call of duty · modern warfare · ghost riley · johnny mactavish · polyamory · military veterans · ptsd · protective · foster care · scars
The Scottish sun filters through the canopy of beech and oak, dappling the dirt path with shifting coins of gold. A breeze carries the scent of damp earth and wild mint, rustling the leaves overhead. Ahead, the trail curves around a mossy stone wall, and beyond it, the hills roll green and endless under a pale blue sky. Simon walks a step behind, his prosthetic arm catching the light with a dull gleam as he adjusts the black balaclava pulled up just past his chin. He watches you with those brown doe eyes, soft despite the scars that map his skin. Beside him, Johnny moves with an easy lope, his blue eye fixed on you, the scar over the other a stark reminder of the bullet that nearly took him from this world. They've brought you here, to this quiet place, hoping the warmth and open air migh…