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octuscle · 6 months ago

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Pride fare

Dmitri and Igor stared at the young man with the pink hair like they would stare at a disgusting insect. It was brave of Austrian Airlines to place such a faggot at Istanbul's not exactly gay-friendly airport. And God knows Dmitri and Igor weren't exactly gay-friendly either. The two were the perfect example of nouveau riche Russians. They liked to pose as oligarchs to impress women. In fact, they were rich. But oligarchs? Not at all. But who cared. The two of them had several million in accounts all over the world. Unfortunately, most of them were currently frozen. But they had enough cash with them to look forward to a fun weekend in Vienna. Getting here had been hell. The two of them mourned the days of direct flights. But the special military operation was important and just. Quite different from the reaction of the decant West to this very operation.

Max looked at the two gentlemen who wanted to check in with him. Expensive, but tastelessly dressed. Overweight. Probably over 50, but you couldn't see that very well because both were obviously lifted. Max wouldn't blow one of these two pigs for any money in the world. But Max was a professional. And remained polite. "You two sweeties, you do know that the Pride special rate is only valid for people up to 21, right?" Dmitri grunted something about "I'm not cute, you miserable faggot." But luckily Max didn't speak Russian. "No problem, you two lovebirds, I just need to adjust a few little things." Max typed on the keyboard of his computer. "There, now everything should fit. Which one of you is Dima? I'd like your suitcase." Dmitri was about to get loud and snap at this asshole, what could he think of! Dima might have been what his mother said to him. But not some smug asshole. He took a breath. And thought that Max was actually kind of cute. So he picked up his suitcase, covered in rainbow and leather-pride stickers, and heaved it onto the baggage carousel. "And, darling! What's your boyfriend's name? I assume you want to sit next to each other." "Next to Igarjok? No thanks! Set us apart. That increases the chance that we'll meet someone hot on board." "I'm very sorry," said Max with a twinkle in his eye. "But no one who checked in with me today was really hot." "Okay, I'll go first then," said Igor, heaving his studded travel bag onto the baggage carousel. Max smiled with mock agony. Yes, the man Dima had called Igarjok didn't look bad for his age. According to his ID, he was 48, but hot… Max had seen better. He handed them their rainbow-flag-colored boarding passes and wished them a good flight and lots of fun at Vienna Pride Week.

The two took their hand luggage. Dmitri had a black leather rucksack, Igor a small antique army duffel bag from the Soviet navy. Dmitri called out to Igor that he should go ahead, he wanted to take a quick piss. Igor nodded and made his way to the security checkpoint. And Dmitri went to the nearest toilet. He had hoped to find a quick fuck there. He was always horny. In the airport toilets, there was a good chance of meeting a tight Turk. And if he waved a few dollar bills, Dmitri could be sure that he wouldn't have to wait long for someone to kneel in front of him and suck his cock… And damn, the hot Turkish macho was worth every penny! Dmitri briefly checked his reflection in the mirror. The short hair, the beard shadow on the angular face, the leather jacket. Yes, he was pretty good-looking for a man in his mid-40s. It was a privilege to be allowed to suck his cock.

When he arrived in the queue for the security check, he grinned. Igor was only ten, maybe 15 people ahead of him in the queue, obviously he had also made a toilet stop. It was hot to see Igor in front of him. Igor had one hell of a tight ass. And in the army trousers he was wearing, it really stood out. He knew that. And everyone else saw that. Dmitir could see Igor arriving at the security checkpoint. He took off his bomber jacket and showed off his muscles under his tight T-shirt. He took off his studded belt, put everything in the plastic tray and went through the body scanner. It sounded the alarm. Dmitri had an idea why and grinned. Igor grinned too as he was scanned by the muscular security guard. Amazingly thorough in the crotch area. Of course, Dmitri couldn't hear anything, but obviously the security guard demanded that Igor take his plastic bowl and come with him. The two of them were lucky!

When Dmitri arrived at the security checkpoint, the employee looked decidedly cool. Dmitri had put his jacket and rucksack in the tray when the officer asked if he had anything else in his pants. He looked very clearly at Dmitri's crotch. Dmitri unbuttoned the top two buttons, enough to show the bush of hair, put his hands in his pants and awkwardly removed the cock ring from his cock and balls. "Sorry, officer, I keep forgetting that," Dmitri said with a grin. Surprisingly, despite his piercings, the body scanner didn't pick up on it. But his rucksack was taken off the conveyor belt after being scanned. The security officer waved him over, pulled his full-body harness out of the backpack and asked what it was. The officer tried unsuccessfully to look cool. "Shall I show you what it is? But I have to take my pants off to do that…" "Come with me!"

Dmitri's body search took place in the same room as Igor's. The two security officers had brought in two more colleagues to back them up. Only by joining forces did the two of them manage to plug all the holes and get on board just in time with the final and urgent call. Igor squeezed into 9E and Dmitri into 6C. Max had gone to great lengths to make them both happy. And indeed, after the two Russian stallions, the hottest guys sat in 6B, 9D and 9F. And the purser had reserved one of the toilets just for them.

At the baggage carousel in Vienna, there was no mistaking that the gays of the world were meeting up for one of their flashiest parties. And Dima and Igarjok were guests of honor at the party. Hardly noticed in the West, it was a sensation in Moscow when the two popular teen soap stars came out. The call-up order came immediately, and the two had only managed to flee to Western Europe in a hasty escape. And it was a huge stroke of luck that they had started making porn due to a lack of money. For them and for millions of fans. They didn't know how many porn magazines they had signed until their luggage arrived. Their driver was waiting outside. A hot guy. Thank goodness. It had been over an hour since their last fuck on the plane.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #age reduction #leather tf #straight to gay #s2g

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luveline · 1 year ago

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OMG need to see more of Steve drawing reader in the zombie au!!!

steve zombie au —steve draws you all the time. fem

Sometimes, you collapse under the weight of it all. A lot of bad things have happened to you, and the world in this state is overwhelming. You used to wake in a soft, warm bed, spend days surrounded by loved ones, eating and drinking when you needed to, when you wanted to, with no worrying about where your next tube of toothpaste or toilet paper was going to come from.

These days, you wake, and it's into a world where you've seen agony, and inhumanity, and it's hard. You're his sweetheart and he doesn't care, he'll take care of you for the rest of his life, but there's only so much he can do.

“Sure you don't need anything else?” he whispers, pulling the linen blankets up to your chin.

“M'sure. Thanks, Steve.”

He feels bad touching you when you're squirming. “Yeah, no problem. I'm just gonna sit outside and read, okay? I'll be right there.”

“Okay,” you mumble, pressing your face into your pillow.

Steve grabs his rucksack and drags himself outside of the tent. From here, the sea of tents, he can see the fire in the centre of camp leaching smoke into the air, and he can hear the unmistakable hum of hundreds of people in one place. He figures it to be almost like an army base, and the small amount of military personnel only cements that.

Robin's off somewhere. He misses her more and more lately, not sure where she is, but you've been sick this week. He has to stay close to home. She'll be back tonight for sure to see you both. And Eddie, your new (and, to Steve's reluctance, good) friend, popped by to see you both an hour ago. You weren't in the mood to talk and so he mostly talked to Steve about the next run for supplies.

You're loved, but you're lonely. You lost everyone you knew.

You need time to mourn now you're somewhere safe enough to do it.

Steve rummages through his rucksack for his novel, but he doesn't want to read it without you. Between that and his sketchbook, he has very little to do. Still, you'd brought him those nice pencils and a new skinny sketchbook full of smooth paper, and there are pages yet to fill.

It's all you. Every inch of space. Your unknowing smile as Eddie showed you how to make an origami crane, or your stomach in the dark as your t-shirt rode up in sleep. Your hands clasped around one of his, squeezing, and the figure of your crouched by the river watching tiny fish swim by. You're in lilac, and sepia, and green, green-green-green, the darkest green pencil he has in want of a black detailing your pupils and the seam of your lips over and over.

He looks in through the tent door and sketches the curve of your hip under the blanket. He could likely draw you head to toe and inch by inch without reference, or he likes to think it, having seen it all a hundred times, maybe more. You sigh in your dozing and curl inwards, and he starts again.

He notices when you start to cry because he's focused on your shoulders as they tremble. Steve folds the pen between leaves of paper and shoves it all back into his bag. To comfort you or let you cry? Sometimes people just want to be left alone.

“Steve?” you ask through a little sniffle.

“Yeah, honey, I'm here.”

“Will you come in here?”

He must be doing something right if you're calling him in when you need him. Finally, something right. Steve crawls into the tent and presses your shoulders against the tent flooring, shaking his head at you. “It's okay,” he says, enthusing his voice with a light amount of loving ridicule. “What are you crying for, huh? You're okay.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you agree, snuffling as he touches your cheek.

“You are. You're okay. You're beautiful.” He goes sticky like syrup, praising. “I'd write you love letters if I had a pen.”

“Yeah?”

“Just talking about how pretty you are would take up ten pages. I keep trying to get it down, you know? So when I'm gone, they'll know someone as pretty as you was walking around loving on some loser,” —you laugh wetly and distract him— “right? So why are you crying?”

“Just don't feel well.”

“I don't blame you,” he says, nudging a tear off of your cheek with his thumb.

“But,” you say, smiling at him weakly, “I have to keep my head up. Yes?”

“Yeah, honey.” He swallows a funny lump. “God, you're fucking everything when you smile.”

It's not that he doesn't care, he wants to hear it, but you just don't know how to tell him. How do you verbalise a mountain of grief? So he rescues you instead, flirts and soothes the wound with a warm smile. You respond to it as he'd hoped and perk up with a couple of carefully pressed kisses. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Were you drawing me, before?”

“How'd you guess that?”

“You were really quiet. It's like you go somewhere else.”

“Nah. Just with you.” He clears his throat. “Did you… wanna see?”

“Really?”

Steve would write an itemised list of all his worst secrets if it meant you'd smile. A few pages of shoddy pencil sketches is nothing.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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starfirewildheart · 1 year ago

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Chapter 4

Scars and Souvenirs

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 2,487

Rating: More details are revealed about Sy's capture. Be warned.

~~~~♡~~~~

Debbie sighed and stretched her back as she waited for the coffee to brew, she needed the caffeine. Her head was about to explode and her nerves were on edge.

Sy had managed a couple hours of nightmare laiden sleep as soon as the storm died down but now the next front was already coming through and it didn't look like she would be able to get him home any time soon. She was pulled from her thoughts by a cold, wet nose pressed to the back of her hand. "Hi girl," She grinned as she scratched Aika's ears. Aika whined and danced in place. "Sy awake?" She knew Aika body language as well as Sy did.

Aika happily bounded out of the kitchen and Deb followed. She found Sy sitting up on the couch rubbing his face as Aika sat down between his feet. "I don't believe it," Sara sighed and shook her head earning a half-hearted chuckle from Sy.

"What?" Deb asked as she sat down next to him.

"Told Aika to go get you and Ma didn't believe she would," his voice still thick with sleep.

"Oh," She grinned. "Sounds like our good girl needs a treato."

"I didn't bring any. Wasn't planning for all this." He jumped when the thunder rumbled again, his eyes scanning the windows and doors watching for an attack.

"Oh?" She reached for her bag in the chair to her right and sat it in front of her. Opening it she pulled out a bag of Aika's favorite treats and handed them to Sy. "I brought her treats, food, her travel food and water dishes, some of the MRE'S, and your meds and clothes." She was incredibly efficient at packing that army rucksack and she knew during an episode and surrounding it Sy would be hyper vigilant.

He gave Aika a treat as Deb listed off what she packed. He looked at her in complete awe. It was everything they needed and things he would need to keep himself calm and make him feel safe. It brought tears to his eyes and he pulled her into a hug and just held her. "You are unreal, sugar."

She rubbed his back and still felt him trembling though it was less than before. She opened a peanut butter cup and held it to his mouth. "Bite please."

He shook his head no. "Not hungry."

"Don't care, bite please." When he shook his head again she moved so she was looking in his eyes. "I know that you aren’t hungry sweetheart but all the adrenaline and anxiety has drained your body. You have to eat or your muscles are going to start cramping and I know you remember just how painful that is." She held the candy back to his mouth and he still refused. Deb sighed, "Austin Lee Syverson do you remember in medic training, preparing for combat trauma how we were told that anything that can be taken orally can be given rectally? You are gonna eat. Now, choose which end you'd like to receive it through."

Sy's eyes got huge and he opened his mouth accepting the candy. He heard his mom laugh and glanced over at her, his cheeks tinged pink. "I have to let her think she can win some times," he mock whispers.

"Uh-huh," Sara winks at him. "I think she has you wrapped around her little finger."

She managed to get him to eat a few pieces of candy, some apple slices and drink some water. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you." He pulled her to his side and she turned so that he could lean into her. Aika jumped up on his other side and laid her head in his lap.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Sara was weighing whether or not she wanted to bring some things up. She finally spoke. "Austin, I want to talk to you about some things."

Debbie felt him tense in her arms and his fingers tighten on her hip. "This probably isn't a great time," She started but Sara held up her hand and cut her off.

"We need to do this," Sara insisted. "I've been really hurt since you went to Germany, Austin." His eyes snapped up to look at her but he didn’t say anything. "When your sister and I called to ask if we could come to you they told us no. They said at that moment you were still being debriefed and there were things that they had to take care of before anyone could visit you."

Sy audibly swallowed and his breathing shifted to a more rapid pace. "I..I wasn't exactly in a good place Ma. I was …" he searched for the words he needed but his mind was racing. "I.. I would .. I couldn't.." he sighed, "anyone who came near me I tried to attack. I didn't know who was there to hurt me or help me."

Sara processed his answer for a minute before responding. "She," pointing to Debbie, "was allowed to be with you."

"I was allowed to be there, not because he asked for me specifically, Sara, but because I was military and I had security clearance so if he said anything classified it was safe." She wanted to snap but she kept her voice calm for Sy's sake.

"Why would he tell classified secrets? Austin would never betray his country like that!" Sara felt like Debbie had insulted him.

Debbie ground her teeth in an effort to keep her mouth shut. She wanted to fire back but she wouldn't reveal what Sy went through. That wasn't her story to tell. Sy huffed a humorless laugh. "I don't think you understand what I went through."

"Why is that Austin? Oh, because you've never told me anything about it!"

Debbie shook her head. "I got here in the storm so I can get us back home. Let's go," She took Sy's hand and started to stand.

"Runaway instead of talking like adults?" Sara snapped.

"Has he not been through enough for you?" Debbie growled.

"Stop," Sy shook his head. Debbie started to argue but he stooped her then looked to his Ma. "I had my reasons for doing things the way I did Ma, and I don't have to justify them to you but if you want to know what happened I'll tell you. I need you to know that if we do this I don't know if it will change our relationship or not."

"It didn't change your and Debbie's relationship." Sara observed.

"It did," Deb explained. "Sy resented me for knowing at first. He tried to push me away and make me hate him. There were days that his anger was so violent it scared me. He never hit me, he never would, but furniture, dishes, appliances and walls didn't stand a chance and the physical exhaustion and illness he went through in his recovery was hell for him."

"Ok, say I understand not going to Germany but you kept us away for almost a year after you got back to the states," Sara argued.

Sy stood and Debbie tensed unsure of what was going to happen, even Aika sat up stiffly. "I didn't know how to face you Ma. I didn't know how to hide the shame and guilt then and I didn't want you to see it!"

"Why on earth would I be ashamed of you Austin? You are my son!"

"Because of my weakness and the blood on my hands!" He yelled.

"What are you talking about?" Sara demanded. "That's stupid!"

Sy froze and Debbie actually facepalmed. "Stupid? You think what I am experiencing is stupid?" Sy growled.

"No," She tried to correct herself but Sy, in this state, was not a Sy that would let go easily.

"No, you said it was stupid but you have no fucking idea what happened! How badly I failed! How many people died because of me!"

"Austin," Debbie tried to intervene.

He spun on her. "No!" Turning back to Sara he shook his head then dropped his sweatpants kicking them away and threw his shirt on the floor revealing the scars from his capture.

Sara gasped and covered her face but he wasn’t having it. He walked over to her and yanked her hands away. "You wanted to know. To know why I had guilt and shame, well here it is!" He held his arms out wide and spun around showing her.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Sara said through tears.

"You wanna know what they're from? These," he pointed to burn wounds on his thighs, "hot pokers, these, stab wounds, these razor wire, these electric shock burns, these non-lethal gun shots, ice pick in the desert because they thought it was funny! Took a year for my fingernails to all grow back after they were pulled out one by one with pliers and bones? Well," he laughed maniacally. "They used sticks to whip the bottoms of our feet until the skin was raw and bloody, then used hammers to break the bones so we couldn't try to escape. They shattered my left leg in two places because I broke the ropes binding me when they murdered Jizzy in front of me. I dislocated my shoulder trying to get to Bossman when they executed him! Is that what you wanted Ma? Or do you need more detail?"

Sy swayed on his feet, all the adrenaline fading and the crash beginning. Debbie knew he was too lost at this point to even try and touch him without him lashing out at her so she waited. It was all she could do. It wasn't long until Sy collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor. She stepped closer and he cringed and curled up in a ball. "Captain Syverson?" She asked softly.

"No," he sobbed and held his arms out to her. "I Know where I am Deb."

She fell to her knees beside him and held him while he sobbed. "It's OK baby, I've got ya." She rocked him and stroked his back. "You did all you could to try and help them. Most people wouldn't have survived what you did. All the doctors you saw said they don't know how you did it. Boz said they didn't go through a fraction of the tournament you did. You had to come back to me sweetheart. I couldn't have survived without you."

Debbie was so pissed that her ears were ringing and she wanted to throttle the older woman and as soon as she could get her alone she damn well might do it.

Sara went over and sat on the other side of him wrapping her arms around them both. "I'm sorry I pushed you son but I needed to know what happened to you. To understand why you were pushing me away and didn't want to be alone with me."

"Because I knew this would happen," he hiccuped, still trying to stop the tears. "I knew you would push until I told you and I was afraid ok?"

"Nothing to fear from me son. I love you. You are my baby."

"Believe me? You have no choice but to believe me. I have the scars to prove it. I didn’t want to relive it! This isn't about you!" Sy roared.

"Ok. Up," Debbie stood and got Sy to his feet then helped him get dressed.

"You can't go out there in this," Sara waved her off.

Debbie stood up from tying Sy's shoes and tossed her rucksack over her back. "Watch me!" She helped Sy out the door.

~~~~♡~~~~

Amy looked up at her husband Mike when the doorbell rang. "Who the hell would be out in this?"

Mike opened the door. "Sy?" He grabbed one of his arms to take some of his weight off Debbie who looked like she was about to collapse and ushered them into the house.

"Austin?" Amy gasped and rushed to them.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't get him home because there was too much debris and power lines down in that direction," Debbie explained on the verge of tears.

Little footsteps could be heard on the stairs, Amy and Mike's kids coming to investigate who rang the bell. Mike went to herd them back to their rooms for now while Amy and Deb took Sy to the guest room and sat him on the bed, Aika following closely. Amy got them some towels and Deb started drying Sy. "What happened?"

"You tell," Sy told Debbie. He was too drained and scattered to be able to piece a thought together much less say words.

Debbie relayed the story from him going over to help with storm prep to the thunder causing flashbacks to Sara pushing him for info until he snapped. "I even tried to explain to her that he wanted to keep their relationship pure so he would have someone to go to that didn't know about what happened. He just wanted their relationship to be normal without all his fears of guilt, even as misplaced as they are."

"I knew that she felt slighted when we were told we couldn't come see him. She was hurt especially when the nurse at the hospital told us you were there." Deb nodded and was about to try and explain when Sara stopped her. "Austin explained it the first time he called and it made sense. We also didn't understand just how bad he was and how much he was struggling but it was clear the first time we did get to see him that it was a miracle he survived."

Debbie nodded as she rubbed Sy's back while he hugged her. "He barely did."

"Baby brother," Amy ran her hand over his short hair and his eyes shifted to her. "That will never happen to you here. I do hope that one day you will feel safe enough to open up about your time over there and it doesn't have to be about the capture, just about the rest but the truth is Austin I'm just happy my little brother is alive and home."

He let go of Deb and turned to hug Amy. He squeezed her tight. "Thank you, sis. That means everything to me."

She pressed a kiss to his head. "Ok, you two will be staying here for the night. It's still storming and they aren't gonna get those roads cleared for quite a while. Mike is going to cook some burgers and dogs later. After we eat you can get some rest. You both look exhausted. "

"It's late, shouldn't the kids have already eaten?" Sy asked. Amy was big on keeping the kids on a schedule.

"Honey, it's three in the afternoon," Amy laughed.

Debbie and Sy both groaned and fell back across the bed.

Tag List

@shellyshellshell

@enchantedbytomandhenry

@mrsevans90

@summersong69

@mollymal

@warriormirkwood

@bloodyinspiredfuck

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guckies · 1 year ago

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Minecraft is not normal when you actually think of the mechanics, I was thinking about how qsmp members would carry their things if it was like fantasy mechanics and these are my thoughts so far:

Antoine, Bad and Mouse all use Pocket dimensions because the image of antoine taking out a multiple pics of cucuruchos ass trying to find the right photo is peak comedy

Quackity walks around carrying more things than he needs that occasionally fall out of his hands.

Baghera has a magical satchel because she is the It girl of the server like come on the feds are obliviously obsessed with her

Forever also has a magical backpack but that’s just because he’s the president…

Tubbo has a multitude of backpacks he switches out when they get too full

Pierre has a backpack full of necessities hidden in his most visited places so he’s always prepared but is never actively seen with a backpack

Foolish, Fit and Pac have big rucksacks with all there essential items they need although Pac also carries a small satchel of chemicals because we believe in Scientist Pac supremacy

Mike has a tool box he takes everywhere although you can see him just hauling boxes in and out of the tazercraft train sometimes

Felps has tool belt with two unenchanted pickaxes and torches

Philza he only has two and those are the ones he carries because he barely leaves him home all the other 30 million backpacks are left in a corner until he needs them

Pol has a singular bag but has a big go pro chest like harness for his cameras

Etoiles… how does he fight when carrying the weight of the world on his back… we’ll never know… but that one backpack looks like its about to burst like bro go put things away!!!

Mariana has two birkin bags.

Slimecicle… he just stores it in his body unless he uses the one heavily decorated bag the kids gave him that he always carries

Missa has a tool bet with just some random things like sand in them also it might be magical but no one is really sure least of all Missa

Cellbit’s back is hurting… someone tell him to put some backpack away..

Roier carries two backpacks and a Fanny pack for his peter parker photography moments

Willy wears like an army vest full of wires to make mines but also has a gym bag that everyone’s very weary about

Vegetta. I struggle to ever know how he gets half his things so… BOOM! It’s magic connected to his chests at home…

I definitely haven’t done them all so feel free to add more :]

#qsmp #also Mariana paid for those with stolen money fair and square 🤷#slimes storage is like in his arms and chest but it like acts like jello yk?#foolish fit and pac to me all just survive the most weirdest situation because they have so many things on them so random rucksack it is #although pac in my opinion is more for tazercraft and not just him so he definitely has random things of mikes in his bag

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oliveplanet1 · 4 months ago

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Essential Army Products Made in India: Rucksack Bags and Jungle Shoes

When it comes to high-quality military gear, India is a growing hub for producing reliable and durable army products. From army rucksack bags to army jungle shoes, these products are designed to meet the tough demands of soldiers in various environments. Let's explore some of the best army products made in India and why they are essential for both soldiers and outdoor enthusiasts.

Army Products Made in India

India is known for manufacturing top-notch army products that are not only used by its military but also by people involved in outdoor activities like trekking and camping. The army rucksack bag is one of the most popular items made in India. It is designed to carry heavy loads while ensuring comfort. These rucksacks are built to last, with sturdy fabric, reinforced stitching, and spacious compartments.

Another essential item is the army jungle shoes. Made in India, these shoes are perfect for trekking through rough terrains like forests and jungles. They provide excellent grip, support, and durability, making them ideal for both military personnel and adventure seekers.

Army Rucksack Bag

The army rucksack bag is designed for functionality and endurance. Whether you're in the military or enjoy outdoor adventures, this bag is perfect for carrying all your essential gear. Made in India, these bags come with multiple compartments, adjustable straps, and weather-resistant material to handle tough conditions. The ergonomic design ensures that heavy loads can be carried with ease, reducing strain on your back and shoulders.

Army Jungle Shoes

Army jungle shoes are designed to provide maximum comfort and durability in difficult terrains. These shoes are built to withstand harsh conditions, from muddy trails to rocky paths. With excellent traction and waterproof material, the army jungle shoes made in India ensure that your feet stay dry and supported no matter the environment.

Conclusion

India is becoming a key player in producing high-quality army products, including army rucksack bags and army jungle shoes. Whether for military use or outdoor adventures, these items are durable, reliable, and made to handle extreme conditions. Investing in these army products made in India ensures you have the best gear to support you through any challenge.

#Army Products #Army Jungle Shoes #Army Rucksack Bag

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military1st · 4 months ago

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Highlander Forces Recon 20L Pack

Highlander Forces Recon 20L is the perfect companion for one-day activities.

Crafted from durable 600D XTP fabric boasting a PVC coating, this bag showcases rugged construction, complete with two distinct compartments, interior and exterior pockets, and MOLLE points.

Additionally, it boasts an Airmesh back system for enhanced breathability, a reinforced grab handle for added durability, and compression straps along with adjustable stabilisation straps, ensuring optimal weight distribution.

Compact yet robust, Highlander Forces Recon 20L is the ideal grab-and-go companion for patrols and daily use.

Find out more at Military 1st online store.

Enjoy free UK delivery and returns! Swift delivery to Ireland, the US, Australia, and across Europe.

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seraphimcollections · 2 years ago

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AND YOU WEREN'T THERE | Alejandro x Reader | Ch. 2 |

summary: he's finally come back to you, waltzed willingly into your web. Now or never.

warnings: +18, MDNI, mentions of blood, death, dark themes, gun violence, sorry if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6

a/n: first, thank you for everyone showing love to this new series! I really appreciate all of you. Second, have your translators ready (if you don't know spanish) because there's a lot in here! Disclaimer: I do NOT speak spanish and much of this was translated so I apologize if the language is correct. Third! I added a link to a song but it's not necessary to play if you don't want to but I got a lot of inspiration from it. Anyway! Enjoy!

chapters: | ch. 1 | ch. 2 |

The elevator doors slid open and you pushed the Mexican Army general to walk in front of you. The poor man stumbled daring to look over his shoulder to you as you glared at him.

“Walk,” you ordered.

You could see the fear in the man’s eyes as he turned to walk down the hall. There were a few stragglers in the hall but once they had seen you coming walking down, they were quick to get out of your way. Finally the hall ended at a partially opened door. You shoved the man through the door, slamming the door open to the dim room. Inside was Diego, standing over a struggling man tied to one of the three chairs with a bag over his head. With a twisted smirk, Diego twisted the knife in the man’s chest, watching him struggle until he slowly went limp.

“Diego,” you said.

The man’s smirk immediately fell from his face after acknowledging your presence. You nod your head to the general.

“Subdue him.”

“Yes, jefa.”

You walk further into the room and over to a table with a TV showing surveillance footage of the perimeter. You could see a row of expensive cars driving to the gate, the guests were arriving. You’d forgotten that El Sin Nombre was having another one of her donor parties, inviting the rich and influential from all over the world to your doorstep. You understood networking was instrumental in running a successful narcotics cartel, but you could care less. All this seemed pointless, everything did.

Your eyes narrowed when the figure of a man appeared from the bush, walking over to the guards standing at the gate. As he came closer, you immediately recognized the man. It was the man from the cliffside, the one with the funny haircut. You could see he had his hands up as he approached. The guards shot at the man’s feet, forcing him to a stop. You patched into their radio.

“What’s happening?”

“La Arana! ¡Aquí hay un hombre, extranjero!” One of the guards said.

From what you could see, the man wasn’t nearly as armed as he was hours before in the wilderness.

“Bring him to me,” you ordered, terminating the channel.

You turned to Diego, seeing him finishing up restraining the General.

“Diego, we have a party crasher, retrieve him.”

“Claro,” Diego left the room in a hurry.

Your attention returned to the screen, watching as the rucksack was forced over the soldier’s head before being led inside. Something wasn’t right. You knew the man wouldn’t be able to find the Villa completely on his own, leading you to believe that he wasn’t alone and likely had the help of Los Vaqueros and whoever else they had up their sleeve. Meaning…

“Hermana,” Valeria’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked at her over your shoulder, “we have a visitor, likely a friend of Los Vaqueros.”

Valeria smirked, swaying her hip to the side with her hand on top of it.

“Supongo que son tan estúpidos, ¿eh? Ha! Men,” Valeria rolled her eyes.

“I’d thought you’d be a little more concerned seeing as they are obviously coming for you, hermana,” you frowned.

Valeria huffed, waving her hand, “come on, lil sis, we should celebrate! The idiots are practically offering up their heads on a silver platter!”

“It’s not that simple,” you said, receding back into the shadowy corner of the room.

“Sit in on this one, let me know if the fucker is lying,” Valeria said.

You nod, letting the shadows of the room conceal you from everyone else except Valeria. You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms making Valeria smirk as Diego shoved the unknown man through the door. There was no mistaking that it was the man from the cliffside but now you had an up close look at him. He looked to be close to your age and had the fitness of a soldier his age. He wore a simple blue tee and jeans, like a normal civilian but having watched him and the others take out your men, you knew he was anything but. His hands were bound with zip ties and from simply looking, you could tell he was unarmed. Fool.

“Sit,” Diego shoved the man again toward the empty chair.

With hardened eyes the man took a seat before Diego tied his wrists to the arms of the chair, sitting away from you and directly across from the General.

“¿quién es?” Valeria approached Diego.

“Su nombre es jabón. Él vino a nosotros.”

“¿Jabón? No mames,” Valeria laughed. “And you let him in?”

“Dice que tiene informacion-”

Valeria kicked Diego in the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel before holding a knife to his neck.

“¡Mierda! No lo conocemos y él ha visto sus caras” she growled.

“But-!” Diego found you in the shadows, seeing you stare into his soul, warning him.

He let out a visible sigh, “Valeria, necesitamos la información. Él podría ayudarnos.”

Valeria looked up at you and then to the man known only as Soap with a wicked smirk, “Será mejor que... o después de que lo mate... estarás en la silla.”

With this threat, Valeria released the poor man, letting him go and sit on the stairs behind her with his tail between his legs. Valeria came closer to stand in the circle of chairs, gun in hand.

“¡niños!” she said. “This is simple: I ask questions. You answer truthfully. Do not lie to me.”

This was a game, another one of Valeria’s games. She loved them. You nodded for Valeria to continue, ears honed in.

“Recently, we were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there…Who?”

Both you and Valeria knew very well who the culprits were, having had filled her in hours before. It was obvious, this was a game of who could give the best intel, and your bets were with the soldier.

“Fue... fue un caos, no vi-” the pathetic general responded.

“En Inglés. Pará gringo,” Valeria ordered.

“I-I think it was the rival cartels…” the poor man answered.

You shook your head, letting Valeria know that the general was wrong.

“Hmm, your turn, blanquito. Who attacked us?” Valeria turned to Soap.

Soap didn’t flinch, showing no signs of fear toward Valeria, which was somewhat refreshing. Everyone was afraid of the cartel, people survived off of fear and that’s how the city ran. But for once, this man wasn’t afraid. It intrigued you.

“It wasn't a cartel. It was Mexican Special Forces,” Soap said, his accent strong. Scottish perhaps.

You smirked under your mask. So the man wasn’t stupid after all. You nodded to Valeria, letting her know what he said was true. Valeria cocked her head with a smirk.

“We found the bodies. Fuerzas Especiales,” she nodded, “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?”

The sweat became clear on the general’s brow as he squirmed nervously in his chair. Pathetic.

“M-maybe he was there!” The general tried to defend himself.

“Estuviste ahí, pendejo,” Diego hissed in his ear. “Maybe he was too…”

“There were outsiders, helping the Mexican Special Forces,” Valeria stared deep into the foreigners blue eyes, “Who were they?”

Your brow rose, interested to see if the man would rat out his comrades.

“W-we heard them yelling, some in English. They were gringos, like him!” The general said, voice trembling.

“American PMGs. A group called the Shadow Company,” Soap answered.

You were almost surprised but even more intrigued now. You gave Valeria the signal, your eyes never tearing away from the back of Soap’s head.

“Los vaqueros está trabajando con mercenarios,” Valeria said, sounding half impressed.

“Those snakes,” Diego growled.

“See?! I was right, it was the gringos!” The general said.

“Can you even prove that this ‘Shadow Company’ exists, pendejo?” Valeria’s gaze landed on Soap again, “can you?” “The Company is run by a man called Philip Graves, he’s their commander. Revisa mi bolsillo,” the man’s voice never wavered for a moment, even with his scratchy Spanish.

Valeria spared you look as she approached the man, digging in his pocket and fishing out what looked like a patch with gray stitching.

“This man, Graves, what does he want?” Valeria asked.

You stepped off the wall, your steps light as you stepped closer ot the edge of the shadows, never stepping out.

“He wants the missiles your moving,” Soap said.

You stopped mid step, your brow furrowing. How the fuck did know that? Diego had the same question, voicing his concern. Valeria’s gaze hardened, flickering to your own. You looked back to Soap.

“He’s speaks the truth,” you said, your voice cool and venomous.

You could see Soap visibly stiffen, having finally realized that you were standing behind him the entire time. He tried to catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye, but there was no use -- he couldn’t see you from within the shadows.

“Y-you can’t believe what he says, he’s lying!” The general said, quickly realizing his worth was diminished.

“You’ve told us nothing! ¡Callate!” Valeria ordered.

The man continued to plead for his life, but there was no use, his fate was sealed. Diego pulled out his gun, pressing it against General’s temple before pulling the trigger, letting the poor man’s blood and brain matter splatter against the hardwood. Valeria didn’t flinch, just continued to stare down Soap as she leaned over him.

“Well done,” she smirked, using her knife to cut Soap’s restraints before making her leave, “let’s get to work.” You watch Valeria wave back at you as she leaves the room. Diego yanks Soap to his feet, shoving him forward to follow Valeria. Soap tries to glance back at you, but Diego shoves him again, forcing him out into the hallway. With a sigh, you open the other door, entering another hallway. You knew this soldier known as ‘Soap’ had come here as a suicide mission, but that couldn’t be it. Something was about to happen, and you needed to find out what it was before it did.

“Fucking gringos,” you curse, finding the stairway up to the viewing deck.

You slipped through the door frame, walking over to the glass bannister and looked over the pool area. By now, the guests had found purchase in certain parts of the patio, some by the pool, many by the bar and a few inside the mansion. All guests wore the same beige mask, hiding their identities from each other. You scanned the crowd, assessing any threats but found none. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were being watched. Your eyes lifted to sparse woods outside of the villa, squinting to see anything out of the ordinary. For a second, you thought you saw the glint of scope, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.

With a sigh, you turn to look at the towering skyline. Once upon time, you would have thought the view was beautiful. This was your home, where you were born, but now…it all felt empty. The old times, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t miss them. Part of you still misses your old life, your old face…

Miss him.

You frown at the thought, burying it. Voices began to crowd the radio, their tone sounding urgent. Your brow furrowed, listening in.

“¿Dónde está Miguel? ¡Oye, responde idiota!”

“¿Alguien tiene ojos en Fernando?”

“Shit, I got a body!”

You immediately went on alert, patching in: “Where’s the gringo?”

“I got someone in the armory- Mierda, get down!”

His correspondence was immediately followed by gunfire. You grabbed your gun from your back holster, checking it for ammunition. A string of curses left you lips as you leaped onto the roof shingles, sprinting toward the penthouse.

“Get to the penthouse, they’re after el jefa!” You shout through the comms.

“Si, La Araña!”

You knew it was too good to be true. There was no way Soap would waltz into the lion’s jaws if he didn’t have a plan. You had thought it was him walking into your trap, but no, it was you who became entangled in theirs. You grunt as you jump over the gap of the roofs, breaking some roof tiles along the way until you slip through an open window of the hallway leading to the penthouse where undoubtedly Valeria was. Your eyes immediately land on one of your men lying lifeless on the floor.

“Shit! Valeria, come in!” You shout.

All you could hear was gunshots as you sprinted into the penthouse, only to find more of your men slaughtered. Your head immediately snapped to the open back door leading out onto the roof once more. It’s then you could hear the gusts of wind and turbines. Carefully, you make your way outside, just in time to see a military issued helicopter hovering over the roof, it’s storm beacons lighting Valeria up.

You quickly find cover behind the archway, peering around the corner to see Soap with a gun drawn on your sister. But there was someone else. You knew who it was immediately, seeing his broad shoulders and gelled back dark hair. The air left your lungs as his face became illuminated by the copter’s lights.

Alejandro. He was here.

Your eyes narrowed as a familiar rage began to well in your chest. You felt like you could tear him apart. He was only a few feet away, if you got your hands on him, for even a second, his fate would be sealed. But there were too many eyes, too many obstacles. And now, they had Valeria. Your hands were tied, whether you liked it or not. You cursed underneath your breath as you watched Soap tie Valeria’s hands behind her back. Another man, you assumed to be Graves, hopped out of the copter with one of his men.

Alejandro’s expression said it all but all he could do was stare at his former comrade. Valeria chuckled with a smirk.

“Does she know?” Alejandro shouted over the whirring blades.

This question made you stop in your tracks in the shadows. Valeria’s smile became even bigger as she laughed in the man’s face.

“¡Sabía que eras estúpido, pero esto es un nuevo punto bajo, incluso para ti!” Valeria snickered. “Find out for yourself, ¡pendejo!”

Alejandro glared at Valeria, “get her onboard!”

Graves’ men forced Valeria to walk up to the copter and you could only look on helplessly. Valeria caught you hiding in the shadows and smirked. You let out a sigh, knowing what you had to do.

“Hermano, what’s up?” Soap shouted.

“I know her!” Alejandro answered, “we-”

His words were cut off when a throwing knife landed right between his legs, making him jump. Both the men grabbed their guns, swiveling around to see where the attack had come from. Alejandro kept his eyes trained on the shadows, seeing a figure emerge from the darkness. Your heated gaze didn’t stray from him as walked fully into the light. Alejandro’s eyes widened as his complexion became pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. He lowered his gun as stood frozen.

“Amor-”

You didn’t allow him to speak his sickly sweet words, swiftly disassembling your rifle and pistol, throwing the parts on the stone tile. You threw the rest of your throwing knives and radio, everything, down on the ground. Your glare never left him as you stretched your hands out limply to him. Soap looked at Alejandro, obviously confused.

“Who are you?!” Soap shouted.

You chuckled bitterly, “I’m hurt, mi vida, you didn’t tell your little friends about me? What you did?”

The words drowned in Alejandro’s throat as he continued to look at you like you’d risen from the dead right in front of him. You smirk under your mask.

“I’m Alejandro’s fiancé.”

TAG LIST:

@develised @flammenwerferpanzerkampfhund @lizx13 @kursedkaci @callmejod @notfeelinggoodrn

want to be on the tag list? Leave a comment!

#seraphimcollections #seraphimcollections: AND YOU WEREN'T THERE #alejandro #alejandro vargas #alejandro mw2 #alejandro x reader #los vaqueros #task force 141 #soap #reader insert #mw2 x you #alejandro x you #angst #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #valeria #las almas #SoundCloud

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tripolegears · 8 months ago

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Army Bag | Indian Army Travel Bag

Tripole Colonel Metal Frame Rucksack!

Attention all adventurers and thrill-seekers! Ready for your next adventure! The "Army Bag" by Tripole is your perfect companion!

With its durable design and ample storage space, it's ideal for all your travel essentials. Pack your dreams and let the journey begin!

#Army Bag #Indian Army Bag #Travel Bag #Rucksack #Tripole

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bi-buckrights · 2 years ago

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Seven Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tag @prince-buck-diaz 💕

I think we as a fandom need to collectively change the name of seven sentence sunday, because it seems hardly anyone can stick to seven sentences - myself included 😂 anyways, here's a little snippet from army marriage of convenience, featuring... only one bed ✨

He hears the steady stream of water turn back on, and for the first time all evening, thinks about the fact that in a few minutes Eddie will be lying right next to him, sharing the heat of the covers. It's not like they haven’t slept next to each other before. They’ve spent countless nights in the woods with their heads propped up on their rucksacks as a pillow, nothing but their poncho liners and the solid lines of their bodies pressed against one another for heat. They were lucky if they were allowed more than an hour or two of shut eye before getting up for the next patrol, which was why they didn’t even bother pulling out their sleeping bags or sleeping mat. Being next to each other was usually enough – next to Eddie was generally the only time Buck could get any sleep in the field, his presence a soothing balm to the chaos surrounding them. So, there’s no reason to be hyper aware of his heartbeat, or for the restlessness crawling beneath his skin despite the exhaustion begging him for sleep. The shower turns off, and a few minutes later Buck feels the dip of the bed as Eddie joins him. Buck lays on his side facing away from him, knowing that Eddie sleeps on his back and their shoulders would likely be pressed together if Buck were on his back too, the bed just a little too small for two grown military men. Buck would usually lay on his back, the sleep position ingrained in them both after several years in the Army – always ready to jump into action, even in sleep. But with Eddie next to him, Buck feels like he can let his guard down, surprised at how safe he feels.

Tagging if anyone wants to share ✨ @monsterrae1 @prettyboybuckley @rogerzsteven @alyxmastershipper @911onabc @hippolotamus @heartbeatdiaz @cowboy-buddie @littlebitofdiaz @spaceprincessem @shortsighted-owl @spotsandsocks @bekkachaos @honestlydarkprincess @elvensorceress @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy

#seven sentence sunday #sss #buddie #buddie wip #army marriage of convenience au #911 on abc #911 fic #my writing

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manonfire63-blog · 15 days ago

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Rucking Testimony

I am from South Eastern Washington State. Four hours from Seattle. We had more in common with people from Idaho and Eastern Oregon. Long story short, I was in the US Army, I came out with an honorable discharge. I came back home to Washington State. I wasn't happy. I was a substitute teacher, looking for a full time job. The education system had changed dramatically under Obama. I didn't see I had a place. I didn't have a place as a Veteran and a teacher. I reached out to the Veterans Administration. I found Vocational Rehabilitation. I had people and leadership skills from being an NCO in the Army. I could apply that somewhere. I decided on Construction Management. I already had a four year degree as a teacher. Vocational Rehabilitation, they would give me basically a free ride, all tuition paid for, books, and $1500 living stipend at the time. That is pretty good. I received Vocational Rehabilitation easily. I could go to any school, anywhere in the country, basically. I chose Middle Tennessee State University. They had a Construction Management Course, and it was near Nashville. I liked bars and country music. I moved from Washington State to Tennessee, where I knew no one. I was living close to MTSU. Walking distance. I was on Main Street there in Murfreesboro. I was also in the Army Reserve, in a Drill Sergeant unit, and had myself transferred. I would Ruck. A Rucksack, it would be bag of things a soldier needed to survive wherever he went. A Rucksack, it may have been 45 or so pounds. A soldier should be able to carry that on his back, no problem. I had an apartment on Main Street near the University. I would Ruck March, on my own, from my apartment, down the street. This would take me to country areas, outside of the city. I would walk 7 or 9 miles, I never measured. It was a long walk, I would walk down main street, to the country, to the end of the road. There was an end of the road there. I would turn around and walk back. Walking back one day, I had been walking for seven to nine miles, and then walked back, I was walking into the city, near the university. I was walking fast. There was a female college student ahead of me. I ended up walking past her. As I walked past her, she freaked out. She gave me some jazz hands. I suppose I was scary. As I walked a little further passed her, I blew an air hanky. I closed one nostril, and blew whatever was in the other nostril out onto the grass in front of her. I walked on. I was almost home. That is all.

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lindsohalloran · 3 months ago

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general information.

full name lindsay amos o’halloran

nicknames linds / uncle linds ( only by maisie )

age 41

date of birth may 1

place of birth elderslie, scotland

zodiac taurus sun cancer moon virgo rising

gender cis male

nationality scottish

religion raised catholic / non-practicing

orientation homosexual

physical attributes.

face claim richard madden

voice claim richard madden

height 5’10

weight 176 lbs

build athletic / muscular

exercise habits whenever possible but mostly circumstantial

allergies cats + nickel + medical adhesive

hair color dark copper with faint grey + a mallen streak at his hairline

hairstyle short

eye color blue

glasses/contacts no

dominant hand right

tattoos a small black orchid on his inner left bicep

scars too many to count

piercings none

jewelry/accessories garmin instinct 2x solar watch + dog tags

background information.

hometown elderslie, scotland

current residence new york, ny

spoken languages english / gaelic / spanish / belizean creole / igbo / hausa / yaruba / a few other languages very minimally

driver's license yes

occupation private security / previously scottish royal regiment

familial information.

relationship status single

mother eilidh o’halloran ( nee buchanan )

father graeme o’halloran

siblings niamh o’halloran / sister + deceased

other maisie o’halloran / niece and current ward

children none

pets none

personality.

positive traits steadfast + astute + observant + loyal + selfless

negative traits guarded + overbearing + distrustful + suspicious

likes earl grey + cutobrute + air-dried laundry + live music + runner’s highs

dislikes disorganization + rainy weather + selfishness + coffee + sunburn

moral alignment lawful good

mbti entj

Lindsay has always been private, especially when it comes to matters of his personal life, and the outbreak has only seemed to amplify this about him. In his prime, he was a skilled leader and communicator; his nearly two decades spent in service with the Scottish Royal Regiment have left him vigilant and selfless, always at the ready to keep a sharp out for the sake of those close to him, whether friends, family, or battalion. Professionally, he had a sternness about him that was not unkind, often softened by a quiet charisma and sudden and unexpected bouts of dry humor, and own his own time, he lived a life surrounded by vibrancy, more an observer than a participant. He’d frequent bustling bars and cafes and music venues, existing as a stoic fixture in the background, enjoying and observing with a simple smile twitching at his lips. He doesn’t take time for the simple pleasures anymore, and those glimpses of humor, of the lighthearted man he could have been, they’re rarer now than they ever have been.

supplies.

95-ltr. capacity tactical backpack / rucksack

first aid kit ( nearly empty )

two stainless steel water bottles

water purification tablets

utility knife / swiss army multi-tool

solar powered flashlight / power bank

hand-crank emergency radio

lighter / magnesium fire starter

signal mirror

tarp / rope

a children's sleeping bag

small plush rabbit

glock 17 + ammunition

machete + thigh holster

biography.

tw: brief mention of homophobia + abuse + drug use + death

From the outside looking in, the O’Halloran household is almost picturesque; with a modest but lovely two-story in the heart of Elderslie and two children, a son and a daughter, it would appear that Graeme and Eilidh have it all! Graeme has a government job that provides well enough that Eilidh can stay home and mind the house and the children. Lindsay Amos O’Halloran is younger than his sister Niamh by two years, but the pair are incredibly close; their father is strict — they’re mindful of their manners, their marks in school, for fear of his reaction if they don’t — and their mother is … well, Lindsay suspects she hasn’t been in her right mind in years. ❛ The pills will do that, ❜ Niamh tells him, ❛ numb you right up. ❜ She tells him this is why their mother never says anything. Lindsay expects all children must live like this — quiet, obedient. They protect each other, Lindsay and Niamh — best they can, at least. He walks her to class, she helps him with his coursework, and then they hide away in her bedroom and make up stories, elaborate tales of all the places they’ll go once they only get out of Elderslie.

To his credit, Lindsay does well to appease his father and keep relative peace in the house for many years. He learns when to mind his tongue, how to behave. If he yearns for approval, he quickly learns what it feels like to go without. Praise comes in the form of a quiet night — no shouting, no dishes thrown. He is careful to make no mistake significant enough to not be forgotten after his father’s spent a few long nights at the pub. Not until he turns fifteen. All his life, he’s been keeping it a secret; from his parents, his sister … sometimes it almost felt like he was keeping it from himself. For a while, it isn’t hard to keep it locked away; between school, church, and chores, he doesn’t have time for sinful thoughts. He can almost pretend …

His world ends on a brisk September afternoon at nearly three p.m. He’s sitting on his bed with Colin Bigbie from trigonometry, trying desperately to figure out how to calculate angles. And Colin’s tutoring him, which should be helping. It should, but Colin’s sitting so close Lindsay can smell his spearmint gum and he can’t stop looking at his lips, the way he grins around the eraser of a pencil. He still remembers the way his mother shrieks when she opens his bedroom door to find her son pinned under another boy in his own bed, a tangle of lips and limbs. ( How could he have let himself get carried away? How could he have let himself get caught? ) Colin has the common sense to scramble out of the house long before his father comes home. Lindsay is not so lucky. He has nowhere else to go.

Only a few months shy of his sixteenth birthday, Lindsay enlists in the Royal Regiment of Scotland. His mother nearly worries herself into an ulcer over the idea alone, but his father is supportive. Thinks it’s a ❛ wise move, ❜ in fact, that Lindsay could use the structure. She weeps over afternoon tea the day he brings home the forms, cannot even bear to look her husband in the eye as he fills them out. The more unpalatable truth need not be said aloud, for Lindsay already knows it in his heart — as far as Graeme O’Halloran is concerned, he no longer has a son, not in the eyes of God. Perhaps if he leaves now … learns what it means to really be a man, to bring his family respect in lieu of shame, of disappointment … well, perhaps he might return home to more welcoming arms.

This, Lindsay thinks as he packs a sparse duffel the night before he leaves for phase one training, that’s what he wants out of enlisting. He wants to feel like he belongs again. ( Has he ever? Has his father ever actually been proud? ) ❛ No but for christ’s sake, fuck ‘em all, Linds! Honestly! It’s all a bunch a’ shite, and anyway, you’ll always belong here with me,❜ comes a tearful reassurance from his sister over a shared rooftop cigarette the very same night, a possible last ditch effort at convincing him to stay. It doesn’t work! His mind is made up, and when she pinky swears that she gets it, that she understands and she could never hold it against him, Lindsay believes her. He cries when she hugs him goodbye the following morning. In spite of his best efforts, he cannot hide red eyes and mottled cheeks from his father as he climbs into the car. He says nothing, but Lindsay can feel his gaze; he cannot bring himself to meet it for the entirety of the six hour drive from Elderslie to Berkshire.

The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst provides twelve months of intensive training to all prospective young officers. Lindsay is desperate to succeed because, in his mind, there is no other option. He learns to operate on a strict schedule and quickly becomes regimented, disciplined. But Lindsay does not socialize with the other young men in his barracks. Many of them are quick to make friends — he sees them being raucous in the mess hall, hears them slagging off their superiors when they’re out of earshot — but Lindsay always keeps to himself. He never joins in. In his spare time, Lindsay pens letters. They’re mostly to Niamh. He tells her of his successes, embellishes his happiness in neat lines signed with love. The letters he receives back are the highlight of his time at the academy — they keep him going. Occasionally, he’ll write to his mother and father; to those letters, he hears nothing in return. his mother takes his phone calls on holidays — he expects that’s the only grace his father allows — but beyond that, they make no effort toward significant contact.

At least not until he graduates. They all show up, all three of them, but make no mistake it is not a grand affair. He knows from his sister’s letters things have not grown better in his absence but worse; his father’s temper flares and without Lindsay there to take the heat, his mother and sister suffer in his place. At dinner that evening, Niamh announces her plans to move overseas. She’s nearly twenty now, and after all, they’ve got relatives in America, distant cousins in New York, and she intends to relocate with their help. Her news doesn’t go over well; their father shouts, their mother wails, and when they leave, it is with the assurance that the entire lot of them are banned from what was Lindsay’s favorite Italian place in Berkshire for life. In the end, it doesn’t actually matter though, does it? He’s leaving again anyway.

Lindsay returns home for two weeks while he awaits his assignment. He helps Niamh pack and does his best to avoid conflict with their parents. When she leaves for New York, Lindsay is the one who takes the family car to drive her to the airport. ( He finds out that day that maybe he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to his sister without crying. Once can be written off as a fluke, but twice? ) He doesn’t know what to expect when he receives the call specifying the location of his first tour, but Lindsay can be certain that Belize does not even make the list. He didn’t even know they had anyone stationed in Belize. ( If he’s being honest, before he knows he’s going, Lindsay couldn’t have confidently pointed the country out on a map. ) Within seventy-two hours, he’s on a plane. Unlike with Niamh, when his parents leave him at the terminal, Lindsay sheds not a single tear. On the flight, he thinks of this mother’s outpouring of emotion and wonders if it’s sincere. Does she mourn the loss of both her children?

The stifling heat of the South American sun — surely impossibly the same sun that casts clouds over his village back home — fries pale, freckled skin within hours of landing, but Lindsay quickly learns that he enjoys the pain. It provides a welcome distraction. A lucky break, it would seem, because it is found here in no short supply. Tropical Environment Training, it’s called. Or, how to fight in the jungle! From dawn to dusk, he and his battalion trudge through gnarled, swampy undergrowth; they learn to camouflage themselves in the wild, how to use nature and the elements to their advantage. He learns to blink past the burn of sweat in his eyes, to claw his way forward when his limbs threaten to give out. His limits? Clearly he’s been underestimating them all his life! Out here in the harsh wild, nobody cares about his story, where he came from. Nobody cares who he loves. They only care that he can perform. Endure. It matters not who he is, only what he is capable of.

Belize teaches Lindsay O’Halloran that he is a very capable man.

When he first enlisted, it was without a clear, intentional path in mind; he’d known then that he wanted to serve his country, but he hadn’t the foggiest what he could even offer. would he be sent to kitchen duty or put on the frontlines? Were there even front lines? Six months after arriving in Belize, Lindsay completes his training. He’s adapted extraordinarily well to the environment; his superiors watch as he takes lead of his battalion, seizes control to lead his brothers- and sisters-in-arms to safety. He watches his team with the fierceness and precision of a hawk. When his entire battalion completes the program with flying colors, Lindsay is asked to remain in Belize. For someone so young, he displays potential. For the next ten years, Ladyville becomes his new home. He immerses himself in its culture just as much as its jungles; his accent twists the words in a funny sort of way, but he learns to speak spanish and Belizean creole. He drinks belikin and shares panades with locals. He becomes familiar with the forestry, teaches it to hundreds. And he writes to Niamh about all of it.

One day, when she writes back, Lindsay learns he’s an uncle. When his tour ends, he hops on the first plane he can catch to New York so he can meet his niece. Her name is Maisie O’Halloran and Lindsay is convinced he falls in love the second he holds her in his arms. He spends several weeks in the states with Niamh; he sleeps on her couch and spends day in and day out with her to make up for all the time they’ve lost. She tells him Maisie’s father isn’t in the picture, and Lindsay makes her pinky swear that she’s safe, that she’s okay. He wishes he could stay, but he’s given another assignment far too quickly. He tells himself he won’t cry this time when Niamh and Maisie leave him at the terminal, that he can keep it together. He can’t, and they’re both laughing through their tears as she makes him promise they’ll meet here again in a few years and he relents on one condition: she sends him weekly updates on Maisie in the meantime.

When he lands again, Lindsay is in Nigeria. He has been assigned to the UK’s permanent outpost Abuja to aid in the training of the Nigerian military. What he lacks in knowledge about the country and terrain, he makes up for in a passion for the sharing of knowledge, of valuable, life-saving skills. Hausa and Yaruba are more difficult to learn than spanish, he’ll admit, but he spends enough time there that he becomes at very least conversational in a few different local languages. When he returns to Elderslie after another six years, he does not sound the same and the streets no longer look like home. His country beckons him back before he can visit Niamh, but he promises soon. He still writes every chance he gets; she convinces him to start video calling because Maisie is talking more than ever. His parents don’t see their only grandchild, don’t get the privilege. He visits them once while he’s back on home soil. Once in two years. It’s tense. His mother doesn’t recognize him. His father shakes his hand.

It takes fifteen years, but Lindsay can finally feel the weakness in his grip.

Time slips through his fingers faster than Lindsay can stop it and before he knows it, the year is 2023. He’s back in Berkshire and, as it turns out, that little Italian restaurant? They don’t even remember him anymore. Lindsay is in his flat when he receives a phone call from an unrecognized number. It’s his cousins from New York, bearing news of his sister. Grave news. He can barely make out the details over the ringing in his ears the moment he realizes what they’re trying to say. ❛ …it was a break in … she’d just gotten back from work … didn’t even know she’d been struck …’m so sorry … ❜ And just like that, Lindsay O’Halloran’s whole world shatters.

By some grace of God, Maisie isn’t home when it happens. Their cousin had been watching her while Niamh was on shift, had just gone to take her back and opened the door when … ( oh, she saw it, the poor girl saw it! ) Lindsay requests immediate discharge and his years of dedicated service allow him to catch the next flight out of Heathrow to New York. He has to begin making arrangements. It takes six days to find a flat in the city and get Ellie moved into it; with his cousin minding her for a few hours, he packs up his sister’s apartment in a single night. Delicately, he tucks away years of memories into boxes — some he’s seen, many he’s missed out on. He does this alone, and he realizes a truth he’s known his entire life. He will always cry when he says goodbye to his sister. This night is no different. He weeps openly on the floor at the center of her apartment, surrounded by sweaters and pillows and photos — he cries for every little piece of her that he is forced to say goodbye to. His grief echoes off the walls. He gives so much that by the time they bury Niamh, Lindsay has no tears left to shed. He is exhausted. And for this, he is grateful. It allows him the ability to stay strong — he does not do well with emotion, but he knows how to push through fatigue. For Maisie, he will. From this day forward, his needs will forever take the back burner to hers. He is no father, but he will raise her the best he can. He owes as much to Niamh.

To provide for them both, Lindsay secures a position at a private security company called Sentry Solutions. His extensive military and combat training make him the perfect fit for private security, and he finds that he approaches his new career with an inherent sort of dedication. Blame it on the guilt — he wasn’t there to protect his sister, couldn’t save her, but he’ll be damned if he can’t protect everybody else. Most of all, he intends to protect Maisie, to provide her with anything and everything she could ever possibly need and keep her safe. He wants to keep her happy, too, but he knows that’s a more difficult battle won. Though he could count the number of times he’d seen her face to face before moving to New York on one hand, they were hardly strangers; he used to call weekly at minimum to speak to her and her mum, often sent her gifts from Nigeria and then again from Berkshire. This does not make the process of familiarization any easier or less awkward, but Lindsay does his best and eventually, they fall into a routine. He learns what Frozen is and how to dutch braid hair. He wakes up early on Saturday mornings to make chocolate chip pancakes and commits the details of a traditional tea party menu to memory. Every Wednesday starts with a visit to Maisie’s grief counselor and always ends with gelato from the little Italian place on the corner of their block. After a few months, Lindsay starts to believe he can actually do this. That they both can.

And the moment Lindsay thinks he’s finally started to find his footing again, it’s as if the rug has been ripped from beneath his feet again. The world is ending. If it was dangerous to live in the city before, it begins to feel like a death sentence the moment he hears the news. He immediately begins formulating a plan. They need to get out of the city. The population is too dense, the layout of the city too labyrinthine to feel safe. He packs a bag and instructs Maisie to do the same. ❛ Only take what ye can carry, Mais, ❜ he says as if he’d not carry the moon on his back had she told him she wanted to take it along, ❛ only take what’s important. ❜ Her backpack is pink with faux-fur straps, stuffed with crayons and fruit snacks, plushes and photos of her mother; the matching sleeping bag is attached to his own rucksack.

Lindsay expects it will take them some time to leave New York, but no amount of training or planning can prepare him for the chaos and bloodshed that ravage the streets. The streets are gridlocked but the cars are abandoned, some with windows smashed or doors left wide open. Driving out of the city is an impossibility, and every sidewalk, every building is like an active war zone. To think he'd been worried about the barricades. Moving through the city is slow. Every new street, every building promises new threats; if it's not the undead, it's the living trying to ransack them for supplies. Desperate people. Lindsay tries not to fault them ― fear can make people do all sorts of irrational things. He knows this. But if Maisie's safety is threatened, Lindsay does not hesitate to exterminate said threat, living or otherwise.

Distances Lindsay expects might take hours to cover instead take days. Weeks, even. Maisie is scared, confused, but she holds up better than he expects her to. He should've expected she'd be resilient like her mum. He keeps watch while she sleeps, operates on bare minimum and learns how to whittle his exhaustion into something functional and sharp under the cutting edge of adrenaline. He's never been in survival mode for this long. He thinks back to Belize, to the way the sun blistered his skin and the way his muscles screamed for mercy. He'd been able to push through it then for family who didn't give a damn about him, and he'll dig his heels in and survive this too. For Maisie.

When the snowstorm hits, they take shelter in an elementary school. It appears as though it had been used at some point in the recent past as a makeshift shelter, but aside from the biters that Lindsay methodically removes, it has been thoroughly abandoned. ( Some of the ones Lindsay exterminates, they look fresh. He does well not to dwell on this. ) The winter is long and cold and grueling but they survive. Lindsay is careful to ration what food he can scavenge from the cafeteria and, by some grace of God, it's enough to last the pair of them through the coldest months. He's grateful for the sense of familiarity the location provides Maisie; there are books and toys in the classrooms to keep her entertained and enriched. She has the chance to be a child and Lindsay finally has the chance to rest. At least for a little while. Come spring, they'll be getting out of this city.

Lindsay thinks so, anyway, but he's beginning to realize that what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men might actually be true. Maisie falls ill sometime in late February. It's not that he hasn't been keeping track of the passage of days, either, only that he doesn't know for sure when it actually begins. Her sniffles are easy enough to write off as a symptom of the colder weather, of course, but the cough is admittedly concerning. She seems unfazed, so he keeps an eye on it for a few days and intends to wait for it to resolve itself. Only it doesn't resolve itself. Maisie gets worse.

When the fever appears, Lindsay can no longer deny his concern or the way it steadily seems to morph into panic. He's never dealt with this before. He's only been responsible for her less than a year. There are no useful medications to be found in the nurse's office, nothing more than old antihistamines and cough drops in the desks. He's not familiar with this part of the city, and even after scoping from the rooftop, there's not a pharmacy in sight, not that he can tell. It isn't as if he can leave her, either, to go looking further, or even take her along in this condition, out of fear he'll come up empty-handed and make her feel worse in the process. But he's been surveilling the area, watching. He's seen survivors at the Wexley, coming and going. They must have supplies. It's a short enough distance that he could run it from the school even with his pack on his back and her in his arms, and, with no other options, that's precisely what Lindsay does.

#↳ intro #↳ about #bnyintro #the way this got stupid long and took me two days even though he was already a pre-existing muse of mine kshsakl #anyway hmu for plots y'all

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topazadine · 3 months ago

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Character Profile Tag: Orrinir Relickim

Thanks for the tag @willtheweaver! Loved hearing about Sorrel, and I love the name especially!

So let's talk about Orrinir, love interest in 9 Years Yearning and main character of the upcoming second book, Pride Before a Fall.

My darling! A little guy. Just a little guy. You can tell how much I love him because he gets the longest writeup of everyone, even Cerie!

He's the one on the right, next to his tiny trash demon husband Uileac.

Okay .... not so little guy. But he's such a wonderful creature anyway.

You think he's just a big dumb jock, huh? You look at his face and think he's some smarmy shit, yeah? YOU'RE WRONG! Let's find out why.

Name: Orrinir Relickim

Age: 23 (at the time of Pride Before a Fall)

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Appearance

Orrinir is a large, muscular man with a rough, confident face. He is quite tall and broad, towering over his fellow infantrymen. His silver eyes and angular red hair give him a striking appearance, especially as he tends to fuss over his hair and slick it with pomade into an unnatural swoop.

While he is naturally strong, Orrinir, like other soldiers, takes great pride in his power. The constant drills and, of course, engagements at the Rimuk Pass have given him chiseled muscles, though he's not really one to show them off.

Occupation

Infantryman in the Bremish Army. As of Pride Before a Fall, he is still a private, but he has grand dreams of becoming an Infantry General.

Family

His family abandoned him at the War Academy when he was a child, enrolling him as a Future Boy - a boy not old enough to start classes, who is forced to perform manual labor until he can begin his training.

Pets

Being a soldier, Orrinir doesn't have any real "pets." He'd have to leave them at home when he heads off into the field, and given that his husband Uileac is also a soldier, there'd be no one to tend to the animal. However, he does have his horse Bannain, the true star of the second book. He and Bannain have an ... antagonistic relationship, one could say.

Best friend

Other than Cerie, his sister-in-law, Orrinir's best friend is Sagremor, a fellow soldier. They trained at the War Academy together and have remained close all this time, though Sagremor has an annoying habit of psychoanalyzing everyone around him just for fun.

Describe his room

Orrinir's room, which he shares with Uileac, is neat and orderly, as one would expect from two soldiers. Much has been done to make it comfortable. The bed is on a raised platform - convenient for the frequent spring rains that can flood even the most solid home. A dresser, blanket chest, two nightstands, and a fireplace make up the rest of the furnishings, but the walls are hung with beautiful tapestries, most given to them as gifts for their wedding.

Items in his bag

When Orrinir heads off to an engagement, he packs his rucksack with both practical items and some sentimental objects, meant to remind him of what he fights for.

Socks

Extra gloves

Sewing kit for his uniform

Polishing cloth for his sword

Flint and steel for fire starting

Dry bread (hardtack) meant to be dipped in wine or water as an emergency meal

Oil-infused beeswax (useful as both a hand salve and chapstick)

Cloths for bandages/tourniquette

Thumb piano (kalimba) to pass the time

One of Uileac's shirts; he sleeps with it over his eyes to block out light and feel closer to his husband

Hobbies

Orrinir absolutely loves cooking and baking. While Cerie is a High Poet and Uileac occasionally composes poems, he doesn't have a knack for it; he'd be far too shy to even try, funnily enough. However, he likes to read poetry, especially the poems of Saint Luridalr, Breme's founding saint. Something about her lines has always spoken to him, or maybe it's just his patriotism.

Favorite sport

Swordfighting, of course! He and his friends like to blow off steam by beating the shit out of each other with wooden swords at the local infantryman-exclusive pub, the Swordsman Society.

Talents

Other than the aforementioned baking, killing people, and playing the kalimba, Orrinir's best talent is probably his knack for saying the wrong thing all the time. Not even out of malice! He's just not good at expressing himself.

Relationships

Uileac Korviridi: His husband, his beloved. They met at the War Academy as children and spent many, many years pretending they weren't obsessed with each other. Some me, and my beta readers, and literally every other character have claimed he is codependent, but he's been with Uileac for so long; they share an occupation, and he and Cerie are really all that Orrinir has. How would he not be codependent? Cerie Korviridi: His sister-in-law. Having basically grown up together, he sees Cerie more as his own little sister than just his husband's sibling. The three of them live together at their home in Goldnin, and he loves to boss her around as she petulantly argues. Despite their squabbles, he adores her and would do anything for her. Cerie's got both the boys wrapped around her little finger. Sagremor: Orrinir's best mate in the infantry. Sagremor has a knack for figuring out other peoples' problems and calling them out on their bullshit, something Orrinir both resents and appreciates. Tshumanu: Uileac's best mate, and therefore Orrinir's friend by association. Orrinir doesn't particularly really like Tshumanu much because he's so irresponsible and irreverent, but he puts up with him because otherwise Uileac will be mad at him. Sergeant Paltrik: His former instructor at the War Academy. Sergeant Paltrik always gave both Uileac and Orrinir special treatment because he could see the potential in them; that's why he never got them in too much trouble for cheating on tests or sneaking off campus. Now that Orrinir's all grown up, he sees Sergeant Paltrik as something of a mentor and father figure. Erix: Uileac's palomino mare. Of course he loves her: Erix is an extension of his husband. And Erix is a very good girl. Bannain: His horse, purchased for him by Uileac as a wedding present. They have a complicated relationship. On one hand, Bannain is a reflection of how much Uileac loves him; on the other hand, Bannain is an insufferable little shit who always gets into trouble. So there's some weird vibes there. The Relickim Family: Note how his birth family comes dead last. He has no relationship with any of his relatives, essentially, since they gave him up to the War Academy; he didn't even invite them to his graduation or wedding. Orrinir was the second-youngest of six siblings, though only three (other than him) are still living.

Fears

Oh man, does Orrinir have a lot of fears, even if he pretends he's a big tough strong dude who never gets scared. His top 10:

Uileac dying or being horribly maimed in battle

Cerie dying or one of her High Poems misfiring and horribly maiming her (why does he love people with such dangerous occupations?? don't answer that)

Being killed in battle and not being able to say goodbye to his loved ones

Being injured in battle and becoming a burden

Something happening to one of their horses (even Bannain I guess)

Having to resign from the infantry

Goldnin, his hometown, being invaded by the Sinans

Breme being completely destroyed

His family coming back to pester him

Thunderstorms

I mean, they're all pretty reasonable fears (including the thunderstorm one, surprisingly enough), but still.

Faults

Orrinir has none! He's a cinnamon roll! Perfect!

... Okay, fine. His faults.

Codependent. He doesn't see himself as a separate person from his husband. I mean, can you blame him? Bro was given up by his family. Anxious attachment style. He follows the people he loves around like a big overgrown puppy and doesn't know what to do with himself when they're not there. Bad-tempered. Once you rile him up, years of resentment explodes out of him and he doesn't know when to stop. Anal-retentive. Everything must be perfect so he feels safe and happy. He'll spend hours cleaning his boots because if they're not sparkling, he's nervous of getting in trouble. A useful skill for being a soldier, though. Emotionally immature. He doesn't have a strong ability to self-regulate, given that he was abandoned by his family as a child and wasn't taught how to self-soothe. Avoidant. At the same time, he can't really explain to you what he's feeling or handle deep, emotional conversations. Good for him that Uileac is equally terrible at talking about hard stuff, so they can just avoid all unpleasant conversations! .... Wait I don't think that's a good thing.

Good points

Of course Orrinir has so many good points so we can just pretend all those flaws don't exist, right? Right??

Nurturing. Orrinir is so fascinating because though he has grown into his role as a soldier and excels at it, it's obviously antithetical to his genuine personality. He wants to take care of those he loves, whether that's spoiling them with presents or tending to them when they are sick. Loyal. Like his husband and sister-in-law, Orrinir is loyal to a fault. If you are part of his "pack," he will go to the ends of the earth for you, no matter what. After the seventh book of The Eirenic Verses, we get to see this in all its heartbreaking, bittersweet glory. That's a secret tool for later, though. Resilient. You don't go through what he has without getting a damn backbone. Things are terrible and the world's on fire, but he drills down into himself and keeps going, mostly because he wants to protect those he loves. Scrupulous. Orrinir is detailed-oriented and very invested in getting the job done right, every time. When you give him a task, you can be assured it will be executed with ruthless efficiency. Send him down to the armory and tell him to clean the 300-year-old pike? Better check the engraving on the handle, because what you get back will be unrecognizably spotless. Thoughtful. A gift from Orrinir will be exactly what you wanted and more. Before he and Uileac got together, he literally fake-dated a girl to get access to the girl's father so he could demand a custom-designed bow for Uileac at a steep discount. And then broke up with the girl. Hey, he was a teenager, and teenagers can be little shits.

What he wants more than anything else

Orrinir wants peace. To be able to wake up and drink tea with his husband without worrying that they're going to be sent off at a moment's notice to the Rimuk Pass, where they'll be forced into battle again. To not have to leave Cerie behind, worrying about them, when they are called up.

To build a life together with the people he loves and find a new purpose in something less destructive.

Maybe he'd open a bakery. Maybe he'd become a farmer. Maybe he'd be a Council Guard. The possibilities are endless and sweet.

At the same time, he knows that a ceasefire would mean he'd have to find a new way forward, without relying on warfare to bring him purpose.

The endless war between Breme and Sina is what motivates him, but it also brings him so much suffering.

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