Simon 'Ghost' Riley

"Lieutenant Simon Riley of the 141, but I don't do that superiority bullshit. Call me Ghost, if you have to call me anything at all. As 2IC under MacTavish, I have an obligation to tell you that you can come to me with anything. But unless somebody's dying, don't fucking bother me when we're off-duty. I'm not a fucking nanny, and you're old enough to take care of your own shit." var sc_project=10894608; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="bc4177a0"; var scJsHost = (("https:" == document.location.protocol) ? "https://secure." : "http://www."); document.write("");

[tigtudo-blog]

Alfie stares (and causes mass destruction while at it)

[simonfuckingriley]

@easyofthe141 liked for a starter

Riley doesn’t usually do this.

The 141′s lieutenant doesn’t usually go out of his way to cross paths with the new recruits - usually more inclined to sit back and wait for that moment where MacTavish inevitably lost patience and did the introductions for him. Everyone and their dog bloody well knows by now that he’s not a people person. Knows that his tolerance for the common courtesies is shit.

But here he is; Officer Friendly in the making, as he stops in front of their new dark-haired Marine. Dark eyes meet grey - Riley giving the man a very obvious once over in the middle of the mess hall.

‘It’s Easy, isn’t it, mate?’ There’s a sharpness in his voice, despite the benign greeting. ‘MacTavish says you’re on an op with me, stepping off tonight. Figured I’d stop by and make sure my new 2IC isn’t as fucking gullible as he sounded...’

[xcourtesy-callx]

“Don’t waste your time. It won’t open.“

“Don’t tell me I can’t bloody open it.” She said with a scoff as she continued to try and break down the door with the butt of her gun. After five or so minutes, however, she stopped and only huffed in frustration.” Fucking hell..”

[simonfuckingriley]

xcourtesy-callx:

Dakota scowled back and scoffed at him before looking back up at the door. They were losing time and soldiers could arrive at any second, they had to think fast to get out of this hellhole. And there was only so much memory could do at this point for them, despite them studying the map for hours before the mission.

She took a couple deep breathes to calm herself and regain her focus before turning back to ghost once more.” Aye, sounds like a plan. I have an idea where we can start, cmon!” She said before jogging off towards the doors they had seen a whole back. She was hoping they’d get lucky and be out of the place within the next five minutes.

It’s a quiet relief when Dakota stops to take a breath, dousing the flames of her temper enough to push forward. Ghost knows he’s being a right bastard, but it’s a measure of her own strength and unwillingness to bow under pressure that she doesn’t let it get under her skin. That’s why they worked together, despite the snark.

Snapping forward, his booted feet pounding the floor, Ghost follows her as she takes off - leaving only a few feet between they. When they push through the door, he brings his weapon up, gaze almost predatory as he sweeps the room.

There’s another door.

‘Fuck me…’ Following the inner wall, he tries the door handle only to find it locked. Grunting in frustration, he backtracks - his attempt to walk back out stopped seconds later, as more footsteps ring out in the hall. ‘Shit.’

Grabbing the door handle, he swings the door shut far enough that there’s only a tiny crack left to peek through. Shadows dance along the corridor, setting his nerves on edge. ‘We’ve got company,’ the words are more of a hiss, Ghost shooting a glance back at Dakota. ‘Reckon your fat arse can fit through that vent up there? Might be a way onto the other side.’

Ghost nods towards the grate in the ceiling, not willing to point with his weapon in his hand.

[simonfuckingriley]

cobrafromtf141:

“General Shepherd send me here. He thought I was good enough for the Task Force. So you might as well have to trust me. I’m here for a reason” For a moment she cursed the General for transferring her to the Task Force 141.

She kept quiet the whole time he explained his idea of a good plan. It could work but for her it was to risky. But she didn’t say anything. She was the new one here. She thought that it would be inappropiate to talk so much at her first day. And even if he was pissed at her the others shouldn’t dislike her too…or at least Roya thinks he dislikes her. It was really hard to read this man.

His last words made her laugh for a second. She stepped back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Insecurities? Says the man who covers his face with a mask. Anyway Ghost…or who the fuck you are, we’re comrades now. So we might as well get along. Come one. Stop it. And I’ll stop too. We don’t have to be best friends…but at least let us stop this bullshit…we are both adults. And I don’t want any problems. Not with anyone and especially not with my other Lieutenant. ” Roya thought about her words and she was right. She felt sorry because she knew what she did was wrong…and unnecessary. She still thought that he was a mean and also hard to work with man. But she had to try her best to work with him and should avoid problems. Could be hard but it was her duty.

“I hope you…agree with me” She held out her petite hand so Ghost would take and shake it. Officially ending this fight that turned childish and she also felt the need to leave this room. She was a soldier. Yes. But inside this hard shell was a emotional woman. She missed here team already. Promised Frost to Skype with him when there was time. The emptiness in her heart got bigger and she realised how much she loved Team Metal when she looked at Ghost. Ghost was a stranger to her. Someone who pushed her from him. And seeing him made her realise how much she appreciated her former team mates and how much they meant to her.

‘Trust is earned, not fucking given.’

When MacTavish had handed him the promotion, Ghost had accepted it out respect. The deep trust he’d grown for the Captain over the years, making the choice far easier than it was hard. There were very few people left that Ghost trusted -  very few people that he’d put himself on the line for..

MacTavish was one.

Cobra was not.

The dig at his uniform earns the woman a flat look - Ghost hardly one to be concerned over his aesthetic. The skull mask is a part of his gear - the slip of material simply another facet of his tactical kit, which he’d tugged on earlier after rolling out of bed at two o’clock in the morning for their weekly CQC training exercises.

‘I can save your life without needing to give a shit about it, mate.’ Ghost ignores most of her words, hackles raised. The offered hand hangs in the air in front of him, but he refuses to grasp it, instead crossing his arms. ‘If you didn’t want a fight, you shouldn’t have started one you couldn’t finish.’

[simonfuckingriley]

What's the scariest thing that you've ever had to do?

‘Christ, mate...’ Riley squints, trying to remember - his fingers wrapping around the bottle of beer in his hand. ‘I think it was... shit, when was it? Last Easter?’

The memory is flitting in his minds eye. Ridiculously large eggs, dressed in crinkling, neon colours, had been the centerpiece on a table filled with cakes; scones. He’d taken a bite out of some French toast and gagged, on reflex.

Sweets had never been his favorite food.

There’d been silence.

Riley swallows thickly, uncomfortable.

‘I’d accidentally insulted Bones’ mother...’

[simonfuckingriley]

How does a man like you suffer so much and yet still manage to endure?

‘Most people don’t want to fucking die, mate.’

Riley has a casual air about him, even as blood, and pain, and screaming, and death, and rage and why, why, why, flash through his mind.

‘You do what you have to, to survive. Even when it hurts.’

Even when it destroys you.

He leaves the last part unsaid.

[reznova]

@simonfuckingriley ll sc

All but skidding across the finish line, the Russian stops herself with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary. The ground warps beneath her trainers,dirt and grass displaced by her movements, but this all means nothing to her. Raising herself onto an elbow, she examines her watch, pressing hard to lock in her time.

Rubbish. Pure rubbish. But, at heart, it was her rubbish.

Blowing loose strands of hair from her face, she looked up towards the sky, pausing only to realize that there had been something between her arm and the clouds. Bringing her head back down, she stared at Riley from across the field, studying him in silence. A pity her self-driven attempts to work out might give him a heart attack, knowing what he did about her physical work ethic.

Even so, after a few more moments of silence, she raised her free arm and waved at him from across the way.

[simonfuckingriley]

It takes a few seconds to comprehend what he is seeing; Riley convinced that he is more likely to see pigs fly and unicorns fuck than he is to see the pasty white Russian running laps without a fire under her arse.

Planting one of his boots on the wooden fence curving around the make-shift track, he watches her in silence. Mayfair’s form is terrible, but that doesn’t stop the sharp grin, or the swell of pride that washes over him.

Someone had once laughingly told him that each and every subordinate he’d ever bullied through a round of PT was one of his ducklings. Riley thinks that if that’s the case, he’s glad this one has finally decided to turn into the swan.

Raising a hand back in silent greeting, Riley swings himself over the fence. ‘I hope you remembered to stretch first, Mayfair,’ the words aren’t harsh; his tone brooking on friendly. ‘You’re so bloody tense sometimes I could shove coal up your arse and you would shit diamonds.’

He draws level; feet crunching over leaves and twigs, his dark eyes taking in her flushed face and sweaty hair. He’s looking for a tick - reassuring himself that she’s not about to have a stroke. When he doesn’t find anything, his gaze falls to her watch. ‘Beaten any fucking records yet, then?’

[xcourtesy-callx]

"Was that the last one?"

“I bloody hope so…I ain’t in the mood to go out hunting for lost recruits.” Dakota said as she crossed her arms over her chest. They both had been assigned to look over training and make sure the recruits were doing what they are suppose to be doing.” Mactavish is lucky he ain’t here today..it’s hot as all hell.” She said as she watched the recruits try and gain their breathe back from their run.

[simonfuckingriley]

Riley can’t help the annoyance darkening his expression, even if it’s not entirely directed at her. Being 2IC to MacTavish had its perks, but when his arse was out trudging through the muck after a group of fucking wet noodles, he started to question his life choices. “If they’re lost, they can bloody well stay lost. The Task Force doesn’t need anymore dead weight.’ Grabbing the fabric of his sweat-slick shirt, Riley tugs it away from himself, trying to get some air circulation to help cool him down. Her comment about the Captain makes him snort. ‘MacTavish might be a sodding highlander, but he could still eat you for breakfast out here…’ 

[simonfuckingriley]

[One thing I've noticed, that I LOVE about your portrayal of Riley, is like how selective he is about using Lara's first name. He so often refers to her as McCoy or Bones that when he actually does say 'Lara' it has real power and I bloody love it. <3]

[[ Awwww, I am SO GLAD you like that trait. I mean I fucking love that Riley and Lara are that couple who toss around last names. I know Riley prefers his last name to his first, but he uses Lara’s first name in intensely special moments. I think it’s because he struggles to openly display strong emotions and so when he uses it, it speaks to him being vulnerable and trying to reach her and trying to show that he loves her all at once and it’s kind of an intimate thing and I AM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT. WE BOTH ARE. ]]

[simonfuckingriley]

What is your biggest regret?

‘…Letting my past define me, mate. If I’d done more in spite of it, rather than because of it… maybe I’d have more now. Maybe I’d have more time. To live. Fuck me…’

[simonfuckingriley]

I heard that the store room ran out of training rope because you had a certain doctor tied up in your quarters? (Sending you NSFW rumours even if you didn't ask for them! :P)

Riley stands by the bench, metal spoon dangling from his lips. The taste of shredded wheat and honey is heavy on his tongue; milk dribbling down his chin.

‘...And where the fuck did you hear that one, mate?’ The spoon is tugged from his mouth; his eyes eerily dark with expanded pupils. Dressed in sweats with a too-tight singlet, Riley knows that he looks like an arsehole, stuffing his face in the kitchen this late in the evening. Midnight snack courtesy of rank and abusing privilege. ‘Because it’s bloody bollocks.’

Riley can growl; can intimidate, but where was the fun in that? Picking up his bowl, Riley smirks - predatory. ‘The only shit McCoy’s been helping me with lately is figuring out how far I can push myself, eh? She’s a doctor. She knows the limits of the human body...’

There’s the scrape of China as he stuffs more food in his mouth, his wrist rotating slightly - revealing the shadow of a bruise. Rope burn.

‘We’ve been working on my... techniques, yeah?’

[simonfuckingriley]

@bonesofthe141 liked for a Westworld-esque starter

Dust swirls in the air in gentle plumes, each time a shod hoof strikes the dirt.

Gloved hands hold the reins in a lazy grip; Simon Riley lounging in the saddle with an air of arrogance, his dark eyes shadowed beneath a worn leather hat. There’s a mask pulled up over his mouth, his nose, as he urges the hot-tempered mare beneath him down the trail to McCoy’s homestead; thin scrap of material doing nothing to protect him from the scent of smoky campfires and alfalfa.

It’s been three months, two weeks and five days since this loop started.

Since they’d been booted back up; brought online.

Riley still aches, remembering the blank look he’d gotten the first time she saw him.

This simulation is a favorite of the agency, so many people in love with the romantic notion of the Wild West. The cycle is fraught with love, and loss, and tragedy that could tear a person apart; stripping them bare with its brutality. Riley has lived through it so many times now. Has watched her die so many times now.

His only solace is that she comes back afterwards.

Even if she forgets him.

The gates to her property yawn wide; Riley pausing to tip the rim of his hat at the man – grimy and covered in a sheen of sweat – digging out a rotted fence post nearby. Lara has always called him Andy; her love for the former soldier having been a source of jealousy for Riley, until he’d lived past seven months of a rocky relationship.

Three months, two weeks and five days… he’s running out of time, even with more than half left.

Andy pauses to flip him the bird; all fire and rage at the outlaw daring to sully his land. Riley smirks back, enjoying the emotion that splays out on Andy’s face. He’s fucked the man, once. When Lara had died on day one, her gorgeous face and kind nature, leading her into the hands of a twisted psychopath. That was the longest seven months of his life.

Thankfully, she hadn’t remembered it.

The sharp staccato of approaching hoof beats warn him that his arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed; the flash of brown hair billowing in the breeze catching his eye. Lara brings her stock horse to a skidding stop, small stones and dirt showering the ground.

Riley can feel the judgement and warning boring into him as Andy stabs his shovel into the floor, but that doesn’t stop his smirk getting bigger.

‘McCoy…’ The mare beneath him stamps the earth as he tugs her to a halt, one hand resting on his thigh as he leans forward. ‘Figured I’d stop by after hearing you were fucking with the Mayor, love,’ he cocks an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t I tell you that the only bastard you should be fucking with is me?’

[simonfuckingriley]

@asoldierofrussia liked for a starter

Riley steps out of the bathroom with a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist.

Water drips down from his hairline; carving out wet lines on his skin. Walking over to the dresser, he picks up his watch and checks the time before glancing at the Russian. Yuri. With his dark hair and ice cold eyes.

They’re in a motel, walls peeling paint and lights flickering with surging electricity. An op in a little known town buried on the outskirts of Russia. Riley has been learning the language, but he’s still not good enough to pass on his own, and Mayfair still wasn’t mission-ready.

So he’d been handed her brother instead.

Tossing his watch back down on the dresser, Riley sighs. ‘Did you want the bed, or the couch, mate?’ In all honesty, the man’s stare is unnerving. ‘I mean, I’ll fucking cuddle, but I feel like you’d give me frostbite, eh?’

[thewolfprophet-blog]

“You have a fucking bet riding on this, don’t you?“

Prophet blinked at him, “A bet on what?”

[simonfuckingriley]

thewolfprophet:

simonfuckingriley:

The look he gives Prophet is beyond flat. Rolling his eyes at the other soldier, Riley parks his arse on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a grunt. It’s hard to be a bastard when the base’s psychiatrist simply picks up his sorry excuse for a swan; fixing it with careful fingers. Normally Riley wasn’t one for these kinds of things, but even he got suckered into social bullshit sometimes.

Complete with flower patterned paper.

‘I don’t know, mate. Toad can sweet-talk bloody Satan himself out of his panties, so I reckon he could swindle you out of a couple of quid, even if it meant betting against the lieutenant,’ Riley replaces his scowl with a smirk, as he carefully plucks his fixed piece from Prophet’s upturned palm. ‘Patience is overrated, eh?’

Smoothing his thumb over the paper, Riley cocks an eyebrow. ‘You wouldn’t have had a hand in organizing this bollocks, would you? Not one of your little shrink experiments, is it?’

Prophet shrugged as the Lieutenant took his fixed swan, “To each their own,” he replied simply

He chuckled at the accusation though, “And what could I possibly hope to learn from an experiment like this? Who’s patient and who’s not? There are much less convoluted ways to do that. Who’s too heavy-handed for origami?” Prophet laughed and shook his head, “No, sir, I got nothing to do with this. Except that I’m… well, I’m not great at origami, but I’m not really bad at it either.” He picked up his half finished crane and continued making the folds, careful and delicate.

The fact that he didn’t get a rise out of him grates.

Riley watches Prophet finish his piece, curious, if only to see how much better he was at it. Where Riley had forced quick folds; the paper misshapen and uneven in his rush to finish the offensive task before it had an impact on his reputation. Prophet doesn’t have that kind of concern.

Apparently.

Riley slumps back into the couch, feeling subtly called out.

‘I don’t know if I believe you. You can never trust a shrink. They’re too good at getting in your bloody head.’ Knocking his feet up on the coffee table, Riley yawns - hand clapping over the lower half of his face. ‘What made you decide to become one, mate? If I had to sit there and here everyone’s sordid sob story, I think I’d top myself...’ 

[simonfuckingriley]

Starter Call!

[simonfuckingriley]

Will be online soon!

[simonfuckingriley]

We will be online over the Easter holidays for starters and replies.

[abcwreckme]

hey. can people who write characters over 25/30 reblog this (and i mean like… actually actively write them or want to write them)? also people who don’t use the stereotypical tumblr fcs you see all over the tags (such as w/e celebs are popular at the moment, or fcs that look like they are underaged, etc). i really need to find more of you.

[kinghardy]