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blueiscoool · 2 months ago

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Egyptologists Clash Over ‘Underground City’ Beneath Pyramids

Claims that an “underground city” exists beneath ancient Egyptian pyramids have caused a row among experts.

Researchers from Italy say they have uncovered giant vertical shafts wrapped in “spiral staircases” under the Khafre pyramid.

They said on Sunday that they found a limestone platform with two chambers and channels that resemble pipelines for a water system more than 2,100 feet below the pyramid, with underground pathways leading even deeper into the earth.

But the claims – which have not been published or independently peer-reviewed – were labelled “false” and “exaggerated” by fellow Egyptologists.

Researchers claim they have discovered eight cylinder-shaped structures below the Khafre - Khafre Project.

Prof Corrado Malanga and his team from the University of Pisa used radar pulses to create high-resolution images deep into the ground, similar to how sonar radar maps the ocean.

In a statement, he said: “When we magnify the images [in the future], we will reveal that beneath it lies what can only be described as a true underground city.”

The scientists have also said there is “an entire hidden world of many structures’’ and that “the Pyramid of Khafre might conceal undiscovered secrets, notably the fabled Hall of Records”.

The Hall of Records, a concept popularised in ancient Egyptian lore, is believed to be an ancient library beneath the Great Pyramid or the Sphinx, with vast amounts of information about the ancient civilisation.

Prof Lawrence Conyers, a radar expert at the University of Denver who focuses on archaeology, told the Daily Mail it was not possible for the technology to penetrate that deeply into the ground.

He said the idea that it proves an underground city existed is “a huge exaggeration”.

But he said it was conceivable small structures, such as shafts and chambers, may be present from before the pyramids were built.

He highlighted how “the Mayans and other peoples in ancient Mesoamerica often built pyramids on top of the entrances to caves or caverns that had ceremonial significance to them”.

The work by Prof Malanga and fellow researchers Filippo Biondi and Armando Mei was previously discussed during a briefing in Italy last week.

The project’s spokesman, Nicole Ciccolo, shared a video on Saturday of the trio discussing the findings that are yet to be published in a scientific journal.

Tomographic images could indicate internal artificial structures under the pyramid - Khafre Project.

The team focused on the Khafre pyramid, which, along with Khufu and Menkaure pyramids, make up the three in the Giza complex.

The pyramids are thought to have been built some 4,500 years ago and sit on the west bank of the Nile river in northern Egypt.

The vertical shafts identified below the ground were about 33 to 39 feet in diameter, located at a depth of at least 2,130 feet, the researchers said, adding that they may support the pyramid, which needs “a strong foundation, otherwise it may sink”.

The team showed an image created by using the pulses which they claim includes “a complex, luminous structure with distinct vibrations” they believe is “an actual underground city”.

“The existence of vast chambers beneath the earth’s surface, comparable in size to the pyramids themselves, have a remarkably strong correlation between the legendary Halls of Amenti,” Ms Ciccolo said.

A 3D model displays the structures inside the central part of the Pyramid of Khafre - Khafre Project.

Prof Malanga and Mr Biondi published a separate peer-reviewed paper in October 2022 in the scientific journal Remote Sensing, which found hidden rooms and ramps inside Khafre, along with evidence of a thermal anomaly near the pyramid’s base.

The new study used similar technology but with extra help from satellites orbiting Earth.

Radar signals from two satellites about 420 miles above Earth were directed into the Khafre pyramid.

The experts then monitor how they bounce back and convert the signals into sound waves, which allows them to “see” through the solid stone and map out underground structures in 3D.

Prof Malanga claimed the results had been “completely consistent” and using two satellites ruled out the chance of “misinterpretation”.

By Michael Searles.

View of the ancient crypt inside the Great step pyramid of Djoser, Saqqara. Cairo.

#Egyptologists Clash Over ‘Underground City’ Beneath Pyramids #Scientists using new radar technology find 'vast city' beneath pyramids #Khafre pyramid #Khafre Project #The Hall of Records #ancient artifacts #archeology #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient Egypt #egyptian history

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Not A Verstappen: Away We Go {2}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It seems as if everything you ever dreamed of is just within your reach. You got the guys and the baby, the only thing left is the seat. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, fluff WC: 3.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry || One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5 || Seven || SMAU || Eight || Nine NAV: Away We Go || One || Two || Three

A giant raspberry sounded from the nursery, followed by a high pitch giggle and then two deeper laughs.

“Where do you think you are going?” Lando asked when Autumn rolled to her tummy and started to crawl away.

“Coming to papa, aren’t you, ma petite?”

Even with the door to the office closed you could hear their soft words as they played in Autumn’s room down the hall. It was hard to concentrate when you were torn between joining your family and completing the testing you were contracted for on the SIM but there were only 30 laps left of the session and the team needed the data. There may have only been three races left for the year but there were plenty of teams with vacant seats waiting to be filled. You understood negotiations took time and there were often conversations with multiple drivers being had at any one time but you were hopeful that at least one seat would be secured for you. The testing for Mercedes, Audi and Williams had been promising.

You finally shut down the SIM racer and left the office but found the nursery dark except for the moon and star mobile that softly glowed as it played a lullaby for Autumn who was fast asleep in her cot. Disappointment grated your resolution as you came to understand how Charles and Lando felt missing time with her when they went away for work, but you pushed it aside as you leant down and kissed her chubby cheek and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my love.”

Lando grinned when you found him in the kitchen making a drink and he instantly picked up on your mood. “Hi honey, how was work?”

You stuck your tongue out and stole the tea he had made as Charles joined you at the breakfast bar, the baby monitor placed in the middle. “When did she go to sleep?”

“About 10 minutes ago. We tried to keep her awake so she could sleep on the plane but she is like her daddy and loves her naps,” Charles said with a pointed look to Lando.

You rolled your tense shoulders after hours in the same position driving and moaned when Charles stood up and used his strong hands to massage them. “Fuck that feels good.”

“You know what else feels good?” Lando asked with a suggestive wink.

You tipped your head back to look up at Charles and found his eyes staring at your breasts with a hunger that could never be sated. “I have a few ideas…” he offered.

You checked your watch and calculated how long Autumn would likely nap for before letting your thoughts wander to the same place as theirs. A trail of clothes littered the hallway to the bedroom and you shoved the suitcases off the bed with little regard for the mess. Motherhood hadn’t diminished your sex drive like some people warned, but the time available was significantly less for said activities. So you made the most of the moments you could.

“Condoms,” you warned while you were still coherent enough to remember. The train of thought was quickly derailed when Lando caught you around the waist and tossed you across the blankets. In an instant he was there, nudging your thighs apart with his shoulders and burying his face between them.

Charles was more leisurely, taking his time and stroking his cock while he watched the two of you. His bottom lip swelled as he pinched it between his teeth until he needed to feel your bodies with the same urgency you felt the moment you saw either of them naked. His hands found your breasts that he had fallen more in love with and he delighted in the weight of them filling his palms. That wasn’t the only change to your body that he loved in the last seven months.

The effort put in with Kristian had paid off and you found breastfeeding absolutely burned through the calories, making it much easier than expected to return to a weight close to pre-pregnancy. He had helped you to get fit without compromising your body's ability to make milk but even toning your muscles couldn’t erase the stretch marks that littered your skin. You were no longer self-conscious of them, Charles and Lando had made sure of that months ago.

Charles’ kiss scorched your lips as he dominated your mouth, parting your lips with his tongue as you moaned against him. Your head fell back as you bared your throat for him, his teeth grazing your racing pulse as he kissed and nipped his way down your body. Your cunt tightened around Lando’s fingers as Charles’ tongue traced the silvery marks that forked like lightning across your hip. It was ticklish and torturous until Lando broke away to share the taste of you with Charles and you moaned at the sight.

“How are you feeling, mon amour?” Charles asked as you reached for them, stroking their hard lengths while their hands roamed your body.

“Impatient and greedy,” you answered with a needy whine when Lando purposefully missed your clit with his thumb.

“I think she wants us,” Lando teased while Charles reached for the box of condoms.

“It does appear that way,” he replied with a chuckle, rolling the latex sheath down his length. “But does she want us both at the same time?”

Your lips parted with a moan at the idea and their eyes darkened until you could hardly see any colour around their dilated pupils. “Please…”

Lando grabbed your hips and rolled, taking you with him until you ended up straddling his waist and he looked up happily. “Hello, beautiful. Do you come here often?”

“Not as much as I would like,” you giggled, but it turned to a moan as he lifted you over his cock and let you sink down on him.

“Putain,” Charles swore softly as he watched you rock your hips and ride Lando. Unable to resist joining in, he straddled Lando’s legs and lined himself up with your body, easing slowly inside as you froze. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t put into words just how much more than okay you were but you managed to moan and nod.

“She’s good,” Lando confirmed with a strained laugh as he forced himself to stay still while you adjusted to having the both of them seated inside you. It took all his strength not to thrust up like he wanted to, but he didn’t want to hurt you. “Just take it slow, baby.”

Your muscles began to relax and your breathing returned to normal. The strain in your core eased and you slowly began to set the rhythm until the pleasure grew stronger and your body was ready. Moans filled the room and your nails dug into Lando’s chest as your walls fluttered as you fucked yourself against them. Charles reached around your body and cupped your breasts that grew heavy in his touch, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples until they began to leak.

“Fuck,” Lando moaned at the mess they made of you. Your jaw hung slack and your eyes fluttered shut as your cunt tightened around him. Creamy milk ran in rivulets down your flesh and pooled on his abdomen and he grabbed your waist, tightening his grasp so he could fuck you harder. He could barely think, barely breathe when you drove him wild with the need to fill your cunt with his seed. Lando’s back arched off the bed, lifting you with his as he cried out with his release. His heart hammered in his chest beneath your palms and his cock pulsed inside you, filling the condom.

“God, that felt good, too good,” he chuckled as he swiped a thumb over your nipple and licked the drop of milk he collected. “Hmmm, so sweet.”

“They are very full,” you admitted somewhat shyly, having missed feeding Autumn before her nap.

“I can help you with that,” he offered with a smirk and your body gave you away as it clenched around their cocks.

—

Charles and Lando were still showering when you heard Autumn on the baby monitor. Rushing around the room, you gave up on drying off properly and tossed a robe around your damp body instead.

“Hello, my littlest love,” you greeted her happily. Light flooded the room as you opened the blockout blinds and found her standing inside her cot, her grabby hands reaching through for you. “I hope you had the sweetest dreams.”

Bright green eyes looked up as you reached down to pick her up and the smile she gave made your heart stutter. The twin dimples were set deep in her round cheeks and the pure joy on her face brightened your day. You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were to call her yours.

You boyfriends must have finished showering as a delicious scent wafted in from the kitchen and you quickly changed Autumn. “Shall we go see what papa is making for lunch?”

Charles was already placing a plastic bowl of fresh cut fruit beside the high chair but Autumn had no interest in that when she saw your plate of stroopwafels.

“Just like her mama,” Charles chuckled, placing a second plate down for Lando who emerged from the bedroom half dressed.

“Have you seen my shirt?”

“You’re going to have to narrow that down,” you commented after swallowing a mouthful of waffles.

“McLaren one.”

“That doesn’t exactly help, mon cher.”

He waved a hand dismissively before he spied the papaya coloured material in the living room. A corner of the sleeve peeked out from the soft play toys overflowing from the storage box and Lando dug it out with a laugh.

“See, she wants to join the papaya army,” he said as he sniffed it before pulling it on.

“Why don’t you get a clean one?”

Lando frowned and looked down to see if there were any marks. “It is clean.”

“Men, honestly,” you muttered to Autumn, only to notice she had stolen a stroopwafel while you weren’t looking. “Hey, that’s mine. You’re lucky you’re cute, missy.”

Charles joined you at the table and reached for one too but you smacked his hand out of the way. “Am I not cute too?” he asked with a pout.

You cradled his jaw and brushed a thumb over his pouting lip before giving him a kiss. “Baby, there’s many things I would call you before calling you cute. Handsome, sexy, love of my life-”

He cut you off with a kiss, his arm snaking around your body to pull you onto his lap. “Sorry, keep going, amour.”

You blinked twice as you tried to remember what you were doing but he was still distracting you with his lips on your neck. “I lost my train of thought now.”

“Cover your eyes, baby girl,” Lando gasped dramatically. “Papa is being naughty.”

“If papa wasn’t naughty she wouldn’t be here,” you pointed out with a smirk.

“Would having another be so bad?”

You practically jumped off Charles’ lap and wagged a finger at him when he shared a conspiratorial look with Lando.

“Not happening.” You closed your robe tighter to prove the point and crossed your arms over the thick material. “You two can keep it in your pants until those thoughts are looong gone.”

You left them to get dressed and returned in a pair of sweatpants and a stolen hoodie, the attempt to hide your body only making them laugh more. “You do realise I get turned on when you wear my clothes,” Lando pointed out as he tugged the cord, closing the hoodie around your face. With only your lips visible through the hole he stole a kiss and buried his hands in the back pocket on the sweatpants, squeezing your ass. “Forgive me yet, baby?”

“No,” you grumbled, but the way your body leaned into his contradicted the word.

Light burst back into your vision as Charles pulled the hood back and he tugged you out of Lando’s arms. “We have a flight to get ready for and 20 hours is a long time to have blue balls, mon cher.”

“I just wanted a cuddle,” Lando groaned. Charles gave him a look that said he clearly didn’t believe him and Lando turned away to free Autumn from the high chair. “Come on, princess, it’s just you and me against the world.”

–

The toddler earmuffs swamped Autumn’s head but they seemed to work as she slept soundly strapped to Lando’s chest in a front pack. It was way past her bedtime and it probably would have been best to return to the hotel and put her in the travel cot but you wanted to be with Lando and Charles for the race. Being back at the track where Lando crashed left all of you unsettled but he calmed down best with Autumn in his arms.

“This late night schedule is so messed up. There’s still four hours to go. What are we meant to do in the meantime?” Charles asked as he checked his phone again for the schedule of pre-race events.

“We could get married, well not legally get married, but nothing says we can’t have the ceremony,” Lando said as he pointed to the paddock chapel: Race to the Altar. “What do you say?”

“Romantic,” you chuckled, watching Charles as he dragged a hand down his face in dismay. “But it’s the thought that counts. Why not?”

“Wait, really?” Lando gaped, unsure if you were playing with him or serious.

You shrugged and looked at Charles. “We already have the baby and you guys already called me your wife.”

“She makes a good point,” he admitted, a smile growing as he looked at Lando. “So?”

Lando’s brows lifted and for a second he was lost for words. “I mean, yeah, let’s just go get married. Why not? Let’s fucking do this. You aren’t joking right?”

“You asked me,” you laughed. “Backing out already?”

“No, absolutely not. We are doing this,” he said with a nod. “But, uh, should we call anyone?”

Max was in the paddock, so was your mother and Lando’s father, but other than that most of your families hadn’t been able to make the trip.

“How about we do this on our own?” you suggested as you continued along the path towards the Chapel. “Maybe we can have a proper celebration during the break? We don’t even have rings.”

“They actually have themed rings, they are mini Pirelli’s,” Lando said as he showed his phone after a quick google search.

“Yikes, we are not getting the C5 - that just won’t last.”

“Aw, don’t like it soft, baby?”

“C1 all the way,” you said with a flirty wink, “go hard or go home.”

Charles laughed along with Lando. “How about full wets, no?”

“Now you’re talking. Maybe she can wear Wet and we can have Hard’s.”

“No, thank you. When we get home we can get proper rings made for us.”

The guys still debated getting the Pirelli themed rings in the meantime, until you threatened a quick divorce. It didn’t take much convincing for the minister to make a three way wedding but in Vegas that was probably one of the more sedate requests he had received.

“There are some suits in the changing room if you want,” he offered, jutting a thumb to the room behind him. “A dress too, ma’am.”

Lando looked down at his McLaren shirt and Charles did the same with his Ferrari. “If you are half as loyal to me as you are to your team then I am one lucky lady,” you chuckled before nodding to the minister. “We are fine as we are, thank you.”

“Okey dokey, then let’s get started. Do you have any vows prepared?” He took the silence as a no and clicked his tongue. “No matter, I have the basics. Just fill out these forms and I’ll take a copy of your ID.”

“This isn’t going to be legal though,” Charles confirmed with a frown.

“Not technically,” he said with a shrug, “but I can still fill out the paperwork and give you a copy for keepsake. Call it ‘the experience’.”

You liked the idea of having marriage certificates and you already knew where you were going to hang the framed copies in the bedroom. It was painful having to complete three forms though, one for your ‘marriage’ to Lando, one to Charles and then a third for Lando and Charles’ ‘marriage’ to each other.

“Repeat after me,” the minister said, reading the standard vows you had seen in every movie.

“I, Y/N L/N, take you both, Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc, to be my husbands, to have and to hold this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” Your lip began to wobble as the ceremony began to feel real and it was no longer just a fun way to pass time. This is what you wanted, to have both of these men for eternity, and you couldn’t stop from adding, “And if I go first, just know that I will wait forever if I have to until we meet again because this life together will never be long enough. Now please say something funny before I really start crying.”

Lando choked a laugh and wiped his eyes. “I, Lando Norris, take you, Y/N L/N, to be my wife, and you, Charles Leclerc, to be my husband to have and to hold this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part. I also promise to be your biggest fan and support you through every win and DNF life throws at us, and do your laundry.”

Your laugh cracked with a sob and you looked at Lando through watery vision before turning to Charles.

“I, Charles Leclerc, take you, Y/N L/N, to be my wife, and you, Lando Norris, to be my husband to have and to hold this day forward,” he sniffled and wiped away the tears that escaped before he could continue. “When we met we were rivals, threatened by each other's talent, but when we fell in love we were racers who respected one another. Today, I get to marry my best friends and I promise to always be there to help you achieve your dreams and help us grow together as our journey continues to eternity. And I promise to always put our family first…Ferrari a close second.”

“Forza Ferrari,” the minister murmured with a small supportive nod before he reached for the box of tissues under the dais he stood beside. He gave you a moment to dry your eyes before he smiled. “Then by the power vested in me by the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you, husband and wife, and husband.”

A stupid giddy laugh escaped and you didn’t bother waiting to hear the next part as you threw your arms around your husband’s and kissed them. It felt like you were floating away with the surrealness of the situation as you signed the documents and they were handed off to an assistant that just arrived. It had been less than half an hour since Lando had suggested it and then suddenly you were holding three laminated sheets of paper meticulously detailing a wedding as if it were legal.

“We need to get back to the hotel now,” you said as you held the documents close to your chest.

“Consummation time,” Lando winked.

“I won’t have my first time as a married woman be a quickie, thank you,” you tutted. “These are going straight in the safe before anyone sees them and it gets leaked. Max would probably kill us for not inviting him.”

“I’m glad you are included this time. Usually it’s only us getting death threats from him,” Charles teased before checking his phone. “We should have time to drop it off and get back before the media interviews begin.”

Click here for the final part.

#charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 fanfic #lando norris imagine #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x y/n

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paddedlittleparadise · 1 year ago

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Victoria Volunteers, Part Five

Be sure to check out Parts One, Two, Three, and Four!

No thinking. Good girls don't think. Good girls let go. Good girls relax. And you… are a good girl. A very good little girl…

The chorus of whispers – some in sultry feminine tones, others in now masculine rumbles – seeped out through the headphones and into the hapless woman's brain. How long she had been here in this medical facility, she no longer knew. She no longer knew much of anything, in fact – not even how many times she'd fallen into unconsciousness and then blinked back to confused reality. Besides, how could anyone think straight with all these voices echoing nonstop in their ears?

Little. Yes, a little girl. You're forgetting everything else… except that you're a good, obedient little girl. You've always been a little girl… so very good and little and obedient…

Was that the truth? Victoria's external struggles had ceased long before – the straitjacket and bonds had seen to that – but now a small, tired burst of resistance flared within her drowsy brain. No… adult. She was… adult. Young adult. And good girl…? Well, Daddy had called her that in years past. Mandy also liked to joke about her "little" sister. And so she… well, she kinda was? The voice… it might be right after all…

Little girls like you… they forget. They don't have to think… or remember… or do anything. They get to relax. Yes… relax. Let everything go. Everything. Their thoughts… their memories… their bodies…

Victoria twitched silently, her mind and body still struggling feebly against the regression programming. But she… she didn't want to forget… did she? Somewhere far off – in the faint corners of her mind – there seemed to be something about urgency. Something between her legs, deep in her belly. Something she had to do…

Good little girls… they always want to become good little babies. Yes, they do. So sweet, so cute, so adorable… You're a good little girl… and we know. We know how you long to be an even better baby… Because babies don't even know how to think. They can't. They just play… and sleep… and drink. They crawl and cry and coo… Their bodies don't obey them… They have no control, because they don't even know what control is…

Control. What… was this control about? Victoria was having trouble remembering amid the wash of sound. Whatever it was, it sounded hard. She was so tired after all this fighting. She just wanted it all to stop. To relax. To let everything fade away…

And you don't know either… do you? Of course you don't. You don't even understand the question anymore – and that's because you've become a little baby now. Oh, yes. You already have. No control… no thoughts… just relaxing every… single… muscle… Letting everything go…

Something slowly unclenched deep within her now. Victoria's bound body twitched involuntarily… but it was a primal reflex and nothing more. Her mind was drifting now: only vaguely aware in the dreamiest of ways of the trickling sensation between her legs… and practically oblivious to the warm, silently swelling bulk of the diaper as it drank in her first infantile accident.

–––

Above her, and unseen by Victoria's glazed eyes, a blue light winked. A moment later, it winked again. And then again… the only indication of the high-resolution camera mounted there, and which was effortlessly documenting this patient's first and most momentous foray into regression therapy.

Not that Victoria was aware of it, of course. Let alone that her image – as a bound, gagged, and diapered prisoner – was at that very moment flashing up on a monitor some three hundred miles away in her elder step-sister Mandy's office.

An image, it must be confessed, that brought a slow, satisfied smirk to Mandy's handsome face.

(The end – for now!)

Image Credit: ABDreams.com

Be sure to check out my Patreon or my Ream Stories if you want to read more of my naughty fiction!

#diaper captions #ab/dl caption #paddedlittleparadise #abdreams #med/fet

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cha-melodius · 4 months ago

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#16, Alex/Henry?

(Also requested by @firenati0n. I feel like there were two obvious options for this one: post-leaks in canon, or post-rescue mission of some kind. You can probably guess which one I chose. 😂 read all the hug ficlets)

Firstprince, 16: The “it’s okay, I’m here” hug.

Add’l note: This is more or less a tiny sequel to So Close to Something Better Left Unknown. You don’t have to have read the fic to read this ficlet, but it does contain minor spoilers for the very end of said fic.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When Henry gave him the watch, it was half a joke and half because Henry’s in love with him and his hopeless heart latched onto the slim chance to keep an eye on him, at least from a distance. He’d expected Alex to leave it behind, or disable the tracker, or at the very least not wear it, but as far as he can tell, Alex had done none of those things. The tracker bops around the globe, giving Henry far too much information on CIA missions merely through its location. Not that Henry would ever pass on that information to his own agency, or anyone else for that matter.

That Alex trusted him not to, to keep his secrets… Well, it means a lot.

He assumed that at some point his own work would bring him within striking distance of Alex again, and he’d make use of the tracker to find him and… oh, hell, he doesn’t know. Say hello? It sounds absurd for a spy, but it’s pretty much all he could hope for. But before that happens, the tracker gets stuck for a week in a remote part of Guatemala, and Henry starts to get worried. Maybe Alex just lost the watch, or abandoned it for some reason. That’s the most reasonable explanation. Even so, Henry quietly requests recent satellite images of that area and zooms all the way in on the watch’s coordinates.

It’s a high-security compound of some sort. Not good.

He tries not to let his imagination run wild. The tracker he’d left in the watch is extremely high resolution, and he watches it occasionally move around the compound, as if someone was wearing it, though mostly it stays in one place. Alex could have traded it or gifted it as part of an operation; it was a valuable watch, after all. Still, it nags at Henry. He’s not going to be able to rest until he finds out what actually happened. The most straightforward way would be simply asking, but he has no way of contacting Alex except a burner phone he has no reason to believe Alex would be monitoring.

He sends a message anyway, but after a few days without a response, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s completely mad, he knows it is, but he makes up an excuse about tracking down a lead on a long-cold operation and books a ticket to Guatemala City. He covertly watches the outside of the compound for three days, keeping track of the men who come and go, and sends photos of them to Bea with a request to run facial recognition and not ask any questions. (She does, of course, but she doesn’t push, even when they come back with the names of some very bad people.)

Finally, once the compound’s primary resident leaves and takes with him what should be the majority of his armed muscle, Henry makes his move. The watch is still inside, and Henry follows the tracker’s signal down into the basement of an outbuilding, taking out a handful of guards with tranquilizers as he goes. The building is dark and dank, and the series of locked metal doors he finds do nothing to help the cold, hard knot that’s settled into his stomach. His hands don’t shake as he picks the lock on the one the watch is resting behind, but that careful composure slips when the door finally swings open to reveal a miserable lump curled on a thin mattress, a head of matted curls just visible through the murky darkness.

Alex flinches away when Henry first reaches out for him, scrambling into the corner, but then his eyes land on Henry and his mouth drops open. He blinks rapidly, scrubs frantically at his eyes, and blinks again.

“Henry?” he croaks in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, love,” Henry tells him, holding his hands out in front of him as he slowly moves closer. “I’ve come to get you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, then Alex surges toward him. Henry almost shies away himself, unsure of what Alex means to do, but then Alex is grabbing him and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it squeezes the air out of Henry’s lungs, and Henry can do nothing else but curl his arms around the trembling man now occupying his lap.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand down Alex’s back.

“How?” Alex chokes out. “How did you…?”

His voice trails off as he raises his left arm and looks at his own wrist, where a bit of watch strap peeks out beyond the filthy cuff of his shirt. Inexplicably, his captors had let him keep it, though that becomes more understandable when his sleeve slips further down and Henry sees how he’s smeared it with mud. The exquisite Patek Philippe now looks like a beaten up piece of junk.

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Alex says, his voice cracking over the syllables. He drops his arm and tries to bury his face in Henry’s chest. “That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, love, it doesn’t,” Henry says, holding him tighter. It’s torture to pull away, but eventually he must. “Come on,” he says, tipping Alex’s chin, now covered in a scraggly beard, up so their eyes meet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #my fic #hug ficlets #sctsblu #i reserve the right to expand this later lol

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i-am-just-a-slut-for-simon-riley · 4 months ago

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Limerence I

“𝒴ℴ𝓊’𝓇ℯ 𝓈𝒸𝓇ℯ𝓌ℯ𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓉, 𝓁𝒾𝓀ℯ 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾ℴ𝓃－𝒹ℴ𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓃”

Office romance? (this is pure self-indulgence)

Themes: A very petty jealous older man, negative emotional literacy, porn with plot?, assistant reader who loves being a brat

The rain pattered against the window overlooking the sprawling cityscape, each droplet meandering down the glass like tears, their paths illuminated by the golden glow of the streetlights below. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock reverberated softly in the room, harmonizing with the faint irregular beat of keyboard clicks and the gentle hum of the city alive with energy. London was breathtaking tonight, its lights scattered across the horizon like shards of diamonds against the velvet darkness that embraced it. The traffic below flowed like molten streams of amber, headlights weaving through the streets in a mesmerizing dance. Occasionally, the muffled rumble of laughter or the distant honk of a horn filtered up, seeping into Simon’s office like whispers of a world still turning.

Simon’s hands moved deftly over his desk, brushing through the disarray of files spread haphazardly across its surface, before returning to the keyboard, his fingers tapping out a steady rhythm. His brow furrowed in concentration; the sharp lines of tension etched across his face framed by the soft halo of his desk lamp. He glanced briefly at the time glowing on his monitor—10:19 p.m.—and his lips pressed into a thin, resolute line. The quiet hum of fatigue was beginning to tug at the edges of his mind.

With a sigh, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his other hand raking through his short, buzzed dirty-blonde hair, the motion quick and absentminded. Then came a faint, familiar sound, the steady hiss of the coffee machine outside his office, followed by the rhythmic clicking of heels echoing down the corridor. The sharp cadence drew closer, deliberate and unhurried, until it paused just outside his door. Simon barely looked up, his eyes flickering to the scattered papers before him as three soft, deliberate knocks broke the silence, each one resonating in the stillness like a gentle ripple in a calm pool.

"Come in," he called out, his voice clipped, and laced with an edge of tension he couldn’t quite conceal.

Simon rubbed his temples, he yearned—no, ached—for the days when the clutter of tedious reports spread across his desk was the worst of his problems. Those days were simple, almost blissful, compared to this. Because now, the pounding headache gnawing at his temples wasn’t from numbers or deadlines. Oh no, it was from that picture. That stupid, damned picture.

It had embedded itself in his mind like a thorn he couldn’t pull out. You, his sweet, ever-efficient assistant, draped in that impossibly tight dress that hugged every inch of you like a second skin. You were at a nightclub, lights flashing, music pounding, looking like temptation incarnate. And there you were, grinning—grinning—like you hadn’t a care in the world as some jackass, who clearly believed he was God’s gift to womankind, had the audacity to hold you by the waist. His hands were on you, pulling you close, his lips brushing your ear like he was whispering the kind of secrets that were meant to make angels weep and Simon’s blood boil.

God, he hated that picture. Every cursed detail of it. The way the dress clung to you, outlining curves he’d done his damnedest to ignore during office hours. The way your smile lit up your whole face, carefree and dazzling, a smile he never got to see in the fluorescent haze of the office. And your eyes, sparkling, alive, brimming with joy, a kind of joy he realized, with a sharp pang, he’d never been the cause of.

And yet there you were offering it to him. That absolute wanker, with his arm slung around you like he’d won the lottery. He wasn’t even trying to play it cool, no, that sleazy bastard had shown up to a nightclub wearing his high school football jersey. A football jersey. What kinda tool does that?

(And for your kind information love, the moron looked like he peaked junior year and had been coasting downhill ever since. No, Simon was not being petty, okay… maybe just a little. But god Love, you could do better than that, he thought. Hell, he could treat you better than that. Not that he’d ever say it. Probably. Maybe.)

The heavy mahogany door to Simon’s office slid open with a soft groan, revealing you as you stepped in with effortless grace. The sharp click of your black stilettos echoed against the polished marble floor, announcing your arrival before the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee did. The steam swirled in delicate tendrils above the porcelain cup on the tray you carried, curling and dancing in the cool air.

You looked like a damn vision, poised and professional, yet maddeningly alluring. The black sheath dress you wore hugged you just enough to tease without crossing into scandal, its hem skimming your knees. Sheer black stockings added an elegant finish, drawing a sharp contrast to the soft chaos of your loosely pinned hair. A few stray strands framed your face, almost as if daring to defy the order Simon demanded from everything around him.

“Your coffee, sir,” you said smoothly, your voice steady as your gaze met his. Those caramel eyes of his, always so intense and searching, had a way of stripping layers off people without warning. And yet, you didn’t flinch. Not outwardly, at least. Inside? Well, you’d learned to hold your breath and pray he didn’t notice.

He gave a curt nod, wordlessly gesturing for you to approach, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. 10:20, sharp. Of course. The man could probably set the national standard for punctuality. Time wasn’t just money in Simon’s world, it was religion, and woe to anyone who didn’t worship it with the same fervor.

You stepped forward, carefully placing the coffee on his desk, just within his reach but far enough from the precarious sea of reports. Precision was everything with Simon, and you’d learned that the hard way. God forbid a cup of coffee jeopardize the sanctity of his paperwork… there’d be a funeral, and it wouldn’t be for the coffee.

Working for him had been nothing short of a boot camp for the corporate soul. Demanding? Check. Intimidating? Double check. He was terrifyingly intelligent, sharp as a blade, and as subtle as a hurricane when pointing out flaws. It had taken you two grueling years to master the art of being his assistant. Two years of meticulous note-taking, clockwork scheduling, and developing a superhuman resistance to both his criticism and his occasional bouts of unintentional charm.

Some days, it felt like you were training for a military operation, precision drills, mental endurance, days that bled into nights without a chance to get some shut eye and a sixth sense for danger. But hey, at least there were no grenades... Minus the occasional friendly fire and his temper, which could definitely level a room when provoked.

You stood rooted in place, watching as Simon lifted the mug and took a deliberate sip. His jaw ticked, the faintest sign of some inner turmoil—or, knowing him, hyper-focused scrutiny. Perfect, He thought bitterly. Of course, the coffee was exactly how he liked it. You’d mastered the formula down to a science because God forbid his caffeine be anything less than sublime.

His eyes slid off the glowing screen, cocking a single eyebrow at you. The look wasn’t hostile—just a silent, borderline smug inquiry: Why are you still standing here?

"It’s 10:20, sir," you said, the words measured, your tone laced with carefully restrained patience. His deadpan stare didn’t budge, so you pressed on, plastering a smile so tight it made your cheeks ache. "On a weekend."

He blinked, his expression giving nothing away except maybe mild amusement. "I am aware, love," he replied, his gravelly tone low and deliberate, like velvet lined with steel. And damn it, you ignored the tingles the word love sent down your spine, forcing yourself to focus. Not the time.

"You updated the company policy to prohibit overtime," you added, your tone sharpening just slightly. "Specifically for weekends." You held his gaze, silently begging the man to connect the dots without turning this into a battle of wills. If he noticed the exasperation leaking into your professional façade, he didn’t let on. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, those infuriating caramel eyes darkening as he folded his arms, the very picture of nonchalance.

"And?" he fired back, the single word sharp enough to slice through your remaining shred of patience. Your left eye twitched involuntarily. Oh, how you wanted to throttle this man. Just one good shake for catharsis.

It wasn’t just today; he’d been pushing every button you had all week, barking orders like a drill sergeant and tossing near-impossible demands like a child who just discovered confetti. At first, you thought it was the stress of the upcoming board meeting to appoint the new chairman. Then you figured it might be his younger brother, Tommy, stirring up trouble and ending up on the tabloids as usual. But neither of those theories fit. No matter how much you analyzed it, you couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the extra hostility radiating off him lately.

Now, here he was, staring you down, almost daring you to push back. You clenched your jaw, suppressing the violent urge to snatch that mug and dump its contents over his perfectly disheveled blonde hair. Stupidly hot, insufferable man.

Yes, Simon had updated the company policy—one of the rare times he’d broken from his ironclad routines. And he’d done it for one reason: you. He still remembered the sheer, gut-wrenching panic when you’d collapsed in the middle of his office like a marionette with its strings cut. One moment you were rattling off meeting agendas, pen poised and professional as always, and the next, you were on the floor.

He hadn’t known what to do at first, standing there frozen like some idiot until the chaos kicked him into action. The doctor’s verdict? Exhaustion. The kind that came from months of living off caffeine, minimal sleep, and the stress of chasing after him. When Simon had grilled you afterward—because, of course, his solution to any problem was interrogation—he realized that his workaholic tendencies had bled into your life. If he didn’t eat until his stomach growled like a feral animal, neither did you. If he slept four hours a night to hit deadlines, so did you. And when had you last had a weekend off? You couldn’t even answer.

That night, Simon Riley, master of meticulous schedules and the sworn enemy of "unproductive time," made a choice. He dragged himself kicking and screaming into the savage, almost sacrilegious concept of… weekends. Two days of forbidden indulgence. Two days where work emails were outlawed, deadlines paused, and—God forbid—people rested. It was barbaric, but he did it. For you.

But now? Now?! Those precious hours he’d given back to you—the ones meant for sleep, self-care, or literally anything healthier than the grind—had been spent entertaining some overgrown frat boy with the audacity to wear a football jersey to a nightclub (yes, he is still stuck on that because come on man!). Was Simon being petty and irrational? Yes, one hundred percent. But he didn’t care. Because you brought out a side of him, he didn’t know he had—needy, childish, and so starved for your attention it was almost embarrassing.

And in his emotionally illiterate brain, forcing you into overtime tonight seemed like the only logical solution to his problem. If you were stuck here, sitting in his office, working late, you couldn’t be in that idiot’s arms. It wasn’t his proudest plan, but it was effective. Probably. Maybe. Whatever. Shut up, he didn’t need a therapist; he needed you to not smile at that guy ever again.

You swore that coffee mug was practically whispering to you, daring you to pick it up and accidentally redecorate his pristine imported Armani suit, the one crafted from Italian silk so luxurious it probably came with its own security detail. If only you could afford even a single thread of that fabric, you might have done it already. But no, your bank account had other ideas, and so did your sense of self-preservation.

“And…” you began, your words strained as you forced your smile to stay intact, though it felt more like baring teeth at this point, “why are we still here?”

Your tone was polite—just barely—but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to cut glass. You knew for a fact that after he’d run you ragged all week, there was next to nothing left to do. He’d had you sprinting between meetings, juggling tasks like some overqualified circus act, and practically rewriting the entire company’s future. By Friday, the work you’d tackled could’ve been enough for three assistants.

Which meant the only thing keeping you here now was him. Simon Motherfucking Riley. The man who apparently believed productivity wasn’t just a virtue but a way of life. Or maybe, you thought darkly, he was doing this for sport. Watching you squirm was probably the highlight of his day.

But no, that couldn’t be it. Not with the way his eyes flicked to you, it was not his usual sharp, assessing look, but something else entirely. You could almost feel the gears turning in his head, though whether they were driving logic or chaos was anyone’s guess. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t work-related. And if this wasn’t an abuse of power, you didn’t know what was. Yet, here you stood, holding your tongue, because despite your most vengeful instincts, you couldn’t quite justify the cost of spilling coffee on a suit that probably cost more than your rent.

"The MacTavish Project report needs to be redone," Simon finally said, his tone maddeningly calm, as if he weren’t upending your entire evening with a single sentence. Forget the coffee—you might as well hurl him off the building at this point. The audacity of this man.

"Sir," you began, incredulity dripping from every syllable, "you personally reviewed most of it and approved the draft on Wednesday." Your tone was tight, caught somewhere between disbelief and outright exasperation. Simon Riley was demanding, yes, but unreasonable? That was new, and you didn’t like it.

He arched a single, bemused brow, leaning back slightly in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "And now," he said smoothly, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the universe, "I’ve changed my mind. He’s a very important investor, and I won’t present a plan that’s anything less than perfect."

Your hands twitched at your sides, itching to wrap around his perfectly sculpted neck and give it a squeeze… not lovingly. You could almost picture it: caramel eyes rolling back, a little choking sound—pure bliss.

Would that be a crime? Yes. Would it be worth it? Also, yes.

Simon, of course, didn’t miss the obvious annoyance flashing across your face. You didn’t even bother trying to hide it at this point, and that only seemed to amuse him further. The faintest twitch tugged at the corners of his lips, softening his usual stoic expression. He liked it—no, he loved it. Loved seeing those little sparks of rebellion in your reactions. It was as if your defiance was some personal reminder that you didn’t see him solely as a cold authority figure, but as something... more human. Familiar, even. And God help him, that idea thrilled him more than it probably should have.

Yup. Something was definitely wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t your work ethic.

"Sir, if I may speak freely?" you asked, your voice tentative but firm, despite the tension hanging in the room. You paused, waiting for the inevitable flick of his hand that granted you permission to continue.

Simon obliged with a small, dismissive wave, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Is something bothering you? And please don’t tell me it’s the McTavish report—I know it’s not. You’ve been more stressed than usual all week, and I was wondering—"

Any trace of playfulness on his face evaporated. His jaw tightened, sharp enough to cut glass. "There isn’t. And even if there was, that would be none of your business," he snapped, his tone curt and laced with an unspoken warning to back off.

But if there was one thing you were terrible at, it was acknowledging glaring red flags. And being scared of your dictator of a boss? Not your style.

"I’m your personal assistant," you countered, crossing your arms and meeting his glare head-on. "It’s well within my rights to know if something’s going on that makes you feel compromised at work. And even if it wasn’t in my job description…" You softened your tone, the edges smoothing as you gave him a look you hoped was reassuring. "I care. You’re not just my boss."

You paused, letting the weight of your words settle. Simon’s heart did something it absolutely shouldn’t have…it skipped, then soared like it had sprouted wings. For a split second, he was flying above the clouds, your words buoying him up with their warmth.

"I like to think you’re my friend," you finished, offering a small, sincere smile.

And just like that, Simon plummeted back to earth. No, not just to earth—straight into a concrete floor of reality at full speed.

Friend? His mind screeched to a halt. FRIEND?!

His honeyed eyes darkened instantly, any fleeting warmth vanishing into the void of his rapidly dwindling patience. The shift was so abrupt it left you blinking in surprise.

"Listen here, little girl," he spat, each word dripping with venom, his tone cutting and harsh. "I am not your fucking friend."

The words hit like a slap, sharp and unexpected. Simon Riley was an enigma, a man of few words and fewer emotions, but it was impossible to mistake the offense etched into his glare.

And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit you. Why would calling him a friend bother him so much? Unless… No way.

Your hot, scary older boss wasn’t pissed because of the sentiment.

Your brain scrambled to connect the dots, a thousand thoughts tumbling over each other like dominoes. Was he—no, surely not—pissed because you’d called him a friend when he... wanted to be something else?

No way.

No freaking way.

And yet, the simmering storm in his eyes said otherwise.

Your sigh filled the room, heavy with restraint. Sure, your conclusion about Simon’s reaction was just a working theory, and blurting it out without concrete proof would be the equivalent of signing your own professional death warrant. Instead, you pulled your composure back together, arms still crossed beneath your chest as you nodded curtly.

"My apologies for overstepping, then, sir," you said, your tone measured yet laced with a faint edge of provocation.

Simon almost groaned out loud, internally cringing at his earlier outburst. What the hell was that pathetic display? he berated himself. Clearing his throat, he reached up to loosen his tie, his fingers tugging at the fabric as if it were choking him. He forced his voice into something softer, more even.

"I... didn’t mean to snap," he admitted, his usual cold edge finally giving way to something more human. "You’re right—I’ve been a bit stressed. But it’s nothing to be concerned with." He paused briefly, his caramel eyes flicking to yours before adding, "Although… I appreciate the sentiment."

There it was. The Simon Riley you recognized, the stern, unyielding leader who cloaked his rare moments of kindness behind layers of frost. He wasn’t an easy man to read, but he always found subtle ways to look after the people under his wing, no matter how gruff his demeanor seemed.

And then you gave him that look. That damn look.

The one that pierced right through his icy armor, as if you could see beyond every wall he’d meticulously built over the decades. Your eyes, those dazzling windows of allure, struck a chord deep within him, one he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Every time you spoke, every time you looked at him with that mixture of concern and quiet defiance, it was like someone had poured kerosene over his carefully contained fire.

And now it raged uncontrollably.

His gaze lingered on you a second too long. He swallowed hard, his thoughts slipping into dangerous territory. How would those eyes look if they were gazing up at me? he wondered, a traitorous part of his mind conjuring images he had no business entertaining. He could almost envision the sparkle of your tears, the way your lips would look—swollen, red, and glistening—after wrapping around his cock, choking and gagging as you struggled to—

Stop.

But it didn’t stop. The image of you on your knees, looking up at him with a mix of surrender and defiance, burned into his mind, fanning the heat pooling low in his abdomen. His arousal throbbed behind the tailored fabric of his suit pants, the sharp sting of his zipper brushing against his hardening length. This was what you’d reduced him to—a man who prided himself on control now undone by the mere thought of you. He was a goddamn hormonal wreck, unable to stop his mind from wandering to how your lush curves would feel bent over his desk, his hands gripping your hips as he—

Focus, he scolded himself, shifting slightly in his seat to hide the evidence of his betrayal. This was insanity. You were his assistant. He was your boss. But as he looked at you again, he couldn’t deny the truth that lingered in the dark recesses of his mind.

You had him, hook, line, and sinker, without even trying.

This is what you’ve done to me, he thought bitterly, shifting to disguise his growing arousal. Reduced to a hormone-riddled teenage boy, he was powerless against the storm you stirred in him. The image of you laid out on his desk, your body framed perfectly against his as he forced your thighs apart and ploughed his aching cock deep into you,, was burned into his mind, refusing to let him go.

And God help him, he didn’t want it to.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Bruh, this is the first time I am writing on Tumblr cause this man has been the bane of my existence for the longest time and it is a crime that Simon Freakin Riley reimagined as a CEO is not mainstream cause let's be real ... mans gives heavy daddy dom vibes… y'all I am just going to put this one out here for now and hopefully upload the smut part of things by next week... ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა…

#CEO! Simon riley #simon riley #older!boss simon #fempov #simon riley x f!reader #cod mw2 #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #cod #oldermen #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #modern warfare

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bastila-s · 1 year ago

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Baldurs Gate 3 High Quality Screenshot Tutorial 2.0

Hi everyone, I decided I wanted to make a more specific and slightly more in-depth tutorial on how I take screenshots in Baldur's Gate 3. For this tutorial, you will need ReShade and Otis_INF'S Photomode Mod. If you do not want to download these for whatever reason, my older tutorial covers alternative ways to get some nice screenshots.

1. ReShade (skip if you already have ReShade downloaded)

For this step, you're going to want to download ReShade. ReShade is important to this tutorial as it's going to allow you to take screenshots of your game in higher resolutions. To do this, find a ReShade preset you like on the Nexus. (You can find lots of them by just typing in "reshade" in the search bar). From there, most mod authors will explain how to download ReShade in their mod description and get it working for your game.

Once you successfully have Reshade installed, a bar of text will appear at the top of your screen, prompting you to press 'home.' This will put you through a mini-tutorial if just installed it.

2. Photomode Mod

For this mod, you'll need to subscribe to a patreon to get access. Installing it is really simple, just unzip the zip file and put its contents in a folder, then run the tool once you have BG3 running.

Personally, I choose to re-map all the controls to different keys on my keyboard as I find it makes it much, much easier for me to use. Specifically, I re-map the movement, camera tilt, and starting the photomode controls. FOV is also really important to pay attention to, so make sure you like the controls for that as well.

Make sure to test the camera mod to make sure it's working before moving on to the next step.

3. High Resolution Screenshots (Hotsampling)

Hotsampling simply means that we're going to briefly make our game run in a resolution much higher than what we usually would, which often times means your game window will end up looking huge and run off your screen.

To do this, we need to make sure a few things are in place before trying to hotsample, or the screenshot won't be captured properly.

Go through this checklist to ensure hotsampling will work:

• If you have more than one monitor, you have to make sure your monitor is set to show only on one screen. (This setting is found in Displays on Windows)

• Make sure BG3 is set to borderless windowed mode

• In ReShade, go to the settings tab. Ensure you have a key set up for taking screenshots, and that you know the folder your screenshots will be saved to. It's essential to use ReShade to take screenshots, nothing else will work. Use ReShade's screenshot key.

Once you make sure you have the above done, go to the photomode mod, and click on the hotsampling tab. From here, you can change the resolution of your game. Typically, I take my screenshots in 3,840x2,160 or 5,760x3,240 if I want a very clear image. Those are just 2x and 3x my monitor's resolution (1920x1080), so you can adjust if your monitor is different. Once your chosen resolution is set, your BG3 window will likely run way off your screen and potentially make your computer lag. (This means it's working). Make sure your BG3 window is active, then hit the screenshot key you set earlier in ReShade. This screenshot should now appear in the folder that's set for screenshots in ReShade. (It typically defaults to the folder where your game is installed).

4. Extra fine-tuning

There are a couple of ways to enhance screenshots in BG3 even further.

The first way is through using ICGS Depth of field. This tool will allow your sceenshots to minic depth of field the same way cameras IRL can do it it—it makes for some beautiful screenshots, and I'm seriously impressed by how well it replicates that look. The author gives a tutorial on how to get it working—I know it seems complicated, but follow it step-by-step and play around, it'll come to you very soon!

The other tool that I just found recently is Relight for ReShade. This tool allows you to add some lighting on a character, which I thought was so cool. Here's a tutorial for this, too.

5. Post-Processing

This step is entirely up to your own creativity, but I just thought I'd share Photopea as a good, free software (that you don't even need to download) to help you edit your photos. It basically works exactly like photoshop!

Ok that's it for all but I think I will continue to update this post and add to it whenever I find anything helpful :)

& Thank you to all the wonderful mod authors out there for creating all this software and allowing us to take beautiful images, it makes me so happy !!

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3

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glittermutt · 2 years ago

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mutt's guide to using dsr on ts4, with pictures!!!

ok so, dsr is a thing available for nvidia gpus that allows you to take veeery high resolution screenshots of games without much trouble, like this

it's an alternative to srwe, as it plays nicer with a lot of reshade shaders and is just, generally more nice to use! let me teach you how to use it - full tutorial with pictures for every step under the cut (im sorry its too long without the cut)

step 1: right click your desktop and open the nvidia control panel

step 2: go here (adjust desktop size and position)

step 3: make sure your settings are set as follows! this is important

step 4: now, go here (change resolution)

step 5: under change resolution, click on this button (highlighted with a red square)

step 6: in the windows that appears, make sure that "enable resolutions not exposed by display" is ticked! this is very important! (again, highlighted in red - it should look like this)

step 7: now, click on "create custom resolution"

step 8: this is where you set your desired resolution, and where i get a bit rambly; so, in my opinion, there is ZERO reason to go above normal 4K for TS4, as it's generally not a really high-poly game and it has rather simple graphics. you can fuck around a lot here, but if you don't feel like it, here are my settings - this will give you 4K screenshots. NOTE: THE REFRESH RATE DOESN'T NEED TO BE 75! SET IT TO WHATEVER THE REFRESH RATE OF YOUR MONITOR IS!

step 9: now, click on test

step 10: let the thing load, and after it's done, a window like this should pop up.. but yknow, in your language. click on "yes" (or accept or ok!! idk mine's in russian; basically, the button highlighted here!)

step 11: click "ok" in the window that pops up! like this! afterwards, close the nvidia panel

step 12: open the sims 4 and go into game options, then into graphics

step 13: set your "display type" as "fullscreen", like this

step 14: under "resolution", select whatever resolution you setup earlier; in my case it's 4K, so if you used the same resolution, your settings should look like this

step 15: click on apply changes!

AND UR DONEE!! WAHOOIEE!! now, take your screenshot using reshade, and then go back into sims settings and set it back to what you usually play at, then apply changes!

every time you need to take an HD screenshot, simply open game settings and use your custom resolution! that's it, have fun :3

#sims 4 tutorial #ts4 tutorial #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 screenshot tutorial #ts4 screenshot tutorial #sims 4 hotsampling #ts4 hotsampling #srwe #nvidia #dsr #tutorials

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felassan · 9 months ago

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A new blog post from BioWare in which they talk about the PC experience for Dragon Age: The Veilguard. The blog covers display features, graphics settings and controls. "We're PC players ourselves and have a dedicated team focused on PC."

"Journal #4 PC Features for Dragon Age: The Veilguard A look into the PC Experience in Dragon Age: The Veilguard Hello everyone, Today, we want to specifically touch on the PC experience for Dragon Age: The Veilguard. The Dragon Age franchise started out on PC, and we wanted to make sure PC is a great place to play our game. Many of us at BioWare are PC players ourselves, and when testing, PCs made up 40% of our platform testing effort, with over 200,000 hours of performance and compatibility testing. Getting the PC experience just right was crucial to us and we created a dedicated team to focus on PC. We can’t wait for you to experience it for yourselves! Let’s talk about inputs first. We wanted to ensure the controls and UI are a good experience for both KBM and controllers; so we did close to 10,000 hours of user research testing to make sure of it. Dragon Age: The Veilguard will feature native support for PS5 DualSense controllers with haptics support in addition to the standard of Xbox controllers & keyboard + mouse. Additionally, you can seamlessly transition between controllers or keyboard + mouse while playing or in menus. There are many different ways to play our game; so, in order to allow you to find the most comfortable set-up, we’ve added the ability to customize class-specific keybinds that you can easily switch between. This means that your Rogue Rook can use a different set of keybinds than your Warrior Rook, if you’d like! Along with the standard resolution options, we also have full support for 21:9 Ultrawide monitors. Don’t worry; we didn’t forget the cinematics, either - just disable the option titled “Cinematic Aspect Ratio.” This will remove the enforced black bars; so you can watch the cinematics in full ultra widescreen glory. No matter what size monitor you’re rocking, you can adjust your FOV with an FOV slider in the Settings. There will be an option for uncapped framerate, as well. We’re also launching with full HDR support. Most changes to Graphics and Display Settings are reflected in real time, and you can see the impacts of those changes through the cutout in the UI. This will help you make informed decisions as you tweak your game to look exactly how you want. For a full list of Settings, check the rest of the blog below! We know a lot of you play on Steam, and we wanted to meet you where you are. We’re happy to be completely Steam Native for Dragon Age: The Veilguard! We’re already Steam Deck Verified; and with Cloud Save on Steam supported, you can seamlessly switch back and forth between your PC and your Steam Deck as much as you want, with no interruption to your progress. We also have Remote Play enabled if you’d rather play on your TV! If you’d like to utilize it, there will be a completely optional linking process to your EA Account."

"If you want to hear about a few advanced settings and options for the PC community, let’s go over that now. We support a suite of Ray Tracing features, as well as an “Ultra RT” mode for extremely high end rigs. We have several types of upscaling available: NVIDIA DLSS 3, FSR 2.2 which has been heavily modified, specifically for the game, and XeSS. We also support DLSS 3 with frame generation and NVIDIA Reflex. As we have more PC features to share, we’ll circle back on those before launch. We’re inching closer to our release date of October 31, 2024! We still have more information coming on Combat, the Companions, Exploration, and more; so keep your eyes peeled on our socials. We are eager to see your battle stations running Dragon Age: The Veilguard and the resulting screenshots. Chat soon! — The Dragon Age Community Team"

"To summarize the above, check out an overview of the PC specs and features we’re ready to unveil now: DISPLAY FEATURES - Full Support for 21:9 Ultra Wide Resolutions - Ability to Uncap Frame Rate - VSync, including fractional rate VSync - HDR Support - Optional Upscaling (DLSS 3, FSR 2.2, XeSS) - NVIDIA Reflex - DLSS 3 Frame Generation - Optional Dynamic Resolution Scaling - Cinematic Aspect Ratio (Disable this option for cinematic 21:9 ratio) GRAPHICS SETTINGS - Presets Available (Low, Medium, High, Ultra) Texture settings: - Texture Quality, Texture Filtering Light & Shadow Settings: - Lighting Quality, Contact Shadow, Ambient Occlusion, Screen Space Reflections, Volumetric Lighting, Sky Quality Ray Traced Settings*: - Ray-Traced Reflections, Ray-Traced Ambient Occlusion, Ultra Ray Tracing Geometry Settings: - Level of Detail, Strand Hair, Terrain Quality, Terrain Decoration Quality, Visual Effects Quality Camera Effects: - Depth of Filed, Vignette, Motion Blur, Post Processing Quality, Field of View Controls: - Class-specific Keybinds, Keyboard + Controller Bindings * Ray Tracing can be “ON” or turned to “Selective”. Selective Mode enables Ray Tracing features in specific areas that can best take advantage of the feature."

[source] <- at the source link there is also some new screenshots/clips

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

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Lovers Say Goodbye | 3 - B.Barnes

Character: soft!dark Bucky x ex-girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds solace and love in an unexpected place, only to have his world shattered by a shocking revelation about the person he cared about.

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3, Chap 4, Chap 5 , -

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to read all your comments. Thank you once again.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

A few Months Later

"I just realized," Bucky murmured, his voice a low rumble transmitted through the earpiece.

"What is it?" Steve responded, concern lacing his words.

Bucky kept his eye focused on the target through the rifle scope. "She never spoke much about her family when we were together," he explained, his voice devoid of emotion. "Only brief mentions."

It was true. You'd never delved deep into your family life, only mentioning their retirement and love for world travel aboard cruise ships. Back then, Bucky had harbored anxieties about being accepted by your parents, worried they would disapprove of their relationship.

However, the truth's unveiling didn't erase the raw pain in his eyes. Instead, it sparked a chilling realization: you were equals. Both of you are masters of the deceptive game.

"Well, something must have smitten you good," Steve chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Bucky's response was devoid of humor. "Sex. Good sex."

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed through the earpiece. "No need to get graphic with me."

A phantom sensation washed over Bucky, a memory of your touch. He recalled the caress of your fingers on his skin, the warmth of your breath against his neck, the intimacy of your body pressed against his. His mind fixated on a specific detail - the strength evident in your legs wrapped around his hips.

Bucky wondered, was the pleasure mutual? Did the experience hold the same significance for you, or was it just another masterful performance?

"Such a shame," he muttered, the bittersweet memory turning to ash in his mouth. "Good memories turned to ashes."

His words were cut short by the sharp crack of the rifle firing. Steve, observing the scene through a remote monitor, cheered. "Bullseye!" he exclaimed, the celebratory tone at odds with the gravity of the situation.

Taking lives was Bucky's expertise. His agency issued the order, and he executed it with unwavering precision, regardless of the complexity of the mission. Most targets were simply names and faces, strangers with no personal connection.

This time, however, the target was significant. He had become a pawn in Bucky's desperate game, a calculated move orchestrated solely to attract your attention. He had murdered an informant.

This time, the target was a high-ranking CIA informant, sacrificed solely to get your attention.

Steve warned, "This is a double-edged sword, Buck. They'll know your hand is in this, and they'll know it's personal."

Bucky's voice was cold and resolute. "That's the point. They'll know this is my work. They'll know it's personal."

He held firm to his belief that his reckless act, taking out the CIA informant, would draw you back. He envisioned them sending you to him, a twisted reunion of sorts.

However, reality unfolded differently. His agency commended him on a job well done, their client's debt to the agency now settled. This outcome was the polar opposite of his intended result.

Meanwhile, you remained oblivious to the chaos he'd unleashed across the miles.

You were deep within the isolated European country, laser-focused on rescuing the hostages. The news of the assassinated informant and the potential storm brewing back home hadn't reached you yet.

The adrenaline coursed through your veins, a familiar yet intoxicating sensation. Your mind buzzed with activity, fueled by the thrill of the unknown and the ever-present danger. This was the lifeblood you craved, the constant stimulation that had been absent during the past two years.

Flashback Start

Two years spent undercover in a war-torn country, posing as a florist. A stark contrast to the thrilling, high-octane missions you had always thrived on. But it had been necessary. The previous agents sent to infiltrate Bucky's life had all returned in body bags. You were the agency's last resort, their ace in the hole.

They had given you a mere 24 hours to transform yourself from seasoned operative to unassuming florist. The moment you saw Bucky step into your shop, everything you'd built, every practiced smile and fabricated story, teetered on the edge of collapse.

Your hand hovered near the concealed gun nestled beneath the counter, yet it remained unmoving. Something was different. The usual cacophony of the city seemed muted, replaced by an intense silence that amplified the sound of your own ragged breaths and the frantic thump of your heart. Bucky's eyes locked with yours, his gaze a stormy sea of conflicting emotions.

For a moment, the world held its breath. Time seemed to slow, stretching into an eternity where only the two of you existed. The air crackled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a potent mix of danger and something else, something you couldn't quite define.

Your mind whirred as Bucky approached the counter, requesting flowers for a funeral. You meticulously combed through your inventory, carefully selecting blooms that held the weight of grief and remembrance. The familiar scent of lilies and carnations filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

As Bucky wordlessly left the shop, the heavy bouquet cradled in his arms, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You watched his broad, fearless shoulders slump as he headed towards the funeral, a lone figure burdened by sorrow. It was no ordinary funeral; you knew it was for his former handler, the man whose death had orchestrated everything – the death of Bucky's handler, Operation Pandora, and ultimately, your own undercover operation.

Initially, the CIA's instructions were simple: observe Bucky. They were aware of his safe houses near your flower shop, anticipating his return and potential request for employment. However, the agency and you, along with them, had never expected this turn of events.

Your new mission: to distract Bucky, to prevent him from digging into the death of his former handler. While you played your part, Director Brandon and a team of agents worked tirelessly to eliminate any trace of Operation Pandora. It was a meticulous process, ensuring absolute secrecy, hence the two-year duration.

When Brandon called and said, "It's finished," you left. Leaving behind the lingering whispers of a life that had become a carefully constructed facade, you didn't hesitate.

You lied when he asked if you regretted anything. Those two years with Bucky were a break, a rest from the usual danger. But it wasn't real because you were lying while he genuinely cared.

Flashback Ended

You wanted to forget everything, so you took a mission where you couldn't contact anyone. Your only job was to save hostages, which took time, planning, and working together. It was hard, and you got hurt, but finally, your team succeeded in saving all the hostages.

Months later, when you finally boarded the private jet for your return, you were surprised to find Director Brandon onboard. Usually, he remained at headquarters, awaiting reports of successful missions. His presence sent a tremor of apprehension through you.

Brandon gestured towards the seat across from him. "Sit down."

You complied, fastening your seatbelt as you settled in. "Why'd you come all the way here?" you inquired, a cold compress pressed against your right eye, the throbbing evidence of a recent punch.

The plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air before Brandon spoke, handing you a file. "You need to see this."

Your eyebrows shot up as you set down the ice pack. "Another mission?"

Brandon shook his head. "No. It's about the aftermath of... what we did."

Curiosity piqued, you flipped open the file. Your breath hitched as a photograph greeted you: Bucky, his face obscured by a mask, gun clutched in one hand, a hostage held captive in the other. You'd never witnessed such raw fury in him before, but a deep-seated certainty gnawed at you - you were the spark that ignited this inferno.

With a defeated sigh, you closed the file. "Can't you handle this?"

Brandon's voice held a hint of regret. "If I could, I wouldn't have come to get you."

Another sigh, heavier this time, escaped your lips. "He wants to talk to me."

Brandon nodded silently. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes. "Just tell me when we land."

Each passing moment was fraught with tension, the image of Bucky burning into your mind. The weight of your choice, the lie you'd woven, pressed down on you like a physical burden. As the plane soared through the clouds, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation, the consequence of a past drenched in deception.

*************

The car sped through the bustling city streets, a tense silence hanging heavy in the air between you and Brandon. The file containing Bucky's photo as a ruthless hostage-taker lay discarded on your lap, the image seared into your memory.

"We have to prepare for the worst," Brandon said, his voice grim. "We don't know what that bastard will do to you."

You remained quiet, your gaze fixed on the cityscape blurring past the window. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within you: regret, guilt, and a flicker of fear.

Brandon continued, "You can't do this alone, Y/N."

"I know," you finally responded, your voice barely audible.

Brandon offered a heavy sigh. "Good. I've gathered some agents who..."

His sentence was abruptly cut short by a deafening explosion that rocked the car. The rear driver-side tire gave way, sending the vehicle swerving wildly across the street.

"What the hell?!" Brandon exclaimed, his voice laced with shock.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, the years of undercover training kicking in. "It's him," you stated, your voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around you.

"Damn it! Where is he? We wiped our tracks clean," Brandon cursed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he fought to regain control of the car.

You craned your neck to look through the rear window, spotting a lone figure standing on the overpass ahead of them. Bucky. He held a sniper rifle aimed directly at your car, his masked face unreadable.

"There," you said, pointing towards him.

Panic flickered in Brandon's eyes before he slammed on the gas pedal, shouting to the driver, "Faster!"

The chase was on, a desperate attempt to outmaneuver a vengeful Bucky and reach the safety of the agency headquarters. The once quiet car ride had morphed into a heart-pounding race against time, the line between hunter and hunted blurring with each passing moment.

The car lurched and swayed, tires screeching in protest as Brandon fought to regain control. Explosions echoed behind them, a deadly symphony composed of shattered glass and mangled metal. Each boom sent tremors through the car, a chilling reminder of Bucky's deadly precision.

You watched, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, as one by one, the cars accompanying them were systematically eliminated. Bucky, a relentless specter on the overpass above, picked them off with chilling ease. Each shot rang out like a death knell, extinguishing the hopes of their backup and leaving you and Brandon increasingly isolated.

"Damn him!" Brandon roared, frustration and fear coloring his voice. "He's like a goddamn ghost!"

With a final, bone-jarring explosion, the last remaining car sputtered and screeched to a halt, flames licking at its mangled frame. You and Brandon exchanged a grim look, the weight of their predicament settling like a leaden weight in your gut.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a figure materialized on the edge of the overpass, silhouetted against the afternoon sun.

Bucky, his mask a stark contrast to the golden light, dropped down onto the hood of the flaming car with an agility that defied physics. He landed in a crouch, the glint of his rifle barrel reflecting the dying sun as he turned his gaze towards you.

A tremor ran through you, a primal mix of shock and awe. You'd known of his skills, witnessed glimpses of his prowess during your time together, but this... this was something else entirely. He moved with a lethal grace, a predator stalking its prey, and the cold certainty in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

"Shit," you muttered, the single word encompassing the maelstrom of emotions churning within you. With a chilling certainty, you knew this was no longer just a mission gone wrong. This was personal.

You fumbled for your gun, the familiar weight a cold comfort in your trembling hand. But your movements were sluggish, weighed down by the shock and the adrenaline wearing off. Before you could even raise the weapon, a click echoed in the air, the sound of a safety being disengaged. It was too late.

Bucky lowered his mask, revealing a face etched with a mixture of pain and fury. His eyes, once full of warmth and affection, now held the hollow glint of a man consumed by vengeance.

"Welcome back, Alex," he said, his voice a low growl. "Or should I say, Y/N?"

The familiar name, once a term of endearment, now sounded foreign, laced with a bitter edge. You remained silent, the weight of his words and the betrayal they carried settling heavily in your chest.

He waited, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something, perhaps a flicker of recognition, a spark of remorse. But there was only a void, a reflection of the shattered trust that lay between you.

"I've been waiting for a long time," he finally spoke, his voice devoid of its usual gruffness, replaced by a chilling emptiness.

You found your voice then, a mere whisper escaping your lips. "Why are you doing this?"

Bucky remained silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the burning car nearby. He took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving yours.

He reached out, his calloused fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a conflicting mix of familiarity and fear.

"Don't you know?" he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I'm doing this to get your attention."

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Author Note:

My dear readers and followers,

Could you please share your opinions about this series with me?

If you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear why it appealed to you.

If not, I would greatly appreciate your feedback and advice on improving the series.

Thank you!

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that-one-unfunny-hoe · 1 month ago

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Me, thinking Raw After Mania would just be filler:

WWE: "Guess again, sweetheart. Here's an emotional hurricane, three betrayals, and a brawl with a table."

WWE booking be like:

“Oopsie-daisy! Didn’t mean that. Ctrl + Z.”

Liv and Raquel lost at WrestleMania and then RAW just hit the UNO reverse card like:

“Anyway… they win again lol.”

Was Mania a fever dream?? A deleted save file??

Liv’s like “Thanks for the trauma, now gimme back my sparkly belts.”

This is the wrestling equivalent of getting dumped at prom and then being re-proposed to at Waffle House the next morning.

Gunther lost his belt, lost his patience, and decided the next logical opponent…

was the COMMENTARY TABLE.

They didn’t even provoke him.

They sat there, doing their job, and Gunther just walked over like

“You think you’re safe because you have monitors? YOU’RE NEXT.”

I haven’t seen violence that random since Brock suplexed Michael Cole for breathing.

THE PUNK/SETH/ROMAN DRAMA SAGA CONTINUES

This storyline has more emotional damage than my high school friend group.

One minute it’s “we hate each other,”

then it’s “team up for five seconds,”

then it’s “Paul Heyman gives a chair to someone and ruins lives,”

and now it’s “no resolution, only more yelling.”

It’s not even a feud anymore, it’s a toxic love triangle with glitter and punches.

Give them all a group therapy segment with folding chairs and a life coach.

Titles changing hands like hot potatoes.

Cena on a boomer mic rant.

Furniture catching strays.

Seth Rollins still in sparkles trying to act normal.

I need a nap. And a helmet. And maybe a lawyer.

WWE said “WrestleMania is the party. Raw is the AFTERMATH.”

AND I’M NEVER RECOVERING.

#wwe #wrestling #monday night raw #liv morgan #raquel rodriguez #Seth Rollins #CM Punk #Roman Reigns #Paul Heyman #Gunther

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usafphantom2 · 3 months ago

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SR-71 could sneak into a denied area, get the take and leave before our enemy even knew we were there 🇺🇸🇺🇸

The SR-71 was never successfully intercepted by surface-to-air missile or aircraft.

It had a state-of-the-art electronic defensive system which would defeat an incoming missile’s homing and steering. Some of these techniques are still highly classified.

Detectors on board would alert the crew of a missile launch instantly and, since the SR-71 did not normally fly at its maximum speed or altitude, the aircraft’s defense was simultaneously to jam the missile’s guidance while accelerating, climbing, and turning with 45º of bank.

No surface-to-air missile could out-turn, thus hit, an SR-71, a fact demonstrated many times, especially during the Vietnam War. Attempts to shoot down an SR-71 continued until August 25, 1981, which was the last time an enemy (North Korea) fired a surface-to-air missile at an SR-71; that mission was flown by Maury Rosenberg, pilot, and Ed McKim, Reconnaissance Systems Officer (RSO).

We carried an array of sophisticated sensors and recorders which could glean reconnaissance data with cameras capable of high-quality photographs horizon-to-horizon. We also had radar imagery capable of one-foot resolution. This was the Advanced Synthetic Aperture Radar System (ASARS), which could deliver readable radar pictures night or day, bad weather or clear.

The SR-71 also carried electronic intelligence (ELINT) systems which are still classified. We advertised that the SR-71, within 24 hours notification, could be over any target on earth and be capable of surveying 100,000 square miles of terrain each hour. It was no idle boast.

I’ll summarize the importance of the SR-71 missions by quoting Paul Crickmore, noted aviation historian and Blackbird author, in a letter to me.

“In theatre, the SR-71 proved the concept of high-Mach, high-altitude flight, to obtain vital aerial reconnaissance. The SR-71 regularly conducted reconnaissance missions in the skies over North Vietnam – particularly around Hanoi in 1968-70 which at the time, was the most highly defended area on the planet.”

“The Blackbirds provided superior flexibility compared to satellites, time after time, specific examples—Yom Kippur War 1973, Yemen 1979, Cuba 1977—1990, Lebanon October 1983 (following the truck-bomb attack killing over 240 US Marines), Libya 1986, The Persian Gulf 1987, but perhaps most importantly, the on-going monitoring of Soviet nuclear submarine fleets for the US Navy—particularly the Northern Fleet with their submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs), capable of hitting large areas of the United States, as well as all Allied Countries.”

BC Bredette B C Thomas

Posted by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

#sr 71 #sr71 #sr 71 blackbird #blackbird #aircraft #usaf #lockheed aviation #skunkworks #aviation #mach3+#habu #reconnaissance #cold war aircraft

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noneorother · 1 year ago

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Hi, I’ve only read one meta by you yet, but you seem to be just the right person to ask this: did you notice how many people in the scenes outside the bookshop are wearing orange, in series 2?

Any idea what that’s all about? Is it just esthetics, an echo of the bookshop‘s columns, or does it have a filmographical significance? Everytime I watch the show there seem to be more orange clothes, once you start seeing that, it’s crazy how many there are!

Hey thanks for the ask! I mean, you have until 2026 to read more of my drivel so; pace yourself! Orange clothing is definitely an *interesting* choice for extras in film. You almost never see it in background actors clothing because... it draws the eye! The fact that they included so much orange, yellow, and loud patterning in the extras in season 2 is a real decision to throw film tradition and S1 cannon out the window.

I would like to submit my own theory that the choice was made as a deliberate nod to time travel. But first, a little background.

Compare two crowd scenes on Whickeber street from each season: It's kind of nuts that even at microscopic resolution we get such a HUGE difference.

That's not to say orange is missing. Here are the only two extras wearing orange in S1, and they happen to be in the same scene in episode 2, when Newt and Shadwell meet for the first time, discussing occult beings "hiding in plain sight". (witches in this case)

We also get some pretty obvious bright orange in main characters in S1: Madame Tracy and Beelzebub. We meet Tracy in orange as she immediately reveals to Newt multiple hidden identities, see her again wearing orange hair when she communes with spirits, and finally all decked out in orange when she is being possessed by an angel (a person hiding inside a person). Beelzebub wears an orange sash and medal as a high ranking Duke of Hell, so orange is maybe their house colour, or a prestigious colour for hell in general, but after season 2 we know Beelzebub doesn't always have the same face, and is hiding intentions of their own.

Orange doesn't have much biblical significance, mostly because the colour orange was mostly seen as "fire" or "bright" coloured until way after the bible was transcribed, and orange dye wasn't really a thing in the European world until significant trade with east Asia developed. Here's the only other bright orange thing to appear all season, (in a deleted scene): Crowley hiding in plain sight, posing as a maintenance worker.

I think we might be able to draw the conclusion from season 1 that orange is a colour associated with the "Hidden Occult/Power". Not necessarily only hell, but more as something otherworldly, that's hidden in plain sight. (Interestingly, we never ever see Anathema or Agnes Nutter in orange. So I wouldn't say it's related to witches at all.)

In season 2 however, orange is everywhere. More specifically on extras' clothing and the outside of Maggie's record shop.

Maggie seems to be the only main character to wear bright orange herself (E2).

But this is by far my favourite one: in the back of the crowd of demons getting a Shax pep talk in S2E5, there's a regular human extra wearing bright orange sitting amongst the army, completely unnoticed by both demons and audience, observing the plan.

This really set off alarm bells for me, because there's a very Terry Pratchett precedent for powerful and unnoticed orange-wearing characters in the discworld series : the time monks.

Terry's character Sweeper seen here on the original cover of Night Watch. The time monks' clothing and general philosophy is based on Thai buddhist monks, who (like in many buddhists sects) wear donated, saffron-dyed robes in orange and yellow/red to symbolize flames of purity, and to separate them from the world of gross matter, like a fallen leaf from a tree.

In the discworld novel Night Watch, the time monks are responsible for monitoring and cleaning up the timeline, pruning it like a bonzai tree. They are everywhere and yet unnoticed, inside the flow of time yet not of it. And they are the ones who guide the main character through the process of being stuck after falling back through his own timeline, into his own past.

(Excerpt from the book where Sweeper is explaning time travel to Vimes).

Extras circling in the background are called "background actors" because they exist to not be noticed. Put in extras wearing orange/yellow and bright red, and suddenly you can track them, and notice how they are part of the crowd, but stand apart from it. You can notice when they go missing from one cut to the next, or appear to circle or jump between frames. Many extras, including the demon army watcher, also seem to be circling, and monitoring the goings-on in the world of Good Omens. Based on the meaning of orange from S1, it would seem these mere background actors are more than they appear to be. Could they even be checking up on unwarranted time distortions or timeline ruptures happening around a certain Bookshop...?

#good omens 2 #art director talks good omens #good omens meta #go season 2 #go meta #good omens season 2 #good omens season two #good omens #go2 #good omens analysis #good omens s2 #good omens theory

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