#Simon's two mums AU

[larkral]

Hello! Thanks for the tags @forabeatofadrum , @you-remind-me-of-the-babe , @hushed-chorus , @youarenevertooold , @wellbelesbian , and @blackberrysummerblog , and everyone else who has been tagging me over the past couple of weeks!

Fun fact! I started drafting this for WIPsday and then got buried under work. This describes my whole week.

Anyway, I'm really focused on my Holsom Timeloop at this moment so I will take this chance to again encourage all of you to read Check Please so that I can coerce you into reading this fic when it's ready. I am TRULY unreasonably excited about it. And of course @petedavidsonscock is only encouraging me. :-P Some of that below the cut per usual because I know most of y'all are here for my Simon Snow.

I have also been writing in fits and starts on Simon's Two Mums AU. Finally I understand the meme where someone is letting their old WIP drown in the pool while they toss the new WIP in the air. Sorry Simon's Two Mums, I'll be back with you full-ish time soon.

I also signed up for @carryon-reverse-bang as a writer. So. I'm excited about that. A little anxious. But excited! (Does this count as a collaboration re: my goal of collaborating on something this year? Maybe...)

Some words from Simon's two mums:

"Unfortunately the kind of information you're looking for is taken for granted in every magical text we have in our library. In our world, I would venture. Not much use in a primer on something you can just ask your parents about."

I wonder how different an upbringing he had to mine. In my youth there was no topic I'd have asked my parents about if there were a book available on it.

I make affirmative noises regardless.

Holsom Timeloop, which at this point I should just reveal the title of, since it's set in stone, and is Friday Prime. And here are six sentences!

Justin surfaces from sleep to a hand on his back and Holster's voice.

"Hey, bro, mind if I snuggle up?"

"No, man, come on up."

Holster climbs up the ladder and nudges himself into Justin's belly. He's a few inches taller, so he usually takes on big spoon duties, but Justin doesn't mind. With Holster's shoulder under his chin and one of his calves twisting into Justin's, he feels almost more embraced than when he's wrapped up in Holster.

Tagging and Sunday hellos to everyone!! Would love to know what you're up to!! @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nightimedreamersghost  @chen-chen-chen-again-chen  @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @shrekgogurt   @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @rimeswithpurple

[the-raindeer-king]

(A/N: prt 4 and the finale of the Mama Riley au! Thanks for all the support and nice comments. It means the world to me! No content warnings. Enjoy!!)

If the ground would swallow him whole, Simon would consider that a blessing. God, he never should've asked his mom about you. Of course she'd clock him. Who knows the man better than his own mom?

He stares blankly at you for far too long. Long enough that you're wondering if there was a chance Mama Riley had it all wrong. You open your mouth, ready to backtrack the statement, when Simon settles a hand on your thigh.

“I… yeah. It's true,” he answers you. He tells you it's fine if you don't feel the same. You were his mom's friend first, and he can see how deeply you care about her and vice versa. He wants his mom to be happy.

“What about what you want?” You ask, curious.

Simon's quiet for a moment, thinking. He wants to marry you, but that might be a bit much to admit right out the gate. So he gathers his nerves, and quietly admits, “I want to kiss you.”

You can't help but smile in response. You lean in a little closer to him, your eyes already half lidded. “I want you to kiss me,” you reply softly.

The kiss is a little awkward. It takes Simon a second to get comfortable in the kiss, but it's good once he does. (You find out later on that it's his second kiss.) His hands come to cradle your face, tipping your head back to deepen the kiss. That's when the kiss becomes perfect, the kind that makes your head spin.

You break away at the sound of the door opening. Simon's hands linger in your face for a moment longer, before he drops them back down to his sides. But you're quick to lace your fingers with his, more than eager to start displaying affection. You've been holding back for far too long.

Mama Riley smiles at the both of you, a coffee in hand. “You kids get your feelings worked out?” She teases.

You and Simon share a look, before responding simultaneously.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

Going to sleep that night is incredibly bittersweet. You two finally made progress, just barely started your relationship, and he's leaving in the morning. Simon has never hated his job more than now. He's waited, since the day y'all met, for this, and he doesn't feel like he even has a chance to enjoy it.

But it makes returning, two months later, all the more worth it. This isn't the first time you've gone with Mama Riley to pick him up, but this time is different. There's no fanfare, no balloons or signs, although you and Mama Riley had joked about it. But there is a new energy in the air, excitement to see your boyfriend.

He's easy to spot amongst the crowd, tall and imposing. But you see the way his shoulders sag with relief, when he spots you two. He greets his mom first, crushing her in a hug. There's some whispered words between the two of them, before Simon turns his attention to you.

He hesitates, before tugging his face mask down. “Can I kiss you?”

You can't help but giggle a little, nodding your head. His hands move to cradle your face, so gentle despite the horrors he's witnessed. And when your lips meet his, Simon decides there's no better way to welcome him home.

[rookiesbookies]

Um… Kilt fuck with Soap anyone?

“Oh yeah, bonnie,” he breathed out in her ear, his eyes pinched closed. His chin rested on her shoulder and neck, his chest against her back. His hand over her mouth to keep her squeaks and moans quiet.

He was breathing heavily, placing wet, open kisses on her neck. “Just couldn’t resist meh, huh? Saw ya lad all strapped up in his kilt,” he breathed with a chuckle as he ground his hips against hers, his kilt lifted over her butt. He watched her eyes roll back in the bathroom mirror. 

“At meh Captain’s weddin’ too? What a dirty thing.” his hand weaved under the front of her dress and he pinched at her clit making her squeak. “Sorry I kept ya waitin until after the ceremony, love.”

He kept his shallow movements up, fingers toying with her fun button and his other hand covering her mouth to muffle her pretty noises. He had already cum, he was just toying with her because he liked having her like this. Her hands gripped the sides of the sink white-knuckling as her legs quivered like a baby giraffe. “That’s it, my bonnie,” he purred in her ear as she came undone. 

Johnny didn’t know there wasn’t a second bathroom.

Johnny didn’t know his LT was standing outside rolling his eyes while holding a shit. 

When the two emerged Johnny was laughing and holding his girl around the shoulder, he looked quite proud of himself and there was almost no evidence of what had happened, except for his girlfriend leaning against him to be able to stand. “Sorry LT, was taking a shite and needed a pretty lady to hold my hand for support like meh mum used to.”

Simon just rolled his eyes again and walked into the bathroom to take his poop.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, check out my AU list for more like this. Don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox (I dont get them often but really enjoy them), a reblog, or even just a like to let me know what yall want to see!

[emeryhall]

Thank you @run-for-chamo-miles for the tag!

In 2024, I posted 9 fics totaling 339,207 words, which is fucking batshit even if some of those words were written in 2023. My most popular fic in terms of kudos is arsonist Baz and firefighter Simon 🔥. But in terms of bookmarks, it's Blood Sugar Sex Moony (wolfstar), which includes my favorite bookmark ever ⬇️

Fics listed below the cut, plus a heartfelt PSA ❤️

January

Blood Sugar Sex Moony (wolfstar, E, 63.6K)

A vengeance-fueled, Buffy-inspired, 90s high school AU with a 17-person body count, featuring amazing art by @spikesteaseasalt.

A Little Bit Deadly (snowbaz, E, 48.9K)

New York City firefighter Simon Snow mistakenly downloads Grindr instead of Tinder and falls for British arsonist Baz Pitch. Featuring DEREK JETER and the most heart-warming art by @letraspal.

March

The Tale of a Magic-Sucking Hoover and a Rat-Drinking Monster (snowbaz, E, 38.7K)

Ghost mums, sentient buildings, and sex toys. Oh my!

June

Only Creatures (snowbaz, E, 88K)

Sad poet Baz Pitch and dragon camboy Simon Snow. Featuring Baz's beard, the hybrid-creatures camming site, OnlyCreatures, and a cameo by Taylor Swift, as well as absolutely gorgeous art by @artsyunderstudy.

October

Sidney Snow Grimm-Pitch (snowbaz, M, 43.7K)

My delightful collaboration with @artsyunderstudy, and a gift for @cutestkilla whose fic What's Left inspired this getting together later in life mpreg. Yes, mpreg.

whatever beats beneath (firstprince, E, 5.1K)

My foray into the RWRB fandom, when I thought I was writing an omarashi fic for a Kinktober prompt, but instead wrote an exploration of grief.

November

Pink Salt (Saltburn, E, 23.1K)

Sometimes the greatest love story is between an undead baker and the man who didn't realize he was a necromancer when he fucked his grave.

Bound Together in Five Dimensions (snowbaz, E, WIP, 4.7K and growing)

My CORB collab with @stardustasincocaine! I won't say anymore because we're posting the next chapter very, very soon 🩷

December

Out of the Game (firstprince, E, WIP, 23.9K and growing)

Another RWRB, this time scratching my itch to write in the detective/spy thriller genre. In the spirit of the Will Darling Adventures, and featuring truly inspired literary works by Henry, and an Alex who is perhaps not to be trusted. But then again, maybe Henry needs a little chaos in his life.

And finally, a PSA, written as much as a reminder to myself, as to anyone else who feels like their writing doesn't quite fit anywhere:

When I posted my first fanfic (wolfstar), no one read me. We’re talking like four kudos in a fandom where fics go viral. And at some point I thought, maybe I should attempt to write things that people actually want to read? 

I love writing deeply romantic stories, but I love stories like True Romance or The Shape of Water. Two people who are perfect for each other, but one is mute and the other is a fish god from Brazil. One stabs Tony Soprano in the foot with a corkscrew and the other communicates with an hallucination of Elvis. 

Finally, I found the Carry On fandom who enthusiastically embraced my Baz who excelled "at both deep-throating cock and scorching motherfuckers like a vengeance demon in floral Tom Ford." And then finally, finally, almost a year after it posted, people in the wolfstar fandom started reading Blood Sugar Sex Moony. Now, almost every day, I get kudos and (sometimes delightfully unhinged) comments on my wolfstar too. 

I don’t imagine I’ll ever be really, really popular, but I’ve found a group of readers — or they’ve found me — who appreciate the way my brain works, and little old high school me, who always believed that the best love stories are the strangest ones, knows that they are not alone. 

So my PSA to everyone out there who feels like Nora Ephron trapped in David Lynch trapped in Wes Craven — or whatever your unmarketable combo may be — keep on doing you. One day you will find your people 🩷

Also, thank you to everyone who read, kudos-ed, and commented on my fics, and a special shout out to all of the wonderful friends I've made in the Carry On fandom. Y'all have brightened my 2024.

And now, tags!

@bookish-bogwitch @monbons @roomwithanopenfire @fiend-for-culture @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@thewholelemon @mooncello @iamamythologicalcreature @rimeswithpurple @orange-peony

@messofthejess @alexalexinii @best--dress @ileadacharmedlife @ic3que3n

@hushed-chorus @rbkzz @noblecorgi @facewithoutheart @larkral

@euripidestrousers @r33sespieces @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @letraspal

Plus anyone who wants to play. (I imagine this can be done for art too. Or dolls!)

[aethelwyneleigh27]

More Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley and Taskforce Moments With Little Ghost

+ Featuring Los Vaqueros Uncles, Meemaw Laswell (and her wife?), Peepaw Nikolai, Aunty Farah and Uncle Alex

Did I use the same pictures as I did with the last posts? Yes, because these pictures are so Ghostie coded. Also there's like a slight ✨sprinkle✨ of Angst in there, good luck <3

Tag list: @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui HAS THE BEST FREAKING COMMENTARY AND IS SO SWEET, SHE MAKES ME SOUND LIKE I'M SOME AUTHOR WHO WROTE A FAMOUS BOOK, ILY CONNORSUI <3 (ngl, I go back to read her commentary over and over again because if how nice they make me feel 😭)

Pairings: Ghost x Wife!Reader

This is my personal AU, I don't think anyone has written on little Ghostie before I did. Not to say that there aren't any works on Dad!Ghost and his kids however Ghostie is a character of mine who holds such a special place in my heart, especially after I started writing more about her and how she acts around everyone.

Possible ships: Farah x Alex (Faralex)?? Alejandro x Rudy (Alerudy)?? Price x Nikolai (Nikprice)??

I know Halloween season is over but y'all can't do anything about this, it's been cooking in my brain for a while now. (Some of these are just regular scenarios though) Ghostie is back y'all!!!

❥ Ghostie who simultaneously made her way into convincing the Taskforce to go with her trick or treating, having her little army uniform that was commissioned for her, a bit visible underneath her pink puffy jacket. Yeah I don't think she's going to stop wearing it unless she's outgrown it, in which case, that would just break her big heart :((

❥ Simon holding little Ghostie's hand while she toddles, she would NOT go anywhere without either her dad's, her mum's or her uncle Gaz's hand. Having her tiny chubby fingers gripping onto two of her dad's fingers as he guides her up big steps. Catching her when she accidentally slips on the slippery steps.

❥ The rest of the Taskforce being behind her like a bunch of guard dogs, ain't nobody is gonna try and scare her because of the big burly men next to her. Photo was provided by my favorite artist last Halloween, @puff0o0:

❥ Ghostie having the sweetest voice ever, she so polite, so much so that she makes the her dad and uncles chuckle at her. (This is how I imagined her voice to sound like)

"Say trick or treat.." Gaz whispers, coaching her from behind as someone from the house opens the door. Two women in costumes, holding a big candy bowl.

"trwick or trweat.." Little Ghostie mumbles, far too shy and almost hiding behind her uncle.

"What a cute costume you have there, here, take these ones" one of the women said, adding the candy to Ghostie's little basket.

"Thank you!" Ghostie exclaims, making the two girls awe at her politeness and eagerness.

❥ Yeah Ghostie definitely pronounces Halloween as "Ha-Hoween".

❥ I can't help but think that they came across that one house with a sign that said "leave your single dad's number if he's attractive" and as a joke, uncle Gaz threw in a piece of paper with peepaw Price's number on it, only to have peepaw Nikolai fish it out of the candy bowl when he thought no one could see him.. but Ghostie did.

Not Halloween related:

❥ Safe to say that when uncle Gaz doesn't like someone, neither does Ghostie, if you all can recall that cutscene from mw3, Gaz did NOT even bother to acknowledge Philip's existence. That being said, Ghostie gives the nastiest side-eyes to him the moment he even opens his mouth. (Yeah she got from her dad)

❥ Ghostie absolutely loves getting head pats and giving them, to her, it's one of the best forms of praise. Anyone gives her head pats gets to witness her absolutely adorable reaction, the way her eyes light up, those little lips curling into a smile causing her chubby cheeks to be prominent and her eyes squinting. Mostly loves doing it to uncle Soap, because the mohawk is fluffy.

❥ Maybe at some point, when Philip decides to behave then he can earn the head pats from Ghostie.

❥ Meals with the Taskforce and Ghostie are a certified hit, she has quite the appetite and she shows it. Simon takes it upon himself to always does what his wife does at home when he's out with Ghostie, bringing her silicone bib and baby utensils. (Even the bulky ass highchair attachment that he keeps in that back of his car/truck)

"More please..." Ghostie says, making grabby hands, in the middle of chewing after observing that her plate is yet again empty.

Price chuckles, looking at Simon who was now careful about the amount of food to add on Ghostie's plate because the toddler is on her third round of food.

❥ Ghostie enjoys clapping her hands and anything as well, especially after eating and being satisfied.

❥ Ghostie is into tea, her dad got her hooked on it.

"Aye, what about you Ghostie? What'd you like?" Soap asks the little one who's currently keeping herself busy with her custom coloring book.

"Tea!" She says, looking up for a bit to Soap before focusing back on her coloring.

"You heard her Johnny, make that two.." Simon says with a pretty firm pat on the back for Soap.

"Fuckin' Brits..."

❥ Auntie Farah and uncle Alex are the babysitters when uncle Gaz, uncle Soap and peepaw Price ain't around. Farah loves that kid to death, if she was being honest, she saw a lot of resemblance between Simon and Ghostie. Of course there are looks were, she's basically a carbon copy of him but also mannerisms;

❥ Ghostie who copies her dad, being adamant about being cleanly and tidy, oftentimes catching people surprised that she tidies up after herself immediately after playing before moving onto another set of toys, coloring books and coloring materials. She notices and mirrors how Simon is consistent in keeping things tidy and out the way.

❥ Whenever Ghostie is at home with her momma (you) and Simon had to run errands, she always wakes up first, seeing how her dad gets up early too.

Ghostie rises up with a soft yawn, rubbing her tiny eyes with her hands, she looked around at the still dimly lit room. She turned her head from side to side looking for her dad.

She was met by him standing and dressing himself up in a black hoodie to go out and buy something. She gives him that cheek to cheek smile before leaning her cheek and closing her eyes, mandatory kiss from dad before he left.

"Alright pumpkin, dada's leaving now. I'll be back later, be good and don't give momma a hard time.." Simon reminded her after giving her cheek a kiss.

"Okay dada- promise.." Ghostie yawns mid sentence.

❥ Ghostie who, ever since she way younger, loved to cup her dad's face and nuzzle her nose into his. A tradition that Simon doesn't know if he's ready to see it go when she grows up. Neither is he ready for her to start correcting the words she's been pronouncing wrong;

❥ Dad!Simon whose heart broke once he realizes that the "I love you"s will slowly start to be less and less when she becomes a teen, he's silently wishing to himself that it won't be reduced to not being said at all. You had to reassure him that it won't happen, not when Ghostie's the sweetest little girl anyone could ask for and Simon is the best dad anyone could as for.

❥ Uncle Alejandro and uncle Rudy being the seasoned uncles who happened to be absolutely adored by Ghostie, not as much as uncle Gaz but let's be real here, no one is on uncle Gaz's level.

❥ Uncle Alejandro and uncle Soap having bets and arguments on who gets to reach their language to Ghostie while she just sits there on uncle Rudy's lap, sipping on her apple juice, quite entertained.

❥ YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT RUDY ISN'T RESPONSIBLE FOR GETTING HER TO SLEEP OR NAP, that man is a walking heater. I can just see him standing there while holding her in his arms while she's trying her hardest not to fall asleep, yawning "Uncle Rudy.." before immediately snoring, snuggling her face into his soft blue hoodie shirt. (@icarustypicalfall is living for this, I just know it)

❥ Alejandro who gets smacked in the back of the head by (his husband) Rudy for being too loud and almost waking Ghostie up. (Alerudy when? This is a joke to y'all Alerudy haters, I like the ship, it's cute. Not sure if it's canon here in my AU, up to you guys to decide)

❥ Laswell and her wife absolutely fucking adore Ghostie, shit she makes them want to have kids, she has almost the same effect on almost everyone. Silently making her uncle Gaz wish that he isn't single.

❥ Let's be real here, peepaw Nikolai was the one who Ghostie jammed with while listening to heavy metal. He also got her this mini leather jacket that matched his, with her nationality country/countries flag/s embroidered patch on the side. I can just imagine her little head bangs that peepaw nik taught her 🥺😭.

❥ Also Ghostie has access to almost everyone's prized stuff, uncle Gaz's and peepaw Price's hats, uncle Soap's medals and even peepaw Nik's jacket which looks like she's swimming in it when she's wearing it.

❥ This pic is so Dad!Simon and Ghostie coded:

❥ Something tells me that Simon would send you this pic and you'd probably have a heart attack, your husband isn't the best driver after all but you trust him since he won't put your daughter in imminent danger.

❥ I think most of the time, Ghostie is in her uncle Gaz's arms and/or lap while he sits on the passenger seat, doesn't really matter who's driving.

My past works on Ghostie, in case you haven't seen the posts before this one on my most favorite mini Ghost:

Little Ghost (Drabble)

TF141 Interacting with Little Ghost Hcs

This was far longer than I expected, I just love Ghostie so much and I just have a lot to say regarding her.

A/n: This is now an official taglist for most of my generic CoD works, none of these people asked to be tagged on my mediocre content and I understand that, if y'all wanna be removed from the taglist then y'all could tell me privately or on the replies if you guys prefer it :))

Sidenote: Is it normal to be so excited over something you bought? I literally bought my first ever concealer today, a mascara that I've been looking for and lip oil. I was so excited that I squealed when I got home and immediately used them. Any makeup tips that you guys have? Sort of a beginner at this stuff.. Also does anyone whose had viral posts ever feel like their popular strike is over because none of their works get as much attention? Looking at all my recent posts and hyperventilating because the numbers are lower by so much.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 8

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: I still can't believe that I've written 8 whole chapters for a oneshot that I never planned on making into a series! But I'm glad it's coming along well and that you're enjoying it :) I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @iimichie

@mxtokko

“Morning, Simon!” 

____ and Lindsey arrived at Simon's door at seven in the morning as planned. His crush was the one who excitedly greeted him, while her friend looked disgruntled and ticked at having to be up so early. 

“Morning,” he greeted them civilly as his hand instinctively ran through his hair, trying not to appear even the slightest disheveled or flustered at the sight of ____’s smiles, and moved away from the door to let the two in. 

“Have a seat. I'll bring you some tea,” he said, promptly moving towards the kitchen. 

The ladies, particularly the author, took in the surroundings of his little flat as they entered and sat down. The entire place as a whole was simple. The walls of the living room were empty and unpainted except for a singular, ancient grandfather clock that hung alone near his curtained balcony, filling the quiet room with its rhythmic ticking. She saw that he was concerned more with pragmatics than aesthetics; if it didn't serve a purpose, then it wasn't needed. 

She saw that he favored dark colors of blue and black, and neutrals, but found that bright colors were speckled throughout the room in his red floor lamp, the gold painted knobs of his brown television stand, and the red and white chevron patterned cushions on his grey couch. The simple state of his room made her wonder if his bedroom was more personalised. 

A hint of green caught her attention and she turned to the balcony. A few potted plants of mint, tomatoes, and coriander, all of which were healthy and green, swayed gently in the morning breeze. She smiled at this. “He’s a gardener,” she thought to herself, not quite expecting it.

The smell of lemon and mint wafted through the air, bringing her thoughts back. Simon brought out a tray of three mismatched teacups and a glass teapot filled with what smelled and looked like lemon tea. 

“Have some tea,” he set down the tray on the coffee table and poured out the tea for them. 

She, wanting to use Simon as a model for her character, Frederick, watched keenly as he poured with a thoughtful, concentrated look on his face. She wondered why he used a glass teapot over porcelain or any other material, but that was probably not important. However, she was not going to let even the smallest things about him and his choices escape her scrutiny. 

“When will Johnny come?” asked Lindsey as soon as she had her sip of tea. 

Simon glanced at the grandfather clock. “At six forty-five, he said he'd be here in ten minutes. He's picking up our other friend, Kyle too. Maybe there's some hold-up,” he answered. He felt a little strange; it was his first time properly speaking to Lindsey, and she seemed to look judgingly at him, as if to find a fault. 

____ was silent, as she was more concentrated on the taste and temperature of her tea. It was lightly sweetened and refreshing thanks to the lemon and mint. A mental note was already taken that Frederick too would be good at brewing tea. 

Simon's ringtone tore the silence and he immediately slid the phone out of his jeans. Thinking it was Johnny, he looked expectantly, but it was his mum. Looking back at the ladies, he excused himself and went out to the balcony to talk. 

“What do you think of him?” ____ asked Lindsey, who took slow sips of her tea as the two watched the man pace around the balcony through the partially drawn translucent curtains. 

“He makes good tea,” she answered, “I think I'll approve of him a bit.” To Lindsey, a man who could brew a good tea was worth marrying, because, according to her, it meant that he cared about the little things, like making tea taste good. As ____ smiled, she paused for a moment before quipping, “He seems nice so far, but I don't trust him just yet.”

____ shook her head, chuckling. Lindsey was always so skeptical of everyone and everything, both a vice and a virtue. 

Simon soon emerged from the balcony into the living room, brows furrowed with concern. He looked straight at ____ and said, “I need to have a word with you, darling,” and then promptly stepped into the kitchen without waiting for an answer, expecting her to follow. 

She instantly set down her teacup and followed Simon into the kitchen. “What's the matter?” she asked as soon as she entered, finding him leaning his back on the kitchen counter, arms crossed. 

He turned to her, almost opening his mouth to speak but cautiously glanced at the open door; he looked back at her, beckoning her to come closer. When she did, he said, “I don't know how you'll react to this but I need you to hear me out, alright, darling?” 

Her curiosity heightened and she nodded.

“Y'see, my mum just called and they're going to have a family reunion soon since my old man's come back home for a holiday from his military service,” he paused, sucking in a sharp breath, unsure about how she would take his next words, but continued anyway, “And my mum asked me if I found a girlfriend yet because she's worried I'm going to die single…” he paused again, “and I may have accidentally told her that you're my girlfriend.” 

“You what?” she stared incredulously at Simon, although she wasn't quite opposed to what he did. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, shaking his head, embarrassed with himself, “I'm really sorry.” 

“Wait, does your mum know about me?” 

“Yeah, I told her a few weeks ago that I recently made friends with this lass,” he paused to sigh again, “And when she asked if I finally found a girlfriend, I accidentally said yes, and when she asked if it was you…” he paused again and shrugged. 

The lady paused. Now that he said it, it couldn't be helped and she had to play along. Not that it bothered her. She chuckled. “Well, it's alright. You take the trouble of pretending to be my boyfriend, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to pretend to be your girlfriend for a bit.” 

Simon looked back at her, visibly relieved. 

“Now, what do you need me to do?” she asked. 

“That's the hard part. We'll have to make up a story of how we met and how we hit it off. And I'll have to bring you home and introduce you to my family. And not just that, you know who else will be there.” He pursed his lips tight. 

She immediately knew. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and nodded. “Right, yes.”

He could see the apprehension on her face and in her body as she crossed her arms. Feeling terrible that he dragged her into this, he said, “Darling, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. If going there and meeting him again will make you uncomfortable, then I'm not forcing you to come with me.” 

She drew in a shaky breath and pondered for a moment. Simon watched her, gulping harshly. 

“No,” she finally said, resolute, “I shouldn't be so scared all the time. If I'm going to be there as your girlfriend, I shouldn't be afraid of some ex of mine.”

Simon blinked in surprise at this response. He appreciated her bravery, and felt his admiration for her increase. However, he didn't show it, and kept his facial expressions neutral with a little smile. “I guess, yeah,” he nodded. He paused for a moment, wanting to say something else, but she beat him to it.

“If anything happens, you’ll stick up for me, won’t you?” she asked smilingly, “Since you’re my “boyfriend”.”

He felt his heart leap. That was the exact thing he wanted to assure her of, and it flattered him greatly to know that they had been thinking of the same thing. Even though he knew this was going to be a pretense, it rubbed his male instincts and ego right to be depended on for protection. 

He answered with a wide smile, “Of course, my love.”

“Why d’ye drive a manual?” asked Johnny as soon as he took the shotgun seat, watching ____ take her place in the driver's seat. 

“Tut tut,” she shook her head, bringing out a mini sombrero from her pocket which she placed on the gear stick, “It's Emmanuel.”

The three passengers in the back, from left to right– Simon, Lindsey, and Gaz, watched as Johnny burst out laughing, also making ____ laugh as she got the car started. 

“Ghosty, she's a woman of culture!” Johnny exclaimed, looking back at his best friend. 

Simon made no answer as he was upset that he couldn't sit next to ____. Lindsey felt similarly, but for Johnny. Regardless of that, the drive began with gusto, with Johnny and Gaz filling the time with their singing and jokes, while the other three listened. 

____ drove for the first hour, and Johnny took over for the second and the two switched seats, exchanging jokes and quips with ease, making both Simon and Lindsey at the back miserable and jealous. Simon drove for fifteen minutes in the third hour until he nearly hit a tree, but swerved back to the road right on time to avoid damaging both the car and his crush's esteem. Gaz took over for the remaining forty-five minutes, and Simon was banished to the back seat. 

Thankfully for him, ____ sat next to him to console him, “Don't worry. After all, you did say that if you tried really hard, you wouldn't hit a tree. You did great for fifteen minutes at least!”

Simon chuckled out of embarrassment. It didn't make him feel any better, but he appreciated her effort. 

The camping spot was soon in sight. It was around ten in the morning when Gaz parked the car in the shed of a little cabin. The ladies learnt that the spot belonged to one of Gaz's relatives, who was happy to lend it out to anyone who needed it. And from how the three men scampered around the place relaxedly, it was evident that they were regular visitors. 

The fenced piece of land was right next to a little lake which afforded a view of the distant green hills speckled with heathers and daisies. A lonely little dock hung over the surface of the water, which, as Simon informed the ladies, “made a nice fishing spot”.

The group first decided to begin their hike as planned before unloading the car. England's weather was notorious for being fickle and since the skies were currently clear of all rain clouds, the hike was chosen as the first activity. 

The trail was an easy one, chosen for the benefit of the ladies who were partially accustomed to walking on rocky, uneven terrain. The end of it promised a little waterfall, which Johnny was excited about showing them, as was evident in his constant singing of sea shanties while they hiked. Gaz happily joined him, while the ladies and Simon chose to be their audience like earlier. 

“Johnny sure loves to sing,” observed ____, who trudged between Lindsey and Simon. 

“He's a born singer,” replied Simon with a sigh, sounding both proud of and annoyed with his friend, “And he was a theater kid too. Acted in tons of musicals and plays, mostly musicals. Put him together with Gaz and they'll be singing and dancing all day.”

She chuckled. “How long have you guys known each other?” 

“Johnny's my childhood friend. We've known each other since we were ten years old. As for Gaz, both of us met him in university and we quickly became friends,” he explained, kicking a rock out of the way. 

The two ladies looked at each other. “That's a long time,” remarked Lindsey, “You all must be really close then.” 

“Too close,” Simon said dryly, but there was a hint of affection in his voice. He then turned to the ladies to ask, “And what about you two? How long have you been friends?” 

“Since high school,” ____ answered, smilingly linking her arm with Lindsey's, “She's basically my sister now.” 

Simon smiled. He could tell, for the moment he saw them together, they stuck to each other like glue and didn't leave each other's side for more than a few moments. 

Johnny looked back at the calm trio behind him and Gaz. “Jolene!” He called Lindsey by her nickname. When he had her attention, he beckoned her to join him in singing. 

“I don't know any of the songs you're singing!” she protested. 

“Dinnae ye worry, wee lassie!” he retraced his steps, put an arm around her shoulders, and dragged her ahead with him, making her squeal and stumble. “Gaz and I will teach you!” he promised, and kept his arm around her as they hiked up the hillock. 

While the two men busied themselves in teaching Lindsey to sing ‘Bully in the Alley’, ____ and Simon were left to themselves. The lady smiled at Lindsey's attempts to sing, though she was no singer. 

“Lindsey hates singing,” she whispered to Simon, “It's crazy how she's doing it for Johnny.” A girlish giggle escaped her lips at the thought of a romance blooming between the two. Her authorly brain couldn't help but conjecture all the sweet moments they would have, worthy of a novel of its own. 

“And I'll tell you what, Johnny's never been this fixated on one woman for this long either. He's normally a huge flirt, a ladies’ man, if you will. I'm just as surprised as you are,” answered Simon. 

The mention of Johnny being a flirt worried her. She knew Lindsey to almost easily give her affections to anyone who would look her way, starved for love as she was. But she decided to stay out of the way and watch the two for now. If Johnny ever did anything that would hurt Lindsey, she would not hesitate to confront him. 

The hike was now proving to get a little tiring, and ____ let out a sigh as she paused to catch her breath and drink some water. Simon stopped too, looking down at her from the slightly steep ascent. 

“Are you tired?” he asked. 

“A little, yeah.” 

He bent his knee and lowered himself slightly, holding out his hand. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Just a little more and we'll be at the waterfall.” 

She took his outstretched hand, and no sooner they made contact, a jolt of electricity ran down both their spines. Simon gulped harshly at this reaction, and she felt an additional tingle in her stomach. His larger, more rugged hand held her softer and smaller hand in his, and he pulled her up the ascent with ease. She thanked him as soon as they were next to each other, Simon, eager to be of further assistance, held out his arm to her. 

“You can hold my arm if you want to,” he offered, trying to sound as casual as he could, though his thoughts begged her to give him the honour of accepting him. 

Her hand practically flew to his arm in an instant, wrapping just below his bicep. Simon never felt more depended upon than now as the two began walking together. And she was completely flattered by his kind offer, trying to suppress her smiles and blushes. The two were, without doubt, over the moon. 

The lady was sure to make mental notes about everything Simon did. Frederick would be tall and brooding, but a kind-hearted and observant gentleman with a soft spot for Adelheid.

“This reminds me of the Jane Austen novels where the men would offer their arms to the ladies when they got tired as they walked,” she commented with a bright smile and a certain twinkle in her eye as she moved closer to him, allowing her hand to curl tighter against his arm. 

He noted the expression on her face and the movement and instinctively flexed his bicep so that she could feel it. He smiled in response to her comment and said with a chuckle, his cheeks overspread with a light pink, “So it was a custom back then? Interesting.” He hadn't read a lot of Regency era novels to know of past English social customs, but he seemed intrigued by this one aspect that she mentioned. Wanting to know if she really approved of it, asked, “Do you like it?” 

She loved it, but for the sake of being mild, said, “I think it's nice, especially now when I don't see men doing this sort of thing.”

“So you like gentlemen then?” 

She giggled. “A lot.” 

Simon took note of this immediately. If she liked a gentleman, a gentleman he would be. If men of his day didn't do the things he did, like offering their arm, or pulling out the chair for her at a table, he most certainly would do it, for he didn't want to be like other men. He wanted to be special and singled out by her. 

They began descending down a slightly slippery, gravelly path that led to the waterfall, and Simon took hold of her upper arm this time as he led her down so that she wouldn’t fall in case she slipped over the loose gravel. He was reminded yet again of how much smaller she was compared to him, and it only heightened his desire to keep her safe. 

The gurgle and rush of water from the distant waterfall was soon heard, and a few meters of walking on level ground finally brought them to the waterbody familiar to the men. Johnny cheered like he never saw a waterfall before, loud enough for his voice to echo in the wilderness, and for Lindsey to cover her ears and curse under her breath.

“We're here!”

End of Part 8.

Part 9

Like always, leave a comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 20: ~

Some Odd New Followers:

This is by far the funniest chapter I've written, which says a lot about my humour.

Part 21:

O'Connor stepped outside, coffee in hand, and nearly dropped it at the sight of Simon.

After their reunion, Trots and Simon quickly got back to work in shovelling the snow off the drive. O'Connor's face lit up. It was about time he saw someone from home. What was just a couple of months, felt like years since he saw the man with a lion's mane for hair. 'Simon?'

Simon popped his head up and followed the voice. His face also lit up at the sight of the elderly Irish man. 'O'Connor!' The pair met and hugged at the base of the porch steps, O'Connor balancing his coffee.

'How long have you been here?'

'Only just got 'ere. You're still looking fabulous.'

'Of course.' He made a motion as if he was flicking long hair back. 'Have you seen Gibbo?'

'Gibbo's here?'

'He's in the barn.' O'Connor called over to Trots, who was still hard at work. 'Trots, I'm stealing your man for a bit.' Of course, O'Connor and Gibbo knew Trots was gay. It just wasn't something he wore on his sleeve like Simon.

Trots didn't look up from his work and gave a quick thumbs up over his shoulder. 'Make sure he doesn't get lost.' An inside joke from when Simon, the bus driver, got lost when he had to take an alternative route when the usual roads were closed for matienance. He didn't pay attention to them leaving, but he did overhear O'Connor warning Simon that Gibbo was infected, along with the others.

Being the work horse he was, or slug in this case, Trots didn't know how much time passed. When he focused on his work, nothing else mattered. You had to call for him to snap out of his trance. However, this time, he managed to finish his task. Good timing, too, as Logan opened the garage connected to the house, revealing three cars, with two rumbling to life. Bonnie and Grace were packing their small suitcases with the help of Lily and Moira. Angus and Harris were busy warming up the engines before Angus left to the drivers seat and joined the second car. Trots watched, then turned when he heard Muir and Fiona approach from the other side.

'Are you sure they know what they're doing?' Fiona asked Muir, her eyes quickly glancing to the barn. Or what she could make out of it. Only in broad daylight did she see how big her son was.

'They're no stranger to heavy liftin' ma. We'll be fine. I'll show 'em the ropes.'

'Alright then. We'll all be back after New Years. There's beers and wine in the fridge, but don't go crazy with children around. The car has petrol, but only use for emergencies. Keep out of mine and your pa's room, and the cows have gotten out again. Mind getting them back in before their hooves freeze off?'

'Nae bother ma. We'll be fine. And, we will.' If Muir could salute, he would. He opted to give his mum a light hug with a tendril around her upper back. 'What are ye gonna tell them?'

'Just that you didn't feel like coming.'

'Alright. Drive safe.'

The car with Logan, Bonnie, and Grace inside honked for Fiona. With one final wave, she hopped into the passenger seat. Bonnie and Grace kept waving until the cars turned into the blind spot of the drive. Of course, they wanted to stay with Monster Muir, as they now called him, but this trip had been planned for months, and there was no getting out of it.

Innes stood beside Muir, holding his coat close to his chest as the zip was broken. 'Going to see family?'

'Yeah. We have them in Aberdeenshire. If they don't come here for Christmas, then we go to them for New Years.' Muir clapped two tendrils together. 'Right. Ma and Pa have left us with maintenance duties, Innes, and I know what to give everyone.' Going by the tone of voice and grin, Innes didn't know if he should be worried.

'...And this is Brodie,' O'Connor finished, which was accompanied by a wave from the diver.

'A pleasure to meet you,' Simon said as he stepped closed and offered a hand to shake, that Brodie accepted. 'Must be scary to swim under a rig?'

'Aye, but you get used to it. All depends on the weather, and winter isn't the kindest to us.'

'Well, you're a lot braver than I'll ever be-'

'Okay, everyone!' Muir called out with Innes, grabbing their attention. The infected left the barn, Roy, Trots and Caz left the house, and Brodie and Raffs leaned against the barn door. 'Ma and Pa have left us a list of things to do whilst they're away.' It was easy to forget Muir was a member of the safety protocol, but everyone listened. His tone had become formal, and Rennick remembered why he chose him over Innes. At least he didn't smoke over dangerous equipment or use it as a chair. 'If we get these done now, then we can spend more time with our loved ones when they get here.' That put the crew into high spirits.

'Alright. Caz, Pa said the attic light had a fault if you could start there. Trots and Brodie, I'll show you how to seal the hay correctly. Gibbo and Innes can clean the chicken coups. Addair and Raffs can see to the fencing around the entire farm, and finally, Rennick, can you make sure the cows are rounded up with Roy and O'Connor, please? Buggers made a prison escape this morning.'

'You don't have dogs for that?'

'We don't, and they're for sheep.'

'But you have sheep.'

'We hire for a shepherd for them'

'They still exist?' Rennick was genuinely surprised by that, completely exposing himself as a man who never left Edinburgh unless it involved the rig.

'...Yes.'

'Well,' that was embarrassing. Rennick glanced to Roy and O'Connor. 'Three of us. How hard can it be?'

O'Connor stood at the fencing and watched the duality of man.

Roy lead two cows back to their barn with hay and dead grass he dug up from the inches of snow. Rennick, meanwhile, was chasing after them, hoping they'd listen to him. They obviously thought he was a predator. Why wasn't O'Connor helping? He knew he didn't need to do anything. He was just enjoying this. Plus, the field was massive, and Rennick was becoming more of a little blip with each second. When he was far enough out of ear shot, O'Connor just burst out laughing.

'No. No. No.' Rennick's voice went from desperation to annoyance quickly. He, at first, didn't notice how far he had gone, until the cows made it into another field and began to make their way towards a small country road through a hole in the fence and hedge Addair and Raffs hadn't reached yet. 'Oh. Fine then. Get run over, see if I care!' With a huff, he came to a halt. The cows came to a stop and began to wander onto the road. 'Pricks...'

Rennick turned to walk away, but his attention turned to a robin nestling on the hedge. He paused and locked eyes with it. It didn't fly away. The bird was completely unphased by his appearance and frustration. 'What?' It, or she, didn't reply and continued to stare. 'What's the problem? They'll be turned into mince for Tescos in a year. I'm just giving them a headstart.' The robin opened her wings and flew. But instead of flying away, she landed on the tip of Rennick's nose, making him cross-eyed. She chirped and tilted her head in curiosity. Rennick's body began to relax. Animals had that effect on him. He's always loved them because they were easy to talk to. Never judgemental.

When Roy gave him his food on the rig, if he couldn't stomach it, Rennick would often feed it to the passing seaguls. He missed them. Still, he never expected a robin or any bird to be so comfortable around a giant head attached to a fleshy mass. Must have always nested here all her life. A small chuckle escaped him.

The noise of tires against wet tarmac brought Rennick to his senses. His body tensed, and he, without thinking, because he'd never do this, shot out a flurry of tendrils. They wrapped around the cows, and he quickly pulled all eight of them back. They didn't weigh anything to him. Thankfully, it was only a tractor going no faster than 10 miles per hour. Rennick didn't wait to see if the driver saw him. He marched back with the cows hovering above him. The robin followed and nestled on the crown of his head. He didn't notice a barn cat had been by his side the entire time until he was halfway across the field. The King had found some odd new followers. 'I cannae wait to eat you lot.'

This was a dairy farm.

With a metal screech, Roy closed the pair of cows he caught back into the barn. He hadn't been paying attention, even with O'Connor nearly laughing himself into an early grave, so, he was surprised to see Rennick walking towards the barn, talking to the cows like they were his delinquent teenager children.

'See? If you had just listened to me, then we could have avoided this. Honestly...'

O'Connor couldn't laugh anymore, but the grin on his face showed how easily amused he was by this. He leaned against the fence and snickered into his gloved hands.

'Have fun, Rennick?'

'Shut the fuck up, O'Connor.'

[cs-fox]

https://www.tumblr.com/cs-fox/770969455991930880/hybrid-au-tf141-a-request-from-a-poll-i-did-a

Reader being unsure of why the hell there’s a random cat on base but doesn’t know it’s ghost, gives cat a name(almost definitely a tomcat so he’s got puffy jowls/cheeks) and gives the cat a collar and spoils the shit out of the cat and when the cat disappears for hours at a time(ghost training rookies or whatever) reader worries and then at night the cat comes back and immediately acts like everything is all okay and fine

Cat name ideas: Sapling, Shelley, something with maybe an S or a G(for Simon or Ghost)

You hadn’t expected the tortoiseshell cat you’d met the day before to stick around - so you assumed it had bailed through your open bathroom window when you found out your quarters were free of any animal.

It had been a sweet creature, curling up on your pillow as you slept, and bounding around your quarters as you washed your hair. It’s honey gold eyes - God, they were beautiful.

You tried to ignore the fact you couldn’t shake the feeling those same eyes were watching you as you did your reps in the gym.

That was quite easy, of course, your Lieutenant’s training sessions were brutal; so when you collapsed onto the squishy couch in the middle of your room the last thing on your mind was cats.

A sigh left your lips as your sweat-soaked skin cooled under the subzero A/C. It quickly turned into a squeak, though, when something soft and warm tried to jump into your lap.

The cat.

It looked like a bundle of darkness, mottled fur rippling as it settled between your legs, paws kneading your aching thigh.

‘Fuck -‘ you groaned. ‘Watch it, puss. That’s sore…’

‘Mrrrow,’ the cat stared up at you with those adorable eyes.

Slowly, you leaned back, head lolling back (because you were much too large for this couch’s short backrest, compliments of a military diet and three hours of training a day) and closed your eyes.

You woke up from your nap about forty-six minutes later by your watch, and stood up to stretch.

‘RROW!’

‘Shit!’

Two doleful amber eyes stared up at you reproachfully, and the cat stalked off, tail in the air huffily.

‘No… I’m so sorry,’ you groaned, running a hand through your mussed hair.

You ambled into the kitchenette, flicking on the kettle and reaching up to grab a mug from one of the tiny floating cabinets above your microwave.

It only took a minute to rummage for the teabags this time; your fingers scrabbling at a beaten-up box inscribed “Earl Grey” for a second before you managed to untangle a pouch.

You were just about to pour water over your teabag when you heard a soft noise. The cat had vaulted up onto the countertop, and was now watching you with great interest. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he was asking for a cuppa.

‘If you say so,’ you shrugged, pouring a little of the deep amber liquid onto a saucer and pushing it across to the animal. It began to lap at the tea, purring loudly.

‘Fuck me dead,’ you chuckled, taking a sip. ‘Even the cats here like tea.’

After a second of silence, you hummed out a thought. ‘You need a name, don’t’cha?’

The cat didn’t respond. Duh.

‘What about… my mum’s cat used to be named Sammy. What about Sammy?’

Again, no protest from the cat.

‘Sounds good, then.’

You pretended to toast the animal, lifting your mug and raising your eyebrows with a grin.

/\

You didn’t seriously expect the cat to stick around that night, but lo and behold, there it was, curled up on your covers when you rose at 5:37 AM.

It shifted, and made a noise as though for all the world it was yawning, before its eyes locked on you.

For a moment, you simply stared at each-other, the cat looking absolutely terrified, before it scrambled to its feet and fucked off out the open bathroom window.

‘Hey-!’ you tried, but smacked a hand to your forehead. Cats were cats. You’d eat your holster if it came when you called it.

‘Bloody animal,’ you swore, already starting to pull on your shorts, attempting to psych yourself up for another early-morning gym visit.

AAAACK I LOVE THIS IDEAAA

ok I’m relating to reader sm. I talk to animals like that too girlie 😂😂🥲 I’m insane ❤️❤️❤️

[itsa-me-lily]

Here is the Master Playlist for MPS AU

Here is Simon & Thimble playlist

Note;

This takes place early on in your marriage to Simon. So way before Baker or anything. Also I actually googled something about COD for this, look at my growth

Content warning;

Mom feelings, just a lot of mom feelings, crying, poor humor from Simon right out the gate

Some days it'd be nice if terrorists could actually be useful and be a great reason to get out of meeting the in-laws. Just a small attack somewhere, an empty building being blown up, no one had to get hurt. And given the colorful threat you had told Simon, the terrorists might have been nicer. At least they wouldn't have him vacuuming the same damn rug for the third time. Though given how you had spent the last hour and a half simultaneously power cleaning and winding yourself up for a possible heart attack, it wasn't like you were just lounging around eat bonbons.

Simon could almost understand the anxiety. He had never had to worry about it before, but he could recall a frazzled phone call with Tommy the first time he was going to meet Beth's parents. That he had been worried about being deemed not good enough. Simon at least knew that deep down he wasn't really good enough for you. Too much blood and violence in him. But as long as you were around he'd at least pretend to be alright. And if being alright meant over vacuuming an area rug well, he was trying to be a good husband.

Being a good husband probably meant he wasn't suppose to find it a little entertaining how you froze and looked at your phone like it was a live bomb. But after having to deal with actual live bombs, the way your eyes got big at the ringing electronic rectangle was a little silly. He watched as you answered the phone with all the seriousness of a man going to the gallows, fingers tapping against the kitchen table like you needed to channel your energy elsewhere. You didn't say a whole lot, and after you hung up you looked at Simon as if the end of the world was coming.

"She's here a half hour early."

Oh. Yeah that would probably explain the expression on your face. You had lost thirty minutes of compulsive cleaning of your tiny home that was already pretty damn clean. And as if to harken the end of times the dryer unit that had been crammed into a utility closet loudly declared itself done, the towels you had deemed needed a wash now dry and fluffy.

You looked...stuck. As if you were trying to pull yourself in two opposite directions and the force of it meant you weren't moving anywhere. Simon recalled that you had explained it once, when he had caught you staring at five different projects one evening. That having so many choices stunned you because you couldn't decide what to do first. Seemed like you were stuck between your mother and some towels. Truly a rock and a hard place. But again, Simon was at least attempting to be a good husband. He'd deal with the hard place.

"Go get your mum. I'll handle the towels."

He watched as you nodded, the deep inhale you took becoming a deeper sigh as you seemed to finally deflate a little, coming back into yourself more.

"Right. Thanks uh...you can-"

"I'll hang out some new ones in the washroom and fold the rest. Get going so she isn't stuck at the gate for longer."

With that it seemed that you were finally free to actually head out the front door. Honestly it was one woman. How bad could it be?

Those were famous last words. He had finished up the towels and had been setting the kettle on the stove when you had returned with your mother. Simon could see the family resemblance. It wasn't in the body build, your mother was taller and a little slimmer, but you both had the same arch to your eyebrows, the same round cheeks, and the same personality. It only took one look at Simon for it to start.

"What's with the face mask?"

Oh god. Fuck, if the earth could split in two and swallow you it would have been a god send. Yes you could recognize that maybe explaining the situation, you know the whole you were now married thing, before she had decided to come visit you would have for the best. But that would have meant having an entire conversation with your mother about why you had even signed up for the stupid program in the first place, why you didn't think it was going to amount to anything anyways, and why you went through with it. Which honestly you could answer the first two parts of that, you could. It was the last part that kind of left you spinning your wheels, and you didn't really care to explore it on a deeper level.

So here you were, in your front hall/kitchen/living room area with your mother questioning your technically husband, about why he was wearing a face mask that covered half his face. This was fine. Before Simon could respond you were stepping in, really unsure what was going to come out of Simon's mouth.

"Mom this is Simon. He um-He's not feeling a hundred percent and he didn't want to get you sick."

You could lie better than that. You knew you could lie better than that. You knew your mother knew you could lie better than that. Thankfully Simon didn't throw you under the bus and instead went with it, clearing his throat and responding in what you think was him trying for a sick voice.

"Would hate for ya to catch what I got ma'am."

You could tell your mom didn't believe any of it, but she didn't argue with it. Instead she let you show her around the house, humming in approval of how tidy it was. You were happy to note that Simon had chose to hang up the nicer towels in the wash. An hour and a half of anxiety cleaning paid off. It wasn't until you were showing her the bedroom that you mom closed the door behind her, turning to fix you with the stare, arms crossed over her chest and everything.

"Alright cut the bullshit. What is going on here?"

Oh the jig was up. You both knew it, but just like the time when you were ten and you had decided to give yourself a truly terrible haircut, you tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Mom, I don't know what you're-"

"Since when are you Mrs. Riley?"

Fuuuuuck. Busted by the gate guards and they didn't even know it. Clearing your throat you tried so hard not to scratch the back of your neck or fiddle with your hair, or do any of the other tells your mother had watched you develop. It was hard, so was trying to think of another lie to get yourself out of the situation. You would have made a terrible spy.

"So...I kind of got married?"

"What?"

What were you supposed to do when you were faced with the mom stare. It was practically patented to make you spill your guts. And so it all came stumbling out. How your college best friend had told you about this matchmaking program she wanted to try but was too nervous too. How you decided you'd sign up with her for moral support because honestly you didn't expect to be anyone's cup of tea, it'd be something to laugh over later. And then how apparently you were someone's cup. You chalked up agreeing to benefits, and weren't going to touch any other reasons.

By the time you were done you had seated yourself at the end of the bed, hands motioning into the air like it would further explain yourself. It did not if you were to judge by the unimpressed look on your mother's face.

"I swear to god I raised you with more common sense than this."

"Mom-"

"If Dovey were to throw herself off a bridge would you?"

"That's not fair-"

"Isn't it? Why would you sign up for this just because she doesn't have-"

"Don't fucking even Mom."

You didn't mean to curse at your mother, you really didn't but there were things you weren't okay with your mom just simply assuming. Dovey was one of them.

"You've met her parents mom, they are that bad. She's my best friend and she was there when I got diagnosed, so yeah I'm going to be there for her in this stupid idea."

It seemed your mother hadn't expected you to curse or be as passionate as you were. She looked a little shocked, then a little hurt before she sighed, shoulders slumping a little as she came to sit next to you. You lowered yourself back to the bed, unaware that you had even stood up to shout at her.

You both sat there in silence for a moment, as if trying to find the right word to say. Sure the two of you had your spats over the years, but it was always just the two of you, and eventually you always found a way back to center with each other. It was just a stumbling process sometimes. You were both awkward like that.

"I know Dovey is important to you-"

"Mom-"

"But, you're my baby, and you're important to me. And this idea of you marrying a stranger? Honey that's terrifying. Especially since you didn't even tell me you were doing this."

She was right, and you knew she was right. You had tried to talk Dovey out of it before, with a laundry list of ways it could all go wrong. Hell it could still go terribly wrong for you, you had only known Simon for a few months. You felt your eyes burn a little, a wave of sudden guilt washing over you for scaring your mom.

"I know...and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I don't know what I'm doing...And I don't want to bother you with my stuff..."

"Baby. I signed up for a lifetime of being bothered by your stuff the second I knew I was having you."

You loved your mom so much, and a part of you had been terrified that she'd be disappointed in what you had done with your life. That she'd realize she had done the whole single mother thing for a waste.

You couldn't help the sniffle, you really couldn't. Thankfully your mother didn't say anything, instead pulling you into a hug where you could wrap your arms around her and just hold on. The two of you sat like that for a while, both of you ignoring sniffles and some stray tears. It was so nice to be held like this again. Like nothing bad could get you because you were with your mom. After a while though she pulled back, wiping at her face while you did the same with your own.

"He doesn't hurt you or anything right?"

It took you a moment to figure out who she was talking about.

"Simon? No, no he doesn't."

"And he doesn't force you to.."

Explaining your lack of sex life to your mother was probably about as awkward as your mother trying to give you the sex talk when you were twelve but you did manage to get through it. At least your mom seemed to approve of the separate bed.

"And you're sure he's not a serial killer with the whole..."

She motioned to her face, indicating Simon's face mask thing. The idea made you laugh. Not because you didn't think Simon was a serial killer, jury was still out on that one. But because the two of you had pretty much had the same train of thought.

"Pretty sure he's not. At least I don't think so."

"Well call me if you find a body in the freezer."

"We'd need a freezer big enough first."

Your mom made a face at that, and you both chuckled. The house was tiny, but so far it was shaping up to be an okay home. With a soft look on her face she brushed her thumb against your cheek.

"But really, don't hesitate to call me if something happens okay? I love you."

You felt your chest hurt with how much love you felt in that moment, throat getting choked up all over again.

"I love you too Mom."

Simon stood outside the bedroom door, not meaning to eavesdrop but well...the house was only so big. Plus when he heard you shout it had made some part of his brain light up with the urge to check if you were alright. From the sounds of it, you were at least. So for now he'd let you two have your moment.

He could wait to ask what kind of tea your mum wanted.

Edit;

I love my mom so much, so yes writing this did make me cry a little. Also in my head Thimble's mom has been dubbed Mama Pincushion.

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Happy Wednesday friends! I’ve got 15 teaching days left and boy am I ready for summer vacation! 😎

I’m currently writing the fourth chapter of my time travel AU, Back and Back and Back. @cutestkilla and @emeryhall are graciously beta reading for me and thanks to their help, the first two chapters are shape up nicely. 🙏🏻

Here’s a little something from chapter 2 (no, chapter 1 is not posted yet, but I’ve already shared a good amount from it.) An older Simon is visiting ten year old Baz while he’s taking a breather from Malcolm and Daphne’s wedding:

I think about some of the comments I heard the guests making tonight. Discussions about babies and starting a family. Which feels like such an odd thing to say, because Father’s already got a family. Or at least part of one. That isn’t really starting is it?

I tell him a little of what I overheard tonight and he listens intently again without interrupting. He doesn’t give me sad pity eyes like so many other grown ups when they talk to me about things like dead mums. I like that about him. He treats me more normally than just about anyone else.

“Well,” he starts, “I don’t have any siblings myself, so I can’t really speak from experience. But I always thought it would be cool to have a little brother or sister.”

“Really?” I tilt my head, looking up at him.

“Mmm. I think it’d be nice to have someone to look after. Someone you’d always have in your corner. And they’d have you.”

Baby Baz owns my heart. As does an older Simon being nice to him ♥️

Tags/thanks/hello to @cutestkilla @emeryhall @artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @raenestee @aristocratic-otter @valeffelees @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @shrekgogurt @orange-peony @letraspal @nightimedreamersworld @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @rimeswithpurple @iamamythologicalcreature @prettygoododds @monbons @blackberrysummerblog @that-disabled-princess @best--dress @brendughh @drowninginships @lookinforavampire @mooncello @hushed-chorus

[larkral]

Heyo!!! You know that feeling when you're blocked on writing something but you don't realize that's what's happening because you had another brilliant idea and LIFE is happening all around you? Turns out I was actually a bit blocked on the Simon's Mums AU, which is partially why I've been going so hard on Holsom Timeloop. Learned this when I went to write some Simon's Mums yesterday so that I'd have something to show y'all.

Being blocked, for me, looks like this: I have an idea of what happens next and I've tried to write it a half dozen times and nothing is working. The resolution usually comes when the thing that happens next is totally different from what I anticipated. In this case, I was thinking the mums needed to meet Mitali. I have Google mapsed the route between Harrow (where the mums and Simon live) and Hounslow SO MANY TIMES, you cannot even comprehend it, given I have written and deleted one sentence for this section over a dozen times.

Anyway, turns out the mums are going to meet Malcolm. 🤷 Whatever, it's working for me. This is like eleven sentences because I just am, I?

Malcolm Grimm may as well be an eponym. He is sour-faced and stoic as I cross the room to meet him and he doesn't stand to greet me. He asked to meet me at his London club, and it's the kind of regressive place that calls women "Mrs. Husband's Name" and will only forgive me my slacks by virtue of the fact that I have my court collar laid overtop of my oxford.

I don't offer my hand this time. Instead I sit down across from him and reach for my water. I take a sip.

"Ms. Stephenson."

"Mr. Grimm."

He makes a face like he's terribly constipated, like he's smelling something he's disgusted by but has to pretend to enjoy. "I was moved," he says, finally. "By what you said."

Tags and also Holsom time loop under the cut.

Holsom time loop, now coming in at nearly 28k words, i.e. more than twice as long as Simon's Mums AU. Again I cannot overstate how much I LOVE writing this. It is very fun.

Have some sleepy kissing:

Holster descends, lips seeking out Justin's. He doesn't support himself over Justin, just lets the weight of his body press into him, and fuck, it's good—being smaller, being a little bit out of control.

He groans into Holster's mouth and leans up, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of the slide of Adam's tongue against his own.

But Holster is pulling away. Justin feels wanton under his gaze, syrupy and stuck, like he's let too much of the lovey-dovey goop inside of him leak out where his hands are still holding on to Holster's waist.

"You have hella sexy morning eyes, Rans."

Thanks for the tag @forabeatofadrum, and everyone else who tagged me the past few weeks. And I'm tagging @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersworld  @chen-chen-chen-again-chen  @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @shrekgogurt  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple

[the-ace-with-spades]

This, I hope, will eventually be posted on ao3 as a proper fic – current draft title is exhumation — but just in case it will not, gonna post it here and let it stew

Canon Divergence AU with secret Identity and later identity reveal drama

(also this involves the backstory from the Ghost comic because I vaguely remember reading it when I was in high school…)

Soap and Ghost meet before they become Soap and Ghost. Johnny is 20, Ghost is 25, and they’re stationed around the same place but different squads — somewhere not far away from Manchester — and they don’t know they’re both from SAS. They meet when Tommy tries to be supportive of Simon’s newly announced queerness and takes him out to a gay bar on Canal Street. Tommy is the one to chat up Johnny (while Simon, obviously not a fan of crowds or loud places, hides away in the bathroom) with ‘see, my brother this and that’  and ‘if you give my brother a chance, he will this and that’. Believe it or not, once Simon strolls back in with all his social awkwardness, Johnny is actually charmed. Things roll around for a couple of months before they admit to each other they’re in the armed forces.

By the time they find out Simon is of higher rank, they’re already gone for each other. They decide to keep going anyway — it’s legal, as of 2001, and they’re not planning on getting a civil partnership for a while, anyway, so in the end, they keep going. Simon changes his next of kin on file to Johnny, they ‘share’ a flat off base, and Johnny’s met Simon’s mum and brother. He more or less knows the lore of the Riley family, mostly how much of a piece of shite his father was and Tommy’s recently fought addiction, and somehow, Simon feels alive for the first time in his life.

It’s all going so perfect, they’ve been together for almost two years, which isn’t long for most, but feels like forever when you’re in the military. Johnny gives him a ring, a sterling silver one with thistle ornaments and a small garnet centre stone. It’s not a proposal, they can’t get married legally, and they won’t have anything but Simon’s will binding them legally for as long as they’re both in the forces — Simon doesn’t know it, but there’s a matching simple band waiting to slide in with the ring he’s got on his tags, and one day, Johnny plans for him to have a full set.

Simon and his team get send out, Simon tells him it’s going to be a long one, somewhere in one of the Americas — Central or South, if he had to guess by all the self-learning Spanish books that cluttered Simon’s bedside table — and Johnny, well, he’s got a bad feeling but when does he not, with their jobs?

Simon’s team gets back, partially. There’s talk about betrayal from his captain, and he’s painfully absent, Simon’s friends look half-dead and act half-dead and no one is telling Johnny anything. He spends his afternoons with Simon’s mum, taking care of her as best as he can while Simon is gone, even though it was never the plan, and dodges Tommy’s aggressive questions, because he knows goddamn nothing.

Johnny doesn’t give up. He waits.

Simon is gone six months — MIA, officially, but KIA in the words of anyone from the brass — when he emerges back from South America, giving Johnny a new heart and a new life. He comes back different, but Johnny doesn’t care, it’s Simon, it’s still him, and maybe there’s something dead in his eyes, and maybe he spaces out more often than not, and maybe he feels cold in Johnny’s arms, and maybe he doesn’t sleep in the same bed, but it’s still Simon, he just needs to heal and figure out how to keep on living.

And Simon tries — he’s got episodes every day, than every other day, than every week, every other week. He goes to therapy, he spends his days cooking with his mum, spends his days cleaning the whole of their flat again and again, spends his days wandering around Manchester, buying Johnny’s favourite drinks, favourite books, favourite breakfast babs.

He tells Johnny bits and pieces, about what happened, enough that Johnny can put it together in a horrifying if blurred picture, and things start to improve, slowly.

He comes back to their bed. He wakes up before Johnny, makes him breakfast, kisses him on the forehead and struggles with the crosswords from the newspapers he picked on his morning run. He goes out with his former teammates, very short trips but trips nonetheless. He stops being afraid to be alone with his nephew, stops being afraid he'll hurt him. He never quite gets used to the scars, covering them more often than not, not wanting the looks.

Second week of December, ten months after he was brought back to the UK from North America, his psychiatrist signs him off for a phased return to duty. No deployments, only base and training site duties, regular sessions with both the psychiatrist and the psychology for the first four months.

Johnny hasn’t seen his family since before Simon gone MIA — finally feeling okay-ish, Simon tells him to go Scotland for Christmas. He’s got his mum, his brother, his sister-in-law and his nephew, and he’s, weirdly, feeling almost optimistic about life.

Obviously, he can’t be happy for long and shit hits the fan.

On Christmas Day, Johnny gets a call from Greater Manchster Police. He and his sister drive down the country and in the early morning of the Boxing Day, Johnny is showed the tags with the familiar silver ring on it, sooted at the edges and slightly misshapen, melted.

Fifteen minutes after he identifies Simon’s body, they tell him he killed his whole family, probably in a PTSD induced episode, then set their house on fire and killed himself right after, when the trauma-haze went down. They tell him he was lucky not to be there when it happened.

Johnny doesn’t believe it. Simon’s mind’s been bad, but it’d always turn on Simon, not on others, he had too much control to let any episode take him over so much. So he doesn’t care what the police or the public says — he arranges the funeral and Simon is buried with the rest of his family.

Meanwhile, Simon goes on a rampage in Mexico. He kills everyone and anyone he even suspects to be involved with Roba’s people. He leaves a trail of dead people behind him for weeks until finally, the US military catches up — General Shepherd catches up and identifies him. The British Army doesn't know what to do with him — officially, he's dead already, the General Register Office has already issued his death certificate to his NOK, the armed forces had condemned his family's tragedy. His existence is…inconvenient. He is suspected to be either compromised or too unstable to be of use to the Army, even if SAS sees how valuable someone who could single-handedly destroy a whole cartel family and fake his own death could be.

Enter John Price, who had met Simon during SAS selection and had a bit too soft of a heart. There's a mural agreement — Price will take personal responsibility to keep him on a leash, at least until he proves he is not a liability, and he will remain dead on paper but active in the Army. No one is to know he is alive — not even Johnny, or maybe especially Johnny, who will be the last person anyone will see as a revenge method. Simon Riley's name is redacted from all available documents.

And thus, Ghost, a nameless lieutenant and a walking cautionary tale, is born.

The only thing Ghost has not predicted is that eventually, almost six years after he put Simon into the grave, Johnny will join the 141.

And somehow, Ghost is just Johnny's type, again.

[nightimedreamersworld]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tags @larkral ❤️ can't wait for your Simon's two mum's AU!

Today I offer you: some more from my Naked!Baz fic. I had a few people speculating about the spell's effect, so here's a snippet that gives some of it away:

“Fine,” I grumble. I pull my shirt off, then throw it at him.  Baz takes one look at it, then at me. I start turning around as he lifts it over his head, but not a second passes before he’s cursing.  My head snaps toward him again. He’s looking down at his still very naked, very furred chest.  “Nothing?” I croak.  Baz shakes his head, slowly.  Well, shit. Fuck.  This is the truth I’ve always been after, innit? All these years, chasing Baz around campus, into the woods and down to the Catacombs, I’ve been looking for proof of this.  He’s a vampire. He’s admitted so, fucking finally. 

So why hasn’t it worked?

(I know, realistically, that Baz probably doesn't have that much hair on his chest. But also Simon is thinking relatively here, and he has no other reference, so.....)

Anyway, tags under the cut:

@erotic-grope-fest @rimeswithpurple @artsyunderstudy @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @iamamythologicalcreature @hushed-chorus @captain-aralias @valeffelees @facewithoutheart @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @best--dress @aristocratic-otter @blackberrysummerblog @supercutedinosaurs @alexalexinii @emeryhall @letraspal @stitchyqueer @confused-bi-queer @run-for-chamo-miles @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @youarenevertooold @prettygoododds @shrekgogurt @shemakesmeforget @mooncello @forabeatofadrum @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @whogaveyoupermission @j-nipper-95 and anyone else who'd like to join! Have a good Sunday ❤️

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 19 - Fluff

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

Enjoy some fluffy fics!

Let Me Hold Both Your Hands (In the Holes of My Sweater) by Jostens_pitch

Rated G, 13,320 words

Maybe I drank too deeply tonight and I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ve died and have trapped myself in some fucked up purgatory. Whatever the explanation may be, Simon Snow is wearing a Watford football jumper. My Watford football jumper. or an au set during sixth year where baz catches simon wearing one of his jumpers and finds out that his smell calms simon down. wanting to see how far this will go, baz begins leaving his jumpers out for simon to wear and they begin a dangerous game with unspoken rules and hidden feelings.

ponerte a dormir by @confused-bi-queer

Rated T, 1,829 words

Baz's first week of term is eating him alive and he's aggressive and angsty. Simon comes to help him relax. Or force him to do so. Simon takes care of a stressed Baz.

Emotional Support Tiddy by @facewithoutheart

Rated T, 1,461 words

From whence came the Emotional Support Tiddy game? Penny said Agatha started it; Agatha pointed at Shepard. Shepard, of course, took full credit while Niamh argued she deserved partial points. Baz, on the other hand, blamed everyone. (The hypocrite.) Two times Baz needed Simon's boobs, and one time Simon just needed Baz.

Two Kisses (Remix) by @raenestee

Rated T, 846 words

On Christmas Eve, Simon witnesses Baz tucking his siblings in and the forehead kisses he gives them all, including Mordelia's much-loved Simon Snow plushie. Will he be able to convince Baz to give him forehead kisses, too?

Nan by @yellobb

Rated G, 882 words

Baz is sitting on the floor at Nan’s feet while she runs her fingers through his hair. That’s a thing we do now. Baz and I’ll come over to visit Nan and Jamie at least once a week, and they’re both so excited every time. It hurts to think that I could have always had this, but I try not to think about that too often. My therapist says it’s not healthy to think of the “what if’s”.

Of Buttons & Beans by @stillmadaboutpetra

Rated T, 19,258 words

Penny gifts Simon a "Baz-plushie" she made in class (a stitch in time saves nine!) so Simon has a healthy way to vent his feelings the summer before 7th year. Maybe it will save her some of Simon's Baz-rants come the new year. What Simon ends up doing is pouring out a different feeling than she thought he would.

New Friend by @bazypitchandsimonsnow

Rated G, 2,309 words

Baz Pitch gets dragged to his mum's coworker's kids's birthday party. He doesn't know anyone there. But there's always opportunities to make new friends. Based on "platonic kiss" prompt from Tumblr.

A Lifetime of Birthdays by @prettylightsbigcity

Rated M, 1,893 words

Baz decides to make up for all the birthdays Simon never got to celebrate.

Mon Chou by @sillyunicorn

Rated T, 4,187 words

Or, "Five Times Simon Calls Baz 'Cabbage' and One Time He Doesn't" Google translate tells me mon is French for "my" (okay, I guess I could have figured that out) and chou means— I frown at my phone. Why would Baz call me his cabbage?

✨Gratuitous self rec✨ A Gift From the Propheseals by me! @skeedelvee

Rated M, 6,762 words

Simon goes on a mission to contact the propheseals and try to get a prophecy about the war. Instead, they gift him with visions of Baz. Problem is: he doesn't know where Baz is or why he's having these visions about him.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[srfiv]

for a highschool setting, au if you will, what upbringing do you think the 141 would have? im really curious to know what you think of personally :)c

oooooh!! to be completely honest, i didn't have any concrete ideas i could put into words before seeing this ask so this is gonna be two things: completely unresearched and based solely off of vibes

i have to emphasise i am clueless about UK demographics. i am still researching (snail pace) but i didnt want to make you wait :(

i'm big on soap growing up lower middle class catholic with siblings. to me, he's a classic middle child - he may have naturally felt a bit neglected and jealous of his younger sibling as a kid, but he gets over it once he hit hits teens.

his parents are warm and welcoming people, but there is a little awkwardness when it comes to queer topics as well as johnny's neurodivergence. they're fully supportive of his endeavors in sports and entertain his interest in engineering. although awkwardly at first, johnny was encouraged to be upfront about his emotions and opinions (which fired back terribly during his teens, but led to more open conversations later). his parents do remind him to mind his manners often though.

his relationship with his siblings can be a bit tumultuous, especially with the youngest, but ultimately he would give his life for them. there's a lot of roughousing involved, but also caring touches, hugs, pats on the back, doing eachothers hair, helping with makeup and so on. johnny grew up with lots of affectionate physical touch from both his parents and siblings.

johnny has always struggled with the catholicism bit though. his parents aren't strict about faith by any means, but there are unspoken expectations that he sometimes has trouble with. he learned early that his grandparents should see him as nothing but masculine and ready for marriage, lest all hell broke loose.

ghost gets the unfortunate working class dysfunctional household in every universe. i am so sorry my boy. he always gets the irresponsible and ungovernable dad and the tortured madonna mum.

his dad doesn't really know what to do with a kid or how to tend to its needs and doesn't have enough emotional capacity to learn. as a person, i think deep down he is really scared to care. he thinks it makes him vulnerable - his own dad (simons grandfather) was a mean patriarch, controlling, while his mum was emotionally absent. he got out and rebeled as fast as possible, but that left him with knowing nothing but fear, anger and tricks.

he "lets" the mum do the housework and take care of the kids after her shift. simon grows up seeing his mum work herself to the bone taking care of them, including his dad. unlike his brother, tommy, simon finds himself taking his mothers side and offering to help her. he grows more and more disgusted with his father as time goes on. tommy just tries to shut it out and escape it for the most part, but there are exceptions when he won't.

the mum tries her best to provide food, clean clothes and a smile for her children, but there's a backdrop of grief to it all. they used to hug and comfort eachother, but that stopped when simon hit puberty and closed himself off physically. simon sees her suffering and it angers him, but he splits that anger in half and aims it at his dad and himself.

the trauma bond simon and tommy have makes tommy irreplaceable in simons life. unlike simon, tommy has insane charisma and a desperate need to self-sabotage, and this combo more often than not brings him amongst the worst groups in the neighbourhood. simon makes his disapproval known often and tries to be a positive force in tommys life, which doesn't always work out.

at home, whenever the opportunity arises, tommy tries to take the abuse instead of simon, who will (as a teen) openly fight his dad. tommy doesn't mind sitting down and taking it in an effort to make it end faster.

i personally can't help but see price as an only child in an upper middle class family. albeit very disciplined, he's used to getting his way and tends to hold grudges when someone opposes him, and he has a talent for finding loopholes in rule systems.

his dad and mum divorced in his preteens due to his mum having cheated. although it was an amicable divorce (at least to outsiders' eyes), it did leave an impression on young john and a doubt in his mind about love and marriage.

his parents decided to keep the cause of their divorce from him, and he visited his mum often up until his highschool years, when his mum let it slip. since then, his visits have been kept to a minimum, and he's grown bitter about her as she's tried to reach out multiple times. his mum feels extremely guilty for what she's done. she truly loves her son and john knows, but he can't help himself.

his dad would be a very stern and almost dictatorial person to him if it wasn't for the way he openly shows his love for his current wife. this also leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, as he has never considered his dads second wife his "mum". they are good friends though, and they live together. his dad and her take interest in johns school life and get involved with the school itself often, which john doesn't mind much, because it gets him a foot in the door with the teachers.

he was raised manners first, so it doesn't show, but he has a healthy disrespect for authority. he often prefers to corner his superiors with malicious compliance rather than rebel outright. he's not selfish however - he has a strong moral code of his own, which contradicts itself at times, but he is very stubborn about it - and just like his father, he's very loyal to people who have gained his respect, but quick to "dispose" of people who have lost it. it is difficult to gain his respect, and very easy to lose it.

gaz would come from a lower middle class catholic family as well as johnny, but unlike him, he doesn't feel as though he has many obligations towards god. after a stern talking to from his mum however, he keeps his opinions to himself.

his dad is exmilitary and kyle has witnessed the PTSD from a young age, along with his mum comforting his dad as well as she could. his dad would sometimes do self sabotaging things he'd regret, and once kyle became older, he took care of him in those moments along with his mum. the therapy helps, sometimes.

kyle has some trouble coming to terms with the love his dad still expresses for the military though, despite the aftermath. kyle knows his dad would really like it if kyle joined the military as well. his brain is swimming with stories of his dads military buddies and the "grand ol time" they had, and with the nights he spent up at the kitchen table hugging his dad back from a damn near suicide attempt.

most of the time though, his dad is a warm and friendly fellow who has many friends in the community and often likes to include his children in the activities. kyle grew up very popular among his peers.

his mum is very goal oriented and faithful, but rather emotionally stunted. she cares for her children and her husband very deeply, but she doesn't show it well in her daily life. she resorts to showing love through favours and food whenever she can. she loves to sit with them when they're having a difficult time and listen.

i think he has a younger sister, who he has a classic love hate sibling relationship with. she often annoys him about the boys in his class and introducing them to her maybe, and kyle tells her that she'd just get bullied. in reality, he's fiercely overprotective. not only towards her, but his entire family.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 16

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Happy New Year!!! I really enjoyed writing this part. I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. Also this series is coming to an end soon in most likely 2-3 chapters 🥺 But more on that later.

When Simon was about five years old, he and Tommy visited the army base where their father worked. While their mother excused herself to go to the restroom, she left the boys with Peter in his office. 

“Boys, I have work to do, so I need you both to sit here and be quiet, do you understand?” Peter commanded as he laid his heavy hand on the backrest of the couch and then moved towards his desk, his shoes thumping loudly on the tiled floors. 

“Yes, daddy,” the boys chorused in unison like soldiers under his command and promptly sat on the couch, Tommy with his toy truck and Simon with his stuffed shark. 

Peter nodded approvingly and sat at his desk, beginning his work immediately. While Tommy busied himself with rolling his toy truck on the arm of the couch, Simon looked about the dull, imposing office. He wanted to know about the papers pinned on the cork boards, about whatever he stuck under the glass of his massive wooden desk, and what work his father was attending to.

He looked longingly with his big, innocent brown eyes, wanting to crawl onto his father's lap and watch him work and ask him his numerous questions. But he sank his head down, knowing his father would dismiss him with the words, “you’re too young. You won’t understand it.”

Even though there was the occasional rustle of leafing papers and the clacking of the computer keyboard, the silence was deafening. Simon could hear a high pitched buzz in the air, the one you hear in complete, utter silence. He felt his temples tighten. Glancing between Tommy and his father, he saw that neither of them noticed the buzzing. 

Two knocks on the door echoed within the room, breaking the spell. Simon instantly pulled his little legs up and got on his knees, looking over the backrest and hoping his mother had come back to brighten up the room with her smiles.

“Come in,” resounded his father’s deep voice.

The door opened to reveal, alas, someone else. The man, dressed in a green field uniform, also looked just as grim as his father. As he stepped closer to the couch, he noticed the boys, and a small, eager, but tentative smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Your sons, sir?” he asked. Simon shyly moved closer to Tommy. 

“Yes, my sons. Thomas and Simon,” answered Peter, detached. He went straight to the point. “What’s the news?”

Simon listened to their conversation. He didn’t remember much of it, but he clearly remembered his father growing more and more agitated as the man spoke. His face was flushed red, brows furrowed, and his voice was deafening like a clap of thunder on a dismal, dark day. The boys were no stranger to seeing their father like this, particularly Simon, who was more-or-less the most mischievous of the two.

He didn’t remember what his father screamed about or slammed his table for, but he did remember feeling his tiny little heart being clenched, squeezed until it hurt, until it wrung out tears from his eyes and a whimper from his dry throat. He nudged his little head under Tommy’s arm, begging to be shielded, wishing that his mum would come back and cradle him in her arms and whisper comfort to him.

He watched his father fearfully after he dismissed the man, and saw how he pushed his chair away and lighted a cigarette. He took his even march towards the window and stood there smoking. Simon dared not to even croak, and neither did Tommy. Dad was sometimes a keg of dynamite, and even the slightest spark could make him explode. 

This terror remained with him, and it resurfaced in his mind as he stood in front of the door to his father’s study. His hand hovered over the knob, trembling and hesitating. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as his father. The mere thought of it was suffocating. But it had to be done. Father’s orders. 

He hastily put his hand down on the knob and opened the door. It opened with a soft creak, and Simon entered. His breath felt shallow upon seeing his father facing the large, open windows. Even the pleasant day outside didn’t ease his nerves. His father didn’t turn around to acknowledge him.

Simon wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. “You called, sir,” he spoke stiffly, as if he was a reporting lieutenant. He had many times addressed his father this way, out of coldness or fear or respect, or even a mingling of all three. 

Peter finally turned around. A smoking cigarette was in his hand, fumes encircling him. Simon’s eyebrows raised slightly. If dad ever smoked, it meant that whatever was sifting in his mind was serious, of paramount importance. “What on earth”, he wondered, “does dad want to tell me?”

“Sit down, boy,” Peter commanded in a rumble that sounded like distant thunder, now turning around and pressing the tip onto his clean ashtray on the desk.

Simon obeyed, sitting down on the chair. His eyes followed his father as he paced slowly about the room. His grizzled brow was furrowed in thought, and he paused his pacing every so often to turn to his son with an earnest look in his eyes as if he wanted to say something difficult, but he turned away as soon as he did. Simon shifted in his seat, uncomfortably watching his father’s mental tussle. 

Peter finally stopped his pacing and stood still behind the table. He looked at Simon directly. 

“Your girlfriend,” his voice slightly rose in pitch and then lowered as he trailed off, “...She's a nice girl.” 

“Yes, she is,” Simon answered, somewhat guarded. 

“You've chosen well.” 

Simon had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows. Compliments from his father were rarer than a cow jumping over the moon, especially when it had anything to do with his choices. “I… Thank you,” he faltered slightly. 

Peter paced around once more. He eyed the cigarette in the ashtray and his fingers twitched. Putting a hand on the backrest of his swivel chair, he squeezed it, still evidently struggling. Simon didn't dare make a sound. 

“It's been an age since we last spoke like this.” He snatched the cigarette and lit it again, and Simon watched keenly as the fire burned the blackened edge once more, now engulfing it in glowing red embers. Peter took a long, greedy drag while he waited for his son to reply, but heard nothing. He asked, “When was the last time?” 

Simon's head dipped slightly in shame, and his eyes left his father's face to look at the carpet. “I don't remember,” he lied, his hand instinctively rubbing his jaw on the left side, fingers brushing against his scar.

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly and he sighed out the smoke he drew in. “Well, it doesn't matter. It's in the past,” he said, his voice evidently turning more subdued like the soft breeze that blew in through the open windows. 

Simon's jaw tensed slightly. This was unusual. His father knew he lied; he was expecting a stern lecture like he always did. But nothing. He couldn't tell if his father was actually being nice for once or if the tobacco was getting to his head. 

But the words “it's in the past” repeated in his head like a broken record. Was this forgiveness? Was this his way of being apologetic? He didn't dare to even hope. Was he lying? No. His father was an upright man and would not compromise on his integrity even to his own detriment. He was not lying.

Peter took another drag, a shaky one. “I'm glad you came today, Simon,” he exhaled the words out along with the smoke, “I hope you come more often.” 

Simon pursed his lips into a thin line and breathed in shakily, fighting to keep his chest from heaving. “Yes, sir,” he answered in a whisper.

“Dad,” the father corrected.

“Dad,” the son amended.

____ could not stop twiddling her thumbs and glancing at the hallway from the couch she sat on. Ever since Tommy informed her some thirty minutes ago that Simon was in the middle of a conversation with their dad, she couldn’t help but worry. Time seemed to drag on painfully slow, even slower when she kept watching the clock that ticked slower than her heart. 

Tommy, seeing that she looked worried, tried to distract her with conversation. He told her about Emma and Emilia’s childhood antics, of them trying to climb up his legs like monkeys, and them cannonballing into pools. It worked for a time and made her laugh, although her worries still festered and churned in her stomach like she ate rotten food. She didn’t know where Peter’s study was and at every pause in Tommy’s stories, she tried to strain her ears towards the hallway to catch any snatches of conversation. Nothing could be heard of course, and she was forced to relent and give all her attention to Tommy.

Soon, the crack of the door knob from the hallway resounded, and ____’s head whipped upwards. Tommy’s chatter abruptly stopped. She saw Simon step out and then enter the living room, sighing heavily. His fair face was pale and somewhat confused, but there was evident relief and even a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes. 

“What did dad talk to you about?” Tommy asked as casually as he could.

Simon inhaled, glancing at his girlfriend. “He… just told me he was glad to see me home. He asked me to come more often.”

Tommy’s face beamed and he gave his younger brother an affectionate clap on the back, also relieved. ____ couldn’t help but sigh and smile herself.

When it was time for the couple to leave, Eloise hugged them both tight, but she hugged ____ a hint tighter and whispered in a tremor, “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

As the two walked to Simon’s motorcycle, she smiled at him. “I had fun today.”

Simon smiled. “Me too.”

The split second she took to observe his face told her that the shadow of pain and stress that had always shaded his dark eyes seemed lifted, replaced with a certain vitality, joy, and disbelief. Though he didn’t show it entirely, she could tell.

Putting on their helmets, they got on the motorcycle and off they went. She had her arms held tight around Simon’s waist, and as they rode down the highway, she watched the sunset in the distance. The sky was clear and vast, and painted in a gentle gradient of rose and apricot. The fading sunlight gilded the grassy plains and rustling trees. The wind whistled against her helmet noisily, and the air was damp and cold, but with her arms around her boyfriend and with the breathtaking landscape set before her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a dream. She squeezed his waist involuntarily and leaned her helmeted head against his back. 

She felt like the shadow over her own thoughts had lifted too. She didn’t think that hearing John out would give her so much relief. And now knowing that things were alright between Simon and his father, her relief was doubled. She squeezed Simon again and closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the happiness.

She felt a gentle touch on her knee, and upon looking, she found Simon’s hand resting there for a moment before returning to the handle. She smiled and blushed to herself, feeling flutters in her stomach.

“Are you hungry?!” Simon screamed over the rushing wind.

“No!” she screamed back. Her stomach and her heart were already full and bursting. She squeezed Simon again, and this time, he gave her hands a soft pat. It was warm, so utterly warm that she forgot how cold the air was. She was glad, so utterly glad that she didn’t bail on this appointment to go out with Alejandro.

Thirty minutes passed and the city was in sight, but so were the rain clouds hanging low over the buildings. Simon twisted the accelerator and the engine roared; at the increase of speed, the pillion rider felt like her body was yanked back and ready to fly off. 

“Hold tight!” Simon yelled again, and she quickly put her arms around him and squeezed her eyes shut. 

No sooner had they swept into the city streets, the showers began falling heavily and earnestly like a waterfall. Simon cursed under his breath. As if to make things worse, the street they were on was clogged with the traffic of people trying to get home from work. There was no space even to squeeze through the cars and slowly make their way up the long queue, and their only choice now was to wait the traffic out.

Sensing that it would be long, Simon killed the engine and then peeled off his leather jacket. “It’s really pissing it down. Here, wear this,” he said, holding the bunched up garment over his shoulder, “You’re getting wet.”

“What about you?” she asked reluctantly.

“I’m fine, darling. Just wear it. And be quick,” he urged, now reaching his hand behind and placing the jacket on her lap. 

She quickly put it on and zipped it up all the way to the collar. The familiar scent of rainforest and chocolate, and the soft texture of the tartan lining made her feel warm again. But it was instantly replaced by pity for her boyfriend. The rain fell mercilessly, and the battering was deafening against the helmet; his coffee-coloured t-shirt darkened almost instantly and the weight of the wet fabric clung to his shoulders and his upper arms, softly defining the muscles underneath.

She felt the water dripping from the helmet drop into the crevices of the jacket and trickle down her warm collarbone to dampen her clothes. Even that made her shiver, but she couldn’t imagine how much colder Simon felt.

She leaned against his back. “Aren’t you cold, Simon?” 

He leaned back against her chest. “No, I’m fine. I’ve gotten wet in the rain on rides a lot, so it’s no big deal,” he assured her, giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

“But still, I feel a little bad that you had to give up your jacket for me.” She pressed against him further regardless, wanting to share her warmth with him, no matter how little it was. 

“Darling,” he shook his helmeted head, “I won’t sit back and watch my girlfriend get wet in the heavy rain when I can prevent it.” He gave her knee a light, chiding slap. “And besides, I know you get cold easily.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “How did you know that?”

“You remember the day we hung out together? The first time? There was a heavy rain before I came to pick you up, and when I came, you were wearing my jacket. You looked cold,” he explained, rubbing his thumb on her knee as his eyes darted at the traffic ahead to check for any sign of movement. 

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He looked at her. She met his dark eyes, and saw how the lights of the surrounding cars made them shine. A flutter tickled her stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I notice things about my own girlfriend?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if she said something silly. 

She smiled sheepishly and blushed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Yet another characteristic to add to her male lead, Frederick’s personality. 

The vehicles up front slowly began to move. Simon sat up straight and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine roar to life. He instantly swooped past the cars like a lizard at the first opportunity. He was pelted by the heavy rain, and combined with the speed he was going, his exposed arms felt like they were being pricked by huge needles. It stung, but he felt a manly pride for being able to protect his girlfriend from the elements.

Before long, he rolled into the indoor parking of the building he stayed in and smoothly parked in his allotted spot. Heavy sighs of relief followed as they got off the vehicle and took off their helmets.

“You okay?” he asked, straightening and stretching his sore back slightly, “You aren’t too wet, are you?”

“I should be asking that to you. You’re drenched!”

Simon looked at himself and pinched the front of his shirt, pulling the wet fabric slightly off his chest. He did feel a little icky having wet clothes sticking to his body and longed to get inside his apartment and peel it off. “One of us had to be, darling, and it wasn’t going to be you,” he  pinched her nose. “But don’t fash yourself, it’s not a big deal. Some wet clothes aren’t going to kill me.”

That’s what he thought until he started sneezing repeatedly into his equally wet handkerchief as they entered the lift. She looked at him, all sopping wet and dripping like a towel that wasn’t wrung dry. She let out a heavy sigh.

“All that sneezing is going to kill you before the wet clothes do…”

End of Part 16.

Part 17 coming soon :)

__________________________

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