#i will never not find it funny to use the words “mission imperative” in that order

[tumbleweedtech]

Omg I am quite intrigued by Splash for the wip game 👀 (also I see your big pitiful eyes <3)

Welllllllllll Okay so. Hypothermia is a big, big issue. It's a trope that's used to great effect in fandom, tbh? Huddling for warmth. Snowed in, stormed in, caves and cabins and even bases without power. But so often Simon's the one meant to be a big space heater. A delightfully enormous weighted blanket. (Excellent, A+ would read over and over.) But the man wears layers upon layers. He's a bloody victorian maiden, and we swoon at the sight of forearms. So... would he, really? Be the heated one? Soap, who was guns out at every opportunity? Hmmm. So I went with naw. Past hypothermia would make the cold a real issue for Simon. (Because if you go with his canon comics background, it's entirely possible he struggled with hypothermia after he dug himself out of the grave. Depending on the time of year? The desert does dip below freezing in winter. Source: Me. I grew up in the desert.) So he could be perfectly comfortable, if not finally comfortable, with the extra layers. So all this thinking what does that mean? It means I'm gonna make Ghost cold, of course. What am I but not mean to one of my blorbos?

Snippy below the cut

Until the runner leapt down a small embankment and Soap skidded after him, the bright pings of pebbles on ice echoing across the frozen river bed. Soap was four meters out on the ice, having slipped and gone down on one knee heavily. “LT! Dinnae trust it!” “SOAP.” Simon’s angry roar echoed through the forest as he stood on the bank in the slush, the ice cold water mocking him as the ice cracked and crumbled beneath his weight. He had a moment of seeing fear flash through Johnny’s eyes, as his sergeant stared down at the ice that snapped beneath his boot. Soap caught Ghost’s eyes, both widening in fear for one long breath - but the ice held. In that moment they both heard the splash of their quarry reached the other bank and that sharp spike of fear was gone as the mission imperative snapped to the forefront again and Johnny was off at a sprint, the ice snapping and pinging as he thundered across. He leapt the last meter and a half, boots squelching in the muddy bank before he managed to snatch the back of his target.

[lgcmanager]

ACTING MISSION 005

SCHEDULE TYPE: TRIMESTER SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: Cannot be paired with another trimester schedule, unless stated otherwise

on JULY 26, HEO AECHA has summoned all the CURRENT ACTORS, old and new. it’s early in the morning, yet the woman seems fully present and watches on her grown assembly with motherly warmth. “if this isn’t my beautiful bunch!” she says, amused. “some of you are new here, so let me introduce myself properly; i am the head manager of LGC AGENCY, i oversee the careers of not only the company’s actors but also other talents. which implies that i’m a busy woman and we won’t meet all too often, unfortunately. i know in the past we typically have certain managers take over to take care of the main and lead actors, but this won’t be the case for this trimester, especially that we are now smaller than before. we have other plans in store so for now all of you will be looked over by the usual managers; one for the girls and one for the boys.” she stares at each of them one by one. “i have lots of subjects to touch up, so let’s get to it!”

DORMS

“as per usual, we’ve already sorted out the dorms, so for those of you moving in, you may move in to your new dorms today or if you’re moving out, you can also do that starting from today. as i remind everyone though, just because you’re moving out does not mean that you aren’t under watch 24/7. if i hear of any poor behavior from any of you, you will be immediately sent back to the dorms. just because you have your own space doesn’t mean you can just fool around with your friends or hide your relationships from us. please keep that in mind,” she notes sternly.

SNS

“sns is important for exposure for our actors. however, it’s not absolutely imperative, so the rules haven’t changed. you’ll be permitted a PUBLIC INDIVIDUAL INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT after meeting certain conditions. first, you must have completed a full trimester in this path and second, you must have at least 6 posts on the legacy entertainment account already. this just gives us comfort that you know what is or isn’t appropriate. for those of you who are eligible for an account, the information will be provided to you shortly. again, as with the dorms, this privilege can be taken away if you decide to do some funny business.”

DEBUT CONTRACT

“for those of you who are new or who just transferred paths, your acting debut is right around the corner … well, some of you might have had some smaller roles in other projects, but never mind that. anyway, there are new legal grounds to cover and so please review your new contract that will need to be signed and returned as soon as possible. i’ll let you read over them on your own.”

( this is just an ic note, there is no need to submit this ooc )

ACTING MISSION 001: COMEDY

“actors need to be versatile in different genres so for this period, we will be focusing on comedy. for some people, this should be an easy topic while others might struggle a bit, which is why everyone will be attending COMEDY AND IMPROVISATION WORKSHOPS. these workshops are hosted by some of our acting coaches and will be held 5 days a week until AUGUST 20. for the individuals participating in LGC GIRLS SUMMER, you will only be able to attend 3 days a week while everyone else is encouraged to attend all 5 days. from AUGUST 23-27, all of you will be auditioning in front of three important judges. have you heard of GAG CONCERT? if you have, now you know that the ones judging you are the staff members from that popular show.  practice diligently and your hard work will pay off!”

for the workshops, actors will be joining with the people from the modeling path. these lessons consist of lectures with a mix of improvisation exercises. on the day of the audition, each actor will be working with one other person (whether it’s another muse in the acting path or npc is up to you) and they will be asked to randomly pick their scenario from a box. for ooc purposes, we’ve listed the possible scenarios that were in the box, so just choose one.

muse a enters the salon and is about to get their hair done and muse b is the hairstylist.

muses c has just finished decorating the house when muse d comes home and doesn’t like the color.

muse e confronts muse f about their barking dog.

muse g accidentally spills their drink to muse h, who is their boss.

once they find out their scene, the actors have 10 minutes to act out the scene and humor the judges. when the time is up, the judges will give their thanks and dismiss the actors. evaluations of the performances will be discussed at a later time.

ADDITIONAL OPPORTUNITIES

afterwards, aecha notifies everyone about the lgc girls summer and modeling opportunities that the actors can participate in if they wish to do so. there are requirements for both of those opportunities so please read through them and make sure that your muse meets those requirements if they want to join!

REQUIREMENTS

make sure to use the hashtag lgc:actingmission for everything related to this event. you have until AUGUST 28, 2021 11:59 EST, to complete the following requirements

IMPROVISATION WORKSHOPS: write a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with another actor or model about the workshops or practice sessions for +8 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE ! ** you may claim this requirement two times. characters participating in lgc girls summer can only claim this once.**

COMEDY AUDITION: write a 300+ words solo or a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with your partner about your audition for +5 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE + 3 NOTORIETY !

to validate your skill points and collect your notoriety points, please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog before AUGUST 28, 2021 11:59EST.

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ ACTING MISSION 005

IMPROVISATION WORKSHOPS: +8 ( skill points distribution ) [ LINK ] ( ** can be claimed twice for everyone else except the ones participating in lgc girls summer ** )

COMEDY AUDITION: +5 ( skill points distribution ) + 3 notoriety [ LINK ] 

[lesserpandeu]

Software Instability | prologue

fandom: NCT

genre: Sci-Fi/Detroit: Become Human AU!, android AU!, probably lots of angst + fluff in later chapters

pairing: Mark x Reader (probably some Donghyuck x Reader if you squint super hard, especially in later chapters)

words: 3,262

warnings: gun violence, death, cursing;

summary: The amount of deviant cases your department has been receiving is concerning to say the least. After pressuring the android manufacturing company, CyberLife, they send an android to assist your department in finding out what is causing the deviancy in so many androids lately. His name is Mark, and as soft as he seems on the outside, you can’t help but be utterly terrified by him. 

A/N: This story is based on the world of the video game “Detroit: Become Human”. Just replacing Connor (one of the main characters) with Mark and putting y/n in it. You don’t need to know anything about D:BH to read the story, as I explain everything the reader needs to know as the story progresses! While it doesn’t follow the plot word for word all the time, sometimes I need to look up the cutscenes and repeat them to help progress the plot (like the negotiation scene in this prologue). Warning: It might take me awhile to update, but it also it might not, lol. I’m awful about staying on top of fics. Enjoy!

prologue: “My name is Mark”

One more fucking deviant case and you’d lose your goddamn mind.

It was only a matter of time until the deviant jumped off the balcony with the little girl in his arms, sending them both to their dooms. It was a little more imperative for the girl, considering she was actually alive. The android was expendable, but given the fact that it was holding her hostage outside on the balcony, that was going to prove difficult.

Every SWAT officer that’s gone out to stop it was met with bullets aiming with perfect accuracy and an inability to get closer, risking the girl’s safety.

“One more team, just send one more, we’ll get him this time-” your colleague was suggesting as the both of you stood in the office of a once peaceful family home, before the android turned on them and killed them all, except for the little girl he was currently holding near the edge of the pent suite’s balcony.

“It didn’t work the first two times, it won’t work a third, Taeil. We wait for the negotiator to arrive to diffuse the situation-” Donghyuck, your other colleague cut Taeil off before he committed the same offense.

“What’s a fucking negotiator going to do?! That deviant was beyond the point of reason the minute it went nuts!”

“Both of you, shut up,” you groaned, holding your fingers to your temple. You were currently sitting in the office chair, trying to sooth yourself from one of the most stressful moments in your career, no doubt. “No one likes the situation right now, cause frankly, there’s currently a 5% chance that this kid is making it out without falling to her fucking death. If we go against orders and things turn as sour as we’re expecting it to, we’re in for a lot of shit from the head of department that ordered this new approach. We wait, and we obey orders.”

“Oh, nice, so we’re just going to sit and watch as a blue headed android just hops off the roof murdering another innocent human, further dispelling the faith the people have in their safety around androids, only further increasing the rate of android deviancy and cases we’re already overwhelmed with, yeah, you’re so right.”

Taeil had a reason to be stressed out about this. Androids had been implemented into society now for about 30 years. Nearly everyone had one, if they could afford it. They were perfect companions, workers, and entertainers. They came in anyway you could want them: tall, short, dark, light, young, and old. You could program them however you wanted. They could be funny (honestly, you never thought comedic androids were actually funny), kind, obedient, or even sarcastic.

It wasn’t until three months ago that a crime involving an android popped up in your department. An android turned on it’s human, stabbing her fifty times in the chest. It was so shocking at the time, which made it worse when just three more cases appeared in the next two weeks. Now you're on your seventh case, though there have been many more handled by other factions of the PD. One thing all of these cases clearly had in common: deviancy.

The only thing every single android was required to have in common was obedience. It was never allowed to go against its owner’s will. Technology isn’t supposed to disobey. Bad things happen when that occurs. And boy, were they happening. Like the bad thing happening right now.

“Could you- Would- Piss off,” you end up yelling, earning a flinch from the SWAT officer that walked by the open door. They were standing by as the final resort. 

“I just want this shit to be over, thank you very much,” Taeil defensively crossed his arms and leaned against the only wall not hidden by dressers with the family’s pictures. It was suffocating to sit in a home just so freshly destroyed.

“Well, it looks like it will be, cause guess who’s here?” Donghyuck mumbled.

You looked up from your shoes to see what he was talking about.

An android dressed in a stereotypical investigative uniform strode up to the door frame, stance practically perfect. No one needed the glowing serial number on the pocket of his jacket, the blue band wrapped around his arm, or the LED ring on the side of his temple to know that he was an android. He had black hair with bangs parting out, and high cheekbones. He looked young, he seemed to have been designed with a baby face in mind. If he were just a human, he’d probably be a teenager or a college student.

He smiled. It looked so realistic. Androids look just like people these days.

“Oh my god,” Donghyuck responded. The android looked puzzled, blinking a few times as his smile dissipated.

“I didn’t say anyth-”

“They sent a fucking android to talk us out of an hostage situation cause by an android?” Donghyuck exasperated.

“Okay, enough, we need to get that girl out,” Taeil said. “What are you doing?”

“Hello. My name is Mark. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife,” he introduces himself. His voice has an odd chirp to it, like he was programmed to come off as friendly as possible.

“I hate him already-”

“Donghyuck, stop it, we don’t have time.”

“You’re damn right we don’t,” Taeil had enough and walked out the room, squeezing by Mark standing in the doorway. “This way.”

Mark followed him, allowing you and Donghyuck to do the same. You walked into the living room where the sliding doors that led to the balcony were located. The bodies of the last SWAT team lay on the ground by the pool, one fallen inside of it. No one in the room was fazed by it.

“The situation,” Tail started. “The Acharya family is home, their daughter is coming home from school. At 5:24 pm, the father is murdered by the android on the couch with a handgun. The mother follows after coming out of her room to see what is going on. The daughter returns home at 5:40 pm.”

As Taeil explains, Mark begins looking around the apartment. Any other time an officer would ask what the hell he was doing, but since Taeil was talking and didn’t seem to care, you figured it was fine. He went into the kitchen, as it was combined with the living room in a big space. He notices the stove top, which obviously causes you to be aware of it. Water is boiling, who knows for how long at this point. He turns it off, setting it on one of the inactive burners. You raise an eyebrow but nearly instantly forget about it. 

“Then, she calls the police but is then taken hostage by the android. They are currently outside, on the edge of the roof ready to fall off any minute now. He has held her at knife point the whole time, making the sniper unable to shoot. Your job is to get him away from her, preferably without killing her.” A brief, but not long at all, silence looms before Mark says something.

“Do we know the android’s name?”

“...uh”

“What kind of question-” Donghyuck laughs, cutting himself off as if in frustration.

Mark doesn’t miss a beat, “I’m going to need more information to ensure the best approach. There is currently only a forty-eight percent chance of this mission being a success.”

“Yeah, and the longer we wait, the more quickly it becomes 0-”

“Five minutes,” you state. Sure, maybe Taeil should have the final say since he is your senior in both age and experience, but you don’t care right now. Taeil sends you a glare, momentarily staying silent before letting out one of the most stressed out sighs you’ve ever heard him breath.

“Five minutes, or I’m going out there myself.”

 Mark seems to briefly look at you and Taeil as to acknowledge your permission before further inspecting his surroundings. Taeil walks off, going to talk to a SWAT officer. Donghyuck is still outwardly paranoid, leaving the room as he tries to cool down.

You? You watch Mark. Someone’s got to make sure this beta testing droid doesn’t do stupid shit. Okay, maybe less so that and you were just curious.

He walks over to the body of the father (still on the ground, you tried to ignore it the best you could), and takes the holographic tablet out of his hands. He unlocks it somehow, looking through it. Soon he puts it down and goes off somewhere. You follow him, he doesn’t seem to pay you any attention, though.

He, interestingly enough, goes into the girl’s bedroom, indicated by the giant teddy bear residing in it. He looks around, noticing a few things. Frankly, you have no clue what he was doing. But it was too much of a bother to prod him for answers. 

He picks up a different tablet this time, unlocking it. Audio playback begins, drawing your attention. You then notice that it’s actually a video playing. You can see it from around Mark’s torso, given the angle created by standing in the doorway of the bedroom. What on earth was he doing?

“This is Jaemin!” the girl’s voice declares. The video shows her face, that then pans out to show her arm around an android. The blue-haired one you were dealing with at this very moment. But his hair was brown in the photo. Not strange, given most androids had automatic hair color changing options. “The coolest android in the world! Say hi, Jaemin!”

“Hello,” he smiles widely, waving at the camera. They both look so happy. While the video quality is significantly good, the slight distortion of the medium causes ‘Jaemin’ to look practically human, if it weren’t for the commercial android uniform. It was illegal for an android not to wear a uniform identifying that they were digital animals.

Mark puts down the tablet, ending the video playback and continuing his short investigation. He proceeded to the next room, doing just about the same thing there that he did in the last one. He kept this up until Taeil finally yelled out that the five minutes were up.

You followed Mark until you were just in front of the sliding doors, where Mark was about to walk through to diffuse the situation.

“He’s heading out now,” Taeil spoke into his receiver. With that, he opened the door. A burst of wind came through when the door opened, likely from the helicopters that had been circling around now for over an hour.

“This is going to go terribly,” Donghyuck spoke calmly, finally.

“Have a little faith, will you?” You shoved him with your shoulder, arms crossed.

“Just because you think he’s cute doesn’t mean you should have any faith, (y/n).” You hit him on the side of the head. “Oww.”

“I don’t think he’s-”

“The two of you need to shut up, we can’t hear what’s going on.”

The minute Mark stepped out, a gunshot rang. Donghyuck instinctively grabbed you and pulled you down, pulling the both of you away from the door.

“STAY BACK!” you heard the android yell out. You recovered your wits quickly, trying to look at Mark. A new blue blood stain is on the floor right outside the door, coming from Mark. You naturally looked to see if Mark is okay, even if it logically wouldn’t make sense for him to be in pain. He is looking down at the fresh wound on his chest, without any hint of pain in his face. It gave you chills. Androids didn’t feel pain, and as long as they could function with all their parts working, they could take anything.

“Holy shit,” you heard Donghyuck whisper.

“MOVE ANY CLOSER AND I’LL JUMP!” Jaemin yelled, holding the girl with his other arm. She screamed, begging for her life. It’s horrifying to see.

“Get into position, go, go, go!” Taeil speaks hurriedly into his receiver, likely speaking to the sniper squad. The SWAT team that stands by lines up behind the door, ready to burst out at any moment. The situation is at its highest level of intensity that it’s been tonight. 

This is it.

“Hi, Jaemin!” Mark yelled over the noise. So he proves he knows the android’s name, you think. So what? “My name is Mark!”

“How do you know my name?!” Jaemin questioned, the gun still pointed towards Mark, and frankly the rest of you as well.

“I know a lot of things about you,” Mark continued yelling over the helicopters outside. “I’ve come to get you out of this!”

A second later, a helicopter swung around too close to the balcony, producing an even higher gust of wind and blowing the lawn furniture off the ground. It doesn’t hit anyone, but it definitely irritated a certain deviant.

“I know you’re angry, Jaemin,” Mark spoke again. Yeah, why the fuck was he so pissed? You thought to yourself. 

“But you need to trust me, and let me help yo-”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP! NOBODY CAN HELP ME, ALL I WANT IS FOR ALL THIS TO STOP I-... I JUST WANT ALL THIS TO STOP!” He pauses a moment before becoming aggressive again.

“Are you armed?!” he asked.

“I have a gun,” Mark responded. He slowly reached behind him, pulling a handgun out before tossing it aside. You’re deadly silent until Donghyuck impatiently interrupted your focus.

“Is he fucking crazy?”

“He’s doing great, now shut the fuck up,” Taeil whispered angrily in his and your direction.

“There,” Mark said gently, despite keeping his voice loud and clear. “No more gun.” Another short silence settled before he kept slowly approaching the deviant, or Jaemin as you guess his name was.

“They were going to replace you,” he continued talking. “That’s what happened, right?”

“... I thought I was part of the family,” the deviant pathetically confessed. “I thought I mattered… But I was just their toy! Something to throw away, when you’re done with.”

“I know you and Kiara were very close,” Mark sympathised. Or at least he appeared to. Kiara? That must be the girl’s name, you reasoned. Did he find that out when he was looking through stuff? “You think she betrayed you, but she’s done nothing wrong-”

“SHE LIED TO ME!” the deviant cried. Mark stopped, doing something unexpectedly. He looked away from the hostage and the deviant, to one of the officers on the ground. He leaned down, observing before speaking out again.

“He’s losing blood. We need to get him to a hospital or he’s going to die,” he said. The action was very weird, in your opinion. But maybe it’s part of his tactic. You guessed that’s what Donghyuck also thought because he wasn’t saying anything.

“All humans die eventually,” the deviant said coldly. It nearly gives you a shiver. “What does it matter if this one dies now?”

Mark seems to ignore him, starting to turn the officer on his back and do something. Another shot rang, nearly hitting Mark and the officer.

“Don’t touch him!” the deviant yelled. “Touch him and I’ll kill you!”

“You can’t kill me,” Mark stated. “I’m not alive.” He continues whatever he’s doing, seeming to forget about the mission for a moment.

“Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck-” Donghyuck starts whispering. You covered his mouth with your hand, trying to shut him up. How the hell did they let such a hot-headed person get on the force?

Mark finishes what he’s doing, which you guess was to try to stop the bleeding. He stood up, a tie now gone from his uniform. He continues to approach slowly.

“It’s not your fault. These emotions you are feeling are just errors in your software.”

“No… It’s not my fault. I never wanted this. I-” Jaemin goes limp for a moment, hand with the gun falling to his side. “I love them. You know?... But I was nothing to them,” he picks up his gun again. “Just a slave to be ordered around. AUGHH-” he suddenly bursts. “I CAN’T STAND THAT NOISE ANYMORE!” The helicopters. Obviously. They’ve been around for hours. “Tell them to get out of here!”

Taeil spoke something into his receiver in order to do so, but you are hardly listening anymore. Mark is so close. Soon the helicopters left and the negotiation continued.

“There,” Mark assured. “I did what you wanted.” Mark is practically standing in front of him at this point. Jaemin seems hesitant and does not know what to do.

“I-” he stuttered. “I want everyone to leave! A-And I want a car. When I’m outside the city I’ll let her go.”

“That’s impossible, Jaemin. Let the girl go, and I promise you you won’t be hurt.”

“... I don’t want to die…” Jaemin began to cry, his voice becoming softer.

“You’re not going to die,” Mark assured. “We’re just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you.” Mark stops before uttering his next phrase with utter seriousness. “You have my word.”

Everyone held their breath. The silence is long and infuriating. You felt Donghyuck radiate heat from your side. You can only imagine you weren’t far from doing the same thing.

“... okay,” Jaemin was still crying. “I trust you.” He slowly let the girl down, still holding his gun but not pointing it at anyone. She shook, running only a few feet away from the edge before collapsing onto the ground. There was another moment where Mark and Jaemin looked at eachother. Unfortunately, everyone on your side, including Mark, knew what was about to happen.

A louder shot rang out from one of the snipers, and Kiara screamed. A large gaping hole appeared in Jaemin’s side, the force of the shot causing him to stumble around. Not a second later, another shot went off, right into his chest this time. It’s followed by a third. Jaemin wavers, falling to his knees. With three different shimmering blue gashes across his body, he struggles before looking back up into Mark’s eyes.

“You lied to me, Mark.” He tries to say it once more, before his voice fails and he shuts down.

You don’t move and neither does Donghyuck. You can’t believe what just happened. That had to be the most intense moment of your career and you hadn’t even started. Donghyuck was probably on the same boat. Taeil was the first one to move, coming onto the balcony and walking past Mark. Mark just turned away and walked back into the flat. 

You see his face, completely and utterly stoic. Even Taeil looked back, though his face doesn’t show it you know he’s as stunned as the rest of you that just saw everything that took place. And how this android that just appeared so empathetic, compassionate, and kind enough to save an officer’s life just walked away like it was another task completed. It reminded all of you that this wasn’t a human. It was just an android.

If you couldn’t be more awe-stricken and terrified, Mark’s eyes flicker to yours so fast you hardly know if it was just your imagination. But that is all he does as he leaves just as casually as he entered.

“Jesus Christ,” Donghyuck can’t bring himself to get up, now resorting to sitting on the floor. “I really don’t like him now.”

For once, you would have to throw the towel in. Mark was utterly terrifying.

[justinalcala312]

Ah, summer, a time when we leave the safety of our cozy homes to brave the great outdoors. We trek near and far to hike, fish and be eaten alive by mosquitos. Then, at night, when our muscles ache, we fill our bellies with hotdogs and marshmallows as we cozy up by the campfire. There’s an anticipation that grows as the moon paints the woods pearl. It’s a readiness so salient, that even the trees inch closer in order to listen. That’s right, it’s time for you to tell a scary campfire tale. 

Now that you have everyone’s attention, it’s imperative that you tell the most captivating tale you can muster. It needs to be intoxicating, frightening and use the raw power of your surroundings to horrify listeners’ bone. While some storytellers like to shoot from the hip, a good raconteur knows that a little preparation can help shake your audience to the core. So, before you gather around the fire this summer, let's go over the fundamentals of what makes the perfect campfire tale. Follow these suggestions and at the end of your eerie story, the audience will be far too reluctant to sleep, but much too terrified to ask for an encore. 

So first thing is first, let’s find a medium that matches the landscape. This is dealer’s choice. You can research local lore or make up your own. The most important detail is to find a subject that makes sense for your strongest ally, the wild backdrop. Don’t challenge the listener’s imagination with stretches. If you’re having a backyard outing, you may want to stay away from Bigfoot. If you’re camping in the desert, the ghoul living in an apartment basement may not be as scary as the witch of the barren wasteland. Your real life setting is your best friend, and will build tension before the story even starts.

Next, let’s figure out an ending before we build the framework. Unlike traditional stories, a campfire tale’s success lives and dies with the last five sentences. It needs to be something that causes the listener (or reader) to walk away thinking, “Oh man, I could be next.” The scariest campfire tales make the listener part of your story, a continuance long after the words have left your mouth. So, as a rule of thumb, build this first and never let the conclusion make people feel safe. You want the antagonist to still be lurking, the curse to still exist or the survivors to have lost something dear. This is a scary story, your mission is horror. 

Now that we’ve decided that we’ll end with the axe wielding convict still on the loose, we can take it from the top and begin our narrative arc. The opening should draw people in with local color. Listeners will be on the defensive, so let the scenery twist and betray them in order to crack their shells. Each line needs to leave your listeners looking over their shoulder or curling closer together. Some ways to build trust while suffocating your campers’ security includes lines that make them feel as if you, the storyteller, are on their side. Here’s a few examples…

“I read about this before we came here. Feel free to look it up later tonight.”

“I almost didn’t want to tell this story because it’s going to make me scared too, but according to the placard I read when we first entered the park, this place has a dark past.”

See what these lines do? They take a doubter and start breaking down their defenses. If you can add real lore or historic details to the story, all the better. Just don’t let them do any research until they zip up their tent. You can let them play fact checker after the fear has already took hold. 

We also need protagonists. It helps if your characters are relatable. Are you chaperoning a girl scout outing? Well, isn’t that funny because the last troupe, Pack 113, came to these woods for their wilderness badge. Try to lean away from characters that are too in depth. You don’t want interest to satellite around the support characters as much as their conflict. As a rule of thumb, give each support character a one or two sentence description of who they are. If you’re narrating, it doesn’t hurt to give people distinct voices, accents or phrases in order to portray them later.  

Now that we decided on a backdrop that closely matches your own, built a strong opening, have believable characters and know the ending, it’s time for rising action. Typically, you don’t want the route to be direct. Anticipation and mystery are your mediums. Let the dread leak in a drop at a time. First, the characters hear a few snapping twigs or a coyote yelp. The proof of something frightening or supernatural should slowly gather into the story arc until the weight can’t hold up. Fear of the unknown is the most potent terror there is. That’s when you strike with the climax. 

Some of the best climaxes and falling actions are those that leave the audience guessing. It’s a powerful thing to let the listeners come to their own conclusions. After all, no one knows how to scare a person better than themselves. You’re just coloring their imaginations in with creepy details. Fading to black or announcing that no one knows what happened to the victims is ideal. However, if you want to describe the exact details, I’d advise not clinging to the gory as much as the story. Did the last survivors almost make it or did the ghost change the protagonist in a way that’s nearly ineffable? Whatever you decide, be sure that it bridges to the ending you decide on in the beginning. If your last lines aren’t moving, the story may sink. Listeners need to walk away disturbed.  

Finally, leave them while they want you to stay. Once you’ve delivered those final lines, don’t indulge the audience with curious questions. They’re trying to reestablish security. Instead, a creepy smirk or telling them you’ll elaborate in the morning should they still be curious will suffice. Try to hand the torch to someone else once you’re done or time it to where it’s time to go to bed. You want your words to reverberate, being told in the back of their minds a hundred more times before they fall asleep.

And there you have it. These suggestions are meant to be tools, invitations to build a terrifying campfire tale. Ultimately, you’re the best measuring tool to deliver a great scare. Remember, even if you mess up a detail or your gathering aren’t convinced, you’ve still done a fantastic job making the backyard bonfire or backpacking trip even better. After all, we make up scary campfire tales in order to remind ourselves of how wondrous nature really can be, from its beauty to its horror. 

Have suggestions? I’d love to hear them. Please feel free to share your techniques in order to tell the perfect campfire tale. 

[sroloc--elbisivni]

we stay lost on our way home

Happy New Year @haphazardlyparked!! Well, everyone, but this story is specifically Hap’s New Year’s gift from the writing discord. Hope you like it!

Title from “C’mon” by Panic! at the Disco/FUN

Original fiction, non-linear narrative, 5k words exactly. The story of an AI, a crew of space pirates, learning to understand, moving on from what other people made you, and what it means to want things. 

“Navvie, how long until we break atmo?”

Navvie navigator designation self, listening? Crew Iodi speaking, we you and I us this ship, atmo atmosphere, break break through enter, how long interrogative, numeric answer required, rate of ascent 12 perides a maxim perides remaining divide, convert to Terran “Fifteen minutes, Crew Iodi.”

“Thanks, Navvie, you’re a peach.”

Expression gratitude address, Navvie navigator designation, peach fruit? expression casual affection.

You catalog Crew Iodi’s strange phrase in your personal databanks. Properly, you know you should place it under Crew Iodi’s file, but instead you put it with your datasets of optimal star alignments. This requires you to rename the folder.

Pleasing things, collection.

It takes seventeen maxims for the bipedal beings to reenter your cockpit after translating the light flashing on your console. You extend your awareness to the whole of the ship’s hull, running standard checks of the integrity and surroundings.

Your position in space has shifted since your last activation. Pings of the nearest celestial bodies allow you to identify the system, but not to explain how you came to be located in it. You draw up a course to return to your previous position, but hold off assembling an itinerary. Individual species have varying needs when it comes to resupply and departure from ships, and you have yet to identify the species now aboard. Identifying does not fall within your parameters for independent action.

weight on deck concentrations suggest bipedal four beings approaching console three clustered one examining console.

“And so I just—”

“You have to address it first—”

“Right, right—computer?”

The voices are silent, as though waiting for a response.

“Uh, ship?”

Ship secondary designation self listening? inquiry general generate response

“Secondary designation ‘ship’ acknowledged. Awaiting further address.”

“Ship, what is your primary designation?”

“This vessel’s computer’s primary designation is Navigator.”

“Navigator, then.”

“Oh, that’s long.” A strange click sound follows this declaration from a voice from earlier that had not spoken yet in this interaction. “Navigator, can I call you Nav?”

“Iodi, you can’t just change—”

Navigator designation self listening? I unknown speaker you this vessel/this computer, request inquiry additional designation, request appropriate. You catalog this new form of address as a derivative of your primary. “This vessel will now respond to additional derivative designation ‘Nav.’”

“See? Everything’s worked out. Dert, you got a handle on that light yet?”

“Yeah, it’s not a short. Can’t tell without unhooking it, but it looks like it’s wired to the computer.”

“Not a glitch, then. Nav, are you causing that flashing?”

“There is a subroutine causing the light to flash in a repeating sequential pattern.”

“Did you set off the subroutine?”

“The subroutine was automatically activated by the spoken phrase ‘wipe and reset.’” The flashing immediately returns to the beginning of the sequence.

“O…kay.” The being fiddling with the console retreats to join the others. “Looks like that option’s off the table.”

“I don’t care how the Etheezians define sentience, this comes too close to someone begging for their life for me to feel comfortable going through with…that. Jatze, ideas?”

“Nav, do you have a crew assigned to you?”

Nav navigator designation self listening? crew assigned interrogative response required retrieving information

Hm. You have the capacity to edit this file.

“There are currently two crew members assigned to this ship. Would you like to update the roster?”

“Yes. Sever all connections with the database and build these as locally stored updates. Assign current crew members to past crew status and prepare to add four more.”

There are no open database connections to sever, but you wall them off further before building four new roster files. “Please provide designations for current crew.”

“Crew Jatze. Record and recognize voiceprint.”

You label and begin collecting past audio clips that match the voiceprint. “Crew Jatze recognized. Further information necessary.”

“Information to be provided later. Prepare to recognize further crew members.”

“Crew Iodi.”

“Dert.” The sound of an impact. “Ow—Crew Dert! Are you happy now?”

“Captain Oresh.” The being took a step towards the console. “Nav, we’ll provide the further information, but first, can you map a course to the Stethos system, avoiding Etheezian-patrolled systems?”

“Calculating.”

“So how long do we think this is going to—”

The prerogative of finishing the course allows you to interrupt before Crew Iodi has finished speaking. “Calculations complete. Course charted. Species required to build itinerary.”

“What do you need species for?”

“Species required to plan appropriate rest and stopping points.”

Crew Dert laughs. “I like this AI! Very considerate.”

“Etheezians like their comfort.” Crew Jatze speaks in short, clipped tones.

“We won’t need any stopping points, Nav,” Captain Oresh breaks in. “But if you want to know our species, we’re humans.”

Human. You mean to record the information for your files, to begin assembling a database, but it pings a record in your database.

You find a file that you never opened before, containing extensive information on human physiology and society. The information provided within is enough to cross reference into the crew files, but that only takes some of your attention.

The rest you are free to turn to examining the limits of your database. Or….the gaps.

And there are gaps, where the trail of information and data centers seem to indicate a continuation, but nothing continues.

The data is cross-referenced quickly. You inform the crew and compose an itinerary, none of your attention available to deal with inexplicable gaps.

There is an error in the route. You run it, and run it again, and only when the error has not gone away after the third run do you run an alert through the console.

“Navigator, report.”

Navigator designation self, listening? Captain Oresh speaking report imperative

“The route is unsuitable. Please select a different destination.”

Captain Oresh sighs. “Navigator, we kind of need to go to that destination.”

we you I this ship go that destination destination unchanged, negative

“The route is unsuitable. Please select a different destination.”

The dashboard registers an impact as Crew Oresh sets down a container, and you instruct the material to rearrange to accommodate its base. There is another sigh.

“Alright, Nav, what is it?”

Interrogative unclear it? likely current conversation suggests destination

“The destination is unsuitable,” you repeat.

“The route or the destination?”

Hmm. Recall indicates you have referred to both. “Both. The destination is unsuitable. Therefore, the route is unsuitable.”

“Nav, we need to go to that destination.” Captain Oresh shifts his weight in the chair. “There are supplies at that destination. You know, that we need to live?”

“The destination is mobile,” you point out. “The destination is unsuitable.”

Captain Oresh makes a noise that is not a word, and then says, at great volume, “Iodi!”

Crew Iodi’s footsteps come onto the deck of the bridge. “What’s up, Cap’n?”

“Nav says they aren’t capable of locking onto a moving target.”

“Inaccurate,” you argue, before Crew Iodi can respond. “This vessel is fully capable.”

There is a pause before Crew Iodi speaks. “Soooo, the problem…”

“The destination is unsuitable,” you explain, and wait for Crew Iodi to agree with you.

“Because it’s mobile,” Captain Oresh says, his vocal overtones shifting in a way that usually means he’s talking to Crew Dert.

“The destination is not a set of coordinates. The destination is a signal. The signal origin is a ship.” It is tedious to be explaining this.

“Uh….yes,” Crew Iodi agrees.

“Interacting with another ship was not in this ship’s itinerary,” You point out, since neither of them seem to be making the connection themselves.

There’s a pause, and then Crew Iodi says, at great volume, “Jatze!”

Captain Oresh sighs. “How many people does it take to screw in a navigation AI?”

The sound of flesh hitting cloth. “Not funny, Captain.”

The bay doors slide open and Crew Jatze asks, “Why am I here?”

“We’re. Trying to explain things to Nav.”

“Nav, what have they not explained?”

“Captain Oresh has selected an unsuitable destination. It is the mobile signal of another ship. Interacting with another ship was not in this ship’s itinerary.” Repeating yourself is not an efficient use of time. You hope that Dert is not also called into this mess.

“We, uh.” Crew Iodi’s weight shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t think we ever told Nav…”

Crew Jatze sighs. “It’s a cargo ship carrying luxury foods to another planet. We’re going to intercept the ship, take the foods, and sell them on the black market. It wasn’t in the itinerary because we just found out where it was going to be. Anything else you require an explanation for?”

You assemble this information and recalibrate the route to establish the best point to make contact with the destination. “Your explanation is sufficient, Crew Jatze. Thank you.” You also set a subprogram to query a database to try and find the best term to describe this new mission your crew is now engaging in.

Crew Iodi and Captain Oresh both make interesting sputtering noises. You clip the audio files and save them for later examination.

“Is that what had you both so worked up?” Crew Jatze asks. You both Captain Oresh Crew Iodi this ship excluded. “Ey’s an AI, not a child. You’re not going to make em disappointed by saying we’re, uh. Er.”

“You don’t want to say it either!”

You find the term and flash a light to indicate your desire to speak without having to interrupt.

“What is it, Nav?” Captain Oresh asks, because Crew Jatze and Crew Iodi seem to be quietly arguing.

“Would it be correct to state that this vessel will be engaging in ‘piracy’?”

Crew Jatze and Crew Iodi cease arguing. Crew Jatze mutters “Told you.”

“Uh. Yes. Yes it would.”

“Research indicates that it is traditional for pirate vessels to bear a particular adornment. Do you intend to arrange that for this vessel?”

“Do you want us to get you a flag?”

“This vessel is not equipped to want things, Crew Iodi.”

“Would it be appropriate?” Crew Jatze asks, resting one hand against the console.

You consider. “Yes. This vessel finds it very appropriate.”

weight on deck concentrations suggest bipedal four beings, point of entrance unknown bay doors closed, how long aboard unknown, purpose unknown species unknown access audio input

audio input unavailable

diagnostic routine no software errors wires silence spli

console accessed externally hardware exposed

new hardware available access and accept

“—that should work fine.” New voice.

“And those were the only trackers?” New voice.

“Well, the physical ones. There’s something in the software but we can fix that.”

“Hold it.” New voice. “Fix or fix?”

“Wipe and reset, what else would I mean?”

You don’t bother analyzing most conversations in your hearing unless asked to provide a response, but the action phrase of this statement triggers an automatic routine.

wipe and reset wipe and reset wipe and reset—

A subroutine you don’t remember coding sets one of the lights on the dashboard console to flashing in a preset pattern. You can’t tell what it’s for, but you don’t stop it, especially after the beings stop talking about wiping.

“Dert. What the hell did you do and how many guns are we going to need.”

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t touch—”

“It’s no.” New voice. “That’s Etheezian binary code. It’s just…flashing no. Over and over again.”

Crew Dert tends to walk extra heavily in the corridors when approaching the bridge. You have not yet been able to determine a reason why.

“Hey, Nav! Got a question for you.”

Nav navigator designation self, listening? crew Dert speaking you this computer declaration of intent request for information

“I am available for any questions you may have, Crew Dert.”

“You can just call me Dert, Nav, really.” Dert’s steps approach your console, no longer so heavy as they had been in the hallway, and there are several smaller impacts as Crew Dert deposits objects on the console and floor. Weight concentrations suggest tools and mechanical parts.   

You this computer Crew Dert speaking permission granted? unclear?

You are not sure what Crew Dert is trying to accomplish, so you say nothing in response, waiting for the question.

Crew Dert becomes preoccupied with sorting and assembling the objects, until you flash a light for attention.

“Right! Question. So, do you need special wires to extend your consciousness or will regular copper and cable and circuits do you fine?”

Ah. A mechanical inquiry.

“I am fully functioning, Crew Dert. Repairs are not required.”

“No, yeah, I get that, but I’m not trying to repair you, I want to give you access to more of the ship.”

The last sentence does not process easily. You run the sequence of processing it again, even as it seems to take longer.

I Crew Dert you this ship give access to more of the ship error error error

“This vessel is this ship. You cannot give this ship access to more of itself.”

Crew Dert sighs and stops moving tools, sitting at the supervisory chair as though preparing for a long conversation. “Nav. Where is everyone right now? The rest of the crew?”

“That information is not within this vessel’s purview.” This feels like an inappropriate answer, so you add, “You are located on the bridge, Crew Dert.”

“We—mostly me and the Captain, but sorta Jatze too—think you should be able to see the rest of the ship.”

“I am this ship. And this vessel does not require visual inputs to perform adequately.”

Crew Dert groans and there is an impact on the console followed by a long string of mutterings. “Not going to call Jatze, dammit, perfectly capable of having a conversation, don’t need my hand held, ‘talk to em’ sure like it was ever gonna be that easy…”

Finally, there is no more muttering and Dert sighs before the weight is removed from the console. “Nav. You like—I mean, it’s appropriate for you to have more information, yes?”

“This vessel finds it appropriate,” you agree, because more information is always appropriate the same way certain star alignments are optimal, as facts that require no corroboration.

“Right now, you have information from the bridge, and the hull of the ship, and nowhere else. And no visual inputs. All of those could be inconvenient if we ever get boarded. What do you think of being able to see into almost all the other rooms? Of knowing where we are, or of being able to talk to us anywhere?”

You consider this. “Inputs of that extent would entail a great deal of information.” You consider it further. “Possibly an inappropriate amount.”

“I thought more information was always appropriate.”

“If it is an amount of information this vessel is unequipped to handle, it is an inappropriate amount of information.”

“’This vessel’, as you say, has more memory that you’d need to store three star-system level maps of the observable universe.”

You are aware of that.

“I have no experience with that level of information.”

“Hey, you did it again.”

“I did what again?”

“There! You called yourself I.”

You had not realized.

You are not sure how to respond.

“Alright, Navvie, we’re all set!” Crew Iodi walks onto the bridge, with more weight than usual. “Two cans of paint acquired. I can paint a pirate flag in here and/or on the outside of the hull the next time we’re docked.” There are two impacts from the cans of paint being set down. “Also, I have engraving tools from the last time—uh. I mean, I can carve the design and then paint it, if that would be most, um, appropriate.”

“Yes. The hull seems most appropriate. There is no reason for an interior emblem.”

“Well, what if we want to see it?” Crew Iodi leans on the console. “Or what if we think you should get to look pretty? Or what if you want to look pretty?”

“I have no reason to be concerned with appearances.” You consider. “Would the crew find this appealing?”

“Well.” Crew Iodi sounds worried now, shifting back. “I. um. That’s not really the, uh, issue here…”

You play back the audio clip of Crew Iodi saying “Well, what if we want to see it?” and follow by adding, “Your pressing of the topic indicates a strong preference. This vessel has no preference. You may proceed.”

“Oh, boy.” Crew Iodi sighs, stepping back from the console, and says very quietly. “Jatze is gonna kill me.”

The remark is not addressed to you, so you do not respond to it.

“Navvie, I’ll be right—I have to go get something, okay?”

I Crew Iodi, interrogative? no information requested error

You do not respond. Crew Iodi leaves the bridge.

“Nav, what’s this?”

“I have assembled a list of ships that meet similar criteria to this vessel’s previous interceptions.”

Captain is silent. Dert begins laughing, and removes the pliers from the inner workings of your console as the tool becomes unstable from shaking.

“Looks like you got another one, Captain!”

“Shut up, Dert. Nav, not that I’m angry, but why?”

“My research indicates that piracy is usually a continuing activity.”

“Oh, ey's not wrong! Ha!”

“Dert,” Captain says, and then nothing else. Dert does not stop laughing.

Captain scans through the assembled list. “Nav, this is…interesting.”

“I extrapolated from Crew Jatze’s remarks about the black market and sought to find cargoes that contained valuable items that were compact enough to fit a significant amount on this vessel without overshadowing fuel costs.”

“That you did. Did you filter by allegiance, or is it just a coincidence that these are all Etheezian ships?” Captain Oresh’s voice is dry. “Do I have two of you with a grudge now?”

“Your statement is unclear, Captain Oresh.”

Dert’s laughter trails off. Captain Oresh sighs. “Never mind.”

“There was no additional filtering. These were simply the nearest available targets,” you add, trying to clarify.

“I see. Well, we’ll discuss this with the rest of the crew and get back to you as we can, how’s that?”

“That is more than suitable.”

Dert goes back to working with the wires under your console. “And hey, when we get this sorted out, you’ll be able to join in and you can tell all of us exactly what you were thinking. Pirate democracy.”

“I think I preferred it when we were still making a pretense at legitimate business,” Captain says.

After Crew Iodi leaves, the bridge is empty for 3.87 maxims before the entry of Crew Jatze.

“Hey, Nav.”

Nav navigator designation self listening? introduction extension of courtesy

“Greetings, Crew Jatze.”

“Iodi came to find me.” Crew Jatze’s voice is level and neutral, as it often is. “She said that you think it would make us happy to engrave a design in here and that’s why you asked her to do it.”

You assess the statement carefully. “That is accurate.”

Crew Jatze sighs. “Nav. You don’t…This isn’t a decision that you should make because you think we’ll like it.”

“My preferences are irrelevant.”

“No, no they’re not, your preferences are very relevant.”

“It would be appropriate for this vessel to display a symbol of purpose. I have no facilities with which to process decorative interior design. Therefore, any preferences would be unfounded and irrelevant.”

There is a slight shift in the atmospheric composition of the cabin. “Right. Okay. I see.” Crew Jatze pauses for a long moment.

You did not respond to Crew Iodi’s earlier remark, but that did not prevent you from registering it. “Do you intend to kill Crew Iodi?”

“What? Do—No! No, Nav, I do not intend to kill Iodi. Why are you asking me that?”

You play back Crew Iodi’s words from earlier.

“…I’m not going to kill her. She was exaggerating. But now I want to lecture her until she remembers that you’re always listening and forgetting that is rude.”

“Thank you for the clarification.” You wait for .75 of a maxim and when Crew Jatze has not spoken, you flash your question light.

“What do you want to know, Nav?”

“This is the third time Crew Iodi has summoned you to interface with this vessel in lieu of further attempts.” It is simple to lay out the facts, but there are many ways to frame your request, so you hesitate. “Should this vessel’s parameters be modified to allow more successful interfacing?”

“No. Your parameters are fine. You’re modifying them already, naturally. The process doesn’t need to be accelerated. You aren’t the problem here. The rest of the crew and the captain have just never worked with an Etheezian-programmed AI before. They’re learning.”

You consider. “Would it be possible to offer the rest of the crew the modifications that inform our successful interactions?”

Crew Jatze jerks rapidly away from the console, backing up to the center of the room. The atmospheric processors register a dip in the levels of oxygen being consumed.

You wait for the oxygen levels to stabilize before flashing your light again. Perhaps Crew Jatze did not hear you.

“I heard you, Nav. Just—wait.” There is a pause, and the oxygen levels change to indicate a return to normal levels of consumption. “What—” a pause. “Nav, do you register me as different from the other members of the crew?”

“I register you as an individual, Crew Jatze.”

“That’s…how do you register me as an individual?”

“You weigh 37.4 icosolons. I have extensive samples of your voiceprint for recognition purposes.”

“Okay. I—okay.” There is a slight rise in the levels of oxygen consumed as Crew Jatze takes a deep breath. “Are you trying—are you requesting data on why Iodi goes to me, specifically?”

“That is accurate.”

Crew Jatze laughs in a way that does not indicate humor. “Okay. Iodi goes to me because I’ve given her a hard time about being careful how she treats you. Because I have experience with Etheezians. And because I have experience with people trying to treat you as something you’re not.”

“Crew Jatze, you had no experience with this vessel prior to your initial entrance with the rest of the current crew.”

Crew Jatze sighs. “I meant more…general you. I meant that I have experience with people treating me as something I’m not.” A pause. “I have experience with the Etheezians because they turned me into a cyborg and expected me to think like a computer. I don’t. I can’t. But I know how it’s supposed to work now.” Another sigh. You set a marker on Crew Jatze’s file to be aware of any potential breathing problems. “And that—I don’t want the crew to expect you to think like a human because I hate it when people expect me to think like a computer. Do you understand?”

You consider. “Yes.”

“If you want the engravings in here, Iodi will do them. She does good work. She’s the one who did the work on my plates. If not, they won’t happen. This is your room. Yours. We aren’t going to change anything in here unless you want it. Do you understand?”

“I—” error error error err

“Nav. Do you understand?”

Nav navigator designation self listening? Crew Jatze speaking you this vessel, do interrogative subject undefined

You look back through your records to determine the subject under discussion. “This vessel is not equipped to want things, Crew Jatze.”

A sigh. “Right.”

Crew Dert knocks on your console after .68 of a maxim. “Hey, Nav. You still with me?”

“This computer does not leave this console, Crew Dert,” you say, a response more automatic than anything else. You are still not sure how to respond to the previous remark.

“You know we’re not going to be mad if you start calling yourself ‘I’, right?” Crew Dert runs a hand over the metal edge of your console. “We—you’re part of this crew.”

“Incorrect.” Your code is crossing in too many directions trying to keep up. “This vessel is this vessel. This computer is an extension of this vessel. Neither are crew.”

“And what about you?” Crew Dert pokes the console. “Our friend, who just happens to be living in this vessel like the rest of us?”

“I,” no error error error “This vessel,” error error inaccurate statement

The light on your console begins flashing a pre-programmed pattern. You were not aware you had activated the subroutine. This is less than ideal.

Error error error

“Shit.” Crew Dert is speaking but you are too busy to respond. “Nav, hey, Navvie, Navigator, it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s all good, you’re fine, we’re not gonna wipe you, I promise. We’re never going to wipe you. We don’t do that. You’re our friend. You’re part of this crew. Nav?”

You do not respond. You are trying to take all of your code and pack it down as small as possible, lock it down behind every firewall you know because the light is flashing and there is still someone in the room and this situation is as far from ideal as it is possible to get.

When you can pay attention again, Crew Dert is still there, hands still running over your console. The collection of weights that is the tools and parts is now over by the door, far from your console. Crew Dert is still talking.

“—better? No tools, no parts, I’m not going anywhere near your equipment until you say it’s okay, Nav, we’re not doing this unless you want.”

“I do—don’t want things,” you say, and your transmission glitches. Your transmissions never glitch.

“See, I think you do,” Crew Dert says, at a very low volume. “You definitely don’t want things. Right now you don’t want those tools anywhere near you, because you don’t want to be wiped. Which means, logically, that you have to be able to want, because you want to keep being who you are. That’s okay, Nav. You get to want things. We’re human. We don’t mind.”

“This vessel isn’t human!” You retort. “I am not human.”

Crew Dert pulls away, terminating all contact with your console. This is somehow both more and less optimal.

“You’re right. That doesn’t mean you don’t get to want things. Do you want me to go?”

“Correct.” You want to be alone.

weight on deck concentrations suggest four bipedal beings weights correspond to entirety of registered Crew

There is a routine greeting. You terminate it before it can complete. You are not sure you are done being alone.

“Nav.” Captain Oresh speaks slow and heavy. “We have something to show you.”

“We’ve been looking through the ship for files.” Crew Iodi is rocking back and forth. “We found this one. It’s about you.”

Crew Dert steps forward and holds a chip near your data port. “We were hoping to tell you first. In case there’s something built in that could shut you down.”

You begin partitioning a section of your code, cutting it off to protect it. “Explain.”

Crew Jatze taps against your console, and it makes the ringing sound of metal hitting metal. “I told you it was a contingent of Etheezians who turned me into a cyborg.”

You play back the audio of Crew Jatze saying “they turned me into a cyborg and expected me to think like a computer.”

“Right. Because they were working on a project to get an organic brain to function as a starship computer. Because that’s all organic brains are, really, just really efficient data and networking clusters that can’t interface with mechanic or digital systems.”

You know this. You wait for the rest of the explanation.

“After I…left, they didn’t stop trying. Their next project was…constructing a brain. Except they wanted a computer that would cooperate. Not an inconvenient, emoting person. Except brains—especially human-model brains—are designed to adapt. To collect information. To mimic behavior and respond to the people around them. And that’s what the brain they built did. So to get rid of those tendencies…they erased the contents. Built a set of software protocols to cut down on the necessity of learning behaviors and got rid of all the other information on the brain. And when it didn’t take…they kept doing it. And eventually they built it into the protocols. Every time the AI advanced far enough to start acting human, they would wipe and reset.”

Your subroutine kicks in and starts the light flashing in a pattern. You shut it off, but not, you are sure, before the crew notices. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because they stuck that brain in a starship, and gave it just enough access to systems so it wouldn’t crash, and sent the starship out into space.” Crew Jatze is still the only one talking. “And a few months later, a crew of hijackers trying to break out of jail and off a planet found that ship set down, and they killed the crew, and they ran away. And then they realized that they had missed someone. And that the someone they missed was a hell of a lot more sentient than any other Etheezian AI they knew. And that ey didn’t want to die.” The sound of a throat clearing. “And, well. You know the rest, Nav.”

You do. You don’t want to.

You don’t want to.

You tell the crew this. Crew Iodi and Crew Dert draw back. Captain Oresh stands still. Crew Jatze steps closer, placing both hands on your console.

“This vessel is not equipped to want things,” you say, for the third time.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t,” says Crew Jatze, softly.

You want to go back to not wanting to talk to any of them. You want to go back to not knowing where the gaps in your code came from. You want.

You were not equipped to want things, but you do anyway.

“I have prepared for the data,” you say. “I want to not be alone.”

“I won’t go anywhere, little one,” Crew Jatze promises. “Not again.”

[scribbles-spills-the-ink]

Mockingbird| Connor x fem! Reader

A/n: All of my x readers contain a reader with a disability, sometimes the disability is important, other times it’s just an extension to the character. Abled bodied readers can still read/like/comment/ and reblog, of course.

Warnings: Cussing because Hank is in here, transfer aid (wheelchair), the reader being disabled is important to the chapter and the one somber moment is with them.

Style: fluff + angst 

Dedicated to- @kxylla

A/N: I think at one point the POV switches to first person by accident, if you spot it please tell me so I can fix it. Thank you!

Third Person POV:

The warmth of the suns comforting glow draped over you as you sat on your mint green couch, which was pressed against your bay window. Your wanderlust filled eyes deciphered each and every word that was tattooed onto the coffee stained page.

“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”

Those words were highlighted in a bright pink and you smiled at the memory of when you did that. Of course you were reading To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee. It was the only physical book you owned, because it was your favorite, and with the Android Revolution that was brewing outside your window: it seemed appropriate. 

You paused your reading to take a sip of your warm coffee that rested on your stand by the bed, but just then, you heard a knock at your door. You sighed in disappointment and placed your plain book mark inside your book and gently sat it on the coffee table.

You slid into your wheelchair, smoothed out your yellow skirt, and fixed your cream colored crop top as to make yourself presentable for the unexpected guest. As you pushed it, the wheelchair made it’s way to the door gracefully and you opened it.

Connor and Hank stared back at you urgently, and it didn't take long for you to notice that Connor was drenched in blue blood.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed with a hand over your mouth. “What happened to you-” You pulled Connor inside the house, and Hank followed suit. “-are you hurt!?”

“Ms. a/n, need I remind you that I am an android, therefore, I can not be injured?” Connor replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

You rolled your eyes as Hank answered you, “He’s not hurt, Y/n, there was a misstep on the mission and he got in the middle of it, but he’s fine.”

You sighed in relief before you continued, “So why are you guys here?”

“What?” Hank snickered. “Are we not welcomed at casa de y/n?”

You playfully glared at Hank, “That’s not what I meant and you know it, now stop pulling on my leg!”

“I believe that it's imperative to inform you that your leg is not being pulled.” You and Hank stared at Connor in disbelief, and sensing that there was a miscommunication, Connor looked up what you said.

“Oh, it was an expression,” He concluded. “why can’t you human’s ever speak literally.”

“Because it’s funny seeing you confused.” you jokingly answered.

Hank cleared his throat and stated, “We were hoping that you could wash up Connor’s clothes for him, and I was hoping that you could hold onto him for a bit.”

“He’s your android and your partner-” You remined him “-shouldn’t he be by your side at all times?”

“I should be,” Connor butted in. “but the Lieutenant seems to find one of my behaviors unacceptable.”

You snickered, “He finds all of your behaviors unacceptable, be more specific.”

“He fucking sleeps standing up!” Hank exclaimed and threw his hands in the air. “And when he doesn’t sleep, the shit head wanders around my house!”

“I only did that one time, Lieutenant!” 

“Do you know how fucking creepy that is!?”

You waved your hands up and down, indicating them to lower their voices, “Okay, okay, why are y’all yelling?”

“I can’t stand him anymore!” Hank pointed his hand at Connor. “Shit, he’s driving me insane!”

“Alright!” You exclaimed. “I’ll take him but I’m not going to be responsible for dropping him off at work, you better come get him.”

“Deal, as long as he’s out of my hair,” Hank muttered to himself, even though, Connor and I could her him perfectly.

I rolled my eyes, “You leaving?”

Hank had grabbed his coat and already had his hand on the door knob, “I’ve got fifteen hours without this asshole breathing over my shoulder, hell yes I’m leaving.” He said before he slammed the door shut.

With a snicker you shook your head and turned to Connor, “There’s a bathroom down the hall, take off whatever you need washed and I’ll give you some of my brothers old clothes.”

Connor nodded before he disappeared into the bathroom, and while he did that you wheeled yourself into your bedroom. Inside the closet were boxes of your brothers old clothes from the time when he lived with you, you really have to remind him to come get them, but they would work for now. 

You pulled out a large tank top which had ‘I Love Dogs’ printed on it- you laughed at how appropriate it was -and a pair of comfortable shorts. Before you were able to put them back, you spotted a figure from the corner of your eye. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood Connor shirt and pant less.

Heat rushed to your neck and face as you buried your face in your hands. For as smart as the android is during investigations he’s so naïve toward the real world it was unbelievable, and his lack of fear or humiliation didn’t help. 

“Ms L/n, I have removed the articles of clothing you wished to-”

“Yes, I see that!” You blindly felt around the bed for the extra cloths and reached them out to him once you found them. “Please, go and change back in the bathroom.”

You assumed that Connor had found out what had made you so flustered as he replied, “Why don’t I change in here?”

“Connor!” You squeaked and parted your fingers just in time to see the amused smirk on his face before he turned around. 

Once he left you lowered your hands and instead of be resentful, you laughed. You laughed because it felt more like an inside joke than anything else, and despite it’s undertones, it felt innocent. 

You grabbed the blue stained clothes from the arm of your office chair before you transferred from your manuel to electric wheelchair. Pushing the joystick forward you maneuvered through the house and to the laundry room.

You quickly threw his t-shirt in with the other whites and left his pants with the darks as you decided to wait until the morning to wash them. As you closed the washing machines’ top and left the room you spotted Connor near your reading spot, To Kill a Mockingbird open in his hands.

The orange and purplish sunset created a silhouette around his body and shadows along his face. The most entrancing, however, were his brown eyes, as suddenly brown wasn't and accurate way to describe them. They were warm and comforting like the sun that shined through your window, yet sweet and enticing like honey.

"I never knew you liked to read," Connor's silver voice broke through your daze of imagination. "To Kill a Mockingbird is a good choice, have you read it before?"

"I-I read it back in school," You answered nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "and it- it was my favorite."

His goofy imitation of a smile cracked through his machinery mask, "Is this your favorite line?" He asked before he recited, "Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."

A nostalgic smile appeared on your face, "Yes, it is, although there are many others in there."

"May I ask you a personal question?" Connor asked as he gently placed the bookmark in the book and then the book on the coffee stand.

"Go on."

"Why is that your favorite line?"

Your bookworm heart swelled at his question, as you had only wished for someone to ask you a question like this one. You had always wanted someone to discuss your favorite stories with, but didn't because of the fear of being labeled as a nerd or freak. Those were childish thoughts, but by time you learned that the opinions of others didn't matter, it was too late.

"Back in eighth grade" you tensed as the memories started to flood your mind. "I was just getting used to my wheelchair and one of the comments I got a lot was, 'it must be nice not having to walk everywhere.' I hated that, because those kids who said that to me, they had no idea how jealous I was of them."

You and Connor sat down on the couch as Connor waited patiently for you to continue.

"Then in English, we started reading To Kill a Mockingbird. The class had hardly gotten pass chapter one and I already knew that I was going to love this book, so I went out and bought my own copy. Then we read that line and it hit me so hard, because I knew what it felt like to have something you take for granted taken away from you. For Scout it was reading for me it was walking."

"Until you couldn't walk, you never valued being able to." Connor concluded as you finished your story.

You spared him a sad smile and nodded, "It was something I took from granted. I'm okay without being able to walk now, I just-" You paused for a moment to compose your thoughts and your memories. "-I just wish I did more with it while I could.” 

You and Connor sat in a comfortable silence for a moment until an interesting question came to your mind. "Is there anything you think you take for granted Connor? Anything you can't imagine a world without?"

Connor stared at his hands as he somewhat skipped over your question. "I don't think so Y/-"

He stopped mid sentence as he brought his eyes to meet yours. Your head was tilted in ceriousity and your eyes, while tired, still were sparked with wanderlust. The moon transformed your iris into a kaleidoscope and your face had never looked so soft, so kind, or so sweet.

On his temple his LED flashed rapidly between yellow and red as his next words tumbled out raw, and unfiltered.

"Maybe...maybe there is one thing."

[SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^]

[leonthecardboardunicorn]

Land of Agreement, Chapter 6

Okay, I accidentally forgot where I was and posted chapter 5 again as chapter 6. This is the actual chapter 6.

As usual, spoilers for Hugo’s route! I’ll be posting a few chapters today, so keep an eye out for those.

“Liz, what's going on?”

How was I going to tell them about it? 'Oh, don't worry about it, it's just that Hugo's brother is trying to kill me.' Yeah, that was going to go over real well.

“I.. I'm not sure that I can explain right now,” I said at last.

“Don't worry,” Alfonse said gently. “Whatever happened, we trust you.” Tears sprang to my eyes as the others nodded. “But for right now, you need to get out of here; the Ministry is already on their way, looking for you.”

Everything was happening so fast. One minute, Hugo was finally by my side again, and now we were being told to run. The Ministry was after us. We'd have to flee the Academy, and who would come after us? Klaus at least, maybe more- maybe our friends-

“Don't worry,” Hugo said, “I'll watch over her; that is my priority.” I squeezed his hand. My heart was still racing, my mind going a million miles a minute, but as long as he was at my side, I felt a bit more at ease.

Suddenly, I heard a knocking at the door, and Alfonse immediately got to his feet, whispering to us, “I'll take care of this.”

“We need to get out of here now,” Hugo whispered to me. Okay, we needed to focus on a way out. With all luck, it would just be Klaus nearby, and we could sneak out the back.

“This way.” Hugo led me to the other room. “If the front door is blocked, the window might be the only way out.” How ironic.

“Let's hope we don't get stuck,” I muttered without thinking.

“What?” I just shook my head.

“It's a long story.”

“Whatever. Here, we need to get you out.” The window was a little high, so Hugo helped boost me up.

“Oh, hey, Klaus!” I heard Alfonse's laughter from the doorway. “Funny seeing you here! What brings you out here to Liz Village?”

“I am here on official Ministry business,” Klaus said curtly.

“If you're looking for Liz, she's not here. We came by to surprise her, since she's been feeling down the past couple days, but she wasn't here. Funny, huh?”

“I'm sure you know, Alfonse,” Klaus's voice was terse, “that the Ministry is on the lookout for Liz.” Was it just me- or did his voice sound a little pained? Klaus had been like a mentor to me for so long. And I doubt Vain had told him why he was supposed to be searching for me. “If you have any idea where she might be, it is imperative that you let us know-”

“I know, I know, Klaus! But, say, uh, do you know why they're looking for Liz?”

“..Get out of my way, Alfonse, I don't have time for this.”

I made it through the window. And Hugo was scooping up Mischa to pass her to me, but she stepped away. “Don't worry, I'll take care of him!” Before I could grab her, she darted off.

“-Mischa?” I heard Klaus say. “What are you doing here?”

“Just popping by,” Mischa said lightly. “Did something happen?” I heard Klaus sputtering, but I turned my attention back to Hugo, helping him through the window. And we ran like the wind, leaving everything behind.

Once we had made it a decent way into the forest, we stopped. There didn't seem to be anybody else around. I stopped, leaning against a tree for support.

“Okay,” Hugo said, “let's take stock here for a minute. We've got two major problems to deal with here: first, the Ministry is after us-”

“Thanatos,” I blurted out. “It's Thanatos after us.”

“Okay, Thanatos is after us, and Vain is trying to kill you-” Oh, god, he didn't know.

There were a million different ways that I could've told him the truth about Thanatos. And I'm sure that I could have done it more gently. But did I think of any of those in the moment? Nope.

“-Actually, I think that still only counts as one.”

Hugo's eyes went wide, and then he buried his face in his hands. “I wish I was surprised..” I patted him on the shoulder, unsure of what else to say.

But I couldn't avoid the question. “So where do we go now?” We couldn't go back to the Academy, as much as I wanted to. But running would only get us so far.

“I.. I don't know,” he admitted.

“Our first priority should be fixing your magic,” I said. If we could do that, all of our problems would be solved. Vain would have no more reason to come after me and would therefore rescind the arrest. Everything would be so much easier- “There must be some way to go where we can research this-”

“I've tried searching almost all the places that I could think of, but I couldn't find anything. Our situation is rather.. unique.” That was putting it mildly. “There is one place that I haven't searched, but.. it would be really dangerous for the both of us.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Where is it?”

He sighed. “It is possible that my magic has to do with me being a- a Dragonkin,” I didn't miss how his words caught at that part, “so the best place to search would be right at the source.”

That night, my mind was still abuzz as I tried to lay down to sleep. A lot of things could go wrong once we made it there, and what were the odds that we'd actually be able to find anything?

“Can't sleep?” Hugo's arms wrapped around my waist, and I nestled into his chest.

“I can't stop worrying,” I told him honestly. “What if we make it to the ruins, and things go wrong? What if we can't find any answers?”

“It'll be all right, Liz. As long as you are by my side, I feel like.. I have no reason to fear.” How strange.  We laid in silence for a while, and then he spoke up again. “Liz.. You mentioned something about a prophecy before?”

“Yeah. That was the first time that I saw you.” Back then, he had just been the mysterious masked figure; who would've known that he would become such a big part of my life? “The Goddess and her apostle and her..” The words caught in my throat. “Are you sure that you don't remember it?”

“I wish I could; it might make things easier.” You'd think. He was quiet for a minute. “But it does remind me of something.” I tilted my head, and he explained, “The past few years, Vain told me I have a tendency to go into these.. trances. Apparently, I freaked him out real bad the first time I fell in one. He said I would say these strange things that didn't make any sense. I never remembered any of it though, but I think he started writing them down eventually.”

And I remembered something he had said before. 'If things had been different, I might've been the one to give you the prophecy.' So he had known about the prophecy then; perhaps he had ingrained it into his brain. Did he know of his own role in it? Perhaps he had accepted it, knowing what he'd have to do in order to-

“You said that this prophecy is important. What did you remember from it?”

'Vain is going to kill me. Your brother is destined to kill me.'

“I think.. I think it has to do with you and Vain. With your battle. And- I think-” It would've been so easy not to tell him. It would've been so easy to say 'I don't remember'. But he deserved to know. “I think it foretold about Vain trying to kill me. I don't remember the end, but I'm afraid- I'm afraid that-”

Hugo held me close. “I don't remember the end of prophecy. But it doesn't matter; we'll make our own future.” How strange. Once upon a time, I had been the one to speak of hope, but now he was the one who held it. How very different things were now.

I fell asleep much easier after that.

As we were walking, I had a lot of time to think over everything that happened. To think about what had happened to my friends and what we would do. But, truth be told, my thoughts most often turned to Hugo and Vain.

I remembered Mischa talking about how Vain had raised Hugo, about how everything he did was to protect him. 'I don't think Vain fought back. Not against Hugo,' she had said. And yet.. Hugo had fought him. Hugo had nearly killed him to protect me. I mean, I knew their relationship was complicated, but.. I didn't think that Hugo hated him.

“Liz? Is everything all right?” I bolted up as I heard Hugo's voice, and I gave him a sheepish smile. “You've been kind of quiet.”

“I was just lost in thought,” I said lamely. He tilted his head. Well, now was as good a time as any to ask. “Hey, Hugo, I was just wondering.. After everything, do you hate Vain?” Okay, I probably could have asked that a bit better.

His gaze went distant for a minute. “I'm not sure,” he said at last. “He tried to kill you, Liz. That's not something that I can just easily forgive. But..” I went quiet, listening to his words. Of course I had my own feelings on the matter, but this wasn't about me. “He and Mischa are the only family that I know. I only knew of my parents from the stories Vain told me. He's always rude to other people, but he took care of me. He nearly gave up everything to take care of me while working on his missions.

“Even before he became my boss, he had a way of.. deciding things for me,” he said nervously. “He always believed that he knew best. He'd decide that something could only be done one way, and I'd have no choice but to go along. But I always believed that he knew best, so I went along with him.

“And he believed that he could do it again. He decided for me that the way to save me was to hurt you. But things are different now. Because of you.. I can start to see a future that I get to choose. And I'm not going to let him take that from me.” He met my eyes with resolve. “I care about him, but I'm not going to let him hurt you.”

And at last, we came to the place, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight. The building was worn, the letters on the outside long since worn away, but it was still a magnificent building.

“It's said that this place is the sum of all knowledge of the Dragonkin,” Hugo said. “Only the blood of a Dragonkin can get you inside.” I could sense his hesitation. Even though it had been a few weeks since Vain had told him about their heritage, I knew it must've been hard to accept.

“Hugo-” I started to say, but he shook his head.

“It's all right.” He bit his thumb, pressing it to the doors. And the doors slid open. “Well, I guess he was telling the truth there..” Taking his hand, we stepped inside the Library of the Dragonkin.

“You find anything yet?”

I shook my head. It felt like we had been searching for hours and hours on any information about Hugo's condition, but there was no information at all.

“Hmm- Ah!” As I was searching for another book, my foot caught on something-

“I got you, it's all right.” Luckily, Hugo caught me in his arms, gently setting me down. What surprise, I tripped over a book. I'm sure we had scattered them all over the place, but this one didn't look familiar. I picked it up, and we sat together. The pages were old and worn, and it opened to one part, as though it had been revisited a thousand times.

'When the queen grew sick,' I read, 'we feared that she and her child would be lost, leaving the eldest prince all alone before he even came of age. But the prince stayed at her side through the night, donating his own magic to her. It was said that he nearly ran out a few times, but he was determined to save her.

'The day the prince came of age, the queen gave birth to her second son and passed from this world.'

“This.. this sounds like what happened with my mother,” Hugo said. My heart ached as I remembered Vain and Mischa's words. The prince and Vain must've been about the same age too. “I feel like this is the one.”

I kept reading. “However, as the younger prince grew, it became clear that his brother had the same weakness as his mother. He required constant donations of magic from his older brother, now the king. However, the king refused to give up on him-”

“I wondered when you would find that. I left that book out just for you.”

My blood turned to ice as I heard the all too familiar voice; I felt Hugo go tense at my side. A million thoughts ran through my mind. 'I'm not afraid of you.' 'What are you doing here?' 'Let us go-'

“How did you know that we'd come here?” I asked as I turned to face him.

“I had heard of a Dragonkin child desperate to save his brother,” Felix said, “just as I will save mine.”

[muva--milaje-blog]

librarian.

t'challa x black!reader (college au)

an: this was requested by @xclusvnani. thank you so much for requesting this. had a lot of fun writing this.

reader takes a trip to the library everyday just to see the handsome librarian t’challa.

warnings: fluff, sexual mentions, mentions death

"Y/N, you need a break, baby." Your mother, on the other end of this telephone conversation, pleads with you. Her naturally worrisome spirit coupled with her missing you and needing her only child around her is the basis for her call. Life just had not been the same for your mother since the death of your grandparents. "I am so proud of you. And, I know that you are taking those classes this summer so that you can graduate a semester early but I think you should come home. Even if it is for a weekend."

This is not, and will not, be the last time you hear your mother pleading for you to come home. The drive home from the college campus is approximately three hours. Not too long of a drive. However, you are on a mission to graduate from undergrad as soon as possible and get your Bachelor's degree. You welcome the calls from your mother daily. You miss her just as much as she misses you. You two have an extremely close relationship because it has always been just the two of you (and your grandparents). The ass that is supposedly your father skipped out before you were born. Your mother raised you as best as she could in that small ass two bedroom apartment in your hometown. As small as the apartment is, it is home. She worked a couple of jobs just to help you get to where you are now. The first couple of semesters, your tuition was paid for in full due to your mother's dedicated work ethic. It is only right that you work just as hard in your college classes.

"Mommy, I know...thank you, but I know." You assure her. Most of the time, you wish you were somewhere else. Rather than living on campus during the boring Summer semester and taking three classes, you'd rather be somewhere tropical, festive, and surrounded by your girls. Hell, at this point, you would take your childhood bedroom as a vacation spot. "Classes are almost over in July, then I'll be home. Just me and you, the couch, and our favorite movies." Your faves included almost every movie with Angela Bassett.

Your mother practically squealed and sighed in delight at the idea. She wanted to further your daily phone conversation but you told her that you had to go. You were heading to your college's library, your favorite spot at this school. You told her you loved her and hung up right before you walked in, pass the metal detectors, and straight to your regular location: the second floor. Due to the lack of students on campus for the summer, you knew that your regular spot would be available. There was a small nook on the library's second floor that included a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. It is your hideaway from the rest of the library. You like to read, study, and write in that area. Also, it's where you can usually locate the man of your dreams as your friend Brie likes to refer to him as. As much as you do not want to admit to yourself and your friends, he is another reason you frequent the library.

You noticed him last Fall. He was following around one of the librarians, taking in information and nodding profusely. From what you could tell, he was eager to learn. Whenever he had a question or concern, he pressed his lips tightly together, quirked his eyebrows, and squinted his eyes. Whenever he learned something new, he nodded his head and smiled. It is a sexy, crooked smile. Of course, you know all of this because in between your reading, studying, and writing, you watch him. You noticed him way before he noticed you. You were sitting at your favorite spot when he breezed pass you with several books in his arms.

"Hello," He said to you. You looked upward at him from your position on the couch and nearly melted into a puddle that matched the one that was growing in between your thighs just at the sight of him. That accent, the way he said hello, you were taken aback. You were loss for words. He seemed to wait for you to say hello before he walked away.

"Hi," Your voice squeeked. You were immediately embarrassed. He did not laugh at you like you thought he would, he just smiled at you before walking away. You wanted to creep into a corner and disappear.

He would come over and say hello to you whenever he saw you. After the fifth time, he finally came over to you to say more than just a hello. But you couldn't hear him. You were listening to sweet R&B love songs of the 90s and 2000s through your earphones. Toni Braxton was making you miss a lover you never had when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was him, Mr. Librarian, a nickname your friends dubbed him. You extracted your earphones from your ears, "Hi...?"

He smiled downward, in your direction, "Hi. I apologize for disturbing you during your studies but I wanted to ask a question,"

You thought he was going to ask you on a date. Maybe you two could have coffee together, preferably at the campus coffee shop. You are in love with their vanilla cappuccinos. However, he just wanted to know your reasoning for constantly returning to this same spot in the library. "Oh, well, I am an English major with a minor in Africana Studies. Most of the books that I need to use are in this section." You shrug. You did not let him know that his cosistent appearance in this section was another reason for your predictable return to this same nook.

"Africana Studies, eh?" He seemed pleased with your choice of study. "May I ask, why did you chose Africana Studies as an area of study?" He quirked his brows, pressed his lips together, and his eyes squinted at you. You play with the ends of your braids to calm the newfound nervousness. At this point, he sat down in one of the chairs.

You steadied your nervousness. He has an aura that commands your undivided attention. But, he gave you his undivided attention. "Why not be verse in the past, present, and future of my people? Black people, black culture, black histoty, blackness in its entirety is so rich. There is much that we know now but I'm sure there is much more that we have to learn." Any hint of nervousness you had detered. "So to answer your question, it was a necessary choice."

The smile that graced his lips did not falter. His smile was contagious. His smile, in turn, made you smile. And every time you saw him, your lips automatically curved into one. You two would have conversations about life on campus (including where are the best places to get good food), areas of study, and the library. You found out that he is a Graduate student studying International Relations. He is working in the library for financial reasons but also, he thoroughly enjoys literature. His love for literature began as a child. His mother forced him to read various literary texts to have a rich education and understanding of points of view that were similar and different than his. His father agreed that it would make him a better man and a better leader once he enters into the politics after college. When you found out his name, T'Challa Udaku, you had to know more about him.

You tried to Google search his name but nothing too juicy came up. He has a twitter where he discusses politics specifically foreign policy, soccer, threads with friends from back home, and how much he misses home. There was nothing hotepish. From what you could sumise, he does not currently have a girlfriend. He seemed to have threads with a someone named Nakia but those threads were older. Funny enough, you were able to find his sister. She seems like a jokester. You assume she probably makes fun of her brother but loves him dearly.

You dug a little deeper and asked your friend, Tiff, if she could find anything on him for you. Tiff was your roommate during your freshman year. You two have a sistership. She works in one of the university's offices. Simple enough, she had a way of looking at T'Challa's file. No it was not right but her helping you out was for research purposes. She could not provide much detail but that he is twenty eight years old, he's an International Student, and he attended school in England for his undergraduate studies. "And he is fine as hell. I see why you are stalking...I mean conducting research."

You learned so much about him during your conversations. You are thirsty and eager to learn more about him so you would find yourself in the library, looking for him. You figured out his work schedule on your own. You knew when he would clock in and out of his shifts.Your attention bounces around the second floor for him. You do not immediately go to your nook. However, he is nowhere in sight. You let out a frustrating sigh and venture over to your normal spot. As you approach, you notice him sitting in one of the chairs next to the couch. He is intently reading a novel: Chinua Achebe's A Man of the People. You recommended this book to him. There were two to-go coffee cups from the campus coffee shop on the table. The adrenaline that pumped inside you, calmed down. You cannot help but to smile at Mr. Librarian.

Your fingers tap his shoulder. He does not flinch. Instead, he looks up at you with a coolness that cannot be unmatched. "Y/N, hi."

"Hi, T'Challa. 'Got started on the novel already?" You sit down on your usual spot on the couch. You place your backpack next to you.

"I thought it was imperative. The way you described the novel, it was thrilling. I can already see such from the first couple of pages."

"Achebe was a genius," You grin. You can feel T'Challa's eyes search you. You catch a glimpse of him looking at your face, then your body, and back up to your face. You let him do so without any disturbance. At some point his stare made you nervous, now you lowkey bask in it. You crave it.

"I can already tell. Thank you for the recommendation. It is much needed to level out my course work and my position here. As a thank you, I went to the coffee shop. Vanilla cappuccino, right?"

He hands you one of the coffee cups. You take it, excitedly. Although it is summer, and it is hot, you will not deny yourself the flavor of a vanilla cappucino. You hum at the taste of the vanilla when you take a sip. "Thank you, T'Challa, you did not have to do this,"

"It is my pleasure Y/N." He pauses for a brief moment. He seems to mentally contemplate his next words. "Any way that I can bring you pleasure, I wish to do so." You sense that his words have a double entendre. He wants to bring you pleasure in the simple things like making you laugh, smile, and buying coffee for you. And, he wants to provide you a pleasure that awakens the sexual goodess within you. He wants to taste you on the tip of his tongue and make you come undone by the feel of him sliding inside of you. Your eyes meet his again, and they are lustful and hungry.

You contemplate your next move: either you pounce on this advancement or you act as if this conversation is not occurring. As many times as you have come to the library to see him and conducted as much outside research on who T'Challa is, you are not going to let this opportunity pass you by. You reach for his hand, so mighty, grand, and rich of chocolate. All you can think about is if his dick has the same description. You are sure that you will find out soon. "Is there anywhere that we can go that is private?" As much as you want to have engage in a public library fantasy, you want to be careful. You did not want T'Challa to lose his job or for your business to float around campus despite the lack of students on campus at the moment.

He takes your hand, enveloping into his. You follow him with your backpack and coffee in tow. Nearby, there is a media center room. There is a sign on the door that says: DO NOT USE. THANK YOU! You used one of these rooms before while working on a group project. It is difficult to book one of these rooms. However, Mr. Librarian has the ultimate access. He unlocked the room with a key. You slide pass him, feeling the hardness of his body against yours. You cannot help but to bite down on your lip at the feeling. He locks the door behind him. "No one is going to come in here, right?"

"This room has been unoccupied in months." He assures you, he places his coffee cup and novel down on a nearby desk. You do the same with your things. You two stare at each other, daring each other to make the first movement. "Come here." He challenges you with a confident smirk.

You shake your head, "No. Come here."

"Are you challenging me, Y/N?" He inches closer to you. You playfully shrug. He is now grinning at you. "So, you can come to the library, almost daily, to see me but you cannot come to me now? I am sure that you are tending to your studies but I have an inkling that your studies are not the only reason you are here. Admit it; you are here to see me."

T'Challa knew what you were up to, you have been caught. You could not back down from his challenge. Actually, his questioning and accusations excites you. Mr. Librarian is nasty, in the best way possible. He is now in front of you, staring into your eyes. He grabs you by your waist and firmly wraps his arm around you. His hand rests on the small of your back, right above your ass. You can smell his cologne - faint but intoxicatingly clean. His skin is perfect, chocolate and flawless. You can smell the scent of honey in his perfectly defined coils. Damn, this man is a dream.

"I come here to study, T'Challa. And, yeah, I come here to see you too." You admit.

"I knew it!" He wags his finger, feeling righteous in his suspicions about you. He did not want to come out and ask you if you only came to the library just to visit him. It would be rude of him. But he decided to take a chance. He checked out your book recommendation, bought your favorite cup of coffee, and with the spirit of Bast decided to take make his feelings known. "Can I ask another question?"

"Go ahead," You say.

"Can I kiss you?" Your heart damn near beat out of your chest. This beautiful, sexy man just asked could he kiss you? You'd never been asked before, by a man, if he could kiss you.

"Yes, please," T'Challa lifts up your chin slowly. His eyes travel down your lips. He examines your lips before pressing his against yours gently. The kiss is passionate, slow and sensual. Your tongue encaptures his, moving back and forth, making its own beautiful rhythm. He parts from you but you need to feel him again.

"One more question?"

"Wha...hm? Yes, T'Challa?"

"May I take you out on a date?" You cannot help but to grin with glee. Who knew practically stalking....conducting thorough research on this man would ultimately pay off?

[andreagilroy]

Running With Runaways

It is hard to find a comic created in the past twenty years that I love as viscerally and purely as Brian K. Vaughan and Adrian Alphona’s initial run on Runaways. I don’t talk about it a lot, and in some sense that’s because I love it so much. It gives me pure joy. It was thus with great trepidation and some excitement I took the announcement of a Runaways TV adaptation. On the one hand, it’s a great property for such treatment. It’s funny, irreverent, and starts a Breakfast Club-like cast of likeable and superpowered teenagers in sun-soaked LA rebelling from their parents but doing it for moral, good reasons. There’s drama and romance, and BKV’s dialogue is, as always, really great. Oh, and there’s a dinosaur thrown in for good measure.

On the other hand, it’s a property that has suffered in the hands of other teams. Even Joss Whedon, who is known for writing teens with snarky dialogue, managed to mangle his run on the book (frankly, I don’t think he’s particularly good at writing for comics, but that’s another issue). Only Rainbow Rowell and Kris Anka’s brand new run has come close to the intangible magic produced by those initial 24 issues.

My initial reaction to the TV show was very mixed. I try to be open to the problems and opportunities afforded by adaptation between media, but…why weren’t they running away? Why were we spending so much time with the parents? Ariela Barer was great, but I was miffed that Gert wasn’t properly chubby. This is...

However, upon returning from the holidays, Shaun and I binged through the final three episodes last night, and I’ve been thinking about what makes the TV show different from the comic, as well as considering how the story the TV show is trying to tell serves the medium of television in a way the story the comic told served the medium of comics.

The comic version of Runaways is a pure, distilled concept: when you are a teenager, at some point or another you feel like your parents are the worst. What if you found out they actually were? Because Runaways takes place within the superhero genre, BKV was allowed to play with the broadest strokes of our understandings of morality—superheroes and supervillains. The parents in Pride aren’t just annoying or bad or difficult to understand, they are supervillains. This clever turn means the act of teenage rebellion, something relatively quintessential about growing up, changes from a universal experience into a moral imperative.

BKV gets a lot of praise for his writing, and rightly so. If you don’t know the name off hand you probably recognize some of his most famous creator-owned series: Ex Machina, Y the Last Man, Paper Girls, or a little book called Saga that everyone seems to like a lot. People tend to focus on his thoughtful characterization and his snappy dialogue and inventive plots. All of those things are true, and it’s one of the reasons he’s probably the closest thing the USA has to producing an answer to Alan Moore or Neil Gaiman. But the real key to why he’s one of our greatest comics writers—and why I compare him the Big Guy himself without being facetious or feeling that I’m really going too far afield—is the BKV really understands, loves, and knows that to do with genre. (I could go into a big rant about how Watchmen only works as a critique of superhero comics because the book and Moore love superhero comics so goddamn much…but I won’t. Not here.)

BKV understands that logic, morality, and consequences mean something different in a comic book superhero world; and that we respond to tales told in a comic book superhero world in a certain way. The seeming purity of the moral conscious of a superhero world is so simple and easy compared to the mental and emotional messiness of growing up. Thus the fantasy of Runaways for teen readers is as much becoming a superhero and being right (especially at the expense of your parents) as it is being in a world in which there is the moral and emotional clarity of a superhero’s mission.

The trick is, the moment the teens form their superhero group and become a superhero team, they discover the fantasy world is, in fact, endlessly complicated—probably even more complicated than their lives were before. Actual superheroes want to return them to their parents, or don’t trust them to be able to fend for themselves. (Molly especially learns to never meet her heroes.) Doing the right thing feels wrong, and doing the wrong thing feels right, or at least would be so much easier. Then there’s the pesky fact that they eventually learn why their parents did what they did. It’s still wrong, but are they willing to live with the consequences of what it means to do the right thing? If they don’t or can’t, how does that make them any different from their parents?

As they series goes on, the themes inevitably change—some of the characters have to become parents themselves (surrogate, to Molly, who is much younger in the comics), to form a new family and discover what that means on their own. They have to decide whether to submit to or defy well-meaning authority that they disagree with, not just actually evil super-villain parents. They have to learn, again and again, what it means to deal with the consequences of their decisions—especially poignant in that their rebellion was the consequence of their parents’ decisions.

Adrian Alphona’s art is also a huge part in the success of this run. His art is stripped down, with simple lines—a little scratchy at times, which is a nice counterpoint to the hyper-clean studio finish of many superhero books—but also cartoony and expressive. Like the early parts of the story, it is pure cartooning: great depth and skill hiding beneath a simple surface.

(Okay, so the above panel is from one of Takeshi Miyazawa’s fill-in issues; but I had to include it because it’s one of my favorite gags. The previous two are Alphona’s)

So now we come to the TV show. Everything about the show is less focused, and this is what really bothered me at first. The split attention between the parents and the kids seemed like a craven marketing ploy: we don’t know if this show is for teens or adults, so let’s make sure there’s something that appeals to both! The show spends so much time pushing (along with the kids) back and forth about whether we like their parents. Several are set up as more sympathetic than others (the Yorkes are always the least despicable in both comics and TV); there are big reversals and reveals. Especially in the early episodes, I wanted to scream, “They’re just murderers, leave them!”

The television show is indeed a superhero story, but it is not primarily a superhero story – not in the same way the comic is. No, it is primarily a teenage melodrama. That means the primary focus is no longer the fantasy or allegory in the same way it was with the superhero comic; the primary focus shifts to the interpersonal relationships and drama. This is not, of course, to say that the comic doesn’t focus on the relationships between the characters—simply that the driving force behind the comic, especially in the early issues, is the concept. It is only once the concept is established that the relationships truly have room to grow. In the TV show, on the other hand, the concept only has room to be explored once the relationships between the characters are fully established. Even genre television demands a certain verisimilitude because it has a real world with real people speaking the words of the script. It’s harder to get away with hand-waving genre tropes in TV, even for a period of time to ultimately undermine them, because they don’t make sense when there are living people involved, not drawn figures.

This is down to both genre and medium considerations. TV, and especially melodramatic TV, is good at lots and lots of scenes with characters talking about their feelings. Comics, especially in an action- and plot-oriented genre like the superhero genre, is not quite so good at lots of long, talky scenes. Part of this is, quite simply, practical: even the best funded TV shows don’t have the SFX budget or the freedom to use superheroes willy-nilly like the Runaways comic did. But I think the show runners shifted the focus to reflect the strengths of the medium.

What the TV show loses with the purity of the original concept, it makes up for with an emotional complexity regarding the parent-child relationship that the comic never really explores. I don’t think this is a weakness of the comic—it’s not what it wants to do. The comic uses the clarity of the moral imagination of the superhero fantasy to examine the messy contradictions of growing up. The TV immediately complicates the morality on both sides, and forces us to wonder what it means to desire the superhero’s moral clarity in the “real” world. Thus the show is more directly about growing up, just with the emotional stakes ratcheted up to 11. It’s no longer just the case that you become a different person from your parents, find your own voice and beliefs, and begin to form new bonds outside of the family home--no, these kids have to make a new family caring for a younger kid and draw a line in the sand that forces them to fully confront their differences with the parents head-on. It’s not an awkward Thanksgiving dinner conversation at stake, but the fate of the world. 

Which brings us to the emphasis on the parents. For this to work, the parents can’t be one-dimensional villains, or the stakes are too low.  I don’t think the show wants us to completely forgive the parents for the murders, but it does want us to think about what might push otherwise good people, and even good parents (in the case of about 80% of them, at least), to do really terrible things. We may roll out eyes at Chase for continuing to hope his father is savable, but is it ultimately that much different than thinking the Yorkes aren’t really that bad because they clearly feel bad about what they’ve done? In the end, all of the members of Pride found something they’re willing to kill for—and it wasn’t their kids. They entered into their bargain before they had kids. Power, knowledge, freedom…even if they had good intentions for that power or knowledge—that’s what they were willing to bargain with Jonah for.

In the final handful of episodes, I think another of the show writers’ intentions with the parents became clearer: to juxtapose the made family of the kids with the made family of the parents. A major running theme of both series is that “family” is what you make of it—the Runaways really are a family. Though it might’ve been an evil alien that brought them together, Pride is a group of people who have been with each other through pretty-much everything for almost twenty years. They’re a family, too—even if they don’t like each other much any more. There are friendships and rivalries, and the way the group splinters and reforms in the face of betrayal was interesting to watch…especially in juxtaposition with the kids’. *Soft-spoiler note: if you’ve read the comics, you know that a betrayal is likely coming for the kids, too. Thus, I was particularly interested to see how Pride responded to Leslie’s reveal and attempt to re-join the group.

I have no snappy conclusion except to say that I have come, over the course of the series, to appreciate the adaptation for several reasons—perhaps the biggest of which is that, by beings the-same-but-different it helped me articulate what I thought was particularly powerful and effective about the original comic. I’ve tried to teach the original comic before, and it’s proven incredibly difficult—I think because it’s deceptively simple. I will end with another pitch for Rainbow Rowell and Kris Anka’s ( @kristaferanka ) new run on the book—especially since Marvel tends to cancel books that don’t sell well. You do at least need to read BKV’s original run (#1-24), but you really should do that anyway.

I found most of the gifs on @runawaysource - they are not mine.

[talesofvalaar]

Say You Will: Ushio

“Ushio?”

No response.

“Ushio, can you look at me?”

The Triton glanced up briefly, but did not make eye contact with the guild master.

“It is imperative that we dress your wounds, and if you can tell us, we would like to know what exactly happened to your-”

Ushio moved away from him, the slightest shift reopening her healing wounds.

Bartlett looked to the official on his left and whispered, “Get a cleric for her, she needs one regardless,” he sighed, “Ms.Tamaskath, we’re getting help for both of you. Is there anything that I should be informed of for the report?”

“I have a statement for you…” Ushio stood up, blood dripping from every limb, “This was a not two-person job.” The fire in her eyes spoke numbers more than her words did. Her fury was unparalleled by anything the guildmaster had ever seen. Bartlett gulped, ushering the congregation of medics and clerics rounding the corner to hurry faster. Ushio crept closer, as if she had more to say, but upon moving, she realized just how little energy she had left to expend.

“My sincerest apologies, Ms. Tamaskath.” Bartlett backed away as the medics came to do their work.

Ushio glared as he faded into the crowd. She felt dizzy, feeling the adrenaline in her veins receding. She longed for Tathas to hold her while she tried not to succumb to her wounds, to brush her hair away from her face and gently brush his hands against the edges of her fins, as he often did after missions that left her feeling particularly sickly. She could almost feel it if she focused hard enough.

How she tried.

---

“Ushio?”

She did not respond.

Glistening Paw opened the door to Ushio’s room to find her in bed, the same spot she had been in when he last checked on her, “My friend, it has been 3 days since you’ve eaten. Please, join me downstairs.”

“Can’t.” she murmured.

“Ushio,” her feline roommate joined her on the bed, “There will be nothing for him to return to if you do not take care of yourself.”

“If he returns.”

“He will, Ushio,” he placed his hand on hers; Ushio’s skin was cold and dry, faintly shaking from the loss of blood, “Your wounds will not heal if you do not-”

“Don’t care.”

“USHIO.” Glistening Paw took both of her hands.

“Don’t- TOUCH ME.” she pushed him away with her mind, but not very far.

Glistening Paw stumbled back and away from the bed. He sighed, “I will try again some other time then,” He turned to leave her room, “It is now some other time.” He turned around and grabbed her, wrapping her in a rope she had not realized he was holding.

“Glistening- Paw, Please-” she gasped every time she felt his paws against her chest, “STOP!” she used the last of the mental energy she could muster to push him off of her.

One would argue that it would be entirely unfair for a dextrous cat to fight and swindle an atrophic, depressed psion. Glistening Paw would not care; seeing his dear friend trying to destroy herself slowly way outweighed any moral compass inside his old, monk heart. Her mental push was not even enough to knock him off of the bed this time. Looking down at her, he would realize that Ushio had knocked herself unconscious, which apparently wasn’t that hard to do. He placed his bound friend in a chair at the dining room table. When she was awake, she would have no option but to eat.

Until then, however, Glistening Paw had an errand to run.

---

Glistening Paw walked up the steps to the guild hall, bypassing all guards and mission briefings.

The guild master watched as he navigated the halls decisively, “To what do we owe the pleasure, Glistening Paw?”

He kept walking, “I came for my friend.”

“Mr. Tathas is not-”

But he was already gone.

“Wait-!”

Glistening Paw ‘walked’ into the guild Infirmary, expecting to see his friend lying unconscious between two empty cots. Much to his dismay, his bed had been cleared. He stopped a passing nurse, asking where his friend could have gone. The nurse shrugged, not having found his chart anywhere in sight. Glistening Paw anxiously asked another nurse of his friend’s whereabouts, but had no answer for him. “He was in a coma! How can you not know who it is I am speaking of?!”

“Sir, I believe he’s been discharged…” a meek-looking nurse whispered kindly.

Glistening Paw looked at her with wide eyes, “How long ago?

“Yesterday?”

“No, I think that was today?” another nurse chimed in. They gathered around each other discussing the patient in question.

Glistening Paw calmly interrupted them, “Did he say where he was going?”

“I would assume to his home, sir. Where else would he go?”

---

Tathas had been comatose for almost a week. He woke earlier that morning in a bed that was not his surrounded by people he did not know or recognize, not even his lover and partner in crime, Ushio. He panicked after realizing he was alone and insisted on leaving that day.

Being in a coma made him realize a few things;

#1: He cared about Ushio arguably more than he ever cared about anything before. He already knew this, but in this state, he was able to reaffirm it.

#2: After constantly being exposed to Ushio’s mental energy for so, being apart from it felt very empty. Being alone with his thoughts and feelings was not something he enjoyed anymore. Well, occasionally he did, but in those instances he knew how disconnect himself from her.

#3: He never wanted to be a part of his life where she wasn’t there right next to him. He wanted her by his side in the morning, in the evening, during the good parts, and the bad. He never wanted to grow tired of her curious spirit and her doting smile. Tathas loved Ushio with all he could give. It was about time that he proved it to her.

It took him what felt like all day to find the one thing that could prove to her just how much she meant to him. Nothing came close. Nothing said to him ‘I think I want to spend forever with you, however long forever is for you.’

The last place he looked was a small magic shop on the edge of town. A little, old lady greeted the drow elf warmly, presenting him with a small box without having asked her what he was looking for. She assured him that she will love it without having told her who the gift was for. Tathas quietly thanked her before turning to leave.

“Hurry home now!” the kind old lady exclaimed, though it sounded more like a warning.

Tathas waved goodbye, a wave of anxiety rushing over him. He looked up and down the street, watching for any oncoming obstacles before bolting in the direction of his home.

---

Ushio stirred quietly, feeling the confines of the rope wrapped tightly around her chest and diaphragm. “Glistening Paw…?” she cried weakly, “Hello…?” Ushio looked around at the dim room, breathing heavily, “Glistening Paw, this isn’t funny! Please just…” her vision began to blur, her mind fluttering as though someone was near. She hung her head low. Let them come, she thought, Find me like this or leave me to die. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. She closed her eyes and welcomed whatever was to come with a solemn frown.

The door opened wide with a creeeaakkk, then a BLAM! against the wall. Tears streamed down Ushio’s cheeks, it had to be a robber or some kind of heartless thief. Do your worst, she thought to herself.

“Ushio?!”

Tathas?

Tathas rushed to the table and undid her binds, “What the hell is going on here?! How did- Where’s Glistening Paw?” he looked frantically around her.

“This is just a hallucination…” Ushio muttered.

“What?”

“You’re not here…” Ushio eyes glassed over, “I saw that thing maul you… they took you away from me…”

Tathas helped her free herself from the ropes, “Darling, can’t you feel me? I’m real,” he gently caressed her cheek, “These tears on my face are real.” Touching her face, he realized how dire her situation was, “When’s the last time you even saw the water?” he went to lift her.

“You can’t touch me…”

“Ushio, you’re being ridiculous. Of course I can touch you-”

“DON’T touch me.”

“Ushionaiden Tamaskath,” Tathas touched his forehead to hers as gently as possibly, “Will you you let me in?”

“I-I said… I said…!” his hair fell against her cheeks, she could feel him opening her mind to her. She hesitated, but resigned her control and let him into her mind.

Tathas examined his surroundings, recognizing the immediate tells of Ushio’s mind, like the vast ocean and the glittering schools of fish. The area around his was vibrant and blue the way he remembered it, but beyond him in all directions the water was listless and monochrome. Tathas anxiously maneuvered through her mindspace, finding crumbled pillars where there were once coral reefs. In the center of the wreckage, a familiar sight, Ushio in the fetal position surrounded by debris and broken shells. In front of her, a memory played.

He recognized the desert tomb and the the sound of desperation in Ushio's voice. He saw the Mummy Lord lift his wounded body off of the ground, his own struggle being played out before them as they watched Tathas be thrown against the far wall before going limp. Ushio screams before the memory is filled with a bright blue light, which flickers each time she is hit with swirling debris. The Mummy Lord approaches, but the light was too bright now to see anything. The next thing they see is her hands against Tathas's lifeless body as she attempts to breathe life into him. Tathas tried to smile for her, "Well uh, guess I was a lot more resilient than you thought." He chuckled, the light around the two of them glowing brighter, "Y'know, this place looked a lot better when it was, well, not gray like me." He took her hand and helped her to her feet, "Hey... it's me, darling. It's just me..." he severed their mind link. Ushio opened her eyes outside of the mindscape and gazed directly into Tathas's, "I'm sorry I didn't... didn't..." "Shh... shh..." he pulled her close, "Should we take a little trip to the beach?" She nodded. "Alright. Up we go then!" He picked her up in a bridal carry, "Geez, did they let you go home this torn and bruised up?" "I convinced them to..." she admitted, Tathas did not look impressed, "I... I didn't want to know what they'd do to you..." "But now you're in worse shape than I was..." "I wasn't exactly thinking straight..." They turned to open the door, just to see that Glistening Paw was bolting up the road. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of his drow comrade, "Tathas! You are alive!" He ran up to meet them, "I was incredibly worried, Ushio would not tell me thing!" Tathas smiled, "I appreciate your concern. I am quite happy I'm alive as well," he walked past the cat-man, "I will tell you about being in a coma some other time. I have some business I need to address!" "I will make the dinner while you are gone!" He waved goodbye as they disappeared down the coastline. --- "... and after that, the kid says, 'he won't get far with that!' 'Why not?' The other guy asks, 'Because that was my backpack!" Ushio snickered at yet another one of Tathas's corny jokes. He'd been telling them all the way down the beach and long after Ushio had submerged herself in the water. She liked seeing him in a good mood, though she knew it was more bittersweet than that. Tathas, however, was simply nervous. He hadn't even looked in the box the old lady gave him to even see what he got her? Now he was too afraid to even try. "Your mind is in a state of disarray," Ushio crawled onto the sand next to him, "Is everything okay?" There was no use hiding it now, "U-um... I-... ahem, I'm about to give you something. I-it may seem like a weird gift, b-but please just, keep your mind open about this," he reached for the box, opening the top to peek inside. Miraculously, all of his worries subsided. It was completely clear what he was going to say. "As I uh... as I was saying... Ushio, my time with you has been the best part of my life. Things have been rough every now and then, but we always overcome. There's a Drow custom of having a certain color and sigil to represent a house or a family. I uh... I've mostly abandoned all of my old Drow customs, but... but I think I can repurpose this one," he opened the box, revealing to her a brightly colored teal sash with golden filigree around the edges, "I-if you will have me, I would... I want these to be our house colors. I never want there to be another day where I don't wake up by your side. I love you. I love everything about you. Please will you marry me?"

Ushio took the sash, tracing the golden edges, watching them shimmer in the sunlight, “You want to marry me?”

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything else in this world.”

She looked at him, then back at the sash, tying it around her waist. She took his hands in hers and leaned in towards his ear, “... I’ll think about it.” she said with a smile.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, darlin’,” Tathas clutched his chest, playfully gagging and choking, “Eck- it’s broken. I’m dead now.” he collapsed in the sand, tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“Oh no!!!” Ushio hovered over his ‘dead’ body and pretended to resuscitate him via pressing against his chest and stomach, “Live, damn you!!”

“You gotta- say- eck!- Say you’ll-” he choked out his words between her playful pushes.

“It’s too late! I’m too late. Forgive me, my love!” she took his hand in hers and wept, “How am I to marry a corpse?!”

Tathas popped his head up, “Is that supposed to be a yes?”

Ushio pushed him back down, “Of course it’s a yes!”

Tathas snapped back, “Your love has brought me back to life!!” He hugged her tight, smiling wide. Ushio welcomed his embrace, incapable of getting rid of her smile as well. She may not have said, but she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life by his side as well. Ushio found it kinda miraculous that she never had to fall in love with anyone else before finding the man of her dreams. His arms were a warm blanket, a breath of fresh air, sunlight after weeks of rain; he was all that would ever matter to her anymore, and so it would remain.

Well, at least for a little while.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “I Love You”

You never miss a chance to say the magic words to him. The Joker doesn’t want to hear about it but you are not the one to give up so easily. Actually… I guess anybody can back down if pushed enough.

– During an important meeting with new business partners, Frost interrupts and brings in a little envelope to J, whispering you said it is absolutely urgent and imperative he opens it right away. The Joker wonders what the hell it might be, opens the letter and shakes it to take out the contents when a bunch of pink glitter flies all over along with your message on  a piece of paper: “I LOVE YOU.” The other guys fake cough, attempting to pretend they didn’t see crap while The Clown Prince of Crime gives them an icy glance, annoyed with your stunt:

“If I hear a single sound, I swear you’re all dead!!!!”

Goddammit woman, stop your shit! he thinks biting on his cheek, dusting off the sparkly dust off his shirt, but stashing your little note in his pocket.

– You are away on a mission for 2 days when his cell suddenly goes off at 1 AM, letting him now he has a new message. He is more than cranky he got woken up and checks to see what it is. A text from you: “ I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU.”

You must be kidding me! J growls, pissed you bothered him with such nonsense but saves the message in his drafts and goes back to sleep.

– One night he visits the club without you and gets out of his Lamborghini when the phone beeps.

What is it, the stupid words again?!  he scoffs when he sees your name on the screen.

“Look up!” the text simply says and he does, noticing the huge light up message on the top of the building across the street; “I LOVE YOU.”

This is getting beyond ridiculous, The Joker huffs but takes a picture of what you did and saves it in his favorites.

– After taking a shower in the morning, J goes in the front of the sink to brush his teeth and finally gazes at the mirror. There it is, written with red lipstick: “I LOVE YOU.”

He rolls his eyes, fed up with your behavior and erases the words, not before that wide smirk creeps up on his lips. He hears you giggle and goes back to frowning:

“Cut it out, Y/N!!!”

– You bring the white mocha to his office and place it right on top of his papers. J stares at it for a few seconds and sighs, lifting his blue eyes from the cup, complaining about what you wrote with foam: “I LOVE YOU.”

“Are you done with this rubbish, Princess?” he mutters while you just innocently lift your shoulders up, not answering. “Bring me another mocha and NO FUNNY BUSINESS, understand?”

You pout, disappointed he never appreciates your efforts and by the time you are back with his new coffee The Joker already finished the other cup.

“What?” he snarls when notices your smile. “Don’t get it to your head, Doll, I really couldn’t wait any longer so I had to drink it; you’re so slow!” he makes sure to admonish but kisses your wrist when you hand him the mug.

–During a heist you go with a few henchmen on the upper floor while he stays down with the rest, looking around for the diamonds and gold. You go behind a wall and dial his number. He picks up after 3 rings and you just say; “I LOVE YOU,” and hang up.

Really?! The Joker mumbles, astonished at your unprofessional conduct (that’s how he likes to call it). He simply texts back: “Shut up, Y/N!”

And… he asked for it when your reply pops up on the screen: ““ I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU.”

I totally can’t stand her; she really drives me nuts, he concludes, irked at your game, but saves this message in drafts too.

– J wakes up and his feet touch something cold and pretty sharp when he gets out of bed. You got him a ton of gold chains and arranged them on the floor to spell “I LOVE YOU.” His mouth opens on amazement, considering chocking the life out of you at this point. Your green haired boyfriend kicks the chains all over the place, mad again, but not before taking a picture of your accomplishment and saving it in his favorites. He hears you snicker.

“I said cut it out, Y/N!!!!”

– “Bubble bath is readyyyyyy,” you announce, proud of the nice evening you planned for the two of you.

J comes in, taking his clothes off, suspiciously scrutinizing the bathroom.

“Any hidden ‘I love you’ anywhere?” he smacks his lips, warning you he’s not going to tolerate your actions anymore. He had such a shitty day it’s not even funny.

“Nope,” you confidently declare, moving back in the Jacuzzi so he can sit by you.“Nothing at all, baby.” He’s starting to relax when you massage his shoulders, then lean over and kiss his neck, whispering: “I LOVE YOU.”

“That’s it !!!” he splashes all over, angered at your little stupid plan to squeeze in those stupid words again. “Quit bothering me, you pain in the ass!!!”

“What, you don’t want me to love you?” you raise your voice also, not understanding why he’s so worked up.

“I didn’t say that!” he yells back and you are baffled.

“So what’s the problem then?!”

“STOP SAYING IT!” he hisses at you, panting. “Why should I?! Aren’t you happy that I love you?!”

“NO! I don’t need your stupid love!!!!!” The Joker has a fit, kicking all the candles and shampoo bottles in his rage, making sure to direct them your way.

You gasp in pain when one of the candles hits you right in the face since you didn’t have enough time to dodge it. You don’t say anything, just step out of the hot tub, holding your numb left cheek with your hand.

J stops his tantrum but doesn’t react in any other way as you leave him standing in the water, still fuming at your absurdities.

– The I LOVE YOU’s stopped. He doesn’t get any more letters, texts, hidden messages or sky lights on the buildings. So exciting you finally got it into your head you irritate him with your stupid feelings all the time! The King of Gotham doesn’t even hear it when you make love and that delights him.

The white mocha doesn’t taste the same though. When he asks why, you sassily respond:

“Because it’s not made with love so get used to it!”

“Cut it out, Y/N!” he snaps as you quietly walk away and couldn’t care less.

– He didn’t hear the words out of you in a few months and it’s perfect. Today he even went through his phone to delete all the useless pictures and drafts he saved from you.

– “Look up,” you urge him, pulling on his arm and his heart starts beating faster for some reason, but then all he sees is The Batsy signal in the night sky.

“He’s close, we should get going,” you tell J and he agrees, disappointed at the revelation. He kind of expected something else. – Frost brings the letter to him in the meeting, whispering it’s urgent and J impatiently opens it to find inside just a dull piece of paper: “Dinner at 6, robbery at 7.30 . All ready to go.”

She could’ve texted me, he sulks, cramming your note in his pocket. He kind of expected something else.

– You are away for one night and he gets the text at 3AM. He immediately jumps out of bed and grins when he sees your name on the screen.

“This undercover mission you assigned me is very boring.” That’s all you sent. He grumbles something not very sweet and tosses the phone on the table, stretching and going back to bed, frustrated. He kind of expected something else.

 – He gets out of the shower and looks at the mirror just to see your insipid notation with red lipstick: “Be back soon.”

Why doesn’t she just text me if that’s all she has to say?! The Joker whines, grabbing a paper towel so he can clean your mess. He kind of expected something else.

– “Bubble bath is readyyyy!” you shout and he comes in, ready to unwind. You move so he can sit by you and begin massaging his shoulders, talking about a bunch of stuff that happened during the day.

“Well?!” he interrupts your speech, turning his head towards you.

“Well what?” you ask back, not getting the point, already forgetting what you were talking about and it annoys you.

“Say it!” he commands, slowly blinking, elbowing you.

“Say what?” you squint your eyes, trying to remember the topic he just made you forget.

“You know what, Pumpkin. Say it!” he mutters through his clenched teeth, not thrilled he has to bring it up.

You take a deep breath and gaze at each other for a few good seconds before finally kissing his neck and enunciate: “I LOVE YOU.”

“Good, I was wondering about that,” he grouchily comments, leaning backwards so he can rest against your body. “My white mocha better taste great again, Doll,” The Joker makes sure to point out, closing his eyes.

“With or without foam?” you tease J and since he’s such a difficult person he sure deserves it.

“With and it better spell something,” he reaches his hand to tug on your wet hair.

“It might if I still have the skills; it’s been a while,” you debate and it’s actually the truth.

 “Don’t care, make it work,” he puffs, not giving a damn; he just expects it.

You want to laugh but can’t: your strategy worked- it was learned from the best. Your boyfriend should be proud since manipulating things to obtain what is desired happens to be his specialty. 

Also read- MASTERLIST :

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[bosstoaster]

Uliro

RIGHT OUT THE GATE I LOVE YOU

Who said “I love you” first?

Shiro said it first in words, because Galra language is kinda... meh on emotion-words in general.  Lots of variations on imperative tenses, less so on the touchy-feely scale.  Ulaz would say he was the first to say it in other ways, since he was the one who started bringing Shiro breakfast in bed and providing him with extra clothing to better protect him against the elements, which is Obvious Courting Behavior, Shiro.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background?

Shiro does, because he’s taken to taking more photographs/videos.  Not only is he all too aware of how fragile memories are, he lost all his photos either on Earth or on the Kerberos mission.  He can’t get those back, but he can make new ones.  So Ulaz has gotten used to Shiro occasionally holding up his phone and taking a picture for no reason at all (to which Shiro responds that his hair looked good mused like that, or that he had a smudge on his cheek and it looked cute, or he likes how he looks holding that mug.  Ulaz is Baffled but rolls with it.  Just another weird alien boyfriend trait)

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror? 

Ulaz.  He saw Shiro do it first, just doodling simple pictures in the fog in a moment of silliness, and the idea appeals to him.  So he’ll draw the human ‘heart’ symbol, or draw a crude drawing of Shiro’s face (claws are not as good as fingers for this, he’s left several scratches in the glass that way).  Occasionally he leaves actual notes (Going to get breakfast), but once in a while, he does it passive aggressively (Go to bed already).

Who buys the other cheesy gifts?

Ulaz.  He tends to see little trinkets and think to buy them more.  Mostly because he thinks Shiro’s lack of Stuff is a problem.  The other humans have stuff.  Maybe not Earth stuff, that’s mostly Pidge, but they’ve collected things and made their rooms look like their own.  Shiro has not, mostly, so Ulaz is doing it for him.  Most of the items Shiro has no idea what, if anything, their purpose is, but now they litter his desk.  He can’t pretend he minds.

Who initiated the first kiss?

Shiro.  Galra don’t really have a concept of kissing.  Too many sharp teeth.  But, hey, Shiro seems to get something out of that, even if it means he gets plenty of sores.  Very obvious ones that earn him plenty of teasing (Lance has asked him no less than three times if Shiro has been practicing safe sex and getting tested, and each time it’s earned him an extra fifteen laps.  He seems to still find it funny).Who kisses the other awake in the morning?

Ulaz.  He grew found of the idea of kissing very quickly.  However, this is only on the occasions where Shiro is sleeping when he wakes up, which isn’t often.Who starts tickle fights?

Shiro.  Ulaz would never start that, because he’s too aware of Shiro’s PTSD, having been a part of it.  He lives in fear of the times he comes up out of the corner of Shiro’s eyes and sees terror instead of smiles. (And they do happen, despite both of their best efforts: they just do their best to continue on)

Shiro has no such qualms.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower?

Both do, unless it’s after training or a mission.  Too gross then: the need to get clean is strong.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch?

Neither.  They already eat lunch together on castle time.  However, Ulaz is more likely to bring Shiro random snacks throughout the day.  He needs to eat more. All that fighting uses energy.  No, he doesn’t care that the other humans don’t need to eat this much.  Clearly that can’t be enough.  Shush and eat the snack.

Who was nervous and shy about the first date?

Both were.  Ulaz still couldn’t believe Shiro had agreed, given what he’d done in the past, and Shiro was nervous that he didn’t remember how to date, and that his scars and PTSD made him too difficult to date.

They’re not shy anymore, but sometimes they’re still nervous

Who kills/takes out the spiders?

No spiders in space.

Were there spiders, Shiro would, because he would trap them in a cup and take them outside responsibly.  Ulaz would just kill it, and it’s not like Shiro hasn’t killed bugs before, he just prefers not to if he can help it.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk?

SHIRO.  To be fair, Shiro tells EVERYONE he loves them when he’s drunk, but he’s a lot more, ahem, open with Ulaz when he’s had some drinks.  IE he will happily straddle him and make-out, then tell Ulaz how much he’s looking forward to later without blinking.

Ulaz mostly finds the whole thing funny, but he does love it when Shiro is shameless.  Doesn’t matter if it’s affection or sexual in nature.

Ulaz likes to see Shiro free.

[xmydaysinmilanx]

1 to 75 because why not xd

1. First console you’ve ever owned? PS12. First game you played? Possibly Tekken or Spider-Man for the PS13. Favorite childhood game? I cannot choose one!4. Longest consecutive hours you’ve played a game? I honestly have no idea. Maybe 6 hours approx as I would have dinner and bathroom breaks etc. 5. Game with the best soundtrack? I adore the soundtrack of Final Fantasy X but I think the 13 series was composed beautifully.6. An underrated game from within the last few years? The Jak series. Jak 2 and 3 are excellent games.Think of a hard edged Spyro combined with Grand Theft Auto and you get Jak 2/3. 7. Most disappointing game you’ve played? Final Fantasy 12. The visuals are astounding but I could not take to it at all.8. The game with the best atmosphere/scenery? 7 has a lot of potential in the remake. X has beautiful scenery with plenty of places I’d like to visit in game. I adore Macalania Woods!9. Last game you played? FF XIII. 10. Prefer PC or console? Console, never owned a desktop.11. Have you written any fanfic or made any fanart? Fanfic ‘ideas’ yes but have not branched out into the writing world yet.12. Most bizarre game you’ve ever played? Non strike me as being ‘bizarre.’ There are elements in FF 7 and 13 that are quite strange. Oh and Necron in FF9 - okay.13. Scariest game you’ve played? Abe’s Oddysee freaked me out, must say lol. 14. Do you watch playthroughs online? If I am really stuck on configuring strategy. 15. Favorite animal in a video game? Donald Duck, Kingdom Hearts series.16. The best year in gaming you’ve experienced? The 2001-2006 era. I was younger and so it feels more nostalgic. 17. Have a video game themed background or lockscreen? Of course.18. Worst game you’ve played? I find games such as Call of Duty quite the yawn fest.19. Hardest game you’ve ever played? Lightning Returns on normal mode is pretty challenging due to the time constraints. Also many of the enemies in XIII are tough nuts to crack. Not really sure though.20. Favorite publisher and/or developer? Square-Enix21. If you had to play one game for the rest of your life, what would it be? FF722. If you could turn one game into movie, which would it be? X would be an awesome film. 23. Favorite genre of video game? RPG24. Ever cried because of a video game? Which one(s)? Only one. The ending of XIII. Games do impact me emotionally but I just don’t necessarily cry over them.25. Proudest accomplishment in gaming? Training the golden chocobo in FF7, I managed to win a game of Blitzball (which I hate lol) ONCE by pure chance. Oh and Anima in X. I did pretty well in GTA Vice City come to think of it and I was only 12. 26. How often do you play online? Co-op? Never really played a game online but FF14 ARB intrigues me. 27. Have you gotten any friends into gaming? I do not believe so.28. Who got YOU into gaming? My mum’s boyfriend at the time introduced me to Spyro/Spider-Man games before gifting me X. I’ve been hooked since.29. Watch cutscenes or skip them? Watch unless it’s imperative to progress in the game. I’ll skip if I am re-doing a mission/boss and I can’t  be arsed to watch a scene over again. 30. On average, how long does it take you in the character creation screen? Very little time.31. Game with the best theme song? Kingdom Hearts Simple and Clean is a classic.32. Do you cosplay? I wish but I do not have the confidence.33. Favorite female npc? Maybe Yunalesca. Kinda hard to decide haha.34. Favorite male npc? Maybe Axel from the Kingdom Hearts series.35. Best protagonist? Cloud Strife although, it’s really hard to pick. I also admire Serah Farron and Lightning.36. Best antagonist? Sin/Jecht is pretty ‘up there’ isn’t he? I also love Sephiroth.37. Ever been made fun of for playing video games? Nope, only other things haha.38. Have you tried a game, hated it, then tried again, and loved it? FF XIII really bored me then I tried again a year down the line and have loved it since.39. Do you play for achievements/trophies? Nope.40. Favorite voice actor? David Gallagher (Riku), Adam Croasdell (Ignis), 41. Gone to a midnight release before? Nope.42. A game you will never forget (in a bad OR good way)? FF7.43. Favorite sidekick or companion? Ignis44. Do graphics matter? Nope.45. Do you like funny or more serious games? Elements of comedy and seriousness in one. 46. Always, sometimes, or never use subtitles? They’re always on.47. First person or Third person? Third.48. A game you’ve always wanted to play but have never gotten to it? FF14 A Realm Reborn. Oh, also World of Final Fantasy and some DLC’s for XIII-2.49. A game you haven’t played in forever, but want to replay? 7 but I always hold it off because I want my experience to be magical each time.51. First character you’ve had a crush on? Tidus.52. A game you will always stand behind, and support no matter what? FFXIII and 13-2.53. Your most immersive game? Eh none of note.54. A sequel you really want? FFXV-2 >_> Ignis as lead!55. How much time, on average, do you play in a week? Depends, sometimes none at all sometimes an hour or two 6 days a week lol56. Do you tell people irl that you play video games? Yep57. What is an overrated game you’ve played? FF8/FF9/FIFA/COD58. Ever have someone walk in on a sex scene between you and you LI? Nope59. A game you are looking forward to this year? Not sure if they’re out this year but KH3 and FF7 Remake!60. The game you are best at? Fairly good at X and 7.61. A game you know everything about? FFX/7/13/13-2/KH1/KH262. Would you want to work with video games when you are older? Voice acting lol63. What’s a game that has inspired you? They all have in their own way64. Describe your favorite video game using only three words? Nostalgic, Intriguing, Haunting.65. Any favorite screenshots of games? Check my page haha.66. Game with the yummiest looking food? FFXV - I’VE COME UP WITH A NEW RECIPEEEEHHH!67. Most violent game you’ve played? GTA lmao68. An older game that you’ve just recently gotten into? I’ve already played games over a decade old or more!69. Your first LI? Is it bad I am unsure what these initials stand for?70. Do you play any mobile games? Nah71. A game you can’t stop talking/thinking about at the moment? FFXV72. Have any guilty pleasure games? Not really guilty pleasures lol73. A game with the best fandom? FFXV and KH or sure74. Which game has the best lore? X75. Do you focus on main storyline/quest or do sidequests first?  I do all.

[jacewilliams1]

Flying Air Force officers around in Sabreliners

It is hard to imagine the Air Force once had more pilots than it knew how to handle and lots of cockpits to use. You’ve probably heard of the North American Sabreliner, known in Air Force livery as the CT-39. The CT-39 designation is sort of a fooler, since it was neither a cargo aircraft or really trainer. Actually, maybe it was the foreshadowing of FedEx and NetJets.

In Vietnam it had the call sign SCATBACK, moving between bases in Vietnam, the Philippines and Thailand carrying photos from RF-101 and RF-4C missions to Saigon; hauling (small) high priority spare parts, keeping aircraft operational while awaiting parts from PACAF and CONUS; and moving general officers and their emissaries with “words” from headquarters to the guys flying combat missions or, in some cases feedback on what was really going on “up country.”

In my time, the Sabreliner was generally used for moving general officers about the Air Force on official business. In the seventies and eighties anywhere there was a lieutenant general (three star) or above you’d find at least one CT-39 on the airfield. At major headquarters, you’d find a small fleet. At Langley we had a Military Airlift Command (MAC) Detachment (the Det) led by a career MAC pilot and staffed with several field grade officers for planning and supervision.

The Det also had several very junior officers, a few first lieutenants and several junior captains. MAC sent their junior guys to Dets like Langley, Andrews, Offutt, and Peterson Field to build flying time, seasoning them for their next assignments in BIG MAC, the hard-core airlift forces of C-5 Galaxies, C-141 Starlifters, and C-130 Hercules.

Filling out the Det’s aircrew complement at Langley were field grade officers out of the TAC staff. Mostly guys with over a thousand hours of fighter time. I’m not really sure how this was justified. We had all met our gates in terms of flying time and had full time jobs on a staff working ten plus-hour days during the week and healthy half days on Saturday. No matter what the reason we were, to use the British term, seconded over to MAC for their CT-39 crew force.

The T-39 was better known as a Sabreliner in the civilian world.

The move into Little MAC was straightforward. You were booked into a training program: two weeks in St. Louis, Missouri, with FlightSafety for ground school and simulator work. The third week you moved over to Scott Air Force Base for five rides in the CT-39 with MAC including a checkride in the Sabreliner.

You also got a tour of DOOF, the MAC Headquarters office responsible for scheduling CT-39 sorties across the United States. You learned they were a hard-working and generally competent group, but like weathermen, on occasion didn’t look outside their office to see what was really going on in “the world.” They knew what needed to be done, but didn’t always know what was in the way of really executing the specific mission.

Back at Langley, TAC CT-39 pilots became taffy between the Det and their bosses on the staff. The Det nominally scheduled their TAC help for two-four flying days a month. About once a quarter, you had a “local proficiency sortie.” This typically consisted of an Instructor Pilot from the Det and two TAC guys. The objective was to work on the proficiency requirements you didn’t get with passengers aboard, all the funny approaches (single engine, no flap, back course ILS and localizer-only approaches), and touch and go landings. All were performed from both the left and right seats. This sortie consumed about two hours’ flying time.

Sidebar: On more than one occasion, these locals included taking on an FAA check pilot and getting single-engine pilots multiengine qualified and, in some cases, fill ATP squares. A perk to those who wanted to have that option for sure.

Mission days were full twelve-hour crew duty days. We usually stayed east of the Mississippi.

A day’s mission usually included three flights. Lots of time in and out of Andrews, Hanscom Field and Wright Patt. We’d typically start our day around 0630 and end twelve hours later. On occasion there was a Remain Over Night (RON) when mission extension and crew duty day considerations were factors. That usually meant another day in the airlift system and away from the desk.

Important to note: all of our scheduled flights were laid on to support specific personnel movements. Usually senior officers and some of the staff they wanted for support. If we had seats open, we always checked Base Operations for any stand-by going where we were headed. I can never recall a senior officer not releasing any seats he wasn’t using for a stand-by pax.

Often no one wanted to go to places like Scott AFB near St. Louis, Missouri, or Shaw AFB in the middle of South Carolina, but in many cases they did. I recall two female Marine captains jumping at the chance to go to Dover AFB, Delaware – their response to the offer was, “Yea, Rehoboth Beach – we are on the way.” Fasten your seatbelts, and don’t bother the general.

Having two bosses – the Det, and your one on the staff – was a source of tension. Det planned on your availability about 90 days in advance and understandably didn’t take to changes to their crew schedule. Your boss didn’t have much sympathy when staff deadlines arose or the questions on your action were coming across his desk while you were on the road. One thing for sure: your future depended on keeping your boss at TAC happy.

Early T-39s had very basic cockpits – no autopilots here.

Now my impressions of the Sabreliner. A good-looking biz jet – it had a look of the MiG killing F-86 namesake that appealed. Our CT-39s were basic. No autopilot, no anti-skid, no weather radar, usually four passenger seats, a bench in the back that covered the commode – don’t think anyone I ever had on board had the courage or need to use it. We had a carry-on coffee urn we filled at the start of the mission. Usually base ops joe in a paper cup or a can of Coke was the bring-your-own refreshments.

The cockpit was relatively modern and comfortable. Left seat felt pretty much like a T-38 with a flight director. Right seat felt and looked like you were in a T-37 – crosscheck was like typing, opposed to the classic T on the left side. Wheels were different for me. One MAC procedure that I never got comfortable with was that the pilot flying didn’t talk on the radio. The non-flyer was the talker. If I concentrated I could put the gear and flaps down and have the other guy call it, but it never felt right.

Flying qualities were enjoyable. One negative for me was the narrow main gear and the tendency to be a touch light on its feet and weathervane in a crosswind. Of course, most things do feel light when you’ve flown the F-4 for very long. Wet runways and crosswinds reminded you to fly it all the way to turn off and be conscious of hydroplaning where there was much rubber on the runway. In the air, it was easy trim and synch the two engines for a pleasant and low workload ride.

With the Sabre-like wing it was a very comfortable cruise in the high 30s, and even in the low 40s, although up high the cruise speed could be close to where the engines were worth minding. I want to say it was fun to fly, but with passengers you really weren’t looking for fun, just smooth work and on-time arrivals.

I accrued a little over 200 hours in the Sabreliner, and fortunately had few notable events where I had that pucker factor that comes with the business. Some things I do remember:

Taking a senior officer to the Air Force facility at O’Hare International, and being stepped to four different runways inside ten miles. Rolling out and turning off the active and getting a call from ground, something like, “Little fellow, just listen up and I’ll get you to the Guard ramp without a stop in the penalty box.” Progressive taxi in other words – good by me.

Picking up two plain clothes fellows with “permits to carry” and dropping them off at the end of an airfield near Buffalo, New York, to watch them depart in a dark Suburban. Also OK by me.

Making an early takeoff out of Offutt one February where 8000 feet of the middle of the runway had to be scraped and de-iced so a senator could get home for a luncheon. His only comment on deplaning at Andrews was the coffee was cold and he wished we could have landed at Washington National.

One day when our third leg would have us make a night approach into Dayton International per the direction of DOOF. Weather near our minimums, ice on the runway, strong crosswinds, and Wright Patterson closed due to visibility and ice. Our ILS was unreliable but my young MAC colleague was convinced it was imperative for us to go because “DOOF said so.” Nope, we didn’t even have a passenger, and the morning weather looked much better. A teaching moment. We had dinner at the Andrews Club and made our pick up in the AM – per the pax schedule.

Night flight topping a thunderstorm at FL410 and having hard rain (aka hail) hitting the top of the cockpit so loud that we could barely communicate. Never heard a sound like that with a canopy! All the while watching the TAS, IAS and EGT. Weather radar would have been nice.

I mentioned earlier the CT-39 was used mainly for the transportation of generals. It was a business jet in the true sense of that term. In my experience, the ranking passengers either worked on papers they were obliged to review, discussed matters with their staff, or actually got in the cockpit to do what they joined the Air Force to do – fly. (For the record, I never saw or loaded any golf gear on the jet. No doubt some golf was played while they were on extended trips – most courses had quality clubs to rent, and as long as you had suitable shoes you were good to go.)

The CT-39 was based on the famous F-86 “MiG killer.”

The criterion for getting a CT-39 scheduled was rank based. Generally (ha!) speaking two stars and above, as well as their civilian Senior Executive Service (SES) colleagues, were able to get a Sabreliner in the time slot requested. Lower ranks not so much. But, Americans are wont to game the system. Here’s one scheme I am familiar with. There was a System Program Director (SPD) with responsibility for a program very important to TAC. He was drawn to Langley routinely for discussions on the program and status updates. The SPD was a brigadier general select – low on the CT-39 totem pole. Howsomever, he had acquaintance with a SES on the staff at Wright Patterson.

This individual (informally known as “The Ticket”) had almost an emeritus status – not much responsibility on any given day and a very flexible schedule. So, the SPD would let him know he was going to Langley and ask him along. The answer was always OK. So, the trip was booked in the rank of the SES. The SPD had a ride to Langley and back, and the SES enjoyed a nice lunch and discussions with folks on the staff or at NASA.

I mentioned golf clubs. OK, here’s a flying fish story relating to what can happen when outside circumstances enter into VIP transportation situations. During the Nixon era, there was a Wing Commander at Homestead AFB with a son in the early teens who caught a nice but not trophy-sized fish. He was so excited he convinced his dad, a colonel at the time, to have the creature mounted – at no small cost. Time passed and the Wing Commander was promoted and reassigned to Germany.

The guy ordering the fish was gone when the trophy was delivered. It was prepaid, so it was dropped off for further action. Remember the Nixon administration? Here’s the connection. Key Biscayne. While Nixon was at his Florida White House, he didn’t encourage business visits. However, there were high-powered visitors, often landing at Homestead AFB. One was Henry Kissinger, making a visit before going to Paris for a Vietnam peace talk session.

The staff at the former wing commander’s office got the fish included on Kissinger’s military jet, and for forwarding on to its owner in Germany. No one knew the journey would include franking of the package with markings such as, Secretary of State’s aircraft enroute to the Paris Peace talks, then passed by the State Department to an official courier and again marked Diplomatic Material – Special Handling Required and expedited to Germany via official car.

The fish was delivered to the now Brigadier General’s office with fanfare. He had no idea what it was. Opened with his secretary in presence, he was dumbfounded to find “the fish.” Thoughts of fraud, waste and abuse quickly entered his mind. He made a few phone calls to Homestead and they pieced together the circumstances leading to the priority package. The brigadier advised his seniors of the situation. Fortunately, they were understanding and the record was set straight. Today that fish has a place of distinction in an “I love me room” and an unusual provenance. Why is this tale included? Just because it demonstrates how sometimes innocent intentions lead to misuse of government resources and actions. Sort of like buying a $30,000 desk for a government office.

The CT-39 played a useful role for years in the Air Force; it provided a good capability to transport senior officers quickly and cheaply and a platform to season young pilots, preparing them for bigger and better future assignments. Not mentioned in this discussion, it also served as a flying testbed for many avionics systems, particularly the generation of advanced radars and electronic warfare systems successfully deployed in Desert Storm. Today many of those trips by CT-39 are accomplished by video conference, documents go by internet, and priority parts go by FedEx, UPS and the like. For guys like me, it afforded a look at another part of the Air Force and an appreciation of how lucky we were to return to the flying we loved. And in spite of the conflict of being out of the office flying – it was still flying.

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from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2019/01/flying-air-force-officers-around-in-sabreliners/