#AWFP

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blue Violet

NAVIGATION || NIECE!READER MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Niece!Reader (platonic series)

SYNOPSIS: Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over.

WARNINGS: Angst, talks of death, blood, gore, fires, trust issues, many mentions from Simon's comic backstory, etc.

A/N: You'll need to read this drabble first to understand the plot!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over. Who to give it to—who he could believe wouldn’t put a knife into his gut or a bullet through his skull with little more than words shared. 

Washington. Sparks. All that they had done….they’d ruined what little was left of his mind along with Roba’s torture. But Simon had already explained it before. 

You can’t break something that was already broken a long time ago.

So, trust. 

Trust. 

It was easier said than done, but he was working on it. One-Four-One helped somewhat, but perhaps the one person who showed him that he could try to fix his own head was you. Tommy and Beth’s little daughter. Simon’s niece, who was now under his guardianship. You were the only one to survive the brutal murder of his entire family on that cold night, hidden away; a baby asleep without knowing about the blood staining the hardwood of the living room.

How does he explain to you that you were one of the few things keeping him from slipping off that edge? Easy. 

He doesn’t. 

Simon was never good with words, and soon, the trust of his fellow soldiers was going to be forced to a near breaking point. 

“Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

You’re talking up a storm to Sergeant MacTavish, asking him what he does, what he specializes in, what he thinks of your Uncle and his horrible jokes—Simon glares at him, looming above your figure like a bear with his arms crossed. 

Realistically, it wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but hell if it didn’t make Ghost nervous. No one besides Price knew about you, and for good reason. Simon couldn’t take the thought of you getting dragged into this. 

Johnny’s face is tight, eyes darting from you up into Simon’s deep browns every so often as if the Lieutenant was about to snap. Though, you were quick to point it out.

“Simon,” you huff over your shoulder, the man carrying the grocery bags in his arm. “Stop trying to light him on fire.”

“M’not,” his glare doesn’t loosen, and you wonder if he’d even blinked from the moment you had dragged him over to say hello to the Sergeant. 

“That’s the same look you give me when I sneak out to the corner store to buy snacks.”

Johnny blinks in confusion, reaching a hand back to itch at his skull while his pack of Irn Bru is still swinging from the other. 

Simon grunts. “An’ if you’d stop fuckin’ doing it, I’d stop lookin’ at you like that.”

The Sergeant graciously interrupts.

“Nice seein’ you, Lt.” Cobalt eyes blink as he clears his throat, looking down at you. “And..uh…”

You cheerily give your name, sticking out a hand and adding on easily, “Simon’s niece!”

Trust, Simon reminds himself, jaw clenching from under his balaclava. 

Johnny chuckles, lips pulling back in a smile as he gently locks his much larger hand with yours. 

“Good to know, Little Lady. Y’can call me Johnny, just like your Uncle, here.” A glance is tossed Simon’s way as you laugh. “You two live around here, then? Haven’t seen you ‘ere before.”

Your eyes spark, excited at the prospect of more friends. “Yea-!”

“Negative.” You blink, confusion poking your chest like a stick. Simon grabs your shoulder and you’re being paraded out of the doors of the Tesco swiftly. 

“Simon!” your feet pad, skidding. “What the hell, man?” 

The man glares ahead. “What I say about the shitty language?”

You shift out of his grip, flailing an arm with an annoyed huff stuck on your lips. 

“You’re embarrassing, you know that? I wanted to talk to someone you work with!” Brown eyes swirl with dull amusement, and you can see his smirk from under his face covering as he continues walking forward down the street. “Why did you do that?”

“We don’t need people knowing where we live, yeah? Bloody give the address away while you’re at it. Only thing worse would be givin’ ‘em the keys.” You know there’s some life lesson hidden in this somewhere—some cautionary tale that you have no interest in learning from a ghost. 

But Johnny had seemed nice, and it was hard to make friends when you two were always moving. Much less one of the men who worked with your uncle.

“Simon,” you growl and hurry after, Johnny left alone in the building blinking at the doors. The highly confused Sergeant shakes his head and mutters under his breath with a growing headache. 

“Imagine that.”

A shocked chuckle spills out, and he slowly heads to the check-out aisle.

When you and your Uncle get back to your flat, you still have layers of steam coming out of your ears, even as you get told to help put the food away. You grasp the bag of crisps and toss them to the counter, Simon sliding you a side glance as he washes his hands. 

Flicking off the water droplets, he huffs. 

“You’ll break ‘em.” Your lips stay firmly shut until many minutes later. 

“Why don’t you trust people?” By now supper had been started, your body standing in the doorway as you had fought on whether to go to your room or stay here and talk. Your own stubborn nature held out; you often thought you got that from Simon if no one else. 

The man in question freezes as he is about to open the fridge, eyes staring blankly at the metal ahead of him. He lets you continue as his chest pulls in with a bit of apprehension. 

“I…” you stutter for a moment but push through. “I get it, really. I know enough about the whole thing to understand where you’re coming from, okay?” Your mind tells you it’s better to keep the references vague—you love your Uncle dearly, but there are some things that you have to call out when you see them. And you’d been seeing them for years. “But, Simon, I want to be able to talk to people.”

Simon’s fingers twitch over the handle, and his browns shift to stare at you over his shoulder. He blinks. 

“You do. A lot.” You look away, expression tight. 

“You know what I mean,” your voice grumbles lowly, losing that confidence as you push out. “I’m not them.” 

Simon admitted that this wasn’t a new point that had been brought up. He was protective of you and your safety to the utmost degree. You were his family, after all; you were all he had left through this. 

The man sighs under his breath. 

“I know that, Kid. Never said you were.” He turns and walks over to you, one of his hands moving out to grasp your shoulder and tilt his head your way. Simon waits until you look at him and he speaks through his gravelly accent when you do—a line in your forehead. 

“You’re my responsibility. And I—” You frown and turn away. Simon grunts, “Hey, right ‘ere.” Your eyes lock with his. The man raises a brow and his dead gaze glints slightly. “I’ve got a lot o’ shit goin’ on, you know that. Rightly, I shouldn't ‘ave dragged you into any of it.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but you’re leveled with a stare. 

“So you let me make the decisions, yeah?” 

“You don’t trust your teammates?” You’re going to be the death of him. 

“Never bloody said that,” Simon defects, moving back as you glare up at him as he leaves to get more of the ingredients he needs. 

“You implied it.” 

“I did not—” You glare, unimpressed as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“I literally just asked you why you don’t trust people and you gave me a lecture like an old man.”

Narrowed eyes pierce you, and a growl is uttered. “If you don’t fuckin’ join that debate club, it’ll be a cold day in Hell, you hear?” 

The sharp smirk that slashes your face makes him hold back his own, a same mirror image that he can’t overlook. 

“Callin’ it as I see it, Unc.” The look you’re given has you scurrying away from the kitchen, chuckling under your breath, but the both of you know that this conversation is far from over. 

Yet, even after you’re gone, your words leave Simon thinking as he begins cutting vegetables. 

He knew he could rely on his fellow soldiers in the field—knew he could tell Price about you when he had been mulling it over years ago. Garrick and MacTavish had both fired bullets for his safety, just as he had for them. Simon knew that meant something, he wasn’t destroyed enough to not realize that. 

But the more people that knew about you, the more in danger you became. Leaving you here alone was already stressful, knowing that something might happen made his hair stand on end like a dog with snarling fangs. And Simon could also admit that he was moving the two of you around more than he had to, never giving you more than half a year in one flat before packing it up.

His knife slows, eyes narrow, and he asks himself the question he thought of often. 

Is this what Tommy and Beth would have wanted for you? 

The question made his sleepless nights more claustrophobic than the coffin he’d been shoved into. Simon was constantly in doubt with himself about anything outside of a battlefield, and he was sure that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

This would have been so much easier if his mum was here. She’d know what to do. Know what to say. 

Simon hums under his breath, eyes far off, and gets back to chopping. 

You both eat at the kitchen table, and you instantly bring Johnny up as you take a bite from your fork. 

“What’s he like,” Simon’s balaclava is tossed to the side, his scarred face on full display to you. You had stopped being scared of those scars a long time ago, but Simon could still remember the first time he’d shown you them. 

Brown eyes look up, the man chewing the last of the food in his mouth.

“Johnny, I mean,” you casually state, but the soldier can see the interest in your eyes. He kept work and home life separate when it came to you. No mention of missions or targets. For you, it left a big black hole in your chest, which was exactly where this was coming from. “He seems nice.”

“Never knows how to keep quiet,” Simon utters, taking a sip from his water glass. “But he’s a good shot.”

You sigh to yourself, putting your chin to your palm as your elbow rests on the wood, fork released with a tiny clink of the plate.

“We should invite them over one time—your team.”

“No.” 

“Simon, please—”

“I said no,” Simon’s face was stern, serious. He doesn’t look away as he speaks to you. “We’ve had this conversation.”

Your anger sparks, flaring up at the refusal of something so simple. Why did he seem to think that keeping you hidden was the best thing for you? Did he not realize that if he let the people he trusted know about you, then you’d just be more safe at the end of the day? 

Who in their right mind would go against the whole of One-Four-One?

“I want to know who you work with,” you snap, one hand clenching on the table as the other is set down when you move your head. 

Simon grunts, continuing to eat as his arms tense. “You will.”

Your head perks. “When?”

“When I’m dead.” 

“I’m not joking!” You stand suddenly, eyes glossy and face tight. Simon’s expression changes from mild annoyance to surprise, head moving like a dog to watch silently as you grow more animated. 

He forgot sometimes that you were still a teenager. 

“I want to know who keeps you safe!” You glare through the sting, emotions finally catching up and tightening around your throat. Did he not see the real purpose behind this? “I never ask what goes on when you leave,” your nose sniffles, and Simon’s eyelids flinch. “I need to know who I have to put my trust in to help you come back. You’re my family, Simon, and every time I try to figure you out it’s like there’s a wall that I have to break through.” 

Trust. 

Your hands come up to brush along your cheeks as the sound of a moving chair enters your ears, your fingers shake before a firm arm wraps behind your head, pushing you into a large chest. 

Simon doesn’t speak as you lightly cry, your emotions that he didn’t even consider existing in this way leaving his heart tight in his ribs. He really wasn’t good at this. Like an awkward statue, he holds you the best he can—eyes staring forward at the far wall. 

“Didn’t,” the man starts as you calm down minutes later. He pauses, not knowing what to say. “Didn’t know that was how you felt ‘bout it. You don’t have to worry for me, eh?”

“Shut up,” your nose nuzzles into his shirt, voice muffled as Simon sighs long. “You’d worry about me.”

He can’t argue with that. 

“...You know why I can’t let ‘em over.” You shake your head into him. 

“You’re making excuses. If you can’t trust them, then who can you?” He’s petting the back of your head, thumb rubbing circles into your scalp as his jaw clenches, crooked nose shifting.

“I do trust them—”

“Then why are you—”

“What I don’t fuckin’ trust is myself.” You stop, blinking quickly as you pull back. 

Your hands push away your tear tracks. 

“What?” 

Simon’s eyes are far away, body tense. “I don’t know if I trust myself to be able to let other people know about another Riley who survived. If somethin’ were to happen to you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Sunshine, you hear?” 

You stare, blinking quickly at your uncle and his larger-than-life pedestal that you’d placed him on. Brown eyes flicker to yours, and the man grunts at your red-veined eyes before letting you go. 

“I would sooner let the devil drag me down right ‘ere than think o’ that.” 

Your mouth opens and closes, struggling to put into words the thoughts inside of your brain. Simon had never been…open with his thoughts about things—he was more of a show-than-tell type of person. Mostly that was due to your age and your separation from all of the more dark aspects of his life. It was good that way, and you’d never complained.

But he was your Uncle—your guardian. In more ways than one, he was the only father figure you’d ever have.

You drag Simon into a hug, squeezing him tightly and wrenching your eyes shut before you can cry again. 

“Why couldn’t you have just said you didn’t want the flat dirty,” you wetly laugh, and Simon’s eyes soften down at you, his arms once more curling around you as his lungs push a huff from his nose. 

“Still can.”

“Fuck you.” 

A squeeze. “Oi.”

“Sorry.” Yet always, you broke the sharp bits of him off one by one. Simon sighs, and in a way, he understands your concerns. They were just like his. 

The man gets to thinking about the two Sergeants, not just MacTavish. They had never given him any red flags or internal concerns—in fact, the two men were some of the finest he had ever worked with; they were promising not only in skill but attitude. 

To go through what they had and still hold smiles and jokes was a feat not many could achieve. 

They were good men. 

And in the case of information leaking, he realized with a slow blink that even if that was the case, Simon Riley was officially dead—he had died in a house fire, his dog tags recovered from the body of Kevin Sparks. Of course, only Simon knew that last part. If there was ever something that happened, someone being captured and tortured, there would be no link to you.

To trust was a dangerous thing, and to be worthy of that trust was even more so.

He would do anything to never see you worry. 

Simon licks his lips, for once in his life making a decision based on no forethought beyond a few measly moments and the weight of his niece in his arms. 

“One time.” You make a noise into his chest in confusion. Simon closes his eyes and grates out, “I’ll have ‘em over one time.”

—

The next day he’s at base, out on the target fields in full gear with Johnny beside him as a spotter. Simon lay on the concrete lookout with the stock of a sniper rifle in his shoulder, the Sergeant kneeling about a foot away.

The Scot speaks unprompted as Simon’s brown eyes blink slowly, gaze steady.

“Jus’ so you know, Lt.,” Johnny’s face is in the corner of his vision, his headgear turned Simon’s way as the man was lining up with the target miles away. “...Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Trust was something that Simon Riley fought a war with himself over. It was a mountain of knives and bullets that he knew he would have to climb one bleeding foot at a time. He would do it, of course. Blood had never made him shy away from anything. 

“I know.”

[danidoesathing]

"Grab yourself a beverage, sit back, and lets all enjoy some tunes together."

Alive From Whisper Pines - Episode 423

[rawrrawr0221]

Balancer’s Eye, Dead Man’s Hand, and Way Out There covers all in one ep,,,, truly w r being spoiled /pos

[gastroservet]

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[gabotaf]

Tanong ko lang po.. pwedi ba bayaran ang isang expense kahit walang approved AWFP pero may approved ...

Tanong ko lang po.. pwedi ba bayaran ang isang expense kahit walang approved AWFP pero may approved …

Tanong ko lang po.. pwedi ba bayaran ang isang expense kahit walang approved AWFP pero may approved PPMP? Join our Facebook Group to get full access to answers and comments to this question. Note: You may view some of the comments/answers to this question below.

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[brodyman007]

Suffer. https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv0ZfY-AwfP/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1b3njis0499fm

[airmanisr]

Druine D.62B Condor ‘G-AWFP’ by Alan Wilson Via Flickr: c/n RAE/631. Built 1968. Seen during the Chipmunk 70th Anniversary event. Old Warden, Bedfordshire, UK. 22nd May 2016.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Thinking about how Uncle!Simon would try his best to be at every school event that a young Niece!Reader has, even if he has to race out of the base to get there on time.

Even if he's still in his sweaty clothes that sit under his combat vest, even if he has his work gloves on, all stained with blood and dirt and who knows what else. There are still straps on his thighs from his holsters, and his heart is still pumping as he stands in the very back of the auditorium for a choir show that was put on by the school for the Christmas holidays. A holiday that brings back so many bad memories, but right now, he can't even think about the blood and the bodies because you've just seen him and can't hold back your wide smile.

Just-

The man stood in the back, past the rows and rows of auditorium chairs that squawked and squealed whenever anyone moved, the sounds like a dying bird in his ear. Simon blinked past the haze of post-operation adrenaline, his arms crossed and his booted feet set apart at shoulder-length as if still out on the Tarmac with the whirring of a heli's blades.

He'd chucked off his vest to get here - slammed down his pistol and his rifle in the armory before the combat knives and the mask followed. The man had almost been late.

Simon had pushed his way to the back, through the smiling faces of other mothers and fathers; parental guardians who were eager to see their young ones put on the school-prepared choir show for the holiday season.

Christmas.

The Lieutenant tries not to think about the late Tommy or Beth - about his lost nephew and, above all, his mother. She would have loved to come to something like this.

But here he stood, and he had made a pact to himself when he became your protector to never have you feeling like he had as a child. Here he stood. In the back, in the dark of the dimming lights, and trying to push back the bodies of the men he'd killed today from his mind.

And then he locks eyes with your beaming face, and all of the horrors wash away like a wave.

Simon doesn't know how you saw him, but he only blinks and feels his lips twitch to a smirk behind his balaclava as your hand waves wildly; others look back to find this great beast of a man nod his head to you and do nothing more.

But they didn't matter - they would never matter. The only thing that did was that Simon was here, present. Then again, he'd never be absent for something like this. Not as long as he had a say in it.

He would never be his father.

So, he stands in the back, watching, listening to the music start to play and all of the young, innocent, faces begin in an off-tune and crackly song. Your eyes never stray from him, that smile never leaving your face.

Simon didn't know a lot of things about how to properly take care of you, but at this moment...he knows he did at least one thing right.

He'd always try his best to be there.

Uncle!Simon Masterlist

[superstarcommunicator]

Creating your visibility to raise your profile

Martha Mghendi-Fisher is an ex-pat, now living in Holland. When she moved, she knew no one, yet she has built a highly respected profile and reputation in Fin-Tech. In this podcast interview, Martha shares how to raise your profile and as she said "You have a choice, either you get out there, or be lonely".

Martha is a fintech & payments leader, an immigrant, a social entrepreneur, diversity & inclusion advocate and a philanthropist with years of experience in cards & payments, NGOs and social entrepreneurship.  

Martha is the Founder & Chair to the Executive Board at European Women Payments Network (EWPN), a Pan-European network championing diversity & inclusion in fintech & payments; Founder of African Women in Fintech & Payments (AWFP) and Founder & CEO of Dali Spaces-Coworking Spaces for Women.

A passionate philanthropist, she founded, Beyond Innocence Foundation (BIF), a charity organisation to provide a rescue center & safe house for sexually abused minors aged 0-16 in Taita, Kenya.

She sits on various Boards including, RemitFund; Sote Hub &  Rise Up Advisory Board Member for Money 20/20 EU.

In most recent years, she worked as Global Card Scheme Compliance Director for Payvision and Client Advising Manager for TSYS.

Martha has been listed on Women In Fintech Powerlist 2016, 2017 and 2018

Check out this episode!

[thesocialpayment]

Social Payment Preferences Differ By Region

Payment behaviour varies by region. The payments experience we have depends on where we are. Crossing a border changes a lot, and changing continents changes nearly everything. A few examples:

Sweden: In the last month, six out of 10 Swedes have used a smartphone app called “Swish” that has largely replaced cash transactions. Swish is a C2C peer-to-peer money transfer app. It is not available outside of Sweden.

Hong Kong: Despite the global growth of mobile payments, current spending habits can sometimes be hard to change. Hong Kong is a perfect example — although residents have rapidly embraced smartphones, many people there are creatures of habit when it comes to payments. Octopus has long been the dominant player since it launched physical payment cards in 1997. This “stored-value” card can be used in more than 20,000 businesses, including convenience stores and restaurants, and on public transport. Roughly 97% of Hong Kong residents have Octopus cards.

China: By contrast, people have been remarkably quick to change their behaviour on the mainland. The Financial Times reported on the explosive growth in mobile payments in China:

“Almost half the world’s digital payments in 2017 were made in China, through apps such as Alipay (owned by Ant Financial, an affiliate of e-commerce juggernaut Alibaba) and WeChat (owned by Tencent), according to PwC research.”

These progressive apps provide social, e-commerce, and payment functions together in one place so people can manage their financial and social lives at the same time.

Africa: Mobile reigns in the world of African payments. Martha Mghendi-Fisher is the founder of both African Women in FinTech & Payments (AWFP) and European Women in Payments Network (EWPN). “From an African perspective, mobile continues to be the main method for payments. I come from Kenya and I was there when everything started. M-Pesa was born in 2007 and this really changed the way that people think about mobile money. It became so huge in East Africa. Just about everyone can now have access to financial services.”

http://www.cityam.com/265837/would-you-like-pay-madam

[amyjdewinehouse]

5/100 Amy Winehouse Flawless Photos

[thevinciolojournal]

Weird #4 Srendi Vashtar by Saki (1910)

Weird #4 Srendi Vashtar by Saki (1910)

In “Srendi Vashtar” (1908) by Saki, a sickly boy named Conradin has a lively imagination exasperated by the dreariness of his Edwardian childhood. Having been given five years to live by a doctor whose “opinion counted for very little” (53), he declares, in the midst of his loneliness and boredom, that his polecat-ferret is a god. Founding his own personal religion, he names the “great ferret”…

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Another Word For Protection Masterlist

NAVIGATION || Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Niece!reader (Platonic series)

❝ [There were many different words and examples for protection. Ways of saying it and ways of showing it; all varied from one person to another, oftentimes held reserved for the few that they love the most.

Defense, sanctuary, guidance, barrier, and buffer. A watchful eye and a steady hand.

It all led back to the same overarching meaning at the end of the day. You didn't need all of those fancy words to tell you what the sensation of it felt like, to be cared about. To you, another word for protection wasn't even a word at all, it was a single name:

Simon Riley.] ❞

WARNINGS ➺ Talks about death, murder, Simon's comic backstory & the themes that they carry with them, abductions, tense situations, etc. (Specific warnings stated/implied in each work)

This will be a small collection of fics featuring Uncle Simon & Niece Reader! It will include any future requests I might get for them/ideas I come up with myself/random thoughts, drabbles, or blurbs. No set update schedule or anything.

THOUGHTS ➺

✎ SIMON & SCHOOL SHOWS

╰┈➤❝ [Thinking about how Uncle!Simon would try his best to be at every school event that a young Niece!Reader has, even if he has to race out of the base to get there on time.] ❞

✎ SIMON & HIS MEMORIES

╰┈➤❝ [Thinking about Uncle!Simon and how he would try his best to tell a young Niece!Reader about her parents, brother, and grandma when she asked him where they were.] ❞

DRABBLES ➺

✎ SOLE SURVIVOR

╰┈➤❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

FULL WORKS ➺

✎ BLUE VIOLET

╰┈➤❝ [You were his best kept secret.] ❞

✎ MONKSHOOD - unwritten

╰┈➤❝ [Undetermined] ❞

IMAGE: Jean-Baptiste Monnoyer, Floral still life

FANART:

Platonic Simon & Platonic Price fic Doodles

I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform/A.I. program.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Thinking about Uncle!Simon and how he would try his best to tell a young Niece!Reader about her parents, brother, and grandma when she asked him where they were. How his throat would close up and his hands might shake, but his voice would still be as even as ever because he didn’t want to scare her. 

It would have come up on some random day when she noticed that instead of having someone to call ‘mum’ or ‘dad’ all she had was an Uncle and a single picture of all of them together when she was still a baby. Simon never talks about them.

Just—

“Do they not love me?” Your question makes Simon freeze, body tightening in on itself as if trying to disappear. 

You’d been looking at the picture all day—the faded colors and the broken frame. Simon had little left from his family, but that still image he held fiercely like an animal. It showed a simple scene. Beth, Tommy, Joseph, and his mother around your little body wrapped in blankets. Simon had held the camera; his large thumb in the corner of the frame. 

You were staring at it as Simon had stood to go and make a cup of tea.

“...What’s that?” He asks stiffly, staring at you intently from the side of his eye as your smaller shoulders shrug in embarrassed curiosity. 

“Well, do they…not love me?” Your eyes move up to his, lips tiny and voice kept low. “I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”

His brown gaze is unblinking, Simon’s body winding up. 

How could he begin to explain it to you? Could he? The story wasn’t something you told a child—especially one that wasn’t even in her teen years yet. But it was a question that he’d been dreading coming up since he’d taken you into his care, stolen you away from the blood and the bodies. 

You were his responsibility, and that meant trying to give you a life that led you far away from him.

“They love you, and you never did anything wrong,” Simon utters, hands twitching as they slowly go into his pockets—he’s unsure of what you want exactly. Comfort? The truth? He can’t give you the truth, but he can try the comfort, even if he isn’t exactly good at it yet. All of this was so new to him. “They had to…go away for a bit, yeah? Trip.”

You blink at him, lowering the picture as he walks over, his heart pounding. 

“A trip? To where?” 

“Someplace far, far away,” Simon says, kneeling as his throat constricts. “They left you ‘ere ‘cause they knew I was strong enough to keep you safe.” 

It was hard to not show you what he was feeling, but wasn’t that the point? He may not have been Tommy, but Simon knew the importance of trying; of half-truths until you were older. 

You look at him, your legs dangling off the living room chair. 

“But why haven't they come back yet?” Your eyes went glassy and Simon’s heart clenched tight, a great pain entering his chest. 

The brute of a man moves forward and wraps you in his arms, holding you tight to him as your tiny sniffles strike like an arrow to his heart. 

“They love you,” is all he can say, speaking as if they’re still here.

He’d try to say it as often as he remembered because even if it pained him to do so, he needed you to know it was true.

They had loved you more than life itself.

Uncle!Simon Masterlist