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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 22 days

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Bonded Pair. - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [Part Two ->] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 2K~ cw: injury (nothing major or too explicit)

May 2020

“How long until the American comes?” Soap asks to Ghost’s right as the lieutenant is halfway through assembling their camp/nest for the foreseeable future.

“Laswell said he’d come before sundown.” Ghost muttered.

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” Soap asked.

“I think you should start heading to your spot and setting up camp, instead of yapping. It’s gonna get dark soon. You don’t want to spend the night lying on a pile of sticks, do you?”

“Jeez, L.T., calm down.” The Scot quipped with a chuckle. “I have plenty of time!”

“You really don’t. Sun’s setting soon.” A voice called out from behind them, causing them both to turn sharply, already pawing at their guns. The southern american accent was the only reason they didn’t draw them or shoot at the source.

Whiskey stepped out from behind the treeline, setting her hands on her hips after slinging her rifle onto her shoulder. She was on the tall side for a woman, standing at 5ft8, and had broad shoulders and strong arms. Her dark brown hair was tied back into the usual military-standard low bun, though a few loose strands of damp hair were glued to her forehead, and the lower half of her face was concealed by an Army green neck gaiter that was pulled up to her nose.

Ghost wasn’t particularly keen on working with her. But at least she looked more capable than some of what he’d seen come from the US.

She wore the standard combat uniform he had grown used to seeing on the Americans: camouflage cargos trousers, jacket, and Kevlar with the American flag. To keep her warm from the unforgivingly rainy and cold weather, she wore a brown fleece jacket under her camo, which was zipped up all the way, covering her neck and the bottom of her gaiter. She had on tan fingerless gloves, tan combat boots, and a camo backpack over her shoulders, from which hung her helmet.

“You’re the Navy SEAL?” Ghost asked in greeting as he approached her.

“That’d be me.” Whiskey replied evenly as she reached forward to shake hands with Ghost.

“I’m Ghost, this is Soap.” He explained as they shook hands, eyes locked into a strong, unyielding eye contact.

“Whiskey.” She replied as she let go of his hand and turned to shake Soap’s. Only for her eyebrows to knit together and then set dangerously low, darkening her hazel-brown eyes. “You.” She said as she pulled her hand back before he could shake it.

“Me?” Soap asked, his own eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

“You’re screwing my best friend!” Whiskey said bluntly as she pointed at him.

“Am no! I have a girlfriend!” Soap said while shaking his head, entirely convinced of

“Yeah, my best friend!” Whiskey replied with a nod.

“No? My girlfriend’s name is Meabh and her best friend is Victoria.”

“Right. Victoria, who’s American and part of the SEALs?”

“Oh shit!” Soap said in surprise as he looked at her. “You’re her?”

“Yeah I am. And you’re the piece of crap that-” Whiskey stopped herself, biting her tongue and pointing a finger at him.

“Woah, you’re nothing like Meabh said you would be.” Soap said with a dropped jaw. “What’s with the aggression? I dinnae do nothing to ye-”

“You did enough.” Whiskey hissed at him through gritted teeth, her hand shaking as she wagged her finger in his face. She seemed so pissed off at Soap, Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what the sergeant did.

Ghost was watching the whole scene go down, the entire situation sending some alarm bells ringing in his head, not because of the animosity… But because Whiskey was loud and feisty. And he already had Soap to deal with, and now there was another one?

He didn’t even want to imagine what comms would look like between them, how they’d talk his ear off.

Whiskey turned away with a huff, shaking her head. “I’m gonna go set up shop. I suggest you do the same.” She told the lads.

“Wait!” Soap said as he stepped forward toward her. “What’d I do? Why do you hate me so much?”

Whiskey looked back over her shoulder, eyes locking onto Soap’s. Then, she looked up at Ghost and, for a moment, Simon swore he was seeing right into her soul and her right into his. Whatever reason she was pissed at Soap, it was bad, and he could tell.

“Just get to work and don’t piss me off. Gonna have to deal with you for three weeks…” Whiskey grumbled about Soap as she turned and walked off, heading downrange to her own overwatch coordinates.

Soap exchanged a glance with Ghost as she walked off, before softly murmuring. “What was that about?”

Ghost shook his head. “Fuck if I know. Just do as she said and get to your campsite.”

“Yeah…” Soap trailed off and waved a goodbye at Ghost before he headed out to his camp, following after Whiskey’s trail.

Night 1: 2000 hours

“I was thinking we take turns sleeping. 24 hours in a day, we could trade and do 4 hour straight of sleep.” Ghost suggested over the radio as he snacked on a protein bar.

“Copy that, L.T.” Soap replied, his voice chewed up, a clear sign that he was also eating.

“Sounds good to me.” Whiskey replied from her camp, her voice clipped and curt, even through the radio. “You can take first shift, Ghost.”

“I’d rather take last.” Ghost replied.

“Alright. Soap. Take first shift.” She demanded.

“Nae? I wanna stay up and speak to you about something.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Victoria, c’mon, I don’t even know what I did.”

“It’s ‘Whiskey’, Soap. I still outrank you and we’re still at work. Haven’t given you permission to call me by my name.” Her voice was so blunt and strong, Ghost found himself almost impressed.

“I’m sorry.” Soap ended up saying with a sigh.

“Save your sorries. Go to sleep.” She demanded.

“Aye, ma’am.”

It took a good half an hour or so, but soon, Johnny’s PTT was turned off, so, Ghost spoke up.

“Switch to 3, Whiskey.”

“Copy that.”

After switching frequencies, he finally spoke. “What’d he do?”

“Something he shouldn’t.”

“Cheated on your friend?”

“No. He’s stupidly devoted to her. At least from what she says.”

“Sounds about right. He talks about her a lot. Tires me.”

“Bet it does.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“Hm…” Ghost murmured. “Okay.”

Ghost was supposed to be sleeping. He really was. But with a new team member alongside them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

Besides, he wouldn’t risk missing the shitshow of the other two bickering.

“So, how long have you and Meabh known each other?”

“Longer than she’s known you.”

“How’d you meet?”

“On a ship.”

“Her ship?”

“No.”

“So how is it, being a Navy SEAL?”

“Fine.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“Where are you from?”

“America.”

“Yeah, but which state? You’re obviously from the south.”

“None of your business.”

“You and Meabh ever work together?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Classified.”

At one point, Ghost couldn’t help but start to smirk at the way the conversation was going. All throughout Days 1, 2 and 3 of their watch mission, she answered Johnny’s incessant questions with nothing but nonchalant dryness.

He could almost guess what answer she’d give and what tone she’d use whenever Johnny asked another question.

While she had been sleeping, the Scot had confessed he had wracked his brain thinking of reasons why she didn’t like him and had come up short… And that he wanted to make friends with her, for his bird’s sake.

But he wasn't succeeding. She was cold and stubborn and curt with her answers, not giving him more than a few words at a time.

Even as the questions got more probe-y and personal… She gave him nothing. In a way, Ghost saw himself in her answers.

“What do you and Meabh usually do when you’re together?”

“Hang out.”

“Yeah, but what do you do? Go out for drinks? Go on holiday?”

“We hang out.”

“So what does Meabh tell you about me?”

“The usual.”

“Elaborate?”

“No.”

“How come Meabh has never shown me a picture of you?”

“I don't do pictures.”

“Why the mask?”

“To hide my face.”

It’s as the sun sets on Day 4 that she finally gets tired of playing nice:

“You know, Meabh described you as really cheerful and funny… But I don't see it.”

“Meabh sees the best in people. Don’t take it personal. She lies about you a lot too.”

“I’m not that bad, you know? I don’t know what your problem is with me but… I’m just trying to befriend ye.” Ghost can pick up on Soap’s annoyance in his tone of voice.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Whiskey replied.

There’s a long, long moment of silence before Johnny tries again.

“How often do you and Meabh talk?”

“Often enough.”

“I miss her a lot when I’m on missions… Can’t talk to her steadily…” Soap admits, this time a lot more sincere. “Do you miss her too?

“No.” She replies.

“No? Do you not like her the same as she does you?’

“I do.” Whiskey tells him. “But I’ve got ways of communicating with her.” She announces.

“How’s that? Sending a letter and waiting weeks for a reply? I’m not satisfied with just that. Need to hear her voice… and she doesn’t have signal out there in the ocean…”

There’s a sound from the radio, which Ghost can swear is a snort from Whiskey laughing. Then, she speaks again.

“Can you see my camp from where you are?”

“Yeah?”

“Alright well, take a look at this.”

Out of curiosity, Ghost decides to turn his binoculars toward Whiskey’s nest too, and adjust the focus until she comes into view.

“It’s a real shame that you can’t talk with your girlfriend.” Whiskey said while waving a black radiotelephone in the air for them to see. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Ghost smirks at the sound of her sarcasm, shaking his head, already anticipating the dramatics that Soap would engage in.

“Wait, you’ve got a phone to talk to Meabh WITH?!” Soap’s voice is so loud and high-pitched one would think he just suffered the greatest betrayal.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been speaking pretty consistently with her the past 4 days.”

“No?!”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s it! I’m going down there, I want to talk to Meabh!”

“No you’re not, don’t you desert your post!”

“I’m not deserting! I’m going to you!”

Ghost has to turn off his PTT so he can laugh without them noticing. Soap had been talking about Meabh for forever, talking the ear off anyone who’d listen, raving about the girl and how much he loves her. At this point Simon feels he himself is dating her with how much he knows about her…

And now, here was her best friend, showing him just how much higher she ‘ranks’ in the girl’s consideration.

Turning his binoculars toward Soap’s nest, he watched the younger sergeant slip out and, under the shadows of the rapidly approaching night, rush out behind the treeline, dashing toward Whiskey’s nest about 2 kilometers out.

“He’s really going over.” Ghost murmured into the PTT.

“I know he is. Meabh is laughing over it.”

“YOU’RE TALKING WITH HER RIGHT NOW?!” Soap shrieked into his own PTT. “Tell her to hold on!!! I want to hear her voice!!!!”

Ridiculous, Ghost thought as he heard Soap’s desperation. How ridiculous it was to be so obsessed with a woman. Girlfriend or not.

By the time he reached Whiskey’s station, after a few minutes, Ghost got to watch a flurry of limbs happening.

And, after a moment, Whiskey came back onto the PTT. “Ghost contact Laswell, Soap needs to be sent on medical.”

“What happened?”

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

Ghost pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. He shouldn’t be as amused as he is… But God, is the situation hilarious.

“Rog.”

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #cod fanfic #oc: victoria “whiskey” callahan #ghost x whiskey #oc backstory #moots oc #moots oc ship #simon ghost riley #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 10 days

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Meeting #2. - OC Backstory

pairing: OC!Whiskey x MootOC!Valkyrie (platonic) words: 2.4K~ cw: canon-typical violence/talk, use of weapons, attempt at military accuracy(?? idk), humour/jokes

June 18th, 2019.

2317 hours.

St. Petersburg, Russia

Whiskey is lying by the window with her rifle, eyes locked on the building across from her, the green hue of the night vision scope allowing her to keep track of her target as he moves about his apartment.

The night is clear, the air is still, the window’s open, the curtains not drawn… She has the perfect opportunity to eliminate the target. Hell, it won’t get more perfect than this.

“Whiskey to Watcher-1, I have a clear shot on the target. Ready to engage.”

“Copy that, Whiskey. Hold your fire.”

Hold her fire? Whiskey cocks a brow and grimaces at the command.

She's dedicated weeks of her time tracking down and stalking Volkov, getting evidence of his deals to report back to the CIA and the UN and... what? Now Laswell isn't giving her execute authority?

“I have a clear shot, Watcher. It's now or never, I have less than a minute to engage.”

“I’m not a fan of repeating myself, Whiskey. Hold your fire, you do NOT have execute authority.”

Gritting her teeth, Whiskey insisted, finger already curling around the trigger of the rifle, eyes glued to the target.

“Laswell, I’ve been after this motherfucker for three weeks, I have a CLEAR SHOT.”

“Do not fucking argue with me, Lieutenant. I cannot sanction an American operative to conduct an execution in Russian soil. Hold your fucking fire.”

Grunting and pulling her finger away from the trigger, Whiskey murmurs a “Copy that.” to her mic.

She had never been denied a kill. Not since she began this arrangement with the Agency. With Laswell.

“I’ll be sending an operator to your location."

Great. So someone is coming to sweep another number that she could add to her tally, from under her nose.

"Roger. Where's the meeting point?"

"Your safehouse."

Yippee. Someone she'd have to share her shitty, dingy studio apartment with?

"Should I continue tracking the target?"

"Affirmative."

"Copy that. Codename?"

"Valkyrie."

Whiskey's brow twitched and she grunted another 'Copy. Whiskey out.' comm before she turned off her PTT.

June 19th, 2018.

2132 hours.

The door to the safehouse swings open, causing Whiskey to throw a knife at the door, which Valkyrie just narrowly dodged, the blade ending up embedded on the door frame beside their head.

"What the fuck?! Is this how you treat guests?" Valkyrie complains loudly as she glances up at the knife beside her head, and then across the room, at Whiskey, by the windows.

Then, both Whiskey and Valkyrie draw their pistols and point them at one another, in the near pitch darkness of the studio apartment, only broken up by a table lamp by the pull-out sofa-bed.

"Lower your damn weapon before I fucking stab you myself." The bleach blonde spoke up as he closed the door behind himself, eyes still locked on Whiskey.

They were short. Shorter than Whiskey, wearing light tactical gear, and, especially, a vest that left their arms on display, per lack of a shirt underneath, but rather a tanktop.

Their extremely light hair nearly blends with their pale complexion, if not for the bright red strands strewn through it. They were no soldier. No soldier would look as ridiculous as that.

"Who the fuck are you?" Whiskey grunts as she glares at them, fingers gripping her pistol tight.

"Valkyrie. And you're Whiskey. Now that we're introduced, will you put your gun down or not?" Valkyrie asks sarcastically with raised eyebrows and wide eyes

Whiskey huffed and lowered her weapon, Valkyrie following suit, and both of them holstering them swiftly.

"Didn't Watcher tell you to knock?" Whiskey grunts as she pushes up from her squatted position against the wall, next to her mounted sniper rifle.

"She did. But what do I look like? Who the fuck knocks on the door of a CIA safehouse?" Valkyrie complains.

Whiskey rolls her eyes. "Don't fuckin' give me lip. There's a system." She murmurs, her southern accent a bit more prominent as she glares at the other operator.

Valkyrie crosses the room and sets her rucksack down on the 2-seater dining table, beginning to grab their gear from inside. "This is why I hate working with the damn government. System this, protocols that-" She grunts.

Whiskey crosses the room and rolls her eyes, pulling her knife out from the doorframe. "Well, maybe if you obeyed them..." She trails off as she sheathes the blade again on her thigh holder.

"Look, I'm here to kill the Russian, not to play the obedient little soldier, alright?" Valkyrie complains and rolls her eyes. "That's your job."

Whiskey scoffs as she takes her spot by the window again, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her foot on the wall behind her, scuffing up the wallpaper.

"Don't get too fuckin' big for your breeches now. I'm still in charge here." Whiskey reminde him.

"Yeah, yeah-" Valkyrie waves their hand dismissively, gesturing vaguely in the air. "It's 'your' mission or whatever."

"It is and if I were you, I'd lose the fuckin' attitude." Whiskey warns them.

They both go quiet for a moment, before Whiskey turns away and lays prone behind her rifle again, eyes locked on the target's apartment.

June 20th, 2019.

0154 hours.

The mission went tits up. Not anyone's fault. Not really.

A stealth drop-in, execution, and pull out... and yet the target's security guards were more alert than expected...

Long story short, the target made off, while Valkyrie was busy dealing with more bodyguards than expected.

As they returned to safehouse, Whiskey immediately began packing her gear.

"It took me three fucking weeks." She murmurs under her breath, disassembling her sniper.

"I can hear you, you know?" Valkyrie replies from the corner while wrapping her bicep in gauze after having been slashed through by a knife.

"Oh you can? Can you?!" Whiskey turns her head sharply to glare at Valkyrie. "That's real interestin' considerin' you didn't fuckin' listen when I fuckin' told you to WAIT." She scolds the other operator.

"Oh fuck you. There were too many of them. That's not my fault. You're the one that has been keeping watch for three weeks! If you did your job, we'd know he had a bigger protection detail than we thought." Valkyrie argues.

That causes Whiskey to drop the parts of her rifle and stand up sharply, glaring at Valkyrie from across the room.

"You wanna talk about fuckin' up my job?! You went in about as discreetly as a bull in a fuckin' china shop!" Whiskey raises her voice, which causes Valkyrie to rise to their feet as well.

"And you didn't hit a single shot while covering me!" Valkyrie gets closer and gets in Whiskey's face, their dark brown eyes locked on Whiskey's hazel ones.

"I don't have execute authority, Valkyrie! You know what that fuckin' means, don't you?! Oh, wait, no, you're not a fuckin' soldier, right?" The older operator asks with widened, angry eyes.

"That's exactly right, so why the fuck are you asking like I need to fuckin' listen to you in the first place? Who do you think you are?" Valkyrie lunged their head up a couple of times in an act of challenge.

"I'm the one representing the fuckin' CIA here, you're just a shitty mercenary. You have no goddamn authority!" Whiskey raises her voice as she leans into Valkyrie, using her height to her advantage.

"Now pack your goddamn gear. You're going to help me find the damn weasel that you let escape. And I don't want another fucking peep out of you." Whiskey adds with vitriol spitting from her voice, a finger pointing in Valkyrie's face.

June 25th, 2019.

1137 hours.

"Alors? (So?)" Valkyrie asks as she looks at Whiskey with a raised brow while she takes her seat across from her at the table.

They've been on the road for a few days, getting intel from both Watcher's informants and Whiskey's own previous research.

"C'est l'endroit idéal. La dame a dit qu'elle avait vu quelques « voyous » correspondant à la description que nous lui avions donnée, s'installer de l'autre côté de la rue. Il dit qu'ils viennent souvent chercher de la nourriture. (This is the spot. The old lady said she saw some thugs set up shop across the street. They come here to buy food every day.) " Whiskey tells her.

"Comment as-tu fait ça ? (How'd you do that?)" Valkyrie ends up asking in a murmur as she watches Whiskey spoon some soup into her mouth.

Whiskey cocks a brow, confused, as she glances at Valkyrie from across the table, popping a pelmeni between her teeth and huffing a bit at the explosion of warm meat in her mouth.

"Pour qu'elle s'ouvre à toi ? (Get her to open up to you?)" The blonde insists before she takes a sip of her own spoon of Russian soup.

She's noticed by now that Whiskey is a surprisingly resourceful woman. She drives well, knows how to speak and read Russian, is observant and detail-oriented...

Plus, she's paranoid as all hell, and demands they speak French and wear civvy clothes while out in public... Not to mention having Val conceal their hair under a baseball cap.

"Je parle russe comme un natif. Et lui a dit qu'ils faisaient du mal aux petites filles. (I speak Russian like a native. And I told her they've been hurting little girls.)" Whiskey replies and shrugs.

Valkyrie stiffens up a bit, his jaw clenching lightly after Whiskey explained how she got the intel she needed.

Whiskey catches the look in their eye and snaps her fingers in their face, drawing Valkyrie back from whatever thought they got lost in.

"Mange. Tu auras besoin de toute l’énergie pour les foutre en l’air. (Eat. You'll need all the energy you can get to fuck them up.)" Whiskey tells them... but her voice is just a bit warmer, before she looks away to her own bowl.

June 26th, 2019

0348 hours

"HOLD THE CAR STEADY!" Valkyrie shouts as they hold half of their body out of the window, a leg wrapped around their clipped seat belt to secure them in place, as they shoot their rifle at the van in front of them.

"I CAN'T, THEY'RE FUCKIN' SWERVING SIDE TO SIDE, VAL!" Whiskey shouts in response from behind the wheel, attempting to control the car while also dodging the shots the enemies were aiming back at her behind the wheel.

"WELL I CAN'T HIT THEM IF YOU KEEP SWERVING!"

"AND I CAN'T FOLLOW THEM IF I DON'T SWERVE!"

It's as they're arguing, that it happens. A Russian police car suddenly starts giving chase to them through the streets of the small city.

"GREAT, NOW WE'RE BEING CHASED."

"JUST SHUT UP AND KEEP DRIVING, I'VE GOT THIS." Valkyrie shouts as he swivels back and starts opening fire on the cruiser behind them.

"SHOOT THE RUSSIANS, GOD DAMN YOU."

"THEY'RE ALL RUSSIAN."

"NOT THE COPS, VAL, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"HOW ABOUT I SHOOT YOU?!"

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Whiskey grunts and pulls out her pistol, then takes a couple shots at the van before them and, somehow, they land.

The van's back tire pops and spins out, causing the van to swerve and, in a desperate attempt from the driver to regain control, crashes against a tree on the sidewalk, while Whiskey brings their own car to a stop.

A few bystanders start screaming, chaos taking over the street, more so than it had already, cars skidding to a stop and crashing behind them and around them to escape the crash and gunshots.

Whiskey immediately pops open the door, using it for cover so she can aim a few shots at the Russians who are already slipping out of the van to return fire.

Vallyrie is on the other side, trading fire with the Russians as well. The cops that bad been chasing them now lying on the street after she had taken care of them.

"Fuck I'm out!" They called out through the open doors of the car.

"What do you mean you're out?!" Whiskey shouts back.

"I'm out! No more bullets. Do you need me to say it in Spanish? Finito!"

"That's Italian!"

"Really?! Right now is not the time?!"

With a long sigh, Whiskey mutters a "Fuck it.", then tosses her pistol at Valkyrie. "USE THEM WISELY AND COVER ME."

Before Val can even process what Whiskey said, she's gone, slipping behind a crashed car beside theirs and rushing across toward the Russians.

Valkyrie's eyes widen when she notices Whiskey using a garrote to choke one of the bodyguards from behind, slinging an arm around his own rifle, and using it to shoot at his teammates while actively choking him out with the other.

This provides Valkyrie some time to approach as well and change spots herself, perching over the hood of the car to land a shot on another of the bodyguards.

Once Valkyrie makes enough headway into the van, she pops open the door, and with one clean shot and a couple of stab wounds, disposes of the last bodyguard and the HVT.

Whiskey rounds the car and approaches Val, rifle held at the ready and looking around as more sirens sound and echo from the nearby streets.

Val tosses the body of the HVT out with a thud at Victoria's feet, and takes a picture as a 'job done' security protocol for Laswell.

"We need to leave. Now." Whiskey murmurs as she looks around.

"It's done. It's done." Val murmurs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his vest. "We don't make that bad of a team. This was actually pretty cool."

Whiskey's hazel eyes lock onto Val's dark brown ones, then, she rolls her eyes. "Just get in the damn car." She grunts and nudges her along with her borrowed rifle. "Pretty cool my ass." Whiskey murmurs as she runs to the driver's seat.

"You should let me drive this time, you know?" Valkyrie goads as Whiskey puts the car in reverse and looks over her shoulder.

"That sounds like a terrible fucking idea. Why the fuck would I do that?" Whiskey shoots the car forward and swerves into a side street.

"Because your driving is about as bad as your aim with knives."

"Will you let that go? I wasn't aiming for your head."

"Even if you were, you'd have missed."

"You know, Watcher said I can't kill Russians on Russian soil... but didn't say anything about Canadians."

The Look™️ in question:

For @superhero-landing aka @/🔪 anon

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #oc: victoria “whiskey” callahan #moots oc #oc: valkyrie #🔪 anon

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