#eld writes

Gaz looked up as the sharp screech of twisting metal met his ears. The guard at his door poked his head out to see what was happening only to jerk and slump, a rather large piece of rebar right between his eyes. Gaz did not want to meet whatever the fuck did that and so scooted the chair he was tied to as far back into the shadows as he could. He tried to keep his breathing even but as the steady clomp of boots on metal grew closer, he couldn't cut it. A hand curled around the door frame and for a second, Gaz would forever swear he saw gleaming copper claws. He blinked and suddenly you were in front of him. Kneeling low as you confidently cut through the rope around his ankles.

"Breathe Sergeant. I got you." Gaz practically melted at the familiar rumble of your voice. He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding as you moved to the bindings on his chest. Then he was confused.

"It's good to see you lieutenant, but how did you get here?"

You hummed as you finished cutting through his bindings and hauled Gaz to his feet. While there wasn't really any major damage that you could see, you still didn't like finding him like this.

"I called in a favor from an old friend. For all intents and purposes, this was never sanctioned. Now before you go thinking too hard, the others did try to come as well. Unfortunately, they got placed under the equivalent of house arrest by Shepherd. Now come on, our ride is waiting."

Gaz rolled the information over in his mind as you led him through the little facility. Everywhere he looked was some form of evidence of a fight. It looked like something had absolutely ripped through their defences.

--

Ghost startled as he entered the little kitchen of their current base. It was incredibly late at night and he hadn't expected anyone to be awake. You were sitting on the counter, ripped open package of red meat in one hand and a piece of meat midway to your mouth. Ghost raised an eyebrow and you slowly lowered the little chunk back into the tray.

"is this why you never eat with us?" Your fellow lieutenant asked as he grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards. You have a little noncommittal shrug as you set aside your dinner. Ghost popped the mug into the microwave and pulled out a few teabags.

"No need to stop on my account, lieutenant." The microwave beeped and ghost retrieved his mug before plopping the teabags in and promptly exiting the kitchen.

--

Soap raised an eyebrow as you stripped off your jacket and bundled it into your pack. The team was visiting Farah and the desert heat was harsh on all of them. Even Price had taken refuge under the nearest shade cloth. You however just seemed to be perfectly fine in the heat. He thought the heat was finally getting to you. That is until you climbed up on huge flat rock, laid in direct sunlight and promptly fell asleep. You were fucking basking while the rest of the team was baking in the sun. Soap stomped over, sun be damned, and climbed right up beside you. He purposely blocked the sun as he kneeled next to you and raised his hand to slap down in the dead center of your back. That is until your hand shot out and easily caught his wrist. You two briefly wrestled for a minute or two before soap yelped as you scooped him up over your shoulder and carried his ass back over to the others. Farah laughed as you deposited Soap right at Price's feet. A simple no left your mouth in a sort of grumbling growl as you went back to your rock. Soap pouted in the shade but didn't move to try again, as Price handed him a canteen of water.

--

Price watched from the door as you wrestled against Ghost, with Soap and Gaz sitting on the side. You two were dirty fucking fighters. Anytime Ghost flipped you on your back, you'd yank him by his mask or shirt to the side. Anytime you'd flip him on his back, he'd take his nails down any piece of exposed flesh in order to get you to rear back and topple. Price thought it was like watching two feral ass badgers fighting. He decided to intervene when Ghost pinned you and his fingers were just a hair too close to your mouth. Your fangs were on display.

"That's enough boys!" He watched in amusement as You and Ghost scrambled to your feet. "Go clean up, all of you. We got a briefing in twenty. Except you, Drake. I need to talk to you." The rest of the squad exited the training room. Price could practically feel the gossip spinning in their heads.

Price turned to you once the team was down the hall and out of earshot. "We need to talk about that little trip you took."

You tilted your head to the side in confusion. "Little trip, sir?"

"The one you took while the rest of us were under house arrest. The one where you somehow returned with the single missing member of this task force."

You simply hummed, a noncommittal sound, as you tapped your wrist. Price shook his head at your silent question. "Ah my most recent leave. What's the issue?"

Price sighed. "Unfortunately, the higher up want to know how Gaz returned." Price grabbed your shoulder and pulleed you down to his height. "You were not involved in anyway, clear?"

You groaned as the grip on your shoulder tightened. "Loud and clear, sir."

You came back wrong.

It took a while for the team to get back into Las Almas Base. Even then it was a challenge for the Monsters and Hybrids of 141 and Mexican special forces. Gaping maws in the earth filled with drip stone like teeth would suddenly open up beneath their feet. The trees would violently sway in the thunder shrieking winds as fat Heavy rain clouds let loose on the torn soil. All the while they couldn’t get the image of your corpse leaning in the doorway of your cell turned tomb, smiling over Graves’ shoulder as the earth gave way to teeth and blood at your cry.

The vampire had barely had enough to time to turn before concrete slicked into mud. He went tumbling with his thralls into a gaping chasm lined with obsidian fangs. Pain wracked his body as Those under his control were dashed against glass stone. He tried to pull his thralls to him. To call to The piece of his essence in each and every single one. No one came. He growled and tried again. No one. He looked up to the top of the pit only to see your dead eye’s mere inches from his, head cocked to the side as if listening.

A slow creeping smile stretched your pale blue lips, revealing rows of obsidian teeth. Graves barely had the energy to scramble back. He ignored the sting of glass piercing his palms as He pushed himself, further and further from whatever the fuck you were. A wail cried high in the pit and Graves flinched as Your head snapped to the noise. He would never forget the grinding crunch of bone if he made it out of this. Between one blink and the next, you were gone. Nothing but the clicking of volcanic glass in your wake.

Graves gathered himself, breathing harshly. The reports had said you were The 141’s weak link. A fragile human among powerful monsters. He had thought of Turning you into one of his Thralls. Making You a shadow. But, then. Well orders were orders, and Graves was nothing if not decently loyal to the people writing his check.

Shepherd wanted to rile The 141 up. Make them show their true colors. You were just the poor little human, that had wormed your way into the team’s heart.

He had drawn it out, after The transfer of the base went to shit with Ghost, Alejandro, and Soap escaping. Had taken his time with draining your life, drop by drop over the course of several days. Till your dinky little Cell became your tomb. After that it was a waiting game, and He got so tired of waiting. He decided to send a message to entice the 141. You weren’t supposed to come back.

Gaz stared at the massive black maw in the middle of Las Almas base. The place was deadly quiet. Not even the rain seemed to make a sound in the presence of the Obsidian Mouth. This was your doing?

He landed on a crumbled building at just the edge of the pit. He peered down trying to make sense of where shadows ended and black volcanic rock began, when he saw it. Bodies. Lots of Bodies. Twisted, Broken Bodies Lined the lowest points of the pit. Spiked through with Glittering shards of obsidian.

The harpy leaned further, flexing his wings and burying his talons in the concrete of the building to keep himself stable. A little red patch caught his eyes. Graves private little army. Shadows, then. He squinted. Something was off about the bodies though. They were pale. Not lack of sunlight pale. Blood loss pale. He finally let go of his perch and smoothly dropped into a swoop, right into the pit. The temperature hit him first. One would expect a deep maw of rock and earth to be cool maybe even cold. No, it was warm like a furnace, bordering on Hot.

Gaz’s mouth tightened in concentration as he landed next to one of the Shadow bodies. The obsidian had torn the poor thing apart but that didn’t explain the complete blood loss. The harpy kicked at the body. Something was off and Gaz was lost.

“Captain.”

The Dragon’s voice crackled through the radio clipped to his flight harness.

“Yes, Gaz?”

“Do you know any creatures that would drain a thrall dry?”

The captain humphed. “No.”

“Well something did. Every single body in this pit is completely drained.”

“Could be a ritual. We haven’t ruled out possession.”

Gaz flipped the body over. There! A thin channel formed into the glass, almost like someone was melting the glass as they dragged their finger through it.

“No we haven’t. I’ll keep poking around.”

“Be careful, Garrick.”

“Always am, sir.”

The harpy followed the trail. Meeting more and more thin little channels of dried blood. He barely noticed as the ground sloped. Pooling the channels into rivers til finally a deep pool formed at the very bottom of the pit.

Gaz stood at the edge of a massive dip, a single pillar of obsidian erected in the center. The walls of the pit were eating the sky, as Gaz peered up at the sun. The sun? Gaz had flown in under storm and wind. Is this what you saw before you left?

Gaz threw himself into the air. He knew you were long gone. The obsidian maw proved it. The maw’s spewed heat when formed. This one had long cooled. None of the bodies were burned.

Warnings: description of corpse.

Inspired by @diejager monster 141 series and @bluegiragi vampire graves

Taglist: @batw3nch

“You must be hungry, huh? Your people no longer spill blood to feed you. That’s okay, I can feed you, friend.” Your voice was a raspy coo. The taste of honey sweet power flowed on the back of Graves’s tongue. You should be dead. He had personally drained you dry himself, to spite the 141, yet here you were. A corpse, leaning in the doorway of the cell they died in. Well he could always try again.

“Now darlin’, why don’t you just step back in that door way and we’ll get you in a minute.” Graves kept his voice cheerful. Your milky unseeing eyes locked on him and he swears he could feel the devil clawing down his spine.

“Tlaltecuhtli has been hungry so long. I want to feed her first.”

Your raspy coo mixed and layered with what sounded like a child’s pleading. Even his thralls shivered as those blue lips stumbled over syllables. The taste of honey began to mix with stone dust.

TW for: Violence, descriptions of death, harm to a character

Description: Sergeant Storm is a last minute show up to the las almas Incident. Grave's finds out the hard way why this is not a good thing.

  Graves had betrayed them. Took Las Almas. Took their allies and friends. Arrested Alejandro and shot Soap. You didn’t know exactly what happened to Ghost, but you could assume that Bastard got him too.

You could feel the songs of adrenaline in your bones, resonating with They not even two steps behind you. Every shadow you found was either twisted into a pile of viscera or dragged into the undergrowth. The songs drove you two to keep moving, keep using, keep the buzzing behind your eyes fed. You ducked, dodged, and slaughtered till the Mexican desert warped the song in your bones and you stopped. You twisted on your heel to charge back. To retrieve your team, your friends, your family only to to stop shy two inches of They’s claws. You deftly shoved the claws away, “I need to go back. You are not stopping me.”

They tilted their head as if confused and You threw your hands up in frustration. “Then do you have a suggestion?”

A thread of thought and instinct wiggled past Your defenses. A plea. An offer. A solution. You took a deep breath. Steel nerves twisting against the fires of determination. “Let's begin then.”

The town of Las Almas was finally quiet. Graves felt satisfied at his handy work. Ghost and Soap had given him quite the run around but eventually his shadows were successful in capturing the two. Alejandro was detained along with the rest of the Los Vaqueros. That only left one troublesome loose end. 141’s third fucking sergeant and their pet. Someone who wasn’t even supposed to be active in the field. His shadows had reported they were still in hospital when 141 landed in Las Almas.

“Sir! Sergeant Storm is requesting your presence at the gate.” Graves sighed. Looks like it was show time. He stepped out of the gate to see Storm. Stripped down, No Gun, No Plate. Just serene calm, like a spoiled cat. That was until Graves saw what sat at Storm’s back. Rows upon rows of corpses. Laid neatly, dressed in their best. Bullet holes still leaking blood. Expressions of terror forever etched on their face. A spoiled cat indeed. Muted thunder rumbled overhead. “Hello Phillip.” Graves felt a claw scrape down his spine, something in him screamed that this person, No. Creature, This creature should not know his name. Graves took a breath and threw on the lazy smile he was known for. “Storm. Hopin’ for a way in? Or Maybe a Nice surrender? We already have the rest of your friends. Why not come quietly?” We have a nice cell waiting for you, Scout's honor.”

Storm smiled, a slow cruel thing. For a second Graves swears he saw a maw of bloody fangs. “We both know you have no honor, Phillip.”

Graves mocked hurt, his defenses still screaming to run. “Oh Storm cloud, how you wound me. If you’re not here to join your friends, then why are you here?” The creature spread their arms as if welcoming an audience. “A warning! It’s very simple. “R-” “Run! RUN!” A shadow banged on the Gate. Graves spun on his heel only to see the shadow snatched and dragged into a pitch black cloud of dust.

“I would follow that advice. Ciao, Phillip.” Grave turned toward Storm. Just quick enough to watch their skin dissolve to ash and their bone drip back into blood. He was fucked.

Rain poured down the shipping container that Soap and Ghost found themselves in. They could hear shadows running by, the barking of orders, and sounds of all consuming chaos. “Sounds like they finally found Storm, L.T.” Soup hummed as he settled into a sitting position. Graves and his goons hadn’t even bothered to get him medical treatment for the bullet in his shoulder. Something about “keeping you Brits in line.”

Ghost nodded as he continued to lean just beside the door. “Beginning to wonder when they would show up.”

Ghost and Soap raised their heads when the door to the shipping container creaked open. Ghost moved with ease. The shadow who opened the door was down with a bloody nose. “OW! Fuck L.T! You certainly know how to throw a punch.”

Ghost froze. “Storm?”

“Who the fuck else you sleep paralysis monster. Ow, My fucking nose.” Storm was dressed in ill fitting Shadow’s gear. “We should probably leave immediately.”

Ghost nodded as Soap rolled to his feet. “What about the Vaqueros?”

“They is handling that. But right now we don’t have much time. The shadows are a fucking snack that thing and I’d rather not be here when It runs out.” Soap narrowed his eyes and Ghost glared. “I will explain when we are not on the menu, alright? Good, Now we need to fucking go.”

“Alright, Storm spill.” Price snapped the laptop closed, promptly ending the conversation with General Shepherd. Things were certainly turning interesting. Storm had down something, but even his Lieutenant was in the dark about exactly what. His teams reports and the words of the rescued Vaqueros would have him believe Storm had taken the shadows down several pegs just to rescue the team and as many of the Vaqueros as Possible. Storm shrugged their shoulders. “They did most of the work.” Price raised an eyebrow at that. They, whatever the fuck they were, wasn't exactly advertised as a planner. Everyone always called them Storm’s pet, but maybe that was the lie they told themselves.

“Bullshit, Sergeant.” Price leaned back in his chair as Ghost bit out his retort.

“Fine, fine. I made a deal.” Storm rolled up their sleeves to reveal Jagged cuts through their skin, hastily stitched and roughly bandaged. Price was up and out of his chair without a thought, seizing Storm’s elbow to pull the marks into the light.

“What deal, Sergeant?” Storm attempted to pull their arm back but Price kept his grip firm. “I will not ask again, Sergeant.”

“I made a deal, and Unfortunately Deals come with Price. This was the Price.”

taglist: @skylordgrey @batw3nch @stick-the-dumbass @lilpothoscuttings @im-making-an-effort @stupidwingboy @apocalypticseagull @resident-cryptid @warenai @sleepyendymion @sellenedragon @queenofwolves210 @makayla-666 @gogh-with-the-flow @blue-blue0

The team in civilian clothes, watching their target get away in a helicopter.

Price: well shit. Back to base. We'll get them another day.

Storm: Wait. Wasn't it dead or alive for them?

Ghost: It was, why?

Storm: oh good then this is perfectly within bounds.

Storm proceeds to open the trunk of their car and out pull a Rocket Launcher.

Soap: what the fuck? Did you have that the whole time? Who gave it to you?

Storm: My uncle gave it to me. He said they're handy to have. And now we see why.

Storm launches the single rocket into the helicopter and watches it explode with glee.

--

König: *in concern* why are they smiling?

Ghost: oh, they're holding a sledgehammer.

König: they're not planning on using it, right?

Ghost: Price would have my head if we let them. So instead they get to hold and just think. It's like a treat for them.

König: why would holding it just be a treat?

Ghost: they have a history of retail work. Destruction even imagined is a treat for them.

--

Price: has anyone seen Storm?

Soap: hold on. *Let's out the most heinous velociraptor screech*

Price: why in the fuck!

*A responding velociraptor screech echoes from the ceiling*

Soap: there they are.

Price: *watching in shock as Storm pokes their head out from a nest of blankets in one of the safety nets close to the ceiling.* HOW IN THE FUCK?

--

Ghost: *watching as Storm hauls in an entire pit grill.* What are you doing?

Storm: feeding people.

Ghost: why?

Storm: the shadows were complaining of missing barbecue and Graves said the best barbeque comes from California. The fucker is from Texas, so now it's spite. Ya wanna help?

Ghost: okay. What do you need help with?

Storm: we gotta haul in the fuel and pigs next.

Ghost: pigs?

I was wondering if I could request Taskforce141 with the new recruit and there's something Wrong™ with them.

Like the recruit has tapetum lucidum, so when someone walks into the pitch black kitchen all they see is two glowing eyes and when they flick the lights on it's just the new recruit dead staring them with a jug of juice in their hand 😂

Sometimes they'll just stare at nothing for minutes to hours and there's pressure in the air until they snap out of it, how long where they staring for? 141 doesn't know but the clock only started moving again.

Like I just love the wrongness and how 141 try to comprehend what's going on.

If this is okay!

Cats and dreams

Warning for mentions of blood, death, corpses, and a serious amount of cats. It possibly makes little sense but /shrug.

Gaz: I feel like dying.

Storm: you'll have to go to the hangar then.

Gaz: why?

Ghost: eight to ten feet doesn't kill on impact.

Gaz: you've thought about this.

Storm and ghost: of course.

--

Price: why is Storm hanging from the ceiling?

Soap: I think they're trying to move their stash.

Price: Their stash?

Soap: if they don't want to bother anyone, they have stashes of food all over the base. They also have some really cozy spots tucked up in here.

Price: why?

Soap: they hide from people.

--

Graves: Hey doll.

Storm: Ever call me that again and I will knit a sweater from your nervous system.

Soap: Now that. That is a horrifying feeling.

--

Soap: what do we say when someone breaks our heart?

Storm: thank you for the trauma. I need it for my art.

Gaz: no.

Storm: uh I was never good enough to begin with.

Soap: NO!

--

Soap: So storm just walked into the infirmary. Uh willingly.

Gaz: well that's alarming.

Ghost: and concerning. Are you absolutely sure it was willingly?

Soap: no one was with them and they were not restrained in anyway.

Gaz: we should probably call Price, something is wrong with Storm.

--

Storm meeting up with their old squad

Storm: SPOON! FORK!

Spoon and fork: KNIVES!

Storm: where's Alex, rin, and lucid?

Gaz: why do you all call yourselves outside of missions?

Storm: easier to remember than our own names most of the time, also doesn't trigger the oh shit response.

Soap: the oh shit response?

Storm: John Mactsvish!

Soap: *freezes and ducks his head*

Storm: that response.

Ghost: that was rude, Sargeant.

Storm: *freezes and ducks their head* sorry sir.

Gaz: ha!

--

Alejandro: Price, come get your child! *A zoomed in picture of Storm in with a bunch of r6 operators.*

Price: how in the fuck? When did they get to Mexico!

--

Doc: *watching as Storm quietly and efficiently patches and stitches themselves back together.* Why?!

Storm: *shrugging as they tie off the last stitch* no point in goin' if I can do it myself. No need to bother the medics on a simple cut.

Doc: that is not how this relationship should work! At least let me do the bandages!

Storm: no, ya got other folks to tend to doc. Don' worry bout me.

Gaz: *over coms* Cornfield cornfield cornfield. Storm getting yeeted into the sky. Cornfield cornfield. Hey look! More cornfield!

--

Price: Has anyone seen Storm, recently?

Soap: has anyone seen the microwave recently?

*Distant explosion*

Ghost: Found them.

--

*Storm dancing around the kitchen in a shark onesie with death metal blaring from their phone*

Gaz: *filming around the corner* and here we see Dad's I mean Price's favorite child

--

*Storm and Soap are sparring*

Storm: oh come on, my father could at least throw a punch when he hit me. What the fuck is this shit?

Soap: *stopping immediately* your father what?!

--

Storm: *petting the moss between an eldritch forest gods antlers* it's so soooft.

The god: *rumbling in contentment*

Ghost: how in the fuck?

--

Storm: *pointing at soap* daddy issues make you a people pleaser. *Then to ghost* mommy issues make you well a sociopath or a psychopath. Take your pick buddy.

Ghost: thanks.

Gaz: wait what does that make you?

Storm: *proudly* absolutely fucked up

--

Storm: shit fucking ass crackers!

Gaz: what did you lose?

Storm: my will to live. Also have you seen my pen?

Gaz: The one that lights up?

Storm: yup.

--

*Ghost carrying Storm over his shoulder, wrapped in a blanket like a very disgruntled sack of potatoes*

Angel (thank you @kawasama): why?

Ghost: cause otherwise we would have had to use sedatives.

Storm: *angry hissing*

--

Storm: *sniping to the beat of Yung gravy's oops* my ex be on some hoe shit~

Gaz: *in concern* you good?

Storm: *grinning as the target's head pops* just peachy baby.

--

Storm: *dangling upside down from the claws of a 20ft tall creature made of teeth and shadows* No! Bad night god! Put me down!

The rest of TF-141: *getting ready to piss off a eldritch creature with bullets*

Night god: *pouting as it sets Storm down*

Storm: good job! *Praising and cooing to said creature* now go find the pretty bastard. *Holds up a picture of Graves*

Night god: *sniffs and takes off*

TF-141: *concerned and scared* what did you do?

Storm: solved a problem.

--

Storm: *being hugged by soap*

Soap: aw, who's getting used to human contact.

Storm: *angry hissing noises as they try to escape*

--

Storm: *being carried over Ghost's shoulder.*

Soap: *being dragged by storm by his tactical vest*

Gaz: *being dragged by soap also by his tactical vest*

Price: oh great, it's the will fuck shit up train. In level order no less.

--

Storm: *fresh out of a cold shower with a large sunburn on their back*

Soap: *Slaps the sunburn as a greeting* Ay storm!

Storm: Shit ass you sheep fucking pile of discarded cowshit.

Soap: well no need to be rude.

--

Storm: *riding on König's shoulders*

Price: hey, kid. Whatcha got there?

Storm: A sad friend, can we keep him?

--

Storm: *in a massive cuddle pile of their siblings(not by blood. found family), dozing happily while on leave*

Front door: *Creaks open*

Storm: *Sitting bolt right up, letting out the most heinous death rattle in warning*

TF-141: *was invited here, as they are in the states and didn't wanna be base bound* •-•

Storm: *waking up* shit!

--

Price: *leading a mission brief on next target*

Laswell: *walking in, carrying storm at arms length* I think this one is yours, price.

--

Storm: *chilling on the couch, jamming to music*

Ghost: *wandering by and just scoops them up like a sack of potatoes*