#riley brothers save me... save me riley brothers...

[iravaid]

🎮🩹🩸💯🎄---for Mr Tommy Riley (yes, I consider him your oc) (yes, I picked the Christmas tree on purpose mwah 🫰)

(from this meme)

Heehee hii womby!! Snatching Thomas E. Riley from Lapham's cold, dead hands after Szilvi's oviraptor attack squad is done with him. I'm so happy you asked heehee

(and oh, so you're evil? You're evil, now? you're sick and twisted and evil?)

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

Being a munch Although it was initially going to be his career (tattoo artist Tommy-truthers make some noise), I can see Tommy enjoying art as a hobby and way to relax/clear his head. He never used to draw a lot of people before, focusing instead on other popular subjects for tattoo designs such as ships and snakes and tigers. But his newer sketchbooks feature a lot more of Beth and Joseph, with a few of Simon and his mum interspersed between his studies of household items and appliances.

Tommy is a Man U fan, as is family tradition. I count football fanaticism as a hobby because have you seen these people. Do you understand the dedication to know so much about all those balls and points and such? Dear god. Tommy, Simon, and Beth on footie nights out were terrifying concepts, many Chelsea fans mauled. Sad!

It mightn't be strictly a hobby, but I can see Tommy redirecting any pent up energy towards making small renovations in his home/his mum's home, or even woodworking and making things like a jewellery box for Beth, or little carved nativity scene for Joseph's nursery class. Man works with his hands and his thoughts can get a bit much at times, so may as well redirect towards something productive, as he's been taught (even if this does encroach into dysfunction territor when he's working to exhaustion so he doesn't dream when he finally sleeps).

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

I can see Tommy having chronic pain from his back injury and the resultant muscle strain and poor healing that came of it. Nothing a couple heat pads and, uh, working a labour intensive job can't fix...

Between drug addiction and childhood trauma, it's not out of the picture for Tommy to also have developed PTSD/CPTSD from his experiences. For a myriad of reasons (potential access to counselling, access to familial support, not being autistic, not being in the military) it's not as extreme as Simon's, and so his emotional intelligence isn't as stunted, but he's still very much living with the effects of being physically and verbally abused as a child, as well as being addicted to opiates in the past, far into adulthood. Again, has better tools to cope with it, but Tommy isn't perfect, and I can see most of his symptoms manifesting in fawning responses than Simon's fight.

Tommy also has leanings towards depression, and there are times when his mental health declines to the point of it being disabling. I don't see him being diagnosed with depression, nor complex PTSD, as the NHS mental health services are in fucking shambles and some doctors mightn't even recognise the latter in his time.

🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

So. I don't have a clear answer to this, because I need to know what Simon's blood type is, and it's not listed anywhere. I think there is a fun off-stage/underlying tragedy in Simon and Tommy having incompatible blood types, in that even if Simon had gotten to the flat in time, he wouldn't have been able to 'save' Tommy via donating blood. Something something, the nature of tragedy so deeply set in Ghost's being that it's biological.

Perhaps it's campy, perhaps it's too much, but whatever‼️my oc now.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

TOMMY IS THE YOUNGER BROTHER! The wiki is LYING the comics confirm so here:

Tommy is 6'2" and lanky as anything, and unless his brother is on leave, he tends to be the tallest person in the room, bless. Additionally, I can see Tommy having insane forearm and grip strength just from being a tradesman for the better guts of a decade.

Some people have noticed, but Tommy doesn't drink alcohol at all in 'I Wait For You', which is on purpose. He's chosen not to drink, in spite of Britain's heavy drinking culture, as a means of preventing any reliance/gateways, as well as the fact that he doesn't like getting drunk, anyways, primarily because of bad memories of his father after one too many drinks.

🎄 CHRISTMAS TREE — what is your oc's favorite holiday?

Of course it's christmghjgkfgwlisfhdn-

(jokes aside I can see Tommy not having a favourite holiday until he's an adult and meets Beth and falls in love with her, and they eventually have a family together. Then his favourite holiday becomes Mother's Day.)

Augh thank you for the ask :'D It reminded me i have very big feelings about Tommy Riley and his everything, and now my chest hurts heehee

[s0fter-sin]

punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!

ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him

no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)

"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"

he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple

he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet

soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost

ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch

he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing

he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."

he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."

he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-

ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-

“johnny!”

he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive

the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"

soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice

“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"

soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it

it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel

ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap

his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive

soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around

soap is the priority

he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe

then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk

[g36a2]

not the worst of lapham's crimes but tommy's short hair being a symbol of recovery was evil.

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

How Far Are You Willing To Go? - 1

PAIRINGS: Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Amid a quiet life post-divorce initiated by Ghost himself, his past resurfaces when his ex-wife and their young children are abducted. He's thrust into a desperate race against time to save them, facing his own demons and fighting to protect his family at any cost. Question is, how far is he willing to go?

WARNINGS: Angst, if you squint. Simon being a dummy for getting a divorce. Incorrect knowledge of allergies and asthma (please help a girlie out)

WORD COUNT: 1,096

*not proof-red*

ENJOY!

“Rylan needs to take his-,” you immediately get interrupted by his low and rough voice. “Meds, by seven in the evening after having his dinner. Yeah, I know,” you can’t help but feel that there is a trace of disdain in his voice.

Oh, how you’ve heard so many variations of that voice. From the usual rough and dark, to how soft and loving it could go. The latter was a rarity for people to hear, who meet him outside of your home’s doors. For you, however, it was common. Was being the key word. It may have not been the voice you heard 24/7, but it was a voice you heard daily.

You look at him and eye the black surgical mask he wears, “right,” you pause. “Just wanted to make sure,” you give him a purse smile, before bending down to be at eye level with your six-year-old.

“Kyla, be good and take care after your brother. Be kind in school and do your homework. Call me if you ever need some help with it, ok?” You try to wear out the imaginary creases on her little brown cardigan.

She nods her head like a mini determined soldier and says a very affirmative ‘yes Mama.” Then you move over to kneel in front of your youngest, Rylan. The four-year-old with the many existing allergies. He rubs his nose, and you tut at him, “use a tissue honey, here blow into this.” You hand him the handkerchief you always carry around for this exact reason. “Do you have your inhaler?” You ask your boy, and he nods proudly as he reaches into his pocket and shows you the small piece of plastic.

“Call me if you need Mama, ok Rylan?” You rest your hands on his shoulders, and pat down on the sweater, you look into the light brown eyes he inherited from his father and kiss his forehead. He nods at you one last time before turning around and running to your ex-husband’s family truck. Kyla kisses your cheek one last time before screaming a “buh-bye Mama” and running off to catch up with her little brother.

You stand back up and cross your arms, heart hurting a little knowing you’d be spending two weeks without your children. But what can you do? Not complain, of course.

It was part of the divorce agreement that Simon is allowed to have the children over at his place for three weeks maximum, whenever he returns from deployment. You reluctantly agreed, purely to the reason that you wouldn’t survive if you were in Simon’s place and couldn’t be able to see your kids.

You were kind in that way.

Simon loved you for it.

He loved everything about you.

He still does.

The ice around his heart thaws as he sees your eyes become bleary as you watch the kids climb into his backseat.

He hates seeing you sad.

He does everything in his power to mask the emotions he feels, and he does it well.

“Well,” you sniffle, “I-uh….I’ll leave you to it then.” You wipe your eyes nonchalantly before tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as a sort of distraction to what you feel currently.

It was always hard for you whenever Simon comes to pick up the kids.

The mother hen in you does not want to send them with him. But you know, a 100 percent sure, that they’re safer with him than with you, considering Simon’s military experience.

One of the main reason’s Simon broke things off with you.

Simon nod’s, his hands remain in the pockets of his hoodie. You lift the little paw patrol and the little Bluey child suitcases and hand it to him. “There are three weeks’ worth of clothes in there, for each of them,” you stick your hands to the side immediately after he takes them into his rough and calloused ones.

“Please call me if-,” you start, but he interrupts you again. “Anything happens. Yeah, I know,” he says with a rough tone that says, “you seriously think they’ll get hurt with me?”.

“Right…...right,” you nod as you whisper, the words more of a reassurance to you.

You try to peak at his eyes under his hoodie, but to no avail, you couldn’t see them under his black tainted sports sunglasses.

His phone starts to ring, and he pulls out of his back pocket to see the caller ID revealing the caller “Price”.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then,” you say, knowing he has to go. He nods in response before turning away and heading back to his truck, he places the suitcases in the passenger seat before double checking the buckles on the child-seat’s where Kyla and Rylan are sat in.

He does all the dad checkup’s before getting in the driver’s seat.

He see’s you through the tainted windows of his truck.

He rolls the back window down so the kids can say their final goodbye’s

“Bye Mama!” Both kids scream and the wave with smiles on their faces. You chuckle wetly as tears silently roll down your cheeks.

You know they’re safe with Simon, but you heart still hurts that they won’t be around for a while.

Simon sees the tears and his own heart breaks.

He pulls out of the driveway with a heavy heart, hating to see the love of his life in tears.

He sighs before pulling out his phone and clicking on Price’s caller ID.

The old Captain picks up after two rings.

“Ghost, we need you.”

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @cntloup @identity2212 @somnorvos @yyiikes @bobateasilverpearl @animarix @outoftheseine

Guess who's back? Back again?

Hey Lovelies!

I know it's been a while, but uni has started and I am trying to re-slay. Here is the much-awaited Simon series I have always wanted to start.

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[transbookoftheday]

Leave Trans Kids Alone

Inspired by David Tennant's "Leave Trans Kids Alone You Absolute Freaks" shirt, here are some amazing trans middle grade and picture books you should read:

Book titles:

99% Chance of Magic by Amy Eleanor Heart, Abbey Darling and Luna Merbruja

Sir Callie and the Champions of Helston by Esme Symes-Smith

Jamie by L.D. Lapinski

Camp QUILTBAG by Nicole Melleby and A. J. Sass

Dear Mothman by Robin Gow

Moonflower by Kacen Callender

Joy, to the World by Kai Shappley and Lisa Bunker

Ana on the Edge by A.J. Sass

Girl Haven by Lilah Sturges, Meaghan Carter and Joamette Gil

Obie Is Man Enough by Schuyler Bailar

Alice Austen Lived Here by Alex Gino

The House That Whispers by Lin Thompson

Both Can Be True by Jules Machias

The Tea Dragon Festival by K. O'Neill

Different Kinds of Fruit by Kyle Lukoff

Jude Saves the World by Ronnie Riley

Tiger Honor by Yoon Ha Lee

The Ship We Built by Lexie Bean

Rabbit Chase by Elizabeth Lapensee, KC Oster and Aarin Dokum

Skating on Mars by Caroline Huntoon

Tally the Witch by Molly Landgraff

The Beautiful Something Else by Ash Van Otterloo

The Deep & Dark Blue by Niki Smith

The Fabulous Zed Watson! by Basil Sylvester and Kevin Sylvester

The Ojja-Wojja by Magdalene Visaggio and Jenn St-Onge

Too Bright to See by Kyle Lukoff

The One Who Loves You the Most by medina

Me and My Dysphoria Monster by Laura Kate Dale and Hui Qing Ang

When Aidan Became A Brother by Kyle Lukoff and Kaylani Juanita

Calvin by J.R. Ford, Vanessa Ford and Kayla Harren

[cloudypariah]

How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.

- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)

Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.

Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.

Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !

Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist

Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.

He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.

It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.

And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.

No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.

More specifically, how to keep you.

The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.

John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.

It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.

Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).

He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.

He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.

Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”

John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent. 

He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)

The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.

His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”

“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.

John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room. 

Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.

Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.

Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.

Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.

Two deers in headlights.

The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?

There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…

… except for you, of course.

You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”

Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.

You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?

They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.

Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.

Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”

Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”

Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”

Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.

Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.

Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.

“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”

There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.

“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”

Surely not…

And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.

They managed to erase your name.

… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.

 A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”

Four hands shoot up.

Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”

[celestialprincesse]

little baby ghost headcanons please.. id love to see your take on simon when he was a wee young thing. :')

Responding to this rq before I get back into studying but!! I have so many ideas!!

ᯓ★

Simon was definitely one of those really sweet and well meaning, but super awkward kids. His mum always had to encourage him to say hi and actually talk to people when they went out or had visitors over.

He was desperately obsessed with planes and the RAF growing up and saved up all his pocket money to buy little model spitfires, typhoons etc. For one of his birthdays, his mum even drove him down to the Duxford Imperial War Museum to see one of the air shows. It was one of the best days of his life.

Growing up, he was a really clever kid, but never really had any sort of passion for education, and whilst he excelled in sports, and other more hands on subjects like woodworking, he took absolutely no interest in the more content heavy classes.

When Tommy was born, Simon helped his mum put the furniture together, and even carved some (admittedly rudimentary) toys for his baby brother in his woodworking classes.

He was a total mama's boy growing up, and much preferred doing stuff with his mum, even down to running errands, than going out with kids his own age. If Mrs Riley was seen anywhere, Simon would probably be somewhere close by.

As a teenager, he got made fun of a lot for being quieter, and whilst all of his classmates were fixated on getting girlfriends and going out, he was much happier at home helping his mum or kicking a ball around with Tommy.

He had a real passion for music, especially late 60's/early 70's rock, and asked his mum for a guitar for one of his birthdays. She felt awful for the fact that she couldn't afford it, let alone lessons for him to learn how to play it, and so Simon got a job at the butchers to save up.

By the time he had enough cash for the guitar he actually wanted, he'd long gone off it and wanted to save up in order to buy a car or put it towards going to college.

ᯓ★

I came back to England yesterday & drove past Duxford (which was one of my favourite museums growing up) and it made me think that Simon was most definitely an RAF/military history nerd🥴

[ohnonononononono567]

Carry me - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (angst)

Games

Bit by Bit

(This was made after 1am and I projected my OCD onto a fictional character so that's on me guys, my bad. Any bad writing can be blamed on the fact I was watching chernobyl with my cat and eating the saltiest fried chicken sandwich known as i wrote this)

"Simon-"

"Don't." He grunted, leaving his position in your bed. Never his. 

The day he admits it's his bed as well, is the day he has the ability to sleep peacefully. And God knows when he'll be granted that right. 

He awoke to the sound of screams, his ears ringing. The feeling of water and blood rapidly running under his skin, as if his flesh begged to be free. 

You had rolled over to hold his midriff, and Lord help him with how much he's grown attached to you, with how much he wanted to pin you down as if you were nothing more than another enemy in his eyes.

He shot up, just to feel the familiar sting of a hook in his rib as he had sat on the bed.

Stepping out onto the patio with a grunt, a tank top and some joggers on with slippers. The apartment's patio serving as the perfect place to have a smoke, the dog yawning to join. Big fella, she was, nudging snout onto Simons leg.

Sitting down, he grabs a light, lighting the cigarette he had hiding cheekily in his pocket, when he had swore up and down he wasn't smoking anymore less than 8 hours ago.

Burn your wrist.

Shut up Riley, you know better than to act on that.

Do it now.

No.

He leaned back, allowing the nicotine to enter his system, and the tobacco to leave a lasting smell on the rough pads of his fingers. He watched you from the corner of your eye. Silent panic. Wanting to help him. But you can't. All he can do is lie to a therapist and come home to you.

He made this worse. Leave him. You're nothing, but he's worse. 

Stop.

He saw you at your worst. Why stay? 

Because he saw me at my worst. And he stayed.

He shouldn't have.

Stop.

He knows nothing about you and he goes to sleep saying bull crap about loving you.

"STOP!"

He yells, grabbing his hair in two fists on the side of his head, the cigarette between his fingers, lingering in the night air as the sound of the city stand beneath him.

He looks at you, and you seem to just be staring. Frozen. 

It spitballs, as he meets your gaze;

"Stop fucking staring at me like that yeah? You can't fucking help me! You deal with me, or you kick me out. Should've done that by now if you've ever known what's good for you!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air out of exasperation, the dog yelping a bit as she backs away. He heads back inside, putting out the cigarette, and snatching his blanket, heading towards the couch.

You gave him a look as he left. He knew that look. You've set boundaries, he was trying to be healthy for you. Honest. You wouldn't stand for verbal abuse, nor disrespect. But he was weak. Useless in the presence of a man like you.

He knew better than to immediately go to you. He left earlier for the gym that morning, called off work, went to one of those shitty manmade parks with more dog piss than a fire hydrant, and sat himself down. Right in the grass, watching a single dandelion. It was weak. But it still stood in the grass. It moved with the wind, even when it lost it's soft white petals. 

And when it was stripped naked, bare, with nothing left to offer, there was another dandelion there. Planted from the wind carrying it. Ready to repeat the cycle. 

Why is he doing this? He'll repeat what his father did. He was the end of it. No relatives to fall back on. God knows how much he's begged to bring his brother, Tommy back. 

But that's just it. He's the end of the cycle.

Get up. Nobody is coming to save you.

He stands before you now, with nothing to offer, but the willingness to move with you if you'd allow him. If you'd allow a weak man like him to remain with you. He'll continue to lose his petals, but you'll help him plant new flowers. To utter the words, 

"I can never truly tell you how sorry I am, love. You are the man I want. You are everything. And it's not enough. But I am trying."

Looking up at you, his bones brittle, his eyes heavy.

He wants to sleep. To feel his flesh settle, his mind quiet.

And as you embrace him, he can feel every molecule in his skin burning. 

And if you ever let reality hit that you deserve someone who could think like a bloody normal human for once, would he continue to survive for as long as he could without you to carry him. Until he allowed the world to end what it started. 

You are everything.

Laying in bed, your hands hesitantly rubbing his back in soft circular motions as he keeps his head in your tummy, soft breathing as the dog nuzzled into the crook between you two, soft kisses lingering on his tongue, it leaves him before he can chase after it;

"...Would you ever marry me?"

@tabloid-junki3 i dont think i cooked but i did heat it up in the microwave so

[wonderhomeland]

I have never written anything in a long time and English is not my first language, but this idea has been in my head for a long time, so...

Warnings/tags : BAd English, fem!reader, obsessed!Simon Riley, possessive!Simon Riley, I have been waiting for years!Simon Riley, Age gap( more than 10 years-simon is older-Simon acts like age doesn't matter.), smat (Only Simon loses his mind thinking about his wife + the things he want to do with her.), Arranged marriage, fluff, A general explanation of the idea at the beginning of the post. Tell me if I forgot anything!

~

An AU where the government uses tests to choose a partner for you, based on DNA, blood type, etc., to find a good match for superior genes. And these tests continue until your early twenties (not like they're in a lab, it's in real life and the tests are taken at school, like exams) and finally by the age of 22 or 23, the person you should "marry" is determined for you.

And during this time, you shouldn't have a relationship with anyone, and you can't break this pre-arranged marriage in any way.

There are people who, for whatever reason, such as their weak genes, never get a partner chosen for them, and even if someone is suitable, they never send their files for two people to get to know each other.

They are not ridiculed or humiliated, They are just not accepted.

And here we have Simon Riley. A boy who is the victim of his parents' forced marriage. He has a bad situation at school and an even worse situation at home. Since childhood, he has always tried to distract himself from all his problems and try to hold on until he realizes what the future holds for him. Simon, who has never felt like he belongs anywhere or to anyone. Even blood relations have not made him to have a good relationship with his brother, now he understands that there is only one person for him and he is only for one person. In his eyes, she is an angel , not just an angel who is going to save him, but an angel who is going to be by his side forever. As he grow up this childish excitement turns into a obsession.

All the people who work on the projects always encourage him and say that he has very strong genes, a very strong and resilient body, he is patient and careful and has a very high leadership intelligence. They says that he is very cooperative in the tests and does his best.

But it never happens. No one in a fancy suit ring his doorbell to give him the good news. To give him the introduction to the person he's always been waiting for. He never hear "Congratulations, Mr. Riley."

Not even after years.

This was strange, he was always complimented, he was always told that he would find someone great, he always hoped that he could be with someone who would love him.

He visited the centers many times. He tried to follow up and even asked to do all the tests again. Surely he wasn't supposed to be alone, right? There must have been a mistake in the results. His file might have been lost.

They never answered him. He was told to wait, some people wait years to get the files.

He waited.

He was a patient man.

Even now, in the garrison corridors, with multiple scars on the body, and a mask on his face, as he was heading to his room after a hard mission, He was waiting.

He packed up his things to go back to his dark, empty apartment for six months. Six months. Half a year. It seems like a long time. But not long enough.

His teammates don't talk to him about it. like this big, strong man who's amazing at everything failed his tests. The big dog who destroys everything on the battlefield, isn't strong enough to beat the tests, the smart leader who always outsmarts the enemy, not smart enough to pass the tests. it was ok for them.

Not for the others though. For other It's a shame. It's a waste.

Unfortunately, he doesn't care about what others think, otherwise he wouldn't have made it this far.

When he gets home, he takes a quick shower and comes out, hungry but tired, so he puts on his pants and lies down on his bed. Just as his eyes are getting ready to fall asleep, the doorbell rings.

It used to be joyful, but now it's just annoying.

He grumbled, open the door.

Tight suits were never his thing, they made him look too big. Too scary for others. But not on this guy.

"Mr. Riley, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, "That's me."

"Well, congratulations! According to the research our team has done, after a long review of the files, we were able to find the best match for you!"

With a cheerful face and a smile from ear to ear, he looked at him and held out the file towards him.

But Simon's reaction was unlike anyone else. There was no joy on his face, no indifference to the news. It was anger. and it wasn't the anger that some people showed because of being caught up in this system, it wasn't the anger that came from stubbornness.

It was pure rage. It felt like he was about to tear out his throat.

He just wanted to deliver the news and at least get a smile in return. He would have been much happier if he had seen tears of joy. Usually he would have stopped so that the others could tell him how happy they were and how much they had been waiting for this moment.

But not now. He just wanted to run for his life.

Maybe he's not having a good day? Maybe he woke him up? Maybe he's a man who goes to bed very early and it's late at night?

"Um, I know it's a little late..."

"A little late?" His fist lost control. Simon could break everyone's jaws as much as he wanted at work, but not now, Not here, not his. he just brought the man closer to his face, "A little late?"

His voice trembled with anger. If no one saw this man, they would think he was scared from the way he sounded. "Do you know how fucking long you've kept me waiting for this?"

His face sank, whether from pain or confusion, it didn't matter. He released his jaw and stared at him with his sharp gaze. After a few seconds, he glanced at the files and the man unconsciously handed them to him. "Thank you." There was no sense of gratitude in his voice.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and closed the door. He threw the files on the counter as he walked to his room. He couldn't believe it, and most of all, he didn't have the courage to face this. The last time he had followed up, five years ago, they had told him it was too late, that after all these years the files would be reorganized and the old ones would be moved, he wondered, did they throw away the old information? When he asked, they looked at him like he was stupid. "I don't know if they'll get rid of it completely, but it's no longer used."

Even after that, he waited, but he lost hope. He knew it would never come. He convinced himself it would never come.

Simon Riley couldn't sleep that night, and he couldn't sleep the nights after that. Even looking through the files didn't help him sleep. When he finally got to them, after much struggling, he came across a photo of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He let out a breath he had been holding and stared at the image. After a few minutes, he looked down at her information. Name... her last name... age... age?

OH, she was so young. Much younger than him. Much, much younger for him.

A beautiful young woman, with a bright future and a great position, and here's an old dog like him. he's not an old dog, he's old for her, very old. he's just a dog, you know, a dog that can tear everything to pieces. In the battlefield, not in normal life. In the battlefield, he's a good leader. he is a good dog.

he can be a good dog for her.

he pushes away anyone who comes near her, protects her when she's scared, in return he gets lots of kisses and hugs, lots of attention and sweet words, he wags his tail, shows his belly to her to rub it. damn it, she can rub anything she wants, touch anything she wants .Anywhere he hasn't let anyone even see.

Anything she wants.

Yeah, he's panting like a dog when he sees her picture, it's clear that he'll let her do whatever she wants with him.

The more he looks at her beautiful face, the more his guilt about her being younger than him fades.

Just because they have more than a ten-year age gap doesn't mean he can't be a good man for her.

He wants to be a good man for her. He promises to take a bath with her after a hard day, massage her whole body to relieve her Tension, and when When he dried her, he'll gently place her on the edge of the bed and massage her beautiful legs. If she lets him, he'll kiss them.

from top to bottom, from bottom to top. He will LICK her clean.

She can crush his face, under her feet... or between her thighs. She'll press them so hard that he feels like his skull is breaking, she'll sit on his face so long that he can't breathe, so long that his chest hurts.

She's not going to cry because of some people are asshole's at work, he's giving her something to cry about. From joy, happiness, and a good feeling.

He wants to wake up with her in the morning, the first thing he sees is her beautiful face. He wants to wake up a few hours earlier so he can stare at her in her sleep.

He wants to wake her up with his kisses.

He wants to wake up with her kisses.

He wants to kiss her everywhere, he wants to do a lot of things for her and she kisses him in return, he wants to do nothing and she kisses him, he wants to kiss her for no reason, kiss her because he loves her.

he wants to cook for her. His cooking is terrible but he tries his best, he makes her heart-shaped cupcakes, even if she doesn't like it because of the taste, she still smiles at him and says sweet things . She can Teach him how to cook, so she doesn't have to do that anymore. Just sit there and look pretty for him. What if she can't cook? It's okay, we'll learn together. What if she hates cooking? I said it's okay, just sit and watch how your husband cooks for you.

Husband, please call him husband, it sounds so sweet when it comes out of her mouth. He wants to be called husband everywhere. Especially when she goes out. Everyone should know that a beautiful angel like her has a wild dog like him. You shouldn't go near her, he's only friendly with his owner. He even gives her a collar, you can take him wherever you want.

And instead, he wants to call you his wife. Everyone needs to know that he belongs to someone. Someone is waiting for this scary beast at home, not just anyone, an angel, a real angel.

He wants to say that my wife won't let me, my wife doesn't like it, my wife said no, my wife is waiting for me at home, my wife bought it for me, my wife chose iy, my wife loves it very much, my wife must agree. Everyone knows him by your name. You own him.

At the end of the day,That man is hers. At the end of the night That woman is his. He wants to go to sleep with her, wrap his arms around her and bury her head in his chest. Maybe she let him sleep between her beautiful tits. Does that mean she'll let him kiss them? Oh, he's hopeful, so hopeful.

He lowers his kisses, kisses her belly and goes lower and lower. FUCK, does she wear nice panties for him? The ones with the bras? If he didn't, it wouldn't be a problem, everything on her body is beautiful. Does she let him take them off? He asks permission for everything, I told you, he was a good dog. Did I say he licks her? Oh, he licks her, like it's the last ice cream on earth on the hottest day of the year. He moans, he knows she likes it, her pussy gets wetter when she hears his pleasure, her grip on his hair tightens...

When she comes, he rests his head on her thighs, looks at her as her breathing becomes stable, waits for her to look at him, pats his head and tells him well done. Damn it, she won't regret it, he promises.

He always asks her how she wants it this time. "Whatever you like, angel." Is she tired of the same place? Does she need a little variety? Baby, he, bends her over every surface.

He'll go on for several rounds, but he'll get tired, old dog, remember? If she still feel like it, how about she put her beautiful thighs on him and ride him? Oh, I'm sure he'll enjoy the jiggling of her tits.

tired? It's okay, Princess, he presses his feet into the mattress and do all the work.

After they're both satisfied. If she feels like it, theu can go Take a bath together, right? If she's really tired, she can sleep and he'll clean her up without disturbing her sleep, and then join her in bed.

He is very happy, he waited so long to see her and put the ring on her finger. He will have a big wedding party for her, with lots of guests. But he has to wait, he doesn't know what she likes yet, he shouldn't rush.

There is time, there is a lot of time. It took a long time, but it was worth it.

His little angel will soon be by his side.

---------------------

I genuinely think This Simon Riley taking his angel like an animal for the first time.🤭

Simon, who is completely defenseless against his wife, I love him.

As I said, English is not my first language. And in my language the pronouns (he, she, it and... all of them ) are the same, so forgive me if I made a mistake.🫠

I know bad writing takes away the joy of reading, but please forgive me.🥲🙏🏼

If anyone writes something with this idea, please tag me! I would love to read this idea written by someone whose English is better than me!😔

[kivino]

OUT OF THE SHADOWS I || SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X SHADOW!GN!READER

Word counter – ~6.9k words

Tags/Warnings – Gn!Reader, Shadow!Reader (it’s not for long lol, don’t get your hopes up), murder of civilians/corpses/blood mentioned, physical fights, reader likes to throw fists, Reader’s callsign is Bug to pay tribute to my original idea.

Summary – After the betrayal of Task Force 141 and the slaughter of civilians in Las Almas you decide to leave Shadow Company on the spot, which works out sideways, leaving you with simmering hate towards the man whom you used to look up to and new interesting figures in your life. 

also available on my ao3!

a/n after the fic because they’re too long. but just know that this is the first chapter of the series, feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part. enjoy!

Everything was calm. The sound of rain covering up the murmur of trucks helped you wind down after the adrenaline rush, and a sense of accomplishment for a job well done swelled in your chest. You already anticipated a long sleep and maybe a night out with your friends when you’re back home from the job. Maybe you’d even get a bonus from Graves and buy something nice for yourself. 

In all honesty, you didn’t even mind being crammed into the backseat along with those 141 guys. Working with them was a pleasure and they seemed like an interesting sort of crowd. Especially that man with the skull mask. Ghost, was it? He certainly attracted your attention the most, with his huge size, booming voice, and undeniable skill in what he did. You were willing to admit that the way he took out the enemies with ease and swiftness was mesmerizing.  And…your train of thought that consisted of pure fascination was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the convoy in front of the base gate. 

Everything was calm until you were surrounded by shouting and then eventual gunshots, along with muffled screams of your brothers in arms. You didn’t understand how it all escalated so fast. One moment you were sure about Shadow Company and Task Force 141 being on the same side, but now you didn’t know what to think of it all. And from Graves' words, it was apparent that Shepherd was behind this too. So naturally you, and many other shadows, the lower ranks, had no fucking clue what all of this was about. One would care to tell a mindless weapon where to shoot, but not why. Blood rushed through your veins and pulsed in your ears, turning the pleasant buzz in your body into strained sharpness. You hurriedly pulled up the rear sight to your eye level. Two bodies dropped to the wet asphalt with soft thuds right in front of you. You felt your heart sink right down to your feet. Instead of firing your shots, you hesitated, backing out to hide behind the bumper of the truck, while hearing agitated, aggressive shouts. You weren’t able to tell who was shouting. So, you leaned out and felt yourself freeze in place. 

And there he is. Ghost, eyes locked right on you. He sure has a…strong presence. And instead of shooting you he just…looks. You don’t like the stupid flowery language, but in this split second, it really feels like he is staring right into your soul. Or like someone is sticking metal rods right through your chest, with how hard breathing becomes in an instant. 

You knew that if you were to shoot him right now, you’d never forgive yourself, all because you were kept in the dark about the whole thing Graves had planned. And you were not willing to get blood on your hands because of some “mistake”. If you pull the trigger, there will be one less person who’s able to make a change. One less person who’ll be willing to get their hands dirty and save people. 

So, you lower the muzzle of your rifle and nod to the side, urging him to start his getaway, before other Shadows and Graves decide to check the perimeter. You see his dark eyes blink, or at least you think you do before he disappears into the darkness. Like he was never there in the first place.

In the end, you didn’t get even a single scratch. Three other Shadows were K.I.A.

Your head buzzed with so many different questions you wanted to ask Graves, and more importantly, the guilt you felt from whatever happened in front of the threshold. You had no idea what happened with that Los Vaqueros base or what was up with your CO, while you were escorting him and those 141 guys along with several other Shadows for this mission. Why was he taking it? What was he even thinking? You wanted to pull out your hair and claw out your eyes just thinking about all of it. Which, you weren’t paid to do, but that didn’t mean you weren’t concerned with the moral side of things. Unlike the majority of the Shadows, as you came to find out.

Confusion bubbled up inside of your mind, eyes burned by the white synthetic light of the gate when you looked up at it just to feel something aside from sheer distress and bewilderment. You didn’t want to believe that your Commander was the type of person to sell himself out, and you didn’t expect him to be, from all the time spent working with him. The man was nothing short of likable and friendly, with his beaming smile, confident attitude, and outgoing way of communicating… a natural-born leader, that was the first thing that came to mind when you thought about your boss. And with how Graves treated you and all other Shadows like you were more than just his employees, the realization was even more painful. Of course, you didn’t want to think about how he could so easily turn his back on people who trusted him.

It raised many questions in your mind about the price of his word, as well as made your stomach churn with acidic, flesh-eating poison full of doubt and suspicion. If it was so easy for your CO to cut out the men someone he told you all to think of as your brothers, then how long will it be before he sells you and other shadows out for…whatever was offered to him? 

“Find ‘em!” Graves barks and your chest swells with bitter disappointment. You thought you knew him before (as much as a subordinate can know their superior), but how can you even begin to understand him now?

You hear Shadows mutter a quiet “Yup-yup”, more to themselves than to your CO, and you could almost feel the doubt settle over them in a thick, transparent blanket. From the conversations you can pick up on while Graves is out of earshot, you guess that some of them don’t think betraying the 141 guys and trying to hunt the two of them down is the right thing to do. But it didn’t seem like they were going to do anything about it though. You, however, want to help. You know that it’s not right, so…screw it. You can always find another job, and if it comes down to it, 141 seem like an okay sort of people, the type that would have your back if you had theirs. At least, you have hope for it.

So maybe you could hold out until they come back for Los Vaqueros. And you were certain they’d do that, no way they’d abandon all these men. You haven’t seen how the things were on said base that was taken from them, but you were certain you could do more on the inside than if you were to leave right now. Maybe you could break Colonel out of there, or help the Task Force sneak in, you were sure they could use any help from you. 

That was the plan before you saw what Shadow Company did to Las Almas.

The picture that Shadows were painting with innocent blood on the rainy landscape was horrifying, to say the least. The metallic smell hit your nose the moment you jumped out of the truck right onto the flooded pavement. That was the exact moment when you realized you couldn’t stay with Shadows any longer. You were supposed to help these people. It was your job. Instead, you felt filthier than the dirt on your boots. Traitor. Backstabber. You choked on your breath behind the mask each time you noticed the bodies of the victims in every dark corner of the city, nausea coming up your throat when you could see rivers of crimson streaming down the road and right into the sewers. Your Shadow Company patch felt like the mark of a killer, etched into your skin permanently, instead of just being part of your uniform.

Limp bodies that didn’t even have the time to grow cold yet, scattered around warm homes. Some of the killed were probably already in their beds sleeping, coming back from work, watching TV, or cooking dinner when they got dragged out under the rain and massacred…Everything felt like a blur, your thoughts were a jumbled mess of whys, while you were led further into the town, to continue the revolting, disgusting crimes of your brothers-in-arms. You couldn’t stand to spend another minute in here. You need to get out before you do something you’ll never be able to forgive yourself for. You were many things, but you were not willing to go that far. Not here, not anywhere. 

“Hey. Where’s Graves?” You tap another Shadow, your “close colleague” with a callsign Kruk, on the shoulder. He turns to you, while you see several other soldiers passing by, yellow streetlights barely illuminating their swiftly moving figures. You knew why it was hard for you to even look in their direction. Kruk points towards the building to the left of you two and croaks something about “briefing the rookies”. You nod and thank him, stumbling in the general direction he pointed you to. 

“Commander, with all due respect, I think it’s time for you to discharge me.” You only came to your senses when you stood in front of your CO in the cramped space of someone’s living room. Wallpaper, creamy in color, dulled lights, tons of decorative cushions on the couch… Your voice is quiet, but firm, not leaving any space for compromise when you speak up to the blond man, and your politeness is as fake as this copy of “Guernica” you could see hanging on the wall. Blood pulses in your ears. You want to leave, you want out. Out of here.

“Bug, now’s not the time for jokes, I need you on the field now. We’ve got our orders.” Graves barely raises his eyes from tapping something on the tablet, that usual scowl that you got used to present on his face. His actions are as ugly as he is. Him not taking you seriously sure does a number on your confidence. But that only reassures you in your decision. You need out. 

“Do I look like I’m joking? I’m leaving, because I don’t think what we’re doing is right.” You try to stay calm, you really do. But how can you, when out of something so vile he makes a joke? Makes all these people a sick joke.

A crease lies between your brows, and shadows falling over your eyes make your face look similar to a carved statue. Before talking to Graves, you decided to take off the eyewear that obscures your face and pull down the thin mask, the signatures for Shadows who are lower in the chain of command. You’re the faceless sort, after all.  “And I don’t think you know your place.” You’re instantly taken aback by his sudden outburst, but you don’t let it show. “I point and you shoot. I sign your paychecks, Bug, and you take them.” You feel something inside of you flinch at the way he mutters your callsign. “I’m in charge. You don’t have a say in what we do.” With each statement, his gloved finger points from him to you, making the rage and frustration boil inside of your chest. You trusted Graves and he led all of your colleagues, along with you to dragging out unarmed, innocent people in the dead of night out of their houses on their streets and executing them. Hell of a leader he is. 

“Well, I’m stepping down. If that’s what we do, I don’t want to take part in it.” You wanted to tell him a lot more, give Graves a piece of your mind on war crimes and killing people in their own homes. On how drowning Las Almas in blood won’t fix whatever the fuck he was trying to fix right now. Instead, you kept it to yourself, tightening your fists just so you didn’t spit in his face or punch him.

“You’re putting a target on your back. Do you not understand how what you’re saying makes you look?” Graves leans in closer to you, the low volume of his voice making it even more threatening, similar to the hissing of a snake. Give him a minute and he will start spewing real venom right in your face. 

“You know that whatever you’re thinking is not true.” To be completely honest, you didn’t care what he thought right now. Graves’ mind and morals were clearly in the wrong place if he considered all this bloodshed justified. 

“Do I really? A moment ago I was sure that you were my subordinate, now I’m not even sure what to make of you.” You’re barely able to resist rolling your eyes at this. Your heart is picking up the pace with each minute. Getting more and more desperate to leave your body altogether, just so you don’t have to listen to his bullshit any longer. You wish it was that easy.

“I’m not taking orders from you. Not anymore.” Saying this took a lot more out of you than you expected, you felt your chest tremble when you met your CO’s eyes.

“Well, would you just look at that, you happen to be a fan of our local drug lord too?” If eyes could kill, Graves would’ve dropped dead right this moment. He smiles, his sharp canines peeking from under his top lip. He knows he’s making your skin crawl and your stomach flip from this interaction, which, if you’re lucky, would be the last for the two of you. “Helping the cartel and corrupt police won’t look too good on your resume”

“I see you’re just making it up as you go.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in your chest. Shaky. Uneven. Infuriated. Your eyes are drilling Graves’, a deep frown between them as proof of how much you despise him now, for the baseless assumption too. After a moment of silence, you add. “You know what my stance on this is. Whether I get your approval or not, I’m leaving.” Graves finally withdraws from your personal space, sliding the palm over his face with a heavy sigh, as his lips tighten into a thin line. You knew that this combination meant he was trying to calm down. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again. 

“Look, Bug, you’re a smart kid and frankly, I like you.” he makes a short pause, sighing. “So, I’ll give you a fighting chance. Five minutes – if you’re not out of the city, then you’re a target.” He wasn’t that fucking courteous with the civilians that lay dead a few meters away. Shot on sight. Without any questions. You grit your teeth.

What are you supposed to do with that? Those five minutes didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, most likely, you’ll be rotting in the ditch somewhere shortly after your time runs out - too little to get out of the city or find the Task Force you so desperately wanted to help. Graves won’t leave any witnesses. And you are one. He knows it’s not going to be easy for you to just turn on the Shadows like that too, even though you despised what they were doing while following his orders. They still were your family. Dysfunctional and disproportionately big, but family, nonetheless. Even if they deserved it for their lack of action to prevent what was happening now, you don’t turn on your family like that. What he’s doing is forcing your hand.

Regardless, you have no choice but to take Graves up on his last “generous” offer.

“What are you waiting for, hm? Get out of here while you can.” You didn’t need to be told that twice. So, still balancing your rifle on your arm, your free hand reaches for that patch on your shoulder. Tearing it off in a quick motion makes the sound of Velcro strips snapping open almost echo from how quiet it is. It felt like a whole mountain dropped off of your shoulders when you threw the patch on the ground and stormed out of the building right into the pouring rain.

You felt goosebumps and tremors creeping up your spine as you ran through the dark streets, getting more and more soaked with each second. You didn’t feel much better though. The resentment for Graves grew each second, with all the steps that sent ripples on the surface of the deep puddles, and every raindrop that fell from the copper-colored clouds. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in your misery. Although you wanted to. It did feel like the loss of a person you used to know, of someone you looked up to. The only thing is, he was still living and breathing, and the only thing that died was that idealized image of him in your head. 

There was a cold hollowness somewhere in your chest. Gaping with the darkness that, and you were sure of it, will eat you alive soon enough. Even though you backed out of the Shadow company, it won’t bring back all the people who are not here anymore. You won’t fix it, no matter how hard you try. That bitter guilt snaked its way into the back of your mind and it was there to help stay. 

You managed to pull yourself out of this to make things right. But why do you feel so helpless still?

Your footsteps get faster and faster, as you maneuver through the narrow alleyways, staying out of the range your former colleagues were in. It was easy to hear them, gunshots and voices echoed throughout the city in a weird cacophony that your ears got used to after a long time working for the Shadow Company. They were not afraid, probably feeling like masters here. Somebody has to give them a scare, you thought. So they know better in the future. But it wasn’t your job at the moment. Right now, you needed to get out and do it as soon as possible.

Stopping and coming up with any sort of plan that would help you was not an option - hang in somewhere for too long and you’ll be found. And you were sure you wouldn’t be shown any mercy. 

So instead of staying on the street, where you can be easily spotted with the help of the dim light of a flashlight, you decide to alternate between the corridors of empty homes, with doors wide open for anyone seeking shelter, and the maze of alleyways crawling with Shadows. It felt wrong, invading someone’s homes like this, but you knew if they were unlocked and lights beamed around them, giving out a warm glow the inhabitants were most likely not coming back.

You felt that tingle on the nape of your neck, ready to hide or flee in case you heard any sudden movement from any direction. It’s dead quiet, except for occasional radio talk from the shadows, which you tried to listen in on when you could. It didn’t give you much on where 141 could be. You would start losing hope if you had any left after Graves. But you continue your search nonetheless, reflexes instead of thinking, pure determination instead of hope, and fire in your veins, instead of blood.

That is until you quietly step inside another warm hallway, and you’re met with a wide-eyed stare from another Shadow that makes you freeze like a deer in the headlights. Something inside of you starts to churn with terror from the looming understanding – only one of you will walk out of here alive. Your eyes trail down to the raven patch on his tac vest. It’s Kruk. You want to ask what he is doing here, but you already feel his gaze studying you too. And as soon as he sees that the Shadow Company patch is missing from your uniform, the muzzle of his rifle points right at you. Fucking shit.

“Drop your gun, Kruk!” You warn the man, pointing the weapon in his direction too. He only shakes his head, refusing to stand down. With each second air is laced with tension more and more, you were sure that soon enough it’ll be so thick even a knife wouldn’t cut through it.

“You drop yours first.” His voice is shaky and unsure like he can’t believe what he’s doing right now either. “Commander gave us an order. You’re an enemy now too, Bug. Better get used to it.” Kruk started slowly approaching you, while pulling something out of the bag, strapped on his hip.

“Oh, fuck that!” You swing towards Kruk, trying to approach him in your momentary rage, but you’re immediately met with the warning “Don’t” from Kruk, who doesn’t stand down. “You know what they’re doing here. It doesn’t matter to you?” The man is silent. You don’t see his face behind his mask, so you’re left with even more questions instead of answers. Regardless of what he was thinking right now, you didn’t want to hurt him. So, you bend down and put your rifle on the ground with a quiet clack. If he needs a gesture of goodwill, he can have it. “Your turn.” Kruk only shakes his head.

“Turn around.” So, it was a mistake to trust him. Naturally. Your gullibility will be your downfall. You can almost feel the bitter taste spread inside of your mouth when you look at Kruk. Fucking asshole. But you comply, although reluctantly. He grabs you roughly by the wrists with one hand and by the neck with another, leading you toward what looks like a kitchen in the dim lights falling through the doorway. You get lowered on your knees and then pressed into the dirty floor. And it hits right then and there. He’s going to execute you. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

“You know that I don’t want to do this.” He says quietly so that any shadows passing by don’t hear him. You feel your heartbeat shake your whole body and nausea so intense like you are on the verge of throwing up all of your internal organs, but giving up is just not an option right now. So, you try to prevent him from tying your hands together with all the strength you have.

“Then don’t fucking do it!” He does not answer this as you continue squirming in his hold, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to restrain you. He only grunts but keeps a firm grip. Your head was a mess, you thought Shadows were a family. But all it took was one order from Graves, now they’re scouring the town like damn bloodhounds for you too.

“Get…off of me!” You grit through your teeth. You feel a zip tie slide over your hands and turn your head. The rifle he previously held in his hands was gone, probably so he could tie you up properly, so you take your chance and deliver a hard kick to Kruk’s stomach. He chokes out a pained gasp and finally lets go of your hands. You scurry to get up from the floor with wide smears of rainwater and dirt decorating it, but you get grabbed by the leg, which causes you to stumble and fall once again. You turn your head and kick Kruk with all your might, while attempting to take off the zip tie off your wrists, which, thankfully, he didn’t have the time to close.

You manage to shake the man off of you, as you scramble to your feet, knocking over a corner table with some decorations on it. Yet when you see Kruk fumbling with his hip holster you immediately tackle him to the ground, which causes him to drop the handgun. The whole fight is just a mess, nothing but blinding rage is pulsing in your temples, melting your bones and muscles into something no better than an animal. You get up again, while Kruk is on the floor, searching for the handgun in the darkness. You feel the heavy metal press against your boot and you kick it behind you. You hear it slide across the floor and here it is. Kruk’s eyes, are directed right at you. His hands claw at your leg, trying to drag you down to the floor. And then you black out completely. Kicking, punching, pained wheezes and screams are all you hear, a stuffy abyss with little to no specks of light surrounding you.

You come back to your senses when you don’t feel the familiar weight of your handgun pressing against your hip and then you see it again. Kruk managed to grab it while you were in your anger-induced frenzy. Everything around you slows down. His shaky fingers pull on the safety, but you reach out and grab his hands, pulling them up, not letting him aim at you. Kruk grunts and you see his eyes focused on you in fear, and desperation, as he tries to overpower you in the struggle. You see his weakened state, but the self-preservation is stronger than any compassion towards him at the moment. Kruk will take your life if you don’t take his. That’s just the gist of it. You can’t let him walk away.

Your hands tremble when he manages to overpower you momentarily, but it’s all in vain when you press the handgun harder and harder into his frame, feeling his hands start to yield more and more with each second, strength leaving him. The fear in his eyes is directed at you and only you, but you try not to look. The muzzle of your gun is pressed snugly under his chin. Your gaze trails to his eyes once again. They burn you with terror. Your fingers hook around the trigger guard. You hear a faint whisper.

“Please…”

Gunshot rings in your ears for another second, despite the earmuffs in your helmet.

“Fuck! Fuck…I’m so sorry…I’m sorry.” It all came crashing down on you in one moment. You wouldn’t feel guilty if it was the enemy, you wouldn’t care. He was an enemy now, so why do you feel so guilty, why is it starting to corrode and eat you alive even more? Your palms cover the profusely bleeding gunshot wound, going through his neck and cranium, hot blood pouring out with impossible speed, staining your hands, gear, and skin. Staining your whole being. How could you do something like this? Shadows are family. Killing an unarmed man who’s pleading for his life?

You’re no better than Graves.

The gunshot alerts the Shadows and they start scurrying around on the street. You have no time to mourn Kruk or search for your rifle in the dark, so you yank your handgun out of his hands which only started succumbing to rigor mortis, and sprint out the backdoor, desperately attempting to get away. You can feel your heartbeat booming in your ears, wet hair sticking to the nape of your neck, as you hear distant commotion and a chase stirring behind you, as you dart inside another building and run through the hallways, searching for a way out.

Back on the street, rain droplets are so cold that it feels like they’re splitting your skin open, you can barely feel the pain in your ankle from adrenaline pumping through your blood flow. You start slipping on the slick pavement, but you still refuse to stop, diving inside another doorway. Your head hurts, your lungs feel like they are about to explode, and you think you stepped into a puddle of someone’s blood. No time to ram through the locked door, so you jumped out of the second-story window and landed on your foot, twisting it in the process and swallowing the sob that welled up in your throat. You needed to move.

That bought you some time to get up and dip into the dark alleyway before you heard the loud footsteps approaching the window that you used to escape. You let out a heavy exhale, propping your back against the cold stone. You’re not completely safe, but…that’s better than nothing. The commotion of shadows quiets down and you hear it become more and more distant with each second. 

After a moment of silence, you continue moving, albeit slowly, trying to get used to the hot pulsing in your leg, that shot up right through your nerves with each step you tried to take. You wince and whine in pain, dragging your leg behind, grabbing at the moist stone walls, clinging to them for any sort of support. However, it’s not much of a help. 

Your escape is cut short when your legs finally give out, causing you to stumble and fall while crossing the church garden. Although it probably looked magical in the daylight, right now it was far from it, the smell of metal and smoke still lacing the darkness. You already feel your ankle swelling and some bruises forming under all your gear. You see the lights on the exterior of the church blend into the ribbon of lights and shadows and the thought crosses your mind. You can hide there.

You almost fly up the stairs despite the hurting leg, fumbling with the door for a second, before it creaks open. You shuffle inside with light steps and close the door behind you as quietly as you can. Your knees tremble as you slide down the cold wall and crawl further inside the building, barely feeling any strength left in you. God, you are so drained. Strained gasps are ripped out of your throat every second. You want nothing more than to lie down right there in this church and just let the darkness overtake you in a peaceful slumber. That would be so easy.

Your calm moment is interrupted by someone yanking you up on your feet, to which you let out a surprised yelp. You can’t see the person, but you can feel their hands tugging on your gear roughly and dragging you somewhere. It takes you a second to weigh your pretty limited options given the fact it’s so dark that you are barely able to make out your surroundings. So, you decide to take this fight head on and your heavy boot comes down right on their foot, which prompts the person to grunt, revealing a pretty low male voice, and let go of you.

You tear out from his grasp and almost tumble down to the church floor, bunching up dust with your loud, uneven footsteps. Your back is hunched as you look up at the dark figure from under your eyebrows, ready to deflect any blows if he decides to attack first. You stay silent, feeling like a cornered animal in his presence, small, feeble. Weak. Of course, you were at a disadvantage here, taking a beating, running from Shadows, twisting your ankle, and losing your rifle certainly didn’t help your chances to win, but you were ready to claw your way out of here with your bare hands, breaking your nails and skinning your hands if you had to.

But any punches or kicks you try to land the man easily deflects or blocks, not trying to attack or overpower you however, opting to just take up the defensive position in the fight. Which is, admittedly, a lot easier than taking the offensive one. Maybe he was aiming to exhaust you and then, when you are at your lowest point, he would attack. That seemed like a solid tactic, but you don’t want to let that happen. However, before you can think of anything you end up rolling with the man on the floor. You can hear him huff in frustration and exertion, the wood pressing harshly against your ribs and all the bruises on your lower body pulsing with pain.

After some struggle, however, you managed to tackle the man to the ground, pressing him down to the floor with your weight. Your hands snaked their way onto his neck as you glared at him, resisting the urge to bare your teeth akin to a stray, abused, and betrayed dog, crawling with fleas and parasites. Choking him out obviously wasn’t a nice thing to do, but you were trying to send a message here, that if you continue being followed, you will use your strength. If violence was the only language Shadows understood (and that’s who you believe the man was) then you were ready to become fluent.

“I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!” You press him into the floor harder, hands squeezing the man’s throat, your vision going blurry. You feel his hands grasp at your wrists, but he does not resist. Why is he not trying to shake you off? Why is he letting you choke him like this? Why is he not fighting back? 

“Let go, Bug.” The man’s voice is strained, but familiar, he whispers through his closed jaw. You can hear the way his throat tenses up, or his Adam’s apple bobs under your thick gloves, the warmth of his skin, and the moisture that seeped into the mask. Mask. More light falls through the window thanks to the momentary flicker of the streetlight. Skull. Eight lines on his chin, two on the forehead. Dark brown eyes.

Your hands shoot up like his neck is on fire. Guilt settles in your gut and your throat, pulling you in like you’re some puppet with no free will. You try to get up from the man’s midsection but tumble down on your side from trying to do it too quickly. It’s Ghost. How the hell did you not recognize Ghost?

“I’m sorry. I’m not…myself right now.” You were now sitting on the floor, palms resting on your face, wet from the rain, skin burning up, either trying to regulate the temperature or from all the exertion. Either way, it didn’t matter right now.

“Yeah, you made it pretty obvious.” Ghost coughs, trying to shake off your attempt to cut off his air circulation just seconds ago, as he gets up from his lying position. “At least now I know you’ve got a good grip.” He lets out a deep chuckle which only earns him an eyebrow raise from you. He was joking at a time like this? Must’ve hit his head pretty hard too.

“I could’ve choked you. Why did you not fight back more?” You were royally confused about that. He could’ve stopped the fight before it even began and avoided some bruises along with the sore neck if he just told you who he was or fought back. But he didn’t.

Ghost wants to say something, but stops himself right after opening his mouth. You see it in the way he looks at you. The pause stretches for an endless amount of time and you feel your skin crawling with anxiety while his eyes study your face.

“I was going easy on ya.” Ghost says in a rather blunt manner, which didn’t answer that many of your questions. Well, if he was going easy, he should’ve been at least going at you, which wasn’t true – you saw him only defending himself and blocking some of your blows. Did he?.. Was he trying not to hurt you? Okay, the more you thought about it, the wilder it sounded. Maybe you should just drop it. “I don’t suppose you came here to wash your sins away.” You want to scoff from the bad taste. “Lil’ birdie told me you ditched the Shadows. Any particular reason why?” The man inquires, turning to you. Sitting like this on the floor with him felt unusual, like some sort of weird church sleepover. Give Ghost a minute and he’ll bring you some ice cream so you two can watch some wacky TV shows together.

“Did your little birdie also tell you that Graves is hunting me down too?” You ask while pulling your drenched mask over your face. It brought some comfort and familiarity that were gone the moment you spoke to your CO in that living room. And, well, it would be awkward if Ghost was the only one in the mask.

“I guessed by the gunshots, some racket, and a horde of Shadows taking a night run through the neighborhood close by.” The man chuckles and you feel your face burn up in embarrassment under your mask. You try not to let it show, however. You knew that it wasn’t a very sleek move that you pulled with Kruk, but you were desperate and you didn’t need motherfucking Ghost telling you it was stupid. 

“You’re just hilarious. Is that how you became a lieutenant, by cracking jokes left and right?” You roll your eyes and hope he won’t notice it in the darkness. This banter was pointless, you knew it but…you needed it. It was not easy losing something familiar, so you desperately wanted to feel that camaraderie you experienced in the Shadows.

“You’ll find out once you’re a lieutenant yourself.” And Ghost indulges you. Which, you are thankful for. Isn’t such a scary guy after all, huh?

“Yeah, if I’m alive long enough.” You scoff at his concealed attempt to comfort and reassure you, but you can’t help that warm feeling in your chest. Weird.

“Well, you’ve already surpassed my expectations by staying alive until now.” The man stands up from the floor with a low grunt, pressing an arm around his midsection, right around where you might’ve pinned him to the floor with your body. “Let’s make sure it lasts, eh?” He extends a gloved hand toward you in an open, inviting gesture. Your eyes trail over his huge figure and land on specks of light in his eyes.

His eye black is all smudged and messy.

You have to shake off the sudden thought, observation too close and intimate for your liking, as you grab him by the forearm, trying to ignore the way your skin burns up when you feel his warmth through his gear. Ghost pulls you up to your feet, but doesn’t let go of your arm once you’re up. You don’t let go either. The silence rings in your ears. God, he’s so warm.

 “Are you like a human furnace or something?” You joke to fill the excruciating silence. Which you immediately regret. You wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see just how his face stretched the fabric of a skull mask, which you clearly heard happen by a small shuffle very close to you. Who knows, maybe he cracked a smile?

“Why? Need someone to warm you up at night?” Okay, this is terrible and stupid, and so damn corny, and why do you feel your cheeks grow hot and breath get stuck in your chest? Maybe that’s just how awful his jokes are. Ghost clears his throat and reluctantly lets go of your forearm, fingers still clinging to your sleeve as he pulls himself away too quickly for it to be something nonchalant or casual.

“So, are you answering my question, or do I have to use torture?” Fucking hell, his jokes are morbid. You almost forgot in those several hours you haven’t interacted with him. Although that would be quite hard, he leaves quite an impression, after all.

“Well, I suppose you’ve seen the…the civilians?” You can’t call them anything besides that. To call them corpses is to take away from their whole being. To call them dead would just be a lie. They were still alive in the walls of their homes, in the memories of their breathing relatives and friends, and in the pictures, their traces are everywhere. Ghost silently nods to your question, prompting you to continue. “Then here’s your reason.” You didn’t want to explain your feelings in great detail. And you didn’t feel the need to; you saw the compassion in his eyes. “Plus, the whole thing with the Los Vaqueros base.” If you saw Ghost’s face now you’d note how the expression darkened in a single moment. However, you do feel the temperature in the room fall several degrees lower, so you decide to joke again. “Pay wasn’t that good anyway, so…”

“Fair enough.” The man chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll keep an eye on you though. Don’t think you can just waltz in here like this and be completely trusted.” Well, that’s understandable. If you were him you wouldn’t trust yourself either. Although you did hope that the mercy you’ve shown him earlier would influence his decision making. At least a little bit. “And you better toss that thing. Or else.” He points to the radio, still strapped to your tactical vest. You unclasp the device, detaching the small microphone that was holding on by a thread, and hand it to Ghost.

“You’re welcome to get rid of it for me.” And he doesn’t waste any time, dropping the radio on the ground, stomping on it so hard that the sound of it breaking echoes through the church. You assess the scraps of wires and plastic on the floor with a pitiful gaze, coming to a conclusion that you wouldn’t want to end up under Ghost’s boot. Or maybe you would, but under different circumstances. “Well, that’s…effective.”

“You good with the sniper rifle?” The man ignores your previous remark, immediately firing back with the question.  

“Decent.” You were a lot better in close quarters and preferred a more hands-on approach. But a sniper rifle wasn’t that bad. As long as he doesn’t ask you to use it without a scope.

“You’re on the lookout with me then. Don’t screw it up.”

Oh, you’re absolutely not going to.

check out my masterlist or send me a request!

a/n – first of all, thank you for reading this fic, and if you enjoyed it, consider dropping me a comment, i’ll really appreciate it! SECOND OF ALL.  I’M NOT A GRAVES HATER, DON’T COME @ ME. segment with him also was written before the campaign release, so in case there are some inaccuracies with the plot/his character – let me know, so I can fix it. all of this is a huge rework of the series that I started but never posted. Originally, it was supposed to be Graves x Reader, but for multiple reasons, moral mostly, it didn’t quite sit right with me. So instead of letting 6k words first part that I’ve written and abandoned go to waste, I decided to remake it into something else here, based on the idea of @mockerycrow (ily you have such a big brain)! so yeah, that’s it for now!

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

I don't trust Joanne at all.

I don't get why people use Joanne's words and motives as part of trying to figure out Amanda, Wooly, and Hameln.

Now let me clear this up now: I do not think Joanne is a bad person. She is willing to do anything to save her brother. And I think we need to understand that that anything is not within our best interests.

First off, I'm probably a bit biased considering I didn't trust Joanne from the very beginning. We meet this masked stranger who is somehow in our aunt's house. (Seriously, how did she get in there? Kate may have given her the keys but... why didn't she tell us about Joanne at all? If Joanne is helping Kate, shouldn't she have said that Joanne might help us too?)

I mean, I think it was a bad idea for Riley to just go into Joanne's car (and sleep in it no less) considering Joanne hadn't yet given us any real proof of her identity or even her name. Like Riley, stranger danger?!

Like if she had turned out to be someone from Hameln coming to kidnap Kate and/or Riley then this would've been really bad. I know she isn't, but at that point Joanne could've been anybody. And we just... went with her without question.

Then we break into the library with her. Like... even if she had Kate's keys she's not an employee there... so that's breaking and entering.

Then let's talk about Joanne's speech. Kate died because of her. Because she was willing to do anything to get her brother back... because she pushed Kate too far. Joanne admitted that this was mostly- if not all her fault. Now, I think she could be blaming herself a bit too much... it's probably not all her fault. But she also admitted that she used us. For her own gain. Not for Kate or our best interests.

But I think the interesting thing about this is that even though Joanne admits that she did all this... it doesn't stop her from doing it again.

In that Cassette tape, Kate was telling us what she wanted... she wanted us to stop. She wanted us to escape and never deal with Hameln's wrath. But instead of respecting Kate's wishes, Joanne goes directly against them, telling us to fight Hameln.

Once again, I'm not saying Joanne is evil or a terrible person. Just that she's working purely for her own goals... our safety and best interests are not on their radar like they were on Kates.

The whole scene of the Wooly monster killing her could mean anything, not just that it's siding with Hameln. I mean, it could definitely be siding with destroying the tapes... it could also be protecting Riley and Kate from a person who clearly dangerous to them specifically.

That night she screamed at Kate to give her those tapes... and I imagine she was probably pushing Kate really hard to find a solution. Kate and Riley are the only two known characters working in Amanda (and to some extent Wooly's) interests of escaping the tapes and ending the show so it can't hurt anyone anymore.

In the "Do you feel safe tape" Amanda warns us about strangers, and also seems to stop trusting us when she hears Joanne's voice. Remember, Joanne is not working in Amanda's best interests which seem to be our best interests as well. She doesn't want to save Rebecca, she wants to save Jordan. Kate probably knew that destroying the tapes would hurt Amanda and Wooly, she probably would have told Joanne this, but Joanne doesn't care. Amanda doesn't trust Joanne. She has every reason not to. We have every reason not to. For she is someone who is willing to sacrifice anything to save someone she loves... and as noble as that is... that includes us. Kate, Riley, Amanda, and Wooly. If it meant saving her brother... she probably wouldn't think twice about doing something that would bring them harm.

What I'm saying is, both demons recognized Joanne as a threat. Now does this mean they are both working to protect us? I have no idea. But Joanne being a threat to Riley and Kate is an interesting piece of the puzzle to consider.

I don't trust Joanne because she is only in it for her goals and not ours. Not that she's a bad person for doing so, plenty of people could probably imagine being willing to do almost anything to save someone they love. But with a person like that... you just can't trust everything they do and say.

Wooly warned us about strangers. Amanda warned us about trusting people. They were probably warning us... about Joanne.

[aetherghouls]

I personally believe that Simon's gods awful father would use religious guilt and religion in general against young Simon.

The same man that doesn't care for any god, that breaks all the commandments and laughs at Simon for even believing; he'd absolutely weaponize the very religion Simon's mother, Tommy and himself use as an escape.

It's not like Simon has ever been very religious in the first place, but their local church was a respite from his father and it was something. His mother had been taking him and Tommy there every week, sometimes more often, because it was the only real place where they could be a family without him.

Don't get me wrong though, Simon as a child? He absolutely did believe, he prayed every damn day, begging God to save them, so they wouldn't have to suffer by his father's hand any longer, because they all did. Their life was a living hell and gods, did they suffer.

The older Simon gets, though? The longer his father uses his own religion against him and his family? The longer he says things along the lines of "what would your god say, kid? Disobeying your father? You listen to me and do as I say, isn't that what your God would want from you? Isn't that what they preach in this church of yours?"

It's either threatening the rest of the family because Simon is the oldest child and he feels protective over the rest of them or using the church against him. Two ways to get him to obey and don't say a fucking word, because Simon wants to be a good son for his mother, he doesn't want to be like his father and he needs to protect them.

Because other than fear, this man had nothing to hold Simon by. He is Simon's father by blood, but nothing else and Simon Riley had known that since he was old enough to comprehend what was going on around him.

So the older Simon gets, the more he just cannot stand anything about the religion because why is it constructed in a way that allows abusers to use it against their victims? And why doesn't God hear them out? He has been praying every single day, begging for it to get better, for a life that isn't just a constant suffering, yet it never comes.

Why does a god who's supposed to love His creations just leaves them to suffer this fate?

By the time he joins the army, he is not a believer anymore.

He prays one more time in his life though, the day when he tries to get back to his home before them, to make sure his family is safe. He hadn't prayed even once when he was in Mexico, when Roba had him, never did pray for his own salvation after he stopped praying for his father to be gone. But them? His brother, sister in law, nephew and mother? He prays for them to be fine, because that's the only and last thing he cares about in this world, even his own life doesn't hold any meaning anymore. He's here to make sure they are safe.

And God fails him one last time that day, for Simon Riley never has a real reason to turn to Him ever again.

Because he doesn't trust that God could keep Johnny safe, because all God did so far was disappoint him, fail him and those he loved.

And to be fair, he's afraid. That if he even thinks about praying ever again, he will lose Johnny too, the same way he lost his family; because the catholic God is cruel.

Also catholic guilt this catholic guilt that, Simon never feels guilty for killing, not in the way catholic guilt eats away at someone; God doesn't care about any suffering, so He cannot care if people kill one another, that's not where the catholic guilt comes in

It's Johnny. It's always Johnny.

Because for the first days, weeks, months, it feels wrong.

It had with any other man ever before that, but it's always passed with them. A temptation that didn't last for too long, the priest's and his father's words ringing in his ears whenever he even considered anything like that. But John MacTavish? It doesn't pass. It's always present, God, it gets stronger every fucking day he has to work with Johnny, so when they are in Las Almas and Graves betrays them, while he doesn't know where and how Johnny is? Before they meet up again? Simon has enough time waiting to realise that it's not just an infatuation that can pass as soon as it comes, because he's in love and he doesn't know what to do, because the wave of guilt that overcomes him, guilt caused by the very God who took away everything from him, it's nauseating, makes him feel small in a way nothing has since he got out from his father's claws. He has to take a moment to just breathe and pull himself back together, otherwise he would fail; fail the mission, himself, Price, Los Vaqueros, but most importantly, he'd fail Johnny.

And that, he cannot allow himself to do.

hello hello I am heavily projecting my own religious trauma onto Simon Riley in this one 🫶

as if bro didn't have enough trauma of his own lmao. Please don't eat me it came to me in a dream last night (not really in a dream) and after I made my friends suffer I came to a conclusion that I need to make more people suffer 🫡 bye

also I may or may not be cooking the other side of this for Soap haha (aka how I personally think Johnny sees religion)

[ink-n-shadow]

[ ℭ𝔬𝔇 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ]

i am:  ☒ currently taking requests ☐ not currently taking requests

any stories marked with this symbol [ ⑱ ] is intended for mature audiences only. this means that any minors, 17 or younger, should not interact with that post.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

bodyguard!Ghost x rockstar!reader

⤷ Party Like a Rockstar | the one where you're a rockstar and ghost is your bodyguard ⤷ Sunscreen and Stolen Glances ⑱ | the one where you're a rockstar and you go on vacation with bodyguard!ghost ⤷ Crybaby | the one where you're drunk and bodyguard!ghost has to comfort you ⤷ Pure Filth ⑱ | the one where you're getting ready for your first headlining tour and bodyguard!ghost can't help himself ⤷ Anything but Routine | the one where bodyguard!ghost finally snaps...because of rockstar!keegan ⤷ Club Hopper ⑱ | the one where bodyguard!ghost takes you to the club after a concert

demon!Ghost x broken angel!reader ⑱

⤷ Broken Dove | the one where ghost is a demon and finds a pretty little broken angel ⤷ Captive Dove | the one where demon!ghost's reasons for taking you just keep evolving ⤷ Savior | the one where demon!ghost saves you from an intruder ⤷ Enrichment Time | the one where demon!ghost finally gives you enrichment and things to do outside of the cage ⤷ Feverish | the one where demon!ghost has to take care of angel!reader when they're sick ⤷ Starved | the one where you're hungry and touch starved!demon!ghost feeds you ⤷ Playlist | the one where it's a playlist dedicated to our favorite demon but it's mostly just sleep token songs ⤷ Time Apart | the one where angel!reader and demon!ghost get into their first argument ⤷ Affections | the one where we learn about demon!ghost and his reaction to angel's affection

⤷ One Body, Two Sides ⑱ | the one where simon is sweet, but ghost is a different story ⤷ Dad's Best Friend!Ghost Headcanons ⑱ | another self explanatory and unoriginal title ⤷ More Than Just a Body | the one where simon reminds you that you're worth more than you think ⤷ Wake-up Sex ⑱ | the one where you wake simon up with a blowjob ⤷ Wake-up Sex (pt. 2) ⑱ | the one where simon wakes you up with his cock ⤷ Tantrums | the one where ghost finds it cute when you're angry ⤷ I Know What You're Doing ⑱ | the one where simon calls you on deployment, and he's lonely ⤷ Payment Options ⑱ | the one where you're sleeping with dilf!ghost after babysiting his son ⤷ Spark Up ⑱ | the one where simon gives you backshots while he smokes a cigarette ⤷ Swipe Right (headcanon) ⑱ | the one where you hook up with simon ⤷ Camera Roll | the one where it's what your camera roll looks like dating simon ⤷ Biker Bars | the one where you meet older!divorced!biker!simon ⤷ Qualified ⑱ | the one where odb!ghost is forced to give you a job interview (and hates how qualified you are for the job) ⤷ Chalk and Trainers | the one about gymnasts!ghoap and their pretty little trainer ⤷ Barrack Showers ⑱ | the one where you have to be quiet wihle simon rearranges your guts in the barrack showers ⤷ Club Hopper ⑱ | the one where you love going clubbing and Simon loves watching you dance ⤷ Burning Kingdoms ⑱ | the one where king!simon just wants to marry the pretty little rebel

KÖNIG

⤷ Brother's Best Friend ⑱ | self explanatory and unoriginal title ⤷ Moving Along | the one where after coming home from a mission, König doesn't know that you think he's gone ⤷ Moving Along (pt. II) | the one where you confront König after thinking he'd been KIA on deployment ⤷ Late Night Shower | the one where you walk in on König in the communal showers ⤷ Tutor Me? ⑱ | the one where you desperately ask nerd!könig to tutor you, but it comes at an unknown price

JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH

⤷ What'dya Just Call Me? ⑱ | the one where you accidentally call Soap daddy ⤷ Pent Up ⑱ | the one where soap gets back from deployment and just needs to be inside of you ⤷ Friends with Benefits...and Then Some ⑱ | the one where soapgaz find the perfect third ⤷ Chalk and Trainers | the one about gymnasts!ghoap and their pretty little trainer

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

⤷ Friends with Benefits...and Then Some ⑱ | the one where soapgaz find the perfect third ⤷ NSFW Alphabet ⑱ | the one where you learn everything about gaz and his nsfw habits ⤷ Rake No More ⑱ | the one where you finally let fratboy!gaz hit it

JOHN PRICE

sugar daddy!Price au

⤷ Pretty Doll ⑱ | the one where sugar daddy!price gets his doll ready for a fancy dinner ⤷ Discipline and Drool ⑱ | the one where sugar daddy!price punishes you for belittling yourself

⤷ Medical Leave ⑱ | the one where john's finally home long enough to get you pregnant

TASKFORCE 141

Knight!141 AU

Introduction to Knight!Soap Introduction to Knight!Ghost Introduction to Knight!Gaz Introduction to Head Knight!Price (coming soon)

Outlaw!141 AU

⤷ Buckle Bunny ⑱ | the one where you're the new pretty little thing at outlaw!141's camp ⤷ Kinky ⑱ | the one where it's all about outlaw!141 and their kinks

⤷ Sweetheart? | reserved!reader gets fed up with an outsider's comments ⤷ Tattoo/Piercing Headcanons | all about 141 and their tattoos/piercings ⤷ Mythology | 141 as unconventional mythological creatures ⤷ Like 'em Bendy ⑱ | 141 and their flexible partners ⤷ Talking You Through It ⑱ | the one about how the CoD men talk you through your orgasms

MOODBOARDS

⤷ Demon!Ghost

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Hi 👋 I'm knew to posting stories so please don't be rude , I understand that this isn't what some people like ,but there's no need to be rude. I appreciate everyone who read my first post and I am very grateful for them. Please leave tips on how I can improve. Thank you for your time and enjoy!!

Note: this is the first chapter of that little drabble I did. This chapter doesn't include damian or the batfamily. Next chapter it will. I just wanted yall to see readers family dynamics ,and I didn't want to make the chapter so long. Oh ,and N/N= nickname.

WARNINGS: None really no one is yandere ,yet.

-💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗-

It was snowing. Which should be no surprise to you ,atleast not at this time of year. It always snowed in October ,always. As always the snow was beautiful and quite peaceful as well. Watching the perfectly white snow fall onto the dead leaves on your yard was quite peaceful.

Comfortably sat on your living room couch waiting for your dad to get ready for church. You quietly watched TV. You had already been ready for about half an hour. Decided in it was best to get ready earlier than later. Just like your mother had always told you. Your mother always rather be early to an event rather than on time ,and usually she was on early. But then came your father. Now Your father was the complete opposite of your mother. I suppose that's what evens them out.. See your father always seemed to have a problem with keeping up with the time. So more often than not you'd be late because of your father.

You didn't mind though, atleast not as much as your mother did. You found it funny how your tall and fierce father. Sherrif of the small town you live in. Looked like a kicked puppy as your mother scolded him.

you silently watched as your father practically ran through the house looking for his church clothes. You smile as you see your mother walk towards you. She smiles back at you and kisses you on the top of your head. "You ready for church , baby " she says walking to kitchen. "Yes ma'am " you say turning your attention back on the TV. "Good" your mother says packing the food she plans to bring to church. You sigh in frustration. There's never anything to watch on Sunday. So you resort to the only channel that might be interesting. The news.

Your eyes open in excitement when you see the headline for today. BATMAN SAVES GOTHAM FROM A NUCLEAR BOMB! You always liked batman. You thought he did good. Sure he made some mistakes ,but he was only human. After all he had saved Gotham , like a thousand times. So he had to be good.

"Baby turn that off. I don't want you seeing that kind of stuff." Your mom says from behind the kitchen counter. "C'mon mom it's batman. He's a hero." You say trying to persuad her. Nothing big like that ever happened in your small town. Sure you were gratefull that your town wasn't always being attacked ,but nothing even slightly exciting happens in your town. So you live off the gossip of gotham.

"The only hero you need is Jesus. So turn. It. Off. I'm not telling you agian, baby." Your mother says gently smiling at you ,but you know better than to push her buttons. So with a dramatic sigh you turn off the TV.

"Thank you. Now go check on your brother for me." She says pointing towards your brothers room. " whatever" you say quietly ,scared of what she would say if she heard. Because in her eyes that's 'disrespectful'.

"Riley are you ready?" you say knocking on your brothers bedroom door. No reply . So you knock agian. No reply. "I'm coming in."You say and your shocked about what you see when you open the door. Riley your 7 year old little brother is sleeping peaceful in his bed. quickly you rush over to his bed. "Riley wake up ,mamas gonna kill you." You say as you shake him. Slowly he opens his eyes. "What's wrong N/N." He says and you almost feel bad for how concerned he looks ,but then you remember.. He's the one that decided to play Mario Cart all night.

" It's Sunday riley" you say. You watch as realization hits him straight in the face. Quicker than you can imagine he's up and running around in his room. "Oh no , does mama know I slept in." He says grabbing him a towel to take a shower. "No , she thinks your ready." You say but surely he didn't hear you by how quickly he rushed to take a shower.

Being the kind sister you are you grab him some cloths and leave them on the bed.

Deciding that it's definitely best not to go back to the living room. Since your mother would probably ask about riley. So instead you go to your room.

walking in your room you stand in front of the mirror your grandpa had made for you. Looking in the mirror you definitely thought this was one of the best outfits you had worn to church. Not the most expensive though ,since most of your clothing was thrifted. Nevertheless you did love your outfit today.

"I'm ready." You hear you father yell. "Well it's about time." You hear your mother reply. You smile to yourself as you walk towards the front door. You know your mother and father love eachother, but to someone that doesn't know them would probably think their about to sign divorce papers any minute. "You look beautiful ,princess."your father says with a light kiss to the top of you head.

"Riley!" Your mother yells ,since she didn't see your brother by the door. "Coming." He shouts back. Hurriedly your brother practically runs down the stairs. " how do I look." Riley questions and you don't even have to say what's on your mind. Because your father beats you to it.

"Like a mess." Your father says. Which earns him a punch on the arm by your mother. "Nonsense , you look handsome baby." You mother says as she gives him a kiss on the head ,and pats his hair so it doesn't look like a literal mess. "Thanks mama." Your brother says with a smile. "Well we better get going or we're going to be late." Your mother says. As she practically pushes everyone out the door. "Darling, it's only 7:10 by the time we get there we're going to be 40 minutes early." You father says with a sigh. Unlocking his truck.

"Which is practically late." Your mother says hopping into your father's Ford. To which your father just shakes his head with a smile.

The drive to the church wasn't long ,but you wish it was. So maybe you could get to watch it snow for a little longer. Snow was beautiful. Snow seemed to cleanse everything and turn it white agian. Which if you said that to your mother she'd probably say Jesus does the same thing...

Looking over to where your brothers sitting. You can see he's passed out. His head is resting on the window and he's drooling a bit. He looks kinda cute ,but that's only cause he's asleep and not cuase trouble. An you know it.

'Today is gonna be a good day.' You say to yourself ,and Who wouldn't think that it's Sunday. Every Sundays a good day because we get to go to church ,and see family. Maybe it was a bit naive to think that just because it was Sunday it was going to be a good day ,but that's how you were raised.

Ten years from now you'll look back and wish that for once. Just once in your 16 years of having lived your family would have missed church this sunday...

-💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗-

THANKS FOR READING!!!!

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

SCREAM MASTERPOST

*= smut

CHAD MEEKS MARTIN

Bodybag | Riley!Reader

Chad comforts you after Dewey's death

Cockblock roommate *

Ethan stops you and Chad from continuing your activities

Don't go upstairs with him

Chad stops you from going upstairs with Frankie...and then confesses to you

Goodnight kiss * | Riley!Reader

Chad walks you home and finally takes your relationship to the next level

Helping hand *

After Chad gets released from the hospital, his personal nurse gives him a helping hand

I can't go through this again

Another ghostface strikes and Chad has PTSD from the legacy murders

Is that my shirt?

Chad notices that the shirt you're wearing is his

Late night in the kitchen *

During a trip to the twins' family cabin, you and Chad have a late night adventure in the kitchen

Save a horse, ride a cowboy *

You make a move on Chad and end up in an empty bedroom with his cowboy hat on, riding another kind of horse

Setting up the tree

You and Chad decorate the Christmas tree together

Stab stab stab

Chad gets stabbed by Ghostface when looking for you

Stood up

You get stood up and Chad offers you his shoulder to cry on

The no-sex rule *

You and Chad don't listen to Mindy's 'surviving a horror movie' rules

Wrong person

You send you nudes to your ex by mistake

You drew stars around my scars

You sleep over at Chad's dorm and see something you hadn't seen before

MINDY MEEKS MARTIN

Blood on the subway

Mindy gets stabbed on the subway...there's a lot of blood

Give me attention *

Mindy works on a school assignement, but you're bored and decide to tease her

Movie night

After watching the horror that is Halloween Ends, Mindy needs kisses to erase the movie from her memory

Skilled fingers *

Mindy is a goddess in bed

TARA CARPENTER

Caught *

Tara asks you to use a vibrator on her...and Sam walks in

I was so scared

After Tara gets attacked at her house, you visit her at the hospital

Is this good? *

Tara tries to top for the first time

I thought you were dead

You survive the attack inside the shrine

Sleepover *

It's the first sleepover since Tara got attacked in her house. You and her breaks the friendship

We might die tomorrow

After Sam and Tage get attacked at the bodega, everyone stayed over at the appartement

ETHAN LANDRY

Catching feelings *

You grown feelings during a game of teasing your roommate Ethan

Friends touch each other, right? *

You teach virgin!Ethan how to touch a woman

I can't forgive you | Riley!Reader

Ethan betrays you, but you can't forgive him

It's you *

You figure out Ethan is Ghostface

Let's play a little game *

You get a phone call from a masked ID when you’re home alone…

Night visits

As Quinn's friend, you are not allowed to see her little brother, so you and Ethan have a secret relationship

No protection needed *

You and Ethan do it without a condom for the first time

Play with me *

Ethan asks you to play with him

Panty stealer

Pervy!Ethan steals your panties

Pretty boy * | camgirl!reader

Ethan purchases a private session with his favorite camgirl

Pretty boy part 2 *

Ethan purchases another private session...and get the girl's number

Pretty boy part 3 *

Camgirl!Reader and Ethan finally meets

Roomie *

Ethan jerks off to his roommate and gets caught

Shy!Ethan

Ethan has a huge crush on you but is too shy to make a move...so you make one

Study time

Studying econ turns into teasing your boyfriend

That's hot

You find out that Ethan does boxing

Video games *

You give Ethan a blowjob while he games with Chad

Video girl *

You convince Ethan to make a video with you

BILLY LOOMIS

Knife play

You seduce Billy with the knife he used to kill Maureen Prescott

Ménage à trois * | Billy x Stu x Reader

A typical movie night at Stu’s turns into a ménage à trois

Mouthful * | Billy x Stu x Riley!Reader

Why settling for one when you can get two?

PG-16 at the Theater

Billy gets handsy at the movie theater

Stranger danger *

Billy decide to surprise you on your way back from Tatum's

Talk dirty to me *

Phone sex with Billy

[elexaria]

brother’s best friend! johnny & simon pt 3

the journey back to manchester was daunting, seeing the same old architecture from your past felt like a punch in the gut. the phone call you make to simon was awkward, it was just to tell him that.. well, you would pop by to see him. didn’t tell him anything else, didnt even mention you left years ago.

after checking into a shitty little hotel with the little money you had, you made your way to the pub simon said he’d be at, and where johnny mactavish would also be. mactavish. it’s been a really long time since you’ve thought about him, and it feels strange to know you’ll get a glimpse of him as a 26 year old man, as opposed to the pimply faced teenager you remember.

“the strongest stuff you have, please.” you say dryly to the bartender, who glances at the clock— it’s barely noon, before looking back at you again. “joking. you got any J20?”

with your little bottle of orange and mango juice and a thin paper straw, you nestle down into a booth, pulling out your phone as you begin your wait. simon did say his train would arrive at around 10am, so where was he? that’s fine, the pub at least has free wifi you can use to mindlessly scroll through. and scroll, and scroll and scroll and scroll until—

“fancy seein’ ye here, wee riley!”

you glance up from your phone, mouth agape as you look dead straight at a grown up, scruffily bearded johnny mactavish. “jesus christ—“ you mumble under your breath, eyebrows furrowing at how.. massive and grown up he is. he grins down at you, still standing. “what? gonnae give me a hug or whit?” he chortles, wiggling his thick unruly eyebrows around you. yep, it’s definitely still the same old mactavish brother you remember.

“ye look different than when we was wee bairns. yer definitely the better lookin’ riley.” johnny grins as he shoots a playful wink at you, taking a big swig of lager to parch his thirst. your eyes flit to the beer foam that sticks to his moustache, which makes you giggle. “you’ve got a lil something on your moustache. you saving it for later?” you tease, motioning to where the foam sits on his face.

“yeah, soap, you savin’ that for later?”

if your head had turned around any faster, you’d have probably broken your fucking neck. simon.

he’s… he’s so different now.

rising from your seat, you glance up at your brother with a nervous gulp. you can tell from the way he glances down at you that his heart is damn near close to bursting when he sees how grown his baby sister is, she’s not the little chubby cheeked scamp he remembers. but he quickly shoves the emotions down, his shoulders squared up as he watches you draw closer to him.

“simon,” you mutter quietly, biting your lip as you awkwardly hug his side. it’s been so long, you almost contemplate whether a hug isnt appropriate. a handshake? awkward fist bump? simon grumbles, patting your back as he reciprocates the hug with the same awkwardness. johnny cringes slightly at how uncomfortable you and simon look.

you find out that johnny is known as sergeant soap, while simon is simply lieutenant ghost. “yer brother’s fuckin’ brilliant on the battlefield, he’s saved my arse more times than i can count.” johnny grins, nudging his shoulder into simon’s, who just simply looks down at his drink with furrowed eyebrows. you nod, chewing the inside of your lip. “why do they call you soap?” you ask, tilting your head at johnny. he howls with laughter, shaking his head at you. “ye don’t want to find out, lass.” he simply says, shooting a teasing wink at you. you shouldn’t be attracted to that, but it does gets your heart pumping a little faster.

“so, lass, what about ye? any’hink goin’ on in the life of wee riley?” johnny hums out, propping his arms up behind him on the booth’s rim, his muscles bulging out from his tshirt sleeves. jesus christ, he’s ripped.

stealing your gaze from his biceps with a flushed cough, you shrug and take a sip of your drink. “i’m studying for my masters up in leeds. i.. haven’t been to manchester since i left.” you finally admit, eyes glancing over to read simon’s face, which is stoney and unperturbed. johnny whistles, grinning as he nods at you. “leeds, eh? northern girlie, are ye?” he teases, nudging simon yet again. “can ye believe it, monsi? wee riley’s all grown up, doin’ her masters n shit. damn.”

you roll your eyes, feeling a rush of blood to your cheeks as you fidget with your drink bottle. “there’s two years between us, johnny. ‘m not as young as you think i am.” you mutter quietly, your gaze flicking up to read his reaction. he’s still grinning, though he nods in agreement. “aye, canny argue with that.”

simon doesn’t speak much the entire time you’re all there, it’s almost like he speaks through johnny at times. “si’s been wafflin’ on and on about today, ye ken. been lookin’ forward to the ol’ riley-mactavish clan finally gettin’ back together.” johnny says, the two of you glancing over at simon who simply grunts, the corners of his lips twitching up into what looks like a hybrid of a grimace and a smile.

but at least johnny doesn’t make it awkward, always going on and on about whatever floated through his mind. he gives you updates on his sisters, practically glowing when he gets the chance to gloat about becoming an uncle. “the wee bairns, they like me. mam reckons i’ll make a good dad one day.” he hums as he shows you a picture on his phone, one where he’s flexing his muscles while holding twin baby boys like the deadliest missiles that cute tactical intelligence could muster up. it’s cute, the way he lights up when talking about his life, even how excited he gets for your achievements in life. simon doesn’t seem to want to get a word in edge ways.

as the catch-up comes to an end, you awkwardly slide out of the booth, rubbing your hands together. “well.. it was nice seeing you both.” you say on bated breath, a look of disappointment flashing across your face momentarily as you glance at simon. johnny pouts as he stands, patting simon on the back with a solid thwack. “we’ll have to do some’hink together, all three of us. like the good ol’ days.” he says, grinning up at simon, who nods. “spose so.” is all simon seems to add to the conversation, looking down at you.

and as you all exit the pub together, johnny giving you one last hug with a content groan, you give them a small smile and a wave goodbye, asking them to just let you know what they decide on doing.

as you lay down in the grotty hotel bed, curled up between thin sheets, you think about this sudden revelation that the two boys from your childhood aren’t cherubic anymore. life isn’t full of giggles and adventures, it’s ruthless and it’s dangerous. and the sight of your big brother, stone faced and silent, it makes you feel guilty. does he resent you for not staying in contact? has it been too long to attempt to reforge your relationship with him?

with a sigh, you reach out to grab your phone from the bedside table, eyes watery as you check the time. 1am.

ping. you receive a text.

it reads, “hey wee riley, it’s johnny m. we’re thinking abt going clubbing sat night. u remember jamies near the maccies? just lmk if ur interested xx nice to see u xx”

looks like you’re gonna have to pick out a dress for saturday night.

tag list:

@waves-against-a-cliff @cassiecasluciluce @dead-cipher @hayleybarnesx @maliakealoha @sunflowervase @spicyspicyliving