#Marksmanship Challenge

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

SHARP SHOOTER ;; Short Fic. At an Enforcer's showcase, Caitlyn realizes the gap between her marksmanship and yours.

12.04.24 Masterlist

The grand plaza of Piltover buzzed with excitement, alive with the hum of innovation and excitement. It was the annual Piltover Exhibition, a dazzling showcase of the city’s brightest minds, cutting-edge inventions, and inspiring Enforcer demonstrations. Among the crowd stood Caitlyn Kiramman, a young and newly minted enforcer, her polished uniform pristine, her rifle slung proudly across her back. Though she carried herself with poise, a flicker of uncertainty danced behind her sharp blue eyes.

Among the sea of spectators stood Caitlyn Kiramman, a young Enforcer freshly inducted into Piltover's elite. Her uniform gleamed in the sunlight, the crisp navy fabric unblemished, her badge a testament to her dedication. A finely crafted rifle rested against her back, a symbol of both her profession and her ambition. Yet, beneath her composed exterior, Caitlyn battled a storm of self-doubt. Her sharp blue eyes betrayed a flicker of unease, a reminder of her struggle for consistency under pressure.

“Keep it together,” Caitlyn muttered under her breath. She had trained relentlessly since her appointment, determined to rise as Piltover’s finest marksman, continue the Kiraman reputation of amazing firearm handling. But recent exercises had exposed cracks in her confidence. The gap between her expectations and reality gnawed at her, leaving her questioning whether she could truly measure up to her own high standards.

A sudden crack of gunfire pierced the festive air and followed by loud cheering and sounds of shock and awe, jerking Caitlyn from her thoughts. Her head snapped toward the sound, curiosity ignited immediately. She carefully navigated through the bustling crowd, her polished boots clicking against the stone streets, until she reached an open stage surrounded by a captivated audience. There, standing at its center, was a figure that immediately caught her attention: you.

The whispers of the onlookers reached Caitlyn’s ears. “That’s (Name),” one man said, his voice tinged with reverence. “Piltover’s rising star. Watch closely—you’ll see why.”

Caitlyn’s gaze sharpened as she studied you. You stood poised with a quiet confidence, your Enforcer uniform immaculate, your revolver gleaming in the bright sun. In your hands was a simple revolver, the kind Caitlyn had trained with in her early days. No scope, no enhanced modifications, just raw skill and precision.

A fair distance from you were an array of targets. The targets arranged on the stage varied in size and motion—some stationary, others darting unpredictably. It was a daunting display meant to challenge the most skilled marksmen.

You stood at the center, under all the watchful gazes, exuding an air of effortless confidence.

You raised the revolver slowly, and the crowd quickly hushed. With a series of deafening shots, you hit the first row of targets dead center, each shot landing with mechanical accuracy.

The crowd erupted into a quick applause, but you weren’t done. The second row—smaller, faster targets—was obliterated just as effortlessly. By the time you reached the final set, targets no bigger than coins and spinning erratically, the audience was enraptured. You could barely even see the targets.

With a steady arm, you took in a deep breath and took aim.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The coins disintegrated faster than you could process. The crowd instantly erupted in thunderous applause, their cheers echoing through the plaza with shouts and praise of your name.

You lowered your revolver—feeling the shift in weight due to the lack of ammo— and holstered your firearm with a practiced ease, offering the audience a modest wave before stepping to the edge of the stage to give a deep bow, one arm behind your back and the other crossed over your chest.

Caitlyn pushed her way forward as people cheered, avoiding stray elbows, her heart pounding with equal parts admiration and awe. When she finally reached the front, she called up to you, “Impressive shooting.”

You glanced down, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with your sharp precision moments earlier. “It’s always nice to hear that from a colleague.”

Caitlyn straightened her back, refusing to let her admiration show too plainly. “Caitlyn Kiraman,” she said, extending her hand. “Piltover Enforcer.”

You crouched down to meet her handshake, your grip firm but unhurried. “Good to meet you, Caitlyn. Fresh out of training, I take it? How’s it going?”

“Challenging,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice even. “Your performance was remarkable. It’s rare to see someone handle a revolver with such precision—especially without enhancements.”

You shrugged, brushing off the compliment as you rested your elbows on your bent knees. “Scopes and gadgets are useful, but they can become a crutch. Sometimes, it’s good to rely on the basics. Keeps you sharp.” You gestured towards your own eyes, emphasizing your impressive hand-eye coordination.

"I'll.. keep that in mind, thank you." She replied whilst staring at you in hidden admiration.

There was a short pause between you as the crowd quieted down.

You hummed, tilting your head until your cheek touched your shoulder, “Care to give it a shot?” you asked suddenly, gesturing to the stage with an amused smirk.

Caitlyn blinked in surprise. “What?”

“The targets,” you said, rising to your full height and nodding toward the range. “Let’s see what you’ve got. No pressure.”

The crowd murmured in excitement, eager to witness the exchange. Caitlyn hesitated, then squared her shoulders. She wouldn’t back down now. “Alright,” she said, stepping onto the stage. “But I’ll need your revolver.”

You handed it over with a handful of bullets, simple rustic ones that contrasted her own family emblem carved ones. “All yours. Take your time.”

Caitlyn took a steadying breath as she faced the targets. She tried replicating your confidence, focusing on the moving targets rather than the people watching her. She pulled the trigger after a few moments.

The first row fell easily under her shots, her training guiding her hand. But as the targets grew smaller and faster, the pressure mounted. She missed one of the mid-level targets by a hair, her jaw tightening in frustration. By the final row, her palms were slick with sweat. She managed to hit two of the spinning coins, but the third eluded her.

The crowd offered polite applause, their enthusiasm dampened by her uneven performance, no one could truly level your display. Caitlyn’s cheeks burned as she handed the revolver back to you.

“Not bad,” you patted her on the shoulder lightly, your tone, although seemingly dismissive, was genuinely encouraging. “You’ve got the foundation. With a little more practice, you’ll be a good shot.”

Caitlyn sighed, her frustration evident as her fingers curled at her sides. “I have a long way to go.”

“We all do,” you replied with a casual shrug, staring at her eyes which seemed pointed at the floor. “If you ever want a training partner, I’m around.”

Caitlyn's eyes shot to yours, surprised by the offer. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Anytime,” you replied, flashing her a small smile before walking past her, prepping for another display.

The crown parted around Caitlyn like a wave, she was graceful as she stepped off the stage, a renewed determination burning within her. She wasn’t the best—not yet, not by a mile with your existence. But that only pushed her to work harder.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[missrosiesworld]

Starlight Flutters

Here are some cute headcanons for Billy Kid when he has a crush:

Starlight Hero Persona: Billy adopts a more heroic persona around his crush, often quoting lines from "Starlight Knight" and trying to emulate the show's protagonists.

Billy: "In the name of justice, I vow to protect you! No harm shall come your way while I'm around!"

Crush: "Are you quoting Starlight Knights again?"

Billy: "Maybe, but I mean every word!"

Over-the-Top Gestures: He tends to make grand, dramatic gestures to show his affection, like showing up with a bouquet or performing a flashy stunt to grab their attention.

Billy, arrives with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly: "For you, a token of my admiration!" hands over a bouquet of holographic flowers.

Crush, laughs, clearly amused and touched: "You didn't have to go all out, but thank you!"

Billy, his voice warm and sincere: "Anything for my favorite person."

Nervous Energy: Despite his confident exterior, Billy gets nervous around his crush. He fidgets with his hands and his voice may rise a notch higher when he's excited or flustered.

Billy, fidgeting with his hands: "So, um, do you... like movies? I mean, of course you do, who doesn't, right?"

Crush, smiling: "Yeah, I do. Got any recommendations?"

Billy: "Oh, totally! I've got a list! Uh, maybe we could watch one together sometime?"

Show-Off Moments: Billy loves to showcase his skills, especially with his custom-made revolvers, "the girls." He might challenge others to friendly duels or display impressive marksmanship to catch his crush's eye.

Billy, pulls off a perfect trick shot: "Not bad, huh? Just a little something I picked up from Starlight Knight."

Crush: "Wow, that's impressive! You're really good."

Billy, trying to act casual: "Oh, it's nothing. Just, you know, a hobby."

Special Attention: He gives special attention to his crush, remembering small details about their likes and dislikes. Whether it's their favorite snack or a specific hobby, Billy tries to incorporate these into his interactions with them.

Billy: "I remember you mentioned liking spicy food, so I brought you this hot sauce. It's got a kick, just like you!"

Crush, surprised: "You remembered? That's so sweet. Thank you, Billy."

Billy: "Of course! Anything to see you smile."

Protective Stance: Billy becomes protective of his crush, always positioning himself in a way that he can keep an eye on them. He wants to ensure they're safe and will step in if he senses any danger.

Billy steps in front of his crush: "Hey, stay close. I’ve got this covered. No one's getting past me."

Crush: "You don't have to do this, Billy."

Billy: "I know, but I want to. It's my job to keep you safe."

Clumsy Sweetness: When Billy gets flustered, he can become adorably clumsy, sometimes tripping over his own feet or dropping things. He laughs it off, hoping his crush finds it endearing rather than awkward.

Billy, stumbles slightly, almost dropping a package: "Whoops! That was... not supposed to happen."

Crush, giggles: "Are you okay?"

Billy, laughing nervously: "Yeah, just distracted by... something, or someone."

Secret Glances: He often steals glances at his crush when he thinks they’re not looking. 

Crush, catches Billy staring: "What is it? Something on my face?"

Billy, his voice faltering slightly with a hint of nervousness: "No, no! Just... admiring the view."

Crush, teasingly: "Smooth."

Confiding in Nicole: Billy confides in Nicole, seeking her advice on how to approach his crush. 

Billy: "Nicole, what do I do? I can't stop thinking about them, but what if I mess it up?"

Nicole, smirking: "Just be yourself, Billy. And maybe tone down the Starlight Knight lines a bit."

Acts of Service: He goes out of his way to do small, helpful things for his crush. Whether it's fixing a malfunctioning gadget or finding something they’ve misplaced, Billy is always eager to lend a hand.

Billy: "Hey, I noticed your bike was making a weird noise, so I tightened the chain and oiled the gears."

Crush: "You did that for me? Wow, thank you so much!"

Billy, rubbing the back of his neck: "It's no big deal, really. I just wanted to help."

[songsofadelaide]

prism — a side story to cosmic.

cw: captain narumi x (f) platoon leader, established (secret) relationship, fluff and smut, takes place between iv and v of cosmic. no use of 'yn'. narumi gen is his own warning. minors do not interact.

wc: 3k

You were no stranger to an observant eye. As a Platoon Leader, you were subject to your superiors' watchful surveillance and your team members's discerning gazes. It came as no surprise to you when the Captain of the First Division presented you with an upgrade to your beloved personal weapon, the submachine gun marked FE-0080 or Reginleif and asked for you to demonstrate your marksmanship that brought Asakusa's scorpion-type Honju to its knees.

So you acquiesced to your Captain's command and joined the rookies in their shooting training. You didn't back down from a posed challenge, after all, and you impressed your platoon members and fellow Platoon Leaders once more with your precise marksmanship. 

When Gen first took notice of your personal weapon, he surmised it was specifically made to pair with your speed. Anything heavier would weigh you down. Reginleif was a submachine gun made for more close combat offensives and had less firepower than a machine gun or a rifle, but it made up for its lack of strength with its speed and automatic mechanism.

"Unleashed Combat Power is at 67%."

As you finished setting a record for the rookies to beat, whispers from other division members filled the air. 

"The Platoon Leader's super quick, huh? It's almost like she vanishes into thin air."

"She even beat Platoon Leader Tachibana during the joint training exercises between the Eastern Divisions. That's how Captain Narumi discovered her."

"Speaking of which, she and the Captain have been spending a lot of time together..."

Gen himself didn't notice the amount of time you two were spending together. It was lost to him, but the memory of his enjoyment remained— you coming to see him, summoned or not. One day, your presence simply became natural, like a second instinct, until it became a necessity, especially for him.

You sitting next to him in his office, sometimes as Player 2 but most of the time just plain old you. You in your tracksuit uniform with nothing but a white tee underneath. You mindlessly scrolling through your social media while he stormed through whatever game he was playing, warming his bed until you had to leave him— whether it was due to an emergency or just because the day had ended. The sound of your laughter and derision filled his office and he can't seem to snap out of his compulsion to steal the rest of your sound straight away from your lips. 

He signalled for the end of the shooting training after the rookies concluded their rounds and dismissed everyone for the rest of the afternoon. 

"Captain Narumi, sir," you called out to your superior, who had just finished checking the Operation Leader's report handed to him by your Vice Captain. 

"Platoon Leader."

"One of my team members is celebrating their birthday today. They're planning a short trip to the city for drinks this evening," you started as you shadowed Gen's steps back to the base's main hall. "As much as I would love to finish our Maelduin's Portal campaign from earlier, my platoon would appreciate being able to spend some time with me, and I with them. I hope you're amenable, of course…"

He wanted to disagree with you but didn't want to come off as increasingly needy, especially since he knew now that people were already talking about how much time you've been spending together. Was he being needy? 

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, then."

Because he certainly didn't.

Your platoon arrived back at base a little before 21:00 and the first thing you wanted to do was take a dip into the baths because you were certain you smelled terrible— a smorgasbord of alcohol, barbecue smoke and cigarette ash, no thanks to the old smokers seated next to your group's long table.

But Gen had other plans in mind that derailed your quick trip to the baths. 

A single notification lit up from your mobile phone as you placed it on the desk in your personal quarters. 

[ N. Gen-隊長: I'm outside your room. ]

"Captain Narumi?" You quietly called for him, a tender smile on your face as you opened your door for him. "Did you wait for me all this time?" 

Gen smelled like he just got out of the bath, ready to go to bed, while you still smelled of smoke and alcohol. Still, he didn't think twice before embracing you, which you hesitantly returned. 

"I still smell like alcohol…" You murmured into the crook of his neck as you gently played with the hair on his nape. "Pretty sure I taste like it, too…"

"I don't really care…" He murmured before diving in for a kiss. Sure enough, you tasted like an evening out, the bitter taste of beer still lingering in your mouth. 

"Hey," you said as you gently broke your kiss. "You might be fine with this, but I'm not. I-I mean the way I smell. Please, Gen, let me take a quick bath. I promise I'll be back in five— no, ten minutes. I'll be back and let's pick up where we left off, okay?"  

Not even the grumble that left his lips could stop you from grabbing your basket of toiletries plus a change of clothes and leaving him for a bath you promised would be quick. 

It was only in the quiet that he realised it was his first time here in your personal quarters. It's always been you visiting him in his office but rarely did you invite him over— for reasons now clear to him. 

Your room was incredibly bare, even for a Platoon Leader. Apart from the standard furnishings provided by the Defense Force, nothing in that place anchored you there or made known to others that it was your lodging. You kept no trinkets or little decorations, and on your desk sat your mobile phone, which even had the default wallpaper on. 

It had no passcode, either, and he found himself there aptly named 'Captain Narumi Gen' when he took a peep at your messages. All the people in your phonebook were properly labelled and addressed, such as your parents, your elder brother Kanata and his wife Marie, your squad leaders Akabane, Kagomura, Ookawa, and your fellow Platoon Leaders. 

You kept no notes, even fewer photos, and Gen was filled with this awful dread that you'd leave no trace behind if anything ever happened to you. His thoughts were soon replaced by a wave of comfort when he plopped down on your bed. "At least your pillows smell like you…"

He almost nodded off too if not for your arrival. You were still a little damp from your quick soak, your skin still warm and balmy as you shut your door behind you. "Are you still awake, Captain?"

"Yeah, I am. S'impossible to fall asleep here in your room," he said as he sat up again, quietly observing the way you neatly stashed your belongings in your single closet. 

"Really, now? I'd expect you to get a good night's rest here since I have a proper bed and all," you chuckled at his response. "Or are you so used to sleeping on a futon that a bed's uncomfortable for you?"

"No. Your bed… smells like you," he stated, a hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck this time. You were fresh out of the bath, still practically buzzing with warmth, and it made him uneasy in an exciting way. "It's…"

"Is it nasty?" You asked as you made your approach. You were in similar standard white shirts and black sweatpants and Gen visibly swallowed as you sat closely next to him. "Captain Narumi?"

"Don't… Don't call me that now," he grunted at you, his lip trembling in anticipation as you raised a hand to cup his cheek. 

"Gen…" 

Ah, his name sounded so, so sweet whenever it left your lips, but this time even more, and he was this close to stealing that sweetness himself if you hadn't scooched over to kiss him yourself. It was tender and affectionate and somewhat apologetic, tasting of green tea mouthwash this time, until you broke away from him and stuck out your tongue to lick the corner of his mouth.

You did it in such a teasing manner but he couldn't even smile— because he was already so, so hard. He pulled out his erection from under his sweatpants and guided your hand to it, his breath hitching as he felt your warm fingers curl around his length and stroke him at a leisurely pace.

Though you couldn't see his eyes, you were certain he had a heady, cloudy, half-lidded gaze on you. He followed your steady movement with bated breath as you got down on your knees and placed yourself between his thighs. 

"Doing it here in my room has its advantages," you told him as you started stroking him again, your breath ghosting over his length. "No one's gonna come in here unannounced…"

Gen let out a low hiss when you flicked out your tongue and slowly licked the tip of his cock, taking all the time in the world to do so. 

"Ggh… S-Stop it already—" He grunted yet again, and though he told you to stop, it was clear he meant otherwise by the way he had a guiding hand on the crown of your head. "Ugh…"

Hearing the sound of his voice dipping and straining in pleasure encouraged you to do even better for him. He shuddered as you gradually received him in your mouth. 

…Maybe he did find a way to tame that smart mouth of yours after all. 

The pace of your blowjob was pleasant, but you knew he was close by the way his thighs closed around you. He tried to wriggle away from you, but you shook your head at him and gently picked up the pace, your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked on him a bit more. 

He took your refusal to let him go as a sign that you'll receive his seed in your mouth, so he obliged you, his body convulsing as he held your head in his hands. A low, guttural moan he obviously tried to suppress escaped his lips as you swallowed his cum, thick strings stuck in the back of your throat, and you eventually released him with a soft 'pop' from your slightly swollen lips. 

"My good girl," his praise was caught between his soft exhales. He pulled you up into his arms and allowed you to tenderly sweep back his hair that curtained his lovesick gaze. 

"You're so handsome," you told him with a smile, your fingers gently toying with the hair on his nape once more. Gen adored being the recipient of such compliments, even more so from you, but he still gets embarrassed from time to time. He's red up to his neck now, his hands warm on your waist. 

"My good girl," he said yet again, his wine-coloured eyes holding your own heady gaze. One hand wandered underneath your shirt while the other dipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, deft fingers rhythmically running over the moistness between your legs. His lips curl into a teasing smile as your expression fades into one of pleasure.

He was already hard again, but he didn't want to be so greedy. Neither did he want the night to end so soon. He did away with your clothes, all similarly and carelessly tossed aside as he motioned for you to lie down on your back for him. A glint of mischief lit his eyes as he placed himself between your legs, lowering his face to your thighs, peppering them with light and faint kisses before he eventually opened his mouth to taste you. 

Another rapid rush of pleasure shot through your body as he gripped your thighs and happily ate you out, playing deaf to your impatient whines as he leisurely and unhurriedly licked and lapped at your folds.

"Tell me what you want, my good girl," Gen whispered, his low and lazy voice hot against your sopping pussy. He already knew what you wanted by the way you ground against his mouth, the burning sultriness between your legs threatening to overflow onto the rest of his face. He slid a finger knuckle-deep into you and thrust at what he believed was an agreeable pace given the sound of your moans, which you were trying your hardest to suppress.

His fingers were skilled and reached the places you never could on your own, but you needed more. "P…"

"If you tell me, 'please put it in my pussy', then I'll do it."

Oh, you wanted to hurl so many complaints at him, but your impatience already showed in your countenance and he was clearly enjoying this. "Well? Hurry up and say it."

"M… My p… ah…" You pathetically whimpered at him, your voice cracking as he broke into another crooked grin.

"Use your words, my pretty girl. I can't really understand you."

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as you relented to his teasing, your legs quivering at the leisurely pace he's taken. "Please… Please put it in my p-pussy…!"

It didn't take long for Gen to take charge after hearing you plead for him so earnestly. He was already as stiff as a pole, anyway, so he angled himself over you and slid his length over the burning wetness of your pussy before thrusting into you. 

The pace he moved at was gratifying for you both, the sound of your whines was enough of a confirmation for him. 

"Ah…" You coiled your arms around his neck, trembling at his warm touch, his calluses rough yet ticklish against your skin, especially when he sank his fingers into the plushness of your breasts. "Gh…"

Why does it feel like this? You managed a thought as he fucked you deep into your sheets and mattress, the sound of your soft moans and his pleased groans filling the air in the room. You knew you'd be dead if someone else heard you, but you couldn't consider being considerate now— because he's s-so good…!

Gen's bangs fell over his eyes again, hiding away the blissed-out look on his face. He knew it didn't matter that much to you anymore and neither did it to him— because all he could think about at that moment was burying his cock deep into you— fuck good manners and propriety!

You were seeing stars now, his pace slightly rushed and rough and it could only mean that he was just as close to finishing as you were. "D-Don't… don't stop…"

But he knew he had to. He was smarter than this. He knew he had to pull out. You couldn't afford to— at a time like this, too! 

Yet in between his blissed-out euphoria and common sense was a single thought: a family. With you. Your stomach round with a child that was a heap of trouble like he was—

"P-Please, Gen… I'm so close…!"

He snapped back to his sweet reality— your walls tightening around him as he thrust with even more urgency this time. 

"Cum for me, then, my good girl," he managed to chuckle at you. You choked out another small cry as tears filled your eyes again in a wave of oscillating pleasure, your spasms making it difficult for him to pull out as he intended. 

"Y-You can cu—" 

Gen pulled out of you panting the moment you were about to say he could finish inside you instead, opting to spill his scorching cum all over your stomach. He caught his breath before flicking his middle finger on your forehead with all his tender might. 

"Ow! Wh-What was that for?!"

"At least let me put a ring on you before you ask me to cum inside ya!"

"You didn't have to hit me that hard."

"It wasn't even that hard."

A large bandaid was spread over your forehead where your boyfriend last exacted his violence on you. Your quiet breakfast for two at the mess hall the following morning was cut short when Eiji sat next to Gen with his breakfast, along with a clean folder that contained only two sheets of paper.

"Good morning, Narumi. And the Platoon Leader, too. Once you're done eating, I'll need you two to fill out these forms," he stated as he handed you one of the sheets with a header in bold letters that read Workplace Relationship Disclosure Form.

"O-Oh," came your slightly startled reaction as you realised what it was. You placed down your utensils and read the information that had to be filled out. "S-So, do I write 'boyfriend' here? This is so embarrassing…"

"The hell do you mean it's embarrassing? Are you embarrassed to be with me? Embarrassed that I'm your boyfriend?!" Gen yapped at you as he filled out the form handed to him. You were shocked to see him filling out the paperwork himself, even more so when he wrote 'fiancée' next to your name. 

"If there is anything to be embarrassed about, it's keeping your fellow Platoon Leaders awake at night because of your… raucous behaviour," your Vice Captain stated with a feigned cough, and though it was clearly addressed to you, his sharp gaze was directed at your Captain. "If you don't want the top brass to hear about this and mete out a punishment for you both, I suggest you refrain from doing it here at base."

"O-Of course, V-Vice Captain Hasegawa! It won't happen again!" You squeaked at the older man and gave him a stiff bow. 

Gen gaped at your quick surrender before eventually turning to Eiji, who had yet to start his meal. "Haa? We're actually doing important work here! They can consider this our attempt at preserving my lineage, Japan's Strongest— Ow!" 

The older man flicked his middle finger at the young Captain's forehead this time. "Since everyone's talking about you two anyway, let's give them more to gossip about. But I expect not to hear anything about it again starting tomorrow."

[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying.  “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[itacats]

In His Steady Hands

FT: Soap x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of chronic illness, muscle spasms, mild self-doubt, and anxiety. Some depictions of noisy environments (arcades and shooting ranges).

SUM: Navigating through the thrill of an arcade night and a tense shooting range visit, you find yourself caught between your desire to push boundaries and the challenges posed by your body. Soap’s relentless charm and lightheartedness ease your tension, but his sharp perception threatens to unravel the mask you’ve carefully constructed.

A/N: Arcade games and shooting ranges with Soap? Sign me up! 🎯💥 Writing this had me imagining his Scottish humor cutting through every tense moment—truly a blessing! Let me know if y’all can hear his laugh too. 😊

Side note: inspired by when I found out I had dystonia when I was on my high school varsity marksmanship team-boy do I miss it😅

In His Steady Hands Mastlist

Part 2: Shaky Foundations & Hurdles

Your group of friends had been talking about an arcade night for weeks, but when the plan finally came together, you found yourself hesitating. The idea of being in such a lively, chaotic environment with your friends—and Soap—both excited and unnerved you. What if your body decided to betray you at the worst possible moment?

Still, you pushed through the hesitation. You didn’t want to be the person who always said no, the one who distanced themselves from others for fear of the unknown. Soap’s enthusiasm when he texted the group chat to confirm the plan was contagious, and a small part of you was looking forward to seeing him again.

The moment you stepped into the arcade, the energy hit you like a wave. Neon lights danced along the walls, and the cacophony of sounds—coins clinking, games beeping, people laughing—created a dizzying backdrop. You spotted Soap almost immediately, surrounded by your friends as he gestured animatedly towards the games littered around the room.

“There you are!” he called out when he saw you, his voice cutting through the noise. “C’mon, you’re not getting out of this.”

Soap was already in the thick of things, bouncing from game to game with childlike enthusiasm. His energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile as he dragged you and the others toward a row of racing simulators.

“Alright, who’s ready to lose spectacularly?” he teased, shooting a cocky grin in your direction as he slid into the seat of the nearest machine.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning confidence. “Big words for someone who might not even finish the race.”

The group burst into playful jeers, and you slid into the seat next to him, gripping the steering wheel. The screen lit up, the countdown ticking down with a deafening rhythm. Three, two, one—GO!

The game roared to life, and you leaned into the controls, adrenaline surging as you swerved through the digital course. For a moment, you forgot about the noise, the people, the tension coiled inside you. It was just you and the game.

But then it happened.

A sudden spasm shot through your arm, jerking the wheel violently to the side. Your car veered off the track, smashing into a barrier. Heat flushed your face as you fought to steady your grip, but the damage was done. The others were already laughing at the ridiculousness of the crash as your stomach twisted with silent embarrassment.

“You alright there, champ?” Soap’s teasing voice cut through the noise, his tone light but his gaze sharp.

You forced a smile, releasing the wheel and flexing your fingers as if to shake off the moment. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”

“Fatigue’ll get you every time,” he replied easily, leaning back in his seat as his avatar sped across the finish line in first place. The others groaned, accusing him of cheating, but Soap only laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? Raw talent.”

Despite the uproar around him, Soap’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. You avoided his gaze, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you stood to join the group.

“Alright, what’s next?” someone shouted, and the group began to disperse toward the other games.

Soap caught up to you as you meandered toward a skee-ball machine, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded quickly, plastering on a casual smile. “Of course. Just out of practice, I guess.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for cracks in the façade. But instead of pressing further, he broke into a wide grin. “Fair enough. But if you want to redeem yourself, I’m always up for a rematch. Winner buys the next round of drinks.”

You chuckled softly, relief blooming in your chest as he steered the conversation away. “You’re on, MacTavish.”

True to form, Soap launched into one of his grand, exaggerated stories as the two of you joined the others. He recounted a tale of a disastrous attempt at drunken karaoke during a squad celebration, complete with an off-key rendition of a Queen song and a broken microphone. The group erupted in laughter, and the tension that had settled over you moments before began to ease.

Soap’s laughter boomed above the others, and you couldn’t help but glance at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. He’d noticed your stumble—of course he had—but instead of making it a point of concern, he’d diffused it with effortless charm, redirecting the focus away from you.

As the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, caught up in the laughter and Soap’s easy humor. But in the back of your mind, the memory of the spasm lingered, a reminder of the delicate balance you walked.

For now, though, you let yourself enjoy the moment. After all, shaky foundations could still hold up under the right support.

In the following weeks, another invitation arrived in Soap’s usual no-nonsense fashion—a simple text that read: "Shooting range tomorrow? You coming?" A grinning emoji with sunglasses followed the message, but it did little to ease the tension that coiled within you.

Your first instinct was to decline. Stress had a way of igniting the worst of your symptoms, and the shooting range was a stress-filled scenario waiting to happen–the loud sounds, the jolts of a freshly fired gun lingering in your arms, the metallic tang in the air that tried to overwhelm your nose. But as you reread the message, imagining Soap’s easy grin and his unrelenting enthusiasm, you hesitated. Turning him down felt like letting him down, and something in you refused to do that.

The next day, you stood outside the range, your palms clammy despite the brisk air. Soap was already waiting for you, leaning casually against the entrance. His face lit up when he spotted you, and any lingering thoughts of backing out vanished.

“About time,” he teased, his Scottish lilt warm and playful. “Thought you were gonna bail on me.”

You forced a laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Inside, the sharp smell of gunpowder mingled with the low hum of conversation and the muffled pops of firing. The range was busier than you’d expected, adding another layer to the knot in your stomach. Soap guided you to a station, his confidence contagious as he set up the equipment and walked you through the basics.

“Easy enough,” he said, sliding a pair of protective headphones over your ears. “Just keep your stance steady and breathe.”

Keep steady and breathe. Easier said than done.

The first few shots weren’t bad—your aim wasn’t perfect, but Soap’s steady encouragement kept your nerves at bay. His voice, muffled slightly by the headphones, carried a balance of humor and instruction that eased some of your tension.

But as the session wore on, the stress began to mount. The weight of the gun, the crack of each shot, the subtle vibration that coursed through your arms—it all started to take its toll. Your muscles tightened, a warning sign you knew all too well.

You tried to shake it off, adjusting your grip and forcing a smile when Soap glanced your way. “Not bad, huh?” you managed, your voice tight.

“Not bad at all,” he replied, flashing a thumbs-up. But his sharp gaze lingered on you a moment too long, as if sensing something was off.

When a spasm hit, it was impossible to hide. Your fingers twitched in an unruly manner, causing the gun to jerk slightly in your hands. You quickly set it down, hoping Soap hadn’t noticed. A stray bullet with this many people around was asking for trouble… if not more.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with an undertone of concern.

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, just…my grip slipped.”

Soap didn’t push, but you could feel his eyes on you as you stepped back from the station, pretending to examine the target. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken questions and the weight of your own self-consciousness.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to probe or pry. Instead, he gestured toward the target with a lopsided grin. “Not bad for a first-timer. With a bit more practice, you might even beat me.”

His lightheartedness caught you off guard, easing some of the tension that had built in your chest. You offered a small smile in return, grateful that he hadn’t pushed for answers you weren’t ready to give.

But as the session wrapped up and you walked back to your car, the moment lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure whether to be thankful for Soap’s restraint or ashamed that he’d seen even a glimpse of your struggle.

For now, you decided, it was easier to bury those feelings and focus on the fact that Soap still looked at you the same way he had before—like nothing had changed—probably.

Want to see what's up next? Click here!

[genshin-impact-updates]

"Spino Doubleblaster" Event: Water Cannon Marksmanship Challenge

〓Event Duration〓

2024/07/02 10:00:00 – 2024/07/08 03:59:59

〓Event Rewards〓

〓Eligibility〓

Adventure Rank 20 or above

And complete Archon Quest Prologue: Act III "Song of the Dragon and Freedom"

〓Event Details〓

● After the event begins, 2 new stages will be unlocked every day for the first 4 days. There are a total of 8 stages.

● After starting the stage, activate the water cannon with a most peculiar appearance and hit the floating targets to complete timed shooting challenges.

● When the watercannon fires, it will consume its Energy Reserve. The Energy Reserve is slowly replenished over time, but it can also be restored by hitting EZ-Charge Balls.

● In this event, the "Improved Crococannon" is equipped with two different firing modes, and these modes can be used to handle different kinds of Target Ball setups.

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:"Partners in Every Sense"

The air in Quantico buzzed with the usual hum of activity. The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) was bustling as always, agents moving with purpose, files being handed off, and the ever-present sound of the espresso machine in the break room trying to keep everyone running on caffeine and determination. Derek Morgan sat at his desk, skimming through case files, his sharp eyes flicking over details with practiced ease. He was in his element here, surrounded by the intricate puzzles that made up human behavior.

But today, something was different.

Agent Y/N L/N had just joined the team. She was a legend in her own right, having made a name for herself in the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. Her transfer to the BAU was the subject of much discussion. Known for her unparalleled marksmanship, tactical prowess, and an uncanny ability to read situations, she was as intimidating as she was effective. The rumors didn’t do her justice, though; she was even more formidable in person.

Morgan looked up as the door to the conference room opened. There she was. Her presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She was tall and athletic, with piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who had faced down the worst humanity had to offer and come out victorious.

"Agent Morgan," she greeted, extending a hand. Her voice was calm and steady, a perfect match for her composed exterior.

"Agent L/N," he replied, taking her hand in a firm shake. He couldn’t help but notice the strength in her grip, a testament to her physical training. "Welcome to the BAU. Heard a lot about you."

"All good, I hope," she said with a faint smirk, the hint of a challenge in her eyes.

Morgan chuckled. "Mostly. You’ve got quite the reputation."

"Reputations are just stories," she replied, her gaze unwavering. "I prefer to show what I can do."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N seamlessly integrated into the team. Her insights were sharp, her strategies flawless, and her ability to take control in the field was nothing short of impressive. She and Morgan found themselves working closely on several cases, their skills complementing each other perfectly.

One particularly challenging case had them tracking a serial arsonist who was escalating in both frequency and severity. The team was spread thin, and Morgan and Y/N were partnered up to follow a lead in a remote area.

As they drove through the winding roads, the tension in the car was palpable. Not because of any friction between them, but due to the gravity of the case. They both knew how high the stakes were.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren't an agent?" Morgan asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile playing at her lips. "Not really. This job... it’s in my blood. What about you?"

Morgan shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Same here. Hard to imagine doing anything else."

Their lead took them to an abandoned warehouse, the perfect hiding spot for someone who didn’t want to be found. As they approached the building, Y/N's senses were on high alert. She signaled for Morgan to follow her lead. They moved silently, their years of training evident in every step.

Inside, the warehouse was a labyrinth of old machinery and forgotten debris. They split up to cover more ground, each moving with the precision and caution of seasoned agents. As Morgan rounded a corner, he saw a flicker of movement. Before he could react, a figure lunged at him, knocking him to the ground.

The struggle was brief but intense. Morgan managed to get the upper hand, pinning the assailant. It was the arsonist, his eyes wild with desperation. Just as Morgan was about to cuff him, a second attacker emerged from the shadows, aiming a weapon at Morgan.

A shot rang out.

Morgan looked up to see Y/N standing there, her gun smoking, the second assailant dropping to the ground. She moved with swift efficiency, securing the scene and ensuring there were no more surprises.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

"Yeah," Morgan replied, catching his breath. "Thanks to you."

They exchanged a look, one that spoke volumes. In that moment, there was a mutual respect and understanding that went beyond words. They were more than just colleagues; they were partners who had each other’s backs.

As they drove back to headquarters, the adrenaline still pumping through their veins, Morgan couldn’t help but feel a deepening admiration for Y/N. She was everything he valued in a partner: smart, fearless, and utterly reliable.

Over the next few months, their partnership grew stronger. They became a formidable team, their synergy in the field unmatched. Off duty, they found themselves drawn to each other in a way that was both exciting and unexpected.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case, they found themselves alone in the gym, working off the stress. Morgan watched as Y/N hit the punching bag with a series of precise, powerful blows. He admired her focus and determination.

"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" he said, walking over to her.

She paused, wiping sweat from her brow. "You’re not so bad yourself, Morgan."

He grinned, stepping closer. "No, I mean it. I've worked with a lot of agents, but you... you’re something else."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Derek. That means a lot coming from you."

There was a moment of silence, charged with unspoken feelings. Then, with a confidence that mirrored her own, Morgan closed the distance between them, his hand gently cupping her face. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and filled with the promise of something more.

From that night on, their relationship evolved, deepening into something neither of them had expected but both were eager to explore. They were still the same fierce agents, but now, they were also something more: partners in every sense of the word. And together, there was nothing they couldn’t face.

[the-amazing-digital-time-capsule]

TADTC Lore Dump #1

Character Lore And Fun Facts!

Pomni

Pomni was born in and grew up in upstate New York, going down to New York city to visit her very large extended family. She is incredibly good at math and physics, being able to recite long equations, and complete computations very quickly. Despite being able to do this, her memories on why or how she is able to, are foggy.  She doesn't remember her job, family, or education, or training…

She also loves to write historical fiction, but her dyslexia makes spelling and grammar a challenge. Sometimes she gets Caine to read over her stories and check both his historical accuracy as well as spelling and grammar. 

Pomni heavily dislikes playing the violin despite that being her assigned role in the capsule.  Though her memories are cloudy she associates the violin with nothing but anxiety and frustration.  Especially if she is ever tasked with playing sheet music, because of this correlation between distress and sheet music Pomni almost always plays the violin by ear.  She creates or edits performances on the spot, no matter if she was tasked with playing a specific piece or not.

Pomni’s Greek (But doesn't remember), and knows how to speak and write the language, however she has issues with her listening interpretation.

Pomni's lost the most memories when compared to the other capsule members.  Sometimes this fact makes her feel isolated and lonely as she is sure of so little about herself. 

Caine

He was born in 1900, Detroit, later moving and growing up in Pittsburgh. He is a WWI vet, he joined the army right out of high school, lying about his age (to his families dismay).  After showing exceptional skill in marksmanship, he went to Camp Perry, Ohio to become a trained sharp shooter.  He’s favorite rifle to shoot with is the Model 1903 Springfield with a scope.  Near the end of the war, he suffered an accident that made his confidence drop leading to job issues when coming home. After returning from war he worked as a freelance artist and animator, but after losing his animation job in 1926 he had to live off almost nothing. Eventually leading to him raiding an old garage for any junk that he could sell for cash.  There he found the Time Capsule.  

Caine has had a lot of time in the capsule to learn and master many skills.  He is a real renaissance man.  His favorite is being ambidextrous, since he finds amusement in confusing people by switching the hand he's using very quickly. 

Since becoming the leader in 1957 he has access to everyone's names including his own. However, Caine refuses to tell anyone their name, and to be in solidarity with everyone else refuses to go by or tell anyone his own.  Only Kinger Knows that Caine has access to everyone's names. 

No one besides Kinger really knows what has happened in Caine’s past.  He doesn't like to talk about it much due to severe PTSD; PTSD that can get triggered by loud noises, the smell of mud and gas, and getting touched without warning. 

Caine never goes to his room for this reason.

Caine is always interested in learning about what he's missed since entering the Capsule, but people don't tend to talk to him due to his depressing demeanor.  If given the chance he would be incredibly happy to sit and listen to whatever he's missed in the past 70 years. 

Kinger 

Kinger was also a WWI War vet and a Lintennieut Colonel in the U.S Army.  Kinger refuses to enter a relationship while in the capsule, only Caine knows why he chooses to stay “single”.  

As the bartender in the capsule Kinger knows a lot of information, be it people's deepest desire or their social security number. He is very aware of his customers and their affairs.

Kinger is also the designated surgeon of the group, if any Capsule member gets hurt or injured by one of the Guests or anything else… Kinger will sew them back together.  When he performs a procedure he will give the patient alcohol (except Caine) to numb the pain as they don't have access to painkillers. 

Kinger is Caine's best friend and they rely heavily on each other.  Kinger tries to manage Caine's drinking habit by hiding or measuring his alcohol intake, but that doesn't always work. 

Kinger, despite acting the most aloof, retains the most memories of his past.  When you walk past his room at night you can hear him murmuring about missing someone.  

Zooble

Zooble is half German, and speaks the language fluently even in the capsule.

Zooble is the most deadpanned member of the Capsule but also has the biggest heart.  While they may not seem like the person to go to for help they will do anything to lend a hand if needed. 

They have a strange aversion to kids... while they don't hate children and even like them, Zooble avoids them at all cost.  Since Ragatha is the child care attendant, that also means that Zooble inadvertently avoids Ragatha as well, causing tension between the two.

Zooble’s right hand can act as almost any tool, from a blow torch to a screwdriver, Zooble's hand can act as any tool needed as long at they have the correct bit inserted. 

Zooble’s torso is a radar system that tracks every member of the capsule.  Bubble will sometimes use Zooble as a way to find and track down the other members.  Zooble’s hate this fact but can’t do anything about it.

Gangle 

Gangle is half Hispanic American and half Japanese.  Before entering the capsule she juggled two different worlds.  One being her cultural side at home and the other being her American side to her friends.  She would do anything to avoid having these two worlds collide. 

Within the Capsule she is most comfortable with Caine.  She’s not entirely sure why but Caine has always treated her like a younger sister and she is nothing but grateful for that.  He really helped her try to find some joy in the capsule allowing her to find some peace with her new situation. 

Pomni and Gangle are roommates as they are the two main performers.  They share a dressing room 50/50.  Gangle's side is a shrine to her favorite characters, of which she had Caine draw for her from description, and is surprisingly immaculate.  While Pomni's side is minimalistic, with a drawer next to her bed full of crumpled up pieces of paper. Gangle always tries to encourage her to decorate.

Jax

Jax used to be a rich brat who got through life with daddy’s money, but after partying a bit too much his senior year of college he found himself stuck in the capsule. 

Jax likes to be seen as a kind of idiot, cool guy, even when a human. He hid his love of classical books and chose to perform poorly in school.  Barely scraping by enough for his father to buy his way into Yale. 

In the capsule Jax lives on the pixelated streets, “entertaining” the children too old to be cared for by Ragatha.  If his joystick were to ever break Jax would be unable to ever move again, he would be conscious but paralyzed.   

Off duty Jax loves to tinker in Zooble's workshop, making a variety of small trinkets to decorate his alleyway. 

List of who remembers most about their life (Top is most, Bottom is least)

This list excludes Caine since, as the leader, he has access to all his memories.  

Kinger 

Jax

Zooble

Gangle

Ragatha

Pomni

[wishfuldivine]

Alright. This is for you @gaystappen!

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a character from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare franchise.

He's a Sergeant and part of the Task Force 141 along with Captain Price, Ghost, and Soap. He's either the youngest or nearly same age as Soap, who happens to be another Sergeant. Quite frankly, it hasn't been established with accuracy.

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008,  serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year. Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters. Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs. Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture. Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness. "Everyone talks about the physical aspect of being in the SAS but my job is mostly mental. Give me a guy who's got his mindset right over a guy who's twice as fit any day of the week."

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing. Kyle's last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare. Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil. Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror. (Had to copy and paste it for you to get a glance at his early days)

Therefore, he's a complete BADASS. The only problem when it comes to him is that, the majority of the COD fandom leave him out of stuff. It can go as far as fanart, fanfics, edits, and more. Basically, he's ridiculed for simply being POC. Even the official Call of Duty company by the name Activision often leave him out of things. Such as promos, skins on the game, etcetera.

His character development within the franchise is by far my favorite. He went from scared, insecure, doubtful, to determined, level-headed, and voice of reason.

Though, he can be such a damn brat. There's parts of the campaign in MW2 where he is a smartass and witty while speaking to Captain Price and Kate Laswell, the Station Chief and close friend of Price. Don't let his hard persona fool you. He'll be the first to join Soap in any mischief.

But overall, this is my baby. I can say so much more but that's what is on top of my head. He's my best boy. My baby girl. My precious pretty boy. My muse. He's so gorgeous. And beautiful. He belongs to the other 3, though. XD

Sorry if it's very long!

[universitypenguin]

If the Call of Duty characters were in the Olympics…

Price would compete in the Modern Pentathlon. As one of the youngest cadets to ever graduate from the Royal Military Academy, John received a well-rounded education that helps him master the multiple sports that comprise the Modern Pentathlon. His experience as a leader and soldier, combined with his innate adaptability, makes him particularly suited for this event. The pentathlon demands a unique combination of physical prowess, tactical decision-making, and mental resilience, all of which are qualities that Price has honed during his military career. Whether it's fencing, swimming, equestrian show jumping, shooting, or running, Price's ability to perform under pressure and his endless pursuit of excellence would undoubtedly make him a top contender.

Gaz would compete in the Triathlon. With an impressive tolerance for physically and mentally demanding tasks, Kyle is highly skilled at maintaining the right mindset and pushing forward when others would’ve given up long ago. Known for his endurance and adaptability, Gaz’s ability to transition between different skills highlights his speed and agility. The Triathlon, which requires proficiency in swimming, cycling, and running, suits Gaz’s all-around athleticism and mental toughness. His grueling military training and his enjoyment of high-pressure environments have prepared him well to tackle the physical and mental challenges of a multi-sport event. His ability to remain focused on long-term goals and his determination to overcome any obstacle in his path would make him a natural in this demanding endurance competition.

Ghost would compete in Shooting. With his background in marksmanship and sniper training, Simon "Ghost" Riley is well-suited to the sport of shooting. Ghost’s ability to maintain perfect stillness and his sharp, focused sight are critical in competitive shooting, where precision is key. His calm, composed demeanor under pressure—some might even call it “cold”—allows him to block out distractions and shoot with deadly accuracy. Years of sniper training in the SAS have conditioned Ghost to thrive in situations where split-second decisions mean the difference between success and failure. His ability to remain collected in high-stakes situations would serve him well in the Olympic shooting events, where patience is just as important as physical skill.

Soap would compete in Judo. Having spent his younger years as a goalkeeper in football (soccer), Soap developed the agility, balance, and quick reflexes essential for Judo. Judo is a sport where competitors always have to be thinking one step ahead of their opponent, and Soap has proven himself to be a smart tactician, willing to take risks. His background in the SAS, where he earned a reputation for his speed and precision in urban warfare, makes him particularly adept at the grappling techniques and strategic movements required in Judo. Soap’s combative spirit and hands-on approach, coupled with his ability to anticipate and counter his opponent’s moves, would make him a formidable competitor on the mat. His resilience and quick thinking under pressure are exactly what judokas need to excel in this demanding sport.

[yawnderu]

📂Military Personnel Profile — Stray

File #28907

Name: Katharina Müller 

Citizenship: Austria

Status: Active

Affiliations:

KorTac (Former)

SpecGru

Task Force 141

Katharina, callsign ''Stray'' is protected by a redacted past. Little to nothing is known about her early life, remaining a mystery even to those who get their hands on her file.

After volunteering for the Austrian army at an early age, she successfully completed training with the ISTC Sniper Branch, remaining the first female to complete the course.

In 2022, her affiliation with KorTac ended due to unknown reasons. By 2023, her affiliation with SpecGru as a member of the Task Force 141 was announced.

Growing up with a single parent is never something easy— especially when the same person supposed to protect you is clinically insane. Often beaten like a dog by her mother and left alone for extended periods of time, Katharina learnt how to be extremely independent at the ripe age of eight. More emotionally mature than her peers, she grew up with a feeling of never belonging anywhere, oftentimes hanging out with much older people to drink, smoke and party.

By age fourteen, Katharina had seven failed suicide attempts, most of them caused by high stress, hopelessness regarding her living situation and undiagnosed mental health issues. It wasn't until her last attempt that she was forced to attend mandatory psychology sessions. She quit attending after three sessions, dealing with her issues in the way she knew better: destroying herself.

Katharina found shelter in someone just as troubled— König. The socially anxious giant was her rock growing up, often taking her to his fights and house just to prevent her putting herself in danger by going out with questionable ''friends.'' He was always there for her, finding comfort in their friendship to the point she became a second family to him; the only person who never judged him for his appearance, personality, or side. König's family welcomed her as one of their own, his mum and nana taking in the small girl as if she was a daughter to them, unknowingly helping to heal the internal wounds her own mother left.

Many first times were shared together between them; first kiss, first time cuddling, first time making love, simply enforcing their bond ever further, making them even more inseparable than before. While they never defined their relationship, they were mutually exclusive and never held any physical or romantic interest in anyone else during their time together.

Oftentimes skipping class to smoke behind school, Katharina and König shared many conversations about their future together. At age fifteen, they wanted to live in apartments next to each other in Vienna. By age sixteen, they wanted to live together. By age seventeen, they volunteered for the army, putting any conversations about their life together aside and focusing on staying alive during the hard training that pushed them both physically and mentally.

Given the callsign ''Stray'' by her teasing teammates after getting lost in the forest for a hot minute during training— she carried it with pride and humor, rather than humiliation and shame. It became a fitting name for her, more used to people calling her that rather than Katharina, taking Stray as a new beginning of her life as a soldier, leaving her past behind.

Following rules was the biggest challenge for the two outcasts, not used to people yelling in their face without being able to do something about it yet like with anything life threw at them; they adapted. Their sole focus was becoming the best soldiers, often staying behind at the gym and sparring. What Katharina lacked in height, she made up for in drive, being able to take down the 208cm behemoth of a man a few times during their sessions.

At age 19, after superiors evaluated her marksmanship and height advantage, Katharina was chosen for a training course with the ISTC Sniper Branch. While König grew slight resentment over his best friend being able to live his dream while he was rejected, he pushed those feelings aside, focusing on his training as a foot soldier. Tensions grew in their friendship for the first time ever, with Katharina often feeling unable to tell him much about her sniper training in fear of his resentment growing, and König always too busy in the field.

For the first time ever since they met, they both lost their only support, feeling lost yet being too prideful to apologize first. They spent two long years this way until the team went to a pub to celebrate a successful deployment. Drunk feelings were shared in the privacy of a nearby forest, sloppy kisses and the need to hold each other again, shared promises and words of praise coming out of each other, tear-stained cheeks hurting from smiling so much by the time the team decided to go back to base.

By January 2022, König received an offer he couldn't refuse— the chance to join a PMC named KorTac with a salary in the low six figures, yet he was still indecisive, not wanting to let go of his best friend after years of becoming inseparable again. Letting the Colonel know he was a package deal with the small sniper, Katharina received a matching contract shortly after.

Excited for this new opportunity they signed together, nervous yet looking forward to what the future has to offer for both of them. Joining KorTac was... an experience, plenty of different people together in a fancier base than the army provided for them. The masked soldier fit right in with other men who kept their identity a secret, while she drifted towards the rowdier soldiers— the feeling of belonging being there for the first time ever. Horangi and Nikto quickly became some of the closest soldiers to her, despite the latter being rough around the edges. She took it as a personal challenge to break down his walls enough to become his friend.

In early 2023, Katharina was contacted by Station Chief Kate Laswell, offering her a contract with a new fraction, a salary in the high six figures and the promise of redacting her early life from her file, making sure no sign of her past could ever be found by enemies or allies. While the decision took her months and late-night conversations with König, a much more mature and older version of him did nothing but encourage her to accept the offer, knowing how important a brand-new beginning without people knowing about her past was for her.

By May 2023, her contract with KorTac was cancelled and a new one with SpecGru as a member of the Task Force 141 was signed. Saying goodbye to her peers was one of the hardest things— letting go of the first group where she felt like she belonged, and the goodbye was just as tough despite being encouraged by all of them, some even teasing her about joining ''the enemy'', though it was all in friendly banter.

The first member she met was John ''Soap'' MacTavish, a rowdy and capable Sargeant. The pair instantly clicked, dropping together with the marines to greet the L.T, Ghost. A masked soldier whose identity remained a secret for his own safety, having a redacted past just as her own. While they didn't immediately get along and rarely had time to get to know each other unlike Soap and her up until Las Almas. After Grave's betrayal, she saw a side of Ghost she never even knew existed after he put a protective arm in front of her and shielded her with his burly body.

They both navigated Las Almas together, taking down any shadows they saw with great synch, as if it was meant to be that way despite Ghost being a lone wolf for most of his career. Ghost never told her, but he was left impressed with her skills the most after they waited for Johnny in the church and took down enemies with their snipers.

Her paranoia went off the charts the one time she tried to get off her medication, still needing it heavily to function despite the great help she gets from the provided psychologist. Even with medication, she often wakes up to nightmares about her early life, looking around her quarters as if her mother could be hiding in any corner or furniture no matter how tiny it is. She holds herself together despite the C-PTSD and disclosed mental health issues, always passing her psych evals and attending weekly therapy sessions.

While Stray is not overall an unpleasant person, she can be too difficult for people with more dominant personalities, often clashing with people who act condescending or look down on her for being a woman in the army, despite her being a member of the 141 saying enough about her skills as a soldier.

She's oftentimes seen exchanging awful jokes with Simon, much to the dismay of anyone unlucky enough to be within earshot. The pair is practically joined at the hip, unknowingly trauma bonding and finding comfort in each other's company. It became a habit for both of them to drink tea at late hours of the night, either staying in silence or talking about their experiences as soldiers. They very rarely talk about their families, often leaving details behind or being vague about it on purpose.

Stray bonded with the whole team very quick, knowing they see her as a soldier worthy enough of being in the Task Force, the best of the best, fills her with pride. John Price is the father figure she never had and he recognizes that easily, giving her the guidance she may need and having long conversations with her. Besides Laswell, Price is the only person in the Task Force she talks about her past with.

While she still has a long way to go, Stray has a strong support system and knows she can go to any of them for help if she ever needs it, including her peers back at KorTac and the army.

Trivia:

Stray has plenty of tattoos, with most of her limbs, especially her legs and torso, decorated with black ink. She has a shitty stick and poke tattoo on her ankle that she got done with König when they were sixteen, a small crown and a K next to it.

Unknowingly to both of them, Ghost and Stray have tattoos in remembrance of each other. Ghost's is a small black cat on his thigh, while hers is a skull on her hip.

She quit smoking after turning 21, though she drinks quite a lot when she's off duty. She avoids beer like the plague, much to König's annoyance since he loves it.

She likes to dye her hair a subtle shade of dark red whenever she's off duty for extended periods of time, though her natural hair color is dark brown.

Stray and König remain best friends to this day, talking to each other whenever they get the chance to have their phones with them and their schedules match. If they have the chance to request time off, they meet up as much as possible.

If they're not deployed, they spend the holidays with König's mum and nana, enjoying the feeling of having a place to call home and being welcomed with delicious homemade food.

She cut contact with her mother after joining the army and has never looked back. Whether her mum is alive or not remains none of her business. She deleted all social media and accounts linked to her past, creating new ones with different aliases so she cannot be found by her.

Stray's body is defined by strong muscles, working out five to six times a week to maintain her physique, her more defined muscles being her upper body and legs.

While she struggled to build connections in her early life, she opened up more easily after joining the army, often being teased about being brooding and quiet by her platoon until she started letting loose.

She listens to music together with Simon back in their quarters, and while he never told her, he enjoys listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees the most with her, seeing her dance and sing along, as his mum used to listen to them. She sometimes forces Simon to dance Spellbound with her, holding his hands while she jumps around and sings. While he doesn't dance, the way he looks down at her while she does shows just how much he values moments like these.

Stray has elvish features accompanied with light brown skin, as her father has indigenous blood.

Her hair is a curly c3 and long, though she always keeps it braided or tied up in a neat bun during deployments to avoid it getting in the way.

She's crazy good at cutting hair, coming from the habit she had her whole early life; chopping all her hair off whenever she was too stressed or depressed and didn't know how to cope. Sometimes cuts the hair of the 141 boys whenever they don't have access to the barber.

Friendly reminder that all my fics are x Reader, and the only thing used from this OC is the callsign and parts of her past. No physical description will ever be used in my fanfics.

[silverwhittlingknife]

snippet: Cass and Jason, guns and targets

Setting: Jason's in his villain era. They're in a warehouse and Jason's challenged her to a marksmanship contest with guns.

Cass's heart raced. She would have to be perfect, on every single shot. She had to be, so she would be. But the gun felt strange and angry in her hand.

Jason was smirking, like he could see her uncertainty. I could throw you against the wall, she wanted to say.

He was letting his weight rest casually against the warehouse wall, smug the way most big men were around her, assuming she wasn't a threat. He wasn't a complete fool - she'd seen him mark the way she moved, light on her feet, and he was staying out of the reach of a kick. But he wouldn't be counting on her speed. She could close the gap between them in a second.

She didn't have to go along with the shooting game. She could toss the gun aside and pick a real fight instead.

There would be a risk. There was always a risk, with big men, because they had muscle and mass. And he was armored and she wasn't, and the warehouse was his, which meant there might be other dangers lurking in the dark. But she thought she would win. She would have her hands and her strength and her speed and the element of surprise. She'd done more with less. He was trained by Batman and by the League and by others, she could see all of them in the way he moved, but Cass had fought Shiva. She was not afraid of Jason Todd.

And part of her wanted a real fight, desperately, to test her strength against his and emerge victorious, to humiliate him if she could.

But in a real fight, she'd risk killing him or dying herself, and she couldn't choose to risk either, not if she had another option. Against Shiva, she'd been willing to die. She didn't regret it. But she could not die in a fight now, not here, not against this man. It would hurt Barbara too much.

It stung, to force herself to judge the odds, instead of just fighting, the way she was meant for. But Barbara had said, You have to think, Cass, pain in her voice. This was important to Barbara - Jason was - and things which were important to Barbara were too important to risk on pride. That was why Cass had agreed to the shooting match in the first place.

Safe. Barbara would want her to be safe.

Barbara would not approve of Cass being here. But that was a problem for another day.

They had agreed to shoot three times from a distance of thirty paces. She would have to hit nearer the target's center than Jason, two out of three times.

"Can I ..." Not train. What was the word. "Practice. Can I practice first."

"That's not the deal," Jason said.

Hmm. Jason was not stupid. Another bad sign. Cass liked it better when they were stupid. A big man, and clever. And not proud. He'd picked his weapon for the contest, the one he was best at, instead of taunting and letting her pick. He wanted to win, not to play.

So why had he agreed to play at all? She tried to read him, but it was no good. Angrytensewary, not about to attack but not unprepared either, his eyes kept flickering up to see if there was an ambush. Nothing useful. Nothing to answer: why a contest, instead of calling his men to fight her.

She wanted Tim. Trying to understand Jason was a headache. She didn't want to. Tim and Barbara liked answers. Tim would've had an answer, or two answers, or three answers, why Jason didn't want to kill her. Barbara would've had just one answer, and it would be the right answer, but Barbara would be angry that Cass didn't want to think. So Tim was better. Tim liked answers so much that he went looking for them even when he didn't have to.

But Tim was injured. No answers, not with a bullet wound. Cass had to do her own thinking. For now. Maybe forever.

Maybe that was why Jason had chosen guns. To remind her about Tim. A threat, not a contest.

She was aware that she was very, very angry.

The anger would've helped in a martial arts fight. It would not help with the gun. Anger made you sloppy. Sloppy made you lose.

"Get on with it," Jason said. "Batman says...patience is a virtue."

"Batman doesn't know shit." His voice was a growl. His body: angryangryangry. Two angry people. She wanted to burn him with her anger. "I don't have all night."

She had not aimed a gun for a very long time. It was both easier and more difficult than she wanted it to be. She frowned at the targets. They were not the kind she'd practiced with.

"Come on," Jason said.

"Shut up," Cass said. "Maybe I will shoot you."

Jason grinned. He had blood on his teeth. His body sang: angryjoyanger. "Go ahead and try it. You think you're fast enough?"

She was fast enough. She could picture it, with a blazing sort of triumph. Aiming the gun at his heart. His armor was good, but not that good, not when they were only a few paces apart. "I'd kill you."

She wouldn't, she wouldn't. Oh, but she wanted to.

"You sure would," Jason said, with a mean smile, and his body still sang anger and joy. Why joy? "But you're one of his, aren't you, little girl? So you're not gonna shoot me. You're too cowardly. You're gonna play my little game, and you're gonna lose, because the game's rigged - oh, not your gun, don't give me that look, it's a good gun, but these are my guns. I don't care how fucking good you think you are, you're not gonna out-shoot me on the first try with my own guns. So you're gonna lose, and you're gonna fuck off, like we agreed, and then tomorrow I'll grab your other little friend and put a bullet in her, and -"

Aim, trigger, fire.

Cass shot him in the wrist, the gun-hand. He went down. She leapt.

The skirmish was not pretty - he was fast, faster than she'd expected, and she'd lose the tooth - but she'd been right that he was not prepared for a real fight. The element of surprise: a better weapon than the blade. She got the handcuffs around his wrists and then the fight was won, or good enough. Too risky to take her hands off him, and too risky to shoot him again, so she kicked both guns away.

"What the fuck," he spluttered, staring at the handcuffs. They were digging into the wound, and Cass was reluctantly impressed. He must be in agony, but he had excellent pain control. "What in the - the fucking hell - you shot me!"

"Yes," Cass said. "A good idea. You said so."

He'd been right. The contest was no good. He'd have won, and she had no time for that. This was better.

Why was he so surprised?

Jason stared at her. She braced for another attack - he might get free yet - but instead he started laughing, high and wild. She couldn't read his body. It was so strange, so strange, she would have called him a wild thing instead of a man.

Too risky to put anything in her hands - he might fight back still, if the frenzied laughter turned violent - so instead she tapped open her communicator with her shoulder.

" -zzt- Cass," said Barbara. She sounded frightened. Cass felt bad. "Cass. Where the hell are you."

"Safe," Cass said. "I..."

I defeated Jason, she wanted to say, but it was not really true. Not a true fight, not yet, maybe not ever. Too bad. She still thought she'd win that way, too. But it was always a little sad when you couldn't find out. Oh well. Maybe another time.

Still. She'd done what she came to do, if not in the way she'd planned to do it. Spontaneity was also a virtue. Batman did not say that, and neither did Barbara. But spontaneity was a very important virtue, Cass thought. She smiled.

"Cassandra Cain," Barbara said, "if you don't give me an address in the next two seconds -"

"I have him. Your Jason. You wanted ..." What did Barbara want. Cass was not sure. And words were boring. It was a familiar frustration, these useless words. "You want to talk to him. So. I have him. Come."

She gave the address.

Barbara started saying other things, so Cass cut off the communicator. She'd given the message. Now, she just had to wait. Jason had stopped laughing.

"Who the fuck was that," he said. "That's not Bruce."

So his hearing was very good too. Good enough to catch the high pitches of a woman's voice. Not good enough to identify her. And maybe a little slow. Who would it be, if not Barbara?

"Oracle," Cass said. "She wants ... to talk to you."

"Who? I thought..." Jason frowned at her chest as if it confused him. "I thought you were a Bat. Who the fuck is Oracle?"

Cass grinned at him. She knew her teeth were bloody now, too. Anger and joy. Maybe she could understand Jason a little. "You'll see."

[imjustsocute]

Liisa “Kettu” Korhenen [Call Of Duty: OC Remake]

PERSONAL INFOMATION

Date of birth: December 2nd 1997

Age: 27 (In 2024)

Blood Type: B+

Nationality: Finnish

Birthplace: Oulu, Finland

Languages Spoken: Finnish (native), Swedish, English, German, Korean

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Female

Eye Color: Sky blue

Hair Color: Light Blonde

Build: Slim

Height: 5’3/160 cm

Weight: 121 lbs/ 55 kg.

Marks: Freckles at face, shoulders, arms and thighs

AFFILIATIONS

Finnish Defence Forces

Karelia Brigade

Nordic Battlegroup

EU Battlegroup

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Oulu, Finland with a silver spoon in one’s mouth. As a young mistress of Korhenen she had everything like a general mistress has, whether it be appearance, good at sports, being the top 1 of the class and beloved of many friends. Even she had a happy life in school, A family who always supported her and a wealthy but what Kettu actually need was something which she couldn’t explain. It was ‘challenge’.

At the age of 18 she joined the military, Finnish Defence Foreces. With her small physical size and not quite good at close combat with a large fighter or muscle fighter made her unsuitable candidate for tactical assault unit. Later she was joined Karelia Brigade as a marksman to backup team. Mostly Kettu likes to stealth or surprise attack from behind enemies because of avoid to confront them with different size. Also she is the fastest movements and good at hiding like a fox hunting the pray.

In 2022, She was later in EU Battlegroup. She assigned to backup the insertion specialist team which took down an Al-Qatala cell in Berlin. And that’s how Kettu and König have met for the first time she eliminated an AQ Fighter who trying attack König from behind he appreciated her at the first sight that she saved him. From that day they almost in the same team and missions. Ketttu always greeting and talking first made König feels more comfortable and relaxing from anxiety and stresses when she near him. It’s look like they both have a good time together during a mission.

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting Style: Freestyle

Weapon(s): Long range weapons, assault rifles or shortgun

Distinct Weapon: m1911, KA-BAR Becker

Special Skills: Specializes in stealth kill, Marksmanship, Climbing, fast movements

Shortcomings: Cannot confront a larger fighter directly because of her physical size

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ENFJ-A [Kettu is an omnivert, She likes to make a new friends whoever her met with, she’s a talkative one if you’re her close friends(Example: König). Sometimes she wants to sit still and sleep in warm blanket distance from outside world but mostly she enjoys talking to people. She’s unselfish person, help and cheer up her teammates who gets sad or hopeless.]

Optimism: No matter how situations are getting worse, Kettu always had a positive thinking more than you expected.

Easy-going: She’s not quite take a serious about her life much, she just wants to adventure and chill out.

Patient: When she’s in a stealth mode, Kettu has a plenty of plans in her mind to sneak attack enemies behind, she’s stalking them to analyst numbers of enemy and learn how to deal with them. Maybe she climbs to high ground and watching them

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Masking: Kettu doesn’t want the others have to worry about her so she has keep pretend to be fine even her feelings is drowning in the grief.

Naughty: She likes to prank her friends a lot for some fun and teases them normally. Didn’t listen their warnings or swears which they spilled she continues to tease her beloved friends because it’s so funny. (Especially König)

FAMILY

Parents: Otso Korhenen (Father), Elsa Korhenen (Mother)

Sibling(s): Noel Korhenen (Older brother)

Grandparents: Onni Korhenen (Grandfather), Phila Korhenen (Grandmother)

Relatives: Olivia Nieminen (Aunt, Otso’s younger sister), Leevi Nieminen (Uncle, Olivia’s husband), Tapio Nieminen (Cousin, Olivia and Leevi’s son)

FAVORITE

Food: Lohikeitto

Drink: Hot cocoa

Color: Pastel Pink

Song: MIC Drop (Steve Aoki Remix) - BTS

TRIVIA

Kettu means ‘Fox’ in Finnish.

She was a member of K-POP dance club.

Kettu is a BTS fan-girl, never missed a new single album or any of concerts

She hates cooking. Once she burned the kitchen when she made omelette.

König bought the fox keychain to Kettu as a Christmas present, She named it ‘Mr.Oranssi’ means orange and hang him on the waist bag all the time.

[witchthewriter]

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 '𝐆𝐚𝐳' 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

The fact that Kyle Garrick doesn't have as much popularity as some of the other characters in the Call of Duty world. is sinful. It's blasphemy.

Look, at first I was one of those people who didn't like Gaz as much as the rest of the Task Force, but now, NOW, I see him as such a valuable member. This is my formal apology to thy beautiful god of a man, Gaz.

And also a post so those that say, 'they don't know anything about Gaz so they cannot include him' - well here's your info babes!

"𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉?" — 𝖪𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝖦𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄

Alias(es)

Sabre 2-6

Bravo 0-5

Bravo 2-6

Bravo 6-2

Bravo 6-1

Gaz

Nationality: British

Rank: Sergeant Sergeant is a senior role of responsibility, promotion to which typically takes place after 12 years of service, depending on ability. Sergeants typically are second in command of a troop or platoon of up to 35 soldiers, with the important responsibility for advising and assisting junior officers.

Birth: 1993 However, he is older than Soap.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008, serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year.

Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters.

Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs.

Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture.

Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness.

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil.

Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror.

Quotes

" Fuck off, shit pouch."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place sir."

"They sent us in half assed, so everyone can just keep pretending we're not at war."

"I'm not dead, Nik. I'm hanging from a bloody rope!"

Personality

Very rarely does Kyle demand attention. He's observant problem-solving and bases his decisions on his instincts and values, and focuses on enjoying the present.

However, with the line of work he's in. Kyle has had to change the way he reacts to things. One really obvious scene between him and Cpt Price shows how this job is changing Kyle e.g,. Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off.

Even so, I do think he's the most gentle of the four men, the kindest - almost like he's clung to his humanity with everything he's got.

sources: @mockerycrow. callofdutyfandom.com.