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[silaslich]

If it hurts to breathe, open a window

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Summary - following the first mission with Soap in mw2. You meet Ghost for the first time, he’s different to the stories you’ve been told.

Wc - 10k

Cw - heavy on plot, injury/blood/death, directly follows mw2 canon, canon typical violence, plane crash

Dark clouds crowded the sky overhead, swirling in a mass of stoney graphite and charcoal grey. The butter-kissed horizon of daylight had faded into a mass of deep violet and midnight blue, melting against the sky to make way for the cover of night.

There was so much noise around for your ears to process; the trucks engine roaring as it’s tyres rolled smoothly and quickly over the damp tarmac, the loud excited voices of the men sitting next to and across from you as they chatted away- having to shout into one another’s ear over the sound of the Boeing CH-47’s rotor system booming to life as she prepared to depart onto the runway.

You kept your eyes down, staring idly at the dark steel floor, mind processing and dissecting the information you’d been given not even an hour ago.

General Ghorbrani was dead. Killed in a missile strike in Al Mazrah several months ago after being discovered working with the Russians- whom of which were supplying Iran with armour and hardware. Part of Tf-141 along with Shadow Company had been the ones to neutralise the threat and the entire arms deal.

Same shit different day, only, it wasn’t as simple as that this time. Ghorbrani had a second in command, Hassan Zyani, Quds Force Major. He’d taken up the mantle for Iran. Now it was him supplying terrorists; money, weapons, intel. You name it. The man was dangerous and he wanted retaliation for the Ghorbrani strike, he wanted revenge, that in itself was dangerous enough. Laswell was convinced he was planning something, and whatever it was, it was going to be big. She had managed to track him and found that he was on the ground in Al Mazrah, and that’s just where you were headed.

You were knocked out of your dissociative state when someone lightly punched your arm. “Y’alright?” The Scotsman was his usual optimistic self, a stupid grin slanting across his face as he looked at you.

You nodded, realising the vehicle had stopped and was beginning to empty around the two of you. Soap stood up from the bench and jumped down from the tailgate, nodding his head to the side, signalling for you to follow him. You did, adjusting your gun at your side as you landed squarely on two feet.

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish had been a thorn in your side for the majority of your military service. Despite being deployed hundreds of times in numerous countries all across the globe you still ended up bumping into that big Scottish bastard far too often. He looked out for you, although you never asked him to, he’d taken a shining to you. And you to him. Like the brother you never had, and never wanted. He always knew how to lighten even the darkest of situations; whether it was his shit jokes or stupid questions, he never failed to pull you out of your own head.

You had joined the British Army at your earliest opportunity when you left college at eighteen. With nothing keeping you tied to home anymore- you left. Without a single pence in your pocket or a dream in your head. Better to die fighting in a war than die fighting an overdose in a back alley like some do. Stuck in a town that never wakes. Dingy corner shops and abandoned parks that are rusted to death. Those same people that have been there for years and never leave. They’re too content there, you think, perfectly happy in their mediocrity. You had wanted more. You didn’t want to fade into that kind of life. Scraping together change from a shitty job to get by, meeting and settling with someone for the sake of it only to have a child entirely accidentally- stuck forever. You needed more.

After serving for a little over a decade you were drawn for the SRR, moving up rank and earning your title as Sergeant only a year later- then finally you were transferred to the SAS. Who you’d now served with for the last two years. It was worlds apart from your early army days, you hadn’t needed to go through the selection process because you were handpicked and transferred, but the stories you’d heard over dinner in the canteen and through whispers in the barracks spoke for themselves in volumes.

Soap held his rifle with two hands, keeping it close to his chest as he moved to step forward. The two of you were strapped to the gills in full gear; night vision goggles sitting atop your helmet, throwing knives strapped to your sides and your full equipment vest covering your chest. A patch of the British flag in grey, black and white strapped to your vest proudly.

You stood fast- following Soap’s back with your eyes as you watched him approach another soldier. The soldier was tall. Much taller than Soap was, and that was saying something considering the Scotsman was at least a head taller than you, the line of your shoulder just reaching the mid of his bicep. His height hadn’t been the first thing you noticed about this soldier- no, it was his mask. The crude face covering was fashioned from a black balaclava and skull mask; sewn together with thick stitches connecting them to one another and painted with thick-dull lines of off-white down through the eyes and over the teeth. You cocked your head and squinted your eyes, you were stood too far away to hear what they were saying, and with Soap’s back towards you and this soldier’s face covered nothing gave their topic of conversation away.

Simon Riley. Otherwise known as Ghost both in and out of the field, not many earned the right to call him by his real name.

You’d never met him, only now setting eyes on him for the first time; but Soap had told you all about him. Not just Soap, but near enough every soldier in any platoon you’d served with had a story to tell of the Ghost. Wether it was something they’d either seen or heard, he had a reputation. Not only was he an expert marksman; he was highly intelligent and was a master with his knife skills, but he was most notorious for his stealth and torture expertise. He was an anomaly. Not only was he greatly feared but he was simultaneously looked up to and admired, soldiers wanted to be like him. Be him.

Johnny gave the man a punch to the shoulder, identical to the one he’d just given you, from the stupid grin on his face when he turned back to face you, it was clear Soap was happy to see Ghost. The man in the mask stood for a second and you watched, he didn’t follow after Soap right away, you saw briefly that his mouth was moving beneath his mask, he was talking to someone over comms. Slowly turning to walk the other way as he did.

MacTavish approached you “let’s get ourselves a win, yeah?” he tapped your shoulder twice as he passed by you, making his way toward the helo just twenty feet behind you, now full of marines.

“Let’s” you answered him swiftly, still watching from the corner of your eye as Ghost continued to retreat further away from the transport, you turned you shoulder to follow after Soap when he was no longer in your view.

~

It wasn’t long before everyone was onboard and you were air born, flying inbound towards the border of Al Mazrah. The craft rocked and jerked with the turbulence, it was cramped and warm and far too loud. Flashing white lights assaulted your vision like beacons from time to time, breaking through the streams of deep crimson red that painted the entire inside of the holding compartment. The flight was relatively short in comparison to other missions you’d been on. Still, there was something stagnant lingering in the air, a hunger palpating the breath of these men.

Laswell’s brief had been short and sweet, a run down on enemy positions and the split teams objectives. Three words kept ringing through your skull. Capture or kill.

When it boiled down to it. Hassan was needed alive, but the reality was there was every chance that it might be forced out of someone’s hands. It was still a mission success if he was killed, but the priority was getting him alive.

By chance, Ghost had been seated directly across from you the entire duration of the transport over. With his gun held to his chest he stared forward, right through you, and you did the same. He didn’t scare you, he had no need to. However, his energy did throw you slightly. He had a calm eeriness about him, and his demeanour was even and smooth, but you had a feeling that would all change as soon as he set his boots down onto enemy ground in a few short minutes.

The helo stuttered in the air, dropping lower and cutting through the air as you neared closer to the ground. Silently, Ghost stood.

His gruff voice tore through the white noise of the whirring rotors of the craft, this was the first time you’d heard him speak.

“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard with the Sergeant to land downrange” the heavy footfalls of his boots echoed across the floor as he proceeded down the craft, your rank and name ringing in your ears as he continued addressing his soldiers. “Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive” he stopped at the ramp, turning back to speak again “but this is capture or kill.”

As the craft came to thudding land and the ramp began to descend with a mechanical whir, the men selected for Bravo team began to stand, migrating towards Ghost as he stood and waited. Soap stood from his seat next to you with a grunt, adjusting his gun to free up his right hand; wordlessly he held out his fist. You didn’t need prompting, you reached up and bumped your fist against his, nodding at him as his mouth quirked up, just slightly. As you looked towards the ramp your eyes were met with cold dark irises staring right back at you, neither of you made a move to break the eye contact. Ghost was momentarily blocked from your view by Soap’s back, you heard the clack of Ghost flipping his night vision goggles down “keep up, Soap” he barked as he turned to descend the ramp.

You found yourself watching them both as they left, their stances shifting low as they drew their guns and headed towards the broken sandstone structures that had been destroyed long before your teams had gotten here. The ramp shut quickly and you were airborne again, the loud deafening sound of the rotars whirring over your head kicking back into gear again. You shook your head and took a deep inhale of breath, shifting to a stance that meant you wouldn’t stumble from the turbulence.

“You heard the lieutenant team Alpha” your voice was clear and loud, carrying through the torrent of noise. “Let’s get this done” you added as you turned, glancing out of one of the circular windows to peer out into the navy star-speckled night sky.

The sky was one of the only things that stayed consistent in your life. When things got rough or began to drown you, all you had to do was look up. No matter rain or shine; light or dark or sunset or night sky. It always gave you a calming sense of reality, something to escape away from the unfair world you lived in. Away from the blood and the bullets.

As you casted your eyes over toward a cluster of hills nestled against the horizon, a fast approaching stream of fire and smoke stole your eye. Before you could raise the alarm, the pilot’s voice sparked your comms device to life “All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed. We’re getting lit!” His panic was evident and your heart jumped in your throat, you needed to get these men out alive.

“Alpha team hold fast! Prepare for impact” your voice was hoarse as you shouted over the pilot’s voice as he continued shouting through the comms, you urged your men to copy your actions as you held onto the supports above your head, bracing for impact. You felt the entire craft lurch and you were thrown forward, hitting your head against the metal frame of the wall as you collided with it.

“Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!” The pilot bellowed and it rang through your already ringing ears, your vision blurred and the swirl of red lights had you dazed. You tried to stand again, the missile had hit and the whole contents of the craft were flung upwards, including you and your men. You urged them to hang on, to protect themselves from injury as best they could-this was bad and you knew it. You gave them hope as your brain ran into overdrive, wondering how to come out of this.

The impact was like nothing you’d ever experienced- there weren’t any training drills that could simulate a cargo helo crashing from a missile strike at full plummeting speed. Yourself and everyone else on board were flung like rag dolls, colliding with each other, colliding with the walls and ceiling. You caught yourself on a loose seatbelt as you were sent flying forward, palms stinging as the material tore through the skin of your palms. You managed to steady yourself and were forced to watch as one soldier attempted to break his fall with his hands, his arms snapping like twigs from the g-force of the crash and the weight of his own body. You let go of the belt and landed on your back, your ribs connecting with a weapons carrier on the way down as another jolt sent you hurling at Godspeed. You heard the crunch of your bones and winced at the sting running up your side like an electric shock.

The whole ordeal was quick; as the smoke rose and the broken-frayed wiring sparked to illuminate the chaos around you, you could see clearly the full extent of destruction and devastation from the crash.

You coughed as you felt blood begin to fill your mouth and you could feel something warm oozing down the right side of your face. Before you could fully process the scene around you, your comms crackled and a voice found your ears. “Alpha, what’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice was on the brink of showing a slight slither of emotion. You felt like you were choking, the blood and the smoke, it was all too much. You blinked through the darkness and tried to gather your bearings. Rising gingerly to your knees, you were quick to have to clutch at your side, trying to subdue the pain.

Blood stained the walls and floors, bodies were slumped around you and all you could hear was the sounds of coughing and shifting that were almost muted against the sound of the fire now ripping through the crash site. “Alpha, how copy?” Ghost was there again in your head, voice rattling through your ear piece.

You cleared your throat “Ghost” you choked on the blood in your mouth “Alpha is immobile multiple critical!” You slumped down, your body ceasing from the pain as it tore through your nerves. Your senses were lit ablaze when bullets began to rain through the fire and debris, catching the metal and rattling like hailstones. You pressed yourself low to the ground with a pained grunt, pressing your thumb down on your comms again. “Shit! We’re taking effective fire!” You shouted, crawling on your hands and knees toward the wounded, planning to find a gun and cover them from the bullets.

“Sergeant, we’re moving to building 1, hold tight!” As quick as his voice was there again, it was gone.

Your eyes searched the wreckage for anything to help combat the active fire you were taking, that’s when you noticed a gun beneath one of the wounded and you crawled closer towards him. Trying to be as gentle as you could, you rolled him onto his side but he still howled in pain- despite the guilt you knew you had to press on. You nudged the gun from beneath his legs and laid him flat again, not wanting to do him anymore damage if it were his neck or spine that was injured. You grabbed the gun and moved towards better cover, the wreck wasn’t secure and it wouldn’t be long before the enemy moved closer and you’d be compromised. You didn’t open fire yet, there was no point with just one gun, you kept your eyes about you but moved to tend to more wounded.

It was clear that amongst the casualties there were mortally wounded soldiers on your hands, some already dead or close to it. You tried to make them comfortable, trying hard not to think too hard into it. You would want the same if you were in their position. You tried to drown out the noise of the shells raining through the wreckage. Spouting nonsense about nothing, humming a tune as you tied a strip of ripped cloth around someones half amputated leg. You’d seen chaos before, even before you joined the army, but you hadn’t seen this caliber of bloodied carnage in a long time- not since you’d first been deployed.

Back when the fresh faces of young soldiers are first shipped out, not knowing what lays ahead, unknowing that the friends they made in their months of training could soon be lying face down in the mud. You didn’t like thinking back to that time, but right now, you’d give anything to be back there.

You didn’t keep track of time, you thought it best not to. The fire was burning its way around you, it felt like it was under your skin, sweating from the inside out. Bullet shells didn’t cease fire upon your position, they grew erratic and laboured, like the enemy were unsure if anyone was even still alive in the wreckage. You jumped when you heard a voice in your ear again.

“Soap- we’re moving to the crash site to help the wounded. Rest o’ you hold here and cover us” it was Ghost again. The boys were close, not long and you’d have help. It might have only been seconds before you heard footsteps closing in, you could never be safe, you pointed your gun towards the noise and held your finger on the trigger. Always ready. You focused your eyes, squeezing the trigger.

“Blue blue!” A voice shouted, you dropped the aim of your gun, relief rinsing through your bloodstream as you saw Ghost and Soap enter the wreckage.

“It’s good to see you two” you sighed “we’ve got five KIA and one wounded, it’s just me and my gun” you said, eyes daring to peer outside toward the tree line, checking for more movement. Ghost stiffened.

“They’re here, get your fuckin’ gun on that tree line” he ordered, moving himself into position as Soap followed.

You raised yourself up, holding onto some webbing draping across the craft for some leverage, you’d taken more damage than you’d initially realised. It would have to wait. Coming up to stand to your full height, you shuffled yourself into a better position. You took a low firing line, flipping the night vision goggles atop your helmet into position so you could better see. It wasn’t clear, smoke still rising, but it was clear enough.

“Got movement” Soap stated roughly.

“If you have a shot, take it” Ghost’s tone was menacing, his demeanour had done a complete 180 onto its head, like you’d predicted. You were the first to shoot.

“Engage!” you shouted, spotting more shooters spilling from behind a wall. Bullets sliced through the air, the sound ringing in your ears from all angles. You hit multiples, as did the boys, the enemy gave it their best go too. Your eyes caught sight of something, you shouted as you realised what it was. “RPG!” You ducked your head, watching the men in the wreckage around you do the same, very briefly. What was left of the helo rocked and jerked from the force of the blow, more metal flying away and shredding.

“Fuck” Soap growled, losing his bearings. Ghost let out a frustrated noise.

“Get your guns up” you all continued to fire, watching more enemy soldiers dropped to the ground.

This continued, more and more soldiers spilling from the tree line and opening fire. You were low on ammo, you threw a grenade out the window in front of you and it rolled towards a cluster of wooden supply boxes, at least three men were killed when the blast went off. Ghost was opening fire like hell, Soap too, the Scotsman quickly running out and setting mines between reloading stints to fend off the targets that managed to get close enough.

“Dig in, lads. We’re not done yet” the lieutenant was still firing as he spoke, not letting his guard down once. You kept your eyes forward, squinting them when you noticed an abnormal layering of smoke begin to rise from the tree line.

“We got smoke, boys, in the tree line” you grit your teeth, knowing what this meant.

“No visual” Soap said, flatly.

You retorted “I can’t see shit”.

There was a second of silence, “incoming!” Ghost shouted.

More fire hit you, a bullet whizzed so close past your face you wouldn’t have been surprised if it left a mark. Too close. You’d not realised, but Ghost was practically at your side, covering more men coming from the tree line closer to where you were shooting.

“Take cover!” he barked, cold eyes glaring forward as he shot more rounds into the smoke. More explosions rang out, coming closer each time, rumbling the very earth from the force of it.

“They’re launching grenades!” Soap shouted.

Your gun ran out of ammo and you’d lost your hand gun in the crash, your eyes darted around, then you saw the one strapped to the lieutenant’s thigh. You ripped it quickly from the holster, adjusting your position on your knees to get a better shot. You fired through the explosions and into the darkness, hearing more thuds as more targets hit the dirt. Ghost didn’t seem to react to you taking his gun, maybe he was too focussed on the incoming fire. You didn’t catch what he said, speaking through comms to whoever was there. Your brain felt like mush and your ears were still ringing, not to mention the bleeding from your head hadn’t stopped.

“Air support is on its way” he said.

Some of the smoke started to clear. Less and less soldiers were pushing through to the wreckage, this was nearly over.

“Let’s move up. We clear this position and push forward, if Hassan is still here he’s up ahead” Ghost gave the order, Soap clearly didn’t agree but there was no time for discussion. You whistled for their attention.

“Armoured vehicles closing in, there’s four of ‘em” you stated, watching them roll into the darkness through your goggles.

The men adjusted their stances, “let ‘em get close” Ghost ordered, clearly thinking about conserving energy and ammo. You nodded.

Just as they came close enough, the three of you let bullets free, the enemy returning it back with the same fever. To your relief the skys growled over head, barely noticeable through the shrouds of smoke, turrets of bullets rained down by the hundreds, air support cleared the way for you to move up the hill.

A soldier from bravo team radioed through from where he was covering your position, “all clear lieutenant, no movement ahead” he stated.

Ghost replied straight away with a simple “rog”.

Ghost turned, not specifically toward you but toward the entirety of the wreckage, darkened eyes scanning the carnage. His thumb pressed into the button of his comms device, “air support, task a bird for casualty evac” it crackled as he waited for a response.

“Roger that lieutenant” they quickly responded.

Soap and Ghost led the way out of the wreckage and you quickly followed after them. “Alpha you’re with us” Ghost shouted, a number of soldiers joined you as they answered back a “yes sir” in unison.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire and your ribcage felt weak, hollow-boned like that of a bird. The pain was piercing you, like needles pressing deep down into the fibres of your muscles. But you kept on, legs carrying you along with the others, pure adrenaline being your only saving grace at this point. You hissed in pain as your damaged knee almost gave way beneath you, the lieutenant noticed.

“They used us for fucking bait, didn’t they?” you growled, trying your best not to look like you were struggling. Ghost cocked his head toward you.

“They’re well supplied and fighting smart, thanks to Hassan” he put it simply. Soap chimed in.

“Aye. Looks like you were right, Lt.” he said.

Your eyes took in the scene in front of you, fire and explosions lighting the way. “You think Hassan’s still here?” You asked, eyes and borrowed hand gun still aiming forward.

“Heli crash gave ‘em an opening. Let’s see if they took it” Ghost was a realist. Good to know.

All of you continued to run. Breaths heaving and bodies aching. Adrenaline fuelled your blood, you moved up quickly, arriving at the last building. You went to take positions when fire rained toward you, a soldier only inches to your left dropped, caught in the line of a sniper.

“Man down!” you shouted, unable to look at the man as you took his rifle. You dropped low as everyone around you did the same, focusing fire on the roof top of the building.

“AQ has got night vision” Soap stated the obvious, taking out two snipers simultaneously. You grunted in response, focusing your eye through the scope and taking out another shooter up ahead.

“Clear” Ghost shouted. “Move up. Let’s find Hassan, dead or alive” his tone shifted, dangerous now.

You made it to the house. Clearing the first floor, dropping anyone that moved. “We need positive ID on Hassan, check the bodies” you barked out to the soldiers behind you, sticking with Soap and Ghost as they continued to move on.

It was all negative. No positive ID from any of the bodies, he wasn’t upstairs either. The three of you continued, a door flung open, before they could even move to fire their weapon, Ghost shot a round into their stomach and another into their skull. Dropping them effortlessly like it was nothing.

The house was wrecked. A twisted mess of broken brick and fractured stone, electrical wire looming low overhead firing sparks in all directions. You stuck close to Soap as he followed Ghost, noticing that there was a voice playing through something- you all moved toward it, heading up more stairs. Ghost broke the door with a kick, no positive on Hassan, just his propaganda playing on loop through a laptop.

“Hassan’s everywhere” Ghost growled and

“Everywhere but here” Johnny scoffed.

You split off, heading off alone through more of the upstairs, the boys didn’t noticed you’d gone. They’d clearly continued on thinking you were right there behind them. You pointed your gun around the door frame of an upstairs corridor, your body following as you perceived it to be clear. Last minute, bullets flew through a compromised section of the dry wall, heading straight towards you. By some luck, you’d managed to dodge them, leering forward behind a protruding structure in the wall and retaliating with your own fire. You cleared the corridor and entered the room that the target had been guarding. Hassan had been in there.

Ghost and Soap must have been alerted by the gun fire, they came in hot, practically sprinting to your location. They stopped short in the doorway, your back was towards them, their eyes searched the room. You turned towards them, a uniform jacket scrunched tightly in your fist.

“Hassan’s uniform” you seethed. Mactavish gave out a grunt.

“So he was here” he flailed an arm in frustration. Ghost remained in the doorway, his eyes low.

“Lost him when we secured the crash site” he said simply, lowly.

The weight of Ghost’s words hit you in the chest like a bullet, but you knew they shouldn’t have, deep down you knew he was right. Soap was standing between you and Ghost, his eyes darting between the two of you.

“Are you sayin’ we shouldn’t have helped?” Soap squared his shoulders. Ghost just shrugged.

“Choices have consequences”. It was just that simple.

“All bravo, we’ve got movement out here” the voice hit through your ear piece, breaking the tension in the room.

“On the way” Ghost confirmed.

The three of you continued on. Moving back the way you’d come and heading out towards the rest of the team, they’d seen movement in a warehouse up ahead. All of Bravo and what was left of Alpha moved in, lighting up fire when they reached the rolling doors. More soldiers dropped. Shot dead. You all kept pushing through, eyes through scopes and fingers on triggers. You broke off, tucking and rolling behind a metal container, opening more fire as you pushed the enemy back with forcible ammunition. Ghost was on your tail, following after you and overtaking, pushing on through. Soap was up next and came to cover you, locking his palms together to make it easier for you to hoist yourself up on top of the container. There was another container there to keep you shielded, it gave you a vantage point over the targets that had tried to retreat to higher ground. You dropped them easily.

For what felt like the first time in hours, everything stopped. All of the noise. Everything.

“Are we clear?” Soap shouted up to you, you let out a laboured breath. You stuck your thumb up.

“Clear” you said. Your knees burned as you jumped down from the container, you didn’t give yourself a chance to ease yourself down.

“Search it, let’s see what they’re hiding” Ghost’s voice echoed through the now dying silence, the warehouse carrying the gravely baritone of his voice. You closed in on Johnny, following him as he approached one of the container doors that was ajar. From first look, it was controls. Panels and buttons and screens.

“What the fuck is this?” Soap queried. You looked closer.

“It’s all in English” you said, eyes still scanning frantically. Living up to his name, Ghost was suddenly there, behind you, so close you could feel his warmth at your back. You watched as Soap flipped one of the switches, the entire warehouse shook, the container vibrating and whirring.

All three of you stepped back quickly, eyes trained up watching it all unfold.

“Fucking hell” you breathed.

“Steamin’ Jesus” Soap’s jaw was on the floor.

“Ballistic missiles”. Ghost’s gaze hardened.

You frowned “it’s a mobile launcher”.

Another soldier chimed in behind you. “These will go 1,000 miles”.

“At least” Ghost added.

You stepped forward and moved around to the left of the container to get a better look, Soap wasn’t far behind.

“How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” Soap growled in the back of his throat.

The men watched as you ascended the weapon carriers that were piled up next to the container, making quick work of the climb, a new shot of rage fuelled adrenaline kicking through your veins.

Ghost spoke up “7-6, get us through to Laswell” his eyes were still scanning the discovery in front of him.

“Roger, stand by” the soldier spoke quickly “Bravo 7-6 Charlie to Watcher-1, how copy?” You all waited for a response.

Laswell’s voice quickly chimed in “this is Watcher-1, send traffic” she spoke clearly.

“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something” the concern was laced in his voice.

“You found Hassan?” She asked quickly.

Your eyes landed on something truly jolting. “Ghost, Soap, take a look at this” you urged, turning your neck to meet their eyes, their expression no doubt mirrored yours. Laswell’s frantic voice broke the silence again.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” She asked again.

You watched as Ghost pressed down the button to his comm, leaning down to speak loud and clear. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles, they’re American” a silence enveloped the warehouse.

“0-7 this is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat your last” General Shepherd’s voice was frantic.

“I’ll say again, Hassan has American missiles” Ghost repeated.

It’s almost as if the air was sucked from the warehouse like a vacuum. You would have heard a pin drop it was that quiet. The way you slumped down into a seated position wasn’t graceful or quiet, but you weren’t about to stand for any longer then you needed to. Soap snapped his neck toward you, his eyes searching yours, you nodded toward him with a half-arsed thumbs up. You saw in the way that his expression fell that you weren’t in a good way, the bleached lights of the warehouse would have left no injury of yours unseen to the eye. You’d lost a lot of blood but you’d make more, right now there were more important things to worry about.

~

Rain pattered gently across your cheeks, it’s cold chill seeping right down to your bones- forcing you to shiver. You hummed, arms crossed over your chest as you sat on the damp brick stone wall with your chin tilted skyward, more droplets cascading down your face like gentle streams over your skin.

This was probably the only thing you missed about England. The shit weather. Soaking wet springtimes and late hazy summers, rugged cold autumns and early winters smothered with snow. You struggled to remember much about them; you didn’t have fond childhood memories of building snow men and drinking hot chocolate, nor were you able to think back to a summer where you’d stay at the park all day playing football, coming home to a freezer-burnt ice cream that your mum had dug out for you.

There was none of that. None of the warm fondness or swell of nostalgic familiarity in your chest. You pushed everything away. There was nothing that you saw worthy to keep in your head; no core memories of birthdays or holidays, no movie nights in or sleepovers with friends. Your entire childhood had been stolen from you, thrown away- just like you had been.

Your memories of British summertimes were filled with laughter; water fights on the barrack fields after quitting time. Bike rides at sunrise instead of hitting the gym, even wild swims at the coast on rarer occasions.

The wet springtimes; running drills through knee high mud, purposefully hitting the ground with heavy footfalls to splash one another. Wringing out your rain soaked shirts in the locker rooms and whipping each other till your skin welted- crying with laugher till you were on the floor.

Autumn, perhaps your favourite. Walking across base - watching as the leaves fell in a blanket of umber and tawny, crunched under your boots, the smell of damp earth in the air, so fresh and free as it stole the very breath from your lungs.

Harsh winters were common, on the contrary to summer, wild swims in below freezing temperatures as part of vital training, your teeth chattering so hard you were sure they’d break. Warm hot chocolate spiced with a drop of whiskey in the evening; settled around a table, talking about everything and nothing in the communal rooms while shuffling a deck of cards- thinking about the idea of found family, realising it’s not as far out of reach as you’d thought.

Those were your memories of home, of England, your memories of the place you were born.

The military had been the making of you- there was nothing before that, you were made for this. You told yourself that on repeat, the army had saved you, put a roof over your head. There was no shadow of doubt that your life would have been very different if you hadn’t taken this route, and you were convinced that you would have been six feet under by now.

The rain was only passing. The frigid breeze carrying it ever so gently, kissing your skin. You wished a storm would come your way, wash you out and provide a much needed clarity- a reset. You did always love thunderstorms, watching the lightning split the sky, cracking and illuminating as it broke apart.

You were sitting outside. The backend of the barracks were more sheltered, further hidden from higher ups that would scald you for being outdoors so late.

After the last twenty-four hours you’d had, you should have completely crashed. Been dead to the world as soon as your head hit your pillow. But you didn’t - couldn’t. Unable to sleep, unable to settle, thoughts racing and mind following. There was so much going through your head, and that wasn’t common for you, this should have been just like any other day; any other job.

Something was different, and you knew it was far from over yet.

Soap had been by your side the entirety of the transport back to the barracks, his eyes wide and searching as he asked you question after question, barely letting you close your eyes for even a second for fear you’d slip into a coma from the blood-loss.

You wanted to bang your head against the metal of the craft as you sat there listening to him drone on. Either that or you would rip Johnny’s voice box out of his throat with your bare hands. Ghost’s fists clenched where they sat resting on his thighs.

“Leave it, Mactavish” he’d barked, clicking his tongue as he did, clearly it wasn’t just your nerves Soap was grating on.

You wanted to laugh as you watched the Scotsman shrink back in his seat, like a dog with its tail between its legs, not liking getting told off. Yet, your smile washed away, swallowed by the tension in the craft. The entire mission hadn’t gone to plan, coming up short, following dead lead after dead lead. With fatalities and injuries on top of that, it didn’t serve to keep the morale of the team up.

The three of you didn’t speak much. You could see the tiredness eating it’s way at Soap, feeling as his body grew heavier and heavier beside you in his seat. Ghost was sitting across from you, like he had done on the transport over seas chasing the dead lead, you couldn’t see him all that clearly, the night flight back to base didn’t provide much light to go by, only giving you a rough shadowed outline of where and how he was sitting.

Yet, you were sure you could feel Ghost’s mind ticking over. Almost as if you could hear the man thinking, could hear the gears turning over and over in his head as he sat there- stewing away behind that mask of his. He kept his arms folded across his chest, another barrier thrown up in defence, dead eyes glaring towards the ceiling as he rested the crown of his head against the back of his seat. He had his legs kicked out and splayed apart, resting either side of your boots, right foot tapping away in absent thought.

You hadn’t managed to sleep, didn’t even feel groggy at all, and you were always the first to sleep on transport. Usually loved getting rocked to sleep from the turbulence or terrain. There had been a running joke for years that you could sleep anywhere at anytime, your body had improved over the years at getting used to time zones and differences, it barely reached you anymore.

It was unusual. Your body wouldn’t allow you to rest, perhaps the adrenaline hadn’t subsided just yet, maybe after you’d been to medical upon landing and gotten cleaned up you’d feel better.

Negative.

Soap had marched you to the medial building as soon as you’d gotten to base, tugging you by the arm like you were a naughty child. The other soldiers had gone straight to the barracks, heading straight to their bunks to sleep off the last twenty-four hours, they’d earned it. Even Ghost went.

You shooed Johnny away as soon as you were being seen to, urging him that he didn’t have to babysit you and that he should rest up. You reminded him that this wouldn’t be a long respite. He had nodded, a smile quirking at his lips as he held out his fist, you rolled your eyes- but you bumped your fist to his nether the less.

The sweet nurse had tried to express her concerns for the state you were in, but as lovely as she was, you brushed her off. She was short and blonde, the tiredness in her pretty hazel eyes showing you she’d been in the med room since early doors. She’d urged for you to have x-rays taken of your chest, that even if your ribs were just fractured that it could potentially cause other issues if you hadn’t already punctured a lung or lacerated any other organs. You pulled a bullshit excuse out of your arse and handed it to her with the nicest of smiles, hopping down from the examination bed as you buttoned your shirt back up. She’d already cleaned and taped the wound on your head, cleaning some of your other cuts and grazes and smothering them in balm to keep anything nasty out. She sent you on your way after shoving some heavy painkillers down your throat, knowing you weren’t going to take her advice and that you’d deploy again tomorrow, and she was right- you couldn’t sit this one out now.

After leaving the medical building you’d made your way outside, and you hadn’t moved since. It must have been hours now. You stopped counting after two, letting the cold chill of the rain and wind sting your face as you perched there on that wall, content and calm. Perhaps it was the painkillers making your head foggy, calming the thrum of your blood as you stared out into the star studded darkness.

Upon hearing heavy footfalls scuffing across the concrete, you turned your attention to the source of the sound, watching a shadowy figure approaching as they descended the stairs that led back towards the main buildings. You couldn’t see all too clearly, there were no lights to illuminate the area in which you were sitting, to purposely discourage loitering. Whoever it was didn’t speak right away, you tilted your head back towards the sky, closing your eyes with a sigh. They came to a stop next to where you were sitting on the wall, not invading your space directly but barely keeping their distance.

A faint click of a lighter striking caught your attention and your eyes opened to flicker over to your left- it was Ghost.

The cigarette was already between his lips, his left hand cupping it to protect it from the wind and rain as the other hand held the lighter, dying away with a loud click.

You watched as he inhaled deeply, the swell of his chest rising as the end of the cigarette illuminated a deep amber, causing shadows to dance across his face from the glow. The mask caught you. This wasn’t the one he’d been wearing before, this one was a simple black balaclava with his characteristic skull printed onto the lower part of the face- it was already pulled up to the bridge of his nose when you had turned to look at him. There were thick smudges of black-grease paint plastered over his eye sockets, making the colour contrast with the hickory brown of his eyes.

There was something about your lieutenant that you couldn’t quite grasp fully; you’d met plenty of reserved soldiers before, closed off and more secretive about themselves and their lives outside of these walls- but Ghost was different. It’s as if there was nothing outside of these walls for him. The military and the 141 were his entire life, the reason he breathed air and woke up in a morning.

When the others made plans for leave or talked about their families, he didn’t, he’d stay and he’d listen. Never has he ever uttered so much as a word about his private life, maybe he did have one, maybe a wife and a family- but you couldn’t see it.

He was just so- unmoved. He barely showed outward concern for himself or his team, the latter more so but only if it was fatal. He knew that collateral damage was a given, he knew that every mission he deployed on he would come back with less soldiers then he left with. Ghost swallowed that pill everyday, the lives he holds in his hands, the weight of the grief on his shoulders. It was any surprise he was still standing, but you guess he was numb to it now, that’s why he didn’t feel it anymore. He was so used to death and destruction, it was starting to be ineffective at jarring him, at making him feel any kind of way about it.

Ghost pockets the lighter, reaching up and holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he retracts it from his mouth, a deep-dark cloud of smoke falling from his lips as he breathes it out.

Your eyes lingered. Assessing the dressed down version of the infamous soldier as he leaned back against the wall. His boots and trousers were what was left of his uniform, from the waist up he was wearing a charcoal coloured jacket with a high collar that he’d pulled up, covering what you could see of a simple black undershirt peeking out from between the zipper of his jacket.

The darkness didn’t provide your eyes well, only when he took a drag of his cigarette could you see the outlines of the lower half of his face. Even then, you didn’t risk staring, despite your- curiosity he was still your lieutenant.

It’s normal to be curious- you keep telling yourself. He’s your lieutenant; your point of call, your lifeline when you’re out there risking life and limb. Yet, you’ve never seen his face, would never be able to pick him out in a sea of hundreds. He doesn’t owe you anything, you’re new to his charge, under his wing so to speak, but you’re leading this mission with him and Johnny- the least you should be able to ask for is some truths. Everything about him is redacted, save for his name, even then that had been hard enough to get, apparently everything about him was on a need to know basis.

The man took a long-heavy drag of his cigarette. “How’s your head?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained forward as he spoke.

His voice might not have been loud, but you’d been in silence for hours, the gravely tone of his voice hammered straight through to your bones. You watched him out the corner of your eye.

“It’s fine” you said, not really wanting to elaborate in case he tried to catch you out.

Ghost hummed “you sure about that?” He queried, tone a little harder.

When you craned your neck to look at him fully this time you found he was already looking at you, his eyes pointedly focused on the tape holding the left side of your forehead together. You didn’t take your eyes away.

“I’m very sure” you reiterated, hoping he’d drop the subject, you had a feeling he wouldn’t.

“And the punctured lung?” You stiffened. How did he know? He pushed himself up from leaning back against the wall and turned his body so he was parallel to you now, his right hip leaning into the brick as his right elbow kept him propped there. He had let go of his cigarette, his lips keeping it secure as he continued to smoke it, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth.

You gathered your thoughts in your head, thinking of the best response you could give. The man spoke before you could.

“Your silence tells me a lot, sergeant” he huffed, taking ahold of his cigarette once more as he returned to his prior position, mirroring the way you faced forward. You kissed your lips against your teeth.

“I’m fine” you said again, you saw no point in trying to persuade him, he’d clearly already made up his mind.

Ghost made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and you heard him rooting for something in his pocket. You were surprised when a cigarette was held out towards you. You frowned, casting your eyes over to him to find he was still staring forward, mouth devoid of a cigarette and his free hand stuffed into his pocket, he’d clearly smoked it right down to the filter and ditched it.

How could you think you could lie to him? He’d seen first hand the pain you were in, so much pain you couldn’t see straight, blood staining your face as you fought for a singular breath to enter your lungs.

He was testing you now. If you refused the cigarette then he’d assume it was because you were still in pain with your lungs and chest, if you took it then perhaps he would lay off.

You made up your mind, brushing your fingers over his as you took the smoke from his hold. You placed it between your dry lips, you were still in your full gear and you knew you had a lighter somewhere, before you could start your search- Ghost already had you covered. His hand extended out toward your face with the flame dancing and licking at the breeze, you leaned in close and cupped both of your hands around his as it held the lighter, inhaling deeply as the earthy taste of the tobacco hit the back of your throat.

You’d smoked causally and socially throughout your entire army career, surely smoking through one cigarette without as much as a splutter would be easy enough.

Ghost retracted his hand and pocketed his lighter again, watching you smoke from the corner of his eye. You could feel his eyes on you, so you purposefully didn’t look his way, you gazed off into the pitch black, eyes struggling to focus on anything at all.

He stuffed both of his hand into his pockets, enjoying the quiet, listening only to the steady pattering of soft rain against the brick and concrete and the gentle sound of your steady breaths exhaling the smoke.

You weren’t about to admit that he was right, but he was right. The nicotine dried your lungs and the tickle of tobacco at the roof of your mouth and back of your throat had you gagging to cough, mixed with the subtle metallic taste of your own blood that still lingered on your palate. It wasn’t a delightful mix. You decided to distract yourself.

“Anyway, how come you aren’t asleep, Lt?” You asked, genuinely intrigued. The man quirked a brow, or at least, it looked like he did.

“Could ask the same to you” He was right but you asked first. You tutted.

“I’ve been with medical” you countered, thinking you’d caught him out.

“Three hours ago” he gifted flatly. Fuck. You shrugged him off.

“I lost track of time” you took his silence as his answer.

It was obvious that he hadn’t come out here just to smoke, there was something he needed to say, and you wished he would just spit it out. He shifted his stance, like he was in pain, you almost asked if he was okay, but thought better of it. He was more then capable of looking out for himself, when you were out in the field you’d worry and watch his six, back here- you’d leave him to it.

Ghost sighed “it’s been advised that you don’t ship out tomorrow” his words cut through you, his softened tone did nothing to soften the blow. You stiffened, shoulders squaring off as you took a deep inhale of the cigarette.

“On what grounds?” You asked quickly, tone shifting. He noticed.

“Medical” he spoke while looking at you pointedly, you laughed.

“Wow” you shook your head with a disbelieving smile “you take a little bump to the head these days and that gets you grounded?” Your question was entirely rhetorical, your head was the least severe of your injuries.

Ghost shifted his weight, still looking at you, watching as the emotions played out on your face. “listen to me-“ you cut him off.

“No, it’s bullshit” you stated with a scrunched frown creasing your face, still heaving plumes of smoke as you spoke.

“Oi” the lieutenant barked, making you freeze and look at him. “I’ve dismissed it” he said, his calm front falling back into place. Just another mask to add.

Your eyes blew wide. “You- what?” You asked, confused. He sighed, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from between your fingers, bringing it up to his own lips to take a drag.

“I think it’s best we finish what we started- all of us” he said, puffs of smoke escaping his lips between his words. He handed the cigarette back to you as he continued, watching as you brought it to your own lips to continue smoking it. “You handled the crash well” he said “would have had more fatalities if you hadn’t have helped when you did” it was clear that he believed what he was saying, you didn’t take Ghost as someone who minced his words, he said it how it was.

“Thank you” you said, simply, returning your gaze to the dark sky, rain still falling gently.

It took a few seconds for Ghost’s words to settle. You furrowed your brow in thought, offering the cigarette back to him, which he gladly took. A comfortable blanket of silence fell over you, the next few minutes were simply nothing. A void in conversation that wasn’t forced or awkward, it was just- natural. The two of you passed the cigarette between one another wordlessly, Ghost taking the longest and final drag till it was down to the end of the filter before he flicked it away, stomping it out with the heel of his boot. This signalled that it was time to call it a night, or a morning, you didn’t know what time it was. You pushed yourself down from the wall, groaning and cracking your joints as you stretched out, sitting in the cold for this long wouldn’t have done you any good.

Ghost pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning against the brick, now you were standing here, parallel to one another, you could see just how tall he was in comparison to you. Even the width of his shoulders were almost twice that of yours. You were forced to look up to meet his eyes, those cold-dead eyes of his. He tilted his chin down to see you clearer, that usual frown of his under the mask gone, no where to be seen. His expression was soft, almost content. You broke the silence.

“Thank you Lt” you said, watching the fabric over his brow furrow. “For not grounding me” you added. His eyes softened slightly.

“Don’t let me regret it” his voice was gruff, maybe even tired.

Your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, but he was so close you could faintly see the outline of his jaw and lips as he spoke. There was only a scant amount of space between you and him. You didn’t fight the urge to reach up your hand and pinch the mask where it was pushed up against his nose- yanking it down in one swift movement. He let you do it. Didn’t even move to stop you. “Better to keep your anonymity Lt” you said, smiling softly as you moved to walk past him and head toward the steps. He turned his shoulders slowly toward you.

“You know my name” he said flatly, barely amused by your attempt to joke with him.

He was right, you did know his name, but that took the fun out of it.

You sighed “Come on, Riley. Time to get some shut eye, before we get in trouble for being out here” you adopted a horrific Manchester accent as you spoke, whatever drugs that nurse had given you, they were pretty fuckin’ wicked. Ghost clearly didn’t agree, but he also didn’t correct you when you used his surname. That was a feat in itself.

“I’m a lieutenant, what the fuck are they gonna say to me?” he grumbled, mostly to himself, but you had heard him.

You laughed softly, something warm swelling in your chest. Your initial perception of him had been cold and disconnected, he presented himself as a man who existed solely for his role within the military. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, you were sure you’d find out. Your exchange with him this evening had showed you that he was observant and truly did value each and every soldier in his platoon. He wasn’t allowing you to be medically grounded because he believed you would be an asset to the continuation of this mission, if that man had any doubt about the severity of your injuries and the chance that you could slow them down- he would have you grounded in a heart beat. He was giving you a chance, and you were determined to show him he was right to trust you and your judgement.

You held onto this feeling as the two of you climbed the stairs, entering the halls of the barracks and parting ways to your respected quarters.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Military Industrial Complex

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Summary report of Terran Republic

Homeworld: Terra. Alias: Earth

Territory: 23 Planets 16 Star Systems 54 Orbital Stations 267 Asteroid Mining Operations

Population: 20.9 Billion

Military Threat Level: Red

Technological Level: Yellow

Personal Log from observer Nul Yand

“On the surface the Terran Republic should not even exist.

Their technological level is far below their neighbors such as the Olon Alliance or the Fenrar Empire.

They barely have the means to travel between their worlds and even then it requires months when the previously mentioned governing bodies can do it in days.

The one quality these humans have that has kept them alive for so long is the scope of their military; or more accurately their military industrial complex.

One could be forgiven for equating the two to be one in the same, but the distinction is made quite obvious when dealing with humans.

Their military operates under three branches known as the Fleet, the Army, and the Home Guard.

 The fleet maintains the various orbital and suborbital craft almost completely. This ranges from the kilometer long Kepper Warships to atmospheric attack craft and is the primary partner for the second branch as a means to travel between worlds.

The army is made up of ground forces ranging from standard infantry to heavy mobile assault tanks. During times of war they are the spear tip and conduct numerous covert operations against human aggressors. When these operations are not enough the ground forces are then deployed which conduct full scale planetary invasions or man the numerous defensive forts dotted throughout their territory.

The final branch is the least militaristic of the three but serves a crucial role nonetheless. Home Guard serves as the eyes and ears within the human domain as a sudo military surveillance force. They enforce the laws while also rooting out enemies to said laws such as common gang members to spy’s and collaborators.

All three of these organizations are supplied through what is known as the human Military Industrial Complex.

The MIC is not a single entity but a collection of private corporations, weapon manufacturers, scientific committees, political lobbyists, and countless other unnamed groups who have saw fit not to make themselves known. 

They provide the human military with a near endless supply of weaponry, ammunition, vehicles, ships, and more ensuring that at no time are their forces underequipped.

Research divisions conduct numerous lines of inquiry which include biological and advanced robotics. This has resulted in the military having a wide variety of advanced war machines such as the attack bot 5000, and the UAV dubbed “Seekers” which are capable of tracking down individual targets across an entire planet.

 The biological division has made several advances in medical technology which have equally contributed with the production of Healing Pods which can induce accelerated healing process for even the most injured soldier. On the more questionable front they have also created several strains of lethal viruses to be used against enemy combatants. Rumor is that the Red Vein Plague was one such concoction when the war against the Tumari began taking a turn for the worse against humanity.

With this vast network of resources, the Terran military has been able to adapt to nearly any situation it has faced allowing it to survive even against impossible odds.

When the vast fleet of organic Milnani ships invaded human borders it was expect the human fleets would be wiped out within the first week. The first few engagements resulted in losses, but by the third engagement the humans had deployed new boring missiles that chewed through the thick hide of Milnani ships and dispersed a lethal toxic into the ships bloodstream. Within minutes the ships were violently convulsing as entire portions were torn open from muscle spasms, exposing the passengers to the cold void of space.

When the Tucmal used their advanced weaponry advantage to conquer an outlying colony, the human military dispatched a covert strike team to capture one of the weapon platforms and return it to a research lab on Omega VI. A month later effective shields had been deployed to counteract Tucmal weaponry rendering it useless. A week later the first phase plasma canons were being deployed that could burn through Tucmal armor protecting weapon platforms

When a War Sphere was deployed to obliterate the human homeworld a relay station was deployed to follow it just outside of weapons range. A cryptology team intercepted all incoming transmissions and was able to decipher the communications from the war sphere back to whoever was controlling it thanks to a recently acquired quantum gen III computer and over two dozen alien speakers who had been “invited” to a private facility. The team was able to interject into the transmissions and send a new command to turn around, return to its point of origin, and destroy the planet it came from. They then ordered it to turn off its transmission center so the human command could not be countermanded. In short order the war sphere followed its new directive and returned to its point of origin somewhere in the Ocares Sector.

This shadowy collective has been a backbone of human survival and though many have sought to remove this bountiful source of progress none have been able to completely destroy the MIC. Research groups have been tracked down and their teams wiped out to the man only for another group to take up the notes half a sector away. Factories and facilities obliterated in orbital bombardments were relocated to space stations orbiting no stars in the space between systems off all charts and maps.

It was deemed that only an overwhelming force of unprecedented vastness striking all at once would be sufficient to deal a crippling blow to the MIC. This in of itself however has proved a problem as to gather such a force would almost immediately be noticed and countered before it could even be put into motion.

My recommendation would be to isolate humanity and avoid combat as much as possible.

If conflict is inevitable then it must be prevalent that all significant technology not fall into their hands lest it be deconstructed and used against us.

Only then do we have a slight chance of victory."

[theresattrpgforthat]

The computer game Pacific Drive has the player driving a supernatural station wagon and delving ever deeper into an abandoned exclusion zone in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, dodging anomalies, scavenging for resources, exploring, and seeking answers to what events caused the creation of the zone. The game takes heavy inspiration from the art of Simon Stålenhag, which has its on TTRPG in "Tales from the Loop", but can you recommend any other games that would recreate the experience of Pacific Drive?

THEME: Pacific Drive

Hello friend, so I looked up Pacific Drive and one thing that I found out about it was that it was inspired by media such as Annihilation and Roadside Picnic, so first I’m going to send you to my Fucked Up Settings Rec post, especially to the games titled Trespasser and The Zone.

What I’m getting from Pacific Drive is that it’s focused on travel, exploration, an interesting story, the ability to improve the one thing that you survive with, and experiencing a world that fundamentally doesn’t care about you. So let’s see if we have anything that hits any of those tangents.

The Last Caravan, by Ted Bushman.

In this cozy, melancholy post-apocalypse, the aliens came less than a year ago. The war lasted two months, but nobody won. Now, with an alien army rising from the ashes of war, you will have to make a dangerous journey across a shattered North America in search of a new home.

You are normal people finding heroism in extraordinary circumstances. You will explore transformed landscapes, search abandoned towns, discover otherworldly technology, negotiate with newly-formed factions, outrun alien pursuers, and — and all you’ve got is a car, your fellow travelers, and the road.

The Last Caravan combines the survival-horror genre with the fiction-first ethos of Blades in the Dark and No Dice No Masters. Each character has a list of prompts called triggers that reward you with a narrative resource that can open up abilities as you tell your story. The alien apocalypse has come, but the story isn’t over, as a some kind of threat shows signs of growing as you travel across a cold, frozen highway. If you’re interested in The Last Caravan, but missed the Kickstarter, you can check out the Quickstart while you wait for the final release.

24XX-D: Aftertime, by xiombarg.

As a volunteer for the  private paramilitary group Project Aftertime, your health was altered and your brain preserved so you could be revived after society collapsed. 

You awoke in an unfamiliar base filled with unfamiliar technology, with even stranger ultratech outside. 

The Event the wastelanders describe makes no sense. "The gods left us."

I feel like I’m missing something when I look through my folders because the 24XX system feels perfect for these kinds of ‘exclusion zone” games but Aftertime feels the closest to it, and it’s definitely not perfect. There’s too many people milling about, and there seems to be too much pointing towards some kind of answer about the alien event. However, I think in general, 24XX is a great system to root around in if you want to make something for yourself. A lot of these kinds of games have great roll-tables for events, locations, and missions, and inventory (which seems really important in Pacific Drive) is simple to track but absolutely necessary.

Aftertime is different from other 24XX games in that it uses a pool of resources rather than dice rolls to determine what you can or cannot do. You could stick with that, or mash this game together with some other 24XX games like PREDATORS to incorporate dice rolls, and vehicles. What I like about Aftertime is that it includes a base that you can upgrade over time, similar to how your car in Pacific Drive gets better as you find upgrades for it.

Crush Depth Apparition, by amandalee.

February 1902, somewhere on the North Atlantic. Mountainous waves blot out the horizon, and the wind and thunder roar too loud to tell one from the other. But 200 ft down there’s only still cold darkness and the submarine.  

No one has ever dived this deep before, so far from shore and safety. Maybe no one was ever meant to try. The submarine is 170 feet of dripping pipes and fogged up dials, levers rusting stuck in the damp. It was two weeks into the voyage when things started going wrong.  Little accidents, inexplicable mistakes. Someone heard a noise, like tapping, soft against the hull last night. Bright paint flakes off a torpedo and underneath there is a story scratched into the metal. The Captain turns down a hallway that can’t be there,  into pipes and steel and miles of ocean.

The one thing keeping you safe down here has turned into a labyrinth. 

Crush Depth Apparition is an eerie survival horror stand alone adventure zine for 3-5 players and a GM by Amanda Lee Franck. It  includes rules for running and repairing a state of the art (of 120 years ago) experimental submarine, a map of the ocean, an unnatural labyrinth,  ghostly encounters,  hundreds of things that can go wrong, and a crew that depends on you.

Because you are depending on your submarine for survival, much of the focus of this adventure is going to be on keeping it running. You’ll need to manage your fuel levels, the submarine’s battery, and how deep you go, all while trying to find a way home. The setting is very different from Pacific Drive, and I think the horror amps up a little bit because there are more personal details that will likely worm themselves into this game. You’re also less likely to survive the entirety of this game; but the weirdness that happens the further that you adventure may mirror some of the strangeness of Pacific Drive.

ZONE, by Iron Cutler.

ZONE is a genre-agnostic TTRPG , heavily inspired by Jeff VanderMeer's Southern Reach Trilogy, though adaptable to a wide variety of settings. It is about trespassing in a bizarre and dangerous area—the Zone—and becoming changed by what you find inside.

ZONE is a GM-less ttrpg that uses collaborative worldbuilding to design and deepen the strangeness of the world around you. Each session will contain an expedition of Trespassers, people who enter the Zone without permission, and thus destined to be permanently changed. Your Trespassers will not usually survive from one expedition to the next; this place will change them, and that is why ZONE is described as “un-winnable” by its designer.

Unlike many of the other games on this list, ZONE is very abstract because it doesn’t expect you to succeed. Your characters are destined to fail once they incur too much shock, so managing resources is not really something worth doing in this game. Character creation is also rather simple, and I think that is because the main focus of this game is on the place you are exploring, rather than the character themself. If you want a game about the horror of being changed by something alien and ultimately uncaring about you, I’d recommend ZONE.

RAD, by ¡Hipólita!

We don't know who broke the world, but we know what weapon they used.

In the year 1990, the United States of America fired a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union, immediately killing millions and poisoning the land, air and water for years.

The scarce few survivors were forced into hiding. About 50,000 people fled to the relative safety of the Moscow Metro, with smaller numbers following suit in cities like Novosibirsk, Volgograd, Saint Petersburg, Yekaterinburg, Samara and others.

RAD is a game full of radiation-induced body-horror and all about survival. You have four core stats, and the rest of your character sheet is all about resources and inventory, including three resources called Bedroll, Rations and Battery. The game mechanics are inspired by systems like Mausritter, which means that player creativity and smart item use will take you far. It’s all about a delicate balance of resources, so if that’s what you liked about Pacific Drive, you might want to check out RAD - as well as an adventure for it titled The Technicolor Forest.

Other Games I've Recommended Before

Nibiru, by Araukana Media.

Apocalypse Roadtrip, by Mynar Lenahan.

Roadspire, by Glempy.

[novankenn]

Jaune Arc of Orleans

Land-Train... Waylaid

Jaune was panting, as he often did after having a vision from the Light. Most times he was only aware of just the meeting, and the sense of fulfillment and peace such meetings gave him... but other times. He remembered everything, instead of just fuzzy feelings. This was one of those times.

HIs hands were shaking as he recalled the grotesque beast the Light had bested. He did not know what it was, just that it radiated pure malice and hatred. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he rose to his feet and approached the sleeping form of his escort.

Jaune was sure they were about to be attacked, and even though Land-Trains were designed to shrug off such assaults, there was still a chance that injuries, or worse could happen. He had been warned, he had the power to change that fate.

"Qrow?" Jaune spoke as he reached out a began to gentle shake the huntsman shoulder. "Qrow!"

"Stop... sleep..." Qrow muttered as he tried to roll over.

"QROW!" Jaune yelled, accompanied with a jab of his finger into his exposed cheek. But still there was no response, or at least the one Jaune was seeking. Seeing no alternative Jaune reached out and played the ageless tactic of siblings everywhere. He pinched Qrow's nose shut.

Qrow flailed about, snorting and roughly twisting his head side to side.

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"We're going to be attacked!" Jaune shouted as the still groggy huntsman. "Did you hear me? We're going to be attacked!"

"Huh? What? I... quit yelling kid." Qrow commented as he attempted to blink the slumber from his eyes. "What are you..."

"We're going to be attacked!" Jaune once again shouted.

"What? When? How... how do you know that?"

"I just had a vision."

"Sorry, a vision?"

"Darkness encroaches! Death approaches!"

"Shit!" Qrow swore as he swung his lungs off the side of his bed and quickly got to his feet. After hearing about Jaune's previous visions and the warnings that foretold of the bandit attack... Qrow knew better than to just dismiss the young man's words.

"I'll alert the crews, you hunker down here." Qrow ordered as he pulled Harbinger from storage above his bunk.

"But I can..."

"I know you can, but I can't risk you getting hurt. Stay here! Got it?"

Jaune just nodded. Qrow nodded in return and reached up to pull the alarm lever. Flashing red lights soon filled ever compartment of the ten vehicle long land-train. It was common practice to have one huntsman or huntress per two vehicles. So Qrow knew aside from himself, and possibly any other huntsmen or huntresses on board as just normal passengers, there would be at least six abled bodies for the approaching fight.

That didn't include the crew members trained to provide fire support, via the roof mounted twin .50cal Ma Deuces. While standard rail systems were faster, there was something to be said about sturdiness of the tracked 10 ton armored vehicles. There was little aside from the largest of grimm that could really be considered a threat to this type of transportation.

"Stay here." Qrow commanded as he stepped out of the small private cabin, that was situated near the center of the series of articulate arm joined vehicles and pods.

Jaune remained where he was told to, in fact returning to sit upon his bunk. He was pretty sure he knew what Qrow was doing, or at least he thought he did. The other huntsmen and huntresses assigned to the land-train would need to be informed and defensive measures devised.

Jaune knew this would probably not be an issue if they had commandeered seats on one of the airships that did travel from Orleans to it's various trading partners... but motion sickness was a bitch and he did not want to suffer through an almost 24 hour long flight due to the multiple "hops" such travel required, due to mainly being short range cargo ships.

So it was the land-train, and a solid 60 hours of overland travel. Suddenly the loud rapid and heavy thundering thud of a multiple heavy weapons firing cut through the air. It had started... Jaune's warning had been issued just in time.

==> Table of Contents <==

[apocalypseornaw]

He does get jealous

You had resigned yourself to the fact that Dean simply didn't get jealous, that is until Garth being Garth hosts a get together for hunters and you run into one of your exes that you're still on good terms with.

Warnings: um cursing, mentions of sexual themes

So first and foremost you knew Dean loved you. There was not a sliver of a doubt in your mind to that man's devotion to you. You knew for a fact that he'd choose you over any other woman. Did that stop you from getting jealous? No.

No matter how hard you tried that little voice in your head would pop up rather it be on cases where witnesses would flirt a little too much or even just grabbing a bite to eat on the road where the waitress would let her eyes linger a little too hard on him.

Dean would always notice it of course. On cases he'd grab your arm to "pull you away and discuss the matter at hand" which normally consisted of a quick kiss and promises of what was to come later. Off of a hunt he'd have no qualms about pulling you into his lap in the middle of a diner to prove that he was taken no matter your blushing or Sam's groans of embarrassment.

The problem was he never got jealous. Ok yeah sometimes jealousy is a major red flag that you need to heed and run far away as fast as you can but a part of you started to wonder if maybe he just didn't register to be jealous over you?

You woke up and reached for Dean smiling to yourself when his hands met yours halfway pulling you into his arms. "Morning sweetheart" he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

You placed a kiss to his chest "Good morning. Don't forget we have to leave here around ten to make it to Garth's in time" you couldn't help but laugh lightly when he groaned "Why are we doing this again?"

You pulled away from him just enough to lean up slightly to look at his face. A steady sprinkling of stubble covered his jawline and although his eyes were closed you knew he was tracking your every movement "Because hunters are always going to exist and its our job to make sure the next poor saps that get yanked into this life have a better system. C'mon baby Jody, Donna and all the girls will be there. Eileen is meeting us there, Kenzie is coming with Alicia and Max. It'll be fun. A weekend with people in the life just getting to catch our breath and catch up with people we haven't seen in a while"

When his response was a simple "mhh" you raised an eyebrow before adding "Bobby would be proud of it" he opened one eye to look at you but his gaze immediately went to where the sheet had slipped down off your chest leaving your breasts peeking out "If you weren't so damn gorgeous and right about this I may argue about going" a smile slipped onto your face "I love you too Dean"

He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the nightstand and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head "It's seven thirty" you nodded slowly "Yeah" he reached out to gently grab your chin "We don't have to leave until ten?" You nodded again, eyes never leaving his. "So we have time"

"For what?" You asked innocently enough despite knowing exactly where his mind was. One of his hands dipped underneath the sheet and you gasped when you felt his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh "We have time for me to show my girl how much I love her" you pretended to consider it until his fingers went higher demanding your full attention when the first digit slipped through your folds "Fuck Dean" you whispered before a grin split his face "Exactly my idea"

"A lot more people showed up then Garth figured would" you leaned up at Sam's words because you knew him well enough to recognize a laugh being buried. What was so funny?

You looked at the cars parked around and about. There was Jody's suv, Donna's truck and the twins' car. There were more vehicles you recognized but weren't quite as familiar with. You were about to question Sam when you followed his line of vision and spotted Sawyer's bronco parked next to Eileen's car.

Sawyer was one of your exes. A hunter as well and someone you'd still consider a friend. You hadn't seen him in a few years but you felt a bit of excitement at getting to catch up. "Oh I didn't know Saw would be here" you spoke with a grin as Dean pulled baby to a stop. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek "C'mon. Let's go socialize"

----------

Dean had recognized that damn bronco the moment he turned into the clearing reserved for parking next to the cabins. Sawyer Monroe. A pretty decent hunter if he had to be honest and the only guy you'd ever dated before him that you wouldn't knock out on sight.

Thinking about it he wasn't sure you'd ever mentioned exactly why you and Sawyer had split. Hell you'd known him and Sam for years meaning he knew how you'd once felt about Sawyer. You'd even talked to Bobby about the guy.

Seeing the grin on your face when you spotted his bronco made something pull in Dean's chest. He wasn't jealous, no you were with him. You were a woman that knew what you wanted and wouldn't accept anything else. Yet trailing behind you towards the crowd that was gathered around and about he couldn't help but keep his eyes out for your ex.

There were tents around and about, a few grills going and a set up with speakers and a dance floor area. It looked almost like a wedding set up with the cabins being avaliable for anyone who needed overnights. Or a reunion of sorts.

"Kenzie!" You spotted her, Alicia and Max so you headed that way feeling Dean's hand resting at your lower back while you made your way through the crowd. Sam had already split off with Eileen and Donna so it was up to you to get the elder Winchester to actually enjoy the gathering.

She turned at the sound of your voice "Y/N!" She pulled you into a hug shooting a wink at Dean "Heya Winchester. I see you've actually managed to keep this one. I'm impressed. If you hadn't acted when you did I would've asked her out" "Very funny" he laughed watching as you went from Kenzie to Alicia to Max hugging all three of them.

----------

"So how have you been?" Alicia asked glancing towards where Max and Dean had headed in search of drinks. "Good. Dean's amazing of course. I don't think I've ever loved someone like I love him"

Before she could respond you heard a voice behind you say "Oh ouch. That hurt" you'd know that voice anywhere. You spun around to see Sawyer standing not even a foot away. "Hello to you too Mr Monroe!"

He stopped right before he got to you "A hug ok?" You nodded and he scooped you up into a hug. Sawyer was around Dean's height with chestnut brown hair that curled at a certain length and hazel blue eyes.

He was a sweet guy and one of the few you'd dated and stayed on good terms with. It'd been one those situations where you both knew the relationship had hit its end. When he put you back down on the dirt you laughed "I see you're still a fucking giant oaf" he shrugged one shoulder "Why change now Darling? Now where's this fella who you love more than anyone cause I wanna know where I'm ranked in the book of Y/N"

You felt an arm slip around your waist and laughed as you leaned back against Dean's chest "Sawyer I'm sure you remember Dean. Dean you remember Sawyer" the two greeted each other with a quick handshake "One of Bobby's boys" Sawyer commented and Dean nodded "Yeah. We met a time or two while you and Y/N were dating"

Sawyer cut his eyes at you "Well she was just telling Alicia how much she loves you so I'm glad to see she's happy" "We both are" you glanced back at Dean but he simply smiled at you "Anyways..what's on the schedule for this thing? Garth was pretty vague"

---------

Ok so maybe a small nip of jealousy hit Dean when he looked over to see you in Sawyer's embrace. It was a simple hug, that was all. Just as you'd hugged everyone else. Did it bother him seeing Sawyer hold you? Yeah. But it was just the fact that he wasn't sure if Sawyer knew you two were together. He didn't want him to get the wrong idea about the hug. That was all it was.

When he walked up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist he felt his heart flip a bit when you leaned into his embrace and did a quick reintroduction between the two men.

When you steered the conversation towards Garth's plans he stayed quiet keeping an arm around you and watching how Sawyer looked at you as you cracked jokes with Alicia and Kenzie. No, he wasn't jealous at all.

You were enjoying yourself. The banter and familiarity of so many hunters in one place was something nearly intoxicating. Most of your lives were lived in solitude. Hunting was a lonely life and being able to wind down with friends, people you considered family also that actually understood that? It was a beautiful thing.

Dean was talking to Garth, Sam and a few other hunters while you mingled with Donna, Jody and the girls. "I see Sawyer is here" Jody teased with a laugh. "Yeah we saw each other already" you replied.

"Who's Sawyer?" Claire asked and before you could open your mouth Jody explained "Y/N's ex before Dean. Her only real serious ex before him"

Claire's eyes widened "Ohhhh I bet Dean is jealous as hell" you scoffed with a roll of your eyes "Dean Winchester? Jealous? I've been with him this long and have yet to see it" Donna and Jody exchanged a look "We didn't just step into relationship issues did we?"

You shook your head "No. Me and Dean are happy, really. It just seems like at times he's incapable of getting jealous so I feel like a crazy woman when it perks it's little slimey head up in me" "I bet he gets jealous and just hides it" Alex offered but you shook your head then shrugged "Next subject? Something that isn't my relationship insecurities?"

Chatting and catching up had given way to a spread of food being laid out, a damn near open bar setting up and music playing through the speakers sat around and about.

You were sitting next to Dean laughing at Claire who'd nearly dropped Kaia when she attempted to dip her. "Think you can do it better?" Claire teased so you cut your eyes at Dean who shrugged one shoulder "Go for it sweetheart"

You glanced, spotting Max near the bar so you whistled "Banes?" When he glanced up you motioned towards the girls "Wanna teach these young ones how it's done?" He raised an eyebrow as he walked towards you and Dean "Am I leading or are you?" "Claire thinks I can't dip someone" a broad grin split his face "Oh its on then Novak"

----------

Dean watched as you spun Max around the dance floor. Several people had stopped to watch probably just from the height difference between the two of you. This was something you and Max had long since perfected, you both would take turns leading. When it came time for you to dip Max despite the height difference you successfully dipped him, spun him out then the two of you switched leads.

This was why he hadn't really gotten too upset when you'd spoken with Sawyer early. He knew you were his, you were happy with him. He had no reason to get jealous, right?

He heard Donna call his name and was quickly pulled into a conversation with her, Isaiah and Jody. "So how's things going?" Donna asked glancing back towards the dance floor. Jody smirked at him "Ya know Garth already has this set up..would be perfect for a ceremony of any sorts" he knew she was teasing but he also knew he'd be lying to himself if he hadn't already thought about a future between the two of you. He loved you and for some reason unknown to him you loved him too. "Yeah it would be" he replied causing a laugh to slip out of Isaiah at the look on the two women's faces.

Somewhere along the line you'd lost Max to David who cited he wanted his boyfriend back. You pulled Kenzie onto the dance floor next laughing when she insisted on leading.

You spotted Sawyer at the edge of the crowd, nursing a beer. You spun around with Kenzie a few times until Alicia cut in and you were left partnerless.

"On the off chance I may have a Winchester gunning for me, care to dance?" You turned to look up at Sawyer and shrugged. Dean never got jealous, so chances were Saw would be safe. "Well cmon then Monroe. Let's see if you've lost any steps"

He hesitated before touching your waist so you grabbed his hands with a light laugh placing them where both Max and Kenzie had touched you. "See? No harm, no foul" the two of you started to dance and you found yourself humming along with the song. It was one Dean played a lot.

"So you and Dean...can't say I'm surprised" you raised your eyes to look at him "Why is that?" He shrugged moving your arm that was resting on his shoulder slightly "He always seemed smitten with you. No other hunter compared to you, he was always talking about ya even when we were together"

"So what was that about calling him one of Bobby's boys?" You asked with a grin "Could I really say oh yeah of course I know Dean Winchester. One of the best hunters that's ever walked. The one man who I knew the first moment I saw you around him that we'd never last in the long run" "oh come on now Saw. We were good together for a while. We just got to a point.." you trailed off and he leaned down just enough to be eye level with you "That we both knew we'd be better as friends?" You nodded "Yeah cause if we'd dragged it out we would've ended up hating each other"

He smiled "I have no hard feelings love. You're happy with him. That's all I've ever wanted for you. Plus I'm seeing someone, her names Genya. She lives in New Orleans. I think you'd like her. We been together about six months now"

"Why didn't she come?" You asked and he smiled "Her coven had a ceremony she was presiding over" you could feel how wide your smile was at that news "She's a witch? Oh I love her already" he laughed loudly, the sound echoing around the two of you "C'mon now Y/N, you've got Dean. You can't have my girl too"

The sound of Sawyer's laughter hit Dean's ears over the music and conversations around him. When he followed the sound with his eyes he felt a flame flickering to life in his chest.

Sawyer's hands on your waist, your hands on his shoulders. Your faces close, laughter falling from him and a broad smile lightening your features.

"What the hell?" He meant to think it, not to let any anger slip into his voice or posture but it was clear to anyone who knew him and considering he was still fairly close physically to both Jody and Donna needless to say those two knew him pretty damn well. No, not quite anger. He'd felt that plenty in his life and this wasn't it. No this was jealousy, no other word could come close to the reasoning behind the flush to his skin or the torrent of thoughts running through his mind.

----------

One minute you were swaying to the music with Sawyer and the next you felt two hands on your waist pulling you away from Saw and causing you to collide with a broad chest.

Your hands flew out to brace yourself and the moment they collided with the body under them your eyes flew up to meet the green eyes staring down at you. When had Dean stripped out of his flannel? Why was he glaring at Sawyer over your head and when had this t-shirt gotten so tight across him?

"Baby, everything ok?" The thought occurred to you that maybe something was wrong but the look in his eyes didn't scream something was up, no he was jealous. No. Dean didn't get jealous, or did he?

"Dean?" Sawyer tried and you could see the muscles clenching in Dean's jaw as his hands gripped your waist firmly. "I need to talk to Y/N for a minute..that good with you?" Sawyer cut his eyes at you and you almost missed the slight twitch upwards his lips did before he said "Of course" before saying "Good night darling. It was good seeing you. I'm leaving bright and early but I'll ring ya once I hit Louisiana"

You could feel the heat radiating off Dean when you turned to give Sawyer a hug "Don't be a stranger and drive safe" the moment you released Sawyer Dean was leading you off the dance floor with a hand on your lower back.

"So what's the problem?" You asked once the two of you had cleared the crowd. Some of the cabins were already taken but there was enough for everyone. You saw the impala so you started to walk towards it, hearing Dean huff slightly behind you.

You made it to the impala and turned to face Dean. "Baby, do you remember your words?" He was silent but moved closer to you, he laid a hand on either side of your shoulders his palms flattening on the roof of the car and effectively trapping you between it and his own body.

"What's wrong with me?" He asked finally, leaning down close enough you could smell the scent of his cologne mingling with the whiskey he'd drank. You nodded slowly knowing he could smell the same brand of whiskey on your own breath from shared kiss and you stealing his drink earlier in the night. "Yeah, you pulled me off the dance floor and lead me out here into the dark. Now what are you planning to do to me Winchester?"

He scoffed, a smirk slipping onto his face "You get jealous if a waitress calls me handsome or if a witness asks to be interviewed by me yet you're asking what's wrong and what I plan to do?" You could feel your heart flip and heat rush into your lower stomach at his words. Oh, he was jealous

"Is it because I was dancing with Sawyer?" He didn't respond,instead he stepped even closer moving his lips to your neck to barely let them brush over the sensitive skin there.

"Is it because another man had their hands on me?" You asked when his hands went from the roof to your hips pulling you close enough the heat from his body had every inch of you feeling like it was on fire "Can we pick a cabin, head in and talk?" He finally spoke before connecting his lips to your neck sucking the skin right over your pulse, no doubt leaving a mark it his wake but you could've cared less considering it took every ounce of self control you had to not let out the moan trying to escape your lips.

You knew you were pushing it but also wanted to relish in the moment of finally catching Dean jealous. "Or do you only get jealous when you know it's someone who's had me under them? Someone who knows what I taste like?" You swallowed hard before leaning up to place a kiss to Dean's neck, feeling his pulse under your lips.

"Someone who knows what I sound like?" You whispered into his ear and couldn't help but feel your heart skip when his demeanor changed. You could feel the hard steel of the impala under your back when he pushed you backwards just slightly but considering he'd also chosen that moment to kiss you like a drowning man coming up for air you lost any sort of sense or control you'd had.

He moved from your lips to your jaw then down your neck. He went from kissing to biting the areas he knew would make you go weak. "I would rather do this in a cabin but you know I hold nothing against fucking you in baby" you let out a breathy moan when he hit a certain spot "Wait...stop for a second"

You knew that's all you needed to say. He froze in his tracks but for a split second you saw the uncertainty in his eyes. That small flash of self loathing that you always found buried under any sort of jealous streak. You'd never noticed it before on him. "Tell me why you're acting like this"

He took a deep breath letting his fingers slip under your shirt to tease at the waist of your jeans slightly. He wasn't trying to unsnap them or even reach under them, more so it seemed like he was trying to remind himself you were in his arms. "Sawyer knows you. He's a decent guy, you were happy with him. He knows what you look like under these jeans that I love on you, he knows what it feels like for your nails to cut into his shoulders when you're hitting that peak.." he groaned letting his head fall over onto your shoulder "I'm not some jealous, controlling asshole but I'll be damned if that didn't do something to me"

"You're jealous?" You whispered and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours again. "Yes sweetheart I'm jealous as hell. Rather you see it or not I get jealous a lot. Now please for the love of everything can I either climb into the impala with you or find a cabin and remind myself I'm the only one who gets to touch you, taste you, feel you. I just need to feel you clinging onto me, moaning my damn name and maybe just maybe I can fuck you good enough you won't get jealous as often either. I love you more than I ever knew possible but right now? I want to fuck you until neither of us can even remember another man or woman's name"

You swallowed hard at his confession, feeling your body react to the promise in his words. "In that case let's find a cabin"

@globetrotter28

[probablygoodrpgideas]

Narrative Permission

People can do a lot of different things and RPGs are usually not concerned with making up rules for every single possible action anyone could take.

There are some actions that are neither so common that it can be reasonably assumed that anyone can do them nor are they something that the game system concerns itself with.

Languages and artistic skills are pretty common examples that less complex systems usually don't bother with. In cases like this, your background could give you the narrative permission to use these skills.

For example, if your Scoundrel character in Thirsty Sword Lesbians is a musician you have the narrative permission to play a song to impress the Baroness while other characters might not. Functionally, you are still just rolling +Heart for an Entice move, but you can flavour it differently.

Another type of narrative permission can be found in Call of Cthulhu.

While your skills are obviously mostly there so you can roll skillchecks, they can also grant various kinds of narrative permissions.

For example, while regular driving explicitly doesn't require a skill check, you're (usually) still going to require narrative permission through skill investment to drive anything that isn't a car. For example, if you want to drive around in some kind of construction vehicle like an excavator, you're gonna need a couple of skill points in heavy machenery, even if you don't need to roll to drive it (again, assuming regular driving. If you're in a desperate fight against a dark young and try to hit it with an excavator despite not having any experience controlling one, go ahead and roll for it)

High levels in skills can also give you narrative permission to know a guy. An average investigator probably isn't going to know any professors of physics but if you have a high education stat, you might know someone.

Equipment in CoC is also mostly done through narrative permission. While you might name some important items explicitly during character creation, most possesions in the game are handled by asking "Would it be reasonable for someone like this to have this?"

Does the 1920s student own a truck capable of transporting a bunch of crates full of evidence? Probably not. Does the 1930s smuggler? Of course.

In ICON, there are many cases where narrative permission plays an interesting role.

Obviously they only matter for narrative play because in tactical combat, what you can and can't do is pretty strictly defined. However, your abilities in tactical combat can influence your narrative permissions.

A spellblade with various teleport abilities has narrative permission to teleport. Depending on the GM, this may increase effect or decrease risk on some Traverse checks, or it might even remove the need for them entirely.

But this can only get you so far. If you didn't put any points in Smash, no amount of arguing about being a Collossus who can do all kinds of cool Smash-adjacent things in combat is going to make it so you have more than 0 Smash in narrative. You need to select your narrative skills in a way that supports the fantasy of your character, including their tactical combat fantasy.

Also there is your narrative gear, which isn't supposed to represent every single piece of equipment your character posses, just the stuff that really matters, and which broadly falls into two categories: Things that are listed there so you don't have to argue about whether you have it (e.g. light sources, rations, a tent) and things that are supposed to inspire you (e.g. single-use flash bomb, copious sweets)

Both exist to grant you narrative permissions, but the first category is more about making sure you have narrative permissions you probably would have had anyway in a system without gear tracking (such as previous editions of ICON), the second category can actually expand your narrative permissions or give you new ideas for things to do.

Without your gear explicitly mentioning you have these things you might have never even gotten the idea of using a flash bomb to escape the guards, or use sweets to calm down a child. But even if you had gotten the idea on your own, explicitly calling out that you have these things can save a lot of time on trying to convince your GM that you have them.

However, the flipside to this is that having a gear system like this makes the gaps stand out more. I keep bringing up not having to convince your GM that you have something, but if there is something that you feel like you should have but that isn't listed in your gear, the existence of the gear system might make it harder to convince them that you should have it.

The system is an interesting middle ground between gearing systems that make you track everything you have (e.g. dnd 5e) and one that barely makes you track anything (e.g. CoC)

Are there any intersting examples of narrative permission you know?

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 51: Mother

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Miscarriage

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

A week had passed and, just as you slowly recovered from your miscarriage, your excitement grew to see your mother again for the first time in over 15 years. 

Although you struggled with mixed feelings—anger, resentment, and fear—the overwhelming desire to reconcile with her prevailed.

After all, she was your biological mother, the person who bore you in her womb and gave you life. The knowledge was impossible to ignore, and as Cillian held you close, you couldn't help but fantasize about finally having a mother figure back in your life.

By this point, you had already spoken on the phone and you learned that the authorities in the US had separated you from her during the immigration process. Neither of you had a visa at the time and while she was being deported, you were placed into the Forster care system where you struggled to cope.

Over the years, she searched tirelessly for you, desperately trying to track you down and bring you back into her life. 

For years, she lived in hope that fate would reunite you but she never found out where you were until she saw a photograph of you in one a magazine, attending an event with Cillian. 

The article claimed that you were lovers and this revelation shocked her. Shocked because it meant that you were alive and, most importantly, safe. Overwrought with grief, she reached out to Cillian's agent who ignored her emails, thinking that this was a hoax and then she spent all of her savings to fly to New York and attend his premiere, hoping that you would accompany him. 

Unfortunately for her, however, you didn't. You had to remain in Ireland as your spousal visa was being assessed, leaving her to approach Cillian instead.

Cillian was also the one who was picking her up from the airport a week later now seeing that you were still dealing with the aftermath of your miscarriage and weren't allowed to drive. 

He drove you to the airport early morning to pick her up, and you were struck by how much your nerves resembled a tight knot in your stomach.

The memory of your last encounter with her—a tearful goodbye inside the US Detention Centre where you were left behind—haunted you, and you grappled with conflicting emotions. Anger, sadness, longing, and fear wrestled within you.

"Hey, breathe," Cillian whispered soothingly, sensing your anxiety. "Remember, she loves you just as much as you love her," he reminded you, placing a comforting hand on your knee. "She didn't abandon you and you will be able to reconnect now," he assured you, the warmth of his touch radiating through your jeans.

"I know, I know," you stammered before taking a deep breath and focusing on the task ahead.

"Good," Cillian nodded, his expression filled with support and understanding. He knew better than to push you any further, allowing you to gather your strength for the encounter.

As the car approached the terminal, your palms began to sweat, and your heart raced with trepidation. A feeling of unease washed over you, and your stomach churned with anticipation.

You gripped the armrests of the passenger seat, clenching your fists tighter and tighter as you stared out the window at the bustling crowd rushing past.

"Okay, I'm going to park the car in the long-term parking lot," Cillian announced, breaking the silence as he maneuvered the vehicle into a vacant spot. "We can wait for her at arrivals," he added, turning off the engine.

"Sounds good," you mumbled, reluctantly unbuckling your seatbelt, your legs stiff and heavy.

You knew full well that no amount of preparation could prepare you for this moment. Nevertheless, you had to face it. 

Stepping out of the car, you felt the crisp autumn air hit your face.

The weather was cold, but it did not dampen the intensity of the situation, only adding to the mounting anticipation.

"Let's go," said Cillian, reaching for your hand.

His grasp was firm and reassuring, his knuckles tensing beneath your touch.

You laced your fingers firmly with his, allowing the connection to strengthen your resolve.

The walk seemed endless as you followed Cillian towards the arrival hall.

The sound of people chattering surrounded you, and their faces blurred into indistinguishable masses.

You focused on the ticking clock above the information board, watching the minute hand move in slow motion. Each second dragged on, stretching the seconds into eternity. Your heart echoed loudly in your ears, pounding relentlessly against your ribcage.

"Don't worry, she'll be here soon, and you will get to know each other again. It will be fine," Cillian murmured in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. His lips were warm and comforting, providing solace amid the chaos surrounding you.

You nodded, your throat constricting, making it difficult to speak. You scanned the crowded airport lounge, searching for a glimpse of your mother.

Your pulse quickened every time someone caught your eye, mistaking them for her. But each time, your heart sank a bit lower.

Cillian squeezed your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "She's going to be here, Y/N," he whispered, his tone filled with confidence. "Just give it some more time," he urged, urging you to stay patient.

The tension within you mounted as you waited, and your impatience grew stronger with each passing second. Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Your heartbeat accelerated, and you instinctively clutched Cillian's hand tighter. "There she is I think," you whispered, pointing at her.

Cillian turned around, and his gaze followed your finger. "Yes, that's defiantly her," he confirmed. 

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the lump forming in your throat. Your palms began to sweat, and the butterflies in your stomach intensified. The realization that this was truly happening consumed you, threatening to break down the barriers you had erected all these years.

"It's going to be grand," Cillian whispered, his grip tightening around your hand. "Just relax," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the crowd as you watched your mother walking toward you, dressed in a simple, elegant outfit, carrying a single suitcase.

She looked different from the woman in the photo, but the resemblance was unmistakable. The same bright eyes, the delicate nose, and full lips. Time had taken its toll, but the essence of the loving mother you remembered remained.

The distance between you narrowed, the gap closing faster with each step she took. You watched as her eyes flicked nervously between you and Cillian, her gaze darting to your hand intertwined with his.

"Hi," you called out tentatively, waving a shaky hand. The mere utterance of the word "hi" unleashed a torrent of raw emotions coursing through you. Your breath faltered, and your voice cracked under the weight of suppressed feelings.

Your mother stopped mid stride, her eyes widening in recognition before tearing up completely. 

"Y/N!" she cried out, her voice shaking with emotion. "My baby girl," she sobbed in Spanish, hastening towards you, her suitcase forgotten by her side.

Cillian released your hand, stepping aside to allow space for the reunion. He watched with a swelling heart as you stepped forward, meeting your mother halfway.

Her face contorted with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she threw herself into your arms. "I got you back," she wailed, hugging you tightly.

You closed your eyes, letting the scent of her perfume fill your senses. It was a mixture of lavender and vanilla, a scent that instantly brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort. You breathed deeply, taking in the moment, savoring the warmth of her embrace.

"Mum," you managed to utter, your voice hoarse and weak. "I...," you whispered, unable to form a sentence, holding her even tighter. She reciprocated the gesture, her tears soaking your shoulder.

"It's okay sweetie. I never forgot about you," she confessed, her voice quivering. "I dreamed that one day I would hold you in my arms again," she continued, clutching you tightly. "I never gave up," she added, squeezing you tightly.

"I know," you cried, releasing her but holding her hands in yours.

"Oh, my darling," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"Look at you," she marveled, gazing at you admiringly. "You're so beautiful," she praised, her voice quivering with emotion. "I cannot believe how grown up you are. A beautiful young woman," she added, her voice wavering.

"Thanks, Mum," you responded shyly, looking down at your feet. "And you haven't changed at all," you smiled, noticing her radiant smile. "Save for a few wrinkles here and there," you teased, pointing at her forehead.

"Of course, I have aged, mi hija," she chuckled, patting you affectionately on the back before turning towards Cillian and giving him a quick hug also. 

"Thank you, Cillian," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "For bringing me to my daughter, "she added, her eyes welling up with gratitude.

"You're welcome," Cillian replied confidently, his posture erect and proud. "I would do anything for Y/N," he added, flashing a grin at you.

"That's true actually. He so would," you chuckled, smiling at Cillian.

"So, shall we head home?" Cillian asked, breaking the spellbinding silence between you and your mom as he noticed how some people were taking photographs of him, which was always something that was bothersome for you both. 

"Yes," your mother agreed, nodding eagerly. "I would love to see where my daughter lives these days," she said to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she tried hard to communicate in English.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for so long," she added, her voice quivering with emotion as Cillian reached for her suitcase and led the way towards the parking lot.

***

Half an hour later, you arrived at your new home by the coast, a spacious house with a nice garden near the beach. 

Cillian parked the car in the driveway before helping your mother with her luggage.

"We only just moved in together, so I hope you like it," you told her shyly before walking her inside, which is when, immediately, her jaw dropped. 

"Wow, it's absolutely gorgeous," your mother exclaimed, her eyes scanning the entire length of the house, awestruck.

"Isn't it?" you chimed in, leading her inside. "This is the living room and there is another one upstairs, like an entertaining area or something," you pointed, gesturing towards the cozy seating area with plush couches, bookshelves and large windows overlooking the ocean.

"And when I'm done decorating, I promise it'll be even better," you giggled, seeing that the house still contained some rather dated features. 

"It's a big house for just the two of you though, isn't it?" she commented, her eyes wandering around the spacious rooms. "I mean, there would be plenty of room for some children, don't you think?" she suggested playfully, her eyes twinkling with delight, causing your heart to drop. 

You had not told your mother that you had not one, but two unplanned pregnancies, both of which ended in miscarriage. 

The thought of bringing such pain and loss into her life seemed cruel, especially considering the circumstances of your reunion. Besides, you had yet to fully come to terms with what happened yourself.

"Can I make you a cup of tea?" you thus offered, ignoring her question while Cillian stood there, not knowing what was being said between you in Spanish. 

"That would be lovely," your mother said, not pressing you on the matter. "I will put my stuff away first though," she noted, indicating the hallway where her suitcase lay.

Cillian raised her suitcase, holding it aloft with ease and walked it to her bedroom on the ground floor.

Your mother trailed behind him, peering curiously at the interior design while you busied yourself in the kitchen preparing tea.

"Thank you for taking care of my little angel," she murmured appreciatively, setting her belongings down gently. "She seems very happy here, with you," she observed, looking at Cillian intently. 

"It's my pleasure," Cillian replied earnestly, his gaze locked onto your mother. "She is everything to me," he confided, his voice softening. "And I love her a lot," he insisted, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"I am glad to hear that," your mother commented, studying Cillian closely.

"I can tell you're a good man," she added, observing your bond. "She's lucky to have you," she concluded, smiling broadly.

"Thank you," Cillian replied humbly, his eyes lingering on you. "She makes me feel incredibly happy," he admitted quietly, glancing briefly at your mother before looking away, seemingly embarrassed.

"You're welcome, my dear," your mother cooed softly, reaching out to caress Cillian's cheek before he disappeared to give her some privacy. 

To be continued...

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[mariacallous]

With the Olympic torch extinguished in Paris, all eyes are turning to Los Angeles for the 2028 Olympics.

The host city has promised that the next Summer Games will be “car-free.”

For people who know Los Angeles, this seems overly optimistic. The car remains king in LA, despite growing public transit options.

When LA hosted the Games in 1932, it had an extensive public transportation system, with buses and an extensive network of electric streetcars. Today, the trolleys are long gone; riders say city buses don’t come on schedule, and bus stops are dirty. What happened?

This question fascinates me because I am a business professor who studies why society abandons and then sometimes returns to certain technologies, such as vinyl records, landline phones, and metal coins. The demise of electric streetcars in Los Angeles and attempts to bring them back today vividly demonstrate the costs and challenges of such revivals.

Riding the Red and Yellow Cars

Transportation is a critical priority in any city, but especially so in Los Angeles, which has been a sprawling metropolis from the start.

In the early 1900s, railroad magnate Henry Huntington, who owned vast tracts of land around LA, started subdividing his holdings into small plots and building homes. In order to attract buyers, he also built a trolley system that whisked residents from outlying areas to jobs and shopping downtown.

By the 1930s, Los Angeles had a vibrant public transportation network, with over 1,000 miles of electric streetcar routes, operated by two companies: Pacific Electric Railway, with its “Red Cars,” and Los Angeles Railway, with its “Yellow Cars.”

The system wasn’t perfect by any means. Many people felt that streetcars were inconvenient and also unhealthy when they were jammed with riders. Moreover, streetcars were slow because they had to share the road with automobiles. As auto usage climbed and roads became congested, travel times increased.

Nonetheless, many Angelenos rode the streetcars—especially during World War II, when gasoline was rationed and automobile plants shifted to producing military vehicles.

Demise of Public Transit

The end of the war marked the end of the line for streetcars. The war effort had transformed oil, tire, and car companies into behemoths, and these industries needed new buyers for goods from the massive factories they had built for military production. Civilians and returning soldiers were tired of rationing and war privations, and they wanted to spend money on goods such as cars.

After years of heavy usage during the war, Los Angeles’ streetcar system needed an expensive capital upgrade. But in the mid-1940s, most of the system was sold to a company called National City Lines, which was partly owned by the carmaker General Motors, the oil companies Standard Oil of California and Phillips Petroleum, and the Firestone tire company.

These powerful forces had no incentive to maintain or improve the old electric streetcar system. National City ripped up tracks and replaced the streetcars with buses that were built by General Motors, used Firestone tires, and ran on gasoline.

There is a long-running academic debate over whether self-serving corporate interests purposely killed LA’s streetcar system. Some researchers argue that the system would have died on its own, like many other streetcar networks around the world.

The controversy even spilled over into pop culture in the 1988 movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which came down firmly on the conspiracy side.

What’s undisputed is that, starting in the mid-1940s, powerful social forces transformed Los Angeles so that commuters had only two choices: drive or take a public bus. As a result, LA became so choked with traffic that it often took hours to cross the city.

In 1990, the Los Angeles Times reported that people were putting refrigerators, desks, and televisions in their cars to cope with getting stuck in horrendous traffic. A swath of movies, from Falling Down to Clueless to La La Land, have featured the next-level challenge of driving in LA.

Traffic was also a concern when LA hosted the 1984 Summer Games, but the Games went off smoothly. Organizers convinced over 1 million people to ride buses, and they got many trucks to drive during off-peak hours. The 2028 games, however, will have roughly 50 percent more athletes competing, which means thousands more coaches, family, friends, and spectators. So simply dusting off plans from 40 years ago won’t work.

Olympic Transportation Plans

Today, Los Angeles is slowly rebuilding a more robust public transportation system. In addition to buses, it now has four light-rail lines—the new name for electric streetcars—and two subways. Many follow the same routes that electric trolleys once traveled. Rebuilding this network is costing the public billions, since the old system was completely dismantled.

Three key improvements are planned for the Olympics. First, LA’s airport terminals will be connected to the rail system. Second, the Los Angeles organizing committee is planning heavily on using buses to move people. It will do this by reassigning some lanes away from cars and making them available for 3,000 more buses, which will be borrowed from other locales.

Finally, there are plans to permanently increase bicycle lanes around the city. However, one major initiative, a bike path along the Los Angeles River, is still under an environmental review that may not be completed by 2028.

Car-Free for 17 Days

I expect that organizers will pull off a car-free Olympics, simply by making driving and parking conditions so awful during the Games that people are forced to take public transportation to sports venues around the city. After the Games end, however, most of LA is likely to quickly revert to its car-centric ways.

As Casey Wasserman, chair of the LA 2028 organizing committee, recently put it: “The unique thing about Olympic Games is for 17 days you can fix a lot of problems when you can set the rules—for traffic, for fans, for commerce—than you do on a normal day in Los Angeles.”

[tektronixtechnology]

The size of commercial vehicles and machines mean vehicle Camera Monitor System blind spots are a major factor in collisions across all industries. Operator positions, bodywork, absent rear windows and bulkheads create further restrictions and can greatly limit driver visibility, making collisions even more likely.  The significant financial cost of vehicle and property damage is magnified by associated costs such as downtime, but even greater are the corporate and emotional costs when there is personal injury.

Vehicle Camera Monitoring System

Vehicle Camera Monitoring System Dubai

Vehicle Camera Monitoring System Abu Dhabi

Vehicle Camera Monitoring System Sharjah

Vehicle Camera Monitoring System Ajman

Car Camera Monitoring System UAE

Car Camera Monitoring System Abu Dhabi

Car Camera Monitoring System Sharjah

[tinydreamerphilosopher]

school bus camera 

heavy vehicle camera 

heavy vehicle camera abu dhabi 

camera for bus in dubai 

cctv camera for bus 

bus camera installation abu dhabi 

bus cameras in abu dhabi 

school bus camera in ajman 

heavy vehicle tracking system in abu dhabi 

[fictionalafvsmybeloved]

the tank from fallout 4 (in the future could you enable media in asks? i plan to sling some very obscure vehicles your way.)

Alright, Sorry this one took me so long to get to (and media should be enabled, just don't spam too many pictures)

Now, bear witness to the monstrosity that is the Fallout 4 tank!

In the vast wasteland of post-nuclear Boston you can find many remnants of the Pre-War military, and this is one of the two types of armored vehicles you'll come across.

So this is based on the aesthetics of many late WWII-early Cold War American tanks and prototypes, with no clear inspiration taken from any one vehicle (that I know of)

So, let's start with the quad-tracks why don't we?

They're bad, really bad. Not only do they lack any drive sprockets, but the road wheels are to close together and they aren't even in-line with each other. This just increases the width of the tank with out any sort of benefit. This thing also weighs sixty tons, so even with the nuclear power-pack (also a bad idea) it's probably not going anywhere fast (and forget about soft terrain).

Now I don't know much about the armor on this, other that it's riveted armor, which fell out of use during WWII. Riveted armor isn't good, repeated hits (even sustained heavy machine-gun fire) can loosen the rivets and cause them to fall out or go ricocheting through the tank.

And things aren't any better in the turret. It has a pair of 140mm guns (I'll go into detail on why double-guns and quad-track are bad ideas in another post) and rail-mounts for machine-guns on the commander and loader's hatches, but no co-ax MG. This leaves gaps in the tank's defenses and give it a cramped turret. The turret can't even rotate 360 degrees, it's blocked by all the greebles on the engine deck.

I can't see a single sight or periscope on this ugly thing, not even in the commander's cupola. It might be totally blind.

There are at least two crew members, a commander and a gunner. There might be more but I have no idea where they would sit, hopefully not in the turret, there's barely any space inside it left.

Now about those greebles... There are to many, and most of them don't do any thing or actively inhibit the tank. That big thing hanging off the left side of the engine deck is a system of heat sinks for the nuclear power pack. It does at least have plenty of miscellaneous hatches in some useful places.

A nuclear power-pack is a very bad idea. Almost any damage too it will cause it to start leaking radiation or meltdown.

FINAL SCORES

Credibility: 3/10 - Dahir Insaat Animation

Coolness: 3/10 - WarThunder Sad Eyes Tank

BONUS: I'll have to add the bonus later when Nexus mods is back up