#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.

[ketchuplaser]

@drawing-prompt-s

Crossfire the elf checking Tseren the orc.

Builds are, uh, different across the species.

Draw your favorite vine / meme - don't be afraid to use different mediums or styles to recreate them

[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

[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)

[emrydwyr]

«John MacTavish was a lifelong football fan often playing as a goalkeeper...»

One day, MacTavish was invited by his cousin, a member of the 23 Regiment of the Special Air Service, to see how it was like to be in the British Army. Afterwards, MacTavish often visited his cousin on weekends. When he was 16, he tried several times to enroll in the SAS and while he lied about his age, he was caught every time.

After his 18th birthday, MacTavish officially joined selection for the 22 Regiment, an elite squadron specialized in covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, and hostage rescues. In 2014, while training in Hereford, MacTavish's evaluator was Captain John Price. Recognizing his natural skills, exceptional proficiency and relentless dedication, Price became tough and strict with MacTavish to make him the best trainee. MacTavish was also trained as a sniper and demolitions expert. His remarkable speed and accuracy in room clearance and urban warfare earned him the nickname "Soap".

[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.

[kaitaiga]

Craig Alan Jones - Black Ops OC

GENERAL

Age: 46 (1981)

Birthday: 23 July, 1935 in Adelaide, South Australia

Occupation: SASR Trooper, ASIS Officer

Affiliation: Special Air Service Regiment (SASR)(Formerly), Australian Secret Intelligence Service (ASIS)

Rank: Lieutenant (Formerly)

Face Claim: Mel Gibson

Height: 186cm (6'1)

Hair Colour: Dark Brown

Eye Colour: Blue

Identifying Marks: Scarring on legs, mole on left cheek

Languages: English, Indonesian, Vietnamese (minimal), Russian (minimal)

Song Associated: Sharp Dressed Man - ZZ TOP

AFFILIATES

CIA

Russell Adler

Frank Woods

Alex Mason

Lawrence Sims

Lazar Azoulay

"Bell"

Aleksandra Clarke R. (@alypink)

MI6

Helen Park

New Zealand Army

Koa “Hunter” Nikau ( @islandtarochips )

Other

Abby Mason (@revnah1406)

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

Myers-Briggs Type: ENTP-A

Generally, Craig is a relaxed but confident, goal-oriented individual.

He isn’t afraid to speak his mind when he has opposing views on a matter. He prides himself on his own experiences that have built said opinions, which may come off as arrogant at times.

Craig has a habit of working alone without noticing, working autonomously to get a job done. He is self-motivated and does what he thinks is best for an outcome.

As a trooper, he learnt to be adaptable and resourceful to any given situation.

SKILLS/SPECIALISATIONS

As an SASR trooper, Craig has to work in a smaller force element, therefore has undergone training in many different areas, including:

Parachuting (HALO/HAHO)

Combat Survival

CQB/CQC

Demolitions

Signaller

SF Weapons Handling (mounted heavy-weapons, sniper, etc)

Urban Combat

BACKSTORY

Craig was born on the 23rd of July, 1935 in Adelaide. Raised just outside of the main city, his father was part of the city council in Bradbury and lived well beyond his means. Craig attended prestigious primary and secondary schools but was always rebellious, preferring to skip going to school to commit petty crimes, tarnishing the family name as he knew that due to his father's status, he could bypass getting in trouble.

Due to this and in addition to not wanting to follow his father’s path of going to university and becoming part of the city council, this lead to many arguments between the two and at 16, he was thrown out of the house and had to fend for himself on the streets. Craig’s father, not wanting to have any association with him anymore, placed a fake obituary in the newspaper to officially cut ties with him.

For two years, Craig changed his identity and worked at a plant nursery before undergoing mandatory national service within the Australian Army at 18. He enjoyed his occupation and the perks that came along with it that he fully enlisted into the Army after his mandatory service finished and later into the Special Air Service Regiment (SASR) in 196X. He spent his first brief deployment in Borneo during the Indonesia-Malaysia conflict before shipping out to Nui Dat, Vietnam in 1966 as part of Sabre 1 squadron.

Unbeknownst to his unit whilst in Vietnam, Craig was ordered by ASIS to keep an eye out and investigate any intel that could hint towards any Soviet activity, passing anything he finds onto a CIA contact. This contact was revealed to be Russell Adler. The two become acquainted and would go onto Operation Fracture Jaw alongside Lawrence Sims.

For the remainder of the Vietnam War, Craig and the SASR continued to work closely with MACV-SOG, providing intel and support until 1971 where he returned to Australia. He truely florished in his time spent in the military, from a petty thief to an extraordinary soldier who lead his unit through countless battles, a great leader and mentor.

COLD WAR

Fast forward to 1981, Craig now works under ASIS as an intelligence officer. Due to his knowledge and intel of Perseus from Vietnam, plus his connections to Adler, he joins the crew at the CIA safehouse to help track him down once and for all.

Missions:

Fracture Jaw

Brick in the Wall

Echos of a Cold War

End of the Line

The Final Countdown

Two years later in 1983, Craig married his unnamed wife and thus his son Lachlan Jones was born.

TRIVIA

Craig prefers to wear his R.M Williams boots in the style, 'The Craftsman' in dark tan.

His main choice of attire includes: two button down shirts layered and unbuttoned (inner white and outer dark blue) with a brown leather bomber jacket on top, boot-cut blue jeans and a brown leather belt along with his boots.

Smokes occasionally, likes the brand 'Lucky Strike'.

Drives a red Mitsubishi Starion.

Favourite weapons include: HK MP5, Sterling Submachine Gun, Colt M16A1 and L9A1 Browining Hi-Power.

Frequently visits casinos and likes to gamble.

He prefers his coffee made black with lots of sugar.

[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