#urban sniper

[stealth-skills]

DDM of the RUSOF in Syria, 2022.

[gijoe-forever]

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

Mad Max: Furiosa

[angellupix-comms-open]

Day 27: A job well done.

Comms OPEN!

[malindamadaras1996blog]

[artificialintelligenceartistrybl]

[groovybouquetgoatee]

[schnuron]

Have a list of games that they have no live service things.

[stealth-skills]

Female sniper pair of the Syrian Arab Army with a Russian MTS-116M rifle.

[dizautonomia]

Actually I found him on Discord

Posting this to remind my future self to post my octoling oc

[milkywayes]

okay so happy pride month or whatever, no one asked but here’s my garrus vakarian dating history headcanon:

he has had 5 casual hookups pre-normandy, which isn’t a big number compared to his peers, and you’d think it’s because he’s an obsessive little freak who’s bad at being a turian, which evens out his good looks and swagger (and for some it does - cue some very frustrated crushes being forcibly stamped out because ‘really? that guy? he yelled at our superior last week in full view of the entire canteen’) but really he just didn’t notice half the advances made at him and the other half he turned down because he was busy thinking about important stuff (like gun mods, or cases, or math) and after careful consideration and weighing the pros and cons decided his time was better spent elsewhere. two of the 5 were with men, the other three with women, all turians. no repeats. he has had zero relationships pre-shepard if you don’t count the homoerotically-charged friendship he had as a teenager, one year before and one year into boot camp, before their very different abilities got them postings on opposing ends of the galaxy (read: elite sniper units on stealth patrol ships vs guy that assists the guy that fixes the lights in a backwater colony). he thinks no one knew about this, but his whole family did know and just tactfully didn’t bring it up. during the archangel years he has 1 hookup mostly because everyone tells him he’s so high-strung and needs to get laid more than he needs oxygen, but he bows out early on because his depression isn’t really conductive to the proceedings (read: she came but he didn’t.) this somehow ends up adding to the archangel urban myth, a true hero of the people asking for nothing in return, wink nudge, which makes him the butt of his team’s jokes quite literally until they all die bloody. he has never been in love until shepard, is initially unable to even categorize the feeling, and unfortunately for him, dealing with uncertainties and gray stuff and undefined parameters are about the only thing he’s actually bad at (besides the whole model turian stuff, if you count that as a skill). so basically his skill tree gets inverted as soon as he catches feelings. previous hookups would have described him as a gallantly attentive but emotionally unavailable, doesn’t save your omni-tool address but remembers your name kind of guy, which he mentions once to shepard. doing so is a faux-pas, though she doesn’t point this out and instead laughs uproariously because just that day he dented his newly-polished armor in his attempt to hold the elevator for her

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[artbyblastweave]

So one off-hand death that sticks with me in Worm, right, is Taylor's offhand mention that the original version of Breed was killed when someone shot the building he was in with an incendiary missile. Not even clear if they were trying to kill him specifically or if they were just lucky, but his bug minions stopped showing up after the strike so it's presumed to have gotten him.

Iconoclastic superhero fiction has a specific trope where capes have bridges dropped on them- anticlimactic, mundane, silly deaths, meant to highlight that for all their pomp and circumstance, they're just as killable as anyone else. Dollar Bill getting his cape caught in the revolving door in Watchmen, The "No Capes" montage in The Incredibles, almost every single killing in The Boys, or hell, Vikare getting brained in a sports riot in this very book. And on my first readthrough I sort of parsed Breeds death as "one of those," oh, you know, for all his horror-movie xenomorph monstrousness, all it took to kill him was a direct missile strike on the building he was in. Then I turned that last sentence over in my head a couple of times and noticed that by any reasonable standard having an airstrike called in on you is not an anticlimactic way to die. Like implicitly that missile strike is probably happening after several prolonged hours of urban combat against the Nine, mounting civilian casualties, etc. etc. Breed was contributing to the escalation of a situation where eventually the government just said "fuck it" and started bombing shit. And this is a genre where doing that typically doesn't work against someone like Breed, so it feels incongruous that for once it did. But it's also not nearly in the same ballpark as just randomly getting taken out by a sniper or something. It's part of the book striking a great balance between a respect for the power of superheroes and supervillains and an acknowledgement of the fact that they die just like everyone else.

(It's also a great subversion of that whole "never found the body" thing- like, Breed's body wasn't identifiable amongst the victims of the strike because of how badly burned everyone was, but he's also the kind of guy where you can infer he must be dead because the flow of Breed-shaped murders is cut off and that obviously wouldn't happen if he was in any shape to continue- there's no laying low for a comeback episode two seasons or 100 issues later. Until he's cloned back to life. But that's not precisely the same thing)

[writingfromasgard]

In-Game Bio: König

This is more informative than an actual post.

König Masterlist

König [age unknown] suffers from severe social anxiety. Unfortunately for him, it's hard to go unnoticed when you're the size of a mountain. Bullied as a child, König found acceptance only when fighting - an activity at which he excelled. After volunteering for the military at 17, König was selected to an elite commando unit. While he'd hoped to join as a recon sniper, his physical size made him a poor candidate. Instead, he was assigned as an insertion specialist, serving as a human-battering ram to charge through doors in the most contested environments. An expert in urban-warfare, counter-terrorism, and hostage rescue, König once singlehandedly took down an AQ human-trafficking cell when he breached the building and, taking point for his team, proceeded to eliminate all twelve of the combatants inside. While the sniper hood concealing his face makes him a terrifying figure, it's rumored what's under that hood is even scarier.

[ledder4]

keegan p.russ after a mission fun

Sergeant Keegan P. Russ woke to the metallic clang of boots on the cold, hard ground. He had become accustomed to the harsh pattern of a military camp, but today the sounds seemed sharper, more piercing. He sat up, his eyes immediately drawn to the frigid dawn light that crept through the mesh window of the tent. He knew the drill, the same as every day before it. But today felt different.

Keegan had always been the quiet one, the man who preferred the solitude of his thoughts and the company of his sniper rifle. He had left the bustling city life behind for the stark, unforgiving world of the U.S. Marine Corps, trading skyscrapers for sand dunes and urban sprawl for camouflage netting. His past was a blur of faces and places, a montage of moments that had led him here. To the Ghosts.

He stretched, his muscles aching from the constant state of readiness. His tent was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he could find a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. The canvas walls whispered secrets of the night's operations, the air thick with the scent of gun oil and sweat. Keegan reached for his glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose, the world coming into focus.

Outside, the camp buzzed with activity. Soldiers hustled to their positions, the air charged with anticipation. Keegan knew the routine; he had lived it a hundred times. But today, as he laced up his boots and checked his rifle, there was an unmistakable tension in the air. A mission was coming, and it wasn't just any mission. This one had the stench of urgency, the kind that could change everything. He felt it in his bones, a deep, unsettling rumble that echoed through the very earth beneath them.

Keegan stepped out into the early morning light, his eyes adjusting to the stark contrast of shadows and light. The camp was a maze of tents and equipment, a temporary bastion of order in the ever-shifting sands. He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs, and began his solitary walk to the briefing room. The quietude of the pre-dawn hours was shattered by the distant rumble of an engine, growing louder, closer.

A figure emerged from the dust cloud, a lone figure on a dirt bike, skidding to a halt outside the tent flaps. The rider, a young woman with a curtain of blonde hair and piercings glinting in the light, flipped up her goggles to reveal a set of piercing blue eyes. Keegan felt something stir within him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. She looked at him with a mix of determination and exhaustion, a look that spoke of battles won and battles yet to come.

The woman, who he knew as y/n, had been with the Ghosts for only a few weeks. Her past was a mystery, wrapped in whispers and rumors that danced around the campfire like ghosts in the night. All he knew was that she was skilled, maybe too skilled for her age. Her arrival had been met with a mix of skepticism and admiration, and she had quickly proven herself to be an asset to the team.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to slow. Keegan felt a connection, something he hadn't anticipated, something that could either be their greatest strength or their downfall. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You're early," he said, his voice gruff.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied, her voice carrying the hint of a smile. "Figured I might as well get a head start."

He nodded, understanding the unspoken language of those who lived on the edge of darkness. They had both seen too much, felt too much, to be bound by the constraints of normalcy.

Together, they walked towards the briefing room, the weight of the coming mission heavy on their shoulders. But as they approached, the air was charged with something else, something that neither of them could put into words. The spark of potential, the promise of something more than just survival. As they stepped into the dimly lit room, Keegan couldn't shake the feeling that this mission would be unlike any other, that it would change their lives forever.

The briefing was tense, the room filled with the whispers of maps and strategies. The mission: infiltrate a heavily guarded enemy compound and extract a high-value target. The intel was sketchy, the timeline tight. Keegan listened intently, his eyes never leaving y/n as she studied the maps laid out before them. Her focus was unnerving, her resolve unshakeable. He felt a pang of something unfamiliar, a protectiveness that went beyond the typical camaraderie of the battlefield.

As the briefing concluded, the team began to gear up, the air thick with the sound of Velcro and the clinking of ammo. Keegan found himself by y/n's side, double-checking her equipment, his hands lingering a moment too long on the strap of her rifle. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering, and for a brief second, he thought he saw something in her eyes, something that mirrored the tumultuous emotions within him. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the steely determination that had become her trademark.

The team moved out, the sun now a fiery disk in the sky, casting long shadows across the desert landscape. They moved in silent unity, each step bringing them closer to the looming fortress that awaited them. Keegan and y/n stuck to the high ground, using the natural terrain to their advantage. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses, but it was the awareness of her presence that truly focused him.

As they reached the outskirts of the compound, Keegan set up his sniper nest, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. He could feel y/n's gaze on him, her trust unspoken but palpable. He took a deep breath and settled into position, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment of truth was upon them, and as he took aim, he knew that this mission would not only define their careers but also the course of their lives. The crosshairs danced over the target, and with a calmness that belied the chaos in his heart, he pulled the trigger. The world held its breath, and in that split second, everything changed.

The crack of the rifle shot echoed through the desert, a sonic boom that seemed to ripple through the very fabric of reality. The enemy patrols snapped to attention, their movements erratic as they searched for the source of the disturbance. Keegan watched through his scope as the target dropped, a crimson blossom spreading across his chest. The shot had been perfect, a testament to the hours of training and the innate skill that made him one of the best. But it was y/n's reaction that truly captured his attention. She had moved without a sound, her eyes gleaming with a predatory excitement that sent a shiver down his spine.

They waited, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them. The seconds ticked by, each one a heartbeat that seemed to throb in his ears. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the tension coiling in his gut like a spring ready to snap. And then, it was time. They leaped into action, moving with a synchronicity that was almost unnatural. They were two shadows, slipping through the dusty streets, unseen, unheard. The heat was a living thing, wrapping around them like a lover's embrace, making their clothes stick to their skin.

Their hands brushed together as they climbed over a wall, and a jolt of electricity shot through him, leaving him momentarily stunned. He glanced at her, her eyes alight with the same current that surged through him. It was a look that spoke of more than just the mission, a look that hinted at a shared burden and a yearning that neither of them could articulate. They moved closer, their breaths mingling in the stifling air, and for a moment, Keegan forgot about the world outside their little bubble of danger and desire. The line between comrades and something more had blurred, leaving him teetering on the edge of a precipice he hadn't even known was there.

The compound grew closer, the stakes higher with every step. Keegan could feel the heat from y/n's body, her curves brushing against him as they weaved through the shadows. His thoughts grew hazy, the adrenaline now mixing with a heady cocktail of lust and anticipation. He knew it was wrong, that the battlefield was no place for such distractions, but he couldn't help it. Her presence was a siren's call, drawing him in, making him want to ignore the danger and lose himself in her.

As they approached the heart of the compound, the air grew thick with the scent of sweat and fear. They shared a look, a silent promise that they would make it out alive, together. The tension between them was palpable, a pulsing energy that seemed to charge the very air around them. They communicated in whispers and gestures, each movement a silent dance that spoke of a connection deeper than friendship. It was as if the very fabric of the universe had conspired to throw them together, to forge a bond that could not be broken.

Their mission was successful, the high-value target secured, but it was the aftermath that truly tested them. Back at the base, the rush of victory and the relief of survival collided with the undeniable attraction that had been simmering just beneath the surface. They found themselves in an empty corner of the mess hall, the din of the returning soldiers fading into the background as they faced each other, the weight of their shared secret heavy on their shoulders. And then, without a word, they kissed, a kiss that was desperate and fierce and filled with all the passion that had been building for weeks. It was a kiss that spoke of life and love in the face of war, a kiss that was both a declaration and a question. What now?

Keegan's hands found their way to y/n's hips, pulling her closer, feeling the softness of her curves against his chest. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in, as if trying to anchor herself in the storm of emotions that raged within her. The world outside the confines of their embrace ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of her, the taste of her, the sound of her breath mingling with his own. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated need, a moment where the rules of engagement didn't apply.

They stumbled out of the mess hall, the cool night air hitting them like a slap in the face, jolting them back to reality. The moon cast a silver glow over the camp, illuminating the path to Keegan's tent. The desert night was alive with the whispers of the wind and the distant howls of coyotes, but it was the sound of their breathing that filled their ears as they stumbled inside, tearing at each other's clothes with an urgency that bordered on violence.

The canvas walls of the tent seemed to close in around them, creating a cocoon of privacy in the midst of the chaos. Keegan's calloused hands traced the softness of her skin, the cold metal of his dog tags a stark contrast to the heat of her body. Y/n's glasses fell to the floor, forgotten in the frenzy, as she pulled him closer, her eyes never leaving his. The air grew thick with the scent of them, a heady mix of sweat and desire that seemed to fuel their passion. They fell onto the narrow camp bed, the springs protesting beneath their weight, and the world outside was nothing but a distant memory. In that moment, there was only the two of them, entwined in a dance as old as time, a dance that was both a declaration of war against their own restraints and a sweet surrender to the fire that burned between them.

Keegan's lips traveled down her neck, his teeth grazing the tender skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Her breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her lips as his hands found the hem of her shirt. He pulled it over her head, revealing the soft mounds of her breasts, the nipples already pebbled with desire. He took one in his mouth, his tongue teasing the sensitive peak, feeling her shiver beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, urging him on, a silent plea that he was more than happy to answer. He kissed her again, deeper, harder, their tongues tangling in a battle for dominance that neither could win, nor wanted to. The kiss grew more frantic, their movements more urgent, as the need to claim each other overwhelmed them.

Their clothes fell away, a tapestry of fabric and gear that lay discarded on the floor, a testament to the urgency of their need. Y/n's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, her hips rolling in a silent invitation that Keegan could not resist. He slid into her, feeling the warmth and wetness that enveloped him, a sensation so intense it was almost painful. They moved together, a symphony of gasps and groans, each thrust a declaration of a need that went beyond the physical. Their bodies were a battleground of passion, a war zone where every touch was a victory, every kiss a surrender.

Their movements grew more frenzied, the rhythm building to a crescendo that seemed to shake the very foundation of the tent. Keegan could feel the tension coiling within him, tightening like a spring ready to snap. Y/n's nails dug into his skin, her breathing ragged as she met him thrust for thrust, her eyes never leaving his. The world outside, the missions, the danger, all of it faded away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a battle of love and lust that was as intense and all-consuming as any they had ever fought. And as they reached the peak together, their bodies shuddering in the throes of release, Keegan knew that he had found something more than just a fellow soldier in her arms. He had found a piece of himself that he didn't even know was missing.

They lay there, panting, their bodies slick with sweat and entwined like two vines that had grown together over time. The air was thick with the scent of sex and gunpowder, a potent reminder of the world they had left behind. Y/n's hair was a wild mess around her face, and her glasses lay on the floor, a symbol of the vulnerability she had allowed him to see. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his touch gentle, almost reverent. Her eyes searched his, a question in their depths that he didn't have an answer for. But the connection was there, undeniable and unyielding.

Keegan kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour as if he was committing her to memory. He felt her respond, her breath catching as his thumb brushed over her sensitive nipple, her hips arching to meet his touch. The hunger was still there, a low-burning flame that had been stoked but not extinguished.

He slid down her body, his mouth tracing a path along her stomach, pausing to kiss the piercing in her navel. She quivered beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair, urging him on. He reached the apex of her thighs, the soft folds of her sex glistening in the moonlight. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty of her, the way she lay open and exposed for him. Then, with a growl of need, he dipped his head, his tongue finding her clit, flicking and teasing until she was panting, her legs trembling.

Y/n's hands clenched the fabric of the camp bed, her body arching as he feasted on her. The noises she made were intoxicating, a symphony of pleasure that sent shockwaves through him. He felt himself harden again, his need for her insatiable. He slipped a finger inside her, feeling her tighten around him, her body begging for more. He added a second, pumping them in and out as he continued to suck and lick, driving her closer to the edge. Her thighs clamped around his head, her hips bucking as she neared climax.

The tent was a cocoon of passion, the sounds of their lovemaking a stark contrast to the quiet camp outside. The world had ceased to exist, and all that remained was the frantic dance of their bodies, the slick slide of skin on skin, the mingling of their breaths and the desperate gasps that filled the air. Keegan felt himself losing control, the desire to claim her completely overwhelming him. He slid back up her body, his erection nudging against her wetness, and with a growl, he thrust into her again, feeling her tighten around him as she came, her muscles clenching and releasing in waves of pleasure.

They rode the wave together, their movements erratic and unbridled, each one bringing them closer to the precipice. Keegan could feel the tension building in his own body, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. He drove into her, his hips moving with a rhythm that was as old as time, their bodies moving in perfect harmony despite the chaos that surrounded them. Y/n's nails dug into his back, leaving trails of fire that only served to fuel his need for her. He could feel her getting closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling beneath him.

And then, it was over. They reached the peak together, their bodies shuddering in unison as the wave crashed over them, leaving them both gasping for air. Keegan collapsed onto her, his weight a comforting warmth in the chilly desert night. They lay there, their hearts beating as one, their breaths mingling in the quiet darkness. It was a moment of perfect peace, a brief respite from the storm that was their lives. made by ledder4

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 5 - (Captain Price Fic) Background Check

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)   Chapter 2 Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10  Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention. @darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal(To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments)

Warning: Mention of abuse

A quick A/N:

Before jumping to the conclusion that Y/N’s victory was unrealistic or labeling her a "Mary Sue," it’s important to note that her win is grounded in practical, researched tactics. Y/N is an SCO19 sniper with urban warfare expertise—an environment where methodical planning and familiarity with tight, complex spaces trump brute force or traditional military tactics. Her role emphasizes precision, adaptability, and outthinking her opponents, which made her success plausible in this exercise.

On the other hand, Captain Price is a seasoned veteran with broad expertise, but his experience as a generalist operator wasn’t perfectly suited to the specialized demands of urban combat in this scenario. He underestimated how critical environmental mastery and sniper strategy were to the outcome, which reflects real-life situations where even the most skilled operators can be outmaneuvered in domains outside their specialty.

P.S.: I looked into this a lot (and spent time watching actual combat exercises) so I could make it as realistic as possible. 😊

Background Check

The faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Price sat at his desk, staring at the screen of his computer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The glow from the monitor cast a pale light on his furrowed brow as he replayed the events of the exercise in his head. He had lost, and not just in the way a typical soldier loses a battle. No, this loss gnawed at him in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t just about tactics. It was about the person on the other side—Y/N.

He hadn’t seen it coming. The way she maneuvered her team, the way she used the urban environment like it was a living, breathing thing. Price, a seasoned veteran with more combat experience than most men could dream of, had been outwitted by a sniper whose reputation, he now realized, was far more than just a title. She was a specialist in a way that went beyond his initial expectations.

Underestimated, huh? He thought with a grimace, his gaze falling to the glass in front of him. He’d poured himself a drink earlier, though it felt more like a reflection of his frustration than anything else. He downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn of it doing little to ease the tension in his chest.

His mind wandered to the way Y/N had handled herself—stoic, calculated, always thinking three steps ahead. She had been quiet during the entire exercise, a stark contrast to the boisterous, competitive atmosphere around her. That quiet precision, though… that was what set her apart. A trained sniper who knew how to stay hidden, blend into her environment, and take her shots at the perfect moment. She was more than just a "tortoise," she was a master at urban combat, a niche so many seasoned veterans struggled to adapt to.

But what irked him even more than losing was the mystery around her. No one in the unit seemed to know much about her personal background. On the surface, Y/N was just like any other operator—quiet, focused, and deadly in her own right. But it was the little things that made her stand out. She was incredibly dedicated to her team, always putting others first, making sure everyone was covered and watching each other’s backs. In a way, she was more dependable than anyone he’d ever worked with.

Her work ethic was impeccable—Y/N had a way of getting the job done without fuss or fanfare. She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, yet she constantly exceeded expectations, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her teammates respected her for that, and though she wasn’t one for idle conversation or personal revelations, they could always count on her to show up when it mattered.

Still, despite the respect she commanded, there was something distant about her. She kept to herself, didn’t share much about her past, and preferred to stay out of the spotlight. She had no need for recognition, no desire to be celebrated. Her actions spoke louder than any words ever could, and that was the way she liked it.

But for someone like Price, who was used to reading people, that lack of transparency only made her more intriguing. He’d been around long enough to know when there was more to someone than met the eye. And Y/N? She was a puzzle—one he was determined to solve.

----------

Subject: Background Inquiry - Y/N (SCO19)

To: [Recipient Name] CC: [Relevant Personnel]

Body:

I need you to dig into the file for Inspector Y/N, codename "Tortoise." I know the clearance restrictions on her record—believe me, I'm well aware—but I have my ways of bypassing that. The thing is, she’s been in this game a lot longer than anyone's let on. I’ve seen her in action, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve underestimated her. Urban warfare is her domain, and from what I’ve seen, she’s more than just a sniper. She’s tactical, calculated... and frankly, she’s left me rethinking everything I thought I knew about this line of work.

I need everything—her previous deployments, training, any contracts or associations with PMC units, and anything that might explain what makes her tick. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye, and I don’t intend to keep looking the other way. She’s got a certain... presence, and it’s time I understood what drives her.

Be discreet about this—no issues with clearance or security. You know the drill.

Regards, Price

----------

As soon as Price hit send, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him more than the usual operational headaches. He had a habit of never letting anything—especially people—slip under his radar, but this was different. Y/N was different. It wasn’t just her tactical expertise that had caught his attention; it was something intangible, the way she operated with quiet precision, and how her mind seemed to anticipate every move before it happened.

He shook his head, trying to focus. But that damn patch she wore—the snapping turtle patch—kept coming back to his thoughts. The way her team rallied behind her, despite her quiet demeanor, spoke volumes. They clearly respected her, even if she didn’t show it. And then there were the glimmers of a deeper edge beneath her calm exterior—a sniper who didn’t just take the shot, but took the time to understand her environment and her enemy. " That’s something I can respect."

But then there was the matter of what had happened during the training exercise. He thought he was winning—had been winning, until it all came crumbling down with one last sweep. Her team had used the environment to their advantage—exactly how she’d been trained. And she? She’d been silent, invisible in the chaos, only to hit him square in the head when he’d least expected it.

He poured himself a glass of whisky, staring at the amber liquid. "No one had ever gotten the drop on me like that," he thought, taking a slow sip. He’d been fighting in these kinds of environments for years, but here she was, operating with a kind of patience and intuition he couldn’t shake. There was something compelling about that, something that made him want to know more. "Maybe I need to rethink my own game. "

As the glass clinked gently back on the desk, Price exhaled slowly. He’d sent the email—he’d find out what he could about her background. The more he knew, the better.

The sharp buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He picked it up quickly, eyes scanning the message.

[Recipient Name]: I’ll look into it, sir. I’ll be discreet. Should have something for you within the next 24 hours or less. Don’t worry about the clearance, I’ll handle it.

Price stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He considered typing something back, but decided against it. No need to overcomplicate things just yet.

---------- As Captain Price sits back, nursing a glass of whisky in his office, the chime of a new email cuts through the quiet of the night. He straightens, his gaze narrowing as he clicks open the message.

----------

Subject: Preliminary Information – Y/N (Codename: "Tortoise")

From: [Recipient Name] To: Commander John Price Date: [Insert Date, 00:10 AM] CC: [Relevant Personnel] Priority: High

Body:

Commander,

Here is the preliminary information on Inspector Y/N, as requested. This is a brief summary, but the full records are still being processed. I will ensure everything is pulled through, but here’s what we have so far:

Family Background: Y/N was born in Portsmouth, raised by a former Royal Navy officer who became an MI5 operative. Her father’s career gave him certain leverage, both in the Navy and with intelligence services. While there is some indication of her mother being complicit in the abuse, details are scarce.

Domestic Abuse Incident: There’s a documented case regarding domestic violence within the household. Social services were involved in the past, though much of the intervention was limited due to the father’s influence.

Missing Persons Report (Age 14): A police record from when she was a teenager indicates a missing persons report filed after a violent argument with her father.

- Missing Persons Reports (Age 14–19)

Frequency: Three documented incidents. Reason: Reports filed by concerned third parties (school staff, neighbors, or local authorities) after witnessing escalating domestic disturbances or after Y/N was seen leaving home for extended periods following physical or verbal altercations. Outcome: Each report ended with Y/N either being found staying with friends or local shelters. Upon investigation, she was repeatedly returned to her family home despite indications of domestic abuse, citing lack of concrete legal evidence or parental assurances. (Reports and Records as per attached)

I’ll send a follow-up once the full profile has been compiled.

----------

Price leaned back in his chair, the glow of the computer screen reflecting off his face as he read the email. His brow furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening with every word. The contents were brief but revealing—a glimpse into a past that no one had spoken of, not even in passing.

The mention of multiple Missing Persons reports spanning Y/N’s teenage years hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t just the reports themselves, but what they implied: a life lived on the edge of survival, marred by conflict long before she picked up a rifle. The term "domestic disturbances" felt sterile, almost dismissive, compared to the reality it hinted at—physical and emotional wounds that couldn’t be bandaged over.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, his usual composure slipping as he stared at the screen. Her father, a Royal Navy officer. A man who should have been a protector, but instead was the source of her suffering. And her mother, passive at best, complicit at worst. It painted a grim picture, one Price wished he could unsee.

It was personal. Too personal.

The idea of Y/N—a woman who carried herself with such quiet strength—having endured that kind of upbringing stirred something in him. Anger, yes, but also a deep sense of admiration. She hadn’t just survived; she had risen above it, carving out a place for herself in one of the most grueling professions in the world.

He glanced at the timestamp on the email. Midnight. This wasn’t the kind of thing you could read and forget about, especially not at this hour.

Price sighed, his hand drifting to the glass of whiskey on his desk. He picked it up but didn’t drink, instead letting the weight of the glass anchor him. He knew he shouldn’t dig deeper—it wasn’t his place. Yet, the thought of leaving this half-finished made his stomach twist. There was more to her story, and now he couldn’t ignore the curiosity—or the quiet protectiveness—that had taken root.

"Y/N…" Price muttered to himself, setting the glass down as the memories stirred unbidden. This wasn’t new. If anything, he’d been aware of her long before she’d proven herself in the field.

It had all started with Gaz’s cheeky attempt at matchmaking, showing Price that picture with a grin and the bold claim: “She’s your type, Captain. Strong, smart, and she’s not the kind to immediately fall for your charm. Bet you’d have to work for it.”

He’d glanced at the picture, expecting nothing remarkable, but it had stopped him in his tracks. She was a beauty— petite, but a strong profile, and a kind of quiet confidence that spoke volumes even in a still photo. Gaz wasn’t wrong; she was his type.

"Drop by her stall," Gaz had urged a week later, nudging him during a casual chat. “She’s at the she's at stall 30, Just don’t make it weird.”

Price had rolled his eyes but eventually humored the idea. He’d wandered through the rows of vendors, trying to look casual as he approached her table. And when he’d seen her in person? Hell, the photo didn’t do her justice. She was a beauty in an understated way—focused as she sorted her wares, her movements deliberate and graceful. It wasn’t just her looks, though. There was something magnetic about her presence, something that had rooted him in place longer than he’d intended.

Of course, none of that mattered when he’d tried to strike up a conversation. She’d been polite but curt, clearly uninterested in his charm or his rank. She wasn’t rude—just distant, the kind of distance that said don’t even try.

And yet, here he was, unable to let it go.

What had started as light interest had deepened into a quiet admiration, especially now. Watching her in action during the exercise wasn’t just impressive; it had been humbling. She wasn’t just competent—she was exceptional. Calculated, efficient, but fiercely protective of her team. The Tortoise nickname wasn’t just a joke; it was the way she operated, outthinking and outlasting her opponents with sharp precision.

And then there was her past. The cold, hard facts from the report still lingered in his mind, their weight pressing heavy on his chest. She wasn’t just tough—she’d had to be.

Price exhaled, a short, bitter laugh escaping him. He wasn’t sure if he admired her more for what she’d endured or for the fact that she’d let none of it define her. Either way, it made him want to know her even more—a thought that unsettled him, because this wasn’t just professional. It hadn’t been for a long time.

"Damn it, Kyle…" he thought, shaking his head. The lad had been right, and he hated it.

The screen dimmed as the email timed out, but Price remained seated, lost in thought. Some questions could wait until morning, but he doubted his mind would let him rest until he knew the whole story.

Price reached for his whiskey, staring into the amber liquid. “Well, John, you’ve stepped into it now,” he said quietly, the weight of what he’d uncovered settling heavily.

Next Chapter ------>

[cntoesussie]

The TF2 Mercenaries as Ghosts because Halloween Starts NOW (because I said so)

I think Scout's like an urban legend type of ghost. Y'know, the type of ghost kids talk about in the schoolyard? He's like a whistling you could hear on the baseball field if you visit at a certain time of night, and if ya step on the pitcher's mound, he'd appear. You two would have a one-on-one, and if you lost, you're gone. For good. Soldier's the type of ghost that can be found at a war memorial, saluting to the nearest statue/flag. He wouldn't interact, he'd be too busy lamenting his days gone by. The days when he was powerful, the days when life was exciting and rich and full... Pyro would be what appears to be a hand reaching out of the flames, beckoning you into their world of whimsy and pyre. And if ya step in, you'd join them in glittery hell. Pyroland would be your reality, forever. Demoman would be a bottle of scrumpy on a shelf, begging you to open and free him. And once you do, he'd materialize as the drink itself, drunk as he always is, wreaking havoc in the name of… nothing. He’s just doing what he wants, and that is having fun. Heavy would be the kind of benevolent ghost who would stay in his childhood home, making sure things were in order even after his death. It'd be a bit strange at first, seeing a hulking ghost floating throughout a seemingly unassuming cabin in the mountains, but he's like Casper. Kind and relatively harmless. Unless you provoke him. Then you’re fucked. Engineer would've built a robotic body to reside in just in case he dies, so he'd be a robot wandering the streets of Teufort, living life as he would normally, except in an artificial body. Just don’t be scared when a robot starts speaking with a perfectly replicated human voice. If he were to ever die, Medic would be the type of ghost to scare the living daylight out of anyone who dared enter the hospital he resides in. And when the hospital shuts down due to too many unexplained deaths and experimented-on corpses, he'd simply move on to the next one. Sniper would be a vague figure you'd catch a glimpse of in the distance, just standing there, staring. And when you do a double take, he'd be gone. But if you were lucky enough to get a good look at him, he would just continue to stare, unmoving, the dusty orange tint of his glasses standing out from his void-like appearance.

Spy would be the one to actually possess people, acting as them and getting into trouble. He'd lie, cheat, steal, etc., whatever makes him feel alive and young again. And when he’s had his fun, he’d exit the host’s body, leaving them to question why they seemingly blacked out.