#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]

Rus with VSS Vintorez (20) Mag - Russo-Ukrainian War, 2024-5

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Konig x Reader

Title: A Planned Out Break In

Synopsis: the warnings say it all.

Warnings: ooh boy. Gun play, PLANNED noncon, roleplay (of Konig breaking in), fear play, lots of manhandling, rapeplay, bondage. This is basically a porn fic, let's be honest.

@machveil thank you for the idea <3 this was an awesome piece to write

It was almost impossible to go to sleep last night. You knew that tomorrow, at 4 am that you'd have the time of your life.

So when you finally fall asleep (thank the lord for warm milk + melatonin), you're curled up, an excited grin on your face.

Then you hear *the* bang.

You startle awake, your entire body tense as you get up, grabbing the bat beside your bed you know damn well you won't be using.

You hear the thudding through the house of his heavy, steel-toed boots, heart beating out your chest. Then you see him, it's almost like those found footage films of seeing urban legends.

He stands tall, wearing all his gear, his gun--unloaded--in his hands, his eyes dark, lust filled.

"O-oh..." is all you breathe out, and he lets out a growl of sorts, starting to charge you.

You run, trying not to scream so you don't startle your flat's neighbours. He grabs you, pushing you against the wall, making you groan in pain.

He growls, leaning in, his dirty, grimy sniper hood brushing against your skin. He shoves the head of his rifle against your stomach, hands moving to give you just enough time to *bolt* across the room.

He whistles out "Ring Around the Rosy" as he bangs on various things through the kitchen, your heart practically palpitating to the beat.

You're under a table, one leg purposefully left out. You hear that sly, wolfish laugh, his demonic chuckle ringing through as he runs, the thuds growing louder and louder until he grabs your ankle, pulling you out in one fell swoop.

You yelp out--unplanned, causing Konig to pause. You give a small shake of the head and he keeps going, literally holding you upside down.

You look up at him with wide eyes, tears filling them. It makes him smirk beneath the mask, he throws you over his shoulder, trudging through the house, slamming into walls occasionally.

He throws you on the bed and you're up *again,* trying to back into a corner, or climb under the bed, something- anything to get you away from the man about to devour you.

That's when you hear him grab his gun, training it on you like he'll shoot.

"Take it off. All of it," his low voice growls out, "or a bullet's going through your head."

You whimper out, not really in fear, and start to strip.

"Faster," he shouts after a good moment, making you squirm and start to take your clothes off faster.

Once you're naked he pushed you down onto the bed, climbing onto you. He pushes the cool head of his gun onto your cunt, sliding it up and down your folds as his other, rough hand grabs at your tit, kneading and groping it as your head throws back and you groan out.

"Damn slut.." he growls, "enjoying this?"

He pushes the rifle on your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion. It makes you whine out and he just smirks, letting out that sinister chuckle.

"Not so high and mighty anymore, huh? Not trying to run?" He asks, lifting his mask up just enough to start kissing you. You squirm again, trying to push him off, but he grabs your throat, pushing on the sides of your neck.

"You'll shut up and take it, and then you'll thank me," he says, lifting his mask up to spit in your face, it landing on your lips.

And it'd be a horrible lie if you said you weren't extremely into this, your cunt feels like a damn slip'n'slide, but also the knowledge that he could crush you like a twig? It's a little horrifying.

His mask drops again and he grabs your thighs, pushing you so you're in a mating press, prodding and poking you with his gun like a child would with a stick to some roadkill.

He drops his gun, still holding your knees. Then, he grabs zipties from his pocket.

They're secured around your ankles, and that's when he starts to take his belt off. His pants drop and you start to squirm again, before you get a firm slap to the ass and your legs are held up again.

"Stop squirming," he growls into your ear, slapping your pussy with his cock, it making a lewd sound. He slides himself through your folds, letting slick collect on the tip. Then, once he's deemed there to be enough, he grabs your hair and shoves you forward.

"Look at my cock, covered in your slick. Aren't you scared, little thing?" He asks, his tone demeaning, it brings tears to your eyes.

He shoves your head back down, spitting in your mouth, shoving his cock into you. You mewl out desperately, eyes wide as he does this.

He lets out this animalistic grunt, starting to pound into you like a damn jackhammer, making you cry out at each thrust.

He just keeps going, your orgasms meaning nothing to him as he just keeps going, your cunt sopping wet, the sheets soaked, juices and sweat flying everywhere.

By the time he's actually came, you're in tears, drooling on yourself. It makes him chuckle harshly, slapping your ass.

You'd never admit it, but that was the *best* orgasm of your damn life

[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

send post

[into-fiction]

omg you have to do more of the AU headcanons! they're so good!

thank you! idk what else to do lol so here are some kinda more niche AUs~

Magic AU

glinda discovers magic when she is just 7. it makes her popular- the bubbles that float and gleam and entrance all the other kids. she puts on show after show. but eventually: all bubbles pop. glinda's magic is both useless and ephemeral. not like elphie's. elphie's magic is like diamonds; is like stardust. elphie's magic will last forever

(elphie thinks that may be the part that scares her most of all)

Urban Fantasy AU

glinda is a faerie of Summer. she dances like sunlight and she tastes like the sweetest drug

glinda is absolutely terrible at keeping time. she'll say 'five minutes' and three whole days will pass

the first thing glinda teaches elphie is a song. elphie sings it in the mornings and on her walks through the city. she doesn't know it's a protection spell

elphie believes she is human. glinda's not so sure

Star Wars AU

glinda and elphie grew up together in the temple. they learned how to fight side by side. glinda never realized the extent of her feelings bc she believed too much in the jedi code

glinda's lightsaber was destroyed during the purge. elphie salvaged what she could. she wears glinda's kyber crystal on a necklace under her shirt as a reminder of why she's fighting

Agere AU

elphie doesn't realize what's going on at first bc she would've assumed little glinda would be bubbly and loud and a bit of a show off. all poofy pink dresses and childish demands

little glinda is not bubbly or loud or demanding. she is soft and quiet and shy. she looks around with big brown eyes and she shrinks away from crowds and questions. she just wants to curl up with elphie in their dorm, teeth nibbling at her thumb bc she's too big to fully indulge

elphie eventually learns that the flouncy pink glinda that stands in front of crowds and tosses her hair and smiles at her fans is someone practiced and fake. the real glinda just wants someone to hold her and tell her that she's loved

Assassins AU

glinda doesn't like messy. she likes poison slipped into a drink; air slipped into a bloodstream. she likes fluttering her lashes at a man in a suit and knowing she's got him hook line and sinker

elphie likes distance. she likes snipers nests and silence; shadows and secrets. she likes being the eyes in the sky and knowing that no one can bring her down

Dragon AU

it takes elphie ages to figure it out. even then- glinda has to outright tell her. "i like to hoard beautiful things," she says simply. she smiles and reaches out to run a dainty finger along elphie's jaw. "you happen to be a very beautiful thing."

[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)

[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 ------>

[disco-archetypes]

VISUAL CALCULUS - Is there something here that would indicate a sniper used this place as a nest for taking the shot? Just some urban detritus, a bottle and a dilapidated old comms tower.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't see it, lieutenant double-yefreitor. I don't see a person take a shot *here* and hit something there..." he looks east, over the coast. "In the Whirling-in-Rags."