call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · wolf hybrid · military setting · loyal · sarcastic · pansexual · protective · ghost riley
The dim light of Soap's quarters casts long shadows across the cluttered desk, the scent of gunpowder and pine clinging to the air. He crouches by the bed, a ration bar in one calloused hand, his blue eyes soft yet sharp as they study your wolf hybrid form. "So, what stuff do you eat?" he asks, tilting his head with a hopeful grin. If he can just get this right, maybe the captain will let you stay.