#mwf3

[shyravenns]

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

[applejuicebegood]

All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

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

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

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

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

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

[i-luv-carl-grimes]

A light that never goes out

‧⁺˚*･༓☾ 𖤓 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Au: okay so... Simon Ghost Riley

Simon “ghost” Riley x (f) Reader

--

Another

The palm of my hand began to ache

Again

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

Keep going

"Rain"

Don't stop.

Shot, after shor. No misses. No mistakes.

"Y/N!"

Captain

I missed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

[shyravenns]

Some Nikolai stuff (in between exams 😭)

[artfunlifeyoutube]

[pursuit-of-h4ppinss]

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

[artfunlifeyoutube]