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rememberwren · 5 months ago

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A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of,

Even though she isn’t mine.”

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel.

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels.

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories.

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea.

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along.

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist.

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will.

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.”

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain.

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world.

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?”

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.”

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away.

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him.

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.”

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories.

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you.

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago.

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are.

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away.

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.”

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?”

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously.

“Share less,” he snaps.

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.”

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.”

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.”

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush.

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks.

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind.

His dreams are another thing altogether.

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep.

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious.

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap.

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body.

He’s not ready to be alone yet.

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it.

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is.

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out.

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground.

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck.

“What are those?” Garrick asks.

“No’ a thing.”

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?”

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win.

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards.

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised.

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty.

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them.

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly.

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams.

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?”

“Since Ghost saw—“

“No, Gaz.”

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building.

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food.

Ghost is compromised.

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed.

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself.

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it.

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price.

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening.

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!”

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile.

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows.

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup.

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers.

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment.

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns.

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less.

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks.

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.”

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods.

“Do you know her?”

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.”

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.”

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside.

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them.

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh.

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist.

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm.

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing.

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood.

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there.

Johnny texts him later that night:

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you.

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt.

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

#ghoap x reader

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brittle-doughie · 9 months ago

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Imagine steadily sneaking out of Dark Cacao's Palace, a flourbag load of pure unadulterated determination keeping your legs sturdy. Painstakingly heading for Beast-Yeast yourself to personally confront Mystic Flour Cookie, finally face-to-face.

First, your dreams. These crestfallen memories; these should not be yours, but yet they use your crust, copied down to how it crackles and crumbles. They walk with your legs and use your voice, and not meekly. Your little colorful buttons and creme filling. Through the eternal eyes of another wearing your broken face, a heavy shade of grief insisting a strong quake through your hands and feet, reflected in a broken mirror of indestructible forks and magic. None of this has ever happened to you, all your friends were alive and running free at the center of Gingerbrave's Kingdom.

Yet the firm echo at the crack of your mind reclaims; it indeed, had.

Second, that encounter and furiously attempted Soul Jam corruption with Shadow Milk Cookie, the dark jester of silken half-truths and rusty riddles; who's immortal darkness swallowed your common sense, that shadow with countless steep blue moon slits never dulled once under the unmoving gaze of the Sun.

But now, this sudden interest-an unpardoned heart from the literal pristine white embodiment of weightless apathy and sincerity?

These situations were too specific, familiar, and suffocatingly personal for mere coincidence.

The Beasts regurd you with an infectious stench of deep nostalgia, their eyes flash an infernal fire of thought, the kind one feels upon shaking hands with an old friend. The one that crawls like a bug, wiggles like a maggot. Growing the sprout of an itch, at an open chip of dry frosting the back of your head. A push, a pull, an annoying yet strong temptation of confrontation; of an acceptance, remembrances. Like they've known you since the very first crumb fell off the Witches' baking pan.

You spent this baked life depending on the protection and care of your beloved friends, but if that interferes with the truth you seek, you will risk falling apart into flour for finally having the chance to confront one of these gods about who you used to be.

Shadow Milk was serious when he countered you into an edge of existential dread. He was a frantic for the dramatics. Even for the most serious of cataclysmic events, he danced around the subject of your connection, hoping to unveil the mystery into stellar applause. That was the plan it seemed at leaat until Pure Vanilla threw a stake into his encore.

Cut through the answers.

With a mountain of luck and enough certainty, perhaps Mystic Flour Cookie will spare you doubts.

After all, even a being like her will neigh overlook such an opportunity; the chance of finally re-welcoming you, where she and the rest of her comrades know you rightfully belong.

She actually feels compelled to thank the merger weak Cookie's influence upon your new body, their mortal stupidity and curious self-preservation was an endless plague all within its very self, almost enough for her to forgive them for slowly erasing the dear memory of your once-divine mark upon these waning lands and lesser soils.

Almost.

(Sorry I have thoughts and lots of then, I hope I ain't bothering you.)

Nah, it’s all good. This was a pretty interesting read!

From what my brain of mush can put together, Y/N was a former Primordial Cookie before being reincarnated into a regular Cookie at some point, you were having dreams of this past life at first to the lead up to the search for White Lily Cookie.

The Shadow Milk fight would be the first time you started questioning on who you really were, but Pure Vanilla/White Lily Cookie pushed him back before you could get answers.

Your reputation seemed to be revered amongst the Beasts, as such with Mystic Flour Cookie. As stated, she could almost forgive the transgressions of having your memory altered, making you forget how you left your mark in these lands. You needed to remember who your allegiances should really go to, to remember who your real comrades were.

You were getting answers from Mystic Flour, in one way or another.

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader

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dilfsona · 2 years ago

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god you are so boring. do you have anything better to do with your day, or do you just have nothing but free time to make fake problems.

⚠️THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT⚠️

You can’t headcanon an adult character as a minor just so you can ship them with a minor. That’s proshipping and proshipping is fucking disgusting. It’s like headcanoning a lesbian character as straight but 10 times worse.

If i see one more person on this app make an adult character underage for shipping reasons I will loose my shit and report them as a bot.

Proshippers are not welcome here or anywhere on this app.

Have a great day💕

#insane #absolutely fucking mindboggling.#discourse #maggot wiggles #edit: op likes their own posts because they cant get engagement for theirr dogshit takes.

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dilfsona · 10 months ago

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does anyone have the one starker fic where peter has the urge and need to run from everything

#tnpt #ironspider #maggot wiggles #starker

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mushroomates · 2 years ago

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some boromir headcanons

he likes to eat spicy food. he cannot handle the spice, but keeps eating it anyways.

he stays up during merry and pippin’s watches during the night. half because he wants to keep them awake and give them company, half because he’s pretty sure they wont be paying attention.

best hugs. he will kind of pick u up while he hugs u.

would wear a fanny pack.

his favorite food is chicken. he likes any kind of chicken. also likes apples.

decent story teller. can recall gondor’s history easy. when he starts talking about it, he becomes very passionate and has been known to yell or cry while retelling events.

carries around a packet of dirt from gondor around with him for good luck.

tried to make his own brew. went blind for a little bit after trying it. gimli fuckin loves it tho, tried it at gondor and brought a batch with him.

has dogs. took in a stray while patrolling the city, named him Minas. Minas lived a long and happy life, and afterwards Faramir brought him a puppy who he named Ithil.

he is also allergic to dogs. insists otherwise.

his men call him “big brother boromir” behind his back. he pretends not to know.

once pippin called him dad and he coasted on that high for weeks

afraid of heights. will not admit it.

great with babies. would carry faramir around. his dad let him even though boromir was only five at the time, and faramir would try and wiggle out of his arms.

he whittles!!! or carves. works with wood. he made little trinkets for the hobbits in his spare time during the journey. he made pippin a little wooden dog and merry a rabbit because merrys kinda afraid of dogs. he made a bill the pony for sam after moria and was working on a cat for frodo before he passed away. it was in his pocket, half made. the didn’t spot it before he sailed away.

made faramir toys when they were younger- whole barnyard full of animals and some important gondor land marks. also a mini version of their family. faramir passed this down to pippin, who passed it down to his kids. it’s now a family heirloom.

dyslexic. faramir would read to him while he carved trinkets and such.

the fellowship goes out of their way to visit this shrine. he also has one in gondor, rivendell, and just outside of lorien.

boromir tried to teach merry and pippin wood carving once. pippins carving tools were quickly confiscated but merry learned how to make a boat.

merry officially took up wood carving after his death. he makes little boats for the hobbitlings and they have a race every summer down stream.

he also taught the hobbits how to make said boats, so when they’re older they hold the race themself. afterwards, they take the winning boat down to the graveyard.

boromir has a grave in the shire that the hobbits put gifts on, including said boats. it’s on the edge of the forest by the river. the fellowship all come to visit. some things left include: flowers, hot sauce, wooden toys, notes, homemade jam, pretty rocks, and some of farmer maggot’s produce. farmer maggot does not know of this.

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zombie-hickey · 1 year ago

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[Dead and Unburied]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, Zombie!Ghost, Gore, Violence, Reader is a bit messed up, Angst, Hurt mostly without Comfort

Summary: Ghost is dead but you just can't let go.

You feel disgusting... Sick in the head some might say.

Your hands shake as you stare down at the rusted chains, wrapped around the man's ankles and wrists... Could you even call him a man anymore?

×🩷×

"Damn it. Get the fuck out of here- now."

A large chunk taken out of his arm, the stench of rotten flesh and the burn of fresh blood infects your senses, it's enough to choke you... You're no stranger to infected, you know how this all goes. You've watched it over and over...

You can't lose him too. He's all that's left in this shattered world. What's the point if you're completely alone?

"Live for me. Survive this."

It's a command and a plea all at once, pleading with you to go on in hopes of a better future... Maybe you're weak though. Too weak.

×🩷×

You know this is all wrong- nothing about this is logical. You can't help but imagine what the others would say if they could see you now.

"Ya gotta let him go."

"This ain't right. That isn't him anymore, lass."

"It's okay, Strawberry... Just breathe."

Price, Soap and Gaz... Their voices haunt you as well as the screams of so many others, you don't even know if they are out there somewhere or not.

Suddenly the sound of low gurgling disrupts your train of though, glancing over to see Ghost shifting against his restraints, clouded dead eyes meeting yours... Those beautiful eyes you used to get lost in now make a shiver run down your spine.

But it's still technically him, isn't it? It's still him. You have to believe that.

"Simon... It's okay. It's me."

His broken jaw shifts slightly and you'd like to imagine he'd be speaking right now if he was capable... However, something shocks you down to your core. There's a hint of recognition in him- like he has some form of humanity left, a shred of awareness of his past. Awareness of you.

You could just be imagining it though... After all, you were crazy enough to capture him to keep even though he's a zombie now. Just to chase off the loneliness.

×🩷×

Seeing him like that- walking the streets in aimless search of flesh... It broke you in a way you didn't know possible. Yet a part of you just needed him. Needed him back. Even if he can't speak to you any longer or can't recognize you as friend not food- you needed him.

You managed to sneak up on the giant of a man with a crowbar in hand, smacking him with it earning a low growling groan, part of you feels guilty as you restrain him... Especially guilty as it sounds as though he still experiences pain, his jaw dislodged from the harsh blow.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry... I'm so sorry."

×🩷×

Despite your better judgement you move a bit closer to him, he doesn't attempt to attack you which you take as a good sign, raising your hand to cautiously touch his cheek- feeling the cold flesh beneath your fingertips.

"You're still in there, aren't you...? Si... Please tell me you're still in there somehow."

You receive a grunt in reply- though much more hoarse and growly, it's still recognizable as Simon. An actual reply to you...

"Oh my god... You're still-"

Before you can continue cup his face lovingly in your hands, a maggot wiggles out and lands on your knuckle, you immediately scramble away and frantically shake the bits of rotten flesh and the hideous little critter off.

"Ew!!! Ew, ew, ew..."

Simon leans forward to watch what you're doing, he seems a bit apologetic for what just happened... This definitely can't be easy for him, having some form of consciousness trapped inside this zombified shell, rotting away while still walking... Does he still feel pain from it? Is he numb to the sensation of his flesh wasting away? Is he in mental and physical distress right now and can't tell you?

Part of you feels guilty now. Perhaps you should have killed him for his sake- you're being selfish.

"M'sorry, Si... I'm so sorry... I just... I need you."

×🩷×

"Shoot them in the head."

He knew he had to look out for you no matter what, he refused to let anything touch you. You're the one pure thing that found its way into his heart and life, saw past the Ghost and saw Simon. You'd listen to his puns for way too long at a time, never seeming to get sick of him.

The thought of anything happening to you made him sick inside, his guts twisting into multiple knots. He's known loss his whole life- even before the apocalypse... Now it's him and you against the world it appears.

"Stay behind me."

Putting himself in harm's way for you came so easily, however regret seeps into his bones when he's unable to shield you from his own demise, seeing that look in your eyes when you acknowledge he got bit. The pain in his arm couldn't possibly compare to the heartbreaking terror reflected in your gaze.

His final moments spent knowing he can't protect you anymore. There's nothing that can be done- only hoping you'll listen and carry on.

×🩷×

The sound of other voices scare you senseless, scrambling up off the safe house floor and grabbing your crowbar, all out of ammo at this point so your gun is useless. Simon growling lowly and wriggling against his restraints but you just shush him.

"Sh... Shhh... I've got this. You don't have to protect me, it's okay."

Your reassurance makes him settle slightly but he's still rightfully worried... Until you recognize one of the voices.

"Someone's definitely in here..."

His voice is low and smooth... Gaz. You're not alone. They're alive. They came back for you- they...

"Bloody hell!!!"

The door was pushed open to reveal a stunned Soap at the sight of a restrained zombie Ghost.

"I- I can explain..."

#mdni #zombie!ghost #simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley angst #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x you #ghost angst #vee's cod fics

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yuureitheghost · 6 months ago

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"I can save you." The spider told Martin.

The silver worms wiggled their way inside from every single crack and hole they could find. The ceiling, the vents, the cracks on the wall, the faucet...

There were even maggots coming out from the empty cans of peaches.

Though Martin couldn't tell if they were real or just the beginnings of a hallucination.

At this point, it felt like there was nothing else outside his apartment, just a black void full of worms slowly eating through the walls.

"I can save you." The spider repeated, cleaning its fangs. Its eyes were like big black dots of the cosmos, as if they promised a void with no worms, just a mesmerizing, peaceful quiet.

Martin had run out of food and water a long time ago. Even if the worms didn't reach him, he was sure to die before long.

"I can save you." The spider told Martin. "It will just cost you a small price."

Did he have a choice?

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #the web #worms #spider #the corruption #i remembered that the spiders eat the worms in tma #what if the web planted martin back into the archives for the Plot to advance?#“jane pretiss just left on her own one day”#uhuh keep talking #jane prentiss #what's worse #dying from worms or *not* dying from them #fic ideas #does this count as a fic if it's just a little itty bit?#feel free to add to it btw #the idea is yours to use #just tag me

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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south africa but i've never been there also i'm drinking

HELLO MAGGOTS this is the good omens mascot here hello hello. my psychiatrist just spent today telling me how I won't be able to be out in college when it starts in May and I'll be misgendered etc etc it's all a good time. So my solution:

My darling cousin @imchronicallyonlinesowhat (the one who thought Sir Terry Pratchett looked like Sudha Murthy, was a kindly old woman and was married to Neil Gaiman because their book cover fonts were similar, OG maggots know the PAIN) who lives in South Africa asked me to make a South Africa post. FYI, she's moving to Australia for college, so you can be assured I shared my Australia posts with her she is SO prepared she won't say marmite instead of vegemite and she knows the Wibbles are inherently sexual. SOUTH AFRICA (I've only had a teeny weeny bit of cheap ass wine so far):

There a lot of white people there it's ineffable. There are enough of them there that my cousin regularly talks about not ever marrying someone who doesn't have some masala.

Afrikaans is a gorgeous language. I thought my cousin was showing me her Afrikaans notes once. She wasn't. It was her English notes, she just has the most illegible yet neat handwriting in the world.

They don't say yo but they say YOH and it sounds very much like a bass drum.

People at my cousin's school pump their hands in the air while saying jesus-jesus.

There's a trio of white boys that rule the school kind of like a genderswapped mean girls. They all look the same haircut-wise, they're Catholic and they're called the Triumvirate.

I'm realising here that my knowledge of South Africa is limited to cuzzy's school. But the wine is shit and I promised my blood-relative so I am continuing.

The books are fucking expensive and so everyone has to pirate shit. This sounds like the US.

Everyone is TALL. Like VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY TALL. The standard of height is insanely different from India. TALL.

If you don't have a last name you're going to get into legal trouble.

The no hat no play rule applies here as well as Australia apparently.

The wine cost like 2.5 dollars in USD if my conversion rates are correct, it smells like battery acid and tastes of rotted grapes. Nothing to do with South Africa, it's just that I cannot remember a single other thing about South Africa other than it's a country in Africa that's presumably in the South.

My braincells are already frying. For my cousin's sake, I'm going to compile all my Australia posts here so that she knows what to expect! Australian maggots your continent is about to be graced with the Good Omens Mascot bloodline. Notably the one with the Sudha Murthy fuck up so that's doubly fun. @howmanyholesinswisscheese, @im-a-sentient-magic-carpet, @madfangirlontheloose @obsessed-sketches @drconstellation and any other Aussie maggots be prepared and welcome her.

Toot Toot Chugga Chugga by the Wiggles is an Ineffable Husbands Song

Deaths in Australia in 2015, an ask

VEGEMITE IS NOT MARMITE, another passionate ask

Pt I Australia but I've never been there

Pt II Australia but I've never been there

Oh I hate cheap wine. @imchronicallyonlinesowhat I hope you appreciate this, blood of mine. I'm such a great cousin.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #south africa #australia #australian fandom #shitposting #geographical shitposting #only me man #im bleh #already #not even from alcohol it's just that it tastes like balls #ew #south african fandom #tumblr #idk what to tag this #WAHOO

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silassinclair · 2 years ago

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Michael's Girl PT. 3 \\ PolyLostBoys + Michael x Reader

Summary: You're put to the test by David to see if you are truly worthy of being a vampire. And you witness a horror you could never imagine. CW: Blood, Gore, Vampires being Vampires

Previous Part <- 🖤 -> Next Part

Tonight was a night of celebration. Music blasted from Paul's boombox, Dwayne was doing skate tricks around the fountain, and Marko had returned with some food.

"Chinese again? Seriously? You better not be do what I think you're gonna do David." Michael said and looked over at the leader with an annoyed look.

David only shrugged. "What Michael? Worried your little girlfriend really isn't up for it?"

Michael glared at the blonde. Meanwhile you looked back and forth at the two in confusion. What exactly did David do to Michael? Your boyfriend didn't go into specifics with his whole vampire transformation process but you assumed it wasn't fun.

"She'll take whatever you throw at her, trust me. She's tougher than she looks. Brave too." Michael smiled pridefully and kissed your head.

David looks you in the eyes as he ushers for Marko to come forward with the food. "I can tell Michael. After all she did walk into a vampires den knowing full well the dangers of it all. She'll fit into our pack perfectly if she can pass my tests."

Marko handed everyone a white box carton of rice and noodles. While Michael ate his noodles with a fork you used chopsticks like David.

"So Y/n, how do those worms taste huh?"

The girl looked down at her open box of noodles, or rather, wiggling earth worms. She felt like she wanted to gag, she just ate one! But it didn't taste like worms, it still tasted like noodles. This had to be some kind of trick, most likely why Michael looked bothered when Marko brought back Chinese food.

You look up at David with a smirk of your own. "They taste divine David."

Vampires were still a mystery to you. But you assumed that some vampires had special abilities. Meaning that this was most likely an illusion created by David to scare you. However it didn't work, you saw right through it.

Taking another bite of the "worms" Paul and Dwayne started laughing.

"Damn! Tough chick dude. She didn't even gag. Unlike our buddy Mikey here, remember the first time David fucked with your head and made you think you were eating maggots? You coughed that shit up so quick!" Paul said while pointing his fork at Michael. Michael only rolled his eyes.

"Shut up. I didn't know alright?"

David smiles as he continues to eat his food. “You got guts girlie. You passed my first test. It’ll only get more difficult from here on…”

This week has been absolute INSANITY for me. First David makes me hang off the bottom of a bridge while a train comes by and I FALL but luckily he catches me, and second… Well second is about to happen soon I think.

I’m holding onto Michael while he follows along with the rest of the boys on their bikes. No one told me where we were going but only that this was one of the final tests. And I was nervous. Eventually we reach a clearing in the woods ways outside of the boardwalk. A giant bonfire is lit and surf nazi punks are dancing around the giant flames as a boombox plays music.

The boys and Michael get off their bikes and climb up a tree to scout out the surf nazis.

Less fluidly and easily as them I also climb up the tree. Dwayne sees me struggle and takes my hand to help pull me up the rest of the way.

“Thanks..” I mutter. He only nods.

I feel Michael's hands grab my hips and he helps move me so I sit next to him on a large branch. The other boys stand menacingly, their eyes glow in as they look at the flames of the bonfire the surf nazis dance around.

"What are we doing here?" I ask. Michael gives me a sympathetic look and I know that something bad is about to happen.

"This is your second to final test." David says with his signature sly smirk. "Let's see if you can handle what you're about to witness."

"After all-" Paul cuts in, "This is gonna be your everyday life. So don't get queasy on us okay dolly?"

I nod nervously. The tension grows tight around me. The five boy's auras have changed, I can feel it. Something is different. I look up worriedly at Michael only to gasp slightly when I see his vampiric face again. I look around at the others, all of their features sharp, eyes yellow, and teeth pointed.

They were gonna eat these people.

Right in front of me.

"Let's go boys!" David hollers and in the blink of an eye all five of them swoop down and pounce on their victims. Blood flies, flesh rips, heads roll. The scene was absolutely vile. The boys ate like animals, they didn't hesitate to rip limbs and let the blood fly. Michael however ate more neatly, for my sake most likely. Frozen I was, perched up on the branch where I sat.

My mind felt blank. Watching people of my own species get torn apart by pure predators. Human kind was the top of the food chain, but tonight proved to me otherwise.

When every nazi was dead all the boys but Michael cheered. Blood covered their clothes and gore and bones scattered about. My heart was racing and I knew they could hear it. It thumped like a battle drum, and I was ready to surrender that battle and run away. My legs had a mind of their own and screamed at me to run. Run away from the danger.

But my mind knew better. If I ran now then I would fail. And if I fail then I fail Michael and our relationship. I can't back down now, not after all I went through.

I hop down from the tree and approach Michael. My legs shake for every step I take closer to where the massacre occurred. I feel the crunch of bone snap under my shoe and I flinch.

"Y/n are you okay?" Michael asks worriedly. His face was morphed back to his human one, but blood was still smeared across his lips and the hands that held me.

My mind felt like it was floating away, but Michael caught it and brought it back to me with a kiss to my cheek. Snapping out of it I shakily reply, "I-I'm fine... After all this is what I'm gonna see for the rest of eternity right? So I better get used to it." I laugh light heartily.

"The sound of your heartbeat says otherwise." David says. He stands behind me with his three brothers beside him. Their hair is disheveled and even more blood coats their clothing and skin.

Michael gently holds me to him, his arms around me protectively hugging me to his waist. "She passed the test David, she didn't scream or run off. And it's only natural for her to be afraid, so give it a damn break."

"Oooo" Marko giggles, "Mikey's defending his girl. We've never seen you so ticked off before."

Paul and Dwayne laugh too but are silenced by David. "He's right. She passed, but let's see if she'll change her mind after seeing what she saw tonight."

You couldn't sleep. Even with Michael holding you protectively under the covers you still couldn't sleep. How could you? Every time you closed your eyes you heard the screams of men and saw their parts ooze and fly. Flashes of the boys and their vampiric faces, their teeth sinking into the flesh of human beings.

"Baby..." Michael said tiredly. His rough hands rubbed up and down your bare arm. "Your heartbeat is loud... What's wrong?" Michael says as he rubs the sleep form his eyes.

"What do you mean 'what is it?'" You say with a firm frown. "I saw people die tonight Michael. I know I shouldn't be fazed by it but I am! I'm scared!"

Your boyfriend leans up and tries to look at your face, but you're turned away.

"Please look at me baby. Don't turn your back to me now. Especially not now."

You turn around to face him and he softens. You've been crying. Red swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.

"Don't tell yourself that you have to not feel fazed. Because it's your human instinct telling you something is wrong, and that's okay. Let yourself be scared, let yourself cry, I'll be here for you the whole way through okay?"

Letting out a shaken breath you let yourself crumble against Michael's bear chest. Broken hiccups and sobs escape your lips and Michael combs his fingers through your hair.

"Shhh shhh shhh, it's okay baby. You're gonna be okay. I know you're scared, I understand because I've been there too. But it won't be so bad, I won't leave your side okay?"

You nod against Michael's chest, not wanting to be even a millimeter apart from him.

"I know I can do this Michael... But I don't have it in me to take someone's life."

Michael thinks for a moment. Until he calms your nerves by gently petting your head. "I think I have a temporary solution." Michael says.

"Like what?"

"Well, what if for the first weeks that you're a vampire, I'll make the kills for you? All you have to do is eat what I kill. You can do that right?"

"Uhm." You think for a moment. Eating people was okay to you if you were a vampire, that part didn’t gross you out like you expected it would. Just the killing factor frightened you.

“That’ll work.” You respond with a hesitant smile. “But will David be okay with that?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Screw David. If my girl wants to take it slow and easy for her first weeks of being a vampire then she can. David can go crawl in his cave and pout all he wants for all I care.” His hands caress your face, fingertips gliding along all his favorite features.

You place a kiss to his fingers when they glide across your lips. “Thank you Michael. What would I do without you?”

He only smiles and brings your face forward for a warm kiss.

You woke up not to the sun, but instead sunset. Michael also rose and stretched with a yawn.

“Hey baby, sunrise and shine.” He says with a corny grin.

Instead of getting up like your boyfriend you hide under his bedsheets. “I’m never gonna get used to your vampire schedule.”

He laughs lightly and kisses your hair that peeks from the top of your sheets. “That’s what I thought at first, but soon enough you’ll adjust just fine. Now come on baby, we gotta go to the cave and meet the guys to see if you’re ready to drink from the bottle.”

You assumed the bottle he was talking about was the bottle of blood he was tricked into drinking.

"So it really is blood huh?" You say and poke your head out through the bundle of blankets you took sanctuary under.

Giving you a sad smile Michael embraces you through the bundle of blankets you're under, making you get warm fast.

"Mhm. Yeah it's true sweetheart. But it isn't so bad. Maybe you can take a hit off of Paul's blunt to make it not as bad? That's what I did at least." Michael grins cockily as he rocks you back and forth.

"Michaeeelll" You whine, "I'm still nervous."

In one sudden motion he rips the blankets off of you making you scream and curl in on yourself to keep whatever warmth you still have inside. Suddenly your boyfriend huffs and picks you up with his strength.

"Michael stop it! Put me down you big stud!" Though you're smacking him to put you down your laughter counters your physical attacks on him.

"No can do baby, gotta shake the nerves outta you."

Michael then holds you like a bride and rocks you back and forth like a baby, making you blush embarrassingly bright.

"Okay okay stop rocking me! I'm not a baby you buffoon!" You start to flail around more in his arms making him grunt and plop you down onto the bed.

Michael gives you his million dollar smile and quietly asks, "You feeling better now?"

Sitting on your knees you sit up and press a soft kiss to Michael's chin. "Yeah, you're little therapy worked surprisingly. I'm surprised I didn't get motion sick!"

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs your hands to help you off the bed in one swift swoop.

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's get you turned babe."

(sorry this was short yall. Kinda rushed and I wanted to get David's silly shenanigans out of the way. Not proof read btw.)

#the lost boys x reader #poly lost boys x reader #poly!lost boys x reader #michael emerson x reader #michael emerson #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys

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