Living My Worst Life

I saw someone post a screen shot from Twitter of a post by @/Tokenofeden that identified the Shrub flowers as Hebe 'Burning heart"/Veronica 'Burning Heart' Hebe is the Greek goddess of Youth, and by scouring the internet plus some interpretation the flowers could be interpreted as New love and intense emotions. Also to go to the Burning bit, Burning passion burning love? Funeral pyres anyone? Really its just food for thought.

There's also a lot of red-ish Ivy, Ivy has many meanings depending on the region. Ivy can mean fidelity, faithfulness and loyalty, even Peace and eternity. Also I can't help but think about Euclid. Ivy is red most often in the Autumn so You know "For me It's still the autumn leaves"

Lastly of the easily identifiable plants and flowers in the images are Roses! in the carvings! Roses of course are Very popular and well known. Roses symbolize love, royalty, beauty, sensuality, secrecy, and mysticism along with every meaning for every single freaking color. And again, Lyrics "Putting down the roses, picking up the sword" in Aqua regia.

I have no real theories on what any of these things together mean, but I find it so deeply interesting the amount of symbolism we have shoved in one image. The possibilities and meanings are endless and I'm just having a good time.

Soap’s simp folder

He’d planned on staying by himself, to maybe rent motels and hotel rooms as he went along instead of planning anything. His whole life always followed a strict set of rules, and just this once, he wanted to disappear off the map and do whatever the hell he wanted.

He didn‘t actually get that far until he met you, leaning up against a sticky bartop - having some beers and watching a game of football (far inferior to rugby in his opinion, but your eyes sparkled whenever the team you were rooting for scored, so he‘d forgive your bad and cliché choices). 

His gaze just couldn‘t seem to let you go, drinking in your boots and washed-out jeans, hair and makeup all nice and your lips shiny with your favorite gloss. 

Fuck it, he wasn‘t going to stay for long, but it couldn‘t hurt to shoot his shot, right? What was the worst thing that could happen? Simon would never see you again anyway. Usually, he wouldn‘t indulge in something like a one night stand or even just flirting, but he found that he really really wanted to with you.

But when he got together the courage to come over and order two beers, your attention was already on him. 

Huge, beautiful man with a scar that bisected his lower lip, curly white-blonde hair and deliciously dark chocolate eyes. Your type in every conceivable way. 

You two stared at each other for a heartbeat, until you cocked your head with a sly smile. It shakes him out of whatever spell he‘d been under, and then the stranger cracks a half-grin back at you.

"D‘you want some company, luv?"

His accent and deep voice made your whole body tingle, the foreign way he drawled his words so different to the accents you‘d grown up with. A sexy, tall Englishman in your little hometown. What kind of romance book did he jump out of? 

"Holy shit," you mumble to yourself, but then smile again and jerk your head towards one of the few empty barstools beside you. "Feel free, honey. But I can‘t guarantee that I won‘t scream in your ear once they wipe the floor with them." 

His dark eyes flicker to the screen above the bar, and he sits down with a grunt. 

It doesn‘t take long for him to start a hilarious commentary about each of the players, and he‘s clearly out of his depth when it comes to the game. Doesn‘t know any of the names, doesn‘t try to impress you with stats or unnecessary explanations of game tactics. He‘s just content to watch, drink a beer and call the biggest NFL players of the season a bunch of pricks whenever they fumble a ball. 

You think you might be in love.

"I just think it‘s funny," you tell him with a laugh as you exit the bar together, warm summer air giving way to the cool breeze of night. "Do it again!"

"'M not a circus clown," he growled back, but his lips twitched up into a smile. "An’ it‘s important for drivin' to have some-"

He stops at your eager gaze, how you‘re practically clutching your hands in excitement over one simple fucking word. You hadn‘t stopped teasing Simon since he‘d ordered a glass of water after the two beers, not because of the water itself but the way he said it.

"-water." Simon finished with a sigh, and you pressed your lips together, trying to hold it in but then burst out laughing anyway.

"Wo'ah, woa-h," You mimic, and he can‘t help his own chuckle at your absolutely terrible impression. You look so fucking nice leaning against his bike, your eyes shining and face genuine even when you tease him. Simon had no one in his life (apart from MacTavish) who dared to even just crack some jokes around him, let alone about him. They were all intimidated by the Ghost persona or the Lieutenant rank, but you hadn‘t batted an eye when he briefly mentioned his career.

"Better than wahder," he grumbles, and you practically shriek with laughter at the completely ridiculous way his tongue tries to form the word. 

Simon grins again after a second or two, and then can‘t resist the temptation to gently drag you closer by the belt loops of your jeans. He still keeps a respectful distance between his body and yours, even though you wouldn‘t have minded if he‘d just- what? Leaned in and kissed you? Bent you over the motorcycle until all you could feel was smooth leather and that ridiculously toned chest and stomach? Jesus Christ, you were fucked.

"Wan' me to drive you home, or d‘you have someone that‘ll pick you up, luv?"

"Smooth way of asking if I have a boyfriend," you smirk, and he matches the impression. The scar on his lip makes him look dangerous and sexy all at once and you just want to bury your fingers in those curls and-

"Or a girlfriend, we don't discriminate in England." 

It‘s such a ridiculous thing to say, you burst out laughing again. 

"Just because I asked wether or not it‘s true that you‘re all stuck-up about your teas! Doesn‘t mean I think the same applies to people!"

"‘M not a posh prick," Simon rolls his eyes, and you wish that smirking mouth was pressed to yours instead. "I‘ll take my tea in whatever capacity I can. None o’that Starbucks shit you Americans inhale."

You gasp, then sneak your arms over his shoulders to loosely tangle your fingers behind his head. As though he‘d been waiting for permission, Simon drags you closer by sliding his massive paws that pass for human hands over your hip bones and lower back. 

"On behalf of the American population, I will have to defend Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes till death."

"Yeah?" He mumbles, then his eyes dip to your mouth for a second before snapping back up to your eyes. It makes you grin.

"You‘re too easy, Simon," you tease him, but even to your own ears it sounds a little breathless. Of course you hadn‘t missed the way he‘d looked at you all evening.

His hands tighten a little, and then he leans his head down to yours, towering over you but it‘s not uncomfortable or even intimidating. The way he pronounces water echoes through your mind again, and you can‘t keep the giggle inside.

With an eye roll and a smile, he knows exactly what you‘re thinking, Simon slides one of his hands along your jaw and into your hair, then shuts off the sweet sound of your voice with a small kiss. You‘d expected it, but it still stunned you for a moment, and when he pulls away again, you stare up at him with wide eyes.

He quirks an eyebrow in question, and looks so god damn sexy doing it, that you practically jump him.

Thankfully, Simon is much more stable on his feet than you are, and doesn‘t seem to have any problem catching you in his arms as you kiss him over and over again. You might not know him, some might even call this borderline crazy, but you trust him. And Simon not only looks good, is respectful and drives the sexiest motorcycle ever, but he‘s also unpretentious and kind. You can feel it in your bones, the gentleness that this giant possesses as he cradles your head and lifts you off your feet a little when your tongue meets his.

The addicting mix of leather, some faint cologne and beer has your head swimming, and you wonder if it‘s possible to get drunk off of a person. 

When you let go of him for a moment, he kisses along your cheekbone as you catch your breath.

"Bloody hell," he growls, hand flexing where it rests on that soft curve between thigh and asscheek. 

You giggle. 

„Bloo-ie, bloodee-"

Simon shuts you up with yet another kiss, and you can‘t stop the foolish hope that this won‘t be a one time thing, that he won‘t be gone in the morning, and that you‘re not setting yourself up for another round of heartbreak.

It was a narrow decision between Ghost and Price for me, so let me know if anyone would be interested in reading a version with our Captain as well!

I hope y‘all have THE BEST weekend, I‘m gonna have to bite the bullet and clean my apartment now. Slobbery kisses to all of you! - A✨

My general COD writing masterlist with all my longer stories, a COD headcanons masterlist including this one + the COD Halloween Monster Special. It‘s all linked separately in my pinned blog post for easy navigation as well!