Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@narcissosbythepool
Time to make a pinned post
Hi I'm Kitte, she/they, I write cod (mostly pricegaz) stuff over here.
If you want to read my stuff:
narcissosbythepool-tag (both my writing and the occasional personal post)
AO3
bsky
I crosspost on all four platforms so you're probably not missing out on much by just following my tumblr but hey go make my numbers go up!
[7 hrs. work time]
Cpt. Price, sure bears a lot of guilt, but no saint was ever not guilty. — some modern warfare angst cause the worst is yet to come <//3
This is a suggestion form for the prompts for PriceGaz weekend 2026. Below you will be asked to write down three prompts: a general prompt (
Promp suggestion form is up! Please go suggest your favourite tropes, themes and AUs, whatever you want to see on this fine weekend!
So rain down on me
Totally non-regulation
kaboom, another john price
They tried to stop me from drawing ghost knight but they CANT
Hear ye, hear ye - it is PriceGaz Weekend 2026!
As per the vote from the survey, PriceGaz Weekend will be held 18th-20th September. The prompts will be suggested and voted by you, the surveys will be put up in August!
New favorite art-style unlocked ✅✅ I’ve missed these goobers
Computa, play "Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home)" by USHER
LET THEM TRY, SIR. LET THEM BLOODY TRY.
cw: ghostgaz fluffy fluff
Despite both being in the military for years, Kyle and Simon have very different schedules while on leave.
Kyle wakes up at 5 in the morning everyday. Regardless of how much he slept the night before. He has to get up and run immediately, shower, then he can enjoy breakfast, because if he doesn't move, doesn't have a routine to follow, the stillness starts crawling under his skin.
Simon wakes up with the sun, slower now than he used to be. Learned, somewhere along the way, that leave means nothing has to happen right away. Eventually he peels himself out of bed, and by the time he pads into the kitchen, Kyle's almost got breakfast plated.
Simon comes forward to wrap his hands around Kyle. He's still warm from the sheets, faint pillow crease still pressed into his cheek. Bare chest against Kyle's back, arms sliding around, hands settling flat over his stomach, palms and fingers spread wide, thumbs finding the little dip above his hip. Simon's chin hooks over his shoulder, stubble rough against Kyle's neck, and he exhales long and slow.
"Eggs are getting cold," Kyle says, reaching for the pan.
Simon just hums right against his ear. His thumb drags over Kyle's stomach, feather light, then again, slower and solid. Nose tucked into the curve of Kyle's neck, breathing him in, unbothered by the stove, the smell of eggs, the fact that Kyle's still got a pan in one hand.
"You're heavy, can't cook with you slung over me," Kyle mutters.
"Mm." Simon's grip tightens, just slightly, fingers spreading wider across his stomach like he's claiming more real estate. He presses kiss just under Kyle's ear, unhurried and soften.
"You don't deny it."
"Wasn't tryin' too."
Kyle huffs a laugh, Simon feels it rumble against him. Kyle reaches for the plates and has to shuffle a little, Simon's weight following him like a shadow, feet nearly tangling with his own. Simon doesn't budge an inch more than he has to, content to just be dragged along, chin bumping Kyle's shoulder with every step.
"Sit," Kyle says, elbowing him gently. "Can't cuddle you and cook eggs at the same time."
Simon grumbles into his neck, but lets go slowly, hand trailing off Kyle's stomach last.
He drops into the chair, elbow on the table, chin in his palm, watching Kyle with heavy-lidded eyes that don't leave him for a second, soft and slow-blinking. A man with nowhere to be and no one to watch but this.
Kyle feels it—that stare, warm as the stove at his back—and glances over his shoulder to catch Simon just looking at him, half a soft smile tugging at his mouth like he can't help it.
Kyle smiles back, softly radiant as ever. He picks up both plates and carries them over, sets Simon's down first.
"There. Now you can have—"
He doesn't get to finish it. Simon's hand closes around his wrist, careful and certain, and pulls, and Kyle's plate barely makes it to the table before he's tugged sideways into Simon's lap, an arm banding around his waist to keep him there. Simon settles him in like he weighs nothing, chin dropping back onto his shoulder with a satisfied little huff.
"There," Simon echoes. "Now I have you too."
Kyle huffs, reaching for his fork with a grin. "Ridiculous."
"You love it."
And yes, he does.
Get a load out of this guy or whatever the saying is
Simon doesn't really go for the whole… Pride Month… thing. It's not offensive. He doesn't begrudge anyone else their celebrations, but he leaves the rainbows and parades to the younger generations.
As he smokes on a bench in the park, watching young men holding hands and laughing and bouncing around, he can't help but smile a bit. His back aches just watching some of the baby lesbians carrying each other this way and that, and he scrubs a hand over Toaster Strudel's head on his knee.
"This seat taken?"
Simon chuckles as Kyle drops to sit next to him. "Savin' it for my 'usband, ain't I?"
"Husband?" Kyle chuckles and drapes his arm over the back of the bench. "Sounds serious."
"e's my world," Simon answers, too sincere. He drops his hand on Kyle's knee and tips his head to whisper, "Great cock."
The laugh that gets him is so beautiful that he can't help but lean in for a kiss.
gaz whump bc I can absolute nothing burger and a v small, soft 141 scene.
He'd made it behind the wall, at least. He wasn't sure it was enough, but it was something, the wall at his back, the noise of the firefight still crackling somewhere behind him, further away now.
Kyle pressed his hand harder against his side and looked up at the grey sky.
He should call it in. He'd been telling himself that for... how long had it been? He didn't know how long. A while. Probably. His radio was in his hand and he couldn't remember picking it up. He clicked it twice, the way they did when words were too much for whatever reason, and then didn't know what else to do so he just held it.
His face was wet. His eyes burned, dust or otherwise, everything. He wasn't thinking about it.
Stay awake, he thought. And that was all. Stay awake. Because he had to. He couldn't rest or close his eyes because he had to be awake enough to tell them he was alright. He had to be awake.
"Garrick!"
Soap came around the edge of the wall fast, rifle up, and then he saw Kyle and he stopped just long enough for fear, surprise, anger, something to move across his face before he locked it down and crossed the distance between them and dropped to his knees.
"There you are," he said. Like Kyle had simply wandered off.
"Here I am," Kyle said.
Soap's hands moved, checking and assessing, and Kyle watched him and watched his expression stay as steady as Soap could manage, which was its own kind of reaction.
"Talk to me," Soap said.
"'M talking."
"More than that." He kept his eyes on Kyle's body. "How long have you been here?"
"Don't know."
"Okay." A pause. Something in the pause Kyle didn't love. "Okay. Price is behind me, yeah?"
"Mhm."
Soap looked up then. And the look on his face, tired, and frightened in a way he wasn't trying very hard to hide, made Kyle's chest tighten.
"Kyle," he said. "I need you to talk to me. Be annoying and difficult. Tell me a story. Can you do that for me?"
Kyle laughed weakly. "Think so."
"Good." Soap's hand came up and gripped his shoulder. "Go on."
So Kyle talked. About nothing. About everything that didn't matter, because Soap had asked him to. He talked and Soap worked. And between Kyle's heavier and heavier blinks Price arrived and crouched down on his other side.
"Gaz," Price said, easy as anything. Like they were back at base. Like this was just a Sunday after a jog.
Kyle knew that voice.
He'd heard Price use it twice before, in situations he didn't like to think about, and it always meant the same thing, somewhere along the lines of "I need you calm, so I'm going to be calm for you."
"Sorry," Kyle said.
"Don't." Price's hand squeezed around Soap's arm.
"I'm just—"
"Kyle." Soap's voice again. His hand still on his shoulder, shaking gently. "Stay with us."
Kyle meant to say something back, something dry, that would have made Soap roll his eyes and Price almost-smile and everything would've been right again.
His vision darkened to black and the words slurred behind his tongue.
...
The ceiling was white.
His senses came back to him in a disorienting wave of sterile quiet and harsh, clean whites of a hospital room.
He turned his head, slowly, testing.
Price was in the chair by the window. Not asleep, making himself sit still, arms folded, eyes on something outside the window. His eyes looked tired.
Soap had his head down on the edge of the bed. Arms folded as a pillow, face turned sideways, dead asleep.
And Ghost was against the wall. Back straight, arms crossed, chin dropped to his chest. Asleep or close enough. His balaclava and kit replaced by a simple face mask and black sweats.
Kyle looked at the white ceiling again. He took a slow breath, as deep as he could manage.
His eyes stung again, but he didn't stop the tears. He just let them exist, quietly, and looked at all three of them and breathed through it.
He nearly died. The image of Price's face above him came back to him in a flash. It had been hiding that worry, fear. Same as Soap's but somehow, impossibly mastered over the years.
He had nearly died. And yet.
After a moment Price looked over. He didn't say anything for a long few seconds. Then the worried creases between his brows finally eased.
"Welcome back," he said.
Kyle didn't trust his voice yet, so he managed a nod.
"Rest. I've got you."
Kyle let the tips of his fingers find Soap's arm. He laid his head back. And he rested.
Quick reminder that Kyle isn't boring. Not in the slightest. He's tired of everyone's BULLSHIT while struggling to hold himself to a standard of morality that simply doesn't exist in the career of necessary violence he actively chooses to be a part of on a daily basis.
Why? Because he legit thought that being the dark hand of fate would allow the rest of society to live in their light. But he quickly finds out how easy it is to slip into the ugliness of it all. Hell, he was already there from the start of the games.
Because remember, his first conversation with Price is, "Hey, Dad, WHY CAN'T WE DO MORE VIOLENCE TO GET THE RESULTS WE WANT VIA ANY MEANS NECESSARY?!"
That's not someone who is good, or soft or scared to engage with the enemy. That's someone who absolutely believes "The ends justify the means."
So yeah, stop writing Kyle as some paragon of virtue. He's just as deeply flawed as the rest of them. And that makes him awesome, interesting and yeah, just as hot as the rest of the 141.
I despise how the fandom erases him or accuses him of being "boring" because he hides his cracks better than everyone else. The fact that he hides his commitment to violence so well that he comes off as completely normal if you didn't know any better? Yeah, THAT IS THE SCARY PART.
Got coffee, where's Price??
