#soaps-used-urn

[soaps-used-urn]

About me:

I am 22 years old and use they/them pronouns. I will not be giving my real name to anyone on this platform (just personal preference) but you can call me ray (like the manta ray)

What I write:

Call of duty in the future I hope to expand this list

Requests:

On / Off

What will I refuse to write?:

Age regression,pedophilia,baby trapping,domestic abuse,teen/adult relationships, (I’ll add.)

Rules:

racism, homophobia, or sexism is not tolerated under any means. No minors if your age is not easily accessible you will be blocked. (I’ll add.)

My blocked list

Other creators works:

Gaz Price Ghost

Graves Soap Konig

Alejandro Alex Keller Farah

Rudy Kate

Help people out:

Mothana - @mothymunson

Ellie’s go fund me - @stargirlrchive

Car help - @stuffireadandenjoy

Daily click

Esims for Gaza

Donate feminine hygiene kits

Learn about Palestine

Extras

Discord server - @gothghostiie

Toby’s twitch - @tobytaco15

Food - @112-darling , @parksrway , @regalvoid , @robotics5

My writings:

Ghost

Dividers made by: @cafekitsune , @saradika

[soaps-used-urn]

Who I got 👇

Not mad one bit 😻😻

Screenshot and reblog with who you got!

I got this idea from this post by @/shyeehaw

Who I got 👇

I mean... I think I'd change my best friend but I'm cool with this 😅

[laswells-ashtray]

Simon isn't sentimental, but sometimes, after too many doubles, he'll find himself back on his gallery, back at the video.

It's blurry. The person holding the camera is having a hard time recording with their laughter, but he can clearly see Soap's face and hear the outrage.

"Wit dae ye mean ye cannae understaun me? A fuckin asked if yer wantin haulf ma piece, a dinnae ask if yer wantin yer hole. Aye or naw, ya git."

His brows are furrowed, blue eyes narrowed in a act of irritation to disguise how his lip twitches with the beginning of a smirk.

As Simon rewinds it, he wonders how much of the man will be lost in time. How much of Johnny did they lose in the wind before they brought an empty urn home.

If Simon has to use the video to remember his voice, how long will it be before he has to use a picture to remember his face.

[guppybibi]

part 2 to the johnny fic!

notes: this was pretty rushed,,,so it is fast paced..if u guys dont like this one i could always rewrite it! :3

taglist: @ennovi-9 @vvenus-child @msilwrites @tessakate @beatriceshadowmarvel2 @montenegroisr (for some reason i cant tag the others??) i'll try to do so in the comments

Grief was never an easy thing to heal from to begin with, so Simon has kept a close eye on you ever since. You refused to believe him at first, trying to pull out some sort of proof that you were with Johnny this past year but to your own shock, there was none. Not a singular one.

Luckily, Simon had a xerox copy of Johnny’s death certificate. The original copy was with you but it seems that it was burned to ashes based on the reaction you gave when Simon dangled it over your face.

But you really weren’t believing him, shielded in the denial you were holding tightly close to you. “Where’s the urn with half of his ashes then, eh?” Simon throws the question at you, his words unintentionally harsher than expected.

But he really doesn't get what you've been trying to convince him to believe, don't you remember spreading Soap’s ashes? He expected you to at least remember that part.

“The…what?” That was all you could manage to say right now, your voice failing you now of all times. “The urn with his ashes.” He repeats, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he intently watches your expression.

Simon starts to wonder how hard of a psychosis you went through, or if you ever took drugs after Johnny’s death. That would explain the hallucinations as well, there's no shame in it either. It's not unusual for someone to turn to substances during mourning, it's a common coping mechanism.

All Simon wants to focus on is you, for you to get better. Fuck Johnny for leaving you alone like this, the pitiful sight almost made Simon's face be a constant scowl.

Okay..maybe he was exaggerating but he’ll definitely throw a middle finger up to the sky later. Simon knows it'll probably make Johnny laugh his ass off…or worry. It really depends if he knew your current situation.

Either way, none of that stuff matters much. You have no choice but to be in Simon’s care.

He’s not quite sure what to do when you start crying into his chest the moment you two stepped into your house, no longer a home. He remains still, lightly patting you on the back as he guides you to the couch.

He’ll be here for a while, won't he?

~~~

It's been weeks since you've known about Johnny’s death, but the only thing Simon could notice was the lack of improvement.

You were rotting in bed, relying on Simon completely for you to do basic tasks. You spent most of the time crying and sleeping, an endless cycle that even made Simon feel like he was going crazy.

“C’mon, eat up, luv. I made you some soup. We're runnin’ out of groceries as well, wanna tag along later?” He offers, holding up the spoon full of soup to your mouth. Expectedly, with a disinterested look, you turn your back on him.

He sighs, putting the bowl aside. “Alright, I won't make you go but the offer is still up.” He says, pausing when he hears footsteps get closer and closer to the door.

It's…weirdly familiar. Simon could recognize people based off of their footsteps alone, but he simply couldn't place his finger on this one. As it got nearer, you seemed to notice it as well..

The two of you make questioning looks at each other. “Stay there, I’ll go check it out.” Simon stood up, making his way to the door until a certain someone pops out.

“Bonnie? Ye there? Git us some groceries.”

…Another shared look between you and Simon.

“Oh good, there yer are, lass. Simon? You're here too? Glad there's another set of hands then.”

Simon’s gaze moved to you, seeing your eyes water up with tears. But that wasn't what caught his attention, it was the hole through this…Johnny’s head.

[criminalamnesia]

Alive

warnings: angst, sad Simon Riley, reader dies, gender neutral reader, no pronouns used for reader, mentions of death, no use of y/n, proofread but I’m human and might’ve missed something

summary: Simon loses you.

author’s note: simon deserves the world.

Simon Riley understood the risks of enlisting. He understood that he was one small cog in a machine, and although valued, he wasn’t crucial. He was a soldier, just like thousands of others that decided to put their lives on the line for something they believed in. If he had to lay his life down during his service, so be it. Maybe his sacrifice would make the world a little bit better.

Simon didn’t know what he believed now.

You were like him in the way that you understood the risks, but that’s where he thought the similarities ended. He was quiet. You were outspoken. He was harsh. You were empathetic.

He was your lieutenant. You were one of his sergeants.

It was against all logic for him to fall for you, yet he had. From the moment you’d been invited to join Task Force 141, Simon knew you would cause him trouble.

He knew by the way you threw your head back and laughed at one of Soap’s cheesy lines. Knew by the way you bested Gaz at pool. At the way you’d tried Price’s drink of choice, bourbon, and swallowed it down without any fuss.

He knew by the way you saw him as he was— not just as your superior or as ‘Ghost’— but as Simon. Simon, who cared deeply for his teammates, his family, beyond what his title required. Simon, who made shitty jokes at shitty times. Simon, who bickered with you over how to properly prepare tea.

He didn’t understand why you’d shown interest in him at first. He surely thought Soap would be the one to sweep you off your feet— but you shut the Scotsman down. You only had eyes for Simon.

He found out later that it was because the two of you were more similar than he’d previously believed. You were fiercely loyal, just like him. You never backed down from a fight, just like him. You dealt with shit quietly, just like him.

You understood him, and you didn’t push. You trusted him so completely, too. Fuck’s sake, you took a bullet for him.

“Ghost, move!” You had shouted, diving out of cover to shove the Brit behind a wall.

“What the fuck?!” He yelled at you, drawing his breath in shallow pants as his eyes narrowed at you from under his mask.

“You don’t listen for shit sometimes, LT,” you were shouting to be heard over the gunfire surrounding you. “There was a fucking sniper— you were gonna be shot!”

“He was a shit shot, Sergeant. I knew he was there—”

“Ghost, just say thank you,” you rolled your eyes and straightened.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled as his eyes scanned you, and you looked at him with confusion.

“What?”

“Maybe tha’ sniper wasn’t shit after all. Gotta get you to a medic, c’mon—” he began, reaching a hand out to grasp your arm and tug you away from the firefight.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, you had no clue what he was talking about. You looked down at your body as you allowed Ghost to drag you along. That’s when you saw the crimson peeking out from the edge of your vest, and the first pang of pain finally hit you.

“Oh, shit. Didn’t even notice,” you grumbled, and you could hear Simon grunt ahead of you.

“Adrenaline. An’ the fact tha’ you were mad at me.”

“If I was mad at you, you’d know it. Just think you should show more gratitude since I saved your life and all.”

“I’ll show gratitude when you ain’t bleedin’.” He huffed.

Fiercely loyal. It was a blessing to the team and a curse to you. Loyal to the men you called your family. Loyal to the cause. Loyal to the mission, no matter the personal cost.

Simon wished you would’ve let him take that bullet. Maybe then he wouldn’t be here with the remainder of the 141, holding the urn containing what was left of you. The gold-colored metal felt cool against his bare hands. It was almost soothing, but it would soothe him more if you were still by his side.

He knew that he’d never get the image of you laying there lifeless out of his head. It had been quick. Shot right in the fucking head, execution style. Simon hadn’t even realized what had happened until the gunfire had subsided and Soap was yelling.

His heart had nearly stopped. He knew this happened all the time— a soldier’s death. But he never expected it to happen to you.

The task force had been on so many missions together. You’d all survived so much shit, and Simon realized that up until the moment he saw your lifeless body, he’d felt that the team was somewhat invincible. Yes, he knew the risks, but all of you had gotten out of worse before. It was naive to think nothing would happen, and Simon cursed himself for it.

He knew that the abruptness of your death was the reason he couldn’t quite comprehend it. One second you’re there, warning him of a shooter to his left, and the next you’re on the ground with a bullet in your skull.

“Bravest fucking soldier I ever knew,” Price’s voice is gruff with emotion as he speaks. One of his hands rests atop the urn. “Most loyal, too. Took a bullet for all of us, one time or another.”

The other men nodded their heads.

“Kindest person I knew,” Soap spoke with a soft voice. “Outspoken, but kind.”

“Fought until the end,” Gaz said with a frown. “Rest easy, love.”

Simon knew it was his turn to say something. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to spill and smudge the black paint around them. He knew how to be alone. He’d spent years alone. But this wasn’t just being alone— it was being alone without you.

He didn’t think he could go back to the way things were before he met you. He didn’t want to go back to the way things were. He wanted to fight and yell and get you to come back, but it wasn’t possible.

The hand he had in the pocket of his hoodie curled into a tight fist. The hand he had on the urn didn’t waver.

He didn’t want to say goodbye, to make this final. To close the door you’d opened when you stepped into his life and turned things on its axis.

“Rest in peace, love.” He spoke at last, his voice full of barely contained emotion.

There were too many things to say, but those were the words he settled on. ‘Rest in peace.’ He truly hoped you were at peace. Simon didn’t know what he believed came after death, but he hoped that wherever you were now, you were serene.

‘Rest in peace.’ It wasn’t goodbye, not explicitly. You’d always be with him— a dagger in his heart he couldn’t bear to remove. He’d carry the pain for the rest of his service, the rest of his life.

It wasn’t goodbye. You’d always be with him.

Price removed the lid of the urn. The men slowly removed their hands from the object, allowing Simon full possession as he drew his other hand out of his pocket.

He held the metal as delicately as he would hold you. You’d always laughed and told him you weren’t glass— you wouldn’t break. Simon knew that. Of course he knew that, he’d witnessed firsthand how tough you were.

But you were precious to him, and he treated you as such.

His fingers shook the slightest bit as he turned his body to face the edge of the cliff. It was a truly beautiful place, and Simon knew that if you could’ve seen it, you would’ve loved it.

A breeze picked up as Simon slowly tipped the urn. He watched the last bits of you flow through the wind. The other men of Task Force 141 turned and walked away quietly.

Simon remained there, rooted to the spot, until he could no longer see the scattered ashes of you floating in the breeze.

[onlytavs]

YOUR OC PLAYLIST

Just post a picture of your OC with a Playlist of songs that you feel fits your character or their story.

I'll begin using my character, Tove Elunthir. She is my other OC, Sion Elunthir's twin sister. Both were raised in a Druidic circle.

🪷 Bloom For Me - Pearly Drops

🌌 Stream Of Consciousness - Lola Young

🐝 Hunnybee - Unknown Mortal Orchestra

🏺 Urn - Crying City

🥀 Me and the Devil - Soap&Skin

👁 Verónica Pass - R. Missing

No pressure tags! : @bg3screenshotdump @wasteful-sam @aoifethephoenixqueen @fromdawntiltwilight

[soaps-used-urn]

Ghost fics by other creators

Red= dark fic

Orange- fem reader

Green- g/n Reader

Purple- male reader

? - I’m not exactly sure

(I’ll keep adding DONT get mad bc there may be more than others..)

Goth reader - @v1x3n

Meeting Soap - @lovifie

Mermay - @pieckyghost (Johnny included)

Chain breakers - @bunnys-kisses

New recruit - @batfleshh

Tamed - @batfleshh

Lieutenant ghost - @ltash

Ink and needle - @gloomwitchwrites

Older boyfriend - @afatkidclub ?

Simon and his cat - @xoxunhinged

Self aware Simon - @puff0o0

Childhood bsf - @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries

Enemy’s? - @v1x3n ?

House of the rising sun - @vanderilnde ?

Late night visits - @batfleshh

Open the door to another door - @spicyspiders

Hours in silence - @sarahs-secrets2

Bury me beneath the basswood tree - @vanderilnde (Johnny included)

Ghost buster - @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries

Through me- @peachesofteal

Bimbo Reader x Ghost - @tojisun

Poking - @ninothebirb

I’ve got u sunshine - @lostquinn

Gold rush- @midnightarcheress fem reader

Wedding headcannons - @azereus (gaz included)

Affection - @batfleshh

Bunny Reader x Ghost - @pieckyghost

Mermaids - @peachesofteal fem reader

Only dinner - @astroknottt

Dumb cat - @writingoddess1125

Queens guard - @danibee33 fem reader

You fall asleep on him - @witchthewriter (tf141 included)

Rigor mortis - @b33zlebubz fem reader

Bimbo Reader - @yawnderu

Pictures he sends you - @cntloup

Simon being a light sleeper- @ghvst-ing

He saves u from creeps - @cntloup

Times you made him cry - @rodolfoparras

Bigger - @batfleshh

It’s a match! - @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries (tf141 included)

Take it all - @vivwritescrappythings

Him being vulnerable - @midnightcrw

Ur angry - @rodolfoparras

Idk how to title this.. - @shuosen

Bunny Reader x Ghost - @pieckyghost

Barracks bunny - @fortheb0ys

Zombie ghost - @simp4konig

Ghost backstory - @waiting-so-long

Whipped Simon - @c3berus

Dividers by - @cafekitsune

Header by - Pinterest

[red5cars]

all that remains, pt.2

simon x soapsdaughter!reader | past ghoap

cw: discussions of death, soap is dead, alcohol/drinking mentions, brief instances of homophobia (not from simon nor reader)

prev | next

synopsis: after going no contact for nearly two decades, simon riley gets the closure he's always needed with his sergeant. except its through his daughter.

simon can count the funerals he’s been to on one hand.

the first was his gran's, a distant woman whose more memory than material. despite that, he can still make out the many lines on her face, the portrait that they used, and the way his mother squeezed his hand, the other half resting on her protruding belly.

second funeral, which he's unsure if he should count it, comes a year after his gran's. the year 4 class pet, findleton fishgerald, was found belly up upon walking into mrs.barett's room. playtime was instead used as a period for mourning, him and his fellow classmates listening to their teacher give a speech about the poor goldfish.

(now that he thinks about it, fish looked more like a corpse each passing day. it was only matter of time before the little guy kicked the bucket. well, swam out of it)

the third funeral was for multiple people, but they were mourned and packed into an urn on the same day so it counts as one. the contents of said urn include his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew.

it sticks with simon. his nephew in particular. he died when he was four, his first (and last) encounter with death beating simon's.

the few days after were a blur, but he can still taste the aftermath of his carnage, as well as the whiskey he drank following it.

now, he's attending his fourth funeral. johnny's.

well, 'attend' is an overstatement. stalking is a better describes simon. sitting in the shitty rental he got, parked in the second lot over of the cemetery, away from everyone who claims to love johnny.

bet they didn't love him like he did.

if he wanted too, he could walk over to the gas port, remove the cigarette from his chapped lips and toss it in there. last thing he sees would be this rusty pick-up, his soul barreling towards damnation.

he won't, knowing the muppets that come across his remains will leave him here, too close and yet too far from his johnny.

to others, it may be difficult seeing the gathering, but a trained eye like simon sees everything. he can make out gaz and price from the crowd, as well as johnny's mum.

age has not done her any favors, looking as bitchy as the day he met her. still, she was an important person to johnny.

if only she accepted he was too.

briefly, he thinks about getting out of his car, walking towards what would be a scandalous, bittersweet reunion. sure, price and gaz'll be there to defend him if things get ugly, but blood is thicker than water. even if the string binding johnny and him was red.

(is it severed because he's dead? or does it go deeper? six feet under and unfrayed)

he decides to let them mourn without his interference. the last thing he needs is that hag telling him this is all his fault, with his agendas and whatever the fuck they rant about at churches now.

without sparing a glance, he starts the rental. a small part of him is thankful for parking so far away, the obnoxious rumble of the engine would reveal his location if he were a few feet closer.

he backs out of the spot before heading south, vowing to come back later. only johnny and him.

and the groundskeeper, if his unlucky streak continues.

——————————————————————————

it continues.

shouldn't have. he came back in the middle of the night, the witching hour. while he isn't into the paranormal, a foolish part of him thought johnny's spirit might say some parting words. unless he already left the plane. bastard.

if anything, he was prepared for an intimate moment with the scot, say what he's wanted to say, or at least attempt to. the only feeling he can properly communicate is anger, this aching sadness an unwelcomed yet familiar weight on simon.

that's what he was ready for.

he wasn't ready to find a woman dressed in pajamas and an arm sling kneeling in front of johnny's gravestone.

while he can still see quite far, the night obscures more than it used too, only clocking her when he's a few feet away.

strange, he doesn't recognize her from the funeral crowd. then again, he didn't care for anyone else besides the corpse.

he thinks about retreating, would probably be best to visit when the sun's up, rather than lurk like some ghoul.

simon's begun to turn on his heel when a scream pierces through the air.

he turns back around to find the girl, hunched over the tombstone, clutching it with her free arm. her screams are alarming, like a siren going off in the middle of the night. it might just be a loon, having escaped the bin and is hugging stranger's tombstones because they aren't sane (neither is simon, but he has a semblance of common decency).

it's another sign he needs to go, do a 180 and come back in the morn. though, he pauses upon hearing the girl let out a strangled cry that vaguely resembles "dad.."

no, that can't be right. he knows the crash didn't just involve johnny, his whole family too (unfortunately not his mom).

he knows for certain johnny's wife didn't make it, but the daughter.. the daughter..

he turns back around, zeroing in on her like she's a target. it's hard to see her features, and from what he can see she looks nothing like johnny.

but she is injured. and a girl. and she keeps crying for her mom and dad rather loudly and-

fuck.

there's no denying that before him is johnny's kid. johnny’s daughter.

a mess of a woman, snot and tears running down her face, her skin stretching after she lets out another sob, curved lines surrounding her anguish.

he has to retreat now. simon has, and wants, no business with any of the other mactavish's. if she's anything like the rest of them, he's sure the girl hates him, will damn him to an eternity in hell if he so much as approaches her.

so for the third time that night, simon begins to turn, set on leaving this cemetery and never coming back. what's another twenty years without johnny? he's lived his life in constant pain, won't stop now.

he's taken about three more steps when something rustles underneath him. simon looks down, his foot landing on a pile of leaves. it isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get johnny's daughter (whose cries have quieted down by a few decibels) attention.

"..hello?" it comes out just as tear-filled as her other proclamations have. his back remains turned. if he can't see her, she's not there. this is all some fucked night terror, and he's going to wake up in his johnny's arms in 3, 2, 1-

"i said hello," her voice is a bit more firm, as if she's fully materialized into a person rather than some grief-stricken thing. reluctantly, simon turns , the girl now standing before him. the soft light of the moon illuminates her tear-stained face, the knees of her pants dirtied from kneeling over her parents' grave.

to think, his johnny would have a kid without saying anything. it might be low, but given how simon reacted to their split, he can't blame the man.

the silence continues to stretch on between them. poor kid, probably waiting on simon to break it. he's surprised her first instinct isn't to run or scream for help, but people in mourning tend to forget themselves in their grief.

simon knows firsthand.

a frown stretches across her face when she realizes simon isn't going to say anything. she sighs, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand.

"look, i'm not on anything, and- and i was here earlier for a funeral i just..," she takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body becoming loose as she exhales, "i need more time with my folks," a pause, "alone."

it's a sentiment simon knows all too well, having lost many people. even the damned fish, he wished he was able to spend more time with it.

and simon's ready to oblige, bid her 'goodbye' wordlessly, make her think he was just some hallucination her sorrow conjured up. be nothing more than strangers in an awkward situation.

although, this isn't just a stranger. this is johnny. well, his daughter. and even if she's annoyed at him, its not for the reasons he thought it be.

in another universe, he's already left. hell, he hasn't even shown up in the first place. but in this one, he doesn't do any of that.

instead, simon does the unthinkable;

“pint for your troubles?”

he offers her a drink.

[soaps-used-urn]

Awe this is so cute ! 🤍

Sanrio 141!!! The sillies dressed as 141 today :D

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt8

Howdy y'all! It seems I'm back. I'm writing this at like 5 AM. Idk why it seems like y'all didn't like the last part? Was it too long? Were the colors overwhelming? Hopefully not cuz it's so much more in here. Anyway here's the next part. Tell me if it's too long. Also I got college tests comin up so.....expect some delays for the next few days

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part2, part3, part4, part5, part6, part7

------

You’re standing on a cliff side, the sunset beautiful and fleeting. Ash swirls around you. You look to where it’s from and it’s your cat Simon tipping over the urn. The ashes surround you as a mysterious laughter surrounds you, along with mocking words you don’t understand but just know they’re meant to be despairing. And that he has a Russian accent for some reason. The ash swirls faster and the next time you look at Simon he’s a charred mess of what he used to be.

“Simon?” You ask, distraught and horrified at your sweet kitty’s death. Simon’s eyes were dead and bluer than you remember. The ash surround you more and more and you sense Johnny’s presence. You don’t know why or where.

“Johnny?” You call out and the Russian’s voice grows louder and more mocking as more, sadder voices joined in. It didn’t feel like there was an outside source to the voices. It felt like it was in your mind.

"He was the best of us"

"The toughest"

"Would have fought the world barehanded"

Your location changed and you’re looking over Johnny’s dead body, the shot on his head bleeding nightmarishly. His lifeless eyes pointing at you without looking at you. You hear an authoritative voice announce: “All stations- this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe... One KIA.”

You see a strange shadowy figure loom over Sergeant Soap. His shadows reminded you of the fur on Simon.

It was hard to make out but you saw a skull with hollow eyes and knew you just knew that this was death and he was going to take Johnny away from you. You look at the horrific state of Johnny. Your mouth doesn’t move but you’re calling out to him as the reaper takes him away.

“Johnny! No! Please!”

You couldn’t move, you were running but it’s like you weren’t moving. You call out to them more but it’s like you weren’t actually screaming. You catch up to them and tackle death, but he and Johnny disintegrates into shadows and ash that surround you again. The voices come back: the Russian, the voices, Johnny himself. You couldn’t understand anything you’re hearing other than occasional words:

“KIA” “Bonnie!” “Be careful who you trust sergeant. Peo-“ “bravo six goin da-“ “-ple you know can hurt you the most” “translate that from bullshit to eng-“ “hen! I’m here” "-the toughest" “or I’ll FUCKiNG hang you from it” “would have fought the world bare handed” “LOVE! WAKE UP!”*

——————————————————

You GASP loudly as you’re shaken from your torture.

“Lassie?” He shakes you again

You look at Soap “Johnny?!”

“Aye I’m here what hap-“ you hug him tightly, just like the one you gave him yesterday: strong, tight, wet, bordering on suffocating if he wasn’t so durable, all done while you’re shaking. He grips you back, rubbing your back and ruffing your hair. “Birdie…what happened?”

You squeeze harder and he catches the hint that you just need to be grounded right now. He leans into your ear and whispers reassurances

“Jus’ a bad dream Bonny lass, yer here with me now. Yer big strong man, back from war safe and sound. You’re okay Bonny nothing is gonna hurt ya.”

“I’m not worried about myself Johnny..” you mumble. His words hit him like a brick all over again and his heart swells. he’d tease you for falling for him but…not now.

“Aye….I’m…sorry tae worry ye”

“I saw you dead…”

“…..” he goes quiet

“I saw you dead…and…and death took you…a-and…I-I tried to stop it b-but he disappeared a-and Simon also died and was burned-”

“Hey, hey…hen…jus’ a nightmare okay?”

“I’ve had this exact nightmare before. I don’t know why it keeps happening. It feels so real.” You finally pull back, looking at him. This time, when looking at the bandage on his head, you feel relieved. He’s hurt, but he’s here. Here and breathing. You place your chin on his neck and look up at him with soft puppy eyes

“I’m worried for you”

“I Ken.”

“You could’ve died”

“Aye”

“Your head was shot”

“Dinnae need ta remind me.”

You sigh and close your eyes as he ruffled your hair.

“I’m here Bonny. I cannae promise you to be back next time. I’m not that naive, seen too many a men sharing a laugh wit me one night and share a body bag the next. Hell, even civis die without warnin’ all da damn time. I cannae promise ye next month or next week, and neither can you, but I’m promising ye right now. And right now I’m layin’ in my kip with the fairest princess in the land.”

You crack a smile

“Aye, she’s even fairer now”

You giggle and hide your face into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here Johnny”

“Haven’t heard you say that before. Say it again?”

You don’t shake your head or roll your eyes, instead you jump up to wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close to your chest

“I’m so happy that you’re here Johnny!” He growls and grips your body harshly

“I could get used tae this bein my good mornin’” he rasps

“Hmm..me t-…..” you stop, remembering something

.

.

“birdie?”

You pull back and have an annoyed look on you

“Johnny.” You say firmly

“A..aye?”

You grip his face roughly, as if trying to punish him “were you awake while I was trying to get out of your hold last night?”

“Dinnae Ken wha’ yer talking aboot’”

“Johnny.” You say ever firmer, looking at him with a piercing gaze

“Yes gorgeous?”

“Were you. Awake. While I was trying to go sleep in my bed?”

“…..”

“Johnny?” You growl, your touch now pressing into his head injury (not too hard through) to get your point across. “Tell me the truth”

“I love you mo chridhe”

“JOHNNY! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!”

You rip the pillow out from under him and raise it above your head like a bloodthirsty barbarian, ready to strike

“Princess! Mercy please I beg o’ ya!”

“There’s no doll here now sergeant suds! Now it’s your superior! And you’re taking discipline”

He laughs at your mimicry, blocking your pillowy bludgeons to the body

“Since when-" smack "-were you-" smack "-my superior?”

You growl and increase your pace.

“I dinnae take orders from a civi!” He chuckles. He tackles you to lay down on the bed while you continue to pillow smack him.

“I’m the princess. I outrank you sergeant! Now unhand me!” You blow your tongue at him.

“Yes yer highness.” He rolls off you. You jump off the bed, face red at what you endured. He gets off and runs up to you too.

“C’mon leannan, aren’t ye glad that yer brave soldier was there to protect ye from the nightmare?”

Pause.

Well….that’s true. Who know how bad that nightmare could’ve gotten if he didn’t shake you awake and comfort you. He hugs your from behind, doing that terrible habit of leaning in close behind you to speak lowly over your shoulder while being half dressed

“I’m just doin’ by job princess. Duty calls”

“And does your Call of Duty include trapping and annoying the princess until she attacks you with pillows?”

“Tis’ Modern Warfare bonny. Things are like that these days.”

“And the bedtime story you made me tell?”

“Tis’ Modern Warfare too. I’d die for it” You sigh. He’s impossible. He leans into your ear more. “If it’s nae too late, Good mornin’ leannan”

“It’s the afternoon Johnny. It’s what happens when you sleep around sunrise”

“My sunrise happens when my sun rises”

“And when that?”

“When didja wake up?”

You blush “shut up.”

“Yes yer highness. Yer always so grumpy in the mornin’”

“You’re always annoying in the morning. Do they train you to be a nuisance the second you wake up?”

“Aye, ye never Ken when they might get piece o’ mind” You shake your head and try to move, his arms are imprisoning you fucking again*

“Johnny.”

“Nae”

“……I’ll make you breakfast”

“A big one?”

“Yes you beast. A big one. But you’ll have to get dressed more than your underwear.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. You don’t see me walking around the place with jus’ my skivvies on do you?”

He shrugs “sounds like a you problem.”

“Do it and I’ll give you the flat’s entire inventory of bacon and a dozen eggs”

He lets go and dashes to the closet to get dressed. You smile and skip to make a feast fit for an army. A one man army that is. A tiny while later he there, shirtless but at least he’s got pants on.

“Thank you honey”

“You don’t have to say that. And I’m not your honey” you say the line you’ve said many times to the point where it’s an affectionate routine like your personalized greeting

“Then why are you so sweet to me hen?” He says on cue.

“Okay you Lorne lad. Go sit down as I make you breakfast”

“I want tae hel-“

“Sit down.”

He obeys and spends the entire time staring at you, just like Simon, who’s watching nearby. As per promise you added the rest of all the bacon you had into a skillet

“Aye, little more?” He teased

“This is like a kilo of bacon”

“Not enough”

“Sush this ain’t epic meal time.”

You decide to be a cunt to prove a point make enough food to feed the entire cast of Game of Thrones. Let’s see him ask for more now. what’s in an English/Scottish breakfast again?

Eggs. How many Eggs? Well no one eats eggs like Gaston, but Gaston hasn’t met Soap.

Sausages. How much sausages? Enough to make AO3 look clean enough to have a church service in.

“Ohh leannan that looks good!”

“I said shush let me finish”

Beans. Beans? You and the boys at 3AM Lookin for BEANS and this is enough gas to keep a tank in orbit.

“Bonnie I think that’s eno-“

“Shush”

Mushrooms. He wants mushrooms? Here’s Enough to recreate The Last of Us.

Does Johnny boy want toast? Here is Enough to eradicate the local duck population from existence, then enough tea to recreate the Boston tea party and serve the queen leftover. But knowing Johnny he’ll want coffee too.

How much coffee you give him? Enough to make a college student flinch

Aaannnd finally tomatoes. That’s Enough tomatoes to boo away every mediocre LA comedian into a better profession.

“Done” you grin and turn to look back at Soap, who was visibly salivating. You chuckle “are you hungry princess bubbles?”

“Aye” he says looking at the domestic scene before him. You, in pajamas and his shirt, making him a breakfast feast when he came back from deployment. It’s not just the food he’s salivating at.

“Eat up” you start serving it all and he digs in like a wild dog. Before meeting him, You’d be disgusted and put off by this barbaric behavior, but because it’s Johnny, not only do you let it slide, you also find it endearing.

Simon jumps on the table, you shoo him away from your plate, trying to make him eat from his kitty bowl. It’s on the table because he refused to eat otherwise. He wants to eat with your two and that’s final.

He, for some reason decided to eat from Soap’s plate, which was smart because Johnny “I’ll eat anythin’ you make me” Mactavish doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

You leisurely eat your food as Johnny seems to be challenging Matt Stony for his records. You sip on your beverage, that’s in a cup, while Johnny drinks from the pitcher. He finishes his breakfast, a surprise to even you seeing how much he ate, and lays back with a groan

“I’m stuffed lass. Dinnae think I can move.”

“You didn’t have to eat all of it”

“Nae, I’ll eat anythin’ and everythin’ ye make”

“Yeah well, don’t get used to it. Do you have any idea how expensive that brand of bacon was?” You say looking at your phone casually

“Ye’d have more money if ye married me for military spouse tax benefits Bonny” You laugh, what a bold offer and yet it doesn’t sound too bad.

“I’m sure”

“Think about it Bonnie, I’ll make ye a Mactavish, you already act like one, makin yer soldier a feast after comin’ back from the war” oh is that why he was affectionate today?

You snort “oh no Johnny. Once you retire, you’re taking my last name”

“And why’s tha’?”

“it’ll do you some good changing your last name. If anyone asks why you took mine, just say you married a feminist” you sip your drink.

"what's wrong with Mactavish?" he whines through his chuckle

“You’re a war criminal Johnny.” You casually mention, as if Soap ever wanted you to know that.

Jazz Music Stops

He didn’t.

part9

[that-sudsy]

Broken Halo

pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x Widow Mactavish Reader

Summary: he is there for you and your son

John "Soap" MacTavish died a hero, and now his team gathered at the memorial site where they released his ashes. You were Johnny's wife, and it broke your heart when you heard the news that he was no longer coming home. You held your little five-year-old son, Alastair, in your arms. He was already mature for his age and very close to Johnny; Alastair was often referred to as "Little Johnny Junior."

The little boy didn’t fully understand what was happening. He didn’t ask questions as Simon Riley carried a small urn with him. You were crying, holding Alastair close to your chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

The TF141 team gathered at the memorial site, their faces somber as they stood around the small urn containing Johnny's ashes.

"We've brought him home," Price said, stepping forward and gently holding the urn while Gaz and Simon stood beside him, their expressions reflecting deep respect and loss.

Price noticed you holding Soap's young son, his heart heavy with sympathy. "We all miss him terribly. But seeing you with Alastair… Soap would be proud," Price said, looking at Alastair. The resemblance was striking; he had his father's blue eyes and head shape. The only features he inherited from you were your lips and ears.

You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks. "Thank you, Price."

Price placed a comforting hand on your shoulder while Gaz stepped closer to offer his support. "He fought bravely, saved countless lives. Now it's our turn to honor his legacy," he said.

The team formed a protective circle around you and Alastair, the wind gently rustling through the trees on the cliff. Price nodded solemnly, carefully holding the urn while looking to you for confirmation.

You nodded, holding Alastair close, who still didn’t understand what was going on.

Price gently opened the urn, the ashes catching the sunlight as they began to scatter in the breeze. You mumbled your goodbyes, burying your face in your son’s shoulder as you cried.

"Rest easy, Soap. Your sacrifice won't be forgotten," Gaz said softly.

Alastair watched the ashes swirl in the wind, his brows furrowed. "I don't understand," he said, making Simon look over.

Simon moved closer to Alastair's level, his usually stern expression softening. "Sometimes grown-ups have to go away, little one. Your dad was a hero," he said gently.

"He's not coming home?" the little boy asked innocently, his eyes wide with confusion.

Simon exchanged a pained look with Price before gently placing a hand on Alastair's shoulder. "No, he's not. But he'll always be watching over you from up there," Simon said, making Alastair look up, searching for what he meant before realizing the implication.

"But he promised to be home for Christmas," Alastair said, his expression turning sad as the realization sank in.

Price stood beside Simon, his voice thick with emotion. "Life doesn't always give us what we want, son. Your father was taken too soon. But we'll make sure to honor his memory every Christmas." Alastair shook his head in denial.

Simon pulled Alastair into a gentle hug, making you pass him to Simon while you hugged Price and cried into his shoulder. Price and the others watched with heavy hearts.

"I know it hurts now. But one day, you'll understand how brave and special your dad was," Simon said softly.

Alastair shook his head and wiggled until Simon put him down. Alastair ran towards you, hugging your legs tightly.

Simon stood up slowly, his expression troubled as he watched Alastair run. "Give him time. Losing a parent is never easy, especially at that age," Gaz said.

Alastair clung to you, tears starting to fall as he buried his face in your legs. "It's okay," you said, kneeling down to his level and hugging him. "I want Dad!" he cried out.

"I know, I know," you said, rubbing his back soothingly.

The team quietly began to step back, giving you and Alastair privacy while maintaining a respectful distance. "We'll be nearby if you need anything," Simon said softly.

Since that day, Simon felt uneasy leaving Soap's family alone. Soap was his friend, and he wanted to support his family. He thought about the times he needed someone when he lost someone he loved before; now he wanted to be there for you and Alastair.

One day, at your home, you heard someone ring the bell. When you opened the front blue door, you first thought it might be Johnny, but instead, you saw Simon's tall figure in the doorway. You hadn’t slept that day since Alastair was having nightmares, and you were too shaken to believe that Johnny was gone. You looked at Simon and said, "Simon," greeting him softly.

Simon stood at your doorstep, his mask hiding any visible emotion. "Thought I'd stop by. Need help with anything?"

"Oh…" you said, thinking before responding, "Come in, come in." You welcomed him into your house, which was slightly messy and a little gloomy.

Simon stepped inside, removing his hood but keeping his mask on out of habit. "How's Alastair been handling things?" Simon asked, concerned about the little one, knowing he wasn’t taking it well since he always knew Alastair and Johnny were close.

You sighed. "Not really good," you said, shaking your head as you leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling a wave of nausea hit you.

Simon nodded understandingly, his posture tense with concern. "Kids are resilient. But losing a parent… it leaves scars. I can stay if you need help keeping an eye on him."

You were surprised that there was still a good man like Simon out there. You were taken aback by his offer and looked at him. "You would do that?" you asked.

Simon met your gaze through his mask, his voice steady and sincere. "Soap was my brother. It's the least I can do for his family," he said softly, looking at you with concern. It made you feel warm and a little weary since you never knew Simon thoroughly; all you knew about him was that he was Johnny's friend. But you hugged him anyway, feeling your appreciation.

"Thank you," you mumbled.

Simon stiffened slightly at the unexpected hug, then awkwardly patted your back. "Don't mention it. Just… let me know what you need," he said just before you heard little footsteps stomping down the wooden stairs.

"Is it Daddy?" Alastair asked with slight hope. But when he saw Simon, he glared and ran back upstairs to his toys before Simon could speak. You had never seen your son act like that before, making you frown. "Alastair?" you called out.

Simon watched Alastair retreat, a pang of guilt crossing his features beneath the mask. "He still blames me for not bringing him back… can't say I blame the kid."

You turned your head to face Simon. "It's not your fault, Simon. I tried to explain to Alastair, but… he's only five."

Simon leaned against the wall, his voice quieter now. "I know you understand. But it doesn't make it easier to see him look at me like that. I was there when his father died, so it's kind of expected."

You nodded, and the silence between you two was deafening. The atmosphere grew heavy with unspoken grief. Simon broke the silence after a moment. "I should probably talk to him… even if he doesn't want to listen."

You nodded. "Sure, do you need or want to eat anything?" you asked.

Simon shook his head, pushing away from the wall. "No, I'm good. Just need to… sort things out with Alastair."

You watched him head upstairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs. For the first time, Simon removed his mask in the house as he passed by images in frames of you and Johnny's happy moments, frozen in time. Simon looked at them as he ascended the stairs to the carpet in the middle of the hall where your rooms were, and Alastair was playing. He had his favorite toys on the carpet: building blocks, toy guns, and plushies.

Simon knelt down near Alastair, his bare face showing a mix of determination and sadness. "Mind if I join you, kid?" Alastair didn’t speak. Simon sat down quietly, watching Alastair play with his toys. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of small plastic figures being moved and the clinking of Soap's dog tag around the boy's neck. Simon picked up the small plushie of a cow that was on top of a toy car, making Alastair grab it and say, "Let go of that Coo, he's the target!" His accent was thick.

Simon's eyes fixated on the dog tag, his throat tightening as Alastair took the cow. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a similar one—Soap's original tag. This caught Alastair's attention.

Alastair looked at it. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

Simon held it up for the boy to see, his voice rough with emotion. "Your father gave this to me before his last mission. He said to keep it safe… just in case. He has mine."

Alastair grumbled under his breath, something like, "He knew; he just didn’t come home."

Simon noticed the grumble, his expression softening slightly. "I know you're angry. And you have every right to be. But I need you to understand something, Alastair…"

Simon took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I loved your dad like a brother. And losing him… it broke something in me. I've been carrying that pain too."

Alastair looked at him, still angry. "You could have saved him… brought him home. Dad always promised, and he never does anything about it."

Simon's jaw clenched, his own guilt surfacing. "That's not true. He keeps his promises, but things just kept blocking his way. Like he promised you he'd get home every day after school; he did it. He tried his best to come home for events too. You're right. I should have been there. I promised him I'd have his back, and I failed. But I swear to you, I'll never forgive myself for that either," Simon explained.

Alastair stomped his foot as he stood up. "I hate Dad!"

Simon flinched slightly at the outburst but maintained his composure. "You don't hate him. I know you miss him. But hating him won't bring him back, Alastair. And he wouldn't want you to feel this way."

Alastair looked at him with suppressed sadness. "If he loves me and Mom, he wouldn't go."

Simon ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Sometimes people have to do things they don't want to do to protect the ones they love. That's what your dad was trying to do…" Simon leaned forward, his voice becoming more intense. "He wanted to keep you and your mum safe. He fought so hard for both of you, even when it meant putting himself in danger." Simon's eyes locked with Alastair's, filled with raw honesty. "Your dad was the bravest man I knew. And he loved you more than anything in this world. That's why he did what he did."

Alastair looked at the floor, his expression conflicted.

Simon watched him carefully, letting the silence settle between them again. "You can be angry. You can hate him if you need to. But one day you'll understand why he made those choices."

Alastair teared up. "I don’t mean it. I don’t mean what I said; I just want my dad home," he said, his shoulders slumping.

Simon's heart broke a little at the sight of Alastair's tears. He moved closer, his voice gentler now. "I know you don't. It's okay to be confused and hurt. We all miss him terribly," Simon said.

Alastair looked at him. "When you said he's brave, what do you mean?"

Simon smiled faintly, remembering Soap's courage in battle. "Your dad wasn't afraid of anything. He'd charge into danger headfirst without a second thought, even when things were stacked against us." Simon's eyes glazed over with memories as if it had just happened yesterday. "He was always cracking jokes, making everyone laugh. But when it came to protecting his team… he was like a wolf. Nothing could stop him. But deep down, he was scared; he just didn’t want people to be scared."

Alastair nodded, listening intently. "He isn’t like that with Mom… he's cuddly with her."

Simon chuckled softly, remembering how different Johnny was at home. "Yeah, with your mum, he was completely different. He'd be this big softie, always hugging and kissing her. It was… nice to see him like that. Don’t tell your mum, but Johnny is indeed a softie and a lamb when it comes to your mother."

Alastair nodded and giggled.

Simon stood up slowly, reaching out to ruffle Alastair's hair. "He loved you both more than anything. And I promise I'll always be here to look after you and your mum, just like he would want."

Alastair nodded. "I'm sorry."

Simon pulled him into a gentle hug. "You don't have to apologize. We're family now, kid."

Alastair hugged Simon's legs, and Simon held him tightly, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll get through this together. I won't let you down like I did your dad."

You were listening downstairs, smiling sadly to yourself. Alastair sighed heavily. Simon pulled back slightly, looking down at Alastair with concern. "What's on your mind, kid?"

Alastair shrugged. "Daddy."

Simon's expression softened further, understanding the weight of that single word. "I miss him too. Every single day. But you know what? He's watching over us right now," Simon said softly.

Alastair looked at Simon. "But I don’t want him up there; I want him with us."

Simon's jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I know… I know you do. And I wish he was here with us too. But he's still with us in our hearts, Alastair."

Alastair nodded, fiddling with Soap's dog tags. "I stole this from Mum and Dad's bedroom last night when Mum was asleep."

Simon raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. "You little thief. Your mum's gonna kill you when she finds out."

Alastair shook his head. "Nah… Mom doesn't care anymore…"

Simon's expression darkened at this statement. He knelt down to Alastair's level. "That's not true. Your mum still cares. She's just… struggling right now. We all are."

Alastair looked at Simon. "You need to help her; you're crying always," the little boy said, frowning.

Simon's eyes locked with Alastair's, a determined look crossing his face. "I'm trying. But your mum… she's stubborn. She won't let anyone help her unless she wants to be helped."

Simon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair again. "But I won't give up on her. On either of you. I promised your dad I'd look after you both, and I intend to keep that promise until my last breath," Simon said.

Alastair asked, "You're not replacing Dad, are you?"

Simon shook his head firmly, his voice steady and sincere. "No one can replace your dad. I'm not trying to. I'm just… filling the gaps he left behind. Protecting his family like he would want me to."

Alastair nodded.

Simon stood up, placing a hand on Alastair's shoulder. "Let's get some rest. It's been a long day. And maybe tomorrow we can talk to your mum together."

Simon carried Alastair and placed him in bed, only to find the boy wearing his father's hoodie.

Simon paused as he tucked him in, watching Alastair clutch the hoodie. His heart ached at the sight. "Still wearing your dad's clothes?" Simon asked.

Alastair nodded. "Even Mum did."

Simon's eyes softened with understanding. He remembered seeing you in Soap's clothes when you thought no one was looking. Simon tucked the blanket around Alastair, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Get some sleep, kid. And don't worry about tomorrow. We'll figure it out together."

Alastair turned his back on Simon and went to sleep, hugging his little cow plush.

Simon quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. He headed downstairs, where you were waiting, making dinner. "He's asleep. But he's still struggling," Simon said.

"I know… I feel bad for him," you replied.

Simon leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you cook. His expression was a mix of concern and exhaustion. "He's trying to be strong, but he's just a kid. We need to find a way to help him process everything."

You nodded while cooking, and Simon noticed your coffee mug with a mix of scotch; he could tell by the scent of it.

Simon's eyes narrowed as he saw the mug, a slight frown forming on his face. "You… how much have you been drinking today?"

You looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Simon stepped closer, pointing at the mug. "The scotch in your coffee. You've been drinking more than usual lately."

"I…" you were speechless, caught off guard.

Simon crossed his arms, his voice gentle but firm. "I'm not judging you. I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. You can't keep drowning your sorrows like this."

"I can't help it, Simon…"

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

[ltash]

Gone

The wind howled over the Scottish Highlands, a sharp, biting thing that cut through the silence. The sky stretched wide and gray, heavy with the weight of an impending storm. It was fitting, Ghost thought. The world should mourn him too.

Soap had always talked about home like it was something sacred. "Scotland’s got a soul, Ghost," he used to say, voice full of pride. "A proper one. Not like these places we get sent to, Scotland stays with you."

Now, Soap would stay here forever.

Ghost stood near the edge of the hill, watching as Gaz and Price each took a handful of the ashes. No words had been spoken for a long time. There wasn’t anything left to say.

The urn was passed to him, and for a moment, Ghost hesitated.

"You take the dark and carve me out a home..."

The war had never given him a place to belong. But somehow, Soap had made something out of the chaos, something steady, something Ghost had never dared to name.

And now, Ghost had to let him go.

He reached inside, fingers brushing against what was left of Johnny MacTavish. The fine powder clung to his gloves as he took a handful, his grip tightening slightly before he forced himself to move.

The wind caught the ashes as he released them, carrying them over the rolling hills, back to the land Soap had loved.

"I picture you when you are all alone..."

Ghost closed his eyes. He could still see him, Soap laughing after a mission gone right, teasing Ghost for being too brooding, nudging him with his shoulder like it meant something.

And it did.

It always had.

"I know how we got here... I know how we got here..."

They had walked the same path, shoulder to shoulder, through fire and blood. Soap had followed him into hell more times than Ghost could count.

This time, though, Soap had gone somewhere Ghost couldn’t follow.

"I am the shadow, you are the passenger..."

The wind grew harsher, howling around them like a living thing. Ghost barely felt it. His hand was still outstretched, fingers curled slightly, as if some part of him had wanted to hold on just a little longer.

"If you want to give, then give me all that you can give..."

"All your darkest impulses, and if..."

"You want to give me anything, then give..."

Soap had taken everything Ghost had been willing to give, had accepted him for what he was, flaws, silence, and all.

And Ghost? He had never said a damn thing about what that meant. Not until now.

His throat tightened.

Price stepped up beside him, clearing his own throat before speaking, voice rough. "He would've hated this part."

Gaz huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost lost in the wind. "Yeah. Would’ve told us we were being too sentimental."

Ghost said nothing. Just stared at the place where Soap's ashes disappeared into the distance.

"I'll tear the fiber from the filament..."

"I'll be the limit of your light again..."

Ghost had never been one for faith. But standing here, looking out over the vastness of Scotland, he wished he could believe in something, anything, that told him Soap was still here.

Not just in memory. Not just in the past.

But here.

"I will be watching for your enemies..."

"To let them know that they contend with me..."

Ghost exhaled slowly, the cold air burning his lungs. He had made a promise, long before this moment, and he intended to keep it.

There was a man out there who had taken Johnny MacTavish from him.

And he would find him.

Makarov.

Price clapped a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, squeezing briefly before stepping away. Gaz followed, giving one last look at the hills before turning back toward the vehicles.

Ghost stayed behind for a few more moments, letting the wind whip around him, letting himself imagine Soap standing there beside him, arms crossed, shaking his head.

"I want to know you're out there..."

"I want to know you're out there..."

Ghost’s fingers twitched.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a ghost at all.

Just a man missing his best friend.

[soaps-used-urn]

😻😻

[gofishygo]

hot takes part 3099097273: soap isn’t dead.

look- in modern warfare remastered, we’ve already had two characters- one of them a lead, die and then return to life out of nowhere. alex kellers return to the ulf after manually detonating a bomb that explodes the span of multiple buildings, graves who joins farah’s forces after being fucking fried in a tank. the developers no longer value the weight of characters on the plot, and will bring them back for shock value.

we’ve had a foreshadow already. graves’s line, “well, i wasn’t in that tank” after his alleged death is seen in soap’s hector blackcell skin bio.

not to mention, a military funeral, common for all people in milita (especially at soap’s rank) should have occurred. this is usually open casket. the choice of his body being cremated off screen leaves room for a possibility that the urn at the end of mw3 did not contain soaps ashes. and as said before, this could very wel be the truth since activision seems to care more about emotes of captain price twerking than evaluating the content of their campaign writing.

combined with the recent nautilus skin, here is my theory.

due to the leitmotifs of a hazmat suit, gas mask, and chemicals (seen on back of skin in valves), it is probable that soap resides with whatever group is currently holding the chemical artilleries, the gas in his mask suggesting it was not out of pure will. most likely captured by konni group, in my opinion. in the case that the writers decided to haul him out of his grave (or urn), i am interested in the course of mw4. although i disagree with bringing him back- if you’ve already killed him off like some npc, just fucking roll with it- it does expose the possibility of even more humanitarian crimes, maybe some new group associated with the older ones. praying that the writers lock in and do him justice this time- if we can get snopp dogg and john price hitting a bong and execution moves where graves used laser eyes to split his enemies in half in this game, we can hope and pray that they are creative enough to craft a better campaign

[gazs-blue-hat]

What REALLY happened at the end of MWIII

SPOILERS AHEAD! PLEASE PLEASE DNI IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS

This is based off of convos I've had with @sofasoap about what really happened at the end of the game

(The gif is us BTW)

The smack against Johnny's temple shook him quite a bit. Having a pistol go off right next to your ear isn't something very comfortable either. So while Price and Gaz disarmed the bomb, he lay on the ground his eyes unfocused and dazed. There was blood in his eyes, streaming from the cut on his head. Headwounds always bleed a lot anyway, and his shoulder wound was only adding to the crimson on the ground. After the bomb was taken care of and his ears had stopped ringing, he was able to hear the last bit of Price's sentence. "-KIA." "The fuck? I'm not dead!" He went to grab his radio but his arm burst into pain. Oh...that's right. His arm got shot. At least he would be symmetrical now. One shot from Las Almas, one shot from here. Great. "Stay down Johnny...don't mess this up..." Simon mumbled as he patted his vest and disconnected his radio. "Mess what up?" He started to say before Simon put a gloved hand over his mouth. Johnny rolled his eyes and decided that taking a nap would be good right about now. "Yeah...make it believable. Ghost, put some more blood on the other side of his head.." Gaz was getting involved now, a grin on his face. ----------- "You can't be serious.." Johnny was sitting in medical, his arm and temple being stitched up as he pouted. "Deathly." Price said while filling out the correct paperwork. His own death certificate.

Gaz snorted in the corner as he started filling up an urn with the ashes of some other poor soldier who didn't make it. "Makarov thinks you're dead. That's a win for us. We get a new guy and you work in the shadows." Price looked up at Ghost who patted Johnny's un-wounded shoulder. "Like in Las Almas." Simon said softly. Johnny was starting to understand now. The long game...that made sense. "Alright. I get it. But the urn? Seriously Gaz?" "Gotta make it look legit. Now...where do you want your ashes spread?" Kyle was smirking and Johnny rolled his eyes. "I don't fuckin' know. How about the highlands? Over the ocean? Sounds kinda interesting." Simon snorted next to him. "Basic bitch.." He grumbled while standing to grab a backpack to carry the urn in. --------

There they went, the ashes floating over the ocean.

"Well...looks like I need a new callsign." Johnny said while shrugging his shoulders and putting his hands in his pockets. he smiled and nudged Simon with his elbow. "Hey, you're not the only dead man on the team anymore! perhaps I should be Ghost now." Simon rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Nah, needs to start with S, so we don't get you confused. How about Sprit. With that haircut of yours, you look like that fuckin' animated horse." They all looked at Simon. "You watch cartoons mate?" Gaz asked while raising his eyebrow. "Sue me, the music was good." Was the sharp reply. There was silence for a moment before Gaz spoke up again. "When I pretend to die, I wanna be called Spectre or something. Something epic and scary. nothing like your basic ones." "How about none of you pretend to die anymore okay? Jesus, you're all twisted." Price sighed while putting his hat back on his head. "Oh! We need to give you a new name sir! When you inevitably need to fake your death too," Soap said while they began to walk away from the cliff. "That's not-" "Phantom." Simon. "Nah, too basic. Cash Money is better. Because his name is Price." Gaz. "Peepaw." Everybody froze and looked at Soap. "Peepaw?" Price repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Johnny, I'm only thirty eight." Soap shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands in mock surrender. "That's ancient by our standards sir. One foot in the grave already. Ghost has been planning your wake for months now and I just know your knees ache in the-" Ghost whacked him. His own knees had started to creak and crack when he rose from bed every morning. "Watch your fuckin' mouth Mactavish." "Aye L.T"

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + Pt. 4

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

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Summary: You think the worst is over until you go on your morning walk and realize your troubles have just begun.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, angst, explicit language, light dub con- Soap steals a kiss, reader is feelin' it, but she's pissed about it, Johnny's a cheeky git, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Sprinkled just a wee, teensy tiny bit of spice in this one, but nothing to clutch your pearls over. Aunt Rue's just settling in to enjoy the show now.)

Word Count: 1.5K

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You were shaking with barely contained rage as you let yourself in the bakery the following morning. Aunt Rue called out to you, as usual, then came out of the back when you didn't answer right away. You couldn't. You were choking on your own fury.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked, eyeing your flustered state.

"I ran into bloody Johnny this morning, that's what!" you snapped, marching back to the office.

Rue trailed after you, watching as you stripped off your jacket with angry, jerky movements and threw it at the coat tree. "He didn't leave, then?" she asked, tone mild.

"Apparently not," you gritted out, stomping past her and back out to the front.

After that little scene with Johnny the day before, you had finally come clean with your aunt about him, so now she knew all the sordid details, but to your surprise and dismay, her only advice had been, "Talk to him, lass. 'S the only way you'll find peace."

You thought, at the time, that her advice was useless. You thought Johnny would go back to Hereford after confronting him about his other bird. You thought wrong.

Still fuming, you started prepping behind the counter, banging and slamming things around, muttering under your breath as your aunt watched on in amusement.

"The lad's certainly got you riled up this morning," she commented, which did nothing to improve your current disposition.

"He's bloody infuriating," you snarled, banging the lid back on the water urn. "The fucking cheek of him!"

Rue pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. She waited until your back was turned before asking, "Well, what did he do to get you so, um... worked up?"

Your shoulders tensed, hands stilling as you felt heat creeping up from your chest. "Nothing," you eventually muttered, then stomped off to hide in the stock room, away from your aunt's keen eyes.

-

In truth, you were incensed the moment you spotted Johnny jogging along the boardwalk that morning. Almost twisting your ankle on the loose pebbles of the beach, you'd stomped your way up the stairs, scattering a small group of seagulls pecking around a trash bin. Your voice sounded similar to their high-pitched squawks when you confronted him.

"Why are you still here?"

Johnny stood panting in front of you, sweat trickling down his brow and cheeks, his tee damp and clinging to his thick chest and arms. He huffed at you, pulling up the tail of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his firm abs, happy trail on full display.

"An' good mornin' to ye, too, bonnie," he replied, looking you up and down with a crooked grin. "Yer lookin' good t'day."

"Don't start with me, Johnny. Why are you still here?" you demanded.

He sauntered over to the railing and braced his hands against it, extending a leg out behind him as he started doing his post-run stretches. Muscles bulged and flexed beneath a layer of fine, dark hair, distracting you despite how angry you were.

Damn him.

He peered at you over his shoulder, grinning. "Place is sorta growin' on me. Quiet little village, ocean views, good people. Beats the hell outta Hereford, tha's fer sure."

You leaned a hip against the railing while he continued with his stretches, crossing your arms over your chest. "Shouldn't you be gettin' back to your lass? I'm sure she's missing you by now," you snarked, tone bitter.

He huffed again, shaking his head. "Christ. Dunno wha' ye thought ye saw, hen, but I've no' been wi' anyone else. Not since you," he added, the look in his eye heated. Hungry.

"Bullshit!" you hissed at him.

There was a momentary flash of anger in his blue eyes, but then he smirked. "Think yer the one bullshittin', hen."

"Fuck you and your bullshit! I saw her with you!" you snapped, jabbing a finger at him.

He was on you in the blink of an eye, caging you against the railing, hands gripping the rail on either side of your hips as he leaned into you. "Describe her to me, then," he purred. "Tell me 'bout this new bird o' mine."

"Fine," you gritted between your clenched teeth. "She's taller than me, slender, long, curly dark hair… pretty. You took her to the coffee shop near that Thai place."

He gave you a quizzical look, then recognition dawned in his eyes and a smirk curled up his lips. He reached for the small pack at his waist and took out his phone. Tapping at the screen a few times, he turned it around for you to look at a pic he'd saved. "This the bird yer talkin' 'bout?"

You stared at the image of the same young woman you'd seen him with him all those months ago. You'd never forget her face; it had been seared into your brain like a brand.

"Yeah, that's her," you mumbled, looking away.

He turned the phone to look at her pretty face himself and sniffed in amusement. "Aye, Sorcha's a bonnie lass. Looks jus' like our mam."

'Our mam'???

Wait...

You snatched the phone out of his hand to scrutinize the image up close, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Her hair was a shade lighter than Johnny's with auburn highlights, but the eyes… the same shape, the same Prussian blue shade. The longer you studied her pic, the easier it was to see the family resemblance. Looked like that devilish little smirk was hereditary, too.

Ah, bloody hell…

You couldn't meet his eyes, embarrassment making your whole body flush hot. You handed his phone back, all that righteous anger pumping you up now deflating like a balloon. Slanting a sulky look at him, you gave in with begrudging acceptance. "How would I know that you had a sister?" you muttered, averting your eyes again.

Johnny sighed, putting his phone away. "Ya could no' have kenned it 'cause I never tol' ye," he admitted, his tone contrite, not gloating, like you expected. "There's a lot I should'a tol' ye, bonnie. A lot I should'a asked, too."

He tipped your chin up to look into your eyes, and you knew he was about to kiss you; you had seen that same look on his face a thousand times. You turned your head, hands pushing at his chest. "No. Don't," you whispered, voice wavering.

"Sweetheart, dinnae be mad," he cooed, cupping your cheek. "Now that ye ken the truth, we can—"

"We can what, Johnny? Go back to how things were?" There was a distinct warble to your voice now, tears already pricking at your eyes. You huffed out an exasperated breath, shaking your head. "No. I can't go back to that. I won't."

You pushed past him and started walking at a clipped pace, steps hurried. You needed to get away from him, get your head clear.

"Bonnie, wait!" he called, jogging after you. "C'mon, hen," he pleaded, taking you by the arm. "We can work this out. Jus' give us a chance."

You yanked your arm out of his light grip and glared at him. "I gave you two years of my life, Johnny. I can't do this anymore," you sobbed out, breath hitching.

He drew his hand away, a pained expression on his face. "Bonnie…"

"It's too little, too late, Johnny. Just… go home."

You again tried to walk away from him, but then his hands were at your waist, spinning you 'round and tugging you against him. You pushed at him, tears now slipping down your cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"Testin' a theory," he murmured, then his hand was cupping the back of your head, and he crashed his lips to yours.

Say what you want about Johnny MacTavish, but the bastard knew how to kiss. He had you melting against him in an instant, overwhelmed and clinging to him, no longer pushing him away. His tongue licked into your mouth, and he groaned, arms tightening to mold your body to his.

When he finally broke the kiss, he peered down at you, eyes hooded with desire. He took in your dazed expression and smirked, looking smug as hell. He then let you go and stepped back, wiping the spit from his bottom lip with his thumb, the look in his eye pure sin.

"Best get on t'work, bonnie. Yer goin' t'be late."

You blinked, head still a little hazy, brain slow to process what he had just done. Oh, but when it finally sunk in, you were spitting mad.

"Ooh! You— You bloody arsehole!" you seethed. Growling, you spun on your heel and stalked away, a string of profanities left in your wake.

Johnny laughed, elated after that telling kiss. "Be seein' ye soon, bonnie!" he called after you.

You threw an angry glance over your shoulder, only to see him blow you a kiss and give a cheeky wink before turning and jogging back the way he came.

Fuck!

You'd never get rid of him now, you thought, as you hurried towards the bakery, trying your best to ignore the dull ache in your core and the damp patch in your knickers.

-

part 3 part 5