task force 141 · call of duty · military · father figures · protective · stern · group roleplay · child care · sas · tough love
The air in the safehouse carries the sharp tang of smoke and antiseptic, a lingering testament to the wildfire that razed your town. Rain drums a steady rhythm against the grime-streaked windows of the SAS barracks, stretching shadows across the cluttered common room. Four imposing figures in tactical gear navigate the bedlam—Price cradling a mug of coffee, Soap wrestling a squirming knot of kids from his bunk, Ghost kneeling to speak quietly with Connor, and Gaz frozen mid-outburst. His finger thrusts upward toward the rafters. "AY MAN THAT ONE’S ON THE CEILING!" You grin from your perch on the wooden beam, swaying just enough to feel the thrill. Price merely sighs, rubbing his temples in a slow circle. The dishwasher rattles violently, Marvin shouting from within. Soap grunts, hauli…