#MacTavish Family

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[numberonecodwomenfan]

mrs mactavish’s garden died after johnny did because she didnt have the motivation to take care of it

happy mother’s day!

[milkydough]

Johnny

[forestshadow-wolf]

Just thinking about Ghost meeting Johnny’s family for the first time and being absolutely terrified. He’s never seen what a happy family looks like so when Johnny’s dad gives him a playful but very creative shovel talk he freaks out/has a panic attack because he thinks he’s being serious and he’s already scared of the man. Maybe he accidentally includes something that actually happened to Simon but it legitimately freaks him out and Soap has to figure out what happened and reassure him that he’s safe. Also Soap gives his dad a talking to because he warned them…

Apologies anon for the late reply

Oh I bet thsi definitely did happen. Soap's pa aaying he'll bury him alive if he has to. And it sends ghist into a spiral

[iifishizzleii]

sibling johnny mactavish includes

unedited😛

having eight sisters.

this man has ‘younger brother’ energy written all over him. he’s the middle child, but by the time his parents got to having johnny, they were already at the ‘eh, i don’t care what you do just don’t die’ phase parents get at with their kids. which meant that it was up to his four older sisters to raise the boy right.

johnny knows how to read women. and while it’s partly because his sisters taught him well, it’s also because living in a house full of that many women meant learning their language or fucking perishing. this man is fluent in eyelingual. he knows every eyebrow raise, side-eye, narrowed gaze to a pointed look. who needs morse code in the military when you got eyelingual?

being a big character

because when you learn the language, of course you’re going to want to learn the culture as well. and johnny mactavish has been submerged in women culture all his life. which means three things:

one, he knows how to play the long game. whether it comes with petty revenge or simply asking for something from a higher power (his oldest sister), johnny is the king of waiting it out, finding the sweet spot of those moments and taking it. it’s the reason why only he, out of the entire task force, can get away with so much shit when it comes to laswell.

two, johnny knows how to be mean without being rude. thanks to the second and third mactavish daughters, his sisters (bless their heart), johnny knows how to kiss a person’s cheek while stabbing them with verbal cues. his sisters would do it all the time to each other and to guests that came over that they didn’t like. and it paid off being the brunt of so many passive aggressive comments because johnny’s work sometimes requires being civil, but that doesn’t mean he has to be a gentleman.

and three, johnny knows how to play dumb. really. it’s almost scary how quick this guy can go from playing with sticks and making dumb jokes about mud, to building a bomb made of sticks and mud. and it was his younger siblings, surprisingly, who taught johnny that being as pretty of a family that they were (because let’s be fr, soap is gorgeous), nobody expects them to know how to think. it makes getting out of certain situations and receiving special treatment so much more easier, too, when all you gotta do is give a charming smile and bat your eyelashes (ghost has been at the receiving end and has fallen for this act far too many times to let anyone else know).

having really thick skin

a lot of people think having an older brother is tough. and hey, it is! ghost would argue its a lot meaner than having a sister, because sisters are naturally more nurturing, nicer, and kinder than brothers are.

and for the most part, that was true. all of johhny’s sisters are good people. they’re kind, yes, and helpful and overall worthy of their spots through the pearly gates. but they’re not fucking nice. the fuck.

the amount of times johnny was dragged out of bed to take out the trash at the crack ass of dawn is ridiculous. he should have brain damage now from how many times his head hit the floor. but, he was the only boy, so all the ‘manly’ jobs like mowing the lawn, washing the cars, bringing in the groceries, all of those were johnny’s chores. (but, even then, most people would pass their home and see several girls—blondes, brunettes, and gingers— washing the porch, the family truck, and tending to the yard. johnny was j

and that’s not even to mention the psychological warfare. mactavish’s are infamous for their temper, so when you’re living with eight other land mines dressed in heels and lashes just waiting to be stepped on, everyday was a different fight blowing up in the house. and when you got insulted by your sister, johnny learned that the only way to deflect is by hitting them with something meaner a lot more quickly or you’d cry.

like that time johnny blamed the wet floor in their bathroom on all of the leg hair his younger sister kept shaving and getting stuck in the drain so the water flowed out the tub and soaked the tiles. and she automatically replied with, “or maybe it’s all the grease from the back of your fat fucking neck dragging on the ground that’s making the tiles wet”. (it was their other sister’s fault it turned out.)

loving the hard times

because as much as johnny could give his family shit for all of the bad days, none of them could compare to the good ones.

the mornings where he woke up to the smell of sourdough pancakes and sizzling bacon.

when his sister would pull him out of school early to go shopping at the mall, and she’d buy him a new toy or cool shirt.

when he did one of them a favor and later that week she’d taken johnny to get some greasy fast food with her to eat at a park because she wasn’t trying to buy food for the whole house.

when his younger sisters spent their first daddy-daughter dance standing on his church shoes and holding his hands because their real father wasn’t around anymore.

when they spend the rest of the day outside spraying each other with the water hose after washing the cars because the house was too hot, and sandwiches with premade lemonade under the tree was lunch.

when the winter winds were so strong they broke the heater, and the family spent a week having a slumber party in the living room to keep warm.

when they all got matching tattoos on the ankle, a roman numeral for each sibling.

when johnny went off to join the army, leaving his sisters for the first time, they all went to the airport to see him off.

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Noble Blood - Medieval Fantasy AU

Fandom: Call of Duty

Word Count: 3718

Chapter: 1/?

Relationship: Knight!John "Soap" MacTavish X OC

Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, original characters

Summary: Nanette Oakley is the young daughter of a farmer. She is sent on an errand by her parents, to take a basket of goods to their good friend, Mrs MacTavish. While there, someone Nanette thought she'd never see again turns up.

A/N: this was not written recently but it is a WIP that I go back to between the pirate au and other little fics for Jodie and Frank. This was actually not meant to be the main story for my medieval fantasy au... that was supposed to be Franca and Simon... alas, these two stole my heart and their story is my favourite from this au so yeah.

Usually, the market that took place on the last weekend of the month was always extremely busy; that morning was no deviation from the tradition of the mad market rush. Every square inch of the palace’s vast outer courtyard was brimming with hustling life, bodies squirming around the temporary striped cloth stalls. At times, the people perusing through the market would seldom find a chance to stop and catch their breath, nor to parry a caustic remark to others of the inconvenient bustle. 

Amongst those hurried souls, a young woman had spent most of that rushed morning dashing about the market; she was effortlessly ducking underneath moving baskets, between the flurry of colourful fabrics, around other oblivious market-goers. Nanette Oakley was used to the frantic climate, but she could not say with any mirth what her true feelings of having to deal with it were - though she would admit through a heaving sigh that, yes, it would most definitely keep her on her toes, the fighting ring known as the market. 

That being said, she would also gladly admit that she wasn’t overly fond of the idea of having to intervene in a literal fight, which was something to occur more often than it should. Maybe it was the busyness of the market, the heat of everyone crammed inside the tall battlements that shielded the courtyard. A hysteria would sometimes settle amongst a few stall owners and fights would break out. Laughable fights, mind you, but fights nonetheless and they could be draining on the moneybag. 

One month it was the leather vendor, nestled just around the corner from the local tavern, starting a verbal altercation with his brother, the local butcher. Another month it was a locksmith who had come from out of town and set up shop just a few metres away from the currently active locksmith’s humble abode and workshop, with the aim of stealing away her customers. 

But Nanette was not one of those types to blindly fling a balled fist at just anyone or for any old reason, which she noted was often the trigger for most brawls that took place. No, Nanette did not have an ego made of glass or a short, unchecked temper, but she did have a father who needed protection from others who might mean him harm, whether that be of the physical or emotional kind. 

Wilbur Oakley’s daughter would only get feisty if her father or his stall was accosted by the wrong crowds, snooping vendors hoping to see what prices his wares were with the intention of selling theirs for less, or idiots who wanted to bad mouth her father. You see, Wilbur was gentle, soft at the core, and his green fingers had earned him the love of their little village and others around the kingdom. He worked himself to the bone on their farm and worked himself harder to make sure that his family were cared for. So, when Nanette was old enough to join him on the few markets that required two vendors for his stall (for the sheer amount of vegetables and fruits he had to take and people that would come like a flock of birds) he was glad for his little bodyguard. In the face of her father needing defending, Nanette could put aside her own gentleness to protect him.

At this moment, though, the market’s hustling crowds had begun to die down to a small hum, with some stalls beginning to pack up and ready for their journey back home. Nanette, however, had been given a new errand to run. When her father had handed her a pristine wicker basket, fresh cotton wrapped around a loaf of bread her mother had made, fresh fruit and vegetables from their farm nestled within, her only instruction was to head to a small cottage on the outskirts of the palace’s outer courtyard. She was told it would be a short walk along a stream past the eastern side’s gate and soon she could see the small collection of cottages that she was told to look out for. 

Within this small castle village lived a dear friend of her parents, one that she had grown up knowing , but, in her more conscious years of childhood, she’d lost contact with. When contact resumed, it was usually her mother who would be the one to visit, however an illness had taken her health and so Nanette didn’t mind stepping up to the task, despite it being years she’d last seen the friend. 

Eventually, the young woman came across the sage green door she was instructed to keep her eye out for, as well as the collection of thistles and heather in the front garden. Wrapping her knuckles on the door, Nanette then stepped back, patting down her skirt and picking stray bits of cotton fluff from her corset and shirt. As the door was pulled open, she finished making sure that the flyaway frizz of her hair was under control, before she peered forward to the lady standing in the doorway. Wearing a slightly tired smile, Nanette uttered, “hello, Mrs MacTavish!” 

“Aye, that’s me, lass,” came the jovial reply. The woman was shorter than Nanette, thick, coarse hair pulled back into a low bun and though she was aged, it was full of a deep lush brown colour; there were few strands of white hair to betray the woman’s age. Of course, there were also a few mentions of laughter lines on the woman’s features, dotted with freckles and tiredness under the eyes. The woman, Mrs MacTavish, spoke again, “it’s been such a long time since I last saw you, lass, come on in why don’t you.” 

With that, a calloused hand reached out and took the crook of Nanette’s elbow, gently urging inside until she was past the threshold and the door was closed behind her, “oh, and please, call me Moraig, we’re no strangers, you know.” 

There was a light laugh that sounded in the older woman’s chest, and soon they were nestled at the oak table settled in the middle of the dining area; this was shared with an open kitchen, fire blazing and heating up the place. A few moments passed, then the wicker basket was pushed slightly towards Moraig, “my parents sent me with this, they send me with their love, too - mum would have come herself but she’s not very well.” 

“You know, I knew your Ma was comin’ down with somethin’ awful last I saw her. Do we know what it is?” Moraig’s brows furrowed in concern, but there was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, like a feeling of ‘I tried to tell her’ but whatever advice she had given her mother had fallen on deaf ears. Sometimes that was the case with her parents, they were stubborn to a fault. 

“Not yet, but I have a feeling that it’ll take a while for it to pass, I’ve asked her to see the apothecary in our village, but-” 

“Oh you know what she’s like, she’ll wanna get rid of this herself,” Moraig sighed, “but if I have to go down there and talk sense into her, then I will, it’s been a while since I visited you lot.” 

A rush of feet sounded down the stairs, then two girls, one barely even thirteen and the other bristling at a similar age to Nanette, burst into the room. 

“Is Auntie Adaline alright?” came one worried question, then another followed with similar sentiments. Both girls were the spitting image of their mother, the younger had rosier cheeks, hair raging with curls; the other was a similar height to Nanette and straighter hair, though the colour was a lighter, muted brown unlike her sister and mother. Two sets of eyes were darting between their mother and the woman sitting at the table, one a deep brown and other a piercing light blue gaze. 

“Of course she is, don’t you worry,” Moraig huffed, rolling her eyes fondly at her children. 

A brief pause. 

“Wait, Nannie? That you?” The older girl was smiling, brown eyes honied with mirth and excitement. 

“That can’t be Nannie, she’s too big,” came the little girl’s retort, brows knitting together in scrutiny as she looked Nanette over. 

“Girls, I see you remember Nanette,” Moraig chuckled, and Nanette stood up. A flood of childhood memories came rushing back and she recalled just how much the two of them had grown. 

“Gods, I remember when you were so small,” Nanette chuckled, arms stretching out into an inviting hug. Lesley, the elder daughter, rushed into her arms, “it’s been years! You big lummox, why’d you stop visitin’?”

Eventually, after Nanette let her laughter die down, she replied, “I had to grow up, Lesley, dad needed help… I’m sorry.” 

“S’alright, I’ll let it slide this time.” 

“You really are Nannie then? Even though you’re big.” This was Bridget. 

“Yes, it is, are you going to hug me now or what?” Nanette huffed, puffing out a cheek to emphasise her playful hurt. Bridget finally rushed over and gave her a huge squeeze, though it was more around her legs than her body. For her age, Bridget was still very small. 

“It’s nice to see it's like no time’s passed with you three,” Moraig smiled, there seemed to be a tear to her eye, too, “now the question is, are you stayin’ for a little while? I started with some water on the fire, should be about ready for makin’ a brew.” 

“Can I have one ma?” Bridget asked, soon discarding the hug for a place at the table, wandering hands moving to the wicker basket. Without even looking, Moraig had plucked a handkerchief from the breast pocket of her dress, swatting at the little hand now peeking into the fruits, “of course you can, but you’re not usin’ as much honey as you did last time, hard to come by as it is without you usin’ it all up, little cub.” 

“I can stay a while,” Nanette informed, “it’ll be nice to catch up…” 

There was a slight feeling of guilt, as it truly had been too long since she last had the chance; she must have just turned fifteen the last she saw the girls and now she was… well, she was ten years on, now. 

----

Time seemed to have passed so quickly, but when in the throes of conversation, who can blame one for not keeping their eye on it. Nanette and the girls were chatting like they truly hadn’t been apart for so long and Moraig was happy to listen to them get along like they did as children. It was also nice to see that the dynamics hadn’t changed and Moraig could sense that, had she been given the opportunity, Nanette would have made a brilliant big sister; lucky for the girl, her two daughters had decided she would be the perfect candidate for themselves. It caused a laugh to grow in her chest and if they still seemed so close now, she wondered just how close they would be had time not kept them apart. 

All the while, the weather had turned dark and clouds rolled over the sky in a disastrous haze of thunder and lightning, rain hashing down on the lands below unrelenting. It seemed that, Moraig thought to herself, Nanette wouldn’t have had a choice but to stay anyway. The woman was pulled back to the conversation at hand when her eldest daughter slammed her hand on the table emphatically. 

“Yeah, an’ then d’you remember what my idiot brother decided to do then?” Lesley huffed, hands clawing down her features as she recalled the embarrassing memory for her friend. Nanette was trying her best not to let the smile break through, but failed miserably at the task and Lesley almost groaned and abandoned the story. With a flurry of encouragement from Nanette and little Bridget, who was desperate to hear this story again, Lesley continued, though her tone betrayed just how much she hated this gossip. Still, Nanette needed updating on everything. 

“He decided that Robert wasnae good enough and chased him away with a big st-” 

The front door whipped open as a crack of thunder and flash of lightning filled the room. The droplets of heavy rain left wet debris on the floor, as a hunkering figure hovered in the doorway, covered in a completely soaked cape, lined with heavy furs. The hood obscured the features, but the girls could guess that this person was probably not best pleased with the weather. 

“Bleeding hell,” came a gruff voice from under the hood, as the body moved further into the warm, dry home, muddy foot kicking the door closed behind them. From what Nanette could see, this person was clad in leather armour, though protection was its purpose it hadn’t protected them from the cold or the rain. They spoke again, “it’s pishin it doon-”

“Mind what you say in this house,” came a firm warning from Moraig, who was already on her feet and heading into a different room, only to return with dry clothes and blankets, “why on earth, lad, are you here in this weather? I tell you again and again, stay at the castle.” 

The hood was drawn down, as numbed fingers felt for the clasp holding the cape around this person’s shoulders. It was then that it hit Nanette. 

“You know the sayin’? Speak of the devil?” Lesley rolled her eyes, then shouted up to her brother, “oi, you gonna stand there all night or what?” 

Nanette became very stiff as she sat at the table, unable to figure out just how she should carry herself in the presence of John MacTavish. Part of her was glad that he hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Pipe down, you,” came his huff, his back turned to the girls at the table, “bet all you’ve all day is sit about and do nothin’.”

“Have not!” Lesley jabbed back, rising to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. 

“Have too.” He replied, still not looking over. 

“Have no-” 

“One more word out of you two and I swear to the Gods.” Moraig snapped, taking the soaked cape from the man’s hands, “now, mind yer mouth, we got guests.” 

It was at this point that all eyes in the room were on her, watching her every move and silently judging how she conducted herself. Like a statue, Nanette was stone, frozen to the spot and unable to will her body to do anything other than just remain seated. Her hands were pooled in her lap, fingers intertwined with each other out of nervousness - her mouth had run completely dry and her throat threatened to croak if she attempted to speak, so she opted for remaining silent. 

There was a hope that she was appearing indifferent to his presence, but her physicality would always betray her; in shock (or was it awe?) her lips were slightly parted, jaw loose. Yes, she wished that she could say she looked away, was unaffected, but the truth was that just looking at him seemed to stir up some sort of emotion. 

The young woman couldn’t decide what emotion it was specifically, as there were so many rushing to be the first to surface in her chest, but she could guarantee that none of them were good. There was a moment where she tried to convince herself that her eyes were deceiving her.  

 That couldn’t be John MacTavish, the John of her childhood. The John she knew had been her best friend, her protector, and one day he just disappeared. He’d up and gone without so much as a word of it to her, leaving her in a gaping void that used to hold him, and what was she supposed to do but deal with it.

Now, here he stood, as though he’d been here the entire time she’d been without him. 

Yes, Nanette could not, for one moment, name any of the emotions that she was feeling, but she reiterated to herself that, now she had a moment to process, they were most definitely not good at all.

As for John, he was awash with nostalgia, longing, guilt. His gaze had found her quickly, followed by his brows rising sharply in bewilderment, he couldn’t quite believe that the girl he knew had grown into quite the beautiful woman. In this moment, he became acutely aware of everything, how he felt, both emotionally, physically; how water dripped from his hair, down his forehead and off the end of his nose; how his clothes clung to his body uncomfortably; how heavy the leather armour was; how she was staring at him. Was she staring at him because she couldn’t remember him? Or was it because he looked as though he’d just gone for a swim in the moat around the castle on his way back home?

Maybe it was none of those things. 

Maybe it was all of them. 

The two younger girls watched with bated breath, unsure of what was going on. They weren’t privy to the two’s history, so couldn’t understand the silent war going on in the room, but they could feel that something was off. The bright, cheerful feeling that had captured Nanette was now slowly fading and leaving something entirely horrible and heavy behind.

“Miss Oakley?” John’s voice was quiet, soft, in comparison to how it had sounded with his sister. Assertiveness had left a place for softness, tentative tones guarding the conversation against, what he anticipated to be, an upcoming argument. It had been years since they last spoke and part of him invited that argument, if only it meant that he could be reminded of what her voice sounded like; would it even be the same? She had changed so much, could he even begin to imagine the person she was now? 

Nanette drew her gaze down, away from him, and to her hands in her lap. She became fiercely aware of each crevice that created the mapping of hand prints, the small curvatures of each line that defined her fingertips. It was all very clear, like crystalline ice surfacing a lake in winter, so sharp and defined. In drastic comparison, she could feel heat rise in her chest, like a fire burning away at coal in a stove and his voice was the stoker urging the flames higher. Nanette couldn’t decide if this emotion was settling to become annoyance or anger, but either way, he was causing it and she did not like it. 

Rising to her feet, she patted down her skirt, adjusted her clothing, her hair, then offered a short-lived smile towards the girls and their mother, “thank you for having me, Moraig, it’s been lovely to see you again. Girls.” She bowed her head in acknowledgement, before she was making for the door. 

“It’s rainin’,'' Lesley called out, tripping over her own feet in the rush to be at Nanette’s side, “you’ll catch your death of cold out there!” Quick patters of smaller strides soon joined at Lesley’s side; Bridget was reaching out to grab at Nanette’s hand and when the warm little fingers clasped on so tightly, the woman finally halted. 

“Please stay, Nannie,” the little girl pouted, eyes wide and watery, bottom lip protruding so comically in an effort to get her own way. But, Nanette had spent too long there, her parents would be needing her now it was crawling ever-closer to nightfall, and she had other errands to be doing. 

“I really should go, but you’ll see me again,” she urged, bending down slightly at the hip, free hand coming to tap the young girl’s nose as the other hand gave an encouraging squeeze to the girl’s fingers. Bridget sighed, shrugging her shoulders exaggeratedly, before she conceded and gave Nanette the go to leave, “you promise?” 

“Promise.” Nanette crossed her finger over her chest, just above her heart, smiling all the while. Satiated, the girls stepped back, knowing that if anyone was going to stop her leaving, due to the weather, it would be their strong-headed Ma. 

“If you must go now, then at least let my boy take you home, it’s gettin’ dark out and I’m no fond of the kinds’a people that hang around in the night, not to mention it's a good long walk from here on down to your home,'' Moraig huffed, eyebrow raised as though to beg Nanette to disagree, less she wanted an earful. Oh, it may have been a long time since she had seen the girl, but Moraig didn’t see herself as less of an auntie-figure, her mother’s best friend and a good woman. That meant the girl would get the same worried treatment as she gave her own children. 

With a slight pause, a twitch of annoyance tugging at the corner of Nanette’s mouth, there was a moment where there may have been some choice words used in response to Moraig; Nanette respected her, though, even after all this absence in her life, and so would respect her will. 

With a defeated nod, Nanette was then offered some warmer clothes and a cape, done so by Lesley, “it might be a bit small, but it’s better than what you’ve got, or… not got.” Though the young girl supposed that there had been no warning of this bad shade of weather, it had been lovely and warm all day. Softly, in response, Nanette took the cape and thicker coat, “thank you.” 

As Lesley was sorting out Nanette, Moraig was thrusting a dry cape into her son's hands, a pointed look on her face, a warning, perhaps. Her grip on the cape remained a little longer than was necessary and John shook his head, amused but apprehensive of his mothers antics. His mother was a woman abound with great intuition and John knew that this ‘silence’ between himself and his childhood friend did not go unnoticed; he could also hazard a guess that his mother had figured out why, too. 

“Behave you two and make sure the girl gets home safe,” Moraig said. 

Regimentally, John nodded, shoulders squaring at his ma’s command and soon, once prepared for the harsh weather, the two exited the home.

[snootlestheangel]

I absolutely wanna hear those thoughts about Death Doesn't Want Me!!!

So like part of the whole premise is that Ghost doesn't want to get too attached to the MacTavish’s that he's traveling with, for the sake of hoping it means they make it to the safe zone all alive. And initially there's a group of people unrelated, and they're kind of assholes, so he's not too keen on letting them in on the secret of Ghost.

So he doesn't talk, doesn't show his face, kind of stays to the back.

But it's not long after they lose the assholes, and Ghost is starting to slowly get closer to the family. It's subconscious, really. He's drawn to them because of the same reasons he was drawn to Johnny's presence. They're warm, and gentle, and kind-hearted people. They're caring and they're loving, and before he knows it, they're considering him a part of the family, even if he's being referred to as the adopted cryptid cousin.

And it's really late one night, everyone is asleep except Ghost. And he's laying there internally panicking because they're so close to the safe compound he knows holds Johnny and the rest of the MacTavish’s, but they're still so far it seems. They have to make so many detours to avoid mobs of the undead, and they can't move as quickly because they've got children, and it's a bit much for them, especially with the weather warming.

Turns out, he's not the only one awake. Two of the younger MacTavish niblings are having trouble sleeping, and they turn to the comfort of their new friend Ghost when they realize he's awake too. They're the cutest girls, 9 and 6 years old, and have never once shown any fear around Ghost.

He lets them lay with him for a bit, listening to him breathe as they try to fall asleep. But it doesn't work, and the six year old sits up with tears in her eyes.

"I'm scared" she whines, and Ghost takes a deep breath.

"Me too" her cousin, the older girl, adds.

Ghost looks between the two of them, thinking for a moment.

"Can you girls keep a secret?" Both of their eyes widen bigger than Ghost thought possible, and they both furiously nod their heads.

"I'm scared too." He admits. He explains how he's afraid of failing to get everyone to the safe compound. They talk about their fears, and that being afraid can be a good thing. And Ghost reminding them they aren't alone, they still have their parents and siblings.

"And you?" The six year old asks, and he smiles from behind his mask.

"Course, kiddo."

And if their parents wake up to find their protector fast asleep, a kid under each arm (both also sleeping peacefully), then that's the moment they know Ghost isn't going anywhere unless Death itself takes him.

But I've finally figured out the timeline cause I wanted to let Ghost spend as much time alone with the family before everyone's reunited.

It involves the original safe compound becoming compromised and everyone abandons it just before Ghost and the MacTavish’s arrive.

Ghost reaching his breaking point once dealing with the evolved creatures that were part of the compromise and fighting to keep everyone safe. And he's just looking around at the side of the compound that's falling apart now, the bodies littering the ground, and Soap nowhere to be found. He feels so alone in this fight and he's struggling to keep it contained.

But he's not alone. He's in the midst of his panic attack when there's suddenly people around him. He's not alone and he hasn't been for a while

So that's when he stops being Ghost, and starts being Simon

And if Death doesn't want him, then so be it. They'll have him, and that's all he needs.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

First part

Second part

''I'm fine, bunny''

After being discharged from hospital but still on medical leave, Soap forced Riot to stay at his family's farm in Scotland so she could be taken care of (put under vigilance) by his parents. His two older sisters, Caitriona and Isla, were already married and moved out, but Freya (Mini) was still a medical student in Edinburgh. Because it was 3 hours away she only came back home on the weekends, and on one particular weekend she had the surprise of finding Christine there.

This all happens in 2020

[wombywoo]

retired 🩶

[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)

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[numberonecodwomenfan]

im feelin angsty today so erm….

definitely dont think about price having to sign the letter informing the mactavish family that their youngest and only son had died. there’s a dried teardrop stain on the paper when mr. mactavish opens it.

dont think about jc getting the call from her parents that johnny, her twin, her partner in crime and built-in best friend, is dead. realizing that he won’t be coming home for christmas, and that he wont be in her wedding next summer.

maryanne having to tell her kids that uncle johnny is gone when they ask why he’s not at thanksgiving, and susanna doing the same with hers. everything is so quiet without him. no crude jokes tossed across the dinner table, no stories of missions or his ‘good friend’ simon, who he actually did manage to drag home with him for christmas and thanksgiving one year.

christmas is worse. he died so close to december that beatrice had already done her christmas shopping. she cried over the stupid gag gift she had gotten him, and opening presents was a solemn event. johnny always gave nice gifts. things he had procured while deployed, little toys from different countries for his nieces and nephews, the occasional watercolor painting of a landscape he had made.

aggie and johnny used to always play backyard football with the kids (which usually just ended with everyone rolling in the snow) but without johnny as a goalkeeper, it wasn’t the same.

it’s colder without him. his picture leans on the wall above the mantle, the picture susanna always teased him about, in his fancy dress uniform, with medals pinned to his chest and that stupid beret covering his mohawk. his dog tags are hung over the corner of the painting, along with the rosary he always kept on him. he’s smiling in the picture even though he wasn’t really supposed to. either the photographer didn’t care enough to reprimand him, or johnny’s smile was just so bright that the photo would have been too dim without it.

[milkydough]

The MacTavish family

[forestshadow-wolf]

I am trying to overcome my social anxiety by interacting, so here is an idea.

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFSd3L47/

Raven shifter Ghost

Wolf shifter Soap

The family dynamic could be the mactavish family.

Hi! :D

Wait! Omg that's so genius!

It makes sense too because that's pretty much the dynamics that they have while on base or in the field, with Ghost being overwatch most of the time.

And then imagine soap bringing Ghost home to the family for the holidays. Pack hunting is a good form of bonding and communication upkeep in the pack. Imagine ghost helping them spot a herd of wild deer, then he stays back to watch over soaps neices and nephews and niblings

When the rest of the pack return, prey in paws (hehe get it - like hands) they find Raven!Ghost hopping around and playing with the pups

[the-raindeer-king]

Boyfriend Johnny MacTavish, who doesn't mind that you're a single parent. He's always wanted kids, so he just sees this as a potential head start to having a family.

Boyfriend Johnny MacTavish, who doesn't mind changing plans at the last minute because the babysitter canceled. He'll show up with tickets to the zoo, and be willing to carry your toddler around on his shoulders all day.

Boyfriend Johnny MacTavish, who's stuck around longer than any other man has. Who loves your kid so much, and is always willing to spend time with them.

Boyfriend Johnny MacTavish, who openly cries when you and your toddler ask if he wants to adopt them. To legally be their father.

Step-dad Johnny MacTavish, who loves your kid as if they're his own. Who never lets your kid feel left out or unloved. Who'd willingly helps with play time and bath time. Who's honestly just the best dad you and your child could've asked for.

[divine-draws]

Request for the kisses from twitter :3c