#oc: victoria “whiskey” callahan

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bonded Pair. - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [Part Two ->] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 2K~ cw: injury (nothing major or too explicit)

May 2020

“How long until the American comes?” Soap asks to Ghost’s right as the lieutenant is halfway through assembling their camp/nest for the foreseeable future.

“Laswell said he’d come before sundown.” Ghost muttered. 

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” Soap asked.

“I think you should start heading to your spot and setting up camp, instead of yapping. It’s gonna get dark soon. You don’t want to spend the night lying on a pile of sticks, do you?”

“Jeez, L.T., calm down.” The Scot quipped with a chuckle. “I have plenty of time!”

“You really don’t. Sun’s setting soon.” A voice called out from behind them, causing them both to turn sharply, already pawing at their guns. The southern american accent was the only reason they didn’t draw them or shoot at the source.

Whiskey stepped out from behind the treeline, setting her hands on her hips after slinging her rifle onto her shoulder. She was on the tall side for a woman, standing at 5ft8, and had broad shoulders and strong arms.  Her dark brown hair was tied back into the usual military-standard low bun, though a few loose strands of damp hair were glued to her forehead, and the lower half of her face was concealed by an Army green neck gaiter that was pulled up to her nose. 

Ghost wasn’t particularly keen on working with her. But at least she looked more capable than some of what he’d seen come from the US.

She wore the standard combat uniform he had grown used to seeing on the Americans: camouflage cargos trousers, jacket, and Kevlar with the American flag. To keep her warm from the unforgivingly rainy and cold weather, she wore a brown fleece jacket under her camo, which was zipped up all the way, covering her neck and the bottom of her gaiter. She had on tan fingerless gloves, tan combat boots, and a camo backpack over her shoulders, from which hung her helmet. 

“You’re the Navy SEAL?” Ghost asked in greeting as he approached her.

“That’d be me.” Whiskey replied evenly as she reached forward to shake hands with Ghost. 

“I’m Ghost, this is Soap.” He explained as they shook hands, eyes locked into a strong, unyielding eye contact. 

“Whiskey.” She replied as she let go of his hand and turned to shake Soap’s. Only for her eyebrows to knit together and then set dangerously low, darkening her hazel-brown eyes. “You.” She said as she pulled her hand back before he could shake it.

“Me?” Soap asked, his own eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

“You’re screwing my best friend!” Whiskey said bluntly as she pointed at him.

“Am no! I have a girlfriend!” Soap said while shaking his head, entirely convinced of 

“Yeah, my best friend!” Whiskey replied with a nod.

“No? My girlfriend’s name is Meabh and her best friend is Victoria.”

“Right. Victoria, who’s American and part of the SEALs?” 

“Oh shit!” Soap said in surprise as he looked at her. “You’re her?”

“Yeah I am. And you’re the piece of crap that-” Whiskey stopped herself, biting her tongue and pointing a finger at him.

“Woah, you’re nothing like Meabh said you would be.” Soap said with a dropped jaw. “What’s with the aggression? I dinnae do nothing to ye-”

“You did enough.” Whiskey hissed at him through gritted teeth, her hand shaking as she wagged her finger in his face. She seemed so pissed off at Soap, Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what the sergeant did.

Ghost was watching the whole scene go down, the entire situation sending some alarm bells ringing in his head, not because of the animosity… But because Whiskey was loud and feisty. And he already had Soap to deal with, and now there was another one?

He didn’t even want to imagine what comms would look like between them, how they’d talk his ear off.

Whiskey turned away with a huff, shaking her head. “I’m gonna go set up shop. I suggest you do the same.” She told the lads.

“Wait!” Soap said as he stepped forward toward her. “What’d I do? Why do you hate me so much?”

Whiskey looked back over her shoulder, eyes locking onto Soap’s. Then, she looked up at Ghost and, for a moment, Simon swore he was seeing right into her soul and her right into his. Whatever reason she was pissed at Soap, it was bad, and he could tell.

“Just get to work and don’t piss me off. Gonna have to deal with you for three weeks…” Whiskey grumbled about Soap as she turned and walked off, heading downrange to her own overwatch coordinates.

Soap exchanged a glance with Ghost as she walked off, before softly murmuring. “What was that about?”

Ghost shook his head. “Fuck if I know. Just do as she said and get to your campsite.”

“Yeah…” Soap trailed off and waved a goodbye at Ghost before he headed out to his camp, following after Whiskey’s trail.

-

Night 1: 2000 hours

“I was thinking we take turns sleeping. 24 hours in a day, we could trade and do 4 hour straight of sleep.” Ghost suggested over the radio as he snacked on a protein bar.

“Copy that, L.T.” Soap replied, his voice chewed up, a clear sign that he was also eating.

“Sounds good to me.” Whiskey replied from her camp, her voice clipped and curt, even through the radio. “You can take first shift, Ghost.”

“I’d rather take last.” Ghost replied.

“Alright. Soap. Take first shift.” She demanded.

“Nae? I wanna stay up and speak to you about something.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Victoria, c’mon, I don’t even know what I did.”

“It’s ‘Whiskey’, Soap. I still outrank you and we’re still at work. Haven’t given you permission to call me by my name.” Her voice was so blunt and strong, Ghost found himself almost impressed.

“I’m sorry.” Soap ended up saying with a sigh. 

“Save your sorries. Go to sleep.” She demanded. 

“Aye, ma’am.”

It took a good half an hour or so, but soon, Johnny’s PTT was turned off, so, Ghost spoke up.

“Switch to 3, Whiskey.”

“Copy that.”

After switching frequencies, he finally spoke. “What’d he do?”

“Something he shouldn’t.”

“Cheated on your friend?”

“No. He’s stupidly devoted to her. At least from what she says.”

“Sounds about right. He talks about her a lot. Tires me.”

“Bet it does.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“Hm…” Ghost murmured. “Okay.”

-

Ghost was supposed to be sleeping. He really was. But with a new team member alongside them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. 

Besides, he wouldn’t risk missing the shitshow of the other two bickering.

“So, how long have you and Meabh known each other?” 

“Longer than she’s known you.”

-

“How’d you meet?”

“On a ship.”

“Her ship?”

“No.”

-

“So how is it, being a Navy SEAL?”

“Fine.”

-

“So, how old are you?”

“Old enough.”

-

“Where are you from?”

“America.”

“Yeah, but which state? You’re obviously from the south.”

“None of your business.”

-

“You and Meabh ever work together?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Classified.”

-

At one point, Ghost couldn’t help but start to smirk at the way the conversation was going. All throughout Days 1, 2 and 3 of their watch mission, she answered Johnny’s incessant questions with nothing but nonchalant dryness.

He could almost guess what answer she’d give and what tone she’d use whenever Johnny asked another question. 

While she had been sleeping, the Scot had confessed he had wracked his brain thinking of reasons why she didn’t like him and had come up short… And that he wanted to make friends with her, for his bird’s sake.

But he wasn't succeeding. She was cold and stubborn and curt with her answers, not giving him more than a few words at a time.

Even as the questions got more probe-y and personal… She gave him nothing. In a way, Ghost saw himself in her answers.

“What do you and Meabh usually do when you’re together?”

“Hang out.”

“Yeah, but what do you do? Go out for drinks? Go on holiday?”

“We hang out.”

-

“So what does Meabh tell you about me?”

“The usual.”

“Elaborate?”

“No.”

-

“How come Meabh has never shown me a picture of you?”

“I don't do pictures.”

-

“Why the mask?”

“To hide my face.”

-

It’s as the sun sets on Day 4 that she finally gets tired of playing nice:

“You know, Meabh described you as really cheerful and funny… But I don't see it.”

“Meabh sees the best in people. Don’t take it personal. She lies about you a lot too.”

“I’m not that bad, you know? I don’t know what your problem is with me but… I’m just trying to befriend ye.” Ghost can pick up on Soap’s annoyance in his tone of voice.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Whiskey replied.

There’s a long, long moment of silence before Johnny tries again.

“How often do you and Meabh talk?”

“Often enough.”

“I miss her a lot when I’m on missions… Can’t talk to her steadily…” Soap admits, this time a lot more sincere. “Do you miss her too?

“No.” She replies. 

“No? Do you not like her the same as she does you?’

“I do.” Whiskey tells him. “But I’ve got ways of communicating with her.” She announces. 

“How’s that? Sending a letter and waiting weeks for a reply? I’m not satisfied with just that. Need to hear her voice… and she doesn’t have signal out there in the ocean…”

There’s a sound from the radio, which Ghost can swear is a snort from Whiskey laughing. Then, she speaks again.

“Can you see my camp from where you are?”

“Yeah?”

“Alright well, take a look at this.” 

Out of curiosity, Ghost decides to turn his binoculars toward Whiskey’s nest too, and adjust the focus until she comes into view.

“It’s a real shame that you can’t talk with your girlfriend.” Whiskey said while waving a black radiotelephone in the air for them to see. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Ghost smirks at the sound of her sarcasm, shaking his head, already anticipating the dramatics that Soap would engage in.

“Wait, you’ve got a phone to talk to Meabh WITH?!” Soap’s voice is so loud and high-pitched one would think he just suffered the greatest betrayal.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been speaking pretty consistently with her the past 4 days.”

“No?!”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s it! I’m going down there, I want to talk to Meabh!”

“No you’re not, don’t you desert your post!”

“I’m not deserting! I’m going to you!”

Ghost has to turn off his PTT so he can laugh without them noticing. Soap had been talking about Meabh for forever, talking the ear off anyone who’d listen, raving about the girl and how much he loves her. At this point Simon feels he himself is dating her with how much he knows about her… 

And now, here was her best friend, showing him just how much higher she ‘ranks’ in the girl’s consideration.

Turning his binoculars toward Soap’s nest, he watched the younger sergeant slip out and, under the shadows of the rapidly approaching night, rush out behind the treeline, dashing toward Whiskey’s nest about 2 kilometers out.

“He’s really going over.” Ghost murmured into the PTT.

“I know he is. Meabh is laughing over it.”

“YOU’RE TALKING WITH HER RIGHT NOW?!” Soap shrieked into his own PTT. “Tell her to hold on!!! I want to hear her voice!!!!”

Ridiculous, Ghost thought as he heard Soap’s desperation. How ridiculous it was to be so obsessed with a woman. Girlfriend or not.

By the time he reached Whiskey’s station, after a few minutes, Ghost got to watch a flurry of limbs happening.

And, after a moment, Whiskey came back onto the PTT. “Ghost contact Laswell, Soap needs to be sent on medical.”

“What happened?”

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

Ghost pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. He shouldn’t be as amused as he is… But God, is the situation hilarious.

“Rog.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Answering this for my OC because I can.

Whiskey's choices: 3, 3, C.

She's as middle of the road as she can get. Eats everything 'medium' lmao.

this is going around twitter and i thought it'd be a fun little thing to bond over

in the tags as usual

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Gone. (Ghost x OC) - AU!!!

for @xxshadowbabexx 's angst competition using prompts 1, 2, 6 and 9.

pairing: F!OC! Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap MacTavish words: 3.7k~ summary: An AU where Ghost died with Soap, leaving behind Whiskey and Meabh who are grieving for them :) cw: death and dying, loss, grief, blood, vomiting, crying, ghosts

At first, it was cold. Dark. The feeling of the blood seeping down his skin and pooling on the floor behind him. 

The air was thin, he couldn’t breathe, his chest heaving, sounds of grunts and gunshots echoing around him.

His head lulled to the side, long enough to catch the sight of Soap. He was already unmoving. 

Then, his eyes slowly unfocused.

Not the first time he felt it.

But the last time, whatever powers that be decided to spare him.

Not this time.

Then came the feeling of nothing. No pain, no coldness, no… nothing. No air in his lungs, no saliva in his mouth, no weight on his joints. 

He opened his eyes and he was still here… and his body was, well… there. He looked down at it. A sorry sight, really, to see his body on the floor, the blood around his head, mingling with Soap’s next to him.

Soap was standing by his side. They could see each other, half-translucent, not quite there, but not quite gone. Neither of them seemed confused or lost… Only mildly resigned to the fact that This Is It. 

Gaz and Price succeeded in disarming the tunnel bomb and Ghost turned slowly, looking at them as they approached the two bodies, Price’s voice announcing: “All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralised, bomb is safe… Two K.I.A.”

…

Soap and Ghost stood over Price’s shoulder, eyes locked on his own front door. Gaz stood beside him, both men looking solemn, Price holding Ghost’s dog tags.

It was just past 3 A.M., he’d noticed, when Whiskey opened the door, wrapped in one of her silk-like robes, the hall light illuminating her from behind.

She locked eyes with Price before he could even speak and her jaw clenched tight, her eyebrows rising lightly. 

He knew that look. He knew it all to well. It was the same way she had looked when she told him about her father and brother.  He knew the others could tell too, of course, but what they couldn’t tell, were the subtleties of it. 

To him, she looked like she was about to cry, even if her tears were nowhere to be seen, and the swallowing of a lump stuck in her throat, which was, in reality, a scream she wanted to let out… And how, once they were gone, she’d cry herself until her throat was raw.

He wanted to hug her, fuck, he wanted nothing more than to hug her. To pull her tight into his chest, to murmur into the crown of her head that he’s here, that he’ll always be here. But he couldn’t. Not today. Not ever again.

“Don’t.” Whiskey said as she raised a hand to stop Price from speaking the same moment he opened his mouth. He knew better than to try to use the bullshit prepared speech they always give to grieving wives. She wasn’t just a grieving wife. She was a soldier.

“Give me the dog tags.” She demanded and presented her palm. He slowly set the round disks and chain in her hand. She, slowly, rubbed her thumb over them as she looked at them, Simon noticed how her skin traced his surname tenderly.

“I don’t want a big fuss. It’s not what he would have wanted.” She told Price and raised her eyes to meet his again. Had Simon been alive, he would’ve felt his heart swell in his chest, she really did know him so well… 

Price nodded at her in understanding. “I know.” He told her in earnest.

“Do whatever you need to do… I don’t want to attend a funeral. Just bring me back his ashes and his mask and gloves.” She demanded.

“Okay. Should take a few days.” Price assured her with another curt nod. 

“That’s fine.” Whiskey nodded at him and, slowly, she slipped her husband’s dog tags around her neck, the longer chain meaning they disappeared below the collar of her t-shirt. One of his, actually, full black, with the scraggly name of a metal rock band on the front.

“Soap?” She asked him as her beautiful hazel eyes returned to Price after fixing the chain. The man replied by shaking his head. “Give me a minute to get dressed and pack a bag. I’ll go with you.” She announced and turned around to disappear back inside their home.

-

Whiskey looked at him with a cocked brow as they laid tangled up, in her barrack’s bed.

“If something happens to me, I’d want you to get the widow’s pension.” Simon mused aloud as he stared at the ceiling.

“Yeah, same, it’d just make sense to-” Victoria began to say before she stopped herself and her head shot upwards, glaring into his eyes. “Are you proposing to me, Simon?” She asked him in shock.

That hadn’t been his intention. They had just been halfway through discussing what life would be like for the people around them, once they’re dead. But now that she mentioned it… “Yes.” He replied deadpan.

Victoria continued staring at him like he was insane, eyebrows scrunched, eyes narrowed… But then she simply answered an “Okay.”

“That doesn’t scare you, does it?” Simon asked her as he dipped his head to the side, looking at her through down his nose as her head rested on his chest again.

“No. Just caught me off-guard.” Victoria said with a shrug and a silent exhale of a laugh, shaking her head against his chest. Her ear was right on top of his left pec and she could hear his heartbeat, slow… steady.

Simon watched her lay against Meabh, staring at the ceiling, as Meabh slept against her, in the same position Simon and Victoria usually fit into, Meabh’s head on Victoria’s chest. Johnny sat on the edge of the bed next to Meabh, resting his ghostly hand on her head even though she couldn’t feel it. 

It had been a shit show, telling Meabh that Soap was gone… Messy. Messier than any of them had expected.

They had witnessed Meabh losing her mind, denying it over and over and over, shaking her head, not believing the words Price spoke, the way he tried to hand her his dog tags, the way the tears rolled down her face even with her smiling in disbelief. 

Victoria had risen up to take Meabh back to her room and let her cry it out, having shooed Price and Gaz away… then, in her room, Meabh screamed at God, pleaded for Soap’s return, bargained and begged, tried reasoning with God that He couldn’t take him, not before she had a chance to tell him she was pregnant…

Victoria struggled to wrangle her into bed, both falling to their knees, Whiskey clutching her tight to her chest, as Meabh screamed and cried, doubled over herself, making herself look so small for a woman that was usually so strong. Soap had cried with her, fallen to his knees beside her, and tried telling her he was right here… not that it made a difference.

Only the two of the women and their ghosts remained.

Meabh had another one, Simon had noticed. A curly-haired man lurked and loomed outside her window. Soap hadn’t noticed, too preoccupied with his woman’s grief and the recent discovery of the baby in her belly. He knew he was likely Meabh’s father. They looked alike. Same eyes, same hair, same facial structure… But he kept away for now.

Victoria was awake, eyes locked on the ceiling as she held Meabh close, the sun shining in, at 6 A.M., but Meabh had cried herself to sleep. Simon didn’t dare approach her, keeping to his namesake, and simply watching his wife from the sidelines, his lips pressed together.

He could see her clutching onto her emotions with an iron grip, her brows scrunched and her jaw clenched, teeth grinding loudly. She couldn’t let it go. Not now. Not when Meabh needed her most. 

-

The funeral had been beautiful. Mr and Mrs. MacTavish were too much of a wreck to plan anything, his sisters even more so… So it fell on Meabh. It would’ve either way, she was his wife, after all. 

It ended up being a beautiful celebration of Johnny and his life. Sharing stories of him, food and drink, and music… Full of fun and happiness and light, just how he deserved. It was an Irish tradition, Victoria came to find out. 

The American had only left Meabh’s house after a week by her side, having traded spots with one of Soap’s sisters. She went home for a day, just needing a break. Three days' worth of celebrations plus four extra ones dealing with a grieving Meabh and a large family such as Soap’s had taken a toll on her. Simon went with her.

She crossed the threshold into their home quietly, not even bothering to turn on any of the lights in her wake. Then, she tossed her duffel bag aside, kicked off her sneakers, and pressed herself into the wall right past the living room door, sinking down to the hardwood floor.

Even in the darkness, he could tell she was crying. The way her breath hitched and her silhouette trembled against the wall. She cried like that for a long, long while.

Then, the tears got harder, faster, her breath rose and rose in volume, desperate for gulps of air, like she was suffocating and unable to breathe and she started openly sobbing, letting out these primal sounds of grief from the back of her throat.

Simon’s eyes welled up with tears too as the screams coming from her throat scratched at his dead heart. He wanted so badly to hold her… He wanted to. He wanted to. She cried and cried and he couldn’t do much more than kneel beside her.

He watched as she curled herself onto her hands and knees and screamed raggedly in pure and absolute pain, like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. He had. Her heart had been his, and he had taken it with him when he died.

Primal, painful shrieks came from her mouth, so deep and loud that her whole form shook… or maybe it was the hiccups from the lack of air and the lump in her throat. He couldn’t tell. She banged a fist on the floor in front of her, once and twice and three times, until her hand hurt, until the external pain countered the grief. It didn’t.

Victoria ran herself ragged while she cried over Simon, crying so much and screaming bloody murder until her throat was raw and red, until her voice went hoarse and her throat hurt and her stomach churned…

And then she vomited, hurling whatever food Mrs. MacTavish had made for dinner that day onto the hardwood floors, then cried some more, hiccuping and trembling as she looked at the mess of her vomit on the floor through tear-filled eyes.

Simon’s sat beside her as she pulled herself back against the wall, breathing desperate, greedy gulps of air, feet parted and planted on either side of the puke puddle, as she wiped her mouth clean with the back of her right hand and then hung her head down, resting her forearms limply on her knees.

“God damn you, Simon Michael Riley…” She spoke in a whine, her voice hoarse and shaky, too broken to speak properly. “You can’t save me and then leave me here to bleed… What am I supposed to do without you?”

Simon leaned against her, pressing his bare lips against her temple, hoping, praying to a God he doesn’t even believe in, that she can feel it, can feel him… That Victoria gets some sort of realization that he’s not gone, not really… That he’ll spend a lifetime by her side, waiting for her time to come.

-

Victoria spent the next couple of days at home, having texted Meabh some excuse about wanting to be home to receive Simon’s ashes from Price, who was going to deliver them soon.

Meanwhile, she simply went about cleaning their house. They had had plenty of fresh produce, fruit, and meat in the fridge, which had spoiled after a week away. He watched her, like always, make herself feel better by deep cleaning the entire home.

He hovered over her shoulder the whole time, wishing he could just reach out with a firm hand on her shoulder like he usually did, making her turn around, hugging her tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head… But he couldn’t. So, instead, he just hovered… watching her as she went about it all.

It was only after she was done cleaning, after she showered, after she took some melatonin gummies and passed out on the couch on day two, clutching his dog tags tight in her fist, along with her brother’s and father’s, that he heard it.

“She’ll be alright.” A manly southern-American-accented voice reverberated from behind him. 

Simon turned slowly, coming face to face with an older man with short black hair, greying stubble, and intense, stern blue eyes.

“Are you-” Simon began.

“Owen Callahan, son.” The man introduced himself with a light, lazy salute. Simon returned it without even thinking about it.

“Worst possible way I can think of to meet my father-in-law.” Simon muttered sarcastically.

Owen’s eyebrows raised and he smirked a bit. “Can’t kill you again, son, so don’t be scared.” He added.

“‘m not, sir.” Simon added and shook his head, watching his father-in-law’s ghost move about the room, coming to stand over Victoria, a hand caressing her head, much like he’d seen Johnny do to Meabh while she slept, and her dad, Seamus, as well… when John was too busy fussing about his mam and sisters at the funeral. He didn’t want to show himself to Johnny, Simon had noticed.

“Is her brother around? Nathan?” Simon asked and looked around himself, seeking out another ghost. 

“I’m here.” Nathan muttered as he fazed through the bedroom wall into the living room. He was a handsome young man. A crew cut worth of black hair, a shaggy stubble that extended down his jaw onto his neck, slender hazel eyes, and a notch cut into his left eyebrow.

“So… you two been here this whole time?” Simon asked as he looked at them, brows raised in confusion and surprise.

“Haunting her? Yeah.” Nathan replied as he came to stand by Simon’s side. He was a few inches shorter than him.

“So you’ve seen… everything?” Simon asked as he looked at them.

“If you mean you fuckin’ my daughter, no. We made sure to be far fuckin’ away from here when you two would get close to it.” Owen muttered crudely from next to Victoria.

“Ah-” Simon nodded a bit and scratched at the back of his neck, feeling, for once, a bit embarrassed. He could, strangely enough, feel at himself, just not others.

“Don’t get all coy now. Like I said, should be grateful I can’t kill ya again.” Owen added.

“I am, sir.” Simon nodded. 

“But, all things considered… she could’a married worse, dad.” Nathan muttered as he slid over to Victoria and sat at her feet, on the armrest of the couch.

“I know…” Owen grunted as he looked at her. Then, he looked at Simon. “You did her good. Ain’t seen her smile as much as I saw her with ya, since we passed.”

Simon nodded and looked away. He’d never been good at this. Taking praise and compliments. Socializing. “Thank you, sir.”

-

On day three, she was awoken by a knock on the door. She was still in the clothes she had changed into last night. Not pajamas, but rather a pair of black leggings and one of Simon’s t-shirts. 

Simon followed after her, like a lost puppy, constantly wanting to stay around her. Nathan and Owen remaining lounging about in the sitting room. They had more experience and no longer followed her so desperately… other than when she went into battle.

Price and Gaz stood on the other side of the door. Price held a non-descript matte black ceramic urn. Gaz, next to him, held Ghost’s balaclava and gloves, as well as a few of his throwing knives.

Victoria took the mask, gloves and knives first, looking at them closely and taking a deep breath before she set them in a shelf inside the coat closet. Then, she turned to Price and looked at the urn closely.

Her hands shook as she took the urn into her hands, feeling the weight of it. So much of Simon had been condensed into ashes inside a small pot that could be confused for a decorative jar if one wasn’t paying attention.

“Thank you.” She told them with a nod as she carefully wrapped a hand around the urn and clutched it to her chest protectively like it was a baby, and not just her husband’s ashes.

Price gave her a look and then looked down at the urn. She seemed to pick up on the sign he gave her, and returned the look with a barely-there nod.

“Do you need anything?” Gaz asked her softly, politely, caringly. “Food? Company?”

Price was still silent, however. He knew better than to offer. He might not have known Victoria as well as Simon and Meabh, but he knew enough.

“No, thanks,” Victoria said as she nodded at them. “I’m fine.” She lied and forced herself to smile a bit.

“Are you su-” Gaz was about to ask but got struck to silence by a sharp elbow to his side, from Price.

“We have things to do, Gaz. Gotta get back to base.” Price said, cutting him off.

“But si-” Gaz attempted again, instead, simply earning a glare from the man.

“We have things to do, Gaz.” Price repeated sharply. Then, he turned to look at Victoria again. “Will be expecting you to report to base on Monday.” Price told her, knowing she’d want to work through her grief. Just like Simon would.

“Copy that.” She nodded, then, the two men stepped back, and she closed the door in their faces, walking her urn back to the couch and carefully setting it atop the coffee table.

Simon was hot on her tail and sat beside her on the couch, peering over at her with a tentative glance. He could tell she was on the verge of breaking down again, now that she had Him home.

Nathan and Owen were gone. They tended to do that, sometimes. Disappearing.

She took a deep breath and popped open the lid, peering inside the urn. The ashes were inside a ziplock bag inside, as usual… But, atop of them, rested a small black velvet box. She pulled it out of the urn and onto her lap, then, slowly, opened it.

Inside, nestled in a foam pad, rested two rough-looking wedding bands. Made of gold but full of marks and scuffs… and with a dark grey piece of rough stone on the center, where one would expect to see a precious gem.

Simon wanted to hide away in shame when he saw them, groaning loudly, glad she couldn’t hear him. Of course Price would go and find his failed metal-work creations and give them to her.

Simon had spent the last year in a metal working class, trying to make them a proper set of wedding bands. They had gotten married without one, instead using their dog tags during the vow exchange, and then had never bothered buying some, because Victoria thought they were stupid, and it’s not like they could wear them out in the field…

But Simon wanted to give her something. He wanted her to surprise her! Wanted to make her all kinds of gold jewelry because he knew how much she loved to wear it when they were on leave… He just had to get good at it first! But he didn’t. 

These rings were the most recent pair he tried to make, gold and meteorite stone, which, one day, he’d hope to substitute with an actual precious gem, once he got good enough, once the rings were smooth and sleek.

He just wasn’t good at it no matter how many times he practiced. They were still rough and uneven and her wedding band was twisted and strange… He just wasn’t made for making beautiful things… But he was willing to try… for her.

And yet, as she looked at them now, clutched in her hand, tears streamed down her face… All Victoria could think was how beautiful the rings were. “Fuck…” She grunted through her teeth. She slowly grabbed her ring and rolled it between her fingers, feeling the rough texture of it with her fingertips… 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Simon…” She murmured as she looked up at the urn, almost like she was looking at him, unaware that his ghost was right there, beside her, wanting nothing more than to wipe her tears and hold her hand.

Simon slid away from the couch and sat across from her on the coffee table, parking himself over his ashes, wanting to feel like she was looking at him… even if she couldn’t see him. “How long did ya keep these a secret? I wish you would’ve told me you were making ‘em…”

“I’m just fuckin’ unlucky, ain’t I?” She muttered to herself as she kept gazing upon her ring. “You ain’t that lucky either, are ya?”  She asked, soft tears rolling down her cheeks, sniffling away the tears, batting her eyelashes to try and contain them. It was unsuccessful.

“You couldn’t tell me you were making these… I couldn’t tell you ‘I love you’...” She trailed off as she looked at him, smiling sadly as more tears ran down her face, her lips scrunching up to stop a hiccup and a sob.

“It just wasn’t in the cards for us, huh? Never is… for people like us, ain’t that right?” She asked him, looking right at him, but not seeing him. “It was never gonna end with us (retiring) together, was it?”

Simon reached out and placed a hand over her cheek, unable to do anything more than hold her like he had so many times before, muttering a reply that she wouldn’t hear: “I love you too, Victoria. You’ll see me again.”

the rings in question:

@crashtestbunny better see some tears bestie

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Smiles. - Ghost x OC fluff

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley words: 2.1K~ cw: none. just toothrotting fluff.

Whiskey looked at him with a cocked brow as they laid tangled up, in her barrack’s bed.

“If something happens to me, I’d want you to get the widow’s pension.” Simon mused aloud as he stared at the ceiling.

“If something happens to me, I’d want you to get the widow’s pension.” Simon mused aloud as he stared at the ceiling.

“Yeah, same, it’d just make sense to-” Victoria began to say before she stopped herself and her head shot upwards, glaring into his eyes. “Are you proposing to me, Simon?” She asked him in shock.

That hadn’t been his intention. They had just been halfway through discussing what life would be like for the people around them, once they’re dead. But now that she mentioned it… “Yes.” He replied deadpan.

Victoria continued staring at him like he was insane, eyebrows scrunched, eyes narrowed… But then she simply answered an “Okay.”

“That doesn’t scare you, does it?” Simon asked her as he dipped his head to the side, looking at her through down his nose as her head rested on his chest again.

“No. Just caught me off-guard.” Victoria said with a shrug and a silent exhale of a laugh, shaking her head against his chest. Her ear was right on top of his left pec and she could hear his heartbeat, slow… steady.

-

April 18th, 2021.

They didn't sleep that night.

Not something new for either of them...

But it was perhaps the excitement of the realization that prevented it even more than usual.

By 0500 hours. they were both up, heading to the gym together, conducting their specific workouts.

By 0630, they had taken alternating showers back in her room, put their gear on, and headed to the mess for breakfast.

At 0800, they were knocking at Price's office door.

"Come in." The gruff voice of the captain sounded through the door.

Ghost and Whiskey stepped inside, both masked, both in full-gear, both looking like they had drank one of Johnny's energy drinks, nearly bouncing off the walls.

"What can I help you with?" Price asked as he saw the two of them, watching how Ghost closed the door and then came to stand beside Whiskey across the desk from Price, one hand on the small of her back.

Whiskey and Ghost exchanged a look and then they both pulled off their masks, baring their faces to their boss, who raised his eyebrows in confusion. He knew how to read Ghost, somewhat, but Whiskey was still a mystery for him.

"We need you to do us a favour." Simon said as he stared at John with stern eyes and thinning his lips by pressing them together.

"What kind of favour?" John asked with a cocked brow as he leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his arms.

"We want to get married." Simon told John directly. No flourishes, just straight to the point.

Whatever John had been expecting... That wasn't it. The man's face went still as stone other than his eyelids, which blinked repeatedly as he attempted to process what he heard.

Then, John blinked his eyes into staying shut for a longer moment, his eyebrows twitching, and opened them again, letting them flitter between his two lieutenants.

"Married." He repeated, as if the word made no sense.

"Married." Victoria agreed, which made Simon nod curtly while looking at John.

John took a deep breath and leaned forward, toward his desk, already reaching for his landline phone. "I'll give Laswell a ring." He grunted.

-

Johnny and Kyle were confused when, at 1430 they watched Price, Ghost and Whiskey climb into a jeep. For a moment, they almost considered following... Where were they going alone?

But they didn't. And good thing too.

The drive to the Hereford Town Hall was very quick. 15 minutes to get there, and at 1450 they were being allowed into 'The Oak Room', a 40+ seat ceremony room for civil wedding ceremonies.

Laswell had pulled a LOT of strings to expedite the ceremony when normally they'd need a 30-day waiting period... They definitely owed her one.

Simon and Victoria did the due diligence of taking off their face masks, having already taken off their Kevlar vests and weapons back at the base.

They sat at the head table, side-by-side, exchanging looks and soft smiles. John sat behind them, at one of the guest chairs, on Simon's side.

The registrar sat across from them, flicking through the pages of documents in her hands, having already a copy of both their birth certificates in front of her at the table.

The woman was stern-looking, with more than a few grey hairs, glasses on the tip of her nose, and a no-nonsense expression on her face. She, however, didn't seem to be judging them too hard for having come to their own marriage ceremony in fatigues and combat boots.

"Dear guests... erm... guest," The woman said, with a bit of a sarcastic sense of humour, as she glanced toward John, who gave her a nod and a little thumbs up, smiling in amusement, just as Victoria and Simon were.

"Welcome to the Hereford Town Hall, where we four are gathered today to witness and celebrate the marriage of Ms. Victoria Isabelle Callahan, aged 29, born on October 27th, 1991, in Nashville, Tennessee, USA, single and childfree; and Mr. Simon Michael Riley, aged 31, born on May 15, 1989, in Manchester, England., also single and childfree" She continued.

"Marriage is a beautiful union, a commitment between two individuals who have chosen to embark on life's journey together, sharing their joys and sorrows, triumphs, and challenges. Today, we are privileged to be part of this special moment in their lives." The registrar spoke, reading from the file in front of her.

"Victoria and Simon, you have come here freely and willingly to declare your love and commitment to each other in the presence of your loved ones. Marriage is a profound and sacred bond, a promise to stand by each other through all of life's adventures."

"As we embark on this ceremony, let us take a moment to reflect on the love that has brought Victoria and Simon together and the journey that lies ahead. May your love continue to grow stronger with each passing day, and may you find joy, laughter, and fulfillment in each other's company."

"Before we proceed, I must remind everyone that marriage is a legal union as well as a spiritual one. As such, it is my duty to ensure that all legal requirements are met. Victoria and Simon, I must ask you now to confirm your intent to marry and to make your solemn declarations."

The woman in front of them looks up over the frame of her glasses, and glances at Victoria and Simon who have, the whole time, been holding hands under the table.

"Let's start with you Simon, please repeat after me." The registrar says as she looks at him. Simon holds eye contact with her for a moment, before he swivels in his chair and turns to look at Victoria, who also turns to look at him.

"I, Simon Michael Riley," She begins.

"I, Simon Michael Riley,"

"confirm that I willingly take you, Victoria Isabelle Callahan,"

"confirm that I willingly take you, Victoria Isabelle Callahan,"

"as my lawfully wedded wife,"

"as my lawfully wedded wife,"

"and with it all the rights, duties and responsibilities that come from said union."

"and with it all the rights, duties and responsibilities that come from said union."

"I promise to love and cherish you,"

"I promise to love and cherish you,"

"to protect you and respect you,"

"to protect you and respect you,"

"to not harm you or allow harm to be done upon you,"

"to not harm you or allow harm to be done upon you,"

"and to stand by you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth,"

"and to stand by you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth,"

"for as long as I live."

"for as long as I live."

There was something in Simon's gaze as he spoke the vows allowed. Even if they weren't his own, his eyes spoke volumes, those vows were but a fraction of the things he wanted to tell Victoria but would never have the proper words to say...

Victoria was looking at him with fondness in her eyes, her eyebrows lowered and a slightly trembly bottom lip. She felt the same. She knew those words were not enough, but they came close.

"Now for the bride." The registrar continues. "Please repeat after me, Ms. Callahan:"

"I, Victoria Isabelle Callahan," The registrar begins again.

"I, Victoria Isabelle Callahan,"

"confirm that I willingly take you, Simon Michael Riley,"

"confirm that I willingly take you, Simon Michael Riley,"

"as my lawfully wedded husband,"

"as my lawfully wedded husband,"

"and with it all the rights, duties and responsibilities that come from said union."

"and with it all the rights, duties and responsibilities that come from said union."

"I promise to love and cherish you,"

"I promise to love and cherish you,"

"to protect you and respect you,"

"to protect you and respect you,"

"to not harm you or allow harm to be done upon you,"

"to not harm you or allow harm to be done upon you,"

"and to stand by you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth,"

"and to stand by you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth,"

"for as long as I live."

"for as long as I live."

Simon's eyes softened to a degree neither of Victoria nor John had seen before, glossy and bright as he looked down at her. Oh, how beautiful she looked now, as she vowed to love him for as long as she had air in her lungs...

"The wedding rings?" The registrar beckoned as she looked at them and John with a cocked brow.

The three officers looked at each other with a bit of a surprised and worried look because, like idiots, all three had forgotten one of the most important parts of the ceremony.

John was almost about to stop everything so he could run to a jeweler nearby and buy a couple of non-descript bands just for the moment.

But he didn't need to.

Simon caught Victoria's eye again, then reached around the back of his neck and undid the chain holding his dog tags. "Will this work?" He asked as he held the chain up for the registrar to see, his circular dog tags catching the light.

The registrar's permanent scowl seemed to crack a bit and she gave a nod and a small smile. Victoria immediately followed Simon's lead and removed her own dog tags from around her neck.

Exchanging a look, Simon reached forward and, coming inches from his bride's face, he slowly wrapped his hands around the back of her neck and clipped his dog tags onto her, the round circles hanging low due to his chain being long, coming to rest right atop her cleavage.

He pulled his hands back slowly, allowing his rough, calloused fingers to caress the patch of exposed skin around the base of her neck as he pulled away, setting his hands on his thighs after that.

Once he pulled back, Victoria leaned forward herself, her knees brushing against Simon's, and her hands slowly wrapped around his neck, clipping her dog tags around his neck.

Her dog tags were different, the standard stadium geometric shape, and hung higher than his, coming just below his collar bone, the chain fitting him more like a choker than a necklace...

But once she pulled back, her hands sliding down his shoulders and off him at the pecs, she couldn't help but enjoy the way her tags looked on him... And, hell, he liked seeing his tags on her, hanging just in line with her heart.

The eye contact between them was obscene, pupils blown as they couldn't help but smile, open-mouthed, teeth, for once, showing, as they took in the sight of one another.

"By the authority vested in me by the State of England, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal your union with a kiss." The registrar said, which caused both lieutenants to freeze, yet again.

Public displays of affection were Not Their Thing. But, hell, they'd come this far.

Steeling themselves, they leaned forward together and Simon's hands grabbed Victoria's face on both sides, around the back of her head, his fingers disappearing amidst her brown hair, which was tied back into a bun, as their mouths came together.

Victoria's hands rested on his forearms, her fingers digging in tight as her eyes fell closed and they kissed slowly and deeply for a good minute.

Once they pulled away, she looked away, hiding a smile again, her eyes falling to the floor beside her, and Simon's own face turned away too, eyes locked on the wood paneling of the wall on the other side of the room.

They both looked so awkward that John had to cover his mouth with his hand to try not to laugh.

-

They got food to go from a nearby Indian and John even had the decency as their witness/Simon's best man, to buy them a small Madeira cake from Tesco.

Then, they returned to base and parted ways, John giving Simon a handshake, and Victoria a pat on the back before he left.

Simon and Victoria perched themselves on an outdoor table of the base, near the mess, eating their meal and making copious amounts of eye contact, their dog tags still around each other's necks.

It's as Victoria's about to cut the cake with one of Simon's throwing knives, when Simon reaches forward and sets his hand atop of hers, helping guide her through it, as traditional couples would do during a traditional wedding reception, that they finally can't hold it in anymore and start laughing.

for everyone that complained about the angst (/pos): , @xxshadowbabexx , @crashtestbunny , @cod-z , @superhero-landing , and @loveandplanet

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bonded Pair (Pt.3) - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [<- Part Two] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley words: 1.5K~ cw: injury (Ghost was bleeding out :))

There's something to be said about the way It Went from there.

Having four months worth of other missions after a mere twenty-three days together didn't shake their connection.

He had paid leave at the end of those four months and spent them tracking her down.

It was surprisingly hard.

He had two weeks worth of leave and only found her on day 12 of 14.

But when he did…

He came out of nowhere. Didn't even warn her.

Whiskey just suddenly had a body next to hers, an arm and a knee nudging hers, having to share binoculars and MREs, two messy, scribbled penmanships on her notebook, a warm arm around her while she slept off for her shift.

Then he was gone again.

-

Two more months later, a new assignment. SAS again, assisting 'Task Force 141'. Just like early on in the year.

Ghost again.

Price was there too. Not that Whiskey cared.

She spent a good few hours in water in a diving suit with Price, Ghost providing overwatch from a sniper position in a high building.

Ghost helped her out of her diving suit when they reconvened after the first part of the mission was done. Price pretended he didn't see it.

The mission went on as expected, successful, when he's got two stellar operators under him. Especially ones that seemed so… connected. Price pretended he didn't notice the hand gestures and intense eye contact.

Then, they had to camp out for a couple of nights in a safe house while waiting for the next part of the mission to begin.

That's when Price really got to see it.

Ghost and Whiskey were like one of those bonded pairs of feral cats that you hear so many stories about online. The ones that can't be adopted separately or they'll grow restless.

If left to their own devices, Ghost and Whiskey would share meals, sleep snuggled together, and "groom each other" clean.

Price watched as they ate, prepped their gear… They were silent most of the time but made obscene amounts of eye contact, wide-eyed with pupils blown, almost like they were about to jump at each other to mate. But they never did.

And they squeezed themselves together into a twin bed even though there was a couch available. Lying on their sides, chest to chest, her back against the wall, Simon's back toward Price, teethering on the edge of the bed.

Price knew what was happening. Probably knew it before they did. He didn't mention it, choosing to do so only when the mission was over.

It was on day three, as it all went into a shit show thar Price realized how deep their connection ran. It all went to shit. An ambush where they didn't expect it.

Price heard Ghost's ragged breaths and groan of a tone as he announced he got injured… While on the upperfloors of the skyscraper. Floor 32 or so, ambushed at his sniper nest.

And next thing he knew, Whiskey was brute-forcing her way up to Ghost.

Tossing him up into a fireman carry and braving the 30-floors worth of stairs, her voice came through the comms for everyone to hear.

It was accidental, a PTT that wasn't disabled and accidentally broadcasted her shouting at Ghost as she helped him.

"Don't you fucking DARE die on me, or I'll bring you back so I can KILL you myself for leaving me. You hear me?!"

"That's what I fucking thought, you fucking asshole."

"You're bleeding so fucking much I can feel it on my scalp and going down my back. You're ruining my hair, don't you dare die before I can yell at you for that."

"Don't you dare fall asleep. Keep your eyes fucking open and talk to me."

"Don't you fucking DARE die on me, Simon Riley."

And he didn't. Ghost stayed alive long enough to get airlifted out for treatment, leaving Whiskey drenched in his blood, looking like she'd just bathed in it.

And she merely returned to the battlefield to finish the mission.

-

Ghost had medical leave after that. The day he was discharged from the hospital after surgery, Price paid him a visit in his room.

Ghost was packing his bag. Already wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, a taut bandage around his abdominal wound, a new scar.

"So what's up with you and Lieutenant Callahan?"

"Nothing."

"Didn't seem like nothing."

"She seems like a good sort, is all."

"You realize that woman is in love with you, right?"

Ghost spun so fast he almost got lightheaded, dead eyes glaring right at Price's.

"What did you say?"

"She cares a lot about you. She made it very clear in how she kept begging you not to die while she was carrying you to the helo."

"Bloody hell… I thought I hallucinated that." Ghost murmured as he turned again and zipped up his bag.

"You didn't." Price said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

Ghost didn't answer as he struggled to lift his gear bag over his shoulder, slinging it on.

"I extended her an invite to work with us. We needed an extra pair of hands while you're recovering."

Ghost looked at Price again. "She took it?"

"Mhm. She's staying with us." Price said and moved out of the way as Ghost approached the door to leave.

Ghost's eyes softened and then he nodded. "Okay."

"You know, wouldn't kill you to thank me." Price said as he watched Ghost leave the hospital room.

That same night, Ghost was knocking at her new barracks door.

She opened the door and looked up at him. She had just left the shower, wrapped only in a tank top and a pair of cargos.

Her hair was a bit damp and wild, the room smelled of her, of Vanilla. It was warm, the steam of the shower still somewhat present.

He looked at her, she looked at him. Eye contact, burning, as they stared. Words they didn't say. "You scared me to death." "I'm sorry." "I missed you." "I'm glad you're staying with us."

Then, she wordlessly moved out of the way, letting him inside as she approached the bed and sat down.

He closed the door and followed after her, already tugging off his balaclava on the way. She gave him space to lie down, him needing more of it after such a painful injury to the abdomen.

Then, she laid next to him, chest to chest, and they looked at each other again. Another silent conversation. "How are you feeling?" "Have been worse." "Does it hurt?" "Of course. But nothing I can't handle."

Then, he leaned down, and caught her mouth with his, his lips pressing onto hers, slow and gentle, tongue sliding in to meet hers.

Her hands grasped his jaw carefully, her thumbs grazing his poorly-shaven five o'clock shadow, his Glasgow smile, the bumps and imperfections from the acne on his cheeks.

His nose, meanwhile, softly rubbed against the scar on her cheek, his lips feeling the ribbed edge of it on her mouth, a texture he knew was there, a texture he craved, a texture he couldn't have enough of.

Slowly, he shifted his weight around, slotting himself between her thighs, lying atop her, one of her legs under his hip to support his weight, the other wrapped around the side of his hip, making sure his injury wasn't being pressed upon.

He held his weight up above her in one arm, leaning most of his weight on it, as well as her leg, almost sideways, in order to have a free one to slide all over her. The back of her neck, her shoulder blade, her side, her arm.

By the time they broke away, he looked at her, she looked at him. A glint of something in their eyes. They breathed slow, eye contact just as inordinately obscene as before.

Then, slowly, he shifted himself off her and turned away to sleep, leaving her staring at the back of his head, eyes softened and her heart beating like crazy in her chest.

"You know, if you keep staring at the back of my head, I'm gonna think you're planning to kill me." Simon ended up saying softly.

"You can't just go to sleep after that." Victoria ended replying.

"I sure can." He retorted, rolling his head a bit to look at him.

"You can't." She insisted as she stared at him. "We need to talk about that."

"Do we?" He asked her and cocked a brow up, staring right into her soul.

Another bout of eye contact, a longer one, carrying feelings neither of them quite knew how to express.

Then, she shook her head and curled herself against him, hugging him from behind. "Guess not." She murmured.

----------------------

[Kiss inspo ⬇️]

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Doing this with my beloved COD OC:

Lt. Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan.

What’s the lie your character says most often?

"You're doing good for the world."

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

Strictly. She makes it a point to draw a clear line between friends/colleagues/acquaintances. You will see the difference in the way she treats a friend and how she treats a teammate. It's actually pretty jarring.

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

Not even the damn readers knows what she's feeling most of the time. Just little snippets of thoughts of hers.

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Baseball. Used to go bat with her brother and her dad when she was a teen, as a way to decompress.

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

No. In fact, she can stop crying on command. It's like a switch goes off. If she gets caught off guard, she tenses her back, and the tears are gone.

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

Favorite movie: Kiki's Delivery Service.

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

Me: "WHISKEY!"

Her (old) friends: "VICKY!"

Ghost: "CALLAHAN, GODDAMN IT!"

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

She doesn't say it. Has never said it. Not even as a thing between her friends.

Just for scale: She's more likely to go "I would die for you" (which she also would never say) than to say the L word ever.

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

Tough love-ish. She will scold people while tending to them and helping them fix what's wrong.

"You got yourself injured? Of course I'm looking after you, but you WILL hear me complain about your stupidity" type of deal.

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

She's not the type to brag or excitedly tell people things... But if you get her drunk, she'll tell you her father was part of the team that helped find and kill a VERY well-known terrorist in the Middle East.

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

Ask her to drink something thick like a milkshake, smoothie, fruit nectar... She's a dumbass and the first sip she takes, she holds it in her mouth and then gulps it down at once.

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

With her old team, she witnessed a moment very similar to the one time Gaz fell from the helicopter. She still laughs with the same gusto she did back then if she thinks back on it.

She was a Sergeant at the time, and one of her superior officers got his foot snagged on a rope and tripped down from his spot atop a APC and was left hanging upside down barely an inch off the ground.

When do they fake a smile? How often?

Her mouth is covered more often than not but she 'smiles' when she's either a) out in the street or b) dealing with superiors. And by 'smiling' I mean she pushes her voice up an octave to sound a bit more peppy and less dead inside.

How do they put out a candle?

Blow on it with one good sharp blow.

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

Home/Alone: Calm, quiet, slips around basically blending in with the shadows, tends to sit down and bask in the quiet.

Work: Quiet, observant, professional, offers good ideas and asks appropriate questions.

School: As a kid, she was a prankster that often got called to the principal's office. She was loud!! And very much a girly girl.

With friends: Sarcastic, mean (in a playful way), tells good jokes.

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

Her superiors. How often she wishes to hit them with a swift "With all due respect, go fuck yourself, sir.". She gets especially bitter when she gets reamed out for a mistake.

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Whiskey: Her hair ("Why is it sticking up?" "I need a bobby pin." "I should have put more hair gel on it." "It's so tangled!!")

Everyone else: Her lip/cheek scar. (She also used to notice it first hand, but now she barely registers it).

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

Her mom and sister. All she has left.

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Her mom and her sister? She'd probably shrink into herself like a damn turtle. Her family would cry, scream, lecture her, ask her so many questions... It would leave her feeling awkward, embarrassed and sad.

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

Would call Phillip Graves as close to an enemy as one can be. Big fan of his command of the Shadows and how professional they are but has a distaste for the man himself (he used to flirt with her shamelessly).

Old teammate (Petty Officer First Class Scott Howard). Adores the man as a friend. Hates that he went on to join a PMC.

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

Good morning/good afternoon/good evening/goodnight.

Doesn't follow it if she can avoid it. Mostly grumbles it like "Munin'."

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

Funnily enough, going to the dentist... and getting blood drawn. Which is funny because she does both regularly out of "obligation".

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

One time, her sister was really stressed with finals, and wanted to have a snack she had been saving for like 3 days. Unbeknownst to her, Victoria has already eaten it... So her sister broke down crying in the kitchen hugging the empty box of her snack... And had to be put to bed because she was sleep deprived, stressed and sad.

Victoria never owned up to it.

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

Yes. Chocolate chip fudge.

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

Lockpicking.

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

🤨😐 "Thank you, sir. It was an honor serving with you, sir." 🫡🚶‍♀️

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

Had an ex-boyfriend spend a fortune giving her a silver jewelry matching set. (She's a gold jewelry girlie exclusively). Thanked him for it but broke to him directly.

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

"Peace and quiet."

"Peace and quiet, and if someone tries to disturb that, let me kill them."

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

She's unfortunately loyal to a fault. If she finds something wrong/suspcious or a betrayal and tries to warn people of it and they don't believe it, she keeps INSISTING on it until it happens and then she goes "Fucking told you so.".

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

Yes. She deems herself to be, above all else, a good soldier. If she makes a mistake on the job (especially one that gets people killed), she beats herself up over it FOREVER. In her personal life, she's a lot more detached and calm about it.

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

When she gets someone killed or when they fail and can't prevent something from happening (attacks, etc.). Will always volunteer to be the one delivering bad news, will stick her neck out for the rest of the team, will accept punishment regardless if it's her fault because she needs to feel that guilt be properly dealt with.

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

Vandalism. Accidental arson.

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

*handshake* "Hey, how you doin'?"

How do they greet someone they like / love?

*pat on the back*

*stands by their side quietly, gives upward head nod*

*sits by their side and winks*

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

(Just like Ghost) She's had to steal gear from the dead or near dead enemkes. Except... she has also finished killing off an enemy in order to steal his gear.

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

Besides her own father (and his history as a marine)? Unfortunately, Phillip Graves. No, it's not. She hates him. It's just easy to have someone to call a favor in to.

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

"I don't know that I'd survive if I lost you."

Unbeknownst to her, he wouldn't either.

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Cooking. She gets stressed when trying to manage having someone else in the kitchen with her. Turns unironically into Gordon Ramsay.

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

Excluded. She likes being home, thanks.

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

Silently judges. In her eyes, there's no excuse for an arm to flail about when someone shakes it. Not even for a thin or feminine woman or a small child.

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

Once she got used to being in the UK and around the 141, she ended up starting to say "Fuckin' 'ell." like Ghost.

She also hangs around Nik because he gives her an excuse to practice her languages... Which means she has picked up on certain mannerisms of his... including subtly twitching her head/neck especially when upset.

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

Silence at the dinner table (in a private/personal environment). For other people, silence means "I'm eating". For her? It means "Shit, something is wrong." because she grew up in an area where meals are **loud** and she's usually the quietest person there. So if everyone is as quiet as her, she misinterprets it.

She will ask if everything is alright and judge accordingly based on the way the person answers and their tone of voice.

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

She already learned Spanish, French and Russian... So I guess Spanish.

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

"Do not. No. No! Get that PINEAPPLE OFF THE PIZZA. How can you- WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LIKE IT?!"

She has an aversion to cooked fruit mixed with savory food.

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Listener.

What makes them talk? Ghost. Literally. If he asks her something so he can listen to her, she will talk for hours.

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

A girl from junior high. She was crying in the bathroom, and Whiskey offered her a tissue and sat with her on the dirty floor and sat by her as she cried. Whiskey doesn't even remember doing it. But the girl remembers.

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Gaz/Roach. Not even Ghost could convince her. But Gaz? Roach? She would groan about it, but she'd do it.

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

No. But would be polite about rejecting it. Unless it's pineapple pizza.

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

Gun ownership. She's pro (but with more regulation). I am very much against.

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

"What the hell?/!/." (With all sorts of entonations.)

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Wait. Always. She's not hot-headed.

Who would / do they believe without question?

Ghost. If he told her something smelled off about a situation, she would have his back. Even if it turns out to have been nothing. She trusts his instincts.

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

Fight first, flight after. Always. (Has gotten her into problems before. She once yeeted a glass of water at her own dad's face in the kitchen at 3 A.M..)

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

Shooting (as in going to the gunrange, etc.), sparring.

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

Sadly, her brother (he's dead). The guy was just... very nice and understanding.

Now? She comforts herself. Though Ghost gives her a little nudge.

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

Pouring things. If a container doesn't have a spout, she'll spill and she's go "Ah fuck!" about it.

Also ironing. She gets frustrated when clothes stay wrinkly.

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

So many. Sports as a kid (baseball, tennis, acrobatics, soccer, swimming, etc.), music as a teen (guitar), crafting as an adult (crochet, knitting, wood carving).

Bottom line, she likes to keep busy, but as she grew older, she wanted things that kept her hands busy more than anything.

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Clockwork. - OC Story

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: MootOC!Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 1.4k~ (on the dot, bby!) cw: canon simon backstory. + none. just toothrotting fluff.

December and May are Simon's least favourite months of the year.

December because it's the constant reminder of his family passing.

May because it's the constant reminder that he was the cause of all his family's issues.

Simon was born within days of his own father's birthday; "a late birthday present" everyone called it...

Nevermind the fact the druggie was too high to even attend his own son's birth, and that his mum had to get herself to the hospital alone, with a young Tommy tucked under her arm.

Simon had a bad birth, having breached feet first, and having to get rotated in utero, and then having been born with the umbilical chord around his neck, which meant he needed extra care afterward.

Simon needed to get surgery at age 3 because of tonsilitis.

Simon needed glasses growing up, which is mum could barely afford.

Simon had trouble saying his Ss, so for a long time, he got mocked at school for calling himself "Shimon"... and ended in him having speech classes.

Simon's grades were horrendous, and he had a tendency to get into fights at school, which caused his mum to have to take hours off work to come see his teachers.

Simon.

Simon.

Simon.

Always him, at the root of every problem.

And yet Simon was the only one in the house to raise his voice (and later his fists) at the drunk that was his father, which earned him countless trips to A&E.

Simon was the one with the neglected birthday, not because his mum and Tommy didn't remember, but because being right after his own father's, the leech would blow all their money on a rager, and leave the family unable to eat, let alone buy the boy a cake.

So Simon learned to not care.

Going into the Army, people didn't really show that big of a deal about it like they would at a normal job. Hard to, when you spend all your time fearing a bomb will fall on you or a bullet will bury itself on your body.

But then he went home, and when he kicked that bag of bones out of the house, and got Tommy into rehab... It got different. Got... better. The birthdays got easier. There were phone calls, and cards, and he actually... sort of... looked forward to it.

Whenever he'd be scheduled for leave, he'd go home, and mum would've bought them a cake and they'd sing happy birthday, and mum would give him things he needed; clothes, boots, they'd watch films together, she'd kiss his forehead so often...

Then, Beth came along. And now he suddenly was being forced fed cake and handed gifts that he had no clue what to do with... So his barracks suddenly had color. There were new towels, and little trinkets, picture frames with photos from home...

Then Joseph came, the little boy that had been the apple of his eye, that learned to talk in May, at 10 months old, and Simon got an e-mail with a video from them, where little Joseph mumbled his way past a 'SiSi!' while pointing at a picture of him in Tommy's phone... One of, if not the, best gift he'd ever received.

And they they were gone.

It only got so much worse after that night.

He swore he'd never celebrate his birthday again.

All he had ever loved had been stripped from him.

He wondered if it was his fault.

If he was, somehow, destined to bring bad luck to all those around him.

If he was, somehow, the root of all evil.

If, because he spited some God, all that he loved, all that he touched, was destined to die in his hands.

He spent three years locked in a haze. Mission to mission, job to job, move move move, and never stop.

He spent three Mays buried in work so he couldn't think, and buried in alcohol so he couldn't feel.

And then, on the fourth...

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

“It's a… Mexican-style MRE. Has beans and cheddar cheese or something. It's the only one I actually don't mind eating. The others are disgusting.”

“That feels like a dig at my social skills.”

“I've been swimming since I was a girl. Navy made sense too.”

“Took a napalm bath.”

For once since that bloody fucking day, he actually wanted something more than to simply forget, to drink himself into a coma and only waking up days later with his phone ringing and Price talking about a new mission.

God, Victoria made him laugh. She made him roll his eyes. She made him scoff. She made him talk. She made him listen.

Of course he couldn't let that go... let her go.

Of course he went looking for her once he was on leave.

Of course he held her close for those two nights.

Of course he held her close in that safehouse.

Of course he bore his face out for her when he got shot.

Of course, of course, of course.

He didn't isolate anymore, every May after that.

Simon'd wake up on his birthday and throw back the covers and sit on the edge of the bed and before the thoughts got to him, she'd already be wrapping her arms around his midsection, and pressing her cheek to his back.

And he'd put his hands over hers, and hear her breathing, and her heartbeat pressed against his back... And he'd close his eyes.

They didn't need to speak.

Victoria never wished him a 'Happy Birthday', but she'd always make sure to bake him a little sweet treat for dinner.

They share it the same way they shared their ''wedding cake'': sat across from each other in their kitchen, with a backdrop of trees beside them, a single knife to cut a slice, feeding each other pieces off the blade.

And when the thoughts got to be too much, on his birthday or all throughout the month, he'd simply turn and look at her, cup her face in his hand, and look her in the eye...

In those moments, he wanted to say it, he could feel it in the tip of his tongue...

That he cherished her.

That he appreciated all she did.

That she kept him sane.

That she was the best thing to have ever happened to him.

That she was like a lighthouse when he felt like a bloody gondola lost at open sea (wildly unprepared and definitely about to tip over and drown).

That he'd die for her.

That he'd kill (and had killed, and would kill again) for her.

That even if there was nothing else to go on for... he'd keep going for her.

That he loved her.

The words were always at the tip of his tongue.

Not just then, but every day. At all points of the day.

Whenever they touched, he'd want to say it.

Whenever they spoke, he'd want to say it.

Whenever they'd lock eyes, he'd want to say it.

Whenever he breathed, he'd want to say it.

His tongue would swirl with the taste of it, of the love he felt for her...

But the words never really made it out...

But he knew. And she knew.

Extra:

Then the news came, the baby, Meabh, it was always go go go, on the move, at home, never time to rest, just Meabh and the baby, and Victoria and him, and...

By the time Simon noticed, Fiadh was here, lying in his arms, little hands closed into fists, her small wrapped in a white blanket with anchors and fishes drawn on it...

And he looked up at his wife who stood beside Meabh, doting on her best friend and caressing her head, cooing at her that she did a good job, the girl a bit dozy from exhaustion from the recent breast feeding...

And then at the clock on the wall, marking 00:13 of the 19th...

And he felt his eyes begin to prickle, his jaw clenching under his surgical mask...

He looked back down at his niece again, little blind blue eyes, the same ones that used to belong to his best friend, staring up at him...

Maybe he didn't hate his birthday so much anymore.

for you @loveandplanet for making me sad ; and also @crashtestbunny sorry for this :)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

IOU. - OC Story

pairing: OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x MootOC!Valkyrie (platonic) extra: Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley words: 1.6k~ cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, torture and bodily harm (descriptive!), kidnapping, forced starvation, injuries, blood, use of weapons, thoughts of death/dying.

June 4th, 2021. Beirut, Lebanon 1156 hours.

"Valkyrie."

"Watcher."

"Where are you?"

"Currently getting falafel in a nice little food stand."

"So you're free?"

"Depending on the price, I might be."

"No government funds this time, Val."

"So you're paying for this out of pocket? How generous of you."

"Wiring you 25 now."

"Copy that. It just came in. Where's the target?"

"That's what I need you to figure out. One of my assets went dark in Turkmenistan."

"When do I leave?"

"Now."

"...Can I finish my lunch first?"

June 4th, 2021. Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. 2147 hours.

Val crouches down on the tiled rooftop, still warm from the sun that had shined down on it for nearly 16 hours straight during the day, their flashlight illuminating the path that indicated a scuffle, more than a few broken tiles, a few of them displaying bullet holes.

In their ear, an earpiece relayed the audio file that Laswell had sent, a voice they recognized very well coming through. The last comm Whiskey was able to send in before they went dark.

"WATCHER, COPY GODDAMN IT!"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST... THIS IS WHISKEY IN THE BLIND, IF ANYONE COPIES, PLEASE RESPOND."

She was out of breath, her voice uneven and loud, a clear sign that she was not just on the run, but definitely being shot at, if the loud bangs between the static of the lack of commands was any indication.

"MY LOCATION HAS BEEN COMPROMISED... ATTEMPTING EXFIL ON FOOT... CURRENTLY BEING PURSUIED... ENGAGING HOSTILES."

"SOUTHEAST BOUND... OUTNUMBERED... AND UNARMED... NEED NEAREST SAFEHOUSE LOCATION."

Valkyrie could hear the panic in the American's voice with each word she said. Val could almost picture it, each step she took, each rustle of clothes, each jump and vault she performed over the rooftops trying to make it across, as she was chased.

Restarting the audio, they started following the steps they assumed Whiskey took, through the broken tiles and gunshot holes, parkouring and vaulting walls and roofs, southeast bound, just like the American likely would've...

And the audio finished just at the same time as Val spotted it.

"AHHHHHHHHH! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!"

A large bloodstain on the tile beneath their feet, an attempt at dragging herself away, before being caught, and lifted, the blood splattering as someone carried her off.

Looking around, Val's eyes fixed on the street across the building, both their hands coming to rest on their hips. "Now what?" They murmured under their breath.

June 8th, 2021. Darvaza, Turkmenistan. 0303 hours.

She didn't know how long it had been.

The only sign that time was going by was whenever she'd pass out from exhaustion and dehydration, only to wake up again with a bucket of water being poured atop her, or a cheek-bruising slap being delivered to her face.

It had been a while since she found herself in this situation... and it might have been the delirium setting in, but she couldn't help but feel that she was rusty.

She used to be able to withstand torture sessions much more easily. If they could catch her, that is. She used to see enemies coming much easier than she did this time.

Hell, had Simon really softened her up so much? Or was she just getting old?

Not to say she had gotten weak, or stupid. She hadn't. She had followed procedure and kept her mouth shut. She had told them little else than her full name, her service number and her birthday.

Anything else they wanted? They might as well kill her because she wouldn't speak.

But she had to admit that it was getting to her. She didn't know when it started becoming too much, but it had.

Maybe it was how stuffy and hot the bunker was, in the middle of the stupid desert, God how she hated the summer and the heat...

Maybe it was the waterboarding.

Maybe it was the nail pulling.

Maybe the finger breaking.

Maybe the punches to the stomach until she was puking.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep.

Maybe the barely sutured GSW to the upper right thigh, which, sure they had sewn up, to keep her alive for long enough to interrogate, but that was just about where their hospitality ended, because they didn't provide any pain killers and left it to fester, still in her bloody clothes.

Maybe it was the sensory nightmare that was the sweat slicking her skin, and, oh, how soaked her compression leggings were, sticking to the sensitive skin on her legs.

Maybe it was when they hung her upside down for long, endless minutes, hoping the blood rushing down to her head, coupled with the lack of food, with create a cocktail of dizziness that would make her talk.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was when they tossed her on the back of a jeep and drove her out to the dunes in the desert and left her out there for what must have been multiple hours, under the scorching sun, feeling the sand burn against her face, her mouth gagged with cloth and hogtied like a pig, only to come collect her after a few hours, when she already had blisters of a nasty sunburn forming on the back of her neck, lower back and hands, after she had succeeded in rolling herself onto her stomach to protect her face and neck.

She barely registered the sound of gunshots outside the room, barely awake and shivering, running the nastiest fever of her fucking life, her head hanging low as she was tied to a chair in a room that might as well have been a furnace, baking under the hot sun and sand for the whole day.

The moment the lock is opened, Whiskey raised her head, her hair hanging over her eyes, her eyes squinting, trying to make out the shape at the door, but her eyes were too hazy and her head was throbbing.

"Back for more?" She used the last of her strength to taunt her kidnappers, like she had been for the entire time of her captivity.

She might have been worn down and at the end of her rope, but she'd go down her way... By being an absolute cunt until they put a bullet in her head to end her once and for all.

And when they disposed of her body somewhere in the desert, it wouldn't take long for them to be buried beside her. She knew Simon would make sure of it.

Simon... God, she missed him. What a terrible fucking start to their marriage. She was pretty sure this was not what a honeymoon in the desert is meant to look like.

"Holy shit, you look like crap." Was not the answer she expected, followed by the ropes binding her to the chair to be loosened.

Val knelt by Whiskey's feet, looking up at the brunette with knitted brows and compassionate brown eyes. "You alright?"

Valkyrie. Huh... Seemed like Laswell actually sent someone. Whiskey was starting to wonder if she'd just be considered a loss and left to rot here.

"Took your sweet time..." Whiskey croaked out, causing Val to chuckle and shake their head, their hands quickly undoing the restraints that kept her feet bound to the chair.

"Yeah, well, had to stop and sightsee a little bit, do all the touristy things... You know how it is." Valkyrie replied as they shifted their weight around and helped comb the hair off Whiskey's face. "Can you walk?"

Whiskey gulped a bit, dryly, and nodded, though, really, it was anyone's guess if she really had enough strength to make it from the chair to the door, let alone outside or to town or... god knows where they were.

Using her bloodied hands, she pushed herself up to her feet, wobbling violently from a mix of being light-headed and having been shot in the leg days ago, which caused Val's gloved hands to shoot forward to help stabilize her.

Whiskey knew better than to bat them off, especially now, when she knew she needed help. So, she wrapped an arm around Val's shoulders, and shifted her weight around on her leg.

"Thought you said you could walk?" Valkyrie teased a bit, causing Whiskey to groan and shoot them a look of pure rage.

"Shut..." The American grunted. "Just get me out of here..."

"Alright... Alright... Jeez, tough crowd." Val quipped as they began helping Whiskey out of the room and down the corridor. "You know, whatever you get paid for this, I hope you know it isn't enough to warrant going through torture..."

"Shut up and walk... or so help me God..." Whiskey grumbled.

June 8th, 2021. Tidworth, England. 1218 hours.

Val watched how the door to the helo was slid open, a couple of doctors and medics on the other side, already scrambling to help transfer Whiskey to a wheelchair, to take her in for further examination.

The doctors over at Izmir Air Station in Turkey, to which Val had taken Whiskey per Laswell's orders, had done little else than stabilize her and get her hydrated, fed and on medication, before transport was arranged back to England.

But they worried, of course they did. She was in a sorry fucking state... Even if she was alive and doing better than when Val first found her.

"Wait." She groaned at the doctors and raised her head to look at Val, beckoning them closer. "C'mere."

Val approached, only to have Whiskey's hand reach out to bring them close, allowing the American to whisper in their ear.

At first, they didn't know what was being said to them, just a string of nonsensical numbers that seemed to have no rhyme or reason...

Only for, as she pulled away, Whiskey to add:

"I owe you. Call me if you need anything."

for @superhero-landing because our OCs are basically ebsties from this point forth.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bonded Pair (Pt.2) - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [<- Part One] || [Part Three ->] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley words: 0.9K~ cw: canon Ghost backstory (torture, injuries), OC backstory (injury)

Soap got airlifted out in the middle of the night, after having walked a few miles in pitch darkness until the exfil location.

And although Ghost didn't hear it, he knows Laswell reamed out Whiskey for sending Soap packing.

Without Soap around, however, it meant they could get better sleeping shifts working.

As she woke up at 0200 on Day 5, she turned on her PTT. “I'm up…” She announced while rubbing her eyes.

Ghost had had nothing but time to think while she slept. 

When she wasn't dealing with Soap, Whiskey seemed like a good soldier. Smart, observant, professional, her head was always cool, her words calm and collected.

She was a strange one. He got some type of feeling of deja vu as they worked. Like looking in a mirror.

He had even called out to Laswell and asked for a bit more info on her, when, normally, he never would for anyone else.

“Morning, Sleepin’ Beauty.” He greeted.

“It's not morning yet. And don't call me Sleeping Beauty, or else I'll call you Grim Reaper.” She replied. Her voice was a bit raspy now that she had just woken up.

“It's morning enough…” Ghost retorted. He moved his binoculars in the direction of her camp, noticing her moving about in the dark through the night vision settings.

“Any movement?”

“Neg. Been peaceful.”

“Okay… Well, let me know when you want to sleep.”

“Rog.” There was a pause. Then, Ghost spoke again. “You seem much more relaxed without Soap here.” 

“I'm not a talker.”

“I've noticed.”

“You aren't either.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then, this will make this mission easier. We can just stay quiet for the next two and a half weeks.”

“That we can.”

-

Day 5: 1800

Other than what they had to, to do their jobs, they stayed true to their word. They didn't speak again… 

.

.

.

For a total of 12 hours.

But then there was some type of… itch in Simon. He wanted to talk. He wanted to hear her.

“So what are you eating?” Ghost found himself asking while his plastic fork stirred his MRE.

“It's a… Mexican-style MRE. Has beans and cheddar cheese or something.” Whiskey replied. “It's the only one I actually don't mind eating. The others are disgusting.”

Through his binoculars, he could see her. And she could see him, if she peeked through hers He wondered if she was looking at him too or still focused on the job.

“You don't eat them for the taste-”

“I know you don't. I'm just saying.”

“Sounds better than mine, though.”

“What’s yours?”

“Some type of pasta thing.”

“Not bad.”

-

Day 5: 2000

“So, you and Johnny's girl…”

“Yep.”

“How long have you been friends?”

“Five years now.”

“Not bad.”

“That feels like a dig at my social skills.”

“It was. But I'm the same way. No offence.”

“None taken.”

“So, you didn't meet Johnny until now?”

“Nope. But heard plenty about him.”

“So what did he do?”

“Can't tell you.”

-

Day 6: 1300

“How long have you served?”

“9 years now. You?”

“15.”

“15? How fucking old are you?”

“31.”

“You joined at………. 16?”

“Affirm.”

“Interesting. Didn't know the UK let kids do that.”

“With parental permission.”

“I figured as much.”

“How old are you?”

“28, 29 this year.”

-

Day 8: 0200

“How was your sleep?”

“Decent.”

“As in… bad?”

“Yup.”

“Good to know.”

“Any changes?”

“None so far.”

“I don't like how quiet it is.”

“Neither do I.”

-

Day 11: 1200

“How'd you meet Laswell?”

“Being the only female Navy SEAL brings a lot of attention to me. You?”

“My Captain.”

“Right. Price?”

“You met him?”

“Worked with him last year.”

“What’d you think of him?”

“Eh… He was efficient. All in all have worked with less capable officers.”

“Don't trust him?”

“Don't distrust him. But that means nothing to me.”

“Same here.”

“He's your Captain, though.”

“And? People you know can hurt you the most.”

-

Day 14: 1630

“Where are you from?”

“North of England.”

“More specific?”

“Manchester. You?”

“Tennessee.”

“Explains the accent.”

-

Day 15: 0930

“Why the Navy?”

“It was either that or the Marines… and didn't get accepted into the Marines.”

“Why not?”

“My father was one. Pulled strings.”

“Trying to protect you?”

“Probably. Either way, I've been swimming since I was a girl. Navy made sense too.”

“I see.”

“Why the Army?”

“It was either that or construction.”

“Ah… not a lot of prospects.”

-

Day 17: 0045

“Why the mask?”

“Same as you. Bad job, bad people. Don't want to bare it out.”

“Yeah, but a skull? A real one at that?”

“You know it's real?”

“Of course I do.”

“Memory of a past life.”

“I see. Well, it looks terrifying.”

“Thank you. ‘s what I was going for.”

-

Day 19: 0350

“What's the worse scar I've got? I don't know. Have ‘em all over.”

“Gotta have a particularly nasty one, c'mon.”

“On my ribs, then. Big ugly fucker.”

“That's what I'm talking about. I’ve got a bad scar across the face. But my legs are worse.”

“Your legs?”

“Took a napalm bath.”

“Fuckin’ hell. And I thought mine were bad.”

“Yours?”

“Hung from a meat hook by the ribs.”

“Ouch. Are your organs okay?”

“They are now. Are your legs okay?”

“They are now.”

-

It was on Day 23, that stuff picked up the pace. The target was suddenly on the move and Ghost's voice rang out through the PTT to wake Whiskey up.

They contacted Watcher, packed up their nests and took off on foot to the helo to trail the HVT and intercept him.

Then, they split ways. Ghost reconvened with TF141 for the next part of the mission, and Whiskey took off to Algeria for her next assignment.

They parted ways with a look, the first of many to come, and a light fist bump.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

@lovifie how does it feel to write Whiskey x Ghost on accident?

Reader: *Finally snapping after years of mental abuse, losing all kinds of self conservation instinct, smashing someone's head with a rock.*

Ghost, just as mentally fucked and with even less conservation instinct: Yeah, I could fix her.

I just think they could work perfectly fine, with like no angst at any given moment and just perfectly healthy and not self sabotaging from any of them. Hehe

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Meeting #2. - OC Backstory

pairing: OC!Whiskey x MootOC!Valkyrie (platonic) words: 2.4K~ cw: canon-typical violence/talk, use of weapons, attempt at military accuracy(?? idk), humour/jokes

June 18th, 2019.

2317 hours.

St. Petersburg, Russia

Whiskey is lying by the window with her rifle, eyes locked on the building across from her, the green hue of the night vision scope allowing her to keep track of her target as he moves about his apartment.

The night is clear, the air is still, the window’s open, the curtains not drawn… She has the perfect opportunity to eliminate the target. Hell, it won’t get more perfect than this.

“Whiskey to Watcher-1, I have a clear shot on the target. Ready to engage.”

“Copy that, Whiskey. Hold your fire.”

Hold her fire? Whiskey cocks a brow and grimaces at the command.

She's dedicated weeks of her time tracking down and stalking Volkov, getting evidence of his deals to report back to the CIA and the UN and... what? Now Laswell isn't giving her execute authority?

“I have a clear shot, Watcher. It's now or never, I have less than a minute to engage.”

“I’m not a fan of repeating myself, Whiskey. Hold your fire, you do NOT have execute authority.” 

Gritting her teeth, Whiskey insisted, finger already curling around the trigger of the rifle, eyes glued to the target.

“Laswell, I’ve been after this motherfucker for three weeks, I have a CLEAR SHOT.”

“Do not fucking argue with me, Lieutenant. I cannot sanction an American operative to conduct an execution in Russian soil. Hold your fucking fire.”

Grunting and pulling her finger away from the trigger, Whiskey murmurs a “Copy that.” to her mic.

She had never been denied a kill. Not since she began this arrangement with the Agency. With Laswell.

“I’ll be sending an operator to your location."

Great. So someone is coming to sweep another number that she could add to her tally, from under her nose.

"Roger. Where's the meeting point?"

"Your safehouse."

Yippee. Someone she'd have to share her shitty, dingy studio apartment with?

"Should I continue tracking the target?"

"Affirmative."

"Copy that. Codename?"

"Valkyrie."

Whiskey's brow twitched and she grunted another 'Copy. Whiskey out.' comm before she turned off her PTT.

-

June 19th, 2018.

2132 hours.

The door to the safehouse swings open, causing Whiskey to throw a knife at the door, which Valkyrie just narrowly dodged, the blade ending up embedded on the door frame beside their head.

"What the fuck?! Is this how you treat guests?" Valkyrie complains loudly as she glances up at the knife beside her head, and then across the room, at Whiskey, by the windows.

Then, both Whiskey and Valkyrie draw their pistols and point them at one another, in the near pitch darkness of the studio apartment, only broken up by a table lamp by the pull-out sofa-bed.

"Lower your damn weapon before I fucking stab you myself." The bleach blonde spoke up as he closed the door behind himself, eyes still locked on Whiskey.

They were short. Shorter than Whiskey, wearing light tactical gear, and, especially, a vest that left their arms on display, per lack of a shirt underneath, but rather a tanktop.

Their extremely light hair nearly blends with their pale complexion, if not for the bright red strands strewn through it. They were no soldier. No soldier would look as ridiculous as that.

"Who the fuck are you?" Whiskey grunts as she glares at them, fingers gripping her pistol tight.

"Valkyrie. And you're Whiskey. Now that we're introduced, will you put your gun down or not?" Valkyrie asks sarcastically with raised eyebrows and wide eyes

Whiskey huffed and lowered her weapon, Valkyrie following suit, and both of them holstering them swiftly.

"Didn't Watcher tell you to knock?" Whiskey grunts as she pushes up from her squatted position against the wall, next to her mounted sniper rifle.

"She did. But what do I look like? Who the fuck knocks on the door of a CIA safehouse?" Valkyrie complains.

Whiskey rolls her eyes. "Don't fuckin' give me lip. There's a system." She murmurs, her southern accent a bit more prominent as she glares at the other operator.

Valkyrie crosses the room and sets her rucksack down on the 2-seater dining table, beginning to grab their gear from inside. "This is why I hate working with the damn government. System this, protocols that-" She grunts.

Whiskey crosses the room and rolls her eyes, pulling her knife out from the doorframe. "Well, maybe if you obeyed them..." She trails off as she sheathes the blade again on her thigh holder.

"Look, I'm here to kill the Russian, not to play the obedient little soldier, alright?" Valkyrie complains and rolls her eyes. "That's your job."

Whiskey scoffs as she takes her spot by the window again, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her foot on the wall behind her, scuffing up the wallpaper.

"Don't get too fuckin' big for your breeches now. I'm still in charge here." Whiskey reminde him.

"Yeah, yeah-" Valkyrie waves their hand dismissively, gesturing vaguely in the air. "It's 'your' mission or whatever."

"It is and if I were you, I'd lose the fuckin' attitude." Whiskey warns them.

They both go quiet for a moment, before Whiskey turns away and lays prone behind her rifle again, eyes locked on the target's apartment.

-

June 20th, 2019.

0154 hours.

The mission went tits up. Not anyone's fault. Not really.

A stealth drop-in, execution, and pull out... and yet the target's security guards were more alert than expected...

Long story short, the target made off, while Valkyrie was busy dealing with more bodyguards than expected.

As they returned to safehouse, Whiskey immediately began packing her gear.

"It took me three fucking weeks." She murmurs under her breath, disassembling her sniper.

"I can hear you, you know?" Valkyrie replies from the corner while wrapping her bicep in gauze after having been slashed through by a knife.

"Oh you can? Can you?!" Whiskey turns her head sharply to glare at Valkyrie. "That's real interestin' considerin' you didn't fuckin' listen when I fuckin' told you to WAIT." She scolds the other operator.

"Oh fuck you. There were too many of them. That's not my fault. You're the one that has been keeping watch for three weeks! If you did your job, we'd know he had a bigger protection detail than we thought." Valkyrie argues.

That causes Whiskey to drop the parts of her rifle and stand up sharply, glaring at Valkyrie from across the room.

"You wanna talk about fuckin' up my job?! You went in about as discreetly as a bull in a fuckin' china shop!" Whiskey raises her voice, which causes Valkyrie to rise to their feet as well.

"And you didn't hit a single shot while covering me!" Valkyrie gets closer and gets in Whiskey's face, their dark brown eyes locked on Whiskey's hazel ones.

"I don't have execute authority, Valkyrie! You know what that fuckin' means, don't you?! Oh, wait, no, you're not a fuckin' soldier, right?" The older operator asks with widened, angry eyes.

"That's exactly right, so why the fuck are you asking like I need to fuckin' listen to you in the first place? Who do you think you are?" Valkyrie lunged their head up a couple of times in an act of challenge.

"I'm the one representing the fuckin' CIA here, you're just a shitty mercenary. You have no goddamn authority!" Whiskey raises her voice as she leans into Valkyrie, using her height to her advantage.

"Now pack your goddamn gear. You're going to help me find the damn weasel that you let escape. And I don't want another fucking peep out of you." Whiskey adds with vitriol spitting from her voice, a finger pointing in Valkyrie's face.

-

June 25th, 2019.

1137 hours.

"Alors? (So?)" Valkyrie asks as she looks at Whiskey with a raised brow while she takes her seat across from her at the table.

They've been on the road for a few days, getting intel from both Watcher's informants and Whiskey's own previous research.

"C'est l'endroit idéal. La dame a dit qu'elle avait vu quelques « voyous » correspondant à la description que nous lui avions donnée, s'installer de l'autre côté de la rue. Il dit qu'ils viennent souvent chercher de la nourriture. (This is the spot. The old lady said she saw some thugs set up shop across the street. They come here to buy food every day.) " Whiskey tells her.

"Comment as-tu fait ça ? (How'd you do that?)" Valkyrie ends up asking in a murmur as she watches Whiskey spoon some soup into her mouth.

Whiskey cocks a brow, confused, as she glances at Valkyrie from across the table, popping a pelmeni between her teeth and huffing a bit at the explosion of warm meat in her mouth.

"Pour qu'elle s'ouvre à toi ? (Get her to open up to you?)" The blonde insists before she takes a sip of her own spoon of Russian soup.

She's noticed by now that Whiskey is a surprisingly resourceful woman. She drives well, knows how to speak and read Russian, is observant and detail-oriented...

Plus, she's paranoid as all hell, and demands they speak French and wear civvy clothes while out in public... Not to mention having Val conceal their hair under a baseball cap.

"Je parle russe comme un natif. Et lui a dit qu'ils faisaient du mal aux petites filles. (I speak Russian like a native. And I told her they've been hurting little girls.)" Whiskey replies and shrugs.

Valkyrie stiffens up a bit, his jaw clenching lightly after Whiskey explained how she got the intel she needed.

Whiskey catches the look in their eye and snaps her fingers in their face, drawing Valkyrie back from whatever thought they got lost in.

"Mange. Tu auras besoin de toute l’énergie pour les foutre en l’air. (Eat. You'll need all the energy you can get to fuck them up.)" Whiskey tells them... but her voice is just a bit warmer, before she looks away to her own bowl.

-

June 26th, 2019

0348 hours

"HOLD THE CAR STEADY!" Valkyrie shouts as they hold half of their body out of the window, a leg wrapped around their clipped seat belt to secure them in place, as they shoot their rifle at the van in front of them.

"I CAN'T, THEY'RE FUCKIN' SWERVING SIDE TO SIDE, VAL!" Whiskey shouts in response from behind the wheel, attempting to control the car while also dodging the shots the enemies were aiming back at her behind the wheel.

"WELL I CAN'T HIT THEM IF YOU KEEP SWERVING!"

"AND I CAN'T FOLLOW THEM IF I DON'T SWERVE!"

It's as they're arguing, that it happens. A Russian police car suddenly starts giving chase to them through the streets of the small city.

"GREAT, NOW WE'RE BEING CHASED."

"JUST SHUT UP AND KEEP DRIVING, I'VE GOT THIS." Valkyrie shouts as he swivels back and starts opening fire on the cruiser behind them.

"SHOOT THE RUSSIANS, GOD DAMN YOU."

"THEY'RE ALL RUSSIAN."

"NOT THE COPS, VAL, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"HOW ABOUT I SHOOT YOU?!"

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Whiskey grunts and pulls out her pistol, then takes a couple shots at the van before them and, somehow, they land.

The van's back tire pops and spins out, causing the van to swerve and, in a desperate attempt from the driver to regain control, crashes against a tree on the sidewalk, while Whiskey brings their own car to a stop.

A few bystanders start screaming, chaos taking over the street, more so than it had already, cars skidding to a stop and crashing behind them and around them to escape the crash and gunshots.

Whiskey immediately pops open the door, using it for cover so she can aim a few shots at the Russians who are already slipping out of the van to return fire.

Vallyrie is on the other side, trading fire with the Russians as well. The cops that bad been chasing them now lying on the street after she had taken care of them.

"Fuck I'm out!" They called out through the open doors of the car.

"What do you mean you're out?!" Whiskey shouts back.

"I'm out! No more bullets. Do you need me to say it in Spanish? Finito!"

"That's Italian!"

"Really?! Right now is not the time?!"

With a long sigh, Whiskey mutters a "Fuck it.", then tosses her pistol at Valkyrie. "USE THEM WISELY AND COVER ME."

Before Val can even process what Whiskey said, she's gone, slipping behind a crashed car beside theirs and rushing across toward the Russians.

Valkyrie's eyes widen when she notices Whiskey using a garrote to choke one of the bodyguards from behind, slinging an arm around his own rifle, and using it to shoot at his teammates while actively choking him out with the other.

This provides Valkyrie some time to approach as well and change spots herself, perching over the hood of the car to land a shot on another of the bodyguards.

Once Valkyrie makes enough headway into the van, she pops open the door, and with one clean shot and a couple of stab wounds, disposes of the last bodyguard and the HVT.

Whiskey rounds the car and approaches Val, rifle held at the ready and looking around as more sirens sound and echo from the nearby streets.

Val tosses the body of the HVT out with a thud at Victoria's feet, and takes a picture as a 'job done' security protocol for Laswell.

"We need to leave. Now." Whiskey murmurs as she looks around.

"It's done. It's done." Val murmurs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his vest. "We don't make that bad of a team. This was actually pretty cool."

Whiskey's hazel eyes lock onto Val's dark brown ones, then, she rolls her eyes. "Just get in the damn car." She grunts and nudges her along with her borrowed rifle. "Pretty cool my ass." Whiskey murmurs as she runs to the driver's seat.

"You should let me drive this time, you know?" Valkyrie goads as Whiskey puts the car in reverse and looks over her shoulder.

"That sounds like a terrible fucking idea. Why the fuck would I do that?" Whiskey shoots the car forward and swerves into a side street.

"Because your driving is about as bad as your aim with knives."

"Will you let that go? I wasn't aiming for your head."

"Even if you were, you'd have missed."

"You know, Watcher said I can't kill Russians on Russian soil... but didn't say anything about Canadians."

The Look™️ in question:

For @superhero-landing aka @/🔪 anon

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

The Absolute Most Comprehensive Character Sheets Ever

thanks to the beautiful, amazing, awesome, darling that is @crashtestbunny for making these!!!!!

[ THE ORIGINAL / BLANK ONES ]

Extra 🫶:

Rosemary Williams belongs to my beloved @lyralein ;

Meabh O'Malley and Miriam Axford belong to my beloved @crashtestbunny ;

Emilio Melero belongs to my beloved @cod-z ;

"Valkyrie" belongs to my beloved @superhero-landing ;

Elaine Laswell belongs to my beloved @loveandplanet

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

OC: Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan

faceclaim: Michelle Rodriguez (more specifically in the following roles: Letty Ortiz, Chris Sanchez, Rain Ocampo and Trudy Chacón.)

(fully copied @crashtestbunny because this is more useful than the hashtag thing I was doing!)

Basics

Military Personnel File

Whiskey's Timeline (updated for May 2024)

Random Facts

Whiskey on Angst: Interview

Whiskey's Life

Whiskey's Family Tree

The Event. [Part One.] [Part Two.] - hurt/no comfort

Whiskey x Ghost

Bonded Pair. [Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three.] - hurt/comfort

Smiles. [One Shot] - fluff

Clockwork. [One Shot] - hurt/comfort + fluff

Plans. [One Shot] - angst(ish)

Whiskey & Ghost: Interview

Whiskey on Love: Interview

Whiskey and Friends

The Meeting. [Whiskey x Pirate]

The Meeting #2. [Whiskey x Valkyrie]

IOU. [Whiskey x Valkyrie]

I Got You. [Whiskey x Rosie]

Get to Know Whiskey

OC Interview

Interesting Questions Interview

Helpful Questions Interview

Character Sheets & Tag Games

Whiskey Compendium (aka The absolute most comprehensive sheet ever.)

Get to Know the Ship: [One] [Two] [Three]

Get to Know Whiskey: [One] [Two] [Three]

UQUIZ: What Kind Of Book Character Would Your OC Be?

Art

A little collage header made by my lovely @superhero-landing

Meabh & Whiskey fanart piece by @crashtestbunny

Moodboard of Val & Whiskey by @superhero-landing

Other Things (AUs, etc.)

Gone. (if Ghost and Soap both died in MW3 - AU)

Gone. (but from Soap's perspective) by my lovely @crashtestbunny

Find other little posts:

#oc: victoria "whiskey" callahan || #ghost x whiskey

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

can I instead interest you in:

(they're arguably WORSE people than Meabh and Johnny, and I stand by it, those two are like cinnamon rolls next to these two)

Here’s mine

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I Got You. - OC Backstory

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x MootOC!Rosie (platonic) words: 3.3k~ cw: canon-typical violence/talk, attempt at military accuracy, espionage, government conspiracies, paranoia, mental breakdown/issues, physical/health neglect, flashbacks.

August 6th, 2023. 2139 hours. Comrie, Scotland.

Whiskey's splayed out on the bed. She snaps a picture that catches only her tired eyes, knit eyebrows and poofy brown hair in the darkness of the room, before typing some random caption and shooting it off to Meabh.

It was typical for them to text through Snap. It was the only social app Whiskey kept after she left home 5 years ago. Her phone was void of other apps other than food delivery, youtube, her e-mail and Snapchat.

At the top of the screen, a pop-up appears, announcing the arrival of a new e-mail on her inbox. A Facebook one, from an account she long abandoned, along with her abandoning all other social medias. And yet, the name 'Holly Willi-' cut off by the character limit had her raising a brow.

Tapping at the notification, her e-mail client opened with an automated e-mail from Facebook alerting her that Holly Williams had sent her a direct message. Now that's new.

Holly Williams... That was one of dad's cousins. From Grandpa Willie's side of the family, if her memory served her. She remembers family dinners and barbecues spent together, her big Irish-American family getting together for the 4th of July, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

She hasn't seen her 'Aunt Holly' (even though the woman was really her first cousin once removed) since before she went to university nearly 13 years ago. What could the woman want now?

Clicking on the link, she's taken to the Facebook client page on her browser and after trying, failing, and reseting the password of her account, she clicks the DM tab and opens the message:

Hi Vicky dear, it's your auntie Holly. Hope you're doing well. I heard about your papa, my condolences. I hope it's not a bother but I reached out to your mama to talk to your daddy about some military things and she sent me your way because she said you're in the navy. I see you haven't uploaded anything in a few years so this might not even reach you but I could use your help very urgently and I'm frankly desperate. If you see this, is there anyway you could call me at this number? It's very important!!! Thanks. Aunt Holly x

Her brow scrunches. Since when does Aunt Holly need to talk about the military? Isn't she a professor? Whiskey clicks on her profile and checks her job listing. Right, she's a History professor in NYU. So what's this? Is this for some research study of hers?

But then again, she said it herself that she's desperate... And the tone of her message isn't the most uplifting one... She sounds like she's really in need of her help... And Whiskey has never been good at being heartless. Sighing and scratching her head, Whiskey sits up in bed.

She copies the number from the DM and calls it, hearing the repeated beeping of the call attempting to connect as Simon comes up the stairs and into the bedroom, sweatpants close to falling off his hip and wrapped in a warm sweater.

He raises a brow at her as she's holding the phone to her ear, signaling vaguely to indicate it's an important call, so he takes a spot beside her, with an arm around her waist.

"Holly Williams." The older woman greets on the other side, her voice professional, like she was waiting for a work call.

"Hey, Aunt Holly, it's Victoria." Whiskey murmurs, her southern accent suddenly triggering full-force, like it hasn't in over three years.

-

August 10th, 2023. 1321 hours. Yonkers, New York.

"When you get there, please, you need to understand, she's... she's not herself."

Victoria climbed out of the Uber and popped open the trunk, pulling out her black suitcase, and thanking the driver with a nod and a wave before he drove off.

Then, she stood in front of the brownstone townhouse, eyeing it up and down, with inquisitive eyes, before taking a deep breath and climbing the front steps to the stoop.

"She hasn't been the same, not after Alex passed away."

The doorbell rings inside the house for a few moments, before the door opens and a pale face regards her from the other side, strawberry blonde curls disheveled, eyes heavy with dark circles.

"Hey, Rosie..." Victoria greets gently. The woman knew she was coming, Aunt Holly having warned her. "It's me, Victoria... Vicky, remember?" She asks in a soft tone, hoping she's not too far gone yet.

"Vicky..." Rosie says softly as she regards the slightly shorter brunette with wild, crazied eyes but eventually nods and unlocks the door all the way, letting Victoria inside.

"When you see her, please... be kind to her. She's really struggling..."

Victoria remembers the last time she saw Rosemary. Victoria had to have been 16. Rosie had just graduated from college, and it was the summer. At the time, she always dressed in bright colors, a hippy style, with Birkenstocks galore... She was very put together, healthy, pretty. They weren't the closest cousins in the world, but they spent time together during the holidays; Rosie taught Vicky how to do her hair to keep her curls healthy; they spoke about boys...

Before coming here, Victoria had even checked her cousin's Facebook page, finding an old album of photos from family gatherings that included the two of them, when they were much, much younger (and happier). It had been so long since they last saw each other... She needed a refresher on her cousin's appearance...

But now, as she's getting let into the house, she realizes Rosemary looks like shit. Somehow, worse than Victoria had expected when her mother had reached out and told her all about the state she is in. Paranoid, manic, depressive and reclusive, Aunt Holly worrying her only daughter was schizophrenic. Her hair looks greasy and matted, and she seems like she's lived in the same outfit for multiple days, maybe weeks. The house reeks. She reeks.

"Nobody can get her out of the house... And she's not taking care of herself..."

The house is dirty and messy, take out containers and paper bags of food delivery strewn about, the trashbag in the kitchen overflowing, the laundry basket in the laundry room too. Every picture frame in the house has blue, yellow, or pink post-its over it, the mirrors as well. Victoria follows her cousin across the house, each step she takes crushing some trash, or nearly tripping over a clothes pile. She's dangerously close to becoming a hoarder, it looks like...

Victoria has to force herself to take a few deep breaths through her mouth and not her nose, so that she doesn't get sick. She knows it would not be helpful in her cousin's state.

Rosie's able to push some trash off the couch to make space for the two of them to sit, though she keeps a large gap between herself and Victoria, probably ashamed of her smell, or appearance, or doubting that she can trust her...

"Every time I try to talk to her... It's like I'm talking to a crazy person... She's my daughter, I love her, but she needs help..."

"Your mom told me some of what's been going on." Victoria begins as she sets her hands on her lap and looks at Rosie with her best attempt at showing empathy and kindness.

"What'd she tell you? That I'm going crazy? I'm not, you know?" Rosie says defensively. "She thinks I'm losing it, and that I need to be committed, but I don't." She assures the brunette.

"Well, no, that's not what she said." Victoria lied. Yes, it had been 100% what Aunt Holly had said when they met up the day before, after she picked Victoria up at the airport, having bawled her eyes out behind the wheel.

"Then what did she say?" Rosie asks directly, her brows knitting together in anxious worry, her hands already trembling on her lap.

"To be honest," Victoria continues, choosing her words carefully, "I didn't understand most of it... I think it'd be best if I heard it from you. Can you tell me what's been going on?" She asked in earnest.

And tell her, Rosie did.

For the next three hours, Victoria heard her ramble and ramble, more and more and more.

About Alex, about his missions, about how Rosie always worried he'd die in the field, how they pronounced him dead in 2019 but she never got to see a body, only his dogtags, and his grave is empty... Victoria thought that was pretty normal, average even... it was the normal treatment for soldiers who died in ways that made it so their body couldn't be recovered... Like during an explosion.

But then Rosie went on and on about how she feels like she's being watched, stalked, surveilled, how she gets stopped by cops too much, and keeps seeing the same faces around the places she usually goes to like Target or Walmart, how there's a van parked outside 24/7, how she's sure that there's cameras and microphones around the house... And it was all being too much.

"She thinks she's being stalked, watched by the govenment, and like they're out to get her."

"Rosie... why would the government be doing such a thing?" Victoria asked her in earnest once she paused in her rants.

"You're not LISTENING!" Rosie complained, her body already having started to shake in distress as she retold everything to her cousin.

"No, no, I am listening. I'm just trying to understand." Victoria replied in an attempt to soothe her and gently took her hands in hers, which caused Rosie to tear up.

"It's NOT the government, it's the CIA!" The blonde shrieked and sniffled, trembling beside Victoria. "Alex was an agent... he..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Nobody tells me anything, I tried calling, nobody tells me!"

Victoria sighed and carefully scooted closer, taking a breath and daring to wrap an arm around Rosemary's form, in the gentlest of ways. "That tends to happen a lot, you know? They... well... when a soldier dies a gruesome death. They close the cases and put high clearances in place so that it doesn't shock the family." The brunette said.

"She's in complete denial, Vicky. She's living in her paranoia and delusion..."

"No!" Rosemary argued. "He's not dead, Vicky, he's not! Whatever... Whatever happened, they're covering it all up! They- he's not dead! They didn't even tell me how he died! Not even if it was heroic or anything!" She wailed as a hiccuping sob rattled her and shook her form against Victoria's side.

Victoria sighed and looked around the room. She was not equipped to deal with this. She half wished that Simon was here. He had dealt with people in altered states of mind, his brother, especially...

"You need to help me, Vicky... You're my only hope! You have to find out what happened. You know people, right? My mom said your mom said you're in the Special Forces! You know things?!" Rosie whined in a pitiful tone, her big blue eyes glued to Victoria's, and making her own hazel ones soften.

"I'll try, Rosie... But even I don't have that high of clearance..." Victoria replied in a soothing tone. "But I promise I'll try."

Victoria meant it. Her cousin might be mental and delusional, but, at least, Victoria could poke around a little bit and see if she could at least find what happened to the body...

"Where did you say he was sent to?" The soldier asked with a cocked brow, her hand gently rubbing Rosie's arm and shoulder in her best attempt at being comforting.

"In the Middle East... Urzikstan, I think..." Rosemary replied and looked up at Victoria. "You're going to look into it, right?" She pleaded.

Victoria nodded. "Of course I will." She replied and smiled at her, trying not to let the feeling of instant dread that was growing in the back of her mind from showing on her face.

Urzikstan... Price and Kyle were just there last year... Working alongside the militia there.

"Now... how about I help you give this place a tidying up... and you go take a shower, and try to relax, hm?" She offered.

Rosie's face began to flush a bit, with the sudden reminder that she had been neglecting herself and probably smelled so bad... And here was Victoria hugging her. "I probably should..." She trailed off and began pulling away from the other woman.

The brunette let her go and nodded. "Call me up when you're done, I'll help do your hair, how's that?" She offered and smiled kindly at Rosie.

Rosemary gulped and nodded. "Yeah..." She got up, beginning to shuffle out of the living room. She stopped by the door and turned back to look at her cousin. "Thank you for this... for everything..." She said gratefully.

Victoria shook her head. "Don't thank me. That's what *family*'s for, right?" She asked, though the word family, one she hadn't used in a while, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Rosie nodded and then disappeared back upstairs.

Once Victoria heard the bathroom door upstairs shutting with a loud thud, she bounced up off the couch.

Whiskey mode activated and she began looking around the room, pulling out her cellphone and turning on the flashlight to shine it off any hidden nook and cranny, like behind the TV, and inside the A/C vents.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Five fucking cameras, just in the living room and entryway alone. She doesn't want to imagine how many more are hidden throughout the house.

It seems that Rosie isn't as delusional and crazy as Aunt Holly thought...

Approaching the window, Whiskey pulls the blinds aside and pears out through the gap, pushing her back against the wall, looking up and down the street. She notices the white van parked a couple hundred feet away, advertising a dry-cleaning service. She knows immediately that that's where they operate from.

She almost wants to go over, with her pistol in hand, and scare them off. But she knows better than to fuck with the Agency... And, even more so, when she's not here as Whiskey, but as Victoria. As a civilian, with no armor, just a red halter top and jeans and boots, coming to visit her cousin.

Huffing, she shakes her head and closes the blinds again. "God damn it..." She murmurs, already feeling her own paranoia rising and her hackles rising. She's going to need to pull some strings to find out what in the hell went so wrong in Urzikstan 4 years ago that now an innocent civilian is being surveilled.

With another sigh, Victoria turns and looks around the room, noticing all the trash and, with a deep breath, she sets down her belongings on the cleared couch and enters the kitchen to seek out a pair of gloves and a trash bag.

This is going to be a long fucking day.

-

August 11th, 2021.

0209 hours.

Victoria lies sprawled on the bed next to Rosie, the two girls staring at the ceiling.

It had been hours upon hours of tidying up and cleaning, but the house was finally clean, the trash taken out, and Rosemary much less disheveled.

They lay together, side by side, holding each other's hands, more for Rosie's comfort, which Victoria has acquiesced to. Victoria has a handle of bourbon in her hand which both her and Rosie occasionally take sips from.

"So you got married...?" Rosie murmurs and rolls her head toward Victoria. She's groggy, a mix of the alcohol, a full belly, a warm shower, a couple of melatonin gummies and the whiskey.

"Mhm." Victoria replies as she glances at Rosemary. "I didn't expect you to still be with dick boy." She quips.

The comment is funnier than Rosemary expected it to be, probably because of the state she's in, but she starts cackling aloud, snorting delightfully at it.

"Oh my God, I forgot he damn near showed his dick to grandma Patty while coming out of the pool." Rosie groans and shakes her head. "God, Alex was so embarrassed, he never wanted to go back!"

"That's what he was embarrassed of? Not that stupid fuckin' pube-looking mustache of his?" Victoria's comments, absolutely roasting the man, the alcohol having loosened her lips. "Did he still have that when he left for Urzikstan?"

Rosie once again has lost her mind belly laughing at the scathing comments her cousin made about Alex. Oh, how she needed the laughter.

"Noooo! It filled out. He had a nice thick mustache by then..." She replies and shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips.

"Well, at least there's that. I guess he outgrew his bad fashion choices." Victoria comments before she leans her head up to take another gulp of the bourbon on her bottle.

"Oh no he didn't!" Rosemary complains and suddenly seems to get a burst of energy, leaning forward to look at Victoria right in the eye. "He has the American flag tattooed on him!"

It's Victoria's turn to laugh, nearly choking on the drink, and causing the sweet, smooth alcohol to slide down her chin as she laughs. "Fuck off, no he doesn't?!"

"He DOES!" Rosemary insists. "And a bald eagle too!!!" She adds, which causes them both to laugh more, cackling at the ridiculousness. "I'm serious! Looked the eagle in the eyes once while he was balls deep in me.... You've ever tried getting a dick out of a dry pussy?"

This causes both girls to giggle again, nearly rolling around on the bed, tears forming in their eyes.

"God, and you married that man? He's been a fucking dork for decades now, Rosie!" Victoria complains.

"In my defense, we were drunk and in Vegas, okay?"

"YOU GOT MARRIED IN VEGAS?!"

"You know what?!" Rosie protests and points at Victoria. "We're talking too much about my marriage. What about you?" She asks in an accusatory tone.

Victoria rolls her eyes. "Don't change the subject just because you can't admit you have bad taste."

"Oh shut it!" Rosie nudges her. "You're avoiding the topic too!"

"Am not!" Victoria retorts. "I'm also married to a dork. But, unlike you, I have taste."

"How much of a dork are we talkin'?"

"Has a half-sleeve that's just straight up war motifs. Atom bombs, skulls, bullets..." She trails off. "And he wears a skull mask when he's out shooting terrorists."

"He WEARS what?"

Victoria shakes her head. "Don't make me say it again." She scrunches her nose, mock cringing.

"And you want to talk shit about me marrying Alex? You married, what, an emo?" Rosie quips as she tosses herself back on the bed, laughing again.

Victoria joins her, covering her eyes with her arm and giggling away, properly so, for the first time in three years. "God, we have bad taste, don't we?" She murmurs.

"You think it runs in the family?" Rosie asks with a playful tone and giggles again.

But this time, however, Victoria doesn't laugh. Instead, her eyes squint in suspicion and she suddenly sits up in bed, looking off into the distance.

How much of a coincidence would that be? Her husband, who is legally dead, who faked his own death and operates under an alias...

And her cousin's husband... who Lord knows what happened to him... But the CIA has their eyes on her, even though he's dead, so there's no reason to...

What if it really is a cover-up? What if he's only legally dead, just like Simon?

"What?" The blonde beside her asks in a gentle tone, eyebrows knit together. "Vicky, what's wrong?" She prompts, worried.

"...Nothing." Victoria replies as she lays down again after a long moment of silence. "Just realized I have to call Simon and ask him something..." She replies dismissively.

for @lyralein - told you she'd get more than that.

and also @crashtestbunny , @superhero-landing , and @loveandplanet bc you love Whiskey and Ghost

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Timeline: Victoria Isabelle "Whiskey" Callahan

CW: Death, Grief, Fire/Burning, Burn Injuries, Scars & Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture Mentioned, Canon Character Death.

2009 - 18

Victoria graduates high school (3.4 GPA) gets accepted into College (University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee).

Joins swim team and tennis in college. Begins situationships.

2010 - 19

Victoria has her first kiss with a girl whose name she doesn’t remember.

Starts dating Lucas Sutton. They date on and off.

2011 - 20

May - Graduates University

Nathan has already enlisted in the Marines and is deployed overseas.

September - Joins Navy as a Seaman (Recruit) in the second half of the year. Progresses to Seaman (Apprentice) within that same year.

Gets placed in USS Sentinel. Picks up troops (Marines and sailors, especially) from Iraq after the Iraq War was declared over.

2012 - 21

Receives Seaman rank.

Remains in the Arabian Sea in the USS Sentinel for many small anti-piracy ops off the coast of Somalia.

October-November - Hurricane Sandy happens and gets shipped back to the States for humanitarian relief.

Meets Philip Graves.

2013 - 22

Returns to Arabian Sea for the first half of the year.

Receives Petty Officer 3rd Class rank after demonstrating bravery in service.

Signs up for Navy SEALS in the second half of the year. Begins Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training.

August - Meets Elaine and they bunk together for 2 years.

2014 - 23

Continues BUD/S training.

2015 - 24

Completes training (16 + 18 months = 2 years and 10 months), becomes a Navy SEAL.

Receives Special Warfare Operator 2nd Class rank.

Begins her Eastern Europe deployment assignments (anti-sex-trafficking ops).

November - Meets Meabh during an OP in the Black Sea.

2016 - 25

Continues series of deployments in Eastern Europe.

Meets Emilio during a joint operation with the Spanish Navy.

2017 - 26 

Receives Légion d'Honneur awarded by the French government for an act of heroism while off duty/on vacation.

Meabh receives the UN Peacekeeper award, Victoria is there to watch it happen.

2018 - 27

January - Loses her father and brother in a joint Marine-SEAL operation that resulted in an explosion and in many burn injuries for her. Spends 3 months on medical leave w/rehab.

Leaves home (to never come back), then spends 6 months in Officer’s Academy.

September - Graduates with Lieutenant Junior Grade rank

Gains the Whiskey callsign. Begins series of short-term deployments in Eastern Europe.

2019 - 28

January-February - Helps Meabh who’s on medical leave

June - Meets Val

Goes through Some Shit (Bad Mission, nearly died).

2020 - 29

Goes through Torture.

May - Meets Ghost & Soap

November - Starts officially working with the 141

2021 - 30

April - Marries Simon Riley

Goes through Torture Again.

June - Receives Lieutenant rank

2022 - 31

Soap & Meabh’s wedding (not invited).

Moves to Scotland with Ghost.

November - Graves betrays the 141 in Las Almas.

2023 - 32

Goes through Some Shit (Bad Mission, had to kill her way out).

August - Gets contacted by her aunt. Goes to see her cousin Rosie in New York.

November - Soap fucking dies, dog.

2024 - 33

May - Becomes an aunt! (Fiadh O'Malley MacTavish)

Extra 🫶:

Rosemary Williams belongs to my beloved @lyralein ;

Meabh O'Malley belong to my beloved @crashtestbunny ;

Emilio Melero belongs to my beloved @cod-z ;

"Valkyrie" belongs to my beloved @superhero-landing ;

Elaine Laswell belongs to my beloved @loveandplanet