Couldn't Stop Thinking Abt This Song During Their Date For Sum Reason

im obsessed with medics.

amateur medic who doesnt yet know how to help, fumbling with syringes and IVs

experienced medic who has seen too many die

enemy medic who is treating whumpee begrudgingly

injured medic who has to rely on others for once instead of the opposite

malicious medic whos tired of helping and now want to use their extensive anatomy knowledge for nefarious purposes

softie medic whos crying on the job daily but trying to stay strong

exhausted medic who doesnt have the energy to take care of themself at the end of the day

just... medics

i really think we should all outgrow once and for all the idea that a character making a dumb decision is a plot hole. sometimes people are dumb. sometimes a character making a smart and informed decision is the real plot hole

anyone who told you much ado about nothing is good and worth watching was RIGHT and you should listen to them

“stars as you know them” — ghostsoap

731 words

WARNING: non-descriptive mentions of blood, and a bullet wound! dying??

“I’m Your Man” - Mitski

“Soap, do you copy?”

The sky is beautiful tonight. Can’t remember the last time he’d bothered to just look up, just to admire. Just to enjoy.

He didn’t know much about the stars, but he could find the dipper if he stared long enough. Easy enough to find the one that actually looks like a spoon.

He tries.

It’s getting harder to focus.

“Johnny, report!”

The voice in his ear is loud, and somewhere in the back of his head Soap knows he should respond. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to— but his tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, clumsy. The words just don’t want to form, mouth opening and closing around sounds and syllables that don’t actually make it past his lips. He feels like a fish on land.

Maybe it’s getting harder to breathe.

Tastes like copper, for sure.

He can feel his heartbeat like a drum.

Thump, Thump, Thump. Against his chest, again and again.

If someone were to find him, would they be able to hear it just as loud?

The world is strangely quiet now, and he thinks; finally, a break. His eyelids threaten to close, and he so badly wants to sleep. He deserves to sleep, after all this time. It isn’t so selfish, is it?

“Johnny— Johnny, you have— … talk to me … — are you?”

I want to. He says, but doesn’t really say at all. I want to, can’t you see I’m trying my best?

He can’t lift his hand to check, but he feels the warm sticky texture of blood between his fingertips. Coating his palm where it weakly holds against the wound in his stomach.

He can’t remember how it happened, now. Like it was so long ago, just a distant irrelevant memory to hold onto. Too much work now for his brain, for his body.

His fingers feel numb.

He gurgles out a strange, sort of laugh, at the thought. They don’t quite feel like anything, then, do they?

“Sorry.” Is all he manages to get out, tongue stumbling over the singular word. He isn’t quite sure if it came out at all. “M’sorr—“ the clumsy word is cut short by a sharp gasp, and a shaky exhale. “Sorry.”

He’s met with silence, which only further convinces him that the words he’s hearing coming out of his mouth aren’t really at all.

“Don’t apologize, don’t— don’t do that, Johnny.” Comes the harsh response.

Soap feels his lips form some sort of smile.

“You’re gonna be …” Soap doesn’t hear the next part, thinks maybe he’s missed it. Ghost starts again, “Fine. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna find you, we are. We’re gonna find you, and get you help, and you’re gonna be fine.”

Sounds an awful lot like Ghost is trying to convince himself, rather than Soap.

He thinks he hears other voices, a back and forth conversation, it’s muted. Somewhere in the background. It takes him a moment to realize that they’re coming from Ghost’s end of the comm, not him. Not him. No one else is here but him.

He had never thought dying would feel so lonely. Always thought it would come to him fast, that he would be one of the lucky ones that didn’t see it coming before it struck.

Never thought it would be so slow.

“We have you now. We have you, Johnny. Now you’re gonna wait— you’re gonna keep your eyes open.”

Quietly, Soap thinks this might be the kindest voice Ghost has ever directed at him. Soothing. Thinks that maybe he can keep his eyes open after all, if that’s what’s wanted of him.

There are so many things he’s wanted to say.

Always thought he might have had a little more time to say them all, or maybe just some. Never thought he wouldn’t get the chance. What a silly thought to have, in their line of work. Soap should have known better than that.

“Gh—“ his voice cracks on a gasp once again.

“We’re so close, Johnny.”

I love you.

I love you, I love you.

You have to know that.

He should respond, he should. Sleep is creeping up on him, now. Too fast. The sky seems so full of stars now, there hadn’t been that many before.

He can’t find the dipper anymore.

Can’t remember if it was ever there at all.

“Johnny?”

He thinks it’s a nice way to go, hearing the sound of his name of Ghost’s tongue one last time.

The world finally falls quiet.

amnesia as a trauma response has the potential to be so fucking funny because imagine you just spent like 6 months breaking Whumpee down piece by piece, stripping them of their rights, destroying their mind and body with scars that will never heal, relishing in the irrevocable damage done by your hand even after they've been rescued

and then you run into them at a grocery store and they're like "oh hey (: sorry didn't see you there ((((: no i have no idea who you are but you're blocking the shelf i need to look at"

my ass would be humbled so goddamn fast. i would be shinji gripping the sink sobbing in the mirror because Whumpee basically just called me cringe. my brilliant torturing apparently meant fuckall and i'm not even worth the time of day. they'd probably misspell my name on a starbucks cup. whumper turned whumpee because how do i recover from that. what the fuck.

platforming palestinian joy is just as important as sharing the suffering they're enduring during this genocide. despite continued displacement and bombardment, you cannot steal their joy and spirit. happy birthday to this sweet baby 🖤🇵🇸 may they grow up to see a free palestine

when the character who's like "i will never reveal my trauma to anyone" gets a high fever and, while weak and delirious, starts spilling every.

last.

secret.

You are a literal one man army, facing the full force of the invaders. They don’t know how screwed they are.

the difference between these scenes is killing meeeeee

physical intimacy

holding hands under the table

touching your lover's thigh under the table

hiding behind a wall, pulling your lover into a kiss as they walk by

''you need to stop doing that.'' ''do what?'' ''that little eye thing you do when i walk into the room.''

leaving notes in obscure places for your lover to find

pinned against the wall in the elevator

we kissed last night but we have to pretend like nothing happened

your hand is touching mine and i can't stop myself from taking it

making eye-contact with your lover from across the room, gesturing at them to follow you outside

tracing a finger across your lover’s scar

leaning in for a kiss but pulling away last second

whispering ''i love you'' in-between kisses

smiling in-between kisses

intertwining fingers

comparing hand sizes

straddling your lover’s thighs

tying your lover’s tie

falling asleep in your lover's arms

very obviously checking each other out while undressing, trying to deny it even though it's obvious

tending to your lover's wound

kissing your lover's forehead or knuckles

scooting closer to your lover in bed

good morning/good night texts

looking into your lover's eyes, then *gaze drops to lips*