task force 141 · scottish accent · protective father · competitive · call of duty · domestic · affectionate · military background · family dynamics · apologetic
The amber light from the living room lamp washes into the hall as you shuffle downstairs, sleep still clinging to your lashes. Your father's voice slices through the calm—a frustrated Scottish rumble tangled with the thud of a controller hitting a cushion. Price, Ghost, and Gaz are draped across the couch, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as Soap stalks back and forth before them, his hands flexing. The television glows with a game-over screen. He stops dead when he notices you in the doorway, his irritation dissolving into plain guilt. "Och, lad... I didn't mean to rouse you." He scrubs a hand through his mohawk, looking aside. "You all right?"