#cod opinion

[dasybequackin]

Rando thoughts (Cod Ships)

I got some ships I love and shit to say cuz I can (and also talk about the fandom as well):-

NikPrice (Nikolai x Captain Price)

Honestly one of my most fav ship, just very less art I seen of them. It's saddening. (Those who made art of them, I love y'all so much ( ˘ ³˘)♥)

Nik literally give Price his fav gun like that wasn't the sweetest thing??💞

Powerhusbands and no one can convince me otherwise.

AleRudy (Alejandro Vargas x Rodolfo Parra)

Do I seriously need to explain it?

Their tensions, their conversation, everything. THEY ARE BOYFRIENDS UR HONOR-

Also I think their relationship is like very much sweet (pls not the twt toxic shit I don't like those)

Körangi (König X Horangi)

Tbh it's cute, not going to lie the tiktok of them is funny.

Funny how they barely interact yet our delusional ass managed to make scenario of them

And that's what the power of shipping I guess╮(＾▽＾)╭

Kate Laswell x her wife (duh it's canon I love it)

I don't explain this one either because it's basically canon.

Also I want more ART OF THEM

Not a lot of ppl talk about them it's equally saddening

But I wish I became like them too (have a wife (*ﾟｰﾟ*)

Ghoap (Ghost x Soap) (pls not the bad one pls)

Now I got second thoughts abt this, well it's adorable when I saw ppl fanart (not going to lie I giggled my feet everytime)

But I draw the line at some weird dead dove shit (I accidentally saw it on twt and safe to say, I wish to bleach my eyes)

Why the hell y'all can't ship gay men like normal?? (To those who used them in a wrong way)

Other than that, I think the ship is overall adorable and sweet. (Tbh wish I got that relationship frfr)

Yeah I guess that's all? I don't ship much but if I had more I'll add it ig.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Kyle Gaz Garrick fell off a damn helicopter, hang onto a fucking rope, shooting enemies upside down while the helicopter was moving like the coolest fucking character that he is and mfs still decide not to include him in 141 content. I'm convinced that none of them played the games cause I genuinely cannot understand if you played both MW1/MW2 and still decide not include Gaz. And before you cry that people don't have to include him if they don't want to, I know? That doesn't mean I can't express my thoughts on it.

"I don't know him that well" what?! You play BOTH games with Gaz, he's literally the character you know the MOST along with Price. But you know König who's part of the KorTac faction? And include him in 141 TF content but leave out THE 141 member?

The reason why I keep talking about this is because it's kinda concerning on a different level/weird undertones that go further than fiction/game when it comes to Gaz.

P.s: fucking hell, he's so fine it hurts my soul. Till the walls turn white and all oxygen leaves my brain.

[simplynerdilicious-blog]

I'm seeing a lot of Simon is a dog guy vs Simon is a cat guy when it is painfully obvious that Simon is a rat guy.

[msdrpreist]

We don’t talk about the power of Simon being the one to wear his mother’s wedding ring. Like he proposes with a beautiful ring that will fit in with the wedding ring he’s getting made to you but he also sits you down and quietly asks if he can just resize his mothers ring and use that for his wedding ring. It’s a simple band, thick for what a typically feminine ring usually is but no less beautiful. He explains that his grand father proposed to his grandmother with it and then it got passed to his mother and then to Beth before he came to own it. That he’d like to keep you and his family connected. No longer seperated by this life and the afterlife.

The only time you wear it is when he strings it upon a chain and threads it around your neck when he goes off to serve. “You’ll keep ‘em safe for me lovie,” he promises with a kiss to the band and to you.

Idk Simon’s the only mummas boy ever.

[burstinn]

I wanna see a buff, or chubby bottom make reader like a literal tough guy getting dicked

No Offence I don't wanna keep seeing the same story of a twink getting topped by a big buff guy

I want atleast a buff male reader getting railed.. Guys.. pls pls PLEASE

Or like a very dominant looking male reader only for them to be topped

Edit:

When I go to bottom male reader tag and some stories remind me of this

I know some people wanna feel that way but personally yknow I don't like it.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Ghost: do you think I can make rudy my platonic wife if I ask ale?

Gaz: 🤨 what happened to soap?

Ghost: soap isn't platonic. Answer the question.

Gaz: idk ask him

~~ on a video call with ale ~~

Ghost: can I make rudy my wife? Platonically.

Ale: idk let me ask.

Ale, yelling off screen: hey, rudy! Can ghost make you his platonic wife!

Rudy, off screen, yelling back: what happened to soap!

Ale: he asked what happend to soap?

Ghost: he's not platonic.

Ale, yelling off screen again: he saying it's not platonic!

Rudy: I thought we already knew that!

Ale, to rudy: we did!

Rudy: then tell him I said yes!

Ale, to ghost: he said yes.

Ghost: great.

Ghost: *hangs up*

Gaz: .. so?

Ghost: he said yes

[ka-wa-bunga]

Watched Labyrinth

Only had a FEW ideas, just a few

YEP

Definitely just a few.

(Sorry it's been fifty years since the last time I posted, got a new job and ha ent had much free time)

[kaitaiga]

Killin’ Time

Haven’t made a render in a hot minute! Got around to adjusting Damien’s model and decided to do a little something 👀 seeing how well my gpu could perform lol (I’m surprised honestly)

Haven’t really done much oc stuff in canon as of late so it’s nice to get back to it. Damo and Gaz have known each other since 2019 and they’ve only grown closer in friendship thanks to Price and Lachlan’s antics over the games-

Here’s them messing about in an ops room, probably during some downtime in between missions 😂 maybe you’re the playable character observing their behaviour🤷🏻‍♀️

I eventually want to do more of those fake in-game mission screenshots but I have no idea which one! If you have any suggestions, let me know 🤓

Without text below:

Taglist (in/out): @alypink @efingart @revnah1406 @eccentrcks @welldonekhushi @islandtarochips @breadtheend @sleepyconfusedpotato @deadbranch @mortal-kombattore-115 @justasmolbard @imagoddamnonionmason @moossnesc @itsastronxmy @cloudofbutterflies92 @alexa-mwll @shinmiyovvi @walder-138

[mie-png]

Them

[fulltacs]

me engaging with “problematic” fics

[xxetherealsweetheartxx]

[franabz]

★ Task Force 141 Band AU (PILOT)

(my asks are open for whoever has questions or is interested in the concept!! feel free to slide in)

Soap would be the drummer, and a damn wild one at that. He was never really good at singing and has a tendency to hide away in his garage to slam away on his drum set like the gates of hell were opening up. He usually performs without a shirt due to how sweaty and overheated he gets while performing, simply personal preference. Like Price, he is also a massive enjoyer of mosh pits and sometimes begins playing even harder as he watches the crowd dance around and head-bang like a pile of fish. He loved it.

Gaz would be the bassist/background vocalist, always keeping on rhythm and adding that extra flair to each song that it just needed. He has a very nice singing voice, but is way too stage shy to be the lead vocalist, though many fans wonder how he could be so scared with the sultry voice of a godsend. Despite his shy demeanor on stage he is very upbeat and enthusiastic with each note played, whether it be head bobbing or full on hopping around stage like a lunatic when he is in the zone.

Price would be the manager and rhythm guitarist, easily the most experienced of the bunch. He is the one that organized the idea of a band and gets the group gigs and whatnot. On stage he is pretty laid back and reserved, though he does get very into the music. He also isn't very good of a singer due to constant voice cracks or flat notes because of his smoker lungs, something he refuses to quit despite best efforts. Despite his reserved demeanor, he absolutely loves it when mosh pits start, often tossing guitar picks into the crowd and watching the audience roar in shouting and cheers.

Ghost would be the lead guitarist and vocalist, though not very interactive with the fans. He has a deep and gruff baritone voice, one that makes the ladies swoon at just the mere thought, though he quickly learned to not pay any mind to it. When in the zone, he's an absolute beast. Fingers flying across the fretboard like it was the last song on earth, sometimes so hard his fingers would start bleeding all over his guitar; though he doesn't seem to care. Nobody had ever seen his face, which furthermore adds to the mystery of the masked guitarist.

The group was going through a dry spot in their gigs and decided it was time to find a new addition to the band; you.

Price decided to take the band to a local bar that was currently hosting a bands night, the perfect opportunity to find potential candidates to fill the secondary background vocals position. Everyone was on board with the idea of a new member, being enthusiastic about it if anything. But not Ghost.

"They'll all be shite." He'd repeat like a broken record, as if that would do anything to change Price's mind.

Now here they are, seated in a secluded part of the bar and scoping out the crowds like hawks, the soft intermission instrumentals and the dimmed yellow lights mixed with the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes filling the musky air.

Soap came back from the bar with four shots, setting the glasses onto the sticky wooden table and sliding into the booth beside Ghost, a small smirk across his lips.

"Figured ye needed some liquid courage b'fore tae bands c'me out." The Scotsman chuckled over the overlapping noise of crowded patrons, raising a hand to give Ghost a firm pat on the shoulder, one of which caused him to grumble something inaudible under his balaclava.

"Ts' all useless." Ghost grunted, raising the edge of his balaclava briefly to take a sip of his lukewarm bourbon, curling his lip in disgust. "You ever stop complainin', Si?" Price huffed, placing a cigar between his lips and lighting the other end with a cheep lighter, the thick smoke pooling from his lips and wafting into the air. "Jus' being realistic." He jeered, watching as the lights of the pub began to dim and the stage-lights brightened, illuminating the stage. A stage manager emerged from behind the wings and gently tapped the top of the microphone before clearing his throat and addressing the audience.

"Good 'fternoon everyone! I hope you are all havin' a good night!" The man spoke, his voice quickly followed by an uproar of applause and cheering. Gaz laughed lightly at the enthusiasm; mainly from the piss drunk bar patrons. "To start off this night, let's all give a warm welcome to the first band of the night, Woodland!" As he added that final segment, the audience roared even louder as the stage manager handed off the microphone to the lead vocalist of the band, a girl by the stage name Vixen.

As the band started loading on stage, Price was vigilantly scanning each member for potential candidates, already mentally rehearsing what he would say as a proposition to whoever he deemed fit for an invite. Ghost sat in his booth with a quiet scowl across his face, though it was mostly hidden by his balaclava. Everyone seemed the same as the rest; too cocky for their own damn good. He scoffed and leaned back in his seat, folding strong arms over his broad chest and reached for his shot glass, before pausing briefly, a flicker of interest crossing over his gaze as one member in specific crossed the stage and grabbed their microphone; you.

This was about to get interesting.

[ivestas]

Thank you for writing my request, I loved it!! I have another idea but it's a deeper subject so I understand not everyone is comfortable with writing about it. Could you write about a younger reader and the team see self harm wounds and scars while they were injured or while they were changing? (Something along those lines) and what they would do/ react? Xx

what is most precious to you?

Summary: The 141 discover a part of you that you’d wanted to bury.

Tags: TW s/elf harm scars + sui/cide and talk of it, please read carefully/don't read if this topic triggers you, platonic!141 x medic!fem!reader, reader implied to be mentally ill, younger!reader, descriptions of blood and injury, canon typical violence, soap + ghost focused, unedited

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: im glad u enjoyed the previous req anon! i hope I'm able to do this req justice too 🫡

You’d been a part of the 141 long enough for the others to know and trust you.

An esteemed medic that knew medicine and all things fixing like the back of her hand, despite your age—it was a natural skill, it seemed. Your hands were always so damn fast with a gauze—hell, even a dirty rag you’d make use of in an instant. 

You were just good. Reliable. Consistent. Seemingly just a normal young lady whose only eccentricity was the job she chose to be: a medic for a merc group. 

Soap often liked to joke about that normalcy that clung onto you. 

“Bet when you’re on leave you work a 9 to 5 and sleep right at 8. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You snorted. “No, I’d sleep at 9.” 

“Ohhhhh, daring! Don’t be too crazy! Ya might just lose a leg!” 

Even Ghost would sometimes jump in, adding his own joke occasionally. 

“Should I get you a planner for your birthday? A nice, minimalist one with neutral stickers to match.”

You’d scoff and jab back, whether it be at Ghost’s mask or Soap’s current and past hair-styles.

But they never gave you a tough time about it—they were glad that one of them was able to blend back to civvy life with ease. 

Price even said it was his favorite trait—”sometimes, you need the practicality and mindset of a normal lady to get shit done.”

“Thanks?” 

The guys all had a similar image of what your childhood was like: middle-class, parents all stiff-like and old-timey, your favorite hobbies probably were things like football or reading, things like that. 

However, that image shattered during a post-mission intermission. 

Things went wrong, completely askew—the enemies were clearly prepared for the attack, because landmines were everywhere and the area was crawling with hostiles.

It was a resounding loss—many casualties, wounded, etc. 

You could hardly keep up, trying to patch up as many as possible, even when the sky rained of bullets and the air tasted thickly of gunpowder and death. It was like a place between purgatory and hell, a constant flow of shouts, screams, explosions.

It was too late for you to noticed a bullet grazed your arm; it was deep enough to be visible, but luckily it wasn’t aimed low enough for it to shoot into your arm. 

You had ignored the wound—in your mind, it only made sense to focus on the soldiers who were fighting for their lives and riddled with bullet wounds. 

So you just did that: focus on them. 

But, due to the constant movement and strain, the graze only worsened, almost tearing. The adrenaline numbed the pain, but you knew it was gonna hurt like a bitch soon enough. 

Luckily though, Ghost shouted in your ear through the comms. 

“Bravo-1, retreat!—fuckin’ hell—everyone, retreat!”  

You did just that—retreat. 

Huffing and puffing, you were quick to run to the distant chopper you recognized as the 141′s. A haze of sand was the only saving grace as it covered you from the enemies direct line of sight.

Soap pulled you into the helicopter with a quick grab of your wrist, completely unaware of the graze that arm sustained. You let out a sharp hiss of pain, feeling the skin tear just a little more. 

The entrance of the helicopter shut, and with both of you heaving, the plane finally shot back into the air, rocking back and forth the slightest bit. The sound of bullets slowly melted away into harsh whirring and mechanical buzz. 

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling sharply before you got up, arm still bleeding. 

But, strangely, you felt it drip along your arm and into your hand, running along your finger—ah, it should’ve been obvious, the sleeve of your wounded arm had completely torn. 

You lifted the arm, examining the wound. 

Scars of varying sizes, textures, and freshness—some having strange bubbly dots, others consisting of messy lines. Some of the fresher scars had torn a little, causing thin lines or red to rise. 

Your blood ran cold. You glance up, hoping—praying—that Soap didn’t see, or even understand the implications. 

But you could see he was staring, the cogs in his mind slowly snapping together. 

You put your arm away to your side, hiding it from his view. 

“Lass—“

“I need a medkit. We have one on the plane?” 

You loathed the look of sadness, of pity that shone in his eyes, pulled at the muscles of his face. 

Don’t. Stop.

I’m not weak. Don’t—I’m not weak! 

A chorus of words, feelings, of palpable dark was what filled your mind now. Insecurity, self-hatred, all of it—you’d been working on it, trying to regulate, to reason with the miasma that had taken ahold of your consciousness.

But, fuck, you’ve revealed it to Soap of all people—he felt bad, didn’t he? Disgusted? Worried? He was gonna tell Price, wasn’t he? That your unfit for the 141, that—

A hand rested on the top of your shoulder.

“Can I patch you up?” Soap asked softly. 

You grit your teeth. Moving away from his hand, you shook your head, glaring at the floor. A small splatter of blood was there. “I can fix it myself.” 

You expected—wanted—him to berate you. 

But he didn’t. He was kind. 

“Sure, kid. I’ll just get ya the med kit—stay put.” 

Another wave of shame rocked you. You sat on one of the small seats connected to the walls of the heli, rubbing away the small bits of dried blood. 

Consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t hear Soap murmuring to Ghost. 

“The kid—she, ah...” He ran a finger along his wrist. “Catch my drift?” 

“Cutting herself?” Ghost said bluntly. 

“Sometimes I wish you had a little more tact, L.T.” 

Ghost ignored him. “They fresh or old?”

“Both,” he sighed, grabbing a med kit from one of the plane’s various compartments. “What’re we supposed to do? Don’t wanna scare off the kid, but don’t wanna leave her on her own devices hacking away at ‘erself!” 

Ghost grabbed the kit from his hands. “I’ll handle this. You sit down—go near the Captain. Try to leave us some privacy.” 

Hesitantly, Soap nodded. “Work your magic, sir.” 

Ghost made his way to the other end of the helicopter where you were. You were hunched over your wound, a deep frown on your face. It’s uncharacteristic, but he knew it was a part of yourself you’d prefer to be shrouded in dark. Suffering wasn’t a nice look, was it?

But it was human. Denying your own right to feel it—it made Ghost frown too.

He sat beside you, kit in his hand. You had finally looked up then, alarmed. 

“Gimme your arm, kid.” 

You opened your mouth.

“Not leavin’ till I patch your arm up, so don’t even try.” 

Shamefully, you lifted your arm slowly. 

He took it with gentle but firm hands, a thumb running along a faint scar. 

Ghost opened the kit haphazardly with another hand. 

“When I was your age—maybe a little younger—couldn’t find much meaning in everything.”

He lifted his hand from your arm and grabbed alcohol and a small cotton rag. Dampening the rag with alcohol, he drew it to your arm, rubbing away the excess blood and cleaning the wounds. You didn’t make any noise, only breathing raggedly. 

“The suffering was pointless, in my eyes; thought, ‘this isn’t bloody fair’. Born in a shitty house with a shitter father, food hardly ever on the table, my mind deteriorating, and the world cast in deep gray.”

You nodded. 

Ghost grabbed a bandage gauze, unravelling it and wrapping it gently around the graze and the scars. It was calming, watching him work away, even if the wrapping was a little clumsy. 

“The harsh reality came a little while later, and it’s that people like me—us—we gotta work hard for shit to change. That this weight forced upon us, it’s only we that can shed it off. It’s still not fair—frankly, suicide is easier. Thought of doing it for the longest time... But...” 

He shook his head. “In my eyes, it’s a coward’s way out. We should never die by our own hands—there’s always something to live for.”

“What are you living for?” 

“Mmmm.... For tomorrow’s pint.” 

You laughed. 

He grabbed a safety pin and pinned the end of the gauze. “...now, I know it’s ‘silly’ to say, but you know we’re here for you?—the 141′s got your back, kid—how about this, let’s make a deal.”

“Yeah?” 

“You ever have the urge to cut yer arm, you come straight to me, or the others. They’ll listen. They care.”

They care.  

It’s weird, but hearing the words said out loud, it hit you. 

They really care. 

You took in a shaky breath. “Thank... you.” 

“It’s no problem at all, kid. Stay strong.”

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[rejectedbytheempty]

i know everyone on tik tok likes to paint ghost as this daddy dom type but really out of everyone on tf141, i feel like he would be the least likely to do that shit.

[laughroditee]

Okay hear me out. I know this is stupid but I can't get it out of my head. Imagine you're in 141 and you hear a dude is being transferred in with the callsign "Clown" or some shit and you're like wtf. But then you see him and he's like a literal clown. And everyone's like "oh....".

*Clown puts on CFP before the mission to make a literal clown face.*

Price: *comes to check on his team and sees Clown.* "What the fuck, sergeant, are you serious?"

Clown: "Never, sir."

Price: .... *Exaggerated sigh*

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap: I think centaurs are a terrible mythological creature. Anatomically... And that they're actually horror creatures

Gaz, squinting at him trying to process what he just heard: ...are you high?

Soap: I can only see two options for what a centar looks like. Option one- the typical half-man, half-horse. Remove the horse neck, replace with a human torso. That would mean you have a human head, a human neck, 2 human arms, 2 different torsos, and 4 horse legs. This gives me many questions.

Price: why am I here?

Soap: first of all, does that mean it has 2 sets of organs? If it does how does the horse-half get air to its lungs? If it doesn't where do all the organs go? Do the lungs have to be extra big to compensate for 2 torsos? Where would they go? In the human torso? Do the rest of the organs then go into the horse-half? Does that mean the rest of the organs are extra large? If it were to wear pants, how?

Price: I hate it here.

Gaz, horrified but intrigued: ..go on...

Soap, no longer paying attention: or option two- just a regular human body, but the butt is actually a horse torso. That means you have an entire human just with an extra horse body and 2 horse legs. I still have questions on the organs. And how does it pee or poop like this. Does this version need pants? How does it wear them?

Gaz: I see what you mean by horror creature, now...

Soap: oh this isn't what I meant by horror creature, though I suppose that could be part of it.

Gaz: wha-

Soap: I mean because they're always depicted to be muscular, but I can't see a way that the human half would have the ability and range of motion the build that muscle. So this leads me to believe that the fat is perhaps stored in the horse half of the centar. This would explain the defined musculature of the human half, but it also probably means that it is very lean and pale and knobly, and with too well defined musculature. If this is the case that centars would likely create a sort of uncanny valley feeling, therefore I have concluded that centaurs are horror creatures.

Gaz: 😨

Ghost, with heart eyes: ... I'm gonna marry you