#Gaz cameo

[charliemwrites]

I would PAY Simon to kidnap me and keep me as his pet

I love it so much

Please more when you get the chance (and bodyguard gaz, duh)

Hi! I have not been ignoring this ask, I was deciding what to gift you with. So, since no one has asked - I give you: reader’s reaction to the other two members of 141.

You warm up to Gaz the fastest. So fast, in fact, that Simon is almost jealous. You like Gaz because he seems like the only normal-ish one of the group. He seems genuinely a little apologetic that you got taken from somewhere and are being kept but, really, what could he possibly do in this situation? Nothing. Not against a guy like ghost. Never mind with Johnny on his team. And the cap…

Well, Gaz just tries not to stress you out. He talks to you not at you. Always says, “hi, how’ve you been?” And you’re so baffled by the normalcy of it that he instantly gets you replying and interacting. He makes everything about himself so non-threatening that you have no problem being in the same room as him right away. And he always brings you something. Not bribes, but things he thought you might like. A new ball of yarn, a grow-your-own mushrooms kit, a rock from the desert once.

When Simon asks, trying to get his envy under control you just shrug. “He seems nice.” And that’s that.

As for Price?

Oof.

Simon hasn’t seen you this scared since he first brought you here. The minute you lay eyes on Price from around the corner, you’re skittering off. Simon’s baffled. It’s not instant tolerance like Gaz, or instant dislike, like Johnny. It’s almost how you used to react to him, but this is extreme even compared to that. He even warned you that Price was coming; you didn’t seem concerned at all before that moment!

He finds you tucked up in your room, decidedly off limits and safe. When he asks, you make a miserable “I don’t know” sound.

“Will you come down?” he asks.

“No.”

“Can he come say hi?”

“No.”

Simon figures he’ll give you an hour to calm down. Your eyes were huge.

Eventually you do creep out - though only because you need the restroom. As you’re padding out, intending to barricade yourself again, who turns the corner but Simon’s captain. Worst part is, he’s between you and your bedroom, blocking you in at the end of the hall.

“It’s alright, girl, easy,” he tries to soothe, but you’ve already pancaked yourself to the far wall, breathing hard. “What’s got you so spooked, eh?”

You make a high, distressed noise, curling down and into the corner of when he slowly moves closer. You try to summon up the will to react like you usually do, any anger or offense or something.

He gets within arm’s reach and you slide to the floor, tucked into a ball. He shushes you, nonsense words and promises that he won’t hurt you. He’s not even doing anything; hasn’t done anything. It’s just how Simon would act. You don’t even know why you’re scared.

When you feel scarred knuckles against your cheek you react on instinct, whipping up, mouth open. You stop before you even get your teeth on him, deflating in instant. Everything in you saying Do Not Bite Him.

“Oh? You wanna take a chunk outta me?” he asks, sounding amused. He brushes the backs of his fingers over you lips, offering. “Go on then, if it’ll make you feel better, wild thing.”

You shy away, but there’s really nowhere else to go. Price just sits with you for a while, crouched down, petting at your hair and cheek and even your neck.

“Can I at least see your pretty eyes?” he coaxes.

You blink, swallow thickly, and then force yourself to look up at him. Have trouble maintaining eye contact but manage. For a few seconds anyway.

“See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” he chuckles, giving you one last pay. “Alright, I’ll let you scurry off now.” And then he stands, turns and walks away without looking back and you feel like you can finally breathe again.

[ornateorchid]

i was just minding my own on when i saw an ad for call of duty warzone mobile. i then went and watched every trailer for it to see if there were any gaz cameos. there weren't any, but i wasn't surprised. then i went to look for promotional photos to see if he was in any and i found this one...

anybody see gaz here? nope, neither do i! he's not in ANY promotional photos or videos that i could find. i don't even know if he's in the GAME. you have all these characters lined up yet you don't have one of the MAIN characters from THREE OF YOUR GAMES! and i know he's not the only modern warfare character missing, but he's also the one missing from almost everything. last time i checked task force 141 included price, gaz, ghost, and soap. GAZ! GAZZZZZ!!!!!!! not some operator who is never mentioned in any campaign. i have no idea why activision hates him so much, yet here we are :/

[mistydeyes]

smth abt your recent 141 post gave me a thought.

somebody need to get these boys into a club, flashing lights, music and dancing, fun drinks and flashy y2k reader who’s lowkey an absolute party animal?? or an ex party animal, teehee anyways,,

imagine how fun it’d be dragging johnny onto the dance floor, drunkenly screaming that “this is my FAVORITE song!!”

i just see fics of them at bars and i just need to see them up in a club😫😫

thank you so much for requesting! i LOVE drunken club energy so much (something about going to a club and drinking a weak rum and coke on a thirsty thursday really does it for me). this totally fit the vibe of a previous request so please enjoy a little cameo of the best 2000s aesthetic character, Storm!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: The 141 decides to allow you to pick the place for some drinks while on leave. You take the opportunity to get absolutely hammered and sing your heart out to some 2000s hits.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x reader (codename: Storm)

warnings: swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"I thought they said we were going for drinks," Gaz shouted to Ghost over the loud 2000s dance music that blared on the dance floor. Gaz had found his way back to Price and Ghost after you had dragged him to the beats of Low by Flo Rida. After the chorus, you and your low-rise jeans and Harley Davis tiny top had disappeared with Soap in hand. He figured you would emerge eventually as he took a large gulp of his beer that appeared to be hot pink underneath the neon lights. "I am never letting Storm pick again," Ghost said and Gaz strained to hear him. But by the look of how drunk he was getting over the sugary drinks, it was clear Ghost was trying to make the most out of the experience.

"Here they come," Price yelled, almost as if he was delivering a warning, as you emerged from the crowd. Sweat coated your face and perfectly complicated the loose glitter from your makeup and the mingling crowd. Soap followed close behind, somehow losing his shirt after the three-minute song. "What happened out there?" Simon couldn't help but ask as you and Soap chugged the remainder of your dirty shirleys. "Met some Scousers," Soap breathlessly answered, "shirt went with 'em." The group laughed loudly as Soap fanned his sweating torso. "How'd you find this place, Storm?" Gaz asked, leaning forward closer to the group. "Went here a lot in sixth form and the summer before enlisting," you answered. You remembered the long nights and the hoarse voices you left with. You also remembered the paracetamol and glass of water affectionately left on your bedside table.

You continued to exchange wild stories about your drunken adventures including the time you threw up in someone's designer Juicy Couture bag. "And you still party like a teenager," Price couldn't help but tease as you threw your head back in laughter. "Don't see you complaining about all the compliments you've been getting, Captain," you quipped back. Almost on schedule, a young woman passed by the Captain and sent an air kiss his way with her glossed lips. You held your drink in the air and shared a toast with the group as you celebrated the woman's flirtations. Before Price could respond back, you could hear the beginning of your favorite early 2000s hits.

You jumped up, sloshing the drinks on the small metallic table. "Oh my god," you screamed, "this is my favorite song!" Unfortunately for Price and Soap, they were the nearest to you and your hands immediately began tugging them to the dance floor. Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as Soap relented but Price remained firmly in place. "I'm too old for this," Price said as he shook his head in dismay. "Whatever," you rolled your eyes, letting him fall back onto the plush couch, "but the next time there's a Britney song, I better see your boonie hat on the floor."

[sprout-fics]

Extraction

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Read here on Ao3)

(Part 12 of 'Little Mouse')

Word Count: 6.6k Rating: Mature Tags: Rescue missions, Team bonding, Team Dynamics, TF141 & Reader, Price whump, Maus feral biting maiming stabbing killing, KorTac member cameos, Gaz hates helicopters Warnings: Gratuitous Violence A/N: Little Mouse will be taking a break after this so the author can clean her plate and not get burnt out! Thank you!

“Rookie, how copy?”

"On task." You huff back, pausing to hold a hand down over your radio to respond to the thick Manchester accent that prompts you. The walls of the vents around you are a little tight on your shoulders with the bulk of your gear, but you manage to inch your way forward, looking towards the drop that will lead vertically down to the basement. To Price. "I'm in the vents."

You hear a snort then from a different voice as Gaz switches his own communications on.

"Go figure." He snarks, but his voice betrays the nervous waver there, the anxiety that is present in you all. This mission is dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. It means infiltrating deep into an enemy base, unknowing of Price's whereabouts, vastly outnumbered and facing almost certain death.

Things the 141 does best.

"Focus." Ghost snaps, and you both fall silent, clamping down on any doubts in favor of the imminent task at hand. "All stations, report."

There's a pause, a low crackle of static before a different voice floats over the airways.

"I'm inna security suite." Soap reports with a hushed murmur. "Got eyes on you, Ghost.”

"Good man." Ghost responds immediately, and you huff at the pleased little intonation of his voice at Soap's work. "Did you clean your route?"

"Squeaky clean. If anyone saw me come in, they won live to tell the tale." Soap reports pridefully, no doubt preening about his handiwork.

You breathe a sigh of relief at that, shoulders drooping with the exhale that is perhaps a touch too loud for your current circumstances, hidden as you are.

"I'm standing by with Nikolai." Gaz chimes in, voice hushed to match your tones. "We've secured a chopper in the southeast quadrant."

There's a pause then, and Gaz adds "Why am I on chopper duty? I bloody hate these things."

You hear Soap snort.

"Stay focused gents." Ghost snips at all of you, hushing any idle chatter. "Let's make this clean and quick. Won't be long before we're discovered."

There's a chorus of copies all around before you chime in once more. “Soap, did you check the basement cameras? Price might be down there.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few moments before Soap supplies. “Aye, he is. Cell three. Good copy, Foxtrot-01.”

"I'm making my way to building three." Ghost tells you all, low and quiet as he navigates the dangerous exterior of the structure you're in under the cover of darkness.

"Aye, I've got you covered, Ghost." Soap declares from his sniper nest atop the building across the way. Then he pauses for a moment before adding "Watch your six."

Ghost huffs, amused by the sergeant's concern. "Watch your own six, Johnny." He replies, but there's no venom there, just a quiet reminder to you all. Stay safe, stay silent, stay hidden. Here, in the den of the enemy, there's no way you all will make it out alive if the alarm is raised.

"Rookie, what's your position?" Ghost prompts as you continue to crawl forward, trying to slither along your belly as quiet as you can to avoid any detection. Yet even as you move there's a distant noise that pricks your ears, and you freeze.

Footsteps.

You pause where you lay, flat on your stomach, the cold metal of the vents pressing through your gear. The slats of a vent under you allow light to seep through. It illuminates your face as you stifle a breath, hearing boots echo down the hallway below you. It takes a moment for you to click off your radio, making sure the team's voices won't betray your position.

In the silence, you can hear your heartbeat thrum loudly in your ears, and you wonder if perhaps the person below can hear the drum of it against the metal sheet. Somehow, they'll look up, see your wide eyes gazing down, reach for their side arm in a jerking motion too fast for you to follow, and you'll enter into the great beyond, blood dripping from the vents.

You slowly raise a hand to your face, trying to stifle even the barest hint of your breaths just as a figure comes into view below you. Red hair, under a cap, a coarse mustache above a mouth downturned into permanent scowl.

O'Conor, you realize with a swooping flutter of your heartbeat, blood freezing tightly in your veins as you recognize the commander of KorTac, the man who remains bent on the destruction of your team, the man who wanted Price alive.

You try not to shake as you watch him pace into view, hands trembling over your face and eyes impossibly wide at the sight of the commander.

"Declan."

It takes every ounce of strength inside you to not flinch at the sound of a familiar voice, heavily accented and rough as a tall, ominous figure catches the attention of the Irishman. There's another pair of footsteps, and you watch as König enters into view below you, his superior height leaning over O'Conor.

"We need to talk." König declares gravely, voice low in warning. Yet O'Conor, rather than being intimidated, merely squints his eyes up at the Austrian. You try not to tremble as he looks up, praying to any God that will listen that somehow he won't see you in the shadows

"Aye." O'Conor offers in response, his voice betraying his own threat. "That we do."

Yet then, to your surprise, he glances around as if to look and see if there is anyone nearby.

"Not here." He declares, a little lower, and promptly turns on his heel, leaving König to follow.

You think for a moment König will somehow lift his face to you, stare his eyes into yours in the dimness, lift a single gloved finger to his lips in warning. Yet instead he shifts where he merely shifts where he stands before following the commander.

You wait a long, heavy minute for the footsteps to fade before exhaling a heavy, trembling breath. Your hand shakes noticeably as you raise it to click your radio back on, greeted by the murmur of your comrades growing frantic in the absence of your voice.

"I'm clear." You tell them, voice wavering. "Ghost, be advised, two VIPs exiting to the south of the building."

You pause a moment, letting your heartbeat try to settle in your chest before adding: "It's O'Conor and König."

You hear Gaz curse.

"Solid copy." Ghost responds darkly, voice dipping to a low, sinister growl. "Soap, give me a sit-rep. Can I intercept?"

The radio crackles for a moment before Soap grunts in frustration. "Negative." He grits. "They're on the opposite side of the building, you'll be spotted. Cannae risk it."

"Sir." Gaz interrupts as you begin to move forward again, almost to the drop. "Do we have permission to shoot on sight?"

You do pause at that, realizing belatedly the thing you've done, revealing the position of your strange enemy turned ally to your comrades, to the same men who wait silently for the destined moment where a bullet pierces his skull.

The breath in your chest stutters to silence, and in its place is the cold, icy realization of the death sentence you've handed to the man who dances in the shadows of your dreams.

Then, Ghost's voice.

"Permission granted."

A shiver works its way through your limbs, raising up your throat in a protest you barely swallow before it can echo to your teammates.

No.

Yet it's too late. You hear Soap murmur an affirmative, once again reporting his findings to Ghost. It's a small bit of solace when he conveys the two men have exited the building, headed outside and into the midnight darkness. Yet the lurking shadow of fear doesn't abate, not even as you reach the vertical drop down towards the basement, maneuvering yourself at an angle so you can descend feet first.

The mission, you remind yourself. Price. He's your objective first and foremost, as you seek to undo the wreckage you've created, bring him home safe where he belongs.

"Got em on cams." Soap reports again, but his voice betrays something a little puzzled at the sight that must be playing before him. "Looks like they're havven themselves an argument."

You hear Gaz huff a mirthless sound as you slowly shimmy your way down the shaft and into the story below. "All not well in KorTac?" He asks smugly, only to be hushed by Ghost.

"Rookie, how copy?"

"Nearly there." You echo back a little breathlessly. "Just getting to the basement."

"Roger." Ghost responds quickly, pausing so you hear the sound of a silenced bullet meeting its target. "Hold when you get there, making my way to you now."

You mutter an affirmative just as you reach the bottom, kneeling before you begin to shimmy forward once more. There's silence over the comms, interrupted only once or twice by Soap relaying positions of some of the mercenaries to Ghost, sealing their fates as the phantom draws their final breaths on their behalf.

It's in the few minutes that follow that you manage to scoot forward, peering into each room you pass to see if the prisoner there is the man you've come to save.

At last, as you peer down into the dimness, you blink and try to squint before noticing a familiar set of gear, the British emblem etched into the shoulder of his uniform. Still. Silent.

"Ghost, I have a view of Price." You breathe, trying to quell the stammer of your heart the way Price's head lolls onto his chest, the ragged, cracked rise of his chest that speaks of something broken. A familiar pang of guilt roils low in your stomach, despondent, outraged at the fate you've led your captain to- locked in a damp, dark prison cell with nothing but brutality as his companion.

"How's he look?" Gaz presses before Ghost has a chance to respond, and you release a shuddering exhale, trying to stay composed despite the tremble of panic threatening inside you. Years of training force you to exhale long slow through your nose, eyes closing as you force yourself through the hammering despair inside you.

"Bad." You reply, quieter now, and the silence that echoes over the comms speaks of nothing less than dread.

You gather yourself despite it, prepare to try and find the will within you to press ever onwards, echoing Ghost's callsign over the comms in a bid for orders.

Yet the lieutenant doesn't offer another word, and even as you echo his name in concern there's only silence that greets you, cold and absent.

It doesn't take long for you to make up your mind then, because after only a second's hesitation, you begin to work the vent shaft open with your multi-tool, gently prying loose the screws. You hear Soap once more try to raise Ghost, and by the time the lieutenant responds you have the vent entrance swinging open on a hinge, opening far enough for you to begin to try and slip through legs first.

"Two KorTac operatives down." He reports, voice deadly quiet, hushed. "Rookie, stand by."

"Too late." You offer him in return, with a shake of your head as if he can see it. Whatever Ghost snaps next at you, a reminder to stay put is muffled by the low thud of you dropping to the floor.

Price doesn't even lift his head at the sound, and you try to erase the frantic murmur of your fluttering heartbeat as you quickly but quietly dart forward, kneel before him.

"Price." You whisper, urgent and afraid, hands grasping at his arms to try and shake him. You swallow the horror that draws across your face as you examine him. His clothes are the same as the ones he'd been captured in days prior. Yet they're disheveled, torn in places where scarlet stains the fabric. His face is a mangled mess of blood and swelling, his shoulder lodged at an angle that looks wrong. When the captain breathes there's a hitch in his chest that has you choke on a trembling noise of pain at his condition. It wavers your voice as once again you try to rouse him, words betraying your fear. "Price. Wake up. Please wake up."

Price doesn't respond, and in the silence you feel your world begin to fracture at the seams.

You stand abruptly, letting your hands gingerly tilt your captain's face so the red smear of his blood flakes against your gloves.

"John." You whisper then upon seeing the full violence etched across the flesh of his face. Your hands shake as you look over the crimson drowning one of his eyes, nose broken, bloodied. The air in your chest feels too heavy, too pressing as you try once more to echo his name. "John."

It's only then that Price's eyes flutter open. You see him blink against the haze for a moment, eyes clearing quickly. The years allowing him to narrow in on you just as you breathe a desperate, smiling shudder of relief, eyes warming with tears.

"Rookie." He mutters, and you wince despairingly at the drag of his voice in his chest. Wet. Fractured but not yet broken.

"Yeah. Yeah cap, it's me." You tell him breathlessly, the smile on your face soured by concern. Your heart feels a too rapid flutter in your chest, searing brightness of adrenaline fueling the pulsing thrum of blood in your veins.

"You made it out." He breathes with realization, and once more your mind flashes to the sight of him tossed into the yawning maw of a dark van, taken far away from you even as you scream in the confines of Soap's unbreakable hold.

Yet then he shakes his head, grunting with pain at the motion. "Rookie. You need to leave. They're looking for you. O'Conor said-"

"Damn O'Conor." You hiss instead, moving quickly now, behind him and pulling out your blade to begin sawing at his restraints. "We're getting you out of here, cap. Not leaving without you."

"We?" Price echoes, still a little dazed. "Don't tell me-"

"Yes. We." You interrupt, freeing his hands and now working on the wire that secures his torso to the back of the chair. "Never leave a man behind, Price."

As if reminded, you raise your hand to your radio and press down so your voice echoes out. "This is Foxtrot-01, package secured. Standby."

You hear a whooshed sigh of relief, a breath that has been held for far too long before it's Gaz's voice that answers back. Yet before he can speak it's Ghost's voice that interjects. "Good copy, Foxtrot-01. Stand by for RV."

"Copy, standing by." You clip back, knife working its way through the remainder of Price's bindings. Yet as you move around to his front to slice the zip ties securing his ankles to the chair, Soap's voice echoes forth with a crackle and a low, grave warning.

"I've got eyes on ye, Rookie. Those guards outside are getting mighty suspicious-"

A noise outside, just as you tear loose the last few restraints. It makes the both of you look up sharply, dread awash in your limbs as you realize too late you've been made.

The door clicks open just as you dart in front of Price, who wobbles to a stand behind you. Hands reaching for your automatic you watch the door to swing wide, hard enough to crack on the wall beside it.

"WEAPONS DOWN." A voice bellows from a dark figure in full gear, a helmet obscuring your enemy's face as he lifts his weapon towards you both, flanked by two more men behind him, a fourth and a fifth down the hallway. "NOW."

You feel your hands tremble despite your grip, glaring into the darkened visor of the soldier before you, eyes tracing the emblem of a wolf on his shoulder. It's the insignia of KorTac, an oath sworn to the company of men and women designed to kill you all, to reduce the 141 into a smoldering pile of ashes so smoke curls into the sky.

The same insignia he wears.

"WE WILL SHOOT." The guard barks, adjusting the grip on his rifle. "SURRENDER. NOW."

You could. You could lay down your weapon, fail both yourself and Price once more at the meek reward of your life- even if means submitting to O'Conor's hands, to the torture within as they try to break you, to hand the mangled pieces of you to Price in hopes it would rot and fester his soul. All while eyes watch from behind a bleach teared hood, unable to help lest he too be destroyed.

König. Your mind tries once more, summoning the hooded figure into your thoughts in a desperate plea that you shake away despite the dangerous temptation there. Yet even in the face of capture, his words beckon to you, prying open your thoughts with his voice.

"Some things are more beautiful when they are free, Maus."

"FINAL WARNING. WE WILL OPEN FIRE."

You don't comply, feeling the terror in your veins muted by the cold, trained instinct of survival and the reminder of the things he seeks in you. The pure beauty of something dangerous but wild, enchanting and deadly but untouchable. The moment he catches you in his grip is the moment he loses the magic inside of you, the spell that binds him to you.

You focus not on the tumult inside of you, of the dreams and the nightmares, the prophecies of future or damnation of the past. Instead, the world narrows down to the level of your scope before you, the feeling of your captain at your back, knowing that even in the darkest moments here in the face of certain defeat that he'll never give in. Price will fight until his dying breath, his grave one of glory from battles fought and victories gained. You feel his unwavering determination bleed into you as he places a hand on your shoulder, strengthening you with his touch alone.

You'll never surrender.

A clatter behind them. You blink just as they turn, and with a hiss milky white smoke begins to fill the hallway. There's a moment where the guards yelp, try and turn in the direction of the smoke, and too late you hear one of them reach for his radio, yelling a "Contact-!" before his voice is swallowed by a scream.

A massive shape moves in the mist, and you watch as his hands secure the man to his chest, reaching a blade around to the front of his throat. The wet gurgle his victim gives is the only thing he can manage before he slumps to the floor.

Ghost.

Before the remaining guards can raise their weapons, choking on the smoke, you launch forward into the fray. Blood boiling at a feral, raging simmer, you jump at the man who barked orders at you and Price, onto his back and wrapping your legs around his front to keep his arms restrained. It takes little effort for you to draw your own knife against his neck and pull. The sound he makes as he screams is muffled by the palm of your glove.

You tumble off him as his knees buckle, moving before you can fully catch your breath. No stopping. No hesitation. A single heartbeat means the difference between life and death, and you watch as the next guard tries to reach his comrade held up to the wall by Ghost's hand around his throat. He turns to you a moment too late, using the wall to brace and jump a few inches higher. You catch the whites of his eyes as you descend on him, unable to scream before you plant the blade in his shoulder. Your weight crashes down on him, sending you both falling to the ground.

He tries to grapple with you despite the blood oozing across the silver of your knife, hands fumbling as he tries to regain himself enough to dislodge you. Before he can, however, an arm reaches down, wraps across your throat as you're hauled back and up, against the uneven and rigid surface of a tactical vest. You kick out just enough for your feet to brace against the wall beside you, sending your opponent hurtling back until he hits the opposite side of the hallway. Yet he doesn't let go, his hold on your neck tightening and choking your air supply, a hand on your head at just the right angle to twist.

Before he can, there's movement beside him, and you feel your balance thrown off center as someone else manages to dislodge you from your captor's hold, sending you sinking to the ground. You raise your head to see Price grappling with the man, trying to use every ounce of his remaining strength to fend him off. That same, untamed glint in his eyes glimmers past the red rim of his gaze, teeth gritted as he tries to reach for the man's weapon.

It takes a moment for you to yank your knife out of the other man's shoulder, and he weakly tries to reach for it in your hands before you plant a boot on his visor so hard that the plastic cracks. Turning, you hurl it at Price's attacker, landing it between his shoulder blades. The man grunts, goes down to one knee, and you watch as Price secures a hand on his jaw, on his helmet and yanks his head abruptly. The resounding crack as a result has you tense, face grimacing as the guard's arms fall limp at his sides and he slumps. Dead.

You slump against the wall, chest heaving, blood splattered, hands roaming over your vest to make sure you still have your weapons and ammunition, searching for an injury you missed. Yet your gaze snaps to Ghost as he walks over to the soldier with the cracked visor. The man gives your lieutenant a wheezing, whimpered plea, only for Ghost to raise his weapon and fire once into his skull, putting the man out of his misery. Silence settles over the hallway, the last of the smoke dissipating in the carnage the three of you have left.

"Sloppy." Ghost tells you flatly as he helps you to a stand, your legs finding their strength once more. "We need to work on your close combat skills."

You resist the urge to snap at him, feeling adrenaline pump with poison through your blood. "Let's survive first, LT." You tell him instead, and Ghost nods before turning to Price. You look between them as the men meet eyes, a wordless recognition and meaning passed through their stare.

"Broken?" Ghost asks, and despite the flatness of his words he still manages to convey his relief and concern at the sight of his captain

"Ask me when I'm in Hell." Price huffs in return, and despite the bruising on his face you swear you can see him pull a smile.

"I'll see you there then." Ghost quips, raising his hand and offering Price his pistol. The captain takes it, holds it gently to check the number of shots left before he nods, turns to you.

"You escaped." He states, rather than questions. "How?"

"Answers later." You tell him, once again lifting your weapon to your hands, widening your stance in preparation of Ghost's orders. The lieutenant catches your eyes, gives you a terse nod before shifting to address you both.

"We need to move. Rookie, watch our six." With that he raises his own automatic, takes a stance ahead of you and Price, allowing you to flank the rear and watch for any signs of reinforcements coming up behind you.

"Soap will meet us up top." Ghost murmurs darkly as the three of you approach the stairwell up from the basement, hovering around the corner. "Nikolai and Gaz will provide ex-fil in the heli."

"You put Gaz in a chopper?" Price asks, the humor in his voice veiled by the gravity of your circumstances.

"Is now really the time?" You hiss, once more checking your gear to ensure all your ammo and weapons are in place. "Shit, left my knife."

"Leave it." Ghost orders, using a hand to brace Price on the wall as the captain grunts in pain.

"It's my favorite." You grumble with annoyance but make no effort to go back and retrieve it.

"Ghost, be advised." Soap relays over the comms, voice low and grave. "Enemies moving in on your position. Think they know we're here."

"Are the stairs clear?" Ghost asks in return, but before Soap can speak next there's a shout from the top of the stairs and something clatters down the steps.

"DOWN." Ghost bellows, reaching for the grenade and lobbing it back towards its sender before hunching down beside you and Price. The resulting explosion has the world shake and hum around you, the smoke filling your nostrils and your ears ringing in the aftershocks.

When you come to next, you can hear shots echoing down the stairs as the soldiers up top open fire on you all. Shielded by the wall, you watch the bullets pierce the plaster at the bottom of the stairs, creating holes where your flesh would be had you not been paying attention.

"Rookie!" Ghost barks, and you follow his hand gesture, scooting past Price long enough to unload your weapon at the men up top, relishing the cry of hurt at finding your target. Ghost takes the opportunity of the resulting gap, darting across the base of the stairs so both of you flank either side. You watch your shots, darting out long enough to shoot, find your target, and then make your mark. It takes little time, but even in the moments that follow you find yourself yelling into the radio towards the Scot on the other end.

"Now would be a really good time for that diversion, Soap!" You shout, and whatever Soap says next is swallowed by the resulting gunfire that rains down on you all.

Eventually there's the sound of a thud as the last of the guards slumps to the ground, and you force your way up the stairs behind Ghost and Price, weapon raised and breathing leveled. The deadly focus of a soldier engulfs you now, dreams and nightmares forgotten, not even pausing to look at the bodies you step over, their dying breaths coloring the bottom of your boots red.

"Gaz, get that helo ready." Ghost growls at the sergeant, to which Gaz clips an affirmative just as Ghost turns his attention to Soap. "Soap, how copy?"

Silence. Then, in the near distance, an explosion. It shudders the floor under your feet, makes dust fall down from the ceiling and coat a thin coating of gray over your gear. You can hear the distant crackle of something burning as smoke coils up into the midnight sky.

"That should keep them occupied." Soap chirps, perhaps a little too gleeful.

"The hell did you do?!" You shoot back, following quickly behind the two officers in front of you, sweeping behind to check your six.

"Set fire to their supply depot." Soap responds smugly before his voice turns serious once again. "I'm moving in on your position. RV in five."

"Check your shots." Price reminds you both, to which you and Ghost nod, continue to press forward. It isn't long before you encounter another squadron of soldiers in one of the hallways, this one more heavily armed than the ones before. When you lean out to shoot, you can see the hard exterior of a riot shield keep your shots at bay.

"Shit." You curse, leaning back to reload. The stairs to the roof aren't far beyond, but the hallway before you is choked with soldiers that manage to press closer towards you all, closing the distance. You pull a grenade from your vest, yanking the pin with your teeth and lobbing it down the hall, covering Price from the implosion that makes your teeth chatter with the impact. Yet it only slows the remainder of the force ahead of you all, doing nothing to eliminate the obstacle ahead of you.

"We're going to get flanked." You yell to Ghost above the gunfire, but the lieutenant doesn't respond, focused on his own task at hand, rapidly reloading and trying to shoot anyone who gets too close.

True to your warning, you hear a shout from the hallway behind you, spinning on your heel to shoot at the head that pops around the corner.

"We're being boxed in!" You bellow to Ghost and Price, only for the captain to flatten you to the wall, moving you behind him so he can empty a few rounds at the next figure to come around the corner.

"Keep your head, Rookie!" He yells over the chaos, voice garbled with the injury to his chest. You do, you try, but with enemies on both sides you feel the temptation of panic threaten to rise inside you, obscure your focus into a deadly distraction. You force it down, remind yourself the three of you have been in far worse scenarios than this.

"Soap!" You bark over comms instead, bending your head to your radio for just a moment before you lean out to shoot once more, draw back as a bullet flies inches from your head. "Soap, what's your status?"

The other end of the hallways explodes.

Ah. That would be him then.

"MOVE UP!" Ghost thunders, and you wait until Price is past you before firing several parting shots to the soldiers behind you, rounding the corner and crouching to avoid the lingering shots fired overhead. You can hear panicked shouts from the KorTac operatives now, as they realize they've been flanked, spinning in both directions to try and fend you all off. Yet it's useless, because as soon as they try to turn from Soap's line of fire they only manage to expose themselves to yours, their screams cut off as you find your mark.

Once the hallway is empty the three of you quickly make your way forward, finding a breathless Soap on the other side, offering you a grin smeared with grenade dust.

"Good to see you alive and well, Cap." He offers to Price. Price doesn't have time to respond, instead jerking his head to the soldiers coming up behind you. The Scot takes the order wordlessly, falling in beside you as Ghost and Price take point, pushing towards the stairs that lead up to the next floor.

The resulting minutes that follow are fueled only by the ring of gunshots, the ringing aftershocks of grenades, barked orders and clicking sounds of reloading weapons. You forget the past and future, allowing the battle worn focus of your training and experience to fall over you, eyes wide and focused, taking in the smallest miniscule movements and allowing your aim to ring true.

It isn't long before the four of you reach the ladder to the roof. Ghost signals for you to go first and clear the way, and as you ascend through the shaft you can hear the gunfire below mute into a distant ringing. It takes a moment to reach for your bolt cutters, balancing precariously on the rungs of the ladder as you snap the lock to the hatch in two. The entrance swings open with a groan, revealing the dark, roiling clouds hanging high above in the heavens.

Almost there. You remind yourself with a breath of cold air. Just a little longer.

You make sure to help Price up onto the flat surface of the roof, where you can hear the distant thump thump thump of a helicopter's blades beating distantly at the air. You allow yourself a single moment of relief before your ears attune to shouting below the building. Price catches your eye, and without even being asked you fall in, planting yourself to the edge of the building and adjusting your rifle so you gaze down onto the pathways connecting the buildings. You can see soldiers scurrying, hurrying to the building you're atop of, barking orders and racing to the burning supply depot that licks orange and bright against the black sky.

Flat on your stomach, you adjust your rifle and find your targets, watching as KorTac soldiers jerk, drop to the ground in a violent splash of crimson. You can hear chatter over the radio, but it dims to a mere hum as you fully immerse yourself into your specialized skill set, plucking enemies off the map one by one with unerring, precise calculation.

Yet then you see the glint of a scope, one that catches the light of the burning building nearby, a single warning before the other sniper finds you in their sights.

You roll out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding the bullet that chips the brick of the building next to you. It takes a moment to adjust, and as you roll back to focus, you can see the figure aiming up at you from another rooftop. Dark hair, lean build, kohl darkened eyes gazing at you from her own sniper nest.

Roze.

You feel a snarl tugging at your lips, aim once more at her, but your aim is off as you once more duck to avoid her own shot at you. Even so, there's a distant thrill of excitement that pulses through you, wild and shuddering with a bright, biting taste of adrenaline.

"Been a while since I had a sniper shootout." You mutter to nobody in particular, allowing yourself an untamed smile, eyes bright with fixation. You narrow yourself to the scope focused on the woman opposite of you, finger hovering over the trigger as the crosshairs fall onto her own mirrored expression.

You don't get the chance, because suddenly the distant whir of the chopper gets loud, and the roof Roze is on explodes into a trail of dust as the turret of the helo turns on the enemy there. You think you see Roze vanish into a puff of soot, but don't stay long enough to find you, shouldering your weapon and raising yourself up to get ready for exfil.

There's a shout from the ladder, and you watch as Soap tumbles back from the hatch with a cry mixed with pain and outrage, his back hitting the gravel with a crunch. He curses, quickly tries to right himself, and as he stands he curses again, balancing awkwardly on one leg. You watch as blood oozes from the hole in his pants and he snarls at the enemies who left it there.

"Bloody fuckin' bastards." He seethes, but somehow manages to shut the hatch once Ghost follows, preventing any pursuers from following. You can barely hear him as the chopper angles down, lowering onto the rooftop and beating the air around you into a gale.

"Everyone on the chopper. NOW." Price bellows despite the choke in his chest, and despite his injuries he tries to be the last one on, covering your retreat as you tumble onto the helicopter floor. Ghost none too gently forces him to follow, knocking Price into your arms as you scramble to catch him, holding him fast just as the chopper raises itself off the roof.

"Get us out of here, Nik!" Gaz shouts over the noise, his hands still secured to the turret that leans out the side of the chopper. You flinch, duck, doing your best to cover Price as a few stray bullets ping the side of the chopper as you all lift off. The noise of the turret beside you only continues to deafen your senses, Ghost kneeling beside it and offering his own parting regards to the soldiers far below that try to bring you down.

"RPG!!" Gaz hollers, and the chopper angles severely to avoid the rocket that narrowly misses one of the blades. You feel yourself begin to slide backwards with Price in your arms, and manage to catch hold of one of the ropes, gripping tight with a yell, trying to prevent yourself from falling backwards further. You can hear Nikolai curse vividly in Russian, securing the controls before the bird goes into a tailspin. Even so, you can't help but glance over your shoulder, staring with a horrified gaze at the tilting earth that spins dizzily on the other exit of the heli.

When the chopper finally does even out, you hear the final, dull remaining bullet pings graze off the exterior of the heli, until they too fade to silence, and the only thing left is the urgent beat of the blades above you all.

It's only then that you manage to catch the gazes of the men around you, chests heaving, wild eyed, disbelieving as the adrenaline continues to thrum high in their veins.

"Steamin' Jesus." Soap offers in the silence that follows, grazes a hand over his face and stares first at you, then at Ghost, Gaz, until his eyes finally land on Price. Yet his smile cracks at the wild shock there, eyes dancing and bright, almost bewildered in the chaos of his thoughts before he asks you all: "Tha bloody hell was that?!"

As if those are the words needed, you watch as Gaz slumps into the seat beside him, head tilting down to his chest as he loudly declares "I am never, ever, ever getting on a fucking chopper again."

It startles an almost manic laugh from you, your hands still tucked under Price's arms, blinking and trying to quell the like-minded disbelief from your own mind.

"Who's hurt?" Ghost asks, and you all list an observed catalog of injuries. Bruises, scrapes, bullet holes, but all of you alive, whole, narrowly escaping the jaws of certain defeat intact. There's a pulsing, almost deranged relief between you all, one that sings loudly between gasping pants and heaved breaths.

"We did it." You breathe at last to Price, who has yet to straighten from your lap. His eyes are scrunched, forcing himself to breathe through the hurt radiating from his chest. You can see his chest rising with stuttering inhales, but even so your captain manages to raise his hand, patting it against the back of your palm in a wordless acknowledgement.

Well done.

It takes more than a few minutes for you to collect yourselves, thrumming with leftover, frenetic energy and bloodlust that bites down on the pain of your injuries. You hear Nikolai rumble something in Russian to Price, to which Price huffs, offers a groaning. "Da." in reply.

Finally, when he feels fit to move, you help Price stand, gently getting him strapped into a chair with Gaz's help. You seat yourself across from him, and when you finally let your shoulders fully uncoil with relief, Price catches your gaze. He taps on his headset, and you switch on your own just in time to hear him ask: "How did you know where I was?"

You blink, memories rewinding to the broad, dark figure of a hooded soldier illuminated in the dim darkness, eyes staring down at you past trails of bleached tears. His words once again echo endlessly into your thoughts, pulling at something dark and twisted and all too familiar. Yet there's warmth there, and it colors your smile as you offer:

"A little lark told me."

Taglist: (Please reblog this post to add yourself to the taglist)

@fatedeniedhope @gio-gio007 @glassgulls @sednonamoris @ohgraywardens @greatlydelirious @guyfierriii @wanderingisobel @nijiluvbot @deceiverofgodss @xasement @zwiiicnziiix @bloodyknucklesforme @kkinky @imkumichan @fluidthoughts @secre-flower @sandinthemachine @starlitnotes @00mogars @adorephina @cowanonofficial @dhns-stuff @kgbtardis @kaitlynisinfinite @thisperspective @darlingcyare @rk1v35 @classickook @smoggyfogbottom @cass-andor-junkie @uroldall @whore4dilfs @beeslythebee @the-queerpoet-collecterter @artbythedarksideedarkside @deepdreamerbouquet-world @scatter-mind001 @emrzennn @cuckoo-on-a-string @sednonamoris @azzoka @tinykaka @amp-0000 @imalovernotahater @ramadiiiisme @akir4a @ddiamondsdancing @kroowonderemporium @fuckimhere @xespresso-depressox @imtherain @fatedeniedhope @bythe-waterfountain @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @brainlessgf @mionacaped @wltneko9006 @snarkygentile @blvkwondaland @shinyportalsandthings @lilpothoscuttings @tzipora-art @nowaydin @ihatesunfl0wers @4-est @xdarkcreaturex @beesandpollen @frazie99 @kamino-mermaid @wildechildwrites @glitterypirateduck @miamia89

(If you see your url on here but it isn't underlined, it means you weren't tagged! Please reblog to the url you would like to be tagged at and check your settings to make sure you can be tagged, thank you!)

(If you'd like to remove yourself from the taglist, please send me a DM)

[elexaria]

simon’s such a good father to child!reader, he’s always eager to steal some time away to take care of his favourite girl. “love the drawing, you’re a little monet in the works.” he croons as he takes a peak over your shoulder, eliciting a joyful squeal as you beam up at him. with excited anticipation and sticky fingers, you point down at the figures in the drawing. “thats me! and you… an’ uncle johnny an’ price an’ gaz an’….” it’s an endless list of things— the little lady that you always say good morning to when you’re on you’re way to school, the friendly dog that sticks his wet snoot out through a hole in the fence next door, even philip graves makes a cameo in your little drawing.

simon crouches beside you, chuckling as he nods. “looks like you have a lot of friends, don’t you love?” he says gently, quickly reaching out for a crayon to add a small detail— a small pink love heart between you and him in the drawing. “but that’s all that really matters, you know. me an’ you, chick.” you nod, feet happily swinging as you childishly scrawl a signature in the top left corner— Y/N, aged 5. it makes his heart swell, prideful as he takes the drawing in his hands, his eyes flickering over each and every detail. he’s a lucky man to have such an awesome kid, and that’s all that’s on his mind when he’s out there, fighting for a better tomorrow for you <3

[saintship]

Hii. Saw your requests for Gaz post and of course I have to ask for something!

A neighbour Gaz fic/headcanon. Maybe him having a crush on reader and looking for ways to talk to her (neutral reader is fine too).

I havent seen any neighbour Gaz fics around here.

If not, a coworker Gaz slow burn would be great too!

Thank you 😊

I just read this amazing neighbor fic that might be what you’re looking for, and then I wrote a coworker slow burn here just so you have both concepts to read :)

Hope you like it!

Warnings: Slow build, hurt/comfort, kiss + confession, Graves cameo

Solid Copy - Gaz x Reader

FSS, M4, Fennec..

You leaned down to check each weapon's case, kneeling on the armory's concrete floor. Inventory wasn't the most exciting of the grunt work needed on base, but the repetition was nice. Not many others thought the same, however, always scrambling for a different assignment and leaving you with this one. That is, all except one Sergeant that you'd met your first day on site. Gaz happily paired up with you to stock or organize. You assumed he just needed a break from so many operations he'd been a part of that year, so many unpredictable events after one another. It wasn't often he caught a break.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had the kindness of joining you in a boring task, whether it be inventory, restocking, guard duty, or cafeteria, he always seemed to be there.

If anyone else had chosen to be around you so often, you might have been a little freaked out, but this was different, especially as the months passed and you were more familiar with everyone. A year passed by so quickly you hardly noticed it was that time again; that dead leaves littered the entrance and the wind blew colder every day. The first day there was snow, Gaz had found you on your break standing outside looking at it all. He teased you, but only to get you to turn your back so he could haul a snowball right at the sensitive nape of your neck. He'd ended up losing that battle, though he'd swear up and down for all his days it was a tie.

Two months with no deployments for the task force meant the return of those dull odd jobs. Tonight was cafeteria deep clean, a task out of many that you didn’t consider when you were enlisting. But Gaz was there, as always. You could hear him shuffle around, dropping things and making way too much noise as he cleaned the kitchen. A particularly loud crash caught your attention, your smile dropping to concern. You abandoned your mop, nearly slipping on the wet floor before vaulting the counter and looking around.

“I’m fine..” Gaz’s groan sounded from the back corner; he was pinned under a wooden palette holding an array of heavy steel pans.

“Oh- my god..” You rushed to lift the palette, thanking your weight training for your ability to push it up off Gaz’s leg.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, it fell!” Gaz got to his feet, gesturing to the culprit.

“That thing is like 40 pounds, it didn’t fall.”

“Okay, maybe I was putting something back on the top shelf, which I can reach,”

“Jesus..” You kneeled to gather the pans that had fallen.

“And when I pulled back..” He trailed off, nodding to the mess with his hands on his hips. You looked up to tell him off again, but saw a large bruise forming below his eye.

“Gaz, your cheek..”

He huffed. “I’m not going red!”

“Will you shut up?” You stepped closer to feel the area, noticing his wince but not noticing the hitch in his breath.

“Are you dizzy?” You were close enough that you could speak quietly.

“No.. but, um, I think I’m hurt here too, you should check..” He directed you vaguely to his jaw, where a tiny bruise was barely visible.

You blinked, still lost at what his deal was, but examined it anyway. “I think we need to amputate.”

“Amputate my head?” A smile crept over his features, and now your breath was catching.

“Let’s just..clean this..”

“It was nice of you to check on me.”

When you looked up from where you crouched in the mess he’d made, he was grinning. You forced down the fluttering in your ribcage.

“Thought you’d gotten really hurt..” You placed a few of the pans back, and Gaz did the same until the floor was clear again.

“You were worried about me?” The teasing in his voice was clear as day; his embarrassment behind him.

“No. Just..whatever.” You slid back over the counter, mopping the rest of the floor without sparing a single glance. No matter how much you were dying to, especially when you felt his eyes burn into your back. You only turned when you felt the aluminum corner of a file poke your shoulder. You put away the cleaning equipment, taking the file from his hand.

“What’s this?”

“Emergency hostage rescue. Alejandro’s guys.”

You scanned the file as quickly as you could, shaking off the light feeling that seemed ridiculous now that you knew of this.

“Just the 141?”

“Backup is on standby, Price thinks the Shadows might show up and try to get the hostages first.”

“What does Graves want with Vaqueros?” You asked, looking up. Gaz only shook his head.

“Nothing nice, I reckon.”

Price leaned into the entryway of the cafeteria, slinging a rifle over his shoulder. “Wheels up in 10!”

“Aye, Captain!” Gaz chirped. You continued studying the file before filing it in your bag, accompanying Gaz to the briefing room. Your weapons and gear hadn’t even been stored since the last mission and you were already strapping all of it back on. The file hadn’t said much; there were at least a dozen Vaqueros being held against their will by a band of Hassan’s leftover soldiers.

“You’d think Hassan wouldn’t be able to give us any more grief with a bullet in his head.” Gaz grumbled as the both of you clambered into the helicopter.

“His men were young when he recruited them.” Price exhaled a breath of smoke, studying the horizon. “He preyed on the ones looking for a purpose. Teenagers love a revolution.”

“They won’t let his message die.” You finished quietly.

Gaz strapped into the seat beside you before raising a fist to connect with your own. “We will.”

The sun had risen fully by the time the heli touched the sand, the exposed terrain already heightening your awareness.

“Soap, Ghost, come in.” Price spoke into his radio.

“Opposite your position, descending the hillside. Target building in our sights.” Ghost replied.

“Wait there. Soap, get ready for your specialty.”

“Aye, sir. You spoil me.”

Price smiled. “Blow it up, Sergeant.”

“Engaging. Brace for debris.”

“How big is this bomb?” You asked.

“The entrance is built to hell, we need some serious force.”

Gaz leaned over to watch Soap plant the device from afar. “Sweet.”

“Planted.” Soap chirped. “L.T.’s got the detonator.”

Price waited until Soap was at a good distance before carrying the order. “Light it up, Simon.”

“With pleasure.”

The entrance erupted in a brilliant light, bits of steel flying in every direction. Gaz watched for a moment before drawing back quickly.

“Shit..”

“What now?” You tugged on his shoulder to angle his face toward you.

“I’m fine.” A shard of steel had glanced over his forehead, narrowly missing his eye.

“You’re lucky.” You retorted.

“Focus..” Price glowered over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz wiped the blood away from his brow and moved up, you on his tail. The five of you circled the entrance, noting the silence.

“It’s quiet.” Ghost huffed.

“Actual, this is Price. Can we get confirmation we’re alone here?”

“This is Actual,” Kate’s voice replied through the radio system. “Your old friend got here first. Move in now.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost’s words bit the air as he tailed Price, you and the rest following behind. The halls were narrow; only two could fit lengthwise as you moved past the damp walls. A bolted door led to a stairwell to the basement, where shouting and commotion could be heard.

“Stay neutral for now.” Price murmured. All guns were stowed as you descended the stairs, bringing up the back end of the line. You heard Graves before you saw him.

“You will fuckin’ listen to me, or you’ll be sprayed against that wall, do you hear me?”

“Graves.” Price’s voice leveled with a twinge of threat.

He turned; his eyes lighting up in surprise.

“Well I’ll be.” Graves murmured, stalking forward. His rifle dangled at his side as if it was a toy.

“I’m afraid you’re being overridden. SAS has business here, your club does not.” Price walked up so he was looking down at him, emphasizing his taller stature.

Graves barked a short laugh, looking away before glancing back, a fire in his eyes. “Shadow Company is an enterprise. A haven for men held back by the military!”

“You’re fragile.” Your mouth moved faster than your head; that much was clear when Graves’ sharp eyes shifted to you.

“You’re new..” His voice growled with something that made you tense. “And you’re American. How’s that work, huh?”

“I’ll ask once.” Price seethed, stepping forward even further. “Leave. Now.”

“No can do, Cap’n.” Graves cocked his gun. “These young men have to go. And then your little Vaqueros—are going with me.”

“Over my fuckin’ corpse.” Ghost rumbled.

“And what a sight it’ll be.” Graves retorted.

You made the first shot; striking Graves in the abdomen. A non lethal wound; just what he deserved, in your opinion. The room erupted in gunshots, ricocheting bullets, and the rustic odor of fresh blood. The shadows that were there were mowed down until the room fell silent again. You looked to Gaz, his usually bright eyes a dark ochre as he stalked toward Graves. He picked him up by his vest, ignoring his groan as he was pushed against the wall and bound at his wrists; just as he’d done to the Arabic soldiers.

“These men need to be arrested, not executed, you fucking lunatic.” Gaz seethed.

“You don’t know shit about this world, son.” Graves heaved, blood staining his teeth. “If they’re alive, they’ll come back.”

“Not your decision to make, Graves.” Price replied. “Maybe it would be if you were a soldier.”

“I am a-" Graves huffed, his shortness of breath betraying his anger. “I am..”

“Sergeant, save his life so we can go. Now.” Price nodded to you, and you kneeled at Graves’ side, packing his wound.

“Gaz, let’s go. Still need to find Alejandro’s guys.”

He cast an uncertain glance at Graves before releasing his vest, following the team up the stairs while you worked a length of gauze into the bullet wound you’d ripped through the man in front of you.

“Why aren’t you shooting me?” Graves’ adrenaline hadn’t worn off; he was hyperventilating harder still.

“It’s the difference between military,” you secured the bandage patch. “and you.”

His eyes looked glassy; his breathing only worsening.

“Graves, breathe.” You held his shoulder. “You’re not going to die.”

“You..” His eyes flashed with hurt, confusion, anger. Anger at you, at the military, at himself. He shook his head roughly like a wet dog, grunting. "Fuckin' hell.."

"You need to breathe deeper." You reached to loosen his vest, though he flinched away for a moment before resigning to the improvement the breathing room gave him. You could tell his thanks was on the edge of his tongue, his pride holding back any sign of agreement.

He looked down, and groaned at the sight; it wasn't a clean shot.

"Don't." You ordered, your knuckle knocking his head upward by his chin. "It's worse than it looks."

"You'd know your own handiwork, huh?" He heaved. "You should be in the Army."

"Fine where I am."

"You sure, honey? I'm short a few marksmen thanks to your friends."

“On your feet." You heaved him upward, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you turned to see Gaz still watching from the bottom of the stairs.

“Gaz?”

Before he could respond, Soap was guiding Graves up the stairs, leaving you with your strangely silent friend.

“Is something wrong?”

Gaz sighed, pacing behind you, causing you to turn.

“You helped him.” His tone was low.

“Yes? It was an order.” Your brow furrowed.

“No..” Gaz glanced up at you, a glare in his eye you’d never seen before. “You helped him calm down. You comforted him.”

His disdain dripped with every word.

“Gaz, he was in shock.” You retorted. “What are you so suspicious of?”

“That you care about him. You care about that piece of shit.” Gaz gestured vaguely.

“I barely know him; how did you jump to this?”

“I’m not jumping to anything, I saw you-"

“You saw me do my job!”

"That was not what that was.”

“Gaz, why do you care so much?”

“Because I care about you!”

It was the only time he’d ever, ever raised his voice at you. The first time you’d seen tears well in his eyes, even though he’d never let them fall in front of you.

“If he were to lay a fucking finger on you, I-" Gaz tensed his fists, his eyes closing and his brow gathering in a frustrated pattern.

“I don’t.. " You stared, speechless. “Gaz..”

“Moving out, everyone to extraction.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all Gaz left you with before brushing past you and up the stairs.

The walk and flight back, the debrief, the morning after in the cafeteria, he didn’t even look at you. His dark circles deepened, he didn’t eat, he didn’t go out with Soap to the pub near base. And of course, when other people noticed, they asked his closest friend what was going on; you. And then you were the one avoiding mealtimes and celebrations, because you couldn’t help them with their questions.

You missed him desperately; your tasks without him were dull and never ending, the entire time your mind only on one man.

Eventually you decided to accept Soap’s invitation to drinks; you needed to break the cycle you’d fallen into. You didn’t even dress up, sticking to the lighter layers of your uniform and a nice necklace to lighten it all.

The base was lucky to have such a cozy spot close by; most of the patrons were soldiers or veterans too. There were rumors of the bartender being Price’s placement instructor, but the Captain never indulged to confirm or deny.

You were a bit late, speed walking through the entrance over to the booth where Soap and Ghost were playing cards. You slid in next to Ghost, eyeing the bar where you saw Price, and next to him, Gaz.

“What’s with the kid, anyway?” Ghost leaned down to murmur in your ear. “Looks like shit.”

“Can’t argue.” Sop added.

You toyed with the card box, studying the pattern on the front to avoid Soap’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you trained in covert operations? You should be a better liar.” Ghost laid down his hand.

“AYE, you wee scunner!”

“If you want to hurt my feelings, you need to do it in english.”

Soap huffed. “You fucking bitch.”

“There we are.” Ghost shuffled the deck while you looked astray, the music drifting around you seeming to quiet when Gaz cracked a smile at something Price said.

“Gonna shove you outta here in a minute.” Ghost remarked. “Fuckin’ talk to him, he’s useless.”

You sighed, tossing the box back on the table and pushing yourself to your feet. You casted a glance back, at which Soap gave you a dorky double-thumbs up. A sideways glance at Price gave him the message to fake a bathroom visit, leaving Gaz to drink from his bottle alone for a few minutes. You came up quietly, ordering something neat that came to mind before easing into the space beside him. Seeing you, he exhaled noisily, halfway out of his seat before you spoke.

“Please, Gaz..”

He allowed himself to relax back into the stool, facing forward.

“Just go.” His voice was gentler than you’d anticipated. The bartender handed you your drink, and you drank a mouthful.

“I don’t want to.” You said simply.

His leg began to bounce, and you wondered how good of an idea this was.

“I need to stay away from you. It’s the only way things can work smoothly.”

Your brow furrowed for a moment, and he noticed, closing his eyes while rubbing at his forehead.

“I care too much. It’s going to get somebody hurt.”

“How can you be sure if you won’t let it happen?” You replied slowly.

“I’ve seen it happen; it doesn’t work.”

You shook your head. “Gaz, I won’t just ignore you forever, you have to know that’s unreasonable.” Your voice shook for a moment. “You’re my squadmate, you’re my friend. I will not leave you to rot because you’re scared, that’s exactly when I should be with you.”

You didn’t know what possessed your words as you pleaded with him, but they were pouring out, and it felt right. Being beside him felt right.

Gaz looked into your eyes for the first time in weeks.

“I’ll hurt you.”

You took his hand.

“I’ll let you.”

Gaz stared for a few moments, his eyes darting to search your face for any insincerity. When he found nothing, he tugged you off the stool, leading you through moving bodies and clouds of cigar smoke to the curb outside.

“It’s freezing..” You looked up at him as he finally stopped, the street lamps illuminating his face.

“I’m sorry..” He absentmindedly ran his hands down your arms to warm you, the action furthering your confusion. "I just.."

"What is it?"

Gaz's breath was visible in the cold air, a puff that crowded between the two of you when he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. His hands held your head gently, and your arms found their way around his. He only stopped for a breath before leaning in again, his nose nudging against yours. He pulled you closer, kissed you longer. Between his exchanges, he breathed a simple phrase, as if he wanted to transfer the words into your very soul.

"I'm in love with you."

[shelbyluvfoodies]

Soapghost Asmr

ASMRist!Soap and Listener/Helper! Ghost

Soap runs a military themed asmr channel that does semi-accurate military procedures. They range from survival guides to actual disassembly and reassembly of different guns. Ghost is his background man that edits the videos and manages the channel. He also is the fake dummy head Soap uses.

Soap started doing this as a joke. It started with him messing with a ghost mask one day after a bad episode to calm him down. Gaz cracked a joke about it “You should do those ASMR videos you watch so much.” Soap gets a glint in his eyes and before Gaz or Ghost knows it he orders one of those ‘fancy asmr mics’ and a camera. He starts recording videos in his down time and gains quite a small fanbase. 

Sometimes Ghost participates in the videos by pretending to be a fake dummy head. He always either has his 09 mask on or a simple black face mask. Everytime the fans ask where they get his dummy head from he says it's classified. A theory comes up that it's haunted by an ex-military Lieutenant soldier that's always angry and this calms him down. One time they pulled out the skull facepiece for a halloween special. The fans think he's fake until one day in the middle of a facepaint asmr Ghost, who claims he didn't, sneezes. The fans explode at the reveal but love him anyway and find it adorable that he's doing this for soap.

After that Ghost starts to appear in more videos as a cameo, still in his mask of course, as the haunted fake dummy head.

[ramrage]

ghost’s ghost

chapter 1: origin story (feat. date night!)

work rating: T

chapter rating: T

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological,

summary:

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost. Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

Johnny is KIA which sucks, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves? Here are some vignettes of Ghost and ghostly Soap.

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

ao3 link

Johnny is KIA which sucks, obviously, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves?

They discovered it moments after he bled out, Simon still hunched over his body, frantically, futilely performing chest compressions.

“Watch your six!”

Simon jolted, twisted, and landed two shots in the face of the approaching x-ray before stilling. “What the hell?” That was Johnny’s voice. Was he still…? Simon, hopeful, hazarded another look at Soap’s body. It was unchanged—pale and bloodied and most certainly still dead.

“Bleeding’ fucken Jesus…” Johnny’s voice cut through the din of chaos again, but it came from several meters away from where his body was cooling on the ground.

His boyfriend—whatever the fuck he was—was dead, and now he’s hallucinating. Class.

“Simon, fucken look at me, dammit.”

Simon obeyed, and sure enough, there he was: John Fucking Mactavish. In the flesh.

“Bloody hell, Johnny,” Simon gasped, running to meet him, to fall into his outstretched arms. The pieces didn’t fit together, but relief overshadowed logic. It clarified somewhat the steps taken between point A to B, becoming clearer yet when Simon all but phased through his lover’s body

Sprawled on the ground where he fell, Simon’s wide eyes met Johnny’s wide eyes, both men completely, utterly flabbergasted.

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

“What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost . Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

“Don’t worry yer pretty head, I’ll explain it later. First, get your arse out of here alive, ” Johnny said in a rushed sort of way, as if his life was still on the line. He checked over his shoulder. “Now would be nice.”

So Simon did.

The rest, they say, is history.

———————————————

Now, several months later, they are indulging in a much-needed date night. Date nights are often called much-needed, be it as an excuse for getting a little quality time, stress relief, or simply an effort to keep the romance alive. Such concerns are all the more salient for soldiers, especially when only one of the two is alive.

For obvious reasons, the activities requiring more action tend to be a bust. Take for example last month’s arcade excursion. Who would’ve known it’s hard to play pinball when you can’t fucking touch things? As such, dinner dates prove to be a favorite. They’re a pleasant play at normalcy, and as a bonus, they’re an excuse to try out new restaurants.

This week is Johnny’s choice—a swanky little establishment with romantic lighting and an extensive cocktail menu. Johnny haunts Simon’s shoulder as they enter, looking rather pleased with the overall ambiance.

His question of “Not too shabby, eh,?” doesn’t receive a verbal response, but Simon flashes a subtle smile and its answer enough, all things considered.

That is, Simon can’t exactly say “not at all” without the hostess thinking he’s lost his fucking mind. Obviously, such an outcome isn’t exactly “ideal” in the strictest sense of the word. A smile, however, can pass as a greeting, and apparently it does. Public communication is a game of double-meanings these days.

“Just yourself?” the hostess asks the big scary man in front of her.

“Yeah,” Simon nods, “and my stupid ghost boyfriend.”

He keeps that second part to himself. If she thinks the solo-diner is odd, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she remarks that it’s all “grand” before leading him to an open table.

Along the way, Johnny sends a conspiratorial look. “She got something against Scots? Didn’t even look at me”. He makes this joke every damn time they go out, unchanging in its delivery dripping in mock-offense.

Simon shoots him a sharp “shut the fuck up” glare, same as always, and lets Johnny take the far seat, also same as always. Simon isn’t overly fond of having his back to the door, but he levies that risk against the risk of seeming insane for chatting with an empty seat. All relationships involve a bit of give and take.

The hostess isn’t yet out of earshot when Johnny leans in with a mischievous grin. “You’re looking good, Si. Real good. In fact, so good I’d take you over this table, right here, right now.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “You can’t. Twat.”

“A man can dream, no?” Johnny settles with a shrug. He watches fondly as Simon scans the menu, his lovely little eyes trailing from left to right, left to right. What a human thing to do. What a not-human thing to admire.

It’s not even like he can’t read anymore—he can. It’s just hard to find purpose in it when the only way he can apply it to the world is through a tall, blond proxy.

“I mean it, though. You’re the most gorgeous thing I ever did see.”

Simon blushes for the dead man. It’s funny. Johnny was never quite as forthcoming with the compliments when he was alive. His reasoning was that he was afraid of the openness, afraid of any negative reaction his flirtations would get him. He doesn’t give much of a shit anymore. Dying really puts things in perspective.

Simon looks up from the menu with a shy, fond smile. “Anything stand out to you?”

“You” Johnny responds with a wink, “but if you’re talking about what’s on the menu, hm. Can’t say no to some lamb but…” he trails off and pulls a face, “the hell are fondant potatoes”

“Fondant potatoes?” Simon parrots before scanning the menu with a light frown. “No fucking clue. Sounds pretentious as shit.”

“I’m saying!”

“Fondant potatoes...” he mutters. A few more moments pass and Simon finally shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “This whole bloody menu is pretentious, Johnny. You won't do much better than fondant potatoes .”

“Lamb with the pretentious potatoes then,” Johnny says after a bit of hemming and hawing. “Sacrifice them real nice for me, eh, baby?”

“I always do.”

It’s true enough, if only because of the all-or-nothing nature of sacrificing, a process Simon has well worked out since they discovered it.

According to legend, Simon was drinking his sorrows one sad night when Johnny nodded to his beer and requested Simon—verbatim— “pour one out for the homie.”

Simon, not particularly amused, grumbled “for the homie” and wailed the bottle across the room. Just as it exploded into a shower of glass and stout, another similarly half-drunk bottle appeared on the table.

They didn’t notice it at first. Johnny was too busy chewing Simon out and Simon was too busy getting chewed out. It was in the silence afterwards when Simon, looking for a sip of relief, reached for the bottle with swaying hands and startled as his hand passed straight through the bottle, as if it wasn’t even there.

“The hell?”

Johnny glanced over just as Simon’s fingertips emerged from the glass. Half-awed with a half-baked conclusion already in mind, he muttered, “no bleeding way,” and repeated this phrase over and over as he tentatively reached for the bottle to test his hypothesis. To his surprise and delight, it toppled at the touch of a finger.

He was beaming when he looked Simon’s way. “Bleeding fucking Jesus. You did it.”

They found through experimentation that successful sacrifices require two things: destruction and intention. Pouring one out—complete destruction—for the homies—intention.

Both are necessary, and as an interesting and limiting caveat, the sacrifice has to be rendered completely useless in one world to transfer to the other.

In other words, when Simon asks the server for two orders of lamb with fondant potatoes—one for here, one takeaway—he does so with the intention of flushing the latter down the toilet. The wine is a different story.

“Cabernet or pinot noir,” Simon hums in feigned contemplation. In reality, he’s waiting for Johnny to stop cooing about “how sexy he sounds speaking French” and spit out a fucking answer. Luckily, the mask does a great job of hiding his annoyance and blush.

“Pinot noir,” Johnny decides with a nod.

“Pinot noir,” Simon repeats.

Johnny groans indulgently as the server pens the order into her notepad, but is merciful enough to wait for her to leave before saying, “y’know, I only got the pinot because you say it so sexy, and I just needed to hear it again.”

“You’re fucking insufferable,” Simon responds, utterly devoted to suffering Johnny for as long as fortune would let him. He keeps that to himself, though. No need to tell the world that water is wet.

Case in point, Johnny’s chin rests easy in his palm, turning his fond smile smushed and insufferably sweeter for it. Death filed away at his rough edges somehow, left him soft. Simon, too.

They shoot the shit over the empty table, basking in normalcy they don’t deserve, and let the conversation take a raunchy turn. As if they’d be able to act on half the things they discuss.

The server returns at a decidedly inopportune moment but bless Simon’s poker face, she has no idea her customer is hearing the tail end of a particularly foul fantasy, courtesy of his unseen companion.

“Call me crazy, Johnny,” Simon whispers once the server leaves, “but it seems like you save the nastiest shit for when we have an audience.”

Johnny doesn’t even hesitate. “Aye, I do. Very intentionally.”

“Well, interested in continuing your little story?” Simon asks with raised brows. He idly spins the wine around the glass.

“I’m more interested in trying that cabernet.”

“Pinot noir,” Simon corrects.

“Ooh, baby ,” Johnny croons, and Simon swears when he realizes his mistake, swearing even more as Johnny gloats his victory. Unable to react in any meaningful way without looking insane, Simon instead opts to glare Johnny down, and he continues until Johnny gets his fill of gloating and turns his attention back to the wine. “Come on now. Give us a taste?”

Simon raises a brow. “With that attitude?”

“I’ll let you call it a cabernet,” Johnny barters. Simon lets him squirm. “Or even pin-not no-were .”

“Beg for it,” Simon dares, donning a shit-eating grin while he waits expectantly.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Please can I have some pin-not no-were .”

“Try again. Say it sexy this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Johnny groans, “can I pretty please have the pee-no nwahr ?”

That seems to do the trick and with a satisfied, obnoxious smirk, Simon bats the glass to the floor. “Cheers, love.”

part 2

[meowmeowriley]

Hi costume anon here!

*ahem* OMFG HOLY SHIT WTF AHDGDKFICG

Your writing was so good!!! I’m crying BLUE BEATLE ROACH!!!!!!! SOAP MAKING THE COSTUMES!!!! POOR GHOST RIP GAZ!!!!! I loved the entire thing poor price has no idea what’s going on but he’s there for his kids (I just looked up dum dum holy shit 😂 that’s spot on) Andy is a little shit and must be protected at all costs! YOU GABE ME A CAMEO I’m gonna faint right after I finish crying over how cute this all was. And holy shit the ART Tactax-art continues to hit it out the convention hall you guys are so fucking talented!! oh no now they know they like each other whatever shall they do?!?!! (Well at least ghost knows) can you imagine if there actually was an incident at one of the cons they went to? shit would be sorted before any of the other guests noticed anything went awry, free security lol. The headaches Laswell must get making sure Andy’s tick tok is clean and he doesn’t accidentally post anything incriminating she deserves a medal (and a pay rise)

Thank you so much for writing this amazing piece incase you couldn’t tell I fucking loved it and it’s made my day!!!! I hope you have just as an amazing start to yours as well and it keeps getting better from there!

Y'know, when I said I'd get the answer to this ask out in a few minutes, I actually meant a day. I guess. Whoops. Whatever, nobody has ever called me punctual in my life, why start now 😅 Anyhoooooo

🥺 Did you like your lil story Costume Anon? I wrote it for you ❤ Just a little thank you for interacting with and encouraging me. A lot of thanks has to go to @tactax-art for it's ideas and art. I would've been so lost without them.

I wasn't planning on writing more, but the idea of Price calling Laswell, "Kate, there's terrorists at the convention center. We need backup, we need weapons, now!" "John, theres no way I can't get anyone mobilized in time. Improvise. It's what you're good at." Well that's juicy... 😈 how would Andy fare, knowing his uncle just garotted a man in the bathroom with a shoelace? Or that his uncles future boyfriend disassembled his cosplay rifle and reassembled it into a working silenced pistol? Well I suppose I'll have to answer those questions.

For those of you who missed it, the post this was left about is this one here.

And the art of course, because I'm obsessed with it: Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and Roach cosplaying DC characters.

I hope you're still doing alright, Costume Anon. Until you next write me, my lovely friend and Non-gendered Prince ❤

[soaps-mohawk]

I honestly wouldn’t mind having a second omega if we get to be a power couple and torture all the boys with how cute and sexy we are tbh.

Would also love to see how the reader handles seeing the omega from the place again

Happy? Nervous? Excited?

Would love to see what you would do with it

(But im also selfish and would be iffy at dirst but it sounds like a cool idea)

That's basically the concept of my idea that involves two omegas 😂

I'm going to use your ask to explain that idea finally lol. I didn't nap but I am more awake now than I was lol.

But essentially, that idea exists sort of in a world like the one in CRCB, except the CIA is less involved and it's just more governments that require omegas to join the omega initiative and it's not exclusive to military, it's more just widespread in general packs are required to register and omegas get assigned based on things like personality tests, skills, temperament, etc. This fic would focus more on the opposite end of things, though, as the main omega would not be an institute trained omega.

Basically, TF141 already has an omega at the time the fic starts. She's institute trained (not the reader from CRCB though, would be an OC), and bonded and claimed by Price and Gaz. The fic would focus more on Simon and Johnny because Simon likes Price's omega but just isn't feeling it. Of course, the imbalance is starting to cause some tension within the pack, even if they don't mean for it to. That's a big no no, so Laswell does some digging for them and finds who she thinks is the perfect omega for Simon and Johnny and thus enters the reader.

I don't have much decided on as far as the reader's backstory goes (I'm trying not to entertain this idea too much yet lol) but she didn't attend an institute. So, she gets to go get her life upended and live on base with a bunch of crusty stinky military dudes (i'm kidding...mostly...) and of course there's some adjusting and tension and angst and sweet bonding with everyone. (again, I haven't thought much into the details on this one) But, eventually, the omegas kind of band together since they're in the same boat and they're together and alone a lot of the time while the guys train and are sent out on assignments and such.

Of course we get that sweet wlw goodness in there and it's kind of borrowing a lot from that line in CRCB where the reader remarks that some alphas like to watch omegas together 👀

Probably would be a lot spicier than CRCB has ended up being. Of course there will be angst (it's Ghost what do you expect lmaoo) and drama and probably a lot of tears but yeah. That's the basis of that idea.

Switching gears here, I have played around with the idea of bringing the other omega in for a cameo or something, but I wouldn't bring her in for like a full time kind of situation, a second omega type thing or anything like that. As much as my heart years for some wlw representation, I'm leaving it as just being something that happened in the past and focusing on just the reader and the guys cause I know that's what people have come into the fic expecting.

[ghouljams]

GHOUL please have mercy on me! i already have SO MANY things about the ghost (and the tf141) distribution system on my brain 24/7.

and now you go and write how ghost says his darling is kind and takes strays in in their free time. AND PRICE ANSWERS “SOUNDS NICE”

AND THAT ENDING, THE KONIG CAMEO, THE ANGST AND DEVOTION.

this should be illegal. please i need the few braincells i have left to keep on working 😩😩

anyway, thank you absolutely love it will spend hours thinking about it, sending virtual hugs and kisses to your juicy brain.

much love, shy anon

No mercy run, any %

It's fun writing about Ghost interacting with the 141, trying to act how he usually does, but there's something just a little off about him. He seems distant, not entirely present. When you spend as much time in close quarters as the 141 does it's hard not to notice it. I like to imagine they spend time asking Ghost random questions about his "somebody back home" and watching him struggle trying to figure out how to answer. He slips up once and gets a little too religious in his answer, makes Gaz wonder if a psych eval might be in order...

Thank you for the hugs and kisses, I am accepting them and using them to fuel more angst in other aus.

[s-solarisstar]

hii i have to say i LOVE you desktop/web theme btw -- anyway can u do something of the new task force? (the 2022 mw) like how to the reader came into contact when all or most of the main cast for mw

IM BACK. or we? not really its just Noelle :) But yes I can do this!

TF141 AND HOW THEY MET YOU

pairings: REBOOT Task Force 141 (aka MW2) if you want the Old one, please send a separate request!

notes: erm, hinted Mexican/Latine reader, hints to romance with a few but take it as you want (only if you squint except for maybe 1 or 2 where its obvious), and obv not proofread!

REBLOGS OVER LIKES!!!! if you enjoy REBLOG! (you'll automatically like don't worry baes)

Kate Laswell was the one who suggested you as an operative for the new task force. You were one of her best under her wing, and she had thought you would be a great addition to the team. After seeing your field success rate, General Shepherd was also on board with the idea especially since you had such good ties with the Mexican Special Forces.

John Price was the first operative you had met. He and Kate have always been on good terms so he took you in very quickly. Of course, as the founder and senior operator, he still had to be a bit more rigid on his fresh meat to ensure you could live up to the expectations Kate put on him of you. Price always supported you through the task force's most challenging parts of your career. Drinks after every (successful or not) mission were always a must between you two. Indeed, he was the most supportive of the bunch.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish landed number 1 on your list of getting along when you two immediately hit off. Your meeting was reasonably quick, only on the airfield before your mission in Las Almas alongside Alejandro. Cheesy remarks between you two were always a must and even after knowing each other for a few weeks at most, Soap was glad you joined. He admired you, both aspects on and off the field, always coming to you for advice whether that was personal issues or with combat. Often visiting of each other and purposefully being assigned with each other as often as you could were the best parts of the career on your new team.

While Simon "Ghost" Riley did not take a keen liking to you. Especially in the beginning when you let your mouth run wild about Las Almas. Irritated, he constantly made snarky comments on your work even when it was the cleanest you'd done. Your relationship was rocky from the get-go, even during the prison break for Alejandro and his boys, or even when you could see right through Philip Graves' lies and cameo. What changed everything was when Ghost missed his shot on Hassan, and you were on another building above and took Hassan out as a backup. At first, he was irate, not at you but at himself for making such a mistake and he eventually warmed up to you very, very slowly realizing you were the reason that the world wasn't in smithereens right then and there. Over time you two would become close, and you were one of the only people he opened up to about things -- he finally let his guard down.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was all over the place. You had actually never met him until Chicago after the success with Hassan. You two didn't have much time to honestly know each other, but what brought you decently close, perhaps through drinks, was the constant interest in where each of you was. Every sip was a question about London, where he was from, or Las Almas, where you were. Questions on the London attacks and all Gaz's missions to your early career as border control to life with the Los Vaqueros. By your next mission, you two knew plenty about each other and had become a dynamic duo, particularly in stealth.

Even though Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra were associates of Task Force 141, you had known these boys forever. Early border control had you talking to them frequently about troubles. You eventually left border control when Rudy suggested that you join his crew in the Mexican Army, and you gladly accepted his suggestion and joined. After the Las Almas Cartel fallout with Alejandro, the 3 of you became inseparable, and you and Rudy became Alejandro's second-in-command when Los Vaqueros were made. Kind, snarky, flirty, funny remarks almost always when you two worked, and you were a great help during the Borderline mission knowing the area well on the American side of the border. Even if you are now a full member of those (bloody Brits), you will always have close ties with your boys. You three had all collectively promised to go out multiple times yearly to catch up.

You never had correctly met associates Nikolai, Farah Karim, and Alex Keller, but stories were told about their bravery and how outstanding they were. You had plans to try and meet them sometime in your new career and always looked back on their choices to make your own.

Since you've made it this far, have you considered looking for a new book to read? Especially if you're a post-apocalyptic, futuristic fan? Joan is the second owner of this account and is busy writing her first book, BACKLANDS! While not published yet, you can find her on Wattpad at J-Joannarc to ask more questions about her upcoming story! We would appreciate any support since Joan, like me, are young and aspiring writers.

[mistydeyes]

Hello! How would the task force 141 members and los vaqueros react(?) to a fem reader who is a lot like Ghost? By that I mean in terms of appearance (I hc him as a blonde with blue eyes) and personality. I imagine that others would think that Ghost has a twin sister who he never mentioned. Feel free to ignore if it's too specific or anything.

I happen to be similar to Simon in terms of my appearance (although his appearance is hc'd) and even my name. My name's Simona (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

anon plz that’s so funny ur genderbent simon! I loved this request and had a lot of fun with it :) Peep the little pharmacist cameo in Soap’s part!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

You’re the newest addition to the 141, a joint decision by Laswell and Captain Price. You came from selection and were known for your specialties in sniping from near-impossible distances and your silent takedowns. You gained the name, Bones, based on how you left your many enemies lying at your feet. When you first met the team, you didn’t think much about your resemblance to the Lieutenant but loved some of their reactions (to most to least shocked).

Price

The captain is relatively unfazed. He picked you based on your merit and your lengthy resume. The recommendations about your takedowns on the field and weapons handling were a nice touch. He can’t deny the resemblance when Laswell first brings you to the team. You shook his hand confidently and he looked into your blue eyes, one’s that suspiciously resembled Ghost’s. “Nice to meet you,” he responded, “heard they call you Bones.” You nodded in response and he led you to meet the team. He appreciated your quiet demeanor, you’d offer a much-needed reprieve to his other chatty sergeants. “You’ll fit in well here, Sergeant,” he said and introduced you to the rest of his squad. Throughout the entire Graves and Hassan fiasco, he keeps his conspiracies quiet. That is until he celebrates with Laswell and the rest of the 141 and drunkenly asks her, “So how did you track down Simon’s sister?”

Alejandro

Similar to Price, Alejandro could’ve cared less. When he greets you, Soap, and Ghost as you get off the plane, he just assumes the resemblance is a coincidence. Throughout your time in Las Alma’s, you didn’t make much conversation and listened to his and Ghost’s orders intently. It wasn’t until the pestering of Rudy and seeing your sniping style during the Dark Water mission that makes him think you might be related. As you provided overwatch on the oil rig, he takes this time to ask. “Hey, can I ask you a quick question, Bones?” he whispers as your eyes are focused through the scope. “Sure Colonel, what do you want to know?” you respond. “Are you and Ghost related?” he asks bluntly and you can’t help but laugh. “No Alejandro, I promise you we aren’t,” you say and he never follows up, having his answer.

Rudy

Now we’re getting to the more shocked reactions. When Rudy sees you exiting the plane into the Las Almas heat, he can’t help but look at both you and Ghost. Something about your quiet and commanding demeanor to your blonde hair and blue eyes, makes him suspicious. Especially when he sees your light eyelashes, he just can feel in his heart that you and Ghost are related. He eyes you in the backseat, wedged in between Soap and Ghost, as they talk about the interesting political climate of the town. He even makes sure to lock eyes with you when he says that Ghost fits perfectly in the town. He just wants to ask if you’re his sibling, even his twin, but Alejandro stops him from prying. When he sees your sniping skills on the field, he comments to Alejandro, “Todo lo que necesita es una máscara.”

Translation

“Todo lo que necesita es una máscara” - “All she needs is a mask”

Gaz

When you first walked onto the base to meet the team, Gaz did a double take. While you didn’t have a mask obscuring your face, your light eyelashes and blue eyes were uncanny. He immediately looked at Ghost and accused him of using his familial ties to get you on his unit. He was embarrassed when his Lieutenant reprimanded him for the accusation and said you weren’t related. He tries to drop it but a part of his brain keeps him from letting it go. Eventually, as you are sitting on the plane to Chicago, he asks you personally. “Hey Bones, I just have to know before we die,” he begins to ask and you laugh a little at his nihilism. “Spit it out Gaz, stop being such a pessimist,” you reply and eye the man. “Are you sure your mum never shagged Ghost’s dad?” he asks. Before he has time to say anything more, you quickly deliver a punch to his shoulder which shuts him up.

Soap

Despite the verbal beatdown Gaz got, Soap still has a conspiracy theory that you’re Ghost’s twin. In fact, he even gets in trouble when he tries to convince the pharmacist to relinquish your medical file and family history. “Just ask them yourself, Sergeant, and stop asking me to violate HIPAA!” she yelled before kicking him out of the pharmacy. Despite all this, Soap will try to put all the pieces together about you and your “sibling.” He is relentless during the slow days at the base and on surveillance missions. “Are you SURE you weren’t separated by birth?” he pestered you on the comms. You rolled your eyes and looked as Ghost as you saw the Scotsman navigate El Sin Nombre’s base. “Shut up MacTavish!” you growled back and he stopped. At least for that day. You and Ghost take great care when you’re sent to spar with him. But be warned, he will make sure to note your clear similar fighting styles.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Bonus! Ghost

Of course Ghost had heard of you, he likes to keep tabs on rising talent in the SAS. He tried to suppress the surprise when he finally saw you in person. He couldn’t deny that the rumors of your relation had some merit. Regardless, he kept this surprise secret and did his best to keep his team and the Los Vaqueros in line. But when he fell asleep at night, he would feel a pang of hurt as your face flashed in his mind. Why did you have to look like his late mother?

[queermentaldisaster]

Who’s going to show up in your HttyD /cod fic? Will they all be dragons or will some of them be human? WILL THE OG CHARACTERS MAKE CAMEOS?

Ahahaha! You fell into my trap, now you'll never escape the info dumping! /j

Okay, but seriously, I don't know too much about the OG characters, but Roach will definitely be part of it, and he's going to be a dragon trainer, and part of Gaz and Price's little group. Gaz and Price are also both going to be human, and I think I'ma have them stumble onto Melody Island and meet our dragons. Nikolai, I think I'll make him human too (I'm a sucker for Nikprice) and he'll be like the group's scout/mapper?

BUT, BUT BUT BUT

Laswell's gonna be part of this too. She's like a dragon ally and her and her wife (LESBIAN DRAGONS) hang around Gaz, Price, Roach, and Nik a lot, just because it's nice to have company. They're both gonna be Flightmares.

I'm definitely throwing Graves and Shepard in there, as dragon hunters, and probably Makarov too (I have an idea with that) but I haven't decided if he's going to be a dragon or a human yet. That guy'll show up later. I'll figure him out later.

[amazeingartist]

Alternate Venom Ghoap AU

(cause I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it today)

So this version follows the vibe of the Venom movies more closely with Soap as Eddie and Ghost as Venom (difference in symbiotes between the au versions is that this Ghost has more of Simon’s personality rather then a unique character like in the Mask/the main fic)

Soap’s also kinda a loser/mess in this since he was dishonourably discharged from the military (like Eddie he ruined his career)

That said the overall tone of this version is more lighthearted and romcom-y. There’d def be some serious moments but overall it’s more light hearted and cute as it’s just a energetic human and his grumpy alien bf

Def be some Price and Gaz cameos (whether or not they’re still military in this au is tbd)

Still determining how Soap and Ghost even met, if I follow the movie or just make it Soap found Ghost in the trash somewhere idk, but that said it also doesn’t really matter how they met as it’s not the focus of this version

This is just general lore, but I imagine in this version it did take em a while to get together, not too long, but there was def an small awkward stage (well, as much as there could be when thoughts can be read)

I know I have this au written down in the master list and I probably will end up doing written shit for it, but in my brain it’s definitely more of a fun drawing thing (which I can hopefully get around to doing soon).

That said if anyone wants to try their hand at this alternate venom ghoap, you’re more than welcome to! If anyone does PLEASE tag me in it cause I’d love to see (might be a slight issue if it’s smut tho but I’ll still appreciate all the same)

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

what would the daycare attendant(s) (lofi) think of the show invader zim?

Sun would probably freak out and thinks that the show is way too violent and ban it from the Daycare.

Moon probably would like the dark humor and throw it into his collection.

I was considering having my Gaz be a cameo kid in the Daycare at some point.