#advanced warfare fanfic

[mockerycrow]

ive only seen like... 3 jack mitchell fics so how about jack mitchell x fem!reader with the prompt “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” ?? :3

ONLY ONE CHOICE (Mitchell x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; anon. i’m actually going to kiss you so hard on the forehead!!! i did NOT expect any advanced warfare asks!!! this is short i’m so sorry </3

[WARNINGS; Overthinking, advanced warfare spoilers, fluff.]

MITCHELL HATES BEING away as often as he is. He hates only being able to talk to you through a speaker most nights and not face to face. He hates the fact that he can’t feel your skin against his most of the time, that you’re not there to help him through his phantom pain spells, or when he’s reliving that one day. That one day. The hushed conversations at night, the quick “I love you”s and deep talks are nothing compared to actually holding you, actually kissing you and genuinely looking into your eyes and not staring at them through a screen.

So when one day, you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the phone and he asks if something is the matter, he’s absolutely fucking baffled. Mitchell has to ask you to repeat yourself to actually process that you ask if he’s happy with you. You begin to ramble about how he technically has so many choices of women to choose from, and that you’ve been wondering if he’s unhappy—if you have been holding him back.

“No, just—stop talking,” Mitchell utters into the phone with a laugh, hearing you stutter. “Baby—baby. I don’t give a damn about the distance. Do I wish I could hold you? Sure, but it’s my choice to stay in the service.” Mitchell murmurs. “I wish I could hold you, kiss you and rub your back like you ask me to when I’m home.”

You try to interrupt him, but Mitchell continues without hesitation. “I wish I was with you so I could wake up next to you, have you in my arms—have you run your fingers through my hair since you like it so much,” He pauses, voice getting quieter as he gets a bit choked up. “I wish I was with you so you could help me tie my tie like when I first got my arm. I wish I was there so you could kiss my forehead when I wake up from my nightmares—I wish was there to do the same to you.”

Mitchell hears you sniffle over the phone, and he isn’t sure if it’s a good sign, but he continues nonetheless. “Do I wish I was with you right now? You bet your ass I do, but there is no one else I want. I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” You let out a sob. “Fuck, you’re such a sap. Shut up.” You let out a broken laugh, earning you a loud chuckle from Mitchell. “I love you, and I don’t know why you question me about it, but..” Mitchell hums. “..I’ll always be here to remind you that I do.”

“I love you too,” You reply, your voice shaky. “I just.. all of the women in your company are so beautiful. I hear so many stories about military men cheating and I trust you, babe, I do, I’m just.. I’m me, and they’re them.” Mitchell replies without skipping a beat, saying, “And that’s why I love you, okay? You’re you and I don’t think I would ever be able to love anybody else. What’s that one saying about the.. the worm?”

You bark out a laugh, covering your face as your boyfriend is trying to remember. “What, the question of ‘would you still love me if I was a worm’?” You question, which Mitchell agrees enthusiastically. “Yeah! That one. I would buy a mason jar, build you a home, keep you with me. Attach you to my exosuit, baby.” You feel your face burn as Mitchell sounds serious. You giggle until you’re full on laughing again, forgetting about the tears staining your cheeks. Mitchell’s chest feels warm and fuzzy from your laughter over the phone—he could fall asleep to it, it’s so soothing to him. His favorite sound.

Your laughter soon dies down and you yawn. “Tired?” He murmurs, earning him a sleepy “mhm” from you. “Go to sleep, hon. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[codfanficedits]

Final Goodbye - Full version.

Pairing: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death, guiding the men to the afterlife.

Wordcount: 12,467 | Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better. Gave John a little backstory.

Being the reaper was a work of art on its own. It was your duty to guide the souls whose time was up to the afterlife, and you had made it your personal mission to make sure that as little as possible souls would cross to the afterlife scared. After all, death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.

As a result you had to divide yourself, as an immortal being that was an easy thing to do. Being everywhere at once, yet being nowhere at the same time.

You had the taskforce in your sight for a while now. Four elite soldiers going on missions, you almost had your work cut out for you. But they were good, good enough to keep you lurking in the shadows, for now.

Some of them had come close, close enough to dance the dance of death with you, only to be granted a little more time. John “Soap” MacTavish being one of them. There had been plenty of moments where you had held his hands already, almost revealing your true form before he got pulled away from your grasp.

Life enjoyed playing tricks with you, with death. But it was what humans needed, a little reminder of their mortality so they could enjoy their life again.

And so here you were. You had been following John for a little while now, sensing that his time would be up again. And it was special so to say to follow him around, for every life he took, you would see a version of yourself pop up, taking the life he had claimed to the afterlife, only for that version of yourself to fade again, the very fragments of your soul being scattered around the world in an attempt to make the experience of death a more pleasant one than the experience of being alive. Not that you succeeded all the time. Sometimes you had to guide lives who deserved to live for another fifty years, sometimes the souls were terrified, and sometimes they were waiting for you, as old friends finally meeting up again. It could be a cruel world, but you weren’t there to judge. Humans had free will, and you could not interfere with it.

John’s death happened quick. Too quick for your liking. You preferred it when it took a little time. Not that you liked the suffering of the souls, no, of course not. But it was the best for all whenever a soul was at peace with their death. And John certainly was not.

“What the fuck?” He scolded. “Why the fuck can’t I grab my fucking weapon?”

“What kind of bullshit is this? Cap’n are you seeing thi-“ His sentence cutting short.

Oh you had seen this film before, and you never liked the ending. The look of despair when they see their body lying on the ground.

“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.

Time seems to be standing still when reality seeps into his brain, his hand reaching out to his limp body on the ground, but he goes straight through it. A look of confusion, pain, anger, sadness when he can see his teammates continue the mission he couldn’t finish. He sees them disarm the bomb, he sees his best friend, Simon, kneel by his body, frantically looking for a pulse.

“I’m here!” John yells, waving his arms in front of Simon’s face, but it is no use, John no longer belongs to the earth, nor does he belong to the afterlife yet. He is in your realm, your limbo and you are the only one who can grand him the freedom of moving on.

“Simon! I am here!” He yells again, but he is meet with the empty eyes of his best friend, and a soft. “No pulse.”

“Hello.”

Your voice snaps him out of it. “Who the fuck are you?”

But it should be clear, the big, dark, black cloak hiding you, hiding your face. “I am Death.”

“I have died?”

“Afraid so.”

“That is a whole lot of bullshit. Can’t you turn it back or something?”

“No.”

You give him the time to process what had happened, what is happening, and what is about to happen.

“So, what now?” He asks, a hand running through his mohawk, his eyes shifting back to his dead body again.

“That depends.” You answer. “Are you ready to move on yet?” Normally you wouldn’t give the souls a choice, no normally you would guide them to the afterlife, maybe have a little small talk, but there was something inside of you telling you this death would stir up some things. So you decided to give him the choice.

“No.” His answer is quick, and you can tell he didn’t think about it.

“Why not?”

“There are so many thing that I still need to do.”

“You know you can’t do them now, right? You are death, you no longer possess your own body, everything you say, or do, is not visible in the human world.” Sometimes you have to be blunt in order to get your point across.

“Oh.”

“So I ask you again. Are you ready to move on?”

“No.”

“Give me a reason.”

John’s gaze shifts to the three men standing over his body, the pain in their eyes is visible and it is undeniable that they had a strong bond, something more than just coworkers. And their pain is shared, as you can see the same pain in his eyes.

“I need to know if they will be okay.”

“You can’t change anything if they won’t be okay.”

“I know, but I know they will be okay, I just need to see it with my own eyes.”

“Very well.” You answer. “You get to decide when you are ready.”

He looks up when he sees other versions of you reap the lives he and his team have taken, his brows furrow and you can tell he wants to ask you questions. Humans have always been curious creatures. “If you have something on your mind, speak up.”

“Who are those?” His fingers point at a version of you who slowly fades away.

“They are me and I am them.”

“That tells me exactly nothing.”

A soft laugh escapes you, even death this man is fearless.

“They are parts of my soul.” You explain. “I prefer to guide every soul to the afterlife personally, but with the volume of souls on this earth, I have to split myself in order to keep up.”

“And I am talking to the main version of Death?”

“That is how you could call it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Splitting yourself?”

“I am no mortal being, pain does not exist in my realm. So to answer your question. It does not hurt.”

His fingers go to the bullet wound in his head, his fingers trailing on the edges, before he pulls them back and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Huh. I got so caught up with this whole being dead thing, that I forgot I got shot.”

A smile forms around your lips. “You’re not the first to which that has happened.”

He is mesmerized, can you blame him? It is not every day that you meet death in person.

“If there is a death, does life exist too?”

“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”

“You’ve met them?”

“Of course, without Life I would not exist, and without me, Life would not be able to continue their creations. We dance a dance of existence together.”

“Hm.” John seems content with your answer. “Hey, can we follow L.T?”

“Simon Riley?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” The benefit of being an immortal creature was that the law of physics and time did not apply to you, or to Johnny for that matter. “Why him, though?”

“I worry about him the most.” Johnny admitted with a shrug, a flicker of emotions in his eyes before it dies down again. “He had a fucked up life, and we had grown to be good friends, I worry he won’t take my death well.”

Oh sweet summer child, if you only knew. But you cannot interfere with the living and it is no point in telling Johnny what you know, so you keep quiet and grant his request.

“He has become my best friend in the military, you know?” Johnny breaks the silence, as you watch Simon, who at this time, doesn’t seem to feel a thing.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you give a lot of answers. Now why were you watching us?”

“You’re soldiers. Death follows you around.”

“In the most literal sense.” He laughs at his own joke, and all you do is stare at him, blinking a few times.

“Jezus, even L.T. wasn’t as hard to crack.” He mutters.

“I worry.” John repeats. “I worry that when I died. Simon died too, and Ghost remained.”

In a sense he is not wrong. You can feel it too, the guilt that Simon carries, the hatred towards himself for letting a friend die.

“He is grieving.” You eventually say. “And while grief is a beautiful thing, it expresses itself in the most destructive ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You can see his face shift, he understands Simon won’t cope well, and it doesn’t sit right with him. “I guess there is no way I can interfere with it, right?”

“Correct.”

“Huh.” He stays silent for a brief moment, while he watches the mission debrief going on, without him, but about him. “How does time work here?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

“Can’t you speed up time or something? Turns out watching people gets kind of boring.”

Humans had always been impatient beings. “I can.” You say. “I can fast forward until we see Simon all by himself.”

His eyes light up, and you’ve hit the mark. “Yes, yes, I need to see how he copes.”

Alas, you grant him his wish, after all, you are death, not some cruel being.

His eyes widen as time around the two of you starts to speed up, the world moving at a faster pace while you are both the centre of it. You see his emotions shift to a sad one, he tries to hide it, but it is hard to conceal the emotions in his eyes, even for a hardened soldier. A soft sigh escapes him when he watches the sunset and you understand it. The sunsets are your favourite thing on earth too.

“It is hard to grasp that I’ll never see another sunset again.” John whispers and you can do nothing but nod. You understand, of course you do. “I just wish I would have appreciate them more while I was alive.”

“For what it is worth. You’re not the first who only appreciates the beauty of life when it is ripped away from them.”

A pained expression paints his face. “It is really the end, huh?” He mutters softly as you slow down time again. “There will be no second chances after this.”

“We are here.” You say, but you only form your sentence to get him out of his thoughts, of course he recognizes Simon’s quarters. He has been there before.

You guide him through the wall, knowing that what the both of you are about to see isn’t a pretty sight. Simon had taken his famous Ghost mask off, balaclava tossed on his bed, an empty look in his eyes, while he watches the dog tags in his hand. One of them is missing, and a smile curls around your lips when you realise where they are.

John doesn’t notice, instead he is hesitant to reach out to his friend.

“Fuck!” Simons booming voice startles John. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Simon is blaming himself and all that hatred needs to come out. His fists slam down on the mirror on the wall, the shards digging in to the skin on his hands, but it only fuels Simon’s anger. “It should have been me! Fucking me!”

Times like these make your job hard, while you do not understand humans all the time, you can understand their grief, their longing, their desperate attempts to cope with their loved ones being gone.

His hands clutch around the dog tag, the material reminder he has of his best friend. You know Simon wants to cry, to let out all the build up frustration, but you also know Simon is raised by violence and not by love, so he doesn’t allow himself to. Blood drips slowly from his balled fist as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Not that it is doing much, every time Simon catches a glimpse of himself, he is reminded of the loss that happened today.

“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” You answer, but you know, you know what will happen, and you know it won’t be pretty, but John doesn’t need to know, not when you can see the pain on his face, the pain in his eyes. The pain in his very soul to see his friend react like this.

His breath hitches in his throat when he sees Simon looking for something, a hidden bottle of whiskey appearing from between his socks in his dresser.

“Fuck.” John’s voice is soft. “Fuck!” It isn’t as soft anymore when Simon takes the first swig.

“Are you really sure I can’t do something? Anything?”

You shake your head.

“Please, anything. I beg you.” The desperation in his voice is clear as day, he doesn’t even try to hide how he feels about his best friend drinking.

“I.. I.. I can’t see this. Simon CAN’T drink himself to death because of me, because I died, becau-“

“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”

And for John time stops again, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders. “Oh thank God.” He sighs. “I mean, thank you, thank life? What is appropriate to say?”

He doesn’t drink himself to death, it will be far worse.

“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.

John looks at Simon again, who keeps on drinking the whiskey as if he needs it to survive. “I’m sorry.” Simon eventually says, and John’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” John rambles. “It wasn’t your fault. We all knew Makarov was an asshole.”

“It should’ve been me.” Simon sighs, not hearing the words his best friend so desperately wants to hear him. “You had so much things you still wanted to do, you still had a life in store.”

“Bollocks, Simon.” John tries to tell him while Simon takes another sip. “Fucking bollocks. You can make something out of your life too! We’ve talked about this.”

The nearly empty bottle gets thrown to the wall when Simon locks eyes with the dog tag again. “Fuck. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be alive, and this is all a horrible dream.”

Simon ignores the mess on the ground, he ignores the life outside of his quarters, he ignores the world that keeps on spinning, that keeps going on, while his life stopped the moment that bullet hit John. Instead he half undresses himself, slow, lazy movements, the alcohol making it hard to be precise. And he curls up in a ball, the single dog tag clutched in his hand, close to his heart, an gesture to keep his best friend close to him.

“Oh L.T. that hangover is going to hurt.” John mumbles. “And you promise he won’t drink himself to death, right?”

“I promise.”

“And I really can’t give him a sign that I am still here? Or you know, put a glass of water on his nightstand or something?”

“Afraid not.”

“I wish I could though.” John adds with a sigh, looking over the sleeping form of his friend.

“How is the rest coping?”

“You mean John and Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see?”

His eyes light up again. “Can I?”

“Wouldn’t have said it, if you couldn’t”

“In that case, yes, yes please.”

“Who first?”

He needs to think for a brief moment, does he want to see his Captain first, or his other good friend? He isn’t as worried about them as he was about Simon, yet the decision seems an easy one.

“Kyle.”

“Very well.” You hold out your hand for him to take, taking him to the quarters of his other friend. The young man lies on his bed, above the sheets, just staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes.

John needs to swallow a lump in his throat. “He’ll be fine.” Will he?

“But shit.” John continues. “I wish I had told him I was proud of him more often.”

The both of you stay quiet while Kyle rolls over to his side, facing the wall, eyes still wide open.

“He was a little younger than I was, but we had the same rank, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t become the best soldier out there. So young, yet so many achievements already.” John runs a hand through his mohawk. “I just.. I just hope he knows how proud I am of him.”

Another smile tugs around your lips, while Kyle rolls over again, it is clear that he can’t seem to get comfortable, the events of today replaying in his mind while he tries to process what happens, while he tries to find a balance between being a tough soldier, and being human.

“I want to become like you Soap, when I grow up.” Kyle mutters, before he finally closes his eyes. And you look over to John, making sure that he heard the words that left his friends lips and in that moment he looks like a proud father, the same words he had once told Simon, were now said by someone he was so proud of.

John wants to reach out, pat his friend on the shoulder and promise him everything will be okay. But he can’t and you can tell it is eating him inside. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and another.

“Okay.” He finally said. “I think I want to see the Captain now.”

“Sure.”

Once more you hold out your hand for him to take, allowing him to see his Captain.

“Oh.”

It Is not a pretty sight. Price’s phone lights up time after time, missed calls from Laswell, from Nicolai, but he doesn’t answer them, paperwork gets ignores while he smokes cigar after cigar. His way to cope with stress.

“Shit.” John curses. “I would’ve thought captain would be the least affected.”

But Price is only human, and humans grief in the worst ways possible. The taskforce had become the family he once dreamed of having, he found solace in the people around him, and losing one was always hard, especially when it was someone who was close to him. Price slams his fist on his desk, startling John.

“Makarov came for me.” The voice coming out of Price is soft, a stark contrast with the loud slamming of his fist only moments ago. “You died because you tried to help me.”

“You would’ve done the same, cap.” John answers. “You would’ve given your life to save any of us.”

Price sighs and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to grab a picture off his desk, a group picture, the four of them together.

“Fucking idiot.” Price mutters. “You should’ve never done that. I should bring you back from the death, only to kick you so hard you’ll die again.” It is almost an endearing way of coping and John can’t help but chuckle.

You give John a nudge, pointing at the dog tags Price is wearing. Instead of two, his chain has three. John’s being added after he identified the body and gave Laswell the details for the report.

John’s gaze softens as he notices. “I’ll never be far away from them.”

“Never.”

“You know what. I think they’ll be alright without me. They will learn to live again.”

You can tell he wants to tell you that he is ready to move on, but you stop him by raising your hand. “Do you want to see your final moment together?”

“Sure.”

Once again you reach out your hand for him to take, and within the blink of an eye you’re in the Scottish highlands, three adults standing by a cliff, an urn in their hands. It is almost peaceful, serene.

“Who dares wins, sleep easy soldier.” Price is the first to talk.

“See you down range, brother. We’ll take it from here.” Kyle is the second to follow.

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon is the last to speak.

You and John watch Simon unscrew the lid of the urn, tilting it, allowing the ashes to dance with the wind.

“I feel… at peace.” John mentions, watching his ashes spread through the air.

He sits down on the edge of the cliff, patting down next to him, signalling you to sit next to him, and so you do.

“I want to ask something.”

“And if I can, I will answer.”

“Why do you look human? Are you human?”

“No, I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am death. I have always been death and I will always be death. However, if I choose to portray myself other than human, it will make your kind freak out even more.”

John can’t help but laugh at your words. “Truth be told, I think I would’ve freaked out to see something else than human, yes.”

His gaze falls on the beautiful scenery in front of the two of you.

“So, what happens next?”

“When you’re ready I’ll help you cross to the afterlife.” You answer.

“What is the afterlife like?”

“That depends. It is different for everyone.” You reply.

“Is there like a heaven and hell?”

“No. The afterlife is a place where your soul goes to after your body has died. Every soul gets its own realm, and there it stays, together with all the souls it loves.”

“So, does that mean I’ll see the soul of my grandmother?”

“If you loved her, yes.”

“Does that.. does that mean I’ll see Bobby again?”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“He knows.”

“I’m glad.”

John knows it is time for him to go, but he has to ask the question that burns within him.

“Will I see them again?”

“Eventually. I can tell your bond is strong enough for all of you to be reunited again in the afterlife.”

“I’ll wait for them.”

“And when their time has come I’ll be sure to guide them to you.”

“Thank you, Death.” For the last time John takes your hand in his. “I am ready now.”

-

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

 Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a  meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

-

Simon Riley. You had been following the man ever since he was born. There had been times where he had been ready to leave this earth, only to be pulled back by Life on the last second.

It would be a lie if it wouldn’t make you question whether or not it would be ethical to keep certain people alive. But that wasn’t up to you to judge after all.

Even after he escaped the horror that was his childhood home, death seemed to follow Simon, his hand never steered clear from the blood that stained him.

But this time? This time it was different.

Simon couldn’t cope with the death of Gaz and Soap, leaving him a broken mess. But Simon was taught that feelings, emotions should be hidden inside, piling up until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

So Simon did what he knew best, copying the coping skill of his father, empty bottles piling up just like the feelings piled up inside of him. Whiskey replacing the companionship that his friends no longer could give them, the burning sensation of the liquid making him feel alive, a feeling he thought he didn’t need anymore, but he felt himself craving it, chasing it.

And of course people around him were worried, John tried to talk to him, John had seen this way too often before. Soldiers not being able to cope with the loss, turning to the poison that roamed this earth, alcohol, drugs and self-destruction in the from of women. And John had tried to stop it, tried to warn him, but Simon was a grown man, capable of making his own choices, no matter how destructive.

You knew you had promises Soap and Gaz that Simon wouldn’t drink himself to death, and with the amount of liquor he was pumping into his system, you almost got the feeling you had been lying.

But Simon would bounce back from the alcohol abuse, with the help of his captain that is.

It had been a day like any other, Simon would try to focus on his work, his mind already on the numbing temptation of the liquor, briefings, conversations, details, they would all go past him like a blur while he tried to deceive the people around him. And usually after a day of work, he would lock himself into his quarters, drinking until he forgot his fallen teammates.

“A word.” John’s voice is loud, a little too loud for Simon’s liking.

“About what?”

“You.”

“What is there about me?”

“Why did you join the army?”’

You watch, slightly amused at the low blow John just spat out.

“Don’t you fu-“

“Answer my fucking question, Simon. Why did you join the fucking army.”

And you can tell Simon is struggling to answer that question, hell he doesn’t want to answer that question, because that would mean he could no longer pretend he wasn’t following his fathers footsteps.

“I joined to escape home.”

“And why did you have to escape home?”

“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”

“Then tell me, Simon, why the fuck are you turning into your father?”

“Bullshit John.”

“Bullshit? You think you’re sleek, only bringing away the bottles in the early morning. Do you think we really don’t hear the clinking of the glass while you wander these halls? Do you really think no one can smell it on your breath?”

“You don’t get it.”

You had seen John often enough to recognize the subtle anger in his face, flaring nostrils, a slight raise of his brows, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t get it?”

“You have no idea how much their death affected me.”

“I have no idea because you shut yourself out and rather poison yourself.” John spat back at him.

“You have no idea what I have been through Captain, and I would strongly advice you stray away to this topic.”

“You’re right. I did not have your upbringing, and I do wish you dad had healed before he came your father, but you do not get to tell me about grief.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am affected too. I was the one who asked Soap to come with me to Makarov, I was the one who approved Gaz going on that mission. And I can’t let you drink yourself to death, Simon. I will not be responsible for your death too.”

Both men are silent, straying into territory they are not used too, at least not with each other. Both men had been told that their emotions were forbidden, that emotions should not be on display for others to see.

But you could see their hurt souls, their broken souls, needing the company of each other. John is the first to give in. Holding his arms open and Simon clings on for dear life.

“God fucking damnit boy, get your shit together, that is an order.”

“I forget then when I’m drunk enough.”

“I know. But forgetting them isn’t the way to go. You shouldn’t forget them, celebrate their life because they no longer can.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Good.” John let go off him, giving him a rough pat on his back. “Do you need anything from me, the military?”

“A little time off.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay all by yourself? I can get a therapist for you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll pull some strings to get you someone to talk to.”

“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

Something was off, something was different, and John couldn’t really put his finger on it, but decided to not press any further. He had nagged Simon long enough and it felt as if his point had come across  good enough.

Simon on the other hand, felt a calm feeling he hadn’t experienced before. A decision crossing his mind when he gripped his sink, tears streaming down his face when he recognized his father in the mirror. Simon knew he wouldn’t be strong to recover, he had become an alcoholic, just like his father.

“Fuck!” His fist slams the mirror, the second one this year, blood running down his arm while he takes in the freedom the pain gives him. His mind is only giving him one solution, the emotions, his grief, the craving to alcohol, they’re making it impossible to think straight.

Simons scribbles something down on a piece of paper. Before he takes a deep breath and looks around his room. John had been right, Simon thought it had alle been under control, but he was lying to himself, the half full bottles being the proof of that, but not anymore, not any longer.

He takes place in his own bathtub, a piece of glass gripped tightly in his right hand. You know what is about to happen and this is always your least favourite part.

He doesn’t drink himself to death.

Tears blur his vision when the sharp material pierces his skin, dragging down. He doesn’t even register the pain, all he can feel is the peace and quiet his mind gives him. So he does it again, and again, going deeper each time.

His head tilts back and he drops the shard of glass, causing it to shatter on the ground.

It stays silent, the only sound is his blood dripping on the floor of the bathtub. Life is nowhere to be seen, and you know this is his end. In a split second you make a decision.

The universe had been too unkind to Simon already, the least you could do was to make sure he didn’t have to die alone.

“Hello.”

“What the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in?” His eyes snap open and his head snaps back to face you.

“I am Death.”

“Did I die already?”

“Not yet.”

“Than why the fuck are you here?”

“Because this will kill you, and I did not want you to die alone.”

“Well thanks for your concern but I don’t need your pity.”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”

His face softens. “How.. What.. What did they say?”

“Soap was pissed off, Gaz was worried he had let his mother down.”

“Sounds like them.”

“It is nearly your time, Simon.”

“Will the pain stop?”

“When you’re dead? Yes, yes the pain will stop.”

“I can’t wait to be pain free.”

“Tell me about your favourite memory?”

“Of what?”

“Anything you please.”

Simon has to think for a little while.

“My brother.” He eventually starts. “Had gotten a part time job, and he needed to give the money to our father, but he had hidden his first pay check. So when our father was passed out on the couch again, we snuck out.” A smile forms on his face.

“We bought a cake, one of those fancy ones with a lot of frosting. We ate it in the skatepark where we used to hangout a lot. I ate so much cake I couldn’t stand it for the longest time afterwards. But for the time that it took for us to eat that cake, we were happy, not a care in the world, just loads of sugar and each other.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, but the shackles of life had fallen off during his story, setting him free of his mortal pain.

“I miss him.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“How’s the pain, Simon?”

“Which pa- Oh fuck.”

You watch as he gets up from the bathtub, looking at his body, he died smiling, his eyes closed, almost looking happy.

“You deserved better.”

“I did.” He agrees.

Simon clears his throat. “So what now? You take me to hell and I’ll burn for eternity?”

“Why would you burn in hell?”

“I am a soldier, I killed people. People who deserved it, and people who might not have deserved it.”

“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t you think you have suffered enough?”

His face turns pale, the words slowly sinking in while he recalls his whole life.

“So there is no hell for me?” his voice is a soft whisper.

“There is no hell for you.”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck I was so scared for hell, that had been the only thing holding me back from killing myself earlier.”

“So” He looks at his body again. “What would be next?”

“Once you are ready, I’ll take you to the afterlife.”

“How do I know I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“I don’t feel it yet.”

“Then you can stay with me.”

He nods, liking the answers that you’ve given him. “I have some questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

 “Of course. I’ll answer them if I have the answer.”

“How do you know which soul to reap?”

“I just know.”

“Okay, and now you are here with me, does that mean no one else dies on the world.”

“If that was the case a lot of deaths would’ve been postponed.” You answer. “I can split myself into fragments, therefor I am able to reap multiple souls.”

“How did you, you know, get into this profession?”

“I was created to be Death. It is all I have ever known, and it is all I will ever know.”

“Hm.” His eyes shift to his body again.

“What is the afterlife, and who will be there?”

“Everyone will be there, every soul goes to the afterlife, and you’ll reconnect with the souls that love you.”

Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, he wants to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door. “Simon?” John’s ruff voice sounds.

“Can I answer him?”

“Afraid not.”

“Simon!” the knocking returns. “I swear to God.” John mutters, as he opens the door to Simon’s room. “If you have been drinking again.”

John looks around the room, and you and Simon watch him do so. John’s gaze fall on the piece of paper, his face turning pale. “God fucking damnit.” The paper falls on the ground, slowly twirling in the air before it gently settles down.

‘this isn’t your fault.’ Even though you knew what would be on the letter your eyes automatically shift to the words on the white paper.

Johns open the door to Simon’s bathroom, and he just stand in the door opening, taking in the dead body of his teammate. “God damn it, Simon.” He repeats. “You could’ve talked to me you know.”

John moves over to the body, taking in the smile on Simon’s face. “At least you were happy.” John mutters.

His hands reach for Simon’s dog tags, taking one of the chain to add to his own. John’s fingertips rest on Simon’s cheek for a brief moment. “I hope death treats you better than life.”

Simon looks at you. “You do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will the Captain be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I feel bad, for leaving him behind, for doing this.”

“He’ll understand, and when his time will come too, I’ll tell him about you.”

“Thank you.”

Simon looks at his feet. “I don’t know if you can do this, but I want to visit Johnny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to the Scottish Highlands, to the place where we set his ashes free.”

You hold out your hand to him. “I’ll take you there.”

Simon’s eyes light up as he takes your hand into his, and before he can blink twice, you’ve transported the both of you to the exact same place.

“I forgot how beautiful it was here.” Simon says, as he sits down on the exact same spot where Johnny had sat down, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that their souls are happy together in another universe.

You go to sit down next to him. “It is beautiful here.”

The both of you sit in silence, you know Simon wants to ask you something, a question burning within him ever since John had interrupted, but you’re not filling anything in, letting Simon come to you when he is ready.

“You mentioned something about souls and love.” Simon eventually says.

“I did.”

“Who will be waiting for me?”

A faint hint of a smile can be seen on your face.

“More than you’ll expect.”

“Tommy?”

You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen him, I’ve missed him terribly. Who else?”

“Tommy, Beth, Joseph, your mother. Roach. Gaz, Soap. They will all be there.”

“Will they be mad for what I did?”

“They love you too much to be mad.”

“I’ve known more love death, than I’ve done alive.”

You turn to look at him. “I know, and I am sorry.”

“Is there anything I had done to deserve such a life?”

You want to wince, flinch at his words, but it is a fair question.

“No. Sometimes the universe isn’t fair when it gives somebody a course of life. You were a child, Simon. What happened to you, should’ve never happened, not to you, not to anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re brave.” You add. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have had to face in the first place.”

“How do you cope with it?” Simon asks.

“With what?”

“The unfairness?”

You let out a sigh. “It is hard. Sometimes I have to guide innocent souls to the afterlife, souls I would have wished had a long and sweet life. And sometimes I see souls who I felt deserved death a long time ago. Unfortunately I cannot change the course of the universe, nor can I change the free will of humans.”

“Do you feel remorse?”

“No. I am no mortal, nor do I possess mortal feelings. I do however acknowledge the unfairness of certain situations.”

“I see. It is hard for me to imagine.”

“I get that.”

“Hey Death?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“Do you promise that they will be waiting for me in the afterlife?”

“I promise.”

Simon holds out his hand to you. “Then please, let me see them again.”

-

John Price.

The man had seen more than enough death for a lifetime. Yet it wouldn’t be the last of it. Being a soldier signed him up to a lifetime of death and despair. But unlike the others, John seemed to accept it a whole lot better. Yes he did feel guilty, yes he wished life could’ve turned out different, for him, for his team, for all of them.

But it didn’t, so he had to learn how to cope.

Even though you know his time isn’t there yet, you decide to follow him around, just a little more, just to see how he would cope. That is what you would tell yourself anyway, maybe you had been getting a little attached to this group of men.

You watch John approach the cemetery, four bouquets of flowers in his hands, a picnic basket hanging on his arm while he walks, silence lingering around him, and if he were in company, they would feel the tension surrounding him. But John is alone, except for your company, who would’ve guessed Death would’ve be such good company?

Three out of the four bouquets get placed on the ground, alongside the picnic basket, number four, a bouquet of tulips. Yellow tulips. John places them on the first grave, his hand brushes away the dirt on the gravestone. “Well, for someone whose nickname is Soap, it sure gets dirty quick.” John chuckles at his own joke. John kneels down at the grave, removing some of the weeds that had grown, using his hand to brush the rest of the gravestone clean.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” He mutters. “Sorry I dragged you along to that mission. I’m sorry you had to catch the bullet meant for me.” John awkwardly pats the gravestone.

“If I had known that would be our last moment together, I would’ve spent the car ride to our destination telling you how proud I am of you.” He speaks, and while John knows that no one will hear his words, it feels good to get them off his chest.

“I would tell you how good you’re doing, how much you’ve grown. How much we all appreciated you. How we all enjoyed your jokes, even though some of us would rather perish than tell you that.”

“You probably already know, but Kyle and Simon joined you.”

“I wish I could have prevented this. Kyle.. He slipped right between my fingers, I never thought he would push and push the way he did, Johhny. I thought I was keeping him safe, keeping him busy, but in reality I was allowing him to die.”

John swallows the lump in his throat. “And Simon. I think I knew what was happening, I thought I knew what was going on, but I was wrong, so, so, so wrong.”

John takes a deep breath, inhaling the cold air into his lungs, before he slowly exhales. “You’ve been one hell of a soldier, Johnny, but more important, you’ve been an amazing person. I’ll see you again on the other side, take care of the boys for me, will ya?”

With a grunt John gets up from his knees, taking a new bouquet of flowers.

A colourful bouquet of freesias is put down in front of the next grave and John lets out a sigh again, staring into the distance. It is hard to read his face, and you can’t figure out what he is thinking.

“I’ve heard a lot of gut wrenching sounds, Kyle.” He finally speaks. “But I’ll never forget the screams of your mother when I had to confirm your death. The wailing will never leave my mind. I can’t erase it, no matter how hard I try.”

The captain uses his hand once more to brush some dirt of the gravestone, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.” He says once more.

“I really wanted to believe life had so much in store for you. I should never had let you take on that mission, Kyle. I should’ve seen the signs, the desperate attempt to prove yourself to me, to Johnny, maybe even to Simon too.”

“But the truth is, boy, you never had to prove yourself in the first place. We all saw your potential, we all saw the amazing leader you could’ve become.” John runs a hand through his short hair. “I really wish we could’ve talked about this more. I really wish you would’ve told me you didn’t feel good enough, Kyle. I could’ve shown you my point of view.”

“But, we can’t undo what happened.” John continues. “I hope you can finally feel enough.”

“Your mother misses you. Your sisters too. Simon missed you. But I’m sure he has told you by now. Or not, we both know how he can be.”

“I.. I miss you too, Kyle. I would’ve loved for you to follow my footsteps.” John sighs again. “Simon couldn’t cope, but you already know that. Take care of him, yeah? I know he probably doesn’t want it, but he missed you and Johnny.”

John gives a final pat on the gravestone. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

He takes the third bouquet, a large bouquet of sunflowers, it is being put down on the newest gravestone. “Fucking hell, Simon.” He grunts. “Out of all people, I never thought you would do it. I thought I had it under control with you.”

“At least you had a smile on your face, and I wonder what went through your mind in your final moment.” A sad smile forms on John’s face. “I hope you’re at peace now.”

“Out of all their deaths, yours haunts me the most, Simon.” He confesses. “Because with yours it felt like I really could have changed the outcome, you know.” John kneels down next to the grave.

“I.. I.. I never got to say this Simon, but I am sorry that I compared you to your father. I was trying to get my point across and I’ve used words that I shouldn’t have used. I knew it was a low blow to mention him, and I’m sorry.” He rests his hand on the gravestone. “I hope my words didn’t push you over the edge, and I know you have made that little note for me, but I can’t help but feel guilty.”

John sighs once more, looking at the sunflowers on the ground. “I.. You didn’t have a home I could send you too, like Kyle, so I’ve spread your ashes on the same spot where we send Johnny home. I hope you’re okay with it.” He adds, with a meek smile.

“You’ve been one of the toughest people I’ve ever known in my life, and I’ve met a lot of tough motherfuckers, Simon. But you? You’ve bounced back from everything.”

“And no matter how guilty I feel, the fact that you had a smile on your face brings me a little bit of peace.”

“I hope that wherever you are, that you found your people again in the afterlife. That there will be enough souls waiting for you, to show you how loved you’ve always been.” John gets up from his knees again. “Don’t try to give the other too much shit, but keep them in check for me, yeah?”

He let his gaze fall on the three graves in front of him, a sad smile on his lips once more. His hand goes to the dog tags around his neck, there are too many to just be from one person. His gaze lingers on the names engraved in the stones.

John MacTavish

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

“It has been an honour. An honour to have known you all, an honour to have fought alongside you. The biggest honour has been to call you all my brothers in arms.” His voice is clear, never wavering as he pays his final respect, as he says his final goodbye.

“I promise you three that I’ll keep your graves in check, for as long as I live. I don’t care if they’re empty, they will forever be a reminder that you have all existed. Your legacy will live on.”

“I miss you all, until we meet again.”

After a final salute he picks up the last of the bouquets and the picnic baskets, and he walks further up the cemetery, walking past a grave that reads Herschel Shepherd. John gives the grave a quick nod. “You make me wish hell did exist.” He grumbles, flipping the headstone off. “Should’ve done it earlier.”

He continues to walk until he reaches another grave, putting down the picnic basket and the flowers, before he kneels down again, taking out a brush to gently sweep away any dirt.

Jenny Price

“I’m back again, love.” He sighs, as he tidies up the grave, making sure to pull the weeds, but leave the flowers that have grown intact. “It has been a while since I’ve visited, but I have a good reason, I promise.” He added with a chuckle.

He gets up after the stone is clean again, her name can be read again, and he takes a step back to admire his work. “Got you all cleaned up. Looking pretty as ever.”

He opens the picnic basket, taking out a blanket to lay it on the ground next to the stone. A bouquet of heliotropes, forget-me-nots and carnations. John sits down on the blanket, next to the gravestone.

“Next month..” He sighs, something he has done a lot this evening. “Next month, you’ll be gone for fourteen years now, Jen. And I still miss you as if it is the first day.”

He rests his head against the stone. “I miss the boys.” He whispers, almost as if he is afraid to confess it to her. “Blaming myself for it too. If you see them, take care of ‘m for me, please. Show them the love you’ve shown me.”

He takes out a small bottle of wine, and a cigar, leaving the picnic basket open. “I can only hope that Death guided them, the way you have been guided.”

“It’s been nearly fourteen year, love, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, searching for you, hoping you’ve just been in the bathroom and you’ll come back to lay next to me. I would give everything, Jen, and I mean everything, to just hold you once more, to feel your soft skin against mine again.”

“Being a captain, having my own taskforce, it all means less when I can’t share it with you. It all means so little, knowing that I won’t be able to hold you again, to hear your sweet voice ever again.” John opens up the bottle of wine he had brought, taking out the cork before he takes a swig, not bothering to take a glass. “You know.” He chuckled softly. “If I close my eyes and focus really hard. I can even hear you scold me again for drinking wine straight out of the bottle.”

“I finally had an orange again.” He mutters. “They apparently make special tools to help you peel them. So I can finally eat them again. It has been fourteen years, and I finally had an orange again.” He shakes his head. “I cried. I cried while eating it, the taste reminded me so much of you, the scent of the peel almost intoxicating. I remember how your hands would smell like orange the whole day after you’ve peeled mine. And I miss it, Jen. Fuck, I miss it so much.”

He falls silent, a stark contrast with the floodgates of words that spilled over his lips just seconds ago. His voice cracking when he speaks again. “It has always been you.”

“No other woman comes even close to you. It is weird, but I don’t even want another woman, I don’t feel the need to see someone, feel someone. Hell, I prefer to lay alone in that large bed, because when I fall asleep, you’re waiting for me in my dreams. You’re there, waiting for me to come home again.”

You’ve been watching him, while you sat on the nearby bench. Jenny Price. You remember reaping her soul, her husband had walked in on you, and he was the first mortal to see you, and to live to tell the story. But John kept it hidden, maybe that is why he had grown so strong, so tough, because he knew that death wouldn’t be an ugly thing, but an old friend waiting for you to come home again.

You’ve seen enough, as you get up from the bench. His time isn’t there yet, and you have enough to do anyway. Your gaze lingers on the captain, his head resting on the gravestone, his eyes closed as he brings up the memories he has with his late wife. It has become routine for him at this point, talking to her after a mission, visiting her whenever he could, keeping her grave as clean as he could. But for now you let him be. He deserved to have this little peace of mind before he would get sucked into the chaos of his day to day life.

Life goes on for the both of you, you have been reaping souls, he has been doing missions, neither of you meeting, although you take away the lives he has ended.

But his end is near, creeping up behind him, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he could feel it, maybe it was the universe apologising for taking away his wife, for taking away his teammates, but John finds himself at the cemetery again, talking to his old teammates, making sure that the weeds have been pulled, the flowers are fresh again. He updates them on his life, on the missions.

“We’ve done it.” He sighs, to no grave in particular. “We found Makarov. And I’ve put a bullet between his eyes, Johnny. Made sure he knew it was in your name. You should have seen the look on his face.”

And you remember, taking Makarov’s soul, it was safe to say the Rus was less than pleased, especially that John took his soul.

“Your mom is doing well, Kyle. She is still grieving as much as a mother does, but she is doing well. She finally got you that golden retriever you wanted as a kid. Named it Gaz, in your honour. Your sister graduated from her studies. She made sure to mention you in her speech. You would be so proud, Kyle.”

“And Simon, we have a mental health program dedicated to you, making sure that we can talk more open on base about mental health. So we can prevent that others feel the need to do what you did. You’ll live on.”

He moves on, once more laying out the blanket next to the grave of his late wife, sitting down next to her again. “There we are love.” He said with a grunt, lighting his cigar.

His gaze falls on the sky, looking at the setting sun. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” He tells her. “I like it when you paint the sky orange. I never realised orange was my favourite colour until I found you in the sky every day.”

Maybe he could feel it, maybe your presence was looming to much on a cemetery. But John closes his eyes, breathing in the cold air into his lungs. He opens his eyes, seeing you in front of him.

“It is good to see you again, old friend.” He says.

“Hello.”

“Oh, you can skip the formalities.” He grunts. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield, not next to Jenny.”

“It has become a full circle, she passed in your arms, you will pass next to her gravestone.”

His eyes flash dark when he is reminded of how his wife had passed. “I never got to thank you for guiding Jenny.”

“It is what I do.”

“I know, but still. She was so scared, and you took that fear away.”

“I am glad that I could do it.”

“So, it is my time then.”

“Mhm, it is your call.” You respond. “But it will happen within the next few minutes.”

“Hm.” He answers with a murmur, as he rests his head against her gravestone again. “Wake me up when it’s done.”

You take place on the bench again, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, his breathing turning steady as he falls asleep next to her gravestone. Sleeping together one last time.

You’re a patient creature, you have all the time in the world, so you wait, wait until his chest stops, until his heart stops beating. Before you can say a thing his soul leaves his body. John doesn’t talk to you yet, instead, he looks at his body, resting against the gravestone of his late wife.

“What a sight.” He sighs, turning to you.

And you just nod.

John turns to you. “I imagine that I also get to ask some questions before you bring me to the afterlife.”

“Anything you wish.”

John’s soul walks over to the bench you’re sitting on, having a view of the graves of his teammates and his late wife. “Do you think I am a bad person?”

“I am in no position to answer that question. For me and Life there is no such thing as a good person and a bad person. You all just exist with free will, and it is up to you how you use it.”

“If you were human, you would be a politician.” John snickers at his own joke.

You let out a sound that represents a huff. “Is this you calling me a bad person?”

“Only if you would be a British politician.”

“I would rather stay Death.”

He looks at the upcoming moon. “Did you guide my teammates too?”

“All of them.”

If he would be still alive he would be releasing a breath. “Glad you did.”

“They all wanted to know how you would cope.”

“They did?”

“Mhm.”

“Guess they cared more than I thought.”

“Of course they did.”

“Why was Simon smiling?”

“Why would I have something to do with it?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t have want him to die alone.”

“That much is true. I asked him his favourite memory. So he could die thinking about something happy.”

“And Kyle’s mother told me he has tried to call her and left a voicemail, I assume that is your doing too?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Kyle’s upbringing was different from Simon’s.”

“As Death I do not discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. Life can be difficult and unfair enough. Why would I make their process of dying hard too?”

“That.. I.. I never thought about it that way.”

“I had no reason to grand you and Jenny some more time together, I had no reason to explain the afterlife to her, or to answer her questions about dying. Yet I did. Just like the universe does not need reasons to allow events in someone’s life to happen.”

“I see. Well, I think it is beautiful.”

John looks at his body, limped against the gravestone of his late wife.

“How did I die?”

“Your heart gave out.”

“Guess all those years of cigars, whiskey and stress finally caught up on me.” He chuckled. “I never noticed anything though, I mean I’ve been a little tired lately, but thought that was just the stress.”

You just tilt your head.

“Oh.”

“Heart diseases are something else.” You sigh. “A silent killer.”

“Learned that the hard way.”

His gaze shifts from his body to the gravestone next to him and he holds out his hand.

“As much as I liked seeing you again old friend, I am ready to go home, for the first time in fourteen years.”

[underyourbedtoday]

…it would be an honor to get slapped by Laswell actually

[frost-westbrook]

During a Halloween party on base, Gideon finds out what Joker and Mitchell dress up as this year.

This fic is also available on my ao3, cptRoachSanderson, if you'd prefer to read it there.

The barracks were bustling with life as the annual Atlas Halloween party started. Some were dressed up in various costumes, enjoying the night before they had to go back to their jobs the next day with a nasty hangover.

Gideon wasn't one of those lucky operatives to get to enjoy such a night. Being a captain had its ups and downs, filling out paperwork during Halloween being one of those downs. While his team got drunk and celebrated the evening, he was sitting in his room. It wouldn't be too bad, though. Mitchell had promised him a bottle of booze, so the night wouldn't be a total loss.

The night was passing by in relative silence; he tuned out the music from the party a while ago, and the most noise he heard was passing conversations and loud footsteps. It was maybe close to midnight when he heard laughing and a knock at his door.

"What?" The door opens, and he sees the familiar faces of Joker and Mitchell, looking drunk as all hell, and... wearing two of his beanies?

"Guess who we're dressed as babe!" Mitchell giggles along with Joker. It's then when Gideon notices the bottle in his boyfriend's hand, presumably the one he promised him.

"I swear, if you say-"

"We're you!" More laughter ensues. Gideon can't help but crack a smile despite himself.

"Fuck me, why?"

"Joker said it'd piss you off" Gideon's as wander over to Joker, who has a shit eating grin on his face. He stands, grabbing the bottle from Mitchell. Polish Vodka, nice.

"Well, aren't you two just so funny, ah?" Mitchell leans in, kissing Gideon's cheek. Joker gags jokingly.

"Ew! Get a fucking room!" Gideon rolls eyes his eyes while Mitchell laughs.

"Alright, you two drunk idiots need to get out, I have work to do." The men groan, and as they turn to leave, Gideon grabs Mitchell's arm and kisses him quickly.

"Yes sir!" He yells as him and Joker leave. Gideon stares at the closed door for a few seconds before returning to his desk, chuckling to himself. He opens the vodka bottle and takes a big swig, then sets it down. It's going to be a long night.

"Enjoy your night." Mitchell grins widely, giving Gideon a slaute.

[diejager]

Gentle Giant

Pairing : König x fem!reader

Cw: blood, gore, murder, injuries, war, FLUFF.

Wc: 3.1k

(A/N) : Its my first try at mw2 fanfic, I'm sorry if he's ooc >~<

Ps. I went with standard german since I can't find a free and functioning austrian german translator.

Calling him a giant didn't do him justice, a goliath within the army giants fit him better. Face hidden under a hood over a balaclava and the skin around his eyes painted black that made his icy blue irises gleam, König was as shrouded in mystery as he was shadowed by thick layers. His sole figure made others move away, parting ways for the behemoth to pass with big strides to match his size.

You've seen it happen too often with bigger or scarier soldiers - Ghost and König being a part of this selection - lower ranked never bothered too much with them, not wanting their ire. You understood them, having met and worked with both KorTac and the 141 before, you felt the difference between you and the men you've worked with.

You being smaller than most men, probably a bit under the average height for a woman your age, knew how menacing having someone towering over you in warfare; but you fought and earned your rank and notoriety.

You watched from afar, laying stomach down and arms propped up to hold your sniper that stood on pegs, observing your teammates through the scope. Your sights zoned in on the squad that moved forward steadily, yet carefully, weapons up and sticking in duos when they split to check corners. They caught on the front lines, the danger being higher than yours, especially on an open-aired ground like this place. KorTac could fall victim to snipers - you made sure to take care of them before you gave them a clear, spotting five gleaming scopes from the dilapidated building you hid in and you took them out, careful not to get caught - grenades, flash bangs, trigger happy newbies or enemy arms.

You watched their back, covering them from any strays advancing from the back of from higher up, you were thorough with your job. People knew you for your 'no man left behind' principle, ensuring everyone came back in one piece or with a few missing, but always alive; you were a sniper people wanted to have covering them, and that's why KorTac placed so much trust in you - aside from the times you joined them.

You heard them talk, about spreading out in teams of two through the radio, half took the front and the other would go through the back, ensuring that they'd trap the target inside.

"Moving in, Owl, " Horangi informed you, eyes forward and leading the front through the back door.

"I'll keep the line open, " you replied, watching as the last of his group entered the building.

Your eyes scoured the windows, watching through them for KorTac operators. You took shots at any armed men you saw running through the door or trying to enter the building. You pulled the bolt back and snapped it after every shot, reloading and searching around you for any enemy before returning to your observation. Gunshots rang in your ear, pained cries from afar, and loud thumps from falling bodies, given a few minutes and they would radio back for exfil with the target. As expected, your prediction of KorTac's skill happened, Stiletto radioed over that they had acquired the target and were moving out.

"Cover us, Owl," König's rumbling voice called out, the monotone timbre in his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Copy."

"Moving towards exfil."

You watched the men exit from the back, pushing a cuffed and limping man, screaming threats at them, from garnering the ire of his country or thbackupup he called, but the operators ignored his crazed babbles. If the latter really happened, you'd have to be ready. You scoped the area around them and further back, switching to and fro the team and surroundings until they got to the helicopter.

Once you saw them board the aircraft, you jumped to your feet and held your bolt-action sniper across your chest as you watched the helicopter fly your way. The closer it got, the louder the propellers sounded and the harsher the winds became, blowing sand into your eyes, balaclava shielding you from nose to mouth from the grimy taste. Once it lowered itself near the roof, it landed and you boarded, grasping the helping hand of the behemoth. You gave a firm squeeze of gratitude before you slide the door shut and caught the glaring eyes of your target.

"Gute Arbeit, Owl."

Your answer was a swift nod, eyes meeting König's icy blues as he towered over the rest of KorTac and you.

The mission was a success, the target - terrorist - apprehended and the interrogation was left to Laswell. You'd go back to solo missions or join others as their sniper.

***

A few weeks flew by rapidly, you hadn't seen König much between your missions with TF 141, other teams, or solo missions, and the little rest you got when off duty. A part of you wished for a day of rest, but another one reminded you of the threats of straying for too long, work helped get your mind off of unwanted thoughts, and dark and dangerous ground. Working helped you stay preoccupied, leaving only your nightmare to haunt you.

You were heading to the armory, to suit up and meet with Laswell for another mission, with who? She hadn't told you. "Meeting in 15." those were her words, clear and direct. You wore the dark grey vest over your grey hoodie, helmet, and balaclava in hand, and strode to the room after you stocked up with knives, a pistol, ammunition, and your sniper in a well-protected case. You preferred arriving a minute or two before it started, not wanting to be the last nor the first to step into a room and risk the chance of an awkward waiting time with other people you hardly knew.

Fortunately, the moment you reached for the door, a familiar figure opened it, looming over you at the entrance with the palest blues you've ever seen - or admitted you liked.

"König," you greeted softly, walking in when he moved back.

He gave a slow nod, eyes fleeting and jumpy - perhaps his anxiety was acting up, you spoke with him about it once, when you were forced to stay hidden in a safe house while you waited for evac to come. Did he come here right after another mission?

"Owl, good to have you."

"Owl, how copy?" a gruff voice radioed.

Aksel, the sole Norwegian of KorTac, you knew from the rough rasp he had even when you spoke in person. This task hadn't demanded the whole team, having the need of half of the members for it in case it turned bad. Laswell had you join Aksel, König, Roze, Zero, Oni, and Zeus.

"Affirmative, Aksel, " you replied, eyes catching sight of the target's car.

A dark limousine rolled to the side, doors opening as guards in ironed suits walked out, surrounding an ugly-looking man in luxurious clothes worth probably more than your life. You could see him from 2 blocks away through your scope, eyes probed to focus on your target. He was smart, having meat shields around him from all sides, it gave him a chance to survive; if he wasn't put up against you, he's an unlucky son of a bitch. Human trafficking, drugs and weapons dealing, child prostitution, and more, all on the grounds of a country that couldn't do anything about it unless they risked betrayal. That's why they employed PMCs.

"Target in sight. Permission to shoot."

"Permission granted," Watcher, Laswell, told you from the safety of the base in the foreign country.

You were primed for a headshot, eyes narrowed to his disgusting mug. You blinked, took a slow breath, and fired as you exhaled, body jolting slightly from the fire. You kept your sights on him as you pulled back the bolt, snapping back when you saw your target fall, his head blown bloody and body slumping forward.

You felt almost proud about ending him, watching his bodyguards scramble around his corpse for safety, knowing that their boss, the one who paid them, was dead and bleeding from a hole in his head on the floor. Some jumped into the car and sped away, others into the building and some ran for cover behind alleys and buildings.

"Target down, Watcher," you spoke loud and clearly into the mic, letting her know of your success.

***

Your next mission with König, around two weeks after the prior one, hadn't gone as your expected. What you thought would be a regular job - Laswell's intel made it seem casual, recon and infiltration - turned to shit, for you at least.

You'd been deployed ahead to let you settle down and mark your sniper's nest for easier extraction, to get into position and cover for KorTac when they landed and started the infiltration. You spent a good 10 minutes covering the ones on the ground - perhaps a bit too much - after taking down the snipers posted on towers and windows to ensure their success. Your constant cover had led you to a rising problem, the enemy would figure out where your nest was and reinforcement would be called or they would send a squad to take you out. You better on the latter, but didn't know when to move; too early would alert them of your position, and too late would come to bite you in the back. The first one was too risky, the second option seemed a bit better.

You'd taken fewer shots, taking more care of keeping them guessing your position until you absolutely needed to move. You had the line open in case of emergencies, if you were caught you'd need to warn them, and let them know that you couldn't support them. You kept your guard up, eyes through the scope and ears open for any clicks or cracks from feet stepping off the rocky debris you littered around the nest.

It was a good idea on your part, as the bolt snapped, you heard crunching and moved quickly. You stuffed the sniper inside its case and swung it over your shoulder, pistol pulled to defend yourself when your buck met the wall behind the entrance.

"This is Owl, I've been made," you hushed through your mic, eyes strained on the blank opening.

Pistol pressed to your chest, and you waited until the first one walked in, seeing his extended hand before his head appeared. The gun was trained on him the instant his head passed the door, your index pulled the trigger and his head jerked right with an explosion of blood and gore. He keeled over and the following enemies all swarmed in.

It was a rush of adrenaline, you're body moved on habit and your mind was keen on killing and surviving, you kicked behind his knee and jammed a knife down the junction of his neck and shoulder, watching the blood spray over your covered face and hand. You pulled his heavy body against yours, using him as a shield as his brother unloaded his mag into him. When he was out, you shoved him forward, corpse toppling over the living soldier with a pained grunt. Dead bodies were somehow amazing weights if you needed them, it was unexpected and the lax muscles that usually held the body up crashed down. You sent a bullet through his head and watched through calm eyes the blood that soaked the floor.

The fear in his eyes when he saw the gun strained on his head, cold and creeping death that loomed over him at that moment before he saw the barrel. Fear was nothing new in your field, fear for yourself, for someone else, or from someone, fear, and death came together in war, as blood and bullets did.

You pushed the image back, quickly stepping over them with a guarded stature, making your way down to find another place to settle down.

"3 down, probably more on the way, moving west," you informed KorTac, hearing grunts and shots from their end.

"Are you all right, Owl?" asked a worried tone.

König, even in this mess, had time to worry about you, voice low with concern instead of his cold, monotone one when he fought. It was sweet, made your connection to him seem more relevant, deeper, and holding more meaning. It made your heart thrum happily.

"Yes," your reply was short since you were busy.

Moving around bodies and reloading behind the hard, cement wall, you sprung forward and shot down two other soldiers, two tapping them for assurance. The number was amassing, it went from three upstairs, one on your way down, and now four near the exit. The inside felt musky and stank of iron, maybe it was from your balaclava being soaked in someone's blood, but the smell permeated from the room, and you could taste the metal tang.

Your eyes fleeted left and right before making an exit, sprinting to the nearest cover and watching for enemies. You moved every time it felt safe, jumping from cover to cover until you reached a tall building far enough to continue your cover. It was safer, or so you thought. Someone in the enemy's beige fatigues grabbed your hands, struggling for your submission.

"Shit-"

Your curse made it to KorTac's ears, they asked for your status, to know where you were. Although you wanted to reply, you were a bit too busy with your struggle for ground when he pushed you down, back splayed on the floor as you tried to angle your gun to him. Your shared grunts were heard through the radio, your hiss from your cheek nicking a rock.

He spoke something foreign, you didn't understand him, hadn't had time to learn Farsi with all the missions you were sent on daily. You ground your teeth, your knee pushing against his abdomen with a groan. Unfortunately, he only huffed and brought the knife from his other hand closer to your face, your struggle wouldn't last long with a man twice your size over you.

From your narrowed eyes, you - both of you - missed the big silhouette of a man entering the room in a rush. A familiar knife was shoved into the man's neck as he was pulled away with beige-tipped gloves and pushed to the opposite side of the room with a raging KorTac operator holding the drowning man a few inches above the ground. His choked gurgles reached your ears as you sat up, seeing König hunched over the limp and dying enemy. He jabbed the knife multiple times into him, breaking the soft walls of the enemy's esophagus. It was a bloody display that would make privates shiver.

"König-"

As his name left your lips, he was immediately by your side, knife sheathed and weapons put aside, his hands were all over you, gripping your shoulders, arms, face, and waist. He was making sure you weren't wounded. You huffed, telling him you weren't wounded, a few scratches and bruises, but that's all. Whatever words you muttered, fell on deaf ears, König's eyes gleamed with worry, dilated and wide.

Getting hurt and dying was part of the job, but that didn't mean anyone wanted to get hurt or die. He knew that, yet the thought of seeing you gone, bleed out, or fallen into the enemy's hands scared him. He worried about you, a being so small and fragile to him, but strong and fierce as you've shown him so many times.

You broke down the barriers he put up, melted the anxiety that he had, and shared your darkest moments with him as he did with you. Your heart beats for him and him, you. It was a dangerous thing, letting one so close that your heart would die if the other was gone. Fear had rushed through him when he heard your grunts, it latched to his back and dragged him back. He couldn't go with the others knowing you were ambushed, he had to turn back and help you. Although he knew you were capable, he just couldn't shake the terror off until he saw you still in one piece.

That's why he left his formation and ran to yours in blinded fear and anger, the latter for the one who stood over you.

Even crouched down, he towered over you, hooded face shadowing you from the sun. Your stomach fluttered every time your eyes met his, the cold and calculative - sometimes murderous - gleam melted to a soft and caring one, warm and comforting as the sun. You muttered again, told how he saved you, that you're alive because of him. You gave him soothing words, eyes locked in a war-torn location.

***

König, however dangerous, was calm and caring, a quiet figure that held your hand and moved with you down the halls. He used to hide in the shadows - he still had the tendency to do it when you weren't with him - and distance himself from others. He used to hide and avoid people, explaining his reasons as to why he would only let you in, close enough to hold hands and share kisses. You liked the thought of being the only one inside, the special someone he let himself be near and touch without freezing up or stuttering.

You remember seeing him sliding through the crowd and vanishing when he ruined the corner or when you blinked, steps so quiet and so purposeful that you thought he was making sure to lose you - he had mentioned feeling you stare at him, wanting to bury himself in a pit for getting your attention, someone he admired and respected.

König was guarded, he protected himself from pain and people, and now, he vowed to do the same for you, to keep you from harm - when he was teamed with you - and from people - although not the jealous type, he didn't want to risk it.

Fraternizing was shamed by some higher-ups, the old coots like General Sheperd, but most didn't care, some encouraged you - Task Force 141 - and König - KorTac - to make due with what you had and reap the best of it. The danger of getting attached ran high, but you two made it work, you watched over him as Owl and you loved and adored him as (Name).

Perhaps, after retiring, you'd buy a house, a small one in the countryside far from civilization to keep to yourselves. To love and grow old together seemed like a beautiful idea to you when König had his drunk, bumbling mess after a can or two while you stayed sober to drive the team back.

You've come far, from brothers in arms to lovers on the battlefield, you've had your fears and your moments, but you always reached for him when he reached for you. Love's a game for two, after all.

[witchofthesouls]

Do you think Cybertronians would be more or less physically affectionate than humans, overall? On one hand, they have the whole EMF thing which acts as another sense. On the other, they're made of metal, and often are often fully armored, so what they can feel would be limited.

It's hard because of EM fields as well as frames with advanced capabilities of perception through sigma abilities and frame differences.

Honestly, it's just dependent on the interpretation.

Personally, I like it being a very culturally shaped behavior that can be driven by biology.

I like to think that Iacon is the birthplace of Cybertronian Functionism from its past. The Quintessons consolidated power there by using it as a massive land site and trading hub and most definitely take advantage of the associated history with the Thirteen Primes. So, it's believable that Iaconians have strict standards of moral behavior and would value rigid control of expressionisms. No surprise if they seem cold or impassive to mecha from other city-states.

On top of it, the Cybertronians that came to Earth had been shaped by warfare in an inconceivable scale to us. Even if friendly, the Autobots (and Decepticons) are under war-time footing and fully militarized. A lot of social and cultural mores will be reshaped as newer generations are raised into it.

(Begs the question if either of them have civilian counterparts? As well if there's been a cultural schism on the definition?)

Then there's the question of how to describe EM fields? Is it like a vibe check? Active and passive emotional exchange? Something that touches over senses as well? I do like the idea that EM fields act like chakra sense in Naruto. The fanfic that delve into it are amazing, like the vivid imagery from Umei_no_Mai and chesire_carroll on Ao3. Plus, it gives me the glee to hammer more lore, like really powerful sparks are capable of overwhelming others via field onslaught.

Also, soft bodies. I know it's a controversial one, but I really, really like the idea that Cybertronians do have a body of protoform with musculature under their armor.

[tinypandacakes]

Sweet baby angel of this earth - your writing is truly impeccable. Please know that your fics are genuinely some of the best I’ve ever read and I’ve been reading fanfic since I was 12 (I’m 29 lol).

I’ve never even played COD but I find myself so weirdly drawn to König; Trapper, Keeper’s just solidified that.

I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing something featuring a very virginal, inexperienced, sincere and reverent König with a kind, gentle yet experienced female reader? Apologies if this isn’t of interest to you or you’ve done something like this already - this is purely self indulgent lmao.

Anyway literally obsessed with you! Take your time! You simply cannot rush perfection!

Thank you! 🥹🥹🥹 what a huge compliment… you are so sweet :’)

I’m so glad you’re enjoying TK!! I haven’t played MW2 but have spent many hours playing other games in the franchise 😭 I spent hundreds of hours playing advanced warfare zombies and team death match

One of the fun things about König to me is that since we don’t know much about him, it’s fun to see the different versions/HCs people have.

I appreciate the suggestion! I definitely have ideas for a sweet and inexperienced könig with like a very very very soft Dom reader who guides him through it and tells him how well he’s doing :3

I haven’t written it, but I very much can picture a version of könig that would melt at simple praise and gentle touches, whose hands tremble a little when they touch you, maybe a little clumsy at first, but he is eager to do a good job and make you feel nice 🥺

[gunnrblze]

Thinking about writing teen Kick fanfic and I got very vivid ideas for the vibe but I am like so shit at outlining the plot and detailing it to late 90s-2000s tech cuz I was in the desert sand during that time

And since I love your aesthetics with the ghost boys, what do you think about;

Teen Kick:

owns a camcorder, takes it nearly everywhere he goes outside and enjoys making vlogs on tapes, mostly consisting of abandoned place explorations and attempts of paranormal activity caught on camera. (Marble hornets and analog horror inspired)

Obsessed with cryptids and critters, might not actually believe they're real but thinks they're such neat concepts and they're fun to talk about.

↑explains why he found himself exploring the woods and forestry around his mid-late teens

fascinated by weird sightings and loves recording shit to show off and ramble about to his friends, just passionate about his interests

Owns a flip phone or whatever good old fashioned cellphone during that time, would try to invite his friends over to go cryptid hunting, alien watching, or explorations w/ him

I'm stumped cuz I have a few stuff thatll be purely HCs like:

Nickname for him in his teenhood if Kick was his military callsign

Headcanon about which part of America he's from to pinpoint location and setting of the drabble

Tf happened in 90-2000s

Could you help me please🙏🙏 need headcanons<33 a lot of them

Ahh I love this idea! This all sounds so accurate for a fic like this. Teen Kick that takes a camcorder everywhere sounds so on brand, I can definitely see him having that ‘let’s go to this haunted/abandoned house…what do you mean why? Cause it’s fun’ energy lol. Alien/ghost hunting and cryptid sightings seem right up his funky alley.

As for his name/location, that can be difficult since you can literally make up anything you want lmao. But I like to hc him as being from somewhere around northeast USA that starts to teeter into the south, think Pennsylvania/New Jersey/West Virginia/etc. That would also explain his cryptid/alien/ghost loving behavior since there’s a lot of sightings and happenings in those areas. He gives me slight city kid vibes, but lived enough near the outskirts of whatever town to have been doing a bunch of rural exploring.

Since it’s implied that he’s a tech specialist for the Ghosts, I hc that growing up during the rise of technology was very influential in his career choices, and he probably spent a lot of time with stuff like this. I definitely see him with the camcorder here, and maybe a flip phone right around the turn of the century/early 00’s when they became popular. Probably spent a lot of time on some old clunky ass computer setup lol, gets flashbacks from the dial up internet sound like a true 90s kid. I think as tech kept advancing, he was always right on that shit, or at least he kept up with it.

Just some tidbits, but similar to Ghost/Simon Riley in the comics/‘09 Modern Warfare, I like to think maybe seeing 9/11 take place inspired his reasons to join whatever branch of the military he joined, seeing that as a teen would’ve def been very surreal, especially if he lived around that area. He also gives me big nerd vibes, was into all the sci-fi stuff around that time&prob played a lot of video games, had like a GameCube console or something lol.

Hope some of this helps! I love this fic idea and I hope you write it! <3

[ceasarslegion]

(op of sonic commercial fic post) the WHAT

Okay i need to contextualize how I found my favourite fanfiction ever written on ao3. Back in uni, I used to procrastinate my papers for my politics degree by seeing what kind of things would pop up if I typed the names of the people in my papers into the ao3 search bar. During my course on espionage, I was writing something or other about the red scare and self-espionage, so of course like herpes, Joseph McCarthy was sprinkled everywhere. I open ao3 in a separate tab and type in "Joseph McCarthy" to see what I can find. I am immediately graced with the greatest fic ive ever read:

I am obsessed with this fanfic. This fic goes beyond a simple crackship and plays this concept completely straight, going so far as to ponder questions about how this would be possible in the spyfare of the cold war, carefully filling the plothole of "cis men can't get pregnant" with a soviet agent spiking his drink with experimental drugs to impregnate roy cohn. The implications in that alone have me at a yarn board. I havent slept in days. Why would the soviet union want roy cohn pregnant? What do they have to gain from this? How does this help the arms race? What are the practical warfare and/or espionage and/or stalinist applications of the mpreg drug, or did soviet scientists just make this for fun?

Either way, the mpreg drug made it possible for roy cohn to get pregnant and then he popped out donald j trump. And i think about this fic all the time. I love it so much. I hope the author knows how much this fic has taken over my thoughts because every time im stuck in the most boring station ever at work my mind wanders to "why would the soviet union make an mpreg drug to advance the nuclear arms race?"

I also sent this to my now ex girlfriend at the time after i read it and she was the only one who played with me in the space at the time. Then again, she also used to send me fanfic links about tucker carlson fucking the green m&m so

[jester-w-n0n4m3]

Would it be cool if I made a fanfic about my spider verse goobers and posted it here and ao3?

Like, my silly Spider-Man oc and black cat variant and how they met and became friends and pretty much the lore of this universe I created and now realize as I'm writing this that it's sorta like cod: advanced warfare due to the existence of all these high tech devices and tools for soldiers and pretty much explain the whole concept of hybrid people as a whole in this world being mainly for military purposes- 👁️👁️

[soaps-mohawk]

I saw you mentioned that you have been playing COD since 2011?!?! Omgg!! It's always nice to hear when ppl have been into something about the same amount of time as you have. I think I might have started in like 2009? I was literally like 10,11,12. Me and my cousin would watch my uncle play and then I was like I WANT TO PLAY TOO 😡 I remember me and my cousin playing one of the extra features on the game? Sorta of like zombies now but it was something else way back then I think. We ended up getting chased down my juggernauts in some house and got stuck in a bathroom literally fighting for our lives 😂 I've come a looong way from just playing the games to now playing the games and then scavenging the internet to find fics about them lmaooo

Yes!!! I started playing when the original MW3 came out!! I got a PS4 for Christmas and the game came with it lol. Of course, me having been denied video games up to that point went insane and thought it was the greatest thing I've ever played 😂

I was already very familiar with fanfiction at that point and there was a surprising number of fanfics for the originals. I'd say that's the first time I dipped my toes into the fandom, more as a spectator than a creator.

I didn't play again until Ghosts came out. I actually enjoyed it a lot. I still think it needs a sequel I cannot believe they just left us with that ending 😭

I didn't play the games again (well I didn't play any games at all) until 2020 when I bought myself a PS4. Then the lockdown happened and I decided to get back into the games and made my roommate at the time pull out her ps3 and played the original MW trilogy again. I got back into the fandom (which was still very small) and played through Ghosts again, played Advanced and Infinite Warfare and like one and a half of the Black Ops games. (I didn't really like them and couldn't get into the story. I know I'm sorry 😭). I bought the reboot Modern Warfare but then got distracted by a different fandom and it sat in my DVD case up until about 2022 when I went through and played the original series again and then broke down and played the first MW. This was pre-MWII reboot so the fandom was still very much small and almost nonexistent (at least on the platforms I was looking at).

Then I got back into it somehow this year. Honestly I cannot remember how. Probably was a tiktok or something 😭 and here we are!! The fandom exploded (love to see it) and I now have the most popular fic I've ever written 💚

[codfanficedits]

Bittersweet memories.

CW: ANGST. I have no words for this one, at this point I'm just hurting my own feelings idk

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

Eight years ago you joined the army. You wanted to be the best recruit they had ever seen. You wanted to succeed in something, anything at all. You craved the validation and the army could give that to you. Your eagerness didn’t go unnoticed. Your work ethic being the main reason for the praise you received. Your hard work did also pique a mans interest. You’d found him intimidating at first. The skull mask, his large physique, the gloved hands, the unreadable eyes. But Ghost took a liking to you. It started with small gestures, very small gestures. A little nod when you completed your training. A soft hum of approval when you hit the target during practice. An awkward pat on your shoulder when you returned from your first mission, a gentle squeeze on your bicep when you went to the bar to celebrate your mission.

Seven years ago it weren’t just little gestures anymore. It had evolved to holding your hips a little too long when he had to move past you, pressing himself against you a little too hard when he corrected your stance. Jealous glares when another man tried to buy you a drink in the bar. Being a little too eager to be teamed up with you. So seven years ago you finally bit the bullet, asking him out for a date. Ghost disappeared after that, avoiding you like the plague, leaving you confused and even a little heartbroken. Took him three weeks to come around, to reach out to you, to apologise. He’d told himself you were pulling an awful prank on him, that you couldn’t be possible be interested in him. It took you a lot of convincing that you were in fact interested in him.

Six and a half years ago, you finally saw his face for the first time. Until then you had been blessed with a half pulled up balaclava, enough to see his lips, enough to kiss you. But never enough to fully see him. He had come to your quarters after one of his hard mission, tired, beaten, but alive. No words exchanged when he sat down on your couch, manspreading as his hands rested against him. A long, tired exhale and a moment of awkward silence. His hand waved you over, urging you to sit next to him, your head on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat. The balaclava falling on his lap when he finally took the piece of fabric off. The military had taught you to be brave, and you needed all the skills you had learned to look up at him.

And by God was he divine. A slightly crooked nose, you knew he had broken his nose as a child, the result prominent in his face, soft brown eyes, a little freckle here and there, an old scar decorating the left side of his upper lip. You hand reaches out to touch his cheek and he leans into your touch as if he is starving and you’re his only source of life, from that moment on it felt wrong to call him Ghost, because Simon came back to life from your touch.

Six years ago he finally told you he loved you for the first time. Of course you had said it before, and you understood that he needed more time to say it. You could see his love for you in the smallest things in life. How he held his hand against the sharp edge of the countertop when you had to pick something up from the floor, so you wouldn’t hit your head. How he would always keep a small picture of you in his wallet, keeping you close when you weren’t there. How you became his emergency contact for the hospital, you know, just in case. So when you were lying under his sheets, your body intertwined with his, sweat glistering on his chest as you admired the marks he had left on you collarbones, the words came as a surprise.

“I love you.”

Five years ago the two of you start to discuss marriage. It started casually, one of your friends had gotten married and on the car ride back the two of you were discussing the things you’d like different on your wedding. It was then that you’d realise how similar your taste was. How you wanted to same things for the most special day in your life. He wanted a vanilla cake, with a white chocolate strawberry buttercream filling, and you wanted the same. Both of you wanted a small wedding, just close friends and family, a lovely little outdoor venue, with fairy lights and sunflowers. The both of you agreed that he would look best in white. A blue tie, and a small sunflower in his chest pocket. The next time marriage was discussed you were lying under his sheets again, on your stomach as his fingers traced around the soft skin on your back. Again you two agreed on the white suit, the fairy lights and the cake.

Four years ago he took you to the beach. Growing up you’d never been there and when Simon found out, he needed to show you the beach. So he found the two of you a secluded spot and he disappeared with a blue little bucket to catch you some starfish and little crabs. A smile on his gorgeous face when he returned, proudly holding up the bucket. A soft grumble when he requested you to put sunscreen on his back, after all, he had been the one to carry all the stuff you had packed to this secluded spot, and this would’ve been an amazing payback for his duties.

The two of you stayed on the beach until the sun started to set, when you watched it in awe you could see him fumble with his hands, and you wondered what would make him so nervous. Your question would be answered quickly when he got on one knee, a little black velvet box coming out of the pocket of his trunks. The vulnerability on his face when he asked you to marry him became engraved in your mind, in your soul.

Today he stood before you, looking gorgeous in that white suit, a blue tie, and a small flower in his chest pocket. Although the venue wasn’t an outdoor one, and there were more people than you had discussed, you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again with him. The slight crook in his nose, the few soft freckles on his face, those beautiful brown eyes who reminded you of the desert over and over again. His dirty blonde hair suiting his face so well.

You get snapped out of your thought when you can hear the officiant starting to speak.

“Do you take Simon Riley, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Your eyes shift to his bride.

Three years ago your world stopped when he told you he was leaving you. He had fallen out of love, the spark being gone, the thrill no longer being there. He knew your every move, and it had made him realise it wasn’t what he wanted. Your world had stopped the moment he walked out of your shared apartment with nothing more than a black duffle bag and his balaclava. Seeing him around base was the worst, your heart shattering every time you saw him. The pain never got easier, not even when you could see him move on, when he became Ghost again, instead of Simon.

Two and a half years ago, you learned that he had found a new girlfriend, some civilian working in the café where the two of you used to go on little dates. Your heart clawed it’s way out of your chest when you heard the news. He was moving on, while you sobbed in the bed you once shared with him, holding on to one of his shirts, his scent long gone, but if you closed your eyes hard enough, you could pretend it was still there.

Two years ago you tried dating again, you really tried to move on, but none of the other men were him. None of them knew you the way he knew you. With every new man you meet, you seek Simon, but you’re left empty handed. You’ve been trying to chase the happiness he had given you, losing yourself in all sorts of self-destruction, only to be met by that empty bed every night.

One year ago Ghost announced to the team that he was engaged. Again. It took you all your strength, but you mustered up a fake smile, pretending to be happy for him and his new girl. If only your heart was as cold as you pretended to be, maybe you could get over this. Your heart is filled with a burning question, can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? You knew you could, you knew you would always love him, no matter how horrible he had shattered your heart.

Today is the day of his wedding, and you’re coming along as Soap’s plus one. The worst pain is being homesick for arms that don’t want to hold you. You can picture yourself standing in front of him, reading him vows, looking back at them you joined the army, just eight years ago. You can picture yourself cutting the cake with him, but instead you can feel our heart clawing at your ribcage again as you hold up that fake smile you mastered. You can feel that it is getting hard to breathe again. The pain settling in once more. You feel it, heavy in your chest, why can’t you breathe through this moment like all the times before?

[snapmite1998]

### The Crimson Dawn Advantage: The Asymmetrical Warfare of Elite Soldiers

#### Overview

Despite the Republic clones providing their Jedi commanders and the Galactic Senate with opportunities to counter the menacing advance of Crimson Dawn, the ruthless efficiency, exceptional training, and sheer skill of Crimson Dawn soldiers create a significant imbalance on the battlefield. Each soldier within Crimson Dawn is often considered equal to ten typical soldiers, thanks to their rigorous training and unique combat philosophy.

### Factors Contributing to Crimson Dawn’s Superiority

1. Elite Training Regimen:

- Every soldier in Crimson Dawn undergoes an intensive training program tailored to cultivate their combat skills, resilience, and tactical acumen. This training combines physical conditioning, strategy, and psychological preparation to ensure that each operative is a formidable fighter capable of dominating their foes.

- Special emphasis is placed on mastering advanced weapon systems and close-quarters combat techniques, including Teräs Käsi, allowing Crimson Dawn operatives to engage multiple opponents effectively, turning the tide of battle in their favor.

2. Cohesive Unit Dynamics:

- The soldiers of Crimson Dawn operate with a high level of cohesion and teamwork, forged through relentless drills and shared experiences. This unit dynamic enhances their effectiveness in combat, allowing for synchronized movements and rapid tactical adjustments to adversary actions.

- In contrast to the clone soldiers, who, while skilled, often follow rigid command structures, Crimson Dawn soldiers are trained to think independently and adapt to changing battlefield conditions, enabling them to exploit opportunities that emerge during engagements.

3. Psychological Warfare:

- Crimson Dawn employs psychological strategies designed to instill fear and confusion among their adversaries. Rumors of the superiority and ruthlessness of their soldiers spread, giving the impression that facing a Crimson Dawn unit is as daunting as engaging ten regular soldiers.

- By fostering a reputation for brutality and efficiency, Crimson Dawn is able to manipulate the morale of the opposing forces, causing hesitation and doubt among Republic troops before battles even commence.

4. Advanced Equipment and Armament:

- The soldiers of Crimson Dawn are equipped with superior technology and weaponry, giving them a tactical edge. With access to advanced blasters, heavy artillery, and tools tailored for various combat scenarios, they outmatch standard Republic forces.

- Training in the use of cutting-edge gear, combined with their combat skills, allows Crimson Dawn operatives to maximize their effectiveness in engagements, ensuring that they can execute complex tactical maneuvers with precision.

### The Impact on the Battlefield

1. Disproportionate Engagement Outcomes:

- The overwhelming effectiveness of Crimson Dawn soldiers translates directly to the outcomes of conflict. In engagements with Republic forces, they can systematically dismantle opposition using superior tactics, strength, and training.

- While the clones may be disciplined and effective, they find themselves outmaneuvered and outgunned against the elite operatives of Crimson Dawn, often struggling to match the intensity and unpredictability brought to the battlefield.

2. Erosion of Republic Morale:

- As defeats mount and soldiers witness their comrades falling at the hands of Crimson Dawn operatives, the morale of the Republic forces begins to wane. The perception of facing an enemy ten times their strength creates an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty, leading to retreat or disengagement when facing these elite soldiers.

- This psychological burden dampens the spirit of the Republic soldiers, leading to hesitancy in combat and a more fragmented approach to engagements.

3. Strategic Advantages for Crimson Dawn:

- Capitalizing on their strengths, Crimson Dawn can dictate the terms of battle. Their ability to launch surprise attacks, exploit weaknesses, and adapt quickly to changing circumstances makes them a constant threat to Republic forces.

- As conflicts with the Republic persist, Crimson Dawn utilizes asymmetric warfare strategies, emphasizing their elite soldiers' capabilities to outmatch conventional forces in engagements that are often defined by sheer skill rather than numbers.

### Conclusion

The soldiers of Crimson Dawn represent a formidable and elite fighting force whose training and operational philosophy sets them apart from conventional military units such as the Republic clones. Their ability to function as cohesive teams while employing advanced tactics and weaponry gives them an overwhelming advantage on the battlefield.

As the struggle against Crimson Dawn continues, the Republic must recognize this imbalance and adapt its strategies, cultivating innovative approaches to counter the effectively trained operatives of this notorious organization. With each battle, Crimson Dawn reinforces its reputation, altering the landscape of conflict, and illustrating how skill, strategy, and determination can far outweigh raw numbers in the galaxy’s ongoing fight for control.

[stargazing-sapphire2]

Welcome to my blog

Call me Sapphire. I mostly write for Call of Duty on this blog, but also for multiple other fandoms when the obsession gets me. As this is a remake of my old account, I will be attempting to repost old fanfics as well as new ones to add on.

-This is an 18+ account. If you a minor, you will be blocked on sight.

-I will usually lore dump and talk about my OCs on here. My inbox is open for you to spam about your own OCs and fics, so I happily welcome the asks!

-I will start taking writing requests on this blog to try my hand at it. Whether its OCxCanon, CanonxCanon, or X reader content. Just send me your OC's bio in a request and i will do the best I can with it

-I will write for almost anything, within reason. While I won't shy away from most dark and upsetting topics, I will bring up a subject I'm uncomfortable with to not write it. Trigger warnings will also be added in these posts.

-Anon hate will just be deleted/ignored, so don't bother sending it, please.

LINKS:

Call of Duty OCs:

COD - Ghosts:

Elizabeth "Beth" Ashford

Arabella Walker *IN PROGRESS*

Henry Ashford

Helena Rorke

Evangeline "Eva" Ashford

COD - Black Ops:

Lars Pääkkönen

Lydia Graves *IN PROGRESS*

Elena Anderson *IN PROGRESS*

Aleksi and Sveta Pääkkönen *IN PROGRESS*

COD - Modern Warfare (OG and Reboot):

Serena "Alias" Peterson / Metal Zero-5 *IN PROGRESS*

Anya Orlova

Alice "Bones" McGrath *IN PROGRESS*

Ryan Smith *IN PROGRESS*

Catriona Valdés *IN PROGRESS*

Kristoff "Avalanche" Jorgensen *IN PROGRESS*

Laena Thompson *IN PROGRESS*

COD - Advanced Warfare:

Yelena Gavrikova *IN PROGRESS*

COD - WW2 / World At War:

Gunnar Pääkkönen

Archer Sinclair *IN PROGRESS*

Anatoly Flyorov *IN PROGRESS*

FANFIC MASTERLIST (For now):

Command Me To Be Well

The Devil's Gambit

[indynerdgirl]

So you want to write a TopGun fanfic but know absolutely nothing about the US Navy and don't even know where to start looking. You're in luck!

Here are all of the links and notes I've acquired while researching for my own TopGun fanfics. I call this my TopGun Fanfic Writer's Reference Sheet/Info Dump. Hope this helps and happy writing! 😄

Differences Between Navy/Coast Guard Officer Ranks and Army/Air Force/Marine Officer Ranks

There are two other ranks between a Navy Lieutenant and a Navy Captain

A Navy Captain is NOT the same as an Army/Air Force/Marine Captain

A Navy Captain is equivalent to an Army/Air Force/Marine Colonel

Iceman is an Admiral and as such he would be addressed/referred to as 'Admiral Kazansky' or just 'Admiral' (like what Mav calls him when he goes to visit) and NOT 'Commander'.

Simpson (Cyclone) is a Vice Admiral

Bates (Warlock) is a Rear Admiral Upper Half

US Navy's Website - How To Become A Commissioned Naval Officer

Admissions Information/Steps for Applying for the USNA

Info about NROTC - Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps

Info about Naval Officer Candidate School

A Path To Professional Leadership - Becoming A Navy Officer

YouTube Playlist of 50+ Videos With Information Related To Both Top Gun Movies And The Navy In General

Cmdr. Elizabeth Malecha, a Naval Flight Officer, was the first female graduate of Topgun and that wasn’t until 2001.

Cmdr. Becky Calder was the first female pilot to graduate from Topgun and that wasn’t until 2004.

List of currently active United States naval aircraft

Boeing F/A-18E/F Super Hornet Wikipedia Page

How Do You Earn The Coveted Wings of Gold?

Fights On! Podcast - Ep. 1: Wings of Gold (1:47:51) Episode one chronicles the path of naval aviators from college graduate through winging and beyond. Fight’s On! is an eight-episode podcast series about combat aviation training, focusing on how the US takes newly minted Officers and Warrant Officers and molds them into combat aviators able to fight and win in today’s high-tech battlespace.

Told through the stories and experiences of US military aviators in their own voices. Fight’s On! will take the listener on the journey of combat aviators from Initial Flight Training through Advanced Tactical Training and multi-unit exercises, ultimately describing the current and near future systems and programs that will ensure American air dominance into the future. +Listen on Spotify +Listen on Apple Podcasts +Listen on iHeart Podcasts +Listen on PlayerFM United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor program aka TOPGUN

DoD - TOPGUN: Edge of Aviation

US Navy Stories - Patch Wearers: The Real TOPGUN Inside The Real TOPGUN Fighter School

The TOPGUN Legacy: Making Maverick with Capt. Brian Ferguson

Aviation Warfare - Overview of Fixed Wing Aircraft from the USNA website

Wikipedia page for the United States Pacific Fleet

Part of the larger Indo-Pacific Command

Garrison/HQ: Naval Station Pearl Harbor

Commander is appointed by the President with Senate advice and consent.

Commander reports to the Secretary of the Navy (administrative), the Chief of Naval Operations (administrative), and the Commander of US Indo-Pacific Command (operational).

Commander term length is approx. 2-3 years.

As of 2011, the Pacific Fleet has authority over: + Numbered Third and Seventh Fleets + Naval Air Force, Pacific + Commander, Naval Surface Forces Pacific + Naval Submarine Force, Pacific Naval shore commands over which USPACFLT has authority: + Commander Naval Forces Korea + Commander Naval Forces Japan + Commander Naval Forces Marianas

List of US Navy Bases - Both Within The US And Abroad

US Navy Careers - Fighter Pilot

Navy Fighter Pilot Lingo

The Fighter Pilot Podcast - Glossary List

The 100+ Most Creative Pilot Callsigns With Explanations

‘Sidewalk,’ ‘Terminally Stupid,’ and ‘Meatloaf’ — How military pilots get their call signs

DoD - Aviator Call Signs: The History & Naming Rituals

Pilot Callsigns - The web's largest collection of callsign stories

USNA - Naval Aviation

In Naval Aviation, captains with sea commands are Naval Aviators or Naval Flight Officers who are commanding officers of aircraft carriers, commanding officers of large-deck air-capable amphibious assault ships, commanders of carrier air wings (CAG), or commodores of functional or "type" air wings or air groups. A smaller cohort outside of sea and shore commands may also serve as astronauts on loan to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). [X]

Navy captains who are line officers may also fill senior command and staff positions ashore as Chiefs of Staff/Executive Assistants or senior operations officers to flag officers, or they may hold shore command assignments such as commanding officers of naval bases, naval stations, naval air stations, naval air facilities, naval support activities, logistics groups, specialized centers or schools, or commanders of test wings or training air wings. They may also occupy senior leadership positions on fleet staffs, naval component commands staffs, the staffs of the joint Unified Combatant Commands, the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations (OPNAV), or the Joint Staff. [X]

Promotion to captain is governed by DoD policies derived from the Defense Officer Personnel Management Act (DOPMA) of 1980 or its companion Reserve Officer Personnel Management Act (ROPMA). DOPMA/ROPMA guidelines suggest that no more than 50% of eligible commanders should be promoted to captain after serving a minimum of three years at their present rank and after attaining 21–23 years of cumulative commissioned service, although this percentage may be appreciably less, contingent on force structure and the needs of the service. With very few exceptions, such as Naval Aviator Astronaut and Naval Flight Officer Astronaut, unrestricted line officer captains in the Navy will have successfully completed at least one commanding officer assignment at the commander (O-5) level (an aviation squadron for Naval Aviators and Naval Flight Officers) before being selected for promotion to captain. All those selected to the rank of captain by the U.S. Navy are confirmed by the United States Senate.  [X]

An Idiot’s Guide To What Service Members Are Called In Every Branch

...Or you can just keep calling all the Marines soldiers. They secretly love it. Have you ever accidentally called a Marine “Soldier?” The look they gave you probably had you fearing for your life.

We know that trying to remember what to call the members of each military branch can get kind of confusing. Never fear! We’re here to help. This video guide will assure that you’re never in danger of being beat up by a Marine again (at least not for this reason).

This is why Navy pilots prefer to be called ‘naval aviators’

At some time in our military careers, we come across pilots of all sorts, helicopter pilots, Air Force cargo pilots, Navy fighter pilots, etc. While the former two might allow you to refer to them as simply “pilots,” there’s a good chance the naval aviator will take the time to remind you that he or she is an “aviator,” not a pilot.

And there’s a very good, non-egotistical reason for that. We promise.

For hundreds of years before navies around the world were flying jet-powered aircraft off the decks of massive floating cities, “pilots” were operating in navies long before ships had engines that weren’t powered by wind or slaves. In those terms, a pilot is specially qualified to drive a ship in and out of a specific port or a specific area. For large ships, this pilot is someone from outside, who literally comes into your boat and drives it into the harbor because he or she knows the area better than anyone else.

The pilot will roll up next to your ship aboard a pilot boat, which carries the pilot in a boat, one marked “pilot boat.” And those poor guys have to climb up the side of your ship just to park it for you. Both naval aviators and maritime pilots have a hard job that allows for zero error – so call them whatever they want.

[blasphemme]

just finished call of duty black ops. here are some (long, comma abusing, mostly tangentially related) thoughts after playing it for the first time for anyone who might read them!

altogether the campaign was fine, i guess.

as many others have in the past few years following the modern warfare remakes, my online activity has been inundated with thirst edits made of characters in call of duty — despite having never played the games myself. they’re not my thing.

my flatmate, however, has played them. he played them as a kid when they were being released, and he has had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of me watching these edits and reading fanfics (shout out early 351780!!). increasingly annoyed at my thirsting, he has forced me to play every call of duty campaign on the xbox 360.

i’ve found that i actually really enjoy playing cod. it’s enjoyable, action packed and, most importantly, quite compelling. they’re something i’d never have considered playing without him pushing me to play them. i’m more of an assassin’s creed/ace combat/nier girl and always have been. the closest i’d been to playing a shooter before this experience was playing gta, badly.

my flatmate knew my priorities. after an introduction to the premise with world at war — the first game in the black ops series, which i promise i will get to at some point — we played the original modern warfare campaigns first, because i am a wee bit in love with captain john price, and i loved them. the stories, while simple enough to follow (and already knowing about the main character deaths in advance — it’s a 10+ year old series, after all!), were emotionally evocative. i found myself becoming attached to the protagonists quickly and deeply, all the while having a whale of a time fucking around in the rest of the mission. this girl loves just walking onto grenades! between world at war and the modern warfare trilogy of campaigns, i was hooked from the start.

i realise now that i have been spoiled. those campaigns were just too good.

black ops’ campaign pales in comparison to the other four games i’ve played. i will admit that it is still fun — very fun! i enjoyed the feeling of progressing from one badass area to the next, with sam worthington’s horrific american accent and gary oldman’s alright russian accent pushing me through. i also have to admit that i still play like an absolute scrub, but the enjoyment i got from it outweighed the frustration. (mostly.)

black ops lacks the charm and depth i loved in world at war. while fun, every plot twist was spotted as soon as it was hinted to, much to my flatmate’s dismay. it took one guy telling mason to get a hold of himself for me to figure out the twist around reznov, and one recitation of the numbers on the way to the pentagon for me to figure out that mason would go on to kill kennedy. this, in particular, also felt like a bit of a cop-out — having this confirmed in a post-credits scene was disappointing, when i’d gone through the whole game and sat through an eminem song in the credits expecting a sequence where i’d be on the grassy knoll just to end up in a round of zombies. honk shoo.

modern warfare — modern warfare 2 in particular (kevin mckidd’s soap my beloved <3) — introduced new mechanics that’d be used once or twice in the whole game, most of which i enjoyed. the missions where you have to assist tf141 from an ac130 in the first game? stellar. absolutely unmatched. all ghillied up can go fuck itself on a gameplay front though, fuck you if you think i’m gonna figure out what the coriolis effect is. in black ops, the helicopter sequences felt like hate crimes against me personally. poorly designed flight controls and awful combat mechanics combined to make a literally unplayable pair of missions involving attacking other helicopters that i had to beg my flatmate to complete for me. embarrassing.

this game is utterly us army propaganda. the epic final shot in the campaign after killing dragovich — where suddenly 3 aircraft carriers are there waiting for you flying star spangled banners, and 8 fighter jets pass overhead — only resulted in making me cringe and laugh in disbelief, where in 2010 it would’ve made young men enlist. world at war at least has the balance of ‘war is cool and we’re the best’ in the pacific segments and ‘war sucks, actually,’ in the eastern front segments. modern warfare, too, falls face first into the latter, and that’s part of what i enjoyed about it.

even the little fun things weren’t as enjoyable. i didn’t have a favourite gun, or a favourite mission. the star cast choices were okay, but nothing to call home about. there wasn’t a ‘production babies’ segment in the credits, and they made me listen to eminem and pink. what the fuck?

altogether, black ops 1 has the worst campaign of the franchise i’ve played so far. next we’re onto black ops 2, which hopefully won’t come with a free personal statement like this one, and which i’ve been told is one of the best games ever made. we’ll see.

3/10