#beauty soaps

[s3rrrpentine]

soap will be hearing dad jokes but like 3 times

[temeyes]

My beautiful blue eyed princess Soap Mactavish.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Princess of Scotland, the first of his name-

[hffhifjou]

cuddly simon

[toxooz]

❄💧💙baby blue boo💙💧❄ 🥺

[hbma]

Reader (me) w/ Price and Soap:

Reader w/ Ghost and Gaz:

Imagining Johnny who has a bit of a staring problem. Reader who’s mildly intimidated by how his eyes are so blue. Tells him to put on some brown contacts. Johnnys now offended. Reader who likes to take jabs at Price and tells him the same thing.

Reader: “I don’t argue with men who have big brown eyes; like whatever you say pookie” *points to Simon and Kyle* “case in point: those two”

[deathblossomm]

face card never declines

and a behind the scenes photo

[tavtarnish]

S: "Shoot him"

G: "no I have something else in mind"

Ghost why the fuck did you sound so flirty about having a hands on way to kill a man?? Why did you jump off a roof to stab a dude you could've shot?? Is it cause Soap was watching??

[cerise-on-top]

hello lovie! would it be possible to do a T141 with an american S/O? It always makes me giggle when i read them to see the culture differences! thank you lovie!!

Hey! Not gonna lie, I think all of them would almost get a heart attack from the culture shock! I know I do everytime I talk to my American friend! Also, I am neither British nor American, so I don't know a whole lot about either of those countries! I based this off of what my American friends have told me about the States!

TF141 with an American!Reader

Price: The moment you tell him about any of the human rights violations that are completely normal to you regarding your work he feels as though he’s going to die of a culture shock. What the hell do you mean you don’t get paid vacation??? He gets a whooping 28 days off, so why don’t you??? If you even get any days off in the first place. And then there’s the fact that you need to “earn” your sick days. What the hell??? What kind of shithole are the United States if you can’t even stay home when you’re sick??? I feel as though you could genuinely stun him into silence if you tell him those things like they’re the most normal thing in the world. He’s going to grow very concerned with you. Don’t you want to move in with him instead? Live in a new country that respects your rights as a human being at least somewhat? He will genuinely offer you to move in with him here and there, especially if you tell him some more concerning things. Theft at work? Just by picking up a pen from the ground? Really? The more you tell him about the States, the more he comes to resent that country.

Gaz: Oh, the two of you are gonna be arguing a lot. He’s well aware that there are quite a few regional differences with words, but Gaz is going to pretend he’s always right, even if he knows that there’s no right or wrong. Ghost is a leftenant, not a lieutenant. Those are chips and not fries. Love, that’s a bloody biscuit. He smirks at you every time he mentions his superior British English. Call him a colonizer and he’ll shut up, though. In fact, he’ll be super shocked. Seriously? You joke about that? He doesn’t make any jokes about 9/11 either, for example. It’s very surprising to hear how chill you actually are about 9/11, considering how much bad it brought with it. He doesn’t dare to make any jokes about it. He’ll call you Mr./Mx. Oppenheimer, though. He knows it’s disrespectful towards Japan, but if you have the audacity to call him a colonizer of all things, surely you can take a little joke. You gonna shoot the missiles, love? Gonna go to bloody Walmart and buy an AK-47?  He loves you, but man, if he doesn’t need to be there, he doesn’t want to go to the US either.

Ghost: You’re a very perplexing creature. Because??? How can one human being be this loud in public??? Are you not afraid of being judged??? Of getting bludgeoned to death because you looked at a YouTube Short in public??? Naturally, he’ll protect you, but man, you’re very daring. Besides, how can you just??? Walk up to people and talk to them like that??? You don’t know them and you weren’t forced to talk to them either?????? Sure, you’re friendly but?????? Are you not afraid of getting judged in public for your accent or dialect??? You’re an American in England, people are gonna mock you??? You seem to take it in stride, though. Good on you for that one, lovie. But are all Americans willing to be this social??? Do you just walk up to people all the time and talk to them??? Do you not mind your own business at all times??? Congratulations, you’ve confused this man beyond repair just by being American and being a little bit social. Also, how in the world are you this touchy? Just because his touch starvation kills him doesn’t mean he’s gonna do anything about it. And yet here you are, hugging someone you’ve met a few hours ago. What???????

Soap: For Soap, it’s the small things that confuse him. Like, do you just guesstimate how much you pay at the store? Bonnie, what the hell do you mean YOUR STORES DON’T INCLUDE TAXES IN THEIR PRICES?? Also, bonnie, you can actually rely on public transport here in the UK. It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid of the double decker bus or the metro. Because why in the world do you need a car to get literally anywhere in the world??? Also, why do your housing estates look like that?? It’s all squares?? He’s never gonna let you live down how ugly it all looks. Besides, your houses can literally be blown away this easily as well. You should come live in Scotland with him. This is not a suggestion, by the way, as you will be living there with him eventually. He refuses to live in the US. He’s gonna show you how nice Scotland really is! In fact, he’s gonna give you your very own kilt as well! It’s very comfortable, you should know! This, in actuality, is a bribe to get you to forget about the US. Please, never mention them again. They’re the peace police, but no one likes them, bonnie!!!

[thy-bread-molds]

There was once a prince and a beast.

(My reference)

[sky-is-the-limit]

Today, I saw a comment on tiktok saying that tall Dream (Jojo Rabbit's Version) is more attractive than Gaz under a Gaz edit, and that to my ears sounds like you have Aaron T. Johnson in all his glory and you decide to pick his wife. Ew.

Anyway, if you're part of the Gaz nation, know that your taste is immaculate in every single way and you deserve a big fat kiss on the lips 💋

[wispscribbles]

older and ✨ rugged ✨

[lemonwrap]

Imagine that Ghost lives long after Soap dies. When Ghost finally dies and reunites with Soap, he finds that they’re both the same age they were right before Soap died—because that was the happiest time of both of them had ever been in their entire lives.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

"Presenting, Simon "Black Swan" Riley

I seriously have a love-hate relationship with CODM for this

THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY LMAO

This one is Soap

[xsafronix-blog]

Gift for a friend 🫂 DO NOT USE PLEASE

[syoddeye]

mistaken identity

Cleaned up an old draft. Shy/introverted gn!reader goes on a blind date. ~2k words. CW: alcohol, a bad pick-up line

"Are you–?"

"Yes! And you must be–?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"So…" 

Fantastic, five seconds in, and you're flummoxed. Hard not to be with a guy like John in front of you. His eyes are mirthful, matching his smirk and posture, leaning on the bar beside your seat like he's known you forever. Like he owns the place. Confident with the charm factor set to eleven.

A brief, perfunctory glance gleans the obvious: He's fit. Roughly your age. Solid build, a face with a little facial hair, and arms accentuated by rolled sleeves. Your eyes don't dare venture southward for fear of making your checking him out conspicuous.

When your friend insisted on setting you up, you had doubts. The last two dates she orchestrated went bust. Each man was too loud or too arrogant. It didn't help she said the latest contestant was a handsome sweet talker. A banterer looking for a bit of fun due to his stressful line of work. The fact he was military gave you pause, clearly not enough since you agreed.

As usual, your friend wore down your defenses and got her way, but you swore this was her last chance. She gave you simple instructions: Sit at the bar, wear red, and he'll find you.

"I see I've kept you waitin'," He gestures to the empty tumbler.

You fiddle with the cocktail straw. "No, I just needed something to relax."

A beat slips past, and you fixate on the cardboard coaster beneath your glass. God, you're out of practice. Why did you think this was a good idea? You're a conversation killer. A lifelong introvert, historically too shy to properly date. If he's as charismatic as described, you're done for.

"Nervous?" 

Your gaze collides with his - glinting in the low light. "Yes. Have you seen yourself?"

That gets a chuckle out of him, a honeyed sound that eases the tension in your jaw and shoulders. 

He quiets, but the grin never slips. His eyes move across your face, reading your features with a laser focus you're accustomed to. "Could say the same thing to you," He murmurs before turning to greet the barkeep.

The whispered remark leaves you mildly surprised. While you miss what he orders, your empty glass vanishes with the promise of a fresh drink on the way.

"Can I?"

"Please."

He takes the empty seat, and repositions slightly to remain angled toward you. "I'm nervous, too."

Another surprise.

"You hide it better than me. Don't suppose that's uh, part of your job?" You ask, hoping his work is not entirely off-limits.

He smirks and shrugs. "S'pose it is. What I do's boring, though. Our friend said you're…an architect?"

You grin and it's your turn to laugh. Not a good listener, noted. "No, I'm a librarian."

His brow lifts, then his gaze narrows, a sheen to his eye that worries you. You've seen this look before from many men who hear 'librarian' and mentally catapult themselves into many ridiculous fantasies. You love the job, hate the creeps and the stereotypes.

"A librarian."

"You heard correctly. And no, I can't give you a reading rec, I'm, uh, off duty." 

"Shame, but understandable. Bet you've heard quite a few lines."

You glance away to thank the bartender and take the cocktail, fingers finding the new straw and giving it a quarter stir. "The good, the bad, and the ugly, yes."

"Cheers, thanks," He nods at the bartender and returns his focus, an impish smirk disappearing behind the glass. "What's the ugliest?"

A sip goes down easy, your throat already pleasantly burned by the first. It stirs your courage, giving it the giddy-up it needs. "You really want to know? It's awful."

He leans close, ducking his head and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Usually, it'd turn you off, a date imposing on your space this quick, but you can't tear your eyes away. Something magnetic about him.

His head dips, and his free hand beckons rapidly, "Now you're teasing. Let's hear it."

You fight the grin his whisper elicits. You make a show of it, rolling your eyes and taking a swig before you humor him and lean closer. Might as well go for it. "'I bet you can make a paperback hard.'"

He winces. "That is…Yeah, that's ugly. Someone said that to you?"

"It's terrible, right?"

"I could do worse, guarantee."

"Game on, give it your best shot."

The exchange of the most cringeworthy to filthy to hilarious pick-up lines doesn't end even after he signals the barkeep for another round. The night finally feels how you hoped it would be – spirited, lively, and honestly, you feel like a different person in a good way. After breaking the ice, he's one of the easiest people you've ever spoken to. A feat in and of itself, given your poor track record.

When he excuses himself to the lavatory, you text your friend, confirming he found you and things are going well. You set it to silent and slip it away, confident you won't need rescue tonight.

He returns, setting a hand at the top of your shoulders, letting it trail to the small of your back as he sits. You startle at the sensation. A shiver you can't decide if you like or not runs down your back. His hand instantly lifts, raising in surrender, and the smile that's looked assured all evening turns apprehensive.

"Did I misread this? Shit, apologies."

You surprise yourself. "No, no, it's fine. I just haven't…" Haven't been touched like that in ages, you privately admit. It's foolish, your reaction. "I didn't expect it."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"I don't–I don't get this kind of attention often. I don't date. I don't date a lot, that is, but it's cool if you do!" You swiftly take a drink to stop yourself. It's warm here. Was it always this warm?

A chuckle draws you back to him. "Well, don't take this the wrong way, I think you should date more," You must look at him as if he's grown a second head as he continues, "You're a riot, and you're stunning. Clever, too. Could go on, but you seem anxious, and I'd rather make you laugh and more comfortable."

Your chest tightens at the string of compliments. You could crush your glass, you think, with how you're gripping it.

"Think you should date me, specifically. Night's not over, and I want to do this again."

Oh god, you're smitten.

You open your mouth, unsure of what to say, when a lilting voice calls out over the din of the bar.

"Gaz? What're ye doin here? Said ye hated this place!"

A grinning man with a mohawk cuts through the bar. His eyes move from your date and land on you, trailing up and down. At first, it looks like he's unashamedly checking you out, but then his expression falls a fraction.

"Wait. Are ye my date? Thought ye'd be long gone by now given how late I am."

A record scratches in your head. Pause. Who's 'Gaz'? Who's this guy?

Your date turns completely toward the newcomer, mouth hanging open a moment. "Soap? I thought–No, your date's at Foxhole. You told me this morning."

"That's no' right. I've got it in m'phone right here."

While this 'Soap' thrusts a phone into your date's face, your blood runs cold. A particular bit of the conversation with your friend loops through your head.

"You're seriously not even going to give me a full name? A description beyond 'good-looking'?"

"Do you trust me or not? Look. He knows you'll be in red. That's all you need."

You pull out your phone, and your eyebrows rush to meet your hairline. Two missed calls and five messages from the last ten minutes. You swipe through and confirm: She texted to tell you that your date, the real date, was running an hour late due to work. This time, your jaw drops. You glance up to meet his eye, and whatever buzz you felt before dissolves.

"I thought–you're not John?"

"No, I'm Kyle, I assumed–"

"We spoke for forty five minutes and never asked for each other's names?!" The realization bubbles out with a peal of nervous laughter, and you clap a hand over your mouth. Was that as bad as it sounded? Or good, if you were so at ease?

A taut silence hangs between you two for a good five seconds, before you both burst into laughter.

The Scot clears his throat. "Right. Well, I'm no' so thick as tae see what's happenin' here. I'll go stir up trouble elsewhere."

"You sure?" You ask, suddenly feeling guilty. Even if this would not have happened if he'd been on time, the look on his face makes you frown.

He shakes his head, a hand over his heart. "Yer sweet, bonnie, but a man must know when to bow out."

"Thanks, mate," Kyle replies, eyes narrowed in suspicion yet paired with a smile. He claps John on the shoulder.

"Ye owe me, for stealin' such a looker."

Your lip curls, and you watch his mohawked head disappear toward the door. Alone again, you turn to your date. "You should probably check on your actual date."

"On it," He replies with another chuckle, his phone screen lighting up his face. He clicks his tongue, but he looks pleased. "It's weird, but I think they blocked me. Says 'number not found'."

"Their loss," You say quicker than you'd like, and your face heats. A strange turn of events, to be sure, yet it feels serendipitous. "I can't believe this. Were you set up?"

"Yeah, friend of mine. Blind date. Said to look for the person in red and clearly I assumed it was you. Let's start again. I'm Kyle." He offers a hand. It feels silly now, given the near hour of conversation you've shared.

You oblige him, take his hand, and give him yours. "Nice to meet you. For the second time."

Kyle's smile is warm when he repeats your name. He nods at your drinks on the bar. "Buy you another?"

"Please."

Despite the odd intermission, the rest of the evening runs smoothly. He walks you back to yours, the pace slow and meandering. You're not quite ready to invite him in, but you hope there's a next time.

"Can I be honest with you?" You chance, a block away from your place.

"'Course. Let's have it."

"You aren't the kind of man I usually pursue," You laugh when he feigns indignation. 

"Really?"

"Really. You're a good looking guy. Normally I need a few shots in me to consider talking to you. Out of my league, that's for sure."

Kyle chuckles, then gently knocks your elbow. "Once again, I could say the same thing to you."

"Oh, stop that." You mutter sheepishly before a hand hooks itself around your wrist. You half-turn to see Kyle wearing an earnest expression, and his thumb rubs a small circle beneath your palm.

"I'm serious. I know I come off as confident but truth is, I'm shit with follow through. I'd've never approached you if it wasn't for the set up. Even if it was, uh, someone else's blind date," His other hand raises as if showing he means no harm, then reaches to tug you forward by your jacket, drawing you close. "I meant what I said earlier. I want to do this again sometime. If you'll have me."

You swallow hard, throat suddenly tight. You look for any sign, any microexpression suggesting this is a dream or, worse, a joke, but find only honesty. "Yeah, okay. A second date sounds nice."

He grins and leans in, giving you plenty of time to pull away, but you meet him. The kiss is sweet, on the more chaste side of the spectrum (for your benefit, you think), and leaves you wanting more. 

At your doorstep, you get another. He waits for you to sort out your keys and get inside, but before you close the door, something that's been nibbling at you forces your head back outside.

"Kyle – who did you say your friend was? The one that set you up?"

~~

🧼: Mission accomplished. World-class performance, done and dusted. You owe me a favor.

Kate smiles smugly at the text and chucks a piece of popcorn into her mouth. Always a good feeling to watch pieces fall into place. Two birds, one stone. Her two problem children: An overly shy bookworm with a nasty habit of shooting themselves in the foot on dates, and a silver-tongued know-it-all who needed a strong push. A pair she knew would go well together if the circumstances were just right.

More messages follow.

KG: Was that other person even real?  KG: And was Soap in on it? KG: Second date's next week, btw.

Y: You sneaky, devious meddler.  Y: He's fucking perfect.

She chuckles, and the body nestled at her side shifts. "What's so funny, babe?"

"Oh, playing matchmaker."

Her wife sighs. "Kate. Not again."