#Military Diet Plan

[militarydietplan1]

Military Diet Plan

Military Diet Plan - If you are on the lookout for a diet plan that can aid you with quick weight loss, you must consider the military diet plan. The military diet is also sometimes referred to as the "Military 3-day Diet Plan" because of its three-day weight loss guarantee. So what exactly is the military diet? The military diet is a stringent low-calorie eating regimen that calls for eating some foods but forbidding others. You will only be able to eat the same foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There is no option for between-meal snacks, and you are not permitted to move any of the food around to suit your tastes or preferences.

The diet is only meant to be followed for three days (the severe period), after which you are free to resume your regular, healthy eating habits for the next four days. The finest feature of the military diet is that you can follow it as many times as you like as long as you give yourself a four-day vacation in between each time. The 3-day Military Diet Plan is a stringent 3-day weight loss plan that can be quite helpful for anyone searching for a short-term weight loss solution. You can always follow the military diet and replace every food item on the menu with something else if you're a vegetarian.If you are a vegetarian, you can always have military diet substitution for every item on the diet plan with something else or follow the vegetarian military diet.

The Guide to the Military Diet In contrast to all other known and unknown diets, which include a complex set of guidelines on numerous elements, including the weight of the items you eat at each meal, the number of calories in each food, how you prepare your food, how much of it you should eat, and a whole lot more. Although The Military Diet is a stringent low-calorie diet, it is easy to follow and outlines everything you need to know for rapid weight reduction. These plans frequently sell with pre-packaged meals or snacks, too, as a replacement in the form of shakes and more.

[ruthlesslistener]

Diet culture as it is rn needs to die out. No more focusing on diet regulation as a means of losing weight, more focus on simply balancing it so that you get the most diverse amount of nutrients possible. Fat and carbs and sugars are all good for you and good for your body you just need to make sure you're eating them in balanced amounts

[penpoise]

Santa Clarita Diet: A Culinary Wond,erland Unveiled

Santa Clarita, a city with a rich tapestry of culture and culinary delights, has emerged as a hidden gem for food enthusiasts. From the influence of its Spanish heritage to innovative culinary experiments, the Santa Clarita Diet is a blend of tradition and modernity that tantalizes the taste buds and nourishes the soul. Origins of Santa Clarita Diet The roots of Santa Clarita’s culinary…

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Two

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, cass & mor being bickering siblings, cass with facial hair, modern adaptions of bat wings aka tattoos, sexual n romantic tension, reader has a big fat crush

Word Count: 5.5k

Part One — Series Masterlist — Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“I hate it.”

Though Mor was seated beside you, her voice seemed to reverberate from a great distance, oscillating from one ear to the other. Your attention was not on your two best friends; their conversation filtering through your senses like white noise. Instead, your mind was entirely captivated by the view of the beach you sat on. The sun was setting and a golden hue painted the skies, its final light skittering across the soft waves of the ocean.

This was always one of your favorite times of day.

There was a specific sense of peace that seemed to settle among everyone as the sun gave over to the power of the moon, a peace that almost felt tangible on your skin, like the grains of the warm sand beneath you. You dug your toes further into its warmth as Mor scowled next to you, her gaze stuck on the horizon where Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys currently ran around, attempting to pin one another and throw each other into the waves.

The topic of conversation was what it had been every time Mor complained over the past week: Cassian’s new mustache.

It had grown exponentially over the last week, now fully formed above his top lip. Even from this distance, you could make out its shadow. But, in all honesty, it wasn’t his mustache that you were focusing on. It was his chiseled, bare torso.

The boys were always very fit, sporting defined bodies with even more defined muscles. But you hadn’t seen them like this in a while: shirtless, sun-kissed, tanned skin, and swimming shorts that created sleek, stark tan lines along their hips. Not since way back in the first summer you all shared. Last year’s break was filled with an internship to beef up your resume, moving into your new place with Mor and Feyre, and spending whatever free time you had with Eris and his family— far, far away from Mor.

The boys had grown even bigger since that first summer. Cassian, in particular, had developed noticeable definition, which you attributed to ROTC and his various sports activities. After all, ROTC combined military training with college coursework and demanded a significant amount of time and discipline. Balancing academics, those military duties, and being a student athlete seemed like an overwhelming feat, but Cassian managed it all. His physique was a clear indication of it.

Yet, despite his impressive build, it was Cassian’s face that truly drew attention. His large, beaming grin had a way of captivating anyone who saw it. It seemed to say more about his character than his muscular frame ever could, making it clear that beneath all that strength was someone incredibly approachable and genuinely good-hearted.

Your attention traveled to Rhysand next. Rhysand always held a certain grace to him, a regal essence of someone born to be a leader, to stand out among a crowd. You’d watched him come into his own in the past few years, watched as he fell in love with Feyre and began planning a life for himself outside of the pressures his father had implemented throughout his childhood.

Rhysand’s usually meticulously styled hair now hung in front of his eyes as he dodged Cassian and went under his arm. He was always a bit leaner than Cass, but still very built, with large, defined muscles that Feyre giggled about every girls' night. Rhys knew how to put those muscles to use, Feyre seemed to remind you every time she was three margaritas in. You didn’t doubt it, even if you and Mor groaned and pushed her further off the couch—and watched as she fell to the floor since Feyre’s balance tended to disappear when alcohol was introduced to her nightly diet.

Despite every fiber in your being begging for your gaze to fall to him first, your eyes went to Azriel last. You’d been fighting the urge, telling yourself that if you looked at him last, your eyes could linger just a few seconds longer.

You were currently mesmerized by the tattoo sprawling across his back.

The design was captivating—an elaborate pair of wings stretching gracefully across his shoulder blades, with their apex extending along the sides of his neck. The wings seemed almost alive, their fine details appearing three-dimensional against his golden skin. The spaces around the wings were filled with swirling patterns that looked like shadows, moving fluidly as though they were dancing across his skin.

The wings didn’t stop at his back; they extended over his biceps and down to his elbows. When he moved his arms, it almost seemed as if he was preparing for flight, the tattoo coming to life with every gesture. Cassian’s wings mirrored this design, stretching over his own biceps and elbows in a similar fashion. However, the empty spaces on his arms were adorned with sharp, angular patterns. Where the patterns on Az’s skin were fluid, like smoke and shadow, Cassians were rigid, sharp lines like that of a fierce fight.

Rhysand’s tattoo was distinctively more reserved. His bat-style wings were intricately etched into his back, spanning from his shoulder blades to his lower back, but they remained tightly confined to his torso. Unlike Azriel and Cassian, the design didn’t extend onto his arms. Instead, it was tattooed in a tucked, retracted position. Besides the wings, Rhysand’s collarbone was adorned with an elaborate tattoo of stars and swirling patterns that mimicked the night sky, with galaxies appearing to shimmer and shift across his skin.

Your eyes stuck to Azriel’s moving form— glued to his every gesture, really.

Azriel was always very cute. Handsome and pretty in a way that made chests tighten. But you hadn’t seen it much recently, hadn’t paid attention to anyone besides Eris, really. Now that you were broken up, it was as if you were seeing things in a completely new light, with new glasses that magnified every detail of the males around you. The reality was undeniable: Azriel had gotten more attractive over the past two years.

It was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.

And you were completely and utterly overwhelmed by it— more so than you’d ever expected. God, you needed to check yourself, to reel in this strange crush that had begun to bloom like a flower in a new spring. You felt feral. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and you were grateful that your friends were often too absorbed in their own lives to notice your lingering glances.

Your fingers itched to trace the intricate ink on Azriel’s skin. You settled for running the pads of your fingers along the bare skin of your knee, mimicking the graceful movements of his tattoos. The act was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it helped channel the sudden urge to connect with the beautiful art that adorned him.

Feyre let out a hum besides Mor. From the corner of your eye you caught sight of her tilting her head in quiet focus. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “It’s not that bad.”

Mor whipped her head to the side, her blonde locks cascading across her shoulder like a golden waterfall. She let out a shocked gasp.

“Feyre,” she scolded, “You can’t be serious.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow in response. “I’m serious. I’ve seen worse. It works for him, I think.”

Mor’s attention shifted to you. It took a minute before you were able to tear your gaze away from the view in front of you— the three boys illuminated by the soft glow of sunset; the delicate waves behind them that collected the remaining colors of the sky.

You turned to look at her, taking in her widened eyes and pursed lips. It was an expectant face, one she wore when she was waiting for important news— or in this case, for someone to agree with her. You offered a sheepish smile and shrugged, pulling your knees closer to your chest.

“Sorry girl, it’s kinda growing on me, too.”

Her mouth fell open and another dramatic, shocked gasp left her mouth. She returned her gaze to the view before her.

“It’s like I’m the only one with taste in this entire house.”

You snorted, turning to look as Mor shook her head in disbelief. Your gaze connected with Feyre’s as you leaned over slightly and you watched as her mouth curved into an amused smile, a small laugh leaving her delicate lips.

“You have a completely different taste than both of us, Mor. Maybe that's why you feel so passionate about this topic.”

Mor shook her head again, waving the comment off with an elegant hand— long red painted nails on every finger except for two: her ring and middle finger. The same style was mirrored on her other hand, currently at her side and playing with the sand.

“Actually,” Mor started, and you rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, a smile tugging stronger at your lips. “It’s because I’m into girls that my opinion here matters the most.”

Your attention drifted back to the boys who had finally ceased their game. They were catching their breath, hunched over and panting, before gradually making their way back.

Cassian reached you guys first, his steps falling from a jog into a soft walk before he came to a complete stop. He brought his hands to his head, smoothing down the top of his pulled back hair and readjusting his bun. Then, he placed his hands on his hips as a grin broke out on his face, eyes trailing between you, Mor, and Feyre.

“Whatcha ladies gossiping about?”

His voice was still ragged from the running, coming out in a long breath and followed by a deep one. Mor frowned at him, crinkling her nose as she scanned his appearance.

“We’re talking about that disgusting caterpillar of facial hair you’ve forced us to endure the sight of.”

Cassian’s grin faltered. “Excuse me?”

Mor only raised a brow in response— a challenge. Cassian accepted wordlessly, crossing his arms across his bare chest and jutting his chin out defiantly.

“Don’t be a hater, Mor.”

She scoffed. “Hater is my middle name. Consider this a reality check: Shave.”

Cassian considered her response for a moment, lips pursing in feign contemplation. Nope,” he said, a hand caressing his mustache. “You’re just too stubborn to admit you might actually like it.”

Another scoff. Offended and insulted all at once, the presence of those emotions fully present in the sound as it left her lips. “There are many words to describe the way I feel about that monstrosity you’re touching. ‘Like’ is certainly not one of them.”

You tossed a glance over at Feyre. She caught your gaze, eyes glistening with a quiet amusement as she tugged her legs to her chest, her sitting stance mirroring yours. She placed her chin on her knee, eyes drifting back towards the two bickering adults.

“You’re so dramatic. This ‘stache isn’t for you, anyways. You’re not the population I’m aiming for.”

“And who, pray tell, is the target audience? Divorcees in soon-to-be foreclosed homes?” A raised brow. “Republicans?”

This conversation was one you’d heard almost every day since Cass had decided to grow his ‘stache out, opting to only shave his beard. The argument held the same structure everytime. Mor would complain that it was gross and an eyesore, offer a new metaphor to describe it, and insist that Cassian shave it off. Cass would wave it off, act offended, and explain his reasonings once more to her deaf ears. It’s for the indie girls at the festival, Mor, Cassian had whined two days prior, They’ll go crazy for a pornstache. It’s a trend now. Mor only complained more in response, groaning in disgust and telling him she was going to shave it in his sleep.

As the argument continued, Azriel and Rhysand finally approached. Rhys raised an eyebrow at the bickering duo, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. He flashed you a grin before flopping down next to Feyre. With a playful shake of his head, reminiscent of a wet dog, he sent droplets of water flying. Feyre let out a startled shriek and pushed him away, her eyes sparkling with annoyance as Rhysand’s laughter filled the air.

Meanwhile, Azriel approached slowly, the last rays of the setting sun casting a faint glow on his figure. As he neared, Cassian turned his attention to him, desperation evident in his eyes.

“Hey, man, help me out here,” he called, a hand extended in Az’s direction. “Tell her it works. Back me up.”

Azriel gave him a steady look before shaking his head. “I’m not going to do that.”

Mor let out a triumphant laugh. “Aha!” Her eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Even Azriel agrees with me!”

Cass kicked a spray of sand towards her in response. It scattered in all directions and you sputtered, grimacing as the gritty texture found its way into your mouth and eyes. With a groan, you brushed it off, watching as Cassian’s face dropped and concern flashed across his widened eyes.

Both him and Azriel muttered curses under their breath, the two starting to move towards you. But Cassian was faster. With a swift motion, he plopped down beside you, arm reaching out to pull you into his side.

“My bad, my bad,” He said, his voice laced with sincerity as he tucked you against him, his damp arm warm around you. He gave you a reassuring squeeze, though you still felt the remnants of sand clinging to your skin.

You squirmed a bit, trying to escape his sweaty embrace, but Cassian held you close. Over your hunched back, he shot a glare at Mor. “See what you made me do?”

She squeaked. “What I made you do?”

“Yes you.”

Your cheek pressed against his chest, squished near the area where his arms met his torso.

“I didn’t force you to kick sand at me with your big ass feet,” she huffed.

A new argument arose, Cassian leaning further over your back to bicker with Mor face to face. The more enthusiastic he became, the farther he seemed to shove you into his form. You looked up and managed to meet Azriel’s gaze, widening your eyes in a plea for help.

He understood the look immediately. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in amusement as he stepped forward, knocking Cassian’s muscled calf with his foot.

“Cass,” Azriel said, “You’re suffocating her.”

It took him a moment to register the words. But when they finally hit, Cass sprung back, holding you out with his arms in a movement so swift you blinked to reorient yourself. He examined you with the same observant eye as a parent, looking over your exposed skin as if he was searching for any open wounds or deformities.

“My bad,” he repeated. He gave you a guilty grin as brought his hands to smooth down your hair. His large hazel eyes met yours, widened and soft like that of a puppy. “All better.”

You gave him a look— brows raised and scrunched, a deep crease forming in the middle of them.

“Get outta here,” you muttered, pushing his warm body away from you. But despite yourself, a small grin hung on the corners of your lips.

You still felt Azriel’s eyes on you— that faint warm sensation that filtered through your skin. You met his gaze momentarily, watching as his eyes bounced between all of you. He settled back on the large teddy bear next to you.

“Help me start the fire,” Az said, calling Cassian’s attention back to him. Azriel looked at Mor next, gesturing towards her with his chin. “You too, judgy.”

“What?” Mor paused, hands freezing mid motion of wiping sand off her thighs. “Why me?”

“Because you’re mean,” Cassian said, bringing a hand to stroke his mustache. “And mean people do labor.”

Rhysand snorted. You had almost forgotten Rhys and Feyre were sitting there, quietly in their own world until Rhys leaned back on his hands with a grin, obviously enjoying the argument.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Get up, c’mon.” He gestured with his hands, herding them both like sheep. Mor let out a grumble but began to push herself up nonetheless.

“I’m getting up because I want to. Not because you told me.”

Cassian was in front of her before she managed, offering a large hand out. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Let's go.”

She threw him a scowl, but the act had no malice behind it. Taking his hand, she muttered, “This would be much sweeter if you didn’t look like my creepy uncle Chris.”

Cassian just groaned.

Thank you, you mouthed when Azriel met your eyes once more. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave you a soft smile. Something deep within your chest flickered, like a candle being lit aflame. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before trailing after the two.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Forty five minutes later, you found yourself seated around a crackling fire, the sound of Rhysand's offhand joke eliciting laughter from everyone.The night had fully descended and the sky above was dotted with dim, flickering stars. You’d all discussed the summer, the festival, and your plans for the month. It was a summer of living, you’d told them. A summer to sit back and let life do with you what it may—and hope that meant all good things.

The stretch of beach was empty except for your group. Whether Rhysand and Mor’s family owned this area or the rest of the world had simply decided to stay in, you weren’t sure. Either way, you were appreciative.

Cassian was beside you, but your attention was solely on Azriel, who sat next to him. The firelight played upon his skin, casting a warm glow that accentuated the sharp lines of his face. The embers illuminated his hazel eyes with a brilliance that made your breath catch every time he laughed.

Azriel met your gaze, his features softened by the dancing flames, and your heart skipped a beat. His mouth moved, forming words, and it took a moment for you to realize he was speaking to you. You blinked, the spell breaking, and slowly forced yourself to focus, bringing yourself down from the reverie you had drifted into.

“Are you cold?”

Azriel’s voice rolled over you like a small wave and you shivered at the sensation. You looked down at yourself and realized, for the first time, how the night’s chill had settled in. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, more pronounced than you had initially thought.

“Just a little,” you admitted, running your hands along your arms in a vain attempt to generate warmth. The friction offered little relief and you exhaled softly. “I can just move closer to the fire.”

You repositioned yourself, moving to scooch closer to the fire that illuminated your faces.

“Nah, don’t do that.” Cassian said. You turned to find him watching you, his gaze steady, shadows of flames flickering on his features. He gestured back towards the house with his chin. "I have a hoodie in the living room if you want to grab it."

You considered his idea for a moment, then nodded in agreement. It was a sensible suggestion. Placing a gentle hand on Mor’s shoulder, you let her know you’d be right back. She smiled in response, her eyes warm in the flickering firelight.

You brushed off your pants and walked towards the house, your feet sinking slightly into the still-warm sand with each step. The contrast of the cool night air and the lingering warmth of the sand created a soothing, almost nostalgic sensation as you made your way to the living room.

The dimly lit interior welcomed you with a cozy, muted glow and your gaze fell on the kitchen counter. There, amid Azriel’s keys and a variety of Rhysand’s rings, rested a camera.

You took a moment to examine it—a digital model. While you weren’t particularly knowledgeable about cameras, this one was nice; reminiscent of a simpler time. You weren’t exactly sure if it was the design that made you feel that way or the person that owned it: Azriel.

You knew without a doubt that it was his. You could also assume, with a fair degree of confidence, that the camera could beautifully simulate the look of film.

Azriel had mentioned his burgeoning passion for photography two years ago, expressing a particular fondness for the aesthetic of film. He’d said that a true film camera was beyond his budget at the time, but a digital model with film simulation would be an ideal compromise. Rhysand and Cassian had gifted him this very camera the following Christmas. From what Mor had told you, Az never felt comfortable enough to pick up the passion— kept telling her that he hadn’t found his muse yet.

"Hey."

Despite how soft the voice was, you still jumped, placing the camera back down on the counter as you turned to face Azriel. He always had an uncanny ability to move silently, almost as if he emerged from the shadows themselves. It was unnerving at first, but there was a certain comfort found in his stealth now. His presence wasn't loud. You appreciated it.

"Hi, Az." You smiled sheepishly. "You're so quiet. It's crazy."

The corners of his lips twitched upwards. Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, his hazel eyes now glowing with a gentle amusement.

“Sorry,” he said, accompanied by a small laugh. He moved around you and made his way to the fridge. It opened with a small clatter, the glass bottles stacked on the door moving with the movement. He pulled out a few bottles of beers.

“You agreed to be the errand boy?” you asked, a hint of playful reproach in your voice.

Usually, the boys argued over every action; who would grab the next drink, who would drive while the others drank— the options were endless. It was often settled with a game of rock, paper, scissors, or a classic nose-goes. Azriel always seemed to come out on top.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a casual shrug punctuating his response. “If I didn’t, no one would.”

His voice was quiet– steady. You studied his movements, taking in the details of his tattooed back that were too small to appreciate from a distance. He turned around, walking forward to place the bottles on the kitchen counter across from you.

"You could be a spy, y'know."

Azriel raised an eyebrow skeptically, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggested he was both amused and intrigued. You returned the gesture, leaning forward on your forearms. The kitchen counter was cold against your skin and you felt a slight chill run through your body.

“You don’t agree?” you asked.

He met your gaze through his lashes and shook his head, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. The curls otop of his head bounced with the subtle movement and the warmth in his eyes reflected the gentle glow of the dim kitchen light.

“Nah,” he responded. He popped the caps off the bottles. “Don’t know if that fits me.”

“I think it does. You’re an observer.”

“Careful,” Azriel warned with a playful edge. His voice was smooth in a way that made you clench, tone low and unintendedly seductive. “Don’t make me sound like a creep.”

”Okay, what would you like me to say instead?”

He contemplated. “I just like to people-watch.”

You had to stifle a chuckle, finding his self-description almost endearing in its simplicity. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that actually sounded worse— at least to you. Instead, you reached to the side, grabbing the camera that had been in your hands a few moments prior. "This kind of people watching?"

For a moment, you both stood in silence as you stared at the camera in your hands. When you looked up, you focused on Azriel’s face. His eyes traveled from the camera to your eyes, and in that moment, there was something alive in his gaze—an intensity that seemed to make the room itself disappear. Something warm and comforting.

“I remember you talking about wanting to get into photography,” you said, your voice softening with genuine warmth. With a smile, you extended the camera toward him. “I’m glad to see you’re pursuing it. At least for the summer.”

Azriel’s smile widened slightly as he reached out and took it from your hands, the brush of his fingers against your skin sending a pleasant shiver through you. Your smile grew deeper into your cheeks, pulled at the edges by his very touch.

But when the camera was finally in his hold, something seemed to change in his gaze, as if the weight of the it in his palm was transferred to a weight on his chest. He let out a small sigh.

"Don't get your hopes up,” he murmured, “I haven't taken any pictures yet."

He placed the camera back onto the counter with a slight thud, the sound echoing softly in the quiet kitchen. You gave him a face.

“It’s barely been a week,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Six days to be exact.”

“That’s already a week behind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, a small laugh leaving your lips. Azriel seemed to lock onto the sound, eyes glittering as his hand found the beer bottle again.

“Seriously?” You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms in a playful gesture of mock indignation. “It’s been six days and you’re already considering yourself behind schedule?”

He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s not just about having the camera. It’s about actually using it. I had high hopes for this week.”

“Sometimes its okay to just enjoy the moment, Az.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with playful intensity. You felt a catch in your breath at the way his expression shifted. It was enough to remind you that Az wasn’t just kind and attractive; he was a suave college boy when needed.

“Ah, but the burden of my artistic aspirations are too great,” he said, his voice low and playful, “How will I ever manage without my schedule?”

A comedian, truly. You raised an amused eyebrow. “And I’m the Type A one?”

"You are." He grinned. "Who counts the days they've been on vacation for, anyways?"

"Okay that's not fair."

Azriel chuckled and walked over to a vase on the counter. The vase, a clear, simple one that had come with a bouquet of flowers for Rhys’s mother, was part of a collection Azriel started—a small yet meaningful tradition of saving bottle caps from vacation. You took the opportunity to glance at his back again, taking in the intricate tattoos that adorned his shoulder blades. The designs seemed to pulse with life against his skin when they caught the light.

“It’s cool seeing all of the details in your tattoos. I never really noticed them before.”

Azriel turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours as he considered your observation. “Is this you admitting that you’re staring at my naked back?”

“Do you want me to be staring at your naked back?”

Azriel dropped the caps into the vase and walked back towards you. He gave you a nonchalant shrug, his mischievous smile lingering slightly on his lips, casual and knowing.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you added, tracing idle patterns onto the counter, unaware of how the motions mimicked the swirls on Az’s skin. “You, Cass, and Rhys have the most ink out of everyone I know. My eyes naturally gravitate.”

“And here I thought my back was special.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks and you quickly looked down at the counter, hoping it would hide the color spreading across your face. Your smile was so wide it almost hurt. You met his eyes once more. They were already on you.

“I will tell you that your wings seem a bit bigger than Cass or Rhys’s.”

Azriel’s grin widened at your response. He leaned forward, resting on the counter and lowering his gaze to meet yours. “Don’t tell them that.”

He took a swig of his drink. You watched the path of the liquid down his throat, tracing it to his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. You cleared your throat, laughing softly. “Never.”

He looked at you for a moment, gaze soft and contemplative. A thoughtful glaze found his eyes, as if he were lost in deep reflection.

“What?”

Your voice came out meeker than intended.

“I’m just really glad you’re here.” Azriel said. His voice was sincere, carrying with it a weight that made you pause.

You sucked in a breath. “Me too. It’s nice to be around you guys. All of you.”

“Would I be a dick if I said that I’m glad you and Eris broke up?” Azriel paused. “Because now you can be here with us.”

You bit back a smile, your cheeks warming slightly. “Maybe just a tiny bit.”

But the corners of your lips still twitched upwards, forming a lopsided smile.

He shrugged, a casual grin returning to his lips. “In that case, consider it thought, not said.”

You smiled at him, feeling a nervous flutter in your chest. The dim light of the kitchen seemed to cast a warm glow around him, making his features appear even more inviting than usual. He looked soft now, and you found yourself struggling to understood why, at one point, you were unbelievably intimidated by him.

Freshman year you would be having a heart attack now, truly. You could still feel her deep down in your mind, beginning to hyperventilate with excitement.

You looked down shyly, trying to steady your racing heart, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pointing at the beers.

“Do you need help with those?”

“Sure,” he replied with a grin, pushing one towards you. “I can never say no to you.” His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and you bit your lip to prevent your smile from growing even more. Forget alcohol— subtlety is what you needed more of. He rounded the kitchen counter.

As he neared you, he paused, his eyes flicking to your forehead. Placing the beers back down, he reached out, his fingers hovering inches from your skin. You scrunched your brows in confusion, blinking rapidly as his face came closer to yours. His touch was feather-light, so soft it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine all the same.

“What—” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He brushed something from your temple, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You felt your cheeks heat up, a growing blush spreading like wildfire.

You couldn’t help but imagine how Azriel must be with those he loved beyond friendship—how his gentle gestures must perfectly soothe the hearts of those he held dear. The soft touches, the attentiveness, the small actions that made Azriel so uniquely himself. The thought lingered as he pulled away, rubbing his fingers with a small, smile.

“Some sand,” he said, his voice casual, but the warmth in his eyes gave it a softer edge.

You managed to breathe out a thank you, the breath escaping you in a soft rush. Another shiver ran through you, not just from the chill, but from the unexpected intimacy of his touch. You stared at the counter, hoping it would hide the flush on your cheeks and the way your smile made your cheeks ache.

Azriel seemed to have a sudden realization. “Aaand,” he said, turning on his heel and walking briskly into the living room. Moments later, he returned with a small jog, tossing you a hoodie. “It’s mine, not Cass’s, but hopefully it’ll work.”

The hoodie smelled faintly of him—an understated blend of his personal scent that made you feel a little warmer. You took it from him, the fabric soft and reassuring against your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling as you pulled the hoodie on.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he grabbed the remaining beers.

You nodded, following him back outside. As you stepped into the night, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your temple. It felt as if the very spot on your head held an imprint of his touch, a marker of his fingerprints.

You smiled for the rest of the night.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Three

authors note: this series is the only thing keeping me going rn, just two sweethearts with crushes on each other and a lovely beach….and cass with a pornstache 😏

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers

[mimisplayground]

Heyy

I love the idea of toxic! Price ♡ and was wondering if u could do Price x college student reader who's relationship is like almost a forbidden relationship cuz of their age gap or cuz Price is army man whos killed people.

Reader can be like an innocent bunny or a wannabe bad girl looking for trouble

₊˚♡˚˖ I love ur works and feel free to ignore this! ⁺˚♡˚

I was listening to greedy by tate mcrae & diet mountain dew by lana del ray while thinking of all the cod boys and feel like Price would fit greedy to a T

Oh my gosh yes?? (sry it took me so long to get to this i have been sooooo busy icky)

But like imagine bragging to all your friends. You’ve got this older boyfriend in the military. High ranking too, a demanding man who holds your waist just a smidge too tight when in public with you.

And your friends laugh and giggle and listen in awe when you tell them that he’s amazing in bed. That you never knew you could cum so hard until he got his hands on you.

You always tend to leave out the small parts that your friends call “red flags.” Like him being a little too controlling over who you’re around, how late you’re out, where you go. Because he wants you safe is what he always says.

The first (and last) time you had screamed at John, calling him an over controlling dickhead, he had shown just how little he could care. Didn’t pay an ounce of attention to you, ignoring you, brushing you off when you said you were going out. Effectively showing you how much you depended on him. The funds you had for going out suddenly gone, the little gifts he would get you disappeared, the small kisses and loving gestures completely gone.

It took all of a month for you to crawl back into your Captains arms, on the couch while he soothed and rubbed your back. Calling you his sweet girl and asking if you were ready to be his again.

Holds your hand so sweetly while he pounds into you :( kisses all over your face while muttering into your ear about how your his. His sweet girl only, that he was all you needed. And you nod and babble along with him as you agree.

He leaves your legs absolutely quaking with how he pummels your pussy as you scream for him. Has you calling him sir and captain in bed because he loves the power dynamics.

Shoves a ring on your finger when you cum around his dick, telling you to let everyone know that he was your fiancée now.

Because John Price IS a greedy man, and when he wants you, he plans to own ALL of you :(

[lemonmaid]

A/n: TMI but I'm dealing with the worst cramps in the world to the point where I might go to the doctor. Anyways, here this headcannons. This doesn't have to be for only fem readers but extends to people with uterus.

Warnings: OOC (i mean military men in a fan fic), periods, gender neutral but again it's for anyone really.

Imagine 141!Men dealing with your period.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Immediately sympathetic, having to see a lot of female family members deal with the situation he knows what to do. Listen.

You want snacks? He is already grabbing his keys.

You want to watch that shitty rom-com, he is already heating up popcorn.

You want tea? He won't even make a peep or a comment.

Just because he is doing everything for you babes, don't mean he won't joke about making the period dissappear for nine months.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Baby girl needs SPECIFIC instructions. The only woman he really dealt with was his mum.

If you send him to the store, he wants a detailed plan so he doesn't screw up. Example, he wants to know; A. What specific brand of product. B. What color is the box of said product. C. What is the product called. D. What is absorption YOU want.

Communication is sexy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

100% i bet he is one of those guys who buys a period app subscription to keep track of your cycles.

100% the guy to say he is having sympathy cramps as well.

He will still try to cheer you up with joking around, but will take your discomfort or PMS seriously.

He probably knows your cycle better than you, like if you were both grocery shoppin he will make a stop in the period aile in the store.

"Why are we stopping? Here?".

"You're about to start luv".

You look at him with confusion, "No??".

"You were craving foods last night, luv".

"And?".

"You always do before you start, now we gotta get ginger tea".

John Price

Been around the block before, but he acts like a dad about it.

"Stop drinking caffeine, it's making your cramps worst".

"Come on, get up. We are going on a walk".

I can see him being strict about your diet during this time, just for the sake to help your cramps.

Listen he loves you! Don't be mad, he is just trying his best to help.

[girlactionfigure]

@abbasez

ISRAEL IS NOT A RACIST STATE: Unlike Gaza, every Israeli citizen has equal rights regardless of race, religion or gender or sexual orientation (so you won't get tossed off a roof)

THERE IS NO APARTHEID: Unlike citizens of Gaza, Israelis of all races can live anywhere, marry anyone, run for office, vote, assemble freely, pursue any occupation and worship freely.

JEWS ARE NOT WHITE: Over 62% of Israeli citizens are of Mizrahi, Arab, Ethiopian, North African or Mixed descent. 

JEWS ARE NOT COLONIZERS: Genetic, historical, religious and archaeological evidence prove that Israel is the ancestral home of the Jewish people – making our return to the land the ultimate act of “decolonization.”

JEWS DIDN’T STEAL THE LAND: In ‘48, the UN Partition divided the land into two states: one for Jews and one for Arabs. Israel accepted the plan. The Arab states didn’t and declared war.

ISRAEL DIDN’T START THE WAR: There was a ceasefire on Oct 6th when Hamas murdered, mutilated, raped and kidnapped over 1,500 Israelis. Simply put, Hamas will not stop until Israel no longer exists.

THERE IS NO GENOCIDE: “Israel has implemented more precautions to prevent civilian harm than any military in history – above and beyond what international law requires, and more than the U.S. did in its wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.” - John Spencer, Chair of Urban Warfare Studies at West Point (See article in bio)

THERE IS NO FAMINE: Columbia Professors Awi Federgruen & Ran Kivetz have analyzed available data and conducted research, noting that “the food supply entering Gaza is more than sufficient to feed all 2.2 million Gazans according to what is considered a normal diet in North America. They further argue that the International Criminal Court and UN have joined Hamas in blaming Israel for a “famine that never was, hoping to stop the war in Gaza.” 

[redd956]

Things to worldbuild when bored

Keep in mind, this is worldbuilding as for fun, none of these are essentials, what's essential all depends on what you plan to use your worldbuilding alongside

The everyday diet

Seasonal clothing

Common phobias/fears

What children do in their freetime

The sounds of the everyday

More blue collar jobs!

Children's toys

Desserts

Biome Variants

Species anatomical workings

Disorders

Common Illnesses

Popular hobbies

Beauty Standards

Snacks

Rare physical features

World Wonders

Intercultural aspects of life

Law enforcement

Military weapons vs. common weapons

Religious rituals

New mother/parent culture

Superstitions

Funeral/Death rituals

Household pets

Agricultural animals

Games (virtual, sporty, ttrpg, and board)

[snootlestheangel]

This idea I've had all day but haven't had the chance to sit down and really write out

Retired Military!Ghost x Cannibal!Soap

Ghost's last assignment led to a pretty rough mental breakdown, and the higher-ups pulled the plug on "Ghost" and benched Simon Riley permanently

Nothing Price or Laswell could do would fix this

But he can't sit still. He ends up traveling a lot, and it's how he ends up in some old bar in a small town in the Scottish Highlands.

It's how he meets a very attractive stranger, all deep voiced and smooth talking.

Normally, Simon isn't one for hook-ups, but it's his retirement and he figures he should enjoy himself while the opportunity presents itself. Besides, this man, apparently called "John" is very attractive, and Simon finds himself enjoying the way the man's hands feel on his waist, the way his stubble scratches his neck as the man whispers downright filthy things into his ear.

"Ahm gonna eat yah right up" shouldn't be as... enticing as it is to Ghost, as something about the way the man growled it should have been a red flag.

Another red flag should have been how quick the man was to offer they head back to his place. But Simon figured it didn't matter, and it was certainly cheaper than finding a motel at this time of night for a reasonable price just to get laid.

Another red flag was the fact the man was practically a recluse, living deep in the mountains in a quaint little place. But, again, Simon didn't mind. He figured, that despite how well built the man was and despite not having the upper hand here, he'd still be able to easily defend himself should the worst arise. He is Ghost after all, retirement be damned.

And the man is good in bed. He's got Simon on his back, practically whimpering, as he bites and kisses all over Ghost's body. He's pinching the fat along his stomach, nipping at the stretch marks along his hips, thighs, and pecs, sucking hickeys into the fat of his arms. Simon feels like he's being eaten alive, but by god is it addicting.

Soap, meanwhile, isn't a human only diet type of cannibal. It's more of a guilty pleasure, going to the nearby bar and picking off an unsuspecting tourist that fits the physique he knows makes for a good meal, and can last the course of several meals.

He hadn't even planned on bringing anyone home that night. Certainly not to eat, and certainly not for sex.

But when he saw the absolute unit that is Simon Riley walk in and take a seat at the bar, he knew he just had to sink his teeth into that man's biceps.

But he finds himself struggling to commit to the idea of killing and eating this man. He craves it, so desperately, as he bites and kisses along the man's stomach. He feels perfect, and Soap so desperately wants to taste him in the most literal sense.

But he just can't

The obscene noises he's making under Soap's tongue, teeth, and hands are noises he's finding himself addicted to.

Besides, he knows he's not winning that fight as long as the man is conscious.

Anyways I don't know where this would go but yeah. That's the idea. It's been rotting my brain all day and I needed to get it out :)

[deakyjoe]

Somebody’s Watching Me Part 12

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (“Sarge”, she/her, British, backstory)

Category: coworkers to friends to lovers with grumpy x sunshine dynamic/idiots in love

Summary: Can the two of you fix the damage that has been done? Or is it too late?

Warnings: angst, fluff, talks of injuries, British slang/terminology, strong language, mask is off

Word count: 1.4k (a baby in comparison to other parts)

A/N: Took a break from writing this series, mostly because I was burned out and had lots of uni work to be doing, but also because I needed time to think the ending through to give you all the best of what I’m capable of. It’s not as long as other parts but I feared that if I didn’t write it now then I would never write it. It’s pretty much where I always intended the story to go, just with a lot less conversation than originally planned. There will still be an epilogue after this but for now… enjoy!

When Ghost awoke, blinded by fluorescent hospital lights, and he saw Price standing at the foot of his bed with a deep-set frown... well, he knew things weren't good. It didn't help that you were nowhere to be seen. He didn't expect you to be fawning over him and nursing him back to health or anything. But no trace of you in the hospital room at all was not an encouraging sight.

"Am I dead?" Simon said gruffly, immediately coughing as his lungs clearly had something wrong with them.

Price scoffed. "You wish."

"Damn." He attempted to sit up straight, groaning when pain stabbed through his torso. "Ah, what the fuck?"

"I'd be careful if I were you. You were shot. Several times."

"Nothing new then." He sighed and looked at Price again, a grave look crossing his face. "Where is she?"

The captain hesitated for a moment before replying. "Home."

Shit, that definitely wasn't good.

"Why?" Simon didn't really want to know, too scared of the truth, but he needed to know.

"She was severely injured. Needed better medical attention than we could give her and then some time off once she recovers. She's home now but still in remission." Price checked his watch quickly, clearing his throat when he saw the time.

"Got somewhere to be?" Ghost asked, a sarcastic inflection in his voice.

The captain nodded. "Yes, actually. Already late from waiting for your lazy arse to wake up."

He only grunted in reply and waved his superior out of the room. "Go. I'll be fine.”

"You can go home to her once you've healed a bit more. For now, rest." And with that, Price walked out of the room leaving Simon in silence.

It was okay. He liked silence. Well, more he liked the lack of talking. People talked far too much about insignificant things. Strangely, he missed the sound of your voice chattering about insignificant things. He pushed that thought away and attempted to sleep for a while.

At home, in your flat, you were sick of friends coming over to visit you. Each one seemed to have some form of baked good or casserole and your refrigerator was full to the brim already. You hadn't even been home that long.

The sheer mass of people doting over you was becoming overwhelming in the most annoying way possible. You didn't need them constantly caring for you. Sure, the sentiment was nice enough but you were used to looking after yourself and healing independently. Usually you did it in the (un)comfort of a military hospital or medical tent. Unfortunately for you, you'd been sent home this time and had had no choice in informing your friends of your sudden return back. They just suddenly knew you were there and they were more than willing to help.

"I don't need you to give me a sponge bath." You'd told one with a roll of your eyes, still thinking about earlier in the day when you'd had to tell another that it was perfectly fine for you to drink apple juice and not stick to a strict diet of water.

Honestly, a part of you was enjoying being at home and having time to relax. Even though the cause of it was a little extreme, being able to sit on your sofa all day and watch reruns of old sitcoms as you made your way through every dish stacked in your fridge was nice. Almost... fun.

A part of you longed for something though. Simon. Obviously him. You craved to know how he was doing. When you'd first woken up, a nurse had simply told that he was alive and nothing else. Alive meant nothing. You didn't even know if his condition was stable.

You were worried, to say the least. And even Price wasn't willing to divulge any further information when you'd pressed him for it over the phone. He'd just mumbled something vague and moved on to asking you how you were doing.

It was frustrating. That was for sure.

The days passed and you grew restless, itching to get out of the house again. But you were sensible and followed the suggested instructions from the several doctors that had all agreed that you needed in order to heal properly. It was just a shame that it took so long to happen.

On day, what felt like, one billion of staying at home, there was a knock at the door. And after you'd taken a minute or two shuffling towards it, shouting out a stream of reassurances that you were on your way, you were utterly shocked to find your lieutenant on the doorstep.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times before a ridiculous sentiment left your mouth.

"Jesus, is this like those hallucinations you get just before dying?"

Simon said nothing, just the twitch of the corner of his mouth indicated that he had even heard you, and outstretched his fist to you.

In his hand, was an apple.

Specifically, one of the good apples from the farmers' market.

You looked up at him in confusion.

"Peace offering."

That explained it. So, you took it from him and opened the door wider to let him in. You weren't about to turn down a good apple or a peace offering.

Once you'd both settled yourselves into comfortable positions on the sofa, you wincing a few times and growing jealous that he seemed to have healed so quickly, you really took your time to look at him.

You tilted your head to the side and raked your eyes over him. "You're nervous."

"Am I?" His eyebrows raised a fraction.

"Yes." You nodded.

"How can you tell?"

"You scratch at the scars on your face when something is making you anxious."

"Hm." His eyes squinted at that observation, obviously not previously aware that he had that tell.

You moved on, not willing to dwell on that. "Why are you here?"

"Visiting an old friend."

You laughed sarcastically. "Oh, really?"

He shrugged, still as frustrating as ever. "You should've left me behind."

You'd be shocked if he hadn't been so self-sacrificial in previous times.

"Why would I do that?" You asked, lacing your voice with a mock innocent tone.

"Would've been the smart decision." He snapped.

So you shot right back. "Maybe I'm not smart."

"Yes, you are. You're just stubborn."

The words he'd once told you came tumbling out of your mouth. "A stubborn brat you mean?"

"That too."

You laughed again, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're right. I am stubborn. And I couldn't let you die. The idea of you... I can't stand it. So I let you live for selfish reasons. Alright?"

"You should have let me die."

"Shut up, Simon. That was never going to happen." You rolled your eyes at him and grit your teeth when a shooting pain stabbed through your side as you adjusted your position on the sofa.

Simon's hands raised for a second as if about to help you before he lowered them again.

Instead, he asked a question.

"Why not?"

You looked at him to see if he was being serious. He was.

"You know why."

"Maybe I don't."

You sighed. He was so difficult sometimes. Yet, you gave in.

"I..." You trailed off into thought.

But Simon wasn't going to let it go so easily. "You what?"

"I, y'know, I feel..." Your hands waved around as if hoping to grip a coherent answer from the air.

"Feel what?" The slight raise of an eyebrow hinted that he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

You sighed in defeat. "You know what I'm trying to get across here, Simon."

"I want to hear you say it."

"I feel for you. Have feelings. More than platonic. I... care... for you." You cringed at your own clumsiness, wondering when you'd lost your ability to fully communicate with words.

"I know."

You punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Cocky shit."

"I also care for you."

"I know." You scoffed teasingly.

He just repeated your words back to you. "Cocky shit."

The smiles that broke out across both of your faces were indescribable.

Yeah, the two of you were being slightly more awkward about this than usual but it was never going to be easy to just jump right back in to what you used to have. Smaller steps would have to be taken. And you were fine with that. As was he. You’d get there eventually, it was only a matter of time. After all, some things were just meant to happen.

A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with me through my hiatus! I’m sorry this is a quick resolution but the epilogue is still on the way.

[senjuushi]

Ow… what about a Master who takes offence to the awful food and insists on cooking for their gun? (Your choice which ones, my favorite is Charleville!)

The original food headcanon post, for context!

. . .

Charleville

Though the apparent spoiling doesn't make sense, at first, Charleville is still visibly delighted by every meal you prepare for him. He's grateful, almost excessively so, and always has plenty of heartfelt thanks and compliments in return for your effort. When he starts gaining a noticeable amount of weight, however, that's a cause for worry. You haven't said anything about it, but he hasn't forgotten his previous Master's standards for staying appealing.

89.

The home-cooked meals are a massive upgrade to 89's usual diet, which manages to be even worse than the standard military fare thanks to his tendency to resort to pre-packaged, shelf-stable junk whenever he has the chance. What you're offering feels way too good for a mere weapon... but feeling like someone cares, for once, erodes any common sense that might make him try to refuse. It never gets less awkward or embarrassing to be doted on like this, but 89 likes the attention way too much to fight it for long.

Ghost

He's used to being outright forgotten on meal schedules with unfortunate regularity, so having someone go out of their way to personally make sure he's fed is a downright overwhelming amount of attention, by Ghost's standards— and that person being Master makes it even worse. He's torn between treasuring every blessed meal he's given and worrying himself sick over just how much of your time is ending up wasted on a stupid prototype like this.

Siegblut

He starts out suspicious of why you're trying to do something so... weirdly nice. There's no reason to be spoiling him like this, so you must be planning some kind of nasty trick, right? Siegblut's defenses fall apart much faster if you let him in the kitchen with you, however— both indulging his cooking hobby and giving him even scraps of (much-desired) respect go a long way to make him open up to you, and eventually accept your meals as "safe".

Ninety

Food is truly the way to Ninety's heart— and offering regular meals earns his utter adoration. You're a kind, kind Master who not only wants to feed him, but goes so far as to make the food yourself just so it's up to your standards. Ninety doesn't know how he's ever supposed to repay you for it, but he'll do his best to be good! Keeping him fed builds a lot of trust, so you'll have a loyal, clingy puppy all but glued to your side now that he's gotten attached.

[0venatrix]

I love seeing other people’s worldbuilding, so could you explain yours to me?

sorry I’ve you’ve already covered it and I just haven’t seen it

Iv covered bits of it here, I mostly just say stuff on discord but I don’t put stuff in tumbe much, so:

COVERED: Ask about Ssca Looking For Pterosaurs (novel I’m currently writing)

I have not named the project as a holl, it’s currently called “The Bird Agenda” in my notes (wich is slightly less of a joke than Birdhammer).

Original species: Rikeuninerd Primary world: Ruka, Rike home planet

Obviously the environment changes over time, but the primary setting looks like this >

RUKA Atmosphere: Tropical planet, 72% nitrogen, 27.1% oxygen, 0.9% carbon dioxide. Contains: -Reik, tropical with eroding mountains, it is splitting in half and has shear cliffs that form a “mouth” because of this. -Rakar, Rakar and Scayikra are divided by a mountain range, a *big* mountain range. Rakar is (mostly) a collection of tropical islands, think Indonesia. -Scayikra, the other side of the mountain range, very dry full of canyons and high desert, gradually slopes down into the sea. Star: -Havnt worked out what type/s, but hot -High UV (worse in Scayikraa) Orbit: -1 Ruka year = 100 years years -Seasons are very long cause of this orbit

RIKE Rikeuninerd are a bird like species. Life span: 259 years Size: varies a lot. Shortest is 1.1m. Tallest 2 Sex: 1 (Hermaphrodites) Lays eggs. Many have lost the ability to fly. Diet: Piscivores (mostly). They have the races Reika, Rakara and the more distantly related subspecies Scayikraa (these groups are named after there continents).

ECONOMY Depends on the nation, when Rehy is one nation the economy is a currency-less syndicate, cause that’s how Scayikra worked.

HISTORY Basic overview: majorly my world building follows the Ssca dispute, a 30’000 year long period of political upheaval, war and genocide instigated by Ssca. An important alliance is Rehy, instigated in year 387 by Screea’s Defence Defence to unify Scayikra’s small quasi-states against Yeer (sucky capitalist mercenaries). A vast majority of nations joined Rehy in 1974 as an alternative to the Ra Da Kur and Ssca. Rehy and other nations went into space n expanded territory. Over time all of Ruka’s nations joined Rehy, and eventually National borders became states.

There’s also the Ra da Kur (communist guys), Rak-Reik (superpower before Rehy, fucked Shit up in Scayikra) Kusu (by gods who angered the pacifists), nomads of all shades, all the iterations of Ssca and all the nations that came before the others.

LANG Im currently working on Ascayi. The main language spoken in Scayikra. I plan on working on Rakar continent languages next, and then Akusu wich is a confusing mush of old Rakar langs plus others.

I’m in the process of making a language tree. Iv been procrastinating.

Btw Rehy means “Collected military congregation” or in other words, “military alliance”

—

Notes are on notion, but you need to have an acc to view them I’m pretty sure.

[http-paprika]

Bite the Hand / Phillip Graves

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part four - belonging ⋆★⋆ the masterlist ⋆★⋆ previous ⋆★⋆ next

summary preparing to deploy on her first mission with the shadow company, frost begins to grow overwhelmed by the shift in her feelings.

werewolf!au / pairing phillip graves x female!reader / callsign frost / wc 1715 / warnings mentions of past trauma, alcohol, and light swearing

notes well, after weeks of painful writer's block, here we are! this chapter is what really sets the gears in motion to fling together frost and graves along with diving a bit more into frost's past which will play a big part in her relationship with graves. also, i don't know anything about military planes and deployments, so, this is definitely inaccurate, but i tried. the taglist is still open, if you want to be added, let me know.

The Shadow Company armory, as Frost had come to learn, was always uncomfortably warm. She stood, shifting her weight from one foot to another as Erikson dug around the boxes of unassigned tactical vests and gear to find something that would properly fit her. During her training, she’d been in ill-fitting gear that she had to suffer with, but now as Graves and Lerch had greenlit her for her first mission, Frost needed to be properly fitted. 

 “And you’re sure that last vest didn’t fit?” Erikson asked her again, Frost looked over at the growing pile of discards, shaking her head. 

 “It’s not my fault I’m not as beefy as the rest of you.” She shrugged, wiping some of the collected sweat off her brow. Even with how much she’d been shifting in the past months, Frost didn’t compare to them. 

 “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Finally, he stopped digging. “Here we go, this should do.” Erikson handed over a dark green vest, slightly worn on the edges but otherwise unused. Without even trying it on, Frost knew it would fit. “I’ll talk to Rodgers, and get a new set of gear ordered for you. But for now, that’ll do.” 

 As she pulled it on, Frost examined the blood-type patch that sat right over her heart, it would have to be replaced to fit her own. “So, who did this belong to?” 

 “Some corpse probably.” Erikson darkly joked, observing as she secured the vest and its various buckles and velcro before moving onto the gloves, and padding. “Very nice, one would think this was made just for you.” 

 She smirked, pulling the gear off and brushing off the dust. “Whatever you say, Erikson.” Surveying the vest fully, she spotted sloppy writing on the inside, indicating the soldier it belonged to, but the writing had mostly been smudged away, and she decided against asking and not wanting her curiosity to bring back grief. Whoever it had belonged to, as Erikson had said, was long gone.

 “How are you feeling, about finally being shipped out?” He asked, leading her to a free locker where she’d store the gear until the following morning when they would embark on the mission. 

 “Strange. Unsure. But, I’m ready to be back in combat. Even if things here aren’t the same as they were in the Marines. There’s a lot less of a moral code I’m being held to, less guilt if I fuck up.” Frost admitted, putting everything up and closing the locker. In some ways, that made her even more nauseous, she wondered how wild she could be before Graves stepped in and scolded her.

 “Just don’t plan on being reckless, and you’ll be fine,” Erikson assured her, patting her on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get out of here before I sweat my entire ass off.”

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Under the red lights in the plane, the only way Frost could describe how she felt was antsy. The mask secured over her face felt like a muzzle, like an attempt to keep her from snapping. It kept her canines, which grew sharper by the day from shifting and the new diet of fresh, hot game meat, from showing. There would be no barring of her teeth today, even if she wanted to. 

“You okay?” Graves asked, stopping in front of her. He’d been moving through the plane, making sure his soldiers were ready to deploy, that the radios were live, and everyone was in place for the hunt. 

 “Yeah, m’fine.” She promised him, but Graves shook his head with a displeased look. He’d become too familiar with her facial expressions and the way her voice strained when she tried to hide the truth. But Graves was too kind to Frost to push for the truth. 

 “You look good,” He commented, quickly finishing the sentence when she cocked an eyebrow up at him. “-In the Shadow Company uniform and wearing our insignia. Like it was made just for you.” She nodded in response, quieter than usual. It wasn’t the normal anxiety Frost had first felt when she entered combat years ago. No, it was something she couldn’t quite put words to, a fear that settled when she looked back up at her Commander or over at her packmates who chatted amongst themselves quietly.

“Frost, you’re gonna be just fine out there. I’ll be right there—“ He taps the radio strapped to her tactical vest. “If you need me. Just a call away.” 

 “Let’s hope I don’t.” Frost joked, trying to ease her unknown stress. At her feet, the case with her sniper sat, reminding her that she was the eyes for her teammates, they’d rely on her shots and calls to keep them guarded, and safe. A daunting task. She’d done it hundreds of times, but the edge of nerves would not cease.

 “What’s going on in that loud mind of yours?” Graves tilted his head slightly, a few locks of sandy hair obstructing his direct and piercing gaze. Frost quickly looked down at the gun lying across her lap, trying to find an answer that made sense of everything she felt. Loyalty, bonded, brothers, her borrowed vest, sisters, the feel of her gloves against her palms, the pack, the smell of pine needles, pale blue eyes, and Graves. 

  As she opened her mouth to speak, Frost quickly closed it, overwhelmed by the words and emotions that filled her. She’d never known how much she craved a place to call her own and surrounded by the Shadow Company pack, she had. A bundle of warmth settled in the pit of her stomach, filling the hole that she’d blinded herself to.

Graves didn’t speak, he just tilted his head again in a way that fully captured her attention. “Well, when the cat finally lets go of your tongue, you always know how to find me.” He told her, a quick pat on her shoulder before he stepped away to speak to Lerch. Her eyes followed his figure, it was the only thing she seemed to focus on, not the countdown to her deployment or the itch in her hands. Just Phillip Graves.

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Hidden in the thicket of the woods, her breathing was masked by the loud calling of crows. The pungent smell of whiskey and motor oil overpowered anything else. She didn’t know where he was, she couldn’t hear him through the trees, but she knew he was coming after her. 

“Don’t hide from me, girl. I am your father!” He barked loudly, the butcher knife in his hand still coated with sheep’s blood, his white apron stained red. The thirteen-year-old girl felt hysteric, on the verge of tears with the fear of what he’d do to her. She hadn’t meant to talk back to him, speaking before thinking. But her remark had invoked his wrath. “I can smell you, girl. A runt like you can’t hide from me, your stench is all over these woods.” 

The words hailed down on her like nails pounded into her bones, catching her off guard and unalert for when he finally found her and yanked her out of the indigo bush by her forearm. She screamed, the sound curdling into a howl. Her body convulsed, bones being broken and reformed, the skin stretched and hair grew, teeth gnashing as she tried to free herself from his grasp. 

That was the first time she ever shifted.

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Frost woke with a start, the sound of the landing gears and loss of altitude dragged her out of her slumber, ears popped in the descent. Stretching, she moved away from whoever’s shoulder it was she had fallen asleep on, her cheek indicted from the shoulder of the tactical vest, she tried to push back the memory that had invaded her mind. She didn’t like to remember how it all began, when she was younger she used to dream it had never happened, hating that she was her father’s daughter. In his eyes, she didn’t belong, even if she had the same noise and sharp tongue. 

But she was no longer seen as her father’s daughter. The Shadow Company had become the only pack she would align herself with. There, she belonged.

“Thought you would sleep the whole time.” Dipaolo chuckled across from her as Frost brushed the hair out of her face. She’d shed the mask and gloves before falling asleep, allowing herself to freely be. “Surprised Graves let you.” 

Almost launching herself out of her seat, Frost looked over at Graves who sat next to her. He didn’t give any indication that he cared, whether that was a good thing or not, Frost was unsure. “She did a hell of a good job out there, Dipaolo. Maybe next time if you do a fraction of the work Frost did, I’ll let you sleep on my shoulder.” 

“Favoritism! I’ve been here for three years and you already like Frost more!” Dipaolo gawked. “It’s because she’s a woman, isn’t it?” 

“Stop getting pissy, Dipaolo. She’s just better.” Vance tells him, cutting into the conversation. The attention was directed away from Frost as her teammates bickered back and forth, allowing her to bury her face in her hands with embarrassment, a groan escaping her lips. 

“Frost, there’s no need to act embarrassed. We’re a pack, we help each other out. Even if it means offering a shoulder to sleep on.” Graves said to her quietly as the plane jolted, touching the tarmac. “You are hardly the first person who’s accidentally fallen asleep on mine. And unlike Oz, you don’t talk in your sleep. So I don’t mind.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?” But even with his reassurance, her cheeks felt hot, a rosy shade that was hidden in the dim light of the plane. It was like an itch she couldn’t ignore. It was a feeling that Frost hadn’t felt in years, one that had once suffocated her and torn her to shreds. 

But everything was different this time, she wasn’t that same scared girl. And Phillip Graves was like nothing she had ever known.

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[cyborg-squid]

god the thing that's fucking me up the most about Nona the Ninth is. class traitor Griddle Kiriona. like i guess it makes sense, from the beginning, while she was never into the Ninth House, she was very into the Cohort and the Empire, the idea of military service being her only distraction from the living hell that was Drearburh. and then her sacrifice at the end of GtN, she's been fed military propaganda all her life, of course she figures the only thing to do at the end of the line is a heroic self-sacrifice. Not what John planned all along for Lyctorhood but it certainly helps to, he'd wanted the Canaan House trials to have a bit more in the way of 'informed consent' (he did used to be a scientist, after all) but imagine if you've got a half dozen cavaliers, having been fed a steady diet of military propaganda, saying "Anything for you, my midnight hagette!" and feeding themselves to their necros, and boom you've got 8 or so new Lyctors!

jumping back to Gideon, she's hurt when Harrow refuses to fully eat her, that Harrow lobotomizes herself to avoid doing so, not understanding that Harrow is refusing to buy into that idea of sacrifice and consumption as love, that (as illustrated by Pal and Cam) devotion alone is enough. it can't just be one, it can't just be the other, it has to be synthesis, something that nary a necromancer before had attained (with John intervening when they were about to).

and then God tells Gideon that, yeah she was right all along, she was someone special even back on Drearburh, she's the most special anyone could ever be, she's God's favorite princess. his literal child. and then she's thrown into an endless frontline battle, whatever's going on Antioch.

i forget where i was going with this but. ouuugh. Gideon why. okay i do get why. but please don't.