#blue ghillie

[themancorialist]

Fountain Street, Manchester.

[nekrosmos]

Finally got access to this skin and his eyes ....................

[chalkrub]

another revenge ! can't believe art fight is almost over yet again

[mythalism]

keeping track of all of these damn dragons like its my full time job. lets go

several of the dragons horns clearly correspond to the evanuris symbols/statues we’ve seen in several murals, trailers and in the gameplay reveal, while others are total wildcards.

in the gameplay trailer, we see this dragon the most frequently. this dragon’s horns don’t match any of the evanuris symbols, but it appears when morrigan is speaking and doesn’t seem aggressive to the characters in the moments we see, only ever breathing fire in the open air, so i would assume this is mythal.

its the same dragon from the cover art for the game:

it’s also somewhat similar to flemythal’s dragon form in da2, though not exactly, and is similar to her iconique hair horns. the dragon in the trailer’s horns are less curved at the ends, and are a bit wider.

either this isn’t Mythal, it is Mythal and they just made some subtle stylistic changes and didn’t anticipate anyone as insane as me analyzing the horns, it’s someone completely different, or mythal’s dragon form has changed now that morrigan holds her soul. i cant really imagine it being anyone but mythal, as mythal's dragon form has been on every dragon age game cover in some form.

it’s worth noting that none of these dragons look anything like morrigans dragon form from inquisition, which has horns that curve downwards, though i think it's plausible that her form could change with the full soul of mythal:

then we have this dragon, which is thankfully straightforward:

this is elgarnan, with his horns being a perfect match of Elgar’nans symbol

next we have this creature which we see twice and doesn’t even have horns. a week ago i would have said this is ghilan'ain, because of the weird tentacles, the pustules on it's body that we saw all over the trailer, and the fact that it seems like a mash-up of creatures, almost like a griffon and a dragon, or some other lupine/feline/canine form and a dragon. however, now i'm not so sure, and ill explain why later on.

the second time, it's side by side with a new dragon whose horns match both andruil's symbol in the murals and on the statues, and in this image of andruil and ghilan'nain:

these horns are of course also similar to the very first dragon, but i dont think they're wide enough, and these go in an then out, while the others go out and then up. and the similarity makes sense in the context of andruil being mythal's daughter.

another reason i think this is andruil is because of the story of andruil wearing "armor made of the void", and the clear red lyrium and corruption literally oozing out of this dragon:

also worth noting is in the scene above on the right, we see a spear/pole fly out of the red dragon towards the screen.

we see this pole/spear earlier in the trailer, connected to ghilan'ain's elven (barely) body, along with what looks to literally be another body impaled by a spear?

if ghilly melded the corrupted body of her lover to her own to preserve it and then eventually brings her back as a blighted dragon so they can devour the world together, that will be the toxic yuri of all time, but that's a topic for another post. back to the dragons.

because now we've got another one to figure out.

as i said earlier, i would have originally clocked those red and blue creatures side by side as andruil and ghilan'nain, transforming from their freaky melded elven form and into dragon/archdemon form.

but then yesterday happened, and they dropped this bomb:

HER ARCHDEMON?

and then we see the "archdemon" in question:

which, frustratingly, we do not see AT ALL in the release date trailer, but you know where we did see it?

the original reveal trailer. hm.

the way the combat gameplay is edited would lead us to believe that this is ghilan'nain's archdemon, as the text says, but im not fully convinced this dragon is 1. an archdemon and 2. isn't on our side.

the dragon doesn't attack us in the gameplay, it literally just roars (at something else, not us, maybe ghil's creepy porcelain mask face off in the distance?) and then flies away. we also don't see it attack us in the reveal trailer, just this big, cinematic roar.

we also don't see any clear signs of blight or corruption on this dragon. it can be hard to tell as we've only seen one (confirmed) before and it was urthemiel back in those lovely 2009 origins graphics, but even still, he looks pretty crusty, and in line visually with what we see of darkspawn and blighted creatures such as black/red colors, generally gross looking, etc. same for this artwork of dumat:

additionally, everyone thought that corypheus's red lyrium dragon was an archdemon (instead of just a high dragon) because of how fucked up it looked.

i dont doubt that ghilly has an archdemon, but im not convinced that the dragon we see in the combat gameplay is it. it doesn't look blighted or corrupted in the way we have seen from actual archdemons and creatures mistaken for archdemons.

its possible that the gross-looking blue dragon hybrid creature we talked about earlier is ghilly's archdemon, and it's wreaking havoc on some other part of weisshaupt that we dont see in the footage, and they are trying to bamboozle us by showing us that other dragon.

these horns, of course, look a lot like morrigan's dragon horns from inquisition, which curl downwards in the same way.

but of course, the colors and other facial features dont really match.

you could also make the argument that these downturned horns match ghilly's downturned horn headpiece that we have seen a million times at this point, and maybe it really is that straightforward and that is "her archdemon". but if thats the case then what the hell is this freaky blue creature with similar tentacles and gross pustules (that are all over weisshaupt as she attacks it, so definitely associated with her) all over its body?

maybe both are affiliated with ghilan'nain? one is her little pet archdemon while the other is her own dragon form?

at this point im just throwing things at the wall to see what sticks. i have no clue who this damn dragon is.

what we do know:

we have seen 5 distinct dragon-like creatures in this game so far.

some of them are archdemons, some of them are evanuris shapeshifting into dragons, some of them are ???????? i'm at a loss, at this point. bioware, you win. "dragon age" indeed.

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[piratesfromspace]

Night Blue (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Price

Rated: Mature

Word count: 3k

Summary: "Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor." or when Price comes to your rescue.

Note: I'm not the author of this fic, it is actually a Christmas gift from my boyfriend (yes I have the best boyfriend ever)! He writes for a living and has yet to dip his toes in fanfic territories, but I think he did fantastic and was very good at writing with the female gaze in mind. His take on Price has me drooling. He used the codename Rain, but note this is not part of the Rain Universe. Please let him know in the comment what you think of his first CoD fanfic!

Content: military!fem!reader, Reader has blue eyes but no body description other than that, mention of food & alcohol, rescue mission, implied torture, competency kink, typical level of violence

Muffled voices. Metallic clinking. Crowded interior. This could be your next mission. Or the last one. But it isn’t. It’s only a date. Well, Only. If only “only” could be only. It isn’t. It’s been years. You know him. This isn’t a first. But somehow, your heart is racing. It’s a fancy restaurant, after all. In the middle of good old London. He always had great taste, if not old-fashioned. But he’s late. He’s always late. You never understood that. How could someone that precise on the field be this messy in civvy street? Where the heck is he?

Did he try to take the tube? Again? He can’t do that. Not anymore. Not after what happened the last time 141 was deployed in London. He should be in a cab right now, on his way, with a big, innocent grin on his face. At least, you hope he is. You don’t want to drink this expensive bottle alone. Spend the night by yourself. Fall asleep in a cold bed. 

“Don’t let me down, Bravo 6.”

You said it aloud with a sigh. Someone answers.

“Oh, you know I won’t, darling.”

He’s here. Where did he come from? Doesn’t matter. His noise discipline is on point. That’s something he brings from the field. Ever so stealthy, he takes the chair before you and says “hi” in his thick accent. Thick as his moustache. What’s the name again? Mutton chops or something. He’s so damn proud of it. It’s cute. You noticed he trimmed it for the occasion and probably added some kind of oil to it. You smell it from here. An odd but somewhat comforting smell. Like a cosy fireplace or a warmish glass of Scotch. You wonder if your sheets will smell like that in the morning. He’s trying to say something, but you're already lost in the thought. Split seconds where you don’t listen, only think about those infamous mutton chops climbing your legs. Focus, damn it. What is he wearing? A suit? That’s strange. Well, you always thought anything besides a loaded chest rig looked weird on him. Wait, no. That’s not true. He wears jumpers and cardigans quite nicely. You always pictured him as an old British gentleman. A sailor embarking on a frail boat. Or a hunter walking to a black forest. Something like that. Old-fashioned indeed. It’s an acquired taste. 

So you talk. Like a lot. Spend time in each other’s eyes. Those grey-blue marbles, in which you see more than what is said. The joy of the moment, of being here, yes. But also the sadness, the pain. What is supposedly left behind, somewhere on a desolated field, and yet always comes back to scratch those eyes. It’s okay. You have the same. That’s why it’s working. But you remember. You remember how bright, much brighter, these eyes were the first time you saw them.

TEN YEARS AGO

Black and white. Night and snow. Somewhere in Northern Europe, the winter wind sweeps the clouds across the sky and dusts the flakes off the trees. But two bushes remain still. Until they don’t. All ghillied up, two operators crawl in powder snow. They talk as loud as the wind allows them to. 

“Follow me and keep low, lieutenant. Target’s right ahead.” 

“Solid copy.”

Captain MacMillan leads the way in near-total silence. His second in command, Lieutenant John Price, tries to keep up. He misses the warmth of the base. Of a pub. Of anything warmer than this icy desert at this point. But he needs to stay focused. They’re deep into enemy territory, trying to retrieve an ally he only knows by reputation. A track record he admires. So he wonders. What happened? A trap? A mistake? Perhaps it’s a warning in disguise. It goes to show that no one is ever too good to get caught. To get killed. 

Listen to the captain. Do what the captain says, his head repeats. Enough to forget his instincts or the will to think for himself. Violence and timing. Once you’re on the field, only these two matter. They don’t require you to think. Only to act, and act at the right moment. Old man MacMillan told him so. And despite his age, Alpha Six is teaching him a lesson. The captain moves like a damn ghost. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s almost like the snow melts around him so he can look like a real bush. The deadliest bush in the country, probably.

“It’s a goddamn convention around here, John.”

Price looks down. The warehouse and its surroundings are barely lit, but using thermal goggles, he can already count twelve guns guarding the target, plus three engineers working on an Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Guards, not soldiers. The new plague of the free world: PMCs. Former soldiers, swapping insignias for fatter paychecks. Russian, probably. He hears them talking through the wind. Or maybe French. They hire all across Europe, after all. The captain’s accent brings him back to Scotland.

“We could wait for them to break off, but that’d be playing with the target’s life, and we’d probably freeze our asses to death… There’s only one way to do this, innit?”

“Right. Care for a suggestion, captain?”

“I’m all hears, lieutenant.”

“That IFV. Maybe it is operational. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t want to find out. We take it down first. C4 should do the trick. They hear the boom. We split. You dance, I get inside. Once the target’s identity is confirmed, I take the long trek home through the forest, and meet you at LZ.” 

“You forget your rank, lieutenant. Why should I be the one dancing, John?”

“With all due respect captain, you forget your back. I’m sure the target’s a big boy. Unless you’re ready for the fireman carry of your life, you let me do it. If you hurt yourself, who will put those Christmas lights on the tree? Your wife will never forgive me…”

“Alright John, lead the way.” 

They don’t need their ghillies anymore. The bushes become men. They check their weapons. Price is about to take point when MacMillan nudges him. His fatherly smile almost lights the dark.

“The next time you bring my wife into this kid, you’re going down.”

“Roger that, captain.”

One of the engineers went for a cigarette. Lord bless the smokers. They all leave their post, eventually. Even when they don’t, that smoke will shake their focus. Move fingers away from triggers, grenades, alarms. Enjoy that last cigarette, lad. This smoke’s about to kill you faster than lung cancer. MacMillan jumps from the white shadows, arms instantly locked on his prey. His combat knife bites. Screams die in the engineer’s throat. Blood bubbles explode. The wind covers almost everything. The fluff of the snow takes care of the rest. 

Words come to them, though, and both captain and lieutenant freeze instantly. Their weapons are up, ready to strike. But they don’t want to fight. Not here, not now. More words. Price is trying to make sense of them, but he skipped too many classes for that. Damn you and your bad boy attitude, he thinks, until he hears a laugh. The words are repeated, but not as a question. That delivery transcends all languages. It’s a joke. Tension goes down, but MacMillan is already one step ahead. 

Pripyat. Urzikstan. Many more. Price has fought next to the captain since he joined the SAS. It’s a weird thing, but by now, he probably knows him better than friends. Better than family. And it shows. They don’t have to speak, but that’s always been a requirement on the field. What’s more impressive is they don’t have to sign full sentences either. They’ve experienced enough settings and parameters to understand how the situation will eventually play out. So they commit to the action, together, before the scenario can even start. Like two polished pieces of the same high-precision clock, they act as one to define time itself. 

“Together”, he signs.

For the two engineers, it’s time to die. Focused on the scratched hull of their IFV, these poor bastards never see it coming. A .45 ACP bullet penetrates their skulls at subsonic speed and settles down in their brains, avoiding any ricochet on the armoured surface of the vehicle. They climb on top of the tank. Price removes the bodies to find a hatch while MacMillan gets a block of C4 ready. Except for the wind, the place is silent. Which means no one knows they’re here. Good. But it could also mean the target is dead by now. The same thought has crossed the captain’s mind. He suddenly acts faster, despite the gloves and the numbed fingers they’re supposed to protect. Price follows and places the C4 inside the IFV, next to what he remembers to be a fuel tank.

About ninety-two seconds later, John learns his memories are correct. From the safety of distance, MacMillan has blown the IFV straight to hell in one glorious explosion. But it only takes about twenty more seconds for the PMC to react, learns Price on his watch. And that’s bad news. They’re still sharp. Drilled. Ready to respond. And they do. John counts half of them spreading out of the warehouse through truck gates and access doors. Their plan is sound. They’re looking out, trying to nullify the effect of surprise with a solid assessment of who or what is outside.

And it’s only one man, but he gives them a round for their money. MacMillan uses every trick in the book and every weapon he carries to make them think there’s a whole squad hunting for them behind the snow, between those big black trees. And they fall for it. At least one of the mercenaries does, and chooses to provide firing support from the door he was supposed to shut behind his comrades. 

John sees the opportunity immediately. Timing. In just a few rounds, the mercenary will have to reload. Or maybe he will suddenly realise the door is still open and stop firing. An empty mag hits the floor, and Price jumps out of cover. Violence. He grabs the mercenary’s weapon with one hand while the other secures the kill. The bastard’s heavy, and the thump of his fall makes a lot of noise. Silenced handgun raised, Price waits for a moment, scanning the entry corridor for potential targets. But no one comes. More words, inside. More shots, outside. Chaos is settling in, everywhere.

Another opportunity, then. Price presses on, checking his corners with the precision of a machine. A door opens to his right. Two mercs, rushing out of a room to help their comrades overwhelmed by MacMillan’s tactics. John is almost as surprised as they are, but not quite. Timing. They’re too fast, and likely to fire from the hip. Violence. He empties his mag on the two targets. One mercenary drops suddenly, like a puppet cut from its strings. The other falls, but slowly. His vest caught the heat. If he’s good, there’s a chance he might go for a sidearm, or a knife. No time to reload then. Price runs and then falls on his knees to finish his target with a clean cut from his combat blade. The bastard knows death is coming, but he’s not ready to embrace it just yet. His arms move in a life-or-death reflex, and Price is stopped a few centimetres away from a kill. There’s no timing anymore. Only violence, a test of raw strength. John tries to stab the merc down the neck. The poor guy can’t do anything but buy some time, and wait a few seconds for someone to go check the corridor. But no one comes for him. Only death, in the form of a straight silver blade slowly piercing his throat.

Rolling to the side, Price suddenly remembers to breathe. Staying on his back, he reloads his weapon without thinking, his two eyes locked on the door the mercs have opened seconds prior. He counts. One when he entered. Two in the corridor. With half of them still outside fighting MacMillan, that’s two mercenaries unaccounted for. Usually, it is the wounded, the insecure or the frightened you leave behind. But when it comes to target protection, it’s the other way around. Your last wall of defence is also the toughest. The big guns stay with the target until the end. If Price wasn’t so actively trying not to think, maybe he would have remembered that. 

He enters the room. More like a hangar. It’s dark. Only the moon and distant muzzle flashes provide some light through large, rectangular windows. Timing? Put the night vision set on, find the bastards, and apply a bit of violence. Wait. Price holds on to his set. Did someone cut the power? It could be MacMillan toying with them. But more likely, the mercs have figured their opponents are properly equipped. And now, they’re just waiting for Price to put his night vision on. They want him to rely on the tool, for there’s no faster way to blind a man than putting the power back at the right moment. So Price throws the night vision set away, into the room. Five thousand quid of government-issued tech crash on the industrial floor. One second. Two seconds. The light goes back and the night vision set dies a second time, broken apart by crossfire. 

The shots from the right probably came from that little accounting office Price sees through a piece of shattered glass. He resists the urge to throw a grenade, that could threaten the target’s life. His back on the wall, he’s getting closer to the office. More words. They come from the left. These mercs can’t shut up to save their lives. What is it this time? There’s a trace of panic in the sentences. They’re probably asking for reinforcements, but there’s a hell lot of static on the other end of the line. MacMillan has done his part, and there’s no military base around anyway. In typical Laswell fashion, Kate had saved the only piece of good news for the end of her briefing, Price remembers. So good luck with that, lad. But keep talking. The echo allows John to move closer and closer to his next kill. Until the warehouse is silent again. Until something inside the office decides to move. 

It’s a lock. Inside the door, it jiggles enough for Price to notice someone’s about to leave the office. He waits for the final click to bash the gate. It arrives a split-second later, and John kicks the door like his dad used to kick rugby balls on Sunday mornings. Wood breaks. Bones follow. Price puts another bullet in another skull. It happens so fast the merc can’t even fight or scream. But his finger was already on the trigger, so his assault rifle yelled for him. The burst catches price off-guard. Bullets pound his plate and the walls alike. He falls. 

When the kick finally fades, the world is backwards. Literally. Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor. Or is it the ceiling? He’s not sure anymore. His ears are buzzing. His chest is compressed by the impact. There’s no gun in his hands. He wants to rise but he can’t. Someone comes. Someone that’s not MacMillan. Price rolls from back to belly. The world looks finally looks right again. Well, right as it can be when you’re crawling unarmed in the face of the Grim Reaper.

His weapon raised, the last merc stops next to the target and fires. Not rounds, but words. More words. Insults, probably. Weirdly, they’re not aimed at Price. They’re for whoever is still under the same black hood they always put on prisoners. She answers, proudly, in their language. 

Wait, she?

Gunshots. They come from outside, from the forest. Surprised, the last merc tries to sneak a look between the crates. Price gathers the little strength he has left to look for a weapon. But he’s still dizzy. A hippo with a full belly would be faster. He looks up, facing death with both eyes open. Only death doesn’t come for him. The target is free. She climbs on the mercenary like a damn spider, using her legs to maintain the bastard’s weapon against his chest while she strangles him with the little piece of plastic tying her two hands. John finally finds his sidearm. He wants to help her. He wants to shoot. But SAS lieutenant John Price is not so sure of his aim anymore. So he looks, and eventually, the mercenary crumbles.

Price now moves a bit faster and a bit closer. The target’s still fighting. But her prey is long dead. There’s no breathing left in him. His neck is broken. So broken that little piece of plastic is slowly severing head from body. And yet she fights, furiously. Moving slowly, talking even slower, he tries to calm her down. She releases her grip on the dead mercenary. Describing his every move out loud, John carefully guides his blade between her two hands and next to her neck. Underneath the bruises and the cuts, she’s a woman alright. Their eyes locked. Back to the mission.

“Lieutenant John Price, British SAS. I need your codename, fast.”

“Why are you here? I had it under control!” 

Her voice is confident. Not a single taint of doubt in it. Price chuckles.

“I’m not sure I see it that way, darling. Now, give me your codename so I can get you out of here.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Again. Confident. She’s looking at the half-decapitated mercenary with disdain, not disgust. She killed before. In more ways than one. More brutal ways. 

“I had it under control.”

Her time to chuckle. She pauses. Takes one good look at him. That sort of threatening gaze birds of prey will give you if you happen to drive through their land. She measures. Judges. And weirdly enough, the whole thing ends with a sight smile.

“Codename’s Rain. Nice to meet you, lieutenant. Now, can a lady get a proper extraction, or what?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Follow me.” 

They grab some gear and step out of the warehouse. Outside, the night is silent again. The moon shines on the black of the trees. The white of the snow. The red of the dead bodies. 

And the blue of their eyes. 

[raffe156]

All Ghillied up and nowhere to go

Pairing - Price X MC (Tank) F!reader

Summery - Price teaches Tank how to blend in…

A/N- Just a little nsfw Drabble for an anon ask, also don’t worry Breakaway state part 5 is still in the works 😘

Warnings - Smut (18+) Voyeurism, Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26) Dom!Price, Brat!Tank, Sir kink, praise kink, unsafe sex, p in v, knife play and cock warming if you squint like really hard!

✨As always comments and feedback welcome ✨

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank

Tags: @fanficandartgal @deadbranch @soapyghost @shuttlelauncher81 @a-littlebirdie @boomtowngirl @chb-7 @noxspellxbound @brewed-pangolin

Sorry if I missed anyone❤️

——————————————

“Why am I doing this again?” You rested your cheek on the butt of your rifle.

“For god sake….I’ve told you…you need to “blend” in better! You shift about too much!” Price was losing his patience with you now.

“….blend in better? I’m dressed in tall fucking grass and weeds…in tall fucking grass and weeds how much more do I need to blend in?!” You dropped your head resting your forehead on the cold ground. The wind whistled around you. You didn’t even know where Price was but the clarity of the comms meant he was close by. The training field was silent apart from the wind.

“We’ve been out here for ages now..the suns setting..I think I’m pretty undetectable, send Soap out to try an spot me…” your voice was mocking.

“How about I send Ghost out?”

“……”

“I’ll take that as a no then kid? Start crawling back to me” his voice gravelly over the comms

“…I don’t even know where you are…are we done, I feel like we are done? can’t I just stand up?” You lifted your head, pushing yourself up but just as your shoulder came level with the grass you felt a sharp shot hit it. It didn’t hurt but you felt it. You looked down at the little blue ball.

“Did you just shoot me?…with a BB gun?” You rolled the little ball between your finger an thumb. You turned your face towards the direction it had come from.

“Yeh…a warning shot because if I was the enemy that would of been a real bullet also I would of shot you in the head….get back down” you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

“Fuck sake…taking the piss now” you muttered under your breath…he wasn’t that close to hear that surely.

“I’m taking the piss? Your the one pissing about Tank…get your fucking arse out of the air and get your body down to the ground or I will shoot you again…” he sounded close now, an he would shoot you, but you never did know when to stop.

“Thought you liked my arse in the air sir? Said it’s one of your favourite sights…” you smirked.

“….you being funny sergeant? Because I will wipe that smirk off your face…” his voice was louder now, he was close.

“I’d like to see you try sir…” you were baiting him now.Silence. You scanned your surroundings he should be north west of you, unless…you heard a shift behind you,but before you could turn over you were dragged back by you ankle.

“I did warn you…” Price growled in your ear. He had pulled you right back to him. He was practically on top of you.

“Your all talk…John” you didn’t turn your head to look at him, suddenly you could feel him unclipping the straps to the lower half of your ghillie suit.

“What are you doing? Does the fresh air an grease paint do it for you?” You laughed, but your head was pushed down low to the ground your cheek in the dirt once again.

“Ah fuck…” it took you by surprise, but rough Price only made the odd appearance, you must of really wound him up. You heard the soft ching of a knife being unsheathed and your eyes flashed panic, had you wound him up that much?

“John…what are you doing?” You tried to turn your head towards him.

“Stay still….very still” He growled in your ear again, as he used his knife to cut the seam of your pants, his intentions made clear you relaxed your body as you felt him finish the job with his hand.

“You’re not wearing any knickers? Can’t say I’m surprised…” He licked his thumb and pressed it to your folds, it easily slipped inside, causing a slight moan from you.

“Well that wasn’t difficult was it? I think the fresh air an grease paint does it for you aswell kid…or is it the thought of your Captain fucking you in a field?” He peered over your face just enough for you to see his eyes, the dark camouflage paint making them stand out.

“Abit of both sir…” you could feel his thumb thrusting into you slowly, you were leaking all over his hand. Your head was getting fuzzy, you could no longer hear the wind or the birds, just the wet sounds of his thumb inside you and the sound of your heart beat as it drummed into the ground. You felt Price shift and remove his thumb. You let out a groan, you hoped he wasn’t just teasing you, you wouldn’t make it back to base.

“You ready to put your training to the test Tank?” he removed his hand from your head to pull his zipper down. You could feel the head of his cock at your entrance. You didn’t need to be told to lift your hips up, it made him chuckle.

“Good girl” Price huffed as he slid inside, your walls adjusting around him. He placed himself right ontop of you, the weight of him pushing you down fully flat. His cock buried deep inside. He completely covered you his head right next to yours. You expected him to start thrusting but no he lay completely still, his cock pulsing inside you. Before you could question him, he snaked his arm under yours to position your face upwards to look through the tall grass, you mouth fell open as soon as you clocked what he was showing you…Ghost an 4 rookies were 300feet away from you.

“Told you I’d send Ghost out…now let’s see if you can blend in an not get caught eh?” As he spoke he began thrusting, strong, fast thrusts at first, it made the coils in your stomach tighten with each one he was dragging at your walls. It made your eyes roll back, you had to slap your hand over your mouth if Ghost didn’t see you first he would of heard you.

“Who’s getting closer? You or Ghost?” Price whispered in your ear. It caused a shiver up your spine an made your walls contract around him. He slowed his thrusts right down almost painfully slow…two of the rookies were a few feet away, Ghost had gone east with the other two.

“Keep yah head still, it’s gone be close” he whispered lowering both his head and yours as the rookies walked right past you. The suspense was agonising, but your walls were still fluttering around Prices cock which only seem to get harder. When you were sure it was clear you moved your hips under him, desperate for any form of friction or movement, Price gave in his thrusts rampant an deep, you moans came out strangled and restrained but your orgasm was bliss as you panted for Price to cum inside you, he grit his teeth burying his head into your shoulder as he filled you to the brim.

“Ahhh ahh fuck…have they gone back to base?” You turned your head to look.

“Not all of em Ghost is still in range…wouldn’t surprise me if he’s spotted us…” Price grumbled.

He was right the 4 rookies had wandered far away, but Ghost hung back his body turned to your location…surely he hadn’t spotted you…

“You two done fucking around out here?”

[seabysiren]

rain down on me

summary: a solo mission gone wrong, you found yourself on the verge of death when something otherworldly unearths itself.

[venom!reader]

its silent in the forest. the frozen limbs upon dead bark rustle in the heavy wind as you squint through sheets upon sheets of snow. it would've been blinding had you not had goggles protecting your eyes.

your breath puffs out in silent clouds as you slowly trek through the snow, the crunch only reminding you of the limited time you had out here.

this was it.

the last mission you were ever going to go on. no more laughing with soap and pulling pranks with gaz. no more silent nights with the reassuring presence of your captain late at night. no more scratching pen on paper as the two of you silently fill out paperwork.

no more funny, not so funny, jokes with ghost and soap. or teasing gaz everytime he tried to pick someone up at the bar after a successful mission.

because you were alone. a mission just for you to retrieve hidden intel high into the permafrost of russia.

price trusted you.

the 141 trusted you.

laswell trusted you.

yet here you were in the frigid cold, numbly flexing your hands as you kept a watchful eye out for anyone. anything.

intel said there was supposed to be a base up here. but after days of aimlessly trekking through snow and higher up the mountain, everything felt hopeless.

you didn't have enough supplies to survive weeks. the frostbite would get to you before you found anything.

but still, you trekked on.

you silently counted each step in your head, your gun feeling aimlessly heavy against your body with each step.

one.

two.

one.

two.

the fatigue that shook your body was ignored. you ignored the deadly cold that wanted to lay waste in your bones and make its home deep in your ribcage.

breath in. breath out.

keep going.

there was no radio chatter. no buzzing noise in your ear or a low, raspy voice giving you hope with his shitty jokes and cues.

you were alone.

because this was a solo mission.

get in. get out.

you were the best survivalist in the team. the one who recognized anything and everything edible in forests. who hunted in the desert when supplies ran low and thirst ravished everyone. where the sun was high and you could feel your heartbeat.

because it was you or them. and there was no chance that the squadron would perish with you besides them.

hope bloomed in your chest when you laid your eyes on tracks. not the track of deer or foxes. not the cawing of crows and their beady eyes always watching.

human tracks.

you immediately hunched over, using the brush and snow to hide yourself as you began to follow with renewed energy.

the snow beneath you didn't even crunch as you moved with precision. you didn't hesitate to bury yourself in snow once you heard voices. the harsh accent of russian made you perk as you listened, faintly translating their voices.

"...the package arrives today-" "-make sure everything is ready for the doctor" "...no screw ups..."

you waited until their lingering stopped, their voices growing harsher once another group of soldiers came closer.

this was it.

you kept your gun close as you wadded closer to doom. you laid your eyes on the whole operation. stealth planes running on cleared runways, trucks marked with the infamous russian military logo.

soldiers marching and officers checking cargo.

and there it stood before you. the warehouse and science facility. you muttered to yourself before finding an adequate place to rest. there were too many people here to go in knee deep.

so you climbed the nearest ledge covered in foliage and dropped your bag. you quickly unfolded and donned the snow terrain ghillie suit and made a suitable place to lay in.

you sighed as you propped up your rifle. seems like you were going to be here awhile before figuring out a way to infiltrate without risking your life in broad daylight.

-

it was early. the snow was bleak and tinged a deep blue since the sun went down. everything was well lit as you watched shift after shift through the scope. you mentally noted any squadrons, the officers positions and the parked cargo and army trucks.

you watched as each patrol walked. watched as each person had roughly a two minute gap before the next person would take over. you knew every way the patrol would go, and where they would check.

finally.

this is it.

you took a deep breath before situating your rifle and hovering your hand over the trigger.

your fingertips were freezing beneath the gloves, and you were faintly aware of how numb your feet felt. but you shook it off. there was no time for weakness when you were so close to the finish line.

you narrowed your eyes and stopped your heart.

the trigger was light against your finger as you quickly shot, ignoring the sudden panic that exploded with each person who fell. the blood against the snow was refreshing as you quickly picked off everyone near the runway and within the open warehouse doors.

you had no time to watch them begin to scramble. now was the time, with your gun held safely in your arms you ran.

time was of the essence as you trekked and slid down narrow cliffs, further from the warehouse and closer to the facility.

there would be reinforcements within mere minutes of where you were. but you couldn't stop and panic. there was no way to hide, the only way you were going to survive was with speed and precision.

your boots slid across patches of ice as you heard voices and radio chatter come closer. you dove into the brush and buried yourself in the snow just in time to avoid the running soldiers who were eager to shed blood.

they were getting closer to the perch you were on. but the only thing they would know are the traps and mirrors you placed to mimic a sniper.

you stilled your breathe as you quickly nailed the closest patrol officer with the butt of your rifle, watching him go down as you snatched the badge from his belt.

good.

you were getting there.

you could barely think as your body went through the motions, swiftly turning corners with your rifle ready to dispatch anyone coming across your vision.

but it was almost empty of personnel. good. going all according to plan. everyone should've been drawn to sweep the surrounding areas and look for the possible sniper, while none the wiser that you were here.

because all the important files were in the warehouse. no one would've suspected you were going after the classified files in the facility. of the latest biological weapons that were being produced in the middle of nowhere.

you busted down doors and sweaped offices and labs. bodies fell, blood spilt, glass shattered.

you finally got to the final ward. the testing facility.

your body was hot. the drastic change in freezing temperature to the sudden warmth was wreaking havoc on your body. it made your vision fog as you ripped your goggles down your face, hanging only by a strap wrapped around your neck.

your fingers and feet felt like they were on fire. yet your steps were swift and steady as you let go of your rifle and tore your gloves from your thawing flesh.

you narrowed your eyes as you typed away on the mainframe computer, plugging in a bright blue drive into the side while it scanned and pulled up all documents. the green text flashed at you as you waited with baited breath.

that was until you felt a heavy hit to the back of your head. it made your body spin and your eyes water as you growled, swiftly turning around to slam the nearest filing cabinet into their body.

you were swift as you slammed your rifle down against their torso when they fell, taking out a knife from your thigh holster to press it harshly against their neck.

you cut through the jugular and through the esophagus, wincing slightly at the splatter of blood that stained your ghillie suit.

you flinched as glass broke nearby, causing you to snap your head to the side to locate the source.

the scientist was carrying a jar filled with a strange, black goo like substance.

"the hell?" you muttered, curiosity overcoming you as you watched the almost alive thing wither on the ground before stilling. you looked at the scientist then back at the black substance when it suddenly rammed straight into your face.

"the fuck-" a strange feeling invaded your nerves as you quickly wiped at the foreign substance, flicking the residue onto the ground and wiping it on the labcoat of the deceased person next to you.

but you had no time to ponder when you heard an insistent beeping that made you turn back to the computer and snatch the drive.

you rapidly began typing as you began to install your latest program. one that was supposed to wipe everything on the system and leak every personals involvement with the hidden base.

this was what you came here for.

now all you had to do is make it back alive to the rendezvous spot.

with the hard drive tucked close to your heart, hidden deep within the inner pocket of your jacket you ran. you were uncaring about the way your boots slammed against the pristine tile of the facility. the heavy footsteps of you echoed through the empty walls when you bursted out the door.

the only thing you had on your mind was surviving. getting back to your boys. the team. the 141.

you could feel it. you were so close.

but as you squinted against the harsh light, your heart dropped into your stomach.

it wasn't a few more hours until sunlight.

you gulped as spotlights shown on you, courtesy of the dozens and dozens of soldiers surrounding the exits.

oh.

that was why the facility was so quiet. so... empty

this was it.

this was the end.

as you felt the impact of the first bullet against your vest, you roared.

you had to try. you had to struggle. you had to make it out alive. people's lives were hanging in the balance of this.

and your squad.

your family.

they would've never been able to handle the grief. price would beat himself up with how you reassured him you could do this. no backup. just a heli waiting for you.

desperation rushed through your veins, adrenaline filling your body as you took your rifle and picked off anyone and everyone you could. but the pain was getting to be too much.

it tore through your skin with ease. spilling dripping, red blood down onto the pristine snow beneath you. your breathes became heavy as your vision blurred. your body wracked in pain as everything seemed to slow down.

maybe this was what death felt like.

and as you were about to blackout, you heard a voice.

a strange, deep voice in your head that made you feel strangely at ease.

"time for a feast, little morsel."

-

you gained consciousness when everything ended. confusion and nausea set itself into your bones as you looked around. you no longer donned your ghillie suit, nor your rifle.

blood and organs were everywhere, staining the once white snow in blood and strange fluids.

you panted as you looked around. everyone was dead. demolished. ripped apart. you took a deep breathe before looking down at your gear, covered in blood and bits of flesh.

"the hell?"

your hands were dyed in blood. and as you looked around, you found your discarded goggles, and in the reflection you saw your uncovered face, smeared with blood.

"shit. shit. shit shit. what the fuck is going on!" you muttered to yourself desperately trying to wipe off the endless red stains from your face and gear.

before you stilled at a voice in your head.

just had a snack.

you whipped your head around to look for the source of the voice, but all you saw was mutilated body upon body. not a soul to be seen.

"who's there!" you couldn't stop the way panic flooded your system as you frantically looked around. for something. for an answer.

but all you heard was a deep chuckle in your mind.

no need to freak out, little human.

you looked down at your uniform and squinted at the bullet holes, but beneath was smooth, pristine flesh. without a speck of a wound or scrape.

"did... did I do this?"

there was a pause. before the thing responded.

we did this.

you felt like you were going crazy as you spoke out loud. trying to find any grasps of sanity as you tried to understand.

what was this? "and who is... we?" there was an immediate response. it was strange. having a conversation in your head.

we am venom.

"venom..." you echoed.

you took a deep breath before continuing.

"...is this what they were working on? are you the biological weapon they were developing?" no. there is nothing those lousy scientists could do to great me.

"then what are you?" we are venom. we come from klyntar. you didn't even have to voice out your questions before venom contined.

our home was destroyed. and we came here from beyond the void. we need a host in order to thrive.

"like a symbiote?"

yes.

it was strange. you could feel venom in the back of your head. his voice called to answer every question with a strange amount of patience.

that was until you realized you had to get back. the heli would only be waiting for a certain amount of hours before it would leave. with or without you.

you swore to yourself before quickly looking around. you could barely feel the cold as you began to run towards where you had stashed your bag, close to the distraction sight you were in hours ago.

unimaginable strength coursed through your veins as you ran through the snow with newfound ease. you barely felt tired from days upon days of little to no rest.

venom continued to talk as you got to your bag. you stripped through the ruined uniform and began to quickly dress in your spares. which, unfortunately were black in color.

those people made a good snack.

"what's with you and eating... people?" you shuddered as you hauled your bag onto your shoulder and began to trek away from the ruined base.

your stomach grumbled in protest as bile rose to your throat and into your mouth. you gingerly swallowed.

i need it to survive.

"so i have to eat people for you to... survive?"

you will die without me.

you stopped. dread filled you as you asked the sole question in your head.

"what?" i am keeping you alive. i am constantly regenerating your heart. without me, you would be dead.

you clutched your chest and inspected the old jacket you had worn before. truth be told, he was right.

bullet holes riddled your gear. but the most important detail was the holes that were supposed to go straight through your chest. straight through the heart.

it felt like your throat had dropped into your stomach as you traced the frayed clothing. each bullet hole would've lodged itself into your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

everywhere.

"fuck."

foreign knowledge began to flood your head as you clutched your head in pain. words and languages of the symbiote. of his origin and exactly how he was bound to you. how he was keeping you alive.

and without it...

you wouldn't get to return home to base. no more price or soap. no more gaz and ghost.

nothing.

you gulped heavily as you moved.

venom gave you strength. he gave you power.

he gave you life when you were without.

god.

how the fuck were you gonna hide this from the squad?

[syoddeye]

you could put black coffee, deep blue nail polish, and those gifs of ghillie suit gaz and price in a summoning circle, and i would crawl out of your floor dehydrated and muttering

[dreadfutures]

Blue’s DA4 Screenshot Binge Pt. 6

Some other thoughts, in no order.

The red battle against the halo headplate dragon... these look like Tevinter - specifically Minrathous:

That is a... LOT OF BLIGHT MAN. IN MINRATHOUS. FUCK.

Rook is reahing for the lyrium dagger embedded in Ghilan'nain:

Likely after this battle with Elgarn'nan and the Wardens, where btw she summons fucking Elgar'nan like a pokemon:

Btw, from the top down of this battle, you can see the blue-glowy petrified dragon in the bottom right.

She's got her fuck-off staff and too many hands.

More Ghilly and her creepy mcfucking hands... In Antiva.

Also, the texture on those tentacles... God.

Elgar'nan Feet Pics:

and us too lmaooo:

And lace not only turns people to stone, but also controls the earth:

[prowlingz]

⭒ Jealousy, Jealousy.. ⭒

✩ Price x AFAB-Reader | No use of y/n | SMUT, DUB-CON 18+ ✩

✧ w.c: 2.8k ✧

It's no secret you and Price had the hots for each other, though you both knew you couldn't act on it. This never stopped you two from sneaking off into each others barracks and having a fine time, or finding some time in the middle of a mission. But eventually everything came to a halt.

He summoned you to his office, and you assumed it was for your usual discreet encounter, the one where you'd be leaning over his desk. But to your surprise...

Upon entering, he greeted you with an uncharacteristic seriousness, saying, "Please, have a seat, Sergeant."

You settled into an aging armchair, and an unusual sense of restraint washed over the room. Silence enveloped you both as you locked eyes with his cold, piercing blue gaze that had always stirred something within you.

Breaking the eye contact, he exhaled, and you released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. He lit an unfiltered cigar with a lighter, taking a measured puff before disposing of the ashes in an ashtray you had gifted him a couple of years ago.

Your attention remained fixated on his actions, anticipation and tension mounting.

Finally, you mustered the courage to inquire, "What's on your mind, sir?" Although your voice betrayed a hint of nervousness, you tried to maintain composure.

He continued to manipulate his cigar, drawing another puff before reclining in his chair, sighing, "We can't continue like this."

It was a heavy blow. You were aware that the one unbreakable rule of your relationship was that you both cannot allow love to enter the equation, particularly given the significant age difference of almost 13 years.

You sat before him, shocked, eyes widening.

He continued to scrutinize you with a detached gaze, seemingly assessing every micro-expression.

In an effort to preserve your pride and not reveal how deeply his words affected you, you replied, "Very well. Is there anything else, sir?" you managed to convey this without sounding entirely shattered.

"That's all, yes" before he could do anymore damage to your mind, you had left, urgently going to your barrack and sobbing your heart out into your pillow.

The next day you meet up with everyone for your next mission, a simple hostage situation.

Quickly flying out there, Captain Price tells everyone their positions:

"Soap, you'll be with Ghost flanking the left side of the building and neutralizing any enemies"

he calls your name, "You will be the recon sniper, watching the building making sure all hostages are safe once they leave"

"Gaz and I will flank the right side, neutralizing enemies and releasing hostages, any questions?" he yells over the sound of helicopter.

Your hand shoots up, "Sir, I think that it'd be best if Ghost is the sniper, and I head with Soap. You know I am not the best sniper on this team and that I'd be much better with flanking-" he puts his hand up to stop you from talking.

"No, we will follow my order" he speaks loudly.

You furrow your eyebrows, knowing that he usually would at least consider your advice-but ever since last night, he's likely trying to forget all about you outside of his task force.

You keep your head down, but move your eyes over to Gaz who is seemingly watching you intently.

Your eyes meet, and his gaze falls over your body, a slight smirk crossing his face. You smile at him and trace his body with your eyes.

You look over to Price, who is staring daggers at you.

It's not like you weren't wearing what you normally would, but it seems like rumors gone around that you're not tied to a man right now..

"Go, go, go!" Price shouts as the group jump from the helo.

You make your way to a hill, quickly equipping a ghillie suit and a wrap for your sniper. You look through the scope and confirm your position, "In position".

"See anyone on the roof, Charm?" Gaz asks. Charm was a name you were called sometimes as ever since you joined the task force you've been quite a lucky charm for them.

"Yeah, one on the East and two more maybe 20 meters from your position West" you reply while looking through binoculars.

A static reply, and you soon switch from your binoculars to your sniper rifle. Staring through it, you consider the pin drop. Usually Price was with you to tell you the bullet drop, but now it was all up to you.

"Shit" you whisper at the predicament.

"I'll take out the one to my left, Charm, get the one on the right" Gaz finally clearing the silence of your radio.

You hold your breath, looking through the scope. "Maybe, two pins for the drop? Shit.. maybe 3? Fuck." you always second guess yourself.

"On your bullet," Gaz says your name, waiting for your shot.

You exhale, grasping for another, new, fresh breath. You pull it up 2 pins, and shoot..

Hit.

Gaz knifes the other one and you watch him through your rifle, "Fucking ay, Charm" you feel a smile cross your lips.

"Maybe I should be the new recon for this team, huh?" you slyly remark.

"I don't see why not".

The mission concluded in a resounding success, largely attributed to your exceptional sniper prowess.

"I can't believe you nailed that shot, Charm! You're an absolute virtuoso with that rifle," Gaz exclaimed, gesturing towards your weapon.

"Damn, that guy had his gun aimed right at you, and you called his bluff? How did you know he was out of bullets?" Soap inquired.

"I had been observing him closely before making my move. I had the advantage of surprise," you calmly replied.

Morale soared as a result, and the atmosphere was brimming with positivity.

However, the relationship between you and Price remained complex, as always.

"How about we all head out for drinks tonight, my treat?" you proposed to the group.

Without hesitation, they all agreed, and at around 11 pm, everyone convened at the bar. Well, everyone except for Price. Understandable.

Soap and Ghost talk to each other at the bar, Ghost still rocking his famous skull mask, clearly making those around him slightly uncomfortable. You observe the two, Soap possibly drinking a long island tea with a lemon on the tip of the cup, and Ghost likely drinking bourbon.

You get distracted just watching them, when you feel a tap on your shoulder, Gaz.

"Hey, you" he chuckles to you.

"Well, hello young man! I don't think I've seen you around here before" you say in an innocent voice and quite confused, cute face.

"I know everyone told you, but you kicked ass on the mission today" he smiles to you while changing the subject.

You bite back on your bottom lip. "I know, I know. I'm kind of the best" You dramatically respond.

He jokingly scoffs.

"Have you had anything to drink, yet?" you finally ask him.

He hums, "No, not yet".

"You seem like a.." you pause and dramatically look him up and down, "Strawberry mimosa kinda person".

He laughs, "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?".

You look up at him, whispering into his ear "A cute drink for a cute boy".

You pull back to see his reaction. He's looking at you with a huge smirk on his face. His eyes go behind you, and you notice his smile fade.

You look at him confused, "I..I need to go to the bathroom" he says, while not breaking his look from off of you.

Before you can ask him what the hell he is talking about, he turns on a dime and goes straight towards the bathroom.

You turn to see who he was looking at, and your heart drops.

It's Price.

He makes his way over to you, "Already moving on, hm?" he hums.

You furrow your eyebrows, "So?" you scoff.

He looks down at you, hungrily. Without saying a word, he grabs your forearm and drags you outside.

"Hey-" you begin to shout, before he swiftly puts his hand over your mouth. He puts you in the passenger seat of his military truck, and shuts the door.

You catch your breath, and attempt to open the door, locked, shit.

You turn, he's already gotten into the truck and put the keys in. "What the hell do you think you're doing??" you shockingly say.

His eyes don't lift off the road, "I'm taking you to my office for a punishment".

You look at him in utter shock, "What the FUCK are you talking about? You just told me no more than 24 hours ago tha-"

"Shh..running such a mouth for your Captain, hm?" he hums back to you, inquisitively.

In the dimly lit confines of the military truck, the tension between you and Captain Price was palpable. His gaze remained focused on the road ahead as he navigated the dark streets, seemingly unfazed by the gravity of the situation.

You couldn't believe what was happening. It was as if Price had thrown caution to the wind and decided to act on his desires, despite his own earlier words of restraint.

"Price, this is madness," you finally managed to say, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and confusion. "You can't just drag me away like this."

He glanced at you briefly, a hint of regret in his eyes. "I know it's reckless, but I can't keep denying what I feel. It's tearing me apart."

As the truck came to a stop in front of a nondescript building, Price unlocked the doors and motioned for you to step out. You hesitated for a moment, torn between the desire to resist and the overwhelming attraction you felt for the man before you.

With a heavy sigh, you exited the vehicle, and Price led you into the building, up a flight of stairs, and into his office. The room was sparsely decorated, with military memorabilia lining the walls and a large wooden desk dominating the center.

Price closed the door behind you, his expression a mixture of determination and vulnerability. "I need you to understand that I've never done anything like this before. But I can't fight this any longer."

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss that left no room for doubt. It was a kiss filled with longing, passion, and the weight of unspoken emotions.

Your resistance melted away as you responded to his kiss with equal fervor. The desk became your refuge as Price pressed you against it, his hands exploring every inch of your body with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

Price's lips left yours, trailing down your neck and sending waves of pleasure through you. "I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

You could only moan in response as he continued to tease and please you, each touch and kiss driving you to the brink of ecstasy. It was a forbidden passion, a love that defied all rules and regulations, and in that moment, you didn't care about the consequences.

"Fuck.. P-Price.." you stutter as he draws his lips towards the hem of your dress.

His lips pressing on your inner thighs and he brings his large hands draw your dress up, revealing your laced white panties.

"Hmm.. looking for trouble, princess?" he asks you, looking up to you. His lips leaving marks on your now exposed thighs. He draws his lips to the wet spot growing in your panties.

"Please..", you're not even sure what you're begging for, him, maybe?

"Please, what, princess?" he asks, humming onto your clothed bundle of nerves.

So many thoughts are running through your mind, yet your head stills feels so empty.

You continue looking down at him with your eyes slightly closed in pleasure.

He swiftly pulls your panties off of you, exposing your depilated sex.

"Hey, what are you doin-" before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you to the corner of his desk, covering your mouth.

"You're so much cuter when you're not talking back" he chimes, while slipping his fingers into your folds.

The lewd noises begin to fill the room, your moans reverberate onto his hand. Your back arches off the able slightly the more he continues. His fingers tease your bundle of nerves, and without a warning, moves from your nerves to your hole, quickly filling you with two large fingers.

You can't help but wiggle and squirm on his desk as he hums in compliance to it.

"So good..so fucking good for me.." he whispers, as if confirming it to himself.

You continue to moan into his veiny hand, as he presses further into you with his other hand.

"Fuck, I can't hold out much longer.."

Your eyes become teary and vision going cloudy.

He pulls his fingers out of you, making you whine into his hand. But you soon hear Price's belt clicking and look up just in time to see him throw his belt off the loop. He quickly pulls his pants down, and you catch yourself staring into his clothed erection.

"Needy aren't you?" he huffs, ironically.

You give him pleading eyes, and as if he has read your mind, he pulls off his boxers, and plays the tip onto your bundle of nerves.

He removes his hand from your mouth, allowing you to catch some air. "Fuck!" you moan out as his tip glides across your clit.

"So fuckin' hot, baby" he cries out.

You only moan in response as he now plays with your sopping hole. Without warning, he shoves it completely into you, causing your back to arch off of his desk yet again and screaming his name, "Fuck, Captain.. John..Please-Ah!" is all you can manage.

He slams further and further into you with no warning, and moves your legs onto his shoulders to get deeper into you.

"How's it feel, baby? Hmm? You like taking it, huh?" he asks to you.

He continues to press into you, his tip kissing your cervix, causing you to yell out in both pain and pleasure. "Mmfphh.." you try and suppress your moans with your hands, which he quickly stops by dragging your hands above your head.

His mouth gaping open, and groans, moans and grunts falling from him.

He pushes himself so far into you, quickening his already speedy pace causing you to squeeze around his length. You feel your legs begin to shake and writhe on his shoulders. Your hips swaying onto him, hoping for him to fill you even deeper.

"Shit, I'm so fucking close" he screams out your name.

You begin to see a splash of white as your orgasm fills you out. You tighten around Price's cock, and feel his hot seed spill into you.

He stays still for a moment, making sure you're completely filled to the brim before pulling out. Once he does pull out, its slow and calculated, making sure his seed has completely coated your walls.

A pop is heard when he finally pulls his member from your now abused hole.

He stares at his masterpiece for a minute, then looks back up to you.

"So good for me. Let's get you home". He helps you stand and places your panties back up, hearing the squelch of his seed. He pulls your dress down.

You can barely even stand he fucked you so hard.

"Are we still over?" you look at him, exhausted.

"Hmm..definitely not" he hums to you, giving you a kiss while holding you up and out to his car.

The rest of the night is a blur, but from what you can remember Price ran you a bath, set a cup of tea on your nightstand and helped you into bed, cuddling you into the night. In the morning he was gone, but an envelope was on your nightstand.

"See me tomorrow, princess. This is for Plan B" a £100 note falls out of the letter placed in the envelope.

You scoff, "Fucking Price".

[yamada-ryo]

Slightly late comiket c103 masterpost

(Long post)

Someone cosplayed Bocchi from the house visiting episode (with the sash and party glasses)

Staff cosplaying as Mori Calliope and Oozara Subaru

RX-78-2 cosplayer waved to the crowd entering the venue (almost everyone in that section waved back)

Bocchi and Ryo cosplayers in the Blue Archive section

This one cosplayer manning a stall who very nearly handed me back 11000 yen when I handed her 10000 yen for a 1000 yen item

A Kurisu Makise cosplayer who didn't have Dr Pepper on hand but did have some tea

Arknights Platinum cosplayer who was like 180cm tall (with like 3 inch heel boots)

Went to I211's booth. Saw him talking in English to the customer in front of me. Tried to ask for the new book by asking in English. He replied in Japanese. Thanked him in English again. He thanked me in Japanese.

Guilty Gear May cosplayer with like a really really big hat

Different staff cosplaying as Calliope Mori (again)

Seems obvious when said but its interesting to see that people quite often dress in something related to what they're selling (train stuff/conductor's uniform, military stuff/camo uniform, 男の娘 etc)

Singular Ruri Dragon doujin booth

Someone was cosplaying as the guy from The Mask of all things. Like the one with the green face and yellow suit

The guy who married Miku had a booth and a Miku doll was handing out stuff to people visiting

A pair of Ryo and Kita maid cosplayers selling Bocchi stuff together

Saw a whole ass VSK, Kalashnikov and two RPGs in the military section

Overheard in an american accent "I'm telling you man it's all just horses"

3 completely different Touhou cosplayers just browsing the military section (Junko Aya and Sakuya)

A pair of Uma Musume cosplayers manning a booth in the train section

A pair of Chisato and Takina cosplayers manning a booth in the train section

For some reason quite a lot of booths in the train section accepted electronic payment (everywhere else was cash only)

Train ASMR

Somehow got called 'onee san'

A Witch from Mercury book being sold with the cover designed like one of those HG kit boxes

Bocchi the Cock. Like, a lot of it

Quite a sizable number of Kikuri Hiroi booths

There were like 4-5 booths in a row all selling AI generated stuff and you could tell which ones used the same program

One singular Brisket (strive) cosplayer

A booth that was just a guy handing out political flyers

A booth that just had "stop censorship law" written all over

Some guy cosplaying in a full ghillie suit

Okuyasu cosplayer (without The Hand) (or Josuke)

A staff who had a hat with a batter operated spinning ferris wheel like thing on it

A staff who had a Blue Archive halo taped on his hat but wasn't otherwise cosplaying (it was pink idk whose halo it was)

A staff who didn't know what colour his hat was and called it "yellowish orange" (オレンジ黄色いぽい)

As always there were many 男の娘/女装/etc

[paulparkman]

Paul Parkman Men's Purple & Blue Ghillie Dress Shoes

Website: www.paulparkman.com

#paulparkman #mensshoes #patinashoes #bespokeshoes #luxuryshoes #menstyle #handmadeshoes #ghillie #ghillieshoes

[fizzyxcustard]

What Is Possible.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Anything is Possible chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC TV series)

Pairing: Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, happy ending, family reunion, slight angst

Summary: Sequel to the fic, "Anything Is Possible." You and Guy are now married and have a one year old daughter, named Ghillie. You all go travelling together to see your parents who you have not seen for 18 months, since your interrupted wedding to Lord Edmund.

Comments: If you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please let me know.

I would like to dedicate this fic to two close friends. Firstly, @piggledy-higgledy who is the biggest Guy of Gisborne fan I know, and suggested the name of the baby. Thank you for believing in me. Secondly, @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady I absolutely love our Guy banter and talking about him being jealous and burning houses down. I love you both. <3

“Ghillie,” you cooed. “Come on, darling.” 

The little girl giggled, her blue eyes focused on you. You reached out, encouraging her to come toward you. Then suddenly she began her unsteady stomps, her arms reaching up. But now her focus had shifted to just behind you. She wanted her father. 

Guy had walked in from out the back of the house, where he had been readying the carriage for all three of you to make the journey to finally see your parents. As soon as he saw his daughter’s chubby hands reaching for him, he couldn’t resist. Ghillie continued chuckling, stomping unsteadily towards Guy. 

You watched on in love as Guy scooped up the laughing one year old. He kissed her red cheek and then her almost-black hair. 

“The carriage is ready,” he said, holding Ghillie in one arm and then wound his other arm around your waist. 

Your mother and father had been in contact via letter now for around eighteen months, and today would be the first time that you all travelled as a family to see them. The town they were now living in was two day’s journey, but with a stopover at a small inn on the main road. 

The journey itself was quite uneventful for the most part. You sat with Ghillie on your lap, singing and talking to her, while Guy remained the steerer of the carriage. Every couple of hours and you would stop for a drink and to nurse Ghillie. The weather was bright, mild and dry, perfect for travelling. 

At the inn and Guy paid for a large suite for you both and Ghillie. There you all shared the large, four poster bed. 

“I wonder if this is the honeymoon suite,” Guy mused. “Not that I’d bring my bride here.”

You laughed. “Beggars can’t be choosers sometimes, Guy. Not everyone has the means to live in luxury.” 

Guy merely smirked and leaned over to you, kissing you. Ghillie was sat between you both, playing with her stuffed pony which Mary had made for her. Since your interrupted wedding to Lord Edmund, Mary the seamstress, had been a close friend. She had become almost a second mother to you, helping you in your questions towards motherhood. She was also Ghillie’s godmother. 

A short while later and you and Guy lay on your sides facing each other, with your sleeping daughter between you both. “I never thought this would be possible,” you said. “I seriously never thought I’d ever be happy like this.” 

Guy reached to you and laced his fingers through yours. He smiled and looked at your joined hands. “You’ve given me everything I ever wanted.” Then his steel blue eyes met your gaze. “I don’t deserve you or Ghillie, I know that…” 

“Guy, please…” 

“I don’t,” he continued. 

“Shh, come here, you stupid man,” you hissed. You kissed him hard, tugging at his thin tunic. 

“I do love it when you take charge,” Guy chuckled. “And when you scold me.” 

***

Finally you made it to your parents’ village. Guy took the carriage slowly through the main muddy track, where small houses were built on either side. There was a tavern, a blacksmiths and a few stalls in a field behind a chapel. 

Then you saw her from the small window of the carriage, your mother standing out the front of their house, waving to you. She was smiling broadly, something that she rarely did when she was in Nottingham. 

“Come on, Ghillie. I’ve got someone very special for you to meet,” you told your daughter. You picked her up and then stepped out of the open door of the carriage, which had been opened for you by Guy. In one arm you propped Ghille, and with your other hand, you held Guy’s. 

Your mother broke down into tears as she saw you, and then looked at her granddaughter. “C…can I hold her?” your mother asked. 

“Of course you can,” you said. 

You watched for a few seconds as your mother smiled at Ghillie, whispering ‘hello’ to her and then kissed her chubby fingers. “Her name is Ghislaine,” you said. “Ghislaine Sarah.” 

Your mother looked at you with wide eyes upon hearing Ghillie’s middle name be the same as her own. 

“Ghislaine was my mother’s name,” Guy said softly. “But we call her Ghillie for short.” 

“I can’t deny it but she looks just like you,” your mother chucked, looking up at Guy. 

You all went into your parents’ house and sat down in the main kitchen area, while your mother began preparing a kettle of tea. “Your father hopes to finish work up in the field a little earlier today. Are you planning on staying with us long?” 

“Umm, well, as long as you’ll have us,” you replied. “We’ve packed enough provisions for a week, and Guy is able to stand down from duty for a fortnight.” 

“We would love to have you permanently,” your mother laughed. “A week sounds perfect.” Ghillie was sat on your mother’s lap, having taken to her immediately, which was quite extraordinary as she normally didn’t like strangers. But your mother was the first person she had met without screaming. 

Your father later entered the house and embraced you tightly. It was the first thing he did. Then he apologised to you for all the heartbreak he had caused. “I was a coward. I know that. Edmund held a lot over me for years; he offered me money so that he could have you. That morning, I just knew what I had to do.” 

Your father hung his head in shame and then looked at Ghillie. “She’s beautiful,” he said softly. Then he looked at Guy. “Thank you for making my daughter happy, Gisborne.”

As dusk began to settle, your father took Guy down to the local tavern for a pint, while you remained at the house with your mother and Ghillie. Your mother was cleaning the pot from the stew she had made for dinner, while you dried the plates. Ghillie was sat on the floor, playing with her pony and a few toys that your mother had collected for your visit. The toys banged against the wooden floor, and with each bang, Ghillie giggled. 

“How are you and father doing?” you asked. 

“He knows I still hold resentment against him for what he did to you, but I pray often with the priest at the chapel. I want to let go of all the hate in my heart. It can be hard to live with him some days. All I can see is the coward that he was for so long.” 

“But he’s not that man now,” you countered. “Look what he did for me; that’s not the action of a coward. He saw what he was doing and he changed.” 

Your mother began to sob. 

You took her into your arms and held her, feeling her shake. “I think I hate myself more.” Her voice was muffled by your shoulder. 

“Mother, please,” you reasoned, pulling from the embrace. “I hold nothing against either of you for this. We know how hard things can be; father wanted to provide for the family. Edmund was a monster and he held sway over father with money. You can’t blame father for that. Money holds a lot of power, we all know that. I wish Guy would consider changing his work, but the money keeps us well provided for. You have to do what is right for your family. 

“Does he take care of you?” 

The instantaneous smile told your mother everything that she needed to know. “He dotes on us. Guy had quite a bad childhood and all he’s ever wanted is love in his life. I’ve never known a man with such an enormous heart. He seems like a walking contradiction in how cruel and callous he’s been known to be, yet with us, he would do anything we ask of him.” 

“As long as he cares for you both, that’s all that matters.” 

***

When your father and Guy arrived back from the tavern, the two of them were laughing. “It’s been a pleasure tonight, Gisborne,” your father said, and extended his hand. The two men shook hands, and it was here that you hoped the two of them would always have a good friendship. 

You retired to bed a while later, with Ghillie between you and Guy. She was already asleep, having been worn out from the day’s events. 

“Mother has said she will take Ghillie for a few hours tomorrow so that we can have time alone together,” you told Guy. You watched his face beam, and then his gaze drifted down to Ghillie. His fingers caressed her dark hair and he felt that all too familiar lump rise in his throat. It was the lump that reminded him of what was possible. 

“Are you alright?” you whispered. 

Guy’s gaze met yours, and it was now full of tears. 

“Do not say again that you feel undeserving,” you sighed. “Life does not deal in who deserves and who doesn’t. I gave my love to you freely, as you did me.” You reached out and cupped your husband’s cheek. “We both love you, Gisborne. We both love you for everything you are.” 

Guy couldn’t help but chuckle, and feel the tears fall down his cheeks. “I can’t even imagine what it would have been like if you had had Ghillie while married to Edmund. To see my child raised by another…”

“Guy, stop!” you exclaimed. “I didn’t marry Edmund. I married you. Ghillie is yours; she’s here with you every day. She carries your name, as do I, you stupid man.”

Guy smiled as you said those words again, playfully insulting him. 

“Give me that smile, Gisborne,” you said softly, and reached closer, kissing him. 

***

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[preyandhunter]

Flesh and Blood [The Masterlist]

Hey hi howdy.

here's a list of absolutely everyone ever that is going to be taking part in this story

[warning. looooong post ahead]

For reference:

Ghouls are ranked C - SS: C is the lowest, SS is borderline godlike.

Doves (not canon to tg) are ranked Tier's 1 - 4: 1 is the lowest, 4 is virtually unstoppable.

Disclaimer: we will not be using the hermits'/others' irl names. decided if it was funnier to make fake names for all of them based on usernames.

(in the actual story we will be using the names in quotation marks lol)

Buford "Bdubs" O'Hunred [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Machete Quinque - Wears a ghillie suit and thinks it looks cool

Bos "Beef" Vintage [Ghoul :: B Class - "The Butcher" Kokaku: Horns + Six legged Bull Kakuja - Dude wash your apron

Ben "Bigb" Biggie [Ghoul] :: B Class - "The Frog" Triple orange rinkaku tails - Teenage Mutant Ninja . . . froggie grown man!

Cub Goodfan [Ghoul] :: C Class - "The Magician" Ukaku vex wings - Of the two of them, really you'd think this one would be the crazy one

Cleo Zombie [Ghoul] :: A Class - "The Gorgon" Tiny wings + six snake tails - Her name could have led to some good brand opportunities

Dr. Maddox Sevensven "Doc" [Ghoul] :: A Class - "The Goat" Bone kokaku + Goatskull kakuja - The career change really made things complicated

Ethos "Etho" Lab [Dove] :: Tier 3 - Sniper quinque with high caliber Q bullets. - y'know what they call me? call me ladders. cuz i go up real high...

Fals "False" Symmetria [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Sword quinque, morphs into winged broadsword. - Oh her and Wels go waaaay back!

Fhwip "Fwip" Taylor [Dove] :: Tier 3 - Sickle quinque - Y'know what they say about younger siblings growing up to replace you? Yeah. That.

Gemini "Gem" Taylor [Dove] :: Tier 3 - Whipsword quinque. - Youngins these days kick butt way harder than they used to

Grian Spurman [Human] :: S Class* - Red wings quinque backpack - Some would say that's cannibalism O-o

Haech "Hbomb" Bomber [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Yknow back in my day

Hels Gnitte [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Spiderman pointing meme

Hypnos "Hypno" Tizzede [Human] :: n/a - Going once, going twice, sold to the man with no front teeth!

I Jevin Aquamarine Gaimen "Jevin" [Ghoul] :: A Class - Two bright blue bikaku tails - They say surfing is a sport in California. Don't know where the couches came from.

Impulse Essve [Human] :: n/a - Occupational hazard or not, he's getting his goddamn coffee

Iskall Eigh Fivva [Dove] :: Tier 1 - Non Newtonian bikaku blade quinque - (floppy)HAMMERTIME

Joel Beans Smallish [Human] :: n/a - Cast iron pans work wonders

Joseph "Joe" Hills [Human] :: n/a - Journalism just got way more dangerous

Kera Liss "Keralis" [Human*] :: n/a - Hmm, how'd you get there?

Lizzie D Shadowlady [Ghoul] :: C class - "Housecat" 3 toed talons kokaku - No officer, there's no one here, just this very cat like cat...

Martyn LilWood [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Standard sword quinque. Possibly with a rocket on the end. - Not quite taking the lone wolf schtick to heart

Mumbo K. Jumbo [Ghoul] :: B Class - "The Suit" Double kokaku claws - Mondays amiright

Pearl Escentmoon [Human] :: n/a - Worst. Field trip. Ever.

Pix Elrif [Ghoul] :: C class - "Automaton" Single tail bikaku - The cat distribution system but he is the cat

Ren Thedog [Ghoul] :: S class - "The Red Wolf" Single tail Rinkaku + wolf head kakuja - oh hey how you doing nice to meet- SQUIRREL???

Saus "Sausage" J Mythica [Human] :: n/a - The world's best chewy stress toy

Scar Goodfan [Ghoul] :: SS class -"The Vex" Ukaku vex wings + 2 bikaku tails + Perfect Kakuja - no chill having, no leg having, no craps given, no fear having ass

Scott Dangtha Longie Major [Dove] :: Tier 1 - Spear quinque - Doing his best ;w;

Skizz LeMann [Ghoul] :: C class - "Lucifer" 4 feathered rinkaku tails - One beer away from getting in the maid outfit

Tress "Stress" Monstre [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Warhammer quinque - Holds all of the tea. And yeah, that's a lot.

Tango Tekk [Ghoul] :: C class - "Helios" Single wing, combustible, ukaku - Is absolutely not compensating for anything

Tin Foilchef "TFC" [Dove] :: Tier 4 - Double edged scythe, polymorph, quinque - Judge, Justice and Executioner

Timothy "Jimmy" Solidarity [Ghoul] :: C class - "Canary" Deformed wing Ukaku - The vibe is strong with this one. That vibe was wet cat.

Wels K. Nite [Ghoul] :: B Class - "The Knight" Reptilian wing Ukaku - huh, well that's awkward

Xb Crafheld [Ghoul] :: A Class - "Guardian" Fused double tail bikaku - If he had a nickel every time he was friends with a suspicious man, he would have two nickels.

Xisuma "X" Vhoide [Dove] :: Tier 3 - Multiple quinques - Has one and a half eyeballs

Amusix "eX" Vhoide* [Dove] :: Tier 2 - Crossbow quinque - There's a crime here about to be committed...

Zed Aphlays [Ghoul] :: C class - "The Ram" Bikaku Sheep's foot - One good day away from committing arson

Zloy Exphee [Human] :: n/a - These journalists seriously need to chill.

[darkness-and-lavender]

Cycle 2- Run on the Banks

 Between the bush in the shadow of two towering oaks, an Imperial soldier clad in a ghillie bides his time. The soldier positions himself flat upon his stomach against the edge of the dark forest’s floor, his rifle readied and his focused eye staring down its scope. Through the scope he sees the wide banks of the great river Semroc where sand and grass shake hands. The river’s agile current plays a song of calmness, but the soldier is here not for that, nor for the great forest that surrounds the banks.

  The soldier’s shoulder bound radio crackles.

“Are you in position, Private?” Sounded his superior.

“Affirmative Sir,”    

“Our interceptors relayed that the target shall arrive at your location in the next half of the hour. Keep your focus clear, Private and may Aethra’s light be with you. Over and out.”

  The soldier clicked his radio off, his focus back to the river bank before him. The late morning’s foreign sun trickled through the trees that shrouded him and he could feel himself grow warmer under the suit. It would not deter him.     

 His breath quieted, his eye locked down his camouflaged mana rifle’s scope. A hunger now grew inside of him with his anticipation for his prey to emerge into his crosshair.

-

“Going out, tìoraidh ma!” boomed Suvi, a smile within her voice.

 She stepped out of her home and stretched her bare arms towards the late morning’s sunny sky, the chill breeze against her skin quite the refreshment.

 Suvi was in a good mood this day, well, as much as she could be due to the current circumstances. She had been texted with Sean; her partner in “alternative marketing” throughout the morning and he had a surprise for her.

Her gaze towards the skies interrupted, the sound of a paper crunched under her knee high, buckled goth boots took her attention. She snatched up the paper and frowned at what it read.

 It was an article from the Harrowish times; a news outlet that was once respected across the Isle, but now simply existed as a tool for spewing out Imperialist propaganda.

 Today’s edition differed not from the regularly scheduled propaganda. It featured storylines such as “evidence” that the Bronzewing Republic to the north; The Aethren Empire’s greatest rival, had actually planned for an invasion of Harrow.

 Suvi didn’t have to read it to know the story could not be more of a falsehood. 

“What a heap of pure, unfiltered Turducken shite!” She exclaimed with an eyeroll.

 From underneath the paper, her hand crackled with minute bolts of dark lightning that in seconds set the paper ablaze, its ashes quickly caught in the cool breeze.

 Her cell’s vibration in her sleeveless, black dress pocket drew her out of her disgust. With haste, she fished it out and flipped it open.

Sent 4 seconds ago

Sean: U comin’? lol

Suvi swiftly texted back, though her long black fingernails made it problematic.

Suvi: yea gonna be a feww good minutes, hhold on laddie

Sean: Kk, see ya by the bridge

 She shut her cell with a snap, returned it to her pocket and withdrew her walkman walklady as she preferred to call it.

 Now with her headphones in and totally legally obtained cassette on play, she curved left until she was greeted by the wrought iron fence and gate they led into her backyard.

-

 Deep green vines and their early season blooms of brilliant oranges, yellows and blues, constricted around the fence. White and black striped bumblebees, various sizes of butterflies and even a few black pygmy forest bats up too late in the day took full advantage of these flowers. Suvi greatly envied their carefree nature and ignorance to the world’s problems.

 The backyard of her home always brought Suvi to relaxation even if she refused to admit the mundane made her feel so. Though the cold season of Unheis had recently turned to Ekhtus, her mother had wasted not a second to replant her gardens that with the kiss of time will soon grow to awing flowers, shrubs of strawberries, raspberries, crowberries and elderberries alike and crops of potatoes, cabbage, beets, carrots and the native delectable neeproot that once grew undomesticated and abundantly before the war.

 To the left of the black stone path Suvi took, across from the gardens and on the border of the dark forest, the pocket of an orchid had budded again. By the height if Chaull, the assortment of trees shall bare their fruit of golden pears, wolf citrus and apples of brilliant greens. The few sugar maples that stood by the orchid Suvi and Kuunya had tapped after the last frost. The syrups collected would be used for an array of meals and desserts that Kuunya excelled at preparing.

 Kuunya, always too humble to admit they had great skill in cooking, but they had to not as the food spoke for itself. Suvi, their mother and anyone that had ever eaten their food knew well they were a damn good cook.

 Needless to say, the self- sufficiency of Suvi’s family garden was a privilege to have in these times. Her family’s noble status their saving grace. Many crops and the meals they provided were given without cost to the locals that had little to nothing thanks to the war and occupation’s tyrannical restrictions.

 The end of the garden path Suvi walked broke off towards a shrine to Her Darkness before the woods. A meter tall statue of Undrel carved of onyx many generations ago, stood at its center. 

 Her magnificent, broad raven wings upon her back spread in pride, the curved ram like horns on the sides of her forehead still sharp at the points and her flowing black braids reached down to her ankles. She was clad not, her bosom, curves and genitals exposed to show her full beauty, something the occupation despised as what she bared they referred to as “unlike a lady”. To say this, was to say Suvi was unlike a lady as well which bothered Suvi all the more.

 Around the statue’s base there were offerings left by Suvi, Kuunya, her mother and the Chief’s wife, Eubha. An arrangement of raven feathers and teeth from a wolf, both collected without harm in the forest. An unopened miniature bottle of Uisge Beatha; life water or whiskey in commontongue, Suvi had found in nearby rubble and placed it before her Goddess yester. A few dried pieces of crow garlic, tobacco and parsley also placed as offerings before Her Darkness.

 After a quick prayer at the shrine, Suvi ventured off into the wood.

-

 Suvi’s treks through the dark forest were of second nature to her, any Harrowish worth their name were required to hold great knowledge of the forest that coated their Isle home. Not just for cultural reasons, but for survival.

 The shrouded, natural roof of deep green dimmed the sun’s rays which set the forest in forever dusk. The limited light did not deter life of all kind from calling the forest home, nor did it impair Suvi’s vision. One thousand years of residence within the Coille Dorcha did give her people that advantage.

 Suvi’s heavy boots weren’t the best choice for forest navigation. Fashion over function was always what she favoured. Her steps were calculated to not stir a sound in the quiet wood. To alert and be charged by a Harrowish Elk with antlers each the length of a meter was not an experience she’d ever fancy again.

 Her grasp upon the trees equally as careful, to grab what appeared to be a vine could end in a fatal mistake if it turned out to be a well camouflaged tree cobra. The Coille Dorcha was as great a source of life and protection as it was a source of death and pain.

 Suvi saw the light grow before her when the forest thinned to meet the bank of the River Semroc. Her trek followed the wide river upstream. A few grey herons that fished for their dinners took flight at Suvi’s presence. Across the river an adolescent fox drank with caution, the sun’s rays highlighted the blackness of its coat and silver tips upon its ears and end of its bushy tail. The fox distracted Suvi well. She had always wished to have a fox like it but her mother taught her wild animals are meant for the wild, but that deterred her wishes not. Her best friend Clyde had a pet wolf once! It really wasn’t fair! Suvi had her own Badb Sith however which to her, was like a pet.

 At last, her comrade Sean came into view, casually he leaned against the wall of an historic stone bridge that arched the river, one of the few left intact.

 Sean’s earthy green eyes caught her approach and a smug smile manifested upon his face.

 He leaned off the bridge to greet her.

 “It’s about time yer arse showed up”

 Suvi couldn’t help but grin herself, she pocketed her walklady.

 “’ad to take the forest route, roads leave us too vulnerable.”

 He gave a quick nod in response.

 Sean stood a good quarter meter taller than Suvi despite being four years younger at sixteen. He wore a well-weathered, leather jacket unzipped and a just as beat up blue shirt below. The bottoms of his faded leather pants and black boots heavy with water, if it already wasn’t obvious enough from his wooden rowboat tied to the bridge that he arrived by river.

 “The current a bitch to row through today?” Suvi now close enough to catch the scent of seawater in his dirty blonde hair and once pale face.

 “Aye, sailed inland from the coast I did! Real bitch was getting the cargo ‘ere without capsizin’.” He pointed his thumb back towards the boat where a green tarp lay over a few crates and barrels.

 Sean continued,

 “Anywhoo, I wanted ta meet with ya because by the Dark Goddess do me and the crew got a big fuckin gift comin’ for yas!”

 “Oi?” The idea of what it could be caused Suvi’s grin to widen still. Some of his passed surprises he and his Uziamian pirate crewmates happened upon included an ancient Elvish dagger found on the neighbouring island of Aivol and a black necklace with an onyx triskelion; the symbol of Her Darkness, Sean claimed to have taken off a once pillaging, Imperial soldier’s body. Either way however, it made her mother overjoyed when Suvi handed it to her on her previous birthday.                  

“Ya see, we may have gotten frisky and plundered a little Imperial transport ship and to our grand surprise it contained enough guns, blades, mana and explosions for a small army. And I do think ya know what we both wanna do with our spoils, don’t ya?”

 Suvi’s excitement warmed her heart to the point of jitters. Getting arms back on Harrow after the Empire forcefully disbanded the Isle’s forces and collected its arms would be the embers that the inevitable uprising needed to grow aflame.

 A well suited pride filled Sean’s expression.

 “Ya see Suvi, rumour has it that on mainland Eun, the Imperial population isn’t too supportive of ta occupation. It, among other issues that plague ta Aethren Empire has made those on both sides believe ta Empire could be at its breakin’ point. As fer us, I believe we can be tat final push it needs.”

 Sean clasped his hands together and turned back to his boat.

 “Now, I got ya a few ‘tings ta hold ya over in ta meanwhile!”

 Suvi approached him as he dug through his smuggled goods, a joyful hum escaped him. The sound would be abruptly cut off, his head snapped violently right.  

 “So watcha got for me, Sean- S-Sean!?”

 Suvi’s eyes widened in terrific horror, her body refused further movement. Blood trickled down Sean’s head from below his temples, his dirty blonde locks fell to scarlet. Sean’s body ragdolled against his boat before it rolled into the river, the current held it against the bridge and the water faded to red.

 The delayed, muffled sound of “Thoup” sent Suvi’s mind to its deepest recesses, back to recent years when warjets obstructed the day’s sun and fires from their payloads the night’s moon. Death and war filled her vision, it infested her very core.

 Bodies of those she knew by name, by voice and by song surrounded her, they still radiated their warmth before even flies set upon them. To witness those she loved murdered had become commonplace but desensitized to it, she shall never be.  

 Hands upon hers pulled them behind her back and reality formed back around her. Her eyes wetted with tears.

 “Y-You fucking Imperial bastards!” she sobbed in rage, though she couldn’t liberate her hands from the metal chain she felt around them.

 “Watch your tongue, thief!” spewed the soldier who tied her hands. He roughly spun her to face him.

 Between her and the path of the river bank, three terraves stood. Terraves were the mount of choice of the occupation especially for forest based scouts. Flightless, predatory birds that stood taller than six feet, ran like a horse and with golden beaks and talons sharp as any greatsword. Saddled upon two of the night blue and grey birds were soldiers, both in forest camo, rifles strapped to their backsides and in dark blue helmets with wings on either side.

“Insurrection tip number one! Never use trackable devices for communication you idiot!” snarked one mounted soldier. 

 “But that’s one less smuggler in His Majesty’s waters!” Chuckled the other soldier on birdback.

 Suvi readied a tirade of insults but the soldier that chained her drew his words first.

 “That chain is magic proof and don’t be trying to run off either unless you wish to join your little friend. We know who you are and your status matters not.”

  With that, he remounted. Suvi was forced to follow her captors into the dark forest.

-

 Suvi’s body battled between fatigue from the pace she was forced to keep up with, sickness from the image of Sean’s murder fresh in her mind and the bloodthirsty rage that had only grown ever severe. Sweat clung her clothes to her figure and hair before her eyes. The cries of corvids and of the soldiers’ meaningless bickering filled her ears.

 “These dark vision goggles suck!”

 “You’re telling me, dude! I bet those soldiers stationed in Datheo are getting all the good shit like always!” Complained two of the soldiers, the third gestured them to shut it. He would turn his gaze back to Suvi. 

 “Keep up, boy!”

 Suvi chose to ignore the insult.

 It was obvious to her that from the length of the journey, that the soldiers were unaccustomed to the forest’s layout and she hadn’t the slightest of intention to guide them back to Dal-Innis.

 Her attention shifted, the soldiers in front came to a halt.

 “What in the Light Goddess is that?” One soldier questioned, fear laced his voice.

 The soldier to his right pounded on his goggles in hopes to process what his comrade spoke of.

 Suvi stood tall and raised her neck to peer between the soldiers. A rumour of a smile returned to her face.

 Between two great oaks, a darkness that absorbed what little light in the forest’s shroud had manifested. They took form of a silhouette whose only notable feature was the raven skull mask they wore.

Petrified in fear were the soldiers, their terrave mounts however were not. One soldier’s terrave bucked him off to the forest floor where he found himself immediately under the powerful legs of another terrave whose rider yelped and clung for dear life upon it. The terrave’s bladed talons left the trampled soldier a mangled, disembowelled mess. The third terrave’s rider lost his balance and knocked off his mount when his head smashed into the broad trunk of a great oak. His helmet failed its only job and he too was left in a lifeless, bloodied twist under the oak. His terrave followed the other two, fearful bellows escaped its beak.

The terraves disappeared into the dark. Silence again fell upon the forest.

The shrouded pitch darkness around Kuunya subsided. They removed their mask, with haste freed their sister from her bindings.

Suvi flung her arms around her older, yet shorter sibling in tight embrace. Streams of tears returned to her eyes.

Caught off guard by the hug, Kuunya simply patted her back in silence. Their expression remained monotone.

“They fucking killed him! Sean’s dead. He was just a kid!”

She felt Kuunya grow tense.

“I sent Oighrig for you, I… just wish I had done so earlier. For that I am sorry” It was Kuunya’s attempt to comfort her.

Suvi sniffled. “It wasn’t yer fault.”

Kuunya’s amethyst eyes met her own.

“However, why did you not at the least inform Limbo of your meeting?”

She had completely forgotten about her Badb Sith companion. Greater guilt formed within her.

Kuunya took her hand in their own.

“You need not speak now if you are unable, Sister. For now, we must return home. Mother and Eubha shall be sure to see the occupation punished for this. If not them, than I.”

Hand in hand, the siblings ventured forth through the dark wood towards their home.

End Cycle 2