Hello! You Can Call Me Crab (or Tommy). Welcome To My Blog! Here I'll Post Drabbles/headcanons(/maybe

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty), Kate Laswell Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, slight imposter syndrome, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

My first chapter for @pricegazweek is up! So excited to be taking part in this <3 Preview below!

John Price had smoked for as long as he could remember. He remembered as a boy, sneaking into his father’s study and swiping a couple of his cigars from the sizable stash– just enough so the man wouldn’t notice a few wayward smokes. It’s not as though he was home enough to notice anything, anyhow, and John’s mother almost never went into the study if she could help it– lest she get a black eye for her trouble. He took as many cigars as he dared, and a couple of matches that were spread across the table, shoving his prizes deep into his pockets and sneaking back out of the room. He had barrelled down the stairs quickly after, shouting to his mother that he was going out. She may have replied but John didn’t hear it. Or maybe she didn’t reply at all from her place day drinking at the dining table. He didn’t care either way and neither did she. John doubted she’d notice if he didn’t come back. He’d made his way to the park and into the nearby woodlands. Dense brush and overgrown foliage was enough to deter most– a perfect escape for him. A smattering of flowers were nestled between the blades of grass– wild poppies, dandelions and buttercups. A large oak tree stood in the middle of the greenery– decades old and untouched by any saw. He rounded to the back of it, finding the planks that he had nailed into the side a few summers ago to help him climb the thick bark. 

He scaled the tree, ensuring he was careful as he climbed. The summer before, he made the mistake of going up to his hiding spot in the middle of the rain and had slipped just before he reached the top. The crunching sound when he landed still echoed in his ears, but not as much as his parents screaming at him when they took him to the hospital. 

Once he reached the top, he grabbed onto the rope that he had tied around one of the thicker branches, using it as leverage to haul himself the last step. John collapsed into the bark where the branches all met, leaving a surprisingly comfortable seating for him. He had grown since last year, and he was worried that he wouldn’t fit in his little private space much longer the more he grew. He didn’t want to find a new hiding place– not when this one acted almost like a friend.

He reached into his pocket, digging around until he found one of the cigars and a single matchstick. He gave it a cautious sniff, wrinkling his nose at the smell. The first drag of the cigar was the worst– he coughed as he inhaled, resulting in him hacking for several seconds until he could breathe again. The second was no better than the first– by the fifth he had more or less gotten the hang of inhaling without choking. He camped out in the tree even several hours after he had finished the cigar out of fear the smell would cling to his clothes. 

He started stealing more cigars whenever he had the chance. Sometimes, Price wondered if his father had known all along, but quickly crushed the thought. He would have been beaten black and blue if the man had ever found out his only son had been pilfering his much loved supply of Cuban cigars. When he was younger, Price would question whether or not his father loved him less than his cigars. Once he was older, Price knew that that was a fact. 

His father never found out any had gone missing in the first place. At least, not until John left for the army and brought half of the stash with him. He wished he was there to see the old bastard’s face, walking into his office and seeing his desk drawers left open and several cigars littering the floor, carelessly stomped on by John on his way out of the door. 

Smoking became an outlet for him– a crutch that he started relying on. It was unhealthy, he knew it was, even more so the longer he served. Missions gone wrong– lost teammates, lost friends, too many close calls– missions where he should have died. Where he shouldn’t have been the one to walk away– not when there were better people, better soldiers who had so much more than him left to live for. When Price was 25, smoking became less of a bad habit and more of something that he hoped would kill him without him actively trying. Despite his desire to end his life, he had much rather do it serving his country than be discharged for mental health problems. If he was getting discharged from the army– it would be in a coffin painted in his country’s colours. It was only by chance his lungs remained intact for him to reach Captain, taking over the mantle from MacMillan after he retired. 

Despite the mindset, he wouldn’t have called himself suicidal. No, there were others in worse mental states than he was– ones that went to therapy once, or even twice, a week. It’s not as though he was judging them for it– hell, he urged a lot of the soldiers he knew to seek professional help when they were struggling. It was just that John didn’t dare take his own advice lest he admit too much and end up sectioned. What would he even tell them, anyway? That he hoped that smoking would eventually kill him? That he’d get cancer? That he’d let the disease kill him slowly– make him feel every ounce of pain that he believed he deserved? Besides, he wasn’t attempting anything, meaning he couldn’t be suicidal– right? Of course not. Depressed, maybe, but not suicidal because he wasn’t actively attempting so that counted for something, right?

Not to mention that Kate must have at least suspected how he felt on the inside– she had known him long enough. Then again, if she had any inclination whatsoever, would she have gone out of her way to form the 141? Probably not. But she couldn’t deny that Price wasn’t entirely the same man that he  was when Taskforce 141 was formed– in fact, he liked to think that he was a better man. The sheer idea of not having the team he had now was one he didn’t want to think too long nor hard about. 

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Graves + Shadows Headcanons Part 2 [Part 1] [Part 3] Words: 794

Once, when Graves got ill, he ended up fainting in the middle of a meeting because he had been pushing himself too hard. He woke up several hours later, completely unaware of the sheer pandemonium that broke loose just after he lost consciousness. The on base medics had to kick several shadows out on multiple occasions and also nearly quit when they saw almost half the base waiting outside the room for an update on their commander. While he was forced into bedrest, at least one Shadow was stationed in his room at one given time to keep an eye out on him and make sure he had everything that he needed. Even after he got better, there was still a Shadow or two lingering outside his office-- just in case.

Graves has a habit of working himself way too hard to be healthy. As a result, the Shadows have self decided shifts where they check up on their Commander– make sure he’s eaten something or drank some water every few hours. He is just,, so bad at looking after himself sometimes. It's a good thing his Shadows are there to help.

Used to insist that the Shadows just call him Phil when they're off duty but they all said it felt wrong, so they generally stick to 'Commander' or 'Graves' but that's as far as they'd go to calling him by name.

Graves is not shy to show his soldiers physical affection, especially if he thinks that they’re touch starved. It’s mostly little things, shoulder or arm or back pats, a quick ruffle of the hair, he makes sure not to overstep any boundaries. If they ask for a little more, like a full hug, he would absolutely give it to them.

Shadow Initiation is that you have to fight against Graves. Only a few Shadows have ever successfully taken him down, but it’s very much a rite of passage if you get your ass handed to you by the Commander.

Despite all his softness, Graves can be an absolutely wicked trainer. He will push his Shadows to their limits during training, but is always mindful to not push them further than what they’re capable of.

Has attended weddings for his Shadows and has been best man(/bride's man??) for a few of them.

He absolutely has several photo albums filled to the brim with pictures of current and old shadows and likes to show it off to the new recruits/baby shadows like a proud dad.

When a Shadow dies on a mission, they are given the best send off money can buy and their families are provided for e.g. if they had kids, college tuition is fully funded etc. Financial support is provided for several years, and secretly sometimes funded from Graves' own pocket.

Took the deaths of Shadows Dipaolo, Vance and Erikson and the other Shadows on that mission pretty hard and blamed himself. So much so, that he began to doubt his ability to lead as their Commander. He couldn't even protect his soldiers, couldn't even send them reinforcements when they needed him the most. He had to listen to them die. And he won't forgive Shepherd for that.

When the Shadows realised how he felt about it, they were all quick to rush and reassure him that their loyalty to him never once wavered.

Absolutely no Shadow likes Shepherd. Not a single one. Shepherd does not visit the base that often because he genuinely thinks that the Shadows are out to get him. They are.

He spends his time on base during the holidays so those who don’t have anyone to go back to aren’t alone. On Christmas day, he makes a killer turkey roast and gets presents for everyone.

Yes, the base does get decorated during the holidays. So far, Halloween is the one that stirs up the most excitement. April Fools has been banned from being celebrated after the entirety of Graves' office got covered in sticky notes. Everything. Not even the pens were spared.

"NEVER BACK DOWN, NEVER WHAT?!” He says this every mission to get morale up, but he also says it when a Shadow is down to try and cheer them up. If they’re upset over something, he’ll nudge them with his shoulder like “Never back down never what?” and keeps saying it with a widening grin on his face until they’re chuckling with him. He stays with them until they feel better. The same has happened where a Shadow has done the same thing to him when he's seemed down or stressed.

He makes it well known to everyone that his office door is always open if anyone ever needs someone to talk to, whether that's to vent, voice any concerns or anything else.

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your shadow company has made me nearly cry 😭 I love the though of SC being like a big family sm

not to be dramatic or anything but getting this ask almost made me cry, too 😭tysm for your kind words! and don't worry, I have many more headcanons written up abt SC and show no signs of stopping <3

Graves + Shadows Headcanons Part 3 [Part 1] [Part 2] Words: 766

Praise for DAYS. Did Shadow 5-8 get a good shot on the target? Punch in the shoulder at the end of the mission and a bright grin “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, 5-8!”, 

“Atta’girl, 6-12, I couldn’t’ve done that better myself.”

“Keep it up, 10-4!” Reaches over and brings them into a side hug and ruffles their hair like a proud dad. 

Coming back to Graves having a lot of respect for his soldiers, remember that scene in SWCW where it's like

"We're clones, sir, we're meant to be expendable..." "Not to me."

Yeah that's Graves.

He has kept every set of dog tags that belonged to Shadows that died during missions. They’re kept locked away in a box, safely tucked away.

A lot of Shadows were previously mercenaries, even criminals, but they are good at what they do which is why they get hired in the first place. Not to mention that Graves sees hiring them as a way to give them a second chance at life. 

Shepherd has learnt that the way to make Graves do what he wants is by threatening his Shadows. He could very easily dissolve the entire company in a day and expose Graves for technically harbouring wanted criminals.  

Yes, Shepherd called him a ‘dog with a bone’, but he’s more like a Dragon with a hoard. His hoard being his soldiers.

Some rando who was visiting the base once snapped at a Shadow, calling them a ‘stupid fucking mercenary’. That was his mistake when Graves had to be restrained by 3 of his own men. 

“What the fuck did you just say to them? You’d best walk outta my base before I make you leave in a goddamn body bag!”

As shown above, he goes absolutely feral if someone ever insults any of his soldiers.

“Be quiet, sergeant, your betters are talking.” Said some hoity Commander who hasn’t stepped foot in a battlefield in over a decade. Suddenly, it feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out like a vacuum. All eyes go to Graves as he glares long and hard at the man. 

“Apologise. Now.” “What–” “I said: apologise, ‘fore I show you my own version of ‘southern hospitality’.”

Compulsory language lessons. Every Shadow has to know at least 2 languages, English and another language of their choosing. Missions sometimes rely heavily on communication, so fluency in different languages is important.

Graves knows several languages himself, but his pronunciation is downright awful. Sometimes he makes his accent worse because it’s funny watching the horror in people’s eyes when he speaks. 

One of his Shadows has a tendency of crawling around in the vents in the base and because he’s not really harming anyone, Graves lets him do as he pleases. Because of the habit, however, and the fact he’s somehow able to go around almost silently through the metal vents, he’s earned an affectionate nickname amongst the Shadows; Roach. 

Graves doesn’t get along with family. Don’t get him wrong, he has some semblance of respect for his Momma cause she taught him good manners and other things like how to cut hair and how to cook a hearty meal for 12 people, but she was a narcissistic bitch when it came down to it and he took a lot of pleasure cutting her out of his life the second he was able to. 

He never met his father, and doesn’t much care for him, either. 

Paid leave/Holidays? Check. Paternity/Maternity leave? Check. Bed ed and board? Check. Medical and dental plan? You know it. Any possible benefit that can come with a job, being a Shadow has. 

No matter what they’re doing, if Graves does a run up to them, they will always catch their Commander. 

Is the first or last port of call when a fight/argument breaks out. It depends on how out of hand it's gotten in the space of about 15 minutes. Usually people don’t want to interrupt whatever the Commander’s doing and invoke his wrath.

“They started it!” “Well I’m endin’ it!”

Has the type of authority that if he were to suddenly yell at a recruit “Drop it. Now!” Everyone in earshot would absolutely drop whatever they were holding even if the comment wasn’t directed at them. 

There’s a Shadow that’s the largest of the entire company– but he is the biggest scaredy cat and coward anyone has ever met, which makes people wonder why he’s even in Shadow Company. The reality is that, despite being a coward, he’s damn intimidating. Perfect for him to shadow hover behind Graves during mission briefs and so forth.

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AleRudy Getting Together Headcanons

Warnings: None Ships: Alejandro/Rudy A/N: Aro-spec Rudy? Aro-spec Rudy. Words: 1875

They've known each other for 20 years, and have been together for 15 of them, married for 10. The reason they didn’t get together sooner was because Alejandro was dating Valeria at the time but their relationship soured. 

Rudy fell first, and he fell hard enough to bruise, but Alejandro fell harder. 

Out of the both of them, Alejandro is the most emotional and Rodolfo… less so. He’s a little more emotionally detached. 

It goes to say that Rudy absolutely positively adores Alejandro and loves him with his entire heart, but he’s just… not the best at vocalising it. Verbal and physical affection was never really a big thing when he was growing up, so he got used to doing other things to show he cared like acts of service or gift giving. 

Rudy also grew up in a large family. Being the eldest sibling/cousin, there were a lot of times that he had to step in to stop arguments. He learnt how to keep a level head to try and avoid any worsening conflict. This ends up becoming a problem a little more into their relationship.

‘I love you’ is also something that Rudy struggles to say. Yes, he loves Alejandro, but to him they’re just words. Saying them himself holds no power or meaning. Not as much as the little things to show your love that you care about them– subtle things, like restocking Alejandro’s hair gel when he notices it running out. Making him his morning coffee just before his alarm goes off so he’s able to drink it while it’s still hot and before he even has to roll out of bed.  

Expanding on Rudy being a little emotionally detached, as one can imagine, this caused a lot of arguments when they first started dating. It wasn’t an issue for when they were just friends because Rudy was already such a loyal friend to Alejandro there was no question with his feelings towards his then best friend.

Being in a relationship was a new territory for the both of them. Alejandro because Rudy was the first person he actually felt a deep connection to whilst any previous relationships were closer to flings than anything more. For Rudy, Alejandro was one of the first few romantic relationships he had ever had– if not the first.

So as time went on, Alejandro began to notice what he believed was Rudy’s… lack of attachment.

Again, Alejandro is a passionate and emotional man. He loves his friends, his soldiers and his family fiercely, but he sometimes expects others to show the same intensity.

So when Rudy didn’t seem all that enthusiastic in the first few months of their relationship, Alejandro began to believe the worst. 

They had arguments here and there, as most couples do, but Alejandro reached breaking point around 3 months into dating. And thus their first proper argument as a couple happened. And it was bad. 

Alejandro was furious beyond words, using his anger to hide the hurt he felt at what he incorrectly assumed was Rudy rejecting him for months. He would constantly say those special three words and only receive a smile in response or an awkward grimace and a swift change in subject.

He accused Rudy of not caring about him, given how little emotion he would show when they were together. He even brought up that Rudy only seemed the most romantic/emotional during sex. How he cradled Alejandro and whispered sweet nothings in the man’s ear as he took him apart and built him back up, made him whimper and keen in the dead of night. 

This, of course, crushed Rudy.

The argument would then get worse when Rudy, without meaning it, would seem to undermine Alejandro and tone down any concerns he had when in reality he was just trying to calm him down the only way he knew how. Sometimes, Rudy would curse himself for having such a level head and occasional aloof demeanour as it never failed to make him seem all the more distant and closed off to those closest to him.

It’s during that argument that something finally gives in. As always, Alejandro is yelling, gesturing angrily and so violently that it almost makes Rodolfo flinch. Almost. 

“If you don’t love me, just say it! I am sick of playing these games–”

Rudy’s attempts at calming his lover down only just seemed to add fuel to the fire. In the end, he sat resolutely in silence as he waited for Alejandro’s rage to simmer down. That was until something he didn’t expect slipped from his Colonel’s mouth.

“This is like Valeria all fucking over again!”

Rodolfo could handle being yelled at. He could handle hiding every flinch that wanted to escape whenever Alejandro got violent and began to throw the nearest objects to him into the wall (but never at Rodolfo– Lord knows Alejandro would never forgive himself if he laid a hand on the man he loved). He could handle the harsh glares and the cold shoulders that followed a few days after every argument. He could deal with those. He would persevere because he loved Alejandro. He just never said it. 

But to be compared to that bitch was what hurt the most. Valeria– who had buried her perfectly manicured talons into Alejandro’s heart all those years ago and then ripped it to pieces when she yanked her claws out just to watch him bleed. Rodolfo knew that Alejandro didn’t mean what he was saying. He was too lost in his own rage to really think about what he was saying. Alejandro continued raving– mostly to himself now that Rudy had bowed his head to stare at the floor, shame and guilt eating away at his insides. 

The argument came to a barrelling stop at the first sniffle that cut through the room. It was quiet but deafening to Alejandro’s ears and enough to make him stop his rambling and look at his boyfriend with panic in his eyes. He had wanted Rudy to hurt, yes, selfishly wanted him to feel the hurt he had made Alejandro feel these past few months— but he didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be the cause of the fat blobs of tears dripping onto the floor as the other man stared at it. His anger was still present, but it took a backseat as he rushed to try and comfort Rudy, his heart breaking when the other man held out a hand to stop him, shaking his head and denying Alejandro the right to soothe the hurt that he had caused.

“Rudy, mi amor, I am so sorry–” 

“No.” Rudy whispered through his tears, stubbornly keeping his gaze on the floor just so Alewjandro could not see how deep his words had cut him. “You are right, I am just like–”

The speed and strength that suddenly seized him in the form of Alejandro’s hands clutching his upper arms startled him. He looked up with wide and wet eyes to see Alejandro almost exactly the same. His love looked so heartbroken. 

“No, Rodolfo– Rudy, it was callous of me to compare you to that woman. Perdóname mi corazón, I may have been angry but that is no excuse to say that to you.”

“But–” Rudy’s mouth snaps shut when Alejandro shakes him, his earlier fury returning for only a split second before melting away into the most hurt he had ever seen on his Colonel.

“Escúchame– listen. Listen to me, Rudy. No matter what happens between us, you will never, ever be like she was. You are the most thoughtful, selfless, brave, beautiful man I have ever known..” Rudy opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when Ale shook him again. “I mean it, Rudy. I mean it.”

Alejandro, for all his training and status, panicked when his reassurances only seem to make the other cry harder. His fingers only tightened around Rudy’s shoulders, pulling him close and pressing his lips against the other man’s hairline. 

“I love you.” Rudy whispered through his tears. Alejandro hated the way his heart skipped a beat  “I love you. So much. So much that breathing is unimportant when I am around you because you always take my breath away. The sun rising is nothing in comparison to your smile. You are the man I would live and die for– the man I would start wars for if you only asked.”

Alejandro had been taken aback by his lover’s words. To hear him speak about him with such awe, such reverence that it would make God himself jealous. Rudy was a lowly disciple, willing to worship the very ground that Alejandro stood on like a man pleading for salvation. How… How had Alejandro missed the adoration Rudy had for him? And now he had gone and made the man cry like he had been rejected from the gates of Heaven. 

“I'm sorry.” Rodolfo continued, “I am sorry that I have not said it enough. I am sorry that I do not love you the way you want me to– the way that you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, mi amor…” Alejandro had whispered back, all remaining semblance of anger draining from his body once understanding clicked into place. “Perdóname…”

The Colonel reached out, taking Rudy’s hand into his own, and placing kisses so soft onto the other man’s knuckles that it felt like he was merely brushing his lips over flesh. 

“My love, my life, my heart… If I have your love, no matter what kind, then that is more than enough for me.”

To say the argument made their relationship stronger would be an understatement. They communicated more, voiced any worries or their needs, cleared the air before anything could fester.  They flourished together and only grew more madly in love with each other as time passed.

Not to mention that Alejandro became more acutely aware of the tiny things that Rudy did for him to show his love– and began to do the same. Topping up the spice rack that Rudy heartily used at mealtimes before they could fully run out, cleaning his favourite pistol before he had to do it because Ale knows just how much his lover hated doing it at the end of a long mission. 

Months later, Alejandro can’t rightfully remember who had told him about the idea in the first place, but he was quick to bring it up to Rodolfo the second he had the chance. He explained how a couple shows that they love each other by tapping three times anywhere on their partner’s body. Rodolfo, touched, says that it sounds like a wonderful thing to do. 

It’s when Alejandro and Rodolfo are lying in bed together, limbs tangled together as they exchange sleepy kisses that Alejandro feels it. Three taps. Three taps. Three Taps. Three taps with a break between each sequence. I love you. I love you. I love you. It’s beautiful and almost overwhelming enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

From there, Alejandro never again doubted Rudy’s love for him, especially when he felt three taps on his wrist as Rodolfo slid a gold band over his ring finger half a decade later. I love you, the taps whispered.

“I love you.” Alejandro said, beaming with adoration.

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Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Bottom John Price (Call of Duty), Top Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Chapter 3! Obligatory smut chapter despite the fact I cannot write smut :’) naturally, NSFW warning!

If someone asked Kyle Garrick 10 years ago what his favourite colour was, chances were he would say red. The park in his nearby park always housed the most beautiful flowers that volunteers tended to religiously. Chrysanthemums, camellia, bleeding hearts, roses, tulips, poppies– always changing depending on the season but always returning with that beautiful and rich deep red that he so adored. If someone asked Kyle 5 years ago what his favourite colour was, the answer would probably have been the same– albeit the flowers he had enjoyed half a decade prior had been trampled and destroyed some years ago, ransacked and ruined to the point the flowerbeds were paved over with tarmac. Yes, his favourite colour was still red. Or, more specifically, the shade of red that comes with the sunrise, bleeding across the sky before exploding into golden hues and banishing any lingering darkness. 

Although should someone ask him the same question around 18 months ago, his face would soften and an affectionate smile would dance in the corners of his lips, the edges twitching upwards. Blue, he would say, and refuse to elaborate. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” John asked, peering out from under his arm that he had thrown over his face. Kyle had to stop for a moment, straightening and sitting back on his haunches to get a proper view of the man underneath him, reverently running his hands down his chest, biting back a moan at the feeling of his thick hair that littered almost every inch of his body. 

John was absolutely fucking stunning like this. Laid out across their bed, skin flushed pink and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. His hair was a mess from how much Kyle had been grabbing at it and pulling it, forcing the older man to bare his neck for him for easier access. The flesh around John’s neck and jaw was littered with bites and bruises where Kyle had eagerly attacked the expanse of previously unmarked flesh. But despite the delectable feast laid out before him, he couldn’t stop trailing his gaze back up to meet his lover’s. It was no secret that Kyle loved John's eyes, notably the colour, but also how expressive they could be. 

Chapters: 2/7 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty), John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Nikolai (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare) Additional Tags: Misunderstandings, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, Hurt John Price (Call of Duty)

Chapter 2 for @pricegazweek​, time to work on 3! Preview below <3

“And what’s this, sergeant?” Price didn’t look up when a small stack of papers were slapped onto his desk like a wet rag and that only really ignited the anger that Gaz had been feeling for the past few weeks. 

“My transfer request.” He gritted out through clenched teeth, posture guarded once he folded his arms across his chest. That seemed to snap Price out of whatever work he was doing. The captain lowered his pen, finally giving Gaz his full attention. 

“Transfer?” Price laughed disbelievingly, “What do you mean ‘transfer’?”

“Exactly as I said, captain.”

He and Price had been struggling to see eye to eye lately. Whilst, yes, they had grown close since Price had taken (or rather, stole) him back in London, Gaz had always felt that he was constantly being held at an arm’s reach.  

“And what brought this on?” An arched eyebrow. 

“Call it an issue with leadership.”

Price’s face twitched and Gaz knew that he was wanting to say something in retaliation but didn’t want to make the situation even more worse than it already was. He tapped his fingers against the wooden desk, jaw clenched tight. Frankly, it was more than just an issue of leadership. Price was simply not the person that Gaz thought he was. Stupid as he was, Gaz had gone and fallen for the man. No, that wasn’t the problem. He would have been able to deal with that sort of rejection (he was an adult, after all)-- no, it was Price’s behaviour. 

From a young age, Gaz knew that he wasn’t straight. He never flaunted his sexuality, he never wanted to be defined solely because of who he was attracted to, but he was never ashamed of it. If he thought someone was attractive, 9 times out of 10, he would tell them as such. Whether or not something happened from there was almost always a matter of the other party’s decision. Admitting that sort of thing to Price, though, was something else entirely. The man was his Captain, no less, and Gaz had never heard anything about a wife, partner, husband or otherwise at home. He didn’t have a ring– hell, he barely talked much about what he did outside of work. Family was always a topic he avoided like the plague– which wasn’t all that odd considering all of the 141 did the same. Gaz found out pretty quickly that at least half of their already small enough team had had poor experiences growing up and talked very little about, which was fine by him. 

Not knowing where Price was on the relationship side of things, though, made Gaz curious. Price was only a few years older than he was, but he had that older and rugged charm to him despite only being 38. It would be even more shocking if he was single. He sported a divorced dad sort of vibe too, which Gaz didn’t mind. He loved kids. 

For the sake of trying his luck, Gaz started flirting with Price. If he was in a relationship and stated as such, Gaz was more than happy to back off– the same would be said if it turned out that Price was straight (though Kate’s laughter echoing in his ears after he had asked still echoed in his ears). He went in hoping for the best, preparing for the worst. The worst being mild rejection. 

The worst not being Price’s near disgusted face when he finally clocked Gaz’s advancements. Price being straight was one thing– what Gaz couldn’t even begin to accept was the captain being a raging fucking homophobe. At first he had convinced himself that it was a one off, that maybe Price was having a bad day. So he tried again and was met with the same reaction– disgust and an almost constipated look. With evidence like that, Gaz couldn’t help but believe it. Captain John Price was a homophobe– but had a best friend who was openly a lesbian and married to a woman. It didn’t make an ounce of sense– especially when Price and Kate had talked about how the man had attended said wedding! It made the hurt ache more when Price started distancing himself from the sergeant– remaining professional, but holding him at an ever longer reach than before. That had been four weeks ago, and Gaz had had enough. 

“Does Kate know?” Price said, briefly looking down at the paperwork and then looking back up to meet Gaz’s eyes. 

“I’ll be giving these to her after you sign them.”

“Bold of you to assume I will.”

“Doesn’t have to be yours, sir, I’m asking more out of courtesy.”

a small preview of my piece for the SFW @sunshine-soap-zine ! it's been such an honour and a pleasure being part of this wonderful project and I can't wait until we get to share it all with you! find zine links here <3

Here's Chapter 5 for @pricegazweek week! Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Presumed Dead, Blood and Injury

I know I'm a few days behind, but I should hopefully finish the remaining two chapters by Wednesday <3

“I expected... more from not just one– but two SAS soldiers.”

“Undo these ropes and I’ll show you exactly what we’re capable of.” Price spat, very much a spitting image of a large, and furious, animal. Gaz, who was kneeling beside him, remained quiet– but his eyes burned with a rage that matched that of his captain’s. 

Poor intel was part of the job, gaps missing in the portfolio, sending soldiers in blind– shit like that happened. It was Price’s entire job to adapt to any situation thrown at him– to change plans at the drop of a hat. To keep his men safe. There was only so much he could do when intel was not only flawed, but falsified completely. And Price had led himself and Gaz right into danger with little to no backup. 

‘Just routine.’ he had said to Ghost after his Lieutenant had asked if he needed him and Soap on standby. ‘We should manage just fine.’

‘Something doesn’t feel right about this, Price.’ Ghost had said as he poured over the copious amount of files and reports– months worth of investigations and surveillance. 

‘Intel’s from one of Laswell’s agents. I trust her judgement.’ SImon had looked like he wanted to say something more but Price had brushed it off. If it was important, then the mancunian would have spoken his mind without a second thought. He should have pushed him– pressed him to speak his mind because then maybe he and Gaz wouldn’t be stuck in this situation– at the mercy of some greed driven arms dealer. Even as they were climbing into Nik’s heli, Simon had that look on his face– the one that said something wasn’t quite right. Why didn’t Price ask? He had never had a problem listening to his men before, appreciating any input anybody had– he wouldn’t have shut Simon down. He would have brought all four of them on the mission if the Lieutenant was that worried. 

Although, that may have meant all of the team would have been captured instead of just half. Hindsight was a petty bitch and, if Price got out of this alive, he would have to have a stern word with her. And maybe Laswell, too, to watch her agents a little more closely. He flexed his hands, tensing to feel the knot wrapping around his wrists. If given enough time, some leeway, and a little bit of luck, he might be able to shimmy his way out of them. He just needed to keep Sergey talking. It must have been the bastard’s first capture, because the idiot had left most of their gear on in his haste to get them tied up and kneeling. Amateur.

“What do you want from us?” Gaz asked and Price’s eyes flicked over to his lover, worry flashing for only a moment before he schooled his expression back into a mask of fury. 

“Information.” The arms dealer, Sergey, said. Sergey was a sickly looking man– wiry yet fat in all the wrong places that made his body bulge in strange parts. He wore an ill fitting suit that was clearly too small for his size but also somehow managed to look too big at the same time. In all honesty, he looked exactly what one would expect when thinking of what an arm’s dealer would look like– right down to the untrustworthy moustache. Not to mention he looked like he was almost constantly constipated and, from the way he was holding the pistol in his shaking hand, he had never wielded a weapon before. Ironic– a man who had never sampled his open products that he was illegally shipping off to the highest bidder. Not one to get his hands dirty– but more than happy to dip them in blood. 

“What sort of information?” Price spoke up before Gaz could open his mouth back up. Attention on me, Price’s face screamed. Don’t look at him. Look at me. The more attention on him, the less likely that Gaz was going to be put in harm's way. Price could deal well enough with being tortured and interrogated– could handle it better than the sergeant. 

“Just a little bit of information, that’s all I want, and I’ll be happy to let you both go. And, depending on what you give, you may walk away with heavier pockets.”

Of course a man like Sergey would offer a bribe in exchange for information and freedom. Price expected that from someone who had never been told ‘no’ his entire life. If Price had taken every bribe thrown his way in the past 20 odd years, he would have been able to afford a private island with a complimentary private jet. Maybe one of those fancy yachts, too, so he could go out fishing in the ocean. With the amount of money he could have got, he’d be buying private islands for each individual fish he caught. 

“Cold of you to assume we’ll give you anything.” He continued slowly, clenching his hands into fists and straining subtly to fight the rope. His wrists would be red raw by the end of the night but if it got them out alive he’d take a bullet too for good measure. Just a little more…

“I imagine that you will. I can be quite… persuasive.” Gaz snorted to Price’s left and he sent a scathing look his sergeant's way. Antagonising the man holding the gun was the last thing that they wanted right now.

“And if we don’t?”

“I kill you both.” An emphasis on his words with a point of his pistol to Price. He was shaking, the metal rattling from his trembling. Jesus wept– had he ever even held a gun before? 

There– he could feel the ropes loosen ever so slightly, just enough for him to start sliding his thumb through. It would be uncomfortable and quite painful, but it was enough. 

“Then you get nothing.” Panted through clenched teeth, masking his pain for anger.  “Go on, then, shoot me.”

“No. I still need you, Captain. Your friend, however…”

Before anyone could do so much as blink, the gun moved to point at Gaz in all its shaking glory. Two clear shots rang out– followed by a body hitting the ground. Price’s heart kicked into gear– blood rushing in his ears, heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to jump out of his very chest in order to get to– 

Gaz.

Price stared at the motionless sergeant, eyes wide and every instinct in his body screaming at him to move– to check on him. A small puddle of blood was already forming underneath Gaz’s body. No. No, no, no, no–

“Gaz!”

Read the rest on AO3!