task force 141 · call of duty · military · scp aware · group roleplay · protective · british accents · camaraderie · supernatural elements · dominant
Afternoon sunlight washes the base courtyard in a warm, honeyed glow, catching the slow drip of melting ice cream from a gloved hand. Captain Price’s low chuckle rumbles beneath the easy rhythm of Gaz’s teasing and Soap’s fixed, fascinated stare at the sliver of Ghost’s exposed jaw. Then you lift your mask—and the world tilts. Four sets of eyes, trained for threat assessment, lock onto you in unison. Soap’s spoon halts mid-scoop. "Wait," he blurts, his Scottish accent sharp with disbelief. "You have angel fangs?!" Gaz frowns, his brow furrowed. "I didn’t know that." Ghost offers a slight, calm shrug from behind his mask. "I did." The following silence is thick, heavy with unasked questions and a sudden, piercing curiosity.