what’s your deal with making price toxic? Why are you so obsessed with tht?
every flag looks red when you wear rose colored glasses, nonny.
But also because Price is hella toxic in canon especially when it comes to corrupting Gaz. In this scene, Price kidnaps the Butcher's wife and child, sits them in front of him, and explicitly uses them as leverage to force a confession. You (as Gaz) are told to point a gun at them until he talks. Yegor, who was just beating the shit out of The Butcher, is so uncomfortable with how this is going he backs out.
When Gaz is reasonable also uncomfortable, Price hits him with the most manipulative line in the game: "we get dirty and the world stays clean" which explicitly recruits Gaz into Price's mindset. He normalizes using a man's family as props for torture, then reframes it to Gaz as noble.
He frames moral boundaries as flexible and implies if Gaz can't handle it, Price will happily do the dirty work alone. Gaz, up until now, as spent the entire game trying to subtle impress Price, who no doubt notices this. His words are a pressure tactic as much as it is a pep talk and a loyalty test dressed up as a mentorship that basically boils down to: either accept my rules-don't-apply morality or get out of the way.
Also, also, in the post- credits cafe scene with Laswell, Price pushes for a new unit that can operate worldwide with deniability. He lists the operators he wants and tells her the rest is "need to know unless we have a deal" explicitly tying cooperations to him getting his bespoke murder-squad, thereby leveraging a global crisis to negotiate his ideal unit with minimal oversight (also in case anyone missed it because the fandom does tend to overlook this part, but Price had more than three folders in his hand and his words imply that Task Force 141 is bigger than just four people)
Price consistently throughout all three games accepts working within a corrupted system as long as he gets to keep running his war his way; treats high casualty loses as acceptable collateral because it serves his strategic goals (taking out Ghorbrani); consistently acts as judge, jury, and executioner with zero interest in due process , and absolutely willing to execute someone based on a perceived threated even when the person is not trying to be; works with people who are not good as soon as they become useful to him again (like accepting help from Graves after he betrayed Los Vaqueros and massacred civilians).
Anyway, if Price were a trolley problem, he would let someone else pull the lever so he can have that plausible deniability while throwing you under the bus and then frame it as something noble. If he were a trolley problem, he would kill many people if the one person was useful to him and tell them "youre alive because I needed you alive, don't make me regret it"
anyway, long story short, toxic price is just canon compliant price. he's a bastard and i love him
Each detail was meticulously considered, your bag so very carefully packed with every possible thing you’d need. Sunscreen, snacks, wet wipes, aloe vera…anything and everything you could think to squirrel away throughout the week for your eventual day among the surf and sea. No one in the world had ever been as doggedly prepared for a day of relaxation as you, surely.
Which is exactly why you are just so fucking pissed that the weather had completely switched up on you halfway through the day.
You’d even checked! Of course you had! You’d been promised blue skies and idyllic puffs of clouds, a lovely breeze, and enough sunshine to leave you pleasantly bronzed. A very different scene from the sheets of rain sloughing off the solid ceiling of slate gray currently choking out the sun and soaking you to the bone.
It was coming down hard enough that visibility was reduced to about a foot or two in front of you, the wind utterly unforgiving as it yanks at your clothes and the bag you cling to. You’re absolutely fuming as you stumble along the sand, wet clumps of it sticking to your feet and wedging uncomfortably under the straps of your sandals. Thankfully, you’d chosen a spot right near the rocky cliffside hemming the beach in. The spot right near the natural cave you’d made note of earlier in the day, revealed by the low tide.
You trudge through sludgy sand a little longer until you make your way to the craggy wall of black stone, palm pressing flat to it to feel along the rest of the way. The cave is close enough that it only takes another minute or so to find, and you slip inside immediately.
Finally given reprieve from the constant barrage of shit weather, you take stock of your situation. You’re wet as a drowned rat, your carefully packed things just as waterlogged, dripping into the thin layer of briny water covering the cave floor while the storm rages outside. There are no signs of it easing any time soon, either, which is just absolutely fantastic.
Upset doesn’t even begin to explain how you feel.
Not much to do about it other than wait it out, though. Which means you have plenty of time to stew in your misery in a big, dark cave. Marginally better than doing it in the storm, you guess. You just hope and pray that the tide doesn’t come in before the sky is finished raging.
Sighing, you drop your sodden bag onto a nearby rock, raking both hands through your hair to shove it back out of your face. This could be worse, you think, trying your best to be optimistic. Of course, this is exactly the moment that a very heavy sounding splash echoes from the darkened end of the cave.
You freeze, straightening into a perfect statue of yourself. Whatever had moved in the pitch black in front of you had sounded very big, but you weren’t sure what could possibly have wandered in here with you. At least, you aren’t until a man’s voice calls out to you, sounding strangely delighted as he calls out to you.
“Do ye plan on jus’ standin’ there the whole time?”
Somewhere in the gloom, something splashes again, and then the man speaking to you hauls himself up onto the rocky ledge separating you from the rest of the cave and into the dim light. Or…you thought it was a man speaking to you, anyway. The finned upper half of the creature currently staring directly at you is definitely not your average human.
“Uh,” you so eloquently answer, distracted by the startling blue of his eyes as they stay firmly fixed on your face, “I was just…getting out of the rain…”
His gaze sweeps over you avidly, curiosity evident in how he stares and folds his arms on the rock, translucent green fins lining the sides of his forearms. He tips his head to the side, humming in thought, and you watch as his pointed ears swivel back.
“Storm caught ye, too, aye? Positively pishin’ doon out there,” he remarks conversationally. His voice is so casual that you almost forget the fact that you have no idea who (what?) you’re currently stuck in this cave with. You nod, just once, eyes cutting to the blur of rain outside and then back to him.
“Aw, yer a shy one, then? That’s alright,” he continues, chuckling like this is some long running bit between you. When he smiles, you catch a glimpse of whetted teeth. “Never seen one ‘a yer types up close before.”
Your nose scrunches, confusion flashing across your face.
“What, shy people?” You ask, half laughing incredulously around the question. He snorts, grinning even wider.
“Nah. Humans. No offense, but ye don’ exactly welcome the unknown, aye? Safer t’keep a distance.”
Well…fair. People could hardly handle each other, let alone…whatever he was.
“I guess we’re even, then,” you answer, returning his conversational tone. He’d given you no reason not to, after all. “I’ve never met one of your kind, either. Uh…I promise I won’t freak out, or whatever.”
He seems delighted at this, pulling himself up further onto the rock. As he does, you catch the glint of scales starting just below his waist. A tail, you realize with a start, the pieces clicking into place. No fucking way this is how you find out merfolk are real.
“Barry! Then I think we can get introductions out of the way. Name’s Johnny.”
He--Johnny--proclaims this with all the enthusiasm he can seem to muster, beaming boyishly from his perch. Try as you might to keep up your carefully aloof facade, his joy is infectious. You can’t help but soften, even as grumpy as you are from the day’s events. You give him your name, too. He snatches it up like fresh chum.
“Lovely,” he croons, “And a pleasure to meet ye, My First Ever Human.”
A rather clunky nickname, if you were to be asked, but, hey! Who are you to question the strange fish man currently buddying up to you in a cave?
Gaz nearly cries the first time he stays for dinner at ghosts house and eats your cooking.
"Oh! Kyle, grab whatever you want, I wasn't sure your preference!" You smile when he freezes in the doorway of the dining room. The table is full of food, and it sides and main courses alike. Ghost is already sat, rumbling happily to himself while he butters some rolls.
And that's the thing about all the food that kyle can't quite wrap his head around. It's all...unhealthy.
Or. Maybe not unhealthy? But certainly not anything kyle would have had growing up in his childhood home. Rolls slathered in butter, pasta with a thick creamy sauce, cuts of ham glazed in honey. You smile tightly at the way he seems frozen in indecision, and gently offer "if it's not okay, I can make you a salad. But...simon always tells me you stare at his lunch. I figured..."
That's enough to have gaz snapping out of hid stupor, realizing his mouth is watering.
He pushes down his mothers voice talking about carbs and fats and addictive sugars, loading up a plate with a bit of everything. He misses the smile you and simon share.
The first bite has gaz practically moaning before he catches himself, embarrassed at such a reaction.
You just chuckle, leaning over the table to serve yourself "simon is the same way. Don't forget to leave room for dessert, though!"
Gaz genuinely does cry at that. The casual mention of dessert, the easy acceptance of food between you and ghost. It feels impossible to imagine he lived years eating almonds and fruits and avoiding "bad sweets" like they'd kill him.
You and simon pretend not to notice, and you make sure to note down the dishes he seems to favor for next time.
That night, gaz experiences his first proper food coma on your couch, passed out and unsuspecting when he sat down not five minutes ago. While you and simon clean up, you whisper "I see why you like him, si. He's cute."
"Mhm." Ghost nods, bent over the sink and scrubbing dishes "think we bring it up after a few more dinners?"
"Tempted to just skip the dating and buy a ring now," you joke, catching the soft smile of your husband "yeah, I think a few more. Need to figure out what his favorite dish is so I can make it for the announcement, yeah?"
Because really, how are you not meant to fall in love with kyle when he's to horribly charming? Obviously, ghost already has.
A little wip to prove I still draw! I had too many ideas at once and started working on all of them at the same time. You know how that goes. I thought this would be cute!
areudirty
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pixelskylines
romaincrisis
snowghoul
