ragingbookdragon

[ragingbookdragon]

I got the words "jacuzzi" and "Yakuza" mixed up 

Now I'm in hot water with the Japanese Mafia.

[ragingbookdragon]

[ragingbookdragon]

[ragingbookdragon]

their polyamorous swag

[ragingbookdragon]

[ragingbookdragon]

[ragingbookdragon]

"mmh did you know that creator you like also posts 🔞 content? did you know that? don't you think that's weird? don't you think we should keep this space-"

no. i don't.

i booked a front row seat to the devil's sacrament and you're blocking the view

just go back to the 1660 new england hole you just crawled out of and eat barley for a week to atone for your sins or whatever

[ragingbookdragon]

Heard my dad playing a video game on the computer and I just fuckin’ yelled

“ARE YOU PLAYING COUNTERSTRIKE?”

And he went

“Yep!”

[ragingbookdragon]

pov: you just looked up from flirting with sgt. mactavish for the past half hour in the rec room wyd

[ragingbookdragon]

so funny to me the pope has siblings. imagine a bunch of people looked at your brother and decided he was the physical embodiment of god's will. like that kid kicked me in the head once.

[ragingbookdragon]

Batmom standing on the sidelines, watching Selina and Talia fight over Bruce, while she drinks from a coffee mug that says, “I married Bruce Wayne and all I got was ten kids and mansion.”

[ragingbookdragon]

My Head Is In The Clouds

Simon Riley & Price's Son One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I made myself sad thinking about my own family :(

**********************************************************************

I know that you’re waiting for me like a dog but have some patience for the part of me that’s lost.

He stepped inside the kitchen, setting his keys and the takeout down, before he walked into the living room where his mother was sitting in her armchair, watching a game show. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at him.

“Hey mum,” he greeted, bending down to kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling today?”

She patted her legs and nodded. “A good day. I made some coffee, sat in the garden, and worked on a few crosswords.”

“Good day then?” she nodded again, and he smiled. “I’m glad.” He looked at the armchair across from her. “Where’s dad?”

Her smile faded and she looked down. “Oh…he’s, he’s not having a good day,” she whispered.

He sighed, quietly, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, mum.”

“Oh, I know,” she murmured. “I just…he gets so distraught.”

“I know, mum,” he squeezed her shoulder gently. “Let me go see him, yeah?”

“Okay…just, be easy?”

He nodded. “I will.” He gestured to the kitchen. “I got some takeout for you. Why don’t you go get something to eat and we’ll be down later to join you?”

She didn’t respond beyond a shake of her head, and he helped her up, leading her to the kitchen before he turned down the hall and walked towards the bedroom his mother and father shared.

He rapped his knuckles along the wood and opened it, stepping inside.

There's been a hundred times when I don't recognize any of you that love me.

The older man looked up, a flash of surprise coming over his face. “Captain?”

He smiled. “Simon, you look good.” He walked over, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Missus Price says you’re not having a good day?”

Simon frowned, looking down at his worn and wrinkled hands. “I don’t…I can’t remember being this old.”

“I know,” he said, reaching over to brush his unwrinkled hand over the older man’s. “But you are older.”

“You’re not,” Simon replied. “You haven’t aged a day, sir. And you shaved.”

He chuckled. “I owe it all to my good genes.” He looked at the man. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired…and confused.” He frowned, expression switching from anger to desperation to exhaustion. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to force it.” He squeezed Simon’s hand. “Missus Price is getting dinner ready. Do you want to come down and eat?”

“I ate earlier,” the man scowled.

“We can’t have you surviving off rations. C’mon soldier, up and at ‘em.” He nudged the older man until he stood on shaky legs; he steadied him, letting the older man lean on him as he led him down the hall into the kitchen where his mother sat at the table.

She looked up at them with a gentle smile. “Simon, are you hungry?”

The older man looked at her. “Missus Price, it’s good to see you. John brought me to dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

Her eyes saddened, but she shook her head. “I don’t mind at all, have a seat.”

He helped Simon sit down, readying his plate and drink, before sitting down beside his mother and making his own plate. An easy silence filled the room as they ate.

The old me hides, while the new me fights.

His fork sat down beside his plate, dinner half eaten, and he looked at the food.

“Simon?” his mother asked softly. “Is everything okay?”

Simon didn’t respond for a moment, then he looked over at him. “I forgot again, didn’t I?”

He gave an understanding look. “Dad, it’s okay.”

His fist clenched, oldened knuckles whitening beneath the skin. “I can’t make myself remember.”

His mother’s eyes dampened with tears, and he felt his own sting his eyes, but he blinked and reached over, laying his hand on his father’s. “Dad, it’s okay.”

“I just can’t make it stick,” he said, voice wavering. “I…I can’t.”

He didn’t say anything, simply rubbed his thumb over the worn knuckles.

Simon looked up, staring straight at him. “You look just like him,” he whispered. “I thought…”

He squeezed his hand. “Spitting image, huh?”

“Only thing missing is the chops.”

A chuckle escaped him. “I think I’ll wait until I’m older to grow those.”

Simon gave a tired smile, looking over at Missus Price. “Hey love.”

She smiled through her tears. “Hi, Simon.”

He watched his father reach over, taking his mother’s hand, staring at one another. He felt his heart ache.

It had started with simple things. Forgetting dates, misplacing items. Then it grew, forgetting where he was, who he was at times, forgetting his wife, and son.

Alzheimer's.

The doctor’s words sounded like background noise and all he could think of was watching the man who raised him turn forget more and more each day to the point that he barely left his bedroom. He had lost count of how many times he’d been called “Captain,” left filling in the blanks of missions he’d never been on, stories and memories he had no claim to, but he never once corrected the man. He let him remember in his own way, the best he could.

Look in my eyes, he's still in there, right?

“Sweetheart?”

His mother’s voice shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see them both staring at him, then he felt the dampness on his cheeks. He quickly wiped his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said through the lump in his throat.

Simon looked at him, reached back over and took his hand. “It’s okay, son,” he murmured. “It’s…it’s okay.”

He nodded, feeling more tears grow in his eyes, and he looked back down, unable to help them dripping down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

His mother wiped her own eyes, taking his other hand. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” she whispered.

“I know,” he managed. “I’m just…I’m scared.”

“So am I,” Simon said, an honest admission of his own fears he rarely ever admitted. “But we’ll go together, okay?”

He looked up at his father, lips wobbling. “I don’t want you to forget.”

Simon frowned, this time, rubbing his thumb over his son’s knuckles. “I will. But that’s why I need you and your mum to remind me, even if it upsets me.”

He felt more tears fall. “I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I’d rather be upset than pretend,” he said, voice tight with tears glistening in his eyes. “Promise me.” He looked at his wife. “Promise me.”

She nodded quietly and he looked back at his son. “Promise me you won’t let me forget, no matter what.”

He looked at his father, swallowed thickly, and nodded. “I promise.”

Simon squeezed his hand. “And never forget how proud I am of you. Of the man you are. Of the man you will be.”

His lips pursed, trying to keep more tears at bay, squeezing his father’s hand back.

You used to be my heart, and now you're just a face.

He helped the older man into bed, listening to another story about a mission down in Mexico, nodding along and adding his own comments about the supposed rescue his father had done years ago.

Simon laid back, pulling the covers up before gazing at the man beside him. “It’s been good to see you, Captain.”

He nodded. “It’s been good to see you too, Simon. Do me a favor and look after my wife while I’m gone, okay?”

“I will, you have my word.”

“Good man.” He took his father hand. “I’ll see you soon, Simon. You take care, okay?”

“I wish I could go with you, Captain.”

“I know. One day you will,” he said, fighting the urge to break down again; he squeezed his hand. “I need to go, Simon.”

“I know, Captain. I’ll see you later.”

He let go of his hand, walking back to the bedroom door, pausing to look back at his father, already drifting off to sleep. “Bye, dad,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Hello, hello, do you know me? They call me Mr. Forgettable.

[ragingbookdragon]

Do y’all want angst with Simon and Price’s son or Simon and Soap’ son?

[ragingbookdragon]

Simon “Ghost” Riley thinks he’s a terrible father but when his wife leaves him and their kid at the park for a few minutes to go get their coffee order, she returns to see Simon sitting in the grass, criss-cross with his kid in his lap and at least seven other kids and at least two sets of parents gathered around while Simon battles the Elite Four on the handheld because his kid asked him to do it.

[ragingbookdragon]

Mom says stfu or we’re not going to Dairy Queen

[ragingbookdragon]

Imagine being JD Vance, who makes such a huge part of his personality being catholic. The pope himself takes time to lecture you on compassion then promptly DIES. The pope uses one of his last hours on earth to tell you that you suck at your religion on EASTER. And then DIES. Anyway RIP Pope Francis

[ragingbookdragon]

drake?