#mactavish

[blackcrayons]

🧼 "How ye like it, lass~?"

You know that Scottish tradition says to wear nothing underneath, riiight? 👀🔥

[tehriel]

Sgt

links

[mondonguita]

[mactavishsgfandwife]

it was tipping it down the day that you and johnny got married.

your beautiful dress, the intricate white lace that hung from you like silk, glistened. not from silver or gold, but from little droplets of water that ran down the back of your train, pooling and merging into one another along the way.

your hands were cold, they felt wet and solid and real as they clasped around your light bouquet. cool, not cool like ice but like faces coming in from the cold, finally home.

this was not at all like you’d planned - an outdoor wedding was a great idea, you’d agreed - lovely surroundings and plenty of room for your sister’s children (and your groom) to run around in. seems you’d neglected to plan for a natural disaster, or at least the closest thing to it west of glasgow.

despite the downpour, you embraced your new surroundings as you walked the path from your past to your future, up the makeshift aisle. little loose hairs were damp against your forehead, curling up a little in the wet. your cheeks and your face ached, wonderfully, splashed and sore but so happy to be here. and to see him.

standing there, grinning back at you, johnny. his cheeks were wet, just like yours, and you were sure he was thanking the lord for making the tears brimming in his eyes less obvious. that stupid mohawk - you don’t think he’ll ever get rid of it - all scruffed up from the damp and the way that he’s been running his hands through it incessantly, almost desperately, all morning.

to his left, your bridesmaids, and to his right, his three old friends in matching suits. one you don’t recognise, but through deduction it’s clear that he must be simon. no mask. never before have you seen the man’s face and it seems strange that he’d suddenly choose to flaunt it to your whole family - but he knew how much this meant to johnny.

"hello, bonnie," your fiancé coos, reaching out a much warmer hand to yours as you step up beside him. tenderly, he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, watching your eager eyes smiling as water droplets dance down your face.

"fuck, you’re cold," he laughs, talking under his breath. you can’t help but giggle. this is the man you love, this is the man you want to marry.

this was a little different i hope you guys liked it! heavily inspired by an insta reel i saw of a couple getting married in the rain but i lost it :(

not proofread, sorry if i made any mistakes!!

masterlist pinned on my blog 😇

[call-of-daydreams]

Hi! My brain decided to fixate and deep dive into the MacTavish name and it’s history instead of doing my Statistics work so if you would like a little history lesson on the history of the MacTavish name to get a better background history of Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish… here you go I guess!

Johnny’s Backstory

Early Life and Career: John MacTavish, aka Soap, emerged from the Scottish highlands, showcasing early signs of resilience as a football goalkeeper. Inspired by his cousin's SAS membership, he officially joined the 22 Regiment at 18, specializing in covert operations and counter-terrorism. Not much is known about Soap's early life except that he was born Roman Catholic. He is from Scotland, which is evident by the Scottish flag seen on his dog tags, along with his Scottish accent.

Origin and Background of The Name

First and foremost, Clan MacTavish is an Ancient Highland Scottish clan with Irish origins. It is believed that they moved to Scotland during the years of the Scoto-Irish settlement era. Further confirming this, there is a reference to the MacTavish holding lands in Ros Buill (which is the old kingdom of Ross Guill) and it now encompasses part of County Donegal, Ireland.

Clan Chief

Clan chiefs are the leaders, they hold power over the lands within their control, make important decisions on behalf of the clan, and protect the welfare and interest of their people. The current clan chief of Clan MacTavish is Steven Edward Dugald Mactavish of Dundary. He is the Chief of the Name and Arms of MacTavish. Steven is the 27th Hereditary Chief of Clan MacTavish from an unbroken line.

What Does the Clan Name Mean?

The clan name MacTavish is an anglicised- An·gli·cize (make English in form or character) form of the Gaelic MacTàmhais, which translates to Thomson or Thompson in english. This means that the name is a patronymic- Pat·ro·nym·ic(a name derived from the name of a father or ancestor, typically by the addition of a prefix or suffix) form of the Gaelic personal name Tamhus (which can be pronounced Tavus or Tavis), and that translates to Thomas in English.

Crest

The crest badge suitable for members of Clan MacTavish it contains the crest and motto of the clan chief. Their crest is a Boar's head erased. They are a clan that live/lived in the HIghlands region, and they reside in the Argyll district. Th MacTavishes pipe music is “MacTavish is here” and their historical seat is at the Castle of Dunardry.

Motto and War Cry

Their motto is NON OBLITUS. This is a latin phrase that means “Not forgetful” or “Do not forget me after death”. It is often associated with funery text, where the deceased are commemorated. NON OBLITUS can also be translated to “For love of country”.

Their war cry is CRUACH MOR! This is an Irish word that means “Big stack” or “Tall high stack”. 

Tartans

The MacTavish tartan helps embody the rich heritage of the clan, rooted in Scotland’s Argyll region. Traditionally, tartans identified different clans affiliations andwere used for both practical purposes and during ceremonial occasions. The MacTavish tartan weaves together red, blue, black, and sky blue.

Kilts

The kilt is a significant symbol of Scottish heritage, culture, and pride. A kilt is a garment resembling a wrap-around knee-length skirt, made of twill-woven worsted wool with heavy pleats at the sides and back and traditionally a tartan pattern. Kilts have been worn during significant events, such as weddings, highland games, and even battles where they symbolized courage and unity. The kilt first appeared as the great kilt, the breacan or belted plaid, during the 16th century. The great kilt used to be a full-length garment where the upper half could be worn as a cloak draped over the shoulder or up over the head.

Fun Facts About Scotland

The official animal of Scotland is the Unicorn.

Scotland has approximately 790 islands.

Scotland is the birthplace of golf. It has been played there since the 15th Century and has evolved into what is now modern golf.

The world’s shortest commercial flights is in Scotland, The flight can be finished in 47 seconds and it connects two of their islands.

The Bank of Scotland was set up in1695 is one of three oldest banks in Britain.

The Encyclopedia Britannica (the Wikipedia in the “olden” days) originated in Scotland.

Glasgow is also the birthplace of football (Soccer) diplomacy. In 1872 the first ever official international football match was played between Scotland vs. England and supposedly neither side could score a goal.

One of the largest performing arts festival in the world, the Edinburgh International Festival, attracts over 300,000 people annually.

[theseraphimficwriter]

poor!soap x boss!reader [ masterlist ]

warnings . a bad interpretation of soap’s scottish accent, i do not know how :(

contents . soap tries to find a job and ends up finding the perfect one !

poor!soap, who was new to the city—searching for a job to provide for his family back in the provinces. he has asked his friends—the 141—for advice on where to look for a decent job, and they all answered the same; “the city.” so, of course, johnny wanted to see if what they said was true.

poor!soap, who finds the perfect job—being a maid. he expected a very strict boss, an old man who wanted everything to be squeaky clean once he’s home. but johnny was so wrong. once he got the job, he raised an eyebrow as he saw you—claiming to be his boss. huh? a fine lass like you? “erm, ma’am, are you sure you ain’t the boss’ daughter?” he asked, watching in disbelief as you chuckled, “no, i’m your boss.”

poor!soap, who was overflowing with joy when he finally thinks of the pros of having a boss like you, pretty with hair that flows perfectly, a skin color that matches your beauty, he really hit the jackpot. he gets to see your face everyday at work, he gets to serve you, who’s talking about a perfect job? as expected, soap went all out on his first day—being nice to you, being so obedient, maybe even to an extent where you found him intriguing—so hardworking.

poor!soap, who shares his experience with the 141 on his day off, talking about how beautiful his boss is. “you lads won’t even believe it, my boss’ a looker,” he shares with his friends, smiling like a maniac at his phone—that was newly bought. “really? well i wish to see her soon,” kyle would mutter, noticing the smile on johnny’s face. “you like her?” ghost asked, his deep voice rumbling through the phone. hold on, did johnny like you? ....couldn’t be.

poor!soap, who doesn’t realize the way you treat him nicer than all of his other coworkers, the way you give him a subtle higher paycheck—not really that subtle, a couple thousand is noticeable. maybe it was because he looked so determined in pleasing you, working so hard, being the perfect maid, who knows. the way johnny’s face lit up when he saw the money you paid him was satisfying, almost euphoric, maybe you had a little something for your employee?

poor!soap, who gets teased by his friends when he doesn’t notice that you’re practically favoring him above his other coworkers, the higher paycheck, the way you treat him nicer, the way you look at him, it all pointed to one thing, and one thing only—you liked your new employee too much.

poor!soap, who doesn’t know what to say when you ask him to accompany you to a restaurant. do maids even accompany their boss to public areas? he thought that the bodyguards did that. but what he wasn’t expecting was a full on restaurant—with nobody inside. johnny was sure that this particular restaurant was popular, though. hesitantly, he followed you inside, sensing the obvious romantic atmosphere around the entire place. “you meetin’ with someone, boss?” johnny would ask, earning a chuckle from you. “mhm,” you reply, leading him to one table that had a big window next to it, seeing the bright streets outside, with two chairs. “so, when will they get here?” he mumbles naively. “they’re already here.” you hum, sitting down on one chair, then gesturing to the other. “come, sit down.” you would smile up at him.

poor!soap, who will definitely enjoy working for you for the next couple of years—maybe forever if you’re up for it.

[tacticaldiary]

Gentle Hands

Request: Hey there! I love your writing so much and I was wondering if you could have some Johnny MacTavish brainrot with me. Johnny comes home from a looooong deployment and he wants to do nothing but collapse on the bed or couch. Until he sees our dear reader, cuddled up in their bed with one of his shirts on a pillow she’s cuddling. He can smell his cologne on the fabric and…whatever happens after that is up to you!

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Fluff (You deserve it after the marathon of angst I've been feeding you)

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

A/N: The way I scrambled to write this the second I could, there's always time for Soap brainrot in this household

Masterlist

Sometimes he thinks the pinging of bullets ricocheting off of metal follows him out of the battlefield. It's the only explanation for the ever present tension in his shoulder after a long gruelling mission.

Soap sighs, stretching out a shoulder while he digs his house keys out from his duffel bag. The keys feel cool and foreign against his fingers as he clumsily slots them in a turns the lock.

It's been nine weeks since he's unlocked his front door.

Haphazardly pushing off his shoes in the entryway, he throws his bag onto the floor and peers farther into the house. Despite his exhaustion, a smile finds itself on his face at the prospect of seeing her again.

God, he misses her. It was difficult to contact anyone outside of his team when on a mission, even moreso when they were black. The fear of their lines being tapped and tracked is very real, and Soap would rather wait a few weeks to see her than compromise her safety and theirs by allowing himself one fleeting moment with her.

"Bonnie? You there?" He calls out, stepping into the kitchen. Empty. He fights the urge to collapse onto the couch when he checks the living room, the lack of sleep catching up on him.

He's surprised he's still standing, honestly. The OP he'd been on had been in a far mountain range, a lot of trekking and camping out in the middle of a humid, highly vegetated area. Visibility had been rough and they'd taken turns sleeping a couple of hours before they continues trekking towards the enemy safehouse they were aiming to ambush.

He hadn't been able to sleep on the chopper back either, buzzing with the knowledge that he'd finally see her again after months and months.

A damn real bed seemed like heaven after resting on a rough muddy floor for weeks.  

It was the middle of the day, but she was nowhere in the house. Not in her favourite armchair by the fireplace, nor in the garage or any of the bathrooms. He frowns a little. She could be out, then?

It's not until Soap pushes open the door to their bedroom that the next call of her name dies in his throat immediately.

His hand slips off the doorknob, hangs by his side as he takes in the sight, a soft grin on his lips.

There she was, sound asleep, arms cuddled around a pillow that had one of his t-shirts stretched around it. She looked so peaceful, face half obscured by the way she'd nuzzled into the fabric.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he tries to make minimal noise as he shucks off his shirt and sits on the bed next to her.

Huffing under his breath, he gently tugs the pillow out of her grasp, slides in next to her, adjusting himself until her face is tucked into his neck, not any different from how she was with that pillow.

As if on instinct, her body relaxes, sinking into him and curling closer.

Bliss.

Utter bliss.

A deep, satisfied rumble in his chest as he relaxes, holding the woman he loves so much in their room, their bed, with clean sheets and a heart full of love, is what prompts her to wake up.

With a small groan, she makes a move to pull what she thinks is her pillow closer, but what she grabs isn't a feather-filled soft cushion.

Hard muscle meets her palm, strong and familiar.

"Pawin' at me already, hen?" The deep, tired voice in her ear has a pleased shiver running down her spine, and her eyes fluttering open quickly. "I barely made it through the door."

"Johnny?" She mumbles, eyes widening as the hand around her waist tightens in response. "Johnny!" She pushes herself up on her knees in surprise.

Sure enough, laying right in front of her was the man in the flesh, smiling up lazily, satisfied with her reaction. With a happy squeal, she lunges forward, hugging him tightly. She giggles when he catches her by the waist, sighing into her shoulder and clutching her body to his tightly.

He lets her straddle his waist, looking down at him like she couldn't quite believe it. Her hands roam over his chest as if to assure herself that he was there, actually under her, that he was home.

They lock eyes for a moment, and neither of them knows who moves first but they pull each other into a hard kiss, moving against each other with a practiced familiar ease.

"Missed you," She mumbles against his lips as he runs a hand through her hair. He hums, lets her pull away and cup his jaw. "Missed you so damn much, Johnny."

"I know, baby. Seem like ya had my spot covered though." He grins teasingly, stroking her hair and nodding to the shirt-clad pillow on the ground.

The way she goes red is adorable.

"I told you I missed you." She mumbles. "It just...it still smelled like you, helps me when I miss you more than usual, you know?" She admits. A small pang of sadness hits him at the knowledge that she missed him enough to resort to this...makeshift Soap?

"I missed you too. This is one hell of a welcome." He smiles up at her, squeezing her waist.

She shakes her head but can't chase away the smile on her face. He was home. Johnny, her Johnny.

"Stay around and there'll be much more of that." She teases.

"Minx." He groans, propping himself up on his elbows to bring her into another kiss. As he's doing so, the ache in his shoulder tightens and he winces, a movement not missed by her. She stops him with a hand on his chest.

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

"You look like shit, Johnny." She says bluntly, watching him pause to gape at her in mock offense. "You need to rest tonight, okay? Let me take care of you." Much to his dismay, she slides off of him, prods at his shoulder ordering him to flip over.

Too tired to argue, he turns onto his stomach with minimal protest.

Soap truthfully does look like hell; tired, dark circles lining his eyes, but the desire to have her close in any way he can clouds any and all other thoughts. "You know I love ya on top of me, but might I ask what you're doing?"

Johnny presses his cheek to the cool pillow to glance over at her curiously. He watches her straddle his back, her weight tearing a small sigh out of him, his aching muscles relaxing under the soothing weight.

"Nine weeks haven't taken your voice away yet, I see." She rolls her eyes, hands travelling up his bare back to his shoulders. Her eyes linger on those strong muscles she's felt countless times under her hands, her nails, her mouth...

"It takes more than that. Besides, ya love my voice-" She chooses that moment to press into one of the tight knots in his back, red flushing up her neck at the deep, surprised groan Johnny cuts his sentence off with. His head drops into the pillow, his back going up and down with a deep breath.  

Love his voice she does. She certainly does.

Her hands knead at the tension in his back, his shoulders, working out the knots built from weeks of stress.

Here. This moment right here. It makes the weeks of loneliness worth it. Days spent without him, waking up to an empty cold bed with only the remnants of his belongings scattered around the house to occupy her thoughts. It was all worth it when she got to feel the warm press of his skin against hers, when she got to welcome him back like this and spend the rest of her days with him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they claim.

Her lips press gentle kisses down his spine as she works, soft presses that convey more love than she could ever verbalise.

"I fucking love you." He breathes. Goosebumps flash across his skin when she smiles, kissing the back of his neck. It warms her from the inside out.

"I love you too." She responds quietly, resuming her work. She kisses every mark, every freckle, and blemish, replacing every memory of harsh shoves and painful encounters with a gentle, loving touch. It reminds him that through the horrors he saw every time he strapped his gear on, there would always be people as good as her in the world. Untouched by darkness and willing to love someone like him, someone with so much damn blood on his hands.

Seemingly satisfied by her assurance, he relaxes, relishing the press of her hands against him. The room falls into a comfortable silence, mostly because he's too tired and blissed out to fill it with his usual chatter. A couple of minutes later, he's putty under her hands, languid and relaxed, his shoulders devoid of the tension he came in with.

It's only when his back rises and falls, deep and steady that she slides off of him.

He's fallen asleep, she notes with a smile. At ease, he's a sight to behold. She pulls the warm blanket over both their forms, shuffling close to him.

Johnny's arm comes around her, pulling her close instinctually. His soft mumble is incoherent.

He sought out her nearness, even when unconscious.

The press of his body is familiar, so achingly familiar. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lull her to sleep, comfortable and relieved.

She drifts off knowing that the next time she woke up it would be in his arms. Loved, protected, and cherished.  

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Comment and Like!

(15/07/2023)

[ffashiion]

hi lovely!! if you're currently taking requests (and comfy with it ofc!!) could I please request a captain mactavish (on call of duty) graphic (or anything you feel like making with him!)

thank you in advance :3

!!PSD CREDIT!! :: @ryflections ‘s ,, ICHIKA.PSD !

✚ ⦂ (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟCapt. Mactavish ( COD ) tumblr layout !! []=[""|""|""])>---

◟ ︵ 𓏴 f2u 04 @gh0stlyb34r !! /̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ recolors && resizes r okee !

𝞋𝞎 :: the cure hopes chu like them !!

!! let the prism cure knwo if he needs to redo anythinf! ( dividers r f2u ) ପ(๑ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ଓ

[qpiiee]

we continue the marathon. this time it's soap💥🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

[blackcrayons]

Another test render of John Soap MacTavish.

This time without his t-shirt 😏🔥

You can download it in 4K for free on my P@treon 🫡

[lazarus-afterdark]

Why is Arson in my room n curled up? Huh?

You say that like I ever have any control of the lad

His tone is somehow fond when he says this

Need me to pick him up?

[southernbluebellereader]

Listen I need Johnny MacTavish to give me a deep tissue back massage. My back hurts like hell and I need his big hands on my back working out every single muscle and tell me how pretty I am

[thesnakeoutsider]

Delulu is the solulu and denial is a river in Egypt

Let me believe, I need serotonins

You can have a print in one of this two stores: INPRINT or Teepublic

[call-of-daydreams]

Soap: I'm an alcohol expert.

You: I didn't know we went back to the prohibition era.

[emmster]

Soap tricked him into doing this trend

[grimmroach]

every time i look at soapmactavish, i hear sad harmonica