#soap mactavish

[thy-bread-molds]

Silly Ghoap mini-comic incoming!

Sometimes we blurt out the most random stuff… Especially Soap.

[tame-the-lion-writes]

I adore the 141 dog shifter series! It’s so cute and fun! What if one day you were out without the boys and you found a stray puppy or kitten that’s actually an animal? The poor thing looks absolutely pitiful and honestly doesn’t seem that bright but you’re sure you can convince your pack to take them in (absolutely zero obligation, just putting it out there for polite funsies if you’re interested :))

Bless you, hun, cause I'm honestly falling behind on asks and it's getting hard to keep up <3 I will happily do a lil blurb for this

It was a rainy day when you found the kitten; a small orange thing with fur sticking out here and there. After scooping it up and putting it in your coat pocket for warmth, you looked around for any more kittens--or its mother, perhaps--but there was no other cat to be found. And you pitied it so deeply with its tiny yaps and whiny yowls that there was no question as to whether or not you'd take her home with you.

After a quick trip to the vet, Baby (as you don't know what else to call her) stays in the bathroom for a few days so the boys can get used to her scent. Not that you think they'd hurt her--they'd been so gentle nosing close to you once they realized you had a small kitten in your pocket--but she was certainly a firecracker for one so small. Peering at them from her perch in your hand. Swiping out with barely-formed claws.

"Think she needs to get used to you first," you chuckle, seeing Soap huff at another hiss. "She's not familiar with your scent."

That's when Price leaves to rummage through the closet space you've reserved for their things, and takes out the bucket hat from his Halloween outfit. The others follow suit--Gaz next, grabbing his hat, and Soap with one of the plushies you got him. Ghost with his bandana. But for the next two weeks that Baby sleeps in the bathroom, her favorite becomes clear: while she can still fit, Price's bucket hat becomes her makeshift bed and Baby Carrier. And never does she part from her big brothers.

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Baby: Papa! My shoes are too small!

Ghost: You have to put them on with the tongue out, Baby.

Baby: Thhey athre thstill thoo thighhht!

Ghost: ...

Ghost: Sometimes you’re too much like your dad, you know that?

[celestialprincesse]

Since ur taking requests… could I request this please? It’s okay if you don’t want to do it :)!!

Fluff!! 141tf trying to communicate with a new addition.. cause she doesn’t speak English as a first language.

Simon trying his hardest to be less sarcastic and damp his dry humor a bit so it doesn’t come off as scary or confusing to her, or soap doing that thing where he speaks slowly to get his point over. Gaz learning slangs and her language cause he’s a sweetheart fr and price already knows her language and she’s her bestie now.

<3

𐙚⋆°.

You'd only been called in to help TF141 as backup, a less conspicuous translator intended to help gather information on a covert mission - a quick in and out. Simple enough, right?

Simple enough, if any of them had a basic understanding of any language besides English. You know enough, but it can only get you so far.

Currently, you're sat in the common area, a pair of headphones smushed in your ears as you occupy yourself with an episode of 'Friday Night Dinners' - Laswell had suggested watching what she described as 'quintessential English telly' to get a better grip on the humour you were sorely lacking in an understanding of.

In fact, you're so immersed, and actually entertained, by the sitcom, that you don't notice a gruff "brew?" coming from Simon's general direction by the kettle.

"Oh, pardon?" You question, noting the way Soap's lips curl into an amused smile at your propriety, and Simon forgetting that most of his phrases and slang wouldn't be understood outside of a Manchester pub, let alone England.

"Cup of tea." Price cuts in, seeing the way your brows furrow with confusion, and slight disappointment at feeling left out, all of them bonded by their shared language - all but you.

"She'll have a builders, one sugar, splash of milk." The captain grunts in Simon's general direction, somehow having memorised the way you take your tea, and recited it before you can even get a word out. Honestly, you don't even like English tea that much, but you'd copied the way Gaz made his tea on the first day you'd arrived here, and made a habit of it since.

"Actually, I bought some herbal." He chirps up from the corner, taking off his cap to run a hand across the tight coils of his hair before replacing the union jack accessory. "Trying to cut back on caffeine." Gaz lies, not wanting you to feel like any more of a fish out of water. He's seen the way you'd scowled upon first arriving at the barracks to find the only drinks available being in the heavily caffeinated genre.

Despite their grasp on your language being far from fluent, they're trying in the ways they know how, and that's enough for you.

𐙚⋆°.

[evilgwrl]

hey sunshine 🥰 could you possibly do the 141 with a hyper independent reader? id love to see how they handle a s/o like this!! if not, i totally understand 💜💜 enjoy your sunday

Ofc!! I hope this is what you were looking for, I'm not the most educated on hyper-independence but I tried to do a lil research <3 Sorry it took me so long to write it, I've been having a hectic week

Your feet strummed against the floor; body restless as you looked at the flock of emails piling up. Fidgety hands were tugging at your hair as you looked at the time. Your laptop shut with a huff as you walked into the kitchen, eager to eat as your stomach grumbled.

There was a soft shell of steam covering the room, food broiling in the oven as you turned your attention to the chopping board. You swore quickly, the smell of burning sauce catching your attention as you turned to quickly stir it. Your body swayed back and forth, constantly focusing on something new as you struggled to keep up.

You had a strict schedule, always needing to be on top of everything. You enjoyed the smiles on the boy’s faces when they came through the door to a cooked meal. It was different today, however. Work had finished later than usual, pushing your activity back as the boys walked through the door.

“Hey, bonnie,” Soap flattered, pressing a kiss to your head as he looked at the kitchen, every saucer in use.

“Hi,” you smiled, swatting his hands away as he attempted to stir something.

“Smells good, love,” John cooed, husky breath against your neck as he hugged you from behind.

“I’ll set up the dining table,” Kyle chirped as you quickly yelped at a ‘no’.

“No, no. I’ve got it. Just go sit down. It’s nearly done.”

Simon raised a brow, taking in your quick no. They knew you enjoyed working alone, it just seemed easier for you, but the scene before him was overwhelming to look at as you rubbed at your forehead, pulling something out of the oven.

“We’re happy to help, sweet’art, just let-“

“No, no, I promise its fine. Please just go sit down.”

You were consistent as you shushed them out of the kitchen with a handtowel, turning your attention back to the scene in front of you. Soap frowned as he sat down, resting his chin in his hand.

“She’s gonna work ‘erself to death,” Simon scowled, concerned.

“You know how she is, she’s independent,” Gaz quipped, rubbing a brow.

You were a flurry, piling food onto the plates before they grew cold. You were quick to place all their plates down and hurry back, grabbing a stack of cutlery and cups, the glass pile slightly tipped. John raised from his seat to assist you as you pulled back, offering him a gentle smile.

“Let me help, dove.”

“I’ve got it, I don’t need help,” you spoke quickly as you moved too fast, the glasses tipping over as they clattered against the floor, shards of crystal collecting at your feet as you hissed, the four men surrounding you quickly raising to their feet.

Your legs padded against the floor as you hurried to the kitchen to grab a dustpan from under the sink, Soap quickly in toe. It was overwhelming as they crowded around you, trying to grab the scoop from your fidgety hands before you snapped, “I don’t need your help, just eat your food.”

Your tone was harsh as they stilled, staring at you with concern. Your face felt hot, unshed tears welling in your eyes at the situation. The glass collected in the black box, flickers of shimmer dancing off the sharp shards as you grabbed your own plate, heading to your bedroom.

You weren’t sure where it came from, the need to never ask for help but it ate at you until your body was scolding with overworked heat. The night ticked by slowly as you cooped yourself up in the warmth of your sheets, only getting up to clean as you walked to the kitchen, no mess in sight.

“I hope you don’t mind that we cleaned up, figured you had done enough for us today,” Price’s voice was soft, a glide of comfort slipping from his tongue as he placed his hand’s on his hips.

“I could’ve done it.”

“I know, we all know. But we’re here too, love. It’s not fair for you to take on every load of responsibility. You deserve help. We’re not going anywhere, and we want to show you that we appreciate you too.”

The words settled in your chest as you stared at him, placing the plate in the sink as you offered him a polite glance, attempting to wrap around everything he was saying.

“Thank you,” you said, eyes low as you began to wash. The tickle of hair was felt around your waist, along with two arms as Kyle pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

“We want to help you, love. You don’t need to go through anything alone, we’re here to support you the way you support us.”

You swallowed deeply.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you either, we just want our girl to feel the best she can,” Price spoke.

It was harder for you to talk about your feelings, your heart chained in between your rib cage, the need to ask for help always at the tip of your tongue but never able to leave, keeping you prisoner to your own despair. The boys left you for a little bit, asking you to join them in the living room when you were ready. There was a gentle pit of anxiety in your stomach as you huffed, ensuring everything had been done before you joined them.

It was a sweet sight to walk into. They were spread on the couch, reassuring smiles on their faces as Soap held his hands out towards the table, a chocolate cake decorated with the words ‘Thank you’ on it along with a bouquet of pink peonies.

You laughed, “When did you have time to get all this?”

“I’m quick,” Ghost beamed, tapping the spot between them as you huddled over.

“Thank you,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. It was hard for you to comprehend you had people wanting to help you, and you knew they would never be able to understand what it was like for you, but they tried their hardest, and that was the greatest gift you could ask for.

“Can I eat some cake now?” Soap chorused as you laughed, rubbing the back of his head before nestling into Kyle.

[blingblong55]

If Alejandro and Rudy were calling Soap "Hermano" during MW2 and now Soap is dead, do you all think Soap will have a place in their ofrenda? Also, I fear COD might've given us an easter egg when they showed the skulls with Soap and Alejandro's name (I know I'm like too late to even mention this). Maybe Alejandro was also meant to die in MW3 like Soap. As we saw that Los Vaqueros were meant to be apart of the campaign. And if Soap ends up in their ofrenda, you think 141 and Los Vaqueros will honour him by setting some food Soap mentioned in previous years? What if the old tradition to spill alcohol onto the ground for the dead, 141 does the same every time they go for drinks in honour of him.

Maybe I need some brotherhood to be shown in the campaign but it would be nice to see some image of it somewhere.

[v1x3n]

[emmster]

Little sneak peek 👀 full on my patreon

[mactavishenjoyer]

Gaz:"no offense but what do you see in ghost?"

Soap:"hopefully my dick someday."

[reynisxxsimart]

Soap ALONE mission 🧼

[eiraeths]

Penpals Ghost and Soap who met through an anonymous support group system for enlisted soldiers. Ghost didn’t want to join initially but some pushing from Price and he gave in. He didn’t expect much to come from it, a few letters here and there that’d eventually taper off and him and whoever his penpal was would forget about each other soon after.

Only that didn’t happen.

Ghost didn’t expect the person who wrote the letter to be in the same boat as him, sharing the same frustrations about support groups full of people trying to keep their head above the water, only to be organized and run by people trying to keep their head above the water. He didn’t expect himself to pick up a pen and start writing a response letter after reading the most horrid pun he’d ever rested his eyes on.

He didn’t expect to enjoy it, let alone want to know more about this Soap guy. More and more letters are sent and received and somehow, they integrate into his daily routine. He looks forward to the letters arriving twice a month. He never knew he could anticipate something.

Soap likes loud things, Ghost learns. Music, cars, explosions, any and everything loud. He has gym routines and lists upon lists of everything he does. He adores math and chemistry—for reasons Ghost can’t wrap his head around—and always goes on long-winded tangents about his day.

Ghost thinks he likes Soap.

One letter comes with a photo. A printed out polaroid with the center focus being on man with a mohawk. Soap says they’ve been talking long enough, and Ghost might as well know what he looks like.

Ghost didn’t expect for himself to track down a photo printing camera and send one back—no mask present—nor did he expect for Soap to call him cute. No one knew, but he kept the photo tucked into his plate carrier on every op. And he sure as hell didn’t expect to find himself flustered over some damn words.

A few years go by without a day missed. Ghost didn’t expect for Soap to miss sending a letter. Then two.

He didn’t expect to go to the mail room and his dread turn to excitement when he saw a letter addressed to him. Only to turn to dread when opening the letter to different handwriting, and knowing what happened, knowing Soap was dead the moment he didn’t see chicken scratch capital letters or random marks on the paper from where soap would tap his pencil while thinking.

He didn’t expect to feel this much grief over someone he never met in person. Didn’t expect to feel this much grief over what could’ve been, might’ve been if they had just met up.

[temeyes]

soap and coffee

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader finds out the mini army in her home actually A GROUP OF 4 GROWN MEN bcs shes taking them to the vet to castrate them and they panic and shift in her car just outside the vet you cant change my mind

Not gonna lie, I didn't think about them getting neutered until recently, either. But I can imagine reader tricking them into getting in her car, saying they're just gonna go to the park... and then the vet comes into view.

It's a miracle that you don't crash when the chaos starts. Soap is ramming himself into the glass window in an attempt to get out. Gaz is doing the same after hopping over the back seat into the trunk. Ghost is in a battle with you to keep the window up(--you forgot there's a switch to lock it, so it's just you and him pressing down on the button simultaneously). And Price, who normally gets the front seat, has attempted to hijack the steering wheel.

You pull over as soon as possible so you don't run over a pedestrian, but although Ghost has been seemingly calm the whole time, it's him who wedges a paw into the front passenger seat area and unlocks the door. Now you're chasing the boys down the street. Luckily, they just head home.

You've learned your lesson, though. At least, you do after a couple more tries. There is no strapping them in or putting on doggy seatbelts, because they get out of it anyway. There's also no blindfolding them, because it's like they've memorized both the directions and the mere sensation of where they're going.

Is losing your balls really that bad?

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Overheard at Captain Price’s office:

Soap: No. It’s not manipulation if he loves me.

[countrycrackheads]

Johnny would never admit it. No, he would rather die than ever say it. But you were the one that got away.

The friendly girl next door. His girl next door. The lovely lass he knew for all his life. You grew up together, practically watched each other grow from silly toddlers to rebellious adolescents. And adolescence were the years of sweet romance and whispered promises.

“I’ll be back for you, y’know that?”

“Do you promise, Johnny?”

“When have I ever lied to you?”

He strokes your hair and reassures you everything will be alright. He doesn’t mind that you’ve flooded his pillowcase with tears. He doesn’t mind the way you grasp his shoulders, begging him to stay. And he doesn’t mind the way you kiss him feverishly, forfeiting your maidenhood to him that very night.

Johnny leaves for boot camp the next day. Every reason you gave him to stay fell on deaf ears. Your beloved Johnny left anyway, his promise to come back forgotten.

Had he forgotten of his sweet girl? Of course not. He just doesn’t have the courage to see you again. Even the strongest of soldiers have their weakness. And for Johnny, it’s you.

i didn’t proof read this. enjoy!

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Ten

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: ANIMAL DEATH, gore, angst, kinda fluff at the end??? but very depressing chapter

Taglist: @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

Masterlist

GUYS I APOLOGISE THIS IS NOT AS GOOD AS I WANTED IT TO BE BUT IM HOPING TO FILL THE VOID WITH A SMUTTY NEXT CHAPTER </3

His vision was a stain of burnt umber, ropes of sepia blurring into blown pupils, eyes flushed with demand as he stared down at you. His cheeks were ample with a delicate rose hue, blonde lashes dipping into his skin every time he flickered down to your spread frame, your own lips flushed with the blush of the staggering movements between you two.

Silky webs of spit connected the two of you even when apart as exploring hands fed into the pillowy flesh of your thighs, groping at anything he could get a hand on. Your mind was fluttering, brain wracking with static as he felt over you, paying attention to every inch of delicate skin.

There was a harsh crack from the sky, a zip of thunder bellowing rage against quickly darkening sky as Daisy whinnied, trotting anxiously around her paddock, tail swishing as she bucked back and forth on her hooves. Cecil’s neigh sounded tortured as a strike of lighting broiled before zapping down into a patch of grass beside him, hind legs rearing as his body leapt over the lowest part of the fence.

You pulled away from Simon, a confused expression on your face as you pushed him aside, feet planted on the ground. Panic struck you as you noticed the lack of the stallion, a pained whine in the distance as you swore under your breath, burning legs scuffing against the dirt as you yanked open the gate, feet trampling onto Daisy in a rush as she bucked slightly.

Heavy feet kicked her hind as Ghost called out from behind you, the horse already trailing into the depths of the forest after the escapee. Bruises accompanied your skin as your legs slapped on the un-saddled horse, a wince leaving your lips at every stride Daisy galloped.

Trees succumbed to a blur as you whistled, mouth in a permanent ‘o’ as you called out for Cecil, a distressed huff leaving the mare as she darted between florae. The familiar crackle of tar sounded against her hooves as you reached the main road, your eyes clouded with desperation as you slowed down, frantically searching.

A scurry in the bushes alerted you as you listened to the sound of hooves scraping against the ground in the distance, a frantic neigh seeping into the wind as you hopped off Daisy, whistling for her to follow the road home as you sent her off, apprehensive feet trailing to the sound.

Fingers wrapped anxiously around a large rock as you ducked in between branches. The crackle of whines rode through the air, the disturbed tone of the horse’s pitch sending a surge of chills down your spine, paralysing you as you took in the sight.

Hot metallic rushed into your nostrils, pools of blood dribbling through an open wound, elongated talons of bone sticking out of the stallion’s leg as he let out a guttural whinny, eyes wide as his head slapped across the ground anxiously, teeth jutting with every agitated breath.

Your knees were weak, limbs slipping into a coma as you collided with the ground, your own flesh meeting the burn of twigs as you dragged yourself across the floor, a harsh sob sounding from you at the mangled, broken leg before you.

The horse was restless, snout slipping between inches of dirt as he attempted to rise, his weight fleeting to gravity as the sight of crumbled ivory dug into untouched skin.

“Fuck- I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” you wept, hands resting against his muzzle as you attempted to comfort him, pure agony displayed through the shiver of his muscles, twitching under broken flesh, fur saturated in the stench of crimson.

Your eyes were wild, stray tears pooling at your cheeks as you stroked the animal before you, pure misery evident in brown eyes as he huffed. “I’ll be back, I’ll be back, ok? Mumma’s gonna help you.”

Your voice was frantic, the crack of heartache slipping into every syllable as your chest wracked. Your legs felt useless, skidding against the road, trickles of blood pooling down your broken flesh, batters of broken skin tingling with irritation as you paid no mine.

The vision of the house before you was stagnant, the blear sight connecting like puzzle pieces as you blinked, sliced corium staining the handle rails as you tripped inside, mangled body colliding with the floor as you struggled to stand. Soap stood up in confusion, taking in the flummoxed sight of you.

“Bon, what’s wrong?”

“I need a gun and the car keys.”

“What fo-“

“I need them now,” you screeched, throat pained with desiccation as you rubbed desperately at your cheeks, skids of blood flushing your skin as you let out a pained sob. The Scotsman was quick, hurrying you to the car as you slammed the door shut, the chug of the engine crying into a ruptured breeze, the sound of lighting barely monitoring through you as you drove, hot tears cascading into the mixture of ichor painted upon you.

Soap was in a flurry, calling out to Gaz, who had found Daisy whining out front, quickly securing her away. Ghost had attempted to trail after you when you bolted off but lost sight, instead fixing the broken fence that had caught on Cecil’s hoof.

The commotion from inside hicked in Price’s chest as he fled down the stairs, only missing you as he watched you leave.

“What the bloody fuck is going on?” the Captain huffed, eyes brushing against bushy brows.

“She came in, covered in blood, screaming for a gun and the car keys-“

“And you didn’t think to go with her?” Ghost spat, storming into the house.

“She wasn’t waiting for anyone- didn’t even shut the car door as she drove off-“

The road in front of you was a blur as you followed the sickly trail of blood that leaked through an opening in the bushes, the ignition still running as you hopped out. You clambered through the bushes, wincing as a branch snagged against your cheek.

The silence was deafening as you whined, pushing through a broken web before stumbling upon the severed horse in the distance. Your scream entangled in your mouth, trapped between your tonsils as you subsided to the forest floor, the grunts of the dead stampeding across the stallion’s body, hisses of torn flesh seeping with blood as its head buried into the thickness of crimson-coloured mud.

“Get off him,” was supposed to leave your throat, but nothing did. Your whine was agonising, scorching through the grounds around you as the carbon steel slipped from your fingers, your hands shoving at the zombies surrounding the corpse as you grabbed the rock you had dropped earlier, pummelling into the rotting skull of one.

The sickly scent of mould infiltrated you as you gagged, straddling the body of another as you thrashed down on it, the squelch of a blackening brain migrating into the crevices of the miniature boulder. Your lips were pulled back in a snarl as you kicked the final deformity from your horse, battered hands colliding with the brittle bones that supported a decayed cerebrum.

Your pummels were never-ending, the rock scraping into the dirt as the monster turned to mush, nothing but the crumble of perished organs left. Your wail was excruciating as you collapsed against the dead horse, his body mangled into a pile of broken flesh, wounds tethered against fur as his eyes rolled into a lifeless state.

The rain that followed was harsh, pooling around you in an infested state as you struggled to breathe, your lungs popping with turmoil as you bawled, thick hiccups catching in your throat.

Your body collapsed into a tender frame as you struggled, clambering to save the horse that was already dead. “L-Let me go,” you wept, as heavy arms only took you away. There was a soft rustle against your hair, fingers running through the locks of your hair to comfort you, the sound of a gunshot going off in the distance.

Your eyes were struck, by blank images of massacred limbs and stolen innocence coerced you to stay awake as you stared aimlessly down the road, your ears static as Ghost attempted to talk to you, his hands tucked around your waist.

You didn’t reply.

You were grief-stricken, barely able to make it up the stairs as you were undressed, wounds seeping across broken skin as you barely hissed when a rag was pressed against it. You were defunct, your eyes void of nothing as your lips folded into a thin line.

The bare warmth of the water did nothing for you as Price lifted you in. Unheard words passed through you as you watched him walk away, your head slipping under, and your eyes still open.

You didn’t want to close them. Not now, not again. It was a deadly compilation. Flickering images of the gruesome scene haunt you with every blink. The water had turned a murky pink, dirty liquid sloshing as hands scorned under your arms.

“Sweet’art, I need you to answer me. I need you to tell me if you swallowed any blood or flesh.”

You only blinked.

“Y/N, I’m serious,” Price snarled, prying open your mouth as you snapped him away.

“No.”

That was enough for him.

The rest of the night had turned to a soundtrack of haze, pushy hands bringing water to your lips as you shoved them away. Your knees were sticky with wet cotton and bandages, your palms stinging with the residue of alcohol. They all came in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead in an attempt to soothe you.

Simon was last, his hands resting against your cheeks as he pressed dry lips into the heat of your skin. You winced as you grabbed his wrist, broken eyes glancing up at him with strains of blood-shot veins.

"Will you stay?"