#“soap was the youngest to pass SAS selection”

[sgt-tombstone]

Thinking about the 141 attending a formal military event—some high ranking officer getting a medal or retiring or some such; Johnny isn’t paying much attention—but their attendance is required (normally when shit like this happens, the 141 either is already out of the country on assignment or can quickly arrange to be).

Unfortunately, formal attendance means that regulations suddenly matter a bit more: dress uniforms, hair cuts, the whole nine yards. For Gaz, none of it is an issue; his default state is well within regs. For Ghost it just means taking his mask off, which he submits to with little fuss or fanfare. He doesn’t even really need to shave or cut his hair because he keeps both pretty short under his mask anyway. Price refuses to cut his sideburns or moustache and somehow gets away with it because… he’s Price and even the higher-ups who care about that kind of thing are willing to make an exception for Price.

Soap, though… Soap has to shave. He might be the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection, but that’s not enough to make the brass turn a blind eye to his carefully curated hairstyle and stubble, both horrendously out of regulation. His mohawk gets cut short, not short enough to stop being a mohawk altogether, but short enough to pass it off as a less conspicuous styling. His face, though, gets shaved completely clean. He complains about it the entire time, even though he’s alone in his bathroom, ranting to his own reflection in the mirror, and the moment he steps out, Ghost and Gaz absolutely lose it laughing, having to hold on to each other for support.

They petition Price to change Johnny’s callsign to “Babyface” and maintain for months that Price was this close to agreeing (the only reason he refused is because he knew that it would get shortened to “Baby” and he didn’t want to give Ghost an official way to flirt with his boyfriend over comms)

[nobodyinfart]

Is your love as unrequited as you think? Or does the team hide more than you think?

Maybe you’re just a lower rank soldier or just lack the confidence,, but you don’t believe that a love with the main characters of the task force would be possible, even in your daydreams as a hopeless romantic.

Johnny’s achievements are nothing to be humble about, being the youngest candidate to pass the selections process and being deemed a demolitions expert are ever praiseworthy. His cheeky demeanour makes even the quietest soldiers crack a smile, and lights up the base unlike any other. Maybe that’s why you code him as Sunshine in your journals,, scrawling affirmations of adoration between the margins. Coded lines of love decorated your many notebooks, all sealed within the depths of your cabinet to never see the light of day. Of course, you’d know it’s too selfish of you to ever confess, since there is no possible chance. Maybe you would change your mind if you ever caught a glance of how Soap casts his first look at you to see if you laughed at one of his corny jokes. Definitely making notes on what kind of jokes make you smile the brightest, obviously.

Although understated, Gaz is obviously brawns and beauty. Like, was it really necessary for him to have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen? You can barely focus, line of sight often slipping down to his lips before moving them back up just to feign ignorance. You saw him as an aspiration at first, viewing his top place on the SAS selection rankings to be a goal to achieve. It wasn’t long for that awe to morph into something more affectionate. Dangerous territory, too dangerous that you decide to bury yourself in your training. Trying to snap yourself out of that lovesick daze, you push yourself to your own limits in the process. Using that pain to distract yourself, you definitely don’t notice Gaz’s worried gaze when you head towards the training grounds once again, his concern evident when he realises your hands are still bruised from the previous day. He’ll have to sneak some ointment into your gym bag again, somehow.

Ghost, who doesn’t know him? The stoic Lieutenant in the task force, prime of his trade in ambush and stealth. It’s tough to even get familiar with him, let alone be in a relationship with the lieutenant. Respecting his quiet demeanour, you have always kept your distance as a form of respect; never pushing more than what you know he can handle. A secret is that you always keep his tea bags in stock, replenishing when stocks go low. Simon hides a secret of his own; sometimes gripping the standard military knife you normally practise with to gauge your hand size,, just for an accurate daydream of how your hands would fit in his own. Would your fingers lace with his just as well as he imagines? Don’t tell anyone, but Simon has been staring at you long enough for Soap to notice, who knew Ghost could be so distracted?

Honestly, Price is the one you have to be the most cautious about. Out of everyone in the force, he is the most observant thanks to his expertise in the military field. Rugged and charming, it is not hard at all for Price to get your attention. His gravely chuckle lights a fire in your stomach, you desperately wishing to be the cause of it someday. Yet, a love between a Captain and his subordinate remains unfeasible on all sorts of levels, especially one as devoted to his job as John Price. Even if your love is impossible, you always try to make his life easier; doing paperwork with both speed and detail. Often, his heart softens when he sees a light peeking from under the door of your office, hoping for an opportunity to get to know the angel who files their reports perfectly. No matter how much he shouldn’t, he sincerely hopes to find a chance to make himself a stable placement in your life soon enough.

[willowed-wisp]

sweethearts [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader

You had known him forever. Since nursery school and all the time in between.

John MacTavish- though, you called him Johnny. And in later life, that turned into calling him ‘Soap’.

He had been gunning for that uniform since you were 15 and he was 16… falsifying his age only to fail miserably.

It was culture shock to when he left when he was 18… he was your first friend, first kiss, first young love. Yet, it was nothing official. Just two best friends experimenting with each other. You couldn’t have asked for a better person.

You were there when he came back- more of a man than the boy who left. All of him larger than before even that indicative smile. But HE hadn’t changed, still the same snack eating, football loving Scotsman.

That meant your attraction for him was worse than ever- having been in love with Johnny for most of your life. His sky bursted gaze enough to drive you crazy.

Someone like him would never feel the same about you- strictly friends.

Mates who got mistaken for boyfriend and girlfriend most days of the week. Neither of you minded it but it was always you who persisted the, ‘as if… he drives me insane…’ the pining kind of insanity.

His return led you to distance yourself, an insecure freshly turned 18 year old, distracting herself from the boy next door. Johnny could do much better for friends than you, he was the youngest SAS recruit to pass the selection.

HE COULD DO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU.

You didn’t even go say goodbye to him when he left for his first mission- somewhere you’d never know.

Instead, he came to you. Stood at your doorstep.

His face gloomy, “So you weren’ even gonna say goodbye?” Not knowing what to do, your shoulders shrugged and silence ensued. “You’ve been off for weeks, when was the last time we had a movie night? Is it because of the training? Me leavin’?”

Fingers picking at your nails; you’d never been nervous around him. But this was the first time seeing him in god-knows how long, when you hadn’t spent a day away from each other. “I don’t know, John- ,”

“You do know and that’s the problem, Y/N, because you won’t bloody tell me what I’ve done wrong,” he spoke harsher than intended, regretting it within an instant as your stepped forward- sizing the six foot something soldier up.

Staring up at him, “Why do you bother with me when you could have anybody around you? I’m not going anywhere with my life!” It wasn’t envy that spurred you on, it was the fact he was going to leave you.

Heartbroken and yearning. Lost without the boy who had always bolstered you up when you had been thrown to the ground.

Johnny’s eyes welled with tears, “What’s made you think that?”

In a whisper, “You’ve just gotten into the fucking SAS, Johnny…”

“So what? I’m still the same guy… nothing’s ever gonna change me… you should know that by now…”

You wanted things to change- the dynamics between you. Before he found somebody who would knock him off his feet and you’d never get the chance.

His fingers trailed your arm, before he cupped your hand. Blue coveted your vision, “Nothing’s goin’ to change us, you’re my absolute best mate…”

Like a dagger, he struck a nerve, “Maybe I don’t want to be your ‘best mate’, I’m sick of pining for you when clearly you’ll never feel the same way,” a quick pause, “Go and find a pretty gir- ,” Before you knew it, his kiss smothered you. More intimate than when you were twelve, with more intent.

Instead of resisting, you caved in. Hands balanced holding his jawline, clean shaven.

Exploring every inch of your body in that hurried kiss. It was better than anything you had dreamed.

Before you pulled away first, “You’re my everything, Y/N…” Thumbs rubbing circles at your waist. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to do tha’…”

The memory ran writhe in your brain. That was 8 years ago…

Since then you were happily married with a baby on the way. Johnny had been deployed for over a month. Today he was supposed to be returning- from where you didn’t have a clue but he always came home safely.

That’s what mattered.

You expected the phone to start buzzing, the usual unknown number saying to go to the airport. Instead, a knock at the door.

It was like him not to want to run you around pregnant. But it was Simon who answered the door.

Not able to help the tremble. Air caught in your throat, choking on nothing. “He’s not… is he?” Stopping those tears from coming down- clutching your belly.

You’d have fallen to your knees- had it not been for capable hands.

You looked up, blue eyes for days and a face contorted worriedly, “What did you say, to ‘er, LT?” He held you close, but it would never be enough for you. “You and munchkin okay?” He rubbed your large stomach.

You crushed him in your arms. “Darlin’, I’m a bit tender…” Only then did you notice the sling in his arm, a bandage skirting beneath his shirt.

“What happened?” He shook his head, a grin on his face.

One of nervousness, “It could have been a lot worse,” Simon was as gruff as usual. You would never be allowed to know what happened.

“I’m just glad you’re safe and sound,” Thumb rubbing along longer stubble on his cheek, there was more to the story than either him or Simon were telling you. “You too, Si, thanks for taking care of him.” Spoken wholeheartedly, “Dinners on, you can stay if you want?”

He accepted as he usually did. The mood held less tension as time went on. You came to the conclusion that you were lucky to have Johnny in front of you, laughing at some stupid dad joke Simon said.

All you did was sit there, looking at the guy you had loved all your life.

Your Johnny…

————

I contemplated 💀 Johnny but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He’s just too sweet and just too tragic to write.

Thank you for reading :) xx

————

masterlist

[avixenk]

My John "Soap" MacTavish headcanons because I love this man

• Biter. Not in a sexy way. Can, has, and will bite your fingers off. Terrorist interrogators beware

• Motherfucker growls

• You can pry ADHD Soap out of my cold dead hands

• "LT" is more of an affectionate nickname than an acknowledgement of rank. You can pry "LT" out of his cold dead hands. Deal with it Ghost

• His hometown is on one of the Scottish Isles you'd have to take a ferry to get to.

- OWNS HAS A WHOLE HOUSE, NOT A FLAT. Pays someone to clean the dust.

• Surfs in the freezing cold Scottish seas

• Loves the water, wishes they could have more missions at sea. If he had to die on the job and he could choose how, he'd want to drown. Be part of the sea forevermore

• Joined the army and SAS underage. Secretly proud of it; he was already the youngest to pass selection, but he might forever be the youngest because he lied about his age.

• Idk if he could irl but he'd rip off the United Kingdom patch on his vest and put on a Scottish one whenever he could.

• Chemistry degree (and engineering?)

• Gym rat. Even more than Ghost

• Keeps his muscles stretched doing yoga

• Room looks like a unicorn threw up in it. Drawings and color everywhere. Idk if it would be allowed irl but I am giving this man a drawing tablet

• Has two older sisters and so knows a lot about, and uses, skincare. Goes to spas with one or both his sisters. Criticizes Ghost's eye black for clogging the man's pores

- toxic masculinity fucking who?

• The baby of the family. The youngest sibling and the youngest cousin

• Knows he's hot as shit and dresses appropriately. Favorite item is a cropped jacket. Little bit of a fashionista

• Has invented 22 kinds of bombs/explosives. 2 of them are now standard military explosives. He handles all explosive material on base; receives shipments, sorts it, and stores it. Even receives raw material for more experimentation. He's an actual inventor

• Motorcycle

• Is just as good as Ghost with solos, goes on solos as often as he does. Forced into the lone wolf style, unlike Ghost who chose it. Old squad/s would mute him for "being annoying" and he'd be on his own. When they realized he had great survivability alone they sent him on more and more solos. This information upsets Ghost greatly; he knows Soap is the very opposite of a lone wolf.

• Needs. His. Morning. Coffee.

• As nice as them retiring in fics is, Soap wouldn't actually do that. He's made the army his career, and he has career goals. He wants to make captain (although seeing how much paperwork Price has to deal with makes him slightly less enthusiastic about it). He's either going to age out of the military or get KIA'd.

- He would love to stay in the 141 forever, they're the best team he's ever had, will probably ever have. He doesn't want to go back to the abuse of before.

- He hopes making lieutenant at least means he'll be able to go with Ghost on his solos (he hates Ghost going solo) or at least finally privy to the details.

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 16: Annette (pt. 1)

Summary: Soap starts to open up to you about his past. Starting at the very beginning.

Word Count: 7,721

Warnings: Strong themes, death of a loved one, funerals, car crash victim, depression, coping with loss of a family member, stepparents, changing family themes, fighting, mourning of a loved one

A/N: I was gone way too long 😭 Anyway, I finally have an update for this story! This was a tough one to write, and I’m afraid it’s only gonna get worse. Grab your tissues! And enjoy 😊

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 16

Before he joined the military, before he got the name Soap, before he became the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection, before he joined Task Force 141, got his rank, and became a demolitions expert and sniper— he was simply John MacTavish. A young boy living in the Scotland countryside with his parents.

Back then, his life was ordinary, much like that of any other young lad. He'd spend hours outside, splashing through streams, playing in the woods, and running through fields with his friends until the sun dipped below the hills. He'd help his father with chores, handing him tools while he fixed a fence, or stand on a stool in the kitchen, watching his mother's deft hands knead dough for bread and steal cookies fresh off the baking sheet. He was a big brother to three little sisters—fighting with them as much as he adored them. His greatest worries back then were rainy afternoons or when his peas touched his mashed potatoes.

But those days slipped away, faster than he could grasp.

How naïve that little boy had been—how sheltered. Then again, why shouldn't he have been? Childhood should be like that: safe, carefree, uncomplicated. And for a time, it was. But those days ended. The world cracked open like glass. John would have given anything to go back—to when his sisters' eyes shone bright with laughter, to the warmth of his mother's embrace, to the days when his father was still a good man.

Before the crash.

Before Annette.

Before everything that came after.

***

John was up late, or at least what he believed to be late, reading an Amazing Spider-Man comic for what was probably the hundredth time. He'd gotten it for his birthday about a week ago. He'd just turned ten not but a few months ago, and he was allowed to stay up until 10:00 pm now. His sisters, all younger than him, still had to go to bed at 9:00 pm, so he was enjoying time to himself.

The house was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway and the soft rustle of pages as John flipped through his comic. His lamp cast a warm glow over his small room, illuminating the mess of action figures, schoolbooks, and stray socks scattered across the floor. Outside his window, the sky was an inky black, clouds swallowing the faint silver light of the moon.

John shifted on his stomach, propped up on his elbows as his eyes scanned the brightly colored panels. Spider-Man was mid-swing through New York, and John was completely absorbed in the comic despite having read it three or four times now. But then he heard it—the creak of the floorboards downstairs.

It normally wouldn't have catch his attention, but for some reason that night it did. He paused, his grin fading slightly as he glanced toward his closed bedroom door. His dad was still awake, clearly. That wasn't unusual, but the steady pacing, the heaviness of his father's steps, made John frown. 

He set his comic aside, slipping off his bed and quietly padding across the floor. He cracked the door open just enough to peek out into the dim hallway. The light from downstairs glowed faintly, and he could just barely make out his father's voice.

John crept out of his room, moving carefully to avoid the floorboards he knew would squeak. He crouched low at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister as he peered down. His father was standing near the phone, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the receiver so tightly his knuckles were white. 

"No, she left hours ago. She should've been home by now." His father's voice was low and tight, a sharp edge to it that made John's stomach twist. He never sounded like this.

A long pause followed, broken only by John's own quiet breathing. 

"Yes, I've called the police already. They said nothing's come in yet. But something's wrong, I can feel it." His father's voice cracked slightly at the end, though he quickly cleared his throat. 

John's chest felt tight, his fingers trembling slightly where they gripped the wood of the banister. His mother wasn't home yet. That had to be who his father was talking about. He hadn't even really noticed her absence until now, but now that he thought about it, it was odd she wasn't home yet.

His father began pacing again, his hand running through his graying hair as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. "No, I'll keep calling around. You just... you just let me know if you hear anything, alright?" 

The receiver clattered into its cradle with a sharp clack, and his father let out a deep breath, bracing both hands on the edge of the counter. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring down at the linoleum floor. 

John's throat felt dry, his stomach knotting. He wanted to go down there, to ask his dad what was happening, to hear him say something—anything—that would make this gnawing unease go away. But he stayed frozen at the top of the stairs, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. 

The silence stretched on until his father straightened again, rubbing a hand down his face before reaching for the phone once more. He started to press the buttons, dialing another number.

John slipped back into the shadows of the hallway, retreating to his room as quietly as he could. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his head resting against the wood. 

His comic lay forgotten on the bed as he sat down on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. The tick of the clock felt louder now, each second dragging on and on. 

"She'll come home." He told himself. "Mum's fine. She'll walk through the door any minute now."

John stayed on the floor for what felt like hours, knees pulled tight to his chest and his chin resting on them. He listened for the sound of her car pulling up. Every creak of the house, every distant sound from outside made his head snap up, his ears straining for the sound of the front door opening. 

But it never came. 

At some point, he climbed back onto his bed and curled up under the covers, but he didn't turn off his lamp. He tried to read his comic some more, but he couldn't focus on it. Soon, the clock beside him read 10:15. Normally his mum or his father would have been upstairs at 10:00 sharp to tell him goodnight.

John's eyes were heavy, but he forced himself to stay awake, staring at the faint glow of the hallway light under his bedroom door. He heard his father's footsteps again, slower this time, slowly coming up the stairs and down the hall.

When the soft knock came at his door, John sat up, half expecting to see his mum there with his father. The door opened with a quiet creak, and he heard his father sigh as he stepped into the room. 

"John?" His father said softly. 

His father was standing just inside the doorway. He looked tired—more tired than John had ever seen him. His shoulders were slumped, and the lines on his face seemed deeper somehow. 

"It's past your bedtime, son." His father said, his voice gentle but firm. "You need to get to bed."

John hesitated, clutching the edge of his blanket in his small fists. "Where's mum?"

The question hung in the air. His father paused, his lips pressing into a thin line before he spoke. 

"Just running late getting home." His voice was steady, but John could hear the strain behind it, the way it wavered slightly at the edges. "But she'll be home soon, alright?"

He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. 

John nodded slowly, though the answer didn't ease the knot in his chest. "Okay." 

His father stepped forward, taking John's comic, closing it, and setting it up. He then flicked his lamp off, casting the room into darkness.

"Goodnight, John." He says softly, heading to the doorway.

"Goodnight." John called after him, waiting until his father had stepped out of the room and shut his door before lying down.

He stared up at the ceiling, the sound of his father's footsteps fading down the hallway. Not towards his room, but back downstairs. Occasionally, John could still hear his voice as he made more phone calls.

The next morning, light crept through the thin curtains of John's bedroom, casting faint golden streaks across the walls. He blinked awake slowly, his head heavy, eyes scratchy from a night of broken sleep. For a moment, he thought maybe everything was fine—that he'd wake up, go downstairs, and his mum would be in the kitchen making breakfast, humming to herself as she flipped pancakes. 

John climbed out of bed, his bare feet cold against the wooden floor as he padded to his door and pulled it open. The hallway was quiet, his sisters' rooms still shut tight. They were probably still asleep.

John made his way down the stairs, stopping at the top to listen for the sound of pots clanking together or for his mum's soft voice talking to his father. It was completely silent though. He makes his way down, and when he got to the kitchen, he froze. 

His father was sitting at the table, shoulders hunched over, his hands pressed tightly against his face. A mug of coffee sat in front of him, no steam coming off it and still full. His hair was disheveled, and the lines on his face looked deeper than they had the night before. 

John lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. "Morning, Dad."

His father flinched slightly, lowering his hands and blinking as if he'd just realized John was there. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin under them purple with exhaustion. "Morning, son." He said quietly, his voice hoarse. "You're up early."

John ignores him and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Is Mum back yet?" 

The silence that followed was unbearable. His father didn't answer right away, just stared down at the tabletop, his hands clenched into fists on either side of the empty mug. 

Before he could reply, there was a sharp knock at the front door. 

His father stood up quickly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he did. It made John wince slightly.

"Stay here, John." He said firmly, his voice low and uneven. 

John nodded, his feet glued to the floor as he watched his father hurry out of the kitchen. However he didn't stay there long. Curiosity pulled at him, and before he could stop himself, John crept closer to the hallway, peeking around the corner. 

Two police officers stood at the door—a man and a woman, both in crisp uniforms. The male officer had a hat tucked under his arm, while the female officer's hands were folded tightly in front of her. 

His father stood in the doorway, shoulders tense, head slightly bowed. 

"...found her car early this morning," the male officer was saying. His voice was soft. "It appears she lost control and went off the road. She hit a tree. We're... very sorry, Mr. MacTavish." 

John's breath caught in his throat.

"No... No, that's not right."  He could see his father's shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightening as he shook his head slowly. "You must've made a mistake."

The female officer frowns, her eyes holding a sorrow John would never forget. "We're sorry, Mr. Mactavish. It was her."

"Are you sure?" His father asked, voice softer, pleading. "Are you sure she's..."

There's a pause before the officer's answer. "Yes. The paramedics declared her deceased upon arrival. She'd been gone for hours. They believe she died on or shortly after impact."

His father's head dipped lower, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as if he were trying to physically stop the sob that threatened to escape. The female officer stepped forward slightly. "Is there anyone we can call for you? Family? Friends?" 

His father shook his head once, sharp and quick. "No." He rasped, his voice cracking. "No thank you." 

The officers exchanged a glance before the male officer nodded. "We'll... we'll leave you to process this. If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to reach out." 

His father barely nodded before slowly closing the door. 

John couldn't move. He was trying so hard to process what he'd heard. It had to have been a mistake. His chest tight, his breaths coming quick and shallow. His father stood there in the entryway, his back to John, his head hung low. 

For a moment, everything was completely silent and still.

Then, his father let out a sound—a low, guttural noise, like an animal in pain. His shoulders shook once, twice, before he pressed his hands to his face and stumbled back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. 

John's eyes filled with tears, frozen in place. His father—this strong, unshakable figure in his life—was crumbling right in front of him. 

John couldn't stay silent anymore. A gasping cry left his throat and he took a hesitant step out into the hallway, his small voice breaking the silence. "Dad?"

His father turned slightly, his face pale, his eyes red and brimming with tears he was desperately trying to hold back. A few escaped though, running down his father's cheeks and into his beard.

"What... what were they talking about?" John's voice cracked as he spoke, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"Johnny..." He rasped, his voice raw, fragile. "Your mum... she's... she's umm... there's been an accident. Your mum is... she's dead."

John's vision blurred as his father's words echoed in his head, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else. His chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat, and for a terrifying moment, it felt like he couldn't breathe.

When the air finally forced its way out, it came in a broken, heart-wrenching wail. Tears streamed down his face, hot and endless, his hands clutching his chest like he was trying to hold himself together. He wanted his mum—he wanted her so badly it hurt. He wanted to hear her voice just one more time, to feel her warm embrace, to feel the soft press of her lips on his forehead as she whispered how much she loved him.

But he would never have those things again. The weight of that realization hit him hard, leaving a hollow ache in his chest so raw and so deep it felt unbearable. He crumbled to the floor, sobbing so hard it shook his whole body.

John's father closed the space between them within two strides. He scooped his son up and held him tightly, his large hand cradling the back of his head. John collapsed into him, his face pressed against his father's chest as he trembled and sobbed.

John's world felt like it was shattering around him, each sharp piece cutting into his chest, making it harder to breathe. His mother—his warm, kind, loving mother—was gone.

And nothing would ever be the same again after that.

***

John doesn't remember much of the funeral. Only a few things. A church, a dark wooden casket with white lilies on top of it, and seeing his mum one last time.

He'd arrived at the church about an hour before the service started. He held his father's had as he approached the casket. It was closed at the time.

"Is she in there?" John asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, son. She is."

John swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He stared at the casket, his chest tightening with every second that passed. "Can I see her?"

His father stiffened, his hand gripping John's shoulder a little tighter. "John, I don't think that—"

"Please." John cut him off, his voice trembling. "Please. I want to see her."

For a long moment, his father didn't respond, his face a mask of grief and hesitation. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gave a small nod. "Okay," he said quietly. "Just for a moment, yeah?" His father brushed his cheek softly and then carefully lifted the lid up.

John clenched his jaw as the lid was raised. His heart was pounding so hard. And when he saw her, his body felt numb.

There was his mum, lying inside. They'd tried to make her look peaceful, and for the most part, they had. Her eyes were shut, and she almost looked asleep. But the signs of the accident were still there. Faint cuts lined her pale cheeks and forehead, hidden as best as possible under makeup. A faint bruise marked her temple, dark against her pale skin, but blotted out with makeup.

John's chest heaved as he tried to keep the tears in. He gripped the edge of the casket, his fingers trembling.

His father knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around John and holding him close. "You've been so brave, John." His father murmured, his voice thick with emotion and slightly shaky. "I'm so proud of you and how you've been handling this. And I know your mum would have been too. She loved you so much."

John nods a little, knowing that if he tried to speak he would break down completely. He was still trying to hold himself together.

His father squeezes him tightly again. "It's ok to cry, son." He says softly. "Just let it out. I'm right here."

John squeezes his eyes shut, his body shaking. He presses his forehead against the edge of the casket, takes a shuddery breath, and then sobs.

***

The house had changed in the year since his mum passed.

The first month it seemed like there was always someone at their house. Dropping off food, cards, flowers, always asking how he was doing. He got sick of it. He just wanted to be alone.

Then people stopped showing up and it became suffocatingly quiet—so quiet John could hardly stand it. His father practically turned into a ghost, just drifting through the halls, eyes hollow and shoulders slumped. Meals were eaten in silence, rooms were left half-cleaned, and some days his father barely left the armchair by the fireplace.

Some days it seemed like his father had died in that car accident too. He spend all of his time just sitting and staring off into space. He'd only come around enough to cook occasionally for John and his sisters. And even then "cooking" was just reheating the frozen meals left by the local church. Once those ran out, it was frozen pizzas or takeout.

Then his father began to spend more and more time at the local bar. There were many days where he'd be gone from sun up until sun down and return home absolutely wasted. John got used to coming home and finding him passed out on the floor in the hallway. He learned to go in through the back door so his sisters didn't have to see it.

That went on for a few months. John hated his father drunk. But then one day, everything changed. His father suddenly stopped going to the bar, he started getting up in the mornings, his eyes got clearer and his smile returned. The distant, hollow man who had drifted through their lives was slowly replaced by someone familiar—someone John remembered. There was a warmth about him that hadn't been there in what felt like forever. 

It was... nice. They started doing things together again—little things, like actually cooking, going to the market together, watching movies. It felt like a piece of the life they'd once had was coming back. John didn't even think to question the sudden change; he was too caught up in the joy of having his father back. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they might be okay.

School had just started up, putting John back into a somewhat normal routine. His sister, Rowan, was also starting school that year and joined him and Eilidh, his other sister, on their walk to school each morning. They were about four weeks in now, and John was starting to feel happy for the first time since the accident.

Walking home from school one afternoon, John was half listening as Eilidh and Rowan rambled on about something that happened in class. As they approached their house, John noticed a car pulled up next to his father's. He didn't think much of it at first, but as they stepped inside, he could hear a woman's laughter coming from the kitchen.

John's brows furrowed. Normally having visitors wouldn't have been a big deal, but it's been ages since they'd had anyone over. Even Eilidh and Rowan seemed off put by the foreign voice.

"Who's here?" Eilidh asks John softly, making John shrug a shoulder.

"Dunno." He mutters as he starts down the hallway to the kitchen.

As he got closer, he could start to make out his father talking and laughing. It was a kind of laugh that John hadn't heard in nearly a year.

He stops abruptly as he rounds the corner and looks into the kitchen causing Eilidh to bump into his back with a small "oof." There was his father, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hands and smiling at a woman who was seated next to him. Not in just any chair though. It was the chair where his mum had always sat.

She was perched gracefully, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her hands. Her blonde hair cascaded in soft, perfect waves over her shoulders, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was subtle but polished, enhancing sharp green eyes that flicked up to meet his the second she noticed him standing in the doorway.

She was smiling. Not a wide, toothy grin, but something small and pleasant, as if she were trying to seem gentle—approachable. She wore a pale cream blouse tucked into some dark skinny jeans, her nails painted a soft pink.

His father was smiling, too. Not the broken, distant man John had grown used to over the past year, but someone... lighter. It was almost like the dad he remembered before the accident, a version of him that had only just started to come a little bit ago. This woman seemed to enhance it though. It should've been a good thing, but it made John's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Oh, here they are now!" His father exclaimed, making John look away from the woman and towards him. "Come in. There's someone I'd like you to meet." 

John didn't move at first, but Eilidh obediently stepped around him and into the kitchen a little ways, Rowan following after her. Their eyes were curious as they looked between their father and the woman.

His father's smile grew softer as he gestured between them. "Annette, this is my son John, and these wee ones here are Eilidh and Rowan. Eilidh is my eldest daughter and Rowan is the middle of the girls."

Annette's eyes crinkled at the corners as she turned her attention on them. "Oh, you're just as lovely as your father said." She cooed, her voice syrupy sweet. "Eilidh is such a pretty name and I love your blonde curls, Rowan."

Eilidh said a soft thank you, and Rowan ducks her head slightly, taking a step towards John and tucking into his side. It makes his father chuckle.

"Rowan is a little shy." He explains, and John notices as his father places a hand on Annette's shoulder.

Annette just giggles slightly, looking back at his father and placing her hand over his. The exchange is quick, and Annette is turning her attention to John now, their eyes meeting. "And it's nice to meet you as well, John. I've heard a lot about you. Your father speaks so highly of you." She looks back to his father once more, giving him a bright smile.

John narrows his eyes slightly, quickly piecing together what their relationship was. He hoped he was wrong. "And you are? I haven't heard a thing about you." He shoots his father a look as he says it, making the couple look back at him.

John's father clears his throat. "This is Annette." He says, gesturing towards her. "We've been... spending some time together. She's a friend." 

John's eyes darted between his father and the woman—Annette. Spending time together. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what his father meant. 

"So you replaced mum that fast huh." He says bitterly. Annette's eyes widened and John's father's eyes narrowed.

"John Alexander!" His father barks, making both him and his sisters jump. "I am not replacing your mother."

The force behind his father's words hangs heavy in the kitchen, sharp enough to cut through the tension. John's shoulders are tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Could've fooled me." He mutters bitterly under his breath, but loud enough for both of them to hear it.

"John..." Annette speaks up softly, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I know this must be so hard for you, sweetheart. Losing your mum, trying to adjust to everything... but I'm not here to take her place."

"Don't!" John snaps, his voice sharp and trembling with restrained anger. "Don't you talk about her. You don't know her. You don't know us."

Annette flinches at his words, and Rowan starts to sniffle, but before John can even register either reaction, his father slams his fist onto the table. The loud, sudden bang makes Rowan clutch tightly at his sleeve, and she starts to cry.

"John!" His father's voice cracks through the air again, sharper this time. His face is flushed, and there's a glint of something unreadable in his eyes—anger and disappointment. "You will not speak to Annette like that! She has done nothing to deserve this attitude from you."

John scoffs, his eyes filling with tears, but he's blinking them back. "Whatever." He growls out, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. "But just because you're replacing mum doesn't mean I'm going to."

His father points towards the hallway, his voice low and firm. "Go upstairs! Now. Take your schoolwork and don't come down until I tell you. We will talk about this later."

John tugs his arm free of Rowan's grasp, making her cry harder, and he turns, quickly running up the stairs towards his room. His vision starts to blur, and he angrily wipes away any tears that fall.

Once in his room, he slammed his door shut and threw his bag down, his body shaking slightly. He never fought with his dad. At least not from what he could remember. And he was so mad at him for bringing this new person into their lives without even a heads up.

He goes to his bed, but he's not alone for too long. He can hear Rowan's sobs getting louder as she nears his door, and then his doorknob starts to jiggle as she opens it. She walks in, eyes red and cheeks already puffy.

"Go away, Rowan!" He snaps, being a little more harsh than he meant to be, but he wanted to be alone.

"But Johnny..." She sobs, hiccuping softly and taking shallow shuddery breaths. She gets closer, trying to climb up onto his bed with him.

John pushes her away though, his hand on her chest to keep her back. "Stop! Go away!" He yells again.

His father comes in next, his face still fuming. "Rowan, come on! Get out of your brother's room." He picks her up, which just makes her cry more as he carries her out and shuts his door. Her cries get softer, but he can still hear her through the walls.

Ten minutes crawled by. John sat on the edge of his bed still, staring at the floor, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His hands balled into fists, resting against his knees as he tried to steady his breathing. He was still angry.

His door opened once more, and John half expected to see his dad, but instead it was Eilidh this time.

"Johnny?" She says softly, almost hesitantly.

He glares at her. "Get out." He growls. "I want to be alone! Stop coming in here!"

"Why are you so upset? Dad said they were just friends." She says innocently, making John sigh and turn to face her.

"They aren't 'just friends' you dobber! They're dating." Saying those words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "He's replacing mum is what he's doing."

Eilidh frowns at him, her brows pinching together as she crosses her arms. "Don't call me a dobber! You're being really mean!" Her lip starts to tremble.

John lets out a frustrated groan. "Well you're being annoying!" He throws back.

"Stop being such a moany git!" She shouts back, tears filling her eyes now as she turns and runs out of his room.

John's angry only lasted a few more seconds, quickly being replaced with guilt. Now he'd upset two of his sisters, and he really didn't like making them upset. He lets out a frustrated groan and sinks into his bed, more hot tears filling his eyes.

***

It was a few hours before Annette finally left. John could hear as his father walked her to the door and as they said their goodbyes. Right after that, his father's footsteps started up the stairs and were soon right outside his door. There was a soft knock, and then his father came in, making John pull his blanket up more around himself.

"John." His father said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "We need to talk." 

John didn't respond. He hoped his father would just think that he was sleeping or something and leave him alone.

His father sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting down on the edge of the bed. John still didn't move.

"I know you're upset." His father started, his voice low and measured, the way he always spoke when he was trying to stay calm. "And I understand why. But you've got to believe me when I say... Annette isn't here to replace your mum." 

John snapped at that, his face twisting with anger as he sat up. "Then why is she here?" He spat.

His father flinched, his shoulders stiffening at John's words. "John, listen to me—" 

"No!" John shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "You don't get it! It hasn't even been a year! You're acting like mum never even mattered. Like we can just move on and be happy again!"

His father's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. For a long moment, he just stared at John, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glassy. 

"That's not true." His father said finally, his voice trembling slightly. "Your mum... she mattered more to me than anything in this world. And when she—when she was taken from us, it felt like the world stopped turning." 

John's throat tightened, and his father continued. 

"For months, John, I could barely get out of bed. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat—I couldn't breathe without feeling like I was drowning."

John looked away, his vision blurring with tears. "You didn't even ask us. You didn't even tell us. You just... brought her here. Like we'd just be ok with it." 

His father's face fell, and he looked down at his hands, clasped tightly together. "You're right," he said softly. "I should've talked to you first. I should've explained it better. I didn't want to hurt you, John, I swear it.

But Annette... she helped me feel... normal again. She reminded me that there's still something left to hold onto. That maybe—just maybe—it's okay to let myself smile again. To be... happy." 

John shook his head, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. "But I'm not happy. I just want mum back. I don't want anyone else."

John's father sighs heavily, his voice wavering just slightly. "I know. I wish more than anything that your mum was still here."

John sniffled, wiping his face roughly with the sleeve of his shirt. His father reached over to his desk and grabbed a tissue, offering it to him.

"I'm not asking you to like her. I'm not asking you to accept her right now. But I am asking you to give her a chance. For me." 

John took the tissue and used it to blow his nose and wiped his eyes one more time. "And if I don't like her?" He questions, looking back over to his father.

He's silent for a moment before he answers. "She's not gonna be your new mum if you don't want that. Just think about what I've said, alright? We'll have dinner with her in a week or so. You can get to know her better then. Who knows? You might find you like her."

The answer didn't really sit well with John—it felt like avoiding the question entirely—but being so young, he didn't have the words to argue. He was tired. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagged, and he gave a reluctant nod.

His father offered a small, encouraging smile, squeezing his shoulder firmly. "That's my boy." He murmured before standing up and heading toward the door. He paused in the doorway, turning back to look at John.

"I love you, son. You and your sisters. I only want what's best for you."

John forced a faint smile. "I love you too." He replied, his voice soft. His father returned the smile before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the latch clicked, the smile fell from John's face. He lay back on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His chest still felt heavy. He didn't want Annette in their lives, but he trusted his father. If he said she wasn't going to replace his mum, he had to believe him.

If he couldn't trust his father, who was he going to trust.

***

The MacTavish family began to see a lot more of Annette after that. It started with her coming over once a week—always with a warm smile, always with some little treat or compliment ready for the girls and him. Then it became twice a week. Then almost every dinner. 

John tried to be on his best behavior around her. He still wasn't sold on having her around, but he was at least trying for his father. He smiled at Annette and said hi whenever she was around. Spoke to her when she spoke to him, but he wasn't one to start the conversation.

Eilidh was quickly warming up to her, and so was Rowan. Kirsten, only being three going on four at the time, didn't even really know what was going on, but she modeled her behavior after her siblings.

John wanted to tell his father that he still didn't want Annette in their lives, but how could he? The way his dad smiled at Annette—an easy, effortless smile he hadn't seen since before his mother died— how could he possibly ruin that? His father seemed to think Annette made their lives better, and for everyone but John, it looked to be true.

Then, only a few months later, his father sat them all down in the living room. John immediately knew something was off; his father couldn't stop fidgeting. Annette sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his knee, her smile soft and hesitant. They kept sharing looks, they kept grinning at each other.

"We have some news." His father said, glancing at Annette before clearing his throat. "Annette and I... we've decided to get married." 

John's heart plummeted. His stomach felt like it was folding in on itself, and his hands balled into fists against his knees. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't even breathe. He just sat there silent and stone-faced.

His sisters gasped and started to cheer, their faces lighting up with excitement. They were already asking if they'd get to be in the wedding, if they got to be flower girls.

They looked so happy—his sisters beaming, his father smiling wider than he had in months. How could he ruin this for them?

"Johnny, what do you think?" Annette's voice cut into his thoughts, soft but expectant. She was looking at him now, her head tilted slightly, a carefully practiced smile on her lips. His father looked at him too, waiting for his answer.

Forcing a smile onto his face, John tried to push down the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "That's... great news." He muttered, the words tasting bitter.

Maybe it wasn't going to be the worst this. At least everyone looked happy.

The weeks after that announcement were a blur. Plans were made, and it was decided that they'd have a small ceremony—just them, at a tiny church on the outskirts of town. 

The day came far too quickly. John stood stiffly in a button-up shirt that felt too tight around his neck, his hands jammed into his pockets as he watched his father and Annette exchange vows at the altar. Eilidh, Rowan, and Kristen stood beside him, clutching tiny bouquets and wearing their Sunday Easter dresses.

When the minister reached the words "speak now or forever hold your peace", John's heart pounded in his chest. For one brief moment, he thought about saying something—about shouting out how much he didn't want his dad to marry her.

But he didn't. He stayed silent. 

When it was over, when Annette became Annette MacTavish, John felt defeated.

Annette moved in a day later. She breezed through their entire home, "tidying up" the place to make room for her things. In reality, she was boxing up all his mum's things and shoving them into a closet under the stairs.

His mum's clothes were taken out of his dad's room to make room for hers. The kitchen cabinets and draws were rearranged to hold her glassware. Decorations were taken down and replaced with Annette's little trinkets. A shelf that held his mother's keepsakes was cleared to make room for Annette's books. Even the smell of their home was different. Her perfume polluted the halls.

The house felt different now. Like it wasn't theirs anymore—it was hers. 

Only about a week after the wedding, John's father sat them all down again. 

"Annette and I are going to go away for a little while." He said carefully. "Just a short trip, a honeymoon. You'll all be staying with Mrs. McKay while we're gone. It'll only be for a week, alright?" 

John didn't answer. He just nodded stiffly. 

The morning before they left, everyone was bustling around the house, packing bags and gathering the things they needed. John was in his room, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag when Annette appeared in the doorway. 

"John?" She said sweetly, dropping a bunch of suitcases and bags on the floor in the hallway. "Would you take these downstairs for me?" 

John didn't even look up from his packing. "No." He answers shortly. She was perfectly capable to taking her own bags down. And John wasn't even packed yet because he'd been helping his sisters pack.

There was a brief silence before Annette spoke again, her voice tight. "Excuse me?" 

His father appeared a moment later, catching the tail end of the exchange. "What's going on?" He asks, looking between her and John.

Annette straightened up, putting on the smile she always wore. "I was just asking if John would help me carrying a few bags downstairs and he told me no."

"John." He said softly. "Help your stepmother out and-" 

John never tensed up so quickly in his entire life. That was the thing that finally broke him after weeks of holding everything in. He turns around quickly, his eyes blazing with anger. "She's not my mother!" He spat. 

The room went silent. Annette's expression flickered—something cold and sharp flashing in her eyes before she quickly smoothed it over with a small, hurt frown. 

"You know. It's ok, Ewan." She says, her voice taking a slightly whiny pitch. "He's not ready to accept me yet, and... and it's ok. I'll take the bags down myself." She started to fan her eyes a little, like she was about to cry, but John didn't see any tears. With a shuddery breath, she picks up a single bag and walks quickly down the hall.

"Annette! Darling, he didn't mean anything by-" His father sighs heavily, and then turns his gaze back to John. "Dammit, John, you've made her upset."

"You said she wasn't going to be my mother." He reminds his father sharply, stuffing more of his clothes into the duffle bag.

"I didn't say she was your mother. I told you to help your step-mother. It's different." His father says, making John roll his eyes.

"I don't want to call her that either." He growls.

"That's enough! When we get back from our trip you better have that attitude of yours sorted out!" His father shouts, making John flinch just slightly.

John holds his tongue, and just continues packing in silence. When he doesn't say anything more, his father grumbles and starts to pick up the remaining suitcases to carry them down. John bites his cheek to keep from crying.

***

Two and a half weeks go by before his father and Annette come back. They were only suppose to be gone for one. John almost liked the time away from them though. So when his father's car comes rolling up Mrs. McKay's dirt driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them, he's almost disappointed.

Still, when Eilidh shrieked, "Daddy's home!" and bolted out the front door, Rowan right on her heels, John couldn't stop himself from running after them.

His father had just stepped out of the car by the time the three MacTavish kids reached him. John clung to his father first, his arms wrapped tightly around his neck as Eilidh and Rowan squished in behind him.

His father's strong arms held them all, his voice warm and affectionate as he kissed each of their heads. "Ah, I missed my wee ones so much." He said, fluffing up John's hair.

Eilidh giggled. "We missed you too, daddy!" She said, her small hands clutching the front of his jacket.

John leans into his father, letting himself relax a bit. It was nice to see his dad again, even if part of him had started enjoying the quiet without Annette around.

"Don't forget about me!"

Speaking of Annette. She came running around the other side of the car, arms outstretched.

John felt his father shift him to one side, making room for Annette to wrap herself around the group. She squeezed them all tightly, her perfume strong and floral, making John's nose wrinkle.

"Oh, I missed you all so much!" She cooed. "I couldn't wait to get back just to see you guys!"

John rolls his eyes a little at that. Sure. She was so anxious to get back to them she ended up extending their trip by a whole week.

"Were you kids good for Mrs. McKay?" His father asks, standing back up straight as Mrs. McKay walked out holding Kristen, who was squealing and kicking happily.

"Oh they were a joy." Mrs. McKay says, handing over the youngest MacTavish to his father. "Absolute angels the entire time."

His dad beamed with pride as he takes Kristen and coos at her softly. "I'm glad to hear they were well behaved. Thank you again for being able to watch them." He wraps his arm around John again.

"Anytime, Ewan. They really are great kids. Malina would be so proud."

John perks up at that. That was his mum's name. His real mum. He glances up at his father to see his reaction, and he's pretty sure his father's eyes look a little misty at the mention of her.

"Well, you know, I'm convinced that's all her doing. She was an amazing woman."

"Kids, let's get everything loaded up, shall we?" Annette says suddenly with a bright smile.

John blinked, his gaze snapping from his dad to Annette. Mrs. McKay hesitated, just for a moment, glancing between Annette and John's father. Her warm expression faltered briefly, but she quickly smiled and nodded. "Yes, you kids should grab your things." She agreed, her tone a bit softer now. "I'll help you carry them out."

John shuffled toward the house with Eilidh, Rowan, and Mrs. McKay trailing behind. About halfway, he glances back, seeing Annette and his father talking. Annette's arms were crossed over her chest.

Once inside, they quickly gathered their bags. It didn't take too long as their stuff had been piled by the door earlier that morning. By the time they were back outside, Annette was back to beaming her bright smile, and his father was putting Kristen in a car seat.

The bags were thrown into the trunk, they all said one last thank you and goodbye to Mrs. McKay, and then everyone piled into the car, buckled up, and they were on their way home.

Annette immediately launched into a full telling of their honeymoon. She described the warm beaches, the fancy dinners, and the "cute little boutique" where she found the new necklace she was wearing.

She talked the entire trip home, not once stopping to ask about them. John just stared out the window, resting his head on the glass and trying to shut most of it out.

They were only fifteen minutes from home, but it was a long car trip.

@the-faceless-bride @venavanup @hotthankss @daemondoll @thepowers-kat-be @xheera

[guppybibi]

hai..um heres a wip bcus i realized i have like 10+ wips

Ever since Johnny made what seemed to be an impulsive decision of joining the military, you two have been the talk of the town. “He had the potential to be an artist.” and “He could've been an artist, what happened?” Those were a couple of the various questions asked of you. And if you were truly being honest..You weren't quite sure either. Not once in your years of being together has he ever hinted about signing up for the military.

Nonetheless you continued to support his decision, not doubting him even for a single second. Going long distance when you two have practically been together for who knows how long certainly wasn't the easiest but it looked like everything paid off when you learned that he was the youngest candidate to ever pass SAS selection through a letter, whatever that was..All you knew is that you were proud of him. You wondered why the hell they called him ‘Soap’ though..

Communicating through letters wasn't the worst thing in the world, in fact, it left you with more longing than ever before in your life. Well except the longing progressively watered down when letters from your Johnny stop coming through. Day by day it felt like arrows were being shot at your heart, and you knew for sure that it wasn't Cupid’s doing.

Soon you're hit with a large smack of reality when you receive a message from someone named ‘John Price’ about Johnny being killed on an important mission. You wouldn't say you were surprised but he promised. A promise that he would come back home to you, that the deadly silence in your home would be filled with his voice again. What a fucking liar he was.

The world isn't going to stop spinning just because someone got their heart broken from the news of a loved one dying and is mourning, especially if it's a mere girl from a quaint town. The world is unfair. It's always been like that, it probably won't change until a few centuries later either.

So, moving on seemed easy enough. It really couldn't be that hard right? You've lived half of your life without Johnny, you're sure you can spend the rest without him as well. This is just one challenge life handed you, you could most definitely handle it. Yup, no problem. Cleaning up Johnny’s belongings wasn't heartbreaking whatsoever, and seeing the last bouquet of flowers he sent you slowly wilt over the days was fun.

..Okay maybe it wasn't all that easy. Maybe admitting that you're struggling is fine, though that was just a baby’s first steps. In the end, progress is still progress so you decided that maybe your heart could handle finishing looking through Johnny’s things plus cleaning because you haven't been in that room for months now. Particularly the stuff in his office, well not really office per se, simply a random room where he stored random items for hobbies he says he’ll get to eventually. News flash, he didn't so now you're stuck with all of it.

You started off strong, dusting shelves and sweeping floors, until you opened a drawer full of art supplies and manuals that were basically brand new. Disgruntlement bubbles up within you, all of this wasted space and materials. Charity sounded real good right now but the sentiment they held was too much..Though the handbook about sculpting caught your eye.

It wasn't a hobby Johnny really focused on as it was time consuming and difficult despite his natural talent for art hence why he focused on drawing instead. It simply wasn't his thing, no problem with that. You spent countless hours browsing through the handbook, the guide eating your interest up. Hey, this could've been a great couple pastime for you two! Shame on him for not thinking about suggesting it to you! Although you were lucky enough that he stored the clay in such a way that it didn't dry up just yet, trying it out couldn't possibly hurt, right?

Tossing on an apron, you began sculpting away!..Well an attempt to at least, the piece continued to look..rough after a long while but practice makes perfect! Well as I said earlier, time doesn't stop for anyone, it keeps flying regardless of the fact it doesn't have a destination in mind. That's probably how you ended up practicing for days, so much so that your fellow townsfolk started getting worried sick and sent out one of the kind ladies to check up on you. And it was a lovely surprise!..Because they had a basket of goodies, who can say no to that?

“Oh dear, look at you! Everyone has been worried about you..” The lady says in relief, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face while she looks at the state of your clay-stained clothes. Thank goodness for aprons. “Well I hope you're doing alright after your husband's passing dear, we all made this goodie basket for you!” She chirps, extending the basket out to you. Your eyes immediately lock onto the fresh baked goods, looking like you have something to devour when she turns away..

“So you know, all of us are here to help, you aren't alone in this. I’m off, I need to pick some groceries up at the store. Bye-bye!” She waves, walking along the stone path that led away from your home. A quiet ‘thank you’ falls out of your lips, hoping that she’d heard your appreciation towards her caring but totally unnecessary gesture. You step back, placing the basket aside. The pastries could wait, not this. You do appear to be a natural at this, the sculptures you've made so far aren't even half bad for a beginner..It wouldn't be too hard to make Johnny right? I mean, you know his features by heart, you could make it with your eyes closed. Probably. It doesn’t hurt to try, you have enough clay too so there’s really nothing stopping you.

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Rookie01: Are you THE Soap?

Soap: I am.

Rookie: The legendary Soap? The youngest candidate to pass the SAS selection in the British Army history?!

Soap: Yes. That’s me.

Rookie01: No, you’re not.

Soap: Okay, I’m not.

Rookie01:But are you, FOR REAL?

Soap: I am, for real.

Rookie01: …

Rookie01: I thought you’d be taller.

Soap: Me too.

[yawnderu]

wait say it ....

From this ask Say less cuz I've been DYING to talk about it JHBEFBHJKEFKJHB

Ghoap shippers thinking he's gay and basically stripping him away of everything that makes him Soap, just to turn him into a lost twink who depends on Simon and is unable to do anything on his own, when it's not that way at all. x_x

It's often seen in fandom gay ships how they somehow want to make one of the characters into a delicate and weak guy just to give him a more feminine role in the ''relationship'', as if two masculine men have never dated.

Johnny isn't effeminate in the slightest and I think a lot of the gay fetishizers who ship him with Simon forget just how much of a short fuse he has, and how badass he actually is.

This man is extremely smart, a demolitions expert and a sniper who became the youngest man to pass SAS selection and is built like a brick shithouse, not some dude who needs his pink blanket to sleep and ''gets passed around''. 😭😭

[alwaysshallow]

prompt: ghost retired from task force 141. soap takes a journey through their whole relationship, thinking where it went wrong. part 1 of ?

John MacTavish is a brave man.

At least, he likes to think of himself like this. He has proven multiple times that he is brave. First and foremost, he tried to enroll to the SAS a few times; and it wasn't important that every time he was caught lying about his age, it was the fact that he still tried, despite the amused looks on the recruiter's faces. He remembered all of them, including that damn question he had to answer thousands of times: why do you want to be in the army so early?

Stupid question. Question that, every time, he answered with: why not? In his eyes, he was way more mature than most of the boys his age (an obvious lie, he was maybe even less mature), more skilled than them and would make a perfect fit for the army. What was important too, he could stand his ground without any troubles - besides the one, the one that his mother always scolded him about. His mouth was way too honest, causing him many problems.

Thankfully, those problems weren't military ones; men actually dismissed him with a small smile on their face and a reminder that he could "join later" and be useful then. Obvious bullshit, but after some time, John took that seriously and started training on his own to be prepared.

And he was prepared. Still is, due to strict training in military and at bootcamps that he worked his ass off, trying to be the best of the best, trying to be the best sniper, demolitions expert. He thought of every detail, knowing that if he wants to be remembered, he has to be remembered for something good. For something that people will be envious of.

Paid off, since he passed it with the highest marks on all 3 phases; he cursed in his mind at Gaz being a few seconds quicker than him with the record, but he was the youngest to pass the SAS selection in history, so he guessed it was good to give his rival – later best friend – the first place in something.

He was also brave on the missions; he still remembers his first one, even if he has actual two first ones. First one as a soldier, and first one as a Task Force 141 member.

Soldier one was tough. He didn't really know what to expect at first, if he's gonna be more engaging with civilians, or put into the crossfire; and he quickly understood that right in the middle of war, there's no such thing as knowing what's gonna come.

Death, feeling like a failure, trying to bottle everything up for the sake of the mission just to slowly rot inside, if you're not gonna keep up with it. Thankfully, John somehow knew what he was signing up for, so it came easier for him, but he saw guys that didn't make it far as he did.

In moments like this, he is thankful.

Johnny definitely prefers to think of the first mission with the Task Force, though. He waited for the time like this enough to be excited like a kid on Christmas day, jumping around to unwrap all the gifts. For him, gifts were new adventures to get, goals to accomplish, things to prove, since he was the youngest on the team. Price told him that, when he called him, Soap immediately sent his mum a text about the team he became a part of.

He came back home wasted, but it was for a good cause, after all.

For those who know Johnny enough, it isn't a surprise that he remembers everything about his first day. The weather, how he almost thought he's gonna be late for the first meeting because some moron bumped into his car, his nervousness, how he almost vomited, greetings with everyone on the team.

Over time, Kyle Garrick quickly becomes his best friend, and a keeper of secrets that Johnny has. Maybe it's because he's closer to age with him than with others, maybe similar experiences, but he really is someone that he can talk to without feeling any boundaries between them. Even if he is the holder of the record that he felt envious of (for a moment), somehow MacTavish doesn't feel like this anymore, he's more impressed, if it's possible.

Over time, John Price is easily his mentor. Someone that he looks up to, someone that he remembers from his past, when he was only training. A living legend that he wishes to be in the future, and now he's in his team. Johnny knows that if he'd tell anyone from his previous unit where he is, they'd be jealous. And for a reason; Price isn't just some captain that exists, he's a captain that everyone respects, and that's what matters.

Over time, Simon Riley… is still an enigma that Soap wishes to understand more, if it would be even a possibility. It's not – the man speaks less than a monk, wears his skull face all the time so he can't even take a peek at his face (he thinks it is pretty, though), but cracks jokes that usually belong to dads or uncles at weddings. Every time he thinks he knows something about his comrade, it collapses right in the moment.

No matter how MacTavish tries to talk with him longer, no matter how he nudges him so he sends him judgy looks, it's not enough. He's not the problem, he knows, Ghost is like this to everyone, but somehow that infuriates him even more, since he always found a way.

To everyone, and yet somehow isn't adding.

First serious interaction, where Soap can feel like he cares, happens where Graves betrays them and he's on the run. It feels like playing with death, after being shot in the arm, after feeling like he's on his own. After feeling like something that he finally had control of, it turned into ashes really fast. They weren’t even comrades for that long, they had so many things to live through together, and—

"Johnny, how copy?"

His heart nearly skips a beat when he hears that. Suprassing a groan of pain, he moves his arm a little; it fucking hurts, but it's good. Nerves are still there. "Missed my ass, LT?"

He hears scoff on the other side of the line. "You're the only one I can trust right now, sergeant. Thought you're dead in the ditch somewhere."

He knows It's probably better to ignore that warm feeling in his chest. "Never."

Everything after this, feels like a video game that he likes to play from time to time, not real life. Trying to get to church, trying to survive while Shadow Company is hunting not only his ass, but also Ghost's – and on Johnny's mind is also Alejandro. Is he alive?

He has many questions, and no one to actually answer him, but having Simon on comms somehow eases his mind, especially when he serves all those dad jokes. For the first time, it's Soap that doesn't know what to tell him, he is the one who speaks less, and it feels like a good break from the usual routine.

Surely, it would be even better if the conditions of the whole banter would be a little… calmer, without anyone on their back, but he had to cherish what he has. He supposes it won't last long, probably after everything will be right he'll get back to his usual, grumpy self, but it's the thought that counts.

John is quite pleased to see that he was wrong, when they're in the bar, after a mission; Task Force 141 back together, as well as members of Los Vaqueros back in Las Almas. Thoughts about how he would want to stay there for a longer time to help flood all over him, until the seat next to him cracks under Ghost's weight.

Soap bites his tongue before he says a joke about this. Bad habit, but he learned the hard truth over the years that sometimes he needs to shut up, especially if he cares about having his relationships in check. And, to be honest, he don't want to upset his lieutenant after he was so… caring for him.

"Everything's good, LT?" He tilts his head, observing how Simon sips his whiskey without even frowning at the strongness of the alcohol; couldn't be him.

"Tired, MacTavish," he replies, eyeing him up and down; lazily, like he doesn't really have the power to do this, but he wants to. At least, Soap thinks this way. It's a giddy feeling. "Your arm?"

"My arm?" he fires the question right back, without much thinking about it. Riley's one look gets him back to shape, and he suddenly knows what he was asking about. "Eh, 's… good. Hurts still, but should be good. Doctor told me 's nothin' too serious and—"

"—Why you thought 'm not gonna help you?" Ghost interrupts him.

It's not harsh like usual, when Johnny blabbers too much, and irritates his lieutenant with information that doesn't need to be said out loud. This one feels like a genuine question that he thought of for a while, and it makes sergeant all tingly inside.

Weird; because why Simon needs to know this? Does it bother him that Scot felt like he wouldn't help him, and he'd die on the streets like a dog? Or, worse: be tortured by Shadow Company, then he would eventually die, if Graves would feel generous enough.

"It's…" he gulps. His grasp around glass tightens, he doesn't even realize that only ice is left here, when he plays with it. "You didn't have to. Situation was rough, everythin' blew the fuck up. Wouldn't blame ya if you would leave me, happens."

Guy with the skull balaclava hums, like he gets his way of thinking. For a few seconds, there's an awkward silence between them, chatter from other people and music being the only sound. "We're a team, Johnny. Not gonna let you die on me anytime soon, do you hear me?"

He nods, but it's not enough for Simon. Johnny almost squeaks, when he grabs his chin unexpectedly, forcing him to look into his brown eyes. Dark, darker than the beer that he's currently drinking. "What the—"

"—do you hear me, sergeant?"

It takes all in his will not to kiss him, but Johnny knows that's not the situation like in the movies he watched with his sister; not like the movies, where the main character is adored by a silent, grumpy guy just because he loves them. That's just another situation with his lieutenant who should really seek therapy to talk better with people that he cares about because grunting out answers ain't really the way.

Johnny at least thinks he cares about him a little. He wants him to. "I do hear."

"Good."

And this is how the whole story gets interesting. Tracing Makarov, figuring out what they should do about Shepherd being an asshole, but first and foremost, interacting as a team. As Task Force 141.

[writingfromasgard]

In-game Bio: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish Masterlist

The Scottish born, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, is a fearless, self assured and instinctive hard-charger. He remains the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection in the Royal Army history. He earned the nickname "Soap" for cleaning house with remarkable speed and accuracy in room clearance techniques and urban warfare tactics. He is competitive, daring and always looking for a win.

Soap is a trained sniper and demolitions expert, often operating in isolation and under pressure, performing critically timed activities in support of clandestine missions. He is a risk taker, a fierce competitor and a fight in every sense of the word.

Soap has spent the last several years carrying out both covert and overt operations around the world. In 2019, he was chosen to be part of Captain Price's newly formed elite special operations unit known as Task Force 141.

In 2023, Soap was KIA responding to a terror attack in the London Chunnel led by Vladimir Makarov and his Konni group soldiers.

[kitkatscabinet]

Pride

Pairing: established John Mactavish x f! reader (+ kyle Garrick)

Summary: Soap's girlfriend takes him to Pride, where they meet one Kyle Garrick. AKA Soap discovering he's not as straight as he thought.

Warnings: m/m/f threesome, anal, cowgirl

Soap's in his early twenties and has just been selected to join the SAS when you take him with you to a pride parade. You're decked out in pinks, blues, and purples and though Soap is a little apprehensive as he's 'straight', he's very supportive.

He ends up enjoying it far more than he thought he would and gets comfortable enough to wait for you when you disappear to find a bathroom. Just when he starts to think you've been gone for a while he gets approached by the prettiest man he's ever seen in his life.

He introduces himself as Kyle Garrick and though it takes a few minutes for the name to click Soap becomes even more starstruck when he realises that standing before him is the youngest man in history to pass SAS selection.

Suddenly there's a hand on his thigh and Soap's brain starts to malfunction, he's so flustered that his neck is undoubtedly red. He's nothing if not loyal however, he loves his girlfriend very much and would never betray you (never mind the fact he'd been previously insistent he was straight) and tells Kyle as much.

To his surprise, Kyle just laughs understandingly moving his hand further up Soap's thigh as he informs him that Soap's girlfriend is already waiting for them at the hotel and flashes the keycard. The hotel is luckily very close by, because by the time the door swings open and he catches sight of you waiting on the bed Soap's an anxious mess of nerves and confused anticipation.

You pat your thigh invitingly and Johnny reacts on instinct, coming to lay on you as Kyle follows behind him. He jumps when he feels hands on his hips, slipping under his shirt as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"Relax baby, let us take care of you. You want that don't you?" You coo at him, and as you and Kyle work in tandem to rid him of his clothes Johnny finds that he does want this.

Kyle's planting kisses down his back but Johhny still jumps when he feels fingers lightly prodding at his hole. He's so flustered and embarrassed but you and Kyle are conversing with each other like you're not actively defiling him. As Kyle's fingers work him open, so different from the feeling of yours, you're assuring Kyle that Johnny can take it, that you've trained him to.

He can't even protest because you're not wrong and his mouth is busy biting at the skin of your hip to ground himself as you curl your fingers in his mohawk. He's forced to watch as you lean in to kiss Kyle, your hand holding him down by the back of his neck keeping him in place as his hips are pulled upwards and Kyle finally sinks inside of him.

Johnny's powerless to do anything but moan and writhe like a whore as Kyle pounds into him, watching from the corner of his eye as you make out with the other man and you finger yourself right near his face. Just as he's about to cum your hand snakes around to his cock and squeezes, ruining his orgasm as Kyle pulls out suddenly and flips him onto his back.

Before Johnny can start crying, Kyle's thrusting back inside and you've manoeuvered yourself to sink down on Johnny's cock at the same time. It's so overstimulating and even as he cums embarrassingly quick you and Kyle keep moving with your hands holding his torso down. So he can't even do anything but watch as your tits bounce and you turn your head to kiss Kyle again, the two of you using his body like a toy for your own pleasure with little regard for him.

It's not like he's complaining though.

Tags: @juvenillia @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @Tokusho @ohworm-writes @jack-crow-lantern @marvellover-12 @skylarf0rest @ghostfkr @Frogtowne @dumb-fawkin-bitch

[sgt-tombstone]

I love the idea of Gaz and Soap being the poster children for the SAS

Task Force 141 is a secret, but not so secret that the brass waste the opportunity to plaster Gaz (the current record-holder for highest test scores) and Soap (the youngest candidate to pass selection) across every piece of recruitment material they can

Price tries to put his foot down on most of it, but he can’t stop all of it; happy brass means more leniency when the 141 edges a little too close to war crimes territory

So at least one weekend every year, Gaz and Soap get geared up and run through every training course Credenhill has to offer about forty-seven times each with three or four cameras pointed at them at all times. It’s exhausting and infuriating, especially when the directors aren’t happy with the footage (because, surprise of all fucking surprises, real military training doesn’t look anything like it does in the movies) but they both try to enjoy the chance to show off

And it’s a spectacle. Almost everyone on base comes to watch the two most decorated sergeants in the SAS get put through their paces. Price and Ghost watch with varying levels of concealed price. Rookies line the edge of the courses, their eyes glued to the pride and joy of the SAS, who inspired most of them to join up in the first place

And then, the weekend passes and it’s suddenly all over. The camera crews disappear, the directors shake their hands and thank them for their service, and the base returns to normal until next year. But if Ghost gets the first copy of the promo video, before even some of the higher level brass do, that’s between him and the director, who really didn’t even take that much convincing

[dtrghost]

omg this is my first time requesting but TF141 with a reader whose love language is insulting them ( they probably insult her back 😭) thank you!!!

That is so me. Literally.

Synopsis: TF141 With a reader who just can't help but insult them, yes. This contains Johnny, Simon, Price, and dearest Kyle

Warnings: 18+ Content and references to smut, cursing, etc

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Now with this guy, it definitely goes both ways. At first he was confused and rather offended with the insults you threw at him, followed by your head falling back to laugh at what he thought was him. You noticed how he got upset and quickly reassured him that you meant no harm by it and that it was just how you showed you loved him. He found it weird at first, but he accepted it, knowing that he meant the world to you and simply followed along.

"Hey Ghost, maybe if you weren't so ass at shooting we wouldn't have to do this stupid training exercise." He huffed, rolling his eyes at your wheezy laugh as you put your sniper down for a minute, cackling loudly and hitting your chest to get some air into your lungs.

"Right, I hit your cervix pretty when I was fucking you like a slag last night." You gasped, both of your cracking up even more as you gently shoved him. Now, there's a downside to your language, because god forbid you crack a joke about him that he didn't like, especially when he was already mad to begin with, like after a failed mission, he'd be sure to let you know just where your bad mouth would get you.

"Just like that, my perfect little slut." He'd moan, fucking your mouth and forcing his cock deep into your throat as you gagged and choked around him.

"Put that dirty little mouth of yours to better use."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

He didn't get mad, he first gave you a puppy look, thinking you meant the insults you threw at him. But when you took your time to explain yourself, he'd laugh it off and gave you the go ahead. Johnny had nothing to be insecure about, he was hot, he had money, and he was the youngest candidate to pass the SAS selection, so he took what you said with a grain of salt.

"Weird they call you soap, smells like you haven't used any in days." He just chuckled, wrapping his arms around you with a wolfish grin.

"Alright lass. I'll let you have that one." You had been right at the time, he just got back from a mission where he sat in the mud for god knows how long and then had to lug his ass to the landing zone in the rain. Don't get me wrong, he'll bite back lightheartedly, but he loves soaking up your love for him, even if it isn't the most conventional.

But when he's not having it, you get to see the less light, funny side of him. He'd been fucking you stupid, pounding into you madly with his hand wrapped around your throat. You begged for him to let up, your legs shaking as tears rushed down your cheeks.

"Sorry lass? Couldn't quite hear ya. Mind tryin' again for me?" And he'd squeeze tighter to ensure not a word was heard from you.

"This'll teach you to behave darling. Remind you to address your sergeant properly."

Captain John Price:

This man is a DILF. Hot damn. To be frank, he's a laidback captain. He's not going to overreact and threaten to dishonorable discharge you for insubordination and disrespecting a superior officer because you told him he had a small dick. At first he was a bit surprised how comfortable you were insulting him with his rank, but if anything he liked it. He liked a challenge, though it was an easy one for him.

"You never react ya know. Why is that? The rest of the team bites back and you just, take it." He chuckled at your observation, shrugging and shooting a quick glare at the man who almost took a sit next to you at the bar you both occupied.

"I know you like the back of my hand princess. The insults you throw at those soldiers are far different than the ones handed to me. It's love princess, all it is." He then relentlessly teased you about the deep redness in your cheeks which you countered with eye rolls and mocking faces, because he was right, and he knew that. He analyzed everything you've ever said and done to him, how your body reacts, how your eyes portray every intention and emotion you're sending him.

But, just like the rest. Sometimes Price had to fuck the brat out of you. You'd made a comment, and he was having a rough day.

"How's the sex life then? Old man like him able to keep it up?" Soap joked.

"Some viagra wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'd actually get me to the yellow brick road." DAAAAMMMNNNN. Was the essential reaction. Of course you drew back and told him you were kidding, but the tight grip he had on your waist was a tell tale sign that he didn't like what he heard.

"You sure about that love? Don't wanna take it back before it's too late?" He whispered huskily into your ear. He knew you wouldn't, he knew you liked being his dirty little slut.

"That's it. Taking your daddy's cock like you were meant to. You reach that yellow brick road yet love? fuck sure looks like it, you've made a mess all over m'cock already."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

You and Kyle fit perfectly, like a match made in heaven. It was like a challenge between the two of you on who had the better insults. He's incredibly intelligent, 500 IQ lookin ass. But sometimes you were just that much better, and he accepted that wholeheartedly, because at the end of the day, this was how you showed your love, and he wanted nothing more to embrace that.

Sometimes he'd even reward you. He'd get touchy (more than usual) and the day would end with him on his knees in front of you, worshipping your pussy and body like it's what he was made to do.

"I'm so lucky to have such a smart, clever girl like you. Fuck you're perfect in every way." And you were. Even if you could be the meanest fucker on the planet.

And that's it!! I'm sorry if it didn't meet your expectations or you had something different in mind but based off what I've read this is what I think they'd be like!! Thank you for the request @angieisbroke and I hope you enjoyed <333.

[cristaq]

This is a public service annoucement approved by the Special Air Service.

In recent years, SAS had more deaths in training and exercise than in active combat. Soap is the youngest man to ever pass SAS selection, where only 10% of candidates make it. As such, depicting him as helpless or incompetent WILL get you court martialed.

To further push this agenda, Soap does have extensive military training, as SAS recruits from existing armed forces, not the general public. So he already is a military man. Actually, I would love for someone to explore a bit his time in the parachute regiment. (I will be that someone)

Thank you! Enjoy the rest of your day (in a military court!)

[wishfuldivine]

Alright. This is for you @gaystappen!

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a character from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare franchise.

He's a Sergeant and part of the Task Force 141 along with Captain Price, Ghost, and Soap. He's either the youngest or nearly same age as Soap, who happens to be another Sergeant. Quite frankly, it hasn't been established with accuracy.

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008,  serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year. Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters. Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs. Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture. Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness. "Everyone talks about the physical aspect of being in the SAS but my job is mostly mental. Give me a guy who's got his mindset right over a guy who's twice as fit any day of the week."

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing. Kyle's last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare. Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil. Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror. (Had to copy and paste it for you to get a glance at his early days)

Therefore, he's a complete BADASS. The only problem when it comes to him is that, the majority of the COD fandom leave him out of stuff. It can go as far as fanart, fanfics, edits, and more. Basically, he's ridiculed for simply being POC. Even the official Call of Duty company by the name Activision often leave him out of things. Such as promos, skins on the game, etcetera.

His character development within the franchise is by far my favorite. He went from scared, insecure, doubtful, to determined, level-headed, and voice of reason.

Though, he can be such a damn brat. There's parts of the campaign in MW2 where he is a smartass and witty while speaking to Captain Price and Kate Laswell, the Station Chief and close friend of Price. Don't let his hard persona fool you. He'll be the first to join Soap in any mischief.

But overall, this is my baby. I can say so much more but that's what is on top of my head. He's my best boy. My baby girl. My precious pretty boy. My muse. He's so gorgeous. And beautiful. He belongs to the other 3, though. XD

Sorry if it's very long!

[starsofang]

cod characters as detroit become human characters

soap as connor

- extremely skilled at what he does

- makes sarcastic/snarky comments towards people he doesn’t particularly like/trust, but can be very serious and sharp when doing a job/interrogation

- dedicated to his work, hence why he’s so good at it

- gets along with essentially everybody, but people end up letting him down/turning on him ): graves

- soap was the youngest to pass the sas selection, and connor was the first android to be created for police work :p

- very smart and knowledgeable, literally know SO much about everything, especially their jobs

- both rays of sunshines

ghost as luther

- it was hard picking who ghost would be, and at first i said hank. they’re both lieutenants, have lots of trauma ): and liked working alone until their partners came along

- but i also think he’s a lot like luther

- first off, big boys

- reserved personalities that make them appear off putting and cold at first, but once you realize that’s not all they are, they’re very kind people who just happen to be intimidating

- luther is very protective of his ‘family’, ghost is protective of 141, he’d very much die for them and kill for them

- history of abuse and mistreatment, they come from bad backgrounds that created who they are today

- gentle giants. i don’t like the trope that ghost is scary and mean, because he’s not outside of missions. in dbh, luther was made out to be the same way when all he wanted to do was protect kara and do his duty of being a guardian, and i feel ghost is very similar

gaz as markus

- natural born leader

- gaz is very selfless and wants better for the world, the same as markus

- well spoken and executes their voices very well

- extremely strong willed while also knowing how to keep their temper in check, they know how to do their job and do it well

- does what they have to do in order to guarantee the best outcome, even if it’s not always what they want to do

- they’re also very pretty to look at lmao

price as hank

- at first this didn’t really fit in my mind, but after some thinking, i think they’re pretty similar!

- both of ranking in their respective jobs

- experts at what they do, have been doing it for a long time and know how to lead their men in the ways they know best

- hank is a bit more of a grump than price is, but when they’re both angry (ex. price literally any time shepherd is around), they bring hell to whoever they’re angry at and don’t have the nicest things to say

- the world on their shoulders, they just need a nap man

- hank doesn’t show it as much, but they both have a lot of care in their hearts, especially for the people they work with and they’d do anything for them

- love their liquor after a job lmao

farah as kara

- selfless women who have been through so much

- both deserve better

- but because they’ve been through a lot, they’ve become strong both physically and mentally and use that trauma to their advantage

- will do anything to protect the ones they love, even if it means hurting themselves in the process

- farah is such a soft spoken person with high maturity and intelligence in the way she conveys her words, just like kara

- i literally love them to death, best characters in their respective games ):

graves as elijah

- can be manipulative as fuck lmao

- when they have an end goal for themselves, they do anything to achieve it, even if it means taking others down with them

- both can be perceived as complex characters that have good intentions and good moments, but also know that the reality is they’re rather selfish people who make decisions for themselves

- even the way they talk is similar at times !!

- many people who don’t truly know elijah trust him, just like graves, but only the people who they’ve hurt know the real side of them

- many people like them, while many people don’t, that’s how conflicting their characters are and it’s hard to pick a side

shepherd as amanda

- literally hate them both

- but really, they’re great characters that bring so much to the story and the way it progresses

- has lots of impact on the way the characters navigate themselves. amanda controls connor, while shepherd controls graves. it’s a very similar concept imo

- lots of knowledge and wisdom but uses it to manipulate things the way they want

- betray the very people they’re working with and supposed to guide, for their own selfish reasons

- both dead, technically lmao

replaying dbh for the sixth time and i was like !!! this might be a fun concept. to some it may not be entirely accurate, but i thought it was fun to dissect all the characters and see who fits who the most, and this is the way i see everybody 🙏🏻