specter319

[specter319]

Not doing this to my boys at all

ship so good, a future where they’re safe and retired is called an au

[specter319]

#I KNEW THEY HAD KISSED #there was an unspoken vibe to the tension they had #its the same thing with dragon quest #tell me Erik and the Luminary haven’t kissed

I’m sorry. Y’all are gonna release Twisters on digital, include deleted scenes as a bonus feature, and NOT include the kiss??? Who do I have to pay to get that kiss in HD??? (But the cute cheek touch scene KIND OF makes up for it.)

[specter319]

#CROW IS COOKING IN THE KITCHEN #I REPEAT #CROW IS COOKING IN THE KITCHEN #Specters Recs

PROLOGUE — THE SOUL (Ghost x GN!Reader)

the soul masterlist

summary; laswell is providing you one possible last chance. will you waste it? callsign used is maverick.

[WARNINGS; anxiety, slight paranoia, slight angst.]

The blood in your head rushes underneath your skin as you stare blankly at the floor, sitting uncomfortably on a too-harsh, poorly produced plastic chair that’s digging into your sit bones, your hands on your knees with a slight grip on your kneecaps. A low, uneasy rumbling sensation grows in your gut; it's deadly silent, the exception being the clock up on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock, Tick—

You don’t jolt when the door opens with the click, but your right index finger lifts for just a moment. You don’t look up either, swallowing harshly as the figure approaches you with light footsteps. The muscles in your shoulders and neck twitch and slowly begin to tense up, a slight ache developing already as your fingers dig into your kneecaps as an attempt to settle rolling thunder in your stomach. A pair of dark brown leather women’s loafers come into view, your eyes studying the shiny material for a moment.

“Maverick.” Laswell speaks firmly, her voice low and serious. There’s a bite of irritation coming from her—a word of warning, almost. You bite down onto your lower lip for a moment, your upper canine tooth sinking in as you lower your shoulders, however they aren’t any less tense than since the first moment you stepped into this room. Your eyes move from her loafers up her dark gray dress pants, up her white dress shirt and finally focusing in on her face. Laswell’s eyebrows are furrowed together, a wrinkle in the middle of them, her eyes narrowed. You can see the corner of her lip is curled a bit upwards. Her bun is nearly perfect, her bangs sitting beautifully across her forehead.

“Laswell.” You echo easily, your voice low in your throat. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Your eyes flicker down to the manila folder in her hands, multiple packets and mismatched papers stuffed into it. Your eyes squint for a moment with recognition; your file.

“You already know what I’m going to say, aren’t you?” Laswell questions, a hint of exhaustion her words—you can’t care enough to decipher if it’s because of you or not right now. Your eyes flicker back down to the waxed floor to where her feet are. Your hands let go of your kneecaps, instead letting yourself lean your forearms down on your thighs and partially onto your knees. Your hands hang between your legs, your back bent down with your head looking down. “Yeah.” You utter, feeling the tension in the air thickening by the second.

Of course you know why you’re here. You always know why, because it’s your own doing. Being called into Laswell’s office—or asked.. More like commanded to answer her phone calls—is practically a hobby for you by this point. You could recite the lectures you’ve gotten like the way a bad yet catchy song is something you find yourself singing to yourself. One part of you is amused with how you haven’t been discharged yet. How haven’t you been is one part miracle, another part devastating. For you or the people around you, you cannot quite tell yet.

“You have a problem, Maverick. We need to fix this.”

You nearly snort, leaning back upwards with one forearm on your leg, your palm grabbing your other knee. “Like I don’t know it.” You mutter, your voice a bit gritty from how low you speak. Laswell makes a displeased noise, her eyebrows tightening together. “This isn’t funny.” Laswell says firmly, her tone stern and unmoving. “I’m not laughing.” You easily retort, your face tightening for a hot moment. You’re both silent, almost like you’re in an unofficial staring contest until Laswell mutters something unintelligible, leaning back against her desk and putting your fat file on the top of some other papers. “I need you to listen to me,” She begins, putting a palm on her knee, smoothing out her dress pant-leg. “They’re considering letting you go.”

That gets your attention right quick. Letting me go? You think to yourself, letting your facial features do the talking for you. Laswell lip twitches, her fingers brushing across her bangs to “fix” them. She’s stressed. “..They need me.” You say slowly, your gaze watching her much closer now, trying to read every part of her body language. “Yes, they do, and I’m trying to do everything I can for you.” Laswell avows, her tone stressing her words. Her fingers twitch where they rest on her knee before she pushes herself back to a proper standing position, her hands in the front of her. Your heart tightens in your chest for a second as you watch Laswell struggle to find her words.

“Look.” Laswell sighs out, her voice serious as you make eye contact with her once again. “I can try—I’m not saying I can, but I’m saying I might be able to provide you one last chance.” Laswell presses her lips together for a moment, silence overtaking everything between you and her. “You are aware of what this means, right?”

You almost want to laugh in her face; how could you not know? Instead, you offer a more polite response—a simple nod.

“I’m serious, Maverick. I’ve tried to pull every single goddamn string I have, all for you. They want you gone.”

Ouch.

“I get it.”

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes until pain prickles at the corners of the nerves in your eyes and you see stars, as well as colors. You inhale deeply, painfully aware of how much space air takes up in your lungs, aware of the way your chest expands until you slowly exhale. You sit up straighter than before, putting your palms back on your kneecaps, lifting your head to look at the woman in front of you. “I get it.” You repeat, quieter this time, but not any more soft than before.

Laswell’s eyes scream doubt. They scream disbelief, anger, worry, and burning determination. “I already sent your file over to your last chance. I’m begging you to straighten yourself out, Maverick.”

You only offer a shrug, your mind struggling to comprehend what this could mean for you. You’ve thought of this moment for months—over a year by this point, honestly. Now that it’s finally here, you aren’t really sure what to make of it all yet.

One last chance. Maybe.

🏷️; @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @queen-leviathan @specter319 @morganight @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @elliotisgae @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolaaloolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff @tipsykeen @sweetcorpse

wrongfully tagged or you no longer want to be tagged? let me know, no hard feelings. :-)

[specter319]

[specter319]

#not the 141 anymore #its actually the 1 coo 1 #love this

Cuddle time ☺️☺️☺️

[specter319]

𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝘿 — 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉 '𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙅𝘼' 𝙒𝙀𝙎𝙏 (𝙈𝙒𝙄𝙄 𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘿)

During my hiatus (which I know was very unexpected and I apologise for that) I did some very, very long cooking in the kitchen, which meant entire world building from the ground up. And figuring out who Damon was as an entire base character. And though I've done a good portion of this, I haven't entirely gotten to his backstory yet, though I have a few ideas here and there. He's not entirely done. So while I get some more renders done and some changes here and there done. Take this for the time being. if you have any questions about Damon, don't be afraid to send them to my ask box or leave them in the comments! Inspired by @shadow0-1's renders | Font | A track from Damon's playlist.

[specter319]

Will never not be weak in the knees over Activision feeding my thoughts

THE MARSHAL 🤠💀 GHOST OPERATOR SKIN

[specter319]

Now you’re making me want to draw them in album covers 🏃

New Military Express headliner - Task Force 141

(ref ⬇️)

[specter319]

ACE COMBAT AND CALL OF DUTY CROSSOVER IS WHAT I NEED RIGHT NOW

Soaring Ever Higher - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover preview

“This is Bravo 0-7. I’m in a hotspot, multiple tangos on me,” he hurriedly explains his situation just as a bullet chips away at the tree not even a few feet from him. He has no choice but to throw himself on the ground to make himself the smallest target possible. “Fuck!”

“Break the contact and proceed to the RV!”

“Negative!”

“I can turn around and make a sweep; he’s got the IR tag; I’ll see him and can provide support,” Strider cuts into the conversation.

“You’re RTB, Strider 1; do not stray from the course!” yet another voice, male, older. Perhaps Strider’s CO.

“I’m not leaving him there if I can help!”

“That was a direct order, Strider. Return to base immediately! You are not armed for close air support!”

“I still have the 20mm; that’s more than enough! Re-entering OA in two minutes!”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, but he’s bloody grateful for Strider’s help. Carefully, he turns and dusts one tango he has in his sights. There’s plenty more as another salvo of bullets flies over his head.

“ETA thirty seconds, Ghost; hang in there, soldier!” Strider says.

“I’m going to have your ass for this, Trigger!” Ghost is almost tempted to say something at that point. Luckily, the grey war beast makes a hell of an entrance right then. Ghost’s only warning is a shout of “incoming!” as the fighter swoops from the left and spreads some 20mm cheer across the jungle.

Yeah, I have way too many WIPs but I simply had to start this, because I fell in love with Ace Combat and then an idea popped up of Johnny taking on the role of Trigger and it went downhill from there. So, there will be a one shot. Soon. It could be a proper story, but I don't have the resources to support third ongoing project at the moment. Waiting for Connection and Serpent's Coil are still being worked on, don't worry.

[specter319]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄? (Ace Combat x CoD 141)

A/N: As a little Christmas present, I decided to work on a little something something, seeing a random anon state in @mockerycrow's Ask about fighter jets and Task Force 141 got my interest real quick, having been someone who got introduced to these two fandoms 1-2 years ago I absolutely adore the storyline in regards to Trigger and Count, but also the storyline as a whole, neatly wrapping up the reason why three strikes is called three strikes, if only a certain other game could have the same sort of stable plot- Complaints about the plot aside for those who stumble upon it have fun with this little short story that's been brewing in my head! Please enjoy the Homoeroticism of Ghost and Soap Trigger Warnings: Mention of Blood Word Count: 2.5k Words Characters: John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley, mentions of Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and Johnathan Price.

From the moment John MacTavish’s Scottish blue eyes gazed upwards into the beautiful atmosphere above him, he knew he was utterly and completely fucked. It all started with one moment in time, watching the infamous ‘Ghost’ launch one of their newly brought F-35s testing it out for another squadron, making sure all systems were in check. Watching it from the fences as the utter decimation of their ears thanks to the lack of protection were good faith to the man taking it, for what seemed to be a joy ride. And as Kyle and John stood there, seeing it hovering just mere meters above the runway, their joy was all but uncontainable in knowing just who was behind the sticks.

Conversations were the only thing that took over the engines' mighty roar as Kyle and John yelled at the inanimate object in celebration.

“Ooh yeah! Ooh yeah!” Kyle yelled out.

“Ooh, go ‘un, go ‘un” John egged right back.

And then, just as it pulled up, sure it was now at best pulling upwards of 5 gees, the men on the ground cheered.

“Go on you fuckin’ beauty!” Just as it was making its way further into the clouds, graciously curving its own form into the shape of them. 

They were ecstatic, joyful, even, at least one was, to see a man so tall, almost built like a damn statue from ancient history managing to tame a beast so wild, and wicked. And yet, knowing that it was almost second nature in that man's blood to fly it, because that bastard was the only one allowed, thanks to the great charm of the bastards in the west, to have an F-22 Raptor. The only one in the UK, belonged to a man who had no name, never showed his face to the people he didn’t know, including the two men who stood there on the grassy knoll outside of the airbase cheering him on. 

What a weird shitpot of luck that was, almost as if the gods of fate above had been watching the two men above, seeing them be so supportive of a man who never had the cheers of his fellow squad members, but instead, feared him. Tried to rebel against him, just to get a far enough away distance to stay away from a man and his, as some people called it ‘Raptor’s Ghost’.

Those that had seen it, had been lucky enough to tell the tale, at least, on the side he came back to, fellow squadron and captain, but those who had been on the receiving side of those guns as they lifted from their molded seam, only saw a wisp of a dark gray aircraft, before a fiery explosion filled their cabin.

Yes, there was one thing to be known about this ‘Ghosts’ jet — he’d specified that he must have it in a darker gray. Just a couple of shades darker than what the original metal was painted as. And the thing was? Somehow, amongst his captains ranking, the government and even the fuckers down in Lockheed — they’d said yes to the request. Even if a few bureaucrats in the Pentagon were waving the red flag from the start.

So he guessed that’s what the plan was then, to go and catch a sneak in the middle of the night of what it looked like, though Kyle tried with all of his might to persuade him otherwise, John was dead set on seeing the beauty that stood in the dead of the night in Ghost’s hangar, wielded far away from the rest of the base, but close enough to know that the rest of the team always, haunted by a Ghost, he guessed that’s where the name came from then. Given that this was usually seen beside the B-2, a call sign of Ghost would’ve been fitting for someone in a something like this. And it seemed like fate was tempting him all and amongst this, because, as John approached the hangar, as big as it was, there was a crack left open, not closed, like all the other times he’d passed it in his own jet. Only to then realize this was the reason why they had called him Ghost to begin with, no one thought he was around, until it was too late.

Everyone knew this Ghost, was a guy, they’d heard his voice, never heard him laugh, was only ever a man of a few simple commands and went off when requested. What caught John MacTavish off guard however, was not only the hangar open, but the place had reeked of oil and fuel, only to be diverged its acoustics of the tin metal in the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, a far cry from the throat roar of the hotdogged engines, John could already tell what Ghost had been doing to the poor thing. Either someone had been here recently or there was still someone here, but that never mattered as his Scottish blue eyes once more, got him fucked over, classical music be damned.

The metallic gray was no longer present, much like he had seen on the various photos that had beautifully given the thing a personality of beauty, and yet deadly. But instead, it was given a more, mature grayed look, as if it was a rehashed version of the F-35, the very same one he had been seen in this afternoon in a reskinned jet. Sudden realizations hit the man when thinking in Ghost’s logic, not too shabby for a Ghost when John had realized that much to his enemies disliking, when they suddenly realized that the jet was no longer a most recent US fighter, it was too late to break off anyway.

And much akin to John’s own footsteps, he’d realized that he was pulled in by the absolute sheer squared beauty of the thing and had moved right into the Ghost’s trap.

“What are you doin’ in my hangar?” Ghost lowly spoke, standing to the side, having seen him since he strolled in here. 

“Jesus wept!” John spoke as he suddenly turned around, the closed distance between them was something almost scary at just how close and personal this man had gotten, and all amongst that, he seemingly had the goal to wear a bloody balaclava, all the while wearing a stripped down version of the gear they would have to haul around on their bodies. Was he really that comfortable in wearing the same shit each day? At least the only thing invading his senses was oil and fuel. 

“I said what are ya doing here?” Ghost questioned before his eyes glanced over at the hangar “Squadron leaders gonna know about this,” his voice loomed.

“Sorry,” That’s all the weak bastard had as he tried to pick himself up faster than he could pull back on his own stick. “A’m interested in that piece of art ye’v got there, heard you were the one flying the Lightning around this mornin’”

“So you were the two hanging around the fence”

John stiffened at the sheer mention of that, he’d seen them? He didn’t think he had given the height already gained as he passed the pair of them from the runway.

“Wanted to watch her give her a proper launch, sir” John hesitated as Ghost only snorted and shook his head at the mention of the last word.

“Flight Lieutenant to you” This Ghost guy seemingly didn’t want to have him out of his hangar after all, but there was no doubt that heavy brown eyes were on him, painted darker then the plane before him as his eyes registered on MacTavish’s uniform still barely on given the zip that was seemingly fought with, the sheen of sweat that was just above the ridgeline of his eyebrows gave away just how much he’d been working during the rest of his day, when he seemingly wasn’t cheering this man on, then again. MacTavish did seem like a familiar last name, what could hurt but to take a guess.

“Apologies,” John moved ever so closer to the jet, almost as if he were to go ahead and, to the thought running in the back of Ghost’s mind, steal it. Poor bastard, probably wouldn’t be able to handle the ride as well as he could. “Does that mean I get to call you LT then?”

The cocky chatter over the radio, often with another teammate, only gave Ghost all the more confidence to take that stab in the dark to try and pinpoint just who he was.

“You can, so long as you tell me if you’re the one flying that bloody F-16 around.”

John’s eyes suddenly went wide, and of course, that cocky Brit saw it, and with his own pair too. His soul had actively left his body in the acknowledgement that someone had noticed his maneuverability, everyone else had F/A-18’s. But MacTavish was the one that stood his ground when he said he wanted a former fighter pilots F-16, ready to be given back to the Americans, decommissioned, probably in a scrap heap, and yet, here he was, breathing new life into it and treating it like it had just come off the factory rollers. Though, his only fault that he seemingly had with it, was that of the lack of gun ammunition, paling in comparison to something like the beast that stood before him.

“Uh, and why would tha’ be?” 

Ghost paused, raising a brow in confusion, maybe he was going to have to talk to John’s squad leader, had he really not seen beyond his two feet at just who he had under his wing, the man could maneuver the thing as well as he could like the jet he stood before and maybe, if he ever took the chance (which, in high unlikely doubt he would) he could probably pilot Ghost’s, if not, with just a bigger amount of hesitation.

“Just wanted to give a recommendation to the squadron leader as to who to take under our wing, old talents retiring at the end of the year, figured I’d give whoevers flying that F-16 and the one with the yellow strip along the body of the ‘18 a fighting chance at joining the 141” He brushed it off, like it was a chance to come clean. Ghost knew that MacTavish was the one flying the thing, often put in a good word about it to Price. And Price often agreed, that and ‘Gaz’ who was often his wingmanaccording to Price’s notes were often hotshots, but never in an egotistical, ‘wanting to show who’s boss’ way, it was always one of teamwork, and he quite enjoyed seeing them chant as one of their other teammates took down a target before they did.

“The 141?” MacTavish asked

“Yeah, just need to find out who the pair are in the two jets first” Ghost was toying with him as he finally made a move over to his own, inspecting the various scratches that were seemingly evident in the light, but gave the aircraft a seemingly weathered look, one that, Ghost admired. 

“There a reason why they call you the Ghost?” Quick this one was to change the subject, avoiding it, but copying him all the more in his movements as John did the same, placing a gentle hand along the aircraft as his calloused fingers felt a deep scar along the face of the jet, maybe that’s why he rarely had repairs done to the thing other than ones that were required. Maybe that’s why he wears the mask, he’s damaged, just like the bird before him – but he still flies, still finds meaning in the daylight and blue hues of skies.

“There a reason why you’re dancing around the question?” Their hands moved along the surface of the steel at almost the same time, unknown, but as if they were tracing one another's patterns as the question was left in the air for a bit too long before they finally moved to the nose of the aircraft, having no choice but to look at one another as they did so.

“Could say the same,” He watched as Ghost moved towards him, facing him, how he towered over the man with that stature of power, and yet, the only real dominating power he seemingly had left was his rank, and the jet. Because all the smug bastard did was place his hands behind his back and look down at the Scotsman, as if inspecting him as he did the jet, to see if like him, he too had scars beneath that mohawk and blue eyes that seemingly contrasted ever so beautifully along the dark gray. “What happens if one of us already knows the answers?” 

“Then I guess one of us will have to await the answers of the future, but if they already know the answers, they shouldn’t have to wait too long” They both knew one another were staring, helplessly, but stopping it neither as eyes behind that mask squinted ever so gently. So he did have his scars, one on the chin, must have had a bad accident for it to get that bad, and the blood from it too.

“Then I guess I’ll ‘ave ta’ see me way out of this museum then huh? Wouldn’t want ta make a scene now aye?” John smiled, physically having to retch himself from the spot he stood in, not wanting to move away from the view that was before him.

“Don’t quite appreciate customers making a scene and disturbing the nature of this art” So he wasn’t the only one to quickly move along with what he was suggesting as he followed him, only ever a few steps behind, maybe that’s why he got that name, loud as anything in a jet, then he never exists once the engines shut off.

Ghost eventually stopped following him as John made his way out near the doors of the hangar, lingering around just a bit more before he stopped in his tracks, just maybe, if he really did have the answers, he could see how his future LT would respond. “Don’t think I could handle two pieces of art in a museum, never been able ta handle more than one” He swore up and down he saw the man’s head snap into place about that comment, a slight squint at the body language that John was trying to portray as he moved through the hangar doors. “Have a good night, LT”

“Officer Mactavish.”

Payback time.

“Aye sir?” And they’d fallen into line already, a wingman, of sorts, to a Ghost.

“Call me Simon”

Now MacTavish was standing there, being a complete idiot, baffled by the fact that he, of all people, managed to get into the inner circle of a man named Simon, a Ghost. A snort was then heard through the airy atmosphere as he suddenly turned around and walked back towards the stairs of his office, looking back over his shoulder, leaving him in a scrambled state that was the brain of John MacTavish.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” He paused, “For a F-16 Pilot.”

So that’s his name.

[specter319]

ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ: 'ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇʀ'

Feel free to ask me about anything in my Inbox, however, rules are posted down at the bottom of this post, so please respect them, but also, don't be afraid to let the voice, and some, intrusive voices win.

ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ & ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ

TMNT (2007):

Ink: City Lights - Discontinued

Second Chance - Discontinued

Call of Duty (2019 Remastered Series):

Operation: Sentinel - Reworking Tumblr version here

What's Your Name? (John 'Soap' MacTavish x Simon 'Ghost' Riley / Ace Combat inspired fic) - Complete

??? — In Progress

Black Angel Squad

Operation: Sentinel - Work in Progress Tumblr version here

Shorts & Other Things

Damon's Short ("You Can Go Now") - Complete

Character Rundowns:

Damon 'Ninja' Lincoln-West —

Military File — Get to know Damon from his Military File (circa. 2023)

Who is Damon — Coming Soon

Calling Card — MW2 Inspired Bio

More Coming Soon!

General Rules:

When asking a question in my inbox, go ahead, and ask anything, but just know, that when it is answered, this is a reflection of who you are to the community and who you want to be seen as a person in front of others.

Depending on the stated questions, I will answer them, however, if these questions remain unanswered, I'm either wondering how to word it, or not answering it at all, because again, as I have properly stated above, let some intrusive thoughts win, but not all.

Feel free to ask me about anything including these fandoms that I've listed below, which I will keep you lot posted about. Feel free to ask me about my stories, and characters, or what your take is on the characters in these games.

I will, however, not be answering any and all political discussions out of the answers from my inbox in terms of real-life events. I will however, be willing to see what the characters are willing to see in certain events, but will be only doing it for my own characters and not ones made by other people — otherwise, they would've been well known by now.

My current fandoms I am a part of: TMNT (2003-2007) Ace Combat Call of Duty Ready or Not Dragon Quest Night Runners

[specter319]

Thought of Simon just then commenting in disgust about the readers pizza being something like Hawaiian or Garlic all the while he sits with something basic like a Margherita, Meat Loves and what not

I had a cute little idea for the requests where it could be a platonic Simon and Reader where they can tell Simon’s stressed post-mission possibly from flashbacks or just a mission going wrong and whatnot and gets him to go with them for take out just to try and let Simon know they have someone to lean off if need be 🥺

this is so sweet :,) please enjoy anon!

(platonic) simon ghost riley & gn!reader

wc: 1k ao3

ghost is an expert in disguising how he's really feeling. you can only glean so much from just his eyes, the rest of his expression perpetually hidden beneath his mask and leaving most people oblivious to his mood.

you, however, are not most people.

it subtle, but the tells are there if you know what to look for. lately he's been more irritable than usual, snapping at people and losing his patience at things that typically wouldn’t faze him. you don't think anyone else has picked up on the tension in his shoulders, something that’s clear to you after all the time you've spent with him.

it's made especially obvious that something’s going on with him in the way he jolts when you open the door to his office. his head snaps up to look at you, the icy look he sends you only fueling your concern for his out of character reaction.

"haven't you heard of knockin'?" he growls from behind his desk, papers scattered over the surface, and if he wasn’t still wearing the balaclava you’re sure his hair would be in a similarly dishevelled state from how his fingers worry his head.

"...i did." you shut the door behind you, and with dismissive a roll of his eyes ghost looks back down to his work and does his best to ignore you. 

the longer you watch him, the more exhausted he seems; you can see the bags under his eyes now the eyeblack has been washed away, and the slight tremor in his hands as he attempts to write in a legible way. 

people have been talking, you hear them gossiping about how they’ve seen ghost roaming the halls late at night. none of them thought anything of it, but you knew that meant it was getting bad again, so you decide to just bite the bullet and try your luck. "you got a sec?"

he glances up at you, eyes sharp under his furrowed brow, letting your question hang in the air for a moment. you wait in silence for his response, only the rhythmic ticking of the clock for background noise.

"just spit it out." he finally grumbles, dropping his pen and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. you take it as a good sign that he didn’t outright tell you to piss off.

"i'm going for takeout, do you wanna come with me?" you try, a hopeful little smile on you lips as you slowly approach his desk. his eyes follow your movement, unreadable, and there's another pause before he answers.

"ask one of the others."

"i would’ve if i wanted to." you reply, smile deflated slightly by his clipped tone. he doesn’t react, simply observes you with the same deadpan stare, but you won’t give up that easily. "c’mon, mate, i'll pay?"

at that ghost releases a long sigh, letting his eyes fall shut in a slow blink before pushing himself to stand. "...if you insist."

you grin, a sense of triumph coming over you as he rounds his desk and gestures for you to move. both the walk to your car and the drive into town are spent in relative quiet, the space where ghost would usually respond to you with quips of his own filled only by his short hums.

you don't push or pry, you know he's not quite himself at the moment – it was the whole reason you were doing this, after all.

you let ghost choose where to eat, despite this being your idea, and he settles on that greasy pizza place you always seem to end up at on a night out. he still doesn't say much as you're ordering, or while you're leaning on the wall outside waiting for your food, until you speak up and voice what you’ve been thinking for the last week or so.

"look, i know you like keeping it to yourself, but," you start, watching the cars go by to avoid his gaze, "you can always talk to me, ghost."

"cheers." if you were anyone else, you'd be fooled by the ease in which he brushes you off, but there's something else in his voice as he replies. "you gonna give me a motivational speech?"

"i know you don't think anyone notices, but i do." your voice is low as you look over to him, the look on his face decidedly sadder than earlier in the dim evening light. "if i can help you, i want to."

his movement stutters, pausing with his hand halfway through rubbing his eyes like you'd caught him of guard with what you said. you're almost worried he'll shut down completely, but a second later he mumbles, "...you don't have to do that."

you huff. "you heard me, i want to."

"why? you got your own issues, no point boggin' yourself down with mine too."

"you're my friend, ghost. that's how it's supposed to be." you reply, nudging his arm with your elbow. he's stiff under your touch but, unlike earlier, his shoulders sag and his hands have stopped trembling. "you tell me your troubles, and we deal with it together. two heads are better than one an'all that."

"thank you."

you almost miss the whisper. you do your best not to react before he looks away again, trying not to make a big deal out of his vulnerability. instead, the two of you go back to standing side by side in silence, watching the world go by with a lot more peace than before.

your order is eventually called out, and ghost goes inside to collect it while you wait outside. it may not be much, but you're glad he didn't completely shut you out. you're not sure you know anyone who deserves a shoulder to lean on more than ghost.

when he comes back out you reach to take the boxes from him, but he just shoves a twenty pound note into your hand, and before you can react he's already marching back to the car.

"hey, i said i'd pay!" you call, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you jog after him.

"course i'm not lettin' you pay, you twat." he glares back at you, but the look holds no malice. a beat passes before his face softens almost imperceptibly and he adds in a quiet murmur, "not after all that."

[specter319]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗟 UP IN THE AIR

Authors Note: Hey you lot! Sorry to keep you guys hanging, but this will be the final update for the story, for this year. I'm taking a Christmas break to go and work on myself, reblog some fan art and stories that catch my eye, update my Tumblr blog, and even, work on some more stories including this one. Yes, the brain rot for Call of Duty is real — and when you actually listen to your brain and write, with nothing in goal, you end up getting....[Checks other document] 3,000 words of a chapter that hasn't even seen the end of it yet. Anyway, enjoy the final chapter post for 2022!

GIF by Loonlypaper as well as concept for message Pairing: Damon 'Ninja' West x Kaden Lincoln, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish, Zack 'Nemo' Hayes x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Word Count: 2.3k words

no use of y/n eventual relationship establishment, however, Damon and Kaden are married. Summary: In a nation unaccustomed to war, Australia's newly elected government faces a dire crisis when rumours of a biological weapon on home soil, send shockwaves through the Government's defence sector. Dispatching a team of elite operatives to deal with it, the containment goes heads up as they look for other options.

The Black Angel Squad is soon assigned as the situation quickly spirals out of control behind the team's back unknowingly, and to stop a bleeding wound, Task Force 141 is brought in to assist them amid a frantic cabinet meeting of last-minute options and consistent fuck ups, forging an uneasy alliance between two teams. As tensions soar on both ends, questions arise about one thing: Was this the making of a weapon to begin with? Warnings: slow-burn, zombies, canon typical violence associated with Call of Duty, gruesome depictions of death, blood, swearing.

Ao3 Version

[Prev] [Next]

The sound of rubber reverberating through the firewall of the giant SUV had drowned out some of the Taylor Swift, Kaden just had to play. While nursing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, straight from the motherland of the golden arches. Another one of the track fives that Damon had heard a million times started playing with that familiar piano rolling through, mere seconds in, though he enjoyed it. There was always something about the lyrics that Damon had noted, never willing to comment on, that he could see resonated with Kaden’s relationship between his parents, ever since he placed that ring on the very same finger that nursed a coffee.

“Can we skip this one? I don’t like it,” Damon simply stated as he looked out the window, Kaden giving him a glance of skepticism.

“Out of all the songs, this one? Seriously?” Kaden questioned as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Never liked it, anyway, next track,” Damon said before he pressed a button on the screen though the same rubber sound filled in the cabin, a tired sigh revealed what Kaden was about to say.

“You just like this one because it’s more country.”

“Yeah, so what if I do, she makes a great country song.”

There was a pregnant silence in the cabin, maybe Kaden had finally caught onto why he skipped it, but like they were always doing, one was always interested in what was rattling around in the others mind, never having enough time to truly interrogate or question one another’s actions.

“Are you awake yet?” Kaden questioned.

“Nope, still very much dead inside,” It was a question both knew the answer to after so many years.

Breakfast had not gone the way of calming them down since Cameron had told them the simple detail. No further information had been given out about the incident other than the fact that they were being assigned  alongside a task force to figure out just what exactly happened, other than a few details about what plane they were on, and the reports had been seen. When they had pressed for more? Nothing. Cameron had even pleaded with Colonel Vanessa, someone who was able to get anyone to heed to her command given the status of their task force to do something about it, pull some strings to get some form of an answer, but even when she did, not one of the higher ups were willing to give an answer other than ‘we’ll get back to you on that one.’ Not only was she pissed, but it had left an uneasy feeling in the pits of their Bacon and Egg filled stomachs as their radios went off. 

“How you two lovebirds doing in there?” It was Zack, taunting as always. 

“Pending divorce and assault charges,” Kaden replied back sarcastically.

“We love to see it!” Zack replied back in a monotone voice, it was truly a shock when he used the generational slang that Kaden and Damon never truly understood, but somehow, did all at the same time given they were only born three years apart. “How long till ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes. They should be landing in ten, least that’s what we’ve been told.”

“Of course you’re too lazy to check how long we have left to go,” Damon chimed in.

“Yeah, it’s fun driving you two up the wall.”

Damon looked over at Kaden as he shook his head. “Keep that up and you won’t even get cookies.”

“Sorry,” Zack quickly mumbled back. As much as he hated the cookies, he was at least grateful for the gesture.

An audible snicker moved through the pair before the silence of the song in the cabin kept them lingering back to the shady feeling of just what exactly were they keeping from them finding out. Damon realised he’d picked up on something about that feeling, deciding to announce it over the radio in a timely fashion as always.

“You know that Professor?” Damon mused, silence over the radio before he checked the rear view mirror, a familiar black SUV sitting behind them - Cameron and Zack in the second car.

“Professor Campbell, yeah, what about her?” Cameron replied.

“She was kind of shifty, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

Kaden was even interested as he looked over at the male, quick to squint his eyebrows in a questioning demeanour.

“Police chief interrupts her when she gets, to his definition at least, rowdy, doesn’t dare to comment any further on what she said though.”

There was silence, between the bickering and nonsense of that mornings early antics. Damon picked up on one thing many people usually couldn’t — body language.

“Could just be a plain sexist cop trying to tell a woman what to do,” Zack interjected.

“He might be, but, that aside, it wasn’t like that,” Damon stated as he paused, it was the quiver in her voice. 

Had she said too much? 

“She had a moment of hesitation in her voice. Like she’d let on a bit too much than what we needed to be told.”

“I think you’re clutching at straws now, Damon,” Cameron replied. “No way a woman of her stature could be shut down by someone lower than her rank.”

“If the money pays well enough,” Kaden murmured as he raised his eyebrows, leaning back into the seat, slowing the car down as they turned off the freeway.

“Just let it go Damon, I’m sure they’re just figuring out things as they happen and they have no information.”

But he didn’t want to, for the sake of his own team. He begrudgingly did so as he let the radio go silent and sighed before he placed his head roughly against the headrest — for a moment, Damon had gotten too far into his head, and Kaden had noticed.

“You think there’s something else behind it?” Kaden questioned, deciding to run with his idea. Damon knew he was letting him have his moment to cool down, to let him explain himself when others wouldn’t. To hear out each others sides, it was a thing they did, a subtle way of holding each other in an embrace, without physically needing to. A way of always being there for one another.

“For someone so professional, she certainly seemed like she was getting paid to keep a lot behind that curtain of hers.”

“Politics is a high pressure situation, and when shit hits the fan, especially when it’s out of control in seconds. People can break under the pressure. You, of all people would know that.”

“But this pressure and their pressure are completely different.” 

“Depending on it’s context, yeah, I guess you’re right. But, if the situation requires you to have control at all times and something happens under your watch that you can’t control?”

“You start to panic,” Damon added. Maybe it was just that, maybe she was panicked over nothing, and the fact that if she slipped up on any minor detail. She would be gone from the security of the seat she walked to every morning that she had safely called a job. But Damon was still doubtful in the back of his mind of something being off. Knowing that he was stressing over the unknown, he was better off doing the same over the miles of road that was in front of him. Only moments away from the Task Force they were set to meet in regards to this, they’d never gotten any information about them, just the fact that four of them, were to present at the airport. And they didn’t even know exactly who each individual would look like, though, given the plane they would be in. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to spot a few people walking out of an exit not used by common people.

“Hey.” 

“Mhm?”

With a shift of his hand, Kaden quickly grabbed it from the corner of his eyes and moved a thumb over his knuckles. He grounded him in his thoughts of worries as Damon soon returned the gesture by interlacing his hand into his.

“It’ll work out, somehow.”

Damon only took in a deep breath as the car zoomed along on the highway, passing signs that only showed them getting closer to the destination that they needed to be at, and in the sky, just as red and green lights flash ever so subtly, revealed exactly who they were looking for.

“That’d be our assets,” Kaden spoke up before he finally moved his hand gently away from Damon’s, already missing the warmth.

Kaden pressed the button on his radio, he wasn’t too sure about it just yet. “Plane coming in hot that’d be them, right?” 

“According to Flight Tracker, that’d be a yes,” Zack replied.

Another pause of silence.

“…You did not just use Flight Tracker to tell us that was the aircraft.”

“Take a wild guess boys, what’s it going to be?”Damon got a scalding look from his husband, a smile almost played on his face.

“Airbus A320?” Damon quizzed, he was playing into Zack’s love of aircrafts.

Zack made a buzzer noise in response to Damon’s guess. “787.”

“Damn.”

“Zack!” Kaden interrupted, he was still awaiting the answer to the question, but instead, silence moved through both vehicles cabins as they made the final turn off into the airport. It already looked busy with the amount of taxi’s lined up in the ranks, and vehicles dropping off passengers given the early hours of the morning were seemingly the best. However, it was with luck that they were skipping all right past that, and to an entry gate that awaited a few security guards. Confused just as much so in wondering why their presence was here.

“Car behind with you?” The man asked as he looked back at the second black SUV.

“Yeah, here to collect a few people,” Kaden stated as he handed over his ID, Vanessa had obviously planned ahead, and on extremely late notice, what a godsend of a woman she was. 

“Ah, Lieutenant Lincoln West, welcome, if you just follow the yellow line on the road and go to gate two, the people will be waiting for you there,” The man stated before he backed up and pressed a button, the gate moving open.

Kaden paused at the sound of his marital name being stated aloud, it was too late to correct him, but a nod of appreciation was something he gave back in return before the pair of black cars moved into the airports smaller roads. Upon inspection, there was so much the men hadn’t seen behind the scenes of a place that was so busy, known for it’s destined lines and planes taking off like it was a last chance, as Kaden slowly drove in, he quickly took his hand back to the radio to question just what Damon had inspired him to wonder about.

“Did they seriously not give us information beyond an incident and a Task Force?”

“Other than what we know, what time they’d be arriving? absolutely nothing,” Cameron replied.

As the comms went silent again, Damon looked over at Kaden with a knowing smirk as he finished off his coffee.

“What?” Kaden asked, that smirk usually meant trouble.

“It’s just — never thought I’d hear someone say my last name next to yours, it sounds good.” “Maybe I should’ve had Zack in the car with me,” Kaden grumbled. Damon looking falsely offended as that smile, moved his way onto his face. Only something his husband could make him do, he still made him laugh with the small things, after all these years. 

A cute shared moment aside, as the smile faded from both mens eyes, something now was off about all of this mornings efforts to Kaden as he gave a suspicious glance to Damon. Efficiency and effectiveness as well as proper planning was something that their Squad worked on, throughout plans, multiple paths and questions in any form that included ones of stupidity were how they worked in order to know exactly how to pin point what they were after. And with the way this incident fell into their hands, it was now a growing pit of doubt forming in Kaden’s stomach as he did nothing but await for yet another set of gates to open as they got closer to the taxiing aircraft.

Planes always fascinated Kaden, just how massive the wing size of such a plane could support itself. Though nowhere near as geeked out about it as Zack was, the sheer size of them always had him in bewilderment, even with the size of the 747 he was stunned by the sheer mass of how something could easily float in the sky and have it done with 2 million lines of code. As he parked up near the plane on the side of the road, careful to leave some space for the working airport crew, a few looks from the crew who had seemingly worked hours on the shift were giving each other looks. 

Why were they here?

Though they were on time, it was almost another half an hour before anything truly started moving in full force. And as Damon tapped Kaden’s shoulder, a quick button on the radio had Kaden relaying that they were ready for them to move as all four of them got out of the car. Leaving doors opened as they moved in front of their doors, and saw the ones to the airport open, ones that were rarely used by people unless it was for a connecting flight.

And just like that, the first man to appear was that of a lenient male in a blue shirt and a mohawk.

“How the hell’d he manage to get through selection with hair like that?” Zack questioned.

[specter319]

Snow!Ghost does something to me

Simon "Ghost" Riley in "Frozen Tundra" | Modern Warfare III (2023)

[specter319]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗟 THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Authors Note: It's been 15 hours, 15. And for those that know what happens, do not comment on this post, as I will delete and block stated users who place it on here, I am very specifically waiting until the 12th of November for those who have logged off in their entirety to not be spoiled of anything regarding the new launch. And my thoughts generally, writing-wise on it will be launched on or after November 12. Other than that, for those that know and have played it. [-] Both have plot armor for reasons I can not get into, but ones that I'd much rather happily reveal in time. Enjoy the new post!

GIF by Loonlypaper as well as concept for message Pairing: Damon 'Ninja' West x Kaden Lincoln, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish, Zack 'Nemo' Hayes x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Word Count: 2.1k words no use of y/n eventual relationship establishment, however, Damon and Kaden are married. Summary: In a nation unaccustomed to war, Australia's newly elected government faces a dire crisis when rumours of a biological weapon on home soil, send shockwaves through the Government's defence sector. Dispatching a team of elite operatives to deal with it, the containment goes heads up as they look for other options.

The Black Angel Squad is soon assigned as the situation quickly spirals out of control behind the team's back unknowingly, and to stop a bleeding wound, Task Force 141 is brought in to assist them amid a frantic cabinet meeting of last-minute options and consistent fuck ups, forging an uneasy alliance between two teams. As tensions soar on both ends, questions arise about one thing: Was this the making of a weapon to begin with? Warnings: slow-burn, zombies, canon typical violence associated with Call of Duty, gruesome depictions of death, blood, swearing.

Ao3 Version

[Prev] [Next]

He should’ve had more coffee.

“Hey, lazybones.” 

A grumbled groan moved out of the males lips once more as he automatically turned around in his sleep, apparent that in the limited time that he hurried back to bed, it seemed just like moments ago. But instead, it was almost four hours later. A catnap, as Cameron had stated earlier.

“Damon, we are not doing this today, I know you got broken sleep, but you’ve had well over six hours. Out of bed, I need my shopping partner…and my partner.”

He was fighting a loosing battle in knowing his body was well aware of wanting to get up either way as he sighed before he rolled back over and finally sat up, his black hair all a mess. His eyes no longer filled with the same heaviness they once had earlier this morning, but more of a distant look in his eyes. Kaden always found his sleepy state adorable knowing he could barely calculate anything but how to breathe and complain in the morning.  

“We find out anything more since last night?” ‘Oh yeah, he wasn’t thinking alright.’ Kaden thought, a small tug to the corner of his lips had the male trying not to laugh at his vulnerable state of broken sleep. 

“Nothing other than the coroner has drawn blood and checked over the body, but isn’t allowed to examine them. Other than that, the cop is seemingly fine in his state, bite is apparently inflamed but, nothing else.”

Damon brush past the comment of not being able to examine them before he looked over at Kaden’s smile, tired muscles in his eyes made him look all the more out of it rather than the pure action of squinting as he tried to see what the other was hiding.

“What?” He rasped.

“You look cute with your hair like that.”

“I oughta kill you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Damon only gave him a look as the two went their seperate ways, knowing that he was going to take his moment to try and regain the energy he had from the night before he passed out in the bed. 

It was through the chugging of three coffees later and a mediocre serving of Special K that the male was finally good enough to go to tolerate the world as he finally hung around Kaden’s office and jingled the keys to let him know he was there.

“Look who’s finally alive.” “Must be dead inside with all those emails you’re answering,” He jeered back.

“Actually just more information on the mission we’ve gotten from earlier this morning. They’ve spoken to the other team, sending over a bunch of former SAS trained soldiers from a task force apparently.”

“SAS soldiers?” Damon asked before he moved into Kaden’s office, quickly turning to look at his computer screen. Rather casually, informing the likes that they have been assigned alongside Task Force 141 to investigate the incident which would be codenamed: Operation Sentinel.

“Who the fuck are Task Force 141?” Damon quizzed as he looked at the screen, even questioning the name of the operation as he looked at the email.

“Don’t know, we’ll find out in a few days when they get here. But right now, we need to do some shopping for the guys, we��ve got a whole list of stuff we need to get,” and then, Kaden went in for a kiss on a stubble filled jaw, Damon slowly looking over at Kaden with a slight smirk. Someone was a little clingy.

“’S matter with you today?”

“Can I not admire my husband for how hot he looks with a black jumper on and how he smells?”

“Alright, we are not doing this here again, I did this once to fulfil your office fantasy, we’re going shopping. Now,” Sometimes, Damon thought, it had honestly felt like they would swap each others thoughts around. And that was one of the scary parts of being married to the love of your life for as long as you had been, when you started to know one another’s thoughts. It became even more so just how easy you could drag them out of that stated mindset of longing they had for each other.

───

Shopping never seemed to be a nightmare on Wednesday’s in the afternoon, barely anyone seemed to be doing their shopping at a time like this, and it left the once crowded weekend days feel like you could finally breathe in a tightly compact place. Save for a certain ankle biter who rammed a trolley into the back of Kaden’s legs.

Damon had an innocent smile on his face as Kaden looked like he was going to reciprocate the movement that caused him to turn around to begin with, had it not been for Damon’s realisation with what aisle they were currently in. 

“Are we seriously buying chocolate for that fucker again? That’s the third bar this week,” realising what he’d stated, Damon quickly checked around for any kids before continuing his demeanour, an unspoken rule Damon had thanks to his sailors mouth. “I don’t see the issue.” “That’s usually because you’re away from Zack when he decides to go nuclear and thinks it’s fine to lay his lactose intolerance out on us, get him the cookies instead.” “He doesn’t like the cookies though.” “For the sake of our marriage - please,” Damon dramatically pleaded in addition with puppy eyes, which only Damon knew he could get away with.

“God you are so overdramatic Damon,” A roll of his eyes came to as he put the chocolate back and grabbed the cookies instead “Any complaints, it’ll come back on you.”

“There won’t be, unless he eats the whole packet in one sitting.”

“He probably will,” He brushed off.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Damon realised before he gently grabbed the list out of Kaden’s hands “Alright, next is butter, two bags of rice, spring onions, and a crap tonne of vegetables,” Damon paused in realisation “Are we having rice?”

“Figured given we’re on cooking duty this week we’d do something simple, gotta make enough for four nights so, I decided on rice, given pasta seemingly doesn’t really work as much.”

“Alright, you grab the butter, I’ll go grab the rest of the things needed on the list.”

“Wilco,” Kaden said before he dashed off down the other side of the supermarket. 

Eventual time of crossing one another’s paths would lead to the two getting to the checkout as they openly decided to go and serve themselves at the self-serve checkout instead of leaving the hard work to the others. A simple act of kindness in their eyes, and one less person to let what they could do with ease stress out about, and instead, allow them to take a breather for just a moment before another customer came hauling their groceries. Or were ungratefully needed for that one ‘shift’ they never really got paid for.

Knowing that they had finally gotten what they had come for, the pair of them got back in the vehicle as Damon, for once allowed the other male to drive, a sudden surprise to the other, as usually, their would be a complain in trail about it, even if it was the love of his life.

“You’re letting me drive?” Kaden questioned with a confused look on his face.

“Yeah, I figured it was a thanks for last night and this morning.”

“You’re still out of it aren’t you?”

A laugh stifled out of Damon “Yup. It was this morning, too, wasn’t it?” He questioned, that’s what broken sleep did to a man. Threw him right off his perception of time. 

Nodding in replied confirmation came from Kaden before he started up the vehicle and made his way out of the parking lot. 

───

The rattle of the reusable thick plastic bags had Zack running down the hall as he eagerly awaited the two men to come back into the kitchen with baited breath. As he waited for them to place the bags on the table before he greedily got to what he wanted, he’d been desiring for the past almost twelve hours - chocolate. However, as the zipper came flying around the edges of the bag, opening the flap to it. His face quickly pulled downwards at the sides as he realised it wasn’t a whole chocolate bar, but instead, cookies.

“Alright, which one of you two did this? It’s very funny, cookies instead of a chocolate bar,” Zack stated, confused as he pulled at the box, maybe it was just a little prank and they had a lot of chocolate bars inside, shaking it didn’t seem to resolute much hope within him though. The unbroken seal, an unknown answer to Zack’s logic, would’ve also flown open given how hard he’d shaken it just seconds ago.

“Blame Damon,” Kaden raised his hands as he moved away from the mess, pulling the bag towards him and grabbing what was needed for what would be a giant serving of tonights dinner. Knowing Damon would come to help him once he was done bickering with the other male.

Damon only looked back at him as Kaden avoided his gaze like he was on the other side of a glass pane to his husband, all the while, Zack was burning daggers into Damon’s skull as the other man finally looked back at him.

“You’re sick,” Zack accused.

“Look, I’m not buying forty dollars worth of chocolate bars just so you can treat the cap and I like Meg from Family Guy. The only time I will suffer through it is if I buy you a chocolate cake, even then,” Damon exaggerated.

“I’m not lactose intolerant!”

“Like hell you aren’t,” Damon quickly witted back. “They’re worse than mine. Kaden back me up here.”

Kaden immediately broke out into a song, humming as he placed the rice down onto the table. 

“Quite the supportive husband,” Damon gestured, receiving a smirk from the other.

“Obviously your backup thinks otherwise,” Zack stated before someone else walked into the room, Cameron.

“Alright you two, what’s going on here?” The captain decided to bite at the bickering between the two and Damon immediately explained, giving no room for Zack to try and argue his case.

“I gave Zack cookies instead of a whole chocolate bar today,” Damon said as he looked over at him. Cameron looked at him as if he were insane, but a saviour all at the same time, it was the one night they were playing Uno that Cameron flashed back to that moment he will never forget, he swears by the book Zack had done something more than just farting. And Damon had sworn the opposite, that he’d only done exactly that.

“I’m giving you a promotion after this,” sarcasm, of course given Damon’s last stance on being offered it. But Damon tried not to laugh at the subtle gratitude.

“He’ll go through it within a sitting anyway.”

“Oh come on, not you, Captain,” Zack complained

“Damon was right to, I think I lost my smell that night, never been able to smell the petrichor since,” Cameron laughed before he looked over at Kaden, he was on cooking duty tonight, and he was glad he was getting right to it, especially with the news that had developed. “Complaints aside, we’ve got some good news, and bad news.” 

“That we won’t smell death anymore?” Damon chuckled as he got a glare from Zack. Though they all knew he wasn’t going to do anything, one of them always became the butt of some joke. It was the way they operated.

“No, we have an operational unit on the way labeled as Task Force 141, they’re sending out four of their men to help investigate this case which we still haven’t gotten any update on since early this morning, been sitting and waiting for one but, you know how emails go. Bad news however, news crews have gotten word about it - and they will not stop until they have answers.”

“You’d think with the budget they have, an email would be simple enough to do,” Zack retorted.

“Yes, well, that’s not the case, so we’re headed out to Melbourne Airport at 0700 hours to pick them up from a domestic flight and then we’ll be headed out to Katherine, should be there by at least by 1300 hours.”

“Can you just use normal time?” Damon groaned before he sighed - though he understood it very well, he often chose to speak to other teammates by using the AM and PM format much rather than military time. 

“You know the rules, Damon.”

“Yes Captain.”

“Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Kaden asked as he chewed on a mushroom head. “Why haven’t we gotten any emails or intel back from the Departments yet about the reports?”

[specter319]

Little Heads-Up About the MWIII Campaign.

I will not be speaking about it until the 12th of November AEDT. I will however state as much as going far as knowing that a character(s) will die thanks to the sudden popularity of the series on TikTok, I can feel it in my bones both as a writer and a general consensus. So get your tissues ready, get your pens and pencils ready and know that whoever does, I’ll be ready for the perfect song for you lot. As I’m playing the campaign in 25 minutes time, and as to whoever does, give them a little extra hug as a fellow member on the CoD tumblr

[specter319]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐰…" (𝐀 '𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭)

Authors Note: Given it's Halloween, in Celebration of both the launch of MWIII and the possibility that one of our favorite characters will die, I thought I would put salt in the wounds and reveal something I had in the vault for quite a few months. Enjoy this, because this hurt me, and I hope it hurts you as it did me to write this. Signed, Specter

TW: Blood, Major Character Death, Heavy detail of death, Character Spirals Words: 1.3k

The cars were off and moving, which were nothing but a good sign, given some of the people now surrounding the car had gotten very rowdy in their movements. And they needed to just get the hell out of there, or as Damon put it, get the fuck out of dodge.

As the cars tried to respectfully move through the herd of people wanting nothing but an answer, it was with a certain parliamentarian member that wanted nothing of it, typical, at the least. Connor Wilson always seemed like the selfish type and glances from Damon never seemingly let that tension simmer as he let it be known, though he was guarded, that he shouldn’t get too comfortable with the security of the man before him — wrecking his neighbourhood was one thing, but acting like they were on good terms was a whole other can of worms itself.

“You guys have done this before,” Connor stated, it was like a pin dropped in the small, confined space of the car as Damon glanced at the rear view mirror and right into the eyes of the man. He knew the damage he had done — and he expected the demanding outcry that came before him. Cynical even in the eyes of the young Damon West, however, no one knew the tension between the two of them. Just the silence that fell within the car itself.

“Just routine at this point Mr. Wilson,” It was the calm tone of Kaden — the bastard could see right through him unlike the others. A quick glance was chucked Kaden’s way through the rear view mirror once more. Something felt off about today, and Damon had become antsy unknowingly over it.

And there it was, exactly like the lights that changed before him, a man suddenly came swinging out onto the road. Damon taking no chances as the car squealed under the force of one pedal. Halting a boat as the other cars behind them soon followed, if not, within mere millimetres of fusing metal and plastic together. 

“Charlie 3-1, Status?” An agent stated on the radio.

“Charlie 3-1, we have a protestor on the road, getting out now,” Damon quickly mandated positions, knowing the other two men would take over if needed.

“Lincoln, on me,” Damon stated. He still wasn’t used to hearing the likes of his now middle name roll off the bumps of his tongue.

Within the process of only eleven seconds, did everything happen. Caving in, all at once.

In  five seconds, Damon and Kaden both opened their doors. Seven, and Kaden closed his before he matched his husbands’ steps. Nine, and Damon placed a hand on his gun to let the protestor know that should his intentions change, it was no longer going to be the protestor with the upper hand. It was at ten, that he went to open his mouth and eleven, that the bullet rang out. Damon tensed his whole body, thinking that he was going to feel the pain, any moment now. His flesh meeting in the middle of a beautifully opened wound of the bulletproof armour. But it was nothing as the world around him quickly had a black car to the right of him, to the left of him and in front of him — it hadn’t been minutes, it had now been thirty seconds, and he was still alive, but when he looked over to no longer see the body of a man he once called him look back into his eyes, that his neurone fired, and he dropped into action.

As Damon immediately pointed away from the scene to Cameron — get in the driver’s seat and go. There was a longing stare in his eyes, neutrality, taking it in. As if he was perilous to stop it.

Zack had done the right thing, getting the minister to duck down. But Cameron had frozen, when he was needed the most, and so had Damon as he looked at the bloodied shirt of his husband as he laid on the ground. There was no way it hadn’t done it’s job, but it seemed so upon Damon’s observations, the bullet had gone clean right through him.

Damon yelled once more at Cameron to get them out of there, before he finally shifted as another gun shot rang out — more people screamed and the male ducked down, idiotically, and protectively, and over his husband.

“Damon?” Kaden choked out, he seemed distant, unsure of what even happened.

“Hey Kay, you’re doing alright. Just a little wound, the armour got it. Don’t you worry” Damon confirmed as he tried to compress the bleeding, it wouldn’t fucking stop. “We need to get him moved now, open the door I got him.”

“What’s going on?” Kaden asked weakly, his eyes had now become a silvery grey. They weren’t the oceanic blue Damon could never stop looking at.

“Nothing, we’re just getting you into the car, everything’s fine” With a nod from the agent, Damon counted, along with prior notice that he was going to be lifted. It took all of his strength not to drop him then and there, Damon never had any difficulty lifting him during their moments, and now the adrenaline was doing all the work sore muscles could no longer bare.

With the door shut, the world around Damon decreased to just the man’s chest in his lap, so weakly vulnerable. So avoidant of life, and no longer an owner of a smile that could break a man’s heart that tried to hold the red seeping liquid in, as if he could fix everything, when he was losing it right in front of him. 

“Damon,”

“I know, I know,” Damon choked before he didn’t have to even say it and the agents were on the move to the hospital. No one in the car helped, they could see the inevitable, and the man losing colour could do the same. But there was one person who was not willing to come to terms with it, he wanted nothing of it.

There was only silent glances and pained grunts as the eventual adrenaline wore off of both their bodies. He no longer blissfully unaware, but more so hurting, the colour had drained from his eyes completely. Something that gave the man so much emotion, could now only be found in his throat as a deathly cough started moving through him, and a choked scream as the pain finally settled right in.

But his body was all too far gone from that, as his eyes focused on another pair — the blood once needing to be kept in, now inked through the hands of his husband, as if the last moments he would spend with him weren’t already painful enough.

“It hurts,” Kaden rasped, his body shaking — somehow, it was at this point, the staring between one another eyes. That they both knew time was approaching. And it never could keep itself just far enough away to let them ever give a proper goodbye.

“It got you pretty good, but you’re gonna make it,” A thumb on his cheek, deniable plausibility, everything was going to be fine. A way of reassuring one another.

“Damon, don’t,” The rattle in his breath came as he took his shaky breaths. 

“No, I’m not gonna,”

“Damon,” The both of them had tears in their eyes. “I love you,” That’s what finally broke a man, tears streaming down his cheeks. Their time was up, all he could do in response was hold him closer, kiss his head as a desperate hand ran through the hair of a fading man as a weak arm moved on his elbow. A final grasp on a man he too, called his home.

“I love you too,” he finally choked out, the silent ache in Damon’s pounding chest, the heavier rattle, but calm breaths of a final moment in his husbands’ arms was met with words of anguish.

They always wanted to be in each other’s arms, but they never wanted it to be met with things they were never ready to deal with.

“You can go now...”