#Soap is alive

[the-californicationist]

Hiiii 👋 I'm chasing the writer asks thing around 💛 the alps look amazing, I'm so jelly 😭

How about 🏷️ and 💥? 💛

Ahh!! I’m having so much fun up here. 🏔️ But I have like NO internet, so I’m going through withdrawals.

💥 — Soap lives. Like omg it’s a crime what they did.

🏷️ — I’m finding myself searching more and more for slowburn tags this season? And I used to be a complete fics only girlie, but now I am more willing to wait for a fic to update if the quality is really good.

I also search for ABO. Oops. 😬

Thanks for the ask!! 🩷

[x3no9]

I think we are all in agreement that Soap survived, am I right?

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

me fr

johnny’s alive and you can’t tell me otherwise :(

//mw3 spoilers

He’s fine, what do you mean? He’s just in recovery

(And I’m still in denial)

[rusticfurnace]

// GHOSTSOAP x sailor song! (🔊 ON ) // suggestive imagery ⚠⚠⚠ individual panels:

[m-1-8]

methinks the Lieutenant likes the Sergeant alive

[wombywoo]

retired 🩶

[inktailsaystuff]

Real I am the bandages

[MW3 SPOILERS]

This is the canon btw I don’t know what game you played but this was the ending I saw.

[accecakes]

They deserve a little time off :"")

[felrija]

Older Ghoap sketches

[baohanhanesel]

MWAH

[high-on-sonder]

Soap (watching them from afar with tears in his eyes): They know me so well.

Proper selfie time? -141

Price: Sleep easy, soldier

Gaz: see you down range, brother...we'll take it from here

Ghost: rest in peace, Johnny

R/N: I'm feeling a bit emotional because this is what he-

R/N: oh my days...this is the most beautiful sunset ever!

Ghost: mate, you can't be serious

R/N: take a picture of me!

Gaz: R/N-

R/N: dude please this will be the last time I see a place this pretty

Price: we were mouring-

R/N: and we will continue after I get this picture Price

[leathfaic]

One of the things that pisses me off about MWIII and the lead up to it so bad is that whole "Oh I wasn't in the tank" thing around Graves.

Because it takes away from my success as a player and its just dumb.

But more importantly because Activision for some reason decided to play it like "Look at Soap being so dumb thinking he killed Graves, isn't he a ridiculous little man?" while Graves is given the "strong survivor" treatment by them.

Soap took out a tank.

Without dedicated gear.

He survived multiple assault teams while at it too. Not just survived, he took them out as well.

And then blew up a tank with nothing but some C4 to a point where no one in it could have survived.

Like he did that and you're telling me Graves wouldn't be fucking afraid of running into that guy again? If being in a tank can't save you from his wrath you're telling me he ever felt safe around him?

Nah. No way. We deserved to see him flinch the moment Soap enters the picture. To keep to the other side of the room. Trying his best to work with anyone but him.

Soap is unhinged and highly dangerous, or he would have waited for his chance to piss off instead of fighting that thing but he gets treated like instead of letting loose of his anger over the betrayal he was just a big dumb dumb and everyone else was in on the joke.

Like fuck man. That also means the player is seen in the same way, like you thought you just won a cool boss battle? Oh you stupid little player, that was for nothing and we're gonna take that feeling of success back. Games don't need to be gratifying, do they?

Actually that probably could be MW3s whole title.

[kkusuka]

how 141 ended up at the pentagon halloween party was unclear but they were there, on a balcony looming over the central courtyard watching you and your friends chat about things that are absolutely classified. but as the night winds down your groups dwindle and somehow soap found himself alone on the balcony as you stare into his soul.

and it's not like he hasn't been watching you all night, in your cute little sixties dress where if he stands at the right corner and you stand far enough away, he can see the curve of your ass and the tiny shorts that look more like panties as the night drags on. and watching you downing four cocktails then immediately shot gunning a beer was impressive and if he had any more time to spare in america he would ask you where you're planning to spend the night. maybe even ask you about your breakfast plans, or any plans at all that he could stick himself into to stay near you. or maybe just stick himself in you at all-

"you do demolitions, right?" your voice breaking him out of his new favorite fantasy was one possibility he thought up, but he was hoping it would be you asking him to pounce on you and not his job but he can work with this, "yeah, i can tell ye anyt'hing you wannae hear, bonnie."

and you just keep looking at him, so he takes it away. he heard you talking with your friends about information handling so he isn't worried about the heaps of classified information he's telling a random federal worker. "- and even ma good pal ghost, the quiet on wit the mask, cannae do it like i can. not tha 'm tryn' to brag, lass, unless yer into tha-"

"you should wear a helmet."

"wha?"

"like one of those green army helmets that cover the top of your head. like just incase you know?" and he's suddenly frozen, his bonnie lass worrying about him? so sweet, he knew that fate would eventually reward him for doing what he does- "i'm sorry this was really weird, just uh- keep going i guess? i'm so sorry. i'll stop bothering you."

he feels frozen watching you get up and head towards the door, assumingly to rejoin your friends to leave. and you almost make it, hand reaching for the handle before he jumps into action. hands grabbing your waist, dragging you back to him, a lot closer than he thought you'd let him be considering how tense you got. but god if he didn't love how your eyes stared up at him and how close your face was to his, just an inch closer and he'd be kissing you.

"nah, not strange at'all lass. helmet it is, and maybe, in case ye ever wannae check in on me, i could get yer phon-" and it would have been such a good moment, one of his best actually, if not for the bloke busting through the door, smiling to greet you, and then puking right at your feet, "ah, fer fucks sake-"

then you're being yanked away from him by two of your friends from before, babbling about how the uber is three minutes away.

"wait!" then you're right in front of him again and there is a pinky in his face and your eyes are back on his, "pinky-promise? for my sake?"

"yeah, pinky-promise fer yer sake, bonnie." and he leaves you with a promise, a kiss to your wrist, and no name to remember him by.

( 'yah lads just donnae get it. no one's ever looked a' me like tha, i'll wear the helmet to hell of they wannae me too'

'tha's great sergeant, now pick up your gun and lets go'

'nah captain 'ts not great, i've got a sweet lass worryn' 'bout me, this is better than great'

'you got a name from 'em soap, or are we gonna have to hear bonnie and lass for the rest of time'

'FUCK' )

and just a few months later, when he wakes up in one of the hospitals near the base with a doctor babbling to him about how the bullet was slowed down by his headgear and that if he had been shot from any closer he wouldn't be here- johnny knows that another visit to the pentagon to see his bonnie lass was in order.

(maybe dinner and a good fucking after- as a thank you, y'know?)

[s0fter-sin]

“simon riley’s dead,” ghost chokes out; bitter resentment coating his tongue. “i’m just wearin’ ‘is corpse.”

mactavish doesn’t shy from his venom; sees through his hiss and doesn’t fear his rotten-fanged bite. he reaches out, pressing the flat of his hand to his breast and ghost damns himself for the way his breath catches; for the way his shoulders curl in around it in a silent plea for it to stay.

“that’s no drum in your chest,” he whispers defiantly.

his hand slowly drags over his chest, coming to rest over his sternum and he feels its possession like a brand against his skin.

“it ain’t bellows inflating your lungs,” he dares and he involuntarily inhales; his body longing to rise to his challenge.

mactavish pushes and he rocks back on his heels just to sway in closer; just to beg for the pressure to chase the phantom weight of six feet of dirt from his bones.

“you’re far from rigor mortis, riley,” he promises and there’s air at ghost’s back instead of decaying wood and infested flesh. “i won’t let the earth take you from me yet.”

[miilkybnn]

(werewolf au) he got bamboozled

[theonewhowails]

silly stuff i drew while reading Feel No Evil by @payasita , in which the Lamb does not know how to propose, Narinder does not know how to be alive, and neither of them knows what an obligate carnivore is

bonus? lmao