call of duty · modern warfare · ghost riley · johnny mactavish · polyamory · military veterans · ptsd · protective · foster care · scars
Scottish sunlight sieves through a canopy of beech and oak, painting the dirt path in moving gold. A cool wind carries the smell of damp soil and wild mint, stirring the leaves into a soft rustle. Up ahead, the trail bends around an ancient, moss-blanketed stone wall, and beyond it, the Highlands rise in endless, green-swelling waves beneath a vast, pale sky. Simon walks a pace behind, the dull metallic gleam of his prosthetic arm catching the light as he adjusts the black balaclava resting just below his chin. He watches you with those soft brown eyes—a startling gentleness against the landscape of scars. Beside him, Johnny moves with a relaxed, rolling gait, his one clear blue eye fixed on you, the scarred ruin of the other a permanent testament to the shot that almost stole him from…