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Shower thoughts about 141's phones…

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It's always "pretty boy Gaz" and yes he is pretty, but I am absolutely certain that he is the only one who actually has a skincare routine.

The 10-in-1 shower gel might be okay for the white boys, but he will not be caught with ashy skin, if he can help it. The others might joke that he takes so long, but when they go to the pub, Gaz is glowing. Skin soft and moisturized, hair and beard fresh, precisely styled, smelling good with a hint of Shea butter and coconut.

Despite the jokes, the others appreciate his suggestions. Ghost admits that the body butter Gaz gave him helps with the scars, and if he seems eager when Gaz massages his shoulders with it, then it's nobody's business.

Price adapts his beard routine, adding some products and follows Gaz' to a barber who does excellent work.

Soap openly asks for help finding the right aftershave, since he never really cared but girls seem to appreciate a soldier who knows how to take care of himself. Also the net sponge is a nice little tool to get rid of dead skin and can be used to carry things as well.

And while they are not completely ignorant, they learn a lot about growing up and having to navigate Britain as a black boy. So they get lessons in personal hygiene and everyday racism at the same time and appreciate Gaz even more for both.

~~~~~

I have been thinking about this a lot, because people write a lot about trauma this and that, but it's rarely addressed that Gaz might have some fundamentally different experiences than the others.

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"i want to raise up the magic world all around me and live strongly and quietly there." - virginia woolf

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why did no one tell me that once you change your username, THE LINKS DO NOT WORK FAWK. now I need to restart everything oh em gee 😭

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smoke break.

a short fic about smoking that got away from me. all of them want you, so 141 x reader.

it’s like clockwork.

it’s 9:43 PM, with an early autumn breeze that still smells like summer breaking through poorly sealed windows. the sky is blooming in violets. there is barely anyone left in the office. it’s silent.

and then four pairs of heavy footsteps break it.

its always the same order, too. johnny’s first, hands in his pockets. his shoulders shrug as he braces for the cold. kyle follows. he always itches his knuckles before holding the door open for simon, who walks behind him silently. price, unsurprisingly, brings up the rear.

his hand always digs into his back left pocket before the door closes.

and you, every time for the past 2 months, have ignored them. but curiosity is a ceaseless, immortal creature, isn’t it?

it got the best of you, today.

it’s 9:41, you’re out for some air. stretching your legs on the balcony, that has a much less depressing view than your cubical. a city beginning to sleep. a sky that is bigger than feels right, even if it’s beautiful. keeps you company.

that, and your anticipation.

it bites when the door creaks open.

there’s a pause. you breathe three times, white clouds hissing from your teeth before you hear the first boot plant.

1 pair. 2, 3. a longer pause. two breathes. the 4th walks two short steps, before you hear the door close.

you finally turn. kyle speaks first.

“needed air?”

you nod. you’re at an awkward distance, that no one moves to close. all four of them stand a couple of paces away, like startled animals. “I needed a break.”

johnny nods. “aye, tats what we’re oot ‘ere for. seen us come’up- yeah?”

“no. didn’t know it was you’re spot.” you lie.

johnny smiles. he’s letting you. “mm, tat’s alright,” he glances over his shoulder to the men, who have not stopped looking at you, “we can share.”

you swallow as they turn away from you. you see price pull out a cigar, and kyle with a lighter. theres a click of steal on butane followed by the smell of expensive smoke. you turn around.

what else would it be? of course it was a smoke break. their 10 minute respite from cement sweat and checking their six. paperwork and chairs they don’t fit in. from you.

you’ve stepped on sacred ground. invaded territory. walked into their carefully crafted den to, for selfish reasons, figure them out.

the dynamic no one else can crack or join. a wall of force by interlocked arms. a brotherhood. a blood bond. a loyalty. in life, in death. in this brief moment, where they share a cigar and say nothing.

you’ve done the office equivalent to spitting on an altar. you should go. you need to g

“ever smoked?”

suddenly, you’re aware of how warm everything feels. how it smells like tobacco that belongs to luxury. how when you look forward, broad shoulders are in your periphery. you don’t move.

“s-sorry?”

its price, he’s next to you. “i asked if you’ve ever smoked, darl,” you look at him, with all your doubt and confusion and vulnerability, and he cracks a smile, “probably not, then.”

there’s pressure on your shoulder. you give in and turn around. simon stands in front of you, and between his fat, gloved fingers, is a cigar that looks above your pay grade. and your tolerance.

“open.”

“oh i-“ you shake your head, looking to any of them for a bit of leeway, “I don’t- I wouldn’t want to waste any-“

“price is offering, love,” says kyle, who is to your far left, “your chance to take it is now.”

initiation. welcome mat, made by smoke and grime and all the things that make them who they are. all the things you are not. at least, not now.

not without that cigar in your mouth.

you do as simon says and he places it to your lips.

“inhale.” he says.

you’re doing as your told until it itches. something in your throat burns. then your lungs. then it’s lingering in your chest until-

you’re coughing. you see grey cloud around your vision, and catch how white they’re teeth look when they smile.

strangely white, for smokers.

“good girl.” says price, “learning how to manage. takes a couple of times,” and his hand is on your chin, you aren’t coughing anymore but you’re certainly flushing, “but you’ll get there.”

“aye, we all got t’ere.” say johnny. he’s smiling too, next to simon, who is not. but he’s looking at you, and that feels more intimate.

“and we’ll help you get there, too,” price says, voice like his presence- warm in the way a fire burns, iron formed in its wake. it’s a middle ground between unsettling and comforting- a strange, dangerous place to be with your boss, “that right, boys?”

you didn’t even notice until now, but kyle’s hand rests on your lower back. it keeps traveling down.

they speak in unison.

“yessir.”

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‘routine’

simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn! reader

cw: a small little drabble for yall, fluff, simon being a weirdo who can’t ask for things properly like a normal human being ugh.

it’s hot.

almost a little too hot as consciousness washes over your body and slowly wakes you up from your nap.

there’s an undeniable weight of mass pressed against your chest that soon turns into discomfort. your eyes fluttering open before your vision clears, zeroing in on a mop of dirty-blonde hair.

“what the hell simon.” a sigh slips past your lips as realization soon dawns at you, your lieutenant letting out nothing but a small grunt of his own as he buries himself further into your chest. his arms are tightly wrapped around your waist, the span of his leg thrown over your legs that gives you absolutely no room to move. you’re trapped.

“stop movin’”

“your big ass is crushing me, move.” you bite back, attempting to shift into a more relaxed position that only lands you a hard glare from the big man on top of you as he leans in to bite your neck. “ow— fuck, okay okay!” you yelp, letting out a breath through your nose as you give up, the back of your head falling against your pillow in defeat.

you and simon have fallen into an odd cycle. one that would ring alarm bells to anyone who didn’t work with the man. it’s more of a comfort thing you’ve realized. a way for simon to distress at times when his mood would sour after a mission gone south or rub away the tension in his body from all the paperwork because surprise, he’s a CO.

you wanted to help him. wanted him to feel comfortable enough around you for him to relax and not put a wall between you two and when you had broken it, you were beyond happy.

how naive were you.

what you’ve also realized is that the brutish man doesn’t know how to let himself go— more importantly, he doesn’t know how to ask for simple acts of care.

maybe that’s why you find yourself in this situation, being your lieutenants personal body pillow as his 200 plus pound body nearly suffocates you while he naps. you would have never thought that such intimidating man would be fond of physical touch, your eyes flicking down at him as you bring your hand to brush locks of hair out of his face.

it’s long overdue for a hair cut, twisting the ends of his hair between your fingers as a small grin forms on your lips once you catch his dazed stare from the corner of your eyes. you let your hand trail further down, your fingers forming small patterns against his back that has him letting out a content sigh of his own.

despite having been interrupted from your sleep, you can’t complain at the sight in front of you. simon is undoubtedly pretty. a rugged type of pretty that has you staring at him for a long time when he’s not aware, like right now. your eyes trailing down the curve and bump of his nose, the way his long eyelashes flutter or the way his lips purse into a subtle pout— he’s beautiful.

“keep starin’ at me and you’re gonna bore a hole through me.” simon grumbles, his own dark eyes finding yours as the corner of his lips lift into a small grin in amusement.

you scoff at him, pinching at the meat of his thigh that has him letting out a small ‘ouch!’, “that’s for biting me, and let me remind you who you’re laying on.”

simon simply doesn’t care, returning into his hiding spot that he’s made between your arm and torso.

“you know you don’t have to slip into my room every time you want to cuddle..” you continue, his eyes closed again as he lean into the palm of your hand, your thumb brushing against his cheek, “you can just ask, simon.”

he says nothing back, simply brushing his lips against the pulse point on your wrist in acknowledgment, an unspoken ‘I know’ before he’s intertwining his fingers with yours and falling into a deep sleep again.

simon is an odd specimen. an unusual concept you sometimes have a hard time understanding but despite it all, you’ve grown to dote the many things that make up who he is.

the warmth radiating off of him soon turns comforting as well as the small noises he makes with every breath he takes. you hold him close, exhaustion soon taking over your body before you’re closing your eyes again, continuing where you were.

(and if you later get a message from the group chat with a picture of the two of you cuddled up against each other with a message that reads “no invite? :(“ from soap, don’t say you didn’t warn him.)

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help @soosoogaza any way you can please 🫂

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me wanting to make friends/interact with people within the writer and fanfic community but I’m a little bitch that gets scared of basic human interaction:

any tips yall ? 😕

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my honest reaction to this masterpiece:

ghost and reader who doesn’t like to be touched! had a thought so lemme get it out! will update in a bit

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Hello, I’m Hazem @hazemsuhail from Gaza.

The price of flour has reached extremely high levels: $25 per kilo,

and I need 3 kilos of flour daily for 11 people I care for from my family during this crisis.

I’m not asking for much money,

I just need a little to buy flour to feed my family and the hungry children.

Campaign documented by @gazavetters (#75).

pls donate if you can. 🫂

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Sunset in grandma's garden 🌸

23 V 2025

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anyway you should always remember that all those foreigners you see dying on the news are just as real people as you are who have just as much interiority as you do. there is nothing about you that makes you more important and it is by pure chance that you are not in their position. in fact, this holds for all of history. every person, no matter the horror of the fate that befell them, had just as much interiority as you do. i feel like some people haven't fully internalized this.

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Hey! do you have some resources on Iran that I can read up to gain more info on their history?

Hi, yes. I've made posts on this several times on my old blogs but i'm gonna write a list again. most of these are on libgen (the books)

Podcasts, documentaries, etc.:

5 part series on Iranian history from 1906 to present day by The Dig (podcast)

End of Empire (1985), chapter 7: Iran (documentary)

Coup 53 (2019) dir. Taghi Amirani, includes cut material from the End of Empire episode (doc/movie)

Books:

I recommend all of Ali Rahnema's books on Iran, no others that I've read have been as in depth. He's my favourite and he's rarely mentioned compared to writers like Ervand Abrahamian.

Behind the 1953 Coup in Iran: Thugs, Turncoats, Soldiers, and Spooks detailed analysis of the whole event, includes maps of Tehran and chronology

The Rise of Modern Despotism in Iran: The Shah, the Opposition, and the US, 1953–1968

Call to Arms: Iran's Marxist Revolutionaries: Formation and Evolution of the Fada'is, 1964–1976 only about iranian marxist groups, how they came to be, their different political lines and approaches etc.

The Political History of Modern Iran: Revolution, Reaction and Transformation, 1905 to the Present this is a very good one but only if you want something that goes into a LOT of details which is useful for me, because i study history, but not for someone that wants more of an overview.

Speaking of Ervand Abrahamian:

Radical Islam: The Iranian Mojahedin is good. @ghelgheli read this one and also sent me some parts of it. it's a thorough study of Mojahedin-e Khalq (book)

Articles:

The Defender: Waiting for the revolution in Tehran about Haroun Yashayaie. He is a past head of the Tehran Jewish Committee and a communist who was imprisoned pre-79'

some articles about the time when People’s Fedai Guerrillas and PKK trained in Palestine and Lebanon. they're ehhh okayish: Abandoned Legacy: The Left of Iran and Palestinians and The Kurds Who Died for Palestine

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Can people from the United States stop making jokes about “WW3 😜”….there are people in Iran evacuating their neighborhoods, places they grew up, and all YOU are experiencing is watching the news and a few TikToks….

You are not at war, you will most likely never see war, and if your “dark humor” is coming at the expense of others then it is not dark humor, you’re just an asshole.

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Charlotte Brontë, from “Jane Eyre”

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Strawberry Moon, by Manusia dan Langit

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Supermoon. Temple of Poseidon, near Athens, Greece. July 3, 2023, by Alkis Konstantinidis