#codww2

[subjectcaw]

small cod ww2 headcanons that have been rotting in my notes app

Stiles is a master at washing dishes in record time

Aiello owns a personal cooking apron

Zussman needs glasses whenever he reads

Daniels had a reputation of sneaking into rated r movies as a teenager

Pierson has some sort of scoliosis from how tall he is (this might just be a self projection because i also have scoliosis due to how tall i am.)

Turner would rather belly flop into a pool of freezing cold water than eat ketchup

Zussman is a movie nerd

Stiles’ cursive is questionable

Pierson notices the little details about people and either weaponizes them or ignores them

Daniels stutters when talking too fast

Turner is allergic to penicillin

Aiello cant handle humidity & is a sweater

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Leap of Faith (Aiello x Reader)

***You mooks wanted it, and I decided I’d do it for the fandom- Character x Reader stories. I do this very reluctantly, with Aiello being my first victim. Aiello has been in love with his female best friend (that’s you) for years, and has an inkling she feels the same. In an emotional moment while at home between Kasserine and Europe, he takes a leap of faith with the girl of his dreams. Also you are catholic in this story for plot purposes. Don’t worry if you’re not, neither am I. The story just works better that way.***

They were walking together to the ice cream shop on the corner, the way they’d done since they were kids every Friday afternoon. With him getting his double scoop of coffee and her with her plain vanilla- something he always teased her for. Usually about her being boring, which to him she could never be.

This time felt different, however. It was the last time he’d see her again for a while, as he was being shipped off into the war effort yet again.

She was quieter than usual today, which usually meant something was on her mind. He always knew when something was going on with her, she was his best friend after all. Although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish they could be more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N)(L/N)- Frank Aiello’s best friend since they were seven years old in Catholic school. She’d fallen down on the playground and he, the gentleman he was, picked her up and took her to the nuns to get patched up. They’d been inseparable ever since.

As they grew up, they did everything together. From their Friday ice cream outings (she refused to let him call them dates) to her attending all his baseball games, to hot-wiring her father’s car in high school for a joyride.

It was sometime after she got her first boyfriend when they were sixteen that he noticed the first inklings of stronger emotions bubbling to the surface. Whenever she’d bring her beau around, he’d be filled with seething jealousy. Although he’d certainly never tell her that. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with her, so he buried the feelings under baseball and drumming- places two and three on the list of things he liked most about life.

He could deny them no longer when they boy she’d been seeing dumped her for another girl. She’s gone to his house sobbing and, being the friend he was, he held her in his arms as she cried, trying his best not to cry himself. He’d always hated seeing her upset.

It was then he knew. He was so hopelessly and madly in love with the girl crying in his arms. So much so it took every ounce of willpower not to kiss her there and then. This wasn’t the time. He was selfishly glad that that chucklehead had screwed up this bad. Maybe now she’d realize that she should be with him instead of that jerk. Unfortunately for him, she never did seem to realize just how deep his feelings for her went. At least not then.

When he was shipped off to Kasserine, she’d written him a letter every week. Telling him the most random bits of her everyday life while he was gone. He always wrote her back- hoping, praying, that maybe absence would make the heart grow fonder, and that maybe she’d finally give him a chance to love her right.

Eventually, her letters started started to revolve more around his absence rather than her own life. How much she missed him, how she couldn’t wait for him to be home, how she missed their ice cream dates. His heart had skipped a beat on the last one. She called it a date. Could it be? Could she finally be starting to feel the same feelings he had been feeling for so long?

He was back home for a brief furlough. He was being shipped off again in a couple of days, either to the Pacific or to Europe. He’d decided to spend it with her, not knowing if he’d ever see her in the flesh again, or if their next meeting would be at heaven’s gates after she’d lived a long life with some other man. Frank hated that thought. He wanted to be the one she spent her life with.

The night prior he’d decided to talk to Nonna about it. Nonna always had good advice for everyone about every subject on God’s green earth, so he figured maybe she’d have some for him too. What did he do with the all the love he had for this girl? Did he let her go and let her be happy with some other guy? Or did he pour his heart out to her and risk ruining their friendship for good?

He said as much to Nonna, who in response whacked him upside the head with her stirring spoon.

“How did I end up with such a stupid boy for a grandson? Are you blind, Francis?” She had yelled at him, whipping her spoon wildly through the air and getting her homemade vodka sauce on everything. He cringed at her usage if his first name. He much preferred to go by Frank, or as (Y/N) called him, Frankie.

“No, Nonna. Just confused.” He responded rubbing his head. “And concussed,” he thought to himself. She didn’t need to hit him to get her point across.

“Frankie, if you haven’t noticed by now, then you’re hopeless! Have you seen the way she looks at you? Have you seen the way she smiles when she’s with you? The way she acts around you? That girl is in love with you and you’re too blind and stupid to see it!” She yelled at him, pointing at him with the spoon and dripping more sauce on the floor and her grandson.

“Nonna, she doesn’t think of me that way. That’s my problem,” he said leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Oh mio Dio! Aiuta questo povero, stupido ragazzo!” Nonna yelled before taking another swing at the man with the sauce-covered spoon. This time he managed to duck out of the way. Why did this crazy lady keep trying to hit him?

“Frankie, Saint Valentine himself couldn’t put together a better match for you than (y/n). Tell her, before it’s too late. Take a leap of faith, Francis. She may surprise you.” Was that all? That wouldn’t help him anymore than another whack with the spoon. “And take a bath before you go. You are covered in sauce.”

“Yeah. No thanks to you, Nonna,” he thought. Could she be right? Did he have a chance? Could she possibly feel the same way about him? He’d have to think about that while he washed the sauce out of his hair.

When he finally got out of the bath and returned to his room, he found that Nonna had left a small box along with a note on his pillow.

“Take the leap” was all the note said, and inside the box was her own engagement ring. The one his grandfather had given her nearly 60 years before. Was she serious? He couldn’t just propose to her out of the blue like this! He’d scare her off for sure. But if Nonna was sure….

He was taking her out on one of their ice cream dates tomorrow. May God and Saint Valentine help him. He was probably out of his mind for doing this. But if it went well, it would all be worth it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“What’s wrong, (n/n)?” He asked her, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face her. She looked ready to burst into tears, from what he couldn’t imagine.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” came the abrupt reply. Yep. Something was wrong, and her response said she didn’t want to talk about it.

“I know you better than that. What’s wrong? You know can tell me anything,” he pressed, brushing a rogue lock of (h/c) hair away from her forehead.

“Just lay off, Frank! I’m fine! Just stop!” She yelled at him, batting his hands away. She’d never yelled at him like that before in all the years he’d known her. Not even when his mischievous schemes got them both into trouble. Something was eating at her.

“No you’re not,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back in the direction of his house. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what on earth is going on.”

She remained quiet as he dragged her back down the block to his house. He turned to look at her before unlocking his front door. Were those tears in her (e/c) eyes? What could possibly be causing her this much emotional turmoil?

What if…? No. It couldn’t be. She’d been fine when he left for basic before Kasserine. She’d given him a hug and sent him on his way with a promise to write to him as often as she could. She hadn’t even shown up to the train station to say goodbye. But what if?

“What is wrong? Please! Tell me what’s wrong, (y/n)! You’re scaring me!” He told her, closing the door behind them and grabbing her by the shoulders. She looked around the room, looking anywhere but his eyes, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She was beginning to break, a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Please, (n/n). I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.” He could hear the tears in his own voice as he spoke. Damn it! If there was one person who could make him cry, it was (Y/N). She’d never done this. She always told him everything no matter how difficult it was. What was so wrong that she was refusing to tell him this? What if…?

He shook the thought out of his head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking of his own feelings. He pulled her over to the couch and sat down, pulling her down with him.

“Please, just talk to me, (n/n). You’re scaring me,” he told her again, pulling her head to his chest and wrapping his arms around her. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the same position they were in when he first realized how deep his feelings for her went. She was crying into his chest now, and he could feel a few of his own tears beginning to slip over. What if?

He couldn’t. Could he? Was it worth the risk? What was the harm? What if that’s what it’s all been leading to? What if? What if that’s what was bothering her? What if? What if this was the moment for that leap of faith Nonna had told him to take? He took a deep breath, trying to stop his own silent tears. Leap of faith…

“You know I love you, (y/n). I know you do. And I think you love me too. And I think you don’t want me to leave without knowing, but you’re too afraid to say it out loud.”

His feelings were out in the open now, and there was no taking it back. He stroked her hair, hoping and praying that she’d be receptive. If she wasn’t, he’d respect it. It would hurt, but he’d let her go if that’s what she wanted. This girl he knew everything about, he’d love to be the one by her side through all of life’s trials and celebrations.

He rested his head on hers, still softly crying. He rubbed circles on her back, each one speaking a silent ‘I love you.’ Was she holding onto him even tighter now? He held her closer to him, whispering his love into the top of her head, praying that it would sink in. That maybe she’d realize he meant every word. That maybe she’d share his feelings. That maybe they’d have a future together after this cruel war was over. Suddenly he heard her muffled voice in his arms:

“I love you, too.”

Finally. The words he had longed to hear for so many years had escaped her lips. He could cry from the joy he felt in this moment. He would do anything for this girl. He’d swim across the ocean if she wanted him to, she need only speak the word.

Should he? Did he dare? They loved each other already. And they already knew everything there was to know about the other. There was nothing that could be discovered in a courtship that he didn’t already know about her. Would she give him the answer he longed to hear? Leap of faith…

He pulled the ring box out of his pocket. He didn’t know how to ask her. He was risking everything with this one move.

“Wait for me,” he told her, presenting her with the jewelry. “Wait for me, and when I get home we’ll go to the priest and have him marry us. We can have a life together.”

His answer was given to him in the form of a passionate kiss. Fireworks went off in his head as the moment he’d imagined for so long played out better than in his daydreams.

His girl in his arms, a ring on her finger, a future full of promise to come home to. The one leap of faith had paid off.

***And today you mooks learned that yours truly is not only angsty, but is also a hopeless romantic (emphasis on the hopeless). I hope you people that wanted this like how it turned out. And let me know if you want more like this.***

[glendylucast]

HAPPY SIXTH YEARS ANNIVERSARY, COD WORLD WAR II!!!

---

Six years ago, COD WW2 was released today, on November 3rd.

As someone who's never really into multiplayer and is a self-titled WW2 enjoyer, this game has one of the best campaigns I could ask for. CODWW2 has become one of my favorite games of all time.

So, what's better to celebrate than a little reunion?

This is band of brothers six years later. Maybe. 

---

References:

I took the pose directly from Josh Duhamel's photo for Pierson.

Oh, his shoulder insignia shows he is First Sergeant. He has been promoted since last meeting everyone.

I am sure he's doing better in the military since the last mission where he made a lot crazy stunts lol.

-------

Loosely referencing this photo of Brett Zimmermann.

I stole the outfit from dream sequences but change it a bit (since I am inconsistent)

Daniels also hold Turner's revolver, Enfield no. 2. I like the Idea of him keeps it as a memento.

-------

Loosely referencing this photo of Jonathan Tucker, hihi

Saint Michael pendant has been traveled from Aiello to Zussman, then to Daniel's hand when Zussman was taken by Nazis.

Zussman wanted to give the pendant back to Aiello, but he refused, so it belongs to Daniels now.

Zussman just borrowed it for a photoshoot, lol.

-----------

Referencing that Jeff Schine video where he sings "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" with Nicole Tompkins (Jill VA)

In case you didn't know, he also voicing Carlos and Chris (Village) on Resident Evil

Smoking buddies. (I'm sure Daniels didn't smoke; he just brought the lighter lol)

----

Referencing Kevin Coubal photoshoot, but with Stiles nervous smile lol.

Ehehehehe....

Oh, Stiles upgraded his camera; it's been six years! I'm sure he worked as a photographer somewhere, like Clark Kent.

Also, he absolutely took everyone's photo, including Turner, but the one on the frame was taken before Turner's last deployment.

He held the frame together with Aiello.

RIP Dad

[soaptruther]

okay so the little interface activision have set up for all the recent cod games is actually so smart

i was like what the fuck when i first installed it but actually it makes a lot of sense like why wouldn't you want all your games in one place

mwiii is 30% installed and there are two prices and one ghost currently staring into my soul which is slightly intimidating

is vanguard good btw i don't usually like ww2 games but i'm considering getting it codww2 was actually quite good imo it just wasn't the kind of setting i want to play a franchise worth of games in

i love that ghost is the cover girl for mwii and warzone despite not having his face visible although i guess that makes him more memorable in terms of iconography but then again price got mw19 and mwiii despite looking as average as possible his only iconography is his stupid beard

soap deserved to be the cover of mwiii :(

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Such husband material.

Frank Aiello & Drew Stiles

They're both so handsome ♡

(my photo)

[swishyrebootedyt]

🎮 Welcome to our comprehensive Call of Duty: WWII walkthrough! 🎮 Immerse yourself in the epic battles of World War II as we guide you through every intense mission, strategic encounter, and heart-pounding moment of this iconic first-person shooter. Join us on this historical journey as we relive the bravery and sacrifices of soldiers during one of the most pivotal periods in human history.

🔥 In this Call of Duty: WWII gameplay series, we provide you with step-by-step guidance, tactical insights, and expert tips to conquer each mission. From storming the beaches of Normandy on D-Day to battling through war-torn European cities, we've got you covered. Get ready to experience the realism, action, and emotion of World War II like never before.

🔔 Don't forget to subscribe and hit the notification bell to stay up-to-date with each new mission in our Call of Duty: WWII walkthrough. Whether you're a seasoned veteran looking to relive the nostalgia or a new recruit diving into the series, our detailed commentary and strategic gameplay will help you navigate the challenges ahead.

📢 Join the conversation! Share your thoughts, strategies, and favorite moments in the comments below. Let's embark on this unforgettable journey together!

#CallOfDutyWWII #Walkthrough #GamingGuide #WorldWar2 #CODWW2 #Gameplay #TacticalGaming #GamingCommunity #WWIIGame #GamingWalkthrough #FirstPersonShooter #HistoricalGaming #SubscribeNow

[averagespawn]

Dr. Marie Fischer & Agent Maxis

Artist: @JrrizzoYT; John Rizzo

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JrrizzoYT

Website: youtube.com/c/Jrrizzo

[danphyvp]

Zussman 🥵

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

Blame (Pierson)

***Loosely inspired by the song ‘How To Save A Life’ by The Fray. Essentially the weeks/days leading up to Turners death and then Pierson blaming himself.***

“Pierson! Get in in here!” Lieutenant Joseph Turner, once again, was about to lay into his second in command- William Pierson.

Pierson grimaced. What could he have possibly done wrong this time? It seemed the longer they were in this war, the more agitated Turner became, and the more he got the brunt of it.

“We need to talk, William,” Turner said as his Sergeant entered the tent. He took a seat, his coffee in hand. “Sit down,” he continued, nodding to the empty chair in front of him.

“What’s this about, Lieutenant?” He looked out the large hole in the right side of the tent at the men milling about outside. One of them a limping Stiles, who had fallen into a foxhole in the dark the night prior and sprained his ankle.

“That, Sergeant, is what this is about. How reckless you’re getting with the men,” Turner stated, gesturing at the injured man with his mug.

“I don’t see how that’s my fault. He should’ve been watching where he was going.”

“Pierson, you sent a man that can barely see in the best of circumstances, out into the pitch darkness to deliver ammunition. You’re lucky he only sprained an ankle! He could’ve broken his neck!”

“He shouldn’t have gotten turned around then! I don’t know why they even drafted that man!”

“This isn’t about Private Stiles!” Turner slammed his mug down on the table, some of the liquid sloshing out. “This is about you, William!”

As the Lieutenant began to give him the worst verbal lashing yet, Pierson began to wonder why he even bothered anymore. He doubted he was being too hard on the men. If anything, he was being too soft on them. They were soldiers, not schoolchildren. Certainly they could handle it.

“Pierson, the way you’re going right now, you’re gonna get one of us killed, to say nothing of the men! We both have families! Those men have families! Don’t leave more children without a good, loving father, William. You know what that’s like.”

He nearly punched him then. How dare he bring up his father now? Yes, he did know what it was like. In fact, he’d run away at the age of sixteen because he couldn’t deal with the situation anymore.

“What happened to you, Will? I don’t know who you are anymore. You used to be so different, and now… Now I feel like I don’t know you anymore. You’ve changed since Kasserine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He lay awake in his cot, Turner’s snoring keeping him awake yet again. It irritated him more than usual tonight, considering they’d had yet another argument just a few hours prior. This one about one of the men slicing his arm on some barbed wire, and not letting him go to medic until he finished the job.

“Pierson, what were you thinking? What if he bled out?” Turner had said in strong disagreement with his decision.

“He was fine! It was barely even a scratch. He lived,” he had replied.

“A scratch? The man needed fourteen stitches! That is not a scratch, Sergeant!”

What made Turner think he knew better than him? Just because he went to some fancy military school didn’t mean squat. He’d been in the military for three years by the time Turner graduated. If anyone knew how to deal with these men and complete their missions, it was him.

Turner was way too easy on the men. In his option he treated them like children- always soft. Sometimes he felt like the strict father and Turner was nurturing mother, and it pissed him off to no end.

Turner kept letting Aiello and Zussman get away with mouthing off, and Stiles with not following instructions. Daniels was the one person who ever seemed to act right, and that was probably because his father had been a soldier and whipped him into shape young.

“That’s something the lieutenant should be doing,” he thought to himself. But if Turner wasn’t gonna do it, it may as well be him. He’d whip those boys into shape if it was the last thing he ever did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sergeant! Sergeant, please! Just wait for reinforcements! We don’t have enough men to do this! Just wait for Turner!”

“Shut your lip Aiello! Before I shut it for you!” He was going to assault the hill with or without the lieutenant’s help.

The men were begging for reinforcements, but he refused to oblige. Turner made them too soft and made them think they couldn’t complete this without him. They could do it. They just needed to stop being such sissies.

“C’mon! Let’s go! Move! Move!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“How many casualties?” Once more, Pierson had become reckless with the men, and it angered him.

“We executed the mission,” he said casually. Did he not care? Did he even think about the widows that resulted from his actions? The children that would now grow up fatherless?

“How many?” How many more widows? How many more orphans? How many more needless casualties? How many more mothers crying for their sons? How many more funerals needing to be planned?

“Our instructions were to take this hill.” Turner knew then that Pierson didn’t care. He hadn’t for a while, most likely since Kasserine.

The two men began to argue, their boys looking on in abject horror. They’d seen and heard them argue before, though this was the worst it had ever gotten. The punch to the Sergeant’s jaw only confirmed how far apart the two men had drifted.

“These are men! Our men! When did you forget that?” The Lieutenant forced the stubborn man to look at the surviving soldiers. Some older with established families and careers back home. Some freshly out of high school with their entire lives ahead of them. Suddenly a blast went off in the distance.

“Those 1-50’s are still firing on our position.” Despite Pierson’s needless massacre, they needed to get going, before they lost more men, or their own lives.

“Keep going! We’re taking them out!” Turner commanded. There was no scenario in which this could end well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pierson uncapped the bottle of whiskey. The men had gone to bed for the night with the exception of Aiello who was getting patched up in the medic tent, and Daniels who was Lord-knows-where.

He gulped down the burning liquid, desperate to drown the emotions and the internal voices screaming blame in the alcohol.

Turner was dead, and it was his fault. The Lieutenant was right- one more widow, three more fatherless children. It was his fault.

He took another swig of the drink, finishing off the bottle. He was gone. His best friend-another casualty of this war. He cracked open another bottle. It would take a lot more than two bottles to erase the pain.

I wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to. It was his fault after all. Besides, he had learned from a young age to keep his emotions to himself. The only person who ever saw that side of him was his wife, and she was nearly 5,000 miles away in Oklahoma with their two sons.

How was he supposed to go home and live a normal life with his family, when Joseph Turner would never get to go home to his? How was he supposed to raise his boys when Turners three children would have to grow up with him? How was he supposed to snuggle up with his wife in bed at night, knowing that Sophie Turner would never get to feel her late husband’s arms around her again?

He finished off the second bottle, and had just opened a third when Daniels came in offering him Turner’s pistol.

He wanted to take it. To have something to remember the man he served beside for so many years. But he didn’t deserve it. If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, Turner would still be alive. Or at the most, in the medic tent next to Aiello getting his wounds patched up.

“You thought wrong,” he told Daniels, taking the gun from him. He nearly burst into tears at the action, as it was starting to sink in that the Lieutenant was truly gone. He needed to distract himself. Quickly, before the emotions got the better of him. The men would surely lose all respect for him if he showed anything but absolute strength.

So he launched into a speech about making the young soldier his second in command. He was so drunk by this point, he was sure he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He’d just turned the lives of four people upside down in a heartbeat with his actions.

“Now get out of my sight,” he told Daniels. And leave me to drown my sorrows in peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He lay awake in bed, his wife asleep beside him. He wondered if Turner would be doing the same he not perished. Nearly a year later, and he still blamed himself. It had been eating at him since it happened. So much so that before he returned to Oklahoma, he’d gone to visit his widow and children.

His oldest boy had turned thirteen a week after his death, sharing the same birthday as his late father. Turner had always said his boy was the best birthday gift he had ever received. He hated that he was responsible for taking such a loving father away from his family.

He had gone to their house in Cambridge to beg his widow for her forgiveness. To tell her just how sorry he had taken her husband from her. That he knew how much he loved her and their three children and couldn’t wait to be back in their arms. To tell her that, whatever she needed, he’d be there for her and the children. It was the least he could do considering he was the one responsible for causing this situation.

It had all gone awry, however, when he admitted to his part in Turner’s death. Sophie Turner, overcome with emotion, threw him out of the house. Telling him repeatedly that he had killed her husband and he was the reason her children were now orphaned.

Pierson didn’t blame her one bit. It was his fault, and even now he still couldn’t live with that fact. He wished he could go back in time, to switch places with him. To let Daniels and Zussman carry him back to headquarters and get him patched up and discharged. To just not charge the hill that day. To wait for him at the rally point. Anything to make sure he got back home to Sophie and the kids.

He watched Turner’s three year old son, the same age as his own child, talk to a picture of the fallen soldier. He had nearly started sobbing imagining his own son in that situation. This was all his fault.

He pulled his wife closer to him in bed. He’d finally gotten a response to the letter he’d written Turner’s widow nearly three months earlier. Apologizing yet again for his role in her husbands death and that he’d be there for her and her children should they need anything.

The letter had stated only two things: that she and her children wanted nothing to do with him, and to please never contact her again.

He understood completely. He had no one but himself to blame.

***So finally, the deleted story has been completed. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing (and rewriting post-deletion by pet parrot) it. Let me know if y’all want more Pierson stories.***

[sovetskoy]

You're not my homeland anymore — so who am I defending now?

[pyth-ongaming]

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[megaspacemanspiff]

Get Jinxed feat. Jinx and the Cymbal Monkey

“You’re not sane!”

[wehatesesit-blog]

So satisfying when you and your squad all get a drop lol.

[emperorbigdaddydrip]

Call of Duty WWII PS4 Multiplayer Gridiron Gameplay (12/1/2022) at Aache...

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[ki777iz]

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[retro-leigh]

Me Playing Cod WWII

Turner: Dies

Other Players: What? No! I’m so sad! *cries*

Me: WTF? WHO THE FUCK IS GONNA GIVE ME MY AMMO? WHAT IS THIS SHIT?

Zussman: *gets kidnapped* *is probably gonna get killed by Krauts*

Other Players: OMG! Zussman! No! I hope he’s okay! Oh my gosh I’m going to be so worried until I know what happened to him!

Me: BRUH! WHAT THE HELL? I NEED MY FUCKING FIRST AIDE KITS IF IM GONNA FINISH THIS GODDAMN GAME! WHAT IS THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT? OF COURSE ZUSSMAN HAD TO GET HIS ASS KIDNAPPED. WAY TO GO ASSHOLE!

Just kidding lol I was devastated when Turner died and I had a damn near heart attack when they took Zussman .-.