#Orbital decompression | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

umhwarmglitterstory · 2 months ago

Text

Ladybird, Ladybird

||Jake Sully & Daughter reader || Miles Quaritch x f!reader ||

| Mature | Depictions of violence | Mentions of death |

Chapter 2

(<- Chapter 1) (Ladybird, ladybird masterlist)

•••

Spring 2159

The glass and the filter panels started vibrating with the new song, a really old one, with synth and bass and drums. Your head rested against it, looking up through the glass ceiling. At the lights sizzling, at the moon, at the club neon stripes, at the low orbit ships.

At the blank point between the satellite and ships. Invisible, but there it was, your star. Because you had memorized it long ago, where exactly Alfa Centauri was supposed to be.

You lived too up north to see it, and wouldn't leave your country for the first time until you were seventeen. So, you had resigned to learn where it was supposed to be. That point under your soles, across the floor, across earth, across 4.36 years light of void space.

And every day since he left, you searched for it, somewhere in the soil. And every day you were stationed on a more southern country you looked for it in the sky, even if realistically you'd never actually see its light.

Because it wasn't a star, it was a prayer.

And maybe he is looking back at the sun. Back at me.

You downed another glass of bundy rum. Until you were seeing so blurry you couldn't even distinguish the moon.

Early Summer 2159

You knew who you'd never be. This was just temporal. It would pass. No?

So just for the meanwhile, you didn't care.

You stopped aiming at legs, and went for the chest. Blew heads and stared at the red mist in the air. You didn't try to decipher the gurgles and whimpers, to find the words amidst the yells. Just noise, just noise.

I'm doing it for him, you had told yourself, the very first time you got a kill count. You had to. You had to become a remarkable soldier, and too, maybe, study enough. Become a biologist, like Tom. Whatever, anything.

To meet him halfway. To be like like him. To see him sooner.

And now, right now… at least out here you could ‘decompress’, you had shredded and burned and thrown away all your uni books. All except that one.

“He turned his back on Earth” You braced yourself while Becca counted for the detonation.

“He is responsible for the slaughter of thousands of soldiers, miss Sully” You clutched your rifle on the heli trip to a new drop

“He picked those blue monkeys over his kind, his people” You emptied your cartridge behind a tarp that moved. Maybe it was the wind, maybe it was a dog. Maybe it was someone. You recharged

“Whatever psychotropic drug this Eywa is, he put it above humanity, above everything” You were preparing your cot when bullets rained down the camp, you and Martin jumped behind the counter. Something- a bullet, went through your leg, at the center below the knee. You didn't yelp.

Above you-

As it started it stopped. Martin patted you on the shoulder and went outside to check the B team. You rolled up your pants’s leg, blood oozed from the hole. It hurt, and burned.

He left you.

He chose them

He'll never come back

You'll never punch him or hug him.

You'll never see him again.

Your vision blurred with tears.

Late Summer 2159

You got the most expensive treatment his money could pay. It had been a destructive bullet, the de-fragmenting kind, and yet in a week you were out, with a little limp that would likely fully disappear in six months.

This tour you had earned six mentions. Better than ever.

Now that you got nothing to look forward…

You started lying, because back at the beginning, you had stupidly insisted ‘Goose’ as your call, honoring him. Back when he was your world.

-On your drawer it rested, “Mother Goose Rhymes”, under Tommy's books.-

Back when Bianca was alive, you had gotten a deep cut on your face, from the side of your forehead, down the side of your check and the angle of your jawbone, touching your neck.

“Yeah, they've told me it looks like a Glasgow”

No one had, because it didn't. But the name was sticking, and you were so happy for that. Anything but Goose, or Mother goose, or Giselle. Anything but him.

It would still be a while before anything became official, engraved.

Fall 2159

His birthday- Their birthday.

You woke up on your former neighbor's bed, Yohan or something, with no recollection of the past day. Those pills were strong, you liked them. You asked Yohan for more, and left his place only a week later.

Inevitably, here and there started to appear rumors. ‘News’ of a war, a lost one, and the condemnation of earth.

But not his name, you noticed, maybe to avoid any form of reverence. So, a nameless ‘group of traitors’ was to blame.

Winter 2159

You were called -close to Christmas- to one of the RDA centers, a different one.

Both groups had started to form: People who spat on the traitors, and people who admired them. People who for a while had been admiring her, Pandora.

“You need to change your name, immediately,” Mancini had said “As common as ‘Sully’ is, someone is bound to find the connection, and therefore, you”

First Goose, now Sully.

It hit you harder than you had expected, and you had expected it for months by now.

You told yourself you were okay with it, that you despised it. And you should. But then it all felt so unfair. You only had it for two years.

The soulless, almost surgical procedure, contrasted with the one you did a couple years ago, all by yourself. Hot with emotions and feelings, needing something to grab, to hold on to.

When you were seventeen, your neighbor, Mrs Veenani, passed away. The last person you had, the last person in the entire world that had met you and Jake.

Without her, without your mom, without Jake and without Tom, did you even exist?

A primordial fear and loneliness had covered you. Everything disappearing. Everything getting away like sand between your fingers.

So you had held onto it, onto your pathetically self assigned family name.

You stared at your brand new ID. Everything, including the photo, exactly the same. Except one word: Smith

Starting that same day, all your belongings, documents, uniforms and tags, would carry that last name. The commoner amongst commoners.

So you dared ask for a favor, and you could have begged. You had really tried, and still, everything was getting away like sand between your fingers.

“That… that last entry. May I see it?

***

He smiled that stupid smile. The pitiful, hurt one? Like when you gave him a gift he actually hated, or when you told him he could walk again in no time.

Or when he told you he'd be leaving earth.

You started chewing on your finger's joints.

Entry: 00862102154-05

Sent: Day-11 Month-06 Year-2154

Origin: Alfa Centauri - Pandora

Received: Day-24 Month-10 Year-2158

Displayed: Day-22 Month-12 Year-2159

P. Redacted

“Hey kiddo. I've missed you. Uhm. Well, woah. So much has happened these last days, uh, months. I.. I promise you, I've been really really busy. I uh, I quite literally was born again! Ha, can you believe it? The Iknimaya, remember? Well, what- I am one of them. In… in every sense of the word, I am one of them… Omaticaya. Uh, Na'vi.

It's… it's so much more than you could ever imagine. It's… ah, well, how do you describe the indescribable?

...

Eywa is… beautiful. The most beautiful thing you could ever, ever imagine. And she, she talked to me- well, not quite, literally, but, ah… it changed. So many, so much- it's all so different?

Decisions were made, haha, you know?... God, how I wish you could be here, that I could, I could talk to you. Explain it. I- I!... Ahh… I love you, and, you are the most important person to me back there. You… you know that. Yes, of course you do.

Uhmm…

…

I wish we could talk. Face to face, you know? I miss your voice, and, I always wonder what it sounds like, my big baby. My big girl… Always my babygirl… Argh! I- everyday, I just, wake up, and, then. “oh wait, I'm supposed to be good, really good” You know? To fight for- you know, the things we love, the things we believe. And it's always scary and, doubtful? But, I know… I really know… it's just, I wish-! Argh!... that things were different, so different. Just, not like this. You know. Me here and you there, and ten fucking years to exchange a word.

It- It feels particularly unfair, today.

I…

I think about you. I think about how much I love, how much I, I would do anything for you. To, to keep you safe, happy, at home… your home.

What wouldn't I do? What wouldn't I do…

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I am rambling. Ah, gosh, please guys don't, don't delete this. An old man can run his mouth, no?

…

My point is... Baby, I love you. I am so proud of you, and, and every day apart I miss you terribly. But, I am trying to be a better man. Okay? A man you can be proud of, look up to even!… And I think, how would I do it, how I'd care for you, provide and protect you, all that. And… I am doing this for you, too. Okay? To be, to be the one with the big ‘biggestest’ heart.

I… I guess i'll continue to miss you terrible, hmm, no?... Thank you, by the way, uhm, by the way, for every day you were there with me, even when I was an asshole. You truly were the best part of those years, and… and you'll be alright. You'll be alright… The… the most brave, strong, smart, and beautiful woman, in the entire world. Never forget that, okay?

Promise?

Uhm…

And, uhm… I love you. So much… Goodbye.”

Only there and then did you realize, you had hoped to it all to be wrong. For them to be lying, framing him. Because, how could he?

But no. The only liar had been Jake.

***

February 2160

Would Bianca's memorial just get harder and harder every year? It's supposed to get easier, to fade. Soldiers shouldn't mourn, not comrades. And yet.

One thing led to another. You trashed that warehouse you called your apartment.

“Bottles used to break” had said Mrs Veenani. You missed that.

You were laying on the floor, in and out of consciousness. A puddle of puke besides you. You were going to sell the place, and everything inside they could just burn. His few clothing you had saved, his books and the ones he and Tom had gifted you, your old toys and trinkets…

What had you been doing? What were you thinking?

You wore, quite regularly, their Jackets. One from Tommy, two from Jake. Your body only recently big and bulk enough to hold them without fastening belts.

Not one, but the two fuckers that had thought you so disgusting and unworthy of calling family-!

Oh, you dumb cunt.

You crawled on all fours and grabbed his jacket, Tommy's, a navy blue one in faux leather. You bit the back of the collar and pulled, until your Jaw and arms tensed. It gave, and after the first tough strands, it ripped with ease.

You threw the rags against the window glass.

Next, to one of Jake's, the zipper black one with silver strands. It was tougher, you had to kneel on it and pull at the sleeves, one then the other, then bite the back seam until you opened a hole, ripping it like paper. You threw one by one the four pieces against the wall

Then, finally, his black jacket. The one with big buttons and pockets. His favorite. The one he wore the last day.

You grabbed the sides, by the collar, as if he was wearing it. You started to pull, but your hands were shaking too much. One, two, three drops fell on the fabric. You buried your face on it and screamed at the top of your lungs.

Summer 2160

“The world, is shit, ya know?” You slurred, making the girl on the couch snort. “Ont’ worry, I'll fucking fix it!” You cheered, fixing your party hat with the embossed ‘21’ on it.

“Ya'know, m gonna be a fucking sargent next year” You half yelled, the girl and the man howled and clapped. Arthur -or Archie -whatever, sat down by your side on the floor, his arm around your naked waist “Ow man, that's terrible. Worst news ever, no Andrea? What should we do with, you know, the drugs?” He asked, dramatically, swinging in the air the bag with the neon pills.

You three laughed. You picked a bright pink one and put it in your mouth, grabbing the tequila bottle.

“Woah, ain't you still unde-” You sloppily put your finger on his lips “Shh, shh. This is an army trick” You took a long sip of tequila, downing the pellet “They cancel each other” You said, now pressing your finger against your own cheek. You and Arthur laughed, Andrea rather dozing away on the couch, her eyes semi-closed on her blissed face.

“Setro- Seriously, ain't you worried they catch you?” He asked, and you laughed so hard you heaved by the end. “Setrously!” You mocked, and laughed a bit more. He lifted you and sat you on his lap, your legs straddling his hips as his dick hardened again.

“But seriously, seriously, wouldn't you get scolded? Expelled?” He asked. You looked him in the eye, some uncalled anger bubbling in your chest.

“Tell you what-” You said, grabbing your phone from the very messy coffee table. “Let me earn, some favors, no?” He raised his eyebrows, confused but interested.

You called Delgado, Colonel Delgado.

You took a couple of deep, grounding breaths.

“Yes? Smith?” She asked

“Yeah, hello, Lily”

“...What is it?”

“Uhm, nothing ste- serious, or official, you know?”

“What is it then”

“I… I've been meaning to tell you, respectfully, ma'am, you are hot as fuck”

Fall 2160

Almost three months passed before, surprisingly, your drunken self-dare ended with actually going out with Delgado, with Lily.

… The talking was meh, curt and never really passed the formalities. Maybe the age gap worried her, or the fact that, in theory, and by a long, long stretch, she was your superior. You honestly didn't give a fuck.

Maybe it was you taking it all wrong.

Whatever it was, it passed the second she took you to her apartment and locked her door. The both of you very drunk, you lounged yourself at her and she caught you. You kissed and touched, undressed as fast as you could on your clumsy state.

You kissed and sucked and bit, down her neck, torso and hips, down to her cunt. Did she moan and whine.

“Mother fucking christ- There! Yes!” She had cried.

If anything, it would be good for your ego. That'd be enough, in the end, no?

You laid beside her on the bed, too hot and bothered to pull the sheet over. You studied her dozing face, out of habit you tuck some of her black hair behind her ear. She smiled and huffed, still, too drunk. You felt guilty, having kind of forced her to binge drink. It was unfair how sober you yourself were in comparison, alcohol alone not really doing the trick like it used to.

“Girl, hmm, you should called me earlier” She slurred.

You huffed “Honestly, never thought you'd reciprocate”

“What?- I totally gave you eyes”

“No? When?”

“Your, uh, your new ID, the ‘Sully’ stuff”

Ruined. A weight sank in your chest, your breath hitched for a second. Lily was too drunk to catch it, apparently.

But that… that gave you the idea.

“Any news, by the way?” You asked. Since that day, the day you met her and Mancini, nothing had been revealed to you, or the public. Everything was classified, under heavy investigation. You heard more about the war through Hecate's anti RDA propaganda than you ever could via official sources.

That last thing, his last message, it had been shown to you only for how useless they had deemed it. Out of pity, then.

Lily hummed, “That's official data, miss” She said, snuggling deeper into her pillow. You rolled your eyes, played to slowly snake your leg up hers, hooking it by her hips.

“Good this isn't some ‘’official’ interrogation then. Come one, some gossip, before Hecate shares it online in a month”

She groaned “Ugh, those damn fuckers… Mhh… What's there to say…” She went silent, and for a second you feared she had already fallen asleep. Until she faintly snorted “He's got himself a blue family”

You forced a laugh of yourself. “What?”

“Mhm, a boy's been born”

“... What?” You repeated, nothing but a little thread of voice.

“Adopted one too, they said”

“A-...

Adopted?”

“Mmh… Other kid, around while the wife was still pregnant. Or not, maybe that's-” She yawned “Maybe that's how they breed…” She finished with a dying voice.

No. You had read more than enough about Pandora, and Na'vi, and avatars. It was- it was the same- the same exact process-

It was too quiet, silent. Probably she had those sound barriers- Why wouldn't she, she had the money, it all looked so damn expensive! that tacky long lamp on the wall!

It was too silent, and dark, Your eyes watered, your vision tunneled. Saliva pooled at your mouth with the familiar twist in your stomach.

How… What did, he- he

When- when was it-

“I… I'm barely an adult myself, kiddo. I'm sorry”

How fucking long had it been for him?! Two years?!

How could he, HOW COULD HE!-

You barely made it to the bathroom

(Chapter 3 ->)

#avatar 2009 #jake sully & daughter reader #jake sully #x daughter!reader #miles quaritch x reader #avatar the way of water #ladybirdjakesully #jake sully & reader #x reader #x reader fanfiction #james cameron avatar

48 notes · View notes

box953 · 2 months ago

Note

vinnayyyyyyy idk if anyone has asked you before but what are your post canon visions for all the surviving characters??

HIIII umm let me pull some thoughts out of my beautiful mind.

The only thing i have really ever ruminated on is the idea of Jacobi showing up at Minkowski’s house after disappearing off the face of the earth for several months and forcefully moving in on her couch. Minkowski who is in the process of trying to heal her relationship with her husband who thought she was fucking Dead and who is going through a Lot because that healing process comes with realizing just how much she has to tell him about what she Did up there and then Jacobi, one of the guys who was greatly impacted by the things Minkowski Did, shows up like hey lol. Im here to be your reoccurring sitcom side character.

i think Jacobi shows up to her place because he’s incredibly aimless without si-5 work and without Kepler to follow around like a lost dog. He absolutely guilts her into it because he Knows that she feels bad about Maxwell and i think his lost dog schtick really nails home how much hes lost and she feels responsible for his aimlessness on earth. And also in a weird way his anger towards Minkowski is also a memory of Maxwell and that all funnels together into a weird brain concoction of feelings that make him feel very Attached to Minkowski, even if he doesn’t like her.

Any other characters are a lot more vague in my mind. I have absolutely no clue what they would do with Hera and her supergiant supercomputer brain but through the power of “dont worry about it” maybe they just turn her into a home security system or something. I don’t think she’d like it but they don’t have much for other options.

I think a lot about Eiffel’s memory loss and. While i dont Like it. If i had to play in the space with it, i feel like Eiffel should regain those memories. And, playing into the fact that Doug Eiffel is a coward, i think it would be interesting if him regaining his memories on earth had to be an intentional process that he had to work through in order to gain those memories. Because then there is the possibility of him realizing more and more about who he is and having to wrestle with the idea of just taking the cowards way out and continuing to forget. Forget what happened, forget everything he did, forget why he was ever sent up to orbit wolf 359, and just move on as this new version of himself instead of having to address the person he is. Could be fun. Could be silly. I envision him and Hera wandering around his mindscape (dont ask me how they have the resources to jack her in there) and idk i think it could be interesting to play with the visuals of actively having to go find your memories in your mind.

lovelace…. Lovelace…… i want good things for her. I do not know if they would come to her easy back on earth. I feel she would be very restless. I think she would go hard into no-contact, no way to track her down, disappearing to a beach off the coast of nowhere for a while to decompress after four years of the torture labyrinth. I think that has mixed results and has the capacity to tip over into just pure isolation. After some time maybe she wraps back around to keep in touch with Eiffel to make sure he’s doing okay and then just keeping in touch with the others over time. But i think shes going to need a lot of support once she gets down there.

and this is all without really considering any Goddard related nonsense. I think a post-canon wolf 359 has the capacity to just delve into More Story Happening. I think Lovelace should plan to infiltrate Goddard futuristics to literally blow it up from the inside. That could be a fun spinoff series. But thats its own entire thought process and im just looking at this through a pov of “what if they were returning back to normal lives on earth”

#paragraphs BLAST.#asks :0]#wolf 359 #yelling. screaming even :0]#No thoughts here about Pryce sorry I really don’t know …#Any thoughts I would have for her would definitely lean more into wolf 359 spinoff territory

38 notes · View notes

wee-larceny · 2 months ago

Text

Time to Orbit: Unknown liveblog Chapters 031-040

Chapters 001-010 011-020 021-030

We're skipping the "answers found" section this time, because these posts are super long and I feel kind of sorry for anyone having to scroll past my rapidfire reblogs. So without further ado:

Questions I still have (unchanged):

Why did Captain Kinoshita try to move the giant box that ended up crushing her? Why wasn't CR1 jettisoned? Why didn't the two halves of the crew reestablish contact in a different way either? Why didn't Arc Hess clean up the coffee? Why did they keep a paper calendar? Why was no one woken from chronostasis to replace the dead crew? Why didn't the AI help Kinoshita or anyone else? What does it read/write to the crewmembers' chips? Why is it lying about everything? What was the experiment that killed three members of the crew? Why can't the new captain override the previous one's orders? Captain locks a door, dies, door is locked forever. That's just bad design. How did the aft engines get irreparably damaged? What happened when the ship lurched sideways? It can't have been just the rotations slowing, because that would decrease gravity unless there's a complicated science reason as to why it doesn't. There can't be a complicated science reason because Derin explains those immediately. Why are there so many Texan convicts on this ship? Normally I'd say they're being exploited somehow, but how? What's up with the extra body in freezer storage? How does the AI know exactly when and how Reimann died and also about the coolant leak in PLR1 if it cannot monitor these rings? Why are the people in CR1&5 less likely to survive? Why kill the colonists this way specifically? Also why are they not as decomposed as the Friend expected them to be? Was Denish ever a space pirate?

Questions I still have (modified):

We can't read personal logs, sure, but are there any ship's logs we can access? What killed most of the crew? If it was the airborne contamination caused by the coolant leak plus open vent plus decomposing arm, how come they didn't notice and fix it? That's a question I still have even if that's not what killed them btw. What was Reimann trying to do that required locking the vents open and messing with an air pump? What is causing the stimulator to stick and the cranial port to break out of the skull if it isn't sloppy installation? And how come it doesn't seem to leave any other mark on the body. Also, the crew thinks that the whole 9% chance of survival business doesn't consider the whole stuck stimulator/broken skull thing, but what if it does? Is there a way to save them? Why were fore engines not used to accelerate?

Shiny new questions I acquired:

What was in the air of CR1? Why was Tal and Tal alone emergency revived and why the decompression alarm? Why are all the systems such a mess? Airlocks don't do what airlocks are designed to do, files are hidden in nonsensical locations, etc. Where's the distillery? I'm 100% serious about this btw. Any other members of the first crew we can wake up? Just one. Just to ask "hey what the fuck"

#liveblog #tto:u

15 notes · View notes

sitehound · 26 days ago

Text

Gumi is so handsy I was just thinking about her habit of lifting others or gingerly guiding them aside or how quick she is to carry people princess style or the way she throws them over her shoulder. She’s the type to settle a hand at the back of their neck or lower back protectively. She’s just so… touchy… I tone it down in RP but please understand that if she’s friendly with your muse or they need assistance of some sort, her first instinct is to touch. I’m very sleepy and just reading to decompress but I think these protective touches contribute to her being a very comforting presence because it does feel like a guard dog orbiting you. I’d argue that Gumi is very good at building a sense that she’ll protect you no matter what and then the unnerving secondary realization:

She’d die for you, even if you two don’t know each other well, because if you’re a friend or a client: she’s signed a contract in her head to serve you.

#ooc.#psyche.

12 notes · View notes

tobiasdrake · 7 days ago

Text

Daredevil: Born Again 01x08 - Isle of Joy

Here we go with the penultimate episode. And it's good to see the show back in its groove, even if it is still a little janky. Can't wait for the finale.

Where to begin?

We can't really go anywhere without first talking about Bullseye. He occupies a small portion of this episode but a critical one.

Bullseye is suddenly transferred to general population in prison with the stated reasoning that putting him in with the other prisoners is a death sentence.

The inmates are dragging their heels on it though 'cause Bullseye shows up no worse for wear later. I guess all the other inmates did was stand outside his cell and yell mean words at him or something. He's not even beaten or bruised; He looks immaculate.

Whatever the case, this would honestly be a killer setup for an episodic plot, right? It's not where they're going, but just step back a second and imagine a story where Matt has to fucking defend Bullseye against a corrupt prison system that's abusing its inmates and trying to have him killed. Wrestling with his own utter hatred for this man and the challenges to his principles and beliefs that it represents.

With a central theme of "Bullseye is a monster but if we turn our back on him then we accept the idea that there are circumstances in which it is acceptable to strip away a person's basic human rights. A just society cannot be one that designates certain people as subhuman because that opens the door to haggling over the breadth of the category."

That is not this episode. But you can feel how good that would be. So can the writers. You know because they have Bullseye say this.

This is the writers openly admitting what an amazing episode that would be.

But it can't be this episode because we are in the penultimate episode. There is no time left for episodic adventures that interrogate various ideas surrounding the show's thesis. We are in the shit; It's climbing to the climax time, bay-bee. The main plot is now firmly in the driver's seat.

And that's why Bullseye is here.

For some reason, the person who hired him to kill Foggy waited a full year before randomly deciding to have Bullseye silenced. Bullseye was... not in any position to reveal anything. There was no threat of Bullseye revealing anything. But it's episode 8 and we need a reason for him to be back so his client suddenly decides to go after him.

This occurs for no clear reason in the episode, though the next may explain it. Narratively, it's so that his return to the show can be the impetus for Matt suddenly remembering that he's mad about Foggy's death and finally deciding to investigate it. Because we're approaching the finale so it's time for Matt and Fisk to finally have it out over what happened way back in episode 1.

Yeah, they wrote a decompressed movie again because Marvel still doesn't really understand how TV works. They're trying.

In any case, Bullseye comes back into the picture right as Matt's life is imploding.

The argument between Matt and Heather is bitterly ironic. With the benefit of the omniscient third-person perspective, we know what Matt knows: That Fisk is dangerous, his people are dangerous, and he's got a grudge against Matt. He may have hired Bullseye to kill Foggy and Karen, and if he did then what if Heather's next? Matt has serious reasons to be terrified of Heather being in Fisk's orbit.

But.

Within the context of this argument between two people who are not Daredevil and who have never, either of them, fought the Kingpin? Matt sounds deranged and overly possessive. He's Strongman Posturing at the Mayor's assistant, he's trying to tell Heather that she can't have the Mayor as a therapy client, he's snippily taking his favorite criminal vigilante's side over his girlfriend's... What an asshole!

The Mayor personally extends an invitation to a big social event to his therapist who's been offering him marital counseling, and Matt starts shrieking "HE'S MANIPULATING YOU TO DESTROY THE VIGILANTES". Which. Isn't really a manipulation because, as Heather herself points out, her politics align with that goal.

Fisk isn't tricking Heather into looking like she agrees with him politically. She does agree with him politically. If that's a dealbreaker for you, Matt, then maybe this relationship is a mistake.

At the same time his relationship is blowing up, Matt flips his lid at some rich piece-of-shit client his firm is taking on and then has a meltdown at Kirsten in the hall over how impotent and corrupt the law is.

It's a powerful moment for Matt but also....

This is the sort of element that has made the show fascinating for me. Because Matt's conflict, his crisis of faith in the power of the law that he's believed in all this time... It's the sort of element that I would describe as hypothetically interesting but that feels out-of-place.

The creators of this series have written Matt into a peculiar place for a superhero series, in that they've created a story for their protagonist where putting on the mask is bad.

They've written the relationship between Matt and Daredevil in such a way that Daredevil represents failure. Daredevil is Matt giving up on his principles, giving up on his beliefs. Daredevil is presented in this series as Matt's vice, Matt's despair. The only thing left for him to turn to when he has lost all hope for himself and hit rock bottom.

It naturally follows that an appropriately satisfying triumph for Matt would be to not defeat Fisk as Daredevil. But instead to vanquish Fisk with the power of the law, vested in him as Matt Murdock.

And a similarly appropriate Darkest Hour for Matt to feel like there is nothing left he can possibly do but to give in and resort to Daredevil, the symbol of Matt giving up on everything he holds sacred.

Which is a wild direction to go in for a show where the audience came here to see Daredevil. They are rooting for a red-suited vigilante hero to throw some batons at Fisk's face. That is what the genre is about. So I feel like... This is all very captivating, this meltdown is a fantastic Darkest Hour breaking point scene, but where are you going with this?

The conflict has been set up in such a way that either Matt has to achieve apotheosis by burying Daredevil in a climactic moment of triumph... or, given that we have a second season coming, Daredevil buries Matt and abandons his beliefs, setting up a recovery arc for season two where he has to find himself again.

Either way, it's really weird to cast Daredevil as the villain of a Man vs Self conflict in a superhero IP and that makes me nervous about their ability to stick the landing.

But I will say that with this episode, concerning as this direction is, there is a lot of skill on display in how they carry it out. I love the way Matt's Darkest Hour escalates the Bullseye plot. This is a perfect example of the morality of narrative.

Matt loses his temper and engages in a spot of police brutality of his own. We already know how the show feels about cops beating the piss out of people who can't defend themselves. That this is Bullseye doesn't make it okay.

Note that this isn't an "enhanced interrogation", so to speak. Matt doesn't start hitting Bullseye in order to make him talk about who hired him. There are no further questions after this: Matt immediately ends their meeting.

Matt isn't torturing Bullseye for information. Matt loses his temper and just lashes out violently. He slams Bullseye's face into the table three times because he's mad as hell, he's being provoked and disrespected, and he feels this fucker deserves it. No other reason.

This is Matt's Darkest Hour, and he himself engages in what is unambiguously and indefensibly an act of police brutality. In giving in to his violent urges, in giving in to Daredevil, he has become the people he fought in the courtroom in the earlier episodes.

And the consequence of that choice?

The morality of a story typically bends around its protagonist. It's a system of reward and punishment.

The hero makes good choices and those choices have good consequences. Reward. The hero makes bad choices and those choices have bad consequences. Punishment. The morality of a story lives in what it rewards and what it punishes, and it punishes Matt hard for this transgression.

In smashing Bullseye's face against the table, Matt knocks one of his teeth out. Bullseye conceals the tooth in his mouth until the opportunte moment, uses it to kill one of the guards, breaks loose, and escapes.

There is a direct connection between Matt's transgression and Bullseye's subsequent escape. Bullseye even thanks Matt for creating this avenue for him. In his Darkest Hour, Matt has made this situation worse through a chain of events that make narrative sense but aren't realistically logical to presume.

This is the language of storycraft. The hero has transgressed and is so punished by the unforeseeable consequences of his mistakes.

So what's Fisk doing during all this?

Now that they finally exist and aren't inexplicably hunting a serial killer, the Antii-Vigilante Task Force is doing a bang-up job getting vigilantes off the streets. And are also courting criticism for the brutal methods they employ in doing it.

And it's all happening offscreen.

Would have been cool to. Like. See some of it happening.

Agh, this show is so good but it's used its time so poorly. If they'd put the Task Force in effect sooner and held off on killing Hector, they would have an established heroic vigilante character that could be murdered unjustly by FIsk's Bad Apples.

As is, it's still probably one of them who got him. But not because of the Task Force. The point is, show us the bad guy when he's doing the bad things. Hell, get a montage in here. Bad Apple cops doing atrocious things to nameless superheroes while newspapers flip by talking about how they're cleaning up our streets, or something like that. IDK.

But don't just have his gofer report, "Yes, sir! Bad things have been carried out between episodes, sir!" Show us the things!

In any case, the rockstar of this episode is Vanessa.

The episode starts by tying up that ambiguous cliffhanger from last episode. Either Vanessa conspired with Luca to kill Fisk, or she betrayed Luca and led him to his death. Either direction can be interesting and the reveal lands in Column B.

Vanessa played Luca for a sap and walked him straight into Buck's crosshairs on purpose. She remains dedicated to her marriage despite everything, something she further demonstrates when she kills Adam.

This scene was incredibly predictable and I won't know for sure how I feel about it until the series ends. I still think Vanessa's going to kill Wilson. It doesn't sit right with me that he basically gets away with going behind her back to go after Adam after she told him not to.

Technically, he only agreed not to kill Adam. And he doesn't. But that feels very much like a "Followed the letter but not the spirit" thing. It's a weasel move and he knows it.

There's just a general ominous vibe that always drifts around scenes Wilson and Vanessa have together. It's difficult to trust the sincerity of Wilson's commitment, especially when he's doing things like this Adam shit. He loves Vanessa, but it doesn't feel like he respects her.

In fact, that mutual disrespect Wilson and Matt have for their respective partners puts them into an ironic parallel. I actually laughed when Matt started tuning out an argument with Heather.

I love this. She tells him to his face that he's been "checking out" on her and then he promptly stops listening to the rest of what she's saying so he can see what Wilson's up to instead.

Wilson, in turn, starts mocking Matt when he's supposed to be enjoying a dance with his wife.

Fisk really is the Lego Joker to Matt's Lego Batman. The only really have eyes for each other.

Speaking of the ballroom, it's the one time we do see the Bad Apples in action. And the Anti-Vigilante Task Force is, once again, not going after vigilantes.

This guy is supposed to be a professional journalist but doesn't know to turn the flash on his phone off when he's surreptitiously taking photos of a private event. Absolute moron.

The Bad Apples hunt him down and engage in some good old-fashioned police brutality, shoving his hand in a fryer just for the cruelty of it. While also telling Good Cop Commissioner Gallo to go fuck himself as they do it.

But that's okay because Gallo's gonna team up with B.B. to blow the lid on Fisk.

I've talked about it before but it's still wild to me that Commissioner Gallo is who the show pulls in to represent Good Police, as a contrast to the Bad Apples.

Like. He's literally their boss???

Gallo was commissioner before Fisk was mayor. He tried to retire but got blackmailed into staying, and he has opinions about those bad cops in the force. But the bad cops work for him. They were working for him before Fisk was even in the picture.

Commissioner Gallo is still pretending that he is somehow not a part of the system that created those "crooks with badges". That he isn't the guy who pinned those badges to their chests and put those guns in their hands. The show just doesn't want us to think about that. It's basically the Commissioner Gordon problem.

"My department is so corrupt!" Then... do something about it? You're the boss, man! Shit may roll downhill but responsibility hikes.

In any case, this episode wraps up on a banger of a hook when Bullseye shows up with murder in his eyes. The reveal that Vanessa was the one who put out the hit on Matt, Foggy, and Karen to begin with isn't that big of a shocker. Yeah, that makes sense. Okay.

Which is why it's not the big shock to wrap the episode up. This is.

Matt jumps in front of Bullseye's gun and takes a bullet for Fisk. In a moment of twisted iron, Matt manages to do for Fisk of all people what he couldn't do for Foggy. To relive the moment that's been haunting him and put himself in the way of the sniper's bullet.

What is this going to do for Matt's mental state?

For his adversarial relationship with Wilson?

With Vanessa? Who he just figured out is responsible for Foggy's death?

Where is this going? Brilliant hook, edge of my seat. Season finale can't come fast enough.

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #daredevil born again #drake watches daredevil born again

12 notes · View notes

gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 1 month ago

Note

So from my understanding, Gallifreyans and Time Lords don't have lungs, instead they have air tubes akin to those things bugs have(?)

Does that imply that the levels of oxygen are super high on Gallifrey? Considering bugs on Earth need higher concentration of oxygen to increase in size, and Time Lords are human sized (mostly)

Does Gallifrey have particularly high Oxygen levels?

Nope—Gallifrey's atmospheric conditions (gravity, orbital radius, pressure, temperature, and oxygen levels) are remarkably similar to Earth's. It's one of those convenient universal coincidences that allow Gallifreyans and humans to exist in the same environments without much issue.

🫁 They DO Have Lungs – Gallifreyans absolutely have lungs, and some have been noted to possess 'freakishly large' ones. Whether this applies to all Gallifreyans or is just a quirk of specific bodies is unclear.

🛣️ Pulmonary Network – What sets them apart is their pulmonary network, a system of air tubes running parallel to the lymphatic system. This makes them naturally buoyant in water and allows them to control their respiration independently from other bodily functions.

🏫 So ...

No, they don't rely on tracheal breathing, and they don't need higher oxygen concentrations. Time Lords may have more efficient respiration, but they still breathe the same basic air composition—just with a few extra biological tricks up their sleeves.

💬|🫁😮‍💨How do Oxygen levels affect Time Lords?: The effects of different oxygen levels on Time Lords and their respiratory resilience.

💬|🫁🏊Can Time Lords prevent deep sea diving conditions?: Possible effects and defences against conditions like narcosis and decompression sickness.

💬|🫁🏊Can Gallifreyans drown?: Limitations of the respiratory bypass.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

#doctor who #gallifrey institute for learning #dr who #dw eu #gallifrey #gallifreyans #whoniverse #time lord biology #ask answered #GIL: Asks #gallifreyan biology #GIL: Biology #GIL: Species/Gallifreyans #GIL #GIL: Biology/Respiratory #GIL: Gallifrey/Planet

14 notes · View notes

raymonddouglasmd · 1 year ago

Text

Orbital Decompression Surgery

Our skilled surgeons provide expert orbital decompression to relieve symptoms of Graves' disease and other conditions. Get effective treatment and relief. Contact us today.

For more information, Visit: https://raymonddouglasmd.com/services/orbital-decompression

#Orbital Decompression

0 notes

salubriwrites-blog · 6 months ago

Text

The Amnesia Game

A Mr. Reca/Black Swan romance.

I made the first chapter. This is shaping out to be a 2-3 chapter story, and it's my current palette cleanser, so I hope you enjoy!

I'll be putting this up on ao3 when its complete. Contains 2.6 spoilers, proceed with caution. CW: Manipulation (no matter how consensual)

You can find Part 2 here!

Part 1: Homecoming

Penacony was a beautiful planet, and returning to its orbit always warmed a forgotten part of his soul. One that lay dormant and was only stirred to life by almost familiar sights and sounds on the Planet of Festivities. Reca’s last visit home was at least a hundred Amber Eras ago, it had felt like returning to an empty childhood home. Even the memoria sounded and tasted different when he stepped into his room at the Reverie. What was that feeling called? He asked himself now as he stepped off the lift and into the claustrophobic halls of the habitation complex. To be homesick for a place to which you cannot return?

“Hiraeth,” he exclaimed, echoing his Assistant Director. “It is hiraeth, a sharp memory.” Reca chuckled and as he juggled his keys in his hand a comforting, more familiar sensation greeted him. The apartment was usually empty, a shell of a home that Reca had to resuscitate every time he returned from traveling abroad. Not this time though, the apartment’s heartbeat was steady and solid as he hurried to its front door. Usually around this time all of the other studios and habitats were alive and breathing with conversation and dinner time aromas. At the welcome mat, the smell of a warm meal permeated under the door and weaved through his feet like a feline. It could only mean one thing, the Memokeeper thought as he patted his hair down.

“You’re here,” he declared musically, swinging the front door open to the sight within. Reca’s heart played monkey bars on his ribs and he felt like a child again, smiling like this for Black Swan. Leaning against his kitchen counters, turning only her head to face him, she was tasting the contents of a pot. Her purple hair was wound up tight into an elegant twist that accentuated her profile, neck adorned with jewelry befitting her rank as Memokeeper. Amber eyes glittered anew as Reca dropped his bag at the still open door and strode inward to her.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be home without me here,” Black Swan laughed, throwing her head back as his lips reached for her bejeweled neck. Lifting her off the ground, Reca half spun her before setting her back on her two feet. Not that she had to fall far, Black Swan was taller than him by a foot, she held his face and tilted it upwards, admiring his face like she hadn’t been able to for months. Her lips were plump and glistened with gloss when they kissed, warming his shoulders and dragging him in. “Welcome home, Elias dear.”

“Why thank you, darling.” Elias Reca pressed his nose into her neck. She smelled divine, brushing his lips at her nape before slumping to lean against the counters next to her. “You are absolutely right.” Tilting his head, the Memokeeper watched her pull his oven mitts on her hands and haul the pot from the stove. “You also didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Nonsense, you are worth all this and more.” She mimicked him before stepping up to the stove. This was not her home, but you wouldn’t know that as the cutlery bent to her will, and the stove never complained of igniting at her touch. Maybe this would be the time she’d accept his invitation to move in with him. “Go shower, decompress, I’ll tell you when it's ready… without me!” She added with a melodic laugh, only half resisting as Reca pulled her out of the kitchen and towards the staircase.

“I changed my mind,” he sang, snapping his fingers and illuminating the upstairs loft. With a creak the shower hummed to life as Ms. Swan allowed him to pull away her sweater. “I do want all of this.”

“Sounds like you had an eventful visit to Penacony,” Black Swan mused after dinner, readjusting her plush robe as she twisted her legs into his. They had been planning to eat at the table, but after that shower, replaying the sounds of water and soaking sounds bouncing off the tiles, they were left too satisfied. The candlelit dinner was meant to be part of the foreplay, but now that they were staggering back to eat in just their robes, the set table and flowers felt unnecessary. So they put one of Black Swan’s favorite movies on instead and collapsed into the large couch with the coffee table pulled close so that the wine was near.

“Eventful is certainly a word for that,” Elias groaned, rubbing her calves and enjoying how she felt under his hands. “I ended up having to resort to that silver haired Trailblazer to unlock the Galaxy Ranger’s memories after all.”

“The Trailblazer’s fate is a uniquely entwined one… I wouldn’t let it bother you that that was what came to pass. Not to mention it was a Stellaron Hunter who warned you of this solution.”

“Yes, but oh! To defy that damned Script and rub it in her smug face,” he sighed, clutching a fist dramatically to the air before letting his hand fall back down atop her thigh. In that reflective quiet, his gaze found hers, and they couldn’t stop themselves from laughing at the absurdity of his attempt to defy Stellaron Hunters and their unyielding mission. “I missed you, and I… needed this quite badly.” He gestured to the empty bowls, the bottle of wine, and the movie that quietly played in the background of his lush apartment. Behind them the auroras from the Garden cast Black Swan in fractured colors like she was a stained window come to life. “I owe you a night like this.”

“Is there something you have in mind already, or maybe I can make a suggestion?” The Memokeeper asked, reaching to hold his legs as Reca pulled her in. Kissing and swooning, he exhaled the loneliness and inhaled Black Swan. She was right, home was wherever she went, and right now all he wanted was to unravel in each other’s arms and be at home.

“You are the professional on lovely evenings, I’ll hear you out.”

“Would you,” she started, pushing her legs further into his lap, hugging his hips with her heels. “Like to fall in love with me?”

“Our Amnesia game?” Pursing his lips, Elias worked his hand underneath her robe to caress her legs. The Amnesia Game, as they uncreatively dubbed it, was one that he had come up with to keep their relationship satisfied. Being quasi immortal entities facing time, chance, and entropy’s cruel hands together meant that they were ever on the hunt for ways to stay in love. The last time they played the Amnesia game it had lasted months, almost spanning an Amber Era, and oh what fun it had been. The anticipation, the mystique their chemistry invoked, if he could get away with it he’d graft those moments into a movie to play at Penacony’s Golden Hour forever. However, as Reca ruminated on the idea his body was sinking further into the couch, happy to not be moving.

It had been many, long months in Penacony. The infiltration of his alma mater had been his strongest performance yet, and now that it was over all Reca wanted was to be quiet. Not have to breathe a word, just file paperwork, organize his films, and rest. It was hard to keep that boundary when he was welcomed home like this, brought inside like a hero and treated to wonderful sex and a home cooked meal. More than the quiet, more than the mundane aspects of Memokeeping, he missed Black Swan. How magnificent it was, to be adored and yearn for the charming woman, who was guiding his hand to part her bathrobe. Her energy left Reca feeling electrified and raring to do it all over again. To march back out that door and ruin another evil genius. Except he would miss her, if they played. He just wanted a few days at her side, resting against her while she stroked his shoulders and read her books.

Still thoughtful, he watched Black Swan unhook her legs from each other and let one drop to the floor, pulling the robe even further apart. Maybe he would make that one of the rules, Reca smiled now as he watched Ms. Swan’s face twitched and tense to the rhythm of his teasing. “I only want to play for a month,” he mused aloud, leaning her to lie back against the couch. At first she sighed and relaxed, but when his shadow overtook her, Black Swan’s eyes snapped open with disbelief.

“Didn’t you say you were too tired?” She giggled, melting into a cooing sigh as his fingers reached for her lips beneath the robe.

“We don’t have to,” he teased, no longer sure if they were talking about playing the game, or his fingers playing over her body.

“Keep going,” the Memokeeper whispered, her face softening as he obeyed her demand.

“I could be convinced for two months, but no more than that, and I want you to give me hints.” Elias carried on, leaning to sit back on his knees as he pulled her calve to rest on his shoulder.

“Hints, hm?” Black Swan asked, her hands reaching out to wrap around his wrist, encouraging Reca as her spine tightened and her toes curled. With a wave of her hand the coffee table jutted across the room so that they could slip from the couch to the floor. He didn’t answer again until her sighs unfurled and she came apart like a thing that Reca could pick up and read for himself. Until they were left gasping and reaching for the wine, sharing a glass between them.

“Yes, I’ll reward you extra points if you can convince me up onto a rooftop for our first kiss,” he whispered to her, running half damp locks of purple through his fingers, leaving a trail of wet kisses over her neck. “Maybe this is the time I’ll conquer my vertigo.” Languishing in the quiet, he whispered sweet things into her ears, lips tickling her neck and the roots of her hair as Black Swan held him near.

“Rooftop kisses and hints, I can work with that… where would you like us to meet?”

Thinking, Elias snapped his fingers again and the screen mounted on the wall died, casting the pair in blue and green darkness. Together they lay, their fingers searching for the best places to hold one another, reacquainting themselves with how nice it was to be adored like this. “I have an interview at Pier Point about my project, I’ll be there for a week or two, what about then?”

“Pier Point, look at you,” she teased, pushing her hair out of her face. “That makes things easier… What about starting? Maybe we can begin in a few days? I need some time to scheme,” Black Swan added, letting Reca help her off the floor as they drifted to the spiral staircase.

Laughing at how they had to rely on the bannister and rails to climb the staircase, Reca crawled into bed beside her.

“Give me a few more days of this,” he asked, letting her body eclipse him as she pressed herself against his back. Another wanting shudder played down his spine as Ms. Swan’s naked body pressed him, her hips contouring to fit his frame well. Alas, the flesh was in need of a deep slumber. “All of this is exactly what I needed.”

Pushing his bangs from his face, Black Swan kissed his ears until his tiny snores reverberated against her chest. “I can’t wait for you to fall in love with me,” she whispered to him, knowing her voice would reach him deep in that dreamless place. “See you soon, dearest.”

Morning always came too soon when Elias couldn’t fall asleep, he tossed to try and reach for a pillow to block out the cool, chiming ambiance that was his alarm clock. However he had tossed all of them to the floor in his restlessness. Rolling on his back, Reca squeezed his eyes tight before opening them to watch the morning light filter through his bedroom curtains. Pier Point was as contrasting to the Garden as a world of color being reduced to monochrome. Where Elias’ home was always lit up with gorgeous hues cast by the archive of memories, Pier Point was cold and corporate grays and blacks highlighted by industrial apathy. The night before Reca tossed and turned trying to fall asleep in this city of lights, longing for the quiet where he was lulled to sleep by only his breath. Though his bad nights sleep couldn’t be solely blamed on struggling to fall asleep in a new place.

“Good morning, Mira,” he groaned, pressing his palms to his face as around him the room came alive. The bedroom curtains opened slowly, and the alarm’s gentle chiming faded into a pair of talking heads yapping about an electrical storm in the Asdana system. It was harder than he thought, Elias’ head felt top heavy and was the last thing to become vertical as he forced himself up. “Kindly give me the briefing for today’s travel table, and start the coffee.”

With a croak, the Assistant Director powered to life and sent a timetable to the screen in the shower for Elias to read as he began his morning. The IPC’s home planet was a cold place that only really cared for numbers and expansionism, but they knew how to make an exceptional hotel. Little tricks such as these were the ticket to keeping employees happy enough to work to death, and people like Mr. Reca unwilling to challenge their status quo. Stepping out onto the warmed floors of the bathroom, a cup of espresso waited for him as he stared at his naked reflection, where he transferred that data from the table. He felt as awful as he looked, the bags under his eyes were defined while his head and chest pounded as he reached for the bottle of pain relievers to quell this body ache. Squinting to himself as he gulped the pills down, Elias tried to remember if he’d done anything the night before to cause this.

His heart fluttered in his chest with excitement for seemingly nothing, and his head moved between heavy and light as he checked the clock every few minutes. It was a feeling of nerves, that made sense in a way as he would be meeting galactical superstar Owlbert later that morning for his interview. That was something to be nervous about, but that wasn’t something that would make his stomach heavy with nerves and his fingers fidget as he gripped the gray sink. He hadn’t gone to bed drunk the night before, so he couldn’t chalk this feeling up to a hangover. It was like his body was counting down to a secret that was being kept from his mind.

He wanted to walk back into the shower and sit underneath the warm spray for a little while as he waited for relief to come. Fate wouldn’t have that, and Mira was calling for him from the bedroom. “Yes, yes, I won’t miss the train.”

Painkillers did nothing to soothe Elias, who dressed incognito for the purpose of traveling to the IPC Studio. A black suit and pair of sunglasses to block the light from the trains and hide his telltale eyes from any possible fans. Mira hid in his breast pocket, peering over the lip of the fabric to take in the metropolitan surroundings before hiding again. He heard a few whispers as he clung to the overhead railing of the train, but they were easy to ignore. Of course, none of this was actually necessary. Mr. Reca could have requested a personal car be sent for him, and he could ride in style over the bustling tunnel ways and train system. He wanted to do it like this, though. It was good for his perspective to see and experience what every day people like these IPC drones went through. Even though he fumbled with payment to get into the station, and had to track down a station attendant to navigate the different lines, it was charming. Charming and engaging enough to help him forget about this heaviness in his body that was decidedly not the result of poor sleep.

Unlike the rest of Pier Point, the studio had an art deco facade with abrasive bulbs that outlined the edges of the building. The marquis was backlit with bold, black font that read, Today Only! Owlbert’s Live Studio Interview featuring Special Guest Mr. Reca! Even this early in the morning, with still hours to go before his showtime, the line to get into the studio was trying to wrap around the building like an ouroboros. Keeping his head down, the whispers only got louder as he was ushered in the lobby of the recording studio. Inside it boasted plush rugs and comfortable arm chairs. Photographs of prolific idols hung around the front room, looking down on the director as he prepared himself to take a seat, looking for a chance to recline and soothe his discomfort. There was something more to this dull throb, and he wished he had the time to try and understand it. Honestly, it was best that Elias forced himself to ignore it for now, these kinds of things were bad for his nerves.

“You’re right,” he told Mira, dragging his finger affectionately across the frog’s head. “Interview first, we must put on our best performance.”

“Mr. Reca! Welcome to IPC’s Telecommunication Studio,” the receptionist at the front desk stood up to clap her hands together excitedly. “You’re early, would you like to wait in your dressing room?”

“That would be wonderful,” he supposed, dragging his fingers beneath his dark bags as he was taken away. Through the frosted, glass doors she ushered him through hallways that were similarly decorated. More faces and posters beamed down at him, and as Reca passed them he wondered hopefully if he’d be asked to sign his own portrait.

A small flight of artists waited for Elias in his dressing room, where they helped him into colors and textures that were a little more familiar. That made the nerves flatten a bit, seeing himself in something that - compared to these corporate drones - burst with color and life. Most notably, the makeup artist worked wonders to save his complexion. A true talent, he thought admirably as he touched gingerly at the foundation. He would have to take care to not ruin it until he got home that night, Reca damn near felt alive now. Another cup of coffee and a few magazine articles later, a stage assistant knocked and appeared.

“Crew are ready to mic you up, sir.”

Walking through the back stage, Reca caught sight of the house. It was packed to the brim, not a single empty chair was facing Owlbert’s stage.

“Go on, get the shot,” he lingered, pulling his assistant director from his pocket. With a lively croak, Mira leapt from Elias’ hand and she disappeared beneath the heavy curtains. He would enjoy rewatching this interview for himself later in the evening.

“Good morning, good afternoon, and goooooood evening!” A familiar, equally dramatic voice hooted from the stage as Mr. Reca held still, allowing the technician to snap his microphone to his coat collar.

“Break a leg out there,” the crew told him as he fixed himself.

“One of our guests today is a five time winner of the Galaxy Awards, just returned from the set of his latest and hottest production that will be up for consideration this year. Guests from afar, please put your hands together for-” Owlbert’s words were drowned out as the crowd had already begun to applaud and scream.

Exuding confidence, but still thankful for the makeup that concealed his flustered skin tone, Mr. Reca bowed deeply to the audience and walked slowly across the stage. He even stepped off into the House and shook a few hands of the front row guests. It was controlled chaos as they screamed and bounced in their seats, but never rose from them to lay hands on Elias. After he had milked that attention from those rabid fans, he turned and held his arms out as if surprised to see Owlbert waiting before approaching a familiar sofa.

Owlbert rose from his seat to shake the director’s hand before they both took their seats. Mr. Reca was also obviously a fan of the show, and knew just how to sit on the cushions that would make the light fall properly over his shoulders. Resting an arm out across the back of the couch, Reca angled himself to face the host before raising a hand in the air. Waving it and then dramatically closing his fist, like they were well trained performers who had been rehearsing together for months, the studio audience fell silent.

“Very impressive, Mr. Reca,” the host laughed, applauding the director in turn as the man offered a small bow from his seat. “This is your first time on our stage, and yet you command like it was always yours.”

“You know, Owlbert,” Elias laughed, winking to the camera, where Mira was sitting in one of the aisles, completely unseen by the audience members. “Every stage I’m on becomes my stage. Though I thank you for sharing this beautiful space with me.”

Yes it was true, this was his first time on a stage like this, but it was just another performance. Elias was dreading the pounding in his temple that would come from this. None of the pain relievers that he nor the studio offered him had kicked in yet. Knowing that relief would not come, Reca hoped that he could hold his head to nurse his headache in a way that wouldn’t raise questions or suggest disinterest. The crowd ate up his commentary, while Owlbert was impressed and breath taken by their on stage chemistry. Their easy banter made it difficult for the host to naturally pivot to the purpose of that day’s interview.

“Now, Mr. Reca,” the host began, finally finding a pause to catch his breath and wrest control from the director. “I want to turn the scope onto your most recent work, which will be hitting theaters later this month, Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions.” The crowd turned to stare at the director expectantly, a normal person may have buckled underneath the weight of all those eyes. Not he though, as Reca leaned back and shifted his anchorpoint, crossing one leg over the other. “Your newest film follows a young apprentice who has forsaken the path of her master’s, seeking out a colorful - both literally and figuratively - new way of the ninja for herself. While striking out to blaze this trail of hers, old shadows rise up and she must use her new code of honor to defeat them. Tell us a bit about your decision to weave this tale.”

Chuckling to himself, Elias winked into the crowd, where a handful of audience members swooned, believing that the sweet gesture was for them. “It’s quite simple, Owlbert. Why would I deprive anyone of my talent? By expanding into… nuanced genres such as the gritty fantasy of Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions, I can share my talent with even more fans.” Oh, this was too easy, he thought confidently, watching as Mira zoomed in to capture the awe struck expressions of the audience.

“Of course, that’s a generous approach, no one should be denied a good story.”

“Indeed - I recently paid a visit to the Planet of Festivities, Penacony. My alma mater - Paperfold University - was hosting their anniversary celebrations. As I’m sure we’re all aware, the Dreamscape is a frenetic and dynamic culture, ideas echo through the memoria and just a whisper,” he emphasized by leaning forward and dropping his voice, though the microphone captured him. There was a thrilling moment as the audience leaned in too. “Just a whisper of a new idea may ripple and expand into a tsunami, affecting the dreamscape. I witnessed one such ripple while touring as a guest lecturer for the college, ninjas! Wayward warriors who stride over galaxies and systems, an army of one in many cases, chasing the wayward gales of evil. I fell in love with my fellow student’s fascination and determination to forge their own mantra, and what better way to spread my alma mater’s motto, ‘color your dreams, free your ideals’?”

Both the audience and Owlbert ate up his response, and once again he cast his gaze out toward the crowd, where he saw Mira. She had taken a seat pressed up against one of the stairs, that way if a guest were to come down the aisle she wouldn’t be stepped on. Except she wasn’t looking at him, the assistant director was distracted by a member of the audience in an aisle seat. Her lens was zoomed in on the guest’s face, and perhaps most shockingly, the guest was looking back at Mira. Large eyes like an inverted sunset, yellow that drained to black, were staring dreamily down at the frog. Seemingly more interested in that than the once in a lifetime interview she must have paid thousands of credits to be here for. A wellspring of thick, lilac curls poured down her shoulders and back, one lock was being twisted around her finger. It was mind boggling to Reca that this strange woman was aware of Mira, and giving her the light of day that he was entitled to-

“Mr. Reca?” His thoughts burst as the director blinked and returned to the present, with Owlbert leaning against his desk with a cheeky smile. “Didn’t stump you, did I?”

“I- apologies, I was a little star struck by this gorgeous audience,” Elias explained smoothly, and the crowd applauded at his recovery. Notably again, she did not applaud him, instead resting her chin in her hand and smiling dreamily at him. Now why was that the panacea to his discomfort? The knot in his chest loosened at her gaze, but Elias could not allow himself to be taken by this strange occurrence, and forced himself to look back at Owlbert. “Could you repeat your question, dear Owlbert?” Stealing little glances into the crowd, the man couldn’t quite know what it was because he was forced to continue to engage in the interview. All he knew is whenever he had a moment to lay eyes on her, the pain in his body ebbed away. The hour dragged on with only little reprieves when he could look into the crowd and look for her. For his final applause, Reca stood from his seat in hopes to see her in the ovation, but his heart dropped to see her seat suddenly empty. How could she have slipped away? He wondered as his feet were carrying him off stage as music played him out.

The applause continued on even after Reca was gone and his microphone had been taken from his coat.

“Are you alright, Elias?” Owlbert appeared at the director’s elbow after the show, big eyes watching keenly as Reca attempted to swat away the concern. “You got a little spacey in the middle of those questions.”

“No no, everything is fine, you are a wonderful host, thank you once again for having me on,” Mr. Reca clasped their hands together as he bowed once more. “I think I’m still a little travel weary still, I only got into Pier Point yesterday evening.”

“That’s okay, these are things that we can edit in post,” the show host laughed, and laughed even harder when Elias joined in. “You’re more than welcome to rest in the dressing room before your signing.”

“My signing?” The director echoed, doing the mental gymnastics to try and remember if this was part of the invitation. “I… I can’t recall agreeing to that.”

“Oh, well let me find your contract for you,” Owlbert said easily, and like magic produced a tablet, handing it to Elias. “During one of the IPC’s charity events, we hosted a silent auction. You volunteered an additional hour of your time to participate in a meet and greet to the highest bidder. Your time is precious, Mr. Reca, and fetches quite a hefty price I might add.”

“No surprises there,” he mumbled to himself, staring at his flowing signature written on the screen. Thankfully he didn’t doublebook and dispelled the tablet. “I think I will take you up on that offer.” First to find Mira, he thought to himself as he peeked back through the thick curtains to see the studio. It was empty, only the ghost light illuminated the room as the director stepped back onto the stage. His footsteps echoed on the lacquered wood finish, and his shadow was cast long and deathly over Owlbert’s desk.

“Mira,” he called out, his voice carried into the dark. No answer, well, not the one he was looking for. A whisper of fabric and leather squeezing against each other, followed by a familiar croak rose up from the house. Wheeling around, Elias’ body froze and found a pair of exquisite eyes that accompanied beady ones sitting in the stands. With another croak the assistant director jumped down the steps and toward the stage.

“Mira,” a cool voice echoed him, and the woman stayed in her seat. “A fitting name: to look, to see. Very romantic of you.” It was her, the woman who had distracted him during the interview, right where he had seen her. Sitting casually she crossed her leg one over the other, the stretch of her skin tight pants was magnified in the quiet expanse. That purple hair was tied back elegantly now, spilling behind her and down the chair like an avalanche. As if it was planned, the lonely illumination from the ghost light cast her shape in exquisite shadow. Neither of them spoke while Mira hopped to his feet, waiting for him to return her to his place by his heart.

“That’s her… model name.” He had enough of the wherewithal to scoop the assistant director off the ground and hold her in both of his hands as he took a cautious step toward the steps. “You are… I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be here.” Reca admitted, giving the studio another expectant sweep, wondering if anyone would come in here and kick her out for sneaking back onto the set. Wondering if he had enough sway to stop them, because he needed to know who she was.

“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Reca, I’m exactly where I need to be.” The strange woman replied coolly. Reca crossed his arms to seem indignant or impressed, truly though he did it to conceal his shiver. Her voice ran a finger down his spine, making him stand a little straighter.

“Are you a critic?” He squinted at her, watching for her expression to shift. It was a stony one, she had an excellent poker face as she rose from her place in the empty audience to descend the staircase. Goodness was she tall, Reca thought with the clench of his fist against his body as she stepped down to meet him.

“Of course not, Mr. Reca,” the woman assured him, and it took some godly strength for him to stand his ground as she got close. This woman didn’t intimidate him, not one bit, but as her perfume swam into focus and he had to tilt his head backward to stare up at her his legs trembled with adrenaline. Why the sudden fight, flight, or freeze response? “In fact, you could say I’m your biggest fan.”

“I’m flattered, truly,” the director lied, holding a hand to his chest as Mira croaked again. “Then may I ask what my biggest fan’s name is?”

Appearing to think, she pressed a sharply manicured finger to her chin, seemingly not bothered by their striking proximity. Elias liked to think that he was a respectful and mindful gentleman, but could not bring himself to back away from her, even though his neck ached from having to lean back and look up. Maybe it was because of his pride, not wanting to back down from this challenging stranger. Yes, that had to be it. She was audacious and unyielding, she didn’t fluster or flinch at his words or presence. Instead she seemed… amused by him, and that annoyed Reca. Made him want to find what would get on her nerves and tease frustration out of her.

“You may know me as Black Swan,” she seemed to decide, smiling down at Reca as his eyes must have twisted with confusion. A stage name?

“A pleasure to know you, Black Swan,” he bowed, and before he realized it he was kissing the top of her hand. How did that get there? He didn’t remember his brain giving the command to the rest of his body. Still, the gesture went a long way as her illegible face shifted into a warm smile. “I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have an obligation that I need to rest for.”

Her smile remained eerily as Elias let go of her, pulling himself away from her, half wondering if she would try to follow him. In his time as a director, Reca had no choice but to master evading his fan’s attention. He wondered what kind of slip he would have to give her. Did he even want to?

“Of course, we’ll be seeing each other again soon,” Black Swan promised, twiddling her fingers as he gave the mysterious lady one more glance before slipping backstage again.

#hsr mr reca #hsr reca #hsr black swan #honkai star rail #story spoilers #2.6 spoilers #romance #kink play #fanfic #rare pair

13 notes · View notes

transitranger327 · 10 months ago

Text

Sundari Twilight, Chapter 1: Necessary Bonding

This fic was inspired by this art by inzuss. It’s a Barrissoka fix-it au that takes place during Season 5 of The Clone Wars (this chapter takes place after episode 9, “A Necessary Bond”). Read it on Ao3 or below the cut

Notes: Ahsoka has lived thru some shit. And Barriss is an excellent slicer (the Star Wars name for a hacker)

—

The shuttle descended from Coruscanti orbit. “It’s a bit tight for the nine of us,” Ahsoka thought, ”but it wasn’t a long trip.” Obi-Wan had graciously allowed her to fly the younglings back to the temple and skip out on the strategy conference she’d been dreading attending. On account of the frankly messed-up adventure they’d had coming back from Ilum. She wasn’t planning on lording that over Anakin, who hated conferences in much the same way she did, but maybe a younger her would have. One that hadn’t seen two years of constant war, fought off multiple diseases, died and been resurrected by literal Force gods, been hunted for sport and forced into slavery, or just had to protect six younglings from horrors she was barely a match for. At least she now had some free time to decompress and work thru her emotions. She had managed to only sob when the cockpit door was locked and Artoo her only companion. Anakin was probably finishing up making his travel plans and could only offer a few kind words and a short hug. But Barriss…Barriss…she would be there. She had said the trials had given her a lot to think about and she wasn’t deploying immediately. Ahsoka was just grateful to have someone who knew her available to talk. “All right kids, we’re approaching the Temple. Buckle up”

The younglings dashed out into the hangar ahead of Ahsoka, eager to return to their quarters. While many youngling clans kept in touch as they grew older (Ahsoka enjoyed catching up with her clan-mates over meals at the temple), she had a feeling these six would remain close friends for a long time. Bonds forged during crisis always seemed to last longer. That was something the Jedi were rapidly learning during the war, and while tradition dictated to let go of those bonds, she and Anakin had found the trust they had gained with the 501st to be much more useful than orthodoxy. Speaking of, he was standing there in the temple hangar, arms crossed, with the goofy grin he always wore when he was right. “Told you it wasn’t gonna be boring.” While the council tried stressing the Gathering was important or involved more responsibility, Anakin had just said that it wouldn’t be boring. “I’m glad you’re back safe,” he continued, as he gave her a small hug. This was not the same Anakin as the one who was full of stress and frustration when Ahsoka vanished on Felucia months prior. “All thanks to your training, Master.” “No, Ahsoka, you’re learning faster than I’m teaching you. Walk with me and Artoo?”

Master and Apprentice and Astromech walked the halls of the Jedi Temple together. Between the Onderon rebellion and the Gathering gone wrong, Tano had spent a lot of time away from Skywalker. They discussed their changing relationship, how they were becoming closer to partners than student and teacher. “The same thing happened to me and Obi-Wan after Geonosis. Those last few months of my apprenticeship, he trusted me like a brother.” Ahsoka could here the slight bitterness in his voice from Obi-Wan’s betrayal. But he continued, “I foresee those days coming for us too.” So that’s what changed. Maybe Anakin had spent time reflecting on loss. Or maybe he was saying something that he wasn’t sure about and trying to believe it.

“But Master, weren’t you his padawan for a decade? You’ve only taught me for two years.” “Snips, you’re not an ordinary student, and I’m not an ordinary teacher. I’ve learned just as much from you as you have from me. Not to mention Rex, Obi-Wan, Padmé, and all your other teachers.” They really were an odd pair, but Ahsoka wouldn’t want it any other way. “Alright, Artoo and I have a secret briefing here. Take care of yourself.” “I will, Master.”

—

Ahsoka stood at the door to Barriss’s dormitory. While there were some rumors circulating about the two of them being more than friends, visiting fellow Jedi at their rooms was viewed with less suspicion than being greeted by them at an entrance or hangar. And Ahsoka wanted to keep it that way. Not that she felt any shame, but she didn’t want any reprisal from the council. Plo and Obi-Wan would understand, surely, but the rest? She refused to keep thinking like this, and so rang the Barriss’s buzzer. A cheerful voice replied, “enter!”

And there she was. Beautiful pale green skin, soft gentle curves, piercing blue eyes, a finely embroidered hood, kneeling at a small altar. Ahsoka took a seat next to her and reached out: first with her hand, then with the Force. As their fingers intertwined and their spirits touched, Ahsoka let the raging torrent of the Force carry her into the quiet pool Barriss was meditating in. It felt like a spring day on Naboo, the water a touch too cold for Ahsoka’s liking, and a bit of chop from a strong breeze, but it slowly warmed and stilled in her presence. While they had began this practice years ago as group meditation between friends, it had become something much more intimate. A sharing of feelings that transcended the honesty between most other Jedi. Being able to ground themselves in each other had become a fundamental part of their relationship. And so the two Jedi sat there, basking in the presence of each other and the Force. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile when Barriss said, “Welcome back, my love.”

Barriss knew that her love could feel her intentions without words, but she also knew that physical words and touch meant more. While Ahsoka’s spirituality had sharply increased after Mortis, she was still firmly rooted in the material, the tangible. Which is why Barriss wasn’t surprised when Ahsoka planted a soft kiss on her exposed cheek, accompanied with an “I’ve missed you so much.” Oh who was she kidding, she loved hearing it too. She took off her hood, exposing the rest of her head to Ahsoka’s touch. Her hair was a privilege she offered to a rare few. Ahsoka took the invitation and wove her fingers into it as they continued kissing each other.

—

The two Jedi had moved onto Barriss’s bed for more comfortable cuddles. Ahsoka was too tired for proper sex, but they had plenty of time for that later. She had settled for Barriss gently caressing her lekkus while she played with Barriss’s hair, which felt almost as good. “So how did the trials go?”

Barriss grimaced. The trials had been a mixed bag, but in a way that wasn’t obvious to most Jedi. “They were…fine.” She could tell Ahsoka knew what she meant. “With each trial, I grew more sure of myself and less sure of the Order. Everything we’re doing here feels less like doing the will of the Force and more like what’s politically convenient.” Despite knowing her lover would understand, she still felt the need to defend herself. “At one point, I had to mediate a mock dispute, and the correct, just answer wasn’t popular with either side. But isn’t fighting in the war completely at odds with that?”

None of this surprised Ahsoka. Multiple Jedi had made it known they were uncomfortable with being generals and commanders in the GAR, including Barriss. “I don’t disagree. There a lot of people we aren’t helping because they aren’t choosing sides or are actively fighting the Republic. And we should be helping them.”

This, however, did surprise Barriss. Ahsoka was always on the front lines, fighting side-by-side with the clones. Some had even started calling her and Anakin the “Heroes with No Fear”, a beacon of hope for the Republic. “How can you say that and still be fighting in the war?”

A question more people should be asking. “I’ve seen what armies do if left unsupervised. What warlords do when given control.” Ahsoka had to think a moment, trying to explain the certainty she felt about her own calling. “The Separatist Army is led by those who care nothing about sentient life. And if I don’t lead, who will? Tarkin is just as bad as Grievous, in many ways.” She smiled at her girlfriend, “just because it’s where I’m needed doesn’t mean it’s where you are needed.” As much as she wanted to always be side-by-side with Barriss, she knew their callings were different. There would always some distance between them.

“I just wish there was a way to get the council and everyone else to understand that this whole war is wrong.” Barriss wanted, no, needed people to understand her. “Well, I wouldn’t try bombing anything. I’m pretty sure that attack on Coruscant a year back is why we’re still in this war.” “What do you mean?” “The bombing happened during the peace vote in the Senate. After it had already passed in the Separatist Parliament.”

The pieces started falling into place for Barriss. A Separatist attack on Coruscant after they had voted for peace, coincidentally during the Republic vote on it? It was obvious. “Someone is manipulating this war. I need to find out who it is.” Her eyes pleaded with Ahsoka, “can you help me slice into the HoloNet?”

Ahsoka smiled, “Of course, love.”

—

Out of the two of them, Barriss was the better slicer. Her master had always valued intellectual skills, and programming was simply another language that she managed to pick up during her travels. She had mostly asked for Ahsoka’s help in any hardware-related issues, as she was probably the best mechanic in the Order after Anakin. Sometimes slicing required a hardware interface, and Barriss believed in being prepared. As Ahsoka’s head rested in her lap, she began slicing into the secure channels of the HoloNet. Most of them were private senatorial channels, but a few were carrying military information. Barriss tried unlocking them with various password spoofers, but none budged. Writing specific slicing programs for each channel would take a long time, so she prioritized the ones that weren’t routed thru the Temple. She whispered to her girlfriend, “Hey sweetheart, after your nap, can you warm up your soldering station? We need to build a vicepick.”

Half-asleep, Ahsoka mumbled, “sure thing love.” She drifted off to sleep dreaming of circuits and snuggles.

Barriss kissed her partner’s montral and returned to slicing. Her signature 3-part decryptor would do nicely, and writing variations on them was second nature at this point, constantly tinkering in search of perfection. Topping it off, the decoy profile she included was a forged senate page, and the tag style she used would read as first-year academy student. To anyone other than the most experienced slicers, it would look like a senator amateurishly trying to read classified information. That is, if they even looked in the first place.

—

Elsewhere in the Galaxy

Maul woke up from his sleep in a Death Watch camp. “Something has Changed”

#barrissoka #ahsoka tano #barriss offee #anakin skywalker #sw fanfic #sapphic star wars #barriss offee veils #the clone wars #jedi romance #ao3

9 notes · View notes