#Headshot Accuracy

[fogaminghub]

Hey, gamedev pals! 🌟 If you're diving into Red Dead Redemption 2 and need help with "Blessed are the Meek," look no further! Our Gold Medal guide is packed with tips to help you get those crucial headshots and escape like a pro. 🐎💥

✔️ Achieve Gold Medal  

✔️ Improve your accuracy  

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Find all the details in the link!

[commonwealth-operator]

12 December 2289 / Cambridge Outskirts

A small band of highwaymen were attempting to set up a tollbooth on the Beantown bridge, a strategic crossing over the Charles. This wasn't going to work for me; two secure installations within a mile meant leaving these guys alive was putting my settlers at risk.

Hit this nasty hat trick on 'em. Three shots, three kills.

[xecat]

anyway *retries a rdr2 mission 3 times then quits without saving cos no gold*

[divorcedyaoi]

got called a cheater by an enemy support and then they left

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.” 

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.” 

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?” 

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.” 

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago. 

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink. 

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her. 

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting. 

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care. 

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long. 

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic. 

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not. 

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack. 

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week. 

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head. 

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath. 

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-” 

“Classified?” You finish for her. 

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...” 

The less there is to make you a target. 

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time. 

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.” 

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal. 

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military. 

That, and the excuse for violence. 

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented. 

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together. 

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face. 

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.” 

You look nervous. 

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly. 

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega. 

His omega. 

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy. 

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand. 

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly. 

He doesn’t even want to think about that. 

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand. 

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed. 

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.” 

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side. 

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents. 

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit. 

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about. 

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?” 

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.” 

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went. 

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.” 

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks. 

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.” 

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right. 

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.” 

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega. 

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says. 

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.” 

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” 

He hasn’t failed her yet. 

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked. 

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags. 

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment. 

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent. 

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk. 

One more to go. 

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk. 

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible. 

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane. 

“Coming, Si?” 

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared. 

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute. 

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent. 

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack? 

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door. 

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly. 

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says. 

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no. 

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back. 

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.” 

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression. 

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?” 

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.” 

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it. 

You can hold power over them. 

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to. 

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile. 

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell. 

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already. 

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in. 

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha. 

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”  

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs. 

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?” 

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.” 

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You lived on base?” He asks. 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.” 

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it. 

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say. 

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well. 

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.” 

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent. 

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.” 

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks. 

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.” 

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.” 

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks. 

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance. 

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.” 

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails. 

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.” 

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either. 

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.” 

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting. 

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach. 

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell? 

What if they don’t like the way you smell? 

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you. 

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier. 

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.” 

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen. 

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack. 

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs. 

“Ready?” 

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin. 

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland. 

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others. 

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you. 

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours. 

He’s testing you. 

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl. 

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting. 

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached. 

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place. 

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?” 

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head. 

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.” 

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland. 

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you. 

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze. 

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this. 

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him. 

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat. 

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper. 

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek. 

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze. 

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them. 

They could if they wanted to. 

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you. 

“You hungry, pup?” 

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work. 

Pup. Price called you Pup. 

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you. 

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment. 

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again. 

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.” 

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.” 

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out. 

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear. 

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes. 

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear. 

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing. 

He’s proving his ability as a provider. 

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can. 

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you. 

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks. 

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost. 

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult. 

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

[residualmanifest]

also officially saying that re4make is harder . maybe it's cus I was so used to playing re4 especially since I replayed it very recently, but if you get the hang of the parry mechanic then it's kinder

[coirinthyurilo]

Just have one thing to say. Another headcanon about Will Solace.

He's insane with guns. Bro lived in Texas, and you're sharing he doesn't know how to shoot? Sure. The guy might have terrible aim in archery.

But with a gun? His accuracy is painfully accurate. He can shoot a bullet up against a shield, point it at the right angle. Make it bounce. And it goes flying and still hits the fucking target.

Like imagine, Will in battle. Forced to kill monsters and the first thing he brings to the battlefield is a celestial made bronze gun?

Shotgun, sniper, assault rifle, you name it. He will literally shoot every shot and some how hit a bullseye.

So imagine charging at some demi-god as a monster and suddenly some bullet hits you right at your weak spot and you drop dead.

And Will probably knows actually real life tips from guns.

Like you can find Will pointing his sniper. An inch above the target. Shoot. And the speed and air resistance if timed and aimed right. It will hit the target.

Cause if you think about the insane accuracy and calculation it takes for the bullet. If you want your bullet to go as far you want. You need to aim higher above the target for it to go farther.

So imagine some guy across atleast.. 50 footballl fields. Really far right? Will aims his snipers up high above the target. Waits for the the target to walk into his crosshair. And pulls the trigger— BAM! He falls dead.

The terror in the campers' eyes when they find the insane accuracy on the guy it's right in the head quick death.

It makes him feel like an assassin, and Nico is probably even smitten by it.

Bonus:

Will knows that with a headshot can kill you. So instead of going for the body he goes for the head. And when you put him in battle with a gun. Monsters will be dropping dead no matter how far or close they are.

[a-heart-of-kyber]

I think something that is very telling about the Spencer Reid fandom and the refusal to acknowledge his growth and the persistent need to infantilize him is...the disregard of his accuracy and skill with a gun.

Reid's first kill was a perfect headshot. He spent a lot of time post Prentiss's "death" at the gun range and was a good shot before we get to s14 and learn he's literally a perfect shot.

And yet people are still like, "Baby is bad with guns 🥺" "He was aiming for his leg 🥺"

...no, he was always a very good shot when he got out of his head and acted on instinct or, eventually, confidence.

With the assumption of years of growth, he was probably the 2nd or 3rd most accurate on the team by the time Hotch left and, by the end of the series, most likely surpassed Hotch when it came to his skill given the exclaimed rarity of the perfect score he received on his firearms exam.

Just because he preferred non-violence and would regularly disarm himself to appear nonthreatening doesn't mean he was unskilled.

He's, in fact, canonically extremely skilled when you don't constantly revert him back to his 23 year old self.

Like...guys, this is a capable man. Please stop treating him like a child.

[morgansman]

Part 1 : HAIR DEBATE.

I noticed a debate about Arthur being dark blonde or light brown. I would say both.

As seen in this photo, Arthur has some darkish brown and light brown to burnt blonde looking color to it.

Same with his hair. And before you argue that I'm using mods in these that change his hair I'm not, I only have an online content unlocker and I do not have a rampage trainer so mods that mess with his hair are very unlikely.

Also, the darkest color Arthur's hair can be ingame is dark brown, which is due to darker lighting. But my proof is inaccurate at best as photobleaching is a thing. And if you don't know what it is the photochemical alteration of a dye or a fluorophore molecule such that it is permanently unable to fluoresce. Or fading for short.

PART 2: EYES

I saw a debate on Reddit. Yes, Reddit. But it was about Arthur's eye color, I always thought it was blue until I checked this, now the thing about blue-eyed people is that their eye color can appear different per se. I can prove this I am blue-eyed. For example, my eye color looks purple sometimes, some dude said it was rainbow once kinda weird. But it can also look green at times just like Arthur's in this photo.

But this is caused by the light brown pigment of whatever the fuck interacting with the blue light in your eyes or whatever. Which causes it to look green or speckled. Also, I have proven before that Arthur has blueish-greenish eyes. Yes, that's real.

PART 3 : ARTHUR MORGAN vs. ELLIE.

no debate about Arthur solos. has around 6'0, 180lbs but if you want me to go deep into this. According to a video I have found and some other evidence Arthur's quickdraw is around .23-.27 seconds and the blink of an eye is .25 seconds, so before Ellie could get close she'd already be shot. Anyone who says otherwise might just be a dumbass.

PART 4 : Ending some bickering between John and Arthur fans.

It is persistently debated about who is the better gunslinger between Arthur and John, or fighter in general. It's not a fair comparison, it's like comparing apples to oranges, both have their specialties, and both have their advantages over the other. In terms of gameplay, they are indistinguishable. But in terms of lore, most will say that Arthur would win in a brawl and John would win in a regular duel. There isn't much debate about whether or not Arthur would win in a brawl, most would agree on this, though the second one is a bit more controversial. But it is reasonable to suggest that in John's prime and after all of his experience and training with Landon, that he would be a quicker draw. But the comparison still isn't fair nonetheless. Arthur isn't a gunslinger, though he may be extremely quick, he prioritizes accuracy over speed, and that is his specialty. Arthur is a sniper, he is a rifleman, he would pick off enemies from an extreme distance and John would clear them out with extreme speed. Arthur is better in terms of accuracy, but yes, John would likely win in a duel. But so what? Duels aren't all that common and it likely wouldn't be the circumstance in which they would fight. However, if it came down to it and they were both in a battle close to mid-range with guns, John would still likely win because even if Arthur can hit a vital headshot with great accuracy, John can still hit his shots almost as well, and do so quicker. This is assuming that they are both in their prime, of course, because if we are referencing Arthur while he has TB or while John is still an oaf and doesn't have the same versatility with guns then it wouldn't really be fair. Additionally, most John fans will mention that John had a better arsenal, but what relevance does that have? Did he find a time portal in 1911 and teleport back in time to 1899 just to shoot Arthur or something? If they were to fight, it would be in the same period, so arsenal doesn't matter.

PART 5 : Naming my son. ( made my Vern's brother Mike. )

Hey, I'm Michael, and I also manage the RDR2 FANCLUB Blog. I had a debate with my wife the other day about whether we should name our child Arthur ( comical I know. ) or Iroy both are good but I need your opinions. also, @arthursdoll you're a pretty good friend of my brother so I'll let you decide :)

PART 6 : John Marston who?

rip van winkle.

PART 7 : Ending another stupid Reddit thing.

" When do you think Dutch went sour. "

Dutch wasn't necessarily always a good figure in the game, he didn't really start out as one and this is speaking from someone who's played it 16+ times. Oh and by the way if you couldn't tell Vernidia isn't explaining this one. But you have to take something into account so let us start with the.

Death of Davey Callander. The death of Davey surely played an impact on the choices that Dutch throughout the story. So did the death of Jenny I suppose, both weren't really introduced.

Chapter 2. Chapter 2 played a big part in the game, it was one of the LARGEST chapters. And if you watch the hidden dialogues in chapters 2 and 3 between Dutch and Lenny and Hosea and Lenny, it looks to me like they were grooming him to become Dutch’s next “consigliere”.

Trolley incident, and ETC. The trolley incident happens during the trolley mission where Dutch hits his head, an injury possibly played a part during this, I don't quite know. But there is an obvious change in Dutch after he hits his head during that mission.

FORGOT SOMETHING. Arthur mentions in Chapter 1 Colter that he never saw a side of Dutch that he's seen before, this is when he killed that girl on the ferry job in Blackwater.

The Bank heist went wrong. The bank heist surely played a huge part in the game it contained the death of Hosea and Lenny. And after these deaths you can see a sure change in Chapter 5.

My conclusion is he went “Sour” during the ferry heist but didn't quite reveal his true colors until Chapter 4-5.

PART 8: When Dutch shot at John in rdr1 did he mean to kill him?

Yeah probably.

Made by Vernidia, Mike, and Scooter

[cheatsru]

Counter Strike 2 Hacks

Counter Strike 2 Hacks offer a tantalizing glimpse into an alternative gaming experience, where pixels dance to the rhythm of precision and unpredictability. As players seek that edge in intense firefights, utilizing these hacks can fundamentally alter how one interacts with the game. Imagine landing a perfect headshot or maneuvering through the map with pixel-perfect accuracy—these enhancements make it possible for even average players to stand toe-to-toe with veterans.

However, it's crucial to navigate this realm with prudence. While hacks can elevate gameplay momentarily, they risk tainting your overall journey through Counter Strike 2. The thrill of mastering skills organically is irreplaceable and fosters genuine camaraderie within the community. Integrating hacks may provide short-term gains but understanding the game's mechanics and developing strategies yield lasting satisfaction that every true gamer craves. Ultimately, one must balance tech-savvy shortcuts with skillful play for a truly rewarding adventure in Counter Strike 2’s dynamic landscape.

[internetskiff]

There's all this talk about the Scrybes having fancy gaming setups but what if P03 just is the gaming pc. It runs everything on itself with the shittiest framerate. Boots up, loads up TF2, the framerate is kind of garbage even on the lowest possible settings. It mains Sniper but gets votekicked every single time because it headshots everyone with such accuracy people think it's a bot. Pre-divorce it let Leshy play Minesweeper on it. That d-pad on it's head has to have some sort of use. Any time it runs anything that isn't a Personality Matrix the cooling fans start going full blast. Sometimes it restarts itself mid-gameplay

it's also the only scrybe with an actual internet connection Edit: initially a fuckup on my part but you know what? It definitely would try streaming. And whenever it does the framerate TANKS completely. Absolutely unwatchable. It's streams consistently achieve a total viewercount of 3 (Inspector, Melter and Dredger respectively. Despite the viewcount the chat is scrolling like crazy the whole time.)

[snowthornes]

SHEPHERDS OF HAVEN | @shepherds-of-haven HEADSHOT ART | @yuuugay

✦ The Godless Brightburner

— Rend the world in winter's wrath.

The magic of Aetherai relies heavily on energy and emotions to increase the intensity of their spells. Without them, spells would be rendered weak or ineffectual, losing their force and impact; what should be great gusts of wind would become gentle puffs of air. - Notes by Thorne Briers, scribbled on a worn out journal.

On the battlefield, Thorne is akin to a howling blizzard.

The smooth and unfazed demeanor he typically affects is nowhere to be seen. His movements are swift, powerful, and brutally efficient: leaping and dodging with a jagged elegance reminiscent of an icicle broken from a frozen cave mouth. There's a flash of silver as he swiftly drags the bowstring all the way back to his cheek; a sliver of a second; then the silent scream of an arrow hurtling through the air, meeting its target with vicious accuracy.

There's a razor glint of claws and he abruptly rolls back, dodging a near-fatal blow. He springs back to his feet and responds with a barrage of howling magical energy — magic that twists into hurricanes of wind and frost, knife-like icicles that rend the flesh and freeze the limbs. The storm responds to his escalating vehemence, singing with approval as it cuts and dances and destroys, obediently following his every command.

Power and emotion flood his veins like water bursting out of a dam. His blood sings with an almost feral glee. Fury and longing, grief and defiance, silver-bright intelligence and dagger-sharp cunning, a mask always hiding, concealing, performing a one-man masquerade of hollowed music and elegant smiles, shattered faith and deadened hope, sunlight thawing a winter's chill, love and loss and laughter and hands reaching out—

Beneath the blood and dust that cling to his face, storm gray eyes blaze with a sharp, glacial, light.

✦ The Mage's Phantasms

— A thousand colors to a name.

Truth be told, I'm not sure how to feel. I came to Haven hoping to find employment and perhaps enter the merchant trade, but ended up landing in the lap of the Shepherds instead. This is my reality now. While I'm not too thrilled about it, I have no choice but to continue down this path I've inexplicably stepped on — though I have no interest in being a hero and sacrificing myself on the front lines. Perhaps I'll transfer to a non-combatant position in the future. I shall fade safely into the Order's background soon enough. Then, I can return to pursuing my previous ambitions. - Entry by Thorne Briers, scribbled in a worn out journal. Written after his inititation to the Shepherds. Miscellaneous trade and business notes are jotted down on the rest of the page. It's an entry that he often views with a look of both irony and nostalgia.

Notes on Shepherd Thorne Briers, ranging from the startlingly mundane to the undeniably vital. The author is unknown.

�� Thorne stands at 5'11". He typically carries himself with an air of grace and elegance, mannerisms painstakingly absorbed from the aristocrats and merchants he used to watch from the distance as a child. His movements notably become more erratic and excitable when around those he wholeheartedly trusts — something that he had never found until joining the Shepherds. 🌠

➸ He can be overly apathetic to the plights of strangers. He's seen too much, done too much to be easily moved by compassion or emotion. Though he's capable of giving comfort and reassurance when the situation calls for it, he would rather use detached pragmatism to assess a situation rather than give in to 'pointless' emotions such as pity and distress. One could say that he almost recoils from genuinely emotional displays — though he hides it well.

Only those close to him know of this particular aspect of his nature, however. He usually keeps it well-concealed beneath a gleaming veneer of carefully chosen words and expressions, knowing that his true nature might work against him during missions. Whether or not this makes him insincere is up to the judgement of others. 🌠

➸ Avoids making grand promises or heroic declarations. While Thorne is quite adept at manipulating a situation to his favor, there is something quite odd about him: his aversion to making direct promises. Hope can be such a light, fragile thing, and it can be so easy to give; yet when it is promised to someone only to be taken away, it can break them. He can't. He wont. Thorne doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust himself to be this so-called hero. He will meander, he will laugh, and he will tell you that he'll be back, in his own roundabout way — but he will never ask you to trust that he'll succeed. Not yet, anyway. 🌠

➸ Possesses a vehement aversion to religion itself. Contrary to what one might think, Thorne actually thinks it's very likely that gods do exist in some shape or form. He just has absolutely no interest in worshiping them; one could even say that he despises the thought of it. It's a stark contrast to his childhood, when he would worship and pray to the One-God with his parents. The very mention of faith and religion — especially that of the One-God — can have him inwardly recoiling as he bites back the scathing words threatening to spill from his lips.

Very, very few know about it, however. Only those he implicitly trusts have been allowed to catch glimpses of the cold vitriol that he holds towards the gods — and even they don't know just how deep it runs. (Yes, he didn't take the kithma revelation very well, and still has very mixed feelings about it. Despite that, he had to grudgingly admit that it made more sense than not.) 🌠

➸ He can be unexpectedly honest when it comes to those he holds dear. Though it clearly takes him some visible effort, Thorne won't shy away from telling a friend all the reasons why he holds them in high regard. If he plucks up the nerve, he'll bluntly tell them of how important they are to him — all while wearing the flat expression of a frog about to leap into boiling water. He'll immediately find an excuse to flee after saying his piece, face prickling with rare heat all the while. 🌠

➸ Loves accessorizing and embellishing his clothes! Before joining the Shepherds, Thorne would diligently set aside a part of his earnings to spend on his more fashionable pursuits. He especially liked embroidering delicate patterns and designs on his clothes, a hobby he continued even after joining the Order. He often tests the bounds of the Order's rules by embroidering subtle yet tasteful patterns onto his Shepherd's cloak, much to Blade's consternation. 🌠

➸ It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh when among friends, a fact that has surprised many — including Thorne himself. Even the saddest joke can coax a snort of laughter from him, though he tries to explain it away with something along the lines of, "the pathetic air of it makes it funny, why are you looking at me like that—". The recruits have long grown accustomed to seeing him doubled over with laughter during breakfast over something Chase had said, sometimes choking on his honeyed milk in the process. 🌠

➸ His moral compass has been slowly (and reluctantly) shifting after joining the Shepherds. Unfortunately, the environment Thorne was given at the Shepherds Order made it all too easy to foster compassion. For the first time, he has allies, confidantes, friends — people he can genuinely trust to watch his back. It was slow, and it was gradual, but the veneer of ice and stone he kept around his heart was softening.

The pivotal moment was in Chapter Five, when Thorne had to choose between following the mission or letting Nathe win. While Thorne could bluff that he'd only allowed Nathe to win because he'd figured that Briony would make for a powerful ally, he knew in his heart of hearts that it was a lie. In that moment, as he stared into Nathe's eyes, he'd simply wanted the elf to reunite with his family. 🌠

➸ He's actually incredibly emotional (and dramatic) despite the way he doggedly conducts himself with an apathetic pragmatism. Thorne can be indifferently cold when it comes to matters of compassion. Overly rational, even. But one could say that it was a steel born out of necessity; an iron will carved out of what was once a gentle heart in order to survive alone in a world teetering on the brink of madness.

To love is to be left; it is what he has learned in his years of wandering the world alone. To rely on faith is weakness. To believe in hope is foolishness. What was once laughter and camarederie will eventually bleed into farewells and betrayals.

To love is to be left. Never again. Never again. 🌠

➸ He is afraid. He is afraid of losing everything. The more he comes to care for the Shepherds (his comrades, friends, family, even), the more terrified he becomes of losing them. The more he grows to love them with all the fierceness and softness and everything in his heart, the more he becomes afraid of driving them away. He is no hero. He is no light. He is a charlatan, full of anger and grief and so much hate that he cannot speak into the world. Hope is a word that burns at his touch. When he looks into the mirror, all he can see is a scarred visage of disappointment — a liar masquerading as a hero. 🌠

✦ Afterword

First of all. If you've actually, somehow, managed to reach the end of this monstrously long post and are somehow reading this. Thank you. So much. So very much. Also I might be on the verge of proposing (🥺🥺🥺💍💍💍) Ahead is a little afterword about Thorne and the Godless Brightburner snippet.

Thorne is a heavily flawed character — and an incredibly emotional one at that. Despite how he usually conducts himself — pragmatic, cunning, calculating, and all that jazz — he feels his every emotion like a raging howl of sleet and storm.

He used to be a child who loved the world and everything in it. He was Westwood's beloved ray of sunshine, the mayor's precocious son. It was the... events of his thirteenth birthday and his experiences as a solitary Diminished that hardened him, that turned him into the reverse of what he once was.

A bleeding heart is a weakness: so Thorne closed his heart and turned the wound into a jagged scar. There were far too many people out there who would use a naive, wide-eyed Diminished for their own gain — he learned this very quickly. He rejected his compassion, despised his own emotions, and turned himself into someone so coldly pragmatic that the boy he once was became naught but another painful memory.

It's why he has so much mixed feelings for the Shepherds, especially in the first half of the story. By then, the only one he was concerned about was himself — or so he claimed. And, if he were to be honest, he didn't consider himself very worthy of living. He didn't even know why he fought so hard to survive; why he was willing to go so far. Perhaps it was anger. Perhaps it was defiance. Or perhaps it was atonement: continuing his hazy existence in exchange for the home he had eradicated so long ago.

You could say that he's very similar to the embittered Hunters that Halek often criticizes. Those who were disillusioned by their banishment so subsequently refused to help with the demon problem. It's why doesn't really get along with the more... openly compassionate members of the order — at least not at first. All the "make the world a better place" and "protect the innocent" talk would only ever earn flatly unimpressed looks from him.

Over the course of the game, he starts to soften. Slowly, hesitantly, his view of the world starts to gentle. He becomes more open to helping others, more willing to express his true emotions instead of hiding them under a veneer of charming smiles and calculated words. He's still wary of promises and heroics, but a part of him is gradually entertaining the thought of a future soaked in sunlight rather than in shadow. Of a future where he could be happy.

Thorne's journey is one of change and new beginnings: of learning to trust others as you learn to trust yourself. He is flawed. He is frustrating. Sometimes even I want to throttle him. He shuns emotions while he drowns in them. He will conflict with the Shepherds in the order. And, yes, he has a massive case of Impostor Syndrome when it comes to his status as Hero of Haven. But he will change, and he will grow. And I'm very, very excited to see it. 🫡✨

Another thing! If the "Godless Brightburner" snippet felt familar to you, then you'd be spot on! That section was actually inspired by something from the SHOH alpha demo — it's one of my favorite passages from the game ever. I've put it just below, so beware of MINOR SPOILERS!!

(I'll be honest: this passage made me cry. Like, I was full on sniffling my heart out. I don't know why. I don't know how. But it felt so regretful. Like the hollow echo of something that once was. Vibrant and brilliant and ephemeral and gone.)

When I first read this passage, I was floored. Sniffling aside, it was just... brimming with so much life. "His essence poured into the ring". Lena had done just that. With one passage alone, the very essence of a man long gone had been given shape in strokes of heartbreaking color.

It stuck with me for a very long time — and still has. The world of SHOH has made me cry many, many, times (I will probably ramble about them in the future as well, I apologize in advance 😔) (also yes the Thurl chapter was a DOOZY) but this just... stuck. It's an incredibly beautiful peace of writing, and I never tire of it no matter how many times I reread it.

Therefore, I was inspired to do something similar for Thorne! His essence — what would it feel like? What song would it sing unto the world, if it could?

The Godless Brightburner is supposed to be about showing Thorne's very essence. The Mage's Phantasms, meanwhile, was only supposed to contain little bits and pieces about Thorne. But I think I got a bit carried away there. That section is nowhere near little. 🗿

Aaaand, that's all. Thank you so much for reading this far, and I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed making it!! The world of SHOH is so breathtakingly crafted, its characters so beautifully alive — I'm glad I got to give Thorne his own special place within its seams.

Thank you very much to Yuki @yuuugay for making Thorne's portrait!! I am very KSDHGJKLSDG about him and everytime I look at him I lose the ability to speech 🥺🥺🥺 You've made him so, so beautiful — thank you! You've made me so incredibly happy!

Lastly, thank you to @shepherds-of-haven for commissioning this template for us: I had a lot of fun wandering through Blest with Thorne! Exploring the world of SHOH was an experience, one with a ton of tears, dismayed yelps, and laughter. Thank you so, so much for sharing it with us. I'm looking forward to seeing how the rest of this journey unfolds together. 🥺💖

Have a very good day, and I hope you all have just as much (if not more) fun as I did on your own playthroughs and template-filling endeavors! Good luck, and thank you again!! 💖🫡💐✨

[samueldays]

Mmmyeah Phoenix Point combat is definitely feeling like it's too focused on cheesing the AP system. There's a bunch of abilities like Dash and Quick Aim which discount an action by 1AP, and they're repeatable, so the 4AP character can fire the 3AP sniper rifle twice in one turn. There is no minimum, so 1AP Pistols with Quick Aim can be fired as a free action as long as you have WP to keep casting Quick Aim. (you regain WP from killing enemies)

But the really game-breaking thing is the "Terminator" build from the wiki, which goes something like this: get a dual-class Assault/Berserker character with

background Heavy Weapons proficiency (highest damage, usually takes 3AP to fire),

the Assault class capstone (for one turn, regain 2AP when you kill an enemy),

the Assault class skill to reload for 0AP

the Berserker class capstone (for one turn, all weapon attacks cost 1AP, you are then Dazed and lose your next turn)

the Armored Head mutation (immunity to being Dazed)

the Speed stat maxed for movement

and then move up to nearest enemy for 1AP, enjoy accuracy bonus from proximity, magdump machinegun headshots to kill enemy for 1AP, regain 2AP, repeat. reloading machinegun is free. Very similar things can be done with Assault/Sniper, using the Sniper skill to reduce cost of a shot by 1AP.

If you get bad RNG and lose your killstreak, you can regain it with a support character who knows Onslaught: caster transfers 2AP to target.

I say "caster" because somewhere along the way, this XCOM clone turned into a Fantasy RPG where you assemble a motley party of Fighter, Thief, Ranger, Monk and Magic-User; I mean Heavy, Assault/Berserker, Assault/Sniper, Priest and Technician to slay monsters and ruleslawyer and take quests to build rep with factions so they'll give you magic items, emphasised by the fact weapons don't get better, but characters do. High-level characters get more attacks per turn than low-level characters, even before you do any stupid combo shenanigans. The "willpower" stat is blue, it could be renamed "magic points" and sit fine next to "hit points".

[theterribletenno]

Lucifer the Void Angel warframe

Part of me is surprised Lucifer took this season by absolute storm... and part of me isn't. Here's hoping I can live up to the hype! Lucifer's blueprints can be obtained in two ways; they are dropped by killed void angels and can be purchased from Archimedean Yonta if the player is rank 5 (Angel) with the Holdfasts at the cost of 15,000 standing per blueprint.

Health: 260 (360 at rank 30) Shields: 260 (360 at rank 30) Armor: 360 Energy: 175 (225 at rank 30) Sprint Speed: 1.0

Passive: Each of Lucifer's abilities evolve up to four times as he uses them, empowering them and granting him +15 max health, shields, and armor for every evolution up to a maximum of +240 of each with all evolutions complete. Upon being downed Lucifer loses one level of evolution from each ability and all evolutions are lost on death. Ability evolutions do not carry over between missions. Ability evolution effects are subject to all effects which would normally affect abilities such as mods, arcanes, and operator abilities.

Ability 1: Fass Spear, toggled ability, drains 5 energy per second. Upon activation Lucifer fires a beam of void energy with infinite range and perfect accuracy from his palm which deals 275 times 1+X (where X is equal to the enemy's level divided by 10) radiation damage per half second. Fass spear takes 1.5 seconds to activate and deactivate. Fass Spear's evolutions increase the size and intricacy of void-styled decorations on Luci's arms & hands. EVOLUTION 1: Land 100 headshots with Fass Spear. Perk: Fass Spear now has a 20% chance for status and crit and a 2x critical multiplier. EVOLUTION 2: Kill 100 enemies with Fass Spear. Perk: Fass Spear now deals half of its damage on contact and the other half as a spherical area of effect around the contact point with a 3 meter radius. EVOLUTION 3: Keep Fass Spear active for 10 continuous seconds. Perk: The activation/deactivation animation for Fass Spear is changed and now only takes 0.5 seconds. EVOLUTION 4: Kill an eximus enemy with Fass Spear. Perk: Damage dealt by Fass Spear now changes to match enemy weaknesses.

Ability 2: Netra Wave, 50 energy. With a mighty stomp Lucifer discharges a 15 meter long, 3 meter wide wave of decaying energy that slows affected enemies' movement and attacks by 60% for 8 seconds. Netra Wave's evolutions increase the size and intricacy of void-styled decorations on Luci's hips and legs. EVOLUTION 1: Cast Netra Wave 10 times. Perk: Netra Wave now strips 60% of affected enemies' armor. EVOLUTION 2: Hit 10 enemies with a single Netra Wave. Perk: Netra Wave changes to a 16 meter, 120 degree cone. EVOLUTION 3: Hit a total of 50 enemies with Netra Wave. Perk: Netra Wave now stuns enemies instead of slowing them. EVOLUTION 4: Kill 75 enemies under the effects of Netra Wave. Perk: Enemies killed while under Netra Wave's effects drop an extra item from their loot pool.

Ability 3: Jahu Shield, 75 energy. Lucifer wraps himself and allies within 20 meters with a void shield that protects them from harm, granting 1,000 points of overguard. Cannot grant overguard that would exceed 10,000 points. Jahu Shield evolutions increase the size and intricacy of void-styled decorations on Luci's chest and back. EVOLUTION 1: Apply a total of 10,000 overguard to yourself and allies with Jahu Shield. Perk: Jahu Shield's maximum overguard increases by 2,000. EVOLUTION 2: Cast Jahu Shield when it would reduce your current energy below 25. Perk: Reduces the energy cost of Jahu Shield by 25. EVOLUTION 3: Cast Jahu Shield when you or an ally within range are below 50% of max health. Perk: Jahu Shield now restores up to 200 health. Healing from this effect can only grant health. EVOLUTION 4: Cast Jahu Shield within 1 second of your or your ally's overguard breaking. Perk: For the first 3 seconds after activating Jahu Shield the affected player(s) are immune to damage. All damage absorbed during that time is added to overguard. Overguard from this effect can exceed Jahu Shield's listed maximum.

Ability 4: Lohk Incarnate, toggled ability drains 3 energy per second. Embracing his void lineage allows Lucifer to draw his one-of-a-kind exalted melee weapon, the Carnage. When summoned Carnage takes the form of a pair of exotically shaped pearlescent dual swords, almost alien in shape. Carnage has relatively average attack speed and per-hit damage compared to other exalted melee weapons, a normal range for dual swords, and deals mostly slash damage with inferior values of puncture and impact. Carnage also has 25% crit and status chance with a 2.5x critical multiplier. Unlike other exalted weapons the Carnage is an incarnon weapon, able to be transformed by heavy attacks when its combo multiplier is at 6x or higher. Transforming Carnage into its incarnon state fuses the two blades together restoring the weapon's original, unbroken form. This exotic weapon is classified by the Tenno as a gunblade, and in addition to improving both per-hit damage and attack speed compared to its default state the incarnon Carnage's gunfire attacks launch clusters of grenade-like projectiles that deal pure radiation damage. In both modes Carnage's attack animations prefer wide-arcing slashes while advancing and hard-hitting thrusts while standing. Gunfire attacks while in incarnon mode are placed at the end of combos or can be triggered with heavy attacks. Lohk Incarnate evolutions increase the size and intricacy of void-styled decorations on Luci's helmet and shoulders EVOLUTION 1: Achieve a combo multiplier of 6x and use a heavy attack. Perk: Enables the use of incarnon mode. EVOLUTION 2: Kill 100 enemies with this weapon's incarnon mode. Perk: Increases crit and status chance by 15%. EVOLUTION 3: Activate incarnon mode three times. Perk: Incarnon mode now only requires a combo multiplier of 3x to activate EVOLUTION 4: Achieve a combo multiplier of 12x and use a heavy attack. Perk: Incarnon mode's gunfire attacks now change their damage type to match enemy weaknesses.

Subsumed ability: Fass Spear.

Signature weapons Heiligtum: A deadly incarnon sniper rifle that fires deep-penetrating beams of light once transformed. Wehdienst: A full-auto pistol that transforms into a pocket-sized shotgun with an accompanying glaive in incarnon mode. As his signature weapons the animations to transform Heiligtum and Wehdienst into and out of incarnon mode are twice as fast while he wields them.

Closing notes: Since Lucifer's incarnon-based kit means he prefers longer missions I did my best to give him a set of abilities that would be flexible enough for any task but scale particularly well for long-lasting survival missions. I split his signature weapons into separate linked posts so that Luci's page wouldn't be "color of the sky" length.

[andrebearakovsky]

The Caps Hair Color Spectrum From Light to Dark

I have organized the Caps by hair color. I originally wanted to make a sliding scale and put it on like a cool chart, but that was way too much work, so instead I've grouped them into hair color categories and arranged them in order from lightest to darkest. Some of them are on the edge of their respective categories (ie blond edging into red, brown edging into dark brown, etc), but these are the categories I have deemed them, which I believe are correct. And my assessment of their exact placement was painstaking but they are also correct in my judgment. If you doubt me on the accuracy of the color go look at other pictures of them, sometimes the headshots can be a little different than the candids. But here they are, in their hair color categories, one by one in order from light to dark (go across each row and then down to the next row). (And yes, I know Lapierre isn't technically on the roster anymore but he was when I started making this list so I'm keeping him here.)

Blond

Red

Light brown

Brown

Dark brown

Black

Bonus: Gray

[alertarchitect]

So, as anyone who has followed me here for a bit and saw one of my rant posts a while back knows, one of my special interests (not calling it a hyperfixation because I have been at least mildly obsessed with this series since I was a kid) is the Halo franchise. I've been reading up on the lore again for fun, and since I've kinda also been getting interested in gun stuff from the specific angle of the visual design, functionality, and the in-universe lore of fictional weapons, I was reading up on the UNSC weaponry featured in the franchise. This lead to me reading something that hurt my soul.

So, for reference, in terms of visual design and the in-lore effectiveness and usefulness of the weapon, my favorite UNSC weapon is the MA-series assault rifles, with my favored designs being the ones used in Halo: Combat Evolved, 3, 3: ODST, 4, and 5, with that general design (though there are some minor differences between the games mentioned) shown here:

So, visually, you can kinda tell why I like it. It's just a clean-looking sci-fi weapon that looks like something that would actually function without issue if you took away the crutch of gameplay / lore necessity making it work, unlike a few other weapon designs I could mention in various sci-fi and fantasy works. However, you've probably noticed that I specifically said that it's my favorite in terms of the design and its function in the lore of the franchise, but not in gameplay. You may be wondering the reason for that. It's simple - due to the Halo series being arena shooters, where you (usually) don't have the luxury of player-made loadouts, a lot of work must be done to keep the gameplay balance. One of these is making it so your main starter weapons aren't too good compared to what you can pick up on the map in a multiplayer game, to incentivize players to actually try and use weapons that aren't just their starter weapons or a power weapon. The problem comes in when you realize that, for most of the games the MA-series rifles are in, this AR is your usual multiplayer starter weapon that tends to fill a specific role in the sandbox of a reliable, but not too good, weapon that you can use at short-to-medium range to take down your opponent's shield before killing them with a quick melee or precision headshot from your other weapon, provided your other weapon is capable of doing so. This generally means that these ARs are fully automatic, best fired in bursts to maintain any level of accuracy when your enemy is more than 10 feet away from you, and tends to have the fastest melee animations in the game to facilitate the "wear down shields, finish off with a melee" gameplay for when your second weapon isn't the best option for finishing off your opponent.

This leads to my problem, a problem I understand is based in a necessary lore/gameplay mismatch to keep up the quality of the series' gameplay. In game, this AR platform is known as the "kinda shit, fairly inaccurate short-to-medium range starter weapons." This is to the degree that its effective range is only about 40 meters. In the lore, however, it is exactly what I wish it could be in gameplay - the default service rifle for the UNSC, with automatic, burst fire, and semi-automatic firing modes, accurate and effective at a range of 500 meters. It just hurts me that a weapon known for its effectiveness and accuracy at basically any range an infantry member will be engaging in has to be nerfed so hard for the gameplay, even though I understand and accept the reasons why.