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FAR CRY 5; SCREENSHOTS THAT DIDN'T MAKE THE CUT (SCREENSHOT DUMP HERE)
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I know i've done the count down of chapters left for American Beasts before and was WAY off in my estimate. But with the plotting I do have there is 7 chapter left. That's it. my baby of nearly a year and a half is so close to being done
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I wish there were a universal, low-brainpower, nonverbal way to communicate to my friends that says "hey I'm thinking about you but I don't have anything to say, nor do I have the wherewithal for a conversation right now anyway" via text message but I'm so so so upset that the original Facebook messenger Poke feature was the closest to anyone getting the right idea
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Chapter 53: He Maketh the Barren Woman to Keep House, and to be a Joyful Mother of Children
Summary:
Jacob wakes up, drama ensues and Kit gets a few moments of domesticity with the kids
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Barry Sloane as Eddie Wells in Passenger (2024)
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still haven't finished All Along the Watchtower but guess who started working on Rory's MW canon fic
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Before I ran away I wanted to thank @graveyard-party666 (Red is completely different in this AU compared to her story) and @kikiharinezumi for letting me use their OCs. I love you girls🫂💚
Taglist: : @chloekistune @graveyard-party666 @alypink @kaitaiga @statichvm @onehornedbeast @themotherofhorses @carlosoliveiraa @cassietrn @socially-awkward-skeleton @thewanderer-000 @thedeadthree @priceseyes @decayhearts @sinclxirx @justasmolbard @alicedarkmair @strangefable @captastra @aceghosts @kikiharinezumi @katsigian @dickytwister @theelderhazelnut @elderglocks @caelums-fate @yourluckyoswald @chewbokachoi @g0dspeeed @direwombat @illmetbymoonlight @amalkavian @simplegenius042 @adlerboi
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Hitch
Lightfoot Halfling Fight - Champion
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(The Shoresy brainrot is so strong that I made my fav slut in BG3 because i stumbled across this preset face that looks so so close to Hitch.)
Hitch was a Baldurian soldier working his way through the ranks before getting snatched up by the ilithid ship. With his baclk to the wall he'll fight to the end to get this worm out of his head and his life back to normal. But he also struggles to stand by when he sees others suffering. There's a kindness in his heart even though he takes a realistic approach to the world. But he also can't help but get a thrill from the sudden adventure he's been set on.
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Bonus Inspo Blorbo:
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@the-lastcall @socially-awkward-skeleton @captastra @megraen @galaxycunt @strangefable
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Barry Sloane as Eddie Wells in Passenger (2024)
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KAYA SCODELARIO for Behind The Blinds Magazine (March 2024)
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Kaya Scodelario for Número Magazie Neatherland
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Kits character progression as a mother includes:
-going from dog motifs to cat motifs
and
-proving Joseph was right about her being the lion and bringing people into the light, not the entirely "family" of Eden's Gate as he believes, but rather just the one she makes herself
Love being able to glimpse bits of future New Dawn Kit coming through as I write her fc5 canon, it's genuinely so satisfying giving this woman just a little bit of joy (knowing full well I'm taking some of it away from her again in the New Dawn au)
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THE ULTIMATE ORIGINAL CHARACTER STAT SHEET
download || soundtrack template || more edits
Annnnnd she actually delivers for once!! Here's the completed stat sheet, free to use by anyone! I wanted a dnd esq sheet but for non dnd characters, so here you go. Drop me a tag so I can see what y'all do with it if ya want, and happy editing!
tag list (ask to be added or removed): @bbrocklesnar @carrionsflower  @risingsh0t @statichvm  @marivenah @confidentandgood  @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @simonxriley @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @arklay @jackiesarch @zevlor @minaharkers @captmactavish @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @queennymeria @shadowglens @nokstella @nightbloodbix @heroofpenamstan @fenharel @alexxmason @malefiicarum @rolangf @gwynbleidd @delzinrowe
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Finished coloring my pinup of John Mactavish from CoD
Prints available [Here!]
NSFW variations on my [itch.io page] 😎
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All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 13)
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[Can also be read on AO3]
Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)
Word count: 4.1 k
Warnings: Minors DNI - canon typical violence, swearing, smoking, military inaccuracies
Summary: Rory and Price start the next leg of their mission, heading to the Middle East where ties to Zorokov become that much clearer
A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis
tagging: @efingart @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 @strangefable @theelderhazelnut @marivenah @nightbloodbix @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather @carlosoliveiraa @finding-comfort-in-rain @simplegenius042 @voidika @quantum-lover @donotopendeadinside @rc-dragons @direwombat @peachiicherries @statichvm @clicheantagonist @v01dthefae @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @amalkavian @justasmolbard
opt in/out tag list
October 22, 2017 08:11 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 
The mission had moved beyond what Zorokov could offer, no longer cabals and crime rings, there were confirmed ties to threats to national security. They had blocked off the pipeline that funneled the money around and eventually the filth would rise to the surface like sewage in a drain, leading them to the exact origin of the looming threat on the horizon. They had a starting place tracking where the funds for the PMC were coming in from, narrowing down sources and finding out just how tangled the web really was. 
As the helicopter touched down on the grounds of Credenhill’s courtyard, Russia was a not so distant memory that still clung in the back of Rory’s mind. Throughout the eighteen hour flight back, she had listened in to the conversations between Price and Laswell regarding where money had been flowing and by who. The Saudi shell was exactly that, something empty, a throwaway account – but it still had an owner. Discovering who it was would give them their next target, and Laswell was an unstoppable force when it came to digging through the shadier side of things, secrets that were meant to be kept hidden never would be with her around – something that in Rory’s mind was all too dangerous, considering what Price was trying to convince her to do. 
Upon stepping onto the tarmac, she had to admit it was good to be back home, no matter how short-lived. Merely a quick stopover before the real work, the real fight, was about to begin, this was her chance to grab her trusted gear that she had left behind on her first flight out. It had been waiting for her, her rifle had been waiting for her. Having a new-found vigor for the mission, she was ready for whatever would come to face her even as the bruises still stained her skin, leaving her tender.
Fog had swept in overnight through the midlands, a wet sort of cold that blanketed everything it touched, sinking into the bones and clinging to clothing, damp and thick. Pulling the collar of her sweater further up her neck, she averted the gaze of her fellow servicemen as they passed by. Hands still shoved into the pockets of her coat, the black duffel slung over her shoulder, she stormed her way from the courtyard towards the barracks. 
Price hopped off the vehicle behind her, his footfall hushed upon landing by the mist that coated the ground. A pervasive silence filled the air the same way it would amongst fresh fallen snow, even the sound of slowing blades cutting through the air had been muffled. His hoarse timbre was dampened in the quiet morning as he called out to her, “Sinclair!”
Slowing her pace, coming to a halt, she let him draw nearer. His bulk cutting through the dense cover of smoky gray, the orange glow of the end of his cigar burning its way through the water vapor that accumulated around them. “Wheels up in one hour. Get your gear and we meet back here. Understood?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Hardly the intimacy that was expected between two people who had shared a bed the previous night, but understandable considering their current predicament and location. 
“Rog’.” She gave him a quick nod and noticed the way his gaze scanned over her, taking stock of all the different marks and bruises that now blemished her appearance. “Was there something else, Captain?” Her voice took on a far more formal tone with him than it had in the last few weeks. 
Shaken loose of his appraising stare, he gave her a curt nod of the head in return. “No. Go on. You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” he said before heading off in another direction, leaving her to her own company. 
How quickly all the apparent feelings they had for one another, the tension between them, could easily dissipate. Professionals once more. Practically strangers. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did that they could be like this, if they were to move forward with whatever was between them (the way Price wanted to) that was how it would always be on base, anywhere there were prying eyes, having to turn their romance on and off like a switch. Was that something she was really willing to do? It wasn’t that she was incapable, she knew she could, already used to playing up the side of herself that wasn’t haunted by the things she had seen and done, pretending to be some version of herself that knew more of joy than she really did – but was the effort really all worth it? Was this the grand romance she could put herself through hell for, or was it just going to end the way it always did, with a short ‘I’m sorry’ only to carry on with her work and to bury whatever she might have felt in the past?
Heading to her bunk, she tossed her duffel onto the bed and stripped off the civvies she had been wearing. Left standing in only her bra and underwear, she witnessed her reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room – her skin marred by shades of green, blue, red and purple without the makeup to cover it. Glancing sideways at herself, she sneered at the image looking back at her. Look a right horror. No preening or primping would solve it either. Opening her foot locker with a huff, she pulled out her combat-ready clothing and her toiletry bag and a few pairs of rolled up underwear, shoving it all into her duffel. Quickly getting dressed into her combat gear, she strapped on her tac vest and clipped her helmet onto it, finally adding the shemagh from her time in Iraq around her neck and shoulders.
Giving another glance at her reflection, she sighed, feeling more like herself. All the battered and bruised parts of her hidden by armor and layers of clothing. Protected. She wasn’t pretty or soft, not like this, not anymore. A proper soldier. She could stand a little taller, her shoulders a little more square. She didn’t need saving, she didn’t need to be kept under watchful guard. She was Sergeant Rory Sinclair, a decorated veteran who had fought on the front lines, had gotten her hands dirty, knew the ugly truth of things and still didn’t let it stop her. 
She was a survivor, always had been.
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Marching out towards the waiting helicopter, rotor already beginning to spin, each cut of the blades slicing through the swirling mass of fog that had yet to burn off as the day grew older, Rory noticed Price standing nearby waiting for her arrival, his hands wrapped around the shoulder straps of his tac vest, his boonie hat back in place. Appearing before him, his unreadable stare focused on her, face not showing any specific emotion, just flat. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist and then back up at her. “You’re early.”
Rory hummed in agreement. “So are you.”
“Don’t like to keep people waiting, Sergeant. Glad to see you’re the same.”
The brim of his hat darkened his eyes just enough that she couldn’t quite make out the way he was looking at her. Her instincts were quick to point out however that the Captain apparently was still none too pleased with the way she had left things hanging. A sharp, pointed dig at the fact she hadn’t melted into his arms after his earlier advances in the safe room. 
She chose to ignore it. “I assume Laswell got a hit on our next target?”
Grunting in response, Price led her towards the open door of the helicopter with sure strides, a swagger to his step. “Shell company has ties to a Saudi oil baron currently outside of the country in the UAE. He’s not home, so he can’t stop us from knocking on the door.”
“A raid.”
Stepping up into the vehicle, he turned back to look over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “Exactly.”
Following after, she stuffed her duffel under the seat beside him, took her spot and leaned back into it. Breathing deep, the smell of cigar smoke that saturated his clothing invaded her senses, but underneath that was the heady scent of warm, musky cologne. Sitting so close, it swirled around her and she was absorbed in it, realizing she never recalled smelling it the night she had spent wrapped up in his arms. She hadn’t exactly been in the right state then to pay attention, but now, it washed over her and she found her thoughts getting fuzzy. Clearing her throat and her head, she got back down to business. “So, I assume we have backup for said raid?”
“Marines.” 
“Oh, well, I’m sure that won’t cause any international upset,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off her words. “The US isn’t afraid of stepping on anyone’s toes with a move like that?”
“Bureaucrats can’t get upset over what they don’t know about,” Price said as he clipped the cigar he pulled from his pocket and placed it to his lips, flicking open his lighter and letting the flame burn at the tip. 
“No, I suppose that’s true.”
They sat in silence, Price letting it hang before speaking once more. “How long’s it been since you were last in the desert?”
“Almost seven months now.”
“You know Arabic, yeah? Fluent, I hope.”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and adjusted her position in her seat, a grin curling the corner of her lips. “Perhaps this time I can have you saying derogatory things without your prior knowledge.”
Giving a low chuckle, he brought the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. “Now that would make things interestin’, wouldn’t it?” The smoke streamed past his lips, the orange glow burning in his eyes through the shade of his cap. “I’d prefer if we didn’t start any international incidents ‘cause you had to be a smart ass though.”
Huffing out a laugh, she pressed her head back against the rest behind her. “Fair enough. It’ll be easier just letting you blunder the pronunciation anyway.”
His brow lifted, giving her a sideways glance without turning his head, keeping her in his periphery. “You gonna keep causing me headaches?”
“No, I just think we need to agree that while Russia was where your strength lies, we’re heading into mine.”
Sucking on his cigar hanging in a clenched jaw, his brow furrowed. “You do remember I’ve fought over there myself, yeah?”
“But you didn’t spend your entire career there like me. Unless you’ve eaten goat by a fire while swapping stories with village elders in their native language, I suggest you take at least some of my judgment on things seriously. Or is it because I’m a subordinate that it’s not good enough for you?”
“S’pose it’s ‘cause you’ve slept with me,” he muttered under his breath, his face remaining serious until it cracked, giving her a teasing smirk.
Unable to help but giggle at the implication, Rory bit her lip to stifle it from growing into a full on laugh. “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “I see how we’re playing now.”
Barking out a chuckle at her reaction, Price shifted smugly back into his seat, adjusting the brim of his hat.
“Fucking hell, you’ve become quite the comedian with me.” Her voice dropped so only he could hear it. “You get one little kiss and now all of a sudden the stoic soldier routine fades away, eh?”
“It was more than a little kiss –” He whispered as he leaned down towards her, looking up through his brow. 
They were inches from each other, eyes locked on one another. Invading her personal space, trying to remain the dominant force, Price waited there as if he were expecting her to make a move despite being strapped into a moving military vehicle. The smoke coiled around her, his breath fanning against her face. Did he really think she would just break regulation like that? She cocked her brow and sighed, pulling out her pack of cigarettes from her tactical pants and tapped the corner of it against her thigh. “I said I just wanted to work, not be a distraction.”
“You’re not.” His words came out bluntly, his features expressionless once more, gaze unfeeling and inscrutable. Shifting back into his seat, he crossed his arms and mirrored her position beside him. Mouth drawn tight, he bit down on the cigar he'd placed between his lips, smoke billowing from his nostrils.
“Oh, I’m not?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not. You and I have both been through the same training. A little flirting – any feelings we might have – they aren’t getting in the way of the mission, got it?”
“Sure about that?”
“You do know you’re not the only woman I’ve ever worked with, yeah?” He shot back, head tilted and brow cocked.
Rory hummed, unconvinced. “Did you sleep with the others too?”
He growled softly, mumbling around his cigar, “Touche.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said confidently, slipping a cigarette out from the pack in her hand and placing it to her lips.
“I’m a professional, Sergeant. So are you,” he grumbled, “Stop trying your damn luck with me.”
The cigarette sat between her lips as she gave him a little salute with two fingers against her forehead, the lighter still held in her hand. 
“You’re trouble, goddammit.” He shook his head and settled back in his seat, gripping the shoulders of his vest once more with a heavy sigh.
Voice muffled as she spoke around her cigarette, it bounced on its perch upon her lip. “Bet you’re really regretting Laswell’s choice now, eh?”
“Not unless you give me a reason to, darlin’,” he said, nose scrunching with annoyance. “Don’t test my bloody patience.”
Taking a drag of her cigarette, she couldn’t help but want to keep picking at him. He had tried to make her feel small a moment ago, reminding her of her weakness, of how she apparently needed him according to his evaluation. “Did you think I was suddenly going to fawn over you because you actually admitted to having feelings for me, Price?”
The little tic of his tightening tendons in his jaw was plain as day, she was playing with fire and she knew it. If there was any way to describe the Captain it was a persistent pursuit predator – of course the way he worked would bleed into his life. The man wouldn’t know romance if it bit him in the arse, wooing certainly wasn’t his style. She already expected him to keep trying to wear her down until she would eventually give in, say yes, and he would get what he wanted. Perhaps what they both wanted…but she wasn’t able to quite so readily admit that yet. 
“Would’ve been nice if you made it easy for me.”
“You’re a special forces captain, you like the challenge.”
Price brought a hand to her upper thigh, his long fingers clenching around the meat of her,  squeezing tight. “Goddamn right I do,” he said with a low chuckle. 
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October 25, 2017 22:42 - Ayad Estate, Saudi Arabia
The target’s mansion was some modern monstrosity, all concrete and glass, reflecting back the moon and the stars and the moody twilight. A massive infinity pool and gardens decorated the exterior, all well maintained, meticulously so. Multiple floors, several entrances. Fully staffed, including a personal army of guards for security. A fortress in its own right. Heavy resistance was expected as they approached the private residence under the cover of night, but the main goal was to sweep and clear threats while keeping the unarmed non-combatants alive, and to collect intel. The invading strike force made up of Marines, Price and Rory moved in separate teams, including one in an armored vehicle stationed on the road up to the front metal gates of the estate, ready to ram it down if more forceful extraction was required. 
Eyes were kept on the prize, orders whispered. “Check your shots. Let’s kick this off.”
Several members of the security detail were stationed around the perimeter, protecting the mansion from intrusion. Fully armed and wearing plate vests, these weren’t just hired security, they were well trained – likely former military themselves. Slowly pacing, their heads kept on a swivel, radios at the ready to keep in contact…
A silent night…
And then the flashbang hit.
White burning light exploded out as soldiers dressed in black combat gear climbed over the walls. Nightvision goggles strapped on, two teams stealthily made their way into the mansion, set to take it floor by floor in a clean sweep while the remaining team cleared the forces outside. 
Quick, assured steps led Rory through the mansion’s halls, following closely on the tail of Price as he led the charge. 
“Bravo 6 moving to the second floor.”
Boots thumped up the steps like thundering war drums. Sweat formed on her brow as her heart started to beat against her ribcage. A thirty room mansion wasn’t a quick process to clear, the only saving grace was that most of the staff were sent screaming upon sight, huddled over on the floor with their hands in the air in surrender rather than shooting back. Whimpering “please don’t hurt me” like their lives actually depended on it, and it broke her heart – civilians didn’t deserve to feel this sort of terror, no matter the cause.
Breaching doorways, kicking in locks, the barrel of her rifle swept from side to side as she checked her corners and cleared every other room, swapping the duty with the rotation of other members on their team. 
“On me. Rally at the stairs.”
Several more flights to go, and the closer they got to the master suite the more threats they faced, the armed assailants ramping up against them. Gun fire rang out. Art, sculptures and bodies were all torn to shreds by the bullets that flew back and forth between opposing sides. She hugged the walls, taking cover behind some hulking slab of marble. Controlling her breath as chunks of stone breezed past her, catching the strands of her hair as they flew past her head, ricocheting off her helmet like hailstones. Ducking out, her muzzle flared, bright flashes sparking in the darkened hall as dozens of bullet casings tinkled around her. Bodies dropped like flies, the polished floors stained red with blood. A sight she’d grown all too accustomed to. 
Radio chatter between Price and the team outside gave warning that the x-rays they had accounted for had been cleared on the exterior, it was just the ones hidden behind closed doors that they had to worry about now - the threat of the unexpected. 
Steadily climbing up to the top, they finally reached the last floor, and instead of multiple rooms along the corridors, there was just one large, sprawling floor. Open concept. A bedroom, an office, the bathroom practically a day spa with the amenities available. Rory sneered at the sight of so much wealth on show. She was no stranger to affluence, it was a luxurious life she became entitled to upon living with her father after her mother’s death, and with it brought old money and claims of nobility in the family tree. But this – this sort of opulence was in poor taste as far as she was concerned. 
Adding insult to injury, the guards had decided to take several of the staff as human shields in the face of danger. A poor stratagem in the wake of a unit of special forces soldiers. In an instant, a whole firing line of lifted rifles were aimed at the threat on the other side of the room, scopes all firmly planted on the figures in the dark. 
“Drop your weapons! Don’t move! Get down!” 
Orders were barked, but words meant nothing. Action did. Lives were in the balance. Her ears thundered as the blood began to flow quickly inside them. Her finger resting against the cool metal of the trigger, ready to tap it at the first flinch from the security detail. Heavy breathing filled the room from both sides, every soul was put on edge. Sweat dripped down foreheads and stung the eyes. A second felt like an eternity. 
“Drop ‘em!”
Without a second thought, Rory tapped the trigger. Aiming straight for the head of a man with a handgun pointed at the back of a middle aged woman’s skull, shuddering in fear as she wore her appointed cleaner’s uniform. Executing him before he could get a shot off. A threat dispatched, one less casualty to weigh on her conscience. 
The dead littered the floor, the survivors left covering their heads and begging to go home. Panicked voices caused a twitch to start in her fingers that begged to crawl up the length of her arm, the clench in her gut following not far behind. Memories hitting her like a punch to the solar plexus. Sobs. Wailing. That look of fear in the eyes that would stay with the victims forever, the same way it did with her. 
“Clear!”
One simple word could relieve so much tension, the adrenaline slowing its course through her body at the sound of it. Relative calm eased through her constricted veins and arteries,  a rush of air escaping her lungs like a gale force now that she could finally breathe.
“All teams: residence secure. Commence SSE.”
It didn’t take long for the full force of might to round up and collect every personal device left on the premises, every scrap of paper, or shred of information they could use. The best find of all being a personal computer detailing contracts signed with Zorokov’s PMC and proof of involvement with the shell company. All left out in the open, plain as day, the hubris on show for all to see.
Price stood hunched over the desk, his thumb dragging across his lower lip as he read into the target’s dealings. “Turns out our target is close and personal with the defense minister. Signing contracts on his behalf. Has several on the go with the PMC he’s funding.”
“Helping out his friend, Zorokov.” Rory moved closer, leaning in towards the monitor with a furrowed brow, the pale blue light glowed in her eyes. “Proxy wars. Coups. Fucking hell… Yemen? I knew tensions were rising between the Saudis and Iran, but not like this.”
Continuing to scroll through the various contracts, one caught Rory’s eye. “Wait, John. Stop.” Her hand clamped down over his on the mouse. Biting down on her lip, jaw clenched tight, she was hit with a horrible truth. “Syria,” she whispered, the air forced from her at the realization. “Iran’s expanding its presence in the region on the border against ISIS… Christ, they’re in Syria. This isn’t just some small-time dispute. A PMC hired to actively assist terrorist hostilities – that’s an act of war.”
“Right. So we head to Syria and we shut it down.”
Price said it so nonchalantly it nearly sent her head spinning. They had stumbled into the middle of a conspiracy, a proxy war made to look like a civil one, and he was ready to take it head on.
“Just like that?”
“We’ll find out where they’re headquartered and we’ll bury them. If anyone has a problem with that, they’ll have to come clean, and we both know that won’t ever happen.”
She hated how right he was. How easy it was for governments to wheel and deal and play games with one another, using each other as pawns for their own desires. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for nations to support one side of a war while also funding the apparent enemy, that was a tale as old as time – but it never stopped revolting her. The insidious nature of it all. It might have been naivete on her part to still be even remotely surprised she might stumble upon something like this herself, especially considering the things she had already been witness to in her career, but she had never learned to merely let it sit well with her.  
“So we head into the middle of an active combat zone and pretend like we’re supposed to be there, start a battle with a PMC funded by an ally nation, and drop some terrorists along the way?”
“More or less. Yeah.”
“You make that sound like it’s a normal afternoon for you.”
“It can be.” He patted her shoulder with a quick smirk. “Come on, darlin’. We got a flight to catch.”
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The Hat Rule aka the world's biggest give away that the lieutenant is definitely dating the captain of the 141...
I had to draw Rory wearing the boonie hat, it had to happen eventually.
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