#cargo shorts required

[scurvyboy]

i don’t know how to explain it but ur relativity falls stan reminds me so much of lancer deltarune

i was going for more of a buford van stomm vibe, but i see where you're coming from

also you've inspired me to make this

[gideonisms]

I've never felt older than I did walking through the target today. why is all the clothing suddenly beige?? Are jumpsuits back??? I knew that the youth now wore baggy pants. But what I did not know is that they now don't sell jean shorts that hit mid thigh without swallowing one whole

[luveline]

hello! do you think you could maybe write a james x fem!reader where he helps her calm down from a particularly bad panic attack? hyperventilating, zoning out, crying, etc? definitely not for my own personal wellbeing hahaha

James considers offering you his stress ball. It’s a palm-sized squishy rugby ball with deep grooves and splits from years of squeezing, but it does the job the same as any other. He always thinks it’s shameful that office jobs are stressful enough to require the invention of something to take your worries out on. 

He thinks it might be doubly shameful to let you sit there without asking what’s wrong. 

“Hey.” 

You raise your head to smile at him. It’s a good attempt at hiding how you’re feeling, but James already knows. “Hi.” 

Things are less frosty between you both. Honestly, James would say he likes you. Like, a lot. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.” 

You take a steadying breath. 

“You don’t sound fine,” he says softly. He gives the office a quick survey and stands. “Come on, we’ll go sit somewhere quiet for a bit.” 

Your eyes widen. You don’t stand. 

Your breathing is too quick. James knows from experience that if you don’t get some time to yourself soon, you’re going to burst. It might be too late already. 

He takes your elbow into his hand. “Come on, it’s okay. We’re gonna take a walk.” 

Your breathing worsens by the second as James leads you out of the office. By the time you’re near the elevators, you’re struggling. Your inhales are short, shallow, and your exhales sound painful. It’s like you can’t get the air in, and when you do you can’t breathe anyways. 

“Hey,” he says, “it’s okay, angel, just take a big breath. One big breath, let’s slow down.” 

James is startled when you grab him, your face pressed hard to his shoulder. It came on so quickly, but he really does have experience in this. He’s got two best friends with a cargo hold of agonies each, and he’s learned how to take care of them. 

He finds he’d love to take care of you. There’s no reluctance there, only worry. 

“It’s okay,” James says, wrapping an arm around you lightly where you’re grabbing him. He could call you ‘angel’ again, toys with ‘sweet girl’, the s on his tongue, but it’s a little much for the moment.  He says your name instead with all the tenderness of a pet name, desperate to reassure you. “You’re okay.” 

You’re not listening, you can’t. You’ve zoned out of the present, panicked tears forced from your eyes with each harsh blink. You make a sound, a pained moan as you begin to buckle. 

James grabs you tightly. “Honey, it’s okay. It is, I promise. Take a deep breath. Just a deep breath, and we’re gonna sit down.” 

He’s sat with Remus through panic attacks that lasted long enough to consider taking him to the hospital. He has no idea what tripped you into this, but he can get you out of it eventually, with patience, and with care. James sits you down in an empty room along the hall and opens a window. He turns on the light, and he drags a chair to yours to sit almost knee to knee, taking your hand to hold.

“Can you copy me?” he asks. 

You shake your head. Your knee is jumping up and down in a hard jostle. Tears streak and drip from your cheek in jagged lines. Your panic is hot, sweat at your hairline, and it’s not pretty, but James doesn’t need it to be, he’s just desperate to make you feel better, and he’ll try every way he knows how. He takes breaths for you to copy, presses your hand to the seat to ground you, to force you to feel the starch of new tough leather on your fingertips. 

When it doesn’t work, he moves on. James doesn’t panic, it won’t help. He can imagine the fiery ache in your throat, and he’s concerned you might go light-headed, but he knows this is just panic. It’s something he can fix. 

“You’re doing so good,” he says softly, aware of the quiet in the room, your breathing the loudest echo. “But can you do something for me?” 

“James–” 

“No, I know, I know, it feels like it’s not going away, but it is. I need you to watch me, okay? Watch my arm. Watch this, angel, it’ll make sense.” 

And he begins raising and lowering his hand. He pushes it into the air, as high as his fingers can reach, and he brings it slowly to his thigh. Your eyes watch it move, at first frantic, and straying to other places, but eventually his arm begins to ache with the motion, and you’re following it diligently. He takes measured breaths as he does it. 

You copy his breathing. Your hyperventilating turns to plain crying, and then the tears come heavily but without sobbing. 

James lowers his hand. With the other, he rubs your thigh. “You did amazing, honey. You’re amazing, well done.” 

“I…” 

Your voice is hoarse. You don’t finish what you’d wanted to say. 

“Does that happen a lot?” he asks, worried it’ll start again. 

“No,” you say. James can’t tell if you're lying for his sake, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t mind if it happens again. 

He hates seeing you cry, though. “Good job,” he murmurs, rubbing your trembling leg, head ducked to be on your level, “good job, honey. You really did so well. All you have to do now is sit here and relax for a little bit.” 

“I have so much stuff to do.” 

“And I’ll help you. But right now, we’re gonna sit here.” 

You grab at his hand where it’s tracing a path. It’s definitely an overfamiliar touch, but you don’t mind, curling your fingers over the back of his palm. 

You have nothing to say. 

“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. He hopes his smile says it’s fine to not want one. 

“Please.” 

His chest aches a little. He slides his knee between yours and does the majority of the bending to hold you to him. “It’s okay,” he whispers as you take a shaky breath, his hand carving a path down your back. 

“I felt like…” 

James waits. Your voice is raw, but you’re not trembling as badly as you were. 

“I felt like I was gonna have a heart attack,” you confess. 

“I know. But you’re okay.” 

“I know,” you say with a sniffle that announces more tears. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything. Nothing you had control over doing. Don’t think about it that way.” He pats your back. “Just try to feel better, that’s all you can do.” 

“You made me feel better, James. Thank you.” 

James hugs you. He tells you that he didn’t have much to do with it. All the hard work about panicking is the body that does it, he knows the ache of it afterwards, and he can feel your exhaustion. 

He’d let you fall asleep in his arms if that was what you needed to do, but after a while you’re okay to sit back. James leaves to get you a bottle of water from the vending machine, and when he returns you’re standing by the window and wiping your wet eyes. 

“Feeling okay?” he asks. 

You sniffle. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“Can I give you another hug?” he asks. This one being entirely for him. 

He can’t stand to see you sad. James wraps you up in a hug and sways you from side to side a couple of times. By the end of it you’re both feeling better than when your attack started, and that’s a job well done in James’ eyes. If he keeps special attention on you for the next few days, that’s his right. 

[that-gay-jedi]

"Nothing in Star Wars is consistent anyway, make transportation take however long or short a time as the plot requires, half-ass logistics like the writers do, make your own canon and do whatever you want" I constantly say to other people yet I act as though in my own fanfic if I don't learn everything there is to know about the interiors of Star Wars ships, refrigeration, technology, and the economy in order to determine exactly what equioment a cargo ship carrying medicines would have I will simply DIE

[sayruq]

Wallonia has issued a ban on the transit of all arms from its territory towards Israel, the region's Minister-President Elio Di Rupo (PS) confirmed to Le Soir. The decision followed an investigation by Belgium's francophone national news channel RTBF, as well as Le Soir and De Morgen, which revealed that 70 tonnes of munitions and explosives had transited via Liège airport to Israel since Hamas attack on 7 October. This was despite a commitment made in February by the Walloon government to prevent lethal weapons from passing via the region to the Jewish State. The media investigation revealed that a legal loophole had allowed arms transit to continue, with the military material sent from New York and stopping in Liège en route to Tel Aviv. Shipments were handled by Challenge Airlines, an airfreight logistics company which operates predominantly via transit hubs in Israel, Malta, and Belgium. The company's CEO, Yossi Shoukroun, is himself an Israeli national.Commenting on the details of the cargo, Wies De Graeve of Amnesty International in Flanders confirmed that the material was "military equipment from the US passing via the Israeli-American airfreight company Challenge". The airline was able to exploit a legal blind spot by transiting via Liège without transferring goods between aircraft. Until now, planes did not require a licence to make a short stop in Wallonia airports providing that cargoes were not moved from the aircraft. But on Monday, Di Rupo's office signed a ministerial decree forbidding all transit of arms towards Israel, regardless of whether the cargo leaves the aircraft or not.

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: You sense there's something not right about Los Iluminados and you're determined to get to the bottom of it.

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), masturbation, kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

Your eyes slowly open to find the sun pouring into the window over by the head of the stairs. You let out a loud yawn as you sit up, stretching your arms over your head before swinging your feet over the side of the bed. Heading downstairs, you find Vince already up and making breakfast. You walk up and stand next to him.

“Anything I can help with?” you ask, leaning in to see what he’s making.

“Nah I’m good,” he replies, playfully shoving you away, “you must have been exhausted. You were already asleep when I got back to the house.”

“The jet lag finally caught up to me as soon as my head hit the pillow,” you explain as you sit at the table, “you spoke to Father Méndez I take it?”

“I did. Hopefully it helps. I don’t want you to feel unwelcome here. I know Leon is just doing his job but… you’re my sister. Making sure you’re comfortable here is my top priority.”

Vince finishes making breakfast, once again bringing two plates to the table before sitting across from me. 

You speak up once more while you’re eating, “so, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I have to help out on the farm, that’s usually what I do most days. You’re more than welcome to join me, but if you don’t, I understand.”

You nod, thinking back to your time spent living with your grandparents. They had lived on a large farm and your grandfather made the two of you do almost all the upkeep. Your brother would take care of the livestock and farm maintenance while you would tend to the garden, it was brutal work for children. Regardless of the unpleasant memories, you weren’t about to sit back and let your brother do all the work.

“Sure, I’ll help out, just let me know what needs to be done.”

Within the hour, the two of you had made your way to the farm. It is a ways away from the village, requiring another short hike to get there. Once getting there, Vince is tasked with repairing some of the farm equipment while you helped feed and groom some of the livestock. You’re in the middle of wrangling up the pigs to feed them when out of the corner of your eye, you see someone approach your brother. You recognize the cargo pants and the tight fitting black athletic t-shirt immediately and that can only mean one thing:

It’s Leon.

You avert your eyes, bringing your focus back to pouring the feed into the trough, however, you steal quick glances at Leon and your brother as they speak to each other. Leon has short blonde hair and obviously takes very good care of himself; even you could see the way the sleeve of his t-shirt forms over his biceps.

“Hey Sis, come ‘ere!” Vince calls, beckoning you to join him with a motion of his hand.

You put down the bag of feed, silently cursing to yourself before walking over, standing close to your brother when you approach. Now that Leon isn’t wearing that black cloak he had on yesterday, you’re able to get a better look at him and, holy hell, were you not prepared. Leon is incredibly handsome, easily the most handsome man you have ever laid eyes on. You found yourself unconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your eyes rake over him; taking in the way the straps of his gun harness and various belts hug his thighs, how his pectoral muscles strain against that tight shirt. And, of course, those gorgeous blue eyes.

Oh no… you think to yourself, he’s hot…

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable yesterday,” Leon begins as he holds out his gloved hand; you don’t hesitate to shake it, “I’m Leon Kennedy; I’m in charge of making sure the community is a safe place for everyone.”

His voice is as smooth as whiskey, causing your heart to race in your chest as you tell him your name, “it’s very nice to meet you Leon.”

Leon gives you a half smile which makes your heart swoon; this man is way too attractive for his own good. He must realize it because he gives you a playful wink which, thankfully, your brother missed. 

“Likewise,” Leon continues, giving your hand one more squeeze before letting go and looking to your brother “I also came over because Manuel just came in with a haul of fish from the lake, he needs help unloading the boat.”

“Of course, I’ll be right over,” Vince replies, setting down his tools.

“Is it alright if I come along?” you ask, shoving your hands in your pockets as you shift on your feet.

“Yeah of course,” Vince replies, “the dock isn’t far from here; I’d love for you to come see the lake.”

Just as your brother walks away to go to the dock, Leon gives you a pat on the side of your shoulder, giving you another playful wink as he whispers, “I’ll see you around, little bird.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch Leon walk away. The nickname he had given you goes straight to your core, causing you to clench your hands as your fingers tingle.

“Sis, are you coming or not?” Vince calls out to you some ways away from the archway leading out of the farm.

“Sorry Vince! I’m coming!” you shout as you jog over to your brother, joining him as you both make your way to the lake.

By the time you two get to the dock, several other men from the village are also there helping Manuel unload the haul from his fishing trip. Vince quickly joins them as you stand at the head of the dock. As your eyes scan over the vast lake, the sights, sounds and smells once again take you back to your childhood. To the times when you and your brother would go down to a small pond that was on your grandparents’ property to have some semblance of fun. The sound of a door opening behind you causes you to draw your attention away from the lake. 

You watch two men come out of what you can only assume is Manuel’s house carrying what appears to be a very large sack. Your gaze tracks them as they walk across the property, stopping at a cave opening that’s blocked off by a large gate. They stop at the gate as one of them goes to unlock the gate. You quickly realize that the large sack is moving violently. Once they get the gate open, they carry the sack inside, shutting and locking it behind them before disappearing into the darkness of the cave. You swallow hard as you draw your attention back to the lake, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach.

Something is very wrong about this place and you feel whatever it is, it’s behind that gate.

“Will you be ok here at the house tonight?” Vince asks over dinner.

“Yeah, why?” you ask as you take a bite out of your meal.

“We have a community gathering tonight. It will likely go well into the night. I just want to make sure you’ll be ok here by yourself.”

You look up at Vince, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t come with you?”

Vince shakes his head, “not this time. This is for members of the Los Iluminados community only.”

This only serves to unsettle you even more, especially after seeing that large sack get brought into that cave earlier that day. Not wanting to upset your brother, however, you simply swallow hard and shrug it off.

“No problem, I’ll be fine, Vince.”

“Good, thank you Sis.”

Your brother leaves the house after cleaning up, leaving you alone in the house. You take that opportunity to go up to the bedroom, settling yourself onto the bed. As you lay there, your mind wanders back to Leon and you find yourself quickly becoming hot and bothered. Taking off your jeans so that you’re just in your shirt and underwear, your hand slips under the hem of your panties, your fingers gently rubbing your clit as you lay your head back against the pillow, closing your eyes. You picture Leon perfectly, imagining it is his fingers rubbing your clit, imagining his hot breath on your ear as he leans over you.

“That’s it, little bird. Doesn’t that feel good?”

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you hear the words your mind has conjured; who would have thought a silly nickname would get you so riled up. You pick up the pace of your fingers, your hips bucking up into your hand as you chase your release. You softly moan his name over and over as your pussy walls clench around nothing, secretly wishing he was buried inside you. You then move your fingers in a circular motion rapidly and within minutes you come undone, practically screaming Leon’s name as your body convulses. In the heat of the moment, your elbow crashes into the small bedside table, causing it to tip over, causing the contents of a small drawer to spill all over the floor.

The abrupt crash immediately snaps you out of your fantasy. You sit up in the bed and stand up, picking up the items that had fallen out of the bedside table. A crudely made leather bound book catches your attention; you sit down onto the side of the bed and open it. The text inside is handwritten and you quickly realize once you start reading it that it’s your brother’s journal. You know you shouldn’t be reading it, but a part of you is hoping that it reveals what exactly is going on in this community. 

March? 2006

I’ve completely lost track of time since Josh and I were brought here. I found this notebook inside the building they brought us in, so I figured I’d use it to chronicle what’s been going on in case someone else finds it. It was Josh’s idea to go backpacking across Europe. I regret not telling my sister where I was going; she must be worried sick! 

This group, called Los Iluminados, promised us a paradise on Earth. A place for us to disconnect from the world and detox and it doesn’t take a genius to know I definitely need that. They didn’t seem very bothered by the fact that Josh is my boyfriend despite being a religious group, so that was refreshing.

You stop reading for a moment, absorbing the information you just learned. Your brother is gay. It came as a complete shock to you, however upon looking back, it’s a wonder you hadn’t realized it sooner. It certainly explains why your grandfather was especially hard on Vince. Why didn’t he tell you? You can’t help but feel hurt by the fact your brother wasn’t comfortable enough telling you. You set aside these emotions for the time being and continue to read.

They injected both of us with something, said it would help us with the detox process. And then they brought us into the basement of one of the houses. It’s almost pitch black down here, the only indication of time passing is from the faint streaks of light coming down from the floorboards. It’s a miracle I can even see what I’m writing. I feel ok, but Josh on the other hand isn’t looking good at all. He’s broken out into a rash and he won’t stop sweating. He keeps saying everything hurts. What the fuck did they inject us with?

March… Maybe April? 2006

It’s been a few days since they first locked us into this basement. I keep coughing up blood and having weird dreams, but otherwise I don’t feel too bad. Josh on the other hand isn’t doing well at all, he’s been violently convulsing and hacking up way more blood than I have. I don’t think he’s going to make it.

April 2006

They came down into the basement and took Josh, he had gotten worse from when I had written earlier. They came back later and examined my eyes, saying my blood had accepted the gift, whatever that means. They led me out of the basement and gave me one of the houses. They say I’m part of the community now. I don’t know what happened to Josh.

There are no new entries in the journal after that. You’re completely overwhelmed with emotions, both from what you learned about your brother and the implications of what happened to his boyfriend Josh. All of this just further cemented the fact that you had to find out what lies beyond that gate you saw them bring that sack into.

After picking up the mess and tucking the journal safely back inside the bedside table, you go to bed where your mind enters the realm of dreams which have been invaded by thoughts of Leon.

The next morning, your brother informs you that the two of you will be going over to Father Méndez’s house to have dinner. The house itself is grandiose, we’re immediately greeted with the large dining room table already laid out with food and drinks. The dinner itself is largely uneventful, Father Méndez asks you a lot of questions about living in the United States and how you’re liking your stay with the community. As the dinner wears on, you realize that this is a golden opportunity to try to find some answers. 

You abruptly stand up, “sorry I need to excuse myself for a moment. Where’s the bathroom, Father?”

Father Méndez motions to the archway over to the left, “through there, sweetheart.”

You smile at him and nod in acknowledgement, “thank you Father, if you excuse me…”

You walk through the archway, finding a set of stairs going up to the second floor of the house. You look over at the dinner table, waiting until Father Méndez is completely focused on your brother before silently ascending the stairs. At the top is another hallway. You carefully walk to the end of it, finding what you guess is the master bedroom, a large four poster bed immediately to your right, a dresser to the left and a small desk next to the window ahead of you.

You slowly walk up to the desk, which is covered in various papers that have words written in Spanish on them. You then open up one of the drawers and you suck in a breath at what you find. It’s an ornate key, embellished with the same weird cross symbol that you saw back at the church and, now that you think about it, the gate by the dock also had this same symbol. This key has to go to that gate, you’re sure of it. You softly close the drawer, tucking the key into your pocket.

“What are you doing in here?” you hear Father Méndez ask.

You jump as you turn around, placing your hand over your racing heart, “Father I’m so sorry! I got lost looking for the bathroom.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, but then smiles at you warmly, “that’s quite alright, I wasn’t clear in my direction. It’s downstairs, the door on the right just before the back door, follow me and I can show you.”

You allow Father Méndez to lead you to the bathroom, which is quite literally a hole in a raised part of the floor. The smell coming out of it almost knocks you out. Despite this, you spend a couple minutes in there to make it convincing before you return to the dinner table, all the while fiddling with the key in your pocket.

You and your brother finish up dinner with Father Méndez, getting back home just before it gets dark. You excuse yourself and go to bed early, claiming to be exhausted from socializing. You sit on the side of the bed, twirling the key you found in your fingers as you examine it as you listen for confirmation that your brother is asleep. It takes a couple hours, but you hear the telltale signs of your brother’s snoring. Getting up from the bed, you walk over to the window over by the stairs, carefully opening it and climbing out. It leads you outside on some crude scaffolding, you quickly find a ladder to climb down. 

The waxing moon casts a gentle glow throughout the village, which you use to your advantage as you make your way to the dock area. You walk crouched, trying to use the environment to mask your movements, hoping to not draw anyone’s attention. You eventually make it to the gate, looking around before digging the key out of your pocket, putting it into the keyhole and turning. As you suspected, the key unlocks the gate with ease and you push on it gently, the gate letting out a soft squeak as it swings open. You shut the gate behind you, making your way inside the cave. 

Once you get to the back of the cave, you come across another gate, pushing it open to find a furnished room filled with various root vegetables and supplies. Upon stepping in, you’re overwhelmed by the smell of decay, bringing your shirt up over your nose to mask the smell. It doesn’t take long for you to find the source. To your right, there is a person on their knees, held up by their wrists on a rope. You hesitantly approach, finding that it’s a young woman, her skin pitch black in decay and that weird cross symbol painted on her face with blood. You fight back the bile building up in your mouth.

“I fucking knew it,” you say to yourself, “this is a fucking cult.”

You take another look around, spotting a ladder leading upwards through the floor in the back. You hesitantly approach it and begin climbing up. As you ascend to the top, you are greeted by another horror; an altar with another young woman laid onto it, her blood completely covering it. You see her hands are tied behind her back. You walk around the altar to face her. She has that same symbol painted onto her face. Her skin still has color to it, suggesting that she hasn’t been dead for very long. You begin to suspect that this woman was in that sack that you saw carried into the cave. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hear Father Méndez’s voice boom from behind you.

You spin around and face him, he’s standing straight with his hands neatly folded in front of him.

“What the hell kind of operation do you have here?!” you shout, balling your fists, “I knew something wasn’t right about this place. I’m taking my brother, we’re leaving and reporting you to the authorities!”

A low chuckle comes out of Father Méndez, “her blood did not accept the gift. You, however, may have better luck.”

Méndez brings one hand up, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, two men that had been standing behind you grab you by your arms, twisting them behind your back as you struggle as hard as you can. You watch as Father Méndez reaches into his coat pocket, producing a large hypodermic needle. As you struggle, Father Méndez begins to approach you. Your gaze shifts to the figure standing just behind him, seeing that Leon is standing there, watching, back to wearing that large black cloak, the hood mostly obscuring his face. All you can see is a menacing smirk that is on his lips. 

“Sis calm down, it’s going to be ok!” you hear your brother, quickly realizing he is one of the men that is restraining you, “my blood accepted the gift, I’m certain yours will, too.”

“Vince!” you cry out, turning to him, “do you hear yourself? This is insane!”

Father Méndez looms in front of you, grabbing the side of your head and pushing it to expose your neck, wasting no time inserting the needle into your skin, injecting the strange liquid into your body. Whatever it is, it burns. You feel it spread across your neck as you continue to struggle, tears now flowing down your face. 

“Bring her to the holding area,” Father Méndez commands.

Without any hesitation, your brother and the man helping to restrain you bring you back down through the hole you had come up out of, carrying you out of the cave as you kick and scream. They bring you to Manuel’s house, carrying you inside. In the back of the house, there is a trap door. The other man retraining you kicks the trap door open before he and your brother gently lower you inside. Once on the ground, you scramble to your feet and stare up at the opening, seeing your brother stare down at you, only, there’s something very off about him. Black veins cover his skin and his eyes are glowing red.

“Vince, you can’t do this! You need to get me out of here!”

“I’m sorry, Sis,” he says softly before slamming the trap door shut. 

You stand there in utter shock as you hear the door being locked, trapping you in the pitch black darkness.

Part 3

[theresattrpgforthat]

Any recs for pick up and play/no prep ttrpgs?

THEME: Pick Up & Play!

Hello there, you’ll probably find a bunch of one-shots in this collection, as I find one-shots tend to gear a bit more towards low-prep play.

Lost Goths From Beyond, by goblin goulash.

You are not from around here. Maybe you’re dead (you sure liked playing the part anyway). Maybe you’re in Hell (your parents warned you). Maybe you found a Victorian city in your dreams. Maybe you come from the Realm of Fairies, or a timeline stuck in the 90s, or a planet far far away… Well you’re here now, and you gotta do what you gotta do to get back. And you intend to do it in style. High heel, black leather, smoky eye style. You’re a Goth from Beyond, and you’re here on a Mission!

Lost Goths from Beyond is a stylish, rules-light TTRPG for 1-5 Goths and 1 GM.

As a hack of Lasers & Feelings, Lost Goths from Beyond is meant to be quick in execution, with obstacles coming up as you roll - and for that reason I think it doesn’t really require much prep. I’d say that the most you’ll have to do is actually collaborative at the table - deciding the setting and limits of your characters, and determining what subject matter you do or do not want to explore in your game.

I have two things I like about this game - one is the layout, how clean and succinct it is, communicating the vibe while keeping the instructions short and to the point. The other is the thirteen special items you can choose from to give your Gogh character their own unique thing - whether that be nail polish that turns you invisible, a body piercing that emits light, or stylish sunglasses that can see in the infrared.

Christ Heist, by shawk games.

ALL ABOARD… It’s 1907 and you’ve been down on your luck. Jobs are drying up, wars are being waged, and the west is growing. As luck would have it, your reputation precedes you: as a storied felon, you and your crew have been forged through indominable industry expertise and pulled together for one last job: Rob the Church.

It was a dangerous journey to Kansas City – but you all know your roles, and you know what you need to do: trick the laity in St. Anthony’s Chapel Car out of their tithes, make off with the Solid Gold Jesus Crucifix, and exit the train in Denver before anyone notices.

Heist games are excellent for one-shot games, and this heist is built on the fabulous Honey Heist rules, which are designed for little to no prep. Because you’re robbing a train, the game comes with a timetable for each of the train’s stops, which can be placed in front of each player so they can come up with a plan on the fly. As per Honey Heist tradition, you also have a series of roll-tables for the GM to help design the Chapel Car of the train and the nature of Bishop Bartholomew, as well as the kinds of complications to make your heist interesting!

The Quick, The Quiet & The Dead, by Whimsynaut Games.

Play as a group of survivors, working together to survive the night from a random table of horrors. Will you be escaping an alien spider in a rusting theme park, an eldritch horror in an abandoned campsite or a murderous cyborg aboard a cargo ship in a storm? 

Another Lasers & Feelings hack, this game also gives the GM some roll-tables to generate a situation on the fly. The basic setting is that you’re surviving some kind of horror scenario, but you can cater the scenario to fit the style of horror movie you’re interested in. If there’s a horror setting that you like, you can probably layer that over this game to give yourself a quick horror rush.

If you’re not a bit horror fan, I definitely recommend checking out the broader world of Lasers & Feelings!

The Head, by forkfrenzy.

Vassago's body lays before you. His head is in your backpack. The labyrinth goes on forever. It’s your home. It’s everyone’s home. Maybe you'll get out some day, but right now you have to deliver this head to the Duchess. 

The Head is a 1-page, 1-session roleplaying game (RPG) by Levon Jihanian — set in a mysterious, labyrinthine world. The player characters have just cut off Vassago’s head and are tasked with delivering it to the Dutchess, who lives at the palace at the center of the labyrinth. The game builds on the mechanics of Fuck! It’s Dracula and The Agony of Elves.

I don’t own the rules document for The Head, but I did find a copy of the rules for Fuck! It’s Dracula, which is about 200 words long and fairly simple. The game appears to go through a various number of phases, with roll-tables used to both generate characters as well as events that will bring you closer and closer to the narrative climax.

It looks like much of the details behind the main premise are also meant to be explored during play, which I also take as a sign of low to no-prep. If you ‘re coming up with the lore as you play, you don’t need to prepare it beforehand!

Loom of Blood, by curubethion.

Spin your webs of fear through the night, from the corners where you lurk.

Loom of Blood is a game of unfolding horror: sketch out the strokes of unsuspecting lives, and then uproot them into murderous mayhem. Build your own horror movie franchise with your friends, and delve deep into a tangled tapestry of wickedness, bloodshed, and frail humanity.

Loom of Blood is collaborative, and for that reason, I think it’s a great option for a no-prep tabletop game. I find that GM-less games still typically require a person to exist in a facilitator role, so you might have to read through the pdf before you sit down to play, but each beat of the story is introduced in the process of play - try to come up with too much beforehand, and you’ll probably feel like you’re trying to turn the story in a direction it wasn’t naturally set up to go.

On your turn, you’ll introduce either a Moment, a Fool, or a Mirage to the story. Moments are descriptive phrases that introduce a new horror to the scene, like the rustling of trees, or a scream of something “neither animal nor human.” A Fool is a character doomed to stumble into the danger, their death perhaps not imminent, but likely to happen before the story is over. A Mirage is a place that feels safe, a location that fills out the map of your story.

The elements of this story feel somewhat similar to I’m sorry did you stay street magic, which is also beautifully collaborative, as well as a game I’d consider no or low-prep. If you want a game of collaboration that leads you through each step, you might be interested in Loom of Blood.

Let’s Kill the King, by Obli-Awa.

The revolution has begun.  The people cry out for justice and, as night falls on the capital city, they have swarmed its streets in righteous fury, pitchforks aloft and torches blazing.  The guard have locked things down as best they can, but you, you lucky few, have made it over the wall; managed to slip into the castle thus far unnoticed.  Tonight, the old order falls.  You will be the regicides who bring it crashing down.

A TTRPG designed to indulge in the fantasy of bringing corrupt leaders to the justice they so richly deserve by our own damned hands, LET'S KILL THE KING offers 2-4 players and 1 game master a raucous couple hours of manic, king-hunting glory.  Absolutely no preparation of any kind is needed from either GMs or PCs: encounters are generated via table and the basics of who a character is can be rolled on the spot.  

Games like this one, which have a very strong premise and a very clear goal, are often really good options for folks who want little to no prep. You are sitting down knowing what all of you want - to kill the King - and you also have a few other facts that are already determined for you, such as the fact that you’re hunting through the Castle, so you have a good idea of the limits of what you might or might not find. I’m also a big big fan of the fact that you have two clocks that you can use to track your progress - one for the Hunt of the king, and one for the King’s escape!

Black Bars, by HMLW.

Black Bars is a roleplaying game for three people about slipping secrets past censors that want to prevent the TRUTH from getting out. One of you will play the Whistleblower, the one that creates the Secret and the Messages. Another will be the Censor, redacting the Messages whilst trying to discover the Secret yourself. The last of you is the Decoder, receiving a heavily obfuscated Message and tasked with finding out the Secret.

The prerequisites for Black Bars are pretty specific (3 players only), but I really like the goals for your characters here. A game about trying to code, decode and redact messages, you can invent all of your own reasons for why these messages are being sent and obfuscated, but you can also play competitively, which might allow for a nice transition from boardgames into roleplaying games, if that’s a background that your players share.

Goblin Errands, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Goblin Errands is a no-prep RPG for 2 to 4 goblins and one Tall Person. Together you'll go on comical (mis)adventures trying to complete seemingly mundane tasks as you struggle with a world not designed for you. 

You've just joined a new family of goblins and you are determined to prove yourself useful. Clearly, the best way to do so is by running errands for the community. 

Unfortunately as a goblin you live in a world made for folk much bigger and stronger than you. And on top of that you have only a single brain cell to work with - and one that you have to share with your fellow goblins. Even otherwise ordinary everyday tasks turn into hilarious challenges.

A lighthearted game with cute misadventures, Goblin Errands describes itself as a game about “solidarity among the unrecognized” - folks who don’t fit in to the infrastructure of the world as it is. It’s a game about underdogs, but the stakes feel rather low, so this might be a great palette cleanser, or a nice way to start roleplaying with a group of people you don’t know as well.

While the game styles itself as a no-prep one shot, you’ll probably have to do a bit of reading beforehand, just to make sure you know how the rules work. Character creation looks like it needs to happen at the beginning of the game, since you generate something called the kenn together. The fact that the goblins are sorted into playbooks signals easy of entry to me, since playbooks often provide all of the information you need to know about your character in one place.

When it comes to running the game, the GM will roll to generate an errand, but I think the obstacles and challenges that arise will likely become apparent thanks to the collaborative worldbuilding that happens before you create the characters.

Also For Your Consideration...

Low Improv Games

Zero-Prep Characters / One Shots

Holdfast Station, by Lampblack & Brimstone.

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[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 8 ⬅ch.7

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. alcohol. nsfw. wc 4.8k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had the pleasure of writing this chapter... also the fic is at 27k words already! whoo, this is officially my longest fic.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“we’re all meetin’ down at the local pub, if you’d care t’join,” soap said, leaning against the doorway of the infirmary with his arms crossed over his chest. 

you looked up from your clipboard and raised a brow. “oh, yeah?”

“yeah. the men could use a load off.”

he was right. it had been a tense week at base as the men worked on tracking down hassan and going out on missions but turning up with no luck. it was frustrating and tiring. you could see it in their drained faces. 

the infirmary was empty for the night, no one having any substantial injuries that required overnight care, so you figured it’d be alright to go with them.

“yeah, okay,” you said, nodding your head in agreement.

“sweet!” soap’s reply made you smile. he always made you feel wanted. 

something in you yearned to ask if ghost was going to be there, but that would just raise alarms. and as daft as johnny could be, you didn’t want to risk him finding out about your little… crush . ghost’s words rang in your head and you quickly abandoned that thought process, a flush rising on your face and chest.

you stood in your room feeling like an imposter. you glanced at yourself in the mirror and debated multiple times on removing your dress, but you really had nothing else nice to wear. 

all you had in your wardrobe was workout wear and your uniform. you just never found yourself needing much more than that. you mentioned your lack of a wardrobe to your friend in the infirmary and she immediately offered her assistance. “i have the cutest little dress you can wear! i think you’re my size…” she said as she looked between the two of you. 

you felt your face warm. “a dress? oh, i don’t know,” you said with a nervous laugh. “don’t you think that will be a bit much for a bar?”

“no! we’re always in these drab clothes,” – she gestured between the two of you – “it will feel good to put on something feminine for once. trust me.”

“oh, are you saying i don’t look feminine?” you teased, gesturing to your outfit which was a dark shirt, cargo pants, and boots. 

she rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, ready to head back to her room. “shut up and follow me.”

now you were standing alone in your room and rethinking everything. the dress was simple: black, just short enough, and flattered your figure. but you still felt odd in it. after seeing yourself in your uniform for so long, this felt completely out of the ordinary. 

you played with the hem and debated changing. but what would you change into? sweatpants? 

you made a note to get some casual wear – jeans, a simple top, a sweater maybe – just things to wear on your off days. 

before you could talk yourself out of it more, you slid on the flats your friend has also let you borrow and you fumbled out of your room. 

it was nice enough out, and the bar was pretty close, so you decided to walk, your friend beside you. “you look hot,” she said. a smile was dragged out of you, not used to such compliments. she sported a similar outfit: a shorter dress, simple shoes, her hair down in waves. 

she hooked her arm around yours and you both giggled. maybe it would be nice to feel normal for a bit. to go out like most women your age do on the weekends.

you wondered if johnny and the others were already there. maybe you should have told him to wait for you so you could go together. 

you pushed your hair out of your face as the wind blew and looked up at the stars. it was such a beautiful night. you deserved this . you deserved to have a little fun. 

and you knew the men did this rather often. but that was before you had become friends with johnny and slowly with the others as well. now you were officially invited to things like this and it made your chest flutter with acceptance. 

the bar was a bit grungier than you expected, its windows blacked out, the sign light flickering, a group of motorcyclists outside smoking. your friend looked the men outside up and down, intrigued, and you heard them whistle back at her. “let's go,” you said, pulling her along with you.

you both pushed your way inside and were greeted with the smell of sweat, alcohol, too much cologne, and burning wood. the bar was dimly lit and there was already a crowd of people inside. 

you felt nervous as you scanned the room for someone you knew. you spotted soap and gaz in the corner and you smiled. your friend slipped away from you, seeing her friends at the bar, but not before making sure you were okay. you nodded to her then made your way towards soap. 

“soap!” you said cheerfully, making the man spin to face you. 

his face lit up, looking you up and down. “you clean up nice.”

“wish I could say the same,” you laughed. he gave you a cheeky grin in return.

your growing smile faltered when you saw a looming figure behind soap at the table. ghost . 

shit. shit. shit .

you could feel his eyes on you and you shifted uncomfortably on the heels of your feet. 

soap noticed your empty hand. “let me get you a drink,” he said over the noise and slipped off to the bar. 

you awkwardly turned to the table and greeted gaz who was talking with a few other men you recognized but couldn’t remember their names. 

you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering over to where ghost was sitting he wore a black hoodie that he had pulled over his head, his balaclava mask, and dark jeans and boots. his hands rested on the table and he was still staring at you. 

letting him win, you turned away. why did things have to be so weird between you two? were you the one making things uncomfortable?

before you could wallow in your thoughts, soap appeared beside you again and handed you a beer. 

“i’m not supposed to take drinks from strange men,” you teased. 

“ha. ha. very funny, lass.”

you nudged him in the shoulder.

“hey,” a voice said beside you. you looked up and saw commander graves approaching your table. “fuck,” he said, taking you in. “i didn’t recognize you. you look great,” he complimented. 

you thanked him a bit awkwardly. soap reached over you and wrapped an arm over your shoulders protectively. “i don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at her,” johnny said towards graves. 

graves laughed, raising his hands in surrender. you rolled your eyes at the nonsense of these two men. “i can do my own bidding,” you said up to soap. 

“you heard her, she can turn me down herself,” graves teased. 

you smiled, all three of you laughing, however, your smile broke when ghost got up and left the table. 

“what’s his problem?” you asked soap, trying to sound casual, taking a sip of the cold beer. 

“honestly, m’not sure. he’s been like this all week.”

you nodded, wanting to pry more, but that would be a bit conspicuous, so you just drank your beer and fell into conversation with the men around you.

three beers and three shots later, you were slurring your words slightly as you argued with the table about how you had the ability to multiply any set of numbers in your head. 

“you’ve got a calculator under there,” gaz said, referring to your hands conveniently placed under the table. 

you held your hands up, “go ahead. ask me another.”

soap laughed and spewed off a random combination of numbers, “four hundred eighty-six, times three thousand five hundred and seven.” gaz quickly punched the numbers into his phone's calculator.

you took a moment, the gears in your head turning, before answering. “one million, seven hundred four thousand, four hundred and two.”

the other two men beside gaz leaned over to look at his phone screen to read the correct answer.

“well, i’ll be fucked,” gaz said astonished, all the men gaping up at you. 

you smiled and did a little twirl in victory. “i believe you owe me a drink, kyle.”

gaz nodded before standing. “honestly, i’m not even mad,” he said before passing you and going to the bar. 

you turned to soap, “i’m going to the restroom. i’ll be right back. make sure gaz doesn’t spit in my drink.”

he smirked and nodded then focused back on the guys who were now spewing out nonsense about who could down a beer the quickest. personally, your bet was on soap.

you laughed to yourself and made your way through the moving bodies. once you made it through the crowd, there was a small, dark hallway in the corner of the bar with two bathrooms at the end. it was a lot less busy over here and the music rang far quieter in your ears, you were thankful for the reprieve. 

as you edged around the corner you tripped and stumbled, laughing to yourself as you did. two arms caught you and you giggled at how drunk you were. “t-thank you,” you muttered. you finally focused on the person’s arms and spotted tattoos peeking out of their rolled-up sleeves. your eyes went wide and you quickly snapped your head up. simon . 

“s-sorry,” you said, trying to get untangled from his grip and lock yourself away in the bathroom out of embarrassment. 

“wait,” he clutched your arm and pulled you back to him. it was easy for him to move you, like you weighed nothing to him. that sent both a thrill of fear and excitement through your body. 

you clashed into his chest and immediately tried to gain a bit of space between you two. you hesitated but looked up at him as he loomed over you. to anyone else, they would be terrified to be faced with a man in a dark hallway, his hood pulled, his face covered, and his stance over six feet. but you knew ghost. knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

“what?” you asked, a bit more snippy than you intended. 

his hands lingered on your arm, tightening briefly before letting go. “are you with johnny?” the seriousness in his tone surprised you. 

you scoffed. “what?” you were certainly taken aback. then you got a bit annoyed. “is there something wrong if i was?” you rolled your eyes and bit the inside of your lip. “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing forbidden about soap and i. there’d be no conflict of interest. so really, you have no right t-to ask.” you hiccuped on your last sentence and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look assertive.

“how much have you had to drink?” he demanded. 

“ god, ghost,” you threw your hands up in defeat. “what does it matter? why do you care? me being drunk or s-sleeping with soap has nothing t’do with you. and my intoxication level has nothing to d-do with what i’m feeling.”

“so, you are with him, then?” his eyes darkened as he glared at you from beneath his mask. a smudge of his black face paint was still circled around his eyes, making him appear cynical and slightly terrifying. 

you laughed, he was missing the point. “no. jesus . i’m not with soap. we’re friends ,” you dragged out the ‘s’. 

you stared at him, waiting for him to say something. you decided if he didn’t answer in the next few seconds, you were going to turn around and walk away. this outing was supposed to be fun.

just as you were about to sidestep him, he took a step towards you. you actually had to crane your head back now to look at him. “you know why i care? why i’m askin’ you all this?” you could smell the whiskey on him and it sent a shiver through you.

you shook your head. “no. that’s what i’ve been asking you ,” you whined in mental exhaustion, your voice was far quieter than mere moments ago. the anger behind your words seemed to have left you. “enlighten me. tell me why you’ve been so hot n’ cold lately,” you whispered, losing all your momentum as his eyes flickered between yours. “do you hate me, or n-not?!”

one of ghost’s hands came up and tucked a tendril of your hair behind your ear. your lips parted in a silent gasp. his fingers tickled as they barely brushed over your skin. you swallowed and his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers slipping into your hair. he leaned forward and you felt your breath get caught in your throat, your eyes widening in surprise. all sane thoughts left your body. all that filled your senses was him. simon.

he used his free hand to snake up between your bodies and push his mask up to his nose, exposing his stubble and scars. “ i’m going to kiss you now ,” he mumbled. he lingered a moment, giving you enough time to escape his hold, but you stayed rooted in place. 

in a painfully slow motion, simon leaned forward, hunching over and pulling your face up to meet him, and placed his lips on yours. 

your eyes fluttered shut and you felt a race of adrenaline pump through you. his hand was gentle as he caressed your face, pulling you further and further into him. you couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

your lips moved out of sync for a moment but you quickly learned how to flow together. your hands instinctively reached out and fisted his shirt, allowing you to extend higher up into him and also keep your balance. 

he turned you so your back hit the wall, making a squealing noise sound in the back of your throat, his free hand going to your hip, pushing you backward. he pressed his body into yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip and then slipping into your mouth. 

you groaned into the kiss as he consumed you, his body shielding you completely. if someone saw ghost from behind, they’d have no idea you were pinned underneath him. 

you gasped as he pulled away, his mouth still dangerously close to yours. 

“simon… i—“ you began, panting as you spoke, trying to catch your breath. 

your hands were still lost in his shirt, his hand still on your hip, but his other one was now on the wall beside your head. “don’t talk.” he kissed you again before you could protest. his lips felt so soft against yours, his stubble tickling you. his hand on the wall couldn’t stop itself from coming back to the side of your cheek, wanting to kiss you as deep as he possibly could. he was truly stealing the breath away from you.

your body rolled into his and you heard him grunt in the back of his throat. it was one of the hottest sounds you’ve ever heard. you felt like you were getting high off him, as he attacked your mouth with such fervor and heady need.

when he pulled away again, you gaped up at him. his eyes danced between yours, appraising you. trying to cypher through your thoughts. you looked at him through your eyelashes, waiting for him to speak or to move. you felt frozen in time. like if you moved, the illusion of him would fade away into a puff of smoke. 

then he moved you in a haze, your eyes focused solely on his silhouette. he grabbed your hand, engulfing it with his own, and pulled you into one of the single-person bathrooms. 

“what’re you—?” 

he shut the door behind the two of you, locked it, and pushed you up against it, your feet rising so you were standing on the tips of your toes. he was panting again, completely succumbing to what he explicitly told himself not to do. the alcohol gave him just strength to suppress the voice yelling at him in his head.

then he kissed you again. this time rough and hungry. your body fell limp as you let him hold you up, his mouth moving against yours in sync. your arms reached up and draped across his shoulders, both of you fighting for dominance, but you gave up rather quickly and let him win. 

simon’s hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. any rational thought about pushing him away vanished. you knew you needed to talk about things — to figure out what he wanted from you. but right now, all you wanted was whatever this was. 

“this goddamn dress ,” he murmured in between kisses, his voice husky and low. your chest rushed with flames at his words, knowing that you were affecting him by simply wearing a short dress, and it made you clench your thighs together. 

simon’s hands went to the hem of your dress and he pushed it up, your body hot and clammy as his hand gilded along your skin. he nipped at your lip, his hand slowly descending between your legs. when he got to the apex of your thighs, he softly dragged his fingers across you, forcing you to moan into his mouth. 

“i fuckin’ hate seeing you with other guys,” he said hoarsely. 

you looked at him, a bit dazed, and still intoxicated — but now by more than just alcohol. “what?” you said breathlessly.

“soap. gaz,” he said flatly. “graves,” he said the commander's name with more anger, his fingers beginning to slide up and down you above your underwear. 

you gripped his shoulders. “okay,” you hastily spoke, still not understanding him, but also not wanting him to stop. 

he pushed your underwear to the side and you were thankful you wore one of your skimpier pairs tonight. as his fingers glidded across you, his fingers getting coated with your arousal, he spoke again. “jus’ with me,” he said. 

just with him? what the fuck was he talking about? you nodded anyway. “just with you,” you repeated. 

“ good girl .” your heart fluttered in your chest at his praise. you never knew those two words could sound so heavenly. but when ghost’s thick accent growled them out breathlessly, you found your core warming more than you thought possible. 

simon pressed two fingers against your entrance, his lips now attacking your neck. you were trying to catch your breath, your mind fogged, your body limp, your heart racing. 

when he pushed them both in, you gasped rather loudly. “ ohmygod ,” you slurred. you were beginning to pant wildly.

you could feel him smile ever so slightly against you. “ mmm ,” he hummed. 

he slowly began to move his fingers, your body ready for him and letting him move with ease. “ so fuckin’ wet for me ,” he mumbled. 

you clutched onto his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on the feeling of him inside you. he curled his fingers slightly as he went, pumping them in and out at a decent speed, your body squelching with each thrust. 

normally, you might be a bit self-conscious about being vocal the first time you were intimate with a new person, but you literally could not contain your sounds. you moaned and mewled, crying out when he sped up, his palm bumping your clit each time his fingers went in as far as they could. 

he felt you clenching around him and he marveled at how fast you were approaching your orgasm. it’s not that he had any doubts in his ability, but he’s never made a woman come quite this fast. and you had never had a man make you come this fast either. it was new for both of you.

one of your legs hooked around simon’s thigh, wanting to take him as deep as you could. “fuck,” he grunted, his free hand palming your breast over your dress. “you gonna come for me already, pet?” 

you nodded your head repeatedly, raspy breaths the only response you could vocalize. 

“go on then,” he commanded, keeping his speed. 

your walls spasmed around his fingers and your head buried against his chest. your legs began to shake as you felt yourself reach your high. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck !” ghost engulfed you, holding you up and into him while you clutched him in desperation.

you moaned into his chest and you could hear him panting above you — as if he had just climaxed too. 

he kept moving his fingers, making sure to bump your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm to completion.

when you stopped shaking and were trying to catch your breath, he slowed and eased his fingers out of you. 

neither of you moved. you were still clinging to him and he still had his hands around you, your leg propped on his waist. 

after several beats of silence while you both gasped for air, your hands snaked down his body and fiddled with his belt. you felt simon straighten slightly at your touch, his hand slipping into your hair and making you look at him. 

you succeeded in undoing his belt and you let him tilt your head up toward him. “you don’t have t—“ your hand slid into his pants and grabbed him, cutting him off. he was painfully hard and he groaned the second he felt your fingers on him. 

simon cleared his throat, trying to concentrate as you slowly began to stroke his length. “i’m serious. you d-don’t have to,” he stuttered.

a lazy smile filled your lips knowing how intensely you were affecting him. “i wanna,” you whispered. 

simon’s eyes opened and searched yours, looking for any sign of… displeasure? 

you let your leg fall to your side and you both untangled your bodies. you pushed his chest, baking him up against the sink so he was half sitting on the counter. you pried his pants down enough to free him completely. he watched you intently as you fell to your knees. he was thankful he had the counter for support because seeing you drop to your knees before him made him want to do the same.

god, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. he was already impossibly hard from hearing you moan at his touch. and now you were on your knees, begging to suck him off. he was absolutely fucked. 

you gulped, realizing how big he was. simon murmured your name and you immediately took him in your mouth. 

“ugh— fuck —!” he cried. one of your hands grabbed his base where your mouth couldn’t reach and you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down. your hand made twisting motions and your tongue pressed against his cock as you sucked. 

“jus’ like that,” he groaned, his hand coming out to tangle in your hair. his other hand gripped the countertop, holding it so harshly he thought he might crack the porcelain. 

you came up for a breath and a bit of spit dribbled out of your mouth and onto his cock. simon groaned, his hips begging to buck forward. 

you took him in again and simon’s grip in your hair tightened. “not gonna last much— f-fuck —longer,” he said through bated breaths. 

you hummed against him and the vibrations made his cock twitch. he gently bucked his hips forward and you gagged. the noises you were making were so obscene, and simon wanted them ingrained in his brain forever. 

“god, pet. you feel so fuckin’ good .” 

you sucked at the tip of his cock and began to stroke him at a more erratic pace. then you slipped him back in and his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag again. 

“if you d-don’t want me to come in your mouth, you better stop n-now,” he moaned, his head tilting back slightly in pure ecstasy. 

you continued to work him, wanting to taste him. and with a few more bobs of your head and jerk of your hands, simon came in your mouth. 

the hoarse moan he made sent a wave of pleasure between your legs, making you ache to fully have him. you held your mouth in place but continued to suck, making simon’s legs shake slightly. his hand in your hair was now painfully grasping at you but you didn’t mind. 

simon moaned your name as he slowly came back to earth. you popped him out of your mouth and caught your breath, looking up at him. his cheeks were flushed where his mask was pushed up and he was looking at you in astonishment. 

you were kneeling before him, swallowing his come, blinking at him through your eyelashes, your dress still hiked up a bit too high and you’d hair disheveled. you were a fucking work of art and simon was so fucking screwed. 

reality came crashing down on him and he let go of your hair and stood up from the counter, pulling his pants up and redoing his belt. 

he pulled his mask down and you rose in apprehension at his sudden shift. 

“i’m sorry,” he said.

you furrowed your bows. “for what?” 

simon cleared his throat, trying to gain some distance from you. “i shouldnt have taken advantage of you.” 

you gave a mirthless smile. “i told you i wanted to. you didn’t take advantage—“

he breathed your name. “you want something i can’t give.”

“you don’t know what i want,” you said with more merit, but you hugged your arms over your body which said the opposite.

“you’re not the kinda girl for a quick fuck. and i can’t do all the–” he gestured around him with his hands, “– strings.” 

you looked at him with hurt in your eyes. simon wished he could take back what he said. but he kept going anyway, sabotaging himself. 

“you looked good in your dress. that’s all. m’sorry.” 

you gulped, nodding your head but averting your eyes. you swallowed back tears and stood there dumbfounded for a moment. 

you turned to leave the bathroom. you wanted to get as far away as possible from him. 

he called out your name and reached for your arm. 

“don’t!” you shouted, shrugging him off and storming out of the bathroom and back into the bar. 

ghost cursed under his breath as the door slowly shut. he turned and put both hands on the sink’s counter and hung his head. why was he this fucking stupid? why did he hurt you like that? 

why did he lie to you ?

it was true — he didn’t think he could do a proper relationship — but what wasn’t true was that you were simply a warm body to him. no. he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. he had been thinking about you against his will for weeks now. and seeing you in that dress, looking up at him with such soft eyes, he was done for. 

he had never had butterflies when he kissed someone. but with you, his stomach did flips and his heart raced in his chest. he should have stopped then. he couldn’t give you what you wanted. and he couldn’t give himself what he wanted.

it was like he thrived on punishing himself. he didn’t deserve good things. and good things never last. the way you pulled at him led him to believe that he wouldn’t fully recover if he let you get close just to leave him. so he couldn’t let himself get to that point with you. 

and you were innocent and full of hope. you’d hate him once you got to know him. he’d been hurt too many times to count and he thought he had forgotten what it was like to love — to have someone you care about. he wasn’t sure he even knew how to love anymore. he’d hurt you. and he was your superior. it was a disaster waiting to unravel. 

but bloody fuckin’ hell, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to feel what he just felt in that shitty bar bathroom with anyone else. and that scared him. 

he could chase after you. you probably hadn’t gotten very far. he could explain everything. tell you upfront about his concerns. you could discuss this like adults. he could let himself have something good for once in his life. but he didn’t feel like he deserved it… deserved you.

he stayed in the bathroom, sick of his face, and punished his reflection, slamming his fist against the mirror, and shattering it. his knuckles coated with blood and he growled. he threw the bathroom door open and startled the two people waiting outside it. 

“what the fuck—you okay, man?” the stranger asked noticing ghost’s hand. 

ghost pushed past them and left the bar, but not before spotting you with soap. you were drunk and he needed to be sure you’d get back safely. 

he saw tears staining your cheeks and a pang of guilt filled him as he stormed out of the bar. 

chapter 9 ➡

[outatmako]

anyways here’s my incomplete list of reasons why trans boy Lewis just makes sense to me:

when he swims he wears a full rash guard, and he never goes shirtless, despite the fact we see other boys on the show shirtless

the one time we see him shirtless, in 2x01 (so not exactly his choice) he has his arms crossed over his chest the entire time -

he is pretty blasé when Rikki and Emma claim to be naked, almost like he’s used to sharing locker rooms and such with girls/women and is thus not bothered

similarly, is often wanting to sleepover with the girls on the full moon to protect them, but again is doesn't seem bothered about the implications of a co-ed sleepover, almost like he’s used to sleeping over with girls

he has an inherent understanding of the importance of keeping the girls’ secret, unlike Zane who needs the consequences shoved in his face. Lewis gets it immediately. almost like has his own secret, his own difference.

everything about the way he dresses has mega transmasc energy. it just does. the short sleeve button up, baggy cargo shorts combo? Faded graphic tee + frayed jeans + off brand vans? some stupid fucking hat?

that one scene where Cleo’s dad is like “the male of the species is predatory” and Lewis just gives him a blank stare and asks if he wants a biscuit. that hypermasculinity bullshit flew right past him.

this one requires us to accept Rikki is bi/queer, but that doesn't strike me as controversial. same taste in music as Rikki, meaning he probably listens to alternative rock and punk music (knowing Rikki). Very queer genres.

I'm transmasc and I said so

[toothachepng]

Kiss me Animal

This has been in my drafts way too long with me very slowly updating it. I haven't written in a long time and this is honestly super self indulgent. I just need more plus size readers with Brian in my life

Warnings- Reader is described to have tits and cunt and is called pretty girl. P in V, praise kink, Brian definitely being ooc and a simp for soft chubby girls, fight me. I think that's it, I tried to make it friendly for all the plus sized girlies to read so if I missed any warnings or unfriendlies just lemme know :3

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

It'd been a long day

A really long fucking day, anything that could have went wrong absolutely did. Brian sighed as he kicked off his boots, the soles making a heavy thunk as they hit the wooden floor. He flopped back onto their old couch, arms resting on top of it as his head leaned back. A hand wiped down over his face as he let out a groan recalling all the events that had occurred today.

It was supposed to be a simple mission really, take out two people and wipe up any evidence the two had gathered. This sort of thing shouldn't have even required all three of them, and yet it was the messiest job they'd done in a long while. Tim triggered the back door alarm which could have worked in their favor if they had known where in the house the victims were, they didn't. A chair got taken to the back of Tim's head collectively knocking him out for a bit. Of all things Toby had to be threatened with was a blow torch, the fire of course freaking him out and causing him to stumble into Brian.

Another groan left the man as he shook his head, cringing at just how clumsy all three of them had been. Of course they did what needed to be done, but the drive back was tense as fuck with the other two being royally pissed off about how everything had gone down.

Brian was over the whole thing, wanting to just let it roll off his back and move on with his day. The blonde lazily sat up, throwing his hoodie off and onto a chair as he walked into the cabins little kitchenette. It was almost a surprise to see someone else there, forgetting for a quick moment that it wasn't just him and the other two men in the cabin anymore. He eyed you as you didn't seem to notice his presence, which wouldn't be the first time for Brian anyways. You'd been here for a few months, the operator unfortunately having taken a liking to you and directing you to their cabin of all areas.

Brian's eyes washed over your plump form, it looked like you had just rolled out of bed, hair unkempt and a loose t-shirt falling off your shoulder. His eyes went lower, a tight lil pair of black shorts were hugging your ass and chubby thighs. He hated those tiny little shorts, though you obviously seemed to love them since you wore them so God damn often. Maybe if you hadn't Brian would have talked to you more, no excuses for his mind or eyes to start wandering, though even he knew that was a lie. The man still couldn't hold conversation with you even when out doing work, and you wore cargo pants for fucks sake.

Brian looked off to the side, not wanting to be a creep as he cleared his throat to get your attention. It seemed like that was always his goal though, not wanting to appear as some sort of creep to you. It annoyed him to no end, he was the smooth talker out of their group, if they had to talk to a victim he was the first to go without a problem.

"Hey, how'd it go?". You didn't turn to face him as he walked up to the counter, pouring himself a mug of coffee. Glancing at your face, you almost looked annoyed with the slight pout and furrowed eyebrows.

"It uh, definitely could've gone better, the other two went out to go cool off from it actually". You looked over to him amused, sipping at your own mug with a nod, eyes slipping down him for a brief second before quickly looking away.

"You alright? Look like you been sleeping all day, and doesn't look like it was a good sleep". He let out a soft chuckle, at the grimace that came over your face with a shake of your head.

"Yeah I'm alright, though sleeping would've been much more accomplishing honestly". You sighed out while setting your mug in the sink. Brian raised an eyebrow at that, more accomplishing?

Watching you walk out of the kitchen, his eyes trailed down once again, before letting out a cough to himself and looking away.

This was usually how it went since you started staying with the three of them. Sure the two of you had held a few conversations late at night on the couch, but you just seemed to hold much longer talks with Tim and Toby, Tim of all people? Brian felt like he was honestly losing his touch. With a sigh he rolled onto his back, thick comforter shifting underneath him as he stared at the ceiling. His body shifted as his mind easily wandered to past images of your body, his hand going over his face at how easily worked up he seemed to be lately. Maybe he just needed a good fuck?

Though, when even was the last time he got laid? Too long apparantly as he groaned trying to remember before slipping a hand down his sweats. He let out a huff as he wrapped a fist around his half hard cock, immediately an image of those tiny black shorts coming to mind.

He swallowed thickly as he slowly pumped up and down, wetting his bottom lip as he imagined your soft thighs spilling out of fabric. How they dug into your flesh when you sat on the couch across from him. He loved how when you sat down the soft skin of your tummy bunched up over your hip and spilled out of whatever bottoms you had on. He let out a low groan, imagining how soft you'd feel against him, thumb running over the head of his cock, smearing the drip of precum over his member.

His head tilts back against the pillow, a soft wet slap being heard around the room. He let's out a grunt, imagining the jiggle of your ass as you ran in front of him, fuck if only co-

Knock, knock knock

Eyes snapped open at the light rap on his door, an annoyed low grunt leaving him as he tucked himself back into his sweats. Trudging to the door and opening it, about to give whoever it was a fuck off.

"H-hey, um sorry I know it's late."

The annoyed look on Brian's face quickly fell, suddenly aware of how his sweats hugged around his crotch he leaned himself away from the door frame as best as he could.

"Oh no don't worry about it, I wasn't asleep anyways. Did you need something?" He smiled down at you as calmly as he could trying to appear as relaxed as he could. He scanned your body as quickly as he could, fuck you had another pair of those damn shorts? Another color but it didn't matter, you were at his door in those tight lil things with a snug tank top on. He gulped slightly as he watched your chest rise and fall, watching how your flesh threatened to spill out over the fabric. How it hugged your soft sides and hips and waist and holy fuck he could see your hard nipples clearly through it.

"You have a bad staring problem, yknow that Brian?."

Hazel eyes snapped back up to your face that held a small smile. Brian felt his face heat up as he coughed into his fist.

"Fuck sorry, could you repeat yourself? Maybe I'm more tired than I thought". Playing it off with a chuckle as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

You looked up at him with an eyebrow raised, stepping closer to him and into the door frame.

"I'm not that oblivious, you know that right?" Your hand came up to rest on his chest with a playful smile. Brian had to stare at you for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of your hand on his bare skin had his head reeling.

The next few moments were a blur of you getting tugged into the bedroom, big hands gripping at the soft flesh on your hips. Your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss had Brian almost melting, pushing you against his door as he felt you up. Surprised as soft lips moved against his own excitedly.

It felt like Brian couldn't touch enough of you, wanting more of your soft flesh to squish between his fingers. A low groan left him as you tugged at his bottom lip, his hand pulling your thigh up to wrap around his hips. A shudder went through him as you ground yourself against his lap.

Lips trailed down your soft jaw and neck, his hands going lower to squeeze at your ass while he sucked just above your collar. The soft whimpers leaving your parted lips every time he sucked on your skin had him grinding himself back against you.

"Fuck pretty girl, don't know how long I've wanted to feel you like this." He pulled away from your marked neck. A hand was brought up to your face and he let out an amused hum at the warmth coming from your cheeks. You let out a little pant before smiling at him.

"I should've shown up at your door late at night a lot sooner then huh? I guess I just didn't ever wanna interrupt your lil one on one times with yourself." You had a sly smile as you scrunched your nose up at him. Brian dropped his head with a slight chuckle, quickly gripping your other thigh and hoisting you up. He let out a laugh at the the yelp that came out of you.

"What a fucking tease, you knew all this time and didn't even wanna help a guy out? Maybe I should just leave you high and dry tonight then." He gave you a serious stare but it was a fucking lie. There was no way Brian was gonna choose not to sink into your soft form and watch you come undone. Annoyingly you seemed to already know that as you smiled at him.

"Just take me to the bed already, we both know thats not happening".

Brian could have said something sarcastic but did as told anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed so you were perched on his lap all pretty. His hands couldn't help but find place on your soft hips, thick fingers sinking into the doughy skin. His fingers found the fabric of your shorts, tugging them down and off of you, a small smirk forming on his lips at the sight of the pretty little thong you had on underneath.

You rested your hands on his chest, gliding them up and down the bare skin before dragging down to the top of his sweatpants.

Brian had to hold back a groan as you shifted against him. A sigh leaving him as you held onto his shoulders, his own hands tugging you closer as you ground into him. Half lidded eyes glanced up to your face, lips parted and your eyes downcast as you watched yourself move against him.

He felt like he was a in a haze as he watched you, hands gripping onto you like they never wanted to let go. He brought a hand up to your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss your lips. Brian guided your hand back to his sweats, letting you tug them down to let his cock out. A sigh left him through his nose as you got right back to grinding against him, his cock catching on your damp panties every so often. A low chuckle goes through his chest at the sound of your whines, reaching a finger down to tug your panties aside. Rough hands gripped tightly onto your hips, beginning to guide your movements as his cock slid back and forth between your wet folds, the tip of his cock bumping against your clit every so often.

You found yourself on your back suddenly, head sinking down into a pillow as you blinked up at the blonde. It almost seemed predatory how he hovered over you, flushed lips panting as his eyes raked over your form. His hand almost smacks down onto your thigh with how rough he grips it, watching the fat squeeze through his fingers before moving your thighs apart and moving himself inbetween them.

Brian gulped as he watched your chest rise and fall underneath him, the way you looked laying there had his head racing with too many scenarios of everything he wanted to do to you.

"Please?". Just one word had him almost losing it, he'd imagined himself teasing you until you couldn't take it anymore countless times, but right now he couldn't seem to find the patience. Brian has to almost hold back a groan as he grips his cock, pushing it against your wet hole a few times before finally sinking in. The whine that leaves you has him huffing out a laugh as he catches his breath, grip tight on your hips as he lets you adjust.

It's truly a sight to see for Brian, thighs spread open around him, tank top bunched up on top of your soft tummy, the fabric stretched to the side and letting your tits almost spill out. He watched as your hands came up to paw at his chest, a lopsided grin forming on his lips as you mouthed his name. He didn't need anymore than that to start quickly putting into you, a grunt and a pant leaving him every few thrusts.

"Feel so soft under me pretty girl, fuck, just like I imagined." Rough hands squeezed at your thighs and hips, trailing up to your tummy despite the whines leaving you.

"Really don't understand how many times I've thought about fucking this soft cunt, so fuckin warm and tight and so god damn wet. Do you hear the filthy sounds your little cunt is making for me?." One of his hands left your thighs, coming up to grip your jaw in his hand so you could look up at him, smiling down at you like the cocky fuck he is. It felt like words were stuck in the back of your throat as he fucked you, your mouth opening a few times but no more than a moan leaving you. He grins with a harsh pant, hand leaving your jaw as it reaches down to suddenly tug at your nipple, a yelp leaving you.

"Oh I knew you could still talk, come on pumpkin, wanna hear you. Gotta use your big girl words for me."

The way he was talking to you was certainly doing something to you, talking in that sweet loving tone, his words drawn out, and yet it felt like he was mocking you. A louder moan leaves you as he moves to grip one of your thighs, holding it up against his hip so he can fuck into you deeper.

"Come on, tell me how it feels won't you baby?."

Fast pants and whimpers are leaving you before you can finally get your words to work. "S'feels good! Feels good Brian!."

He can't help but almost laugh at how whiny it comes out, rutting into you faster as he leans down against you.

"Aw atta girl, I knew you could do it pumpkin." The whine that leaves you before hiding your face into his shoulder is enough to make him finally laugh. Still gripping onto your thigh he slows down his pace, feeling himself getting worked up just a little too fast. He leans down just a bit more next to your ear, breathy voice the only other thing you can focus on other than his cock.

"You like when I call you sweet lil names huh sweetheart? Can't hide it with the cute sounds you make everytime I call you something. Is that all I need to do to get you to listen and talk to me hm? Call you baby, pumpkin or tell you just how good you are for me?."

Brian was really just rambling at this point, the slow drag of his cock slipping in and out of your warm cunt had his head feeling hazy. He was barely registering the way your nails slowly dug into his shoulders the more he talked.

"Don't worry baby, you can be my good girl every night." Finally leaning back up, he holds your cheek in his hand, taking a deep breath as he picks his pace back up again. He watches tears well up in your eyes, how warm your cheek is against his hand from embarrassment was going straight to his cock. His lips were on yours suddenly, the kiss messy and wet with drool seeping down your lips. Eyes were half lidded, watching the other before Brian pulled away, thumb coming up to swipe the drool back into your mouth. A heavy pant left him as he sunk his thumb into your mouth, resting it on your tongue as he groaned. He kept it there as his thrusts became short and quick.

"Need to feel you cum around me pretty girl, wanna watch you make a complete mess of yourself." Fingers slipped down in-between the both of you, two fingers coming down to your clit and rubbing in slow small circles. The arch in your back had him speeding up his fingers, grin never leaving his face as he watched your eyes screw shut.

"Fu-fuck, I-."

"Go ahead sweetheart, lemme feel you." Just one more sweet little name was all you needed apparently as you let out a whiny moan, thighs shuddering in his grasp. Both hands came to grip your waist as he grunted, quick curses leaving him before he was spilling into you.

Your hand ran over your forehead and layed above you as you panted, staring up at the ceiling as you listened to the blonde pant beside you. You glanced over at him, arm laying over his chest as he seemed to also be in a daze. Watching his Adams apple bob as he swallowed before glancing over at you too. The boyish smile that formed on his lips was enough for you as you smiled back.

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

Comments super appreciated cause I really wanna get back into writing, especially for marble hornets. Also yes this is set in an AU where they work for the operator, I'm sorry but it's easy and I'm dumb for them

[apostacism]

wait ok i have some thoughts on this too but would LOVE to hear what u think about hawke's mabari

The short answer is none of my Hawkes have one and I'm against it from a meta perspective and a textual perspective

Like in a meta sense the mabari is a dlc added - as I've heard it told - to appease whiners who felt they deserved a dog and I find that obnoxious because of my own opinion that post-release editing your game based on fan reactions is a little bitch move that makes the game worse

SETTING THAT ASIDE:

There is no reason that Hawke should have a mabari. Mabari are expensive specialized war dogs belonging to the nobility (and to the Ash Warriors, who are a somewhat difficult fringe case, in part because they're so underdeveloped. Like the whole concept of the Ash Warriors is super weird, but let's just hold that they're allowed to keep breeding and owning mabari as this self contained mercenary group because they have to renounce all ties to the world and there's probably some benefits to having a reserve population to cross with noble stock. Anyway), and Hawke is a nobody from Lothering.

BUT as we know from Loghain, it is not impossible for the farming class to own mabari, so that in itself doesn't disqualify Hawke. As we also know from Loghain, having a mabari can attract attention, so I don't think on the whole the benefits of a mabari swing in the Hawke family's favor, but regardless, if we want to say Hawke HAD a mabari, there's precedent.

HOWEVER. The Hawke family had to get to Kirkwall. Flemythal ensures they get to Gwaren, but that's it. They have to get themselves onto a jam-packed refugee ship, and all the way to Kirkwall, and off the refugee ship, and into Kirkwall.

There's no way they're keeping the dog. There's no way someone at some point in that process doesn't seize the dog as a bribe or a requirement of passage - remember, Loghain is Teyrn of Gwaren at that point. While he personally probably wouldn't condone seizing someone's mabari, because of his history, we know from Arl Howe that his confederates would easily not be so restrained. A port authority, some random nobility... literally anyone could just demand the dog because they're Important and the Hawke family are refugees. And there's no way a ship's captain is allowing the mabari on their boat anyway. The space? The food? The shit? Maybe if the Hawke family could pay a premium for passage, but they're flat fucking broke and they have nothing. They can barely get themselves on a ship and they're going to convince someone to use space that could be used for cargo or overcharging refugees on a DOG?

It's the same thing even if they get the dog to Kirkwall no one is going to let random paupers in lowtown have a WAR DOG. An expensive pedigreed animal with INHERENT VALUE and INHERENT WEAPONHOOD. The dog is a WEAPON and you don't let poor people keep expensive weapons as pets and then SIC THEM ON PEOPLE in the STREET. doesn't matter if the people in the street are very very bad :( there's just no way. Someone along the way either wanted the dog or wanted Hawke to not have the dog or the dog just couldn't come with for logistical reasons the end.

Assuming the Hawkes even had a mabari in the first place which I'm still not on board with. It's like saying they had a warhorse like... no they didn't.

[snapghoul]

How the twins dress

Causal & formal, based off Glen’s style with ✨pictures✨

Note: clothing is so hard for me to write, like the description in a scene just does not compute, so this is mostly for me but more head canons on how their style differs from each other.

TYLER

Tyler prefers earthy tones, favoring browns, tans, oranges, and reds, and avoids obnoxiously bright colors. His clothing choices are practical and understated; he knows what he likes and sticks to it without any flashiness. He has a strong distaste of shorts, preferring to risk heatstroke rather than wear them. Jeans are his go-to choice, and he feels more comfortable in them regardless of the temperature.

His wardrobe predominantly features long-sleeved flannel shirts. This choice is for multiple reasons: it protects his skin from the harsh Oklahoma sun—having been fried crispy a few times—and conceals scars from his rodeo days. These scars, some from being stomped on or thrown against railings, are reminders of past injuries. While he’s not ashamed of them, he prefers to keep them covered, which also explains his dislike for shorts.

For formal occasions, Tyler adapts his style depending on the event. He might dress up a shirt and jeans or don a rarely worn suit, typically for weddings. No matter the formality, he always completes his outfit with a cowboy hat.

Tyler rarely bothers with his hair. He typically just wets his hand and runs it through his hair a few times until he deems it presentable. For exceptionally special occasions, he does own some pomade, though he didn’t even use it for his sister’s wedding.

JAKE

Jake prefers lighter colors, favoring blues, greens, black, whites, and sometimes brown. Being stationed around have made him open to diverse styles, and he enjoys experimenting with adventurous fashion choices. He’s sometimes drawn to shirts with patterns that fit his color palette.

Given his profession as a pilot, Jake opts for short sleeves, as he dislikes being hot and values the comfort of having his arms free, especially when he’s not in his flight suit. While he likes jeans, he also has a variety of pants, including chinos and tailored cargos, to suit different occasions. Living in California exposes him to fashion trends, which influences his wardrobe choices. He often wears a baseball hat to keep the sun off his face. He also has a pretty good selection of shoes.

For formal events, Jake will wear his dress whites or blues if required. Otherwise, he has a selection of suits and blazers in various colors for different occasions. For more casual formal events, he opts for a smart shirt and pants.

Jake styles his hair every morning to meet his personal and navy standards. Even when he’s off duty, he keeps up with his routine and frequently uses pomade. While he occasionally goes for a controlled messy look, he generally prefers a neatly swooped style.

My poor Pinterest algorithm is all Glen now. I searched him once for this and boom. And there’s always some random Miles thrown in there too.

[tradgedyinwaves]

ooo buddy. this was an awesome challenge to write as a female. I hope I did it justice for you. Tried to stick to gender neutral as best I could.

love and mushrooms, boo. 🍄

Stepping into the flat you shared with your military boyfriend, you slid off the way-too conservative loafers you were required to wear to the office, storing them next to your favorite platform boots. Immediately, your hand found the black locks on top of your head and mussed them up, making them stand on end in some places, but relieving you of the final constraints of your job.

Nimble fingers began undoing the buttons of the maroon dress shirt you wore, revealing more ink than skin while you untucked it from your black slacks. You loved your job, but having to show up looking like any other corporate jerk made your skin crawl (you left the multiple piercings in as a 'fuck you' to the system).

When you finally made your way to the bedroom, you found your boyfriend unpacking his duffel from his most recent mission. A soft sigh of relief left your lips as he turned to you with open arms.

"Come here, luv, I missed you," John beckoned, smiling warmly, making his mustache curl with his lips. You stepped forward and melted into his chest, arms wrapping around his body in a crushing hug while your face nuzzled into his neck. You could smell the gunpowder and stale scent of cigars on him, but it only made you melt further into him.

"Why don't you get changed and I'll work on dinner, hm?" he continued, pulling back only slightly to look down at you with those sparkling blue eyes of his.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, you were dressed more in your own style. A black tank hung over your upper body and was accompanied by one of John's ratted old jackets from his early years in the military. Your tattoos peaked out under the fabric every where from your chest and neck to your calves.

The baggy cargo shorts you slid on sat low on your waist, weighed down by the phone in your pocket. Your hair was wet, laying in a shaggy, black mess on top of your head. Rings and bracelets adorned your fingers and wrists, ready to be worn through the weekend while a thin ring of liner surrounded your eyes.

Coming up behind John at the stove, you wrapped your arms around his middle again, pressing your cheek to the middle of his expansive back. "I love you," you mumbled against his body, the words barely discernible, but John had almost perfect hearing thanks to always being prepared with earplugs.

Placing the ladle down on the resting dish, John turned in your arms and cupped your jaw before pressing his lips to yours. You welcomed the affection, opening yourself to him in earnest. His mustache tickled your nose, but after a year together, you'd learned how to ignore it.

When he pulled back, he tested his forehead against yours and stayed silent a moment, relishing in the quite space. "I love you too, my love," he mumbled back, pulling you in for another crushing hug. ""More than anything."

He pulled back to look down at you, bringing his hand up to pinch your chin as he smiled down at you. "There you are, looking much more like you." He stole another kiss before peppering them over your cheeks, over your jaw, and down your neck, eliciting a soft moan from you.

Your head tilted back, giving him free range of your throat while his meaty hands gripped your hips and pulled you tighter to him. The two of your were lost in your own world until you heard something singe on the burner.

Looking over his shoulder, you groaned, seeing the stew starting to boil over, and tapped him on the opposite shoulder. "John, baby, the stew," you said with an edge of frustration, feeling as though the stew did it on purpose to make him leave you.

With a laugh, he pulled away and turned back to the stove, turning down the heat and stirring it. His free hand never left your hip, holding you to his side. He brushed a light kiss to your temple before you heard his rumbling voice ghosting over your ear.

"I'll make it up to you later, promise."

[ranharrafantasy]

Satyr-day Nightclub [Transformation Story]

Intent eyes scanned the sea of bustling bodies in the neon glow of the dark city streets. Massive, over engineered buildings lined both sides with a black-to-grey gradient coloration due to years of acid rain. Pink, blue, and purple flashing lights danced overhead with advertisements, propaganda, and more advertisements. Dalton leaned against a concrete wall with his arms crossed. He didn't frequent this area of town. He had actually only ever been here once before, and it was that one time which made him come back today.

Dalton was 6’ 4” with the body of a jock, although he never played sports. He had short brown hair which he styled upward. On the side of his head, his hair was faded. His sharp appearance contrasted with his natural blue eyes which appeared cyan from the glow of his surroundings. His strong jaw didn’t appear diminished in any way by the thick stubble he sported. He wore a black shirt, a size too small to hug his muscles, as well as a pair of army cargo pants. To complete the army look, he wore dog tags, despite only serving in the army through the required training, Dalton loved the look it gave him. Who doesn’t love a man in uniform? At least, that’s what he was counting on.

Downtown Furtown, or at least that was what everyone called it due to the heavy population of half-humans and anthropomorphic furries living in the suburb. Thinking about it, Dalton didn't actually know what the real name of it was. Tendrove? Kendrove, maybe. He narrowed his eyes, refocusing on the task at hand. With his gaze slightly angled upward, he examined the heads of the animalized humans that crossed his path.

"No antlers, no antlers," Dalton said while bobbing his head from person to person, "antlers but not him, no antlers… Antlers-, aha!"

Across the street and entering a nightclub, Dalton watched the anthro deer he was looking for vanish through the doorway. Without wasting any time, Dalton began walking in the direction of the club.

Last week, Dalton was in Furtown needing to find an alternate route home after the hyper-rail broke down. He was in a rush and ran into a furry deer but might as well have been a brick wall. Dalton was knocked on his ass and the deer reached down and smiled, offering a hand to help him back to his feet. While Dalton didn't know his name, or anything about him for that matter, there was something about that encounter that made Dalton feel a certain way he had never felt before.

For the past week, he couldn't get the deer man out of his head. He thought about him every day. He was only hoping he would see him again in this part of town one week later, and it appeared that Lady Luck was on his side.

Dalton hastily maneuvered around groups of furries and humans alike, avoiding stepping on tails or running into someone who's had too much to drink. Before long, he was at the entrance of the nightclub and put his hands on the door, ready to push it open and find the guy that's been consuming his thoughts.

"Woah, woah, woah, bub, where do you think you're going?"

A large anthropomorphic bull with thick black fur, big horns, and muscles the size of mountains said, serving bouncer to the establishment, "Furs only, or can't you read?"

The bull motioned to the sign next to him that had bold red letter text on it that read , 'no humans allowed'. Taken aback by the sheer size of the bull and the blatant racism of the nightclub, Dalton took a moment to recompose before responding.

"But please," Dalton begged, "My job doesn't allow me to get mods and I won't even be in there for long I just need to talk to a guy that I-."

The bull grimaced and his eyebrows shifted. His arms were crossed and his muscles tensed beneath the dense pelt of bull hair that covered them. Despite the bull wearing sunglasses, Dalton could feel his piercing gaze staring directly at him.

"Unless you can show me part of you is animal, you ain't getting in," the bouncer said ending in a low growl.

Dalton's lack of self restraint got the best of him and persisted, "But body mods are expensive, please, it'll just be a few-."

A short line had started forming behind Dalton. A buff male wolf and a female leopard scoffed from behind him and shifted their weights, whispering to one another. Dalton could see the bull's nostrils flare as he finally moved from his crossed armed position and began cracking his massive knuckles.

"Scram," the bull seared.

"Alright, alright! Yeesh! You furs," Dalton said as he quickly stepped off, back into the bustling streets.

The dread of realizing he wasn't going to see that anthro deer he'd fallen in love with started to sink in. He could wait until he comes out, which could be hours, but at least he would get to see him again. He reasoned that was his best course of action and located the same spot he was leaning when he had spotted the deer earlier.

Dalton stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes went wide and his skin turned pale. He recalled that the deer had entered the club alone. And what it means when a guy is in a club alone... The deer was looking to hookup with someone.

His feet quickly changed direction as he walked down the street, now paying attention to the signs above him. 'CyberCafe', one read. 'Chip and Implant Repair', said another.

"No, no, no, no," Dalton said through gritted teeth with each building he passed.

He rounded the corner three blocks down from the nightclub and his eyes lit up at the sight. In big, bold, pure red text a marquee that read '24 Hour Discount Mod Center' in all caps glowed in the distance.

The place was located between a porn shop and a place that sold drugs, presumably not all legal, either. On the outside, lights behind the red panels of the sign flickered irregularly. A human man was in comatose on the grime stained sidewalk nearly feet away from the entrance. Another man with an alligator tail was digging through his pockets.

While it wasn't the ideal situation, Dalton was desperate. He had played the scenario in his mind hundreds of times of what he would say to the deer if he saw him again. Maybe it was the past two lonely years without anyone to hold at night, or maybe he was just erratic, but for whichever reason, with a sigh of concession, he increased his pace and entered the discount furry mod shop.

Inside was almost as grim as the out. Ceiling panels were popped off with loose wire dangling from them. Open boxes containing old medical equipment were strewn about, cockroaches and other insects had free reign over them. And between every tile the grout had turned completely black. Dalton didn't want to guess if it was dirt or mold.

He was only a few steps inside but his gut told him to get the hell out of there. He wanted to turn and reach for the door handle, but stopped before he could even start. His eyes caught sight of something that left him paralyzed in dumbfounded wonder. The mod-shops 'doctor'.

A humanoid canine stood on the opposite side of the dark room. He had grey hair, a grey beard, a dog nose and muzzle, and floppy dog ears to match. However, no part of him was covered in fur. He wore a white lab coat and black undershirt. He had thick framed glasses, also the color black clearly custom ordered to fit the bridge of his dog shaped face. But above all, the most noticeable characteristic was the two sets of arms that were crossed beneath his chest.

"What'll it be?" the dog doc asked.

Dalton glanced back at the door handle. He could still leave, it was still viable.

"Um, actually, I think I was just going to-," he stammered.

"Don't waste my time, just say what you want and I'll get it done," the doc said going back to typing on a computer at a standing desk.

The tech he was using looked state of the art. Hologram curved monitors flashed charts and chemical formulas but mirrored to Dalton's view as he could only see the backside. With his bottom two hands, the doctor typed, with his top two, one adjusted his glasses while the other pinched in on a data set that flashed on the monitor.

The sight of advanced technology eased Dalton's suspicion, but not enough to stick around. Dalton looked back at the door and reached for the handle but paused. His reflection showed mockingly in the glass. He observed his chiseled, square jaw. He looked at the convex and concave curvature of his natural muscles that he worked so hard for. His good looks were diminished by his cowardly stature. Hunched down, reaching for the door. He looked like a dog with its tail between his legs. He smirked. His gaze trailed from his reflection to the floor.

"Another two years lonely, Dalton?" he asked himself quietly enough for only himself to hear.

His footsteps were heavy and they slightly stuck to the floor with every step, but he slowly walked further inside the facility.

"Strip down and sit in that chair," the doc said pointing off to the side with one of his arms, not looking away from the monitor.

The chair was a typical chair that would be found at a dentist's office. It had teal and white padding. It stuck out from not matching the rest of the facility. There was clear evidence of use. Scratches and dents covered the sides, and there were a few darker spots stained into the padding. Possibly from blood or other bodily fluids. Dalton didn't want to think about where they came from.

He took a deep breath, took off his clothes, and sat in the chair. He should've been happy that he was one step closer to seeing the deer, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. His hands were shaking. He gripped the arm of the chair with one hand and he put his other on his chest, his heart was beating a million miles a minute. Being nude didn't concern him, but what did, was that he had no clue what kind of body mod he was getting and he was already this far committed.

The clicking noise from the keyboard a few yards away ceased and footsteps followed, "What'll it be?" the dog doc asked again, resuming the position with his arms crossed.

Dalton, once more, took a deep breath. For some reason, speaking felt harder than normal, "I'm looking for a furry, uh, body mod."

The doctor shifted his weight. Dalton couldn't tell if his gaze became more piercing, or if it had always been that way.

"Just a small one," Dalton corrected, "one that isn't noticeable, or at least, hardly noticeable."

The doctor's expression didn't change. He walked over in silence to a locked cabinet, opened it with a retina scanner, and observed the contents inside.

Dalton shifted in his chair, he continued, "maybe like cat foot pads... or a corgi tail, or a-,"

"You can't come in here expecting to be so picky," the doctor said, still perusing his goods, "discount mods are rejects from the higher ups, custom made for someone who decided not to go through with it. You'll take one that I got in stock, or you'll take nothing at all."

Dalton grimaced, "maybe, you could read off what you have?"

The doctor let out an extended sigh, "I got one that'll turn you into a fat black bear, one that'll give you talons and wings like an eagle, don't expect to fly though. A twink giraffe taur. A tiger with four arms... and two heads, two tails, and two dicks, wow someone went freaky with this one. Youch, expensive too.

"One that'll give you a pig nose and tusks," the doc continued, "One for a hyper muscular herm milk cow, huge tits, udders, vagina, and cock to match. It says here this one was only rejected because the client had a prior back injury," he kept moving the metal canisters, bringing them up to his gaze one at a time between his four arms, "You're in luck, I got an iridescent dragon tail. Changes color in the light, the rest of ya' will stay the same and it's only 600 RELL."

The visualization of transforming into each of the mods flashed vividly in Dalton's mind, each one somehow sounding worse than the last.

A dragon tail, how would he sit? Or yet alone put on pants? Dalton, sat up in his seat, putting his hands on the arm rests, scooting closer to the edge. He looked at his pile of clothes and then at the door. Neither were too far away to make a mad dash for an exit.

Dalton counted down from three in his head, three... two... one-,

"This one'll give you the cock of a horse," the doctor said, holding it as close to face before hitting his half-muzzle.

Dalton froze and looked over at the canine humanoid, "That's it? Just a-," Dalton gulped, "the dick of a horse?"

"Yeah, sure," the doc said, his voice getting higher during the drawn out words, "might give you a few other horse features, black toe nails, horse hair on the lower body, but the main 'feature' of this is the dick. Oh, and extra muscle."

Dalton, looked down at his own penis. Flaccid. Circumcised. He never had a problem with his manhood, but who wouldn't want a bigger dick? Or muscles? He started to get a half chub just thinking about it.

"And it's... subtle?" Dalton asked.

"As long as you don't get a stiffy!" the doc joked, but didn't show any additional emotion than his typical demeanor, "This is as subtle as it's going to get," the doc answered, "it even makes your cum taste like frosting."

He could feel his heart racing. Furry mods were irreversible. If he was going to do this, he really needed to be committed.

Dalton stammered to buy time, "H-how, much?"

He adjusted his glasses, "850 RELL."

"I'll do it," Dalton answered.

----

Full story and uncensored images at link in bio.

[greatwyrmgold]

Dungeon Logistics

Between the currently-airing Dungeon Meshi anime and my recent binge of the manga (I finally got past the 40% mark), I've been thinking about the logistics of long-term dungeoneering.

The Problem

Military theorists and historians have some rules of thumb about what soldiers can be expected to do and need. [citation] For instance, they usually need around three pounds of food per day and can carry around 90-120 pounds of stuff. (The total varies less by strength and more by how much of that strength you can convince soldiers to use carrying stuff the general cares about.)

Theoretically, this means soldiers can carry a month or two of food; however, hardtack makes a pretty terrible weapon. Most of their carrying capacity is taken up by inedible (and also important) gear; the standard rule of thumb seems to be that soldiers can carry about ten days' worth of food.

The same is presumably more or less true for dungeoneers. A wizard's robe, staff, and spellbook probably weigh less than a sword and a suit of armor, but that space is going to get taken up by the miscellaneous tools you need to survive in a dungeon that aren't necessary for armies walking through inhabited lands.

In short, in the absence of Senshi, dungeoneers can only spend about a week and a half in the dungeon. Obviously, you need to set aside time to return to the surface, so you can't go deeper than five days. Well, you can—starvation doesn't kill you instantly—but you really shouldn't.

Extra Cargo

What if we added some people who only carried food? That would help some. Including two porters per three dungeoneers would roughly double the group's operational endurance, from ten days to twenty.

But the number of porters grows rapidly as the desired trip into the dungeon grows longer; operational endurance to 30 days requires four porters per dungeoneer. Even if the dungeon is spacious for a party of dozens to be possible, having that party be 80% or more noncombatants is a recipe for disaster.

What about pack animals? Mules require about five times as much food as humans (assuming they can't graze in the dungeon), but they can carry close to 300 pounds of supplies. One mule per three dungeoneers extends operational endurance from 10 to 15 days, a second to 17.

That's not bad, but pack animals work better when they can graze. If the dungeon has grass or equivalent foliage, one mule per three dungeoneers increases operational endurance to about 26 days, a second to 35, and one mule per dungeoneer increases it to 39. But most dungeons don't have much to graze on.

For the spendthrift dungeoneer, pack animals have one advantage over porters: You can eat them.

Butchery

I can't find any actual data about how much meat you get from butchering a mule, but combining other data lets me estimate 300 pounds (with large error bars).

So you could theoretically buy a (relatively) cheap mule at the surface, bring it with you through the dungeon, butcher it when you'd eaten through the supplies on its back, and live off its meat for a while. In this case, you probably don't even need to feed it on the way down! I have been informed that you do, in fact, need to feed it.

Five dungeoneers could live off the supplies carried by an increasingly malnourished mule for about 19 9.5 days. The mule would probably lose weight during that time, but the butcher could probably get at least a hundred pounds of decent meat off the poor critter. That would give them at least a week of extra rations, plus whatever they carried on their own backs, for a total operational endurance of at least five three and a half weeks.

This strategy probably works best if the adventurers are planning to go establish a camp after a few days and linger there for a few weeks. That would let them slaughter the mule as soon as they reach their base camp and free them from somehow carrying a whole mule carcass worth of food around afterwards.

This kind of strategy could enable supply depots relatively close to the surface. If we increase the party from five dungeoneers and a mule to five merchants and twenty mules, they could supply adventurers going a bit deeper. They'd need to charge a pretty hefty surcharge—at the very least, they'd need to cover the cost of killing so many mules!

It's also possible to create supply depots without slaughtering pack animals, but they would need to be smaller, closer to the surface, or both.

It would, strictly speaking, be possible to make a deeper supply depot, supplied by a larger depot. It would probably be impractical, though.

Conclusion

Dungeoneers weighed down by their own equipment can only spend brief periods of time exploring a dungeon. If they include some porters or pack animals in the party, they can increase that to maybe a month (two weeks down, two weeks up).

A sufficiently profitable dungeon economy might enable a set of outposts where adventurers can rest and resupply between treks deeper into the dungeon. If enough pack animals were slaughtered, they might be able to bring supplies a week or two deeper than the surface market.

In the right circumstances, dungeoneers might be able to delve a full month below the sunlit world without eating anything except wheat bread and mule meat. But this requires a small army of merchants and herdsmen and porters and butchers and so on, feeding not just the dungeoneers themselves but all the people supporting them, and all the people supporting those people, reaching through countless miles of cavern and across acres of farmland.

And of course, all of that assumes that no step in this process gets disrupted by the dangers of a dungeon; no wargs killing your mule, no warg packs overrunning the outpost, no getting lost in the twisty little maze of passages all alike. The higher you build that house of cards, the farther you'll far if it fails.

Senshi had the right idea.

[typosandtea]

Vertibirds. 🚁⚙️🗡️🪽

So every wastelander and his dog know that the fallout 4 vertibirds crash more than settlements need help. But why is that? Here's my 2 caps on the matter. (Or: Bethesda doesn't understand aviation very well I think)

( So uh this is way longer than I expected, I was possessed🚁☢️:] )

TLDR: Horrific conditions for aviation, the difficulties of wasteland heavy maintenance, inexperienced pilots AND mechanics, and the WORST damn instrument layout I’ve ever seen

The Vertibird is designed as a fictional tilt rotor VTOL/STOL(Vertical/Short Take Off and Landing) aircraft which makes a ton of sense in the wasteland where suitable runways are rarer than hens teeth. One of Bethesda's primary visual design influences for the vertibird I suspect is the bell boeing v-22 Osprey.

This funky creature \/

This photo is from the Wikipedia page >Here< [ID: a photo of a v22 osprey aircraft in flight as seen from below and to the right, the aircraft is a medium tilt rotor aircraft with very large propellers, the aircraft is current in vertical take off or landing with the engines pointed straight up. The landing gear is extended, the aircraft is painted in air-force grey with the faint decal “marines” and the American army star on horizontal stripes and the squadron and registration barley visible on the empennage. The cargo and forward doors are open and a soldier is hanging out the front. End ID]

Now the Osprey has a bit of a reputation among people I’ve met who’ve flown in them, I've personally been told things like "if it's not leaking hydraulic fluid, that means you're out of fluid" and "its terrifying to fly in".

My screenshot. [ID: A screenshot of a fallout 4 vertibird, seen from front left in flight over bushland. the Player is manning the minigun and Paladin Danse is a Passenger. End ID]

Looking at the Vertibirds themselves we can make a few assumptions here.

The shape of the cowling and the noise they make indicates that the engines are some form of turboprop engine, likely requiring liquid fuel akin to Avtur(Aviation turbine fuel). Confirmed by the Instruments visible in the cockpit.

The most weight efficient way to move big parts is hydraulics so, they likely have complex hydraulic systems for wing positioning / AOA(Angle Of Attack) / engine angle. Likely also for landing gear since they have retractable gear in fallout 4.

That the BoS has modified them from the original design at least partially, allowing attachment to the Prydwen, likely other modifications too.

I strongly suspect that they have an APU(Auxiliary Power Unit) in the aft fuselage / empennage somewhere, since they have a massive air intake scoop on the top fuselage, they can self start their primary engines which either requires a ridiculous amount of electricity / amps or a source of bleed air. Bleed air is the most likely candidate for self start and is reasonably common on real turbine aircraft, APUs also allows for ground power without having primary engines running. Also confirmed by the instruments in the cockpit.

All of these points are well and good and common in aviation, even modifications (ie. STOL kits, survey aircraft, agricultural mods, skiis, ect). But modern aviation has some advantages that the BoS doesn't have: access to new off the shelf parts, proper verified documentation, proper test processes & facilities, and experienced personnel.

Don't get me wrong, I think Proctor Ingram is awesome, very knowledgeable and practically a miracle worker (especially with that one terminal entry about an engine failure field recovery she pulls off!!), but one chief engineer cannot maintain an entire fleet AND the Prydwen, she comments on how things are breaking often on the ship that she is very busy! Training of new engineers takes *years* to even get to basic level! Ingram can’t train anyone she is too busy keeping everyone in the air 24/7! So who is training all of these scribes? There must be a huge amount of time teaching and supervising even simple tasks! Even at their best the BoS wouldn’t be able to hope to be near the prewar standards of training! Even Ingram or other senior scribes would not be thaaaaat experienced, 10 years is not a long time to completely learn a new aircraft and implement systems & processes of maintenance. The point here is that there are inexperienced scribes maintaining these aircraft.

WOLRDS BEST CHEIF ENGINEER ❤️ \/

My Screenshot. [ID: A screenshot of proctor Ingram from fallout 4, she is standing in the Liberty prime control area. She is smiling. She is wearing her usual modified power armour frame. Preston is visible in the background with a clipboard and pen, he is wearing woody’s outfit from toy story. End ID]

Heavy maintenance in the wasteland, especially in an active combat zone would be an absolute nightmare, are the poor scribes doing overhauls on the flight deck?? Not really possible, so the BoS must have a ground facility at the airport somewhere. Also side note where is the rest of Boston airport? There is more to an airport than a terminal and 1 runway, where are all the hangars?? Likely underwater but still, no ruins??

Back to maintenance, aircraft need a huge amount of care, way way way more than cars do. light civilian aircraft IRL need a full inspection every 100 hours of flight time, which adds up incredibly quickly! For example if you have a one hour commute twice a day that’s MR(Maintenance Release) hours reached in 50 days! You legally cannot fly out of hours. And a service for small aircraft takes about 3 personnel / 2 days and that’s without any major repairs or ADs (Airworthiness Directives) to address! $$$$! Aircraft operating in adverse conditions also need additional maintenance, and coastal areas like Boston, are considered adverse conditions since the salt air corrodes aluminum and steel like nothing else! Corrosion untreated will damage your aircraft and if left too long can destroy the structural integrity of aluminum parts. The spars of aircraft are aluminum often!

My photo. [ID: The inside of a Cessna 172 wing trailing edge is shown looking inboard at the aft root rib, which is primer green, it is backlit by torchlight, the fuselage and a orange scat hose are visible behind it, it has 3 irregular shaped holes in it, 2 are by design but the third medium sized hole in the center of the image is eaten away by corrosion. End ID]

Vertibirds, between being shot at constantly and having a complex deign with a lot of precision moving parts will need a lot of repairs; moving parts means lots of upkeep, grease and inspections! The BoS by 2287 must have some sort of manufacturing back in capital, they cannot still be using old parts from the enclave after 10 years of maintenance, that’s a lot of grease, paint and hydraulic fluid!!!

The BoS must also have a refinery of some kind because Avtur is a refined fuel with some important additives like biocide. Manufacture and storage of fuel is very important since fuel contamination will bring down an aircraft! (and has multiple times IRL! :[ ). Water, microbes, and algae are real dangers to engines, with free water being the most common. Poorly sealed tanks or improper fuel storage combined with a incomplete or missed pre-flight inspection can lead to fuel starvation, since water is heavier than fuel and tank outlets are at the bottom of the tank. If you loose an engine on a twin, may God help you.

This image is from Concordia Bioscience >Here< [ID: A photo of a sample of pale yellow Jet fuel in a clear container, the sample is contaminated with water and microbes and has separated into layers with water at the bottom, then microorganisms, and then Fuel at the top, the image is labeled as such. End ID]

Getting to the most likely crash reasons now (finally), In my opinion that is inexperienced pilots and; a horrific instrument layout.

While there must be some lancers in the BoS that have been flying for the whole 10 years that they’ve had Vertibirds, I think that is likely the exception not the rule, even if they crashed a fraction of the time that do in game that’s still A LOT of downed aircraft!

Experience is only gained in practice, and unfortunately for the BoS they are (self-declared) at war so resources are thin and safe zones are thinner. I suspect that there are a lot of very inexperienced pilots without the time for the experienced pilots to really teach.

Linking to my final point, experience on an airframe itself is also important, you want to be familiar with your aircraft, even among a group of the same model aircraft they will each have quirks, like slightly different instrument layouts, slightly different handling/feel i.e. "this one flies heavier / slower" (at least that's my experience with smaller civilian aircraft) I imagine that the apocalypse did nothing for improving manufacturing tolerances!

FINAL AND MOST DAMNING POINT:

Experience can only help lancers so much when veritibirds have such a strange instrument panel layout:

My screenshot. [ID: a screenshot of a instrument panel from a Fallout 4 vertibird. it is slanted on a approximately 30 degree angle. End ID]

A bit weird looking yeah? For reference Pilot is left seat and copilot is always right seat, this applies globally even in right hand drive countries.

lets take a closer look:

My Screenshots. [IDs: Three screenshots of the same Instrument panel as above, but zoomed in using a sniper rifle scope to get a better look. The first screen shot is the pilots side, the second the center, and the third the copilots side. End ID]

All righty! So reading from top to bottom, then left to right we have:

On the pilots side: A Rotor%RPM gauge, a VOR(Very high frequency Omni-directional Range) indicator, a DG(Directional Gyro), a HSI(Horizontal Situation Indicator), and then a huge AI(Attitude Indicator),

In the center section we have: presumably light clusters (likely master warnings & cautions, gear indicators, and other status lights), a second VOR gauge, likely magnetic compass as they are usually top centre (though I can’t see it being at all accurate with all of the steel around!), the engine instruments cluster, and the APU status / control panel at the bottom. unsure of what the 3 clusters of horizontal buttons are suppose to be other than input of some kind?

In the Engine cluster: Torque%, XMSN(transmission) oil temp / pressure dual gauge, a gas producer % RPM gauge with small integrated single percent dial (like having a seconds dial on your watch for accuracy) meaning the engines have free turbines (compressor not attached to the power turbine), a dual load / fuel psi gauge, a dual engine oil pressure and temperature gauge, fuel quantity in pounds, a turbine output temperature gauge (the hottest part of your engine), and a clock.

On the copilots side: a second Rotor%RPM dual gauge, a third VOR indicator, Airspeed in Knots and MPH, a RMI(Radio Magnetic Indicator) which uses VOR and ADF(Automatic Direction Finder) on compass, a second DG, a second HSI, and a teeny tiny altimeter right in the outboard corner.

the 4 instruments on the lower copilots panel are completely unlabeled

some things of note that are from game limitations:

most of the engine instruments don't have needles at all

the DGs and the RMI use the same background asset, resulting in the DG wrongly having 'VOR' and 'ASI' on its face, DGs are self contained air driven instruments that work on gyroscopic precession, not any outside data input.

all of the instruments with a compass face all say north despite this vertibird not quite facing north.

the AI is showing wings level despite this vertibird being crashed and on a ~30 degree angle

there are not engine controls at all not even flat assets, only flight controls.

There are a lot of instruments here and most of them are reasonably OK read individually, BUT there at least 1 key instrument missing and the layout outs emphasis on completely the wrong things:

WHERE IS THE VERTICAL SPEED INDICATOR(VSI)????? That's a pretty important gauge in a VERTICAL take off / landing aircraft!!!!!!!!!! It's one of the basic six pack!!! how was it omitted??? Speaking of the six pack why is there only one ASI and Altimeter?? and why are they tiny and ON THE COPILOTS SIDE ONLY???? the altimeter is LITERALLY the furthest instrument from the pilot in a vertibird, it should be right in front of the pilot!!! the easy to miss altimeter would make IFR(Instrument Flight Rules) flying incredibly dangerous! Also why are there four VOR based navigational instruments? VOR IS GROUND BASED NAVIGATION!!! unless the BoS has rebooted the multiple ground beacons for them to navigate from that's THREE dead instruments taking up space on the panel! the RMI is slightly more useful as ADF can tune to commercial radio frequencies, though these would need to be strong!

These poor inexperienced lancers are having to look all over the whole unnecessarily crowded cockpit for basic information that should be right in front of them, causing reaction delays and possible confusion. That delay could be the difference between whether or not they are flying home today.

-> Bethesda doesn't understand what half the instruments do and while they did a good job with most of the assets, in their quest to make it retro-future / visibly different from actual aircraft, they have completely destroyed any use of logic in the layout.

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

Thanks for reading! Here’s a video of me yeeting Danse with the ‘Get out of my face mod’ as compensation haha

My Video. [ID: a video capture from fallout 4 in first person. It is night and is at oberland station facing the water treatment plant. The player is wearing power armour and the HUD is visible. The player is very close to Paladin Danse, he turns away from them and they shove him with the voice line “stay out of my way”. Danse flys a long way away while rag-dolling. The Gamer’s laughter can be heard while Danse is flying. The player follows Danse’s fall with the crosshairs. The player then walks backwards. End ID]