Soap Cod - Blog Posts

“are you okay” HOW CAN I BE OKAY IF MY FAVOURTIE SCOTTISH MAN WITH A WEIRD MOHAWK AND FUNNY FACE IS DEAD AND DIED IN THE WORST BUILD UP POSSIBLE

⚠️CW: SUGGESTIVE ART⚠️

I’m so in love w Soap

hi um so two of my fav writers on this platform literally reblogged another of these drabbles as i was writing this one so?? I'm buggin.

It’s the long-drawn snapping of neurons that prickle at you, eyes closed and forearm thrown over your face. A slow peel of eyelid after eyelid, foggy thoughts wisping away at a moment’s notice in the blackness of the bedroom; the ceiling is more a theory of shapes inferred from moon-coerced shadows than its usual cragginess, and you unhook your arm from the dip between your nose and forehead to reach up. Comb your fingertips through the air. 

Was it the breeze through your ever-closed window? Open now, a new development, but surely one that would rouse you like a bear from slumber. You feel large enough to be a bear, warm enough to feel tarped in fur, lethargic enough to clamber off your mattress and land on all fours and grunt like an animal. 

Maybe it was the slice of light underneath your bedroom door. You never forget to turn off the switches in your living room, the LED bulbs too glowy and insistent to sleep the way you do, curled up on one side and facing the doorway. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping the way you always do. Not at the moment. Right now, you’re tipped onto your back, each limb swallowed up by an inch of cushion, flat like a slab of carbonite. Your body and the bed are inseparable—each pore on your skin is looped through with a stitch that dips into the sheets, rises back out and finishes with a double knot. 

All you can do is lay there. Willingly, you suppose, despite the spasms. 

A new ozone layer has settled around you, consistency of molasses, and hot to inhale. It stinks of past activity, like breaths that have been used up and tossed out. All of it cloys against your skin, maintaining a sheen of sweat to add to the discomfort. 

You’re awake now, though. 

Unhappy, but no longer unconscious. A bit bitter that you’re all alone. 

But a sharp trill pierces the air, and it hits you—that’s it.

That’s what had awoken you. 

Roused this grumpy, sticky, sore form of you that’s polyfoam-bound, torn too quick from a fundamental repose period. You’re too exhausted to moan, gripe, curse like you should. 

Even as the lights under the door flicker out, and something pushes it’s way inside with various scuffling movements. The room returns to stagnancy with a soft click, save for the lone gust of wind invading and receding at an unsteady tempo. 

Your next breath is a roiling mix of oxygen saturated with sodium and garlic. You hum aloud, a vague attempt to dissuade the bile crawling up your throat. Each time your tongue scrapes past your teeth, the morning grime collects and taints your tastebuds. 

You need water, and a toothbrush, and two tablespoons of toothpaste. Five minutes for an alcoholic rinse, too. 

Definitely don’t need the robust wafting of a pepperoni Hot Pocket up your nostrils at the ass-crack of dawn, as the mattress dips with a bulky outline. 

“Sorry, Bonnie,” a Scottish voice that is not apologetic in the slightest mumbles beside you. “Didnae mean to wake ye. Fuckin’ makes me ’bit peckish.”

Poly!Ghoap You, Johnny, and Simon all travel to Johnnys hometown and spend the holidays with his family. (Johnnys mom LOVES Simon and would trade Johnny for him.)

Poly!Ghoap will split up home chores, Johnny will be outside and doing ‘blue jobs’, Simon likes doing laundry because I think he’s an organized king, and you have to cook because these boys cannot (seriously please don’t let them in the kitchen)

Poly!Ghoap who has fun hobbies, I imagine Simon likes knitting because his mom did. Johnny would love building mini figurines (he was definitely a Lego kid no debate)

Poly!Ghoap unironically loves rom-coms and will be sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn for the new episodes of Love is Blind.

Poly!Ghoap has AWFUL sleeping habits. Johnny cannot stay still, even when he’s sleeping. And don’t even get me started on Simon, because when he’s home, he sleeps like the dead and sounds like I, too. I mean snores like a dad, so get ready to worm yourself out of bed at 1 am and sleep in the guest bedroom (don’t be surprised when you wake up squished back in between your boys)

Soap:"Why is Price beating the shit out of a rookie?"

Ghost:"Oh, he told Roach he'd always be a woman, misgendered him, and then outed him to all the rookies."

Soap, leaning out the door to yell:"CUT OFF HIS DICK!"

Price, yelling back:"ALREADY PLANNING ON IT!"

Price, still kicking the rookie:"HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT MY BOY!!!!"

Blood is burning my hand. So was your breath.

Painting done!

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