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brdpch · 7 months

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Heya! Sorry if it's stupid ask, but I have read your post a while ago that you're Scottish (If I'm wrong then I'm sorry and I would feel embarrassed.🙃) And I want to write Sergeant Johnny Mactavish and Captain John Mactavish x reader. And since they are also Scottish I want to write/them say some Scottish lines, or just words. So I was hoping what usually Scottish people will say, I don't want to mess up. I only know aye, shite and lass but that's much about it.

Sorry if my English is bad.

And I wish you an great day/night/evening!😊

SCOTTISH PHRASES AND WORDS TO USE WHILE WRITING FOR SOAP MACTAVISH.

— yes! i am scottish, so here's some phrases and words i hear, and say, in scotland and what other scottish people usually say. :)

bonnie = that means calling someone pretty, like bonnie lass means pretty girl, since lass means girl. i'd say this is usually aimed towards girls, like a man would call a woman a bonnie.

lad means boy, like a friend usually. lads is plural ofc, and you could use it to say soap and the lads, or his pals. — “me and the lads.” (lads isn't scottish, it's british - which obviously being scottish means your british, but anywhere in great britain you'd hear this. as well as the one below.)

pals means friends, friend is a pal. — “thought he was yer pal.” = “thought he was your friend.”

dinnae = don't, it's how we say it in our accent. “dinnae do that.”

dae = means do, again, how we say it in our accent. “dae that for me.”

“haud yer wheesht” means shut up, like be quiet.

blether means talk, you might call someone a blether if they gossip or they're a chatterbox. — “stop blethering.”

crabbit means to be annoyed or grumpy. — “why ye crabbit?”

aye means yes. — “aye, dae that.”

ken means know. “a ken that.” not the barbie doll, it means know :) — “a ken that.” means “i know that.”

eejit means idiot. — “yer' an eejit.”

“ah umnae” means im not. ‘ah’ means im, or i, ‘umnae’ means not. it's hard to explain, just our accents though.

‘peely wally’ means pale. (heard this too many times towards myself, im pale as paper..) — “yer' lookin' a bit peely wally.” honestly, i don't think you'd need to say this that often in fanfics with soap, but maybe if someone is ill, you'd say that.

“gonnae no do that” means don't do that. “gonnae” means gonna, so like “gonna not do that” you'd say to someone if they did something you didn't want them to do.

“yer bum's oot the windae!” you're lying, being dramatic, or over exaggerating something.

“dafty” means stupid. — “yer' a dafty.”

VIDEOS TO WATCH FOR HELP AND UNDERSTANDING OF THE ACCENT:

it shows the accent differences between a scottish person, an english person, and an irish person.

https://youtu.be/Z-WliS0HHF8?feature=shared

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brdpch · 9 months

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Requested by anonymous.

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brdpch · 9 months

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Takes place before: In the Bleak Midwinter

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 1/? Notes: Someone had requested Ghost and Jag fighting, I'm sorry I can't find who requested it, but this is their first time meeting, takes place directly before In the Bleak Midwinter

Part Two | AO3

The flight from America was uncomfortably long as it always is when crossing the Atlantic. Laswell was kind enough to put the taxpayer’s money to use and charter you a direct flight from D.C.. Didn’t make the eight hour flight any more comfortable though. When you hopped off the plane with your heavy duffle slung over your shoulder, you were greeted in the distance by an older man with a strong beard and a floppy hat. Price, then. He squinted in the blue haze of the pre-dawn.

“Captain John Price, I presume?” You shouted over the cooling engines of the plane as you walked toward the man.

“You presume correctly. Laswell’s told me good things about you.” He extended his hand. You took it and gave a firm shake.

“She has solid judgment.”

“That she does. Kate and I go way back.” His eyes gave you a once over before he turned and started toward the base. You strode beside him. “Appreciate you making the trip.”

“Laswell’s a persuasive woman.” Price glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You smirked. “Flight wasn’t too bad either.”

The Captain only grunted in response.

Once inside the complex, it was straight to business. Price had already gathered his team in the meeting room. Their chatter stopped when he opened the door, necks craning to get a good look at their special guest. It was a small team, but there was a sharpness in their eyes that gave you the feeling they knew what the fuck they were doing. You nodded at them as you made your way to the front of the room. You shucked your heavy duffle onto the floor, rolling your shoulders back.

“This is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost,” the older man gestured at each teammate respectively.

Glancing at each member, you paired the names with faces. Gaz looked young, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile to match. You couldn’t help but return it. Soap had a air of mischief about him as he looked you up and down; his fluffed mohawk didn’t help his case. And Ghost loomed in the corner.

You were used to men staring at you your whole life—some lecherously, others with curiosity or shyness. But the man with the skull mask looked at you behind half-lidded eyes. His stare was impassive. Bored. An intimidation tactic, you were sure. You let your own gaze trail the length of him before turning back to the center.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet the 141 in the flesh. I’m sure your captain has already told you all there is to know about me, so let’s get straight into it.”

Price nodded.

The meeting was long as the team briefed you on all they knew about their illusive target. They had been tracking his movements across various countries for months, until two weeks ago when all traces of him disappeared. The task force narrowed it down to somewhere in Kazakstan. Which was all fine and dandy, except the country was over a million square miles large. Your tracking skills would certainly be put to the test. You started making mental notes of all the people you wanted to contact and press for information.

“Right,” Price finally said when the clock hit one. “I’m sure our guest would love a break. We’ll pick up again tomorrow at seven. Gaz, give ‘er a tour of the place. Dismissed.”

Though you had dozed a bit on the plane, the fatigue of traveling and the six hour briefing was catching up. Plus you wanted to process all the details discussed in the meeting. You grabbed your duffle and nodded as you left the room. Gaz walked you through the building.

“You can call me Kyle if you’d like,” he smiled sweetly. “This is the rec room, kitchen…”

“Look a bit young to be a part of a task force, Kyle.”

His smile broadened as he continued to walk. “Thank you ma’am, but I assure you I’m more than capable.”

You looked at him. “Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

The facilities weren’t large, but there were other soldiers around the premise too. Kyle pointed out the ones he knew.

“What about the other two?” you asked after he showed you the training room.

“Harmless mostly. Johnny—Soap—is a sound lad. Will chat your ear off though if you let him. And Simon… ah well,” he shrugged, “he’s Simon.”

Simon…

He stopped in front of a door which you assumed was your room. “Talented though. And stealthy as fuck.”

“Noted,” you replied.

“Well, this is you. Hopefully you’ve gotten a lay of the place—it’s a bit of a maze.”

You smiled at the man. “Thank you, Kyle. You give an excellent tour.”

“Of course, ma’am. Think we just missed lunch but I’m more than happy to make you something… Johnny says I make a mean sandwich.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. What a sweet kid. “A tempting offer, Kyle. But I need a few to decompress. Rain check it for tomorrow?”

He grinned. “Sure thing.” He saluted, “Ma’am.”

It was a small room: a simple bed in the corner, a tiny desk, a nightstand with a single drawer, and a sad light on the ceiling that emitted a slight hum. You let the duffle fall from your shoulder as you flopped on the bed. What a respite. Folding your hands over your stomach, you closed your eyes for a moment.

When you opened them again, there was a kink in your neck and your stomach was grumbling. The watch on your wrist read 15:48. You let out a groan. So much for a power nap.

You shoved a protein bar in your mouth as you unpacked your duffle. Surprisingly, you managed to fit most of its contents into the nightstand’s single drawer, zipping up the remains of the duffel and sliding it under the bed.

You headed toward the rec room.

“Ayyy, the woman of the hour!” Soap exclaimed from the couch, putting down his phone.

“Hello Soap,” you rubbed the meat of your shoulder.

“Flight’s the worst, huh?”

“Mmm no offense, but I think this was from the bed here.”

He let out a loud laugh. “Aye, I can believe it.”

You sat down next to him on the couch, relaxed. “So what your story?”

“Mine?” he straightened. “I make things go ka-boom.” His Scottish accent accentuated the vowels.

“Demo-expert, huh?” You gave a dramatic whistle.

“That’s right,” he puffed his chest a bit. “I’m also an excellent marksman. Graduated top of me class.”

“You came second to me, MacTavish,” Kyle had entered the room, grabbing a pool cue from the wall. The loud clack of the break filtered through the room.

“Ah come off it. Only by a few seconds.”

“Seconds still count.”

Soap ran his hands through his mohawk. “Still beat ya on being the youngest to join SAS though.”

“Got me there,” Gaz took another shot.

“Learning all about your personal grievances today, huh?” you smirked on your side of the couch, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What about you? Captain says you can hit a target from two clicks away,” Soap asked.

“Two and a half,” you corrected.

The boys let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Should have her face off Ghost,” Kyle spoke.

You shifted on the couch. “He that good?”

Soap just shook his head. “I dinnae want to be on the receiving end, let’s just say.”

You hummed. “What about sparring, anyone up for some? Could use a stretch of the muscles after the flight.”

Soap gave a wide grin. “You’re on.”

You got up from the couch and stretched your torso. “Perfect.”

Soap hopped to his feet as well, while Gaz put his pool cue back on the rack.

“Gotta see this…”

Soap lead the way as you followed, noticing the broad of his back under his fitted T-shirt. You studied the way he moved, strong strides with a straight posture. Gaz trailed quietly behind you. This was going to be fun.

There were a few other soldiers in the gym at this time, lifting weights, running the treadmill. And then there was Ghost, who was landing heavy hits on a punching bag. Each loud thwack of fist meeting bag permeated through the room. You wondered if he always trained like that or if he was particularly pissed off today.

Ever intuitive, Gaz spoke softly behind you. “He’s always like that.”

You smiled.

“These aren’t the right pants for sparring, but we’ll make due,” Soap spoke on the mats in the center of the gym.

“Always gotta be combat ready, isn’t that what they train you for?” You stretched your arm across your chest.

“Cheeky.”

In the background you heard the pummeling of the bag slow.

You danced around Soap, light on your feet. The Scot was crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity.

“You have military training, darlin'?”

You watched his footwork; heavy and solid. “Nope.”

“Where’d you learn then?” Gaz chimed in from the side.

You glanced at him for a second. Soap took the opportunity to grapple your leg but you easily sidestepped him. “Various places,” you replied.

“Woman of mystery,” Soap retorted.

He hopped around you but you played the defensive; you had patience. His right fist reached out to land a blow but you blocked with your forearms. Your heart rate was increasing now with the warmup.

Getting more into it, Soap lunged forward to grab your torso, but you lowered your body and slipped out of his hold, pushing him forward on his hands and knees as you deftly maneuvered on top of him. You wrapped a leg over his arm, locking your foot behind his back, and leaned back to pin him.

“Christ,” he breathed as he tapped your leg.

Gaz let out a whistle. “Damn Soap, that was quick.”

You hopped off the stocky man. Soap bounced back to his feet.

“Just warming up,” he huffed. You grinned.

It occurred to you that there was no punching bag sound. You glanced around and saw Ghost leaning against some equipment with his arms crossed against his massive chest, watching; his gaze still as impassive as before. It brought out a wider smirk from you.

“Alright Soap, don’t hold back this time,” you said.

“Your asking for it,” he bounced on his feet.

This round, his blows came quicker and faster. Finally, he was showing himself. You blocked and dodged, playing defensive again.

“C’mon, land a few hits back!” he huffed. You kicked his side. Hard. He stumbled. “That’s more like it.”

A little crowd was accumulating now, with the other soldiers’ exercises long abandoned. You could feel their eyes on the both of you.

Striking a few kicks, Soap did his best to dodge and block. He swept his foot behind your leg to break your stance, but you took the opportunity to grab his arm and twist him.

“You’re not half bad,” he panted as he broke free. “Should apply to a position here.”

Sweat was beading at your skin now. “Thanks, but I like my freedom a bit more.” You aimed your kick for his head, but Soap grabbed your leg and slammed you to the mat. Ouch.

The Scotsman took the moment to move behind you, wrapping his elbow around your neck, pinning you close to his sweaty chest. His legs tried to wrap around yours, but you writhed away, brining them to your center. The man was strong as hell as you felt the uncomfortable pain in your neck. If this was on the field you’d be in serious trouble. Your eyes scanned the enthused crowd that had gathered. Ghost watched with sharp eyes.

“Tap,” Soap huffed in your ear.

But you were much more slippery than he. Pushing off with your right leg, you canted your weight onto him, feeling him tense under you at the instability. Taking the opportunity, you elbowed him hard in the ribs and rolled backward, breaking free of his hold. You wrapped your muscular thighs around his neck this time, locking your left foot under your right knee. He punched up at you but you held. Those were going to leave bruises in the morning. You tightened your legs. The soldiers watching were loud now.

“Fuuuuuck! Ok!” he tapped your thigh. You released, panting as you laid flat on your back. Soap’s head relaxed in the crook of your thigh as he gasped for air.

Your chest heaved as your tried to reclaim your breath. The crowd around you was clapping and all smiles, with Gaz’s beaming the brightest. But when you looked around for Simon, you found the man gone. Just like his namesake.

Soap looked up at you from your lap. You grinned down with amusement.

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brdpch · 9 months

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Takes place before: In the Bleak Midwinter

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/? Notes: Jag's first interaction with Simon, she wants to bite into his thighs meaty thighs so bad yumyumyum, their ~banter~ is top tier (sarcasm), this is heavily inspired by zero dark thirty can u tell?,

Part One | AO3

The following weeks stretched on with meetings, each one filled with a little more sustenance than the last. You spent your time researching potential routes that your target could have taken. Made lists of people you could find and contact and press for information—forcefully or otherwise.

In the privacy of your own room, you opened your laptop and patched a secure video-call to Laswell.

“How’s it going?” She looked tired; it was still early in D.C..

“Getting some solid leads. Price and his team don’t skimp on making detailed rosters,” you ran your fingers through your choppy, black hair. “Ghost and I are investigating Alekskeev, while Gaz and Soap look into the target’s family in Yerevan.”

Laswell thought for a moment. “Why not Omarov? He’s in Kazakhstan.”

“Alekskeev was our target’s closest confidant before going dark. If anyone knows where he’s fucked off to, I’m betting on the Russian—Alekskeev would have arranged his entry into Kazakhstan anyway.” You took a sip of burnt coffee. “Omarov is just a distraction.”

Kate sighed through the screen. “Price thinks otherwise.”

Your brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, I hired you for a reason. It’s your call. Update me when you get back.”

You nodded.

“When are you shipping out?”

“Thursday, 0400.”

The older woman blinked. “Good luck.”

You straightened. “We’ll get him. Should get some rest though, Laswell. You look tired.”

She chuckled. “I’ll get some rest once we land the bastard.”

The call disconnected. Your reflection stared back at you on the dark screen; you squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled.

Stepping outside the base, you drew in a deep breath. The fresh air felt good in your lungs as the sun’s presence struggled to pierce through the clouds. All this grey and cold reminded you of San Francisco. Zipping up your fleece pullover, you started walking. Some soldiers were jogging this morning; you could hear their labored breaths as they passed you.

You rarely let yourself get worked up before a mission, opting on meditating to sharpen your edge before shipping out. But today your mind wandered. Maybe it was because you were going as a team, with people you had never worked with before, that had you so agitated. You hated liabilities.

An echo of a gunshot freed you from your introspection. You had walked the perimeter of the base, ending up at the stretch of green that was the long range. A bulky, black mass was crouched ahead, clothing straining against his bent form; you studied him as he lined up the next shot.

Bang.

“Jus’ gonna stand there and watch?” The Manchester voice came out gravelly.

You walked closer to the man. A variety of comebacks about irony came to mind.

“Not used to being watched?” You said instead, speaking loud enough that he could hear through the protective headphones.

Bang.

“Not particularly.”

“Does it make you nervous?”

“Negative.” He shifted.

Bang.

Ghost ejected the spent clip from the SPX-80 and cleanly reloaded a new one. He slid off his ear protection and faced you.

“Still ‘aven’t seen you in action.” The behemoth of a man eyed you cooly behind his plain black balaclava.

And it was hard not to have a reaction when he stared up at you like that, lounging calmly on the verdant grass, like some large apex predator. The truth was, you hadn’t had many interactions with the man since your arrival on base. Simon usually parted after meetings, skulking away to wherever he went during the day. Aside form the task force, the other soldiers were afraid of him, avoiding him at any chance. There were rumors about him; you wanted to see which were true. Occasionally, you’d catch Simon and Johnny in the rec room, chatting together in a calm voice—interrupted by periodic bouts of Johnny’s laughter. Sometimes you’d ask about him to Kyle, but the kid would always shrug and say “that’s just Ghost.” It both annoyed and intrigued you.

Grabbing a pair of headphones from the rack, you placed them over your ears and bent down to take his rifle. Simon quirked an eyebrow underneath the mask, before propping an elbow upon his massive thigh; the fabric strained against his bulk.

You looked at him. “You wanted to see.”

Simon’s chest contracted, letting out a sharp breath, before waving his hand for you to proceed.

Resting the weight of the barrel on the wooden railing, you peered through the scope. Glass bottles were placed rather evenly 300 yards down the field. You wondered if Ghost placed them there or some sorry recruit. Probably Ghost.

Sucking in a steady breath, you lined your shot, squeezing the trigger on the exhale.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The hot shells steamed on the turf at the contrast in temperature. You pulled away from the scope, giving the rifle back to the massive man.

“Handles well,” you said, taking off your ear protection.

“That she does,” Simon stared down at the gun, turning it over in his hand. He ejected the spent clip.

You relaxed against the wood as Simon reloaded the weapon. His gloved hands dwarfed the scope. In the distance, the soldiers passed another lap around the base.

“What are you like?”

His fingers stilled. “On the field?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Efficient.”

You shifted on the cold grass. “And with me?”

Simon looked at you, contemplation behind those blonde lashes. His eyes lowered slightly, before flicking back to meet yours. “Long as I’m not on th’other end of that scope, we shouldn’t ‘ave a problem.”

You shifted your jaw slightly and you nodded. “Looking forward to seeing you on the field then, Ghost.”

Standing, you returned the headphones to the rack and made your way back to the barracks—the rifle shell was still warm to the touch in your pocket.

______

Tags (let me know if u don't/do wanna be tagged for updates): @deadbranch @dotcie @prosopagn0sis

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