simon-sehs

[simon-sehs]

when artists draw ghost or price with a soft stomach instead of cut abs:

[simon-sehs]

shake that booty

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

He waited 2 hours and a half.

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

ghosts get cold too

// little warm up sketch

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

into the jungle

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

Got new hyperfixation

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

his eyes are so pretty……….

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

#🧼 #art

[simon-sehs]

If you see him

It's already too late

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

Finally finished this wip after months of not painting anything concrete. Anyways here's this autistic creature that kinda invaded my brain in spite of never even playing the mf game. Influence of tumblr mutual peer reblogs is something noone prepares you for

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE OR USE THIS FOR AI. I WILL REPORT YOU.

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

simon riley x fem!reader

Imagine holding Simon when he cries. 

Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human. You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.

You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.  

So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.

You swallow. Did something happen during the mission? 

“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in. 

Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life. 

He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it. 

“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?” 

Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness. 

Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing. 

“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom. 

“Loved him so bloody much.” 

You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot. 

His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.

“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?” 

In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…” 

Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside. 

“It’s okay, baby.”

You kiss his temple.

“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.” 

He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest. 

But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.

"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."

For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."

note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!

#yissss #👻 #other’s writing

[simon-sehs]

"I’d rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three"

#👻

[simon-sehs]

That one Punisher cover.

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

i colored them (kinda) :)

#👻 #art

[simon-sehs]

⟣ Synopsis: Grief brings most couple together, can you say the same for you and him?

⟣ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

⟣ Warnings: Angst, Loss, Unfaithfulness, Eating Disorder

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

A state of euphoria it once brought; the streaks of sunshine borrowed from above, the meticulous imitation of clouds and the aircraft hanging from the ceiling as if they were airborne.

“When I am away, you tell him I am on one of those planes, yeah?” Simon’s gnarled hands caressed the oven where his bun is being baked, the crook of your neck giving his chin shelter and your feet giving warmth to the nursery.

The man you grew to love uttered promises, and most of them are absurd, yet to a woman in love, they were everything, even if they were a talk of fairytales. He was enchanting and dreamy, the kind to give what was desired, and a call away if you needed to be wooed. A false pretence he manifested, and all it took for your romance to come to an end was a loss.

You wondered if any of it was real, or perhaps he grew bored of warfare and needed entertainment. Perhaps Simon wanted someone to warm his bed or to play house as wonderful family he never had. Questions to remain you awake in the late hours of the evening… They never seem to leave, yet those uncertainties are your companion when he is drinking his ache away.

The side of his bed is bare, as Simon prefers to return when the light reaches the windowsills. Bourbon to replace his scent and hickeys to stain his image. The glimpse of his adultery was cruel and wounding; a loss of appetite is what it brought you, yet he never pestered what was on your plate.

As an attempt to get aid and to grieve appropriately, you scheduled a visit to a local shrink. Simon mentioned how much hatred he has for them, so you conceal your sessions as if they are a sin. The advice given is heart shattering, yet it is what you need to do to move forward.

The gifts and belongings of your now-angel lay together as you photographed them. One in particular brought you great sorrow.

“You think he is going to like these, luv?” Simon chuckled as he placed the weeny shoes on his palm, yet they stood no chance as a rival to his size. “Yes, he will.”

Baby shoes, never worn. Free to those who need them.

Weeping your loss away, the arrival of Simon from his mischief is unforeseen. He uttered no word, yet the pregnancy test with seemingly two lines in his possession is a different kind of torment.

#CHRISTTTTTTTT #other’s writing #👻

[simon-sehs]

lmfao we’ve been mutuals for a while and i just understood your name 😭 is it supposed to be “simon says”

me picking my url

#HEHEHE ♥️ #ask #ghostslittlegf

[simon-sehs]

#👻