#Soap and Body

[bacchuschucklefuck]

no more fan-ta-sizing about it! everything's already changed~

[wolverinecore]

We really dont talk enough about how muscular/thick Soap was in mw3

[shadow0-1]

guy and his weird looking dog

[wombywoo]

hawk.

[stellewriites]

marrying johnny was an easy choice, in that you had no choice at all.

he needed a wife and you were too old to stay at home any longer, already well past the average age other women in your town got married. the wild west wasn’t kind to young women, so it made sense to cling to the offer johnny made even if you knew his heart wasn’t in it. it was unlikely you’d find a better option in your town, no one interested was as young or as handsome.

it didn’t matter the rumours that spread about him. in fact they fell in your favour.

you barely had the chance to get to know him; told on your first night to keep house, left with his set of rules and chores to occupy you while he rode off with his tall masked friend.

it could be days, weeks even, between the morns you saw him. you didn’t ask where he went or what he did when he didn’t come back home. you didn’t care, happy to take advantage of the empty bed.

and for months, crossing paths only a handful of times, it worked for you both. you kept your horse fed and brushed, used it to travel into town for your perishables each week and made sure the space out back was kept neat for if johnny arrived back on his own mare.

it worked. you were happy. but then johnny was shot; part of a train robbery gone wrong, the sheriff had told you stiffly.

he apologised for your loss, but you could tell he didn’t mean it. he told you if you had any clue who johnny’s partner could be then it’d be wise to turn him in sooner rather than later before leaving you to organise the funeral. closed casket, he’d advised wryly, in fact just ask the undertaker to seal him in a box and pay him direct. save yourself some time.

watching johnny’s casket get lowered into the ground you couldn’t help but think about how you’d never even kissed. husband and wife, though a true sham of it behind the walls of your home. not that you’d admit it so.

you stand next to his friends, people you hadn’t gotten to meet, and watch them grieve at his funeral. the tall man, his lower face still masked, seemed beholden with his grief; shaking with anger as his wet eyes stayed firm on the casket as it was lowered to the dirt.

you once again deigned not to think of where johnny may have been staying when he wasn’t nipping back home to you or how likely his partner in crime may have also been his partner in life. you’d let johnny keep his secrets.

you take the deed to his house - now your house - and shake and cry yourself to sleep that evening. it wasn’t grief that kept you awake though, but guilt. guilt over feeling thankful for his death since it brought with it your freedom, no strings attached.

johnny’s gentle, if not disinterested, countenance towards you had been reassuring, but not a guaranteed permanence. this however, was.

you continue to keep house, visit the stores in town and generally continue on as before for months after. you don’t see his tall friend and you don’t hear from anyone else that had been present at the funeral throughout the entire time. in fact, it’s almost a year later to the day of his death when you’re disturbed in your home.

steps crunching along the dry mud out back, irregular scratching at the windowsills and knocks on the doors inside the house.

when you think you see a man in your mirror you finally go to one of johnny’s friends still living in town and ask about your late husband, if they’ve seen or heard anything, but they just look at you pityingly.

you leave before they can get a doctor involved, blame it on a bad night’s sleep and a lonely heart - the horse wouldn’t settle for the wind and it is close to the anniversary as you know - and wave them off when they offer to come to the house. instead you buy a peashooter from a condescending clerk at the hardware store and hope for the best. hope to god it’s just big rats.

but you should’ve accepted their offer.

you should’ve moved out as soon as the noises started because finally one night when you’ve been kept up for hours and frozen still by the noises and movement in your house, you shakily take the gun and drag yourself downstairs. you follow the sound to the front door and sling it open.

you gasp at the sight before you. johnny sat on his horse, wearing the same clothes as he was a year ago when he was lowered into the ground; but dirtier, dustier, and his horse’s front leg has too many bends in it to be natural, its jaw hangs too low, its eyes too cloudy.

you daren’t look at johnny’s face beneath his hat, tilted low until your shaky breaths register and he looks up with a growing grin. grim and broken and hollow. his eyes are a cold grey, no longer blue, but clear and seeing unlike his horse. he stares at you as you take in the blood staining his chest, the unnatural, sporadic twitch in his hand as he removes his hat. you gasp a second time, shudder with it, when you finally see the wound that killed him.

a hole in his temple, gaping and splitting out into minute cracks and bruises across his forehead and down his cheek. hairline fractures and ruptured blood cells reaching out like tree roots.

his smile didn’t reach as high on that side but you tried not to dwell. you didn’t understand what he had to smile about in the first place.

“johnny…?”

“in the flesh, hen. come give yer husband a kiss, eh?”

“i don’t— i don’t understand. this can’t— you died. i saw them bury you.”

“aye. ye let them bury me.”

“i didn’t— i didn’t know—”

“ah ken, ah ken. i forgive ye. or i will, if ye let me in.”

you swallow thickly. there was a heaviness to his words that suggested you’d be doing more than just letting this… man, your husband, back into your home. you know he meant more than that.

“it’s late, johnny.”

“all the more reason not to dawdle. ne’er thought you were one to waste time even if ye were skittish.” he eyes your gun, held in shaking hands but still aimed higher than the steps before you, not fully dropped yet. “ah see ye’ve gotten past that in my absence.”

“it’s late.”

johnny huffed through his nose like a bull. angry like one too.

“so ye’ve said an’ ahm well aware. hen, let me in, before dawn comes knockin’. now, c’mon.”

you frown, clear your throat even as it felt full of cotton.

“what— what did you say to me on my first morning here after we woke up together?”

he squints at you, clenching his jaw tight before letting his unnatural smile stretch back across his lips. “forgive me if mah memory’s spotty but ah think ah said ‘good morning’.”

you raise the gun and point it towards him. “me and johnny never shared a bed. he left me alone here that first full week and he took the chair downstairs when he did stay. always.”

johnny’s grin turned mean in front of you, the cracks splintering further across his face.

“i was happy to try an’ do this the nice way, but now…” he threatens, twisting to drop off his horse.

you shoot him in the chest when his feet his the ground but the bullet doesn’t stop his even pace, doesn’t even startle his horse, and you feel dread finally rise above your adrenaline and chill you to the bone.

“shouldnae a done that.”

fanvid by serastonins

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ sworn knight johnny 'soap' mactavish

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection

johnny didn't really understand what he was doing here. it all started when he ended up protecting the most beloved princess of the kingdom. he had proved his talent on the battlefield many times, climbing up the ranks even though he was just a young scot from a foreign village far away.

it was not that he didn't like the benefits that came with the job-better pay, better sleeping arrangements, better food-it was just that he missed the battles. he wasn't used to sitting around, watching the princess go on about her day as if he were merely a shadow. he hated feeling useless, and also, let's face it, he hated being quiet. part of his job now was to be a shadow; apart from the polite good morrow and good night, johnny's mouth was shut.

the kingdom had been at peace for decades now, even before the knight was born, so he imagined his life was forever going to be this: dull, repetitive, and goddamn quiet. until one night, in the middle of his sleep, he was woken up by chilling screams. he ran out of his room, still in his nightwear, sword in hand. he found you nestled in the corner of your room, a chandelier in your hands as if it would have been enough to stop whoever was coming. it might have been a selfish act, but johnny didn't try to save your family; his only goal was to get you out.

this is how you had ended up here. in a small tavern, far from your town, from your castle, and far from your family. you were not stupid; you knew they were most likely all slaughtered, and as the only remaining member of the royal family, you knew you'd be hunted for the rest of your life. your entire survival was at the mercy of the knight who had been assigned to you a couple of months ago, and, for the most part, it was going well. except he wouldn't tell you where he was taking you.

"it's for yer own safety, princess," he had told her over and over again. you hated the way he treated you as if you were a child. you were not-already well past marital age-so why was he acting like you were a doll that could break at any moment?

and, god, did he talk a lot. you were not used to this side of him. back at the castle, he had been quiet, a gentle shadow following you around unnoticed. but now? it was like it was impossible for him to be quiet for longer than a minute. there was no denying that your sworn knight was very handsome, but now that he was constantly smiling and talking, it made him even more attractive in your mind. and the flirting? long gone was the composure he had around the royal family. here on the road, you were just a girl. a bonnie lass, he had called you once.

at first, the flirting still felt very improper, but as days turned into weeks, you started to like it. it was good to have someone like you for you and not for your title. you never thought it would happen. after all, you were a princess, and you had a role to play. words had gone around that the attack on your kingdom had been orchestrated by a foreign prince, angry that your father had refused the marriage proposal he had made. the prince had been set on turning your kingdom to ashes and taking you. you were sure he was intent on doing horrible things to you. you were grateful johnny had reached your chambers first. once, you had a nightmare about what would have happened if the prince had reached you first. it had been a terrible dream.

as you lay in the uncomfortable tavern bed, johnny sleeping on your side, the one closest to the door, you imagined what your life was going to be like now. was johnny going to stay with you? was he going to abandon you to fend for yourself once he was confident he had put enough distance between you and your enemies? where were you even going?

unknown to you, johnny was taking you back to scotland. before the attack, he had already been longing to go back to the highlands he loved so much; he missed the simple life of the countryside. his plan was to find a cottage, with a bit of land, big enough for your future family. he still had contacts in scotland, and enough money from his job to buy a comfortable place. you still didn't know, but johnny was going to marry you. even if it took years to woo you into that, he was a patient man. traveling with you had awoken the need in him to have a family, little chubby kids running around his land. many nights, he imagined you all swollen with his pups, and it made his head turn.

months later, you were happily sitting in the grass, watching johnny work around your garden. your hand was on your heavily pregnant stomach. johnny was a big man, and you didn't know why you had thought the baby wasn't going to be big itself. the moment you had known you were pregnant, johnny had forbidden you from doing anything around the cottage except for relaxing.

it hadn't taken you two long to start your family. your travels had made you fall in love with johnny, and him with you. as you had arrived in scotland, johnny had explained what his original plan had been. but he was willing to give you some of his money, help you find a job, and send you on your merry way. that had made you panic. after all you had been through, you wanted him. you had never wanted anything more than at this very moment. so, while he was still talking about the multiple jobs you could do, you kissed him.

you watched as he fed the chickens, swearing because they were feisty little creatures that liked to bite the hands that fed them. you were so enthralled by him that you didn't hear the steps behind you. feeling a filthy hand on your mouth made you flinch, but the knife at your throat made you freeze.

"you were hard to find, your highness." highness-nobody had called you that in a long time. they had found you. how was it possible? you were so far away, but yet, here they were. someone must have recognized you; the bounty was very high, and you couldn't blame people for trying to make a living.

looking back up, your eyes focused on the chicken coop, but johnny wasn't there anymore. had they already gotten to him? was he already dead? no, he couldn't be. you started hyperventilating as the vile prince explained everything he was going to do to you. tears were streaming down your face; what he was describing was worse than death. his words were cut short, a warm liquid making its way down your back. the prince's body went limp behind you, leaving you to escape his grasp.

"it's alright, lass, a' is well now," that was johnny's voice, as well as his arms around you. his sword was on the floor next to you, all bloody. his hands and arms were just as bloody. "na tears for them now, they dinnae deserve them, bonnie." he murmured in your ear, kissing your neck softly.

no one mourns the wicked, right?

[ddosq]

Highland Warrior of the MacTavish Clan ⚔️

(full piece here)

[kaethediei]

Soap my man, my fashion icon <3

[nikkinelson1313]

enjoy this screenshot from my camera roll

[c3berus]

simon fucking riley.

[s0fter-sin]

ex military ghost seeing gym rat soap flex in the gym mirrors and being concerned by how visually dehydrated and unhealthily cut he is

(cw disordered working out and implied unspecified ed)

ghost whose body is soft with fat, covering a soldier's build; he's stronger than every man in this gym and none of them would know. the culture’s shifted away from working muscle and strength, from health, and he’s known that for a while. but something about this one, the almost desperation he sweats with as he crosses pb after pb, holds his attention

he changes his workout hours to line up with his, changes his circuits until they’re on the same row of machines and uses the shared interest in weight training to introduce himself. he almost cringes as he does it but soap doesn’t hit him with the typical bro energy he’s gotten used to in gyms; he meets him with a smile, doesn’t try to crush his hand as he shakes it, even offers a spare hand towel to wipe himself off with

he’s nice, truly and genuinely nice and ghost hates that he’s gotten caught up in the swell of toxic self-hatred sweeping through his generation

he offers to be soap's spotter, getting him settled under the bar and though he gives him an odd look for it, follows his nudges to get his shoulders in a better position. he does the same to his wrists and elbows - it’s like he was never taught how to lift, just watched similarly untrained men and tried to emulate their movements - and sees how much he's lifting as he stands ready to catch the bar

all he can think of is how much more he could be doing if he just took care of his body instead of starving it

his body’s screaming for it; for fats and full sugars and salts and carbs, no matter how many supplement drinks he slings back throughout his set, and when he invites him out later, his near-empty plate stands out starkly next to ghost’s full one

as they get closer, he sees the "trainers" soap idolises; the sets it’s clear they don’t follow and the regimes based on nothing at best and damaging pseudoscience at worst. he sees the starved bodies and the borderline dangerous ways they lift and move because they never bothered to learn how; they just wanted the results

at any cost

every single one of them promoting unhealthy behaviour and so obviously taking steroids besides, no matter how much they deny it. but no matter how much ghost tries to point it out, tries to clear the wool from his eyes, soap just doesn't believe him

(can’t believe him. he can’t believe that he can't achieve it, that he can't just do more, be better; it has to be his fault he doesn't look like them no matter how hard he tries)

just ghost trying to lead soap back to a healthy mindset when it comes to body image and working out and getting him to realise he’s unthinkingly using it as a way to hurt himself instead of feeling good in himself the way he used to

[temeyes]

gaz and his outfit expansion!

[hatsbuckets]

TF 141 Body Swap AU HC

Headcanons

You know that body swap trope? Yeah, I just watched a show with it in it and I'm just thinkin about how it could go down... Warnings: None

Expanded Cast Version!

Soap:

Soap ended up in Ghost’s body, of course. If anyone was going to get stuck in the most inconvenient switch possible, it was him. He realized this about ten seconds after waking up and nearly knocking himself out on the doorframe. Everything was big. His arms? Massive. His legs? Long enough that stairs suddenly felt like a death trap. And don’t even get him started on the shoulders—those things could barely fit through the locker room doorway without scraping the sides.

He wasn't complaining about the other large part of Simon's body though.

The mask was its own kind of torture. It clung to his face, hot and suffocating, like it had fused with his skin. He tugged at it a few times before giving up. “How does he even breathe in this thing?” he muttered, his new, gravelly voice startling him every time. Still, he'd respect it and keep it on.

When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he almost jumped out of his skin. Ghost’s mask stared back at him, hollow eyes and that skeletal grin. It wasn’t just eerie—it was downright unsettling. Soap quickly turned away, feeling every inch of the sore, strong body he inhabited.

Ghost:

Ghost ended up in Gaz’s body, which was… not ideal. Everything felt too light, too fast, too exposed. Gaz was athletic and lean, not a silent wall. He wasn’t used to moving like this, like his feet barely touched the ground. At first, it seemed like a good thing—until he realized how much strength he’d lost. His grip wasn’t as steady, his steps didn’t carry the same weight, and when he tried to grab his knife, it felt wrong in his hand, like it belonged to someone else.

The worst part? No mask. Just Gaz’s face, out in the open, for everyone to see. Ghost avoided mirrors like the plague, but every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of himself-well, Gaz-in a reflection and feel a wave of discomfort. It wasn’t his face, but it wasn’t not his face either, and that was a weird line to walk.

He hated how exposed it made him feel. No armor, no wall to hide behind—just Gaz’s smaller frame and familiar face, staring back at him like it didn't belong-because it didn't.

Gaz:

Gaz hated being in Price’s body. Everything was heavy—his arms, his legs, his steps. It was like wading through water, slow and deliberate in a way that made him feel like he’d aged twenty years in a day.

His hands were big and rough, and they didn’t feel like his. Even holding a cup of coffee was a struggle.

And then there was the mustache. The mustache, the beard. He could feel it every time he moved his upper lip, like it was mocking him. He kept running a finger over it without realizing, grimacing every time he caught himself doing it.

He went without the hat. A small save and grace. Though it looked weird enough to see Price's head not covered. He opted for a baseball cap instead. It did not look right.

The height was the only saving grace. Not that it changed too much. By the end of the day, Gaz was ready to be back in his own body. This one might’ve been built for battle, but it sure as hell wasn’t built for him.

Price:

Price in Soap’s body was almost funny. He took it better than the rest of them, though. Years of experience meant he adapted quickly, but there was no getting around the fact that Soap’s frame was different. Lighter, more agile. He’d step too far when he didn’t mean to or overshoot a motion that should’ve been precise. It wasn’t bad, just… off.

What really threw him was the height. Price wasn’t exactly short, but Soap’s body was noticeably smaller than his own. He kept having to look up at people he wasn’t used to looking up at.

Every time he ran a hand over his face and felt only stubble, it threw him. The absence of the weighty mustache and beard felt wrong, like forgetting a piece of his uniform. And God, that mohawk. He got his hat, shoving the thing on to Soap's disappointment. Still, he appreciated the lighter frame when climbing stairs. His knees were happier-or he was happy to feel Johnny's knees? -even if the rest of him wasn’t.

[angel-bugz]

Lazy, tired writing today bc I need to write something... life is hectic for me recently...

Overworked!Reader who, on the rare occasion, is asleep by the time the boys return from deployment. More often than not will you be able to hold out for long enough and stay awake to welcome the two back home - to eat together, and to all crawl to bed.

This time, the space is quiet as they enter the front door. Too quiet. Simon is yet to hear your soft footsteps padding down the hallway and Soap can just barely smell the remnants of a home cooked meal. They know instantly, that it's been one of those days. They soften at the mere thought of you in bed, cozy and warm. One shushes the other and they quietly set down their belongings, taking off their shoes with a caution similar to that of a recon mission. Hushed reminders to each other to 'be quiet'. Entering the bedroom, peeling off their most of their clothes in silence. The need to eat and shower forgotten about when they slide under the covers - one on either side of you.

In your sleeping state, your body knowingly melts in between theirs. Simon's arm wraps around your middle and Johnny's over your shoulder. All six legs tangled together. Perfect. Sleep and sound.

[bloomyblemy]

Ok what if…

what if the demons thought that lbh’s a husband snatcher?

listen ok so I’m pretty sure the demons know that LBH’s keeping a dead body in his room BUT they also know that the war god is fighting for said body right?

now I find it funny if they think that LBH just took LQG’s dead husband and the war god is trying to get him back.

there are opposing sides to this one on LQG’s (‘he literally stole the dead body of his husband!) vs LBH’s (‘ maybe THE WAR GOD killed his husband how could you know?!’)

[dragonanon]

I just know in my heart Luffy would be an impatient little kid when you go to put on makeup.

You’re just sitting at your vanity trying to do your thing, and Luffy will be sitting nearby pouting and whining about why you’re taking so long. Every time you apply a different product, he asks if you’re done yet and then whines even more when you tell him no.

He only stops whining after he watches you use contour and highlighter, but then he pivots to “Holy shit, you can shapeshift?!?” Congratulations! Your boyfriend is now wholly convinced you can shapeshift by using makeup, and he insists on sitting with you the entire time you apply it so he can watch you “shapeshift”. It blows his mind every damn time.