okay woke side of the cod fandom i love reboot soap but comparing him to captain mactavish AT ALL is insane like
• arguably most emotional and impactful death in the whole cod franchise VS whatever mw3’s ending was
• 3 games (+ a book and a mini movie) worth of amazing well written lore (though as the #1 og mw glazer i will admit the amount of plot holes irritates me a little oh well still amazing trilogy) VS being in one game and having lots of potential and being very funny and charming and interesting just for the next game to suck balls and also kill you off for no reason
• becomes captain very soon in his career despite being young VS loser sergeant booooo
• captain mactavish has cooler outfits and character design (in my opinion)
• captain mactavish WAS HERE FIRST
these are just all the things i can think off of the top of my head there is probably more comparisons i could make ANYWAYSS my point is the both of them have many flaws and cool things too BUT there is one very clear winner
also to add onto this even though this is just recycled bits of stuff i’ve said before people hype reboot soap up for his funny banter definitely homoerotic relationship thingy with ghost (this again is no offence to anyone I AM A SEASONED ghoap warrior of 4 years i love them) but then turn a blind eye to pricesoap which has WAY better written and lengthy angst and is way more complex and interesting as i always say i think this is just an og price isn’t conventionally attractive so he gets left out of everything ever type thing but like yeah
like i LOOOOVE LOVE LOOVE ghoap but most of my perception of them is built off of fanfic, fanart and amazing works from the community (in fact i rarely interact with reboot cod outside of fanfic anymore just because again i think it was a lot of ruined potential and i like how creative cool people who actually care about their work build on that) whereas all of my perception of pricesoap is built up off actual canon stuff
that is tumblr post done OOOH i feel like a hater kinda guys uh oh… 🥹🥹🥹 all roads lead back to mw3 being shockingly shite
Author: @deadbranch
Characters: John “Soap” MacTavish (2022) x fem!Reader
Summary: Soap tries to give you space, but you can’t seem to avoid each other. Something unexpected reopens an important conversation between you.
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, light whump, light angst impolite language, tobacco use.
A/N: Written for @glitterypirateduck ‘s #SoapItUp challenge. This is the alternate version of events from For What It’s Worth (Captain MacTavish, 2009) if reboot Soap (2022) were sharing the scene with Reader instead. Sounds like a lazy rehash of plot, but I assure you this took some work on my part.
SGT SOAP MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST (all @deadbranch content)
EVERYTHING THAT EVER WAS
Your lighter snaps open with a practiced flick of your wrist, the spark wheel cracking beneath the pad of your thumb, numb with cold and the bored malaise that accompanies a Friday afternoon.
The smoke fills your lungs, flooding your bloodstream with the buffered rush of nicotine that’s been taunting the steadiness of your brain for the last four hours.
You officially kicked the habit six months ago. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you smile. So much for the official report.
A familiar silhouette gives your eyes a reprieve from the midday sun as it steps between you and the cause of your squinted frown.
“They need me back?” you ask automatically, anticipating the answer. They forget how to act when you’re not in the room.
Soap’s hesitance gives you a different kind of reassurance. They’re not asking for your return. He’s out here for himself.
He’s been ignoring you recently or trying to. You still catch his eyes on you from a distance now and again.
You were interested in John MacTavish, and for a while you thought the feeling was mutual.
He left suddenly, called away while you were both half-dressed. You assumed that your little exploratory exchange would resume upon his return.
You assumed.
A month later, here you are. Consciously taking deeper, more frequent drags to get through your cigarette. You’ll find a way to excuse yourself again in an hour, but for now you need to get back inside and away from Soap. You hate that he’ll always be that open question in the back of your mind. You don’t care about the answer, but it’s been asked, nonetheless.
“No, they're fine.”
“MacTavish?”
“Yeah?”
“What the fuck are you doing out here then?”
You look up. He takes a seat across from you, knees spaced wide apart, as though sitting on some reluctant throne in a distant realm of lonely fantasy.
His right eye is swollen, the flesh below it darkened with a bruise that couldn’t be more than a day old.
“Christ, Soap. Who did…that…to you?”
“Ya noticed?” He smirks with a shrug. “Just no’ wearing makeup today.”
You glance upward into the skeletal trees above the parapet, a guarded laugh in your throat as you draw another cigarette from the hidden pocket sewn into your coat sleeve.
“Doesn’t answer my question. Who did this to you?”
“It's fine. It’ll heal.”
That’s not like Soap. Always ready with a wild tale, leaning heavily into his accent, even when sober.
“You sure you’re alright? Maybe flirted with the wrong woman last night? Had to fight her legion of boyfriends to win her heart?”
You feel only mild guilt for prodding him like this. You want the old Soap back. The cheeky fire.
He raises a brow as he contemplates the cracked pavement below his boots.
“Just…dinnae agree with someone last night.”
“Was it worth it?
You suddenly remember yourself as you mumble around your unlit cig. Patting the pocket, you retrieve your lighter. Out of a comfortably exaggerated sense of superstition, you stare into the inscription in the cold steel. 'The hardest choices take time.'
“Aye. It was in defense of someone I care about.” He glances up at you, likely gauging your reaction.
After the end of your cig catches, you smile tentatively. You slip your lighter back into a side pocket of your BDUs, careful not to appear too interested in what he’s offering. He’s baiting you. He wants you to ask.
“Why do you do that?” The question chills you even before it leaves your mouth. You’ve never cared before, nor paid him any mind, but there’s something about that shiner that bothers you.
“Do what, bonnie?”
His sharp intake of breath informs you that he didn’t mean to call you the silly little endearment that always made you smile.
You forgive him instantly. It’s just Soap. He can’t help the mess he is sometimes. He’s an efficient soldier. You’ll always want him at your back on mission. A good man. A greater friend. So unabashedly endearing, but difficult to read at the worst times.
“Avoid saying what you mean. You do it often. Life would make more sense if you’d just say what you mean. What you want.”
He stares into the palms of his gloved hands, fingers flexing, elbows to knees.
“I know what I want. And it’s terrifyin, if I’m honest.” His hands are shaking.
“Do I make you nervous?” you ask quietly, hoping he doesn’t notice your change in tone. You’ve tried so hard to convince yourself you don’t care about him. You tried. Still trying.
“No,” he hedges, clasping his hands together as he meets your gaze, “But I’m afraid.”
“Says the man who picks fights and has the shiner to prove it.”
He appears ashamed before he glances down again, as though his hands hold the answer.
The smoke in your lungs doesn’t soothe anymore. Something’s wrong. You stub out your half-smoked cigarette and flick it into the ash bin.
“Soap…”
He shakes his head. “John.”
It feels like a punch in the stomach. The one time you’ve called him John was when he was kissing your neck as he slid one hand into the front of your knickers. Then his phone rang. Whatever was said on the other side prompted him to leave.
“I won’t call you that,” you state simply. You consider explaining yourself, but you won’t. You owe him nothing. He left you thinking there was more to be had between you, and there obviously wasn’t.
He closes both fists tightly, the leather creaking in the frosty air. As though reading your mind, or perhaps he, too, is haunted by memories of the same night, he enlightens you.
“It was CoC. They told me it was either me…or you. If I told them no, your number was next on the list. The mission calculated at a 78% casualty rate, hen.”
Your hearing muffles as you reframe your memory of events from the last thirty days.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you woulda stopped me. I know ya, bonnie. You woulda stopped me. Or you woulda come with. Couldn’t have either.”
“I make my own decisions...”
“I know ya do…”
“...don’t need you to save me.”
“...and that’s why I’m afraid.”
You break eye contact and stare into the distance toward the rugby field.
Your mouth tastes of ashes and regret. The moment Soap left your flat in a rush was the moment you decided to pick up the habit again.
“What do you want from me, Soap?”
“It doesn't matter what I want.”
“I think it does.” You shove both hands into your pockets, your numb dry knuckles reminding you of the neglect you’ve paid yourself in spades since that night.
“I’m selfish, bonnie. You don’t know it…but I’m fuckin’ selfish. If I had what I want…you’d be safe at home. And I’d be out of the service, so I wouldn’t run the risk of leavin’ ya all alone…”
Looking down again, he shakes his head.
“Soap. Look at me.”
He shakes his head again but eventually meets your line of sight.
“Can’t bear tha thought of you with someone else. But I don’t want you to be alone either. I want you happy. Safe. Alive. But I don’t know if all that can happen if we’re both still doing this for a living.”
“So, the answer was for you to avoid me this rotation?”
He gives you a wear smile. “I’m daft, bonnie. Ya know that.”
“What happened, when you got popped?” You gesture toward the right side of your own face to indicate his injury.
“Someone…said something about you. I’d had a drink and couldn’t let it go.”
“Just one?”
He shrugs, the easy smile emerging on his lips. “I had a drink or four.”
There he is. There’s the old Soap.
“What’d they say about me that got you riled up?”
“Tell you what. Meet me here after COB. I’ll explain over a pint, if you’ll let me.”
“Just one?”
“Well…a story like this takes time.”
As he follows you back into the warmth of the building, you hope you still have chewing gum in your desk.
I need help finding two posts. They are og soap and reboot soap fics. So both fics start similarly as in you wake up in soap's room, but it's the wrong soap's room, and you are married to a soap, but soap you are married to is dead. In the first post, you are married to reboot soap, and he dies. And then you wake up in a world where you're in the og timelime, and there is an older version of your soap, and he happy to have you even if you are younger than him. In the second post,you are married to og soap, and he dies. And then you wake up in a world where you're in the reboot timelime, and there is a younger version of your soap, and he happy to have you even if you are older than him. Please help me find these posts. I've read them before, and I want to re-read them, and I can't find them anywhere. Much appreciated and sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'm bad at writing and explaining things
Appears in Call of Duty Warzone, Call of Duty Warzone 2.0, Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2019, and Call of Duty Modern Warfare II 2022 (and Call of Duty Mobile)
CW: Spoilers for Modern Warfare Games
There are two separate versions of the character Soap, one from the classic Modern Warfare timeline, and another from the reboot. Both are fan favorites. There are some major differences between the two characters, making them distinct.
Soap, or Johnny MacTavish is a man from Scotland, a country in the United Kingdom. Knowing that Ghost is 6'4" (1.93m/193 cm) and Classic Soap is 6'2" (1.88m/188cm), Reboot Soap appears to be underneath that original height, and is noticeably quite a shorter character compared to the rest of taskforce 141. He has dark brown hair, and blue eyes.
This Soap is primarily in the Modern Warfare Reboot Timeline, with his counterpart being from the Modern Warfare Classic Timeline.
Johnny MacTavish's first appearance is in Warzone (1).
MacTavish had been trying to join the SAS since he was 16 by lying about his age until the British Military let him at least join the 22 Regiment at age 18. His evaluator ended up being Captain Price, who saw potential in Johnny. He noted mostly Soap's unmatched dedication.
His intense speed and accuracy in clearance as well as urban warfare gave him the nickname Soap, Price saying he wipes places clean. As a member of SAS, Soap is proficient in sniping and demolition. He was let in as the youngest SAS member in British history. He works as a Sergeant in SAS and taskforce 141.
Soap is known to be loyal, and indebts himself to people who save his life. He can be incredibly hot headed, and vengeful when not under check. His resourcefulness is second Ghost
Ghost and Soap share both a strong rivalry and eventually friendship. They are notably closer to each other compared to the other members of taskforce 141, Ghost being the only person allowed to refer to Soap as Johnny. He's also self-indebted to Price, and loyally follows the man's command, after all the man is his mentor. Soap is very dedicated to his allies in Taskforce 141, and Los Vaqueros.
His unnamed cousin plays an important role in his heart, having gone into the military due to the man showing him what he does in the SAS.
