#stoic Simon

[ink-n-shadow]

watching men’s gymnastics at the olympics has me thinking about gymnast!ghoap pining after trainer!reader…😞

[lxvvie]

Simon watching me as I put Nutella and sprinkles on top of my bowl of ice cream when I’m on my period: 🥄👁️👁️

Simon when he sees you desecrate the sanctity of ice cream with... Nutella:

[eowynstwin]

It's funny to me that I've literally written the least for Ghost--less than GAZ--considering Ghost is the cod character who reeled me into the fandom in the first place, and also I'm thinking about him constantly and how much potential Ghost has as a character in fic.

Like--bro did everything kids who lived his life dream of. He got away from his shitty father, grew up and got big and strong, beat the shit out of him and sent him packing, and then pulled the pieces of his family back together. He kept his mom's fridge stocked and got his brother clean. He had good Christmases with his family and watched it grow.

Then they all got killed.

Listen, that caretaking instinct isn't just gonna disappear, and I have too much fun thinking about how smothering he'll be when he finally lets himself love someone again--someone who really, really needs him to be everything he made himself into, no less. Someone who needs him to be the big scary Ghost and Simon who fixes their radiator. Someone who needs his quiet and his body heat and his strength and his ability to scare people off with a scowl.

He made himself into someone who could care for other people--people who needed him to look out for them. I think he wants, needs, to be needed, and once you've shown that he makes your life a little better he's going to take that and run with it.

[raincitygirl76]

Season 3 stole Simon’s sass.

oh man. i'm still not over how they showed that the relationship was hurting simon. it's so subtle but so brilliant. it's like he's slowly folding in on himself throughout the season. like the joy is seeping out of his body and he gets so quiet, he never used to be so quiet, it's utterly heartbreaking. how he just starts accepting things he previously wouldn't have accepted. how he stops speaking up for himself. how he finds himself confronted with problems that are too big for him to handle over and over again until it breaks him. how he wants to help wille but can't. god, it's so brilliantly done. i can't wait to see how they are going to resolve this

[yorgunherakles]

bir insanı, temsil ettiği şeyler nedeniyle değerli bulmanın anlamsızlığı...

epiktetos - söylevler

[just-spacetrash]

😵

[coffeehateslife]

You're working at the DOJ. It's been a long day, and you've rounded up a few criminals. You hear, "I Will Give You My All 2017" playing.

[raincitygirl76]

I want this too. In S3 I want Simon to open up to Wille, and Wille to comfort him. And for that opening up to lead to a positive outcome for Simon. Because when he’s trusted people in the past, it’s tended to end badly for him.

He trusted Sara implicitly, and she betrayed him. He was starting to trust Wille in S1, to believe they were a team. And then in 1.06 Wille threw him under the bus. And yes, I know Wille was also in a really difficult position at that point. But his boyfriend abandoning him to face the tape alone didn’t HELP Simon’s already rampant trust issues.

We need Simon being scared to trust Wille in S3, but taking a leap of faith. And being rewarded by Wille turning out to be worthy of that trust.

And some amazing tags from @retrieve-the-kraken

A question that I constantly think about when it comes to Young Royals is "how much do Wille and Simon actually know about each other's personal lives?" Simon obviously knows more about Wille's personal life as Crown Prince Wilhelm, but he has no idea what goes on behind the scenes in the royal family and can't fully understand the kind of pressure that puts on Wille. And this plot point was explored a little bit in s2, however, Wille knows next to nothing about Simon's personal life besides the basics. He know who Simon's best friends are and who his immediate family is. But he doesn't know Simin's history with his father, and this reflects what we as the audience know about Simon's personal life as well.

In s3 I'd like to see this as one of the main plot points for Wilmon. They're finally together, but still very much in the "getting to know each other" stage of their relationship. Learning stupid things about each other like what their favorite color is, what their comfort movie is, etc. Just learning each other's general likes and dislikes, but also getting into the deeper shit like experiences that have shaped them into who they are.

And if that's the case with a least a part of Wilmon's storylines in s3, I think one of their big fights could be that Simon doesn't let Wille in. Simon has a tendency to shut down and hide his true emotions when something happens to him, which I think comes from being parentified and feeling the need to be the man of the house, so his walls go up to put on a strong front. I can see them having an argument in the piano room after Wille tells Simon something the monarchy wants/requires them to do that they don't want to do. And while Wille's trying to discuss the best way to go about the situation, Simon shuts down because he feels powerless against the monarchy. To which Wille says "Simon, please just let me in. Tell me what you're feeling right now." Maybe I've been reading too much fic (no such thing as too much fic lol), but I can hear that in Edvin's voice.

[designedparadigm]

   on  his  time  off,  simon  is  hypersexual.  it's  constant  hookups,  never  staying  beyond  the  night.  always  gone  in  the  morning.  one  after  another,  until  he's  set  to  go  back  to  duty.  he's  never  picky  about who  -  men,  women;  if  they're  going  to  allow  him  to  fuck  them  then  he  takes  them  up  on  it.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Can someone tell me what it is about silent, rough, dominating, hard men, that has us drawn to them? like a moth to a flame????

[readwritealldayallnight]

‘Really really weird request, I know’

‘But could you please pick up a pregnancy test or two on your way home?’

‘I’ll explain when you’re here xx’

Gaz and Soap’s heads turn towards the sound of their Lieutenant dropping his phone to the floor.

“All good there, LT?” Gaz asks, watching as Ghost stands apparently stupefied to the spot where he stands, still staring at his empty hand where his phone had been.

“Look like you’ve seen a Ghost.” The Scot snickers to himself, earning an eye roll and a half-hearted swat to the chest from his fellow Sergeant.

Ghost finally snaps himself out of his shocked daze, grabbing his phone off the ground and silently sprinting out the door in the blink of an eye.

By the time he’s made it to his front door, a shopping bag carrying two of each brand of pregnancy test he could find at the closest shop dangling from his fist, Ghost is scrambling to get his key in the lock and find you wherever you are in the flat.

The normally ever so stoic man finds himself struggling with the mundane task, his mind in a frenzy over the idea of there being a baby inside you. A baby he put inside you.

It seems you’ve been just as eager for his return home, because you hear him at the door, unlocking and swinging it open for him.

“Oh thank god you’re here. She’s been a wreck all morning, hasn’t let me leave her to run to the shop myself.” You blabber, standing up on your tippy toes to quickly press a kiss to his still mask covered cheek, snatching the bag from his hand at the same time.

He is standing there stunned, when he spots who he recognizes as your best friend sitting on the couch in the living room, surrounded by wadded up tissues, obviously appearing as though she had just been crying.

“What-”

“She’s worried it’s her ex boyfriend. From before they had broken up.” You whisper quickly in his ear, thinking that you’re simply catching him up to speed as to why he had to go and fetch a test for your friend to use.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve turned Simon’s world upside down for the second time today, all in less than a half hour.

As he watches you walk towards your friend with the dozens of tests in hand, he wonders if he can’t stash away a few for the two of you to put to use yourselves.

[raincitygirl76]

Poor Simon (who had definitely been crying before this scene started). I just want to hug him and wrap him in a warm blanket and feed him hot chocolate until he stops looking so sad.

VERY topical quote, though. Simon could definitely stand to ease up on the people pleasing. I just wish Sara hadn’t broken his heart in order to engender that realization.

And I just realized we’ve NEVER seen Simon in tears on the show, not in either of the first two seasons. We’ve seen him red-eyed like he’s BEEN crying in 2.06. But even with all the horrendous shit that happened to him in S1 and S2, we’ve never seen him break down in tears on camera.

We’ve seen Wilhelm cry on several occasions. Now I want in S3 for Simon to finally feel safe enough to cry in front of Wilhelm, and for Wilhelm to be able to offer him comfort. Because Simon spends so much time taking care of and worrying about his loved ones.

I want him to get to a place emotionally where he can let Wille be the comforter and protector, at least for a little while. A good relationship should involve mutual trust and leaning on each other for support when one partner is struggling.

“I lost myself trying to please everyone else. Now I’m losing everyone while I’m finding myself.”

— Unknown

[amaranthinespirit]

new neighbor!simon riley whom you bring cookies to as a way to welcome him to the neighborhood, so naturally he has to pay you back, right?

you'd seen the moving trucks pull up at the little house next door, peering through the frilly curtains that frame your window, pulling back the blinds to peek through the cracks at who this new neighbor is.

you couldn't get much of a glimpse, though you saw the tall, looming stature dressed in a dark void for clothes, and a mask over his head that made your tummy writhe with unease.

nonetheless, you turned to your kitchen and decided you'd make a housewarming gift. it was the nice thing to do after all!

so with a warmed plate of fresh cookies in your palms, you tediously stepped down the stones from your little abode to the sidewalk between yours and his new house. your shoes padded along the concrete before approaching his door.

a tender fist knocked knuckles against the firm door, an innocent glint in your eyes as you patiently waited for the man to open the door.

simon wasn't expecting anyone, hell, he hadn't even told anyone he had moved. his ears perked at the shallow knock, his socked feet padding against the wooden floors before peeking in the little peephole.

last thing he was expecting was a sweet little thing such as yourself to be waiting for a brute like him to answer the door, but he didn't want to keep you waiting much longer now.

with a creak, the door opened and revealed his daunting figure that towered over you. you felt his shadow cover you as you look up to him, mumbling a few measly words welcoming him to the neighborhood.

his face, more like his eyes, were stoic, but you noticed a slight crinkle in his skin, the mask shifting ever so slightly as a gruff voice responded to your words, "thanks, luv', why don'ya c'mon in?" he offered.

because the least he could do is invite you in for a cuppa, sit down and chat while you shared the plate of cookies over the island in the kitchen, right?

it felt sinful, leading a little doll like doe into his house, the door slowly creaking shut with a slight push. nonetheless, a large hand splayed across your lower back to guide you to the empty kitchen, boxes scattered along the floors.

your hands gripped the edge of the island tightly, your knuckles turning white as you bite back soft mewls. simon was kneeled, a hand pressing down on your back to keep your stomach against the counter, face buried in your sopping cunt. its compensation, lovie!

he groaned, slick drooling down his chin, nose buried in your pussy. the warm of his breath caused goosebumps to rise along your skin, his other hand full of fatty flesh from your plush rear, pulling the muscle aside to allow himself access to your sweet, drooling pussy.

you were so sweet, just like heaven, how could he refuse! besides, you were dripping for him anyways.

his lips latched to your folds, slurping up your slick with lewd squelches, teeth grazing your clit with soft nips as his tongue pushed past your walls.

your spongy walls contorted around the pink muscle as he coated your pussy in saliva, mumbling almost incoherently, "fuck, s'sweet, luvie. tastier than the damn sweets."

your knees trembled, buckling because of the pleasure as your walls pulsed around his tongue. a convulsing pattern as the heat in your tummy built with rising anticipation of ecstasy. your hips squirmed under him, but his strong hands manhandled you to how he wanted.

come on, lovie, you'll learn he needs quite a few sweets after having been deprived of them so long.

he'll take care of you, wipe you clean with a damp washcloth and throw a warm, definitely too big shirt fresh from the dryer over your body and convince you to stay the night.

give him your key to get your stuff, lovie! but don't question how he managed to get a copy so quick.

[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[raincitygirl76]

It was absolutely and completely shitty of Wilhelm to involve Felice in his experiment of “was it touching Simon specifically that made me feel good, or can I replicate the feeling by touching my platonic friend who used to have a huge crush on me?” Not that I think he was CONSCIOUSLY experimenting. That would’ve been an even shittier thing to do to a friend who’s only ever tried to be supportive.

But Felice quite rightly called Wilhelm out on his shitty behaviour, and he acknowledged it and apologized. I think if I were her I would’ve made him grovel a little bit longer before accepting his apology, but clearly Felice is a nicer person than me.

I hope Wille iced his shoulder in 2.04 after gym class. Simon really walloped that dodgeball at him. It’s absolutely healthy to express your emotions, Simon. Particularly when you’re normally much too stoic. But maybe not in quite such a physical manner next time. Oh well, at least he didn’t launch the dodgeball at Wille’s face.

The season gets better the more I rewatch it and notice little things. Truly it is like fine wine. Also unpopular opinion but I really don’t mind the wille felice thing. It made complete sense when you put it in the context of the episode and wile’s emotional state at that moment. Also it is addressed quickly and they clear the air. But I mostly love it cause it leads to one of my favourite parts of the show: Simon being crazy jealous. I loved that whole sequence and it was so necessary to get Simon to where he was by the end of episode 4. Truly top tier.

I agree that it gets better the more you rewatch. I think I was just really thrown off the first time, but I rewatched it last night and I loved it. It’s still not perfect and there’s still some things that bothered me, but I think overall it’s a lovely season. I genuinely can’t stop thinking about it.

The only issue I have with the kiss is that I just couldn’t understand why Felice kissed him back when she knows he’s sad and madly in love with Simon, but I guess it was implied she might’ve still been slightly attracted to him. I still think Felice was underwritten this season - that’s undeniable - but the scene did serve a purpose in Wille’s arc. He’s just seen Simon kiss Marcus, Wille is touch-starved and lonely and desperate for love, and he’s not getting it from Simon anymore, and he’s starting to feel like it’s completely over for them. He’s heartbroken. Felice is there, he likes her as a friend, she’s holding him the same way Simon held him before their first time, and he’s desperate to feel something. Does he just crave love and affection, or does he only crave it from Simon specifically? Well, he quickly learns he only wants it from Simon. I think it’s a valid question for a young teenager reeling from the heartbreak of first love to wonder about, and I’m glad the narrative acknowledged that it was shitty of him, and I’m also glad Felice stood up for herself.

I’m also VERY, VERY glad he did not do it to make Simon jealous, and actually actively fought about Simon finding out; he’s not out to hurt Simon, even though he’s devastated by Simon and Marcus, but I also love Simon’s irrational jealousy, and tbh, Wille kissing Felice sets in motion Simon’s emotional spiral - him feeling sick at the possibility of Wille finally letting him go, despite him insisting on moving on. It’s irrational and petty and so young and vulnerable. I absolutely loved the locker room fight, with Simon lashing out and trying to get a rise out of Wille, because god damn it, he’s still so fucking in love with him no matter how hard he tries to move on, and they’re both frustrated and hurting and the emotions are so intense.

If anything I’m glad it happened just for the scene of Simon absolutely whipping that dodgeball at Wille. It’s just peak teenage pettiness and I love it. This season really nailed the complicated fluctuations of teenage emotions even better than season 1.

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.