#family 141

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Soap has a box that sits under his bunk and stays locked at all times. Everyone’s seen it at one point or another but nobody actually knows what’s inside and so they’ve all got their bets on what could be in it.

Gaz said there was a bunch of porn mags in it and got so severely judged for it that he considered changing his bet, but nobody would let him do so.

Price bet that it was family stuff. Pictures, heirlooms maybe some trinkets or what have you from family members (eg. a hair clip from his sister, a cigar from his dad, etc.)

Alejandro said it was different bottles of booze he had picked up from missions, reasoning the man was Scottish so it would make sense.

Rudy had gone the opposite direction and said it was food cause they all knew how much of a foodie Soap was and how severely pissed he got when any of them took his food form the common rooms.

Ghost had shrugged and said it was filled with his old journals since he knew Soap worked through them so fast, and he had never seen what Soap did with old ones anyway.

Soap knows about the bet and he refuses to tell any of them what’s in the box, always deflecting and shrugging whenever he’s asked about it. Because it’s his box of secrets and for once, he doesn’t want to share it with anyone else.

While him not telling is in part due to his own embarrassment it’s also because the box is filled with what the others would consider trash, but they’re special things to him.

It’s filled with trinkets and little bits and bobs from his team members. Different things they picked up during a mission and gave to him or something he had picked up to remember a particular mission for whatever reason.

There’s pretty rocks from Gaz that caught his eye and he just brought with him. They always end up with Soap cause the other man just leaves them in his pockets and forgets about them.

Price gives him snacks and foods from the regions he’s gone on a mission to and Soap keeps the packaging. Cleans it out and keeps them cause he’s a bit of a hoarder like that.

He’s got bullet casings and beer cap lids from missions and nights out with Rudy and Alejandro. No two beer caps are the same cause the two like giving him different alcohols to try and the bullet casings are from the last bullet that ended a mission.

Ghost gives him little vials filled with dirt and he always claims that it’s only because he had picked up too much to fit in his mason jars but Soap knows he does it on purpose. He knows that Ghost picks up his dirt jars and thinks of Soap and getting him some and it’s so heart touching.

It’s also got photos of the team from the ends of missions or night outs and some sketches that he considers too private to leave in his journals. Nothing erotic or anything but things that show the softer moments of their lives or, on occasion, Simon’s face.

So yeah, maybe it is filled with trash and useless crap but it’s his and he doesn’t find any of it to be useless. He loves his little box of trinkets that remind him of times with his team mates, it’s a home away from home for him.

[xpaintedladyx]

CoD ship chart (made my own because I couldn't find one)

If the lines are confusing I shall explain and keep in mind it's my opinion

Family: All of 141 is just one big family so no shipping between the boys and Price just no. The games never offered anything beyond that. Also why Laswell isn't here she's canonically married.

Otp: GhostSoap, AleRudy, NikPrice. Their relationships and chemistry are just nice.

Great: AlexFarah, AlexGaz, Korangi. No big opinion on them. Alex and Farah were already falling in love from the start. Alex and Gaz seem like bros so go for it. There's little info on Konig and Horangi so you can go crazy with them. And Nick approves so 👍

No Problem: FarahAlexGaz. No big opinion on this one, I don't get poly in general or maybe that's just me as an Aroace person. But since they actually know each other, it works better rather than taking an existing relationship and throwing in a character no one knows.

NO: It's Graves and this is Graves slander, he can die in a hole. ValAle (is that the ship name?) these two already have a tainted past. There's little info to go on with Konig as is. Also, neither Soap nor Ghost knows him well enough to get into a relationship. Also Konig is not part of 141 but fans constantly put him there. Why?

WTF: Restating my point from before they're his boys and never have we seen him act in that way towards them so big no.

And just a friendly reminder sex ≠ love

and if you don't like or don't agree you can leave.

[moongreenlight]

Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”

Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.

But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.

He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.

He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.

He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.

You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.

He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.

He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.

He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.

He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.

You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.

You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.

Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.

He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.

And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.

“Alright?”

You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.

It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.

“You sure, doll?”

The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.

You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.

“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”

You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.

“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”

You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”

He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.

“What? Baking me a cake?”

You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.

“Never been a very good baker.”

He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.

“That right?”

You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.

“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”

It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.

“Sure.”

You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.

“It’s complicated, John.”

Your voice is mousy now.

“I know.”

A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.

“I just-“

“Then tell me to go home.”

The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.

“My husb-“

“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”

The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.

“John, he-“

A throaty growl from him.

“He’s not getting a lick of you.”

And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.

He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.

Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.

When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.

It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.

You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.

He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.

He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.

And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.

The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.

He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.

And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.

You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.

He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like

“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”

[hunterbunter3000]

Price, answering his phone: Hello?

141Sweetheart: Hey Cap! Just wanted to call and tell you that Ghost made it to the med bay.

141Sweetheart looking at Ghost:

Ghost, eyes closed and not moving:

141Sweetheart, crying: HE'S D E A D

Ghost: I WAS JUST RESTING MY EYES

[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!

[natelia-aldelliz]

Gaz & Soap, joking that Price kidnapped them for the 141 Task Force :

Price : I didn't kidnap Soap. I went to all the right channels, I asked all his superiors, he's legally mine.

Soap : Will you tell me about my birth superiors one day, dad?

Price : You're a child.

Soap : Well yeah, that's the point of this whole joke, captain

Price : Anyway, as I was saying, I didn't kidnap Soap, but I sure did kidnap Gaz. In the middle of his investigation. To take him straight to Urzikstan. Got some choice words from the SAS for that one. But to be fair, I did text someone I knew that I was taking him so it's not like they didn't know.

Gaz : Damn. That's like my origin story. Maybe one day I'll see my family again.

Price : I don't like when you're both annoying at the same time.

Gaz : To be fair you already had me and you decided on your own to take Soap as well, you knew you'd never know peace again, sir.

Soap : What about Ghost, did you kidnap him as well?

Price :.... Well to be honest I have genuinely no idea. I asked him if he wanted in, he said yes, and then he was here. I haven't asked anyone else but no one complained so...

Ghost : Because if they complain then they have to admit that they know I'm not dead and they're keeping me on the field despite my very obvious ptsd. They don't want that kind of news to get out.

Price : Yeah.

Ghost : Soooo... Am I your son too, then, is that how that works?

Price : Oh my god Simon please not you too.

Ghost : =)

[bigassmoonchild]

this may have been in my head for a few days

but

everyone thinking simons in charge in the household and that hes the one to tell off the kids and everything but they find out that no hes the laid back parent and the head of the household is this 5 foot 8 woman who ends up keeping the boys in line and simons just there smirking at them for thinking he was the bossy one

i keep saying i love the ideas you guys have, but you all are honestly doing so good with these (keep them coming, i'll try to actually answer my inbox when i don't feel like dogwater <3)

you'd bugged and pestered and fought simon for nearly two weeks before he'd finally allowed you to invite the 141 for dinner. 'i just want to meet your other family, si,' you whispered to him one night. 'just wanna know the people who are saving your ass,' and he huffed and nudged you.

after weeks of fighting with him, the taskforce was finally allowed into his home. 'what d'ye think his missus is like?' soap nudged gaz, snickering from the backseat. they were all buckled up, as simon was driving them because he knew the way home. price had made sure they'd buckled up.

'i dunno,' gaz answered simply. 'she's gotta be a beast to be able to deal with the lieutenant,' he added. soap shrugged, gave a noncommittal noise.

'feel like l.t is the one running the house. he's got the military training, after all,' and simon had to stop himself from laughing. him? running the house? that you took care of when he was away? and the kids, who were sometimes the literal spawn of satan? it was funny. genuinely.

and as he pulled up the driveway, he watched as you came onto the front porch. a nice little sundress, one he especially loved on you, and some little kitten heels. christ, he'd have a hard time keeping away from you today.

parking the car, he opened the door and was the first one to greet you. pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, and allowing you to greet everyone. price gave you a soft handshake, thanking you for inviting them all over. soap, the bastard, pressed a kiss to the top of your hand. your eyes rolled, a little smile forming on your face.

gaz gave you a little wave, smiling softly. he was always rather quiet, but from what simon had told you he'd warm up. you invited them all in, sliding your heels off before stepping fully into the house. simon followed suit, pulling his boots off as price followed his lead.

soap, on the other hand, tried to walk on your freshly cleaned floors. you stopped sharply, staring the man down. 'if you get mud on my clean floors i will wipe it clean with you,' and he blinked at you. there was a few little giggles from upstairs, and you gave simon a little gesture upstairs.

'i can get you guys something to drink? water, maybe some whiskey?' you asked, waiting to move until gaz and soap had both taken their boots off. gaz shook his head, muttering something about being okay.

'water is fine for us, ma'am,' price spoke for him and soap. there were more little whispers and hushed whines coming from upstairs. soap peaked up the stairs, but they turned just at the top so he couldn't see what was happening.

you gestured to the living room around you. 'please, make yourselves at home. simons home is yours, afterall,' and they thanked you. simon had come back down, helping you hand waters off to the others. a few little footsteps came from upstairs, and two little girls appeared there.

'i tried to tell them that the makeup wouldn't work today, lovie,' simon whispered, just loud enough for soap to hear. he turned to see bright pink blush spread across their faces, some lipstick spread halfway to their chins. they watched you take a deep breath.

it was silent for a moment, a little smile coming from you. 'how did you get into my makeup?' and neither of them answered. 'while it is quite pretty, i'm sure our company would much rather see your pretty faces without anything,' and they stood there for a moment.

you stared at the two kids, who looked at their feet. simon stifled a little laugh as the 141 turned to look at him. 'upstairs,' you told them. 'clean that off, make yourselves presentable and come back down when you're ready,' you spoke calmly. they huffed a little, heard a hum from you and hustled on upstairs.

for some time, the group of you spoke. you'd talked about how simon had reacted in the hospital room ('christ, john, he actually passed out. full on, and the nurses just left him there,') and the group cackled.

simon had taken to helping you plenty, keeping the kids humored enough to not begin complaining, refilling drinks and helping set the table.

'sam, honey,' simon spoke up. 'please don't play with your food, if you don't want to eat it, that's okay. we should save it if not,' and she gave a little huffed whine.

'but daaaad,' she complained. 'there's nothing else to do,' and the group watched as you looked to said girl.

sam looked down at the food, dropping the fork. 'sam, apologize to your father,' and soap found himself stifling a laugh. a little girl, apologizing to the big, bad ghost? she did it, rather unhappily, but perked her voice up after you gave another look.

outside of that, dinner went quite well. the other little girl, sara, had kept to her manners. simon took to taking them to get ready for bed while you cleaned dishes with the help of soap.

'diddnae think that you'd be the one to be uptight with the kids,' he spoke softly. price and gaz were in the other room, helping to clean up the living area. 'thought it would've been simon doing all a' that,' you gave a little laugh.

shaking your head, you handed him another plate to dry. 'no, he's the cool parent. he doesn't have to take care of the kids early during school. he gets lucky, they're real bastards when they want to be,' and you gave a fond little laugh. 'love them to death, believe me, but they really take after their father,' and soap laughed with you.

christ, the 141 hadn't been expecting this at all, but it was different seeing their lieutenant be the relaxed person. it was nice, honestly. seeing him finally relax fully in the comfort of his little family.

'don't tell him i told you, but there's another on the way,' you whispered into soaps ear and he spun to look at you, surprise etched on his face.

[cod-dump]

Price: I raised four perfectly functional adults

Graves: … don’t you still make doctor appointments for Ghost?

Price: Well-

Graves: or call Soap every other day to make sure he remembers to take his medicine?

Price: I-

Graves: Or call Roach to make sure he doesn’t sleep in his contacts and makes sure he replaces the solution

Price: Listen-

Graves: And doesn’t Gaz still go shopping with you and freaks out when you walk out of sight?

Price: Phil please-

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Soap and Gaz started calling Price dad as a joke.

Whenever someone would do something they would pretend like they’re tattling and go “Dad! Soap hit me!” or “Dad! Gaz took the last of the soda!”

Price just lets it happen because he doesn’t have the energy to tell them to stop. If it helps them be at ease to joke about it then he doesn’t care. He rarely plays along, just rolls his eyes as the two laugh at their dumb joke and says, “You boys are weird.”

But then Price notices that even when they don’t specifically call him “Dad” they end up still treating him much like how they would their actual father.

“Cap, how do you fix this?”

“Price, there’s someone I like and I need your advice.”

“I fucked up.” “That’s okay, son. Long as you learn and know how to fix it.”

“Can I sit with you?” “Sure, fancy a smoke?”

It’s only when Ghost of all people starts to ask him questions and for help that he realizes that despite the jokes, they all rely on him more than just as a Captain.

Based off this dumb tik tok

[harveywritings92]

[For context Price and Gaz are on vacation: Ghost is in charge, and series of unfortunate events leads R/n into believing Ghost is somehow possessed by a demon. She asks Roach to find her a priest, cut to later at the base’s lounge. R/n sees what she thinks is smoke coming from outside she opens the lounge door to find Soap standing there in full Priest garb, Roach is next to him in a black hoodie holding a fog machine with the exorcist theme playing on his phone.]

Soap: Good evening. I believe ya require my services.

[gives R/n his card]

R/n, reading his card: "John MacTavish, Swimwear Model"? 

(R/n gives him a strange a look.)

Soap: No, turn it over.

R/n, turns the card over and reads: "John MacTavish, Exorcist"?

Soap, to Roach: That’s enough Garry.

(Roach pauses the music)

R/n: Roach, I thought you were going to find me a proper exorcist.

Soap: No need, sinner. Seen the movie, [unzips the front of his costume] got the t-shirt. Now if ya kindly moves aside I’ll locate all the pockets of malice and vibrations of doom...

[R/n reluctantly leads them to the library where Ghost is napping and talking in his sleep.]

Soap: What putrefaction is this? Garry, holy water. (Roach hands him a spray bottle) Music. (plays The exorcist theme) Be thou not afraid! (he sprays Ghost)  

[[Ghost stirs awake and starts raving out gibberish at Soap who sprays him more.]]

Soap: Ack! it speaks in tongue!

Ghost, looking around wildly: What’s goin on???!!

R/n: it’s an exorcist!

Ghost: Damn You! {tackles Soap to floor and starts throttling him.} Damn you Johnny! (Gets Soap in a head lock) Ya stupid bloody idiot! 

{Ghost manages to take the spray bottle from Soap and starts spraying him in the face with it.}

Soap: It said damn! now Garry! the stake!

[ Ghost looks behind him and is threatened by Roach with a hammer and wooden stake.]

Ghost: MY GOD!

[Roach freezes surprised that Ghost said God]

Ghost: This base has gone insane!?

R/n: That's what I've been trying to tell you.

Ghost, to R/n: You, you're unhinged.

Ghost, to Roach: You, you're demented.

Ghost, to Soap: and You, you're just you.

Soap, to Ghost in panic: Careful! Holy water's expensive! It's mixed with the urine of seven virgins.

[Ghost looks at the bottle than at Soap in disgust.]

Roach, pulling his hood off: Dude, It's just tap water.

Soap, glaring at Roach: I asked you to do one thing!

[R/n, Roach and Soap start to bicker as Ghost throws the bottle away and goes to call Price to see how long he and Gaz are going to be on holiday for? because he fears he’s not gonna last long...]

[ghcstao3]

Soap hc for your consideration:

When Soap has anxious or just angry energy that he doesn't know what to do with (and he doesn't feel like training it out) he'll hyperfocus on deep cleaning whatever space he can for hours. He's hardly aware of time passing as he's doing it too, he just stops when he feels all the energy fade away or become a more manageable level

some people joke that that’s how he got his callsign even though the name soap came well before anyone noticed his habit, but he doesn’t really mind.

because all that matters is that cleaning to him is calming; the repetitive motions, the smells, the instant gratification of stepping back from his work and seeing a notable difference in cleanliness. what matters is that even as much time as it may take, it’s draining in a good way and, in the end, the effort can be appreciated.

the 141 notices the habit when the common room is suddenly cleaner than it’s ever been—even the grout is white after years of being an ugly brownish-grey—and they find soap in the middle of it all, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain on the kitchenette counter.

after that, price, gaz, and ghost all chip in to buy supplies for soap on occasion, because it can get expensive, and they have to show they’re thankful anyhow. they don’t comment on the habit otherwise, and that’s just how things go.

[saturncodedstarlette]

Soap : I can’t believe you talked to them without getting so much as a glare! Most people can’t even look in their general direction without some kind of threat.

Gaz, shrugs : I mean, it would be a little weird if they did. We are engaged after all.

Soap : . . .

Soap : YOU’RE WHAT?!

Captain Price, pats Gaz’s arm : Congrats.

Captain Price, internally : 🗯WHY WASN’T I INVITED TO MY SON’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY?!!🗯

Gaz, sheepishly grins :

[pettyprocrastination]

as much as I love 141 medieval au's here the reader is a noble lady saved from her marriage or some lone townswomans rescued by the group of knights (looking @ my own nun!reader in this) I do love the notion of a lady knight.

A badass woman with no name or backstory that's taken up the life of a sellsword- who scoffs at the notion of "honor" when spilling blood on your blade- death is death. Honor means nothing for God or king.

Her hair is cut close to her scalp, because it's all too easy for somebody to grab a handful of those soft locks and be at the perfect position to slit her throat in a fight. Covered in scars and carried by aching bones that broke years ago but never quite healed properly.

Maybe Price is a king who sees this helmeted figure fighting at a tourney for his name day and asks for their name- their noble house only to learn you have none. Simply a desire for the money awarded to the winner.

Maybe Gaz is beloved prince who often sneaks out from his guards nose to mingle with the common folk- who enjoys sitting in a tavern with others and singing songs while drinking ale with a pretty little thing on his lap until he's walking back to the palace and finds a blade at his neck in a dark alley as you warn him that noblebloods should never walk unaccompanied- it makes the job far too easy.

Maybe a beautiful noble lady is sent to stay under the eye of a royal family in discussion for marriage- when the house offers to gift her one for their personal guards of the 141, she insists she more than happy with her own- you. The silent armor-clad figure standing close to her side. (yes I miss domentzia. she's my wife and always will be).

[ll-bowman]

Lunch with the boys

CW: Found family, talks of murder and violence

The mess hall is bustling, and loud clinks of silverware and boisterous voices blend into a mess of noise. Aisling is sitting amongst her small family of comrades. A few faces are missing, and the circle of family is nearly complete. Her golden hair is slicked back into a low pony, and her fatigues are pressed and tidy as can be.

The borderline slop on the metal tray would be less appetizing if she wasn't completely knackered from running the new squad through drills. So she eats it fast, only looking up once the boys start conversing.

Ghost's large frame is easy to pick out coming towards their table. He looks tense. You wouldn't be able to tell normally, but once you're around someone so often, their mannerisms become second nature.

He drops heavily onto the bench across from her, metal tray clinking as it's dropped onto the table. It causes light conversation to halt as everyone at the table looks at him.

He sighs heavily rubbing the bridge of his nose over his mask. "I'm about to kill Private Reynolds." He says, voice gruff.

Aisling looks up from her meal, propping her chin on her propped up hands. "Is there a particular reason, or are you feeling extra murdery today?"

Ghost pulls his mask up to just above his nostrils and begins to eat the food on his tray. Taking a few bites, he continues. "I swear they don't teach these kids how to speak properly anymore. All 'yeahs' and no 'yes's'. It's driving me to the brink of killing them."

"You properly shouldn't kill someone ON base." Gaz says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"That sounds a whole lot like ye are encouraging him to kill them OFF base." Soap says, scarfing down his food.

I wish duels were still a thing. Make the scamp think twice before "besmircing your honor." Aisling says, making air quotes with her fingers.

Ghost rubs his fingers over his stubble chin in a thinking gesture. "Well are we talking about only old guns or are we allowing fisticuffs?"

"If we're making this a worldwide thing you'd have to have options." Says Gaz.

"Well, I think there should be 4 options. Those old timey guns, swords/katanas, and of course, hand to hand." Aisling says before scooping another bunch of food into her mouth.

Soap stops eating and looks at Aisling with confusion. "Wait, you said 4, and that was only 3! What's the 4th option then?"

Aisling swallows and looks up with a completely neutral face before speaking.

"Beyblades of course."

The group breaks into different laughs. Soap full body laughing, Gaz sputters and nearly chokes on his tea, and Ghost, of course, shakes his head, but his mask shows a little smirk cracking across his lips.

It feels good to laugh with family.

[natelia-aldelliz]

more werewolves au !

Ghost is being a responsible adult and grooming this poor weird pup he found, Price is being a thoughtful pack leader and is trying to inform Ghost that the puppy is not happy, and Gaz is trying to get the puppy to play with him to cheer him up.

This is the same Soap who will bring half of a mouse to Ghost's, Price's and Gaz's doors for them to discover in the morning. Or step on it if they weren't fully awake. And then refuses to admit to himself that it's probably him doing it and not a random stray cat. Even if he would have smelled a stray cat being on his territory. The three of them are convinced that Soap is hiding a cat somewhere because it smells like him.

[bigassmoonchild]

night team here

can we request ghost with a daughter that is the mini verison of him like soap thinks shes gonna be sweet and nice and she bullies him worse than her father does

bonus points

price already knew ghosts daughter was a complete savage but soap annoyed him that morning and price decided the consequences of his actions was being brutally roasted

(daughter is gonna be leaning teens just bc i said so. also, thank you so much for the request!! love the night team 🫶🫶)

soap wasn’t supposed to know. this wasn’t something anyone was supposed to know, but simon was decently okay with price knowing. price knew to keep secrets, hell, price had his own.

but simon accidentally let it slip.

‘i’ve gotta get home, early morning,’ he’d told the 141 when they wanted to go out for drinks after a successful mission. they gave him odd looks (one of them was a knowing one, but he’d ignore price being offered to come watch a recital).

soap didn’t let it go, no he didn’t. ‘got the missus waiting back there?’ and simon was exhausted, it was a long mission and all he wanted was to sleep in his own house.

‘kids got a recital,’ he’d muttered and had walked away. what he didn’t expect was to find a huge amount of messages from soap the next morning. most consisted of the same things.

kid??

who’d have a child with you??

what’s the mother look like?

what’s the kids name?

son or daughter?

maybe i wanted to come watch too

i’m technically their uncle

and simon had to leave, collected you from your grandmother and took you to the recital. you were beautiful, the pride and joy of his life. someone he’d never thought he’d ever had, someone he never knew he could love more than anything.

it took months for simon to wear down enough ti even allow any of them to see a picture of you, let alone know your name.

‘beauty, that one is. you sure she came from you?’ simon shoved soap off the chair for that comment. soap continued to rave about being an ‘uncle’ and as much as simon didn’t want it, he had to tell you.

you looked at him weird when he admitted he’d spoken about you to the 141. you knew, generally, what he did but you didn’t get details.

‘ok and?’ you’d asked. ‘what’re they gonna do? it’s not like they’re gonna do something behind your back, not like price has said anything,’ and he worried. maybe he coddled you a little, but you were his girl.

and you’d agreed to meeting them, but told simon you didn’t want to know when. ‘i’ll be thinking about it too much,’ you told him.

simon finally dropped a few names for you, late one night when he’d finally relaxed with some whiskey (he didn’t mention the watered down taste).

‘what kinda name is soap? he drop it or something?’

it took some time before simon had grown any sort of comfortable letting anyone but price be around you. it wasn’t common that you stayed by price when simon was out on a mission, but the occasion happened when it was possibly a fatal one.

it was early morning when you’d sent a text to simon, he hadn’t meant to go to the compound at all that day but had made a lunch. it was a picture of the lunch, still sitting in the fridge with the caption ‘you forget something?’

and he’d groaned, mentioning to price in passing that he forgot his lunch at home. soap and gaz had been there, and a little smile came from soap.

‘just have the lass bring it ‘round, i’m sure she’s dying to meet her uncles,’ price gave a little grimace. ‘what? she’s probably a sweetheart, i cant imagine a girl like her would turn out like ghost,’

you’d relented to bring it around, especially after price messaged you about soap not being able to shut up about meeting you.

he’s pressing me for information. -john

if you bring the food, i’ll give your dad an extra day of leave. -john

please, i’m about to make him run. -john

you always laughed a little when he signed off after each text. it was his own little thing, and you secretly enjoyed having a fatherly figure text you more than three words.

when you got to the compound, you found price waiting outside for you and you waggled the bag of food at him. he let you in, guiding you through the halls to where simon and the others were.

‘try not to forget it, next time,’ you told simon. he gave you a small grunt, one that sounded like his ‘thank you’.

soap walked up to you, giving you a cheeky grin and swinging his arm around your shoulder. ‘how’s it been, lass?’ he asked you and you shook his arm off.

‘you know it’s not the 80’s anymore, right?’ he blinked at you. snorting softly with an eye roll, you sat down in the nearest chair. ‘mullets back in style, you know. might fit you better,’ you commented.

soap was left with his mouth open, gesturing faintly to you then to simon. ‘she can’t be like you,’ he nearly hissed.

‘don’t act so surprised, she said damn near the same thing to me,’ price lamented, thinking back on his first time meeting you.

‘you from the 1800’s? christ, i haven’t seen anyone willingly have that beard,’ you’d told him oh so long ago.

you looked around, leaning towards him. ‘who else am i supposed to be like? i’m pretty sure he’s my father,’ you hissed back.

all soap could do was blink. a little ghost? no, he couldn’t believe it. he saw simon give you a little fist bump, almost saw a few dollars being passed between you two.

simon pulled his mask off to eat and you looked at him closely. ‘you get a haircut?’ you asked, squinting your eyes suspiciously.

‘nope,’ he responded. ‘got ‘em all cut,’ and you snorted a short laugh. soap couldn’t do much but watch the interaction, realization slowly settling in.

‘that’s why you tell those shitty jokes?’ he announced. ‘you’re actually a father telling dad jokes,’

you gave a little smile and he could see the admiration in your eyes. god, you were just like your father but the confidence came off of you so easily.

‘yknow he came to my parents job show and tell once,’ you told everyone and simon stared at you. almost daring you to finish. ‘he didn’t take the mask off and had to leave, he scared too many of the kids,’

you spoke so fondly of him.

‘but he’s a prick, so he just left,’ simon lightly kicked your leg and you made a big show of it. you might be his kid, but you had your own personality in there.

and simon would be dead before anyone took that from you.