#the comet detonator

[nondelphic]

sci-fi writers will spend two weeks researching quantum physics just to write one paragraph, but when it comes to naming planets? oh, that’s just Bobtron-7.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 10

Part (10) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Sorry! I know I owe responses to that fluffy little holiday thing, but I really wanted to get this out, too! (Also... big sorry... you'll see why)

Warnings: mild suspense, vague injury descriptions, decent bit of cursing, minor character death (very minor), (is there a warning for a kid wielding a gun?)

WC: 3,403

Droids don’t need the light. Not like we do. In the darkness, only the automated sound of whirring gears and clacking metal narrate movements governed by near perfect synchrony. The silence that surrounded those movements was deafening. It was easy to forget just how dangerous those machines truly were when watching the incredible ease with which the soldiers of the GAR could tear through them. But up close, when nothing lay between us but darkness and an armor that suddenly felt far too thin, the droids were monstrous; emotionless; streamlined and refined toward a single purpose: destruction.

I tried not to think about the simple fact that the same was often said of the entirety of the clone population; how readily society at large welcomed beliefs of unthinking, unfeeling suits of armor in the stead of the very real people that armor concealed. I tried not to think about how that mentality might linger and fester into resentment and fear once the end of the war offered some hope of integration, nor of the unending hardships that were inevitable with such naïve mentality. As I sat crouched in the nook of the freezing ventilation shaft, I tried not to think about anything at all save the near impossible task of silencing my own heavy breaths, attention trained on the endless rows of automatons marching barely a handful of feet away from me.

Wrecker had made it to the maintenance closet several meters ahead, but I’d still been fighting to force the adhesive of the deceptively small explosive to seal with the chilled metal of the duct, and what few seconds that cost me proved just enough to force me to hide as the echoing orchestra of marching droids approached us. We knew they were coming. Thanks to Echo, we knew exactly when to expect every routine patrol scheduled to monitor these halls, but the sheer frequency of their presence was staggering.

Neither of us moved for several seconds after the last droid finally vanished behind the rear door.

“You alright?” Even whispered, my body tensed slightly at the suddenness of Wrecker’s voice calling through the speaker of my helm, and I had to release a quick breath before responding.

“Yeah.” I murmured, glancing back at the detonator as I carefully began easing my way out of the small shaft. “Had trouble getting this one attached, but looks fine now.” A quiet grumble reverberated around me, and I could clearly imagine the troubled frown tugging at his lips.

My eyes flashed to the timer in the corner of my HUD steadily counting down to the moment Crosshair was supposed to take out the decoy power transformer. We still had several targets to rig if we wanted to level the station in time.

Wrecker led the way forward without another word, quick strides shockingly silent. It would never cease to amaze me how easily the man before me could dance between the kind, boisterous goofball and this: lethal, efficient; movements far too quiet for the terrifying mass of his powerful form. I’d worked with astounding soldiers before, but these men were different. Boost, Comet, and Warthog were frightfully capable, but Wrecker and his brothers…

His hand flashed out, pointing to the spot he wanted the next charge placed. He didn’t pause before moving on to set his own, leaving me to my job without so much as a backward glance. Even now, after so many months of working with them, it still felt odd to be trusted so explicitly, but there wasn’t time for even a moment of self-doubt as I quickly dropped to a knee to begin working. Despite the utter simplicity of these explosives, still, Wrecker could finish two in the time it took me to prime one, but he showed no hint of impatience; merely moved on to the next spot until the room was cleared.

We both paused upon turning to the door. It was quiet. It shouldn’t be. By now, we should have been able to make out the distant chorus of the next patrol.

“Status.” Wrecker called, voice just loud enough to be picked up by the mic. My shoulders ached from how taut the muscles were. He didn’t talk like that, governed by that stark militaristic sharpness… not unless something was wrong.

“In position.” Crosshair responded coolly.

“En route.” Tech answered next.

“Wrecker, update.” Hunter’s order came in far crisper than the others, the Marauder’s comms undistorted despite the metal walls of the facility.

“Clanker’s missed a patrol. Pretty sure they haven’t noticed us, though.” He replied curtly, head pivoting behind us before turning back to the forward door as though half-expecting a troop of droids to come rushing in at any second.

“Crosshair, any change?” The Sargeant called. I could hear the growing tension in his voice and knew he was standing tensely over the intercom, hands grinding into the metal corners.

“No, but this sector isn’t supposed to have another patrol for over four more minutes.” Cross reminded him, voice low.

“Keep an eye on your escape routes,” Hunter instructed, “and report any more abnormalities.”

A series of ‘roger’s answer him in quick succession before Wrecker continued forward, heavy blaster balanced against his shoulder. My pistols felt miniscule in comparison, but I still held them at ready as he cracked open the door. Beyond was a cavernous room dotted with Separatist transports. If things went south, Wrecker and I would blow a series of bombs starting with two at either end of the massive bay, granting us an exit route while several other explosions went off at pre-set intervals to mask our escape. If it came to that, however, there was little hope in retrieving that little girl’s father…

“… don’t like this…” Wrecker muttered after muting his com.

“How many more do we have?” I asked, treading closer to him so my whispered words would reach him.

“Ten. Twelve if we wanna hit the control tower, but…” He let the thought trail off as he peaked around the corner of the doorway to stare at the massive sheets of metal suspended overhead on thick tracks.

“So, we finish those ten and re-evaluate.” I offered quietly. He didn’t respond for a long moment, the fearsome visage of that feral skull still studying the distant bay walls.

“Yeah…” He mumbled absently, but a few more tense seconds passed before he drew a quick breath and moved through the door, strides measured and quick, stance low.

Our HUD timers had been perfectly synced. I’d known that there would be no delay between that small clock striking zero and the distant rumble of an explosion preceding at least a momentary flicker of the lights. Still, my body snapped taut as the world around us trembled, even if only for a moment. And then the darkness descended in earnest.

Our visors were designed for this: to grant us clear images even in the darkest nightmares of distant worlds. Regardless, I felt myself tense, adrenaline flooding my chest as I studied every shadow of the now monochrome display before me. Already, the Separatist forces were responding, dozens of squads activating and filing across the vast expanse of the hanger in precise, unhurried movements. Several took positions at entry points about the bay, though most marched out of sight, undoubtedly en route to the now destroyed power station.

“Yuh got some fun headin’ your way, Cross.” Wrecker warned, large hand reaching into his bag for another charge, attention trained once more on the command post.

“They won’t find anything.” He responded haughtily, words only just betraying a slight breathiness as he sprinted back across the rocky outcropping surrounding the north end of the hanger.

“Imma see how many a’ these I can stick before the others get here.” There was a subtle glee in his voice, thrilled at the promise of even that simple challenge.

“I’ll keep watch.” I drawled slightly, the eyeroll audible amidst my quiet chuckle. That tension was still there; creeping across my skin and keeping the muscles stretching up my spine taut, but this was their world – our world: impossible missions with unending dangers in which we still managed to find some taste of joy.

“…Kriff.” Every wisp of that joy instantly went cold.

“Cross?” Hunter called quickly, voice full of the same sharp concern that turned my blood to ice. Wrecker had just begun setting the fourth detonator and visibly froze, waiting anxiously for a response.

“…trap… -utoff from… -ing around…” His rushed reply broke between bursts of static.

“Dammit, they’re trying to block your comms! Where are you?!” Hunter shouted. The distorted reply was too muffled for me to make out, but the pained shout that followed was nauseatingly clear. “I can’t reach you with the Marauder. En route on foot.” His words left in a growl, voice now muffled with that telltale distortion as he abandoned the protection of the ship, the sound of the ramp lowering in the background just loud enough for the mic to pick up.

I didn’t need to see Wrecker’s face to know he was struck with the same dread as me, and, with a sharp nod of his domed helm, motioned toward the rear wall of the hanger. I was already running when the first explosion erupted through the air, but the sudden scream that tore through the speakers was all I could hear.

“Crosshair!” His name shouted from me in a burst of panic, but his desperate cry didn’t stop. The natural rasp of his voice broke in choked gasps between sounds of an agony that left my skin crawling. Blasterfire shrieked behind me in rapid flurries. I didn’t bother looking back, certain that Wrecker was eagerly providing a distraction to cover my retreat, but the droids weren’t fooled.

A curse caught on my lips as I dropped into a sharp slide, just managing to dart behind a supply crate as a troop of B1s trained their sites on me, and the volley of shots that seared the metal casing left my heart racing even faster. My arm was moving before conscious thought registered what I was doing, hand snatching at one of the few remaining charges. I didn’t know if this would work, fully aware that some explosives were perfectly stable until intentionally set off with a detonator. Regardless, I launched the small device toward them, HUD automatically following my gaze to lock onto it as I raised my own weapons, standing to face down the dozen droids targeting me.

The scent of burnt plastoid filled my senses before noting the faint line of red seared into my shoulder pauldron as I pulled the trigger.

Ringing. By now, I recognized the disorientated daze of shellshock and clung to the sense of annoyance rather than any fear or pain lingering beyond that confusion. Move. There wasn’t time for this… Before the thoughts even solidified in my mind, I could feel my body struggling back to my feet, balance wavering precariously for several seconds even as I staggered forward.

“…!” A voice rang loudly around me, but it took a moment of actual concentration to truly hear him. “-oc! Wha’ happened?!” Wrecker. He was shouting. I glanced over my shoulder to see him quickly backtracking toward me and gave my head a hard shake in some vain effort to clear the lingering fog.

“…m… I’m fine!” I called out, lips sluggish. “Used a charge to��� clear the path.” He looked toward me only briefly before returning his attention to the encroaching units. Still, I could see the air of hesitation in his movements, the reluctance to risk creating any additional distance between us, so I took that decision away from him, jaw set as I forced myself through the still smoldering crater blown into the thick wall.

Crosshair was still screaming, growled cries catching on choppy breaths muffled behind ground teeth.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on him?” I shouted, sprinting toward the cover of trees surrounding the station as I silently cursed the steep incline leading toward the ship.

“Not yet, there’s… - dammit -... They sent a kriffing… platoon after him.” I could hear the strain pulling at his every word, and that dread returned en force, fear spiking at the thought of how easily he could find himself incapacitated as well just from exacerbating his preexisting injuries.

“Echo and I can provide backup.” Tech offered. Even his voice held that deep worry.

“No – continue with the mission. We’ll be halfway to the Marauder by the time you’d even reach us.” He ordered. “Doc-”

“I’m already en route,” I interrupted quickly, “just send me your location.” He didn’t respond for a long moment, and I had to fight to keep from shouting my impatience.

That earlier fear was gone. I barely bothered glancing between branches in search of enemy troops, the threat of what danger my brief isolation from the others might pose forgotten in the echo of Crosshair’s pain. My entire focus was on reaching them as quickly as I could, cursing every fallen log and sleek boulder that hindered my progress.

“I’ve got him.” He was panting, pain clear in the breathy words, and my heart twisted at the endless possible reasons for that pain. The keening gasps still sounding from Crosshair’s mic were the only thing silencing some sharp rebuke demanding he stop. There was no right answer here; no way forward without the risk of a sacrifice I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“Might still be s… s’me droids… but think I got ‘m all.” His uncertainty was just as concerning as the slight slur dampening his smoky voice. That meant his focus was dwindling; that inhuman ability to feel the dance of electricity connecting the world around him was overcome by his own pain or exhaustion or something far worse.

“Dammit, Hunter! Just send me your location before you kriffing keel over!” I ordered harshly, no longer making an effort to mask that impatience.

“Tracker… tracker’s on… H… headed back.” Curses flowing unapologetically between ground teeth, I snatched the datapad from my waist, fingers stabbing at the screen far harsher than necessary as I locked in on his signal. The Marauder was just over a klick away, and Hunter’s signal was another half klick beyond that, speed frightfully slow as he made his way back.

“Talk to me, Hunter, or I’ll start using the karking pain scale questions.” I threatened, and was relieved to hear a huff of laughter. It was weak, but it was there.

“Damaged… damaged his helmet… Visor broke…” In an instant, that relief abandoned me. “Gave him… gave him what I had, but… it’s… it’s barely taking the e-edge off.” He panted.

“Burns?” I asked, straining to hide the depth of my fear at the very thought of what damage that might cause, but Hunter quickly dismissed that fear with something far worse.

“No… think it’s… There was a – a gas…” My stride nearly faltered. A gas… Chemical burns were far more difficult to treat…

“Listen to me: when you get him back to the ship, don’t try to rinse it out with water.” I instructed quickly.

“I kn- I know.” There was an unmistakable wheeze in the gasp robbing his retort of whatever annoyance he’d meant it to hold.

“What about you, Hunter? Were you exposed?” I made no effort to hide the harshness in my own voice, words quickly growing breathy as I sprinted from the base.

“N… no, my… my kit’s f-fine.” His response offered no taste of relief, the clear strain sown through each word quickly growing worse.

“Echo and I have secured a low-atmo speeder. We can reach you-”

“Ey, I think I see ‘im.” Wrecker interrupted.

“Ca- can you i-intercept?” Hunter’s vain attempt to maintain that indominable façade only further emphasized how just much he was clearly struggling.

“Uh… only if I start blowing stuff up early.” There was no glee in what should have been an overly eager plea, attention clearly torn between the task before him and worry for his brothers.

“Delay as – as long as you can.” Hunter ordered firmly. “Tech, Ech… Echo… con-continue a-approach.”

“Hunter, if you’re having trouble breathing again, you need to stop moving!” I ordered in a shout.

“Neg… neg’tive… Mar’der’s… in sight.” My lips curled into a snarl.

“I can’t carry you both, dammit!” There was a brief pause, and then,

“Roger.”

I was going to strangle him.

Sweat had long since soaked through my blacks. My muscles burned, blood like acid pounding through my veins, and I tried not to think about how loud my own breathing was, mic pointedly muted as I listened to quick bursts of communication bounce between the others illustrating the progress of a mission I struggled to find even a whisper of concern for. My own attention remained locked on the tracker beacon, noting how near to the ship Hunter and Crosshair finally were; how wretchedly slow their progress had become; how much distance yet lay between us as that accursed hill robbed my speed.

He didn’t check in when he finally stopped, their beacons stalling at the very foot of the ramp.

“Hunter, are you inside?” I asked. He didn’t respond. “Hunter, what’s your status?” I pressed, words growing harsher. Silence. “Hunter?! Cross, do either of you read me?!”

“The Marauder’s ramp appears to have lowered but hasn’t been closed since they arrived.” Tech’s voice was carefully even, but I could hear the faint rush of an anxiety that I had no doubt resonated between all of us.

“I’m almost there.” I assured them, and, mere seconds later, let out a sharp huff of relief upon finally seeing the very tip of the dorsal fin.

The first time I’d seen the complicated overlay of the HUD used by GAR equipment, it hadn’t been during my training to join the 104th. It was in the aftermath of a battle I’d only seen in the darkness of night, sneaking through ruined transports and far too much gore to ever be warranted under the guise of seeking peace. It was maybe the fourth such scene Emmy and I had visited. We didn’t even have a ship then; just us and a pair of overstuffed medbags with no thought toward secession or consequence or even what to do with those we tried to save.

We’d only found one soldier still clinging to life, and it had taken only moments to realize that nothing we did would save him from joining his brothers. He hadn’t blamed us. I think I wanted him to… but he merely got quiet when he understood… peaceful. He’d been a flirt, and I think we both fell in love with him a bit. He’d insisted we try his helmet on – had said something inappropriate about seeing his gear on a couple cute nurses. Neither of us corrected him, and I’d been shocked at the flurry of information that had bombarded me the instant it flickered to life before my eyes. He’d laughed. I’d never forget that laugh. It was free; weightless; haunting in a way that both crushed me and justified every risk we were taking in trying to offer what meager help we could. And then he'd died.

That nauseating hurricane of endless data and alerts was still just as overwhelming now as it was then, but I’d learned to filter it out, to prioritize only what was needed in that moment. When the sudden flash of a warning lit the screen, I didn’t hesitate; didn’t waste time for even a moment’s thought before my body dropped into a slide, just barely dodging the pair of blue bolts that screamed passed me as my hands instantly snatched the pistols from my hips, but then that wealth of data began to coalesce, and I quickly released my weapons, empty hands raising in surrender.

“Wait-wait-wait! It’s me!!” I shouted, wrenching the still flashing helm from my head, and my heart churned at the sight of the terrified girl cowering just inside the Marauder’s main cabin, at the horror and fear and overwhelming relief that left her near sobbing the instant recognition finally stole through her. Then I saw the two forms lying far too still at her feet. And that same terror ripped the air from my lungs in a sob of my own.

Next Chapter

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[masterjedilenawrites]

Handcuffed

Clone x Reader Song Lyric Fic Exchange 2024

Wolffe x reader | 4.8k words

Content: swearing, mention of weapons, brief descriptions of explosions and injuries, some arguments, push-you-away-to-protect-you trope, conflicted feelings, both parties are too stubborn for their own good, slightly hopeful ending

Lyric Prompts/Inspiration: 

Told my friends I hate you but I love you just the same. Even if it's handcuffed I'm leaving here with you. I can tell when somebody still wants me. (imgonnagetyouback, Taylor Swift)

His hand, so calloused from his pistol, softly traces hearts on my face. (I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), Taylor Swift)

Note: Well hello again @ghostofskywalker! So happy to write another story for you, friend. Let's go with Wolffe this time, I'm feeling some angsty romance vibes with these prompts... hope you like!

Wolffe could be such a stubborn ass sometimes. You'd hate him for it if you didn't love him so much.

The ARC troopers of the 104th Battalion were currently lining up at attention in front of their Commander, their boots slapping against the newly waxed floors of the hangar bay. There were several dozen of them being called for this next mission, as well as various support staff such as civilian medics and bounty hunters and even a few Senate negotiators. They all gathered in orderly lines around Commander Wolffe to receive their orders.

You, meanwhile, stood off to the side. Out of the way. Arms crossed, mouth set, and eyes glaring across to Wolffe. If he knew you were there, stewing over yet another mission of being sidelined for no reason, he gave no indication, proceeding with his rounds as normal. As if you weren't one of the best GAR strategists this side of the Mid Rim. As if you hadn't been fondly adopted into the infamous "Wolf Pack" the second you arrived. As if you meant nothing to the hardened clone Commander, had never broken through his walls and gained his trust and seen how kind and good he was, hadn't shared several moments of vulnerability with each other and entrusted deep secrets and wild dreams, wasn't someone he had maybe probably kind of almost kissed that one time....

The memory caused you to squeeze your arms tighter together across your chest in equal parts annoyance and confusion. Wolffe trusted you. He cared for you. And he may even be attracted to you. He'd never said as much but you knew it in your heart of hearts. It wasn't wishful thinking. All the things you'd shared with him had been real. And yet, more and more he was pulling away, putting those walls back up and finding any reason possible to keep you off his missions. You had no idea why. He wouldn't talk to you, wouldn't look you in the eye.

You were over it.

"Commander Wolffe!" you addressed him as soon as he'd dismissed the troop. Soldiers and personnel hurried around the hangar to prep the ship for immediate departure. You made a beeline right through them, determined to get your way this time.

Wolffe, predictably, pretended to not hear you. He picked his way among ammunition crates and tapped at his datapad.

"Wolffe," you snapped as soon as you'd gotten yourself in his line of sight. A few nearby troopers jumped in response but Wolffe remained unperturbed.

"No, I will not be changing the mission assignments," he drawled, continuing to tap at his datapad without looking at you.

"Why not?" You set your hands on your hips and hoped you looked as fierce as you felt.

"Comet, get a recount of these thermal detonators. Anything over a thousand can be transferred to General Koon's vessel."

"On it, boss." Comet hurried over, glancing between you and the Commander uneasily before working on his new task.

Your hands clenched around your hips as your frustration built. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be, then? You're just going to ignore me? Real mature, Wolffe."

Wolffe looked up at you for the first time all day... all week really, but it's not like you were keeping track. He looked annoyed, which made you even more annoyed. You were not the problem here.

"I am preparing for a mission," he stated plainly. As if you were nothing more than a stranger. As if you didn't deserve any further explanation from him. As if he hadn't stumbled and choked over his words that one time you'd worn a nice shirt and let your hair down...

Just as quickly as he'd looked up at you, he looked back down.

"No, you're ignoring me," you huffed, stepping over quickly to snatch the datapad out of his hands. "You're not even working, just pretending... oh."

You glanced at the screen and saw a half-written message about a damaged crate. Your eyes flicked to the crate he was standing next to and saw it was, in fact, damaged, dented along the lid so it didn't close properly. Your eyes finally settled on his, trying to hide your sheepishness from him.

"So you can multitask," you shrugged.

"Give me back the datapad." Wolffe said your name with a sigh. It made your heart do a little leap.

"No." You held the device to your chest defiantly. Or perhaps childishly. "Not until you either put me on the mission or give me a good reason why I'm not."

"You're not needed." Again, another simple sentence. This was maddening.

"Not needed? I'm a strategist..."

"The strategy has already been defined."

"And what happens when it fails? Which it probably will, since I wasn't involved in creating it to begin with."

"Well aren't you so self-important."

His words struck a nerve you didn't know was exposed. He was the one who had told you to be more confident in your abilities. That your way of thinking was unique, your perspective insightful, and the GAR should utilize you more. You frowned deeply in response but couldn't find anything to say.

"Sinker, get the rest of these crates loaded. Take-off in ten."

Wolffe didn't take his gaze off you as he issued the order, and then stepped forward and plucked the datapad out of your grasp.

"And make sure this one's in our rear view when we launch."

With that, Wolffe strode away, leaving you with your bubbling emotions. And with Sinker and Comet, who decided standing beside you whistling about how awkward that was was more important than finishing their loading assignments.

"Ugh," you growled through their comments. "He's so... just so... Ugh, I hate him!"

You couldn't help but stomp your foot a little before marching off. You might as well embrace the juvenile side of your tantrum. It wasn't like Wolffe had bothered to look back at you. You couldn't figure out what his deal was, other than perhaps pride? Maybe he had come up with the mission plans and didn't want you showing him up? Or maybe all those things he'd said to you about confidence and ownership had been a lie, and you actually weren't that useful and he didn't know how else to get you to take the hint?

Kriff it, you were going to get on that ship and demand an explanation for why he was suddenly keeping you at arms' length. You'd choke it out of him if you had to.

"General Koon!" You hurried over to the opposite side of the hangar, where the Jedi had just dismissed his own platoon and was headed off elsewhere. He nodded toward you in friendly acknowledgement, though he continued on his journey without falter.

"Sir, I was wondering if I could be assigned to the Felucia mission? Specifically on the Conquest."

Plo Koon gave you a sideways glance. "I have put Commander Wolffe in charge of the Conquest assignments."

"Yes, and he's benched me, sir. Again."

Plo finally slowed his walk and turned to better face you. "I'm sure he has his reasons."

"And I'd very much like to go aboard to find out what they are, sir."

You could never really tell whether the Jedi smiled, but you had a feeling he was at least sporting a smirk of some kind under his facial apparatus. He stopped walking altogether and folded his arms neatly.

"I trust Wolffe's judgement and won't undermine his authority. He and I need to be a united effort on this mission."

You tried not to let your displeasure show on your face. Damn General Koon and his sensibleness.

But then the Jedi cleared his throat. "But, if someone were determined to get on the Conquest, they need only to give the boarding code 99001 to the protocol droid by the cargo hold."

He patted your shoulder and moved past you, on to his side of the mission, and you grinned after him. Bless General Koon and his insightfulness.

* * *

You timed your boarding onto the ship perfectly, not raising any suspicion or alarm bells, settling into the cargo hold moments before takeoff. Once you felt the familiar sway of the ship jumping into hyperspeed, you quickly picked your way through crates and crawled out the astromech service door. From there, it was a short jog through the various hallways to get to the bridge.

Along the way, the strategist within you started preparing what to say to Wolffe. You'd need to make sure he'd listen to you and not immediately throw you in some corner of the ship, out of the way. And you couldn't come across so angry that he'd put up his walls and refuse to communicate, as he was known to do. But also he still needed to know that you were angry, just enough to maybe feel bad. If he cared about your feelings. Which you were fairly certain existed. About 70% certain. Maybe not the ideal odds to hinge a plan on, you realized a little too late. Oh well.

You ended up coming across him in a hallway a few turns away from the bridge. You halted in surprise, and he as well. He was flanked by Comet and Boost and thankfully had his helmet on, as you could only imagine the displeased grimace that lied underneath.

"We need to talk," you blurted out, a far cry from the careful words you'd been preparing.

"What... what are you doing here?" he sputtered. 

"As I said," you tried to keep your voice level but firm, "we need to talk."

"You violated my direct orders and... and... now you're putting the mission at risk." He was stuttering a bit, likely at a loss for words, having been caught off guard like this.

"Oh please. You already put the mission at risk by not consulting me. Which, by the way, I have some questions about the tactics being used, once you let me know what your deal is."

Comet and Boost were inching backward. Wolffe caught their movement and snapped his fingers at them.

"Get her in an escape pod and set the coordinates back to Coruscant. I want her off this ship as soon as we're out of hyperspace."

The two clones looked at each other with tense shoulders.

"Uh, I'd rather not get involved in this," said Comet.

"Yeah, I think we're needed on the bridge, actually," said Boost.

"Right, yes, we're needed immediately."

"You are not--" Wolffe started to say but the poor troopers were already hurrying away. He raised his hand toward his head as if he'd wanted to pinch his nose and realized there was a helmet in the way. He shook himself with a growl.Oh no, he was far more upset than you thought he'd be.

"Kriff. I don't have time for this. Just... get somewhere safe for now."

He waved a dismissive hand at you before marching off in the opposite direction.

On the lefthand side of the hall, a protocol droid was just exiting out of a supply closet. Perfect. You ran forward and shoved Wolffe through.

"What the f--"

"Wolffe," you said as calmly as possible. The door hissed shut behind you and you smoothed back some stray strands of hair along your temple. You were going to take a different approach this time. "Please. I just need to know... You said I wasn't needed on this mission. But it hasn't just been this mission. It's been a couple now and..."

You took in a deep breath, feeling a lump forming in your throat for some reason.

"And now I'm wondering if I've ever been needed. Have any of my plans actually worked, or was it luck? Did I ever really come up with anything clever or did I say the obvious and you spared me the embarrassment by pretending otherwise?"

Wolffe was silent. You stared at his helmet, imagining the handsome and scarred face within. Was your tactic working? Was he softening under there? Or had you only caused him to retreat even further?

"I'll send one of the shinies to escort you off the ship."

Retreat it was, then. Your stomach twisted at your failed attempt to get through to him. You felt silly, going through all this trouble of sneaking around, insubordination, pushing him into a closet... all for what? Validation? Or was it to confirm something else? That 30% of uncertainty that existed in the depths of your heart made you wonder. 

Wolffe hit the button and the door swooshed back open. He stepped around you to pass through.

"Did you ever like me at all?" you asked quietly, and he paused beside you. "Or did I misread that, too?"

If Wolffe had an answer to that, he didn't get the chance to surprise you with it. First, there was the familiar pull in the surrounding air, the ship coming out of hyperspeed. Then, a beat. A mere moment of oblivious peace where you were just able to look up and find he was looking back at you. And then finally, chaos.

The ship suddenly lurched, throwing the two of you out into the hallway. Sirens started blaring and the lights flickered wildly for a few seconds before going out all together. Strips of red emergency lights clicked on, casting eerie shadows all around. There were frantic shouts and crackled comms messages going off between the siren blares. You froze where you'd fallen in a crouched position on the floor, one of your knees throbbing from the impact.

"Sinker, what's happened?" Wolffe, on the other hand, was still standing upright. He yelled into his commlink while looking up and down the hall as if the answers he sought were hanging in the air.

"Minefield, sir!" came the trooper's garbled reply. "Launched right into it!"

Your eyeballs felt like they were going to pop right out of your head.

"You approached from the north side of the planet?" you asked incredulously while picking yourself off the floor. Your voice was several octaves higher than normal. "Their defenses are stronger there."

"Yes," Wolffe sounded annoyed. "And General Koon approached with a fleet from the south, where their defenses were weaker. Twenty minutes ahead. They should've moved most of their forces to fortify by the time we got here..."

"And if you had let me in on the strategy meetings, I would've told you they'd leave a minefield behind to keep this sector secure."

"Like you would've known that."

"Of course I would have! They're operating a Class-VII Mine Drifter and unevenly dividing their forces between hemispheres. It's a classic MILDEC set-up."

The ship jerked again, sending you fully across the hall until you slammed up against the wall. Your bodies slowly drifted up the wall until it was no longer "up" but "on." The hallway was rotating. The ship was falling apart.

Sinker's voice came through the comms again and explained how things were looking. Half of the ship was already gone, blown off of the main hull and floating in open space with no chance of survivors. The remaining half was dead in the water, but thankfully still contained a means to evacuate. Wolffe quickly barked out his orders for all troops take the main hall down to the escape pods.

Wolffe was inches away from you as you both shifted to your knees on the rotating floor. His helmet was trained in your direction. You swore you could feel his sharp gaze penetrating through the plastoid like a laser. "You need to get to the escape pods. Now."

There was panic in his voice; no amount of helmet filtration could mask the edge in it. It wasn't like the hysteria you were starting to feel rise up from your stomach. It was much more intense and focused. You almost turned tail immediately to follow the order, but some sort of intuition kept you by his side. 

"We need to get to the escape pods," you clarified. And there it was. Wolffe glanced behind him, in the direction of the bridge. Your heart sunk before he could even turn back around and explain.

"They'll need help navigating the minefield and debris if they stand a chance of getting out of here."

You shook your head in confusion. "What... what are you saying? Help navigating how?"

"From the bridge."

"You... no... No! That's crazy!"

You found yourself reaching out to grip his arm, to keep him from leaving. But he shook from your grasp with what looked like a sigh from the movement of his shoulders, though you couldn't quite hear it over the sirens that continued to ring out. 

"I'm the Commander. I go down with the ship." 

"Wolffe!"

"Please. Go!"

He shakily got to his feet, a hand braced against what was formerly the floor and was now perfectly vertical but creeping ever so slightly forward, soon to become the ceiling if you stuck around any longer. Keeping his hand out for balance, he turned himself around, careful to not slip or trip on the new floor that was mired with control panels and gaps for doorways and random objects that had fallen loose from their intended positions.

He was either crazy or valiant, you didn't have the time to decide which. There was no way you were letting him go through with this. Not when there were plenty of other options. You briefly wondered whether your previous concerns about not being good enough were invalid, given the circumstances. Wolffe was the one barreling forward, insisting on a noble sacrifice without pausing to consider alternatives. While you were being strategic. So why hadn't he been including you on missions?

But then a flash caught your eyes and you refocused on the situation at hand. Handcuffs. A shiny pair dangling slightly from the back of Wolffe's belt. A plan immediately clicked into place, though you weren't sure it was so much a plan as it was a desperate attempt to stop this crazy, stubborn asshole from pushing away from you again. Regardless, you promptly jumped forward, yanked the handcuffs off his belt, and snapped one binder onto your wrist and the other on the one Wolffe had propped against the wall. All before Wolffe could properly reorient himself to follow what was happening.

"What are you--"

"Come on," you instructed, pulling your combined wrists to accentuate your point. "Escape is this way."

"You know I can just unlock them," he said from behind you, as you had now turned and were trying to pull him down the hallway.

"I put the pin in my bra."

You hadn't actually, but Wolffe didn't double-check his belt, didn't doubt you at all. Interesting. Instead, he only resisted your tugging with a huffed, "We don't have time for this."

The ship lurched yet again, and this time you could hear an accompanying boom. Another mine hit.

"No, we don't have time," you said with a pointed look over your shoulder.

"The escape pods are no use if--"

"There's a pattern to how the Class-VII lays its mines," you hurriedly talked over him. Ideally you'd think through all nine of the ideas you had before settling on a plan of action, but in such a pinch, the first would have to do. "All I need is a visual on its direction and I can chart a path out of the field. From the pods."

"And the debris from the ship? How are you navigating out of that?"

"That's where you and your boys' training comes in. They don't call you the Wolf Pack as a joke, do they?"

You sported a playful smirk and gave one last tug on the binders. This time, Wolffe followed.

As the two of you ran, leaping over doorways, banking around corners, slipping and stumbling constantly, the alarms cut out and the strip lights wavered in their luminosity. But most inconveniently, the air grew stale and thin. It wasn't long before you had a harder time keeping up and Wolffe was the one pulling you.

"The backup systems must be failing," Wolffe said, slowing down so you could catch your breath. "No air."

"No shit," you panted. "How much further?"

Wolffe didn't answer. You could only see the shadow of his helmeted head shake as he rested one hand on his hip and kept the one joined to yours limp by his side. After you tried taking a few deep breaths to no avail, he then removed his helmet and placed it over your head.

You'd always wondered what it was like to wear a clone trooper helmet. Wolffe had told you once they were unique to each clone, more than whatever paint job they put on the outside. It shaped and molded to their heads, picked up their smell, became as intimate and familiar an item as underwear or shoes might. You hoped you'd have a moment to really revel in wearing Wolffe's soon, but first you needed to breathe.

It was instant relief to breathe through the helmet's filters. And though you knew it wouldn't last long while the air continued to thin, the moment of relief was ruined a lot sooner than you thought. Another sudden lurch to the ship, the hall you were now in tilting forward so you started to slide. You clutched at Wolffe's arm as you careened toward a doorway in the floor and tumbled through. The door opened and you spilled into the room, one of the dorms. Bunks had all toppled into a pile on the floor and now the two of you joined the mess. Various parts of your body were now throbbing in pain, your limbs all tangled in the metal bunks. You both struggled to get yourselves standing atop the pile, especially while you were still handcuffed, but the room was too large and there was simply no hope at reaching the doorway back into the hall. You were trapped.

One of your hands was bleeding from a cut. You pressed it against your leg, accidentally tugging at Wolffe as you moved so he noticed. He inched closer, balancing along a lattice of metal poles, and started to remove his gloves to put over your hands instead.

"This is exactly why I didn't want you here."

Though Wolffe was facing you, the room was far too dark to get a read on his expression. His voice, however, was laced with distress.

"Oh, this exact situation is why? Got it." You almost laughed. This was as close as you'd come to your questions finally getting answered and it sounded insane.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Wolffe? What reason could you possibly have for fucking with my career and my self worth and--"

"I wanted you safe!"

To your surprise, Wolffe firmly clasped the sides of your arms as soon as he was done fixing his gloves onto your hands.

"I... kriff." He hung his head for a moment before looking back up. You desperately wanted to turn on the helmet's flashlight to see him better. "Things are getting worse. You know that. Every day, every battle. More loss. I couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you."

Your mind hummed as if it had just been filled with the details of a new mission, thoughts fracturing off into possible tactics and approaches. You were now 100% sure he had feelings for you, no margin of error. But instead of confessing to you, he had pushed you away. Made you wonder if you had been the problem. Put his men in danger by not using your expertise. Why hadn't he just talked to you? What would have otherwise been a thrilling thing to hear, that your feelings were requited, was now mired with a sting of disappointment.

You also noted a subtle shift beneath your feet. It could simply have been the bunks sliding from your weight, or it could be the ship turning again. You chose not to comment on it just yet, needing to address at least one thing with Wolffe now while you could.

"Why couldn't you have told me this sooner?"

"Would you have listened?"

"Of course."

"Please, you're the most stubborn person I know," he scoffed.

"Me?!"

"Yes, you. Just couldn't stay off this mission, could you." He didn't sound as upset at the thought of you being here as he had earlier. If anything, he seemed cheeky. You responded in kind.

"Well I had to handcuff and trap you in a room to get you to answer a simple question. So who's really the stubborn one here?"

"Ah, so this was all planned then, huh?"

You chuckled, an odd sound through the helmet. "Yep, you know me. I've always got a plan."

"Hmm. Got one to get us out of here?"

You smirked, though you knew he couldn't see it. "As a matter of fact, I do. Better hold on to something."

The room had continued to shift. Wolffe had likely felt it too after a while but you liked to believe you impressed him with your psychic timing. Though, come to think of it, he was probably used to such phenomena with Plo Koon. Damn.

You crouched down simultaneously, gripping onto some beams until the room eventually shifted far enough that the whole pile of beds went tumbling over again. You tried to lessen the blow to your body, Wolffe even shielded you a bit with his own, but ultimately you both were at the mercy of gravity and whatever cascading objects came with it. After a short time longer, you were able to pick your way through it all and reach the door, which was now vertical as doors should be, though upside down from where it was meant to be.

Now running along the ceiling, you were able to more quickly finish your journey to the escape pods. The helmet helped you breathe, and if Wolffe was having trouble without one, he didn't show it. You clasped each other's hands as you twisted around the last few corners.

When you arrived at the loading docks, there were only a handful of troopers left to board a pod. They had to be maneuvered to rotate around upright and re-dock before they could be reopened. The last one clicked into place just as you showed up. Wolffe insisted you get in first while he waited for his men to board but you silently shook your head. You would've insisted he board along with you, but you knew it'd be futile. Wolffe was right, you both were simply too stubborn. So you squeezed his hand a little tighter and stayed by his side until it was finally your turn.

You all but collapsed into the pod. Wolffe's helmet was ripped off and tossed on the ground, to be admired another time. The struggle wasn't over yet, of course. You'd still need to lead the pods safely through the minefield. But for now, for just a brief moment, you allowed yourself to lean against each other and breathe.

Your shoulders rested side-by-side and your faces were turned to gaze at each other, filled with exhaustion and relief. You glanced down at your hands lying between you, still firmly intertwined. You gave a small chuckle and Wolffe grunted in questioning response.

"The binders." You raised your hands up to show there was no longer anything connecting you two, except for your own choice to hold on. You had no idea when the restraints had fallen off.

Wolffe smiled a little and disentangled his fingers from yours. You were about to pout until he moved them over to your face, gentling cupping along your jaw and allowing his thumb to trace absently at your cheek. His bare fingers were calloused and rough but you leaned into his touch regardless. After a while, you started to wonder if his strokes were a bit more purposeful, tracing some sort of shape over and over as if outlining his feelings for you.

"We need to talk," you whispered. You wouldn't be satisfied with mere sketches on your skin, pleasant as they were.

Thankfully Wolffe gave you a nod in agreement just as Comet announced that all systems were a go. Your moment of reprieve was over and it was back into the fight once more. You weren't sure what would happen between you two afterward. Maybe you would finally kiss him, maybe you'd get back at him somehow for all the grief he'd caused. Maybe you would still hate him, maybe you'd admit you loved him. Regardless, there was some hope for more conversations, more understanding. And that was enough.

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[scifigeneration]

Carl Sagan’s scientific legacy extends far beyond ‘Cosmos’

by Jean-Luc Margot, Professor of Earth, Planetary, and Space Sciences at the University of California, Los Angeles

On Nov. 9, 2024, the world will mark Carl Sagan’s 90th birthday – but sadly without Sagan, who died in 1996 at the age of 62.

Most people remember him as the co-creator and host of the 1980 “Cosmos” television series, watched worldwide by hundreds of millions of people. Others read “Contact,” his best-selling science fiction novel, or “The Dragons of Eden,” his Pulitzer Prize-winning nonfiction book. Millions more saw him popularize astronomy on “The Tonight Show.”

What most people don’t know about Sagan, and what has been somewhat obscured by his fame, is the far-reaching impact of his science, which resonates to this day. Sagan was an unequaled science communicator, astute advocate and prolific writer. But he was also an outstanding scientist.

Sagan propelled science forward in at least three important ways. He produced notable results and insights described in over 600 scientific papers. He enabled new scientific disciplines to flourish. And he inspired multiple generations of scientists. As a planetary astronomer, I believe such a combination of talents and accomplishments is rare and may occur only once in my lifetime.

Scientific accomplishments

Very little was known in the 1960s about Venus. Sagan investigated how the greenhouse effect in its carbon dioxide atmosphere might explain the unbearably high temperature on Venus – approximately 870 degrees Fahrenheit (465 degrees Celsius). His research remains a cautionary tale about the dangers of fossil fuel emissions here on Earth.

Sagan proposed a compelling explanation for seasonal changes in the brightness of Mars, which had been incorrectly attributed to vegetation or volcanic activity. Wind-blown dust was responsible for the mysterious variations, he explained.

Sagan and his students studied how changes to the reflectivity of Earth’s surface and atmosphere affect our climate. They considered how the detonation of nuclear bombs could inject so much soot into the atmosphere that it would lead to a yearslong period of substantial cooling, a phenomenon known as nuclear winter.

With unusual breadth in astronomy, physics, chemistry and biology, Sagan pushed forward the nascent discipline of astrobiology – the study of life in the universe. Together with the research scientist Bishun Khare at Cornell University, Sagan conducted pioneering laboratory experiments and showed that certain ingredients of prebiotic chemistry, called tholins, and certain building blocks of life, known as amino acids, form naturally in laboratory environments that mimic planetary settings.

He also modeled the delivery of prebiotic molecules to the early Earth by asteroids and comets, and he was deeply engaged in the biological experiments onboard the Mars Viking landers. Sagan also speculated about the possibility of balloon-shaped organisms floating in the atmospheres of Venus and Jupiter.

His passion for finding life elsewhere extended far beyond the solar system. He was a champion of the search for extraterrestrial intelligence, also known as SETI. He helped fund and participated in a systematic search for extraterrestrial radio beacons by scanning 70% of the sky with the physicist and electrical engineer Paul Horowitz.

He proposed and co-designed the plaques and the “Golden Records” now affixed to humanity’s most distant ambassadors, the Pioneer and Voyager spacecrafts. It is unlikely that extraterrestrials will ever find these artifacts, but Sagan wanted people to contemplate the possibility of communication with other civilizations.

Carl Sagan, offering his unique commentary in a scene from ‘Cosmos.’

Advocacy

Sagan’s scientific output repeatedly led him to become an eloquent advocate on issues of societal and scientific significance. He testified before Congress about the dangers of climate change. He was an antinuclear activist and spoke out against the Strategic Defense Initiative, also known as “Star Wars.” He urged collaborations and a joint space mission with the Soviet Union, in an attempt to improve U.S.-Soviet relations. He spoke directly with members of Congress about the search for extraterrestrial intelligence and organized a petition signed by dozens of prominent scientists urging support for the search.

Carl Sagan, speaking out against the use of nuclear weapons, at the Great Peace March in 1986. Visions of America LLC/Corbis via Getty Images

But perhaps his most important gift to society was his promotion of truth-seeking and critical thinking. He encouraged people to muster the humility and discipline to confront their most cherished beliefs – and to rely on evidence to obtain a more accurate view of the world. His most cited book, “The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark,” is a precious resource for anyone trying to navigate this age of disinformation.

Impact

A scientist’s impact can sometimes be gauged by the number of times their scholarly work is cited by other scientists. According to Sagan’s Google Scholar page, his work continues to accumulate more than 1,000 citations per year.

Indeed, his current citation rate exceeds that of many members of the National Academy of Sciences, who are “elected by their peers for outstanding contributions to research,” according to the academy’s website, and is “one of the highest honors a scientist can receive.”

Sagan was nominated for election into the academy during the 1991-1992 cycle, but his nomination was challenged at the annual meeting; more than one-third of the members voted to keep him out, which doomed his admission. An observer at that meeting wrote to Sagan, “It is the worst of human frailties that keeps you out: jealousy.” This belief was affirmed by others in attendance. In my opinion, the academy’s failure to admit Sagan remains an enduring stain on the organization.

No amount of jealousy can diminish Sagan’s profound and wide-ranging legacy. In addition to his scientific accomplishments, Sagan has inspired generations of scientists and brought an appreciation of science to countless nonscientists. He has demonstrated what is possible in the realms of science, communication and advocacy. Those accomplishments required truth-seeking, hard work and self-improvement. On the 90th anniversary of Sagan’s birth, a renewed commitment to these values would honor his memory.

[rythmicjea]

I highly disagree with your assessment that he can't perceive intense emotions towards women. He's extremely dialed in to everyone around him, but himself. Which is usually how it goes, especially at that age. While I agree that Cheryl didn't actively, or consciously, see Toni as a vanity project, The Pretty Poisons definitely were. Not to mention after S2 Toni gets relegated to Cheryl's Arm Candy to the point that Vanessa called the writers out publicly. Cheryl very reluctantly said Toni was in charge. And when she heard what Jughead said she specifically went behind Toni's back to try and prove him wrong (in the end she proved him right).

I also disagree that he doesn't see women as people unless the world is at stake. The only time the world is at stake is at the end of S6. And ironically Tabitha is his healthiest relationship up until that point. They aren't codependent like he and Betty were, they weren't in competition like he and Jess were. You say that he can't maintain emotional intimacy with a woman unless she's perfect. Tabitha was never "perfect" and she wasn't discovered to be the town's guardian angel until almost the end of S6. Over a year since they started dating and had been living together. On the surface she may seem like she does no wrong, but she definitely makes some huge mistakes (like giving Jess Jughead's manuscript without permission or care about what Jughead would want).

He also doesn't think of himself as better or above anyone. In fact he thinks the opposite. Early seasons show that he believes himself to be a burden to those around him (his father, The Andrews, Betty). They never give him his own room on screen at his own house. He shares with Betty and there's no part of him in that room at all. And his trailer was shown to be a one bedroom that him and his dad share or have a schedule? Part of his S5 arc is that he wasn't able to break the generational curse of poverty and addiction. He was given a chance to have a college education, money, and all of the tools to succeed but he still ends up exactly where his dad was (working at Pop's and a recovering alcoholic). His adult life directly parallels FP's. He thinks that Cheryl's classist beliefs are wrong but that's because they are and that's it. As for Veronica he never thinks himself above her but he spends S1&2 grappling with the fact that she isn't her family and S3 coming to an accord with her and helping prove that she's not to everyone else.

Also, Tabitha isn't the last person he dates. He dates Veronica in S7 and we learn that they're basically together for a year and a half until graduation. And even that relationship is also incredibly healthy. She's used to name dropping throwing the weight her family name brings around and he doesn't care about any of that. His apathy lets her calm down and ground herself and discover who she really is. And she encourages him with all of his endeavors because even if she doesn't like comic books, he does, and he deserves to be supportive. Veronica and Tabitha support him unconditionally and he does the same for them.

Where I agree is that he very much is righteous. But he's a teenage boy. They ALL are righteous (and he's not the only one in the show who is either, Betty is the most in my opinion, JFC she's bad). And yes, there is literary commentary about het-straight-white-men writing about the world around them as if they discovered it. People wonder why he's the only straight one, and that's the answer. (It's not that Cole Sprouse didn't want to kiss a dude. He's said several times if he could choose another character to play it would be Kevin.)

Lastly, I know this was a throw away comment but, there's absolutely no evidence to support that Alice is his aunt. The only connection would be if she was Gladys' sister but seeing as they're only in one episode together (I think 3x14 or maybe 15) when she realizes that she bought the Cooper's house. She says "why is Alice Smith in my house?" Indicating no connection between the two since before Alice married Hal. There's no real connection between the two at all. There was more between Gladys and Penny than there was between Gladys and Alice. And FP is an only child (In the Midnight Club when he speaks about family he speaks in the singular not multiple as if he had siblings).

Cheryl's beef with jughead cracks me up because it reads more as what jug presumes Cheryl thinks about him like she says so little to him and it's always about him being homeless or gay like don't get me wrong she's classist but she's got way more depth than that

Also like she's chill with Kevin Arch and Reggie so she's able to be around dudes

[honeybewrites]

Last Line Tag

Thank you @katenewmanwrites for the tag, @the-golden-comet for the tag and @the-letterbox-archives for the tag!!

Rules: Post the last line you wrote!

It would be a quick death at least. Or she hoped it would be. Living would mean facing Master Gerd’s wrath and that wouldn’t be near as pleasant. The tell tale whining signaled the bombs preparing to detonate. Chali closed her eyes.  Hopefully she’d done enough so Rage wouldn’t be caught in the explosion.  Then they went off. The release of energy was blinding. It left her ears ringing, her body numb and burning at the same time. There was a brief moment. As she felt herself tumbling through the air in free fall. Only to be jerked to a stop by strong arms. And then everything faded to nothing.

Tagging @halfbakedspuds @wyked-ao3 @nczaversnick @jev-urisk @themboty and anyone else who wants to hop on!!

[rythmicjea]

Them: What's your favorite season of Riverdale?

Me: Season 7!

T: Why?

Me: Okay. So after they fail to stop a comet hurdling to Earth they time travel back to 1955-

Wait... What?

Okay, so in Season 6 they get superpowers...

How?

Okay, let me go back a little, at the beginning of season 6 we're introduced to a parallel universe called RiverVale and that leaches into a Riverdale.

... How is there a parallel universe?

Oh, so at the end of season 5, Hiram Lodge detonates a bomb under Archie'a bed while he and Betty are about to have sex.

OMG! Why would he do that?

Oh! So, that's because after everyone graduates and moves away Hiram basically destroyed the town so he could make money off a real estate development scam and when Archie found out he brought everyone back to stop him.

I thought they were high schoolers...

Okay, so they graduated at the end of season 4 after spending most of the year trying to figure out who tried to kill Jughead for a third time. Because Jughead goes to this private school called Stonewall Prep.

A THIRD TIME?

Yeah. See, at the end of season 3 Coke Sprite didn't want to practically be naked at 4am during a Canadian winter so they wrote him out of the scene and people think that the writers based the whole plot around that.

When was he almost killed the second time?

Right, so in season 3 they do an homage to the Satanic Panic surrounding DnD by creating a game called Gryffins and Gargoyles that asks you to gamble your life on drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. And that's completely separate to the organ harvesting cult that tried to suck in Betty through her mom and sister. Also this is all happening while Archie is in juvie-

Good guy Archie is in Juvie??

Yeah. So, in season 2, Jughead joins a gang (and this is the first time that he's almost killed because Hiram basically sends him off to be slaughtered but he survives) and Archie doesn't like that he did that so he joins ranks with Hiram because he's dating Veronica and thinks he can play both sides (he can't). And when Veronica chooses Archie over her dad, Hiram frames Archie for murder.

I thought it was about Archie Comics...

The show is about a town. A small town. And the people who live in that town. From a distance it presents itself like so many other small towns all over the world. Safe, decent, innocent. Get closer though and you start seeing the shadows underneath...

[docgold13]

Profiles in Villainy

The Lich  

An ancient cosmic being who is the manifestation of the inevitable death of all things, the entity known as The Lich was deposited on Earth by a Catalyst Comet millions of years in the past.  It laid dormant for millennia yet came into physical being near the end of the Mushroom War.  A mutagenic bomb detonated during the war enabled the Lich to possess a human after they had been severely mutated in the explosion.

Following the war, The Lich ran amok until the creature was hunted down and defeated by the great hero, Billy.  Billy managed to trap The Lich in a prison of amber within the ancient tree of the Candy Kingdom.  The Lich remained trapped for many years until ultimately escaping.  Following further mayhem and carnage, The Lich was defeated and seemingly destroyed by Finn the Human.

Yet it turned out the creature’s essence maintain and returned once again to continue its effort to destroy all life on the planet.  The Lich was stopped perhaps for good when the Guardian of the Citadel transformed the creature into a harmless giant baby. The baby was then entrusted to Tree Trunks and Mr. Pig who named him Sweet P.

Actor Ron Perlman provided the voice for the Lich, with the villainous creature first appearing in the twenty-fifth episode of the first season of Adventure Time, airing on September 20th, 2010.

[under0-0s]

--- A MULTIVERSAL NARRATIVE--- (not an rp)

Universe Earth 616, Planet Titan, Quantum Realm. Maybe a vision. A dream.

(listen to the music for a better reading experience.)

___________________________________

The battlefield is chaos. Smoke clogs the air, rising from the wreckage of ships and the torn earth beneath them. Fires rage unchecked, throwing angry shadows across the bodies of the fallen. Explosions ripple in the distance like thunderclaps, each one making the ground tremble. The screams of combatants and the clash of weapons echo all around me. It’s a war zone unlike anything I’ve ever seen—a clash not just of armies but of realities, ideals, and the desperate will to survive.

I push higher into the sky, the HUD in my helmet trying to make sense of the madness below. Red markers flash everywhere, enemy signatures swarming across the terrain. The gauntlet is still out there, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. My suit feeds me updates, but my thoughts are already racing ahead.

Friday’s voice cuts through the noise. “Something just entered the upper atmosphere.”

I barely have time to register the warning when I see it. A streak of light tearing through the sky, fiery and fast, heading straight for us. It looks like a comet—a burning trail of energy blazing across the heavens. For a second, I think we’re done for, that something worse than Thanos has arrived.

The streak shifts course suddenly, slamming into the Sanctuary-2. The explosion is immediate and massive, tearing a hole clean through Thanos’s warship. Fire and debris rain down like falling stars. The ship shudders, engines detonating one by one, until it starts to list in the air.

And then she appears.

Carol Danvers.

She emerges from the wreckage, glowing with an intensity that makes the air itself seem to tremble. Her entire body radiates power, her form cutting through the chaos like a meteor. She doesn’t stop. She rockets back through the ship, tearing apart what’s left of its structure, the glow around her intensifying as she moves.

When she’s finished, the Sanctuary-2 is little more than a crippled husk, its engines sputtering out as it begins to fall from the sky. Carol’s glow fades as she descends to the battlefield, her body visibly sagging from exhaustion, but her focus never wavers.

I follow her movements, watching as she lands in front of Peter Parker. The kid looks dazed, barely holding onto the gauntlet that’s almost as big as he is. He stares up at her, his face a mix of awe and confusion.

“Uh... hey,” he stammers. “I’m Peter Parker.”

Carol doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Peter Parker,” she says, her voice steady despite the battle raging around her. “You got something for me?”

Peter hands her the gauntlet, his gaze darting nervously to the swarm of enemies closing in. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that...”

But before he can finish, reinforcements arrive. Wanda steps forward, her hands glowing with crimson energy. Shuri and Okoye flank her, weapons raised. Gamora, Nebula, Valkyrie, Hope, and Pepper join them, forming an unbreakable line.

“She’s got help,” Okoye says, her voice calm and resolute.

Carol looks at them, a flicker of gratitude crossing her face before she tucks the gauntlet under her arm and takes off. The women of Marvel move as one, carving a path through Thanos’s army with precision and ferocity.

But then I see him.

Thanos.

He’s watching them, tracking their movements with the cold, calculating gaze of a predator. He knows where they’re headed. I follow his line of sight and see it—the van. Scott’s Quantum Tunnel is humming to life, the final piece of our plan.

Thanos doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a spear and starts running, his massive frame cutting through the chaos like a battering ram.

I shout a warning, but it’s too late. The spear flies through the air, hitting its mark with devastating accuracy. The van explodes in a blinding flash, the shockwave knocking Carol and Scott to the ground. The Quantum Tunnel is gone.

The gauntlet lands in the dirt, unprotected.

Everything slows.

Thor, Steve, and I see it at the same time. The gauntlet is just lying there, and we know what’s at stake. Thanos sees it too.

We move.

Thor’s hammer flies past me as Steve charges in with his shield. I follow close behind, my suit straining as I push it to its limits. We collide with Thanos in a desperate attempt to stop him. The clash is brutal. He knocks Thor aside with a swing of his massive arm, kicks Steve down like he’s nothing, and swats me away with a blow that rattles my entire body.

I hit the ground hard, gasping for air, but I can’t stop. I can’t let this happen.

Thanos slips the gauntlet onto his hand, the stones locking into place. Their energy flares, lighting up the battlefield like a second sun.

He raises his hand, triumphant.

“I am... inevitable,” he says, his voice cold and final.

He snaps his fingers.

Nothing happens.

Confusion flickers across his face as he turns the gauntlet over, realizing the stones are gone.

And then he sees me.

I’m on my knees, my body trembling under the weight of what I’ve just done. The nanobots in my suit shift and reform, the Infinity Stones locking into place on my own gauntlet. Their power surges through me, searing every nerve, filling my veins with fire.

It hurts. God, it hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt. But I don’t stop.

I meet his gaze, the determination in my chest burning brighter than the pain.

“And I... am Iron Man,” I say, my voice steady and unyielding.

I snap my fingers.

The power explodes outward, tearing through the battlefield. The army begins to disintegrate, their forms crumbling to ash. Ships vanish from the sky, weapons falling silent. Thanos’s forces are gone in an instant, their atoms scattered to the wind.

Thanos himself stands alone, watching as his empire collapses around him. For a moment, he just stares, his expression unreadable. Then he sits, his massive shoulders slumping as he accepts the inevitable.

His form flickers and fades, the dust of his body carried away by the wind.

It’s over.

But the cost...

I fall back against the roots of a shattered tree, my body broken, my vision swimming. Every breath is a struggle, the weight of the stones taking its toll. I can feel my life slipping away, the energy consuming me from the inside out.

Rhodey is the first to reach me. He kneels beside me, his face etched with grief. “Tony...” he says softly, his voice cracking.

Peter is next. The kid kneels at my side, his hands trembling as he grips mine. “Mr. Stark, we won,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it... we’re gonna be okay...”

I want to tell him I’m proud of him, that he’s going to do great things, but the words won’t come.

Then Pepper is there. She kneels beside me, her hand on my face, her eyes searching mine.

“Tony,” she says, her voice steady but full of pain. “We’re going to be okay. You can rest now.”

Her words cut through the haze, soothing the fire in my chest. I look at her, and for a moment, everything feels lighter.

The pain fades. The world grows quiet.

And I let go.

____________________________

_____________________________

[fivepercentgodsandearths]

Let's talk science. Here are my top 10 reasons why I reject the Nation of Islam's belief that the Moon was made 66 trillion years by an evil Black Scientist, who dug near the center of the Earth, filling it with dynamite and separating the Earth from the Moon.

1. Due the extreme temperature and pressure, it's virtually impossible to dig anywhere near the Earth's core. We barely had the technology to drill 7.5 miles below the Earth's surface before the drills overheated and broke. For the NOI Moon deportation belief to be true, without any empirical evidence, we would have to ASSUME that the technology existed.

2. Radiometric dating of the Earth, Moon, Mars, meteorites, in fact most of the material in Solar System, dates back to roughly 4.5 billion years ago. This is one reason scientists think our Solar System formed from the same collapsed cloud of gas and dust about 4.6 billion years ago. For the NOI Moon deportation belief to be true, without any empirical evidence, we would have to ASSUME the Solar System is far older ("trillions of years ") than the data show.

3. Archaeological and genetic evidence suggests the age of anatomically modern Homo sapiens is about 200,000 to 300,000 years old. For the NOI Moon deportation belief to be true, without any genetic or fossil evidence, we would have to ASSUME that humans have existed for trillions of years.

4. The object that impacted the Earth 66 million years ago, partly responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs, released more kinetic energy than almost any other event in Earth's history. The Chicxulub meteor imoact released 100 Teratons of TNT. But it was not sufficient to overcome the gravitational binding energy between the Earth and the Moon.

In contrast, the energy released by the Mars-size bollide ("Theia") that separated Luna from Earth was equivalent to 8,000 Teratons. This means it was about 80 times more energetic. 1 Teraton is equal to the energy released when detonating 1 trillion tons of TNT. So, 8,000 Teratons would be the energy equivalent of 8,000 trillion tons of TNT. That's the weight of about 50,000 Mt. Everests.

For the NOI Moon deportation belief to be true, without any empirical evidence, we would have to ASSUME someone had the expertise, equipment, materials, manpower and facilities to transport and store this amount of TNT. Even then, it would take several decades (or longer) to produce.

5. Gunpowder is a mixture of potassium nitrate, charcoal and sulfur. Dynamite is primarily nitroglycerin and some sort of absorbent material (like clayshells, or sawdust). Moondust, on the other hand, is composed of silicon dioxide glass, plus iron, magnesium, calcium and other trace materials. No lunar rocks or soil samples taken from the Moon contained any trace of explosives, gunpowder, or any artificial, man-made substances whatsoever. For the NOI Moon deportation belief to be true, without any empirical evidence, we would have to ASSUME either a.) traces of gunpowder does exist in the Luna rock and soil, we just haven't detected it yet or b.) scientists have discovered but there is a global conspiracy to conceal it.

6. The impact craters from comets and asteroids bombarding the lunar surface have a frequency and distribution that's consistent with a 4.5 billion year model of the Solar System, not a 66 trillion one.

7. Tidal forces, from the gravitational interactions between Earth and Moon, are causing the Moon to recede from the Earth at a rate of roughly 1.5 inches per year. This is approximately the rate our fingernails grow.

Over the course of trillions of years, the gravitational forces would have weakened significantly as the distance between the Earth and the Moon increased far beyond what it currently is today. Eventually, this weakening of gravitational forces would have lead to a gradual reduction in the rate of tidal transfer of angular momentum. However, the geological records (preserved in ancient tidal rhythmites in sedimentary rocks formations) do not reflect trillions of years. We also put retroreflectors on the Moon during the Apollo missions, so we can use laser ranging to measure the distance from Earth to Moon with precision and the measurements are consistent with a theoretical model of the Moon being 4.5 billion years, not 66 trillion years.

8. Our Sun is a yellow dwarf. A G-type main-sequence star and is about 4.6 billion years old. It's age was measured by radiometric dating of meteorites, isotopic information, and from observing the life cycle of other stars in the Universe. Based on our understanding of stellar evolution, the Sun will exhaust its hydrogen fuel in about 5 billion years and become a red giant star.

If the Sun were "trillions" of years old, it would have already exhausted its hydrogen fuel, travelled through all of the stages of stellar evolution, from yellow dwarf to red giant to planetary nebula to white dwarf and, finally, a cold, dark object called a Black dwarf.

9. If the Earth were "trillions" of years old, then we would see evidence of that in the fossil record, archeology, geology, climate, ocean sediments, genetic, paleontology, etc. We don't. Everything we discover is consistent with a 4.5 billion year old planet.

10. Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation, the redshift of galaxies, the fact that the farther away a galaxy is from Earth, the faster it appears to be moving away (Hubble's Law), and many other forms of observational evidence (gravitational lensing, stellar evolution, nucleosynthesis) serve as signatures of the universe expanding from a small, hot dense state about 13.8 billion years ago. We would not expect to see, nor could we explain, these phenomena, if the universe was trillions of years old.

By Supreme Scientist Allah (facebook)

[nondelphic]

writing a comedic novel as a side project is so fun like i don't have to figure out how to puzzle the pieces together so the reader can't predict the murderer, i can just blow up earth and blame it on a cat named larry toby while my main character floats around a space ship wearing a space suit that looks like a purple condom. no one could predict that.

[verya-gweinagar]

I'm Not Scared of Death - Chuck Grant

oOoOoOoOo

a/n - hiya, this is my first time writing something like this and I am not the most confident in my writing yet, hopefully this isn't too terrible but I wanted to write something a bit out of my element. Inspired by a lyric prompt I saw on here by @prxttyvixens and wanted to take it for a test run myself. Please go check out their page and work! They are GREAT!

oOoOoOoOo

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, ending in a throb when it reached my head. My left palm was warm, it felt like someone was holding me, petting my hand, comforting me. I could hear mumbles that resembled voices, but the ringing in my ears overpowered them, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Flashes of my life before the war began to roll out before my eyes like the film reel they put on for us so many times before. I could see myself running through the woods, chasing my friends with sticks, pretending we were soldiers amongst the trees. I saw my mother, licking her thumb to wipe dirt from my forehead. I saw my sister holding my hand as I danced with her at our aunt’s wedding. I saw myself floating on my back down stream in the creek, eyes shut and slipping further and further away from my family on shore as the cool summer breeze kissed my skin.

Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I was walking along railroad tracks and playing chicken in the street and diving off of the high rocks at the lake near Veterans Park. I was carefree, careless even, I was alive.

I heard the mumbling voices around me again. I wish this damn ringing in my ears would stop; it’s giving me one hell of a headache. I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, down my legs to my toes, up to my waist then to my chest, stretching to my arms and fingers, looping its way back up to my head and ending in that throbbing sensation again.

The reel of my life began again. This time I’m older. Glimpses of uniforms and screaming eagles flashed by, foaming golden ales sloshed in their glasses as I sang, with Liebgott to my right and Tab to my left. Now I’m floating, or falling rather, along with thousands of toy soldiers in the sky, round parachutes deployed carefully cradling each one of us down to the cool lush earth. The ground below lit up here and there, and just as my feet touched the grown, the grass turned to snow and frozen dirt. Warm coffee in a cold canteen cup was handed to me, the canopy of the straight trees above our heads was bare, a blue and yellow flare lit the sky for a moment. It was like staring at a comet, or a meteor and I was nothing but a prehistoric beast waiting for my untimely end.

It was night now, and I was in a hole in the ground. The earth shook, it sounded like I was in the middle of the grand finale of the local Fourth of July fireworks show back home. A rifle now replaced the cup of joe in my hands. I looked off into the rows of exploding trunks in front of me and saw a smaller, younger version of myself, running with sticks, chasing my friends, playing soldier amongst the trees. For a moment, the me from the past stopped and looked in my direction, smiling before disappearing behind the shrapnel and earth a mortar round brought up in the wake of its detonation.

Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I looked it square in the face.

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, and the throbbing at the end of this rush was muted now but still present. Voices continued to mumble but the ringing in my ears was barely easing up. I felt that same warmth on my left palm and a warmth on my right shoulder. I heard a voice, louder and closer this time, so much so I almost made out what it said. The voice was accompanied by a squeezing sensation of my left hand. I wanted to speak, I wanted to clear my throat from the sick taste of copper, I wanted to open my eyes but I couldn’t, and I wanted that goddamn ringing to stop. I felt a pressure in my head for a moment, and then that film reel of my life kicked on again.

I was sitting in a bar enjoying a beer and good conversation with two younger soldiers. Laughs were had, our thirst was quenched, and we loaded into the topless army issued jeep to head back to the rest of the company. I was driving, sharing the funny bits of my war story with the new guys, giving them the pleasure of knowing the one and only Wild Bill and his take-no-shit attitude. In front of us there were bright lights pointed head on. I squinted, told the newbies to stay in the jeep, and got out to help the soldier seemingly stranded on the roadside. That was at least what I assumed as the lights continued to blind me from the scene sprawled out at my feet. Once I could see clearly, figures lay on the ground, though I couldn’t make out their faces nor their clothing nor their bodies. They were blurs in my mind, censored blurs of flesh and grey coloring. My head moved in slow-motion between the two figures on the ground, my vision began to double as I looked up at the soldier in front of me, who was now just as blurred as the figures laying below. Just as my eyes set on his shape, the soldier raised his arm and pointed at my face. I couldn’t quite understand until I saw the black object in his hand. I made sense of what I was staring at even if my eyes couldn’t see. I heard a pop.

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs. Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death.

[academiaipromise]

things that i want everyone to know about the return of true tv (riverdale season 7)

this season was promoted on the promise that you don’t need to have seen any of the other six seasons of this show. they also parodied nicole kidman’s “heartbreak feels good in a place like this” amc advert. 

as we know this season is set in the 1950s (in case you missed it, they were sent back in time after bailey’s comet almost killed them all) and jughead is the only one who remembers the present. 

brief interlude taken to condemn the murder of emmett till...okay back to the guardian angel plot line (???)

veronica is a ‘50s hollywood actress who is going to high school to get a sense of small town life before the filming of our town (1940?? maybe i misunderstood this dialogue tbh) 

cheryl’s twin brother is alive but he’s not jason he’s julian (for those keeping track, this has raised our ginger ratio on this show to an unacceptable number) [i am ginger and approve this message]

betty’s dad is back and probably not a serial killer but probably racist (we’re still having wild tonal shifts from jughead trying to restore his friends’ memories to prevent more wacky time travel to toni and betty trying to bring attention to the murder of emmett till) 

shazam reference! ✨ synergy ✨

hot rod archie hot rod archie hot rod archie (if this somehow ends in a performance of greased lightning...)

jughead finds the time capsule they buried after graduation and tries to use the objects to convince everyone they’re from the future 

“kevin...you directed some musicals...and were in...an organ harvesting cult” 

jughead explains to the group that if they do not want to wait for the comet they could instead get betty and archie to make out on a bed and detonate a bomb under them. i love being reminded of this thing that actually happened on tv. 

i need to be real with y’all i find 1950s archie really endearing he somehow has all of the stupidity of modern day archie but it’s presented as naive innocence (”i like. cars. sports. and fishing” like i love that for him!) 

cheryl walks into pops and shouts “j’accuse!” at veronica catching her in a lie after she said that she had been cast in our town, but oh ho, cheryl has found out from her movie magazine that it is actually natalie wood! but i’m here to catch them both in a lie because there is no adaptation of our town starring natalie wood so. 

veronica was involved with the 1955 car accident that killed james dean and her parents subsequently banished her. if you cared. 

there is this subplot about the push for safe driving after the james dean crash which i know did happen but this is clearly an issue for hot rod archie!!

rip hot rod archie he has agreed to unsoup his car 

just saw a WILD ad for reign on the cw streaming app...the end of the cw hurts all of us 

“good morning riverdalians” [transitions straight to a reading of “Mississippi–1955” by langston hughes holy shit] 

my joke post is not the place where i feel i have the nuance and space to discuss how this episode is engaging with racial discrimination and the civil rights movement but just know that it’s...it’s something to know about [edit: here is an interview about the decisions to include these plot points this season. i think it provides some important perspective on both the history of this show and the intent behind it, though of course intent ultimately doesn’t matter in terms of effect. still, a good start to have]

tabitha (the real tabitha, the guardian angel of riverdale), returns to talk to jughead and tells him that she used what was left of her life force to send everyone to the past but because the comet destroyed riverdale in that timeline, everyone needs to try to thrive in the 50s in order to find a path back to a different future. 

you know what no one else is gonna give blake neely the credit he deserves so i’ll mention that this version of the riverdale theme is actually really gorgeous. sir if you’re reading this please know that i listened to the riverdale score aggressively while writing on the cw for my ma thesis and it would not have been finished without you thank you for your service.

tabitha takes jughead’s memories and he tries to write them down before he forgets, only to forget after writing the words “bend. towards. justice.” (yes as in the martin luther king jr quote) and he finds his beanie from the future. end of episode. 

in conclusion:

[odysseywritings]

Galactic Doomsday

@flashfictionfridayofficial

There is no one story, one hero, one side in war. Galaxies away, there is a struggle that has become a game for leaders and a nightmare for those who must endure. Starships years in the making exploding in minutes. Solar systems with more blood than comets. Between these stars are but three examples of who lives to die.

Drakul. He was a rock and seemed as old as one despite his youth among his kind. A living embodiment of the soldier ideal. His reputation was built from charging head-first into battle, his natural scaly skin putting armor to shame, and ensuring his men would survive if they followed him. And he had earned that confidence as nothing short of a bomb could wipe him out. In return, his platoon was fiercely loyal to him, knowing that he would not sacrifice them for vainglory, and that he would always win.

On another side of the galaxy;

Eve had to depart from the squadron as her ship slipped into the underside of the enemy mothership. She was a fine pilot, but her expertise wasn't from the chaotic dogfights, but from espionage and detonation. Her mind focused on finishing the battle quickly and cleanly, however that came across in war, and deception and destruction at the cost of nameless identifies was a pill she had to swallow if her comrades and countless citizens had to live.

And opposite from that;

There was no vital activity for Xee's patient. All the medicine and comedy available failed Bronsky. His insectoid face disguised any remorse perfectly. Xee chittered his mandibles and took a break to compose himself. His aged graying red hue belied his actual young age, being born and bred to this caste, honorable it may be. Death is inevitable, especially in war, so it didn't seem correct to mope for each one. Someone who still needed help was out there.

There was a calmness in night that felt like a friend. The moans, explosions, yelling for God or mothers lowered to a more tolerable level. He liked sleeping around midnight as the moon and stars looked down on him. The sky had a new friend, however, and Xee spotted what looked like a comet. Yet something was oscillating. There it was flapping like a white bird, trailing a sea of sparkles.

The war will continue whether they live or die, but there is reason for their focus as the conflict ebbs and flows. Who they replace and what they do have ripples they could not foresee, as is a sapient being's nature, but tales of romantic heroism will not cling to them.

[animenostalgia]

News - From Discotek's latest announcement stream, we got some great new titles from them to look forward to! Including:

Mazinger Z bluray

Chibi Go Nagai World bluray

Aim For The Ace! 2 OVA bluray

The Wonderful World of Puss 'n Boots film bluray

Fist of the North Star: The Legend of Yuria bluray

Fist of the North Star: The Legend of Toki bluray

Fist of the North Star: Legend of the True Savior - Legend of Raoh bluray

Blue Comet SPT Layzner TV anime and OVA bluray

as well as the 70s Meiko Kaji film Jeans Blues No Future for their Nihon Nights label

You can check out more info on these here and here, as well as on Discotek's Twitter!