if i look back, i am lost
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@glorylies
hello im riley !! welcome to a sideblog of my various interests :3 currently i am fixated on call of duty (played the recent modern warfare trilogy for the first time last week and have since replayed each campaign at least twice) and will be consuming anything related to it <3
i’m getting evicted from my own mind palace
silverv
playing detroit become human for the first time and ohhhh my god this game is so good
What if Hesh literally just bled out and died on the beach. Like he’s just been shot through with a damn .45, drowned, woke up, and watched his brother get abducted. That is a lot of strain to go through…
And Logan wouldn’t even know. Not for a long time. Imagine he cracks, really starts believing that Hesh didn’t care enough anymore. Goes the whole nine yards, bitter and angry, bent on revenge. And then he meets Keegan or whoever else, just for them to tell him “He dragged himself another fifteen feet towards the treeline trying to follow you.”
simon reaching fem!reader how to ride a bike
“Now… slowly let go of the throttle,” Simon says, walking besides you in an empty parking lot.
Who had the bright idea of practicing on a goddamn R1? Oh, that’s right— you! Thankfully, Simon had bought a Ninja 400 to start you out on (how kind! It’s definitely not the fact that he fears for his R1 getting dropped- I mean you getting hurt).
Suddenly, you lurched forward, your pelvic hitting the gas tank as you almost toppled over until you caught yourself.
And you thought you could handle riding in the neighborhood; what a joke. Simon almost snorted at the thought. Instead, he stood there with his hands on his hips and his weight shifting to his right foot. “It stalled,” he commented.
You snapped your head over to him and glared, “don’t you think I know that?!” you replied, starting the bike up again.
Simon didn’t hold back a snort this time. He quickly put down his tinted visor to prevent you from seeing how his eyes brightened at your frustration. “Put it in neutral, then roll into first,” he says loud enough for you to hear.
You did as he said, slowly pulling the clutch to find the sweet spot until you hit first gear. Now, you were topping three miles an hour— look at you go!
“There y’go— Atta girl,” Simon says proudly, giving you a small clap as you continue to slowly go straight. He puts his visor back up and follows you. Gosh, he’s never seen someone sit so straight on a motorcycle before.
“How do I turn?!” you shout over the engine. Your hands gripped the handles, leather gloves tightening around it as you stared straight ahead. You couldn’t even look over at Simon in fear of steering it wrong and dropping.
No one ever told Simon that teaching someone how to ride a motorcycle would be like watching a kid ride a bicycle off of training wheels. “Steer whatever way you want swee’heart— the parking lots completely empty,” he replied, still walking besides you slowly.
“I don’t know how!” you replied in frustration, all while still going three miles an hour. Maybe five now, who knows.
“Angle it!” Simon said, biting back a smile. He watches as you try to figure out how and slowly, stirred it left. “Woah, woah!” he shouts, taking a step back. “I said angle it, not hit me goin’ at a speed o’ a snail, you mad woman!” he says, throwing his hands up.
You don’t bother to reply— too embarrassed, frustrated and struggling to figure out how to put it in second gear. You finally felt the courage to look over at Simon (more like you were so frustrated, your body controlled on its own), “don’t tell me what to do!”
Just then, the front wheel of the motorcycle hit the curb, causing you to ram into the gas tank again. Your foot hit the ground before you slowly toppled over. Time felt like it had slowed down as you dropped.
Simon scrunched his nose up, watching you stand up. When he bought the bike, the previous owner said that the bike was never dropped… Now… It’s a different story. “You done here?” he asks, walking over to you.
You dusted off your leather pants and huffed while Simon picked up the Ninja. “No. We’re staying here until I say so.”
Simon puts the kickstand down and looks over at you. A small smile formed on his lips; he loved how you always kept trying, even when it’s hard. He grabs your hands and gently pulls you in, “whatever you say,” he says, his gloved finger reaching up to pull your visor down.
Mission Wetwork(?) all i could think about was emerging from the water and a lilly pad on Price instead of his little hat
May we have some more ghost and his baby🥺🥺
Hey...so...whatever you do, don't think about ghost who's baby looks nothing like him.
Don't think about people looking between ghost and the pudgy baby in his arms, lips pressed thin because they can't even say 'he has your smile'
Don't think about baby who is equal parts of his parents, but any traits he got from ghost no longer exist on his father.
Don't think about how baby has ghosts smile, but ghosts own lips can hardly tug upwards with all the scar tissue on his face. Baby has ghosts soft curls, but ghost keeps his hair buzzed down for ops. Baby has all these little traits of simon, but they no longer exist in ghost.
Don't think about simon holding his little baby in the soft light of the hallway, warm tears flowing down the cracked scars of his face, because his own child is everything the war took from him.
Don't think about ghost pressing a kiss to baby's soft head and muttering "never again. Nothing will be taken ever again." A promise for his son. "I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you whole."
john mactavish's drag paths are the childhood drawings he left on the fridge when they had a career day, when he said he wanted to be a soldier to his mammie at the age of 6.
when he dressed up as a soldier for halloween and looked so goddamn happy wearing an evolution of these costumes, some of them more detailed than the last year. mammie mactavish made damn sure that she got pictures printed, put it in the family album.
when johnny started deliberately studying for good scores to get into the military, when he went to the range for the first time. the grin on his face when he fired a gun for the first time, when he finally applied it into the military, johnny bawled on his mammie's lap.
it was all laid out for him.
johnny memorialized more of his time.
the first journal he owned in the 141, where he wrote and doodled the existence of his team. where charcoal smudges and imperfect doodles of his lieutenant laid, where he confessed his love for simon-- and the team in hurried cursive.
Angsty and kinda cheesy fluffy ending, Simon Riley x reader
Most of the 141 wouldn’t really understand why you still have any stuffed animals as an adult. They have grown well beyond their phases of childhood where they cared about such things. These are adult men who find comfort in adult men ways. They wouldn’t exactly say something to you, but you can see it in their faces. They think it’s silly.
Simon Riley, however, would be very kind about you having stuffed animals. Or even one just particular one that means a lot to you.
He didn’t get to grow up with soft things like that. No toys, no stuffed animals, bare and boring walls. His childhood was far from the best. He could take comfort in his brother and mother, but that had it’s limits.
When he sees you cuddled up with a stuffed animal, he doesn’t think it’s embarrassing or childish or anything negative at all. He can’t even exactly put into words how he feels about it.
He knows the story, you’ve had the stuffed animal for years. It’s got heaps of sentimental value and memories attached to it. It’s brought you comfort in ways he quite literally cannot imagine. Even begin to imagine.
He appreciates that something so simple, so seemingly nonfunctional, can help you so greatly. After a bad day, there it is. During a scary movie, there it is. After a nightmare or an argument, there is it. When you’ve just woken up, your hair is a mess, and there’s sleep in your eyes, there it is.
He wishes he could have an object to bring him such comfort.
He’s lucky enough to have you instead. Laying next to him, holding your stuffed animal. You’re in his arms and it’s in yours. He knows that if he’s not there, you have it. You know that if you don’t have it, you’ll always have him.
One day if you were ever to get him his first his own stuffed animal, maybe as a joke, maybe sincerely, you’ll have to excuse him for looking at it silently for a while, gripping it so tight in his hands you worry it might rip, and having to take a moment to collect himself before any tears involuntarily roll down his cheeks.
in the context of a "johnny gets a body" au, i really love the concept of people in NC thinking v is dating a silverhand impersonator
"who am i without the voice in my head" except it's about silverv in the devil ending
being obsessed with your own ocs is its own kind of torment nexus. "i miss them so much :(((" and they're literally in your brain.
V: "Johnny, we talked about bringing the guitar to bed..."
the struggle of seeing the name johnny and figuring out whether it's about johnny silverhand or johnny 'soap' mactavish
silverv trying to get to some new bar but v has no sense of direction and half the places johnny thinks he knows how to get to have been either torn down or replaced in the last few decades
