#non-cod

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Okay-- you're a BNHA fan??? It's pretty rare to see a game artist I follow to be a BNHA fan as well!!

Who's ur fave character (and ship too 👀)?

Hello Anon (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)/

Yes I am!! 😂 I read lots of shounen manga (currently reading jjk, bnha, blue lock, and boruto). I've read mangas for as long as I can remember.

Dude, I was pretty crazy about BNHA back in 2020-2021. I'm not ashamed to admit that I had a BNHA OC as well 👁️👄👁️

So my fave character is...

Endeavor.

NO I'm not an apologist. He was a bad man with unforgivable deeds. I'm just a sucker for redemption arcs and complex characters. Also he's (figuratively and literally speaking) hot.

My other fave character is Aizawa! (I love Kakashi so... You get me)

My fave ship is obv EnjiRei!-- LET ME EXPLAIN. I think they have so much potential being the fire/ice quirk combo. It's a shame their marriage turned out the way it is (Enji's fault), but I love the fact that he tries to change and redeem himself and atone for his mistakes to Rei and his children :)

(Catch me reading every single EnjiRei fix-it fics and AU's in ao3)

My other fave ship is ToshInko-- and before you read this wrong hell nah I don't encourage cheating and I don't like cheating trope. I only read fics of them together when in the story it's confirmed that Deku's dad is AFO or dead or some other reason where they separated.

(also yeah I ship these two ships because they're adults ok)

I don't really ship the main characters (cuz they're high schoolers ya know) but I find moments of Deku & Ochako, and Todoroki & Yaoyorozu moments together cute :)

Thanks for asking! 💞

[writingfromasgard]

Wait someone triggered you? :(

An unfortunate accident that was compounded by their reaction.

A majority of my friends are aware of what happened to me and know that you need to get my attention before touching me. This particular friend assumed I was paying attention to their conversation and because I was closest to them, used me for demonstration purposes.

The action was the initial trigger and their reaction to my "lock mode" is what caused the panic attack.

Them: *the action*

Me: *locks up*

Other friend that i was listening to: WFA? You ok -

Them: oh good God, really?

Me: *Panic sets in*

[skyrigel]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

Dad!Spencer 🥺💛

theyre going to go pick up mAMA *punching the air*

[charliemwrites]

Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

[nekrosmos]

Extremely self-indulgent Nik covered in blood after beating up some guy 🐻​🤜

Alternate version without blood under keep reading

[gomzdrawfr]

some nikprice doodles based on @on-a-lucky-tide's fic over here

extra:

I thought the Sergeant meant Garrick, then found out it was Soap at the end so LOL I had to change it XD

[miilkybnn]

y’all know that one audition tape Neil did? Yeah, so anyways make it Soap

[oceantornadoo]

au where you need just one more egg for the cake you’re baking but your neighbor simon riley looks at you like you’ve grown three heads when you ask for a free egg in this economy

[deunmiu-dessie]

warnings ⸻ dub-con

makarov's!daughter who finds her wrists bound behind her back, kneeling on the cold, rough concrete, the skin bruised and raw. makarov's!daughter who leans against the aluminum walls, eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness of her surroundings. makarov's!daughter who jolts when the doors are thrown open, overhead lights flooding the room and burning her eyes. makarov's!daughter who comes face to face with a skull mask when her eyes flutter open, lashes wet with tears. makarov's!daughter whose lips pucker when the man crouches to her height and grabs her cheeks roughly. makarov's!daughter whose eyebrows knit together, spitting on him as best as she can. "иди в жопу." ( go fuck yourself ) makarov's!daughter who swallows thickly when his gravelly, mocking voice responds. "there r'other ways t'get you ta speak, принцесса." ( princess )

"--mmph!"

your gag reflex surfaces as his girthy, pierced cock bullies its way down your throat, his gloved hands gripping your hair roughly. your face is a mess of spit and cum, lips wrapped loosely around the thickness of the masked man. his eyes are a murky blue, upper lids hooded to watch his cock disappear between your lips and then further. the fight you once had is no more and you willingly swallow his length, tongue laving at his tip when he pulls away.

you're drooling, spluttering, and whining in a panic when he reaches into his back pocket to pull out your phone to record you, the bright flash of the back camera hurting your eyes. "i think y'r little girl is enjoying my cock t'much, don't you? makarov?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ - 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓂𝑒!

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Just finished grinding Assassin's Creed Mirage! WOOHOO! ୧⁠(⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠Д⁠ ⁠ಠ⁠ ⁠)⁠୨

I think it's a deffo wonderful game and a refreshment after the RPG trilogy (it does have RPG elements to it, but still), and it also have some things that are lacking. It reminds me of the good 'ol days, but deffo not on par with the good 'ol days.

Here're some of my thoughts and reviews!

🕌 Sleepy's Assassin's Creed Mirage Review 🗡️

(Spoiler Warning ⚠️ Including the ending ⚠️)

Disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion. You may agree and disagree. I’m just gonna talk a lot because I LOVE Assassin’s Creed with all my heart. Here goes.

VISUALS

(+) Basim Ibn Ishaq, the handsome man that you are… HOLY SHIT (yes I’m adding him as the first plus point of this game what of it). Man's fine AF. 

(+) Baghdad’s really beautiful, nuff said. The color palette is PERFECT - displays the warmth of the atmosphere really well, but also just enough greens and many starking hues of flowers. 

(+) The waters and environment textures are CRISPY.  The detailed patterns on the clothes, the engravings and the state of the arts is really cool. I haven’t really looked a lot into the 800’ Baghdad arts, but I can see lots of good details and art styles. SHOUT OUT TO THE ARTISTS!!

GAMEPLAY - Now here’s what I have a lot to comment on.

(+) Stealth -> I think they did quite good with the stealth. One of the many complaints that I saw on the previous RPG trilogy games was the fact that the main characters/players had no reason to be stealthy, because they can just barge in and defeat the enemies easily. Ubi has marketed the game to be more stealth focused and intentionally made Basim a less of a fighter (make sense, since he came from a thief background, unlike Bayek, Kassandra, and Eivor who are actual trained warriors since they’re kids). However, this brings me to the first lacking point.

(-) Combat -> The combat feels janky. I feel like I’m really fucked up in combat situations if I don’t upgrade my sword and dagger. Like I get it, Basim is not meant to be much of a fighter, but in the beginning parts (or… even the middle parts of the game, let’s be real), I feel like combat is HELL. I forgot the Youtuber who said it, but he said something along the lines of “I’m an assassin, I want to feel like an assassin and want to feel like a badass and can take down many enemies with ease.” And that actually rings true with me. When I’m in combat and countless soldiers are fighting or following me (and I don’t have the smoke bomb with the forgetting effect), I’m most certainly FUCKED. 

(+) The fighting style is cool though, it's stylish and the finishing moves are sick af. It could deffo use some work. 

(-+) Parkour/Movements - It’s alright. It’s most certainly better than the previous RPG trilogy, but it’s definitely not Unity or Syndicate. Sometimes Basim can do something that I didn’t want and I’ve lost count on how many times I got caught and died just from a mis-movement. I literally don’t understand why they don’t use the Unity parkours and combat styles. Unity’s parkour is smooth, swift, and stylish. It feels GOOD. 

(+) Stealing - I’m a loot goblin in games, and believe me, I think I’ve spent like hours just stealing from the entire population of Baghdad that by the end of the game I’m probably richer than the Taxmaster and the whole entire Abbasid Caliphate. It’s fun, it’s easy, but it can sometimes be hard enough to miss. I just hope there’s more variety/difficulty in the stealings in different places – Like maybe in the Round City the diamond thingy is much smaller, or in like for stealing merchants (who has particular fashion/silhouette or have wallets/pouches with different colors) can be harder to steal from but have more rewards and money. 

(-+) Map - OKAY. I love the fact that Mirage has a significantly smaller map than that of Odyssey and Valhalla. It’s focused and it’s much more centered. HOWEVER. For a game this caliber, and with this good of a graphic? It’s much too small and it’s too divided between two parts. Hear me out – The graphics are really cool, but I feel like the map is too divided between – either a densely populated city, or just barren lands of desert. I think the map could be much much bigger with much more collectibles and much more variety in the terrains. Like, for example in Black Flag (The S tier game. Argue with a wall), there’re more than one major city, while in Mirage the map is so very centered (Yes I get it it’s the Round City), but I’d love it if there’s another major city that we can travel to, like Damascus, for instace. + I love the Tales of Baghdad. MORE TALES OF BAGHDAD PLEASE. 

STORY - nOW THIS… I never liked the stories post - Origins and here's why : 

(-) LET 👏 THE ACTORS 👏 DO 👏 MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏 - My biggest complaint for the RPG game styles is always about the facial and motion animation. The cutscenes feel DEAD. The eyes are DEAD. I almost can't feel anything. Ubi is rich af, why not use facial capturing? AC3 was the first AC game to use motion capture, and holy shit… it's one of my fave games. Yes. All games, not only AC series. The emotion in their faces, the gestures, the small glances, the little movements - they all decide every character's personality. The reason why I love every AC since AC3-ACOrigins is because the actors pour all their voices, faces, even body movements into the interactions between characters, because they make the stories feel alive. Let the actors be actors. I can rant more but this is already a long post so I'll stop. MOTION 👏 CAPTURE 👏.

(+) I love Basim's origin story. Dude's a 17 year old street thief who got a bit over his head and ended up becoming a fugitive because he killed the fucking caliph himself. That was crazy HAHAHAH anyway even though I think the beginning felt a bit rushed I love it. I just wish they could milk it more.

(+) I love the side characters! Especially Ali (I think he's hot 👉👈 and he's the absolute freedom fighter). Anyway, even though they don’t really do much, they all feel alive and do lots of things (except Roshan prolly HAHAHAH but there's a reason I guess)

(+) Roshan. Mentor and reminds me of Al-Mualim. I particularly love the fact that after all that wise words throughout the game, she literally threatened Basim if he actually went to the underground temple. And when she showed up covered in blood??? And THE TWIST AT THE END??? "Roshan bint La-Ahad". SHE'S ALTAIR'S ANCESTOR. THAT FUCKING SHOCKED ME YOOOO. She's just amazing. 

(-) Pacing - I feel like this is because they’re speeding things up (which is a good thing), the pacing is pretty standard in the beginning, but the ending is a bit too high of a rollercoaster mount. The ending went from 0-100 real quick. I feel like we need a more of a climbing storyline. This is why I kind of don’t agree with the ‘centering’ storyline instead of a linear story. Centering styles of story has no climb in the intensity, and because of that we can’t feel the character developments because he’s supposed to stay the same even though we’ve killed like 3 bosses already. And then when all the underlings are dead, finally the boss racks up Basim’s curiosity super duper high that it becomes too sudden.

(-) Weak Villains - The villains since Origins are always hidden and unknown, unlike the previous games where the Templars are literally KNOWN by the people. I want more villains like Haytham tbh, where he literally doesn’t care about the precusor sites and only wants stability in his reign as a Grandmaster. Or if the villains do care about the Pieces of Eden or have a prior interest of the First Civ, at least let them have an actual personality and character, let them be a menace and a threat since the beginning of the game instead of being the NPC’s we kill to finish the game. Let them challenge our beliefs as an Assassin/Hidden Ones. Let the villains actually have an impact to the main storyline. Imagine in the end Basim and Qabiha really went to the underground temple together, and got confronted by Roshan. That’s where the conflict in Basim climaxed! Imagine the emotion! The drama~! 

(+) How the stories interlinked with Valhalla. Basim is a sage, and host of Loki who sought revenge to Odin (who wronged him). So I don't think Basim nor Loki are evil per se. They're just gray. Now the stories aren't just about Templars vs Assassin, it's more focused towards the First Civilization. It's a bit hard to keep up but it's nothing a bit of reading/looking up some lore videos wouldn't solve.

MISC

We need more outfits! The outfits are far too few for us to choose from! 

Wonderful and mystifying music. Nuff said. Brendan Angelides and Layth Sidiq nailed it. One Republic and Mishaal Tamer’s “Mirage” in on repeat on my Spotify right now.

I love gear chests hunting and all the collectibles. I just wish the map is bigger and there’re more collectibles T_T I’M A LOOT GOBLIN OKAY.

I learn history of Baghdad LFG. I play largely for the stories and not the gameplays, so if there’s a codex entry or any new historical sites I always read it. Learning history doesn’t hurt! 

How I can really relate to the real world. I live in Indonesia where 90% of the people is Muslim (I’m a Christian), so when I here familiar words like Alhamdullilah, Assalam’ualaikum and Wa’alaikumsalam, or see the people praying, the Adzan sounds throughout the city, the people praying towards the Ka’bah, it kinda feels like home! Just hope that they add more funny shit to it though, like “Yaallah Basim! Istighfar!” Or “WALLAHI.” Or more Arabic sayings so we can immerse more to the world.

MAKE BASIM DO THE 5 PRAYERS (maybe when we pass time or after a big mission we come back to him finishing a prayer).

FINAL VERDICT - 7.8/10 -> It’s a focused game, and it really did come back to some of the original elements of AC before the RPG trilogy. It’s not too long and casuals can play it without feeling like we have to grind like Odyssey or Valhalla. Deffo would recommend playing it!

Once again, BRING BACK MOTION CAPTURE ‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️

If you did play it gimme some thoughts in the comments! Thank you for reading! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[kismetlotts]

cw: oral sex, angry sex, teasing, noncon, face fucking

Simon Riley who will just shove you to the floor when you’re in a mood with him. Not really caring about why or what you’re saying, what he’s done and how he can make it up to you because as long as you’re on your knees he’s instantly won the argument.

“What was tha’ love?” Hed coo again, looking down at your frustrated little face, brows furrowed and eyes locked onto him.

“I said that you’re a fucking pric-“ But only to be caught off with a gag as his dick slams into the back of your throat. Your eyes watering and lips sucking around his cock automatically which only gained a chuckle out of him. Shakily pulling his dick out from your lips and looking back down once more.

“One more time for me?” Which only led to a pathetic attempt of you getting your words out before gagging and choking again. He’d do this for hours, just teasing you and pissing you off until not only had you stopped talking to him but you’d willingly opened your mouth like a good girl.

Letting him fuck your pretty mouth until he finishes, smiling back down at you before ruffling your hair. How could you still be mad at him after that?

[diejager]

OMG your kast post about Step-Dad Konig and Horangi was INSANE and i was wondering if you could do one with the reader getting Pregnant because of this and like Konig and Horangi decide that it's time for her to be taken into a new life with them far from everything and just breed her over and over till she's broken by Stockholm syndrome

(Yes i have issues no worries ^^)

Cw: DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, STEPCEST, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, age gap, implied kidnapping, tell me if I missed any.

The time they spent fucking you, ploughing you open with heir cocks in every hole and stuffing you with so many loads of cum that you leaked for days. They made sure to plug you up after tampering with your method of birth control, taking away any safety measures you had put up against them and to protect yourself from their cruelty and control. You, however, hadn’t expected them to be so determined to sabotage your birth control and have you tied to your bed, fucked until all you could think about was the girth of their cocks and cry out their names, back arching and toes curling.

It started slow, like any regular day with either of them when your mom wasn’t home. In the morning, König had you, splayed over his desk, tits pushed against the cold surface with one thigh over the edge while he bent you in two, ramming into you with so much force that the whole table shook. He growled and groaned, hissing out promises that he intended to uphold on his part, staining the walls of your womb with his dirty and thick cum, leaking around the heaviness of his girth and sticking to his mahogany desk. It goes on like that for a few more rounds, usually three or four after a break, his refractory period wasn’t what it used to be in his earlier days —in the prime of his life.

Horangi would come by around noon, he’d find you seated on the couch, dozing away after König was done with you, slipping between your legs and spread you open with his tongue. He’s eat you out for hours if he had the time, tongue dipping into your hole and swirling around your twitching nub, drunk on your mewls and wails. He groaned into you when your nails dug into his scalp, pulling at his black locks, thighs closing around his head and walls clenching his fingers. After pushing you over the edge a few times, he drilled into you, pounding you into the couch, smearing tears and drool onto the softness, ass propped up to take his long cock into your sweet, slick and swollen cunt, filling you with cum. He chuckled and sneered at you for wasting his precious load when it oozed out of your overfilled cunt, dripping down your thighs and dropping heavily on the black couch. It would’ve stained if they weren’t careful about keeping their activities a secret from your mother.

In the afternoon, a few hours before your mom’s scheduled to come home, you’re pulled away from your work by your stepdad who called it a day, usually around 3pm. He trapped you in the kitchen, ravaging you on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist and his rough fingers wrapped around your neck, he rammed into you with such force that it punched the air out of your lung, leaving you gasping and incoherently moaning for him. He passed you to Horangi once he’s done, resting against the counter he just fucked you on to recover from his high. Horangi has you ride him, thighs burning from the strain and heat of grinding yourself against him and hips cramping from having to worked yourself up and down his hard cock, the leaky head of his shaft kissing your cervix while he devoured you, lips latched onto yours and drowning your cries with nipping teeth and an invading tongue.

It all lead to the day you found out you were with child, the tests in your hands a glaring evidence to their success and your mother’s reluctant acceptance —she was worried, scared and stuck in the blind to your situation and how it came to this. After the second month, there was a slight swell in your stomach, a soft bump with your growing child, Horangi pulled you to his car and drove to a clinic to have your child tested to see whether he or König was the father. Whatever the answer was, they had you move in next door, taking up the vacant side of Horangi’s bed. You protested about it, telling them how he had a guest room just across the hall, only to be shocked into silence when they showed you Horangi’s so-called guest room.

It was neither a guest room, nor an office, it was a nursery. The walls were painted in a neutral tone, a calming and comforting beige against white furniture, the soft, grey carpet and the few blue accents in the room. There were empty drawers and a box full of children’s toys shoved into a wall and it was left there until a baby grabbed at them, awaiting the chubby hands of their owner. It was already stocked full with the necessities of a baby, diapers, soft blankets, a security system of the whole room, a comfortable recliner and shelves full of small necessities to intertwine and care for a child.

Everything had been prepared in advance —premeditated. They’d planned it all from the start, their immediate obsession and need to touch you during the first week of him moving in then the intimate and feral interactions put upon you despite your reluctance. If you hadn’t been so dazed, mind blank of any thought, you would have heard them discuss your future. They wanted a little wife to breed and care for, the object of their obsession kept for their eyes alone in the kitchen and the bedroom. It scared you, your only solace was to hold the growing bump, wrapping your arms around yourself for protection from them and the house. You needed answers.

Your blood ran cold when you turned to look at your stepdad and his friend, their gleeful eyes, gleaming with excitement at the prospect of building a family —one to tie you down to them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[charliemwrites]

Soap’s Alpha is a goddamn menace.

Anyone who says otherwise just doesn’t actually know Saint, or is Gaz. (The bloody traitor.)

It’s not that Soap doesn’t like Saint. He does. What’s not to like?

The alpha is a walking wet dream, the kind a pubescent Johnny used to fantasize about. (Still does, really, he’s just got a face - and body, bloody hell that body - to focus on now.) Big and powerful, dominance and restraint from head to toe. Looks damn good in their muzzle too, like something forbidden, pearly fangs locked up out of reach. And their scent - if someone could bottle it up, they’d make millions. (Retirement project, maybe, Soap’s good with chemistry.)

It’s just that they’re so damn respectful. Too respectful, in Johnny’s opinion.

Teenage Johnny didn’t realize that an alpha so… well, Alpha, would have such Victorian sensibilities. Saint is practically old-fashioned, keeping their scent contained and a ribbon of space between themselves and others. Always waiting for an omega to make the first move, even their own omegas.

If Soap pushes, Saint goes. If he demands, Saint provides. They’ll let him scent them and mark them and generally pass the point of even modern social manners just to receive a slow blink, a soft chuff, the barest curve of those lips - scarred from when their fangs grew in, too big for a pup’s mouth. It’s driving Soap off his heid.

It’s not that Soap is attracted to the kind of alpha that would throw their scent around or flash fang when he obnoxiously shoves his nose against their throat. He’s rolled his eyes at his share of knot-heads all over the spectrum for thinking submission is their god-given right. Put just as many on their stomachs or scruffed them limp when they tried (and failed) to press the issue.

It’s just that… well, Soap loves hard. He loves intensely. Some (Ghost, also a traitor) might even say desperately.

And maybe it’s got something to do with how low-spectrum omega he is. Maybe it’s a few too many taunts and jeers from his childhood into adolescence, about how he’s barely an omega anyway, so he’d be lucky with an alpha that can tolerate him. Maybe it’s a relationship (or two) before the 141, with alphas that got frustrated when he could only pretend at submission.

Maybe he just needs Saint to show that they love him just as much as he loves them. That it’s not just mutual, but matched. That he’s not tolerated, but beloved - intense and forward and non-traditional as he is.

And maybe he’s not asking (“communicating”) that because he doesn’t want to have to ask.

“Fuck around ‘n you’ll find out, Johnny,” Simon warns when Soap makes hypotheticals aloud.

“Tha’s what I’m hopin’ fer, ya dafty.”

Simon grunts, but even through the mask, Johnny can see the skepticism. He might have a point - alphas like Saint, far-spectrum Alphas, are categorically Not To Be Fucked With. That’s designation 101. The farther along the spectrum one way or another, the stronger the instincts, the more mindful everyone else needs to be of provoking them. Especially Alphas, territorial and aggressive as they can be.

But Saint’s proven time and time again that those extra counseling sessions and the spooky etiquette school haven’t gone to waste. They could do with a little… provoking.

Now, Johnny’s a veteran provoker. Knows which buttons to push and how for the reactions he wants. Doing it to Saint almost seems unsporting, honestly. The poor thing is just so sweet. But, well, Johnny’s on a mission.

Soap groans, practically draping himself along Gaz’s shoulders.

“I dinnae ken what t’do, nothin’s workin’!”

“Here’s an idea: stop while you’re ahead.”

Soap growls and shoves at him, Gaz flashes fang back, but his scent is mellow and easy - not that Soap needs it to know it’s all show.

“I’m serious, Gaz. I’ve tried everythin’!” he complains.

And he has. Crawling all over Saint (more than usual). Scenting them at every opportunity. “Forgetting” his own scent neutralizers or conveniently applying too little to last the day. Even scraped his teeth across their throat once. And what has he gotten in response? Slow blinks, quiet chuffs. A nuzzle or two in response, Saint’s eyes smiling even if their mouth stays soft and mostly neutral.

“I am too,” Gaz replies, rolling his eyes. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, bruv.”

Soap casts a forlorn glance at their Alpha.

Saint’s halfway across the field with Ghost, Price, and the captain of the squad they’re working with for joint task force training. Hands clasped behind their back, boots planted shoulder-width apart. Every bit the imposing alpha lieutenant despite never speaking a word, even with a deterrent half step of space between them and the omegas.

“I dinnae think it would be a stupid prize if they acted like a normal Alpha. Just once, ya ken?”

“They’re not a normal alpha, Soap. They like us just fine, you know that, right?”

Soap grunts something that could pass for agreement. Gaz opens his mouth to say something else - likely more entreaties to leave their poor Alpha be - but two of the other team’s sergeants approaches. (It’s fine, he’ll have plenty of opportunity to complain after dinner, when Saint retreats to their own room to eat - and to a bigger audience too.)

“A little sparring practice while we wait for orders?” one asks.

Behind him, the other sergeant of their squad is staring. Has been since Price introduced the 141.

Unlike them, Task Force Alpha hosts three alphas - the captain herself, who’s mid-spectrum, and the two sergeants, both low-spectrum. It’s an unusual unit, but so is the 141.

Soap and Gaz exchange looks, then glance at their officers. Johnny’s a little startled to find Saint already watching - still relaxed, but observing from a distance.

Oh? Did that catch his Alpha’s attention?

Johnny turns back to the alpha sergeants, grin a little feral.

“Aye, show us what ya got.”

The problem with getting what he wants, Johnny discovers, is that he gets it in spades.

The “sparring practice” is doomed right from the first flash of alpha teeth before they’ve even begun, and rapidly spirals downward from there.

The other problem is that Johnny getting what he wants doesn’t preclude Gaz and Simon from also being right.

Unfamiliar alpha pheromones thick in Johnny’s nose, his pack out of his direct sight, and one wrong move. The other sergeant twists his wrist too hard, too far, and the yelp is out of Johnny’s throat before he can stop it.

A thunderous bark cracks across the field, message unmistakable - Stop.

The alpha pinning Johnny freezes. Unfortunately, that leaves Johnny in the same uncomfortable position that made him cry out in the first place. Every instinct in his body tells him not to move either, but the radiating ache in his wrist wins out. He shifts, tries to wriggle out, but the alpha’s grip is like iron - whether from fear or caught prey is unclear.

It doesn’t matter though. Because in the next instant, the alpha’s weight is gone entirely.

There’s barely even a scuffle. Just a rolling growl like shifting tectonic plates and then the alpha sergeant is pinned face down with a big hand scruffing him tight.

It’s Saint, crouched over Johnny’s (former) opponent, expression wiped smooth except for the snarl showing those big fangs - even still hidden behind a muzzle.

This is why, Johnny thinks, stomach flipping. If the muzzle wasn’t there, Saint’s teeth would be clamped down already.

They sink lower, knee against the other alpha’s back, slow and deliberate. Close enough that the smaller alpha bites off a whimper. A clear display of power and dominance that nearly has Johnny keening.

As if hearing his thoughts - or the subvocals he’s being less successful about suppressing - Saint’s implacable gaze darts to his. Their pupils are blown out, eyes stormcloud dark.

“Johnny.”

There’s no stopping the soft, purely Omega noise that slips out. Saint’s chest expands, breathing in whatever scent Johnny is giving off.

“Okay?” they ask, flicking a look at Johnny’s wrist.

“M’okay, Alpha.”

Saint turns their attention to Price, Simon, and the alpha captain - only just now finished crossing the distance Saint did seemingly in an instant.

“Stand down, lieutenant,” the alpha captain barks. It’s weak, though, they can all hear that her subvocals aren’t in it with her, instinct shying from the stronger alpha. (Her normal voice doesn’t sound all that strong for that matter, either.)

Another warning growl ripples through the air. This time, the alpha beneath Saint can’t stop his whimper - and neither can Johnny. (Though he’s likely whimpering for a much different reason.) The captain’s mouth shuts with an audible click.

A safe distance from her, Simon and Price visibly lock their knees to stay standing.

Saint tilts their head to meet the alpha captain’s glare, steady and unrelenting. Awareness crackles down Johnny’s spine - alphas locking gazes, and the dangers of them doing so.

“I-I didn’t know he was your omega,” the alpha sergeant blurts.

Saint doesn’t look away. “You know now.”

“Yes, alpha.”

Johnny’s heart trips over itself to beat double time. His face feels hot.

Silence stretches for one, two, three breaths…

“He knows now,” the alpha captain says quietly. Her eyes drop to her sergeant. “Let him up, alpha.”

Saint doesn’t linger to make a point. The sit back, forearms resting on their knees, giving the sergeant room to scramble up and away. And Johnny finds, quite suddenly, that Saint’s focused on him again.

“Let’s pick this up another day,” Price gruffs in the silence, dredging his voice up from the depths.

“I’ll contact you for details,” the alpha captain says, steel returning to her voice.

Task Force Alpha shuffles away in thick silence. With the outsiders gone, some ease returns. The intense energy around Saint melts away, leaving the mellow alpha the 141 is used to behind.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Gaz blurts in the silence, absolutely smitten.

Saint snorts, shakes their head, and stands.

Mouth dry and still right where he ended, Johnny glances at Simon. The look in his eyes says “I told you so.”

Johnny doesn’t pout; but he does take the hand that Saint offers him with a purr.

“Johnny.”

A shiver raises down his spine and pools low in his gut - just like it does every time he hears Saint’s voice. Still, he tries to save face, whirling to fix his alpha with a winning smile.

“Aye, alpha?” he churrs - or starts to, but comes up short.

Because Saint isn’t wearing their muzzle.

“W-what’s the occasion?” he tries to recover.

Saint tilts their head, watching. Observing.

It’s just the two of them in the den right now. Price is in his office, smoothing over the afternoon’s events via phone call, and Simon and Gaz went into town for food.

It feels electrifyingly intimate. Because his Alpha is looming right there in joggers and a tight t-shirt and no muzzle, all that intensity focused solely on Johnny.

“Well… at least c’mere then, eh?”

And Saint fucking prowls across the den. But they don’t stop at the edge of the couch where Johnny’s reclining. They continue onto the cushions. First a knee, making the cushion dip sharply with their weight. Then planting a hand by Johnny’s head on the back of the couch, practically climbing over him.

It hits Johnny then. Saint’s scent, still diluted by a low-level neutralizer, but still theirs and still intense. And he doesn’t know why, knows better than to lead a predator, but Johnny scoots back, trying to maintain the sliver of space between them. Overwhelmed.

But for once, Saint doesn’t pull away or politely deescalate. They pursue until Johnny’s stopped by the arm of the couch against his shoulders and Saint’s hovering over them.

“That pup didn’t know you’re mine,” the rumble finally. “Do you?”

“‘Course,” Johnny answers instantly.

They meet his eyes, and Johnny realizes they’ve caught on to his efforts. Maybe knew from the start.

Embarrassed heat sears his cheeks, ears, and neck.

“‘M sorry,” he whispers, the words like ash in his mouth.

Saint shakes their head but it’s not a rejection. They tilt their head, rub their cheek firm but gentle against his. They’re… they’re scenting him.

Johnny reciprocates enthusiastically and earns a pleased purr that vibrates all the insecurities right out of his skull.

“Mine,” Saint churrs. “Omega.”

“Aye, Alpha.”

[gomzdrawfr]

content warning: blood

Loyal to a fault

bonus + other versions:

Bonus:

Alt:

the words on Ghost's body reads:

LOVE (level of violence)

it takes a monster to destroy a monster (poorly cropped i apologize)

Loyal Dog

Vēnor (Latin verb for hunt, chase)

this is something very different to what I usually do I hope yall don't mind....also this was me when I was sharing this with my friends...because priceghost/ghostprice dynamic really gets a grip on me

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

mermaid penelope who just seen pirate Morgan 😔IF YOU HAVE THE EARS TO HEAR