#like a weird holographic helmet?

[alaskacoolkid1]

Weird olimar design with vocaloid inspo

[luxaofhesperides]

if you give a ghost a trauma: a parody fic

read on ao3.

Danny wishes to be sent someplace he could have a better family. Unfortunately, that lands him in a Gotham where tropes are made reality to the extreme. He really just can't catch a break. (or: a dcxdp parody fic where i make danny the only one able to see how bizarre things are. this does not help him in any way.)

. . .

“We’re gonna get you!” Maddie Fenton, a Bad Parent™ cries as she shoots her gun at Danny, her half dead son.

“No!” he wails, flying around as he dodges the shots. “I wish my parents weren’t trying to capture me for Evil Science Reasons! I wish I had a better family!”

“Lol, done,” said Desiree, snapping her fingers. 

Danny only has time to say Uh-oh before he’s sucked away into a magic portal and spit out into a dark and dreary city. In just the one second he’s there, before he even hits the ground, he hears gunshots, screaming, and the wailing of police sirens. Then he hits the ground and groans, releasing his ghost form to go back to being a human. 

“Where am I?” he asks himself, getting to his feet and looking around. The alleyway he’s in is empty and full of garbage just scattered around. Wherever he may be, it clearly needed to invest more in its sanitation department. 

He spots a fire escape on the side of a building and uses it to climb onto the rooftop, a totally normal course of action. Then he stares at the city, glowing with the street lights and neon business lights and a spotlight with the shape of a bat in it glowing on the clouds. 

“This might as well just happen,” Danny says, “My life is already so weird anyway.”

He stands there for some time, at a loss of what to do next. The wind is cold and brings with it a promise of rain, and from the looks of the dark clouds above him, it’s going to rain soon. Danny needs shelter, fast.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” says someone who snuck up behind him.

Danny shrieks and jumps, nearly going over the edge of the roof.

“Woah!” the person says, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to safety. “That was close!” 

Danny blinks up at his savior, then squints. This guy’s definitely not normal, since he’s wearing a domino mask and a lightly armored black suit with a blue bird emblem stretching across his chest. 

“Way to nearly kill him, Nightwing,” says a new person, dropping down onto the roof from the sky. This new person wears red and black, a pair of bandoliers crossing over his chest. 

“Well, I saved him, didn’t I!”

“Um, hi,” Danny interjects. “Thanks for grabbing me before I fell, but who are you?”

“You don’t know who we are?” blue bird asks rather incredulously.

“Do you think I’m asking just for fun.”

Red and black steps in with a smile. “I’m Red Robin, that’s Nightwing. We’re vigilantes trying to keep Gotham safe.”

Danny makes an educated guess that the city they’re currently in is Gotham. Not a city he’s ever heard before, but what does he know?

“Okay,” he says. There’s really not much else he can say.

“You never answered my question,” Nightwing says. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just fine. No idea where I am or how to get home, but it can always be worse, you know?”

“Did you get lost?” Red Robin asks, pulling a holographic computer up from his wrist. Tucker would kill to get his hands on something like that. Danny wonders if he can get his own as a souvenir. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he replies. Another few gunshots ring out loudly through the streets, closer than they were before. Danny flinches, then ducks down a little, looking back towards the street apprehensively. “Um. You guys gonna do anything about that?”

The two vigilantes shrug, as if that’s an acceptable course of action. And then a hand shoots up and grabs the edge of the roof by Danny’s foot, making him jump in the air. Nightwing catches him yet again and moves him away from the ledge. 

A red helmet, leather jacket wearing guy built like a pro-wrestle hauls himself up the roof easily. There are guns tucked into holsters on his thighs and a red, block bat stuck on his chest. 

“Should I be concerned,” Danny says blankly. 

“Nah, it’s just Red Hood,” Red Robin replies, “The only person he ever tries to kill is me.”

“Cause you’re a replacement. And also, get over it, that was ages ago We’re good now. I haven’t even had a Pit Rage episode in months!”

“So the bullets you shot at me last week were just for fun?”

“Yeah, and they were rubber, so it’s not like you would have gotten hurt.”

Danny takes a few steps closer to Nightwing, hiding behind him. He’s getting bad vibes all around from that guy. 

“Tch,” a new voice says right behind Danny, making him flinch. A young boy with a sword steps out from behind him and joins the crew of vigilantes just hanging out on the roof. “As if he’s even worth that much attention.”

“Hello to you too, Demon Brat,” Red Robin says.

“How many of you are there?” Danny asks. “Don’t you need to like, protect the city?”

“Batgirl and Spoiler are working on it,” Nightwing says.

“We’re doing what?” another voice says, and a energetic blond girl dressed in purple armor hops onto the roof, tucking her grappling hook away. Following her is another person in all black, face fully covered, with stitches covering the mouth portion to make it seem as though they can’t talk. The person leaves the blond girl behind to head straight to Danny, making him take a few nervous steps back. 

“Dead,” she says, poking his chest with a finger.

Is that a threat? It feels like a threat. 

“No?” he tries. 

“What are you talking about, Batgirl?” Red Hood interrupts. “We all know the only dead person here is me.”

Everyone promptly groans, telling him to shut up about it and go one night without mentioning his death. 

Okay, that seems concerning! Is he another halfa? Is he like Vlad? Danny’s going to be so mad if he got dropped into another world directly into the hands of another Vlad. 

“You’re dead?” he asks, leaning away from Batgirl as she pokes him once more. 

“Yeah.”

“Same hat?” Danny tries, squinting at him.

“The fuck?” is the answer, which tells him that he probably doesn’t know what Danny’s on about. There’s still a 6% chance that he’s just lying to make Danny look like a fool, though. 

6% is more than 5%, which means it’s enough for him to just act on instinct and walk right up to the gun-wielding Red hood. He tries to consciously use his ghost sense, which is an odd feeling that reminders him of the moment before he hiccups. 

A light blue mist wafts out his mouth. 

Yep, the rumors are true: this man is dead.

“Once, again,” Red Hood says, “The fuck?”

“Seconded,” Nightwing adds.

“Third!” Spoiler joins in. 

Danny takes a page out of Batgirl’s book and pokes Red Hood’s chest. It’s very solid, only hard muscle, and reminds him a bit of Dan. That’s never a good sign. Something about Red Hood is making his skin crawl though, a sense of wrongness that sets alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. 

“Did you come back instantly when you died?” he asks.

The white lenses of Red Hood’s helmet turn neon green. “Why the fuck are you asking me that.”

“Just checking. The green I’m seeing right now is making me think you’re a halfa.”

“What’s a halfa?” Red Robin interjects.

“An unlucky soul like me,” Danny responds, distracted. He lays his palm flat against Red Hood’s chest. The vigilante holds still, as if frozen, letting Danny do as he please. The ectoplasm he feels in other ghosts is usually calm, made unique by the personality of the ghost it belongs to, but it doesn’t roil and try to hurt the host like the ectoplasm in Red Hood is doing. 

He pulls back and looks around at the circle of vigilantes surrounding him. “Can anyone answer how he came back? Where did he even find this must rotten ectoplasm?”

“Pit,” Batgirl helpfully answers.

“Pit,” Danny repeats. “Like a pit of death? Toxic sludge? Landfill pit gone evil? What am I working with here.”

“Lazarus Pits,” the little one with the sword says. “How do you know about them?” He then pulls out his sword and points it at Danny, ignoring the way Nightwing hisses Robin, no! 

His name is Robin? Isn’t that just Red Robin’s name? Did this Robin have a color added to his name as well? 

“I literally don’t, but if it’s green and weird, then it’s probably ecto.” He turns back to Red Hood. “I’m gonna take care of it now.” And then he shoves his hand into Red Hood’s chest, ignoring the alarmed shouts from the other vigilantes. They try to pull him away, but Danny goes intangible, making their hands fall right through him as he gets a good grip on the ecto, sending his own out in a steady stream to chase the rotten flow towards his hand, then yanks it out. 

It’s green and goopy in his hands, steaming slightly in the air. “Ew,” Danny says. “That’s nasty. You were just living with this inside you?”

Red Hood doesn’t seem to hear him. 

Red Hood takes off his helmet and stares at the rotten ectoplasm in Danny’s hand. Nightwing approaches him cautiously, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Hood? You doing okay? How are you feeling?”

“It’s gone,” Red Hood answers, shocked. “The Pit Rage. It’s gone. I haven’t felt this clear headed since before I died.”

“That must have sucked,” Danny says empathetically, then shakes the nasty ecto off his hand. It lands on the roof with a wet splat. 

Once again: ew.

“How did you do that?” Red Robin asks, crowding into Danny’s space. Batgirl slides up behind him, trapping him between them. 

“Did you not just watch me yank it out? It was easy. Anyways, y’all got jobs to do, and I got places to go. So I’ll see you never!”

He tries to fly away, but only manages to get a few feet before he’s pulled down by multiple people grabbing at him.

“What is going on here,” A low, gravelly voice demands. Yet another vigilante appears, gliding out of the shadows. This one is much bigger than everyone else, cloaked in darkness, with a helm that has two little ear things poking out on top. 

“Batman,” Robin says, “This meta cured Hood of his Pit Madness.”

“I see,” Batman replies, looking Danny over. “Are you an orphan?”

What the fuck. Who just asks that?

“No.”

“Are your parents well?”

“Sure? My mom was pretty energetic while shooting at me before I came here.”

“You do not have to be unsafe in your home again,” Batman says, grabbing something out of his tactical fanny pack. “You can live with us instead.”

He holds out fucking adoption papers.

Danny backs up as fast as he can, shaking his head. “Oh, no! No you don’t! I did not trade one fruitloop for another!”

“No new brother?” Batgirl asks sadly. 

“Definitely not,” he insists. “No thank you! I’m fine as I am and fully plan on going home.”

Batman frowns. “You said your mother was shooting at you.”

“Yeah, and? The food in our fridge comes to life every meal and we have to fight it. This is normal for us. Chill out and put those papers away.”

The entire crew of vigilantes seems very put out with Batman obligingly puts the adoption papers away. 

“Yeah, I’m done here. Go back to protecting the city. I’m just gonna… go.”

Danny doesn’t wait for them to say anything else before flies away, remembering to go intangible this time. He soars through the polluted streets of Gotham, weaving between tall buildings made with dark stone and decorated with gargoyles. It’s all very dark and dreary, which means Sam would love it.

She would not be loving the pollution, though. Danny certainly isn’t. 

“I wish I could go home,” he says loudly, looking up at the sky expectantly. 

No magic portal appears to yoink him back. 

“I wish I was at home again, and not here!”

Desire does not appear to help him out. She leaves him stranded in Gotham, pouting at the sky until he gives up and flies down to sit on a new roof and angst about his situation. Hopefully this time a gaggle of vigilantes won’t bother him.

Resting his head against his hands, he sighs. Then again, and again, loudly. “Man, this sucks,” he says to himself.

“What’s got a kitten like you so down?” someone says behind him.

“I’m so tired of random people sneaking up behind me on rooftops,” he informs them without turning around. If they wanna talk to him, they gotta got to him, not the other way around.

“Ah, ran into the Bats, did you?”

They’re called Bats? But only two were Bats. None of the other vigilantes fit the theme. That’s just lazy and inconsistent. They should rebrand to something better.

The person walks over and sits down next to him. Danny glances over and is startled to find a woman in a leather body suit, with a hood that has cat ears and googles with an orange tint. 

…Is everyone in this city just dressed strangely at all times? Is this the normal fashion of Gotham?

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare. Who are you?”

The woman laughs. “Oh, so you haven’t heard of Catwoman?”

“Nope. No clue who you are.”

“Well,” she purrs, “A pleasure to meet you. I’m a thief.”

The dots connect in his mind. “Like a cat burglar!”

“Yes, like that.”

“Man, this city is wild and I come from a place that deals with ghosts on a daily basis.”

“So what are you doing in a place like this? Gotham isn’t kind to newcomers.”

Danny sighs, yet again, and tilts his head back to look up at the cloudy, starless sky. “I made a dumb mistake and got sucked into a magic portal that spit me out here. I have no clue how I’m going to get home.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

He glares at Catwoman. “I’m not open to being adopted. I’ll just eat any papers you send my way.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she reassures, “I have no interest in being a mother. But I have a spare bedroom if you need it, and I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few tricks of the trade. It’ll be fun, messing with Batman.”

Ah, so she’s doing this for Trickster Reasons. Danny can respect that. 

And he also doesn’t have any other options. Considering how much gun violence and general violence he’s hearing in this city, he’ll probably be killed an embarrassing number of times just from trying to find a place to sleep on the streets for one night. Between cold, dangerous streets with storm clouds hanging heavy over his head or a guest bedroom in the home of a thief with a theme, there’s really no choice.

“If you don’t mind me hanging around, I’d really appreciate having a place to sleep until I figure out a way home.”

“Come along, then! I was just about to turn in for the night.” Catwoman stands up, stretches, then takes hold of the whip on her waist and snaps it out. She takes a running leap off the building, then throws her whip out to wrap around a billboard to swing across the street. 

Danny watches her go, then follows her lead, flying behind her, ready to catch her just in case. But Catwoman moves with ease, clearly experienced in recklessly moving through the streets, and makes her way to a highrise apartment with no trouble at all. 

They land on a balcony just as the sky rumbles with ominous thunder. Another second later, and the clouds open up and heavy rain begins to fall. 

Catwoman throws the door open and they both scramble to get inside before they get drenched. The lights flick on, revealing a stylish modern apartment, filled with art pieces and ornamental bonsai trees. A few quiet cries come from corners of the room, and then cats appear, one after another, moving around Danny’s legs curiously before turning to Catwoman. 

“That was a close one,” Catwoman says conversationally as she takes off her hood and googles, revealing her face. Her pixie cut is messy and her eyes are bright and sharp, just like a cat’s. “I suppose since we’re going to be working together from now on, that we properly introduce ourselves.” She holds out a hand for to shake. “Selina Kyle. I look forward to the trouble we’ll cause together.”

Danny stares down at her hand, then takes hold of it. Looks like he’s going to be a thief! Well, it’ll be a fun story for later. 

He doesn’t want his name attached to his new life of crime, though. And, he figures, this is a fresh start. New life, new name. There’s one that pops into mind immediately, and he latches onto it, ready to step into the world of crime. 

“Call me Neal Caffrey,” he says, shaking her hand. “I’m ready to start when you are.”

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Infinite Earths...

John's eyes, hidden behind the reflective visor of his helmet, were fixed on a dazzling display of multiverse theory made real—a holographic atlas showcasing endless Earths. Some were like twins of their own, others more like distant cousins twice removed and adopted by aliens.

The light from the hologram threw weird shadows across his armor, making it look like he was wearing a disco ball instead of Mjolnir armor. That might've been funny if the situation weren't so mind-bogglingly complex.

"Quite the galactic pick-n-mix, huh?" Linda-058's voice cut through the silence. She had a way of sneaking up on him, despite her own clunky Spartan gear—though hers hummed faintly with new, somewhat eerie Forerunner powers. It was like she brought a bit of a sci-fi thunderstorm wherever she went.

John made a small adjustment to the image, zooming in on a particularly bizarre Earth covered in what looked like fluorescent pink and green stripes. "Each one’s an Earth," he said, his voice deep and matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining the offside rule rather than infinite worlds. "Some you wouldn't recognize without a label. That one’s been swallowed by an ocean. This one's in a permanent ice age."

Linda leaned closer, the blue and green reflections dancing over her visor as she studied the kaleidoscope of planets. "Which one's got the best beaches?" she joked before pointing to the most ordinary looking of the bunch. "And what about that one? Center stage?"

"Earth-Prime." John explained, pointing at the globe that looked like someone had taken their Earth and cranked up the drama and the decay. "That’s where I’m an old man—fifty. It’s a gritty place; hope’s a bit of a rare commodity."

Linda's helmet tilted, the universal Spartan 'I'm thinking' pose. "And where are we in this grand cosmic soap opera?"

"Earth-2163," John said, shifting to show their own blue and green gem in the sea of chaos. "Younger, a bit more hopeful... Ever wonder if it makes what we do less meaningful? Knowing there are infinite versions of us making different choices, fighting different fights?"

Linda took a moment, her gaze still fixed on the myriad of Earths spinning before them. It was a heavy question—one of those ‘3 AM staring at the ceiling’ types. "I guess it could make you think we’re just another rerun in an endless season of possibilities. But," Linda added, stepping beside John, her voice earnest yet carrying a hint of her usual dry wit, "if every choice spins out a new thread, then what we do isn't just a drop in the ocean. It's the entire ocean in a drop. Our choices matter here, John. Now. To these people. On this Earth."

"Yeah," Linda agreed, punching his arm lightly—the Spartan version of a gentle pat. "Besides, if we start second-guessing our choices because somewhere there’s a 'you' dressed as a ballerina, we’ll never get anything done."

John laughed—a rare sound in the Spartan repertoire. "Now that’s an Earth I’d pay to see."

[correctrvbquotes]

The Red soldier is brought to a room with several large view screens with various displays on them, the Counselor's face appears on the screen in the center of them.

Counselor: Thank you gentlemen, would you please excuse us?

The two soldiers walk away, leaving the Red soldier in the room.

Counselor: You are Private Walter Henderson, correct?

Henderson: Yes, sir!

Couselor: You can dispense with the formalities, Walter. Please feel comfortable to speak as candidly as you wish. Can you tell us what happened at your outpost, Walter?

Henderson: Yes, sir-ah, yes. I had been there about six months. Everything was pretty much like normal and one day this... ship... crashed.

Counselor: I see. Is this the ship to which you are referring?

A holographic representation of the downed transport ship appears.

Henderson: Yeah. Yeah that's it.

Counselor: Please, tell me what was on the ship, Walter.

Henderson: I don't know. The Blues got there first. They fought us off while they cleared it out. Took the stuff back to Base. By the time we got a hold of it, it just seemed like a regular old transport. Our engineer said some of the wiring had been messed with but he didn't seem, you know, worried about it or nothing like that.

Counselor: I see. Thank you for that.

Henderson: But whatever was on the ship, must have been what started the whole thing.

Counselor: Please, Walter, define "thing."

Henderson: The infection. The Blues just stopped fighting us. Some of them set up camp outside their base and trapped the rest of their team inside; blew up their comm tower for some reason. Their own comm tower... Then they blew up ours. That's why we couldn't radio for help, we couldn't figure out why they would do that. After that, nothing. No word from them at all. The CO sent a squad over... all the Blues were dead. They had killed each other.

Counselor: Why do you think they did that?

Henderson: I don't know. They had torn the radios out of their helmets and dismantled their computers. The CO said they were trying to build something... but I saw all the stuff, no way! They were trying to break it. And there was another body in there too. Not a Blue, somebody else. Actually, she looked like him.

Henderson looks over to a grey clad soldier standing in the corner.

Counselor: Don't worry about him for now, Walter. Please, continue.

Henderson: We brought all the equipment back to base and brought it online. And that's when the infection started for us.

Counselor: The soldiers became... sick?

Henderson: No. They just... they were different. Off. We would catch guys getting into areas they shouldn't get into. But the weird thing was, a guy would go crazy, act up, and then we would throw him in a cell, and he would be fine. Then another guy would go nuts, disobey orders. Like trying to bring the comm tower back online even though we were told to leave it be. Maybe they knew it was coming.

Councilor: They knew what was coming?

Henderson: At first we thought it was help. It ransacked Blue Base, searched all the bodies... then it came after us. Seemed focused on the guys that were infected. Eventually, it just started killing everything.

Counselor: Could you describe it for us, Walter?

Henderson: Not really. It moved fast, when we first saw it, and after Blue Base it was... it was different.

Counselor: In what way, different?

Henderson: It looked... like it wasn't there. I don't know how to explain it.

Counselor: That's alright. I know this has been difficult for you Walter. We're going to do everything we can to help you.

Two soldiers in grey walk up behind Henderson

Counselor: Please, follow these men to your new quarters. You'll be with us as long as absolutely necessary. You have my word.

Henderson follows them out of the room

[doom-nerdo-666]

A post about HUD's in Doom

(Comparison image by JackOfPhoenix on r/Doom, which is from 2019)

A complaint people had over Eternal is how glossy and weird the HUD looked like.

id Software wanted to create a HUD with a huge emphasis on feedback and for better or worse, that explains the direction they went with.

Some say they prefer how 2016 and Quakecon reveal for Eternal had a more "fitting" HUD because it displays the UI information from the helmet.

But now that i think about it: What is the best Doom HUD?

Because it seems most Doom HUD's are usually simply and the most iconic one is the classic one.

Its most iconic feature is the moving Doomguy face but there's more to consider like the info it displays.

Even then, it's mostly a solid series of rocks with numbers and Doomguy's face in the middle.

Other classic FPS games had more visually interesting HUD's with different themes and features:

(Lazily taken from Google images but: Heretic, Exhumed/Powerslave, Marathon and Shadow Warrior)

But i think in general, modern videogames have bland UI/HUD design as if it was a lost art in modern times.

In fact, here's some random examples coming from Resident Evil, Guilty Gear and Oddworld (Again taken from Google images):

It's no wonder Elden Ring's UI sparked controversy to the point it even bothered actual game developers who kept throwing around words like "user experience".

(And you look at the games they make and it's that flat, simple minimalistic style with no personality lol)

Meanwhile, Doom modding led to fans have their fair share of creative HUD's.

A common type is the "helmet" HUD where it tries to feel like it's inside Doomguy's helmet and shows holographic elements with the information.

But mods with something like original characters will end up having more stylish or unique HUD's.

Then you have mapsets and wads that get creative with the format introduce by classic Doom itself (Thread below is a good example and source of this image).

Meanwhile, this is D2RPG's hud: Notice the use of actual objects like the green armor and switch and "material" textures compared to the style in D3, 2016 and Eternal (Almost like the opposite).

And then there's this early Doom HUD with a "inside helmet" idea but using screens instead of holograms (A reminder of how low-tech Doom's setting was).

Then there's the recently revealed early D2016 HUD with the soldiers on each corner of the new UAC logo triangle: It was clearly more complex and ambitious than what we got in the final release.

I can see that these kinds of HUD/UI's and presentation is hard to pull off and takes so much effort that even in the final release, there could be weird issues.

With how the industry works, videogame UI design got simpler for the same reason as game logo titles or even cover box art.

Either way, maybe this post could have been better and even have better done research but at least it's food for thought.

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part 8 - Recovery)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery

This one is over 4600 words to the point I considered cutting it in half. But lots happens so I’ve posted it whole. Now I just need to play catch up because I had a crappy couple of weeks and now I’m only about 500 words ahead of this. I have a few days off coming up, so wish me luck :D

As always, many thanks to the amazing @janetm74​ @scribbles97​ @tsarinatorment​ @vegetacide​ and science officer @onereyofstarlight​ You guys have helped me make this what it is. I so hope you are enjoying it.

For the first time in this story, I’ve slightly gone off plan and have had to add in a chapter because of it. Here’s hoping I can keep this going. We are now at 35,000 words which is approximately halfway.

Warnings: some whump.

Thank you for all your support with this fic. I doubt I could do it without all the cheerleading and support. You guys are just amazing ::hugs you so much::

Enjoy!

-o-o-o-

Jeff Tracy was a man of action and drive. Eight years in the depths of space had eroded the edges of his impatience, but hadn’t eliminated it.

So, sitting in Callisto Base watching his family work and not having anything much to do wasn’t in the best interests of his mental health.

But what could he do?

He had set up a kind of mobile control despite not being in control of anything. John had linked him into everything and he and Lee had pretty much taken over one of the command centres of the Base.

Grae hovered the entire time.

Jeff watched the well-oiled machine that was International Rescue with no small amount of pride. He watched them track down the lifesigns, survey the site, drill extra access, deploy Thunderbird Four and-

��Gordon!”

“Guys, get out of there! Now!”

The holographic image of the lake swelled and swept his sons away.

Jeff was on his feet without thinking.

Three of the five life signs on the strategy map darted erratically, one coming to an abrupt stop against the cavern wall, while the two others travelled some distance up the main tunnel before stopping suddenly.

“Thunderbird Five!”

“Please hold.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “John!”

Data was suddenly thrown at his terminal. His sons’ vitals sprung up and he was relieved to find them all strong. A sitrep appeared a moment later tracking where the wave had come from, probabilities of a recurrence, a site safety scan and a feed from the Dragonfly Pod.

Its lights were still on, one shining at an angle across the tunnel it had landed in, the other reflected back a glare of white and a blue as beautiful as an Earth sky in the early evening.

The first one explained why.

One of the Dragonfly’s legs was sticking up out of a solidified white mass.

Of ice.

The math added up in his head very abruptly and he was suddenly moving.

It was a sign that Lee and he still had that unspoken communication as the engineer didn’t even ask and just moved with him, following his mad run to the hangar without a word.

Alan and Gordon had left the second Dragonfly pod at the Base and Jeff was ever so grateful.

“What’s…where are you going?” Grae’s eyes were wide as they all skidded to the side of the pod.

“Three of my sons are buried in ice. Where do you think I’m going?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, climbing up into the cockpit with a leap of agility he hadn’t felt for years. With a nod from Lee, he snapped the hatch shut and grabbed controls he hadn’t used outside of a simulator in over a decade.

It was like returning home.

The Dragonfly took off for the airlock far above as the doors began their opening sequence without request.

-o-o-o-

John reacted the way he always reacted.

Without thought. There was no time for thought.

Hands moving across his console dragged as much information as he could from the static-fouled scans.

He blinked as the interference cleared somewhat.

A worried plea from his father John had no time for. A flick of his wrist and he mirrored his sources to his father’s terminal.

All three of his brothers had come to a halt. Gordon was still in the cavern, Four slammed up against a wall. Scott and Virgil were in the tunnel. Vital signs were still good, but there was no response from any of them.

No matter how much he yelled into comms.

One of the beacons had been swept away, causing the interference to intensify in that area, but the readings he had added up to a scenario that echoed past hell.

His father was already moving.

“John?” Alan’s voice was professional but sported an edge of terror.

“I’m coming down, Thunderbird Three.” He grabbed his helmet. “Dad is on his way out there. Do we have enough parts for a third Dragonfly?”

His brother’s voice solidified with the plan of action. “Yeah, Virg overcompensated as always. He packed stuff in as if he was planning to stay out here for a couple of years.”

John didn’t answer that. “Assemble another pod. I’ll see you down there asap.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

“Eos, align the Excel with the danger zone. Initiate elevator deployment.” He flung himself through his ‘bird. “I need as much information as you can give me. Relay on descent.”

“Yes, John. It appears that the water volume of the lake increased dramatically before the incident, but has now returned to its previous status.”

John slipped through the airlock to the elevator. He hit his comms. “Michael, there has been an incident. I am going down to the surface. You have the Excel.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five. I will monitor.”

“Liaise with Eos.” He killed the connection as he entered the cockpit, his seat rotating towards him in welcome. “Eos, be nice.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Too bad. We need him.”

She grumbled in a way reminiscent of Virgil before coffee.

Maybe she had been taking notes.

He ignored it. “Send all information to my terminal here.” The elevator shuddered as it disengaged from Five and began its descent. The cockpit lit up with holograms.

He eyed the replay of the static-riddled scan as the lake swelled and overcame his brothers.

Four had been swept out of the water and washed ashore violently. Scott and Virgil, standing on that shore, hadn’t stood a chance.

One gloved hand reached up to poke the playback, pause and rewind. There had been a local seismic disturbance just before, epicentre to the north-east by a few hundred metres. Minor on an Earth scale, but since Callisto supposedly hadn’t had any major crustal movements in eons, it was unusual in the extreme.

“Eos, pull the Base seismic records. Have they detected anything like this before?”

The elevator’s thrusters fired as it hit the faint atmospheric boundary.

“Their system has recorded several incidents, but nothing of this magnitude.” Eos’ voice shifted to one of concern. “Incidents have been increasing recently. There have been three in the past month. John, one was recorded by the Base system the same day as the five members of their crew disappeared.”

“What? Why wasn’t that mentioned?”

“Unknown.”

He stared at the scan. “Do we have any source for more water to reach the lake?” It hurt his physics sensibilities. Water should not exist as a fluid in this environment at all.

“None within sensor range.”

Damnit. He was used to being able to see everything.

“Deploy a net of probes. I want everything in a ten thousand kilometre radius as crystal clear as you can get it.” If there was a pun in there, he refused to acknowledge it.

“Yes, John. That will cover the entire surface of the moon.”

“Exactly.” Something weird was happening here and he wanted to know what. If he had to throw everything Thunderbird Five had at it, he would.

The elevator thrusters fired again and the moon appeared around his windows, followed by the striking red of Three.

“Alan, are you ready?”

“Pod assembled, Thunderbird Five. Awaiting your orders.” There was no tremble in his brother’s voice, but there was an anxious impatience.

The elevator touched down with a soft thud. Eos’ control was perfect. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You are welcome, John.” A pause. “Be safe.”

His lips tightened a little. “FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

She didn’t answer as he stepped out onto the moon.

-o-o-o-

Alan didn’t remember his mother, but he had four brothers who did and he knew far too well the pain of what had happened when she was taken from them.

The fact that three of those brothers were now buried in the space-ice equivalent of an avalanche was absolutely terrifying.

The water had managed to travel some distance before solidifying and trapping everything. As far as Alan could tell, his brothers were encased in ice.

If they had been on Earth their lives would be in peril. In space, they were at least wearing their spacesuits. But spacesuits could be damaged.

He didn’t let himself follow that train of thought. He couldn’t afford it right now. Instead, he followed procedure.

That was what procedure was for.

It was a matter of minutes before John was stepping off the space elevator, his tall brother as confident and professional as ever.

Part of Alan was still surprised when John directed him to take control of the pod. Perhaps it was because Alan was used to the control freak habits of his two eldest brothers?

“Get us down there Alan.” John was distracted, glaring at his wrist projector.

He didn’t need to be told twice. With John secure in the backseat, Alan threw them down the gaping hole his ‘bird had dug, through the mole’s extension and into the dry cavern below.

The dragonfly latched onto the beacons and they darted down the correct tunnel, glittering rock streaking past them as their twin beams of bright light hit everything.

Including the mass of white that that suddenly swelled up on one side of the tunnel.

It wasn’t quite a wave, more a slosh of water, frozen in motion.

“What the hell?”

“Edge down the tunnel a little further, Scott is...” But they were already there and the flash of blue and red was obvious.

His eldest brother was embedded in the ice halfway up the wall. Alan only had breath as he yanked the dragonfly to an abrupt halt, her claws leaving gouges in the ice. “Scott!”

He was out of the pod as fast humanly possible.

One of his brother’s arms was dangling free and Alan reached for it. “Scott?”

Limp, gloved fingers.

John already had a hand laser out and the red of its beam was cutting ice in a loose silhouette of their brother’s body. As they worked him free, bits of ice fell away to the floor. It was fragmentary. Somewhere between solid and hard packed snow. The water had obviously frozen so quickly, it was aerated enough to stiffen fully.

Fortunately, because Alan had the sudden realisation that spacesuits or no, if his brothers couldn’t expand their ribcages, they couldn’t breathe regardless. The sudden relief sprouted new terror.

John helped Alan lower their big brother to the floor.

“Sc…Scott?”

For a second, Alan thought it was John speaking, but his astronaut brother answered, voice urgent. “Virgil?”

No response.

“Thunderbird Two, status!” John was moving, long legs leaping in the low gravity, propelling him back to the pod. He reached inside and pulled out a large torch. “Alan, attend to Scott.” And then his brother was running further down the tunnel, light bouncing ahead of him, holographic map hovering over his wrist.

A further spark of terror was smothered in Alan’s brain as he turned back to his prone and unconscious eldest brother and began chipping and melting ice to free him.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was lying flat on his back staring at white lit up by his helmet lights.

It took him a few solid minutes to realise exactly what he was looking at. His brain felt sluggish and was hurting like hell. He really needed more painkillers.

He automatically tried to calculate how long it was since his last dose and came up blank. There was time missing.

This realisation was quickly followed by the discovery that he wasn’t able to move.

God, his brain was slow. The first thought that came to mind was that yet another building had fallen on him. It happened far more often than he was willing to admit.

But then where was his exosuit?

He blinked slowly.

One arm was caught at an awkward angle and was protesting its position. His legs seemed to be splayed out evenly, though and his other arm seemed happy enough. Hell, there wasn’t really even much weight on him. He had definitely had worse.

But his chest was tight and breathing shallow. Something had him in its grip and he had to force down the visuals that came with that.

Not being able to move always sucked.

He really wished his head would stop hurting.

“Sc..Scott?” It was instinctual. In trouble, call for his big brother.

Need a hand.

“Virgil?” John’s voice. Johnny had the power to call Scotty, to get him help.

He opened his mouth to answer, but something shifted in the ice...ice...it was ice! Memories slammed into him of ice and snow and trapped and oh god...his sluggish brain couldn’t handle it.

“Thunderbird Two, status!”

John’s voice shook him.

Um, um…his heart was beating a mile a minute. He fought for control.

“Virgil? Son?”

Dad.

His father’s voice set off both relief and fear. Relief because of a deep-seated trust in his own father.

Fear because where was Scott? Scott should be here.

But Scott had been with him when the whatever had hit him.

Had hit him.

Water.

Space.

Callisto.

Sparkling crystal flickered in his mind’s eye.

“Scott?”

“Your brother is in good hands.”

Even his sluggish brain could see that as a non-answer. “Dad?”

“We’re digging you out.”

Oh.

As if to emphasize that statement there was a red flash and the world around him hissed. He closed his eyes as the light stabbed into his hurting head.

“Dad? Gordon?”

“Nearly there, son.”

Virgil’s heart clenched.

They uncovered his head first and Virgil teared up at the sight of his father’s worried expression above him. John was there as well, darting in and out of sight, obviously the source of the laser light.

“Johnny…”

There was a crack in the ice.

Ice.

His mind blanked in terror again.

Too many memories.

Far too many.

“Virgil! Look at me!” Dad’s voice held command and he had no choice but to obey. “You are safe.” His hand was being held and Virgil realised it had been cut from the ice. He tried to move his other arm, every heavy-lifting muscle he had straining against its restriction.

Another crack of stressed ice, a yelp from John and Virgil’s arm was suddenly free, ice fragments raining down on him.

Encouraged, he began working on his feet.

“Virgil, stay still just a moment longer.” John’s voice was strained.

Virgil wanted out.

“Virgil.” His Dad grabbed his flailing hand forced him to look at him, grey eyes reflecting the white ice. “Hold still, John is cutting you out.”

Yes, John was cutting him out. Red flickered amongst the white. Virgil swallowed and attempted to get the panic under control and found that he was trembling.

Damn.

He was a rescue operative. He should be calm.

The remaining weight on his belly was removed and he was finally able to take a deep breath.

It helped ever so much.

He closed his eyes and sought his centre.

And fell back on procedure.

If Scott was down, International Rescue was now his responsibility. He needed to be in control.

In control.

By the time John lifted the remaining ice off his legs, Virgil had found himself again. He clambered out of the ice as fast as he possibly could and shot to his feet.

And nearly fell flat on his face for the effort.

His father grabbed him and prevented his fall. “Virgil, sit down.”

There was a flicker of a medscanner, but Virgil was too busy assessing the situation to care. “Scott?”

“With Alan. Unconscious, but safe.”

“Gordon?”

“Still in the cave. Thunderbird Four is silent. I sent Lee. John is following him down.”

Damn. Virgil shook the last of the ice stuck to his uniform, straightened his baldric and took a step towards the direction of the cave, but was halted by a firm grip on his arm.

“You’re not going down there.”

Virgil spun on one foot and the world in all its glittering glory spun with him. “Gordon is down there.”

“John and Lee have him. You were buried in ice, Virgil.”

To his ultimate shame, Virgil shuddered at the concept.

But Gordon...

That grip on his arm tightened. “You’re coming with me.”

Virgil straightened, forcing steel into his spine. “With Scott unconscious, I am in command. I need to be down there.”

“No, you don’t.” His father took a step back up the tunnel, obviously intending to drag Virgil if he had to.

Virgil was no longer the scrappy kid who wanted to play with his paints instead of cleaning his room, and he stood fast.

His father had been in space a long time and his strength had paid the price.

There was no competition.

Buried in ice or not.

“Dad, I am going down to help with Gordon. Scott needs you. I’ll meet you up there the moment Gordon is safe.”

The need to be in two places at once, or more correctly four places, at least, was a common feeling Virgil had to ignore.

Gordon was the priority.

“I need an analysis of what happened. There was a wave. Why? See to Scott and Alan.” He reached up and gently peeled his father’s grip of his arm. “Thank you for helping me. Now I have to go help my brothers.” Turning he hit his comms, asked John for a sit rep and hurried down the tunnel.

He did not look back.

-o-o-o-

Scott had a headache.

That was the first hint of reality and not a new one in his life. He often woke with headaches, the only remaining question was what caused it this time.

“Hey, Scott, are you with us?”

Alan.

Several factors hit home at once. He was wearing his helmet, hence his uniform and Alan, only Alan, had said his name.

Mission.

He was sitting up before his brain had filled him in on the fact he was millions of miles away from home and gravity was a whole different thing on Callisto.

“Whoa!” Hands grabbed him. Hands that definitely belonged to Alan. The astronaut was crouched over him with worried eyes. “Take it easy. You might have a concussion.”

Head injury then.

“Mission status.”

“John’s gone after Gordon. Virgil is awake and out of the ice.”

Gordon. Gordon had been in the water. The weird water.

The very idea of Virgil being buried in ice again awoke horrors he did not want to face.

“Help me up.” Scott rolled himself over, ignoring the protests from his brother to stay put. His head protested very loudly and it became very apparent that the supposed head injury was not impressed with any movement.

Ow.

But, mission.

“Scott, what are you doing?” Another set of hands grabbed at him, which was probably a good thing because he was going down if they hadn’t. As it was, the whole world shifted as he was forcibly lowered to sit on the white, white ground again.

There was a flicker of yellow light and muttering from his youngest brother. “We need to get him back to base.” Alan’s voice was worried.

But Gordon. “I’ve got to go help Gordon.” He tried to stand up again, but too many hands held him down. His shoulders were grabbed and he found a pair of grey eyes staring at him. “Dad? Gordy is in danger.”

“I know son. John, Lee and Virgil will see to him.”

Virgil. He blinked. “Virgil was with me!” Again he struggled to get up.

His father held him down. “Virgil is very determined that he is fine. You, however, are not. You have a concussion. I will take you back to the Base and you will rest. Alan will help his brothers.”

“But-“

The hands on his shoulders squeezed. “Do I have to ask Virgil to reinforce that order?”

Virgil? Order? God, his head hurt.

But this was Dad. Dad knew what to do in space. Dad was...Dad was...

“Scott, you with me?”

He was shaken just a little and his head hated him for it. A groan and his hand encountered his helmet. Augh.

Space sucked.

“C’mon, Scotty, let’s get you into the pod.” Alan’s voice was gentle and professional. He was so proud of his little brother. “Yeah, well, I learnt from the best. Up you get.”

He was pulled slowly to his feet and he had to bite down or lose whatever the hell it was he had eaten last. There were steps and then he was sitting and familiar restraints were holding him in place.

He closed his eyes.

Gordon. He had to help Gordon.

“Your brothers will help him, Scott, you know that.”

But-

His world shook as the pod lifted. He glimpsed the back of his father’s helmet. Dad. Dad was driving. Dad had control.

He could let go.

-o-o-o-

Alan swallowed as their father launched the pod back down the tunnel, its headlights sparkling.

He had reported Scott’s status the moment they had the medscanner’s results and had received a very abrupt acknowledgement from Virgil.

It was unusual to have Virgil in command in space. It wasn’t his native environment and he didn’t venture into it very often. It, of course, wasn’t the first time, and Alan trusted Virgil with his life. But this was Alan’s turf, he needed to be there to help.

He leapt into the remaining dragonfly and dashed off down the tunnel.

It got tighter and tighter as he flew closer to the Crystal Cave, his access blocked by frozen lake water. For a moment he thought he was going to have to abandon the pod, but he was just able to squeeze through the entrance.

The lake was exactly as it had been. Calm and glittering in the pod’s headlamps. He turned slowly on the rocky beach to find Four, free of ice, jammed up against the wall beside the tunnel entrance. She was on her port side, cabin rammed into the rock.

Alan’s heart clenched as he set the dragonfly down.

Both John and Virgil along with Uncle Lee were attempting to gain access via the rear hatch. The ‘bird was made for water, but on the very rare occasion such as this, Brains had built space capable redundancies into her airlock.

How many submersibles in this universe were also space capsules in disguise?

But all this was redundant if the seals had been compromised.

A quick query of Thunderbird Five reassured Alan that Gordon’s vitals were still strong. There was still no response from their fish brother, but he was alive and relatively stable and Four reported no seal ruptures.

Yet.

Virgil grunted as the back of Four was slowly cranked open. Uncle Lee and his engineer brother were putting all their muscle into heaving the hatch open while John slipped into the vehicle.

A moment later the door was shoved shut again and Alan was surprised to see Virgil seal it with a hand laser.

Tired eyes caught Alan’s. His brother didn’t need to explain why he was doing what he was doing.

“Inner airlock door is now compromised.” John’s voice was calm and sure despite the subject matter. “Proceeding to the cockpit.”

Alan stared at Virgil a moment, caught by his haggard expression before hurrying around Four towards her belly viewports.

All he could see was Gordon’s feet. No matter how he shone his hand light through those windows, he could see nothing more. Gordon’s pilot’s seat obscured everything.

For it to be in that position it had to have been severed off its mountings.

Hell.

Determined, Alan scrambled around Four’s nose and tried to find her front viewports. Everything was obscured by rock.

Crystal glittered mockingly at him, an almost scarlet chunk of quartz sticking out of the wall and falling over as if it was reaching for Four.

Alan fought the urge to shove it away from his brother’s ‘bird.

“Cockpit hatch is non-operational. Eos, relay through my suit sensors and give me a detailed report on Gordon’s position.” John’s voice was ever so calm.

Alan wanted to scream.

He hurried back to the lower ports and stared at his brother’s feet.

Again Gordon had been crushed in his ‘bird. How hurt was he this time. How long would he take to recover?

Virgil spoke up and Alan was startled to find his engineer brother and Uncle Lee standing beside him. Virgil was standing ramrod straight. “Eos, can you pull any medical data?”

“Please hold.” The AI’s voice was crisp and professional. “Compensating for interference.”

Damned interference. Alan was so sick of static. Their comm lines and sensor feeds were usually perfect. What was it with this place?

A big hand gently wrapped around his arm.

“I’m fine, Virgil.”

The hand did not let go.

“Thank you, Eos.” How did John stay so calm? “Cutting into the cockpit now.”

Virgil’s wrist control lit up and projected the sensor data he had requested from Eos. True to this place, parts flickered and there was some pixilation, but a clear outline of both Gordon and John inside Four was all the reassurance it could be.

Gordon was curled up on the ‘floor’ of his ‘bird, on what had been Four’s portside viewports.

The laser cutter in John’s hand flared up brightly as he cut through the cockpit hatch mechanisms.

Red light flickered through the marine acrylic enough to catch on Alan’s uniform.

“His right arm is broken again.” Virgil sighed. “He’s going to be so pissed.”

“I’m in.” And John was. Light lit up the viewports, quickly followed by the yellow of a medscanner.

“Oh, thank god.” Beside him, Virgil visibly deflated in relief. The hologram lit up with Gordon’s full medical details. A red alarm hovered over one arm where the break snapped his right ulna and his head had an orange flag that pinpointed a likely concussion. But other than that, Gordon appeared whole and safe, his spacesuit undamaged and airtight. Alan’s shoulders dropped almost as much as Virgil’s.

“He’s safe to move, John.” No doubt John knew that, but Virgil obviously had a need to confirm it anyway. He had a habit of doing that. Alan wasn’t really sure who it was for, Virgil’s brothers or himself.

The next few moments involved cutting open the rear hatch of Four again. This time there was the hiss of escaping atmosphere as Virgil took the entire door off the sub, no longer needing to worry about Gordon’s suit integrity.

John emerged carefully carrying his unconscious brother, Gordon’s helmeted head limp on one shoulder, his arm in an emergency splint, no doubt from one of Four’s first aid packs.

“Vincent, I’m thinking you boys need to take your brother back to base.”

Alan suddenly realised they were a pod or two short to carry all of them. There were five operatives and only one pod.

Uncle Lee eyed Virgil, his lips thin. “Albert, you could fly George while Vincent, John and I dig out the other pod.”

Virgil shifted his feet as he translated that, and Alan frowned at him. His engineer brother was wrecked. Alan could see it in his eyes. Understandable

Virgil’s nod was firm, regardless. “FAB. Alan, you’re with Gordon. John, what is the impact of the interference on Eos’ capability to pilot the pod if necessary?”

Their space brother was looking down at Gordon’s face frowning. “Eos is deploying a moon-wide probe net. We can use them to strengthen the signal. I think that above ground, Thunderbird Five should be able to pilot reliably. I would not recommend attempting it underground.”

Virgil nodded again before striding over to Alan’s pod and, climbing up and throwing the hatch back, began reconfiguring the backseat to transport their injured brother.

Alan hurried over to help and within minutes, John had secured their unconscious aquanaut brother prone on his side in the back of the pod.

Silent, eyes closed, non-responsive.

Alan took off smoothly and with as much care as possible, flew back up the tunnel, heading above ground and back to Callisto Base.

His last glance at the Crystal Cave outlined the shapes of two brothers and an uncle standing ever so alone in a giant cavern that had tried to kill three of his brothers.

-o-o-o-

Next

[hunterguyveriv]

Halo Season Finale Initial Thoughts

I just saw Episode 9 and I thought it was a pretty decent episode. Now keep in mind I am a “Journeyer” to the series and knew practically nothing of the series except Cortana was his holographic assistant. In fact, even with Coworkers suggesting I watch it, I was cautious. I didn't want to get emotionally vested in a series I may like because of the travesty that happened to the Swamp Thing series or the 2005 Guyver series.

But looking at it from an unbiased standpoint, some things seem to point to a bigger picture which may pave the road for future seasons. These are just my thoughts I am going to do my best and explain my thoughts.

 Spoilers Ahead.

John’s Death: In almost my 40 years I have seen a lot of Science Fiction i. But I don’t believe that John is dead. They wouldn’t have put such focus on retrieving the artifact to find the Halo only to keep the one Now three scenarios come to mind which I will get to, but in the series, there have been too many hints that John will be back - Kwan’s ancestor telling her “She will see him again,” John telling Captain Keyes “There will be a reckoning,” and others that I picked up on. Besides John going all ‘DOOM Slayer’ in doing things without talking just doesn’t seem right. That and Cortana controlling a corpse for the rest of the war just seems weird. Imagine her taking the helmet off and seeing a decaying face. 

Cortana put his body into status when she merged with him. She has put him in status after she was first integrated with John and even asked/pleaded to put him in status in episode 6. So my thinking is she is going to keep him in status until they get to friendly space or Reach? That way the medics and UNSC doctors could do their best to bring him back to life. This is the most logical of my thoughts. It was suggested status was too late for K'ehleyr (Worf’s first mate) in Star Trek: TNG, and James T. Kirk in Star Trek Into Darkness.

He’s going to be cloned when they return to Reach. Although unlikely because what do you do with the body Cortana is now controlling? We know with the series flash cloning is illegal because of the effects but what about standard cloning? No, seriously I am asking because the only knowledge of the franchise I now have is the series until I start looking things up.

This last one is a bit outlandish and I can’t believe I am going to suggest it. But maybe they are going to do a Star Trek III: The Search for Spock? His mind could be on the Halo, and when the UNSC reaches it his body will be reunited with his mind. I know a bit outlandish but I kind of predicted this with Shiro in what became the dumpster fire known as Voltron Legendary Defender.

Adun’s Death and Halsey’s Escape: I knew Halsey would find some way to escape justice and low and behold she did. I kind of felt disappointed that it was a Flash Clone, but I was not surprised at all., especially after Adun said “the package is secured.” A person with that type of resourcefulness with the noose closing in on her will do whatever it takes to evade capture.

I do get the suspicion that Halsey may restart the Spartan program where she ends up. I think it would be interesting if she does or not because it would add a third contender to the war.

Adun’s death I actually had a broad smirk on my face. I thought he was an awkward assistant of Doctor Halsey, but from episode 3 I hated his guts and wanted him to die a slow agonizing death or a swift one at the hands of the Covenant. I did laugh when Kai threw him around like a rag doll.

Miranda and Captain Keyes: I am interested to see the aftermath of the Spartan Project has on the Captain and his daughter. I want to see how the writers will resolve the devastation the lies, cover-ups, and kidnapping did to this “OH SO LOVING” family. How will she react if she learns most if not all of the UNSC was in some shape or form was part of the Spartan program. 

Final Thoughts: It was nice to finally see John and Cortana getting along and him even trusting her after he learned the truth of her purpose. It was also great seeing the Spartans fighting and acting as a unit again. Of all the characters I hope they do make it to the second season is Riz. As a person of Mixed Ethnicities (Irish/Native American/and African American descent) it was her who really pulled me in and I don’t want to see any of them seriously hurt or killed. As a DOOM fan, I really loved the FPS perspective when utilized in the series. I am definitely looking forward to a Season 2. 

These are just my initial thoughts of the Season Finale without watching it a second time as an outsider looking in. 

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Cruelty of man

The command bunker was a flurry of activity as aides and military personnel shuffled between consoles. At the center of the room was a large tactical display table surrounded by commanders discussing the recent deployments of new troops and enemy positions when the doors to the command center burst open. At the noise the guards to either side quickly drew their weapons and trained it on the door until they saw who had entered and dropped to one knee. 

“YURI!!!!”

Royal prince Marsov stormed into the room and made straight for the tactical display. His stride carried him so quickly that he knocked aside aides who had been kneeling before him out of the way as if a child kicking a can down the road. 

“YURI!” The prince continued shouting, “WHERE ARE YOU!?”

The commanders around the tactical display parted aside and revealed the human who had taken command of the war front from the prince. He stood atop a wooden stack of pallets so he could see the display and under any normal circumstance would be comical any other time were it not for how feared the human was by the rest of the command staff. 

The aliens surrounding him stood nearly twice his height making most interactions with the species initially challenging as everything they had was intended for far larger use. 

Yuri continued observing the tactical map, making a few notes and passing them to nearby aides, completely ignoring Marsov’s outbursts.  Maros slammed his fist into the table  making the holographic image shake violently for a few moments before readjusting.  “What is the meaning of this?!” 

“I am not psychic, prince.” Yuri said as he passed another note to an aide and motioned him away with a flick of his hand. “You must elaborate what exactly is troubling you.” 

Yuri’s calmness only seemed to enrage Marsov even more. 

“When you took control of this war away from me you said you would run it better.”  “Yes, I remember.” 

“That was two months ago! What have you done since then!?” 

Yuri set down his note pad and looked up at the prince. Though humans were far shorter than the prince’s species Yuri’s presence was so intense that it made seem as if he was the one towering over them. 

“I have been continuing the war in a manner that will result in our victory.” 

Marov’s laugh at the answer was as loud as it was fulled with a mocking tone. “You have launched only one offensive a week while ordering our special forces to gather enemy equipment, wasting their potential greatly!” 

“These are parts of a much larger plan.” Yuri said as he crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them. 

“A plan that is failing!” Marsov waived his hand and the tactical display altered itself. The image was an aerial view of the front lines with both sides trenches facing each other. 

“Each attack you launched was preluded to by a massed artillery bombardment of smoke. Smoke that i would point out completely ineffective. 

Waving another hand a smaller visualization of the enemy soldier. “Their helmets allow them to see through the smoke with high density filters built into their helmets. The filters remove the smoke particles so they don’t even hinder the enemy soldiers!”

“Yes, I know this because I ordered our special forces to capture in tact enemy gear from the battlefield.” 

Marsov choked on his next words but quickly recovered. 

“You promised a great victory but since you have taken command we have seen nothing.” Marsov turned the surrounding commanders. “Perhaps my father underestimated your abilities.” 

The commanders looked back to Yuri who still clasped his fingers, his expression uncaring as if the insult just made against him meant nothing. 

“Great victories are not won in a single day, but planned out down to the very second.” Yuri stood and hopped down from the pallets and began walking away. 

“Tomorrow I will show you what a great victory truly means.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following day the commanders all gathered in the command bunker for the upcoming battle. 

Yuri stood on the wooden pallets while the prince sat on his command throne overlooking the entire room. 

The entire length of the opposite wall showed live feeds from the battlefront as the team leaders moved through the trenches checking on their soldiers. 

Tapping the tactical display table Yuri drew the attention of the room. 

“Today, we will launch a full scale along the entire front.” Pointing to the display it showed several dozen friendly arrows moving across no-man’s land into the enemy trenches. 

“From there we will continue pressing the advantage until we have overrun their forward command bunkers and captured the supply depots at the far rear of their lines.”

The display showed several fortified locations several dozen miles behind the current enemy lines.

“If you believe we can penetrate so far with this attack why stop there?” Marsov scoffed. Yuri nodded as if he had just been asked a question from his favorite student. “As tempting as it would be to continue the offensive we must be mindful of our manpower and supplies. I have calculated that once we have reached the supply depots we will be at the near limit of a front we can successfully maintain. Any farther and we risk over stretching ourselves and risking counter attacks that could encircle entire army group and wipe them out.” 

“All well and good and all, but this attack depends entirely on if you can break the enemy front line to begin with.” 

“Rest assured, that will be the easiest part of the plan.” 

With that Yuri motioned to an aide and the screen turned to the face of a front line commander. “Are your troops prepared captain?” Yuri asked. 

“They are prepared; though i am not sure why we need this additional equipment.” Marsov’s eyes picked up at this but Yuri continued before he could press his questions. “You’re understanding is not required captain, only your loyalty and promise of victory.” 

The captain banged his fist and nodded his head. “Victory eternal.” he said before the line went dead. 

“Begin the bombardment and start the clock.” 

“Beginning bombardment now.” 

The roar of a thousand heavy artillery pieces could be faintly heard throughout the command bunker despite being so deep underground.   

“What is this clock you mentioned?” 

“It is the amount of time the soldiers must wait after the bombardment before commencing the attack.”

“Did your plan not call for speed to overrun the enemy?”

“It did.”

“Then why wait after the bombardment to attack? Why not launch at once.”

“Patience; you shall see.” 

An hour passed before the counter reached zero and Yuri ordered the attack to commence. 

The camera feeds of the soldiers were all over the screen. Pushing through the black smoke the feeds were blurry.  

Marsov watched intently. If the mission was a failure then Marsov could leverage the other commanders to shun the human and regain control of the army; but if it was successful he would still gain the credit but be stuck with the human even longer. 

Suddenly the camera toppled over and showed only ground. The soldier the feed belonged to scrambled back to their feet and raised their weapon at what they had fallen over as his comrades came by.  

Marsov saw the image and instantly stood up as the rest of the command staff let out gasps, some even vomiting on to the floor. 

Laying on the ground was an enemy soldier in full battle gear. To the casual eye the enemy soldier looked completely normal, as if they were fresh off the parade ground. That was until Marsov saw the face of the enemy. 

Beneath their clear helmet the eyes of his enemy were bleeding purple blood from the corners of their sockets, eyes bulging out as if they had been crammed into a container too small, veins bursting from beneath the skin as if they had been pulled out...

Marsov had commanded many battles and had fought in many wars from the front with those he had commanded, but he had never seen anything like this before. 

“What happened to them?” The question was from a commander present as the camera feed panned over countless bodies of enemy soldiers laying dead across the battlefield all sharing the horrific signs. 

“That,” Yuri spoke breaking the silence, “is chemical HZ-94; also known as the Coffin Maker.” 

“How do you know what it is? Have you seen it before?” 

Yuri shook his head. “I know what it is because I had it loaded into the smoke shells we fired before the attack.” 

The room went silent.

“You what?”

“I had the HZ-94 loaded into the smoke shells. As the smoke shells burst over the enemy covering them with smoke it was also laced with the chemical compound.” 

He motioned and an aide stepped forward carrying the helmet of their enemy and gave it to Yuri. He cradled it in his for a few moments before smirking. 

“You see the smoke attack for the last few weeks was intentional. I knew it would have no effect on the enemy as I had studied their captured war gear. You are correct prince that they are built in with filtration systems and density scanners, but did you know that the smoke clogs up their filtration systems?” 

He hoisted the helmet and pointed to a small oval opening at the base of the helmet. “Sure it can filter out some of the smoke, but consistent smoke eventually will form a barrier and block all inhalation forcing the user to swap filters.”

Yuri pried off the oval cap and showed it to everyone. 

“The previous smoke attacks were meant to make the enemy become accustomed to the tactic and treat the smoke as a non threat. What threat would there be when their density displays could see through the smoke and have visuals on our troops?” 

“While this was going on I had my off world associates manufacture the chemical and send it along with the safety gear for our own soldiers which would take roughly two months to arrive.” 

Marsov was trying to piece together what had happened even as the first ranks of his soldiers made it through the smoke and came upon an entire field of dead enemy soldiers. All sharing the same horrific symptoms as those that had been seen in the smoke. 

“The enemy would therefore not realize that there would be a secondary chemical mixed in with the smoke leaving them care free to remove their filters and swap them out as if it was a similar attack as the weeks before.” 

Yuri’s eyes lit up with a devilish glow as he turned towards Marsov and chucked the helmet at him. “My plan was to make the enemy complacent and predictable and therefore easy to manipulate and predict. The moment they swapped out their filters they were exposed to the Coffin Maker and their fate was sealed.” 

He motioned to the giant screen which had panned out to the entire length of the front. “We waited to press the attack not only for the gas to become effective but to also let the wind currents carry it back into their own lines.

“How could you have known the direction of the wind?” Marsov was horrified and amazed at the same time. In a single stroke the human had broken the entire enemy front line opening a massive gap their forces were now exploiting to their fullest. 

“In the time it took for the requested materials to arrive I studied not just our enemy but the planet itself. I found the patterns of wind currents and established today as the offensive as the wind was going in the opposite direction.” 

Marsov looked at the unease of his soldiers and the feeds as more and more dead bodies were found. Some with their hands clutching their throats or having ripped off their helmets as if desperate for breathable air. 

He turned his gaze to Yuri. “Have you no honor?” 

Yuri chuckled at the remark. 

“Honor is meaningless if it is unaccompanied by a victory.”

[soyforramen]

28. i’ve been crushing on you for so long and when i get your name in secret santa i decide to write you a love note except there’s a last minute shuffle with people trading and my gift is given to someone else (bonus: ot3! ot3!)

I know this was a prompt sent in by @arsenicpanda, but lord help me if I can find the ask.

--

“So, who’d you pull for Secret Santa?” Fangs asked.

Betty picked at her sandwich. The reminder of Cheryl’s forced Christmas cheer drove away what little appetite she had. Nervously, she glanced over at Jughead who seemed oblivious to her internal struggle. When he glanced at her, she smiled and shoved her sandwich towards him.

“Veronica,” he mumbled through bites. He shot Betty a glance, a concerned warning that he’d be making sure she ate later.

“Cheryl,” Betty said miserably. “I don’t even know what she’d want.”

While she and her cousin had been on better terms now that the babies were older, it was still rocky. Alice Cooper and Penelope still hadn’t learned how to co-grandparent, forcing Cheryl and Betty to work together to avoid a Hatfield and McCoy situation for every holiday."

“Something red,” Fangs said with a laugh.

“Or stupidly expensive,” Jughead added.

Betty sighed and stared out at nothing in particular. Between finals, editing the school paper, and Christmas shopping for her own family, not to mention the long list of things she hadn’t managed to get to this month, it looked more and more like she wouldn’t be getting much sleep until the New Year.

“If you wanted to stare at me, all you had to do was ask. I'll send you as many pictures as you want.”

Betty’s eyes refocused to find Toni sitting across from her. Her knowing smirk made Betty flush. Suddenly, Toni was all she could see, bright eyes twinkling with mirth and her lips temptingly full and pink. Before Betty could stammer out a response, Jughead laughed and slung his arm across her shoulders.

“Toni, are you flirting with my girlfriend?”

At the reminder of his presence, Betty squirmed and stared onto the old picnic table. Guilt crawled across her skin; after all, Toni hadn’t been the only one flirting lately.

“Have been for a while Jones,” Toni shot back with a wicked grin. “You gonna do something about it?”

Betty held her breath, waiting for an irritated response or jealous sulking, but instead Jughead threw his head back and laughed. The sound shook out the tension that had suddenly risen within in her, and she couldn’t help but join in with him. When she glanced across the table, Toni shot her a wink. This time Betty’s skin crawled with something far different than guilt.

--

It was the last day of finals, and Cheryl had finally rounded everyone up. A vast array of presents, the wrapping of each a reflection of the giver, was piled in the center of the common room. Betty’s was meticulously wrapped, a hand made bow sitting on top. Archie’s was wrapped with more tape than paper, and Jughead’s had been thrown into a plastic shopping bag. Veronica’s was wrapped in expensive, holographic paper, no doubt wrapped at a chic New York boutique, while Kevin’s sat in a reusable tote that proudly thanked him for his donation.

“Can we get this over with Cheryl,” Veronica said over a latte, “I have an economics test in fifteen minutes.”

“So much for holiday cheer,” Kevin said in a soto voice.

“She’s even wearing Grinch green,” Fangs added.

“Do any of you humbugs have any holiday cheer?” Cheryl asked. She set her hands on her hips as she surveyed them. “No? Then how about we make things extra interesting. We’re all redrawing names.”

A collective groan rang out. Not to be discouraged, Cheryl picked up the first gift, a small package topped off with tinsel.

“Archie, pour vous.”

Before he could take the package, Toni leapt forward and grabbed the package.

“Sorry Red, you'll have to take a rain check,” she apologized, ignoring Cheryl’s harsh look. When Cheryl started to object, Toni said, “You’re the one who changed the rules on us.”

Cheryl huffed. “Fine, I’ll allow it just this once. But anyone else who tries it -“

She let the threat hang in the air before reaching for the next present.

“And this one will be for …”

--

Betty watched Jughead pack from the comfort of her bed. Outside the snow fell, it’s soft plinking noise lulling her back to sleep.

“Are you sure you have to be in Ohio the whole time?”

He turned, smiling, and kissed her on the forehead. “Jellybean’s been threatening me since August that if I didn’t come up there she’d drag me there herself.”

Betty reached out and grabbed his flannel shirt, pulling him back for another kiss. “I’m sure I can fend her off.”

“I’ll miss you too," he said.

His eyes were so soft when he looked at her like that. It was almost enough for her to volunteer to drive him to his mother’s. Almost. Knowing that they had holidays to spend together years from now made it easy enough to let him leave today. That, and the fact that if she did go she’d miss the twins’ first visit Santa. (And, worse than that, she'd have to hear about it all second hand from Cheryl).

“Why don’t you ask Toni to hangout? She wants to go see that weird alien movie you've been gushing about,” Jughead said, turning back to his luggage.

All of the warm, gooeyness that she’d felt evaporated immediately. Desperate to relieve her discomfort, Betty pulled the blankets tighter around her. There wasn’t really a reason she could give as to why she could say no; after all, they were part of the same friend group and they did get along splendidly. Not to mention the inappropriateness of admitting to one’s long term boyfriend that you had a maddeningly, infuriatingly, deep crush on someone else.

“Maybe," Betty said while she picked at a loose thread.

Then again, maybe spending more time with Toni would cure her of this crush; after all, it had happened with Veronica and they’d settled into a close friendship, one Betty wouldn’t give up for anything.

“Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone,” Jughead said, picking up his bag and helmet.

He kissed her cheek and Betty mumbled out an ‘I love you’ that felt just as real, just as strong as it ever had. A few minutes later Betty’s phone chimed and she saw a text from Toni. Betty groaned and burrowed deeper into her bed.

--

“It’s fine, really. I can walk. It’s only a few blocks,” Toni repeated as she pulled on her jacket.

Betty glanced out the diner window. Outside, drifts of snow were quickly growing.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” Betty replied.

Despite the tension that had been building up within her, despite the fear (exhilaration? increasing desire?) of being alone in such a close space with Toni, Betty couldn’t let her walk home in this kind of weather. Even if their friendship hadn’t grown deeper over the past week and a half she still would have made the offer.

“Are you worried about me, Cooper?” Toni teased.

“Yes.”

The smile fell from Toni’s face. She searched Betty’s face, and finding what she was looking for, smiled softly at her. It was so similar to the one Jughead had given her before she left that Betty had to look away.

“Alright. Lead the way,” Toni said.

Pop’s bid them a good night on their way out, and they braced themselves for the cold. Impulsively, Betty slipped an arm through Toni’s. After all, they were friends now, closer than they had been. She did this sort of thing with Veronica all the time, though unlike with Veronica, Betty only found her crush on Toni growing deeper.

“So, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Toni shrugged and stepped closer to Betty. “Same thing we always do. Watch reruns of It’s a Wonderful Life with Grandpa and eat too much. You?”

“The Blossoms invited us over for Christmas dinner.”

“Yikes,” Toni said with a slow whistle.

Betty pulled out her keys and opened up the passenger side door. Toni nodded her thanks and sat down. A minute later they were pulling out of Pop’s parking lot.

“I take it you and Cheryl are running interference?” Betty nodded and turned on her blinker. Despite there being no one on the street, it was a ingrained habit that made Toni smile at her.

“Something like that. Mom’s convinced they’re going to cancel last minute to make us host it, so she’s been on a cleaning and decorating rampage this past week. But the kids love that Cheryl’s been staying with us.”

“That’s good. I'm down there. ” Toni pointed to the right side of the Sunnyside Trailer Park. “The most drama we get is when some idiot decides to shoot off firecrackers at 4 am.”

Betty laughed and pulled in next to the trailer surrounded by half rebuild cars. She sat on her hands to keep from rushing out of her car and checking the models of each.

“Well, this is me,” Toni said.

Betty nodded, unsure of what else to say. In her peripheral vision she saw Toni pull something out of her bag.

“You were supposed to get this at Cheryl’s Christmas exchange,” Toni said.

She held out a package with crushed tinsel wrapped around it. When Betty looked closer she realized there were different kinds of vintage cars driving along a highway, each with a pine tree strapped to the top. Glancing at Toni, she gently pulled the paper apart. She almost fainted when she realized what it was.

“Toni, this is too much, I can’t -“

Toni held up a hand. “It’s really nothing. I just got lucky at the thrift store and thought of you.”

Betty stared at the first edition copy of The Secret of the Old Clock, scared to open it least it fall to pieces in her hands. A paper peeked out of the pages, and she gently tugged it out.

‘Merry Christmas Betty!

Thought you might like this (and don’t forget to check the inside cover before you put it under glass).

From,

Your Secret Admirer.’

Upon reading those words, Betty couldn’t help but keep the smile from her face. Something like this was so heartfelt, so personal, she couldn’t help but want to take Toni into her arms and thank her profusely. Opening the book ever so gently, Betty gasped at the author's faded signature.

“Toni -“

Her voice had taken on a tone of anguish. Torn between her loyalty and the sudden tenderness she felt, Betty was at a crossroads without a map.

“Is this about Jughead?” Toni asked. Betty whipped around to look at her. With a gentle smile, Toni wrapped her hands around Betty’s.

“Call your boyfriend.”

Betty squinted at Toni, unsure. Was Toni asking her to choose between them? As if reading her mind, Toni laughed. She slipped the book out of Betty’s hands and set it on the dash.

“Call your boyfriend, Coop.”

Frowning, Betty pulled out her phone and dialed Jughead. With every ring, her heart beat more painfully against her chest.

“Hey, happy Christmas Eve eve,” came Jughead’s sleepy voice.

“Hey, I didn’t wake you did I?”

She could her him shifting in the background. “No, we were just watching the worst movie of all time.”

Jellybean yelled out in the background and there was a scuffling as the phone exchanged hands.

“Break up with him, Betty, he has no taste.”

“Santa’s Slay should never had been made,” came his tinny voice. A second later and his voice was as clear as if he were sitting next to her. “What’s up?”

“Toni’s with me, and -“

“Oh, she finally gave you her Secret Santa gift?”

Betty’s eyes drew together and she glanced over at Toni. “You knew she drew my name?”

“Actually, I drew it, but -“

“You?”

Jughead’s chuckle was throaty and deep. The sound of it sent shivers down her spin in much the same way that Toni’s look did right now. “She wanted to trade, and neither of you have been subtle.”

“But -“ There was a silence that hung in the air as Betty processed what was happening. “Do you mean -“

“I’m secure in our relationship Bets. If you want to, then you have my blessing.”

“Oh.”

He laughed again. “Merry Christmas Betts. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, her voice sounding far off.

The line went dead and she sat there, watching the falling snow. It felt as if her chest were going to explode. The world had expanded three times since she’d first picked up the phone and suddenly it felt as if there was a wealth of new possibilities open to her.

“Well?” Toni asked, breaking Betty out of her reverie.

Betty turned to her slowly, taking her all in. Setting her hand on the console between them, Betty slowly leaned in, hesitantly touching her lips to Toni’s.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I really like my Christmas gift.”

Toni wrapped her hand around Betty’s and tugged her closer. “Than you’re going to have to do a better job of showing it than that.”

[love-anddeepression]

You’re not him-Chapter 2

( How do I put links?) 

Italics are reader's thoughts

"ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION ABORT THE DAMN FRICKING MISSION-"

"Um, Miss, who are you?" Loki's voice dragged you out of your thoughts.

"Uh-I'm I'm an agent! here! in the TVA!" you say a little too enthusiastically.

Eyeing you worriedly, Loki replies, " Oooook, now Mobius." he says, looking at the man, " where will I be staying?"

" Y/n will show you your quarters Loki, and you'll have your own cubicle, where you'll be taught by Miss Minutes about the TVA" Mobius replies walking Loki out of his office, shooting you a sympathetic glance.

Following closely behind, the reality if the situation suddenly hit you like a train. A variant of your  your soon-to-be husband, who died, was here

Alive.

Should you tell him? Should you not tell him? All the sadness and depression which you tried so hard to push away and bottle up was surfacing, leaking out drop by drop.

"Y/n? Y/n! Earth to Y/n!" you heard Mobius say your name, his hand waving in front of your face, he was looking at you sadly, knowing what you were going through.

" Sorry yeah?" you say, a little out of breath.

" Take Loki to his room ok? The staff quarters." He said.

" Yeah! Sure! Please follow me Mr. Laufeyson." you say heading towards the staff quarters.

Loki looks at Mobius before following you.

After a while of walking in complete silence, Loki tries to make conversation,

"I don't believe I've gotten your name madam" he says.

" Huh, well I thought, you already heard it multiple times, given how many times Mobius had shake me out of my thoughts, I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you." Again.

" Heh yes, well I'm Loki-"

" of Asgard, Yes, I'm aware of that Mr Laufeyson, I bet everyone knows who you are." you say.

It suddenly dawned that you might have not made a good first impression.

" I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, It's just everyone's on edge today." Yeah! particularly me! Well what am I supposed to do when I see a variant of my dead fiancé? Kiss him? Tell him the truth? No you idiot!

" Well, I doubt they have a runaway variant everyday." he says chuckling lightly.

" You'll be surprised, Mr Laufeyson." you say smirking at him.

Heading to a door, you unlock it with a keycard and show him inside. It's a fairly large room, with a bed, a Tv, a mini-fridge, with an attatched bathroom.

" This is your room, and so is this keycard, your uniform is in the cupboard and your work begins tomorrow. Good Luck Mr.Laufeyson" you say smiling lightly while simultaneously crying and sobbing on the inside.

" Thank you, Ma'am, and please call me Loki." he says smirking at you.

"Only if you call me Y/n."

"Alright then, Thank you Y/n"

" You're very welcome Loki, I'll see you tomorrow." you say walking out.

~~

As soon as you leave and the door closes, you immediately sprint to Mobius's office.

" OK, NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO MOBIUS?! HUH? WHAT SHOULD I SAY, HI I'M ACTUALLY OR I WAS YOUR FIANCE WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE AND I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM!" you shout at him.

"Y/n Liste-" Mobius begins,

"No no, this is where you zip it!" your eyes glowing a shade of orange . That's all that would happen, the only indication that you had magic, you're eyes would glow when you were  you were really emotional.

" Picture yourself in my place, you're getting married, you're fiance is killed before you're eyes, then after a few years you see them again, but they don't know you, how would you feel? Think about that Mobius!" you say, tears threatening to spill out your eyes.

"Y/n, I understand that, but we need him, he's the key to ending this, lots of minutemen, Jamie, Cassandra, Damon, Stefan! All dead! We need him, and we need him to be focused, after the mission is over, then you can tell him whatever you want, but please for the love of the time-keepers above, please don't tell him, you'll be accompanying us on missions from now on. You know Loki almost better than he knows himself an we need both of you. Please." Mobius pleads.

Sighing, you nod and try to glare at him, but ended up sadly smiling, you couldn't help it, you couldn't stay mad at Mobius, he was like an elder brother, or your best friend.

Smiling Mobius gets up and hugs you tightly, making you feel a bit better.

___

That night, you weren't able to sleep, thinking about every good memory you had when Loki-well OG Loki was still alive.

You and Loki baking, him dabbing frosting on your lips, before kissing it off, the boops, the damn boops that made you feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside.

When you first met- 2013

It was a normal day at Avengers Tower, you had just gotten back from a long undercover mission, you had heard about the new resident staying, God of Mischief.

Throwing your duffle bag on the carpet in the room and immediately showered, trying to scrubbing the blood and grime off, before you went downstairs to surprise the team.

Being a dramatic bitch, you decided to make an awesome entrance.

*Steve in the kitchen*

" Hey, Tony?" Steve said

"Yeah capsicle?"

"Why do  I hear boss music?" Steve says looking worried.

Suddenly the door's are kicked open, startling everyone.

" I'm BACK bitches!!!" you say while holding your arms out.( like how Loki does it)

Shriek and laughs and smiles later, you gather your courage and go up to Loki,

"Hi, I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you." you say smiling,

" Loki, of  Asgard, nice to meet you too." he says, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.

And that was the day you fell for Loki Laufeyson.

~~

"- and what happens when a nexus event branches past red line?" Miss Minutes asks Loki.

Loki ignores her, reading Mobius's jet ski magazine.

"Come on Loki!" she says frowning

Sighing Loki looks at her before saying, " It's when the Tva, can no longer reset the nexus event." smiling smugly.

" and the collapse of reality as when we know it." she finishes.

"Can you here me? Are you a recording, or are you alive?" he asks.

"Uh--sorta both!" she answers.

Mischievously, he rolls up the magazine and starts swatting at the mascot, causing her to go back inside the computer.

Looking at him, from you're cubicle, you can't help but smile softly, it had been years since you had last seen that beautiful smile and you're heart was melting.

From his cubicle, he spotted you and waved, eyes slightly softening, he liked your company, you put up with his bullshit and you were fun at the same time.

Waving back, you can't help but blush when you realize he caught you staring, your blush made him smile more.

Suddenly Mobius appeared behind him, talking to him and giving him a jacket, before he called you over, to talk about the mission.

" Y/n there's been an attack, we need you to come with us." he said hurriedly.

~~

"We've grabbed enough temporal-aura to know it's our Loki variant, but we don't know which kind." Hunt says.

"The lesser kind, just to be sure." Loki butts in, making you snort.

He seemed pleased that he almost made you laugh.

" Ok, here's the deal, when we get out on the branch, we're not looking for a time criminal; we're looking Loki, a variation of this guy." Mobius says pointing to Loki, while projecting imaged of other Loki variants, each one getting weirder by the second.

"Apparently you won the Tour de France." you say nodding towards the hologram.

"Apparently." Loki says smiling.

"Not so slight, different powers, though powers include-Shape shifting, Illusion projection and Mind contr-" Mobius began.

"Duplication casting." You and Loki say in sync, turning to look at each other in surprise before looking back at the confused team.

"Illusion projection."

" No, they're two completely different powers." you began

"How Y/n?" Mobius asked.

" Professor Loki, would you like to answer that or would you like to answer?" you say, smirking at him

" You answer first." he says smirking back at you

"Illusion projection involved one depicting a detailed image from outside oneself which is perceptible in the external world." you began, Loki seemed impressed.

" While Duplication casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in it's present circumstance which acts as a true holographic mirror of it's own molecular structure. But you already knew that." Loki finished.

" Not bad, Laufeyson." you said.

"Not bad yourself." He smiled.

" O-ok take a breath. Noted. Ok let's go. Everyone gear up" ( sometimes, I'm not going to follow the lines well, cuz i don't remember them.

Stepping out of the dressing room, you felt amazing, it had been a while since you wore gear and you didn't realize how much you missed it.

You also drew the attention of a certain blue-eyed, raven-haired god.

He couldn't take his eyes off you and you didn't know whether to feel happy or awkward.

Both.

Both.Yes.

Both is good.

Happy and Awkward.

---------

After everyone was geared up, you headed to your destination.

Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Year 1985.

After reaching there, Loki went up to Mobius, and they started discussing things about the Tva, stuff you honestly did not give a crap about.

Headed towards a tent, Loki and Mobius were having a conversation. Loki seemed to trust Mobius and that's weird, he never trusted anyone except you.

"Ok stop, this is not your Loki ok, this is someone different, don't screw the relationship you have with this guy"

After all you went inside, you instantly spotted a TVA helmet.

Someone was taken hostage. Hunter C-20

"He's taking hostages." Hunter began

" He's never taken hostage before." Mobius mused.

" Maybe's he upping his game" Hunter said

"or he pruned her." you interuppted.

" A Loki couldn't have taken the jump on C 20." Hunt said.

" I think you underestimate-" Loki began

" Fan out, search for her and hurry up because we're at three units until red-line." Hunter ordered.

"Come on Loki." Mobius began. You follow him. Looking back, you see Loki staring at the helmet.

" Wait." Loki calls out, everyone stopping dead in their tracks and looking at him.

" If you leave this tent, you'll end up just like them" he continues.

As Loki explains, you zone out again, focusing on his eyes, ocean blue, with specks of green and gold, making them look like the most beautiful ocean ever.

"Did you know, you have beautiful eyes?" you say, stroking Loki's cheek while staring into his eyes.

" Oh, I have beautiful eyes?" he smirks

" The most beautiful." you whisper before kissing him softly.

Pulling away, Loki looks into your eyes.

"Darling, you complement my eyes, when yours are clearly superior!" He said

1, " But Loki, they're brown, they're so plain, what do you mean they're pretty.?"

"Darling, you're eyes are so beautiful, they remind me of a glass of ale, the mud that makes the earth, your eyes represent earthquakes, that bring the biggest of the biggest mountains to kneel for them. I love your eyes, they make me feel home."

( sorry about that, that's for people with brown eyes, cuz I have brown eyes, and I don't see them appreciated enough, pls ignore if you don't have brown eyes)

"Y/n, Y/n snap out of it! Come on, we're going back." Mobius said, walking out, you follow him, slightly smiling at the fond memory.

After you come back, you immediately head to your room, shower and take a nap.

[countessofbiscuit]

Suppressive Fire

(Sev/Scorch, E, 3.9k words)

Two bros, chillin' on a top bunk no feet apart 'cause they're vode. . . .

Fleet Support, Ord Mantell, barrack block 7 Alpha, six standard weeks after Geonosis

She’d be built like a tank. That was Requirement the First.

She’d be humanoid, or near enough. Her arms would number ... four. Yes, four arms, each of them doing something clever. Two to open my ass, two to pinch my nipples, her long tongue going to crazy town on my cock, burning off my pubes with her caustic breath—

Sergeant Draka. The near-human-tank was Sergeant Draka, sure as day.

Scorch grabbed this realization with one firm hand and tugged.

Her species was shab-if-I-know: some unhappy hybrid who’d washed up on the far edge of the Outer Rim and been scraped into one of those fringe clans that never removed their helmets. Her folks developed a reputation for ritualized kidnapping that didn’t sit right with Jango. He’d ripped Draka’s helmet off in a duel, apparently, and spending ten years training the spawn of her enemy was the price she’d agreed to pay to regain her honor. All those kids and nowhere to run: a bitter form of torture for both parties. Her trainees were an insular, silent bunch with a tendency to tactically acquire your shit when you weren’t looking, but they got the job done.

Scorch had first seen Draka at a parade for the prime minister when he was three. He’d never forgotten it: she had fangs and yellow eyes and ears that twitched at the tips like they were catching your current of fear. No wonder they’d encouraged her to keep a lid on.

Then Scorch was six and change and he’d stumbled upon her in a hallway. She’d had a cadet upside down, smoking him good for something. “What are you gawping at, Six-Two?” she’d snarled, her generous chest heaving, three spare arms tensing in his direction. “Shift it. Unless you want your balls torn off next.”

Scorch had been a little scared and a lot turned on.

Sergeant Vau didn’t have to use many words to put the fear of Fett under your skin. He was a conservative man. Sergeant Draka regarded a shebs-chewing as the highest form of oratory and her calling in life. Whenever Scorch stood downwind of her in the combat hall, he could feel his eyebrows being singed off a second time.

Sweating a little, Scorch’s core tensed as this fantasy tightened vividly in his holographic mind.

She puts two hands around my cock, one hand on my nipple, one hand clawing under my balls—

Scorch flipped her on her back.

She uses all four arms to spread her trunky legs, hairy as a man’s, wide in invitation—

“Knock it off,” barked Sev.

She was gone. In her place was the knowledge that his brother was clued in to what Scorch was doing on the bottom bunk and determined to make it stop.

But the pressure under Scorch’s balls held firm and his erection stood fast. Sev was an oaf with shit timing. There was a reason they gave Scorch the fiddly wires and det controls. He stretched his fingers and reset his grip. “Not happening, vod.”

“Do you have to be so loud about it?”

“Loud?” Had he said something? Lost control of his breathing?

“Yes. Loud. Like you’re slugging a hamm sandwich.”

Scorch frowned. “Have you ever had a hamm sandwich?”

“I don’t want one now.”

There was some improvement to technique needed there: Scorch was always open to feedback—to the challenge of reducing the marginal noise of a wank. “You embarrassed?” he found himself asking, strokes resuming. Less hamm-fistedly. His orgasm had slumped a little and he'd have to tenderly call it back up.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” Sev said.

Scorch closed his eyes, picturing something ...

Sergeant Draka was back, and now she was holding him and Sev upside down. The arrival of RC-1207 into the sim wasn’t throwing Scorch off. In fact, it was encouraging. Exciting. He even leaked a little at the idea. What was a commando without his squad? Chafed, apparently. He should’ve brought Sev into the game two nights ago, after they’d been rudely pulled from stasis in preparation for some op known only to Boss.

Scorch didn’t remember decant. But Sergeant Vau, who'd wasted no time rocking up to his watery exile when Jango had put out the word, said they’d been ugly, annoyed, and ornery. The nursery techs had given them mock, miniature Deeces to keep their fussy hands and mouths occupied.

Coming out of stasis had to be worse—they were issued Deeces again, but they weren’t left alone to soothe themselves to sleep with weapons. Now their waking moments belonged entirely to some Jedi named Zey. They’d been forced to run a gamut of proprioception and endurance tests, cleaned their spanking new Katarn and cleaned it once more for luck on Boss’s orders, and told to familiarize themselves with their upgraded HUD systems.

Scorch had and he'd found it wanting: no pre-loaded heavy-isotope bangers or high-definition tailhead reference holos. Did he have to do everything himself in this shabla army?

After submitting to all this with only mild complaint—Fixer had sworn in full sentences—the op order was still not forthcoming. Classic hurry up and fekkin' wait. Wait for instructions they didn’t even need. Coordinates, intel support, and a broad objective would have sufficed for a commando tasking: top brass still had a lot to learn. It had left Delta with more downtime than they liked and had left Scorch wanting nothing more than to take care of that perennial need in his groin. And each time, he had to get a little more creative.

“What’re you thinking ‘bout, Sev?” he teased, poking the boundaries of this sim. Longnecks hated that: it’s why they let the commandos have off-world field trips to forsaken places where they couldn’t peel back the corners without dying. “Something profane? Something a little non-regulation?”

“The shab is wrong with you.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking ... ” The opportunity for candor—without Fixer on the opposite bunk telling him to pipe down or Boss around to make it happen—was interesting. And as far as Scorch knew, this slap-dash prefab of a support base didn’t have surveillance bugs like their dorms on Kamino. The range and assault course here weren't even specced for lasers; they had to waste live rounds on discs and be honest about getting locked onto. Not likely.

With nothing left to hide, Scorch rolled away from the wall and relaxed onto his back, his cock stiff and spry. He pulled his hood up and over his wet glans and back down again, as far as he could take it, skin smarting nicely at the stretch. He went on, “I’m thinking about Sergeant Draka.”

“Stop,” Sev said.

“Her thick thighs in my face—”

“Stop.”

Scorch spat in his hand and throttled his shaft. “Biting our balls … ” Okay, maybe that was a little weird. But if Fixer’s quick work of the base pyrowall in the anxious hours before chill-down was anything to go by, weird could be good. Better than good.

“Don’t make me come down there,” Sev growled. Not unlike Sergeant Draka, actually.

Scorch couldn’t help himself. “Oh yeah, do come down here ... ” He bucked into his fist, as if to jerk out that ball of bliss from behind his sack. The mass of him tensed rigid under one fixed goal. His fumbled around for something in the sheets with his free hand. “Come down her thick legs ... ”

If anything could singe Draka’s hairs, it’d be Sev’s spunk. Scorch loved a blast, but Sev would sprinkle baradium on his Oaties every morning if he could. Sev would spill like a gutted aiwha, animalistic and uncontrolled, and Draka would hiss and gnash her teeth and—

And suddenly, Scorch was over the line. His base clenched hard, choking his groan of release. He convulsed and came thickly into one of yesterday’s socks.

“Shab,” he croaked, his vision returning, his limbs pooling with pituitary pleasure. “Blew up real good.”

Somewhere above him, Sev huffed. “Three nights in a row. You’re disgusting—you know that, right?”

“Stasis, my shebs. I’ve never had such busy balls in my short life.” Scorch twisted languidly to the edge of the mattress and sat up, squeezing his cock clean. “Cooking blanks like they might get lucky.” The knotted sock got buried in tomorrow’s laundry and Scorch borrowed some of Boss’s wet wipes for the cleanup. Sarge wouldn’t miss them.

“The rest of us are fine,” Sev countered.

Scorch glanced at Sev over his shoulder. His brother looked like a corpse who’d taken up reading in the afterlife. Base bunks weren’t much cosier than a stasis pod, but something else was keeping Sev’s spine stiff. Something that might affect squad performance if it wasn’t addressed: a bad case of self-inflicted blue balls.

Scorch pulled up his pants and ambled over. “You know ... you say that. But this says something else.” He grabbed Sev’s perky junk.

Happily for his brother, Scorch’s grip was light. So when Sev knocked Scorch backwards at the throat, he didn’t take Sev’s sack with him. A scuffle ensued, half-hearted on Scorch’s side, though Sev was obviously in one of his fuck-off moods. He always was crankiest after a nap; it’d take him days to shake off stasis. And he was still pissed about Procurement’s theft of his helmet, with its authentic Gamma blood enshrined in red paint. That di’kutla squad had been shipped to Triple Zero, and until Sev butted heads with them again, he’d be as scratchy as a flea-bitten akk.

Using the shallow bunkrail, Scorch flung himself up and collapsed onto his brother, asking the cantilevered cot to bear the weight of two commandos. He was a trusting soul. The tussle continued until Scorch allowed Sev to secure a headlock, rather than drag them both onto the floor. They’d just gotten out of one unnatural bath and he didn’t fancy a dunk in bacta.

Scorch tapped Sev’s thigh. “Alright, alright,” he said hoarsely. Sev’s hold loosened a fraction and Scorch scooted out from it. Sitting up, he grabbed the holozine that had gotten pinned against the wall: some monthly edition of erudition that called itself Lasers & Blasters. “Didn’t know you could, Oh-Seven.”

Sev snatched the ‘zine to stuff it under his pillow. “It’s above your cadet-grade.”

“I think everyone knows you’re the knuckle-dragger around here, not me.”

“I think everyone knows I’m the hero of Geonosis, Killer of Sun Fac.”

Scorch made a theatrical noise that sounded like a broken, wet bes’bev. “Woo-hoo! You hit the broad side of a bantha!”

Now Sev really tried to catapult him onto the floor. But Scorch’s close-combat situational awareness noticed that his brother’s cockstand was holding strong.

“Sev,” he said, panting a little when they’d reached another stalemate, “the only people who know Sun Fac’s name are us, some spooks, and that random forward air controller.”

“Shove off.” Sev kicked him with his boot. He wore them to bed like an animal.

Scorch shook his head. “Not until you take care of yourself.”

“You have some shabla nerve, vod.”

“Rule 45: there should be no happier union than that between a commando and his weapon. But you’ve neglected yours.” He cast a judgemental eye at Sev’s tented pants. They’d been sleeping, shooting, and shitting cheek-by-jowl for their entire lives: Scorch didn’t know why one more bodily function would be that much worse. In that moment, he had more sympathy for his brother’s dick than his brother’s karked-up dignity. Or his own.

He glanced at the chrono. Boss and Fixer still had half an hour at the range and they’d probably hit the mess on the way back. Time enough for a little more equipment maintenance; Scorch believed he was being supremely generous offering what remained of his. He flopped over into a plank above his brother, who was still lying deathly prone. “If you’re not gonna help yourself ...”

“What?” Sev sneered. “You’ll do the honors?”

“Maybe I will. I am better than you, after all,” Scorch grinned. Suddenly, he sensed a game that he wanted to win. They were all like that. Competitive. Not so much against each other, but with each other. Getting screwy Sev off would be the ultimate victory: no one would lose and everyone would leave happy.

“You can’t.” Sev’s disinterest was as threadbare as his pillowcase.

“Alright, vod. I’ll take that bet.” Scorch dug the heel of his hand into his brother’s persistent erection. Sev’s eyelids fluttered. No greater tell in the book. “I bet I can get you off before Boss and Fixer get back. Just this once.”

Sev circled his hands around Scorch’s throat, hissing through perfect teeth bared tight, “You—can’t—Sergeant—Vau—would—”

Scorch scoffed. “You see Sarge here? He’s fucked off to his castle with his kaminii retirement fund.”

Vau had never promised he’d be there on the other side, but ... did he know they’d done a good job? That they’d been singled out for the assassination of the bugs’ chief lieutenant? That they’d survived—no, that they'd excelled, when hundreds of other squads hadn’t? Did he even care? Scorch had to wonder.

He shoved those thoughts aside with conscious effort; they wouldn’t do him any good. Better that Vau wasn't here anyway: he would sniff mightily at this interpretation of no brother left behind. “Hells, he’s probably rubbing one out to a portrait of the dead missus right now,” Scorch continued.

Sev’s grip tightened for their sergeant’s honor. “He wouldn’t—”

“He would. Stars love the old chakaar, Sev, but he’s only flesh and blood.” Actually, that’s all Vau was: cragged skin and blue blood twisted ‘round a frame that seemed to boast a few more bones than average. There must have been a heart in there, too—see: Mird—but Delta had spent their entire cadethood seeking it out to little good. Especially Sev, though he’d slot you for saying so.

Oh, Sev’ika: flesh and blood, plus a lot of bile and bad humor. He stank out the backend when he’d scarfed down too many ration packs, but what would splatter out the front? Scorch was beyond curious now, as he palmed his brother’s package through his clothes.

Sev’s hands held firm, but it was half-hearted, his thumbs only tickling his brother’s trachea. His nostrils flared. He was afraid. No, even better—he was desperate.

It was all the vindication Scorch needed. “That’s right—breathe. Relax. Six-Two’s got you.” He tugged Sev’s fatigues down, hitching the elasticene band behind his balls. Sev grimaced. Yeah, it might not be comfortable yet, but just wait; a little pressure there goes a long way.

“That hurts,” growled Sev.

“Gonna hand me the game?” If Sev had lost sight of his mission objective, he really was gummed up. “Jerking off through a fly feels like doing it in formation,” Scorch said.

Sev turned his head to the wall. If he’d done it at all, that was clearly how.

Scorch took his theoretically-identical brother in hand and felt the heft and heat of a dick that was still an inch left of familiar, however many times he'd seen it. Sev was throbbing. His hands fell away, as deliberately limp as the rest of him, like he was trying to absent himself from his body.

“So ... Sergeant Draka—” Scorch began, realizing he’d just been staring at his brother’s kad for longer than was right. He mentally constructed the fantasy again, deliberately this time, while he warmed up to the idea of working someone else’s shaft. Sev’s shaft. He imagined what Sev might like to hear, because Scorch sure as shab wasn’t keen on hardening up between his brother’s legs himself. That would just be strange. “She’s got you under two hands and a squawking bug under the other, honkin' great tits ready to smother the both of you ...”

Up until he’d found his brother’s cock in his hand, Scorch had fancied himself an honest commando. He really did. Then he had to close the dissonance between his not-insignificant-interest in Sev’s pink tip and, well, Sev: that awkward grump-a-lump who couldn’t look at a sapient or sentient, droid or organic, without scaring them away.

Scorch did it by telling himself this was just his own his cock in a mirror. A learning experience, if nothing else. And his tongue loosened to remember the bet. He began rubbing with intent. “She snaps its neck. Crunch. And isn’t that just your favoritest sound, Sev, ol’ boy?”

“Not her,” Sev said hoarsely.

Manda, he really was giving this to Scorch in the bag. “Who?”

“—don’t know—I don’t shabla know.”

“Easy, vod. You got a lifetime to find out. Well, half of one.”

“Shut. Up.”

Scorch changed the program and flicked a thumbnail right under Sev’s hood. Scratched out whatever dream Sev had building behind his scrunched eyes. It was irrelevant, whatever cleaned the pipes. If his brother didn’t want to say, who was Scorch to ask? The silky give of his hard-on and his nasally gasps vouched that Sev was having an a-okay time. Scorch wouldn’t have a hand, otherwise.

Sev bubbled from his tip. Scorch felt himself flush, but he was more intrigued than anything. It really was like watching a holo of himself. Obviously, Scorch was more handsome, mostly because he wasn’t a fucking psycho ... but a cock was a cock. He lengthened his movement with the slick aid of precome, fisting all the way down to Sev’s slightly lighter curls.

Suddenly, Sev’s fingers wrapped around his. For an alarming half-second, Scorch feared his wrist was about to be snapped. Goodbye dominant hand and superhuman reaction times.

But Sev just held on, eyes pinched shut, arm as unyielding as a barrel.

The situation became more straightforward. Emboldened by the team effort, Scorch stroked faster. Harder. He read the lines in Sev’s fierce face like a manual for a weapon he’d been handed five years ago. A clone lifetime. A batcher’s intuition. He shucked Sev’s sheath down as hard as he could. Twisted his wrist at the top further than Sev’s delicate skin wanted to go. Scorch figured his brother liked the bite of pain. “You feelin’ the heat? You gonna spill all over my fingers, Sev’ika?” he teased.

Sev heaved like he might throw up, and he coughed out only two words. “Do. Not.”

Yeah, he hates that kind of chummy osik and yakking. It was almost sad how much Sev knew what he didn’t want, but couldn’t voice what he did. Even Fixer grunted in approval when something wriggled across the ‘pad’s screen; at least he had some idea what kind of parts he fancied. It was a very broad pool.

Sev just looked embarrassed to be asked.

“Someone’s gonna love your shit, Sev,” Scorch encouraged, coming at it again from a different vector. If he didn’t show his wacky brother some love, who would?

Vau hadn’t been there to bestow that curt nod. They didn’t want to be spoiled. Scorch and his brothers weren’t Skirata’s pups: they’d survived Geonosis because they weren’t. But ... Delta was here and Theta wasn’t and Vau had no karkin’ clue what a close-run thing it’d been. Didn’t know how the knife-edge of his training had probably made all the difference and how chuffed they all were about it.

Or how Sev had made that one-in-a-million shot to Sun Fac’s fighter with half his visor splattered in bug spray. Scorch would remember that for the rest of his short life: angry tendrils of smoke rising behind Sev as he turned contemptuously away from his kill, his helmet gooey with Geonosian.

There were brothers, and there were your brothers: the ones who’d made you better just by being there beside you. Sev was one of those.

Scorch didn’t have to improv osik, now. The words came as easy as his muscle memory as he pistoned his palm along Sev’s angry cock. “Fuckin’ proud of you, Sev: bane of bugs and sniper extraordinaire. Wish Vau could’ve seen it, I really do. I’ll have CLONINT’s guts for rappelling lines for wiping Boss’s cache.”

Sev’s free hand had bunched into the sheet, his knuckles whitening. He stilled suddenly, tense as the second before the opening salvo. Here it comes.

“Ooh, so that’s how Sev breaks. Result!” Scorch had imagined Sev’s orgasm would be like squeezing blood from a stone. Not at all: it came as surely and naturally as his own. Scorch watched intently. Who knew their balls became one in the moment of triumph like that? As Sev’s practically disappeared into his taut body, Scorch had to think on his feet to save his brother’s freshly-laundered fatigues—or, on his knees and elbows, as the case was.

Thunking his other arm across his face, Sev lost the bet with a violent shudder—and without a sound, probably so he couldn’t say he’d enjoyed it. He squirted fully but cleanly onto the open spread of the ‘zine, thanks to Scorch’s management and direction. A long, messy line of cloudy white right across the cross-sectioned barrel of a Magna-Caster-100. Thank fuck for flimsi.

Shaking off Sev's hand, Scorch dropped the wilting cock. It was not attractive, and he prayed the ladies wouldn't think the same, warring with himself about whether he could succumb to the mortification of going limp in someone’s mouth. Maybe it was better to pull out and stripe them? It merited further research on Fixer’s ‘pad, just in case.

“Target softened. Should make things easier for you. Hope you took notes,” Scorch said, oddly transfixed by the description of the ‘Caster’s invisible quarrels he’d spotted on the page. He was growing itchy for a time-sensitive rummage—Scorch would wager his lower left nut that Delta could now go toe-to-toe with any of Draka’s squads for acquisition. With any luck, this mysterious upcoming op would net them some exotic toys.

He shifted his weight, feeling the need to move before that idea made him stiff again and everyone got the wrong impression.

“‘m not soft, di’kut,” Sev mumbled from underneath his arm.

Scorch patted his thigh. “Sure you’re not.”

“Getting soft will get us popped.”

Scorch was halfway off the bunk, but he stopped to squeeze Sev’s fucked-up head. “Hey, ner vod. Look at me—look at me,” he demanded. Sev let his arm fall behind his curls but he kept his gaze elsewhere. “No need to quote Sarge to me. Or go grey over stupid stuff like him.”

Stuff like distraction—a dirty word in Vau’s lexicon. What did they have to get distracted by, anyhow? Grainy holovids? They had enough room in their over-engineered skulls for a few of those, and if they ever got to touch the real thing, Scorch figured they wouldn’t lose their heads. Right? Civvies were so unexceptional, after all. Probably couldn’t tell a maranium blast from a benign xenon light sculpture. Brothers, especially your fellow commandos, were the only company worth keeping—even Vau said so, and Skirata had said Vau had wined and dined New Mando aristos and had bedded a fekkin’ princess in a past life.

Eventually, Sev’s sour mug puckered in something like thought. “If you fucked up my range scores, I’m going to piss in your pack.”

Scorch laughed, dumping his feet onto the floor and wandering in the direction of Boss’s ration bars. Mess was a whole two hours away and Scorch had a month’s eating to make up for. “Sev’ika, no one could fuck up your range scores. You just pregamed with Lasers & Blasters.”

The ‘zine smacked the back of Scorch’s head, wet side flat.

Yeah, we're still good, Scorch thought, as he finally manhandled his stroppy brother onto the floor. And we always will be.

(also on Ao3)

[the-irish-mayhem]

This is a series of short, unrelated vignettes/oneshots that was supposed to be posted for Fosterson Week a year or two ago and I finally got around to finishing it. Enjoy!

5 Universes In Which Jane Is Worthy and 1 Where She Isn’t

Read on AO3

1.

On the top ten list of bad ideas she’s ever had, this is so, so, so bad the number one spot doesn’t even seem adequate. The guy who thought he was Thor clearly got caught trying to get her stuff back, and so she is  so  screwed unless she goes in herself. God, why did she go along with this again? He’d claimed he’d fly out once he got what he was looking for (which,  god , again, why had she kind of believed him?)

Her feet crunch quietly against the hard-packed sand leading to the hole in the plastic tarping making up the walls of the facility that Thor had kicked a guy through, and she, without nearly as much hesitation as she should probably feel, hops in.

The place isn’t huge, and it doesn’t take long for Jane to find the main room.

Thor had helpfully drawn nearly everyone in security away from where her equipment is stowed, next to a… hammer in the dirt. Literally, they built this entire site around a hammer? What the  hell , archaeologists never get this much funding and government attention. And what does her equipment have to do with it?

Jane shakes herself. She has a lot more important things to do instead of trying to puzzle out the weird and wild workings of shady government agencies. Things like capitalizing on their inattentiveness and getting her gear back.

She grabs her notebook first, stuffing it into her back pocket, and then trying to figure out how she’s going to cart out at least two hundred or so pounds of equipment.

“Hey!”

Jane nearly leaps out of her skin and turns, seeing a pair of security guards sprinting towards her from one of the halls.

“Shit,” she spits, and frantically looks around at her equipment. Lightest and hardest to replace… Radio spectrometer retrofitted for wormholes. Yep, that one. She scoops it up in her arms and takes off.

Even running as quickly as she can, the guards are still within arm’s length of her before she’s taken five steps.

Oh, they are not taking her work. Absolutely not. Erik isn’t here to hold her back this time.

She reaches an arm out, barely managing to hold onto her spectrometer as she grasps the handle of the hammer. Old or valuable, the thing is still a hammer, she can still swing at them with it.

A crack of thunder. A blinding flash of light. The feeling of grabbing a live-wire running through her body for a handful of terrifying seconds until the euphoria comes.

If she be worthy , she hears.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Oh, Jane thinks.

Oh,  fuck .

 2.

“No, I don’t know what… That’s why I’m coming out here to… Look, all the issues with our readings at the site are originating from this one spot, so yeah, I’m going to go take a look,” Jane says into the phone.

“Who is it?” Darcy whispers. Their truck rumbles along a remote road in Norway leading to the coast, and the interference from their mystery site makes it so they don’t get any radio stations, so Darcy is starved for entertainment.

Jane covers the mouthpiece and whispers back, “Caplan. He’s--” she uncovers the mouthpiece. “No, there’s not any danger. You--no… No… Wait, but that time wasn’t actually my fault, so…”

“Being a dick again?”

Jane’s eyeroll is all the answer required. “Look, we’ll be ba-- in--” Jane makes an almost comical crackling noise in the back of her throat. “Wha-- interference from the-- thr-- breaking up--bye.” She hangs up without any further discussion.

Darcy contains a laugh. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. “Well, it’s my being at his facility that’s even getting him funding in the first place, so, you know.” She shrugs. “If he wants to fight me, I’m the one with more published papers and theories that changed the laws of physics.”

Darcy pumps a fist. “Fuck yeah.”

She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s pissed we took the Mule without asking.” Where they plan on going, there’s no vehicle access, so the ATV was their only recourse. “If he thinks I’ll be satisfied with this one spot fucking up my results over and over again, he’s got another thing coming. Speaking of which,” the device that rests in Jane’s lap begins to ping, “pull over here.”

“Woo, off-road time,” Darcy cheers, and follows Jane’s instructions.

Another hour of driving in the Mule later, they reach the geographic nexus that’s been screwing with their readings.

It’s a pretty spot, bright green grass running all the way to the edge of the cliff, where a sheer drop would land them in the ocean. Norway’s fjords are always breathtaking, and Darcy counts herself lucky yet again that she gets to visit places like this and get paid for it. All in all, a pretty rad job.

“Can you set up--”

“Magnetic perimeter and radiation scanners?” Darcy finishes. “Yeah.”

Darcy unloads the equipment from the back of the ATV as Jane approaches the nexus.

It looks like a storm is beginning to swirl overhead, and Darcy eyes it nervously. Without any cover, they are pretty much sitting ducks if any rain starts to fall, god forbid if lightning starts. Where the hell did all these thunderheads come from? This blew in awfully fast.

Jane crouches down and reaches for something on the ground. “Darcy, you should come look at this,” she calls out. 

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stands straight up. The sensation is so strong and sudden that it literally causes her to gasp in shock.

“Jane--” she starts but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Faster than the blink of an eye, a massive bolt of lightning tears from the sky, slicing straight down to where Jane kneels.

Darcy barely has time to scream.

She is thrown backwards by the force of the lightning strike, and she thinks she hears a voice whisper before she hits the ground behind her.

If she be worthy.

When she looks up again, she knows she hears it.

A strange woman stands where Jane once was--massive, tall, blonde, with impressive armor and Mjolnir in her fist.

May she possess the power of Thor.

 3.

Fragile isn’t a word that could ever have been used to describe Jane Foster, but with her cheekbones hollowed out by weight loss, neck and wrists gone skinny and tendons standing out against her skin in sharp relief, fragile almost seems generous. A plastic band wraps around her wrist, stamped with her name, attending physician, allergies, and a barcode encoded with all her patient information.

She is tired, often, but with Darcy’s help still manages to go through her research and rough out an outline for her next paper she plans to publish.

Jane likes to plan, likes to say things like there’s a conference next September that this paper will do really well at, and Jane knows that Darcy is trying to hide her heartbreak at these statements. Darcy used to not hide anything from her, used to barely have the capacity, let alone the desire, but it’s strange the effect dying can have.

Her hospital room is outfitted with several whiteboards scribbled over with notes and formulae, the answers Jane constantly seeks waiting to be pried out of the clutches of the equations she can spend hours puzzling over. It’s a good use of her time, when she’s not--

Elsewhere.

Jane is careful to hide the hammer. It’s her secret legacy, her last hurrah, her hidden responsibility and duty--

Mjolnir is many things to her, but burdensome is certainly not one of them.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed, gripping her IV pole to help her stand. She walks over to the window, where the sunlight of the early afternoon has been shrouded over by storm clouds. She slides open her window, the cool wind of the storm washing over her face.

In the distance, she hears the rumble of thunder.

Jane Foster smiles.

 4.

His axe is buried in Thanos’s chest, and there’s a blinding moment of what feels like sour vengeance--so many have died already, and now the Mad Titan will perish for his crimes.

He presses the blade of Stormbreaker in further, for Loki, for Heimdall, for every one of his slaughtered people.

Then Thanos whispers, “You should’ve gone for the head.”

And he feels his heart drop.

And then, and suddenly as Thor himself had dropped from the sky, another streak of lightning blazes in from the east, and Thor can feel it--  Mjolnir .

But how?

He can’t even tell who is wielding it until the hammer smashes Thanos’s skull in, and the Mad Titan is finally felled. The Infinity Gauntlet drops, the stones unused, the universe saved.

The woman holding Mjolnir is tall, with shining armor that looks well-crafted, including a helmet that hides the upper half of her face. In spite of that, he can see her eyes.

Eyes he would know anywhere in the galaxy.

She looks almost as stunned as he is.

“Jane?”

 5.

The cell phone footage is grainy and difficult to make out. Shot by a civilian in Garching, Germany, the shaky video peeks at the action from behind a brick wall. A voice out of frame whispers,  “Dude, I think it’s Thor!”  and is quickly hushed by the one holding the camera.  So at least two more witnesses to track down,  Natasha thinks tiredly.

The observation, though, is rather striking in its accuracy. The figure has a red cape and flowing blonde hair, and displays a command of lightning that Natasha hasn’t seen since Thor more-or-less retired after their last showdown with Thanos.

The opponents are a small gaggle of aliens, impossible to fully make out but probably more scavengers who’d come to pick the bones of Thanos’s last battlefield. In the two years since the Snap, they’d been getting a steadier stream of extraterrestrial threats looking to take advantage of Earth’s vulnerability.

“How is it that we have holographic video technology widely available, but every civilian who has useful intel has a Nokia from 2004?” Natasha grumbles, squinting and trying again in vain to enhance the footage.

From her place next to her, Okoye chuckles. “I think we’ve demonstrated that we have the worst luck imaginable,” she jokes darkly.

The figure is still hard to make out aside from the gaudy cape and lightning. The electricity in the air made the audio on the video spotty at best, mostly static and a few loud bursts of accurate recordings of a fight, but mostly useless. Then a few video frames give them a clear view of the front of the figure.

“Pause,” Natasha says, sitting forward in her chair. “Go back three frames?” The computer obeys her voice command, ticking back to the moment when they had the best view.

Both Okoye and Natasha freeze as they take in the image.

There’s a shard of disappointment that goes through Natasha when she realizes, once and for all, that it definitely isn’t Thor. That disappointment turns swiftly into suspicion because she does not know this person, and they certainly have powers that would’ve landed them at the top of a SHIELD watchlist back in the day.

It’s a woman. She’s massive, arms and legs thick with muscle, and extensive armor that could be Asgardian make, but with the graininess of the video, it’s hard to tell. Her helmet covers almost her entire face, only exposing her mouth and jaw. Some sort of chainmail on her legs, perhaps, and a sleeve on her left arm. Her right arm is bare, and clutched in that hand--

“Mjolnir,” Natasha breathes.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Okoye says.

Natasha nods. “We all did.”

Despite the video quality, there’s no mistaking that hammer. Especially when Natasha resumes the video and the mysterious woman throws the hammer, and it returns to her hand moments later.

“We haven’t seen any new powered people since the Snap,” Okoye says, breaking the silence. “With our…  situation  being what it is,” she continues, tactfully calling the mess they’d made of the world a  situation , “we should either ascertain if this woman is on our side, get her on our side, or terminate her as soon as possible.”

Natasha nods in quiet contemplation. They cannot afford to have a powered person running around the world unchecked, not with the way things are. They’re barely managing to hold it together as it is, and the Avengers are spread extremely thin. Not to mention their help is often rejected in an official capacity, a lionshare of the blame for what happened falling to the World’s Greatest Heroes who failed to save the world. It’s a PR nightmare, and there are many nights when Natasha wishes that she’d just been dusted along with the half of the world who didn’t make it.

But she didn’t. She’s still here, and someone needs to lead.

“Want me to track down Thor and ask him about her?” Okoye says. “Based on her strength from that video, she’s probably Asgardian.”

Natasha’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, that Thor can’t handle this, that he’s been in an almost constant state of inebriation and/or depression for the last two years and she won’t expose her friend to something that might be painful for him. Then her rational mind kicks in and she nods at Okoye. Thor is their best lead. “I’ll come with you.” (Then her vicious mind raises its hackles and says if she’s got to wade into the shit that is the post-Snap world, then Thor should have to get right into it with her.)

That night, the evening news features a story with the grainy footage Natasha could’ve sworn she’d managed to scrub from everywhere (but alas, she is no Vision.) The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads The New Thor: Who is she, and can we trust her?

***

They find him at a hightop table in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Asgard, and if Natasha had been serving him, she probably would’ve cut him off at least four drinks ago, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned with denying their monarch his alcoholic solace.

“Do I need to go get Brunnhilde?” Okoye whispers to Natasha.

Thor sways in his barstool, hands clasped around a large stein of beer, but seems coherent enough to answer their questions.

“Not yet.”

“Wha--?” Thor mumbles, eyes half-lidded. “What’re you saying?” His words are disturbingly slurred. Maybe getting Brunnhilde wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Natasha refocuses. “Have you watched the news recently?”

Thor snorts and takes a drink of beer. And doesn’t stop taking a drink of beer until the stein is half-empty. Natasha’s eyes widen when he lets out a loud belch.

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding apologetic, “but you’ll have to excuse me for not keeping up with current events.”

Okoye cuts in, “How about this current event?

She slides a set of photos out of a manila envelope, laying them down on the bar table. The paper sticks to the surface of the table.

Thor shakes his head once, as if trying to rein in the spinning the room is likely doing around him. He leans down and squints at the photos. “That--” He cocks his head. “That isn’t me.”

“No,” Okoye confirms. “It isn’t.”

“These photos were taken two days ago in Garching, Germany. Know of any Asgardians who settled there?”

Thor swallows, and doesn’t immediately answer. He raises his free hand not on his beer to the photos, and the tip of his middle finger drags over where Mjolnir is inked onto the paper. “I thought it was gone,” he mumbles.

“So did we,” Natasha says, tempted to reach out to him at the abject sadness in his voice.

Okoye slants a glance at Natasha.  Focus , she seems to say with her eyes, before redirecting Thor, “Are there any Asgardians in Germany?”

“A few,” he says. “None that look like this woman.” He looks up at them. “Do you know how she found Mjolnir?”

It’s his most coherent question yet. Natasha shakes her head. “We just found out about her. She looks pretty confident with it, so maybe she’s been training somewhere.”

“I don’t underst--” Thor loses his battle with his balance and gravity and falls off his barstool. Natasha and Okoye both reach out to steady him, but he manages to catch himself before he hits the floor.

Natasha goes to Thor’s side, her heart falling quickly as she puts an arm around him. It’s hard to see Thor like this, especially knowing the kind of man he used to be. (Of all the people she thought would stick with her, after Clint and Steve left, she thought that Thor would be the one to stay. He’d fought through so much heartache, sided with them in New York against his own brother, protected the Earth from the Dark Elves after his mother’s murder, faced down Thanos even after his planet had been destroyed, and yet he’d always been ready to fight. It’s downright unnatural, utterly tragic to see him laid so low.)

Turning to Okoye, Natasha says, “Go get Brunnhilde.” Okoye doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Thor,” Natasha prompts, getting the man to look at her. His eyes look pained. She’s sure hers must reflect his. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“Stop what?” he mumbles.

“You know what.” She hesitates before offering, “You could come back, you know. Join the Avengers again. I really could use the help, and you’ve got more experience leading than everyone else on the team combined.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No.” Clear, concise, and completely at odds with his drunkenness. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

His answering smile is sad. “I have nothing left to offer you.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha answers softly, but based on his tone, this isn’t an argument she’s going to win. Not today, at least.

A beat passes. “You really didn’t know about Mjolnir?” she asks, one more time.

“I’m not worthy anymore,” he whispers. “Why would it call to me?”

Natasha doesn’t answer that. There’s a lot of layers there that she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully understand.

Okoye returns with Brunnhilde at her side. She says to Okoye, “You know, sometime you’re going to have to visit me when it’s not for the purposes of picking his sorry ass up off the floor.”

Okoye chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Brunnhilde proceeds to pick Thor up in a bridal carry, making Natasha stumble a bit when his weight is no longer against her. “Come on, your majesty,” she says, tone almost bored. “Let’s get you home.”

Natasha bites her tongue against all the questions she wants to ask.

How often do you do this for him?

How is everyone around here blind to what’s happening to him?

Where on earth is he getting enough alcohol to regularly get drunk?

Before she can even think of pursuing another line of questioning, she gets a call from Carol--she is needed urgently back at headquarters.

She sighs. The hunt for the new Thor will have to wait for now.

***

It’s only once Natasha and Okoye are on a quinjet and flying back to their base that Brunnhilde unceremoniously drops Thor on the ground.

He huffs, but quickly stands up and brushes himself off, perfectly sober. “Unnecessary.”

She glares at him. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” she demands. “Those are your  friends .”

“Natasha is a friend,” Thor corrects, “Okoye thinks I’m a worthless drunk.”

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. “Because she’s never known you as anything else.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself, but they  know  about her. What’s your act doing to keep her safe now?”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw works furiously, but he calmly answers, “They don’t know her identity. They think she’s a rogue Asgardian.”

Brunnhilde bristles and brusquely pulls a folded manila envelope out of her back pocket. “Okoye gave these to me, said to ask you about them again when you sobered up.” She quickly opens the envelope and tears its contents out and holds them right in his face. The edges of the photo paper crease under the force of her fingers clenching down on them. “You see this? The better she gets, the more this is going to happen. And you know what’s eventually going to happen?” She jerks her head backwards. “Your friends are going to find her. She’s on a crash course, and then she will be a part of this. You can’t stop that. It was a fantasy to think you ever could.”

“I didn’t think I could keep her from it forever,” Thor replies evenly, and he wraps his fingers around Brunnhilde’s wrist and lowers the photos from his face so he can look her in the eye.

“Then  why ?” she asks.

“Because she needs to be better than me,” he says, like a release of steam from a pot. “She needs to be better, and she’s not yet.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’re going to get a choice for much longer.

   and the one time…

“Jane.”

His shoulder jumps under her head.

“Hm?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she says groggily, and pushes herself off Thor’s shoulder. “Oops,” she says when she notices the spot of drool on his shirt. “Sorry.” The weird half-sleep that comes along with car rides is slow to depart, clawing at her eyelids until she reaches to her right, where a bottle of water sits.

After she downs half the bottle and truly wakes up, he gives her a soft smile, one that says he probably wasn’t far behind her in terms of falling asleep. “It’s no matter. I thought you’d want to be awake before we arrived.”

She stretches her hands over her head as much as the towncar’s roof allows, and a series of satisfying pops go down her spine. She grunts in satisfaction before saying, “I need to go over my speech one more time.”

“I’m fairly certain  I  could give it at this point with how many times I’ve heard it.”

“You’re a good person to practice with!”

“I’m only teasing,” he says. “And besides, this is hardly your first time doing this.”

“This still feels bigger, somehow.” 

He makes a soft sound of agreement. Jane offers the water to him, which he accepts and drinks his fill before capping it and setting it aside.

Jane continues, “It’s one thing to get, you know, a big science award. Like, the last time I got the Nobel I felt almost old hat at it, you know?”

Thor gives her a look. “I recall you saying that you felt like you were going to throw up before you went onstage to give your speech.”

Jane flaps her hand at him. “Okay, sure I was nervous, but I was….used to the shape of it? This is a completely different type of thing.”

“Yes, excelling at heroics is something you usually leave to me.”

“Hey, I have plenty of behind the scenes heroics!”

“Of course, dear,” he says with a laugh, “but none of those behind the scenes heroics resulted in a singlehanded defeat of the Infinity Stones, handicapping Thanos’s plan, and saving untold lives.”

Jane tilts her head back onto the headrest, a smile spreading across her face. That day, that last fight that Strange predicted would end in only one way, would be permanently emblazoned in her memory as long as she lived. Thor had asked her to stay away from the battlefield, and initially, she’d agreed. She and Tony had been theorizing about the nature of the stones, and they hadn’t had time to parse out the quantum entanglement theories together before her thinking buddy had to jet off to try and save the universe.

It came to her like a lightning strike only minutes after the team had left for the last battle. She’d built a frequency jammer that would disrupt the quantum entanglement of the stones in thirty minutes flat, and then raced out of the Avengers compound like a bat out of hell. She’d just have to get within range of the stones, and they’d be rendered inert, their effects immediately reversed, and they’d just be ordinary stones, and then they could be destroyed.

And, incredibly, even though the science of it was shaky at best, and she’d had to improvise on the fly when some of the wiring on the jammer had shorted out, it worked.

The army from the past was gone, snapped back to their original chronological configuration; Natasha and Gamora were spat out of whatever pocket universe they’d been trapped in; and Tony hadn’t had to use his gauntlet, hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for the universe as she’d  known  he’d planned on.

(Dr. Strange had sputtered, shocked, saying that of the fourteen million six hundred and five futures he’d seen, he’d only seen one possible outcome where they won, and it wasn’t this.

Jane shrugged, breathless, dirty, bloody, and grinned. “I found number fourteen million six hundred and  six .”)

“And all without a single power to her name aside from her intellect,” he finishes.

“I am pretty cool.”

“Both pretty and cool, much agreed.”

She lets her head fall to the side so she can look at him. His beard is long enough to be braided, and he’d done so this morning, and he’d taken care to braid some of his hair as well before pulling it back with a tie. He looked good. Great. Amazing, even.

She reached out her hand closest to him, trailing a finger along one of the braids in his beard. A streetlight from outside catches on her wedding ring just so.

After the Snap, she and Thor had drifted back together, partially out of shared grief and guilt, but had ultimately rediscovered why they’d worked together for years before the distance had become too much strain. They’d officially tied the knot a few years after Tony and Pepper had. (Steve had been Thor’s best man, and Darcy Jane’s maid of honor. Tony walked Jane down the aisle in Jane’s mother’s absence. Morgan had been their flower girl.) 

She wonders if any of this would’ve happened if they hadn’t found each other again. If they hadn’t rekindled their love for each other in the horrible aftermath of the Snap, would she have been around to help? Would Tony have reached out to her with the time travel issue? Would he have invited her to collaborate on the quantum entanglement of the stones if she hadn’t re-integrated herself into the Avengers circle? She likes to think so--they were friends, at least somewhat, before the Snap (but their closeness now was only formed in those last five years of wounded peace.)

“What are you thinking about?” Thor asks, and mirrors her position so he can look at her.

“Just that I’m really glad I married you.” She nudges forward so she can kiss him. “Really, really glad.”

“I’m glad you married me, too,” he answers. “Not many women would have had the fortitude to put up with me for as long as you have.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it over to her lap. “How many people did Pepper say were going to be here?”

Thor shrugs. “Less than two thousand, but there is the webcast as well.”

“ God .”

He squeezes her hand. “Go through your speech once more. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if we could skip past the ceremony and go right to the drinking and partying portion of the evening.”

Thor laughed. “If only I were planning the evening, Jane Foster. Now start from the top.”

Jane laughs, and closes her eyes. With her husband’s hand in hers, his warmth a steady reassurance at her side, she recalls the words she’s memorized and feels her nervousness retreat as she begins to speak.

[aliensmoothie]

Borderlands: The Broken Mask

pt. 1

word count: 2509

summary: the inciting action

Fiona approached the run-down building. It was just a small shack out in the desert, in a canyon between two orange rock cliff-faces. It was also where she assumed the person who reached out to her was. As she awkwardly stood and debated whether or not she should just enter or knock or something, she heard footsteps approaching and turned around.

"Sasha?"

and there, walking towards her, was her younger sister (and partner in crime), Sasha. Her sister gave her a smile and said, "Good to see you too, Fi."

"What are you doing out here?" Fiona asked, crossing her arms at her sister, trying to contain her smile. It's been a while.

"Well, someone reached out to me. some job?"

"Huh, that's weird…" Fiona trailed off, looking at the shack, "I'm here for a job too."

"huh, yeah, weird coincidence." Sasha conceded.

"Holy shit-" a voice from behind the girls said

"Vaughn???" said the both of them, turning to face the unintimidating bandit lord.

"Sasha, Fiona!" Vaughn said, opening his arms to his friends "Bring it in!"

Sasha and Fiona looked at each other, then back to Vaughn (still holding his arms out). 

As the three friends hugged, Vaughn said "It's been a grip guys, where have you been?"

"Well, it hasn't been that long, right?" Fiona asked. Sasha shook her head.

Vaughn broke from the hug and smiled up at his friends "Yeah, only around a month or something. Still, I've missed you two! I'm not that caught up in bandit lord...ing."

"I've just been taking odd jobs, really, nothing interesting." Sasha shrugged.

"Yeah, same here," Fiona said "but it's good to know that your 'bandit-lording' is still going well"

"Oh like you have a better word for it," Vaughn quipped, "but yeah! The Children of Helios are still together… Albeit in smaller numbers than ever- but still together!"

"So what are you doing here?" Sasha asked, bringing the elephant in the room into focus.

"Oh, I got contact from some guy out here. Said he had a job, and honestly I just needed a break from the stress of bandit life."

"Huh, guess it's almost like old times." Fiona said, evoking a sad smile from her friends. 

It's been about a month since the three saw each other, and maybe that wasn't completely an accident. Every time they get together, even after five years, it's hard not to think about their missing team member. 

When Rhys disappeared, they all searched like crazy, but after a year of it, they had no choice but to assume he was gone. It was the most likely thing at that point. He may have gotten through some crazy shit, but at the end of the day, Rhys was a middle management coder at Hyperion. It's not like he was particularly well-suited for Pandora.

"So, is our employer home or what?" Fiona said, breaking the silence and turning towards the rundown shack.

"I mean, we can probably just go in," Vaughn started, "but maybe we should knock firs-"

Before Vaughn could finish his sentence, someone jumped down from the cliff-face behind the shack, onto the roof. As the figure landed, they saw that it was infamous assassin and vault hunter, Zer0. And as Fiona, Sasha, and Vaughn stood in awe for a moment, they flashed a smiley-face emoticon on their helmet's display.

"Zer0? Did you get a job here too?" Fiona questioned.

Zer0 jumps down from the roof, remaining silent. Fiona had heard it'd been a while since they've said much of anything, really.

Fiona didn't know why she had really expected an answer, but decided to take their silence as a yes, given the circumstances. "Cool, cool…"

Fiona, Sasha, and Vaughn all look at eachother for a moment in puzzlement. Who was this employer, and why did they choose this fucking wild grab bag of a team.

As they turned back to Zer0 to ask them if they knew anything, they saw that they were already attempting to answer the question, and entering the shack.

The three entered after them, and were faced with who they assumed to be their employer. They wore a cyan hoodie, a brown bomber jacket, and (this being their most notable feature) a pink biker's helmet, decorated with a few stickers, and a cyan 'X' spray painted on their left eye, and a cyan 'O' on their right. Behind them, there is a sizable splattering of blood on the wall, just starting to coagulate.

"Well, you're all here." the person said, in a voice distorted and crackled through their helmet, "I'd offer you something to drink but we should probably just leave."

The four paused for a moment, recovering from the slight whiplash of this stranger's lack of niceties.

"Are you uh- Are you our employer?" Vaughn stammered.

"Well, 'employer' isn't really right. But I am the person who contacted you four, yes." the stranger answered.

"Hold on, you're paying us, right?" Fiona asked, one foot practically out the door already.

"No, but my... employers probably will. I can only assume that's what they want with you." the stranger said, walking towards the door, "Now, if you have more questions- and want them answered- you should start walking."

As the stranger left, the four paused once again. Whoever this was, they didn't wait for goddamn anyone. But either they had no other choice, or really just nothing better to do, because all four began to follow them out of the shack.

After walking in silence for a moment, Sasha said, "So… Who exactly are you?"

"My name is Janus," they said.

"Are you going to tell us where we're going, Janus?"

"To my 'employers'" 

"And where are they?"

"Not that far. There's a base near here that we can contact them from." Janus answered calmly, "And in case you were wondering, we don't have to walk all the way there. We should have a ride closeby-"

Just as they finished their sentence, the group spotted what ride Janus was talking about. An only slightly busted bandit technical, parked at the beginning of the canyon. The only issue being, a bandit was indeed in the technical, and as the group approached he began to draw his gun.

"Cool it, Aleks," Janus began "It's me."

And, as soon as the bandit- Aleks- registered Janus, he took a far more friendly disposition. He hopped out of technical, and walked over to Janus to give them a hearty clap on the back, to which they seemed almost completely unfazed (but a little irritated) by.

"Janey! It's good to see ya man! what ya doin out here!" 

"A job."

"Oh really? without any cameras on ya-" the bandit began to say, laughing, but was cut off when he noticed the rest of the group.

"Hold on, did Tyreen send you out to get those four?" the Bandit said softly.

"Yes."

the bandit started inching back to the technical "Shit… uh. let me just uh. make a call on my Echo real quick?"

Janus stared for a moment "We need your car."

Aleks turned back to Janus "whuh- uh, no, dude. the other dudes are still fuckin about, and they told me to watch the te---"

Janus raised their pistol, and without hesitation, shot Aleks clean through the skull. They holstered their gun, and hopped into the technical, with the blood splatter still on it.

Janus looked expectantly at the group, and they reluctantly hopped into the back of the bandit technical.

After driving for a while in awkward silence, Vaughn spoke up, "Was that one of yours?"

"huh?" Janus asked

"The guy you shot, Aleks. Does- did he work with you?"

"Yeah."

"Your uh… employers probably aren't going to be really happy about you shooting him, right?"

"No, I actually think they might be somewhat happy with me."

The group paused in confusion for a moment, until Fiona asked "who exactly are your 'employers'?"

"Tyreen and Troy Calypso of the COV- The Children Of the Vault." Janus answered.

"What do you do there?" 

"I do the same thing as most everyone else. We... entertain, I guess."

The conversation ended there. The pause left before "entertain" was far too unsettling, and nobody wanted to ask them what exactly they meant. 

The technical slowed down as they approached an abandoned Hyperion base. Well, abandoned by Hyperion that is, because in terms of bandits and the like, it was pretty well stocked. 

"This is it. We'll head inside, and we can call The Twins from there." Janus said, hopping out of the technical.

The group walked towards the entrance, which had an uncomfortable amount (read: any) standing near it. None of them seemed to acknowledge the group entering, luckily. It doesn't seem like it would get too violent with Janus with them, but it definitely wouldn't be pleasant.

The continued in through the base, which looked to be in fairly good condition, but heavily… "decorated" by the bandits now occupying it. As they went further in, there seemed to be less bandits mulling about, and they finally entered a room that was completely empty of people. 

It seemed to be some sort of gathering area, covered almost wall to wall in screens of varying sizes, and a large holographic communicator in the middle, to which Janus walked towards.

They punched something into the small keyboard panel on the side, and looked up, waiting for the call to start.

" -oy shut the fuck up i have a call coming in- oh hey, Janey! How's my number one superfan?" Said (who the group could only assume was) Tyreen.

"I got the people you were looking for."

"Always straight to the point Jan, I'll give you that." Tyreen said, turning her attention towards the rest of the group "Wow… You really got all of them! How did you manage that?"

After a moment of Janus not responding, Tyreen glared, but shrugged it off, "Anyways, I have a proposition of sorts for you four."

"What kind of proposition?" Vaughn asked.

"Well, I'm sure Janey over there has told you what we're all about, right?" Tyreen quizzed.

"Uh… They said you. 'Entertain'? Or something?" Sasha said, almost unsure that that was the right answer.

"Exactly!" Tyreen exclaimed, "And we do it with a skillset that suits pandora- and you four- quite well."

"... And what exactly is that?" Fiona asked.

"Bloodshed, gore, murder- we're the bloodiest goddamn streamers on the ECHOnet!"

At that, most of the group took pause. It makes sense that they'd want Zer0, but the rest of them aren't particularly competent murderers.

Tyreen seemed to read their confusion, as she began to explain, "You all had involvement in the opening of the Vault of The Traveller. That's a preeeetty big deal, it was a vault that was known to be wicked elusive, until you and a few others cracked it. We got ahold of most of those 'others' too, but they weren't uhh… too sympathetic to our cause, or whatever."

After a moment of hesitation from the group, Fiona spoke up, "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but it's a no from me."

"Same here." Sasha said.

"Yeah, I think I'm good." Vaughn agreed, as the group cast glances back at Zer0. If anyone, they'd be the one to say y-

"No." Zer0 said, to everyone's surprise. And seemingly to Tyreen's dissapointment

"Well, I was honestly hoping we'd get one of you on board, at least." Tyreen sighed, "But hey, that's why we got Janus in on it, this time."

"What do you mean?" Fion asked.

"To make sure you guys don't walk out of here." And with that, the door to the room slammed shut, and Tyreen pressed something on her ECHO device, activating all the screens, showing footage of the same room they were all in.

"Hey brothers and sisters! God Queen Tyreen here, and today we got a showdown between Janus, and our four special guests! I'll be commentating over the stream, but I'll hang up and Jan, and leave the rest to them." She said, and the hologram shut down, leaving just the five in the room.

But Janus didn't have their weapons drawn.

In fact, they seemed like they weren't even thinking of fighting the four of them, despite Zer0 already having their sword drawn.

"I hacked the cameras in this room before I left. We don't have long until someone realizes the footage is looping and comes in here." Janus said, turning towards the back wall of the room, "There's a secret door somewhere around here, help me find it."

"Wait, you aren't going to try and kill us?" Sasha asked.

"No. You four would absolutely kill me. I may be the longest surviving person here, but I don't fight Vault Hunters." Janus answered. "Now help me find the door."

The four looked all along the walls, trying to see if there was something behind one of the screens, which were all looping the footage of the five of them standing there.

After a moment of searching, Janus hit a button on one of the screens, and a small panel of the wall opened up, revealing the outside of the building.

As the rest of the group made their way out of the door, the main door to the room opened up, with quite a few bandits on the other side.

"Shit- I got them, just run!" Janus yelled, shoving the rest out of the door, and closing it behind them.

Just a moment passed, and the door opened again, revealing the room, now painted with exploded bandits, and Janus, who seemed just fine as they started to run away from the building.

The group followed them, and they ran through the desert, hearing a crowd of bandits beginning to follow after them.

"Where are we going to go!?" Vaughn yelled.

"I don't know- somewhere away from here!" Janus yelled back.

"You didn't have a plan!?" Fiona snapped.

"I did have a plan!" Janus defended, "But the cameras were the extent of it!"

"Look, there's no way we're outrunning them! can't we just fight them!?" Sasha yelled.

Fiona glanced over her shoulder, "No way, they outnumber us!"

"Alright, fuck this-" Janus said, and then pulled out a gun, "Just try to fire a few shots while you're running!"

The group did so without protest, as it was really the best option, though the only one who landed any actual shots was Zer0.

"If we can find a fast travel station- we should be able to throw them off!" Vaughn yelled, "Get back to the Children of Helios or something!"

"Good idea! I know one nearby!" Janus agreed.

As they kept running, they approached the entrance of what looked like an abandoned desert town, which had a quick travel station right there.

Vaughn was the first to get to it, and he hurriedly started interfacing with it.

"Speed it up, Vaughn!" Fiona hissed, still out of breath.

 "I'm doing my best! I don't use these things alo-"

[mst3kproject]

The Star Wars Holiday Special

Happy Holidays, MSTies!  Your present is Episodes that Never Were are back!  Remember last year, when I said Elves was so bad I wished I’d watched the Star Wars Holiday Special instead?  Let’s find out what those words taste like.

The galaxy may be in the midst of a rebellion, but Chewbacca promised his family he will be back for Life Day, and god damn it, he’s gonna get there!  He and Han Solo dodge Imperial forces and asteroid fields on the way, but the real danger may be waiting for them at home, as Stormtroopers do a treehouse-to-treehouse search for rebel sympathizers.  It won’t be much of a holiday if Chewie arrives home only to be immediately arrested!

That sounds exciting, doesn’t it?  It even sounds like it could be made to mean something. There is perhaps a point here about inter-ethnic empathy – Life Day may be a Wookiee holiday, but Chewbacca’s alien friends still know how important it is to him and they’re gonna help him keep his promise.  We could also compare it to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.  In that movie, the Martians want to celebrate Christmas but aren’t particularly interested in what it means.  They get all their information about it from pirated television and from children who don’t understand anything much more than ‘free stuff’.  We didn’t give Christmas to them, they literally stole it by kidnapping Santa.  In the Holiday Special, the Wookiees are sharing their cultural traditions with outsiders who have become part of their family – Leia’s speech at the ends notes the humans’ respect for this.

But none of that’s relevant, because this is just a bad 70’s variety hour in a Star Wars costume.  We don’t get to see claustrophobic scenes of our brave heroes hiding from the Storm Troopers.  We don’t get sweeping space battles or bickering robots or weird new planets… we don’t get anything we go to see Star Wars for.  Instead, we mostly watch the Wookiees sitting around their house passing the time as they wait helplessly for Chewbacca to get home.  This could have been neat in itself if Wookiees had an interesting culture, but they live in a Mod 70’s Treehouse and seem to spend most of their time watching television.  The brief opening sequence, in which Solo and Chewie outrun their pursuers in the Millennium Falcon, is just a tantalizing offer of chocolate on the tip of a giant turd.

The actual point of the show, as far as the people who produced it were concerned, was the various little musical numbers and comedy sequences along the way, some of which are more Star Wars-themed than others.  Most of these are presented as one or other of the characters watching them on some form of television, which often doesn’t make any sense.  The sequences themselves are usually not very well-presented and a lot of them are just downright boring, so let’s go through them one by one. Top up your eggnog, folks.  We may be here a while.

Our first setpiece is a holographic circus featuring jugglers and acrobats, which the adults use to distract Lumpy so he’ll stop bothering them – like parents at the mall letting their kids watch Paw Patrol on a tablet while they shop.  When you see televised circus acts, they’re usually filmed up close and at interesting angles, to heighten the sense of danger, and give you a good look at what’s going on.  The Star Wars Holiday Special presents it as tiny figures on a table, always shot from far away and looking down, which removes all the drama from the stunts.  Lumpy enlarges a figure, but it’s only the ringmaster.  The others remain tiny, all while this little Wookiee looms over them like a kaiju that will start stomping if it isn’t entertained.

Then we get Mark Hamill’s cameo (in which he looks weirdly like one of the puppets from Invaders from the Deep), followed by Malla’s attempt to cook Bantha Surprise by following the directions on a tv show.  I’m not very interested in cooking shows anyway, but I have a hard time imagining anybody being interested in a fake cooking show featuring fictional ingredients from other planets.  What we see on Malla’s screen comes across as a sort of parody, but not actually a funny one. I’m tempted to think Harvey Korman must have been making fun of some particular 70’s cooking show maven but I don’t begin to know who that might be.

The ‘humour’ of the sequence is supposed to come from Malla’s attempt to follow the directions even though the cook on the show has four arms and Malla only two.  I could pull some commentary on ableism in cooking and cooking shows out of this, but it would be a stretch, and nobody on the writing end was thinking about it that hard.  It’s just stupid, and so is Korman’s plastic wig.  Malla eventually turns it off in frustration, long after we’re tired of listening to it.

By the way, if you’re wondering whose stupid idea it was to set the whole thing on Kashyyyk (or, as a guy in the Special calls it, Kazook) and not have any subtitles to the Wookiee’s dialogue?  That was apparently 100% George Lucas.  The actual script and everything was in the hands of the television producers, but Lucas would not budge on the premise being Wookiee-centric.  At least he exorcised that particular demon here, instead of subjecting us to it on the big screen.

Anyway, next Art Carney drops by to deliver some Life Day presents, among which is the source of our next setpiece: a VR machine which reads Itchy’s mind to present a personalized fantasy!  This takes the form of Diahann Carroll in a sparkly feather wig, singing a song and saying things like “I am your fantasy, experience me!”  The song is okay, I guess, and Carroll has a lovely voice, but what we’re seeing is basically a boring music video.  She’s just standing there on a glittery black background, and we can’t forget that she’s singing to a geriatric Wookiee who is doing the Wookiee equivalent of jacking off to this (emphasized by the appearance of literal little swimmers in part of the sequence!).  The fact that it’s a personal fantasy plucked from his subconscious makes it feel like this was something we weren’t supposed to be privy to, like we’re looking through somebody else’s computer at his girlfriend’s nudes.

Princess Leia (also looking disturbingly puppet-like… are we sure the actual actors appeared in this, and not look-a-likes in heavy makeup?) and C3P0 get their cameo, and then there’s the single actually effective moment in the Special.  This is when we think Han Solo and Chewie are about to arrive home, ending our torment a full hour early, but no, it’s the Storm Troopers!  This bit isn’t fantastic, but it does work.  Then, sadly, we’re on to the next variety act.

This is a holographic music video which Carney shows to the Imperial troops as a demonstration that the device he has brought Malla for Life Day is harmless.  It’s Jefferson Starship moaning out a rock song, in which I can understand at best one word in three.  The visuals are in intense soft-focus that’s probably supposed to be artsy.  The costumes (what I can see of them) aren’t any more Star-Wars-y than anything else bands wore in the 70’s.  And the song sounds like something you’d find in the ‘easy’ setting on Rock Band.  Why does Black Helmet sit there and watch the whole thing when he’s supposed to be searching every house on Kashyyyk/Kazook for rebel sympathizers?

The version of the Special currently available on YouTube, which tragically lacks the commercials, has a lot of comments along the lines of this is what you hallucinate after buying Death Sticks from that guy on Coruscant.

To drive the point home, the next thing we see is Lumpy watching a cartoon about Han Solo and Chewbacca crash-landing on an ocean planet while searching for a mystical talisman that makes things invisible (I wish they hadn’t actually shown this object – then I could have made jokes about it being the One Ring).  This sequence is generally regarded as the best thing in the Special, and it introduced Boba Fett and provided some characterization for him.  It is definitely true that this is the only segment with a plot, and with its weird aliens and grubby outposts it feels a lot more like Star Wars than anything else going on here.

The main thing that keeps me from enjoying this segment is that it just looks weird.  The animators use exaggerated squash-and-stretch on the droids, even more so than on the living characters, which makes them look like they’re made out of jell-o. Princess Leia looks like something out of a cheap 60’s manga and Luke like he was drawn by a twelve-year-old based on an action figure that wasn’t actually of Luke Skywalker.  Luke has no pupils, which is very distressing, but not as distressing as when C3P0 blinks.  Even worse, as far as I can tell Han Solo has no eyes at all.

The design of the alien planet in this sequence is pretty cool, though.  It appears to be entirely covered in a kind of goopy ocean and the creatures that live in it are neat-looking, even if not terribly plausible.  Animation is really a great medium for fantasy and science fiction, because it levels the playing field: we’re not thinking about the special effects because everything on screen looks equally unreal.  This is something Disney, who used it to such beautiful effect in Lilo and Stitch, totally forgot at just about the same time as they acquired the rights to Star Wars.  Oh, for what could have been.

I want to note here that the average review on this blog is about as long as what you’ve read so far.  We’re only about two thirds of the way through the Special, though, and I can’t really divide a holiday review up into two weeks.  Therefore, consider this your permission to take a break and go snag another latke or whatever you’re snacking on, and then we’ll continue.

There’s one fun bit of background social commentary in the animated sequence, too: the only way for humans to survive the virus is to hang them upside-down so their brains will get enough oxygen despite their weakened hearts.  In the city there’s an advertisement for the cure – and the upside-down human pictured in the ad is, of course, a woman in her underwear.  The image isn’t detailed and it’s not the focus of the shot, so I don’t think it’s an actual piece of gratuitous cheesecake.  Apparently somebody at Nelvana Ltd was just salty about the advertising industry.

The self-contained story in the cartoon makes sense within itself. It justifies Fett’s fearsome reputation far better than anything in The Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi, and the characters seem to be in-character even when they’re off-model.  The problem is with it as a part of the framing story about the Imperial troops searching Chewbacca’s house!  The Special is very explicit that this is not something that’s actually happening in the real world at the same time as the other events – it is a cartoon Lumpy is watching on TV.  Why, in a galaxy controlled by the Empire, would there be cartoons using the real names of real rebel operatives and presenting them as the heroes?  If nobody’s supposed to know Boba Fett is connected with the Empire, why does the show blow his cover?

More importantly, where can I get one of those awesome giant stuffed Banthas Lumpy has in his room?  I don’t know if that’s a real toy that was available in the late 70’s, but Comic Images does make something similar and you can buy them at Wal-Mart or Toys R Us.

While cleaning up the mess the Stormtroopers made of his room, Lumpy watches an instructional video of how to put together some kind of radio. This features Harvey Korman as an android who keeps getting jammed.  Like cooking shows, instructional videos aren’t very interesting unless you’re trying to follow the directions – since we can’t follow the directions, this one is pointless to begin with.  The ‘joke’ is not funny, and lines like “every one of the ten thousand terminals on your circuit breaker module is a different colour” might be amusing when written down but they just don’t work when somebody says them aloud.  Fortunately, it doesn’t last long.

Then we get on to what’s probably the second-best thing in the Special, the bit where we learn that the Mos Eisley cantina is owned by Bea Arthur.  It would be easily the most expensive thing in the Special were it not made up of b-roll footage and re-used puppets from Episode IV.  It’s also kind of got a plot, in that a guy with a baking soda volcano on top of his head (this is certainly an efficient way to get the alcohol directly to your brain) is trying to confess his love to Bea while she just wants to get on with running her business.  Eventually he gets his heart broken and leaves, and then the Empire shuts the bar down, so Bea throws everybody out with a song.

I have to admit, in The Force Awakens when Han Solo mentioned a female friend who ran a ‘watering hole’… there was a moment there when I was half-expecting it to be Bea Arthur’s character.  I’m relieved that it wasn’t, but also just the slightest bit disappointed.  We had to wait for The Mandalorian to get a proper Holiday Special callback.

This bit almost had a chance to say something with its ‘thwarted romance’ plot.  Usually such a thing in a tv show would get what the male character would consider a happy ending.  He would prove to his love interest that being cared for is important, she would realize that love is better than money, and they would metaphorically ride off into the sunset.  What it looks like we’re going to get here instead is something more like the episode of South Park where Butters fell in love with the Hooters waitress. Harvey Korman’s character (yes, he plays three different characters in this Special and this was apparently supposed to be a selling point) realizes his crush is based on a misunderstanding, and while it makes him sad, he’s not going to be an asshole about it.

Nor is Bea’s character vilified for rejecting him, which she does tactfully but firmly, as if she’s gone through this many times before. He’s just a minor annoyance in her day before she goes on to worry about bigger problems, like getting everybody to obey that Imperial curfew.  Then, however, at the last second he pops up from behind the counter after everybody has left – and that’s where the segment ends.  I think we’re supposed to assume they got together after all, but I kind of hope she just threw him out with the rest of them.  No means no, damn it.

Bea Arthur’s Go Home Song is to the tune the Cantina Band was playing in Episode IV, so it pretty much goes without saying it’s the catchiest piece in the Special.

Then, finally, it’s time to celebrate Life Day!  The Wookiees hold up some glowing Christmas balls, then dress in red robes and walk through outer space into a, uh, wormhole, I guess, that takes them to the base of the giant tree from Avatar.  There it’s time for our final setpiece, the culmination of this whole ninety-minute ordeal… Princess Leia sings!  The Life Day Carol is to the tune of the main Star Wars theme, and the lyrics sound like something from a generic Christmas album you get free if you buy three cards at Hallmark.  Carrie Fisher is a decent singer but she looks like she’s as glad this is over as we are.

Much like Howard the Duck, The Star Wars Holiday Special is a production in which they made all the worst decisions they possibly could.  Focusing on the Wookiees at home rather than following Han Solo and Chewbacca through the action killed the whole thing at the starting gate.  Then that plot is nothing but a frame on which they can hang the various variety acts, and none of those are very good.  It’s only towards the end of the sequence that what we’re seeing even has anything to do with Star Wars.  Watching it is an ordeal on the order of an un-riffed Coleman Francis film.  It’s so bad, it’s not even something people get together and watch like they do Manos or The Room.

So why do we still have it?  The Holiday Special was only broadcast once, and was met by fathomless loathing from critics, Star Wars fans, and ordinary people alike. It has never been released in any other format (Andrew Borntreger of badmovies.org has a story about how Lucas had him thrown out of a Q&A panel for asking if it were getting a DVD release), so the fact that you can find it on YouTube today is down to some nameless hero who recorded it on their newfangled VCR back in 1978.  That person then showed it to friends, apparently on the basis of oh my god, you guys, this is so bad, you have to see it, and then because misery loves company they copied it to show to their friends. What we have today is copies of copies of copies of copies, like fragments of Sappho only with VHS artefacts instead of holes in the papyrus (and without the artistic vision).

Humans like to preserve remarkable things.  Sappho we’ve preserved because it’s remarkably good, but the Star Wars Holiday Special we preserve because it’s remarkably bad.  Lucasfilm has tried very hard to stamp it out.  George Lucas himself has said that if he could he would gather up every copy that exists and smash them with a sledgehammer… but we won’t let him do it. We keep copying the Special and passing it along, in a way that’s very familiar to MSTies in particular.  We’re circulating the tapes!  Why this tape in particular?

I don’t claim to know, but my working theory is that it keeps us humble.  We are a species that can produce great things when we put our minds to it.  We landed on the moon.  We eradicated smallpox.  We built the Taj Mahal and the Sagrada Familia.  We wrote The Romance of the Three Kingdoms and the Einstein Field Equations and the aforementioned works of Sappho.  But for all that, we are also capable of throwing the same kind of effort into creating utter disasters – and the Star Wars Holiday Special is the rare example of an unmitigated disaster that didn’t actually hurt anybody.  It reminds us to take a step back and look at what we’re doing without getting too invested in it, but does so while being harmless and at times humorous.

Would I still rather watch this than Elves?  You bet your shaggy Wookiee ass I would.  The Star Wars Holiday Special may be longer, but it doesn’t leave nearly such a bad taste in my mouth.

I will leave you with this: the Special was, as I mentioned, only broadcast once, in 1978 – that means its signal is now forty-one light years from Earth and still going.  There are several hundred stars within that bubble, around two dozen of which are known to have planets.  Somewhere out there, aliens might be getting their first signal from humanity right now and it’s the Star Wars Holiday Special.

[therobinsonwayoflife]

How would each of the Robinsons handle Covid-19 lockdown?

NOTE: This is a silly thought experiment intended for virtual fun and frolic. If you have the means, self-isolate; if you have even more means, donate to your local COVID relief fund & think abt mutual aid to thy neighbours.

Now enough of the real world.

Firstly, the Robinsons live in a utopia where society is sustainable & environmentally friendly and where we no longer have monocultural industrial farming that causes mass epidemics. Worst case scenario the world would experience minor discomfort as its 👌 healthcare system and humaniatarian economy would mean COVID-19 would pass in two weeks where everyone stayed home, got tested, played animal crossing, and went back to work.

That mumbo jumbo aside, in the universe where everything is on fire, I would still imagine that the wealthy, crafty, and optimistic Robinsons are able to continue their lives in much the same as they did before: they’re eccentric billionaire shut ins with all the resources they need not only for self-sufficiency but to sustain their weird hobbies without ever leaving the property indefinitely. Indoor zoo, gym, pool, gardens, greenhouses, fly vending machines, back up power grid, indoor labs, art studios, sky-high ceilings for canons, propeller hats and indoor snowball fights, indoor studio & live frog performances, indoor train, robots & octopus servants to go to the grocery store, cut your hair, get your mail, etc. On top of that they have the latest and greatest & would have no problems telecommunicating w friends via holographic emojis.

HOWEVER the Robinsons would probably still do their part to help others & possibly feel the burn of the world dying around them alongside the economy’s impending collapse.

Order of the Robinsons’ likeliness to lose their marbles: Joe, Tallulah, Franny, Petunia, Fritz, Carl, Gaston, Art, Spike + Dimitri, Wilbur, Bud, Billie, Lucille, Buster, Cornelius, Lefty

Tallulah, if she has any seamstressing skills (or employs people who do) might convert her fashion business into cotton mask business.

Fran would perform live stream concerts and she would’ve been a part of that ugly Imagine celebrity-sing-along video. She might also start to do increasingly unhinged gardening vlogs like January Jones. (She would’ve also secretly donated lots of cash to charity.)

Wilbur’s sitting around playing video games, let’s not kid ourselves. (Neil probably has the timelab on triple lockdown, too.)

Art is a delivery guy so he’s obviously still working. The fact that he delivers intergalactically begs the question of wether the bad universe Robinsons have to deal with an intergalactic as well as global plague.

BHG is dead I’m sorry :(

Neil, as the owner of a multi-billion dollar corporation, is the only other Robinson likely to be interacting with the politics of the pandemic directly. His business isn’t an essential one but could easily be converted:

Reusable PPE: medical and sanitation supplies are disposable for obvious reasons but in times of scarcity, it’s wise to consider reusable alternatives like silicon bodysuits and plastic helmets.

Better masks: As of today a reusable respirator called the North 7700 is already being considered as an alternative to disposable surgical masks that have to be individually fitted to the wearer. Every. Time. Purportedly these masks are also more effective than the N95s (by like 1-5%). They have not been univsarlly adopted and they are also super awkward and bulky for surgeons who might need more space in their field of vision. Neil’s likeliest covid project is to redesign the the surgical respirator mask to be slimmer, versatile, accessible, efficient and resizable. I’m picturing a very fancy, transparent, silicone version of the N95. Maybe they automatically fit to the wearer through sci-fi magic.

Maybe he develops spray-on gloves as seen in a Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs’ spray-on shoes?

ROBOTS & other automisation to replace engadagered essential workers such as grocery store clerks and delivery people. RI could develop a fully automated postal service & cleaning staff for hospitals. This could also be how the reusable PPE is sanitised. Depending on how intelligent these robots are, some of them could even sub in for orderlies and nurses

Better testing: automate mass testing

Higher accessibility to the internet and better telecommunication software: WiFi everywhere the way Nikola Tesla intended, free laptops / phones / devices and improved video conferencing technology

Software that helps w e-learning and e-working

Automated industrial farming? With an automated delivery system?

(In a post covid world this could lead to fully automated luxury communism or fully automated surveillance dictatorship your call)

Efficient pop up test sites, temporary sinks, etc

Improvements to public transportation (which we can assume is already automated so there’s no danger of drivers getting infected). Maybe the monorail cleans itself & has better air filtration. Maybe the seating and poles etc are rearranged to encourage people to stand apart.

Some kind of insta-garden for people wo yards in their homes? (Aka me. I would like this please thanks)

Bread machine

Maybe he helps develop some kind of powerful purel-like soap that kills the virus without water. But that’s not quite up his engineering ally so

Collabs and funding with biotech companies & hospitals to streamline hospital procedure, improve respirator, PPE, COVID testing technology & even vaccine research. Cornelius thinks the human body is gross but he also feels a moral obligation to help so...

If Neil were evil, he could also contribute to surveillance policing, where those disobeying social distancing and social isolation rules are either admonished by drones, surveilled with cameras, trackers, GPS, facial recognition or even house arrest anklets. But again he’s not evil...

I would also like to think that he pays for his employees’ health insurance and sick leave. Again, we hope he’s not evil.

Maybe the family also donates some food & extra supplies. With so many overseas friends they might send care packages or smth. Fran & her brothers are sure to video call the franahuccis often (their parents are in their seventies/eighties at this point).

The would also implement safety measures Gaston the over-50s and disabled among them. Joe, Bud and Lucille will find a way to self isolate from the rest of the family in style. And possibly with a lifetime’s supply of purell. Maybe they still attend dinner via Skype hologram. Or maybe each individual lives their lives as normal except in a giant self-isolation bubble that Neil invented. Bud will probably create a silly YouTube series to cheer up kids.

[chromium-siren]

Lifeboat to Mars (Poe x Reader)-Part 1

(A/N: Sorry if the beginning’s shaky, I’ll probably edit it. Also, I’m changing up some things from my original idea so the plot makes sense later on.)

(TW: violence, mentions of death)

May 3, 2400- What seemed like an ordinary week began to spiral out of control. The day before, the sky was filled with strange satellites- only for everyone to find out that those weren’t ordinary satellites. Then while you were watching television, something odd came on the screen.

“Citizens of Earth!” a snakelike voice hissed, as a tall, gaunt thing with rows of sharp teeth appeared on the screen. The creature appeared to be a person, but with gray skin, an angular face, and soulless black eyes. “I am the Phalanx emperor. Unfortunately, our planet’s last emperor was a fool who drove everyone off our homeworld. And you planet... is the perfect spot to colonize. Surrender immediately! You are now all under control of the Phalanx!” the emperor hissed, laughing maniacally. And like that, the screen faded to static, the emperor’s laugh ringing in your ears. 

May 4, 2400- No one was entirely sure what was going to happen, but you and everyone else began watching the news religiously. President Organa now appeared on screen, regal as ever, as she calmly addressed the public. 

“Good evening, everyone. While the Phalanx situation continues to escalate, I have been working with the science officers behind the Kenobi-1 colony project. We are unsure if evacuation will be necessary, but if it does come to that, we want to advise everyone to get any essential possessions together if we do have to evacuate. Anyone who chooses to try and stop the Phalanx, we wish you the best of luck. We will try to keep everyone posted on any changes. Thank you, and try to stay safe, everyone.” You immediately began going through the house and deciding what would be essential or not. 

May 5, 2400- The news was hacked by the Phalanx emperor again. “We are getting closer and closer, people of Earth. The clock is ticking before we colonize.” 

May 7, 2400- After a fairly reasonable wait and a easy process, you were glad to find that you were going to be a passenger aboard the starship Fulminatrix. The Fulminatrix wasn’t just any old starship- it was designed and built by none other than Armitage Hux, an inventor whom many believed was the best in your corner of the galaxy. 

May 8, 2400- Phalanx ships were spotted in the Earth’s atmosphere. President Organa now sent out an announcement that voluntary evacuation would begin soon, and those who were to fight against the Phalanx began preparing to mobilize. 

May 9, 2400- The Phalanx had arrived on Earth. Although they didn’t have weaponry, they still went around frightening people and threatening them. You knew you had to get out of this place- if it was the last thing you’d ever do.

May 10, 2400- “This is an emergency message from President Organa,” anything that had a speaker blared, before a familiar voice was heard over the radio. 

“Everyone, I know this is a stressful time, but your lives are all in danger. Please proceed in a calm and orderly fashion to your local spaceports. Several expeditionary ships will be there to bring people to our Martian colony, Kenobi-1. While travelling, please stay safe and try not to interact with any Phalanx. Thank you, and godspeed, travelers.” You got out of the car and took your luggage, handing a military officer your ticket. 

“The Fulminatrix is over there,” they said, pointing you towards a stately vessel, handing the ticket, which was now stamped, back to you. You hurried aboard the ship, and accidentally bumped into someone wearing a pilot’s suit. 

“Hey, watch it!” the person said, and you found yourself facing a young man with curly brown hair. Also, he was incredibly handsome. But you felt weird as he looked at you up and down. 

“What’s your problem?” you said, getting on the defensive. 

“The ship’s gonna be leaving soon, you’ve gotta get to your cabin,” he said, escorting you to a luxurious cabin, complete with a plush bed. 

“Wait- I’m staying in this place? On a spaceship going to MARS?!” you said, shocked. “This is really impractical!” The pilot shushed you, and now you heard the sound of electronic chimes. A woman began to materialize in your room, and you quickly realized that she was a hologram- a pretty impressive one. 

“Welcome aboard the Fulminatrix. I am Phasma, the ship’s AI and your personal concierge. In light of the current situation, our ship will be transporting you safely to the Kenobi-1 colony on Mars. Arrival will be in a month, enough time for you to get situated aboard the ship. During lift-offs and landing, all staterooms will be pressurized. For your safety, wearing the pressure suits and helmets provided and staying seated during launch is mandatory. Thank you, and have a pleasant flight.” Phasma’s hologram bowed and then faded out of view. You then turned over to look at the guy- now he had a helmet on.

“Is that the pressure suit?” you asked.

“Yep,” he said, handing it to you. “Just slip it on over your clothes and put on the helmet.” You nodded and slipped the suit on, sliding the helmet on. He buckled himself into an armchair, and you eased yourself onto a chaise lounge that somehow had a seatbelt. Weird. Suddenly, Phasma’s voice was heard again.

“Attention passengers, we will be launching within a minute. Ensure that all possessions are secured.” A low rumble was heard and you felt the ground start to shake.

“You okay?” the guy asked, looking at you.

“Yeah. I’m (Y/N),” you blurted, holding on to the edge of the chaise.

“Well, (Y/N), my name’s Poe Dameron. Here we go,” he said, as the rumbling intensified. Suddenly, the ship began to move upwards, and the sky from your stateroom window grew darker and darker, until it was pitch black. You had your eyes on Poe, who was looking a bit nervous, yet somehow relaxed.

“You’re used to this?” you asked.

“Yeah, being a pilot’s in my blood. But I gotta admit, those eight and a half minutes are always nerve-wracking, y’know?” he said.

“Nerve-wracking?! This is literally my first time going into space!” you responded. You were about to give Poe a mouthful when those same chimes from earlier rang. Phasma had made her return, except she appeared dressed as an old time airplane stewardess, complete with pillbox hat and scarf.

“Hello again, passengers. We are now out of the Earth’s orbit and en route to the Kenobi-1 colony on Mars. For the convenience of all passengers, the entire ship and all locations have gravity and breathable air. At this moment, all of you are now free to move about your cabins and the Fulminatrix. Stewards will be coming to your staterooms to hand out special wristbands. These will serve as your room keys, and have a built-in concierge AI as well.” Phasma paused, and then smiled. “Looks like I’ll be around a lot of you for a while!” she said, laughing like an actual human.

“No, that’s not creepy at all,” Poe said, removing the helmet. As if on cue, a steward knocked on the door. Once you answered, he handed you and Poe two wristbands, which you both put on.

“Well, your staterooms have basic amenities but with a luxurious twist. The master bedroom has a king-sized bed, a full bathroom with luxe toiletries and towels, and a spacious bathtub. The adjoining room has a queen sized bed with premium linens. The living room has a couch with a pull-out bed, and there is a kitchenette and bathroom in your suite. And yes, the bedrooms do have televisions. If extra cots or beds for children are needed, please don’t hesitate to contact our stewards. While exploring the ship, you can activate me by speaking “concierge” or “Phasma” into the microphone. Well, that’s all I have to say. On behalf of myself and the crew of the Fulminatrix, we wish you a pleasant flight. This information can be viewed again at any time you wish by going to the first channel on the television. Thank you, and I hope to see you soon!” she chirruped, before fading out of view. You and Poe both looked at each other in shock.

“Well, that was interesting,” he said, looking down at the wristband. “Want to explore the ship?” You felt the weird sensation you and Poe had disappear, and a smile bloomed on your face.

“Sure.” He nodded towards the door, and opened it. You then looked out onto a sprawling atrium where stewards, people, and robots mingled together. “Whoa.”

“Okay then. Uh, Phasma, how many floors does this ship have?” Poe asked. Within a second, the holographic girl appeared. This time, she wore a blue jumpsuit, which made her look better than that cheesy flight attendant get-up.

“The Fulminatrix has fourteen floors in total. You are on the sixth,” she said, looking around. “Would you like a tour?” she asked. Well, now you’d thought you saw everything- an AI that actually interacted with you! You looked towards Poe and he nodded.

“What the hell? Let’s do it,” Poe said, as the two of you walked into the sprawling atrium, ready to explore.