Kitte (writes)

@kittewrites

Kitte's writing account (mostly COD)! | 29 | she/her | MDNI | pfp by @rowanartist.bsky.social #pricegaz #kittewrites

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Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· 12d

Snatched from Bookie. 1 like = 1 answer!

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· 20d

I've never talked about Orla MacTavish here. She was born out of a Old Guard AU where she is Soap's wife. Ghost, an immortal, falls for Soap during the story but also for Orla, and then... Orla dies. Of an illness Ghost cannot save her from. #SoapGhost #kittewrites

"Your mask makes you look like Death is picking me up himself."
"I'm... I'm sorry, I can go."
"No, stay." She smiles weakly. "If Death is anything like you I'll find it easy to go with him. Like following an old friend."
Orla taps Ghost's forearm weakly and Ghost covers her hand with his own.
"You're very warm. Not like a Ghost at all. Just a man who's good to die next to."
"Orla," Ghost says quietly, almost like to respond but he stays there, just holding her name on his lips.
"You'll look after him, won't you? I know it will bring pain, my passing, but I want him to... well. I guess he will live whether he wants it or not, but I want him to desire it, to yearn for each day like it's his last."

She closes her eyes then, and her smile twists sharp, clearly another spike of pain going through her tired body, and Ghost entwines their fingers so she can squeeze his hand, let him shoulder some of her pain.
"I will," Ghost promises. "He's... part of the family now."
She hums. "Aye, the mysterious travelers out there... they good people?"
"The best," Ghost replies earnestly.
"Good, good. If they're anything like you, I will have no worries."
She opens her eyes then, and Ghost finds himself losing himself into them once again, those dark eyes pooling with warmth.
"Does it hurt?"
Ghost shakes his head and Orla nods tensely.
"I'm scared."
"I know, Orla. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry I didn't have more time with you," and she's sincere, her eyes welling up, and the depth of regret on her face forces Ghost's hand and he takes his mask off.

Underneath he reveals the face of Simon, long-forgotten, cheeks stained with tears. Orla's eyes widen and then become impossibly soft as a weary but true smile climbs on sweaty face.
"Not bad, eh," she says, raising her hand to brush Simon's cheek, cupping his face when he chases her touch.
"Don't tell Johnny. Haven't shown my face in a century."
"What a lucky gal I am, then," Orla replies, wiping the still-falling tears away with her thumb. "What an angel of Death God sent me. Only Holy Mother could be more copiously blessed."

Ghost suddenly understands the fervour of Johnny's prayers now. He's long stopped believing in any gods, he doesn't even share Price's somewhat ironic belief in a higher power that's out there to fuck with them, but now he wishes he had the conviction to believe that there was something benevolent out there that would spare Orla from her death. Or perhaps it wouldn't be a benevolence at all, to make her suffer their fate, feel her humanity wither with every death, when resurrection stops feeling holy and feels like punishment instead.
But Ghost doesn't think he can bear Johnny's grief after she's gone. He doesn't know if he's the right person to support the man they both love. If only Ghost could trade places with her, be the one laying on his deathbed, with Orla dabbing his burning forehead with a cool, damp cloth. To have Johnny sleep by his bedside and have his slumbering form covering his legs instead. Knowing that he'd be but a blip in their eternity, a man who they knew and somehow loved for a brief moment, and then left behind without regrets.

He kisses Orla's palm reverently, wishes he had the courage to lean down and kiss her sweet mouth. Orla simply gazes up at him, studies his face like she'll need it memorised once she passes, like she would need the memory in the blessed oblivion she'll slip into. Simon feels seen in a way he hasn't in centuries, certainly not after Price and Gaz found him.
Another shudder contorts Orla's body violently, and her hand drops as she shivers, closing her eyes.
"Orla," Ghost leans in, panic seizing his voice, and that wakes Johnny up. He looks up groggily and then blinks awake like doused with cold water, by Orla's side in a flash.
"Mo ghràdh," he calls out softly, takes her hand in his, "m'eudail, what do you need?"

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· 22d

And here's the schedule for the weekend! #PriceGazWeekend2026

PriceGaz Weekend 2026
September 18th to 20th
Prompt survey August 3rd to 9th
Prompt voting August 10th to 16th
Prompt announcement August 19th

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· 22d

Hear ye, hear ye - it's PriceGaz Weekend 2026! As per the vote, PriceGaz Weekend will be held September 18th-20th. The theme weekend's schedule in the post below! #PriceGazWeekend2026 #PriceGaz

PriceGaz Weekend 2026
September 18th-20th

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Jun 6

#kittewrites Answered an ask about #poly141 and Macmillan over on tumblr

Tumblr anonymous ask: Thoughts on poly141 + Macmillan
Reply by narcissosbythepool: Macmillan obviously has his history with Price (whether that was a relationship or a weird situationship where neither quite knew where they stand... well, you can decide) and that colors everything in this particular dynamic.

Macmillan is possessive over Price, feels like the captain is his creation, but seeing Price commanding the attention and affection of his boys is also exciting for him. Seeing the continuation of his work and influence, in a sense. That his perfect living weapon turned out to have kept his soft heart underneath all that cold professionalism is adorable - the same man who followed him like a loyal dog now commanding his men with the same affection, leash tight but hands gentle.

Gaz, Ghost and Soap don't quite know what to think of Macmillan. The man comes strolling in and swipes Price off his feet, their fearless captain turned to putty in this stranger's hands. Gaz tries to ignore his jealousy, knowing he has his captain's heart; Ghost tries to remain unaffected, but he bristles at the thought of his unwavering leader so weak at the hands of another; and Soap is honestly just confused as to how the whole thing works. It creates friction between the 141 boys and Macmillan, and as a result between 141 and Price. Price wants them all to get along. His boys are not as certain about the benefits of such an arrangement.

Once trust is won and Price finally acknowledges his lingering feelings for Macmillan, it's Macmillan's time to shine - he gives a thorough demonstration to the 141 boys how Price likes to be treated, taking on the role of a mentor as he has Price bent over and in throes of pleasure, and shows the boys how it's really done. Gaz, Ghost and Soap definitely appreciate the lesson, and from there on Macmillan is welcome in their lives (and their bedroom).

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· May 28

#kittewrites #pricegaz NSFW, hunting trip and a one-person tent, 4,6k words I finally released this fic from WIP jail. archiveofourown.org/works/85692551

Screenshot from Archive of Our Own. Title: on the hunt. Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, pricegaz, NSFW.
Summary: "Have you ever been hunting?"
Price's words cut through the silence of the safehouse. Gaz looks up from his tattered novel to where Price is sitting in a dingy armchair, smoking. He probably shouldn't be, but who's going to stop him? Not Gaz.
Gaz frowns. "What, like animals?"
Price grunts, "Yes, animals, Gaz."

A hunt, some alone time and a one-person tent.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Apr 17

Got a nice #pricemillan ask on tumblr

Anonymous asked: Thoughts on jealous macmillan? Old man being possessive of price
Narcissosbythepool reply: Oh I am thinking of jealous Macmillan alright.

I think Macmillan likes to think of himself as the man who discovered John Price and that's something he'll carry with him forever. He owns that part of Price's life, the start of his career, only one who took notice of the green lieutenant with the fire in his eyes to do more. He'll always have it, his humble beginnings, and Price will always owe him.

It shows in smaller ways too, though. A possessive hand on Price's shoulder, a squeeze that looks like good job but means you are mine. Macmillan, at this point, does not know the difference, but it doesn't matter because Price hears both loud and clear. He's doing a good job, he's Macmillan's, it's all the same thing. Sometimes it's a meaningful touch on Price's lower back, just a brush but a reminded that no one else gets to touch him as closely, as intimately, as Macmillan. A brush of fingers on his neck, when no one else sees. See, you nicked yourself while shaving. You should try growing a beard.

When Price falls in with 141, Macmillan follows his career closely. His man is all grown now, is out there saving the world, or making it worse, who knows. His creation. And when he visits the 141 base, the boys get to see what real hero worship looks like. The way Price folds the moment Macmillan is in the vicinity, defers to him like he knows best – if he treats 141 like his dogs, they get to see Price roll over, sit and bark for the man who shaped him into the man he is.

Macmillan likes seeing Price like this, respected and admired, worshipped, but he likes to remind the 141 boys every now and then who it is truly that Price belongs to. The boys seem very close with their captain, he sees the gleam in their eye that tells him that it goes beyond normal admiration men would have for their captain, and so he likes to yank Price's leash. Make sure they know who it is Price will ultimately return to, when the time comes.

He makes sure to never close the door all the way when he makes Price kneel in his office.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Jan 15

#kittewrites Ok couldn't resist, have some more of Emile and Laurent. Aftermath of feeding... cw for some suggestive language

Laurent glances over at Emile who is staring at the ground intensely. He sits there on the ground, deep in thought, his dark brows furrowed – he doesn't seem perturbed by the blood slowly seeping through the bandage. Laurent is a little worried about that, but he'll monitor it.

"You back with me?" he asks then, tucking the rest of the bandages in his satchel. Emile doesn't react and Laurent sighs, walking over and crouching in front of him. "Emile?"

"Yeah," comes the curt reply. Emile still won't meet his eyes, and his lips barely move around the reply.

"You feeling alright?" Laurent asks, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah."

"Dizzy? Pain in the arm? Nausea?"

"I'm fine," Emile grunts, and then puts his hand over his forehead. "Or… No. None of that, but I feel… weird." He holds out his arm, staring at his bandaged forearm. "Definitely weird."

Laurent bites the inside of his cheek. "How was it for you? Feel anything?"

Emile's cheeks flush. Laurent drags a hand over his face and stands up again. He walks over to the satchel and gets his flask out, taking a swig of the bitter drink, the herbal aftertaste burning in his throat, and then hands it to Emile.

"There," he says, his voice gruff, and Emile takes the flask with some hesitation. "It's not poisoned."

"My blood is still on your lips," Emile grumbles back, clearly checking the flask for remnants of his own blood, but then raises it to his lips. He barely holds back a sputter as he drinks, and then hands it back without taking a second sip. "I'm fine. It was just a strange experience."

"I told you," Laurent crosses his arms. "It's an invasive thing. I wouldn't blame if you didn't want to do it again."

Emile ducks his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor as his cheeks stay a reddish hue. "I didn't mind. I'm just embarrassed."

Laurent frowns and then it dawns on him – the quiet moans, Emile's fingers in his hair, his squirming… and as he looks between Emile's legs, his suspicions are confirmed.

"Well," he says, and then can't think of anything else to say.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Jan 14

#kittewrites WIP wednesday and introducing some OCs of mine! Laurent is a freshly turned vampire and Emile his... well, it's complicated. Human ward. Ex-boss. With his vampire instincts developing, Laurent finds himself in hot waters... CW: blood and aftermath of graphic violence

The haze cleared slowly, his head clearing from the madness that overwhelmed him just moments before. His chest was heaving and something was sticking to his skin and clothes, and his hands were dripping with…

Laurent raised his hands. They were covered in blood, the long claws slowly retracting with a sting. He blinked, once, twice, and then he finally looked around him.

Bodies, surrounding him, their chests and throats torn open. The bandits from earlier, all of them slaughtered on this forest floor, and the taste of iron on his tongue and the blood on his hands left no question what exactly happened here. What killed them.

"Laurent…?" came a voice to his left, and as he looked to its direction, he found Emile there, leaning against a tree and holding his bleeding arm. Laurent's nostrils flared at the sight and he could feel his fangs and claws growing again, red haze rising again at the thought of Emile hurt.

"Who?" he growled and Emile… flinched.

Laurent stopped, his fangs retracting, taking in Emile's shaken state. Was it… Could it be that he…?

"They're dead," Emile whispered. "Just like everyone else." He swallowed thickly, swayed in place and took one shaky step forward. "Are you… are you with me? Laurent?"

His head was spinning. He looked around him, took in the carnage as it slowly dawned on him what exactly he had done. No wonder Emile looked so frightened. He felt nauseous.

Instead of answering, Laurent stumbled over to the nearest tree and vomited blood on its roots.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Dec 29

This is lovely!! Thank you for the tag Show your art/writing at the start of 2025 VS your art/writing at the end of 2025 The first is from my first fic of the year, 'inevitability', and the second from an unpublished fic still in the works, work title 'tent fic'

The moment the sergeant is done with his first cigarette, he takes out another one. John follows as he digs into his pockets again, finds his lighter, and then fumbles with the light. The fire eludes him, a flicker appearing every now and then as his finger slips on the ignition.

John doesn’t know what prompts him to open his mouth: “Can I help?”

The sergeant startles and nearly drops his lighter. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“Let me,” John reaches out his hand, “I’ll light it for you.”

The man’s cheeks flush. It’s a cute look. “Thank you, sir.” He hands John the lighter and then leans forward, letting John light the cigarette. The red glow of it fits in, somehow, with the gloomy atmosphere. John gives the lighter back, and their hands brush at the exchange.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name before,” John says. The sergeant clears his throat.

“Sergeant Garrick.” He meets John’s eyes. “Kyle Garrick.”

“Captain John Price,” John offers his hand and Garrick shakes it firmly with his free hand.

“Wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Garrick says and John can’t help but agree. Their handshake lingers just a moment, and some other day John might have taken that as some kind of invitation. Today is not that kind of day, and Garrick doesn’t seem like the kind of person.

"Have you ever been hunting?"

Price's words cut through the silence of the safehouse. Gaz looks up from his tattered novel to where Price is sitting in a dingy armchair, smoking. He probably shouldn't be, but who's going to stop him? Not Gaz.

Gaz frowns. "What, like animals?"

Price grunts, "Yes, animals, Gaz."

"I haven't," Gaz shakes his head. He lowers his book to his lap. "Have you?"

Price gives him a half-shrug. "Every now and then. Good skill to keep up, you never know when you need it."

Gaz shifts, leans forward in his own chair. "Is it fun?"

Price takes a long drag from his cigar. "Jolly."

"Right." Gaz truly feels his city boy roots showing, he can't tell if Price is being serious or not.

"It's good exercise," Price muses. "You reconnect with some nature, it connects with you—"

"With dinner?"

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Dec 3

WIP Wednesday yay, some pricegaz again

He glances at Price and finds him already looking, and they stop in unison as they observe movement in the bushes. They raise their weapons in unison, pointing at the twitching foliage, and Price nods to him.

Gaz brings his finger to the trigger. He stands stock still, waiting for the creature to move, and then—

A grey-brown bird bursts from the bushes and takes to the air. Gaz's trigger finger twitches, but no shot rings out as he lowers his rifle. He glances at Price again who is looking at him with a mischievous kind of grin.

Gaz glares at him. Did you know it wasn't a target?

Price shrugs. Bastard.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 26

Tumblr tags offer some important context i think

it's not dubcon situation but not very ethical either; gaz very much wants to be there but doesn't care for price's endless pining; why would he commit to a man who can't love him like he wants to be loved? this man only knows sex and violence as tools to show his feelings. he doesn't need that. fuck that old man both literally and metaphorically.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 15

My humble offering to the #hucklerobby fandom

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 12

Wip Wednesday! I have a new fic tormenting Price coming to theaters near you (in like a week or two or three)

"Soap, would you come with me for a bit?"

"Yes, sir."

Gaz and Ghost don't even look up from their card game as Soap gets up from the table and walks to the hallway with Price.

Price finds them a quiet nook and then stops, turns to the Sergeant.

"Did you mean it?"

Soap blinks. "Mean what, sir?"

"Does it seem to you like Gaz is 'my favourite'?"

"Well, I mean—"

"I'm asking this seriously. Does it feel like to you that I'm treating Sergeant Garrick favourably or differently to you?"

Soap looks stunned by the question. "No, sir. It was just banter."

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 10

Just dug up this abandoned pricegaz wip, an AU set in 6th century Byzantine empire between monks Kyle and John (Kyriakos and Iohannes, respectively, but I "translated" the names to English like a hagiography). Never finished this but i'm still fond of it #kittewrites

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 9

Help

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 5

Wip Wednesday! Some Price angst from Dragon Age AU

A shell of himself, he drags himself from one day to another, and pretends that he isn’t a dead man walking.

Or so it feels. Perhaps he’s being a little dramatic – but it’s hard not to be, within pain like this. Each night he procrastinates sleep, fears his own dreams. That they’ll take him to that morning – or worse, to the night. To all the nights before. To the memory of a kiss. A dagger pressed in a lethal hand. A secret shared in the darkness. In the morning he wakes with tears in his eyes, gasping for breath and shaking; other mornings he wakes up warm and forgetful, until the morning light shines in his eyes and he remembers where he is, and that it's summer. That spring rains have gone and only thing left is the sweltering heat that only burns him within, not offering the respite of a breeze.

Memory is a funny thing – sometimes it runs fickle, like a forest stream sprinting over mossy rocks, finding a way through the smallest cracks and running away; other times it crashes over heavy like ocean waves. These memories feel like the sea, rolling and relentless, the tide rising as if to drown him, and then retreating and leaving but dry land. How he longs for the days when looking at them wasn’t like drowning.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Nov 4

#kittewrites #pricegaz NSFW, hurt/comfort, 1,5k words Rewrote the Price crying fic. Bon appetit. archiveofourown.org/works/73684016

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Oct 31

Alright let's do this too, thank you Chz for making this!

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Oct 31

WIP whatever. Tent fic is slowly coming along.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Oct 31

You know when you really love a fic and you just. Yeah. (this fic was posted yesterday)

Screenshot from archive of our own with the text "visited 13 times"

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Oct 31

Stolen from TL... i would like to answer some questions hello :)

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 25

#pricegaz #kittewrites Take My Violent Hands chapter 2 is out now! Soap is introduced to the story and the pining begins :) archiveofourown.org/works/711602...

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 21

Hey also guess what made me feel like i'm a thousand years old. Where's superwholock.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 21

HEY. WHAT'S THIS. This is Wrong. And Secondly. No i'm Not.

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 21

#pricegaz #kittewrites Take My Violent Hands - Dragon Age AU - 1/15 chapters, rated E - Enemies to lovers, explicit sexual content, canon-typical violence (applies to both COD and DA), the usual pricegaz insanity archiveofourown.org/works/711602...

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 16

#kittewrites #pricegaz A little snippet from the dragon age au

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 12

a gentle storm #kittewrites • pricegaz • hurt/comfort, discussion of depression, light angst • 2k words, rated T archiveofourown.org/works/70710946

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 9

Chapter 2 now on ao3! archiveofourown.org/works/704711...

Kitte (writes)@kittewrites· Sep 7

I got embarrassed by the smut i was writing on ellipsus so i made a folder for those fics