#soap the oh hellos

[bismutharts]

i annotated this song a bit! i was originally wanting to do Old Witch Sleep And Good Man Grace by the Amazing Devil but uh. that song is like 8 minutes and hasn't got that much repeat lyrics so i couldn't possibly fit it in a zine while also keeping room to write. so i picked a shorter song i like the meaning of! i love the anemoi cycle by the oh hellos, i relate to it a lot

no image description because i literally don't know how i'd write all the text down linearly? but especially if you struggle with my handwriting, if you ask i'll transcribe particular bits

i may do more of these (so also if someone has thoughts on a good way to image describe these i'm all ears)

if you don't know the song, here's a youtube link

this is part of my project to make a zine a day in april

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 9

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Cool air flows through the dimly lit back of the supply truck, slivers of daylight seeping through the canvas sides as it trundles along toward the RV point. Soap takes a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve from the Mexican heat as he huddles in the darkness between weapon crates.

Laswell insisted on keeping Soap's involvement a secret, but Ghost is... well... Ghost. And he can still read Soap better than anyone: his facial expressions, his nervous ticks, and all the words he leaves unspoken in the wake of his trauma.

In a strange reversal, though, Ghost now speaks enough for both of them — words meant to reassure Soap even without an apparent need for reassurance.

Won't let owt happen to you, Johnny. No matter what.

The words were whispered in Soap's ear not four hours ago as Ghost, Price, Gaz, Rudy, Alejandro, and a host of Vaqueros left for their part of the mission in the wee hours before dawn — all of them once again sporting their anonymizing ghost masks. No one was supposed to know that Soap was heading out on his own mission, but somehow Ghost did.

The knowledge settles deep inside and blooms into hope that he'll succeed and make it out alive. Whatever happens, though, one thing is certain.

Makarov has to die.

The trouble is, they aren't sure they'll know if the person who shows up is actually Makarov — not when he has a serum that could make anyone look like him. And that's where Soap comes in.

The truck downshifts and slows. Three measured thumps vibrate through the wall and into his head as the truck begins to turn, letting him know they've arrived at the lowest switchback on the mountain that edges the sprawling Mexican city where Makarov has agreed to meet them. 

The trapdoor in the truck bed is light under Soap's fingers as he opens it and squirms through the narrow hole. His tac vest and the hard case attached to his back both catch on the sides, but he grabs the specially-placed bars along the bottom of the truck and pulls himself through. The hatch snaps closed behind him as he clings to the bars with his hands and feet, the ground still flying by fast enough to give him pause. He waits until the truck is about to straighten and accelerate down the slope to the city before letting go.

The engine roars as the driver accelerates, leaving him skidding along the road in a cloud of dust. As intended, the case takes the brunt of the damage, and using the dust as cover, he leans to the side and slides off the road into the underbrush. His helmet and armored suit take a beating from the thick brush that catches at his clothes and finally brings him to a halt.

He inhales to double check the filters. To his relief, clean air pours into his lungs, even as the dust billows around him. As the cloud dissipates, he clicks through on comms.

"Watcher-1, this is Snake."

"Snake, this is Watcher-1. Send traffic."

"Successful fall. On the move."

"Roger that. Stay out of sight. And good luck. Out."

Soap glances at his watch. Four hours to go.

He takes a deep breath, ignores the shadows flashing in the corners of his eyes, and begins moving toward the city below.

---

Four hours later, Soap is safely ensconced in his hiding place on top of a six-story building near the warehouse they'd chosen for the confrontation. The modified sniper rifle feels familiar in his hands, though it's strange to have the helmet visor between his eye and the scope. He should be shaking with nerves, but the calm that always comes over him in a sniper's nest is a welcome balm to his nerves, even if shadows still stalk the corners of his eyes.

Laswell asked him to be here as an ace up their sleeve, and he agreed. How could he stay behind when Makarov was involved? Still, he would've said no if not for the hours of target practice with Ghost over the past few days. The repetition took the edge off the latent brainwashing, allowing him to hold a gun without insidious thoughts overwhelming him — exposure therapy at its best. Or worst, depending on how he looks at it. But time spent with Ghost is never a waste in his opinion, even if Soap is fighting his inner demons at the time.

Maybe especially when he's fighting those demons.

And so, here he is. Waiting for someone who probably isn't Makarov to show up.

Sweats slides between his shoulder blades as the late-morning air heats up. He's in a shadowed alcove between ductwork and a massive air handler unit, relying on the contrast with the bright day to hide him from enemy eyes. Movement below catches his attention, and despite his calm, a chill runs down his spine a moment before the comm chatter starts.

"Price to Ghost. Sit rep."

"Ghost 'ere. Nearly in position."

Soap frowns. Ghost isn't supposed to be on overwatch. A Vaquero was tasked with that.

"Alright, everyone. Take positions and stay off comms. Price out."

Soap frantically scans the rooftops for any sign of Ghost, but his search is cut off when a row of armored vehicles pull up outside the warehouse. A small team of ghost operators open a loading bay door to bring out someone with Soap's height and build in a replica of his Agent Zero suit. In return, Makarov is supposed to be providing intel on the dirty Generals and the super soldier program, which they are well aware he won't actually provide.

It's all a little too obviously a trap for someone as clever and conniving as Makarov. Their saving grace is his obsessive personality — they're betting he'll show up in person on the off chance he can get Soap back and stick it to Price and the 141 at the same time. He'll have countermeasures in place, which is why Soap is here.

He's the counter to the countermeasures.

Or he's supposed to be.

Except that when the door to the middle SUV opens and a man exits the vehicle, Soap's entire body freezes.

Makarov.

The shaking he thought he'd avoided slams into him full force. He can't even touch the rifle without the scope shaking too badly to see anything. He curses and forces himself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

The shaking stabilizes enough for him to correct for it, though darker figures dance in his peripheral vision. He inhales a shaking breath as Makarov's face fills the scope.

In. Out. In. Out.

He pulls the trigger.

Makarov slaps a hand to his neck and dives for the car. A gunfight breaks out, but the ghost team is ready for it. They take down the enemy soldiers with a speed that leaves Soap breathless, and Makarov is in their custody by the time he begins to shake from the effects of Soap's dart.

The screams reach Soap even from so far away. Even with ear protection.

And in the midst of the chaos, the shadows in his peripheral vision move in an abnormal way, surrounding him. His chest heaves with all the amped-up panic he's barely keeping at bay.

It's all in his head. The shadows might be deeper, more solid in the Mexican sun, but they're still just shadows. They aren't real. None of it is re—

"And here you are at last. I wondered if your Laswell would be stupid enough to bring you after all."

Soap goes perfectly still. The scene below plays out in silence, Price and Gaz securing the man who once looked like Makarov and now looks like he's melting. But it's all visual noise to Soap.

Because he knows that voice.

"No," he whispers through the clawing, choking panic. "Nononono. Not real. Just a hallucination."

But his hallucinations have never talked to him before. And never in that hated voice.

Hands grasp him. Too many hands. On his arms, his back, his head.

They pull him up from his sniper position and pull him away from the edge. He struggles, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

They try to take the rifle from his hands. 

He fights harder. 

Fights for his fucking life. And for Ghost.

As they turn him around, he elbows the person to his right, lifts the rifle, and shoots. The man with Makarov's face and voice grunts and slaps at his arm.

"Some toxin to counter the serum, I suppose?" 

Makarov's soldiers wrest the gun from his grasp and hold him, one on each side and a third behind him who is already attempting to remove his helmet. Soap's body is in overdrive, heart racing and breaths coming in short gasps as he continues to struggle against both the panic and those holding him. Makarov opens his arms wide and stares at Soap with that awful, smug look on his face.

"Fuck you," Soap yells, his voice guttural and harsh. "I won't go back!"

Makarov drops his hands and tilts his head to the side. "What a shame all that work with the previous serum has gone to waste." He clicks his tongue in a chiding way before his smug grin makes a reappearance. "Good thing I've got an upgraded version just for you. One dose and the results are gloriously permanent. Vitya?"

The soldier behind him tugs on Soap's helmet so hard his whole body bends backward.

A gunshot rings out.

A spray of blood coats Soap's helmet.

The hands on either side of him fall away as the soldiers fall to the ground in a heap — a single, clean shot through both their heads. Makarov and the soldier behind Soap scramble for cover, leaving him to fall backward between the dead bodies.

His back hits the ground, punching all the air from his lungs. Disoriented from the fall and on the verge of a full panic attack, Soap rolls to his hands and knees. 

A feminine voice warbles in his ear, but he can't think. Can't understand. 

He only knows he has to get away.

Away. Away. Away—

Everything stops, including his overwhelmed body and mind, when a gruff voice clicks through the comms.

"Go, Johnny! Get out of here! And stay low."

With his heart about to burst in his chest, Soap looks up and sees an achingly familiar specter leap from behind a row of ductwork to catch the fleeing Makarov. Using the worm's momentum against him, Ghost slams Makarov face first into the air handler. Before he can recover, Ghost grabs Makarov's upper arms and hauls him around to deflect the sudden barrage of bullets from the remaining soldier.

Somehow the bullets miss. Soap meets Makarov's gaze, and that smug smile sends chills down Soap's spine even as his blood boils with rage.

It was a distraction. A fucking distraction. Because Soap can see what Ghost can't with Makarov's back to him—

A syringe in hand.

Fire and ice pouring through abused veins.

Endless, searing, mind-killing pain — this time with no way out.

Permanent.

He won't go back. He won't. But he'll die before he lets Makarov take Ghost instead.

A desperate cry wrenches from Soap's lungs as he launches himself from the ground and into the rain of gunfire.

"Johnny, no!"

Soap ignores Ghost's desperate cry. He leaps just as Makarov lifts the needle to jab into Ghost's neck.

And the burn of all those impacts is worth it for the brief flash of terror in Makarov's eyes.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 >>

[since-times-long-forgotten]

anyone ever just. bite their arm. like. arawrawmfphf I need to release energy awrfrwrjfrawrarwrrrwrmphwrf rrfwf 

[sheasshovel]

RANDOM SCAR SESSION 3 DOODLES

plus my fave moment ever

[circles-n-spirals-alike]

Soap by The Oh Hellos is post-arc Mind to me

Oh no, I think I'm not quite ready To let you circle the drain All the things we've broken Can be puzzled together again All your sums and your pieces Are enough to clean up All the messes you've made I think that you're worth keeping around I think you're worth holding onto

I've heard If I were tougher Then maybe I'd make it alive I got a tender side I'll need a harder shell to survive

DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND

[hollowflight-propaganda]

"Cycle of abuse. Cycle of violence." How about the cycle of healing? Why don't we ever talk about the chain reaction that being kind to someone can cause?

[alangdorf]

(sorry for leaving y’all in suspense I was grocery shopping) Surprise!! I accidentally got into Len’en like two weeks ago. Whoops! I got ideas for cool drawings to do with each of the BPoHC shrine team members (and you-know-who, ofc, but that one might be… weird lol), but Tsubakura gets to go first cause theirs is the simplest; just greyscale + red color scheme with a split background and the pose is mostly random (maybe they’re squishing Tsurubami’s little eye thing? Idk). Very pleased with how everything worked out; the line for the eye is exactly where the dividing line for the background was and the way I managed to make the vest corseted while not changing the ribbon placement is just perfect. Although I did make their hat smaller out of the aforementioned cowardice also that thing is hard to draw

[sugarcane-of-helianthia]

The Soap Festival & Soap's Symbolism in Gilded Helianthia | Headcanons

(I wrote a short one-shot based around this! You can read it on https://archiveofourown.org/works/52711750)

Hello! First, I want to say this was inspired off of @.deathricedrawn's (now scrapped) idea for Empires Festivals!! She came up with it back in 2022, I think? Back when I was a Twitter user.

So. What is the Soap Festival? It's a New Year's Celebration held in Gilded Helianthia that lasts 3 days; the first day is made to gather ingredients, such as glowberries and lye and oil and honey and whatever one wants to add to their soap. On the second day, New Year’s Eve, everyone makes two bars of soap with their ingredients in the morning, and leave them to set, while they enjoy fireworks, festivities, and fresh fruit in the afternoon and night. Many also take this opportunity to clean their homes and fields for the new year, as the Soap Festival is about cleansing the old year and leaving room for the new to flourish. The New Year arrives, and in the morning, citizens of Helianthia will wrap one bar in string and paper to gift to someone they love and cherish, as good luck for the coming year, and take the other bar and bury it in their fields, using it as fertilizer. Many will bury it near a special tree or crop, in hopes that it’ll be blessed.

In my own version of Gilded Helianthia, soap has a deep meaning behind it. Before Helianthia was given it’s name, back when it was a Smallholding of people wishing for freedom, the natives to the land had a tradition of hand making soap and washing each other as an act of respect, intimacy, and love. People would gift each other these handmade soaps with the belief that they would purify and heal the person that receives them. Nowadays, soap bars are easier to come by, but gifting someone soap in Helianthia still holds that meaning behind it; especially if one takes the time to make it themselves. Soap is given to children when they begin to come-of-age; as a housewarming gift to new neighbors; for people who are about to take on a new chapter of their life, or simply for good luck. It’s a way to say, “may your sums and your pieces be enough to make you whole”.

That’s the jist of it, anyway!

[strange-wanderings]

I really shouldn't listen to The Oh Hellos in places I don't want to be seen crying

[unamusedyams]

HOUFGFGGH 😭😭😭 KZAUMA....

Environmental storyrelling

wish these had timestamps cuz I'd love to know which song elicited this reaction

[sonyathesnailll]

It's gonna hurt like hell But we're going to be well

[aceofroses-queenofstars]

Happy it's Spring. It's gonna hurt like hell but we're gonna be well. I'll give you my best shot <3

[voltas-do-mar]

i think that you're worth keeping around i think that you're worth holding onto

it's gonna hurt like hell but we're gonna be well i'll give you my best shot

[soapcan18]

OH MY GOSH GUYS I’M GOING CRAZY THERE’S A PERFECT SONG CONNECTION IN SOAP

So you know this lyric at the end of Notos?

“Da da da da you gotta let go”

IN SOAP THEY SAY:

“But your sums and your pieces

Are enough to make you whole

You gotta let go”

ITS A DIRECT LYRICAL REFERENCE TO NOTOS AHHH

I love this so much because Notos is the narrator realizing their mistakes and taking that first step towards change!

And in Soap, the narrator is trying to help their partner embrace change, so they’re teaching them the same lesson they learned wayyy at the beginning of their journey!

Not to mention Notos is the start of the Anemoi EPs and Zephyrus is the end, adding even further onto the cycle motif repeated throughout all four albums :)

[bibiana112]

Saw 5 is actually my favorite because I'm faceblind enough that I cannot for the life of me tell Strahm and Hoffman apart so the whole ending of that movie was extremely entertaining for all the wrong reasons and the reasons were every time the shot changed I changed my mind about who I thought I was looking at and completely mixed up who I was rooting for with the other and only put together what happened when the next scene said which one died and I was still unsure going into the next movie but they state it pretty early so lol

[oftheriverseine]

If you have some kind of sound related synesthesia PLEASE listen to Family Crest or Oh Hellos songs