#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.

[whencyclopedia]

U-Boat: Germany's Submarines of WWI & WWII

The U-boat, short for Unterseeboot (undersea boat), was the name for submarines used by the German Navy during the First World War (1914-18) and Second World War (1939-45). In the two Battles of the Atlantic, U-boats sank thousands of ships, but defensive strategies such as dropping depth charges, providing air cover, and, above all, the convoy system, ensured Britain was supplied with the resources it needed to continue both wars until victory was achieved on land.

U-Boats in WWI

When WWI began in 1914, the German Imperial Navy had only 20 operational submarines or Unterseeboots (undersea boats), as they were known, a name soon shortened to U-boat. Together, Britain and France had around 200 submarines. German production went into overdrive to catch up. The German navy constructed several classes of submarines to meet different requirements, such as coastal patrols, laying mines, and long-distance vessels. By 1917, Germany had 140 U-boats. While the British Admiralty focused on smaller submarines for the defence of ports, Germany opted for a vessel that could attack enemy shipping anywhere at sea. U-boats became particularly important following the Battle of Jutland in May 1916 (a strategic victory for the Royal Navy, but one with high losses), after which the giant German battleships were largely confined to port. U-boats, on the other hand, were free to roam hidden beneath the waves and attack at will any enemy target they came across in the North Sea, Atlantic Ocean, and the coastal waters of the British Isles.

The earliest U-boats, the UB class, were limited to coastal operations, but developments improved their operational capacity as the war wore on. The typical WWI U-boat had a range capable of reaching the Western Atlantic Ocean, a top speed of 17 knots, and displaced around 700 tons. U-boats carried six torpedoes. Two torpedoes could be fired from the bow and two from the stern. The submarine also had a gun which could be fired when on the surface; this had a minimum calibre of 4.1 inches (10.4 mm). A diesel engine was used when on the surface, and twin electric engines when submerged. The crew on board numbered up to 39 persons. Conditions on board were extremely cramped and uncomfortable, and made worse by the constant stench of diesel fuel, which even permeated the taste of the submariner's food.

The German Navy built a larger class of U-boats, which was unarmed but capable of carrying cargo. The Deutschland was the first of this type, put in service in 1916. Some of these cargo submarines were subsequently converted into armed vessels known as U-cruisers, although the first were not operational until 1918. The U-cruisers had an impressive range of 12,000 nautical miles, and they could well have turned the tide of the war if they had been produced earlier and in larger numbers.

The UC-class submarines were used as minelayers from 1915. With a slow speed of six knots and a limited range of 750 nautical miles, these vessels were designed to stay near coastlines and lay mines, 12 per trip. The mines were released from near-vertical tubes that had been flooded. An upgrade to the class in 1916 increased the range tenfold and the mine load to 18. The UC II class was also armed with a 3.4-inch (8.8 cm) gun. The UE-class submarine was a larger, ocean-going version of the UC-class. The UE-boats, in service from 1915, could voyage 8,000 nautical miles and carry 34 mines. A class upgrade in 1918 meant the newer UE-boats could carry 42 mines in their tubes and another 30 in deck containers.

Read More

⇒ U-Boat: Germany's Submarines of WWI & WWII

[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.

If you like what I do, consider leaving me a tip on Ko-Fi!

[therealagustd]

SPN scenario where you're wearing a form-flattering dress at a diner (Sam, Dean, Castiel, Ketch, Gabriel)

(+ explaining to Castiel about how many dresses don't have pockets & complaining about it)

• don't argue with me about how inaccurate this scenario would be, just go with it, okay?!

• gender neutral y/n, they/them pronouns used, mention of Dean calling you 'princess'

• bonus at the end of how they react to seeing you in a form-flattering dress for the first time.

You're getting looks.

Gabriel has just teleported you to a seat with the crew because his attempts of messing with the waiter you were talking to backfired when you found the fumbling he caused the poor worker to go through to be amusing. It made you laugh instead of turned off from the poor person.

"Gabriel, what the hell?"

He smiles. Leaning back, arms crossed lightly and feeling a twinge of betrayal.

"What? Just saving you from heartbreak, sweetheart. You were mere seconds away from running off with your new bestie."

You raise a brow at Gabriel, leaning in, "That's not how I roll. I prefer an emotional connection before liking someone. I'm not about to give up on hunter life for a... waiter? No offense to waiters, I'm sure they're charming... in their, uh... aprons." You clear your throat and shrug.

"Anyway, are we ordering or what?"

Gabriel leans in, too, mirroring your posture like he’s studying you, amusement dancing in his golden eyes. He's not dropping it yet.

“Exactly. You meet someone new, you charm them with that animated little sparkle of yours, and next thing you know, poof! True love, elopement, tragic goodbyes. I had to intervene.”

You blink at him. He's smirking.

'Is this guy serious...?'

Dean lets out a dry huff of amusement.

Gabriel sighs. "Oh come on, cut me some slack. Emotional connection? How boringly noble of you."

Dean cuts in, "Can we focus? I'm getting hungry here."

"Aprons are practical."

A pause, everyone looks over. It's Castiel.

"They have... pockets."

A beat of silence passes, and then you're leaning forward.

"You know, I like the way you think, Cas. Not even my dress has pockets. Isn't that ridiculous? I mean, come on, it's the 21st century, and most dresses don't have pockets. Fun fact, it's the same with shorts and some pants for many people. True story."

Cas nods, taking this information very seriously.

"That is inefficient."

Sam, flipping a page in the menu, mutters, "Oh no. We've lost them to the pocket rant."

Dean chuckles, resting an arm on the back of the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, society's messed up, princess. But you know what always has pockets? Cargo pants. Get yourself some of those. Problem solved."

Gabriel leans in with a smirk.

"Yeah, and then they can go full dad-mode with a fanny pack. Really complete the look."

Ketch, watching in mild amusement, finally comments in his usual dry tone:

"I fail to see the issue. I have pockets. Multiple. Do you require assistance carrying something?"

There's a brief pause.

Gabriel bursts out laughing.

"Did you just offer to be their personal storage unit?"

Dean chokes on his own saliva.

"Dude, what?"

Castiel blinks at everyone.

"He is merely being practical."

Ketch, expression unreadable, just casually sits there, ignoring the way everyone is looking at him.

There's a brief once-over you give Ketch. What he just said definitely captured your attention. A hint of a sly smile is there, and you casually pick up the menu.

"Now that's a man."

Ketch glances over, not giving anything away.

But Gabriel, he's mentally noting that down. Dean is grumbling, and Sam is exasperated. Why are things so tense right now?

It's swiftly broken with a simple, genuinely confused,

"...You're saying... to be a man is to... have multiple pockets?"

Oh, Cas.

☆☆☆

bonus scene: how they react to seeing you in a form-flattering dress for the first time

Sam

Sam’s a gentleman, but he’s also a man. He’s observant, so he definitely notices your body. Especially if you’re walking ahead of him on a hunt or wearing something that highlights your silhouette. He’s not the type to stare, but he does appreciate the sight. However, he’d never objectify you. He also knows how society messes with body image, so if he ever picked up on any insecurity, he’d want to reassure you.

☆☆☆

Dean

Dean is not subtle.

He’s a red-blooded American male, and he’s absolutely clocked the size of your assets. More than once. He probably noticed the first time you walked past him. But unlike random guys in public, it’s not just about lust. It’s appreciation.

He’s got old-school tastes, and your figure? That’s exactly his type. He might even find it kinda sexy if you don’t flaunt it too much, but if and when you do enjoy the attention? Oh, he’s taking notes.

"Damn. I mean... uh, nice dress. If I had a dollar for every guy I’ve seen do a double-take, I’d be rich."

☆☆☆

Castiel

Cas doesn’t register physical attraction like humans do, but that doesn’t mean he’s oblivious. He understands beauty on an almost celestial level, and he can tell that your form draws attention. However, what concerns him is if you don’t always feel good about it. He doesn’t understand societal beauty standards.

Cas being Cas, he’d be brutally sincere:

"I see why some humans might... appreciate something like this. It accentuates your... assets."

Yeah, he's very honest.

"You were created exactly as you should be. I wouldn’t change a thing."

He means it, too. No hesitation. No ulterior motive. Just truth. He believes that you are divinely sculpted.

☆☆☆

Ketch

Ketch is polished and doesn’t let his reactions show easily, but internally? Oh, he’s noticing. He’s very aware of how you look, and unlike the Winchesters, he won’t hide the fact that he likes what he sees. He’s always been a man who appreciates elegance, but there’s something about you that throws him off his usual detached persona. If anything, it annoys him that he finds it so distracting.

Ketch wouldn’t come right out and compliment you in a soft way, but he’d make a point of showing he’s noticed:

"Confidence suits you. You should wear it more often."

He'll likely appreciate it if the dress is modest as well, finding it to be elegant.

☆☆☆

Gabriel

Gabriel is all about appreciation. He loves beauty in all forms, and he doesn’t hold back when he sees something (or someone) he likes.

He notices immediately, and unlike Ketch, he doesn’t try to hide it under politeness. He finds it adorable that you’re not always aware of how much attention you get. But the fact that you sometimes enjoy it? Oh, he lives for that. He loves that contrast.

You better believe he’s got jokes, but also a genuine side:

"Sweetheart, do you have any idea how many people would sell their souls to look like you? Not even exaggerating."

[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.

��𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 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 ➡

[trolledu]

During the filming of "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" in 1988, director Steven Spielberg made a casting choice that immediately intrigued Hollywood. To play Indiana Jones’s father, he cast the former James Bond, Sean Connery. The twist amused everyone, considering Connery was only 12 years older than Harrison Ford. Once cameras rolled, their chemistry exploded into something rare: two generations of action icons elevating each other on and off screen.

Harrison Ford, already deeply immersed in the character by then, had concerns about the tone of the father-son dynamic. Connery walked onto set with a swagger and confidence that quickly set the rhythm. During the first table read, Connery interrupted Spielberg’s direction and quipped, “Let’s make them human, not just heroes.” That comment shifted the film’s tone. Ford later recalled, “Sean could bring dignity to the most absurd scenes, and then, in the next second, throw in a line that had everyone laughing.”

Sean Connery was born on August 25, 1930, in Edinburgh, Scotland. Harrison Ford was born on July 13, 1942, in Chicago. By the time they shared the screen, they had both become household names across continents. On the set of "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," their relationship felt more personal than professional. Ford once joked, “He treated me like a misbehaving schoolboy. Off camera too.”

One of the most iconic scenes, when the two are tied back to back in the Nazi castle, became a hilarious memory for the crew. The tight setup required intense coordination. Connery, known for his improvisational instincts, suddenly added a spontaneous "She talks in her sleep" line during a tense moment. It wasn’t in the script. Ford’s stunned double take became one of the film’s best moments. Spielberg kept the camera rolling, and that unscripted line stayed in the final cut. Later, Ford said, “He outfoxed me in the best way possible. I nearly broke character, and it worked like magic.”

The off-screen friendship was real. Connery once invited Ford to a golf outing in Spain during a break from shooting. Ford arrived in dusty cargo pants and a baseball cap, while Connery was in tailored trousers and pressed whites. “You're dressed for combat,” Connery said, laughing, before handing him a proper golf cap. It wasn’t about appearances. Connery liked to keep up standards. Ford appreciated that and quietly adopted the habit of carrying spare shirts for reshoots after that day.

During an interview with Empire, Connery once remarked, “Harrison has a wonderful quality. He listens. In this business, that’s a disappearing art.” Ford reciprocated the admiration, telling Entertainment Weekly, “Sean brought a kind of old-world integrity. He could silence a room with a stare and make a grip laugh in the same breath.”

Their respect deepened after the film wrapped. When Connery received the American Film Institute Lifetime Achievement Award in 2006, Ford presented part of the tribute. He opened with, “I played his son. And I learned more about presence, timing, and grace in a few weeks than I had in years.” Connery, teary-eyed, later told the press, “That boy turned into a hell of a man.”

In 2020, when Connery passed away at age 90, Ford released a short statement: “He was my father… not in life, but in film and in heart.” It echoed a sentiment that had grown well beyond the script of a single movie.

Their collaboration was a lightning in a bottle moment, two stars from different eras finding something deeply human in each other under the desert sun, Nazi chases, and ancient temples. The connection still resonates every time audiences revisit their shared adventure.

Source:

[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.

[tomkaulitzssgirl]

Hi! can you do tom x fem reader where it’s mid June and it’s HOTT and tom and the reader decide to go to a amusement park with bill, Gustav and georg and the reader wants to go on all of the big rides and stuff!! and the amusement park is half water park also and there a tiki bar and stuff like that ??

SUMMER LOVING | TOM KAULITZ

the sun hit hard that morning, pouring in golden and relentless through the cracked windows of the van. it was mid-june, and everything felt sticky already—the air thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin before you even stepped outside.

“this was your idea,” tom mumbled with a sleepy smirk as he leaned against the headrest, his hand still loosely tangled with yours. his thumb brushed over your fingers, slow and soft, even while he fake-complained, “gonna melt before we even get there.”

you rolled your eyes, kicking his leg gently. “shut up. it’s perfect.”

you were already in your tank top and shorts, sunglasses perched on your head, legs up on the dashboard, toes painted bright. the boys were in the back—bill in some ridiculous mesh shirt and cargo shorts, georg half-asleep against the window, and gustav sipping an iced coffee like his life depended on it.

you finally pulled into the park a little past eleven, the parking lot already buzzing. the air smelled like sunscreen, fried food, and warm pavement. you stepped out of the van and immediately squinted into the sun, stretching with a dramatic little yawn.

tom stepped out next to you, dreadlocks tied back and black tank top already clinging to his skin. “you’re not seriously making me go on all the big ones, right?”

you turned to him with a grin that made his stomach do stupid things. “oh, i’m dragging you on every ride with a height requirement and a warning label.”

bill cackled from behind you. “she’s gonna make you cry on that drop tower, bro.”

“nah,” you said, grabbing tom’s hand again and tugging him toward the entrance, “he’s gonna love it.”

annd he did, eventually—after the initial complaining, the dramatic sighs, the “this thing better not break while we’re on it” comments. you both ended up screaming at the top of your lungs as the coaster twisted over the park, hands in the air, hair whipping in the wind. he looked at you afterward with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and you just laughed and kissed him quick on the cheek.

“see? fun.”

you hit every big ride before lunch—the spinning swings, the haunted house, the bumper cars where georg kept slamming into everyone just to be annoying. by early afternoon, the sun was high and merciless, and you were sweating through your clothes. tom was already unbuttoning his shirt halfway, his tattoos gleaming under the sun, his skin golden and warm to the touch.

“okay,” bill said dramatically, “we need cold. or alcohol. or both.”

“water park time?” you asked, already bouncing on your heels.

the boys agreed instantly, and soon you were all barefoot and half-drenched, running across the hot pavement toward the water section. there were lazy rivers, tube slides, waterfalls you could stand under and let crash over your head. you pulled tom into the wave pool first, water crashing around you both while he held your waist and pressed his forehead to yours.

“you look good like this,” he said, voice low and warm in your ear, “soaked. little sunburned.”

you splashed him in the face. “you’re literally leaking sunscreen into the pool.”

he grinned, wiping his eyes. “still look better than georg.”

you spent hours like that—floating, laughing, sneaking kisses in corners where the lifeguards couldn’t see. gustav bought everyone frozen drinks from the tiki bar, and you sat in a circle under a huge palm umbrella, sipping out of pineapples with paper umbrellas stuck in them. tom had a cherry one and kept passing it to you to steal sips.

“you havin’ fun, baby?” he asked, voice a little raspy from the sun and shouting.

you nodded, resting your head on his shoulder, fingers tracing the edge of his swim trunks where they stuck to his thigh. “best day. thank you for coming.”

“would follow you anywhere.” he said without thinking. then added, “even into that hell tower ride.”

you smiled into his shoulder. he kissed the side of your head, slow and soft.

as the sun started to dip lower, casting everything in warm gold, you all went back to the dry side of the park. you insisted on riding the ferris wheel at sunset, just you and tom, tucked into your own little cart while the rest of the park glittered below.

he wrapped his arm around you, cheek pressed to your temple, your legs stretched across his lap.

“maybe i was wrong,” he murmured, “this was a perfect day.”

you grinned. “told you.”

by the time the sun started slipping behind the rollercoasters, everything felt a little softer. a little slower. the heat had finally backed off, and the sky was doing that orangey-pink thing that made everything look like a movie.

you and the boys ended up back at the tiki bar, which was half-hidden under a canopy of fairy lights and fake palm fronds. the whole place smelled like coconut sunscreen and rum. a live band was playing something breezy in the background, the kind of music that makes your shoulders sway without meaning to.

tom sat next to you on one of the wide wooden benches, his arm draped over your lower back, fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of your shorts. you were still in your swimsuit top under a thin tank, skin still damp from the wave pool, smelling like chlorine and mango lotion.

he smelled like sun. and smoke. and something clean and warm that always felt like home.

bill had ordered everyone another round of those pineapple drinks, and you were sipping yours lazily, tom’s legs tossed across your lap now.

“i like you like this,” he said quietly, under the buzz of the music and laughter, just for you, “a little tipsy. all soft.”

you raised a brow. “you tryna get laid in a family water park?”

he grinned, lazy and slow. “i’m tryna take you skinny dipping at the hotel pool later. is that a crime?”

“depends if we get caught.” you said, and kissed his cheek with a sticky little smirk.

the night rolled on like honey—slow and golden and warm. gustav was nodding off halfway through a strawberry daiquiri. georg was trying to teach bill some horrible dance move he saw on tiktok. and you were leaned into tom’s side, sunburnt and glowing, feeling like the world had shrunk to just you and him in that moment.

eventually, you piled back into the van, everyone half-asleep, still smelling like chlorine and coconut rum.

later that night, you couldn’t sleep, which was weird since you weee so tired from the day. you looked at the time on your phone. half past midnight.

you were both in your room now, tucked into one of those cheap hotel beds that smelled like bleach and air conditioning, hair still damp from your quick showers. tom was laying on his back in nothing but his boxers, one hand behind his head, the other scrolling his phone aimlessly.

you nudged him with your foot under the blanket. “hey.”

he looked over. “yeah?”

“come swim with me.”

he blinked. “you serious?”

you nodded, eyes wide and soft. “midnight dip. no lifeguards. no kids screaming. just you and me.”

he groaned, dropping his phone. “you’re a menace. you know that?”

you were already getting up, pulling one of his oversized tees over your swim bottoms. “you love it.”

he followed, of course. he always would.

the pool was glowing blue in the dark, lit from underneath like some kind of dreamy oasis. the air was cooler now, and the water was just warm enough to feel like silk on your skin. you slid in first, gasping quietly, arms out like wings as you floated backwards.

tom followed, slower, wading in with that lazy confidence that always made you stare.

“come here.” he said, low.

you swam over, letting his arms pull you in, his hands finding your waist under the water. he smelled like clean skin and heat. his dreadlocks were tied up, his eyes a little sleepy but all for you.

you wrapped your legs around his hips and he caught you like muscle memory.

“this is better than any rollercoaster.” you whispered.

he smiled, noses brushing. “you said that after the ferris wheel.”

you kissed him, wet and slow and open-mouthed. the kind that curls your toes and makes you forget what time it is.

the water lapped around you both, cool and quiet. the tiki bar lights from the other side of the resort flickered faintly in the distance, and for a minute it felt like the whole world had gone still—just you, and tom, and the sound of water between heartbeats.

“you’re trouble.” he murmured against your jaw.

“but i’m your trouble.”

his hands slid lower, pulling you closer.

“yeah, you are.”

his hands slid down your back under the surface, finding the curve of your ass and squeezing tight.

“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, “you’re killin’ me.”

his mouth found your neck first. small kisses. then tongue. then teeth. your fingers buried themselves in his damp locs as his lips moved down, mapping you out like he was committing it to memory.

“tell me what you want,” he said, voice low like thunder rumbling under still water.

“you.” you whispered.

his hand dipped beneath the surface, sliding over your thighs. his fingers found the hem of your bottoms, slipping under with a teasing slowness that made you whimper. he kissed you again, deep and slow, like he had time to learn every sound you made.

your core pressed flush against him, his length heavy and hot, barely concealed now between wet fabric and the swirl of water.

you couldn’t stop touching him—his back, his arms, his jaw. every inch slick and strong beneath your palms.

“we can’t.” you whispered, but you didn’t sound convincing. not with the way your thighs were tightening around him. not with the way your fingers were already tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

he chuckled low in his throat. “you brought me out here. don’t play innocent now.”

his hand began to move between your thighs, his fingers brushing over the soaked fabric of your bottoms. your breath stutters.

“tom—”

“no one’s here, baby,” he murmured, kissing down your jaw, your neck, his voice soft and possessive and soaked in heat. “just us. you and me.”

he pulled your bottoms to the side under the water with practiced hands, rough fingertips brushing places that make your head drop back and your lips part on a whimper.

“i’ve got you,” he said, voice ragged, “just stay quiet for me, yeah?”

you nodded. you’d agree to anything.

he sank into you with a low groan, hands gripping your waist hard, your name falling from his mouth like a secret.

“look at me.” he said, and when your eyes met his, he moved. slow. deliberate. one long roll of his hips against you, and your head fell back against the tile, a soft moan escaping your lips before you could even try to catch it.

the water muffled everything—your breathing, the quiet rhythm of your bodies, the way he whispered your name like a secret between worlds.

he rocked into you with a lazy rhythm, hands gripping your thighs, mouth on your neck, whispering things you’d never repeat. things that made your spine arch and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

the tension built like a wave—one that hovered just out of reach, teasing, curling tighter and tighter with every push of his hips and graze of his lips.

when you came, it wasn’t loud. it was a gasp. a tremble. a soft, “tom!” broken across his shoulder. your body shook, wrapped around him, thighs tight, chest heaving.

he followed with a low groan, biting down gently on your shoulder, his grip bruising and perfect.

neither of you moved right away. just floating. tangled. breathing each other in.

he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips again.

“if that’s your idea of swimming, we need to do this every night.” you said, chuckling as you tried to calm down your breathing.

tom smirked, eyes dark and full of mischief, “yeah? lucky you — i’m a full-time aquaman.”

he pulled you closer under the shimmering pool lights, and you both laughed, tangled in water and promises that feel too good to be true.

[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

[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.

[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.