#task force 141 oc

[whitewolfmystery]

This is the audio that inspired me to commission Pam, she had given me premission to post this here. Enjoy~

The art comic commission and the artist @pampanope

Post by @pampanope · 2 images

💬 3  🔁 6  ❤️ 34 · Commission for @whitewolfmystery · Thank you!!! 💕 Based on some Lion King quotes with their OC Wolf!

[gg2v2]

Heh

[starlit-writer]

archangels of the ocean - pt. 1 (pacific rim au)

pairing — (eventual) simon riley x Arya Vlahos (female oc)

warnings — description of (science fiction) medical testing, mention of death of an unnamed minor character

word count — 2,260

authors note — thank you to everyone who was so excited to read this! i'm honestly excited to be exploring this world. here's to a new endeavor! if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

masterlist pt. 2 ao3 link

A year ago, the first monsters arrived, appearing from deep within the Pacific Ocean. Towering, vicious alien entities that seemed to be hellbent on destroying as much human life and property as they could. The first attack was off the coast of Japan, and the monsters were soon named Kaiju, a fitting name that instantly conjured images straight out of classic Japanese monster films. With their slick, grey-scaled hides and the glowing blue acid pulsing through their bodies, these beasts looked like something more at home in a Godzilla film than real life. Unfortunately, real life is not like the movies, and these were no actors in rubber suits. No, these beasts were meaner, louder, and very much alive. And they were here to kill. 

The first Kaiju took seven days to take down. The fighter jets, the missiles, bullets, nothing that was in the current arsenal worked until a fighter pilot got one lucky shot with a hellfire missile. After that attack, more Kaiju came bursting through what was now known as the Breach, found 304 kilometers away from Guam in the deepest section of the Mariana Trench. The attacks, at this point, were still months apart, and the militaries of the world started to adapt to this newfound threat, but the economic and humanitarian loss was catastrophic. Thankfully, science and technology had been quietly innovating in the background for years, pushed forward by the evermoving military industrial complex, and had already begun testing mechsuits. Giant, hulking suits of metal with offensive and defensive capabilities that had only been seen before in science fiction. After UN decree, the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps was formed, and with it came the mechs from the Jaeger program. 

With the formation of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, the focus of the world’s militaries went from intercontinental battles to the Kaijus, making regular, run of the mill missions pretty much non-existent. Therefore, every military personnel was required to take a compatibility test. At first, no one was told what this test was. An officer or an enlisted would be quietly taken out of formation one day, and half of the people who were pulled out were never seen again. 

The test was itself wasn’t a secret. However, what happened in the test was. And when a bored platoon is given uncertainty and disappearing brothers, rumors are bound to follow quickly after. It was a pretty unanimous agreement that the personnel who were now mysteriously missing from rosters and barracks rooms had failed the test. Some whispered that the flunkees were quietly removed from military service, as they were incapable of performing at the level that they were required to. Others, the more pessimistic of the rumors, argued that the people who had failed the tests were killed. But, even the other soldiers, the ones who were seen after their test, they disappeared shortly after too. Something about reassignment, whatever that meant. 

Simon Riley, the battle-hardened lieutenant of Task Force 141, didn’t realize the truth until it was too late. He’d been told, like the others, that this test was just a new kind of combat readiness assessment, something routine. No one questioned it. It was the military, there was always new tests and paperwork and other bureaucratic hoops to jump through. But, when he was brought into a quiet, sterile room, there were no obstacle courses, no marksmanship tests, and no shouting instructors. Instead, he was met with white walls, the gentle hum of various machines, and rows of stiff medical beds. Three other soldiers were already there, men and women he didn’t recognize, sitting silently, each with their own impersonal orderly. 

One of the men, a younger soldier with close-cropped red hair and a kind, freckled expression, gave Simon a small wave, the barest flicker of human connection in this cold, clinical space. An orderly quickly shut down the gesture with a sharp glare, as if even that tiny movement was against some sort of unspoken rule. That’s when Simon knew, deep in his gut, that something wasn’t right. 

However, a soldier follows orders, no matter their gut feelings. It’s not worth it to rock the boat. This was probably just some sort of new medical testing for airborne contaminants from the Kaiju or something. So, when the orderly that had brought Simon in gestured towards one of the medical beds, he sat. As the orderly started to place a metallic contraption on his head, Simon stole one last glance at the red-headed soldier that was seated next to him. The kid was barely old enough to shave, let alone wear a uniform. Simon watched as the red-head’s hands trembled slightly in his lap. Must be fresh out of training, Simon figured. Probably just got assigned to the base. 

The contraption was snug, cold metal pressing into his skull with clinical precision. Simon mentally ticked off each contact point (frontal, temporal, occipital) as if checking off boxes on a form. Great, he thought. Another fuckin’ psych test. 

The click of the machine being turned on reverberated through his head like the knell of a death bell, but he barely had time to register it before images rapidly started flashing in his own mind - sharp, fast, relentless. They exploded behind his eyes like flashes of lightning. It was dizzying, like falling through a psychedelic kaleidoscope of memories that weren’t quite his. By the time the contraption was lifted from his head, it felt like hours had passed, but the clock on the wall across from him hadn’t moved more than a minute. Simon’s skull throbbed with dull pain, and a high-pitched ringing screamed through his ears like the aftermath of a blast. Blinking through the haze of the bright, clinical light Simon turned his head slightly to glance at the red-headed soldier who had been sitting beside him. A cold wave snaked down his spine as his gaze met a bloodied white sheet being pulled over the last visible tufts of red fuzz on the top of the soldier's head. Simon never even knew his name. 

Simon opened his mouth slightly to try and speak, but his tongue felt heavy and useless, like it no longer belonged in his mouth. Before he could muster a sound, the orderly who had been scribbling down Simon’s results quickly grabbed onto his jaw and yanked his head back to force his gaze away from the body and back up towards the ceiling. She leaned over him and looked down, her blue eyes cold and emotionless. “Lieutenant Riley,” she said flatly. “You passed the drift compatibility test. Congratulations. You will be shipped out to the Hong Kong Shatterdome on the next flight out. You have until 0300 to gather your belongings and pack what you will need.”

Simon’s head was spinning. Drift compatibility? He had never heard of it. His ears were still ringing, even if it had dulled slightly. He blinked again, trying to piece together what was happening. This felt like the beginning of a bad psychological horror movie. He swallowed thickly, trying to fight past the nausea that was bubbling up his throat. “What about… the rest of my squad?” he croaked. His voice scraped out, rough and weak, and he hated the way that it trembled in the air. 

The orderly sighed and rolled her eyes. “They are to be tested later. It was deemed… inadvisable for a squad as tightly knit as yours to test together. It would have caused problems with the synaptic wave formations. If they pass, they should be on the same flight out as you. Now, you need to get up and go pack. Do not speak of this.”

----------

Simon sat on the edge of his bunk for what felt like hours after the test. His elbows were resting on his knees, the rough camouflaged cotton of his cargos biting into his tattooed skin. He had a private room, same as everyone in TaskForce 141, but it all still felt too quiet. Usually, there would be low jazz playing from the commons while Captain Price smoked on a cigar, Soap laughing loudly at a shitty joke, or just the clink of boots on tile. But now, their barracks felt as if they had long since been abandoned. And maybe they had. 

Simon’s gaze slowly drifted to the standard-issue duffel bag that sat open, the dusty brown canvas yawning open like the dirt around an empty grave. 

His hands were moving before his brain caught up. Shirts. Socks. Pants. Underwear. Sidearm. Toothbrush. All packed away neatly into the duffel with hard bred military precision. He picked up his combat knife, checking the edge against the meat of his thumb like he always did before a mission. But this was no routine mission, and the way his abdomen had been tied in knots ever since the test was a stark reminder of that very truth. 

Simon paused at his locker. There was a photo taped to the inside, the edges tanned and curled from years of deployment heat. TaskForce 141, grinning like idiots in the middle of the desert. Dirt-smeared and sunburnt, Gaz holding up a half-melted popsicle like it was a trophy. Simon couldn’t even remember where this photo had come from, only that they had laughed about it for days afterwards. He reached for the photo, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the age-worn photograph, almost as if it was a livewire, something that could send a devastating shock right through his soul. 

Part of him wanted to leave it there, taped to the cool, grey metal of that locker. If he brought it, it meant he was hopeful that they would all make it to the other side. If he left it, it meant he’d already given up. 

He carefully peeled the photo down, folded it once, and tucked it into the inner pocket of the duffel bag. 

The clock on his wall read 0230. He still had thirty minutes before he was supposed to leave. 

He sat back down on the edge of his bunk. He ran a hand down his face as his head tilted up to the ceiling. The flourescent light overhead flickered once, buzzing like the drone of a half-dead insect. It was eerily similar to the hum that had filled that white testing room, too sterile and too bright, and it ricocheted against the walls of his mind. He could still feel the cold press of metal against his scalp like the fingers of a vengeful ghost. Could still hear the machine whirring on, but he couldn’t remember any of what he had seen. 

The room felt colder now. Emptier. Almost as if the test itself had stripped something away from him and tossed it into that same body bag that they had wrapped that red-headed kid in. A pang of guilt kicked Simon square in the chest. He was no stranger to death. Far from it. He had taken many lives himself, his hands had long since been stained a permanent shade of red. But this? This was different. That kid was dead now, all because some machine said he didn’t “fit”, and there was nothing Simon could’ve done to stop it. 

Drift compatibility.

He still didn’t know what it meant. But the way his stomach had been in knots since he had gotten back to his barracks told him enough. 

His fingers found the edge of his dog tags, the sturdy metal warm against his skin as he rubbed the edge of his thumb against the raised indentation of his identifying information. 

“Do not speak of this.”

The orderly’s voice echoed like it was carved into the inside of his skull. Her words had been so flat and emotionless, and had left no room for disobedience. Orders were orders. But, Simon had followed enough of them to know that the ones they told you not to speak of were always the ones that came back to bite you in the ass. 

He sighed and stood up, pacing around his room for what he knew would be the last time. He was a soldier, a transient by both past and nature, but this was the only place he had truly considered home. And now, his home was being ripped away from him all over again. His gaze flicked back to the duffel bag where the picture of him and his squad laid tucked away neatly inside of the inner pocket. 

They wouldn’t test the squad together. Too tightly knit. 

He hated how clinical it sounded, as if the bond that Simon, Soap, Gaz, and Price had forged through the blood, sweat, and loss that had been a constant in their lives was nothing more than a liability. 

He leaned down and zipped the bag shut, the sound sharp and final. He pulled a hoodie on before he slung the duffel over his shoulder. It felt heavier then it should have, considering what was inside of it, almost as if something in this room, in this base, was trying to hold him back. 

As his fingers met the cold handle of his barrack’s door, he paused. Hesitation was new to him. Then again, everything that was happening right now was new to him. Part of him wanted to say something, anything, just to remember that he was still human. But, the words didn’t come. 

Simon twisted the handle and glanced around at his room one last time, then flipped the light off behind him. 

When the door shut, it clicked louder than it should have.

[the-whispers-of-death]

Vampire!reader with the 141 + Stone but instead of some centuries old ancient vampire king who lived in Europe who struggled with his humanity and immortality and broods and grumbles and is old its just some guy who's from the 1920s to the 1940s who's a big jazz enthusiast and no one understands the slang he uses

He avoids any really old people because he knows them and he doesn't want to risk the chance of them recognizing him

Not because he doesn't want to be realized as a vampire he just made a lot a enemies back in the day

-🔮

Oh, I can just see Price joking about how you two are the old men and the rest are the youngsters. Despite him being closer in age to the rest of the 141 than to your age. In my heart of hearts, Price loves jazz and so you two 100% bond over that.

Soap and Gaz are big on (lovingly) making fun of your old slang terms. Soap especially finds your slang funny because he's finally not the only one who doesn't use common British slang.

Gaz makes fun of it (again, lovingly) but he secretly loves your slang. And like Price, he loves your taste in music. I just got this image of him collecting jazz records and now imagine him fanboying over the original records you must have.

Ghost understands your avoidance on old people and he makes sure to always follow your lead when you're nearby people you might've known back then. He asks you about what it was like to live back then and asks you if you served in any of the wars.

Stone is in fact the one who is the most wary of you initially, and yeah it's because you're a vampire. But once he realizes how chill you are, he likes you.

He asks you about what the stars were like back then, if any of them have faded in the night sky since you first saw them. You could tell him that there was no to little difference in the starry sky from then to now and he'd still ask about the differences. Look, he's very interested in stars.

I feel like all of them except Stone and Ghost would allow you to drink their blood if you asked.

Soap begs you to drink his blood, not because he has a blood kink, but because he loves knowing he helped feed you. Gaz makes sure you're fed regularly and eats foods that will make his blood taste even better. Price is the type to crack jokes while your fangs are in his neck, I can just see it.

Ghost might take a while for him to allow you to drink from him, but he'd get to trusting you with that eventually. He always tenses first and then relaxes, since he's just typically on edge.

Stone, I'm sorry to say, may never let you drink his blood.

[scrivbloingsblog]

— "...I can't feel my legs."

Warning: Mentions of blood. Very shitty fic.

Characters included/mentioned (Canon): John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John "Soap" McTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alex Keller All from Call of Duty Modern Warfare II (2022)

Original Characters by me: Asper "Stranger" Knight, Ruth Knight, Asper's aunt.

Words: 696

Mission was way too far from easy, more if it was one of invading a old Russian warehouse about to crumble down, for intel.. It was a war. Asper was alone and Price was shouting at her on the comms for some reason she didn't knew, her adrenaline was winning over her entire body. The sergeant reacted fastly as one pf the ceilings crumbled down suddenly.. But it was a failure

— "STRANGER!" she heard Soap scream. Asper didn't know she had accidentally slipped at the same moment the ceiling collapsed.

Dust and ash instantly surrounded her as the ceiling and its fragments fell on top of her.

— "ASPER!" Gaz shouted as he ran toward the rubble of wood and bricks. Price immediately went after him to help the sergeant to pull those things off of her. After so many things had fallen on her, some of them dripping with blood, it was a miracle she was still alive!

.... But

*cough* — "C-Captain... I-...I-...I can't feel my le-legs..."

.. At what cost?

In fact, the blood was visible on the floor, the rubble, and her legs.

Weeks passed, and Asper seemed to show little improvement. Her legs hurt too much, and the pain in her head wouldn't go away with any medication. She suggested putting her to sleep like an animal, but Price refused to do that for her. All the team could do for now was support and keep her company, entertaining her with conversations and board games so she wouldn't lose her sanity from the pain she was in.

Asper was very weak and could barely pet Genocide, her little sugar glider who kept her company every time Gaz visited.

Soap kept her company, and Ghost probably played Uno with her, and they sometimes talked. Asper had a small friendship with the lieutenant, so that helped her quite a bit.

The person most responsible for caring for Asper was her aunt. Yes, her aunt. She'd been looking after Asper the whole time she was in the hospital. The poor woman could barely sleep because she was worried about her niece. Asper felt that, despite what had happened among her small family, the only one who could be there for her was her aunt, to protect her from the other people who wanted to hurt her.

One day, her aunt had an important emergency meeting and had to leave Asper alone, that's what she thought but in reality there was one person who hadn't visited her in the 18 weeks she was in the hospital. Her stepmother, Asper's heart almost sank into her stomach when she saw her, seeing the scars the older woman had and what Asper had done herself. Her stepmother had a long talk with her, not as the woman her daughter almost killed, but as a mother who cares about what happens to her daughter and is in a dangerous job.

or that's what it seems

— "..You should know it wasn't your fault."

Ruth, her stepmother, said with a soft voice that "showed" concern.

— "..But I almost killed you." Asper whispered, not intentionally, he was too weak to speak.

— "I know. That's why I came for, to give you karma." Ruth ripped out one of the IV poles, causing Asper to scream in pain, almost immediately a few minutes later Asper woke up again with another IV pole with blood of her same type being injected into it. Whatever had happened, her tired gaze looked down at Price, who was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed with his body propped up on it, sleeping.

Asper was finally able to close her eyes and sleep peacefully for the first time since the events of the mission.

It was very difficult to convince Asper to let her use the "realistic" prosthetic legs; these things were horrible for her while she was learning to walk again. Until one day she finally got the curves, like Alex Keller's. Asper knew what had happened to her leg because Gaz, and Alex himself, had told her what had happened. Asper spent a few days running every morning around the training ground, she seemed happier than she was... apparently.

[kleiney]

🧼🎀👻 "Frosty squad pile" 👻🎀🧼

Annie just enjoying her life: (─‿‿─) Ghost and Soap somehow always finding her: (─‿‿─)♡

A/N: I wanted to color with my markers again that's why the colors are a bit off.

[kuranohimawari]

MAXINE “BEACON” E. VINEYARD

IDENTITY

Full Name: Maxine E. Vineyard

Alias / Callsign: Beacon

Nicknames: Max, Maxie, Max-Max (childhood)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Age: 33

Nationality: British–Filipina

Place of Birth: Philippines

Current Residence: United Kingdom

Spoken Languages: English – Primary (British accent), Filipino/Tagalog – Fluent

Occupation: Special Operations Operative – Comms Relay / Signal Specialist

Rank: Staff Sergeant

Affiliations: Task Force 141, UKSF Support, Royal Signals

APPEARANCE

Hair: Dark blonde, worn in a low bun or ponytail on missions

Skin Tone: Light morena (Filipina heritage)

Eyes: Dark brown (appears lighter in sunlight)

Height: 5’4” / 164 cm

Build: Lean, athletic

Distinct Feature: Small beauty mark near the left eye, close to the upper eyelid by the nose bridge

PERSONALITY PROFILE

POSITIVE TRAITS

Reliable under pressure

Calm, thoughtful decision-maker

Quick learner who adapts after mistakes

Empathetic and emotionally aware

Honest and accountable

Strategic and composed rather than aggressive

Guided by a steady moral compass and personal faith

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Can panic under extreme stress, especially early in her career

Deeply sensitive to the loss of teammates

Not naturally confrontational; avoids unnecessary conflict

Overly honest and often apologizes too much

Tends to take responsibility even when not fully at fault

Can appear passive when others refuse to listen to her

COMBAT DATA / FIELD ROLE

Primary Role: Communications relay and battlefield coordination

Specialty: Tactical communications, Signal recovery in hostile environments, Maintaining team connectivity under fire

Engagement Style: Defensive and supportive rather than assault-focused

SKILLS

Expert in tactical radio and battlefield networking

Encryption and secure communication systems

Signal troubleshooting and recovery

Team coordination under high stress

Stealth, situational awareness

Rapid technical problem-solving

ABILITIES

Remains outwardly calm even when anxious

Adapts quickly to new technology

Strong physical endurance during long operations

Attentive to team morale and mental well-being

EQUIPMENT & WEAPONS

Primary Weapon: M4A1 (compact configuration, suppressed, red dot – used mainly for personal defense)

Secondary Weapon: Standard-issue 9mm pistol

Loadout Focus: Communication gear, encryption tools, batteries, antennas, and relay equipment

Protective Gear: Tactical plate carrier, helmet, and defensive kit only

FAMILY

Mother: Florideliza “Flor” Evangelista (Filipino)

Father: Matthew Vineyard (British)

Stepmother: Alicia Vineyard

Sibling: Francisco “Francis” Vineyard (younger brother, 2-year age gap), Amaryllis “Mary” Vineyard (younger stepsister, 6-year age gap)

Extended Family: Large, close-knit family on her mother’s side

TRIVIA

The callsign “Beacon” comes from her ability to keep teams connected and guide them through chaotic situations.

Teammates joke she’s like a lighthouse—quiet, steady, and able to see what others miss.

Doesn’t drink alcohol; she simply dislikes the taste.

Practices her Christian faith privately.

Known to have playful “sibling-style” arguments with Soap.

Her cousins tease that her English accent sounds like “Peppa Pig.”

Deeply affected by loss but channels it into becoming better at her job.

BIOGRAPHY

EARLY LIFE

Maxine Vineyard grew up in the Philippines, raised by her single mother and grandparents after her British father left shortly after her younger brother Francisco was born. Her childhood was simple but happy, surrounded by cousins and a large, loving family on her mother’s side. As she got older, she began to question her father’s absence, noticing other children with complete families and feeling a mix of curiosity, confusion, and quiet resentment.

When she was around twelve, her father unexpectedly returned to reconnect and “make things right.” Maxine was cautious and conflicted, angry over how he had left, yet hopeful he might stay. Her mother encouraged her to forgive, and over time Maxine slowly learned to accept him. He began visiting regularly and helped support her schooling, introducing her to British culture and the idea of studying abroad, though she never fully trusted him.

During her teenage years, influenced by her father’s military background, Maxine developed an interest in technology, radios, and communications. She joined school clubs, discovered she was calm under pressure, and became known as reliable and organized in stressful situations. At seventeen, her father offered to sponsor her studies in the UK. After much thought, and with her mother’s blessing, Maxine accepted and began a new chapter of her life.

MILITARY CAREER

ENLISTMENT AND TRAINING

Joined the British Army after completing her studies

Excelled in discipline, teamwork, and technical aptitude

Royal Signals Specialization

Trained in encryption, battlefield networking, and tactical communications

Recognized early for problem-solving and composure

EARLY DEPLOYMENT

Attached to UKSF support units

Experienced her first real combat loss, causing initial panic but ultimately maintaining operational function

Used the experience to grow more focused and resilient

ADVANCED TRAINING

Long-range signal relay and mobile command support

Joint-force coordination with allied units

TF141 SELECTION

Chosen for Task Force 141 due to field reliability, technical skill, and steady performance

Often underestimated because of her quiet nature

Now serves as a vital comms relay and battlefield coordinator, earning the callsign “Beacon.”

[ask-private-141]

Who should I bother today? 💕

Ghost

Soap

Price

Rudy (NO.)

Roach (NO.)

Gaz (NO.)

Alejandro

Graves

Voting ended onJan 7, 2025