#mwf3

[shyravenns]

Drew some ghostsoap summer fun (coughdatecough) since it’s been so hot where I live recently 😭

[applejuicebegood]

All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

Summary: Stressing over the cooking for that evening and bad memories, Y/N finds Gaz who talks them through what their feeling. A/N: Wrote this for the very sweet @midnights-song and @kaoyamamegami for their very kind words on my last fic. This one is a sorta fallow up, please enjoy! Masterlist

Cw: Descriptions of absent + alcoholic mother, mentions of PTSD-related flashbacks, elder-child syndrome Word Count: 1960

The smell of cedar smoak and garlic clung to your hands and hair. A dull ache snaked its way up the back of your knees and into your thighs. Wringing your hands with a damp tea-towel you looked over your kitchen, the results of your labour tucked away in the humming oven and boiling on the stove top. Flour and spices swirled together across every vacant surface, oil-stained pots and bowls crowded your skink, and potato skins and egg shells were crowded in a pile across from the filled compost bin you were meaning to take outside to feed to your chickens. You puffed out a long breath, resting your wrists on your hips. You had finally finished all of the cooking for tonight's supper for your teammates. 

Your experience with cooking has been relegated to that of your small family. The distant memories of your aunts and grandmothers crowded in the same kitchen where you stood now, knives and peelers making quick work of the harvested meat and potatoes your farm had cultivated. It was the only thing you recalled as you struggled to discern the cramped handwriting of the recipes left behind by your family. Their jovial laughing and quick gaelic speak now distant memories carved into the cabinets and countertops. Smeared on the vintage china and cast iron skillets hung on the oak walls. If you stayed still and concentrated enough you could remember the feeling of your grandmother's rough palm on your supple cheek and her lips on your forehead. The smell of milk and wheat wafting through your senses. 

You were much younger then. Your fingers easily slipping onto the knife's blade and your wrists burned from boiling pasta water. You needed to use your baby sister's step stool to stand over the cutting board properly. Your mother was too busy passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey slipping from her limp grasp to worry about feeding her children. You were the eldest, therefore it became your job to try and emulate the effortless dance you watched your female relatives perform every holiday season or family reunion. 

Now you were quicker, easily controlling the tools in your scarred, tattooed hands. Your time in the military proved helpful in quickening your reaction speed, allowing you to cut through the squash and potatoes faster than before. You had begun the cooking process that morning, refusing the offered help from your teammates. Insisting that guests shouldn’t be expected to cook and that you could handle it. And you could, although it resulted in the ache in your thighs spreading into your lower back, causing a hushed groan to escape from your throat as you tugged at the roots of your hair. 

You quickly turned at the harsh thumping of boots on the creaking wooden stairs. Drawn out of your spiralling stupor. 

‘Holy.. smells fucking amazing in here lass..’ ‘Language! Johny!’ You say through clenched teeth, motioning to the living room couch where your baby sister was supposed to be sitting next to your captain. The volume of the football game on the TV turned down. Johnny winced in apology, hushing his booming voice to a whisper. ‘Sorry.. Sorry, here you go sit.. I’ll clean’ 

Johnny says after looking you over and taking the towel from your hands. Your team had gotten good at noticing when exhaustion or strain worked its way into each other's bodies. Your hunched shoulders and wide eyes giving away your building stress. ‘Oh Johnny no.. you don’t have too-’ ‘Yea.. yea, Go sit lassie.. After mak’in all this food I’m surprised you're still standing’ Johnny says ushering you to the living room before patting your shoulder and turning to find a starting point in the stack of dishes. 

You sigh. The instinct of obeying your higher ranking sergeant hadn’t seemed to wear off yet. Walking to the couch you expected to have your little sister squeal and jump into your arms. Only to find her little body curled against your captain’s side. Her hands bunched up under her chin, the delicate skin of her eyelids shut. Price’s head rested on the back of the couch with his arms stretched out over the cushions, his mouth slightly agape. You quietly leaned down to brush your sister's forehead, as if in response she snuggled her cheek against Price’s side at your touch, not wanting to be woken up just yet. Price twitched in his sleep, pulling Emi closer against him. You kissed the side of her head, pulling the knitted blanket up over her shoulders and across your captain's lap. The warm prick of relief spread across your skin at the realization that your baby sister had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep in the circle of your captain's embrace. Hoping that she had found someone other than you to admire and emulate.  

You made your way to the back porch, pulling on a leather overcoat to protect your warmth from the bite of the winter air. As you swung the glass door open, the brush of cold against your warm cheeks soothed you, your breath clouding up in front of you. You looked out onto the backyard of your farm, a few metres of blanketed gardening space trailing out to the fenced off cliff side. The clothesline pole used in the warmer months stood to the right, the cable attached to the house swinging in the swirling wind. The fence built to keep your cows and sheep and your sisters from roaming too close to the cliff edge poked out from the dull white snow. Past the drop of land, you could see the storm-grey waves churning and thrashing against each other like fighting children. Stretching further into the distance. You slowed your breathing and shut your eyes, trying to test if you could hear the water slap against the cliff side. When you were little, you would climb through the wire fencing and peer over the cliff's edge, never realizing how if you took only a few more steps death would embrace you like the waves embraced the fistfulls of grass and pebbles you would toss over the edge. Sometimes you wished you could return to that state of not even being afraid of falling from a cliff face. 

‘Hey.. Y/N?’ ‘Oh! Kyle.. shit you scared me!’ 

The jolt of surprise at Gaz’s voice ran up your spine and over your chest. In your daze, you didn’t realize Gaz settled on the porch's couch, a book from the living room shelf open in his lap. The deck held a few mismatched outdoor chairs and a couch, crowded with old throw pillows and spear blankets. Small metal lanterns hung overhead, painted and decorated by your sisters when they were both in primary school. The dwindling candle light gently swayed over Gaz’s smooth brown skin, a warm break from the multitude of grey stretching out before you. 

‘Heh sorry, here.. Sit. You look like you need a break’ Your boots scuffed against the deck floor as you settled yourself by Kyle. You tucked your legs up underneath you with a groan. The pain settling in your legs. You were still fixated on the blurred horizon line stretching beyond the haze of clouds that were beginning to roll in from the town harbour. Gaz’s presence beside you blurring like the apparent ending of the surrounding oceans. ‘Hey.. you alright?’ Gaz asked with the snap of his book shutting. ‘Yeah.. yeah of course.. Just, just thinking about.. Ya know, I mean… I-I just want things to be good for you guys’ You say, looking up at him. Folding your arms over your chest. ‘What.. What do you mean? Y/N.. things have been perfect, I honestly don’t know what else you could do to make this trip more enjoyable’ ‘I know.. I mean- I think, I don’t know Gaz.. I just worry that.. that this isn’t.. Ugh! I don’t even know what i’m saying’ You chuckle, gripping your head as you run a hand through your hair. Glancing at Gaz you notice him scratching the jagged scar on his forearm. 

It was during a mission in your last deployment that an enemy soldier split his skin open with a combat knife. Your stitches were frantic and clumsy, being that you were in the back of a moving helicopter for the evac and you had to watch the consciousness drain out of your friend's face. You noticed how as the cut started to heal Gaz would scratch at the scar absently, something that annoyed you being that it would remind you that the split wouldn't be so gnarled had you been able to keep your shaking hands steady.  ‘You really have no clue how to stop worrying..’

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

‘Worrying ‘bout you lot is my job.. It’s not something I can just.. Turn off’ You were frustrated, picking at the loose threads of the embroidered pattern lacing around your skirt. ‘I get that. I had that during my first break home, not being able to remember how to.. Ya know.. Be normal. To be a person and not a soldier. God, it would drive Ma mad, how I could only get up at five in the morning and.. Ya know.. The flashbacks’ You watched him as he talked, his rich brown eyes cast down at his hands. ‘There really isn’t a proper way to “be normal”, not after what you've been through, what you’ve seen. But that's not something you have to figure out on your own.. I mean hell, most of us would be dead if you weren't on this team Y/N’ ‘Ha.. I know’ ‘Exactly, what I mean is.. You've got people around you who would do anything for you. And we are probably the only ones who know what it’s like to be stuck in trying to remember who you were before deployment. It’s something we’ve all experienced, so don’t you believe for a second you should go through it by yourself.’ Gaz leaned forward, placing his hand on your knee. You instinctively took his fingers into your own, his hands cold. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, gently nodding your head. Your smile tight, trying to hold back the growing dampness in the corners of your eyes. You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over his knuckle. He squeezed your fingers back, a silent language you shared when words were too daunting to put together. You always found it shocking how this kind of comfort felt like it was being directed at someone else. Like it was a puzzle piece ripped in half, it could still fit in the piece but it appeared foreign. You weren't used to it, and how easily it appeared to flow from Gaz. In his words and in his viable willingness to help you. The unusual sensation of being understood made it hard to express your gratitude for it, Gaz knew this. Which is why you both sat there, in a shared understanding only the both of you as colleagues and friends could have. ‘You smell great by the way’

His blunt comment caused a ripple of laughter to fall from your lips, a tear drifting down the bridge of your nose. ‘You dick..’ You scoffed, leaning your head onto his shoulder, tucking your arm under his. 

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

You mumble, directing your attention back to the grey horizon line. ‘What does that mean..?’ Gaz asks, following your gaze outwards. You respond with a simple sigh. The stress and aching dissipated for the moment, something you didn’t want to risk losing with your supposed inability to properly thank Gaz for his tenderness and care.

A/N: ‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’ translates to 'your such an angel' in Irish Gaelic

[i-luv-carl-grimes]

A light that never goes out

‧⁺˚*･༓☾ 𖤓 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Au: okay so... Simon Ghost Riley

Simon “ghost” Riley x (f) Reader

--

Another

The palm of my hand began to ache

Again

Mag after Mag, target after target, round after round.

Keep going

"Rain"

Don't stop.

Shot, after shor. No misses. No mistakes.

"Y/N!"

Captain

I missed.

"Fuck..." I uttered before putting the pistol down. "You've been at it for a while, private Rain" Captain Price said. "What time is it?" I looked back at the target I missed. "1900" I sighed, it was late. "Just practicing" I tried to shrug him off. "Your practicing your already perfect shot?" not perfect enough if I missed. "I missed" he noticed that, I know he did. "I interfered, that was on me... Call it a night private" I was gonna argue but I knew my place... Learned that the hard way. "Yes sir" I was about to walk away when he stopped me. "Meet me outside in the court yard for lunch, I got news for ya"... My heart dropped, news was never good. "Yes sir" my words with him quickly become repetitive. "Dismissed". I didn't say anything just walked back into the sleep house.

I made my way to my section and got up on my bunk. The other girls in my section were already asleep. I went to grab my notebook with I felt a shot of pain in my hand making me whinse a bit. I looked at my hand and noticed deep blisters on my palm. I just grabbed and bandage and wrapped it up... What was Captain Price doing in a military camp. Something wasn't right.

Yet another restless night. Sleep never came easy and Price being here gave my mind a reason to spiral.

After eating breakfast it was back to training. "What did ya do to you hand?" a girl named Lilly asked while we ran laps. "Blisters" I wasn't one for small talk. "Again? Let me guess you got caught up in the shoot range? Anyway did you hear about Task Force 141?" this immediately took my attention. "No? Why?" Task force 141 was under Captain Price he was the field commander, at least that's what I've come to understand. "I heard some high ups talking with Captain Price, somethin' 'bout needed an extra hand" okay bullshit. "You shouldn't waist your time spreading false info," I replied in a cold manner before speeding up. Why the hell would a hand picked special task force of some of the best soldiers need a "extra hand" and why look for it in trainee's?... Wait... Why is Captian Price here.

Yet another spiral, I needed to ignore it. I'm a private not a soldier, and definitely NOT apart of a task for- "Private Rain (a code name/ nickname given by Captain Price himself) Captain Price would like to speak with you" did he say at lunch. "Yes sir" I moved off of the track and saw two soldiers ready to escort me... This is all odd.

I was lead into a building that was mainly used for small meetings. Then they lead me inside, there sat Captain Price, a Sargent. "Private, take a seat" I sat down

Is someone gonna tell me what the fuck was going on!?

"So... (Y/n) (Y/l/n)" Captain Price started. "You definitely excited my expectations to say the least" where was this going? I could feel my throat dry up, how was I suppose to feel in this type of situation? "Thank you Captain" the words rolled through my lips unevenly. "In just three months you improvement as well as skill have passed the others" why was he sweet talkin' me like he was about to tell me somethin' bad. "Sargent mind taking over?" my Sargent cleared his throat. "I'm sure your aware of the task force 141?" he looked over at me "Yes sir," I'm just gonna be moved to a different training camp that's all right? "Well as you know that task force is one of our best and the members are all hand picked by higher ups..." it was as if the prices in my mind clicked. "... No shot-" I quickly shut myself up. "We wanna take you in on a mission” Captain Price finally admitted. “…Captain as much as a trust your judgment I have to ask you to think this one over” I knew that was not my place but it was true I was by all means not NEARLY ready enough for that. “It’s not a segregation Private it’s an order” Sargent said and I wanted to say something back but kept my composure. “Yes sir, my apologies” It was crystal clear I didn’t mean that. “You will be picked up and taken to a base in the UK, dismissed” Captain Price said and I got up then exited the room, once the door was closed I took a deep breath before I tuned into the conversation behind the door. “If that kid die’s, the blood in on your hand Captain, do not make me regret this.” Sargent said harshly. “This way Private” two solders said then escorted me out.

I sat down on my bunk and looked at the grey creaked concrete floors. “…why the fuck would they need a trainee as extra hands, and why me? What was Price thinking!? Has he lost it…” question after question left with no answers none of this made a single amount of sense and it was making me rip out my hair the more my thoughts spiraled. I should be honored, but I’m not, I’m confused… I haven’t been training for more then 2 years now, the solders on task force 141 had trained WAY longer then that…I knew I was a good shot, a hell of a good one, but nowhere NEAR as good as the men on that task force. I looked at my bandaged hand and curled my fingers into a fist. 

Nothing I can do about this now. Tomorrow I’m gonna be put with the best, and I couldn’t do jack shit to stop it. I needed to clear my mind. I hopped down and went the the shooting range once more.

—

Au: okay so obviously this was just a little snippet of what I hope to be a cool series to start but only if Yall like it so far, I’m obviously gonna go more in-depth with this in the next part this was just to introduce the story line and what not.

[pursuit-of-h4ppinss]

Sometimes I get surprised by the weird glitches in warzone!! At least they're funny 🤣

[iblameashley]

Call of Duty MW3 Petition

I don't know if this will do anything or not, but I always figure its worth a shot to try and make companies change and do better.

I was a part of the Make MELE Inclusive campaign for Mass Effect Legendary Edition, and that sadly failed. Bioware refused to engage or make changes.

But I was also a part of the Make Jaal Bi campaign and we succeeded on that one! So I am putting this out here in hopes Tumblr can just try to make a difference with this game.

Please take some time to look the petition over and consider signing. If you don't want to sign, please reblog?

Petition link.

I don't have a large platform here or Twitter, but I'm giving it a shot.

[l4xu0riipng]

THEM !! THEY !!!!! THE THEMS!!!!!!

These losers better be okay next campaign or i swear to god i’ll fucking RIOT,, ik this is prolly outta character for them but the mw3 trailers are KILLINGGGG MEEEEEEE AND I NEEDED TO CHANNEL IT OUT SOMEHOW . HERE U GO TUMBLR YOU GAY FUCKS

[confused-wanderer]

SPOILERS!! COD MWF III

TW: MCD (you have been warned)

—————————————————————————

“Johnny” “Soap” “MacTavish”

Please

There’s a shadow in the corner of my room, and I am sure he can hear my heart breaking. The twisting feeling of a knife making sure when it’s done I stay dead.

“Aye, fit’s wrong?”

And the voice is the reason for it. The sobs break free, fingers shaking, itching to reach out for him. To hug him, to offer words of comfort and demand he never leave. I can’t do this. I won’t, I can’t let go. Please, I need him to stay.

And he’s there. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, the outline of his Mohawk visible as he comes closer. His brown eyes are full of worry, and when I can’t meet them anymore I look away, notice his hands are shaking too.

“You’re dead,” I rasp, barely able to believe the words myself. Dead. Dead and gone. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it happen to those I loved, who were world of pages, ink and binary. But I loved them. And I grieved. Every single time.

“Ah’m not”

He knows I’ve seen it happen. Everyone has.

“Makarov shot a fucking bullet in your head. Price, Ghost, Gaz, they were all there. I was there. ”

Soap nods, sliding down next to me with his eyes still searching my face.

“But I’m not dead. That wasnae me. Wasnae all o’ me. They made me, ah’ll give em tha”, but they didnae kill me. They cannae. Know why?”

I shake my head, too afraid to whisper or he might fade.

“They brought me into existence. You brought me to life. Filled me with stories, with grief and love, with tiny tics of personality and family. You made me yours. Ah belong to you. They killed their version of me. But the others, the thousands of others people made, ah still live there. Still am alive. Death, the cocky bastard he is, isnae coming to get me.”

“Maybe you’re still alive.. maybe they just pretended to kill you.”

“Hope is dangerous. They might’ve, might not have. But I’m not dead. I am yours. And I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. This- the taskforce, the lore, me, Gaz, Ghost, Roach, everyone, everyone is yours too. They’re all what you want them to be. Just because we’re stories, doesnae mean we aren’t truth. So many people have their own versions of reality, of life so why not stories? Stories that are yours to do with as you please?”

“So you’re not dead.”

“Do you want me to be?”

“.. no. I don’t. I really don’t.”

“Then I’m not.”

“But the game-“

“The game,” He laughs softly, shaking his head, “the game may have given me a one way ticket to Hell, but if you say so, I might just miss the boarding call.”

And with that he gets up, dusting his pants and muttering in Gaelic about cleaning up my room a bit. There’s a hope fluttering in my chest, and I look to meet his eyes.

“Where are you going?”

He winks, giving a mock salute before strutting out of the room.

“I’m going home kid, to the taskforce. You should start heading back to your reality soon too.”

—————————————————————————

Listen, we’re all free to do with canon as we please. But there’s been so much negativity I’ve been hearing about others either saying everyone should just accept the canon and move on or asking why people are being so soft or just overall toxicity towards others about the event that shall not be named. People are allowed to grieve, or react however they want as long as it’s not hurting anyone. There are cases where the fandom is steadfast in their own reality that canon bends to them. Basically all I’m saying is:

Fictional characters are old friends we’ve known our whole lives, but never met in this one. So be kind to one, and let’s all keep our Soap happy and alive 😄

[l4xu0riipng]

EVERYONE SUPPORT THE WRITERS ON STRIKE!!! (adding fandom tags for more reach)

Facebook deleted this almost immediately. It's almost like the ultrawealthy don't want us knowing or talking about what's at stake.

[shyravenns]

Some Nikolai stuff (in between exams 😭)

[applejuicebegood]

They'll Never Let Me Be - Plationic!Gaz x Reader

Fem!reader Summary: Gaz helps Y/N through a bad panic attack where they open up about their assault. A/N: This is extremly self-indulgent and written based on my own experience. This is also very dark and somewhat graphic in it's descriptions. Please DNI if this is triggering for you. Masterlist

CW: Descriptions of rape and assault. Descriptions of trauma and panic attacks. Mentions of guns.

Word count: 2204

Your skin felt like it was burning. A deafening itch that burrowed through your bones and constricted your lungs. It made breathing difficult. Every time you exhaled it sounded like your vocal cords were being dragged through barbed wire. Your vision felt like it was sliding over ice with how fast it darted around the empty medical wing. The vacant gurneys and silver trays crowded with scalpels cast crushed-black shadows across the tiled floor. They twisted and bent towards you, slithering their way up your calves and over your chest. You pressed your back against the wall, gripping your sides. You could feel through your cold skin the rampant thumping of your heart. The drills you were taught during SAS training about how to internally calm down from a panic attack came to you in quick, jumbled flashes. Visions of your Lieutenant curled on the bathroom floor, his head in his hands, you at his side coaching him on steadying your breathing. Then it was a woman in uniform at the front of a lecture hall, blurred presentation slides on the dulled projector screen behind her. Pat in rhythm your temples or your wrists, put your head between your legs so you don't pass out, call for help, try to identify three things you could see, you could smell, you could feel… You could feel his clammy, damp hands grip your legs, yanking you closer to him. You could feel a second pair of hands strangle your neck, cutting off your screaming. You could feel your fists beat against his chest, trying so hard to get him off of you. You could see his yellowed eyes bore over your naked body. You could smell the sting of sweat and blood as they both pulled away from you, leaving you piled in your own shock. Their jovial laughter reverberating from the door was the last thing you remember before passing out, choking on your tears. It was three years ago, when you were cornered and violated by two male cadets. When they took from you the last semblance of normalcy you were able to cultivate in your role as an active battlefield medic. You didn’t tell anyone. Every part of you became dominated by the fear of shame and possibility. What if your superiors found out? Would you be kicked out? Would they believe you? What if they blamed you? Did you even want to be believed? 

You pushed it away, bleached their touch from your skin with boiling water and washed their spit from your mouth with bottles of scotch. You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone, it would be a burden you would have to die with. Even through your transfer into the 141 squad and through your developed friendship with your teammates. You wouldn’t tell anyone. It would be the first thing you came to control over the situation after it was entirely ripped away from you. 

Only, you were starting to become paranoid with worry. Questioning if your teammates could see the event written into your skin. You worried that they would find it suspicious how you never let yourself be alone with just one of them outside of missions. Why you never wore the skin-tight compression shirts provided alongside your mission gear. Why you would never let any of them tend to your open wounds. Why you would shrivel away from their touch. Johnny's encouraging slaps on your shoulder after a successful mission or Gaz’s gentle hold on your arm, guiding you both out of a crowded bar, they were harmless. You knew this. But it still reminded you of the hauntingly familiar vice grip those men held on your limbs and neck. It hurt almost as much as the memories, the guilt of applying a fear to your teammates you had grown to love as your brothers. You knew none of them could hurt you, not intentionally. You tried to welcome their touch, allowing yourself the comfort of knowing nothing could happen to you as long as you were with your team. You longed for it, the normalcy of being cared for. But day’s like that ended with you curled up in the bathtub, the water burning as you rubbed your skin raw with the washcloth. Trying to eliminate the memory of their nails breaking your skin as they held you down, hurting you in the worst way a human can be hurt. The shame piled atop of you, shame for not fighting back, for allowing yourself to be hurt so violently, shame for never telling anybody, shame for fearing your friends for something they could never do. Sliding down the wall, you held your head between your knees. Hopefully if you made yourself as small as possible, the memories couldn’t hurt you anymore. You harshly pulled on the roots of your hair, rocking back and forth. Pained moans and whimpers were held back by the bite on your inner cheek. As if your assaulters' curses to keep quiet still compelled you into silence. 

You snapped your head forward at the sound of the metal door swinging open. A blurred figure blocked out the harsh yellow light straining from the hallway. Your survival instincts flared, forcing you to move as far away from the door as possible. The heel of your boots pushing you until your back hit against the cornered wall. You reached for your side-arm, cringing as you frantically patted your leg trying to find the handle. You recoiled as the figure ran towards you, shielding your face with your hands, their body now crouched in front of you. ‘Hey! Hey, it’s me! It’s me.. Fuck.. breathe Y/N, you gotta breathe love’ Gaz said, his hands finding your wrists to pull them away from your face. You thrashed and pulled against his firm grasp. ‘No! No.. I.. I can’t.. I can’t’ You panicked, his voice cutting through the thick haze of hysteria, pulling you out of your head and back into the dark, empty medical wing. Gaz reached out to hold your face in his calloused fingers, forcing you to look into his rich, worried eyes. You gripped his wrists as if to break his hold on you, but his warm touch gave you a point of centuring. It began to anchor you in the frenzy of fear you found yourself in. ‘See.. see it’s me, it’s just me..’  He swiped his thumbs over the swell of your cheeks, brushing away the stream of tears trailing down your face. ‘I’m gonna sit next to you ok?’ You forced yourself to slowly suck in a breath, letting it go with a shaky sob. Gaz counted your breaths for you, helping you slow down your heart rate until you could feel your hands again and the blurred edges of your vision dissipated. 

‘There.. Fuck Y/N..  scarred the shit outta me’ He said, nudging his shoulder into yours with a breathy chuckle. 

‘A flashback?’ He asked. It was a flashback, but not the kind he was privy to. You were conflicted whether to tell him that it was a flashback, but not one regarding your history as SAS soldiers. You subtly moved your chin side-to-side, glaring down at your hands. ‘Do.. Do you wanna talk about it?’ He leaned his head down to try and meet your eyes. You glanced at him, the lines of his forehead pulled tight with worry, his deep brown eyes gleaming in the dark corner you were now huddled in. You exhaled slowly, setting your head back against the wall. ‘Y-ya know how.. Umm, Cap’ was saying that I didn’t accept my SAS qualifications when I first got them.. How I took a year’s leave..’ ‘Yeah..’ ‘I.. something umm.. happened to me’ Your fists tightened as tears started to build up in the corners of your eyes. 

‘Ok, do you could.. Maybe explain more?’ Gaz asked, his eyes not moving away from your face. 

‘I.. I don’t.. I don’t know. I really didn’t t-think I would ever.. I mean it was so long ago it really doesn't matter’ You scoff, forcing yourself to chuckle as to ease the strain in Gaz’s expression. 

‘Don’t. Don’t you dare say that if it’s got you worked up like this’ Gaz says, taking your hand into his. You instinctively squeezed his fingers, a silent reminder to yourself that he wasn’t something you had conjured up in your head. Looking up at the ceiling, you tried to find the right way to explain the one thing you swore you would never explain to anyone.  

‘I had just f-finished up with the medic training.. Setting to graduate that week. The class wanted to go out for drinks, so I went back to the barracks to ya know.. get ready and.. and my door shuts and two of my classmates are standing there. They.. they start talking about.. about having a fucking threesome. I start laughing because what the fuck else are you supposed to do? And I say no. They start coming closer and I try to get to the door but they.. One of them pushed me and.. I.. I remember getting punched, I could taste blood and.. and I was on the floor and.. And then they were.. on top of me.. and… ’ 

The tears flowed freely down your face, your hand not being held by Gaz’s shook violently. It shocked you how fresh the memory appeared in your mind despite the years of effort you made black it out. ‘Oh.. Oh god.. Y/N..’ You felt fear pulse up your arms hearing Gaz’s voice break. ‘You.. you were..?’ The word couldn’t even form on his lips, it was so vile. But the relief of having someone else acknowledge it made more tears drip from your cheeks. You nod, watching Gaz’s eyes twinge wide. Not with realization but with pure grief. 

‘Can I.. please hug you?’ He sniffled, quicking brushing his eyes with the back of his palms. Immediately you slunk your head against his shoulder, his arms wrapping tightening around your torso with the other caressing the back of your head. You felt him kiss the top of your head, holding you close. You let your tears dampen his shirt. It was like a nail had finally been removed from your flesh, the wound now bleeding over your skin. The blood would stain you, that shame you had buried resurfacing in a daunting mess. But it was now a mess someone else could help clean. Gaz’s broken whisper suddenly cut through the tight silence.  ‘To.. to know that.. that you were hurt like that.. I wanna make those bastards bleed. I want to.. I-’ ‘Well…. n-now you know how i’ve been feeling for the last three years’ You sputter, finding your lips turning upwards through the tears. Gaz scoffs a laugh, running a hand over your shoulder. You both sat, Gaz keeping you close to his chest, as if that possibility of letting you go would cast you back into the memory of your assault. 

‘You.. did you.. tell someone?’ His voice was careful, approaching this realization of your past with the same caution he seemed to approach mission combat. You shook your head, pulling back from his chest to wipe your face free of new tears. 

‘I.. I couldn’t, I-I was scared I could get discharged and.. I didn’t want to risk losing my SAS qualifications’ 

‘What.. what happened to.. them? Do you know?’ ‘I.. I have no clue where they are, probably still soldiers…’ You watched the confusion and anger tighten Gaz’s jaw and furrow his brow. It was the same anger you would look back at in the mirror, months after the assault had happened. 

‘I.. I want to say “I'm sorry”, but I don’t even think that begins to express how fucking awful I feel for you’

‘I.. I just hope you don’t.. you don't think of me.. differently’  

He grabbed both of your hands in that moments, his thumbs brushing over your tattooed knuckles. ‘If that ever happens, you better fucking shoot me’ 

An awkward choked laugh fell from your lips. 

‘What they did to you, what they took from you.. it will never have anything to do with your smile or your kindness. And it was entirely not your fault. And nothing like that will ever happen to you again’ 

He squeezed your hands, you squeezed back. You had fantasized about words like this being said to you, to be held and comforted. The craving of feeling protected was a privilege you had finally been given back. It didn’t surprise you that Gaz would be the one to bring you this relief. Your wounds still bled, but now you had someone who could stitch them up for you. Someone who you had trusted enough to share the one thing you told yourself you never would. You had always had that, it only took the words to make it tangible. You hugged Gaz, bringing his head against your shoulder. And you both sat there, entangled in eachothers arms with the daunting possibility of what was to be done next but assurance that you wouldn’t have to approach that possibility on your own. 

[omoghouls]

thats so much more than i was expecting i just needed to push my brain rot on someone but like ohmygod

The amount of piss ideas I have ready to unleash on these war criminals is alarming but always a treat to share wave lengths 😎👀

[findyourrp]

🚬🚬

Hi guys im olivia (22F) and im looking for a Call of duty Modern warfare 2/3 rp! im literate to novella roleplay style it just depends if im at work when i respond! speaking of work i work a fully time job in central time zone so if im gone im more then likely sleeping or working i’ll always keep you updated on what’s going on of course, but anyways back to what im looking for!

personally for call of duty im a Alejandro girl so im mainly looking for someone to play him, but i am okay with Price, Soap, and maybe ghost, but preferably alejandro, and i can double up as well so if you are interested in that i got you! im pretty well versed on all the characters so im a open box

**romance:** yes

**pairing:** for me it would be mxf but double up im okay with anything for your side!

**character ages/age ranges:** my oc is 23 and i believe most cod characters are in their 30s to early 40s

**any additional genres:** fantasy, thriller, etc

**a brief synopsis: ** Mostly just wanting to have a rp that takes place in the gap of Mwf 2 and mwf3 other small secret missions leading up to makarovs escape then going from there, i don’t have all the details but i had a rough idea of what im wanting and of course if it’s a double up we can always do some plotting to make everything work 🙂

message me anytime my dms are always open 🫶🏻

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[scaradeus]

playing cod mwf3 on my ps3 rn