#space camp week

[idle-compy]

little doodle dump of wips and ideas i keep forgetting to do smth with

[savrenim]

cannot relate to people who get Annoyed or Embarrassed when your entire friend group starts saying a typo you made in the groupchat are you KIDDING the HONOR the POWER there in an IN-JOKE that is YOUR WORD YOU ARE ONLY HELD BACK BY YOUR SHAME

[pixelatedquarter]

Sorry to Pete Wentz but today's scheduled Saturday saturday's celebrations have been cancelled, we're celebrating Spotlight saturday and Soul Punk sunday tomorrow. I'm sure he's fine with it.

[hoodieimp]

GUESS WHO'S GOT A NEW PHONE FOLKS

[kerosene-saint]

so many things happening in my life in the next couple months and it feels like my life is turning around compared to how I felt this time last year which was complete and utter dread and burn out in every sense of the word

[nerdie-faerie]

Sitting on a balcony rocking chair looking at the trees and lake after an anxiety attack, might be the only way I get through this summer tbh

[cappurrccino]

would I enjoy a drill sergeant barking me out of bed at 5am to go run a mile and whatnot? absolutely not

do I think that would actually get me into shape? if it didn't kill me first, yeah, absolutely

[beta-adjacent]

You know shit’s going down when all you want to do is nest.

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[eerielakeerie]

im fine why do you ask

[forkpigeon3146]

chat i have seventeen thousand photos in my gallery and they only take up HALF of what spotify does

[tt-squid]

its really really mean for them to make us have a 9 am class the day after an assignment is due at midnight like this is gonna suck lol

[northgazaupdates]

URGENT!! EMERGENCY SUPPORT NEEDED!!

This is Lina Zeyad, an attorney from north Gaza. She and her family have been displaced from their home by occupation bombing, and were forced to flee various shelters under threat of lOF assault numerous times before finding space in Nuseirat refugee camp. Sadly, she was displaced AGAIN about a week ago. Every displacement costs money for transport, accommodations, and basic necessities. Lina’s family is running out of money. If they are forced to flee again, they will have no way to travel and nowhere to go!

In addition to the danger, exhaustion, and expense of repeated displacement, Lina has another problem: **her youngest son has contracted Hepatitis C after having to drink contaminated water**. His illness is worsened by malnutrition, and he is very sick. He needs clean water, nutritious food, medical care, and stable shelter in order to recover, all of which are extremely expensive and difficult to find in Gaza right now.

Please support Lina so she has a chance to find accommodations, food, and medicine for her family! Reblog this post and repost the link (https://gofund.me/de10f8c6) below to share her campaign. Donations have all but stopped, and Lina is extremely desperate! Please help her family survive!

Vetted by nabulsi

[notquitecanon]

some clever sleep pun title // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon's been spoiled and didn't even realize it. Now his bed isn't as warm as it used to be.

Tw: freak obsessive loser Simon, mentions of sex/boners, sleepy reader, Simon's lowkey manipulative but nothing too insidious.

Two weeks. Simon Riley had been spoiled into two weeks of sharing a bed with you. Sure it hadn't been under the best of circumstances- ratty safe houses with little to no central heating, sleeping bags in camps that weren't safe enough to light fires, catching an hour or so of shut-eye on cargo flights between hot zones. It was a convenience thing, if not a necessity in some cases.

After all, the cold weather gear you'd been issued just simply wasn't up to snuff. And the safe house was cold and damp. The campsites were windy. The flights were drafty and turbulent. And- you were soft and warm and fit right under his chin like you were made to be there. Two weeks of less-than-ideal conditions, and it was the best sleep Simon Riley had in years.

Initially, he hadn't made the connection between you and good sleep. He had assumed it was just the intensity of the mission that had worn him out so much he had no choice but to get good sleep. So, he'd been all too excited to get back home to his own bed, all by himself. Pub dinner, a scalding shower, a proper cuppa, good wank, and his own bed.

For the first hour at least, until no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the sheets to warm up just right. He used to enjoy sprawling out when he laid down, but it seemed like he had too much space now- which was not a common feeling for someone as large as Simon. The detergent scent on his sheets wasn't comforting, wasn't warm enough. His blankets weren't heavy enough.

It took him another hour to answer the question- how had damp mattresses and sleeping bags on forest floors been more comfortable than his own bed in his own flat? He could feel the weariness in his bones, he could feel the comfort he craved... but it just wasn't enough.

So the common denominator had to be you.

"Fuckin' Hell." Simon groaned in the darkness of his bedroom, rubbing a calloused hand up and down his face before rolling himself to the side of the bed and swinging his feet over. Sweats were pulled over his boxers, socks and trainers on his feet, a hoodie over his bare chest, and a clean neck gaiter to pull over the bottom half of his face. Then it was a short 2 AM train ride and a three-block walk into base housing.

Of course, you lived in base housing. That meant a small bed, and a shitty mattress, less than fifteen minutes of hot water at a time..., He spent almost a month away from his flat and now he's crawling to base housing in the middle of the night like a fucking barracks bunny in need of a good fuck. Well, he might not turn that down either...

He shook the thought out of his head, remembering how wide-eyed and flushed you'd been the first three nights you'd shared the safehouse mattress with the lieutenant. Keep ignoring how that look on your face sent blood straight south How still and tense you were at first, shivering and locked up until you tucked into his chest, relaxing as sleep took you. The awkward tense period had waned quicker every night until it became the end-of-day habit for you to curl directly into his chest, falling asleep almost instantly no matter if it was on a damp mattress, forest floor, or sat up against cargo crates.

His mind flitted back to base housing as he raised his fist to beat on your door. Base housing. If you were what it took to get a good night's sleep when off duty, well, his mind was already strategizing the best ways to get you out of base housing and into off-base housing. (Preferably his off-base housing- in his bed.)

A minute passed. No answer. With another grumbled stream of curses, Simon shuffled tiredly on his feet, rubbing his eyes and contemplating just scaling up to the window, but decided against it. He didn't need to deal with base MPs getting called for what would look like an attempted burglary. So instead, his fist rapped even harder on your door, casting trained looks over his shoulder as he did.

Another minute, no answer. His fist raised again, but before he could rain holy (sleepy) hell on your door, it flew open.

Fuck. He was gone. He'd never sleep well alone again.

Just the sight of you and he could feel his brain finally producing sleep chemicals. The door blew a breeze of soft smells at him- detergent, your shampoo, some candle he might have to steal on his way out... and revealed you, only one eye open, hair sleep-mussed and jutting out in every direction, fuzzy socks, one pulled up your calf and the other slouched around your ankle, fluffy house shoes....

"LT?" You questioned with clear confusion, clearly exhausted, maybe not even all the way awake, voice thick and slow with sleep. Unfair you'd been able to sleep just fine on your own while he was pacing the city like an addict, "What are you- what time is it?"

"2:45 in th' morning." He answered gruffly, as usual, already shouldering, albeit gently, into your home. Your home was annnoyingly the perfect temperature, and everything smelled, looked, and felt like you. His nose wrinkled under his mask, frustrated at how much it put him at ease, and made him just want to curl up and hibernate through this cold snap they'd come home to. He'd take anything at this point- your bed, your couch, the floor at the foot of your bed.

"Right." You nodded, letting him past you without much of a fight, closing and locking your door with a sleepy kind of clumsiness, taking a few times to latch the chain before turning back to him. Simon absently wondered how much he could talk to you while keeping you in a sleepy stupor. He also wondered why the thought was so endearing to him as you mumbled, "Wha's going on? Don' tell me we're getting shipped off again already.."

"No' yet." Simon's chest clenched almost worryingly when you bumped into the corner of your couch, rocked on your heels, and then continued on like you hadn't noticed the collision, "Couldn't sleep."

"So now we both suffer?" You mused, the eye you had closed opening halfway as you chuckled at your lame joke, interrupted by a yawn.

"Prefer not to." Simon shrugged and before you could register it, he was already herding you up the stairs with a gentle efficiency that put any working breed to shame, enjoying the upwards view of the little sleep shorts that differed so much from what you'd worn in the field. He wondered if he'd sleep even better with the feeling of your bare thighs wrapped around his, "Lemme sleep here tonight, lovie? Just tonight?"

The just tonight part was probably a lie. But he'd use it as many nights as you'd let him get away with it. The pet name had honestly just slipped in his exhaustion, waking you up just enough that both of your eyes opened and widened, heat creeping up your cheeks. You paused on the steps, bumping directly into Simon's chest as he kept inching you closer to the bedroom. No, he wanted you back in that sleepy agreeable place, so his warm hand splayed across the soft fabric of your sleep shirt, gently rubbing at the small of your back to keep you moving.

"Please, love, go' used ta sleeping with you." He hummed as he guided you into your bedroom, finding the pile of blankets you no doubt had crawled out of to answer his knocking. So many blankets, had you been cold without him? Was the pillow lying longways beside your spot a limp substitute for his chest? He wouldn't ask, he'd just let his assumptions feed his ego. You were back to your lazy shuffling, chest shuddering with another yawn, "C'mon, sweetness, let's get y' ta bed, you're exhausted."

It was easy to gently manhandle you back into bed, your eyes already fluttering as his hands smoothed over your side and legs, brushing some hair out of your face. So maybe it was unfair, to kneel right by your bedside and ask in that low, deep accent, "So- can I stay?"

"Mmmhm, stay." You breathed. Simon smirked under his mask- so eager, not even an 'I guess'. Still, he wasn't going to ask twice, slipping himself into your bed and curling around you just as he had for the past two weeks. The relief was instant, his own eyes already getting too heavy to keep open for long.

The sheets were already warmed by your dozing, and with his added body heat, he could shove some of those extra blankets off. He'd keep you plenty warm. When he pulled you into him, he still had enough room to stretch his long legs out but didn't feel like he was swimming in space. Your pillowcases smelled soft, he didn't know things could smell soft but they did, tinged with your shampoo and perfume and whatever detergent you used. And the weight of your head in the crook of his arm, your arm over his chest, was just right.

He was out in seconds. Good luck ever having your bed to yourself ever again.

___

You've heard of give a dog a bone, now get ready for 'give a soldier a good nights sleep'. Simon is Goldilocks, and your bed is just right. Or maybe the 'give a mouse a cookie' book but this time its just your boss bullying his way into your life (bed) because he's sleepy and touch starved.

[writersdrug]

I fully believe that Simon "Ghost" Riley wouldn't want an expensive, lavish honeymoon after your wedding. Of course, if that's what you dream of, he'll do it for you. He'd do anything for the person who loved him enough to marry him, scars and all. You want a beach-front, warm getaway in Costa Rica, filled with sunsets and quiet time by the waves? Say no more, he's looking for first class tickets already. You like the sound of a ski resort, surrounded by snowy alpines and hot chocolates, holding hands on the ski lifts and racing down the hills (you'd beat him every time, he's not one for winter sports)? He's asking if you'd prefer Smuggler's Notch in Vermont, or Vail Ski in Colorado. He'll do it if it's with you. He'll do anything for you.

But ask Simon what he wants, and he'll give you such a domestic answer: two or three weeks, somewhere in the United Kingdom, in a cottage backed up against the woods - preferably in autumn, when the leaves will be orange, the air will be misty, and the soft rain will be just enough to drown out his anxieties. Sure, he'd love to go hiking with you in Lake District, finding a good spot under the cover of the dense trees, listening to the sound of the babbling river and showing off his camping skills - harmlessly bickering with you about how it's not considered camping if you're in a cabin with electricity and running water. He rents an SUV and folds the seats down, throwing a mattress, blankets, and pillows in the back so the both of you can cuddle together while watching the stars.

But really, he just wants to exist with you for a while - as a married couple. He wants to wake up next to you without having anywhere to be at the ass crack of dawn, taking his time to watch the way you breathe so softly, the way you're always holding onto some part of him while you sleep, whether that's your arm wrapped around his bicep, your hand fisting his shirt, or your being wrapped tightly around his soul. He wants to cook meals with you, watch as you sway to whatever music you put on the telly, butt-bumping him as you chop vegetables and he stirs the pot on the stove. He wants to be next to you as you drag him around the rainy streets of Manchester, stepping into every bookstore or plant nursery you pass, eventually landing in a coffee shop and sitting close to each other, talking over a vanilla latte and a black coffee about how wainscoting is a gorgeous addition to homes, and how it's a crime that people tend to tear it down in modern decor. He promises to install some himself just for you, wherever you want it.

He wants to spend quiet nights at home, curled under the blanket on the couch, some random movie playing on the telly and the space heater blowing warm air on the both of you - he's too mesmerized at the way you're twirling the golden wedding band around your ring finger, biting back a smile every time you glance down at it (he has a wedding band too - but he'd never take it on missions. Instead, he has a simple line tattooed around his ring finger for when he has to leave the ring behind). He wants to make love to you, leaving soft kisses and nips along your skin, rolling his hips into you slowly and sensually, losing himself in the quiet moans, whispered I love you's, and the feeling of your nails carving the memory into the skin of his back. He wants to rest with himself inside of you, cradling you to his chest as he mumbles sleepily, "I love you, want to marry you every day of my life..." his rough hand tracing your skin, committing every bump, every curve, every vein to his memory. He wants to fall asleep there, letting go of his anxieties, any thoughts of doubt rolling off of his shoulders when he presses kisses to the back of your neck, his fingers slowly fiddling with the ring on your finger.

You're his quiet. His peace. You're soft sweaters, the sugar cube he drops into a warm mug of tea in his hands, the raindrops gently landing on his face, the smell of earth and pine at the edge of the woods, the sound of wood crackling in a warm fire. You're gentle, even when you're excited and bouncy, smothering him in kisses or forcing him to dance with you on the back patio. He knows you'll both have to leave this solace soon, returning to work like the wedding had never happened, forced to be cogs in the machine of society. But to Simon, each day after this will be a day he's married to you - each day will be a blessing, a reason to thank the universe, a reason to smile as he crosses the threshold of your shared home, a reason to crack his dad jokes outside of missions, a reason to join you on your weekly grocery runs, a reason to buy flowers once a week to replace the previous ones.

You're his peace.

[elysianightsss]

No because girl you NEEDDDDDD to elaborate on this -> Soulmate AU. Poly!141 x neurodivergent!reader <- I will die happily

Elaboratingggggggg🤭🫠

-

You didn’t think that you’d get this far in life, many reasons spring to mind but the main one is you’re a little different than most people. You can’t cope with certain things and struggle with change. You remember growing up your family would brush off your ‘issues’ and say to just deal with it. How little they understood you.

Moving out was the best decision you ever made, the only change you have ever been happy about. It was necessary and would make your life so much easier on a level only you could understand. You could set up your space the way you like it, the way you need it. And with just you, no one would mess with your stuff just to see you loose it as it was ‘funny’ or move things to suit them better.

This way, you could live in peace.

Task force 141 had just finished a successful mission, camping out in one of the many secret safe houses as they waited for further instructions when they had sent Johnny to the shop for supplies. That’s where he saw you, in a Sainsbury’s supermarket of all places, headphones tight over your ears to block out the world while you tried to decide if the extra two, ninety-nine was worth it or not for the soothing lavender face mask you wanted.

Johnny was quick to subtly snap a picture of you and even go as far as to follow you home before bolting it back to the guys to tell them he’d finally found you. Their last soulmate.

As soon as Johnny showed them the image of you, that was it for them. They had to have you. A burning need coursing through their veins, pumping around their bodies. Nothing would ever be enough until they had you in their arms.

But as said and as they observed themselves, you don’t cope with change.

So they had to situate themselves into your life slowly, one by one.

Johnny and Simon moved in next door to you, and lived there for seven months slowly getting to know you and obviously spying on you. They gradually began to understand you and your cute quirks. They know that you eat the same thing for dinner every night, you use the same plate or bowl and wash it straight after use to make sure it is ready for next time.

You have one set of cutlery, one glass and one mug. Two pillows though you only sleep on one and use the other to hug to sleep. And to top it all off you have one recliner chair and one massive beanbag chair that makes you feel like you’re being hugged tight each time you sit on it. It gives you the deep pressure therapy you desperately need at times.

The guys found your habits strange at first but the more time they spent with you, the more they began to understand you. Understand your need for order, for repetition. And they had experienced first hand what happens when change was forced into your safe space.

Johnny had the bright idea to gift you a set of cutlery a few weeks ago so when he and Simon came round for dinner as they did every Thursday for the past four months, they didn’t have to bring cutlery and plates from their own place, it would already be there.

Simon said it was a bad idea but he couldn’t say no to Johnny, not with how happy he looked while he picked out some pretty baby blue plates and silver cutlery with little mushrooms painted at the end. He boasted to Simon about how much you’d love them while they stood in the queue to pay.

He was wrong.

After dinner was cooked you plated up the food no problem thinking the pretty plates were from their house. Then you opened the kitchen drawer only to hear the clutter and smash of cutlery rubbing together. The sound made a ringing pierce your ears, your hands reaching up to cover them. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you. The sound you heard making you panic beyond measure, your breathing out of control as you slid to your knees.

Johnny’s smile dropped and he sprung into action using the deep pressure therapy you had told him about with your beanbag chair. Simon was quick to removed the extra plates and cutlery from where Johnny had put them and take them back to their place before returning ready to help. He knew he’d need to call John and let him know you had had an episode, but helping you came first.

So you liked constant repetition. If it made you happy, that was absolutely fine with them.

Kyle got himself hired as a barista at your favourite cafe, he learned your usual and practiced at home to make sure every morning when you stopped by on the way to work to drink your coffee and sit with your laptop for twenty minutes, you’d have the perfect drink. He made absolutely sure that it tasted the same every single time. No change.

After a couple of months of smiles and waves here and there he finally got you to open up. Baby steps. A little at a time and now Kyle was taking his twenty minute break at your table while you typed up something for work. You always worked so hard. But he managed to get a few sentences out of you each time and it made his heart sing.

And last but not least, John became your new boss after your last one mysteriously got caught for money laundering. Mr Price was an amazing boss, he didn’t ask for much and was always giving you big opportunities that you’d only ever dreamed of. You had been promoted twice since he became the CEO.

You were now executive editor under him as the chief editor at one of the best publishers in the country. Pirons Classics, number two in the UK and number four in the World. To say the guys were proud that you worked there in the first place was an understatement. Their smart girl.

He called you sweet nicknames and brought you lunch everyday. The same thing, a pesto and cheese sandwich and a snack of your choosing from the vending machines. You don’t remember when it started but you were always too shy to say anything so it became a regular thing.

If you were to sit and think real hard about the situation you would realise how changes had been introduced into your life ever since the four of them appeared. But they were subtle changes and you genuinely couldn’t remember a time when these changes weren’t normal. On top of that, these four men were the only people besides yourself, that you felt comfortable, relaxed and content around.

So for the first time you don’t sit and think, for the first time you just let it happen and you don’t notice the difference.

Johnny and Simon were more involved with you than the other two. They were the closest to you currently with the status of your best friends which Johnny most certainly bragged to the other two about. You had known them for almost a year now and they didn’t exactly hide their romantic relationship but didn’t exactly flaunt it either.

You had found it kinda hot when you saw them kiss and even though it was unusual for you, you luckily managed to keep your mouth shut about it.

You had no idea they had noticed.