#soap importers

[inkskinned]

love when men cry about body hair bc "it's hygiene" and yet 15% of cis men leave the bathroom without washing their hands at all and an additional 35% only just wet their hands without using soap. that is nearly half of all men. that means statistically you have probably shaken hands with or been in direct contact with one of these people.

love when men say that women "only want money" when it turns out that even in equal-earning homes, women are actually adding caregiver burdens and housework from previous years, whereas men have been expanding leisure time and hobbies. in equal-earning households, men spend an average of 3.5 hours extra in leisure time per week, which is 182 hours per year - a little over a week of paid vacation time that the other partner does not receive. kinda sounds like he wants her money.

love that men have decided women are frail and weak and annoying when we scream in surprise but it turns out it's actually women who are more reliable in an emergency because men need to be convinced to actually take action and respond to the threat. like, actually, for-real: men experience such a strong sense of pride about their pre-supposed abilities that it gets them and their families killed. they are so used to dismissing women that it literally kills them.

love it. told my father this and he said there's lies, damned lies, and statistics. a year ago i tried to get him to evacuate the house during a flash flood. he ignored me and got injured. he has told me, laughing, that he never washes his hands. he has said in the last week that women are just happier when we're cooking or cleaning.

maybe i'm overly nostalgic. but it didn't used to feel so fucking bleak. it used to feel like at least a little shameful to consider women to be sheep. it just feels like the earth is round and we are still having conversations about it being flat - except these conversations are about the most obvious forms of patriarchy. like, we know about this stuff. we've known since well before the 50's.

recently andrew tate tried to justify cheating on his partner as being the "male prerogative." i don't know what the prerogative for the rest of us would be. just sitting at home, watching the slow erosion of our humanity.

[wispscribbles]

Me @ Ghost: I sentence u to happy retirement, loser

[bitchylittlevictorianchild]

I just got out of military training for school, and let me tell you something. Just as much as COs push their companies/squads/what-have-you to their absolute limits...they also have an indomitable sense of humor that they will push onto their subordinates.

In other words, all those fics in the CoD Fandom about any character taking their anger/sadness/what-have-you out on their company by pushing them extra are true to an extent. But there is also the opposite side of that coin, which is this: COs often fuck around with their company and take out their good emotions on them. Which has the potential to be very, very funny.

Examples:

Soap: Private, when I say "Pop your shit, twin." you will drop that thang Magic Mike style, is that understood?

---

Ghost, with a thousand-yard-stare: Take this disposable plastic fork. It is now an inspectable item to be kept on your person at all times. You will give it a name starting with L.

---

Gaz, leading his company in a march: When I give the command, you will left-face and post an L at Delta Company, understood?

Price, leading Delta Company: Recruits! Right-face and flip off Bravo Company, am I clear?

---

Soap: Private? Who is the General of the sassy man apocalypse?

Recruit: Sir, Lieutenant Riley, sir!

Soap: Very well.

---

Ghost: Recruits! Do you think...that Sergeant Mactavish...is pretty?

Soap, posing like a 50s pinup: Recruits, say ooh! Say ahh!

---

Gaz: Private...you have IBS?

Recruit: Sir, I think so, sir.

Gaz, monotone: Me too. One time, I made the mistake of eating Taco Bell while inebriated. I cried on the toilet the whole night.

Price, walking the hallway behind him, trying not to laugh: LOCK IT UP!!

Gaz: From now on, your nickname will be Private Midshitman.

---

Ghost, yelling a jodie: Now, from the top!

Recruits, responding: Make it drop!

Ghost: That's a-?

Recruits: WAP!

Ghost: THAT'S A-?

Recruits: WAP!

--

Gaz, too tired to PT: Recruits, fall out on my command, and griddy into the barracks.

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about hypersexual Simon Riley and aromantic reader. He doesn’t have time to date with his job, or the patience to find new hookups all the time. Dating apps are the bane of his existence. If he’s honest with himself, despite his wants, he doesn’t enjoy unfamiliarity. He doesn’t like having to explain himself over and over to people who often don’t understand (or care).

Instead he finds you, a pretty little thing that moves into the flat next door. You don’t demand commitment, or that he opens up more than he likes. You’re easy, kind, soft under his hands. You offer companionship when he needs, make conversation without expecting more than he’s able to give right now.

You’re in much the same position. Despite how men often say they want to hookup without any strings beyond maybe a casual friendship (if that), as soon as you’re the one to set that boundary they start whining. Can’t handle the idea that you don’t want them in every way possible. Can’t stand losing out on that control over the women they’re with. In your experience, at least.

You dread the day he inevitably finds someone. He’ll leave you behind, of course, and it’s not that you’d hold it against him. Simon deserves love like no one you’ve ever met. That impending day has become a little more real since he’s been talking about this “Johnny” from his work, though.

Obviously partially inspired by Service Dog Johnny by @void-my-warranty and a little bit by Harmless Fun from @rememberwren (if you haven’t read their stuff please please please do, they’re both incredible)

Update: I started it (LINK)

[gomzdrawfr]

Importance

[felixeis003]

Good Luck Kiss ;))

[brewed-pangolin]

In the mess hall:

Laswell: Choose your best sex song.

Price: 'Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe' by Barry White.

Gaz: 'Mr. Bombastic' by Shaggy.

Ghost: 'Yellow' by Coldplay.

Soap: '1812 Overture' by Tchaikovsky.

Price/Gaz/Ghost in unison: What?

Soap: What? The first fifteen minutes are all foreplay. That's the most important part.

[morimementa]

For your consideration: Autistic Soap with echolalia. Ghost immediately clocks it for what it is because they're Autism4Autism, but it takes the rest of the 141 a while to catch on. For the most part it doesn't bother anyone but one day Price goes off on him for imitating the sound of a helicopter overhead because he's got a migraine and everything is Too Much Noise.

Soap immediately slumps in his seat, whispers an apology and hurries out of the rec room. Ghost follows and finds him in his room having a panic attack. Turns out Soap's parents had their own ideas for how they could turn their son "normal", including getting physical when he talked too much. Ghost find that relatable in the worst way. He also realizes that Soap is as outgoing as he is because he feels safe with them.

After giving Soap some deep pressure hugs to soothe away the panic attack and making sure he's ok by himself, he goes back to Price with some water and Advil. Price has started to calm down at this point but he's still brain hurty. Ghost waits until the migraine's passed before filling him in.

Price felt like slapping his forehead. Soap's file had mentioned the autism, but he hadn't realized echolalia was part of the package. When Soap comes in to apologize later, Price beats him to it.

They work out a system where Price can non-verbally convey when he needs quiet and everyone is a little more content after that.

[ghcstao3]

ghost and soap have both come up with the most obnoxious, atrocious voices whenever mocking one another

ghost does this awful, high-pitched, totally bastardized scottish accent to imitate soap, absolutely butchering any slang and making up nonsense otherwise claiming it makes no difference, soap is just as unintelligible as is

soap, on the other hand, deepens his voice a stupid amount, over-annunciating words, always throwing in comments about tea and the monarchy even if it has nothing to do with what he’s making fun of

they’ll both pretend to get pissy about each other’s mockeries, bur really, they love it. it’s too much fun to truly get offended by, and it’s even more entertaining when it annoys a third party

[konigsblog]

Orlaaa I can't send videos but there's this clip of a Scottish kid who's like 3 and she got her nails done and her accent is so cuteee😭 "look, I got my toes done and my naaels" I WAS MELTINGGG imagine having kids with Johnny and they got their daddy's accent🤧

HAH, i'm assuming you're talking about this video? it's adorable, and it's totally something johnny's kid would do. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

johnny is the perfect father, he's an active father despite being deployed often and is always there for her. he spends so much time with his daughter while on leave, usually out at the beach or perhaps even at the park with his toddler daughter. most kids don't have a thick and noticeable accent like his daughter, and it makes her stand out from the crowd, brightening peoples days with her laughter. god, people can't help themselves from melting and laughing at her cute, scottish accent. it's not often you see a proper scottish baby.

you absolutely love to send johnny videos of his daughter while he's on deployment, whether you're her mother or not, or even just a babysitter for her. johnny adores waking up everyday to a new video along with a somewhat coherent and loving message from his beloved sweetheart in scotland, in her princess dress, or even a photo of her new drawing of her and her daddy.

he can't help but laugh uncontrollably at the videos that you send him. it pulls at his heartstrings and he can't wait to have her back in his strong arms once again, cradling her and keeping her safe until she's fast asleep with the sound of her heartbeat and shallow breathing loud enough for johnny to listen to while he's attempting to catch some rest after months without his favourite girl.

he can't help himself from showing the rest of his trusted team these videos, especially price, who kills himself laughing at johnny's sweet daughter. johny watches them whenever he can, replaying them constantly and trying to arrange a time where he's able to call you and speak with his daughter while on deployment, more preferably through facetime so he can admire the glittery makeup and fancy face paint all over her adorable little face.

[bowenoke]

edit: btw it is not safe to wear contacts in the shower! the option is included for accuracy, but please consider throwing on an old pair of glasses or just going blind into that wet box instead.

[wishfuldivine]

Kyle making breakfast for the 141 as he listened to music and they sat at the kitchen table watching on.

John would sit and stare, a warm smile gracing his lips at each hum and bob of his sergeant's head. It was quite adorable in a sense. It was a very rare sight to see him like this.

Johnny would grin like an idiot. His eyes trained on the way Kyle moved his hips slightly. It was subtle, but there. His eyes held unconditional love for the fellow sergeant.

Simon would lean back against the wall with his arms crossed. Watching Kyle cook with such soft eyes that he only reserved for them. It was no brainer that he had a soft spot for the youngest of the team.

They were utterly in love with this adorable man.

[yi3248]

ive already lived my life without you (is it okay to want you?)

the ghoap animatic that has occasionally haunted my files is finally done!!! (albeit with choppy timing lmao)

[onebarofsoap]

commission of hot rod for @djdeez! thank you for donating to our hurricane relief fundraiser! 😊

(check out the fundraiser details here if interested)

[atopvisenyashill]

i get to a certain extent when people push back at some anti targ stuff with “that’s a feudal system that’s how every house works” the problem here is that the incest and the dragons makes it worse.

i think you can draw a lot of parallels between baelon & ned and the way they fail their younger sisters, but crucially, lyanna does not show up in ned’s bed naked when asking for help the way viserra does. there’s a level of horror there that is much more severe when it comes to “women being nothing but wombs” when you are acting as a womb for your brother and when the only way you know how to ask for help is by attempting to seduce your older brother, instead of simply asking. yes plenty of husbands feel entitled to their wive’s loyalties, bodies, and wombs and plenty of old dudes marry much younger women but i Do in fact think there is something much more sinister about lysa realizing she’s been done wrong by hoster & jon and raging against them while miserably trapped in marriage and daemon spending literal decades grooming his infant niece into believing she will only be safe from harm if she turns from all others and relies solely on him for protection.

yes, stannis and renly react with extreme violence when faced with insecurity over being the younger brother in someone else’s shadow and stannis does a fair amount of damage to king’s landing…and yet what he does pales in comparison to aemond’s campaign of mass slaughter in the riverlands atop vhagar. yes, robb makes his grief over losing ned the problem of every lowborn person in the riverlands but aegon & visenya committ what i would argue is an indiscriminate and genocidal campaign of destruction (think ancient civilization genocides like rome against carthage) during the dragon’s wroth over their grief from losing rhaenys.

like, i keep seeing this “the only difference between the rest of the houses is the dragons and incest” but those are huge differences that impact the way their family works on a fundamental level. i think there is a level of horror to naerys desperately begging for a normal relationship with aegon only for him to continue raping children into her until she dies that is not present in similar marriages on the basis of “this is her fucking brother.” the entire system is feudal but the way the feudal system works in this specific family, because of their dragons and incest, brings the entire system to this natural, horrific endpoint and that’s the entire point of this whole family!

[pupyr0arz]

To Color

to influence, especially in a negative way; distort or exaggerate.

Soap x m!reader: references to reader being AMAB, being a gay man, being in a gay relationship, etc. minimal pronouns. Part 1.

Summary: Every human on earth sees the world in blacks and whites and grey until they touch a specific individual, romanticized as their fates love. You don’t buy into that, you’re happy as you are and don’t need or want a stranger barging into your life just because your eyes decided they were important. Johnny disagrees with this conclusion.

warnings: Johnny is a bad, bad man, and reader is going to be miserable for a while, sorry. General cws for creepy, pushy behavior, sexual harassment, stalking, and Johnny not respecting Reader’s autonomy or ability to choose. More warnings may be added. Mentions of sex. Minors DNI

@gatlily @focalor-hydro-archon hey pst. Pssst.

Soulmates are overrated, overhyped, over-mentioned, over talked about. It’s awfully inescapable, in movies, in ads, on the news, in books, and the looks you get for complaining about it, like you’ve declared a blood feud on the concept. You just want some peace from the expectation and all the assumptions of glitz and glamor for five goddamn seconds, but lately that blood feud is looking mighty tempting.

Your cynicism in regards to fated lovers wasn’t part of anything dramatic, like in the movies where the skeptic always got revealed to be the child of a divorce caused by soulmates or something equally inane. Your parents weren’t soulmates, which was honestly average. Most people never met their soulmates and lived perfectly fulfilling lives. Soulmates weren’t the end all be all of love, and when they did show up they certainly didn’t all fall into the simple shapes a romcom would tell you.

Your father could see color, his soulmate was platonic in his cousin, the two of them were close friends and they lived just down the street. You’d come up on the porch while your cousins played in the yard and sipped sour lemonade and bother them about how colors looked, and they’d argue about shades and how to describe it. Your father always wanted you to meet your soulmate, wistfully regaling the first time he ever saw the blueness of the sky. Uncle Jeremy would just pinch your cheek and wave you off with a laugh. You had a really normal childhood, honestly.

You got tired of the game in high school, when blossoming hormones and teen drama rocked the school for weeks on end over and over about the same damn things. You were old enough to really have coherent opinions about the world, and fated lovers had turned from funny stories from your father and ads on tv to in your face irritants. One of your friends friends faked seeing color for two weeks to date a guy she really liked. You weren’t extremely close to either, you sat with them at lunch and watched them in periods and they seemed happy. He dumped her in a flash, and moped around school afterwards and all you could think about was why color seemed to matter so much to people.

It sounded fantastical, sure, you wouldn’t mind having an extra sense. You daydreamed about color coming to you in a whirl, setting the world alight in a billion lights, seeing things in new clarity and depth. It was hard to imagine, some other attribute lurking just outside of vision that stained the world in strange, vivid ways.

Bonded people opened museums, attractions built for viewing color in odd ways that blended and blurred together to your black and white vision. Hidden objects and paintings and other things that they cooed over, long essays about vibrancy and the million metaphors for color. You don’t really buy into any of it, if you could taste the crispness of a shade of ‘red’ then what’s the deal with feeling it with your eyes? You’ve eaten apples before, you don’t need to see the flavor to enjoy it. Why should you be so desperate to sacrifice so much, when you already have senses that give you joy?The thing is, with fantastical things is that they’re fantasy, they aren’t grounded in anything solid or real, and you weren’t enthusiastic to take that leap of faith and step onto open air and pray it was a trust fall, not a jump to your death.

You could live without color, and honestly thousands and thousands of people got on perfectly fine. It’s not like any part of society was really based on seeing color these days, other than the fine arts. You weren’t artsy anyways, you never managed to get into it. So what if you didn’t really know whatever ‘green’ really was, did it really mean the end of the world? the end of a relationship? Why would you throw away something that made you happy, something stable, for a complete stranger? Your mother was perfectly happy with your father, and she had never met her soulmate. What if your soulmate was a family member, or a friend? Why did everyone always hold out hope they’d find a perfect marriage partner, when it seemed like soulmate bonds could be something like a perfect smoking buddy to a perfect brother? Honestly, romance didn’t seem so dependent on the whole farce at all. You could build something that didn’t need anything but whites and blacks and all of the shades between. You might not be able to see the red of a rose, but you could enjoy the shades of gray that painted the world with someone you could trust to always hold your hand and have your back.

You dated a handful of people, most of whom were still holding out hope of brushing fingers with their ‘truest love’ to see the beauty in the world. As you got older, more likeminded people cropped up, less likely to vanish and ghost you to wander off on their ‘journey’ to find their soulmate. You had your first kiss, lost your virginity, moved in and out with other people. Relationships blossomed and fizzled and died and you picked yourself up afterward with the occasional thought of ‘Jesus, I couldn’t imagine trying to make THAT one work as my one and only’ before you carried on. But all of that was before, in the section of your life cut so neatly and sharply in two that it was hard to believe they were ever, or could ever be joined.

All before you met him.

You met him on a dating app, which was remarkable enough. It was built for quick hookups, but most dating apps that advertised themselves for long term relationships were soulmate based and you found that crowd to be endlessly irritating. He’s bi-curious, you’re the first man he’s ever dated and honestly that almost turns you off entirely. But you decide you have no better prospects at the moment, so what the hell.

Charlie’s cute, and he greets you with a nervous smile and can barely meet your eyes, he tells you with red eats that he’s ninety nine percent sure that he’s gay and that his friend has been begging him to just take them plunge and you nod and give him some dutiful advice. You’re definitely not looking to be a guys experiment, that rarely ends well, but he invites you out to dinner where he loosens up after a glass and goes on an impassioned rant about theater etiquette and suddenly things are actually interesting and you’re talking too loudly for the table over but you couldn’t care less.

He’s funny, nervous but out there and you talk about musicals you’ve never heard of and tv shows he’s never seen for forty five minutes before you reach across the table and grab his wrist. The sex is light, he makes you laugh through blunders like banging his head against the wall and you kiss afterwards and it feels light and sweet. It’s blissful, honestly, something you’ve forgotten you were missing at all until you’ve been handed it. You keep things non penetrative, he’s far from trying bottoming and you’re not a fan of being on the other side of it, and you have plenty of fun keeping him awake with all the other options. You talk to him again the next day, and then the next, and then his number is in your phone and you’ve been going steady for months.

Charlie isnt a perfect Prince Charming, he’s got his issues. He’s over the top and he pushes himself to meet standards and crumbles at the last second and you’ve had your fair share of screaming arguments. Work is stressful and some nights you go to bed in different rooms because you can’t stand dealing with him. You have your own issues and Charlie complains more than once, rightfully you’re forced to admit, about you being cold and reclusive when you get angry at him, and you’ve had to buy apology ice cream more than a couple times. But you have movie nights and kisses and cake together and a warm, building feeling in your chest. You go out to the zoo, try and fail to learn how to knit together and eat buttered toast with too much black pepper over the kitchen sink on Saturday mornings. You don’t get into anal but he gets really good at giving blowjobs, and those slept mornings spend kissing and exploring each others bodies fill you with a precious glow.

Charlie isn’t your one size fits all, but you’ve managed to find him a slot in your puzzle, and built him a home in your heart together. You love Charlie, and he loves you too, tells you so with cheesy flowers and you buy him one of those dumb necklaces that click together that you totally don’t love. He brings you lunch at work and you drive him home from visiting his parents, and your friends are fine enough with his to go drinking together every couple of times. His best friend does your tarot readings and gets an awful tattoo you laugh about together. You cry and he doesn’t

Life is good. It’s not effortless, it’s not magic, but it’s good because you made it so. You’ve pushed and pulled and made something with your bare hands, and you have the luxury to sit back and watch the alabaster glow of the sun brighten Charlie’s face into a million beautiful shades of gray.

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm, and soon Charlie’s inviting you as plus one to a wedding and you start thinking about rings and commitment.

That’s all before you met him, though.

It happens like in a storybook, so trite that hours after it happens you’re wondering if you suffered some serious brain damage. Maybe you got hit by a car, or had a delayed reaction to the weed your friend passed you last week, or something happened to scramble your thoughts into this strange new unreality.

You’re visiting the library when it happens, dropping by after your shift to pick up some new reading material, not looking where you’re going. Charlie’s texting you a million and a half recommendations while you’re planning on picking up some awful garbage to groan and complain about later while he makes fun of you, and you’re typing a dick joke involving one of the sillier titles you spotted on the shelves. You bump into him, not a shoulder check but you run into him like a wall and he barely stumbles back. You’re not a small guy in the slightest but he’s built like a brick shithouse, Jesus.

“Ah, hell, sorry man.” You apologize, giving him a sheepish smile. “My foul. I should watch where I’m going.”

He doesn’t puff up with anger or anything but flashes you a toothy smile, so you relax. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, mate.”

Oh, he’s Irish or something, the accent is thick as all hell. It sparks your interest, a definite standout from the midwestern folks living here, and you don’t rush away to continue your browsing. You don’t walk away, like you should’ve, you don’t realize that in two years this will have become your biggest, most shameful regret.

He peers down at you, light eyes, ivory maybe? He’s got a weird haircut, some kind of half committed Mohawk thing. It’s an awful haircut, really shitty, so you politely avert your eyes from the active train wreck and send a prayer for any casualties, and realize you’ve dropped your phone on the ground.

“Ye dropped—“

“Ah, let me—“

You both reach for it at the same time, and your fingers brush, and the world changes, and you have all of a half a second to freeze in shock and confusion before you accidentally headbutt him and fall over.

Maybe he had a thick enough skull to really hurt you. You would know.