#cod:mw

[07x1x4x1]

I finally have my boys together 🥹 And I hate FunkoPop for not having a Gaz figure, but we'll pretend that "All Ghillied Up" #144 is him (also because of that mission in MW2) 🤍

[kennedys-lvr]

wrote a little thing for my upcoming cod fics (which won't be for a long time yet but i wanted to write something with nell in it hehe) — snippet under the cut. around 1.5k words. also, forewarning—i know nothing about poker lol.

this snippet def will be more polished up when i bring the fic out. again, as i said, i wanted to write something with my bbg in it. :3

The well-worn oak table sat in the center of the common room, its scratched surface topped with playing cards, three bottles of opened stout beer, a glass of whiskey with two fat ice cubes clinking together as they drifted like icebergs amongst the amber-coloured sea, and a dirty ceramic ashtray housing a smouldering cigar. Four men sat around this table in cold metal folding chairs, each one shifting their weight about as they studied the cards in their hands.

A card was flipped, paired with the two other cards sitting face up on the table. The Ace of Spades, paired alongside the Ace of Clubs and King of Hearts.

A clock ticked by, a few seconds passing before a soft voice chuckled, the sound echoing in the dimmed room. “I raise—put a tenner on the pile for me,” a playful Scottish lilt rumbled from the man’s chest as he dug his hand into the open packet of Walker’s Sour Cream and Onion crisps and dropped two of them onto the pile in the middle, signalling his bet.

“Fine,” the man sitting directly across from the Scotsman hid a smirk behind his cards, placing more ‘chips’ onto the table in the form of Pickled Onion Monster Munch. His dark brown eyes glittered beneath the flickering fluorescent above their heads as he scratched at an itch in his jaw, his voice dropping to a whisper as a delicate hint of an East London accent rippled through the room. “But I bet you’re bluffing. You always brag when you bluff.”

“I do not,” the Scotsman proclaimed, puffing his chest out, yet the smile on his face said that he most definitely had that exact tell.

“You do, Johnny. You very much do.” A third man picked up the cigar and breathed in a fat plume of smoke, expelling it slowly out of the corner of his mouth before he brought his own bet to the table. His murmur rumbled like an engine, carrying an air of authority even though the men weren't on active duty.

“I raise. An extra fiver.” He dropped a Tyrell's Sea Salt and Vinegar crisp onto the pile.

“Christ, Cap. Got deep pockets tonight?” The Monster Munch holder grinned.

“Just in a good mood at the moment, Garrick,” the captain sniffed and shifted, the chair creaking beneath him as he studied his cards again.

“Why? You found an extra cigar in your pack?” The Scotsman joked.

“Do I need a reason to be in a good mood, MacTavish?”

The Scotsman stiffened slightly beneath the captain’s sideways glance, clearing his throat and dropping his gaze back to his hand. “No, sir,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaring red.

The captain smiled fondly, the corners of his dark blue eyes crinkling. “Settle down, Sergeant. I’m just playing around.”

A fourth card was produced by the silent dealer: the fourth man sat at the table. The light was warm against his black balaclava, narrowed brown eyes focused on the cards before him.

“Queen of Diamonds.” Garrick noted, huffing out a sigh and tossing his cards toward the center of the table. “I’m out.”

MacTavish’s bright blue eyes shimmered greedily as he tossed a few more chips down. A man on a mission, it seemed—either to win this hand, or bankrupt himself. “I raise. Another tenner.”

“That's currently seventy-five in the pot right now. Sure you can afford that?” The captain asked, studying his card for a moment more before also tossing his cards down, nodding silently to the masked dealer, who placed three McCoy’s Flame Grilled Steak ridge cut crisps onto the pile, signalling that he was still in play against the overconfident sergeant.

“Scratch that,” the dealer added, seeming to hide a grin beneath his mask, his eyes narrowing in challenge. “It’s now ninety.”

MacTavish whistled low. “Aye, Ghost. Me an’ you, is it?” He leaned over to clap a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, forcing a grin as the other man blinked blankly at him. “Last man standing?”

“Someone has to knock you down a peg,” the masked man muttered, his voice gravelly and laden with a slight Mancunian lilt.

“Don’t be afraid to go all-in, then—if you really want to make him cry, that is.”

The new voice—soft and slightly feminine, but heavy with an East London accent—had the masked man whipping his head around instantly, each muscle in his body tensed with a sudden wave of flight-or-fight, opting quickly for the latter.

He looked into the woman's amused blue eyes and her full lips curled into a teasing smirk and scowled. “Who the fuck are you?”

A smothered chuckle had Ghost’s eyes whipping back toward MacTavish, whose reddened face was stretching up toward his messy mohawk from how hard he was holding back his amusement. “She frighten you, LT?”

“No.” The word was spat out with an arctic chill.

“I’d say she did,” MacTavish mused, nodding toward the woman who was now folding her arms triumphantly across her chest. His gaze then flicked back to the lieutenant again, who was still ramrod straight. “That's a first. You’re never frightened.”

“I was not frightened. I just wasn’t expecting it,” the masked man doubled down, grumbling softly under his breath. “Bloody creeping Jesus..”

“Gentlemen,” the captain drew the focus back to him, motioning a hand toward the woman. He smiled fondly, and in turn the woman bowed her head. “This is Penelope Price, the newest member of Task Force 141.”

“Call me Nell,” the woman offered, shuffling closer to the table and properly into the light, leaning against the back of Ghost’s chair—much to his annoyance as he once more shifted and cleared his throat a little too loudly.

“Price?” Garrick questioned, looking at Nell, then at the captain. He did this a few more times before putting the pieces together, adding, “you two are related?”

“Niece by blood,” the captain confirmed.

“Daughter by choice,” Nell added with a smug hum, as if proud of that fact and was planning to use it at every opportunity she could.

“Daughter? Niece?” MacTavish asked, looking at Price for the explanation.

“She’s the daughter of my brother and my sister-in-law. I took her in when they died.”

“Oh.” MacTavish looked like he was regretting asking for the explanation, shrinking back into his seat with a weak laugh. “Aye.”

Garrick stood up from the chair, offering it to Nell. She nodded in thanks, folding one leg over the other as she leaned back against the cool metal. “So,” he said after a beat, his eyes quickly scanning over her and taking note of the main features that stood out first—her dark brown hair tied back into a messy ponytail, an athletic frame hidden beneath her black tank top and jeans.

“What's your specialty, then?”

“Tech.”

“She’ll be working mainly on comms,” the captain explained, leaning back and folding burly arms across his chest, one hand scratching loosely at the thick mutton chop on the left side of his face. “But she specialises in tech. Hacking, gadgets, what have you. Intel gathering.”

“Ah. The woman behind the curtain,” MacTavish mused, leaning forward with interest. “Sounds fun.”

Nell shrugged casually, though it seemed clear she didn’t mind the attention—maybe even thriving in it. “What can I say? I’d be too scary on the field,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a Cheshire cat grin breaking across her face.

MacTavish raised an eyebrow, leaning into the strange emotion bubbling within him. A combination of amusement, recognition of mischief and a desire for something else. “Oh, I don’t doubt that, lass.”

A sharp cough pierced through whatever was starting to bubble between the sergeant and the new recruit. All eyes turned toward Ghost, who placed down the fifth and final card to signal the end of the round. The shiny card face showed the King of Clubs.

MacTavish placed his cards down rather proudly—the Ace of Hearts and King of Spades. “Two pair. Kings and Aces. What about you, LT?”

Ghost placed his cards down wordlessly without the same flare or flourish. King of Diamond and the Jack of Clubs. “Three of a kind.”

Garrick grinned, eating up the way the Scotsman groaned and collapsed back in his chair with defeat. “Knew you were bluffing, Johnny.”

“Ah… stop rubbing it in, bawbag,” the Scotsman complained with a bitter mutter, pulling out his wallet and rifling through the notes until he pulled out four twenty pound notes and a ten, sucking his teeth as he pushed them toward his masked lieutenant.

“There. Ninety.”

“Thank you kindly,” the lieutenant replied, accepting the money before gathering the cards up and handing them around the table toward Garrick, who had pulled up another chair to awkwardly place himself between Nell and Ghost.

“Another round then?” Garrick began to shuffle the cards and deal them out, glancing at Nell. “You in, new girl?”

Nell held up her hands with a sheepish laugh. “I’ve never played before. Never understood it.”

Garrick placed some cards in front of her anyway, his smile friendly and welcoming. “We’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be rinsing us in no time.”

“Unlikely,” Ghost cut in, glancing at his cards before starting off the bet, placing three crisps in the center of the table. He tapped the wood twice with a gloved finger, his mutter almost like a threat as he added, “watch and learn, Creeper.”

[vvitchmusic]

Where Flowers Die ❦ Yan!Price x F!Reader

𖤐 Summary 𖤐 : Instincts or him?

𖤐 Warning(s) 𖤐 : Kidnapping, Violence, Gore, Dub/Non-Con touching (eventual), Stalking, Injuries, Minor Ghost x f!reader, Dysfunctional childhood, typical yandere shit. ✢ MDNI ✢

➟ The Captain's List | VVITCH SPELLS

You don’t know where the obsession even began. It must’ve been a long time ago before you had a job at the cafe; serving rude and nice customers alike.

Ironically enough, you’d still remember the same pair of faded blue eyes staring back at your own. Transfixed upon your clueless gaze as his other mates ordered a regular cup of coffee. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of vulnerability under the man’s gaze, so you averted your business to somewhere else. 

Until, it was his turn to speak up. 

The gruffness of his voice and the way he carried himself seemed a bit intimidating. But to others, it looked like the man was just trying to grab a brunch. His taller frame didn’t make it any easier as well.

There was something off about the man that you couldn’t help but identify.

He had this sense of authority engulfing him in a chokehold. Was it the way he was looking at you earlier? Or was it the tone of his voice? 

In summary, you couldn’t figure him out. He looked like any man you would see on a street and pass by. A stranger in their own little bubble.

It was around 10:30 pm when the quaint cafe started cleaning up for closing time. You were busy cleaning near the register and was told by your manager to let the men know that it was time for them to leave. However, the men had booked themselves a private room to discuss amongst themselves.

You wanted to protest at first as it felt like walking into a den of wolves. But you knew better than to lose your job. So you sucked it up and softly knocked on the frosted glass.

The private room eerily quieted down and footsteps could be heard as they made their way to the door. You could see the outline of their figure before greeting you to a masked man with a skull print. 

“Who is it, Ghost?” Huh, odd name. 

“Jus’ some little birdie who’s lost.” Not taking his eyes off of you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he quickly moved aside for another man to take his place. It was the same pair of stormy blue eyes looking back at your own.

Although, his features were a lot more hardened than last time. Something had clearly gone awry. 

“What is it?” A slight irritation is present in his tone of voice. 

“My manager is asking for your group to leave the cafe since it’s closing time.” Managing your tone to be calm and neutral.

The man nods at this and tells you to give them a minute before they can leave. You acknowledged this and went to tell your manager in advance that they were leaving in a minute. With a small huff, he told you to clock out and that your schedule should be set for next week. The drive back to your apartment was peaceful as always. The music set into the background lulled you into a sense of security and a slight melancholy. You had wondered what it would be like to travel the world and work into a more suitable environment. Maybe an office job would work. Quiet space, an organisable schedule, decent pay, and etc. 

As much as the cafe provided you a stable life, dealing with rude people and idiots everyday was the cost.

There would be a child wailing every now and then due to a neglectful parent not caring about whether or not their child would scream their head off. You had to simply do something in your life for once, being in your mid-20s and all. Back then, you would worry about projects and lecture halls during your college days. Anxiety and caffeine were your only friends and would get you through finals. But those days are over now. 

“Survive and thrive, kiddo. Trust your instincts when you need it most.” 

The words of your father resonating within your head like a mantra of bittersweet self-guidance.

Your father was absent for most of your childhood as well as your mother. You would have to take care of yourself for most of the time. Doing the cleaning, cooking, figuring out your homework on your own, and whatnot.

Whenever they did appear in your life, it would have to be when you would fall ill or take you out for shopping. Although, you noted the schism within their relationship. None really speaking to each other nor staying within one’s presence for longer. Eventually, this led up to their divorce and are now living different lives.

Neither had really tried to reach out to you when you moved out on your own. At this point, you could really care less as all parties are responsible for their own choices and made their own pathways. 

Upon reaching the front door to your apartment, you noticed an eviction letter taped onto the wooden frame. Your brows furrowed as well as a frown tugging at your lips.

You knew damn well you’ve already paid for fucking rent, and now they’re asking for more? Bullshit. Frustration roils through your head like a shaken hornet’s nest.

You sighed out to release a bit of anger before entering your safe haven. For now, the clock ticks and ticks. Its hand moving along before your eventual demise is complete. 

Tap..

Tap..

Tap..

Your eyes slowly opened to the darkness of your room, soon adjusting to its surroundings. Your gaze landed upon the clock sitting atop your bedside table. The red glow of the numbers makes itself the only light source at the moment. 

5:15 AM? What the fuck? 

The same incessant sound of what seems to be tapping quickly captures your attention once more. Your mind slightly comes back to your current situation due to the realization that there may be an intruder breaking into your humble abode. You get out of bed and grab a baseball bat as a weapon. With a silent creak, you push your door open and navigate through the darkness of your apartment.

Your muscles tense as a shuffle could be heard from your living room. Silently inching your way towards the source before stopping at the corner of the wall. You breathe in and out before jumping out to see Moonie; your cat. A gust of wind blows into the apartment making you shiver. You were sure all the windows were locked the night before. Nonetheless, you placed the window back to its respective place; bringing a bit of warmth back to the living space.

Sighing at this, you place the bat onto the plush sofa and pick up Moonie. She purrs in your arms, snuggling close to your body comfortably. You went back to your room with Moonie making sure to lock the door behind you. 

Unbeknownst to you, the pair of faded blue eyes watched your form retreat into your bedroom, his eyes flickering towards the baseball bat placed onto the plush sofa. That was too close for comfort. 

He leaned down to check if the cameras were in operation within your apartment. When all things were clear and set to go, he clicked the tablet’s screen to transition the view to your bedroom.

He relishes in the view of your form snuggled close to the comforters with Moonie sleeping at the edge of the bed. A sense of longing forms in his chest as he thinks about the lonely nights without her touch and voice. She should be his by now. And the only thing that’s stopping him is his missions as a captain for the 141. 

The sudden buzz of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. It’s from Laswell.

“I’ve got some info for the team, Cap. Thought you might be interested in this.”

“Go on.” Stuffing the tablet back into his satchel. 

“The hacker who nixed our comms last week is affiliated with Makarov. The target has been seen sitting around a cafe near your location, Captain. Bring the target back for interrogation or do the interrogation yourselves.” 

“Any news on Shepherd and Graves?” 

“Their trial will be set 3 weeks from now. As of right now, we are all in a truce.” 

“Is that wha’ Shepherd calls it?”

“John, we both know that if Makarov succeeds in getting the East and the West to fight against each other. The world will be plunged into chaos. As much as we both don’t like teaming up with traitors, this has to be done.”

“Righ’, when will the mission take place?” 

“Tomorrow at noon.”

The call ends shortly afterwards. One can only hope the mission will go well as both sides are teetering on the edge of a war. Either way, if all hell breaks loose, there can be no future for any of them. 

As the morning fog descended upon the town’s street, you were already clocked in and ready to go for another shift at the cafe.

The weather was a bit chilly today, so there weren't many customers to deal with. Your attention turned to the freshly baked bread as you started to slice it away. You hissed a bit in pain from the heat but kept going until you’ve finished your task. Looking down at the gradual reddening of your hand, you proceed to grab a cooling rag to calm down the inflamed skin.

For the next few hours, your boss continued to order you around until it was time to clock out in the afternoon. The cafe was a bit busy, but nothing too overwhelming.

You grabbed onto your jacket tightly as you made your way into the parked area. As soon as your hand reached for the handle, a strong force pushed you back against the car door followed by an unbearable heat. Through the ringing of your ears and the smell of petrol flooding your senses, the muffled screams of people could be heard in the background while some flee away from the scene. Wincing a bit, you turned around to see the cafe engulfed in flames with its bits scattered about on the street. 

Without wasting a single beat, you forced your limbs to move and get somewhere safely. Treading through the plumes of smoke and rubble, you were suddenly pulled into an alleyway causing you to struggle against their restricting hold. You tried screaming for help whilst flailing around like a cornered animal which didn’t last for long.

A sharp pain filled your senses which caused your body to go limp in your assailant's hold.

A sack was roughly pulled over your head before you were tied up and pushed into a room of sorts. You could hear different voices of people pleading for their life, while others were whimpering out of fear and perhaps in pain. 

Your assailants forced you on your knees and left you alone with the rest of the helpless people. After the door was tightly shut and locked, a voice came blaring through the speakers. The accent filled with a dignified malice and unbridled hatred as it began to spread its speech like a molotov. Scorching and unforgiving. 

“Our cause is to put order amongst wild animals. Without chaos, there can be no order left to claim nor conquer. We train our own to become protectors and restore glory to the motherland. The West loves to pick and choose what benefits them the most. Leeching off of resources like the parasite that they are. And yet, claim that they are the strongest in the western hemisphere. A mocking insult to those who truly seize power. Soon, the motherland will expand its hold over the entire world and nothing, nothing will be left unturned.” 

East vs. West. The classic title fight of the century. 

Outside, Price and the rest of his men pooled into the area, scoping through and making sure civilians were tended to by the paramedics. In the back of Price’s mind, he had a nagging feeling of dread. He was sure (Y/N) should’ve clocked out by now and arrived home safe and sound. However, considering the situation in hand, he doubts that any civilian is safe under any circumstance. 

His earpiece crackled before Laswell's voice entered smoothly “John, how copy?” 

“We’ve got multiple civilians injured and some officers K.I.A. My men are searching the area for any traces of the hacker. Konni’s fingerprints are all over this, Kate.”

“Not unless Makarov plans to blame it on Farah’s group for the bombing.” 

“We need to find intel that can leverage us against Makarov. In the meantime, we’ll be searching the buildings in the area. I have a feeling Konni’s hiding in plain sight.” 

“Cap’” Garrick emerged from his side, “Take a loo’ at this.” 

Price’s gaze locked onto a footage of Konni units roughly shoving civilians in a store before closing the doors behind them. The footage then flashes to a different point of view showing most of them tied up with a bag over their heads. Although, one of them is strapped with a bomb vest with C4 on it. 

“This footage was found on the east side of the cafe. Approximately fifteen minutes after the explosion happened.” 

“Righ’, Ghost and Soap will take the westside while you and me will sweep the east clean. Leave no Konni alive.”

➟ The Captain's List | VVITCH SPELLS

[voiceemporium]

Visit Original Link

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick in COD: Modern Warfare voiced by Elliot Knight

[kentwos-archived]

not that anyone asked but i firmly believe that gaz is just like crazy good at pub/card games...

the team go to the pub and they play pool alternating and none of them seem to beat gaz...no matter how many months and years pass of knowing each other, he's just undefeated...and it's not like they're bad at it either---johnny and simon can give each other a run for their money, but gaz is just like a mystery to them

the same applies for card games, poker etc. anything you can think of

[cryptidvaquero]

foap.

[ask-shadow-medic-soli]

I haven't slept in 52 hours my coffee and Red Bull is running out and I have far too much paperwork to get done. Anyone willing to run me some before the commissary closes for the evening?

[ask-shadow-medic-soli]

If who ever is stealing the duck tape and super glue from medical could please return it I'd greatly appreciate it. We are running low on supplies.

Also this is a reminder that the mandatory safety brief this afternoon about the risks of vent crawling. If you wish to be excused, tough shit.

You can try and bribe your way out of it but I can't guarantee I'll accept it