mind. You were too busy admiring the architecture of the brownstones and the beautiful array of plants and flowers hanging along the windows. In the open space, you skipped a few paces ahead, arms out wide and twirled around, simply because you could. You laughed and it echoed up along the buildings.

Bucky could have handed you his heart right then. He could have pulled it straight from his chest and set it into your palms. He wondered if you would handle it with the tender sort of care he hoped you would. His heart was fraying and damaged, after all. It required a gentle touch.

You fell back in line with him easily and you checked to make sure the next block wasn’t too busy before you led him down another side street. He tried to ignore the voices telling him he was a burden, that his baggage was dragging heavy at your feet, but it crept to the surface no matter how many times you smiled at him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out, willing his voice to be stronger than it felt. “I don’t know why this is such an issue for me. I was fine on the way over.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bucky,” you said gently, slowing your pace until you came to a stop.

Bucky dragged his feet, stopping along a bush of pink hydrangeas planted outside a stunning brick townhome. From the corner of his eye, he watched as your hand reached out to him instinctively, almost in slow motion, and you only paused as you realized what you were doing and pulled back. You cleared your throat.

“I’m not ever someone you have to apologize to about this stuff, okay?” you continued with a kind of sincerity in your voice, Bucky didn’t have a choice but to believe you. The way you looked at him nearly pulled him to pieces. “It comes and goes. Waxes and wanes. There’s no fault. No blame. Just tell me if something’s wrong, so I can help. That’s all I ask.”

Were you speaking from experience? Did you know someone who had been as shattered as he was? Was it the reason Sam wanted him to ask about why you were involved with the VA to begin with?

It was quiet on the side street; the only sound the distant footsteps from traffic up ahead and the low rumble of car engines in the distance. A bird chirped from a low handing branch above.

You shoved your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep yourself from reaching for his. He was surprised at the twist in his stomach when he wished you would have tried just one more time. Maybe he could have had some courage to take it.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. When you smiled again it was small— a little heavy— but it touched your eyes. There was a relief in it, maybe an appreciation, too. It swept away some of the anxiety from his veins.

“Okay.” Your smile widened as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. Bucky found himself feeling a little lighter as he followed behind.

When the two of you approached the main street again along the block Luciana’s was tucked away in, Bucky didn’t feel as though he was suffocating anymore. He could sense his reflexes picking up, a subtle increase in his heart rate, but he walked a little closer to you, your hip bumping against his every so often and he found that it grounded him. It kept him firm on the surface when he felt like he was floating up into a distant unknown. He wondered if you knew the extent to which you affected him.

Luciana’s was quiet inside as Bucky jutted out ahead of you to reach for the door. A soft strum of an acoustic guitar and a Spanish speaking singer’s intricate melody hummed over the speakers. He felt a solid breath of air fill his lungs, tasting of coffee beans and fresh pastries.

“Welcome to—” a voice called from behind the counter before she paused, eyes falling on you. “Y/n!”

A woman ran out from behind the counter, dressed in a stained apron and a long, bright pink dress, and held her arms out to you. You laughed as she enveloped you to her chest.

“My darling! It is not Sunday, you know. You’re getting your days mixed up!” she exclaimed, wagging her finger at you. She didn’t even give you time to explain before she turned to Bucky, who suddenly felt a burn of heat on his face. “Ah! You finally brought me one of your boys!”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you quickly. His stomach dropped.

“She means at the VA,” you explained, a little embarrassed at her implication as you shuffled your feet, eyes darting at the floor. Bucky raised an eyebrow in realization, eyes flickering back to the woman – who he assumed to be Luciana herself – as she scurried back around the counter. He noticed then that she was wearing slippers on her feet.

“Come, come!” She called eagerly, waiting with a tapping toe at the register.

You and Bucky exchanged a glance, a breath of a laugh escaping before you stepped up to the counter. You didn’t hesitate in your order, though you took some extra time in looking over the pastries and donuts after Bucky told you to pick something out for him. You put so much thought into it, it was really quite sweet. He waited until you reached down for your purse to slip his card over the counter to Luciana.

She wore that same smile he’d seen on Mrs. Jefferson at the library. That smirk. Like they knew something he didn’t.

You heard the ring of the cash registered and looked up at him, agape. You swatted his arm without thinking twice about it and there was a comfort in that. He laughed, taking his coffee and settling in at a table by the windows as you followed behind.

As he watched you across the table, your eyes glancing out to the pedestrians as they walked back, nursing the steaming mug of coffee between your hands, that morning suddenly felt like it was a life time ago.

Had he really been paralyzed with pain, unable to move from his bed, just a few hours earlier? It felt like a century had passed in between. In a rare indulgence, Bucky let himself wonder what it would feel like to spend all his time with you; if maybe time moved so fast it swept him off his feet or if it moved slow enough to allow him to catch every second.

All he knew was that he wanted more.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 3

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 3 - The Return

Words: 4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical descriptions and procedures, some sexual themes - mainly in the form of OC being thirsty AF

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

On the way back from the East village, filled with the Gossams, humans and other alien species who had similarly escaped to a simpler life, I couldn’t help but curse at myself for giving in so easily to the pleas of a good-looking stranger.

Aiding someone merely for their physical appearance? How horribly unprofessional.

The voice in the back of my mind was loud. And curiously judgemental.

It had been over a full day cycle since I’d departed the clinic, making Poe vow to remain within the confines of his bed until I had returned. I’d left him with enough food for two days of my travelling, hygiene supplies, a drip running slowly for some pain relief and range of tools for him to attempt getting BB-8 up and running, hoping he wouldn’t have any reason to struggle getting out of bed.

The thought of his still fragile femur bone breaking and splitting the artery I’d spent all my energy on mending was beyond frightening. I worried about him every minute I was awake, imagining any number of complications that would leave me a corpse to find when I arrived back.

Bleeding, clots, stroke, infection, sepsis.

It wasn’t easy to slip those thoughts from my mind in the lone starkness of the Raxus countryside. There wasn’t really anything to look at except grass and sky, nothing to distract me from the worst case scenarios.

I’d convinced some of my old patients to join my cause, promising them better medicine and equipment if I was only able to have a comm-tower to order everything I needed. It didn’t seem like lying. The comm-tower really was my only link to the rest of the galaxy, and I would have needed it fixed anyway. Only now, time seemed to be more of the essence.

After spending the night amongst the locals I had grown to be familiar with over the last few years, I’d begun the trek back with the knowledge at least one problem had been solved. Some promised spare parts, others were going to follow my path within the next day cycle to get my comm-link back online. I hadn’t divulged all the story, at least not the part about this repair job apparently being a determining factor in the fate of the galaxy.

I hadn’t pressed Poe about what that meant exactly. I was used to the Resistance and their soldiers having somewhat of a flair for the dramatic when it came to war, after healing many of their battle wounds in years past. I knew how fervently they believed in their cause - that they were the only thing standing between galaxy wide harmony and First Order dictatorship.

I understood their hope of peace in our lifetime, but I’d lost mine a long time ago. Good, bad, they were just two sides of a coin that would flip for eternity, desperately chasing power for their own reasons.

In truth, I didn’t particularly care. I just hoped to live my life somewhat free from the burden of picking a side.

Before unlocking the clinic door, my feet aching from hiking for 6 straight hours, I drew in a long breath with a silent prayer I wouldn’t be walking in to find a dead body. With a fluid motion I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my head popping in first around the entryway to where Poe’s hospital bed stood. He immediately heard the latch clicking and shot his head up to meet with my eyes.

“You’re back,” he smiled, as I noted how much colour had returned to his face during my absence.

He looked so much better.

For the first time, I found myself studying his face, my stare tracing from his strong angular jawline to his high cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the whiskey colour of his large cheerful eyes, his tousled deep brown hair. Then I took in his wide grin, shapely pink lips curled upwards to show perfectly set white teeth.

Stars, he’s so handsome.

In the muddle of memories I’d conceived from the night of his crash I’d not recognised, at least not during the time I was struggling to keep him alive, how attractive he was. And now with his health a far better picture than the last time I’d seen him, it was all I could notice. My heart quivered through a beat as he beamed at me, soon realising his smile was more a reflection of the prospective good news I brought with my return, making it settle back into a normal rhythm.

“Hi,” I breathed, walking closer and setting my pack down at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, “The smaller burns are almost gone, and my chest wound is closed, look!” He pulled up the grey hospital shirt I’d managed to change him into before I had to leave. This time when I saw the nakedness of his chest and abdomen I couldn’t help but stare at his softly defined muscles, all tensing during his movement. He was right, the hole below his rib now sealed, a newly-formed, pink scar in its place. The chest tube was still secured above it, now redundant.

“Gotta love bacta,” I hummed. “I can take that drain out now if you like.”

He looked at me incredulously. “You’ve just done a 30 hour round trip for me, not even sat down, and you want to dive head first into more treatment?”

“I... uh... I mean... I just wanted to help you feel better,” I stammered.

Poe shook his head, smirking. “It’s okay, I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m alright, the tube can wait. How about you rest for a second and tell me how the mission- I mean, trip, went?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two days ago you were begging me to get going so I couldn’t waste any time, now you’re telling me I can take a load off?”

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Having some time to think while you were gone... It made me realise everything you’d done and were doing for me - a stranger you had no reason to help." Poe took a long exhale before speaking again, his tone serious. "I was in a lot of pain, just woken up in a strange place. It’s still imperative to get a message back to the Resistance as soon as possible but... that’s not your burden to bear. I can't thank you enough for your help, but I'll try not to ask too much more of you.”

It seemed not only had his physical health improved, but logical thought and patience had returned.

I took my cue to sit on one of the opposite hospital beds, letting my feet dangle over the edge to kick my shoes off, feet pulsing with gratitude at their release. “There’s some villagers coming tomorrow,” I started. “They will hopefully have a new comm-tower up and running within the next couple of days. I told them about your droid too. There’s some spare parts in that bag.” I pointed my hand out to the satchel at Poe’s feet, glancing at the L shaped table beside his bed I’d set up. BB-8 was sitting on top of it, head and body still separated and now unbolted at separate points, wires haphazardly sticking out in different directions. Falling back into the mattress, I let out an exhausted sigh, relishing the feel of the squeaky mattress under my body.

“I really owe you. The Resistance owes you,” Poe praised after a few moments of silence, as I heard him begin to rummage through the satchel. I held back a frown, even when I knew he wouldn’t be able to catch sight of my face.

I didn’t do any of this for the Resistance.

It occurred to me then I wasn’t really sure why I’d done it at all. I had always been a sucker for those in poor predicaments, hence why I became a doctor in the first place. But the trek had nothing to do with treatment or medicine. It was purely at the behest of this pilot, who’s charming appearance in the dimmed orange light of the evening made my skin feel hot.

“So, how did a girl like you find herself in the middle of nowhere on the Outer Rim?” Poe questioned, fiddling with some of the parts.

I sat back up. “I’m not a girl. I’m 28. That’s a little too old to be called girl anymore.”

Poe chuckled, the sound of his laugh both warming and positively thrilling. “I apologise. How did a woman like you end up here?”

“I used to work on Coruscant, that’s where I started my medical training,” I explained, remembering the glittering planet I’d spent much of my young life on. “Then moved into the war relief efforts on medical frigates scattered throughout the galaxy. Treating wounded soldiers day in day out took its toll, having people constantly injured and almost dying for a war they didn’t start.” I glanced to Poe's expression, seeing a glow of understanding behind his eyes before I continued. “Plus, there were more than a few times I felt a little redundant. The medical droids they have kind of... made my treatment obsolete. I wanted to practice medicine in a place where adequate health care was rare or non-existent. I wanted to help those who were most desperate, who otherwise couldn’t afford it, those who would actually value the care of a live human doctor. So I picked a planet at random, and settled here."

The random part was an utter lie. No one had cared about Raxus since the Clone Wars, and the First Order wouldn’t make it their priority to conquer Outer Rim worlds for a while yet. It was a quiet, calm planet with countless refugees fleeing here to make peaceful new lives. They wouldn’t be concerned about old, rusty equipment, lower quality bacta or no medical droids. They would simply be happy at having a doctor within a day’s trek.

And no one would think of looking here for a Force user.

Poe studied me in quiet thought for a moment, taking in what I’d divulged. “Well, they're damn lucky, with how nicely you patched me up. You’d run circles around some of the doctors and medical droids at the Resistance base.” He grinned at me again, earnestly, another attempt to thank me for my work. I felt the pit of my stomach tense, and it wouldn’t retreat, the thought of his smile lingering in my mind even after he’d gone back to his tinkering.

It had to be because I’d been in isolation for so long, why I was reacting so strongly to the innocent smiles and compliments of a man I barely knew. I definitely wasn’t used to conversing with men so close in age to my own. Most of the local humans were older, married with children, and I rarely made conversation around any other topic than their illnesses.

“What... uh... Why were you flying over Raxus?” I asked awkwardly.

His eyebrows creased together as he looked back at me. “Raxus wasn’t my destination, but I... can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he urged. “It’s just, you know, highly confidential.” He seemed apologetic, like he owed me more of an explanation.

I nodded, agreeing the less I knew about the Resistance and their missions the better. “Well, you’ll be able to get back to it in a couple of days,” I insisted, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered. “Some time and a little bit more bacta and you’ll be like new again.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” he started, an uneasy expression now settling in his features. “I was wondering when you were thinking of letting me get out of this bed.”

“Depends on the reason Poe. I’d recommend starting your formal rehab tomorrow at the absolute earliest, otherwise we can get you up and walking if you need to do something… uh… specific.” There was no hiding the waver in my voice.

He laughed, louder than he had before, the sound making it difficult for me not to blush. “Aren’t you a doctor? Why are you embarrassed for me to use the bathroom?”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I was trying to save you from being embarrassed.”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m alright on that front for now. I was actually hoping to use your refresher. It’s been a few days…”

“Oh of course!” I’d cleaned him up as much as I could before I’d left, getting rid of his obliterated flight suit and helping change into the bland hospital outfit I reserved for overnighters, but even to myself the idea of a shower was enticing.

A thought flashed into my mind of steaming water hitting Poe’s sun darkened skin, trickling down his toned body as he lathered himself in soap suds.

Woah.

Okay.

That was new.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt the fire of blood rushing to the lower portion of my abdomen, insides clenching at the heat so suddenly ignited.

Poe was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I internally shook away the incriminating thoughts before they could be conveyed on my face. “How about I get that chest tube out first? Then I can help you to the ‘fresher?”

He breathed out in relief. “That would be fantastic.”

I stepped lightly off the hospital bed, walking shoe-less over to my medical trolley to drag it back to Poe’s side. And immediately, without me asking, he sat up and began a haphazard attempt to pull off his shirt, left arm bandaged and stiff, right arm enveloped in the cast I’d made and evidently still painful to move.

In a wordless reply, I helped him pull the fabric over his head, confronted with the image of a half-naked, strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised any of his raw allure when he’d been almost stripped completely bare by my own hands on the night of his crash. It seemed bizarre I wouldn’t have noted the strong, broadness of his shoulders, his armoured chest littered deliciously with dark hair, carved abdominal muscles tensed in waiting.

I swallowed hard, hoping Poe wouldn’t register my shaking hands as I prepared the tube removal kit. Snipping the sutures around the plastic, unsteady gloved fingers pulled out the tube as smoothly as I could manage, Poe flinching slightly at the sensation. He continued to look away as I injected some bacta gel into the wound, sealing it closed with a few new sutures and placing a waterproof dressing over the site.

“All done,” I settled. “Like nothing happened at all.”

Poe looked back to me and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he remained troubled by the memories of his crash, and understandably so. I’d seen the same look in many other military personnel, the attempt to put on a brave face when images of fire, blood and terror pierced their thoughts. I desperately wanted to take his mind to a brighter place. “So, ready to try walking?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way doc.”

Ugh. Eventually I would have to correct him on that.

I stepped back from the side of the bed, arms stretched in readiness for when he inevitably stumbled. “Please take it slowly. Your muscles aren’t going to be pleased with what you’re doing after over two days of bed rest.”

“Sure thing,” Poe scoffed.

Typical male.

Initially he seemed to take my direction, moving his legs slowly from under the blanket, pain now registering on his features. He swivelled himself sluggishly to let his legs fall over the side of the mattress, breathing slightly heavier to push through the discomfort.

He was leaning more on his left side, right arm hovering over his thigh. Tentatively, he slipped his left foot onto the floor and shifted his weight onto it, pushing his hand into the mattress to help himself up.

Soon he was standing in front of me for the first time since we’d met, and even amongst all the burns, bruises, dressings and bandages, he looked impossibly strong, toned muscles wrapping his form.

He noticed the timid smile form on my lips.

“Hey don’t start laughing at me. I don’t think I could handle my ego being bruised along with the rest of me.”

“Oh... I wasn’t-,” I stumbled, quietly relieved he’d misread the reason behind my smirk.

He held his hand up in protest, grinning. “I was kidding. You’re welcome to laugh at the adult sized toddler learning to walk again.”

It was difficult not to snicker at his words. “Come on,” I encouraged. “Just think of how nice that hot water will feel.”

He sighed in agreement and moved, taking a hesitant step onto the previously fractured leg. I swiftly froze with anxiety, even when the logical side of my brain told me both the break and the artery would have stabilised exponentially by now. But the emotional side, the part that remembered the rush of blood that had exploded from the wound site, nagged incessantly at me, insisting that this was a very bad idea.

My eyes were glued to Poe’s figure as he shifted his weight deliberately, muscles tensing at the trigger of pain he was likely feeling, before he made a delicate hop to move back onto his left leg.

Even that one haggard step appeared to take a lot out of him, but he seemed determined, eyebrows already wrinkled in concentration. He continued the process a few times over, my arms still poised in waiting for the foreseeable stumble as I walked backwards. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he limped, following me out of the clinic room into the hallway that lead to my office, the ‘fresher, and my living quarters all the way at the end.

His steps became faster, more confident, when all of a sudden, his balance wavered.

Reacting quickly, I stepped forward to catch him, arms circling under his own and around his torso, hands now gripping the muscles on his back as he crashed into me. I would have stayed there for a moment, my fingertips registering the warmth radiating off his skin, until I became fully aware where his face had fallen into.

I felt Poe’s heated exhale through the cotton of my white shirt after his face had collided into my chest, directly between my breasts. The twinge in my lower abdomen occurred again, breath hitching in my throat.

He scrambled to push himself back into a standing position, my arms releasing from around him, his hands clamping around my biceps as he fought to reclaim his steadiness again.

“I am so sorry!” he blurted, his face dangerously close to mine, only a small touch of redness visible under his caramel skinned cheeks. I knew my blushing would be much more pronounced.

“It’s okay,” I breathed. “I was waiting for that to happen.”

His eyes widened.

“Not that!” I yelped. “I meant you falling! I was waiting for you to fall!”

Poe’s face illuminated into a beaming grin. “Sure you did.”

I frowned in protest, but couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping. I shifted to face the same way as him, an arm curling around his torso, angling my body under his own. “How about I help you the rest of the way?”

His hand gripped onto my shoulder, the hardened squeeze making the tensing inside me ripple even faster.

Focus Alex.

Poe let me support him as he limped down the hallway, and I desperately tried to distance myself from the thoughts that swirled in my mind at being connected so closely.

Eventually we made it into the ‘fresher, a white and grey tiled room with the large, frameless shower enclosure taking up most of the space, the only privacy a plastic curtain that could be pulled across the entire spans of the room. I’d designed it with the idea there would be enough space to assist overnighter patient’s in washing themselves, since I didn’t have a nurse to do it for me. Yet, it still gave me the ability to provide some discretion by stepping out past the other side of the curtain, ready to swoop in if I was needed.

And that’s what I’d planned for Poe, knowing he was hardly the type of patient that was going to let me do anything for him if he could help it. Guiding him to the backless shower chair, I released him to his own devices and quickly pulled the curtain across. It was more for my own concealment at this point, needing to take a moment to settle myself down, the memory of his hold still lingering on my skin.

“I’ll be right here if you need any help okay? Everything you need will be on the shelf under the shower start button.”

“Thanks Alex,” he answered, his voice huffing out as I could hear he’d already started to shimmy down his pants.

Stop imagining it Alex. Stop thinking about him naked, a metre away, behind that thin curtain.

The sound of water rushing into the tile floor pulled me back into some impression of reality. I busied myself with organising my own hygienic supplies in the mirrored cupboard, desperately trying to think of anything other than the man hidden from my view, steam swirling around his figure, water dribbling down his bare skin. From behind the screen I heard a pleasant moan leave him, obviously enjoying the hot water battering into his aching muscles for the first time in days.

And with that sound I felt a twinge between my legs, heat swelling and rippling outwards through my body.

Stars, that was... hot.

It felt so unprofessional, to be tantalized by the thought of a man, a patient, in the middle of such a basic act of human hygiene. But I couldn’t deny he was more attractive than any patient I’d ever had in my life, and the thought of ripping open the curtain so I could join him was suddenly the most tempting thing in the galaxy.

I locked my hands onto the basin that stood in front of me, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sound of Poe lathering soap between his hands, then sliding over an unseen portion of his body.

It was then I started to pace, hoping the repetitive movement would stop me ruminating over the indecent notions my mind was conjuring. Minutes ticked by too slowly as I waited for him to finish his routine, begging for the irresistible pull of craving to be released from me.

“Hey Alex?” Poe suddenly called.

“What's wrong?” I squeaked, cursing at myself for sounding so startled.

“I actually need some help.”

Oh maker, why do you do this to me?

I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Sure. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he began, voice sounding a little forced. “It’s just... with my left arm still bandaged, and my right arm still in the cast, I can’t wash my hair. I know it’s a little strange, but could you help me out?”

My heart ricocheted inside my rib cage, frolicking at the thought of seeing him soaked in water, fingers raking through his dampened hair.

Come on Alex, try to keep at least one shred of professionalism.

“Sure,” I agreed, a more competent tone saturating my voice as I withheld my internal fluttering. “Make yourself… uh… decent, and I’ll open the curtain.”

I heard Poe’s movement as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rail nearby and wrapped it around his lower body. The flowing water soon came to a stop, the sudden silence making me feel uneasy.

“Ready.”

I placed myself in front of the curtain between us, his stature only barely visible through the clouded screen. My jaw was locked as I took a deep breath through my nose, meditating in thought, frantically clawing at a sense of calm.

Then I reached towards the plastic, clenched my hand around it, and pulled.

Next Chapter

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illegiblewords · 3 years

Text

ILLEGIBLE’S TOTALLY SUBJECTIVE FAVORITE EORZEA COLLECTION DESIGNS: FEMALE

I’ve mentioned in the past, the main thing that made me start playing FFXIV properly was seeing people’s character designs. I’m still honestly blown away by the creativity and range of approaches people bring to this game, so I’ve decided to be an absolute madwoman and break my favorites into subcategories to share with anyone curious.

And to be clear. I’m not going to do something so broad as “oh top ten in-general :3″ because that would be sensible. No, I’m going to do it for all the current combat jobs. And all the current races. And different genders within the races and combat jobs as things stand. And I’m going to make a face-focus subcategory. And there are gonna be LOTS. Because I seriously cannot understate how inspired I’ve been by this community, and after however many years I just feel the need to vomit some incredible visuals I’ve encountered at you guys lol.

NOTE: In an abundance of caution, I want to stress this list isn’t a value judgment on anyone but a fragment of things that blew me personally away. Looking at the DRK sections it will be immediately clear that I Illegible really like that edgy dark knight aesthetic lmao, but there are plenty of non-edgy dark knights that I also love to bits. Other people might not like edgy dark knights. Due to a combination of size and search constraints plus trying to keep gear somewhat varied, these glamours are just what wound up on this particular list of mine. I could make another list one day. Other people can make lists too that are totally different.

Also, I was originally going to make a single post that went over male and female options presented in the character creator but straight up tumblr wouldn’t let me save because it got too big. You can see the male character post here.

Without further ado, let us begin.

COMBAT JOB GLAMOURS

PALADIN

- Sword Oath by Ariadne Lacroix

- Chevalier by Erin Arckanger

- Neo - Halone’s Sword by Goelia Sarantia

- Commander by Nya Nya

- Bellona - Goddess of War by Aurora Hearts

- Kirin by R'yo Aderyd

- In All Innocence by Lohia Aihol

- Pink Paladin Princess by Mepis Pheles

- Protector of the Creed by Kirin Anderfels

- Ivalician Spud Knight by Augwyn Usynthota

WARRIOR

- Savage by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Bonk by Toasty Steambun

- Vinland Reaver by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Insurmountable by M'rhene Tia

- Cerberus by Lohia Aihol

- Freyja by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Warrior by Beso' Neko

- Fierce Red by Verona Lunich

- Regal Warrior by Sonora Swift

- KWEH!-rrior by Nitus Hyenborn

DARK KNIGHT

- Demon Knight by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Demon DRK by Rosdy Mry

- Abyss by Vexa Crow

- Ritter by Miyu Fubuki

- Berserker princess by Allia Aenor

- Abaddon by Alma Sophia

- Furnace Knight by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Dark Divinity by Siren Sokute

- Absolution of Faith by Paragon Moon

- Druid DRK by Rosdy Mry

GUNBREAKER

- Flux by Flash Galathynius

- Ending SB by Una Veil

- Soldier E-075 by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Lost Allagan Future-Punk Knight by Nge Lik

- Neo - Wasteland Dust by Goelia Sarantia

- Blade’s Resolve by Erin Arckanger

- Sand Crawler by Sveta Raybrant

- Daring Gunbreaker by Radi Sativadi

- Bozjan Warfront by Keres Amiya

- Neo - Royal Guard by Goelia Sarantia

DRAGOON

- Leviathan’s Envoy by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Durium by Mihna Nhokiri

- Crimson Dragoon by Kotone Khatayin

- Heavenly Knight by Ciel Leblanc

- Gold Dragon Knight by Makenshi Dragonsbane

- Athena - The Goddess of War by Lohia Aihol

- Ryubi Warrior by Korkana Ryubi

- Native Warg by Schan Starfall

- Stranger from Across the Ruby Sea by Vederah Kilmister

- Onion Knight by Tess Tickle

SAMURAI

- Of Crimson Plumage by Cyrene Devana

- Crimson Wanderer by Sierra Delacroix

- Warmonger by Ethelin Aldren

- Yoroi of the Black Dragon by Mog Champ

- Cute war criminal by Nunui Nui

- Sirens Beckon by Adeline Grace

- Black Tide by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Kotetsu by Leisha Aysheen

- Neo - Universe’s Echo (SAM) by Goelia Sarantia

- Samurai Vagabond by Tranquil Rain

NINJA

- Midori no Ninja by Dezel Windriders

- Phtonos by R'yo Aderyd

- Neo - Flower Bowknot by Goelia Sarantia

- Church Assassin by Ien Torr

- Little Bat by Messenger Pigeon

- Birdkeep by Nya Nya

- Astrological Sign - Taurus by Leisha Aysheen

- The Nothing by Vederah Kilmister

- The Trickster by Little Toussaint

- Bloodborne-inspired Rogue by Valentyne Louvier

MONK

- Night Walker by Madoras Yorigami

- Elegant Scavenger by Mia Fletcher

- Wild Rose by Ihon Nuzhysa

- YAOI HANDS FROM HELL by Cool Mom

- Astrological Sign - Cancer by Leisha Aysheen

- Neo - Fist of Suzaku by Goelia Sarantia

- Sting Like A Bee by Arsibra Therion

- Orochi no Kaze by Liesel Mahora

- Heavensent by Ren Sakurai

- The Burn’s Wraith by Arsibra Therion

BARD

- Cherry March by Toasty Steambun

- Scarlet Vagabond by Rena Nox

- Suzaku’s Champion by Kotomi Krios

- Serpent Elite Hunter by Vesper Amaris

- Rathian by Nya Nya

- Obsolete Ribbon Bard by Karielle Davva

- Ronkan The Huntress by Raven Ashfell

- Peacock Elegance by Lohia Aihol

- Purple Rain by Franya Mohali

- Aoidos by Miyu Fubuki

DANCER

- Sidereal Goddess by Leisha Aysheen

- Crepuscule by Lohia Aihol

- Loving Blue Dancer by Kaisa Miyahara

- The First Ride by Kirin Anderfels

- Armored Bladedancer by Flower Blossom

- Masked Dancer by Aoi Umi

- Dancer of the Flame by Lohia Aihol

- Apothecary by Leisha Aysheen

- From sands to ashes by R'yo Aderyd

- The Monkey King by Stole Your'cat

MACHINIST

- Skysteel Valentine by Pastel Alerion

- Artic War by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Allied Officer by Mihri Ninaka

- Neo - doomsday by Goelia Sarantia

- bang bang shoot by Vegetable Juice

- Infiltrator: Lancehead and Gunmetal by Flash Galathynius

- Ruby Engineer by Lys Aludra

- GOBBIE BOOM! by Loki- Kun

- Wanderer: Dirt and Grit by Flash Galathynius

- Mysterious Stranger by Paragon Moon

BLACK MAGE

- Taker of Souls by Cassiopeia Fauconnoix

- Ruby Moon by Dezel Windriders

- The Dark Illusionist by The Fashionista

- Ferryman by Ien Torr

- Wayward Temptress by Atsinquela Athenruse

- Cybinki by Binki Bowie

- Wicked Wolf by Binki Bowie

- Black Mage by Fuu Min

- Neo - Demon Caller by Goelia Sarantia

- Paglth’an Black Mage by Erin Arckanger

SUMMONER

- Egyptian chocolate by Graceful Khamseen

- Summoner Goddess by Noire Faye

- Broken Nobility by Ylynna Aethis

- Black Bishop by Rosdy Mry

- Caller by Nya Nya

- Cute Magical Assistant by Lohia Aihol

- The Magus’ Apprentice by Pastel Alerion

- Oracle by Vesper Amaris

- Bismark by Lohia Aihol

- Siren Call by Atsinquela Athenruse

RED MAGE

- Aristocratic Intellectual by Vederah Kilmister

- Neo - Top Student by Goelia Sarantia

- Diligent Musketeer by Nitus Hyenborn

- Battle Bride by Rena Adyrin

- Neo - Golden Dance by Goelia Sarantia

- Elegant Musketeer by Yoko Okoy

- Meadow Musketeer by K'uro Hana

- Bozjan Duelist by Livia Illia

- Battlemage by Sagume Kishin

- Ruby Mage by Cyane Monis

- Caster of a Thousand Steps by Burning Heart

WHITE MAGE

- Shadowless Healer by Vinilite Beoulve

- Gridanian Medic by Luna Ariana

- Sands of Time by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Fae Healer by Amaya Nakamura

- Legacy by Larisse Larassier

- Neo - Silence Demon by Goelia Sarantia

- Vampire Chronicles by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Neo - Theresia by Goelia Sarantia

- Mechanic Heart by Ashia Luin

- Greatwood Druidess by Isilian Volantia

SCHOLAR

- Neo - Steam:Dream by Goelia Sarantia

- Timekeeper by Lohia Aihol

- Scholarly Grace by Joyce Blythe

- Neo - Checkmate by Goelia Sarantia

- Neo - Admiral by Goelia Sarantia

- Curator of the Great Library by Vederah Kilmister

- Fae Scholar by Miyu Fubuki

- Sharlayan Schooler by Lia Tales

- Druidic Knowledge by K'uro Hana

- Fairy Tales by Luma Rose

ASTROLOGIAN

- Sharay by Leisha Aysheen

- Oracle by Xiah Bajihri

- Ice Sight by Juicy Beefcake

- Winter Vibes by Verona Lunich

- Soothsayer by Nya Nya

- Goddess with a thousand jewels by Eji Ka

- Astrological Sign - Geminis by Leisha Aysheen

- Dark Astrologian by Zabine Fortemps

- Neo - Aromatherapy by Goelia Sarantia

- Cosmo Astrology by Katie Kox

BLUE MAGE

- I’m Just A Fool by Lohia Aihol

- azure by Persephone Athanasios

- Cute and Blue by Lia Tales

- Sapphire by Hana Rose

- No title by Goelia Sarantia

GLAMOUR SPILLOVER

HYUR MIDLANDER

- Skydruid by Dezel Windriders

- Shield of the Light by Ezelion Rykana

- Drachen by Nya Nya

- Jade Dragon by Ophelia Au'rel

- Faerie King by Naleia To

- Villainous Stride: Stalwart by Celer Acedius

- Souls Legacy by Ihon Nuzhysa

- forgiven impunity by Persephone Athanasios

- wanderer by Persephone Athanasios

- Off With Their Heads! by Binki Bowie

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Faerie King by Naleia To

- Makai Elemental Guide by Shard Nuphar

- Shield of the Light by Ezelion Rykana

- Discount Red Mage by Bb Channel

- Off With Their Heads! by Binki Bowie

HYUR HIGHLANDER

- Tequila Sunrise by Kirin Anderfels

- Flame Kissed Soother by Karielle Davva

- Dancer of Ala Mhigo by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Vampire Hunter by Dezel Windriders

- The Red Princess by Asra Ashryver

- Black Hare by Lominn Lomi

- Overseer by Ien Torr

- Falcon of Light by Tess Tickle

- Waiting in the Shire by Tess Tickle

- Alexandrian Ninja by Tranquil Rain

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Warmonger by Ethelin Aldren

- Bozjan Warfront by Keres Amiya

- The Red Princess by Asra Ashryver

- Black Hare by Lominn Lomi

- Vampire Hunter by Dezel Windriders

ELEZEN

- Alexandrian Huntress by Louise Aquitaine

- The Forgotten Knight by Nova Kie

- Halone’s Royal Guard by Isilian Volantia

- Theatrics by Giomeo Wind

- Aeolian Tempest by Ariadne Lacroix

- East Hingashi Company Admiral by Louise Aquitaine

- Death’s Embrace by Ophelia Au'rel

- Seeing Leadwitch by Flash Galathynius

- The Golden Dahlia by Yurina Dia-oerb

- Wings of Fate by Louise Aquitaine

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Theatrics by Giomeo Wind

- Vinland Reaver by Tenpenny Tiffany

- Legacy by Larisse Larassier

- Eorzean Army Lady by Dezel Windriders

- Wandering Weaponmaster by Ariadne Lacroix

LALAFELL

- Winter Doll by Lohia Aihol

- Pistachio Colored Velveteen by Corrigible Argyros

- Flippant Eulmoran by Vederah Kilmister

- Priestess of the East by Liesel Mahora

- Samurai of Darkness by MsYue

- Lominsan Guardian by Mizora Saphira

- Valerian Hunter by Ashia Luin

- Wolf Warrior by Lalatua Ul'tua

- Breath of the Wildwood by Vederah Kilmister

- Fields Little Demoness by Liesel Mahora

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Cute war criminal by Nunui Nui

- Fierce Red by Verona Lunich

- Priestess of the East by Liesel Mahora

- Winter Doll by Lohia Aihol

- Pistachio Colored Velveteen by

MIQO’TE

- Mercantile Machinist by Nadya Lesrekta

- Western Ninja by San Kyu

- Astrologian Noble by Amira Lynn

- Gemmaster's Collection - ft. body piece by Sonora Swift

- Meiyo by Lohia Aihol

- Bozjan Thief by Specter Saruu

- Lavender Knight by Lohia Aihol

- Lycan by Aya Mihaal

- Desert Mirage by Lohia Aihol

- Aloe Vera by Lyn Saikuma

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Lycan by Aya Mihaal

- Mercantile Machinist by Nadya Lesrekta

- bang bang shoot by Vegetable Juice

- Dancer of the Flame by Lohia Aihol

- Bozjan Thief by Specter Saruu

ROEGADYN

- Blonde Ale by Kirin Anderfels

- Edenchoir Holy Knight by Marien Fury

- Dark Fae by Sahl Suh

- Thaliak’s Maiden by R'yo Aderyd

- Paladin II by Fuu Min

- Electric Princess by Anais Silverclaw

- My my, such unruly guests! by Sarafina Vadrel

- The Regal Magister by Rohariel Hellwitch

- Green Riding Hood by Tranquil Rain

- Assassin of the sands by Graceful Khamseen

FAVORITE MODELS:

- From sands to ashes by R'yo Aderyd

- Ice Sight by Juicy Beefcake

- Blonde Ale by Kirin Anderfels

- Dust and Shadows by Sarafina Vadrel

- Egyptian chocolate by Graceful Khamseen

AU RA

- Astrological Sign - Pisces by Leisha Aysheen

- Edenmorn by Kyary Valentine

- Amaranthine by Atsinquela Athenruse

- Garlean Warlord by Teresa Stormhand

- Wandering Priestess by Toasty Steambun

- Queen of the South by Leisha Aysheen

- Baphomet by Madoras

- Lone Wonderer by Bright Dancer

- Druid by Leisha Aysheen

- Dreadnaught Viking by Ormr Kishna

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Midori no Ninja by Dezel Windriders

- Garlean Warlord by Teresa Stormhand

- Dreadnaught Viking by by Ormr Kishna

- Demon Knight by Ihon Nuzhysa

- Ivalician Oni by Leisha Aysheen

VIERA

- Yanxian Rounin by Siddh Brumedecendre

- Wealthy Merchant by San Tokki

- Desert Dancer by Erzulie One

- Dark Knight Guard by Valentyne Louvier

- Sands of Amber by Erzulie One

- Worthy Sacrifice by Erzulie One

- Lilac Wicca by Clodagh Lunaria

- Royal Musketeer by Ashia Luin

- Violet Tides by Siddh Brumedecendre

- Street Style by Yoko Okoy

FAVORITE MODELS:

- Rathian by Nya Nya

- Explorer by Yliana Oria

- Paglth’an Princess by Ximena Reign

- Cosmo Astrology by Katie Kox

- Desert Dancer by Erzulie One

#Eorzea Collection #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #FF14 #Final Fantasy 14 #FFXIV Glamour

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

Hindsight may very well be 20/20, but with that caveat out of the way, some events truly come across as historical in their importance even as they play out in realtime. We might not know what the results will be, but we can feel that something quite big is happening. Watching the fall of the Berlin wall was one such moment in recent history, and watching the twin towers fall was another one.

The retreat from Afghanistan should not have made the list, or least not the top of it. Yet, it has clearly already made its way there, being widely seen as something truly momentous by most if not all the people observing it. The reason it shouldn’t have had those same connotations as the fall of the Berlin wall is because it was not only planned in advance and decided upon by the 45th president, not the 46th, but because almost everyone at this point wished for the war to just end. But it is how it has ended that has really thrown back the curtain and shown the world the rot festering beneath. The Soviet Union was dying in 1989, when it completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan. It still managed to do so in an orderly fashion, with a symbolic column of russian APCs crossing the bridge over to Uzbekistan. The leader of the war effort, one Colonel-General Gromov, symbolically rode in the very last BTR, and then proclaimed to the gathered journalists that there wasn’t a single russian soldier behind his back.

The American withdrawal, by contrast, is a grotesque spectacle, laid bare to the eyes of the world in realtime thanks to the wonders of modern technology. The Soviet attempt at braving the graveyard of empires could, if one was charitably inclined, at least be construed as some form of tragedy (”we tried to help, but in the end, we accomplished nothing”), and the russians did their best to make the entire thing appear somewhat dignified and solemn. Thirty years later, the scene is closer to a black form of comedy. The American consulate was evacuated by helicopter, about one month after president Biden referred to just such an evacuation from Saigon as an example of how Afghanistan and Vietnam were not comparable. The entire government collapsed within a matter of hours, not months. Throngs of people gathered around the airports, desperate to escape; American authorities had no more guidance to offer american citizens stuck in Afghanistan than to ”shelter in place” and then presumably ask the Taliban for a visa once regular flight traffic resumes. Desperate people even clung to the airframes of departing cargo planes before falling to their deaths, like a grim re-enactment of frozen and starving german soldiers trying to escape by clinging to the last planes leaving Stalingrad.

…

There may be a deeper aspect to this than a lot of people might perceive at present. On the level of pure geopolitics, the utterly embarrassing debacle of America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan can only serve to make China more bold in any future confrontation over Taiwan. The American eagle is faltering, and its rivals will not sit idly by for long. But this is probably the lesser of the big consequences of Afghanistan. There is another, much more significant implication of the collapse of the American project here, one with much more acute bearing on the immediate future of American society itself. To understand why, it’s useful to reflect on a certain political and historical point made by Carl Schmitt in his by now nearly hundred year old essay, whose english name is often rendered as The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy. The essay is well worth a read in full today, and the reader might be surprised (or maybe not) at how relevant many of the descriptions of the ongoing political crisis in 1923 may seem to us today, nearly a hundred years later. The most relevant passage, however, deserves to be quoted in full:

”In the history of political ideas, there are epochs of great energy and times becalmed, times of motionless status quo. Thus the epoch of monarchy is at an end when a sense of the principle of kingship, of honor, has been lost, if bourgeois kings appear who seek to prove their usefulness and utility instead of their devotion and honor. The external apparatus of monarchical institutions can remain standing very much longer after that. But in spite of it monarchy’s hour has tolled. The convictions inherent in this and no other institution then appear antiquated; practical justifications for it will not be lacking, but it is only an empirical question whether men or organizations come forward who can prove themselves just as useful or even more so than these kings and through this simple fact brush aside monarchy.”

What Schmitt is saying here is very important, and it might very well end up being the true cost of the Afghanistan debacle. Every ruling class throughout history advances various claims about its own legitimacy, without which a stable political order is impossible. Legitimating claims can take many different forms and may change over time, but once they become exhausted or lose their credibility, that is pretty much it.

…

What Schmitt is saying is that when the legitimating claim for a particular form of elite is used up, when people no longer believe in the concepts or claims that underpin a particular system or claim to rule, the extinction of that particular elite becomes a foregone conclusion. Once Napoleon came along, it became increasingly impossible to actually believe (or at least effect a suspension of disbelief) that kings were born to rule and had a right to rule. As such, the only argument kings were left with in order to be tolerated by their own subjects became practical in nature: look at how useful this king is, look at how well his administration runs, look at how much stuff you’re getting out of letting him sit on the throne. But once you are merely left with practical arguments of that kind, as Schmitt rightly points out, your replacement becomes a question of simple empiricism. The moment someone more useful is found – like, say, a president – out you go, never to return. The replacement of Louis XVI with a republic was a world-shattering event. The fall of his nephew, Louis Philippe I, in favor of another republic, was a mere formality by comparison. By the time of his fall, not even Louis Philippe himself believed in kings being some sort of semi-divine beings. Certainly almost none of his subjects did.

…

Moreover, on a more practical level, the war in Afghanistan became another sort of crucible. In very real terms, Afghanistan turned into a testbed for every single innovation in technocratic PMC governance, and each innovation was sold as the next big thing that would make previous, profane understandings of politics obsolete. In Afghanistan ”big data” and the utilization of ever expanding sets of technical and statistical metrics was allowed to topple old stodgy ideas of dead white thinkers such as Sun Tzu or Machiavelli, as ”modern” or ”scientific” approaches to war could have little to learn from the primitive insights of a pre-rational order. In Afghanistan, military sociology in the form of Human Terrain Teams and other innovative creations were unleashed to bring order to chaos. Here, the full force of the entire NGO world, the brightest minds of that international government-in-waiting without a people to be beholden to, were given a playground with nearly infinite resources at their disposal. There was so much money sloshing around at the fingertips of these educated technocrats that it became nearly impossible to spend it all fast enough; they simply took all of those countless billions of dollars straight from the hands of ordinary americans, because they believed they had a right to do so.

…

Put plainly: managers, through the power of managerialism, were once believed to be able to mobilize science and reason and progress to accomplish what everyone else could not, and so only they could secure a just and functional society for their subjects, just as only the rightful kings of yore could count on Providence and God to do the same thing. At their core, both of these claims are truly metaphysical, because all claims to legitimate rulership are metaphysical. It is when that metaphysical power of persuasion is lost that kings or socialists become ”bourgeois”, in Schmitt’s terms. They have to desperately turn toward providing proof, because the genuine belief is gone. But once a spouse starts demanding that the other spouse constantly prove that he or she hasn’t been cheating, the marriage is already over, and the divorce is merely a matter of time, if you’ll pardon the metaphor.

I suspect we are currently witnessing the catastrophic end of this metaphysical power of legitimacy that has shielded the managerial ruling class for decades. Anyone even briefly familiar with the historical record knows just how much of a Pandora’s box such a loss of legitimacy represents. The signs have obviously been multiplying over many years, but it is only now that the picture is becoming clear to everyone. When Michael Gove said ”I think the people in this country have had enough of experts” in a debate about the merits of Brexit, he probably traced the contours of something much bigger than anyone really knew at the time. Back then, the acute phase of the delegitimization of the managerial class was only just beginning. Now, with Afghanistan, it is impossible to miss.

It is not just that the elite class is incompetent – even kings could be incompetent without undermining belief in monarchy as a system – it is that they are so grossly, spectacularly incompetent that they walk around among us as living rebuttals of meritocracy itself. It is that their application of managerial logic to whatever field they get their grubby mitts on – from homelessness in California to industrial policy to running a war – makes that thing ten times more expensive and a hundred times more dysfunctional. To make the situation worse, the current elites seem almost serene in their willful destruction of the very fields they rely on for legitimacy. When the ”experts” go out of their way to write public letters about how covid supposedly only infects people who hold demonstrations in support of ”structural white supremacy”, while saying that Black Lives Matter demonstrations pose no risk of spreading the virus further, this amounts to the farmer gleefully salting his own fields to make sure nothing can grow there in the future. How can anyone expect the putative peasants of our social order to ”trust the science”, when the elites themselves are going out of their way, against all reason and the tenets of basic self-preservation, to make such a belief completely impossible even for those who really, genuinely, still want to believe?

…

I find it very likely that most future historians will put the date of the real beginning of the collapse of the current political and geopolitical order right here, right now, at the US withdrawal from Afghanistan. Just as with any other big historical process, however, many others will point out that the seeds of the collapse were sown much farther back, and that a case can be made for several other dates, or perhaps no specific date at all. This is how we modern people look at the fall of the french ancien regime, after all. Still, it is quite obvious that the epoch of the liberal technocrat is now over. The bell has well and truly tolled for mankind’s belief in their ability to do anything else than enrich themselves and ruin things for everyone else.

How long it will take for their institutions to disappear, or before they end up toppled by popular discontent and revolution, no one can know. But at this point, I think most people on some level now understand that it really is only a matter of time.

#malcom kyeyune #afghanistan #read the whole thing

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pip-n-flinx · 4 years

Text

yup, it all goes below the cut

So I’ve been seeing a resurgence of ME content following the trailers for ME4 and MELE, which makes sense. But I’m a salty m-fer and I honestly am sick and tired of Mass Effect getting shit on for things that other game studies (looking at you fromsoftware) get praised for. So we’re going to unload a little.

The underpinnings of the mass effect universe is this huge extinction cycle, designed and perpetuated by the Reapers. As sufficiently advanced civilizations reach a tipping point, not unlike the great filter theory of space travel, these AI come in and wipe anyone out. This sort of cyclical storytelling, with pieces of the previous cycles being dribbled in throughout the trilogy, seems pretty similar to progression of Dark Souls. At the end of the Mass Effect Trilogy, many fans were upset by the ending choices: Destroy, Control, and Synthesis.

What are your choices in Dark Souls? At the end of the first game, the cycle ends and you, the player, get to choose how the world enters the next era. Does they cycle of undeath continue, or do you shatter the world and hope something new rises from the ashes?

How, pray tell, is that really any different a decision? And why is it when fromsoftware does this its groundbreaking storytelling, but when bioware does it we decide collectively its ‘just a shitty recolor of the same ending?’

I agree, there are some flaws in how they chose to animate the climactic moments of ME3. For one, the fleet assembly and space combat with the reapers above Earth doesn’t change much no matter how many/which allies you bring to the final fight. And of course, the ‘garbage recolor’ ending. And I agree with the premise that more than the color should have changed. We should not have had to wait for the still flawed Extended Cut ending to be released to see how Shepard’s final choice changes the end of the game.

We can also comment on what the crucible actually does. If it is some incredible power-source in need of direction - the citadel - it is a strange choice of weapon to design for your battle against the reapers. We could speculate endlessly on why the writing team chose this, but the real issue here is that there is very little in game context for how this comes about. We get a few lines from Hackett and Liara explaining the Crucible, but that’s about it. Surely there could have been more discoverable codex entries about it, perhaps on Eden Prime with Javik?

To be clear, I don’t actually have a problem with the end of the Trilogy. Sure, it has its plot holes, but I’m not actually too fussed about it. It felt like a fitting end to the series to me. Graphically a little disappointing, to be fair, but otherwise a fine capstone to the story.

I’ve actually read some comments and posts explaining that they ‘won’t buy the legendary edition because they won’t fix the ending’ and I.... Do you even know what a remaster is? I’m not buying the remaster because I think many of the new lighting choices detract from the story, and a reskin won’t ensure the graphics stand the test of time any better than the old ones. I’m perfectly happy replaying the original trilogy without a fancy graphics package that adds nothing to the artistic vision nor sets out any distinctive art style. A few years will see even these HD 4k graphics obsolete/dated, and I’ve spent enough money on Mass Effect as it is.

Moreover, I really hate what speculation and rumor I’ve heard about Mass Effect 4. First, I hate that it will be a ME4 and not an MEA2. This will take some explaining so bear with me.

I’ve seen videos of the original graphics and animations that caught so much flak for Mass Effect Andromea. Unpopular opinion: I don’t think they were bad, and I certainly don’t think they were bad in the context of Mass Effect. None of the games prior had flawless rotoscoping or anchoring. Even watching stock sheploo in the original trilogy is painful if you’re hoping for realism. If y’all want to play this game we can start sharing clips but suffice to say I’m personally convinced we can go tit-for-tat on awkward animations.

Moreover, I think Mass Effect Andromeda is the best Mass Effect game. Best gameplay, by far. It has all the hallmarks of a great sci-fi: new aliens, new planets, new villains. And while I understand some people felt the switch from overcompetent supersoldier Shepard to young-kid-with-daddy-issues-and-more-than-a-few-bad-bosses Ryder was jarring, I absolutely loved playing a plucky hero who lost their mentor before they’d even properly started training. It gave the game an urgency I loved, and to me Ryder felt like a much more relatable protagonist than Shepard.

The story itself is a fucking masterstroke. Hear me out:

So in Mass Effect, the twin plot drivers are infighting with council/alliance/cerberus ‘allies’ while facing down the threat of and advanced AI wiping out all organic life to preserve diversity and make way for the next ascendant race. In Andromeda, we’re met by the same bickering and infighting amongst our own faction, and the Kett. The Kett, for whom nothing is cyclical. Everyone must assimilate. Who shun technology and seek to eliminate biodiversity by ensuring all civilizations end with Kett. And instead of a well trained military commander and a ship of soldiers, mercenaries, and specialists in the sciences who grow to be respected players on the galactic stage, we get Ryder. Ryder and their crew of misfit nostalgia-driven rock-licking rule-breaking cereal-smuggling culture-vulture heart-broken multiple-amputee nervous-doctor neophiles who meet one alien and have to save all their races from genocide by a rogue Kett Archon. And the Jaardan? the long gone artificial life-forms who had the technological capability to be reaper analogs? They’re the life-givers, the gods of the Andromeda galaxy, seeding species and hope into the galaxy for the player to find.

It’s such a perfect inversion of the original trilogy while still preserving the genre and the universe they had already built. It’s fucking brilliant. And I’ll never forgive them for abandoning it, nor will I forgive the fans whose vitriol stopped the project in its tracks, and killed any hope of a second trilogy.

Honestly, I don’t care if you agree about MEA, or the ME3 ending. I know this isn’t a common take among bioware fans. I just... I’m so fucking done with this franchise and this fandom. I’d like to think my mutuals and the other blogs I follow have level headed positions on this stuff (possibly more level headed than my own salty takes these days) but I honestly wonder why I’m even on this platform some days. It doesn’t spark much joy anymore. I hope no one takes this personally, I certainly don’t mean this as an attack or criticism of any of my followers but damn, I’ve got a lot of feelings tonight and almost all of them are negative...

#long post #really long post #mass effect critical #bioware critical #fromsoftware critical #sort of #fandom commentary #god I'm tired #I should just be in bed but I wanted to read #and I found some interview with mass effect devs #I just wanted to read some new stuff on one of my favorite franchises of all time and it was completely ruined by all the 'hot takes'#and even the editing of their words painted this unnecessarily negative picture #and I get it #they aren't even close to perfect games #and AAA studies shouldn't release games with as many bugs as is the norm #I know that #don't think I ever pay full price for a shitty buggy bethesda game anymore #haven't bothered with them since oblivion was new #but I just....#I feel like theres this dirth of critical thought #or coherent standards #when we talk about art in any form #and it kills me inside

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cynicalrelief · 4 years

Text

ServiceBot!Hinata fic idea

Fandom: Naruto (anime)

Characters: Hatake Kakashi & Hyuuga Hinata w/ Villian/Mad Scientist Orochimaru, Cool Uncle Jiraiya, and Kakashi's ninken

Set in an futuristic au where robotics is super advanced and robots are a normal essential commodity.

The first service bots were built with a human-like appearance but over the years their look was changed to something befitting their true metallic nature-- sleek, chrome, and machine-like

These first gen service bots were rendered obsolete as newer models started coming and robotics evolved

That, and some of them were perhaps...too human. Their sentinet nature a little unsettling for something existed purely to serve and not think

Out with the old and in with new, as they say

Kakashi is some depressed dude

Got no family

Mother died young and father followed soon after

Got put into the system

Looked after by older, cheap[ nanny/caretaker bots

Becuase the govt. is stingy

Kakashi has no friends

Bit of a a recluse

Although his neighbor Gai is probably the closest thing he has to a friend

He’d probably would be the first and only person to notice if he ever went missing

Next would probably be his boss at the store he works security at

Kakashi is a newly discharged military soldier

He’s having trouble adjusting to civilian life

Plagued with nightmares of his squadmate’s deaths: Obito and Rin, his captain Minato

Blames himself for their death

Major suvivor’s guilt

Shipped back home with nothing but the clothes on his back and a single photo of his deceased squad

Rin had had a soft spot for those old, antique cameras

After getting back it turns out he’d inherited a junkyard from some uncle he’d never heard of

Kakashi checks out the property

It’s a literal dump

That, and his uncle must have really liked dogs becuase there are nine freaking dogs waiting for him there

They’re all super friendly and probably the worst guard dogs he’s ever met

Is looking around when he causes some kind of landslide of junk to come down on top of him

Luckily he evades the avalanche’s attack

It’s then that he finds Hinata

Kakashi thought she was a dead body for a fat sec b/c of all the muck and grime

Upon closer look he realizes that no, it’s not a rotting corpse, but just some dirty, old android

He digs her out

Looks her over and is surprised by the good condition Hinata is in

Kakashi figures he can clean her up and maybe sell her parts?

She’s obviously a older model; a relic from when people preferred a more human touch

Now service bots are all sleek silver and cold metal

They probably stopped making her parts a long time ago

Maybe she’ll be worth something

People were always buying old shit

Kakashi cleans her up

Is shocked with how life-like and human she looks

To the casual observer she would look like any other young woman

Kakashi is a little freaked out becuase even the older gens, some of the first, weren’t this convincing

Her skin--god her skin!!-- it feels just like human skin if a little colder and nothing like the hard plastic or smooth metal they use today

The only kinds of bots with this type of realistic and state-of-the-art synthetic skin were high-tech caretaker bots and....sex bots...

Kakashi decides to take Hinata to an old friend of his father’s, Jiraiya

Jiraiya is the owner of a very large and successful sex bot company

Kakashi figures if anyone would know what Hinata is it would be Jiraiya

Maybe she was a discarded protoype

The old pervert has been in the robotics game long before Kakashi was born

Jiraiya greets Kakashi enthusiastically

Becomes very curious when he sees the bot Kakashi is toting around

Jiraiya takes Kakashi to his personal workshop

He mostly deals with designs and stuff but does tinker with the droids now and then

Jiraiya is opening up Hinata and praising her maker when he goes very still

Kakashi immidiatley knows something is up

Turns out Orochimaru had made this bot

Orochimaru: Jiraiya’s fellow robotics rival and ex-best friend who went Dark Side

Jiraiya slowly asks Kakashi where he got Hinata

They summarize that Hinata had been discarded by Orochimaru just before he was exposed for illegal human and robotic experimentation

Jiraiya advises Kakashi to get rid of the bot

He even offers to do it for him

Who knows what kind of sleeping monster Hinata could be

Kakashi looks at Hianta’s peaceful face

The idea of destroying something so human-like doesn’t sit right with him

His hands would no longer shed blood

Real or otherwise

So Kakashi declines and tells Jiraiya he’ll properly dispose of Hinata himself

Jiraiya agrees, too shaken up and distracted to really doubt/question Kakashi

Kakashi takes Hinata back home

He thinks about what to do with her

Finally convinces himself that depsite how real she looks, she’s just a machine

And it would be safer for him and everbody else if he just disposed of her

Properly this time

Kakashi takes her to the garbage compactor

Is about to toss her in but loses his nerve at the last minute

Sighs heavily and dumps her off on the porch of the house his uncle had left him, located on the lot of the junkyard

Kakashi goes inside and figures he’ll deal with her tomorrow

Maybe he’ll have a clearer head in the morning

He settled into bed and prepares himself for another sleepless night

Only he actually he falls asleep

And something else wakes up

Outside one of the dogs sniff curiously at Hinata

They nudge Hinata’s hand with their nose

Suddenly she whirs and clicks to life

Turns out Jiraiya’s early tinkering reattached two vital wires together that connected her core systems to her battery

Hinata is curious about her surroundings

Her eyes focus and zoom in on the dog watching her

She jerkily reaches out, limbs stiff and in need of oil after so long

The dog gives her a cursory sniff before licking her hand

Hinata pats his head carefully

She decides to recharge her battery before it runs out

Hinata heads inside the house

She opens up her chestplate and pulls out a cord and connects herself to an outlet in the wall

Satisfied she’s completed her objective, she moves on her to secondary objective

Hinata explores as far as her cord will go

The house is neat and clean

Hinata worries she won’t have much to do for her new master

And then she looks in the fridge

There’s a bottle of ketchup (45.08%), a pickle jar, and a (WARNING: EXPIRED. REMOVE IMMIDIATLEY) half-eaten sandwhich

...looks like her skills will be needed, after all

Hinata doesn’t remember much about her time before waking up

Whenever she tried to pull up the memory files there’s always an error message (ERROR!! FILES CORRUPTED. PERFORM DIAGNOSTIC? [Y / N])

Hinata can’t wait to meet her new master

A small part of her hopes he’ll mucher kinder than her last one

She can’t remember who her last master was

All she knows was that he was not a nice man

Hinata peforms a minor miracle: she makes breakfast

Kakashi nearly has a heart attack when he steps into the kitchen

He finds Hinata, wearing a little apron and standing over stove with all nine dogs sitting at her feet, watching her prepare breakfast

Big climax would probably be Orochimaru finding out about his lost creation

He comes back for Hinata

It’s when Hinata is taken from him that Kakashi realizes just how important she’s become to him, not having noticed how attached he’d become to the bot in the short time he’d known her

Kakashi does everything he can to get her back

He’s pretty badass and the whole arc is like straight out of an action movie

#kakahina #robots #hyuuga hinata #hatake kakashi #au

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lelliefant · 5 years

Text

Spoiler Alert!

The following photo set includes images that contain spoilers for the Loki TV series.

We’ve got new behind-the-scenes photos from the Loki series set! You know what this means...

It’s Time for More of Lellie’s Wild Speculations Based on Minimal Footage!*

Goody!

Now...what have we here?

Observations:

Loki (played by Tom Hiddleston) and an unknown character (played by Owen Wilson) are walking across a parking lot in the rain, surrounded by several uniformed soldiers or guards of some kind, who are wearing helmets and body armor. Owen’s character wears a raincoat and Loki wears a short rain jacket that does not cover his legs, so his pants are totally soaked in the rain.

Loki’s jacket and pants are the same beige as the shirt he wore in the Super Bowl ad for Disney+ that came out earlier this year, where he was in a jail cell of some sort and apparently wearing a prison uniform.

(Opinion: Loki would normally not be caught dead wearing beige. )

Both Owen’s coat and Loki’s jacket appear to have the orange TVA (Time Variance Authority) insignia on their chests.

In some of the shots, Tom/Loki has his hands in his pockets, and in others he has his hands gripped together in front of him.

In some of the shots you can see that the soldiers are holding some kind of stick or wand, rather than guns.

In some of the shots, the soldiers are laughing and smiling.

In all of the shots, the soldiers are somewhat scattered, rather than walking in tight formation around Loki.

There appears to be a massive shopping cart in the background to the right of the group, along with one of those cart stalls you see outside the grocery store. By “massive,” I mean the cart appears to be at least six feet tall, unless the size is a trick of the camera’s telephoto lens.

Speculations:

This scene takes place on Earth, in the parking lot of a strip mall or big box store where shopping carts are used. (I’m going to assume the oversized shopping cart behind Loki in one of the photos is a trick of the camera lens.)

The scene takes place within the last 30 or so years of history—since those stalls for shopping carts in the parking lot weren’t invented until the ‘70s or ‘80s. (People used to walk their empty carts back into the store themselves.) Or the scene could take place in the next few decades ahead of us, before shopping carts and cart corrals become obsolete for some reason or another (like, robots do all the household shopping?).

I think some of these photos show the actual scene while it’s being filmed, but others do not. The shots in which the soldiers are laughing may be from a rehersal or other off-camera preparation. (I would not expect military troops to smile and laugh while they should be on alert.)

The soldiers surrounding Owen and Tom are TVA troops. (If you look closely at the ones in back of the group, you can see the beige TVA outfits under their body armor.)

Those funky wands the troopers are holding are their weapons. The wands could be electric shockers or ray guns, but I would expect something a little more unusual. Like, maybe they can use those wands to freeze time in a selected area or something like that.

Owen’s character appears to be a senior TVA official or authority of some kind. He is definitely with the TVA.

I speculate that Loki is voluntarily leading Owen’s character and the troopers to something hidden somewhere inside the mall/shopping center.

The troopers are not guarding Loki closely (as the SHIELD troops guarded him on the helicarrier in Avengers1). Their more relaxed formation seems to indicate they do not see Loki as a threat. They are probably primarily a protective escort for Owen’s character—not there to restrain Loki.

Since Tom is gripping his hands together in front of him in some of the shots, Loki may be wearing handcuffs. However, I’m guessing he’s not, because he has his hands in his pockets in other shots.

I think Loki is cooperating with the TVA, but he is not actually a TVA agent, as some have already suggested. For one thing, Loki is not a team player. He is an agent of chaos. He would revel in the disorder the TVA is trying to control. On top of that, Loki is a prince and a god. Can you imagine him working—for a boss—at some agency?

Knowing Loki, he is probably working with the TVA here because they have something he needs/wants, and vice-versa. Loki will not hesitate to turn on them if necessary.

I think the TVA have some sort of technology that prohibits Loki’s magic—otherwise they would not have been able to incarcerate him in the scene from the Disney+ Super Bowl ad. (That said, it’s always possible Loki was pretending to be captured for his own reasons—as in Avengers1.)

If the TVA is able to restrict Loki’s magic, that would explain why Loki is wearing those hideous beige clothes that appear to be standard-issue TVA gear—when we know he would prefer to wear a Gucci suit. If Loki had his powers I think he’d dress himself differently. In any case, Loki is incognito, masquerading in human clothing rather than wearing his Asgardian armor (except in one noteworthy photo, which I’ll come back to).

Maybe Loki’s threat of “burning the place to the ground” (from the Disney+ Super Bowl ad) was idle—he really was captured and powerless in the scene from that clip (and probably pissed about it). So, he had to find another way to get out of jail. Maybe he struck a bargain with the TVA to get them something they want or to show them something important.

What might the TVA want that they can’t get themselves? If they can go anywhere, at any time they want, nothing is inaccessible to them—as long as they know where it might exist at any point in time.

For example, if the TVA wants to stop a bomb from going off in a shopping mall, they could go back to anytime the bomber was making the bomb or setting it up. If they want to prevent an assassination on the President, they could capture the assassin at any point in his lifetime. The TVA would have extraordinary power over the universe.

Suppose what the TVA wants is the Tesseract. Remember, in Endgame, Loki took it out of it’s proper place in time/space, creating an alternate reality. The TVA—an organization that tries to control time anomalies—probably didn’t like this. Perhaps the existence of Loki’s timeline threatens the regular time-space continuum. Suppose the TVA needs to secure the Tesseract in order to end or eliminate Loki’s alternate timeline.

What if the TVA was chasing Loki and managed to capture him—but not the Tesseract? Maybe Loki stashed it...in a shopping mall, of all places. Maybe Loki convinced the TVA to let him go in exchange for bringing them to the Tesseract.

I would think that normally the TVA could just find a good place in the timeline to take the Tesseract from Loki—but none of this is occurring in the normal timeline. We’re in Loki’s timeline, which isn’t supposed to exist. Perhaps the TVA can’t travel or see forward in Loki’s timeline. This stands to reason because Loki’s timeline is uncharted territory. It should not be, so the normal rules of time and space don’t apply. (What a perfectly chaotic environment for the God of Mischief!)

It looks to me that the time travel in the Loki series will happen through the use of whatever technology the TVA uses—not through the Time Stone (Infinity Stone).

So, in this scene, Loki has to work with the TVA to win his freedom and get his powers back, while the TVA needs to work with Loki to get the Tesseract. But their interests probably sharply diverge from there. The TVA will probably be trying to eliminate Loki’s alternate timeline because they can’t control it. Meanwhile, Loki will be trying to keep it going because if the timeline ceases to exist, so does this version of Loki—unless he can escape into the regular timeline first. Thus, both parties will be struggling for power over the Tesseract while racing to stop or save the alternate timeline.

Finally, there’s this:

Confirmation of a Lady Loki! She is definitely wearing Loki’s Asgardian armor. I can’t wait to see how she fits into all of this! If she appears in this particular scene in the parking lot, which seems likely, I imagine Loki gets his powers back during the scene.

Or all of these ideas could be completely incorrect. Once again, these are just my wild speculations, based only on these new photos and my problematic knowledge base on MCU Loki.

I’m working through some further theories regarding time travel in Loki’s timeline, but they’re still simmering. I’ll share them if they wind up making any sense!

Special thanks to Torrilla for sharing these photos from the Loki series shoot!

*Note: Lelliefant’s speculations are sometimes uncannily correct but occasionally way, way off base. Lelliefant claims no responsibility for any lost bets or dsmaged otherwise incurred by Tumblr readers, stans, or mutuals resulting from adherence to the aforementioned speculations.

#spoiler alert!#Loki series #new footage #behind the scenes #loki #tom hiddleston #marvel #mcu #disney+#loki series #Owen Wilson #Loki series spoilers #wild speculation #via torrilla #hiddlestoners #loki’s army

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jacksgreysays · 4 years

Note

audiatur et altera pars "let the other side be heard also" (aka free pass to dig up and expand any of your previous works :p)

A/N: Hm, I do love digging through my own old work, anon, like a narcissistic raccoon, so having a pass to do so and further write about it is pretty nice :P

I will be honest though, a lot of my time was trying to figure out which previous work I wanted to do or which best fit the prompt or which I've been wanting to do and needed the excuse to touch back on...

So I narrowed it down to nine. Which isn't particularly narrow, but considering the list I started off with... is pretty good? (Although, one of the nine could be considered technically three for an actual total of eleven? But... uh... yeah...)

At this point I'm typing out my thought process so as to help me eliminate/figure out which 'verse I want to use for this prompt. And also, in a very meta way, this kind of fills the prompt since it's like the other side of the curtain? Anyway, here's the honorable mentions:

9. Torifu POV of Ascendant : an outside (but still close enough to witness) POV of Danzo is in theory a cool idea. Because he can't have always been that megalomaniacal sadistic bastard, surely. But for Torifu, depending on how much he knows about his former teammate/friend's actions, how sad this would be? Not just in seeing all of his former teammates/friends turn into increasingly bitter people but also, if he tried to save any of those ill-fated Hokage candidates it would just be a series of failures. And that's mondo depressing. Plus, part of the... fun? challenge?... that was the original Ascendant was to do a... not necessarily unreliable narrator but a villain's POV and mitigating it with Torifu's POV would peel back a layer unnecessarily.

8. rockstar!Shikaara AU AU : here's the problem, because it wasn't a full fic (this 'verse originated way back in the ask box three sentence fic event) I don't have a proper tag for the rockstar!Shikaara AU. Best way to find it is probably through the Sabaku No Gaara tag, chrono, and then search for rockstar!Shikaara. It is not a great method. However the reason why it came to mind was because of the literal "hearing" part of the prompt and, well, muuuuusic. So then I thought, hey, what if it's an AU of this AU in which Shikako is the rockstar? However, I think we've established that the Nara twins actually aren't that musical and I have to admit that I do still love Shikaara, I haven't been in those feels for a while. And I'll be honest, that ficlet would've been mostly froth.

7. The Saga of Windy Strife: I'm just very fond of them. Unfortunately, it does need to be revamped. And also, I haven't actually FFVII, not even the remake! Something about Windy Strife is just... they're always against something. Which is... there's a difference between being a champion of something vs being a soldier fighting something and they've always been in the latter. And I guess in that same literal "hearing" part of the prompt, it would work well to address the language barrier of Unto The Climate. But again, I'm just not vibing it :(

6. Tamed (aka, the fairy tale!AU) : There's no real plot to this one which was largely the problem. I was thinking about--hey, what if I added a war in there and the team of misfit fairy tale protagonists have to use their unique talents to stop the war before it consumes the land? But then that was a little meh... while there is some misunderstandings about Sasuke hating magic because of his brother and Shikako having magic its largely. That's just drama and rehashing friendship that I'm not so keen on.

5. dragon rider!AU (another one of those “lost” ‘verses): baaasically for the same reason as above but the conflict already exists there. And like, I'll be honest, I did have a little bit written which I've let stagnate on my laptop for literally years and given the premise of it was Shikako showing up and trying to convince the Sand dragons to aid against probably Akatsuki. And literally about getting herself heard by Sand's government. But again! A little meh!

4. Indelible: I mostly wanted to play around in this world because of how hyper-political it's become. I mean, I made it so of course I'm enjoying the drama, but it's one of those things where it's just--hey, a tiny thing can be blown so out of proportion and have so many consequences but it's not out of anything evil or mean. If anything Danzo's bullshit machinations were made obsolete because of this. Which is a little hilarious. The only reason why this didn't win at being the prompt fill is that, kind of like the Torifu POV for Ascendant, this fic would have to be either a Gaara/Sand POV during the chuunin exams (which is so far removed from the original butterfly flapping its wings) or a Nej POV as the only person other than the Nara twins to be in on the secret. And I don't really write Neji well... or at all...

And now for the top three, in no particular order:

Cadmium City/Counterclockwise/Ode to 11010201: ie, my original fiction world. Mostly because, uh, yeah. There's a lot that's happening in that which the prompt could apply to. I was thinking about using the framework of Twelve Sessions since of my original fiction series I think this one is the best received. And, also, the literal "hearing" this also applies to this in multiple ways. But for the prompt this would mean its about Curtis learning about Simone's backstory which isn't as fascinating as a literal superhero going to therapy. Maybe more of an exploration of the other Could/Should/Actually 'verses? Alternatively, and this is a little weirder, I was going back over the Ode to 11010201 'verse and just like. Realizing all the personal shit I put into its foundation and thus how inherently biased it is. I was considering trying to write from R's sister's POV but its almost too personal? Because then I'd have to reexamine the IRL analogue of the situation and consider what pushed me there in the first place. And why, conversely, I haven't written that much in that 'verse since. Emotional Maturity is not here right now.

Iron Will: the only thing stopping me here, tbh, is that I still haven't figured out which iteration of Tetsuki is the one I'm going with. Is she actually the semi-feral, Earth Kingdom, would be Freedom Fighter? Or is that a cover that the Fire Nation heiress uses to manipulate and murder on Azula's behalf? I legitimately do not know.

Primadonna Girl (Says No Thank You): specifically, the dark future AU. It's such a bonkers AU that I don't think I'll ever really be able to justify playing around in it, truly, but dang. I went real bleak with it.

... so less of a fill and more of a fanfic equivalent of a clip show, I guess. Sorry, anon. If any of these struck your fancy, let me know and I'll try my hand at it. Otherwise, uh, feel free to send in a different prompt.

Ask Box Advent Calendar 2020

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #prompt response #brainstorm #links #fanfiction #original fiction #ask box latine dictum

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nobuverse · 3 years

Text

Anonymous said: Jesus Christ! Is that a fucking gremlin?

“N...nobu...?!”

A Gremlin?!

Oh no! This was terrible! Gremlins were supposed to be evil, pranking little devils who made everything break all the time! That wasn’t the type of person LOST wanted to be mistaken for at all!

“No! Nobu no!”

She flails her arms in tragic desperation.

She didn’t want to mess things up! She was supposed to be a helper!

#idk who you were aiming for but you got lost lmao #A Man's Life is Fifty Years - It is but A Dream! { Asks }#Little Obsolete Soldier Thing [ LOST ]

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hinerdsitscat · 4 years

Text

“Insufficient Data”

I wrote this as part of a slightly longer fic, Raise a Glass, which was a just-post-Rise of Skywalker scene in which Lando, Chewbacca, Wedge, and Artoo reflect on the fact that they have all survived for so long in a galaxy that appears to have a really sick sense of humor; however, I think the Artoo part works as a standalone story, so I’m reposting it here because it’s my personal mission to make everyone around me as sad as possible.

Insufficient Data

R2-D2 didn’t consider himself something that could be ‘owned,’ but there were several people who he considered himself close enough to that it was roughly equivalent, or at least an easy enough claim to make to anyone who wanted to actually take ownership of him.

There were systems, subroutines, and a complex system of programming and reformatting (some of it self-designed) which provided him with what might be termed ‘purpose,’ but a droid wasn’t made to be in isolation. It was made to connect, to interact, and to accomplish things in cooperation with organic and other inorganic beings.

The connections that Artoo had left after all this time felt insufficient.

It was not a comfortable feeling.

His memory banks contained gaps—not from memory wipes, but from a lack of data. Things happened around him without context, and his ability to infer or calculate the missing pieces was limited, even though he had long ago surpassed the limits of his original programming.

Artoo’s original programming was straightforward: take what is broken and fix it.

He had done so on a Naboo ship, where he was the sole survivor of the astromechs that had been dispatched to repair the shields during the Queen’s escape from the Trade Federation blockade. It was that commendation—that survival—which altered his original directives to a degree that was likely not anticipated by his creators. He formed connections with the Queen herself, several Jedi, a protocol droid who would later become his dearest friend, and the little boy who treated Artoo like a person.

They all went to war together and Artoo connected with hundreds of clone soldiers and a Jedi Padawan who was barely taller than him when they first met.

But then something changed. Actually, a lot of things changed.

Artoo’s core purpose was to take broken things and fix them, but he could not fix Anakin; something had gone terribly wrong in his friend’s programming and he began acting in ways that were completely different from his original parameters. Artoo had not noticed the errors in time—and the cause, if there was one (and there must be one), was not one that Artoo could determine.

Insufficient data.

Then Anakin damaged Padmé and Artoo could not fix her either. He was not a medical droid but he knew enough from the war to know that her damage could theoretically be repaired with the appropriate tools. But, somehow, it had not worked; the GH-7 droid claimed that Padmé had experienced an internal error that caused an unexpected shutdown, but Artoo did not know the cause (and there must have been one) of that either.

Insufficient data.

There was nothing in Artoo’s programming that qualified as ‘anger’ but he came very close to experiencing it when Senator Organa gave C-3P0—Artoo’s friend—a memory wipe. A casual comment, an afterthought really, was all it took for his friend to be erased. Any information about how Anakin’s programming or Padmé’s functioning could have been altered vanished along with Threepio’s memories.

Insufficient data.

Artoo spent the next nineteen years watching over his friend, trying to recreate what had been lost.

He also spent the time watching over Leia, who was the next-generation model of Padmé and Anakin, for any signs of faulty programming or design flaws. He did not know why the other model had been taken away, nor did he know why Senator Organa had not provided Leia with the information about her parents. Artoo wanted to ask the Senator, but the knowledge of what had been done to Threepio was enough to deter him from making the attempt.

Insufficient data.

Then Leia sent him and Threepio to Tatooine, where they met Luke (the other model of Padmé and Anakin), and Artoo learned that Luke did not know about his parents or his sister, nor did he know about Kenobi, who had been right there on Tatooine the entire time.

Insufficient data.

And when Kenobi pretended not to recognize him, Artoo decided to wait until he could have a moment alone with the Jedi Master and then he would find out the reason.

But Anakin, who had acquired a different exterior casing since Artoo saw him last, killed Kenobi on the Death Star, and Artoo’s questions were unanswered.

Insufficient data.

Yoda pretended not to recognize Artoo as well, to the point that Artoo began to wonder if the entire Jedi Order had received a memory wipe along with Threepio.

The lack of useful data nearly got Luke killed several times, but Artoo did not know what to tell him because he didn’t understand why no one else had told Luke. Without context, it was impossible to calculate the risk: what if there was something in the data that had caused the faults in Anakin’s programming?

Insufficient data.

Eventually, the broken things were fixed, mostly by Luke and Leia. Then Leia and Captain Solo produced a next-generation model of their own, and Artoo found himself with more connections than he had possessed in decades. He traveled with Luke and retrieved all sorts of information that had been lost over the years.

But then things changed—and again, it was because Artoo had not noticed that something was wrong and did not know how to fix it.

Insufficient data.

Ben (the next-generation model of Leia and Captain Solo) had acquired the same programming errors as Anakin, erased the information that Artoo and Luke had compiled, and then left to do all sorts of things that were against Ben’s original parameters.

In response, Luke just… left. He went somewhere and left Artoo behind, and the map to find him was incomplete.

Insufficient data.

So, even though Threepio was still there and Leia was still there, Artoo decided to leave as well. He powered down and waited for something else to change.

Which they did: newer models of droids and newer models of Rebels came to replace the old ones, battles were lost and battles were won, and the First Order became obsolete just like the Empire did.

And, like before, things were lost in the process: Luke, back after so long away, ceased to function; Leia, who watched over Artoo for so many years, ceased to function as well; Captain Solo was damaged beyond repair, as was Ben. Threepio was almost lost, but Artoo had learned one lesson, at least: he kept a backup of his friend’s memory, just in case it was needed.

Artoo knew that, eventually, he himself would reach a point of obsolescence where he would no longer be able to function, but until then, he would not spend his time in isolation. He would form new connections, repair what had been broken, and pass along what he had learned.

#star wars #star wars fanfic #fanfic #by me #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars sequel fic #rise of skywalker spoilers #r2d2 #artoo detoo

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