#how to gain weight faster for men

[novemberheart]

{overview} Kyle wakes up

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, short chapter, ghostsoap

Chapter 28 <- Chapter 29 -> Chapter 30

John had rubbed your back till you fell asleep again.

Not that you stayed asleep. Your eyes fluttered open, raw and sore. You peered over at Kyle. You feel like his anesthesia should've worn off by now. Has anyone even come to check on him?

“Gazza,” you mumbled softly. You pressed your lips against the bruise forming under his cheek. He didn't even twitch. You rubbed your eyes, carefully pulling yourself out of bed. You grabbed your phone, your hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder from where he slept on the floor.

“Yes, Bonnie?” he gasped awake, his hands held onto your thighs. He thought you were upset. You were, but that wasn't why you had woken him.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I want to find a nurse or doctor or something too,” you explained, your fingers straightening the sloppy bits of his mohawk. He yawned, nodding his head in agreement. He placed a kiss against your stomach before moving to get up. His back snapped as he stretched.

“Alright, peaches,” he sighed. “Thank you for waking me,” he added, giving your bottom a slight pat. “We’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder to the alpha who was just starting the sit up himself. Your eyes burned at the light from the hall, Johnny's hand resting above your brow to block it.

“Mac, this is the mens room,” you mumbled. Even through your squinting, you could see that.

“Aye, I have to go too. Don't worry I won’t let anything happen,” he affirmed. You shrugged, glad it was empty. You came out of the stall, trying your hardest not to look over at Johnny as you washed your hands.

A man entered. A big one. You could see his shadow moving behind you and you quickly kept your eyes trained on your hands. He took a few steps towards you and your head snapped over to Johnny wondering why he hadn't said anything.

You saw Simon’s reflection in the mirror. You squealed, not bothering to dry your hands, spinning on your heels. He grunted as you threw yourself at him, his hands gripping your sides as he hoisted you up.

“You lost, pup?” he grunted, letting you lift his mask and kiss at whatever skin you could reach. Johnny chuckled, pushing the two of you out of the way so he could wash his hands.

“That’s new,” you murmured against his jaw. He had a large, angry bruise where his jaw and neck met. You could feel him shiver. He hummed in agreement, pressing a firm kiss against your chin.

“Just a scratch,” he grumbled, nipping at your cheek. “Got a fever, pup,” he tsked, almost disapprovingly. His arm extended out, his hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder pulling the man towards him. Your mouth fell open as theirs collided. It was rough and needy and you forgot how to breathe just watching them. It was short, a string of saliva connecting them as they pulled away. Johnny swiped it away with his tongue. They turned to you, evil smirks on both their lips. They kissed your cheek softly, a mean comparison to how they were just acting. Simon didn't bother to set you down, carrying you back down the hall.

“Makin’ your beta better?” Simon asked, jostling you a bit. Your eyes grew wet suddenly, making him sigh. “S’alright, pup. The doctor says he’ll be fine. You're just here to speed up the process a bit so he doesn't hurt as long,” he soothed. You felt heavier in his arms, the weight of the pack on your shoulders. That wasn't for you to carry. It was his and John’s responsibility.

The room wasn't as dark before, John had turned on a soft lamp he had found somewhere. The machine was beeping faster than before. You tried to wiggle out of Simon's grasp and he let you.

“His heart rate picked up,” John spoke, his hand resting over his face. “I called a nurse. Should be here soon.”

Kyle's fever was back. His skin had lost its warm glow, and it would've looked cold to the touch of it were it not for the sheen of sweat covering his skin. You gained some hope when he started to twitch. It started with his good foot, then his fingers, the muscles on his face quickly following.

He didn't wake up.

Your hand reached out, your fingers tangling with his as you knelt on the bed. You swore you could hear him gasp, his body relaxing almost instantly.

“Kyky?” you questioned softly. You looked behind you at John, whose eyes were wavering back and forth between the two of you.

“Where’s the bloody nurse,” he growled, making his way out of the room.

“Stop holdin’ back,” Simon instructed, nodding his head downwards. You did as you were told, your cheek resting against Kyle’s shoulder. You breathed in his scent, a high whine leaving your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Your arms wrapping around his chest as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your legs tangled around his good one as you sobbed quietly against him. “That’s what he needs,” Simon grunted. Simon’s large hand rested against the back of your neck, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “Needs a push to wake up,” Simon continued.

Simon had been in Kyle's shoes before. Granted, at the time you hadn't known him yet, but he remembers what it was like to be trapped inside his body without being able to escape. He could hear everything, smell everything yet he had no way to express it. Kyle was trying. Trying to show that he was there and would be fine. All Kyle needed was a little push from you to gain the energy to come out of it.

It was what had woken Simon up that first day. The smell of you had infiltrated his brain, turning it into mush besides one lingering thought.

Wake up.

“His heart rate is goin’ down,” Johnny breathed a slight tremor in his own body. Simon shushed you gently, you growing restless from not receiving any comfort from Kyle. “Johnny get in next to her,” he commanded, his hand gripping his shoulder. Johnny obeyed, gladly cuddling up behind you. You sniffled harshly, your eyes peering at his over Kyle’s shoulder. He winced, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“It's alright,” was all Johnny could manage, his thumb brushing under your eye. Johnny didn't stay there for long, the nurse came back into the room.

“He’s responding?” she asked. You refused to pull your face away.

“When she leaves. Started twitchin’,” Simon explained.

“He was mumblin’ something too. Couldn't make it out though. Sounded a bit like your name though sweetheart,” John added. You gasped your head snapping over to meet his.

“Really?” you begged. John nodded his head, an affirming lift in his cheeks.

“That’s fairly common,” the nurse spoke. “He could tell you were gone and was trying to figure out where you were,” she explained. You tried not to feel any less special, curling your head under his chin. “Everything seems to be back to normal. Next time you plan on leaving let me know,” she sighed, patting the edge of the bed.

You couldn't go back to sleep. You requested Johnny curl up in bed with you. It hadn't helped.

“I need you to wake up,” you whispered. Your fingers danced over Kyle’s cheek, the skin twitching under the feathery touches. “I know you hear me. You'd probably smirk if you could,” you huffed. Despite that, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was probably feeling a bit raw with how little your lips had left it. When you pulled away you noticed the soft curve of his lips. “I knew it,” you grumbled with a relieved smile on your face.

His eyes fluttered open.

You wanted to squeal but you kept your mouth shut. You wanted a few moments with him alone.

“I missed you,” you murmured. Another soft smile graced his face. He leaned his forehead closer to yours, urging you to come closer. You rested your head between his and the pillow. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to go get a nurse?” you questioned, already beginning to pull away. He made a noise that sounded a bit like a strangled whine.

“Just you,” he croaked. Your body felt warm as you cuddled back up against him. “Price?” He groaned.

“He’s on the floor sleeping,” you explained softly. You felt his body relax. “Mac is here too,” you spoke, lifting the hand that was splayed across Kyle’s chest. “And Simon is hunting down breakfast somewhere,” you finished. You purred softly, breathing him in. His chest rumbled for a moment before he stopped himself, a small wince on his face.

“You were saying how much you missed me?” Kyle urged, making you roll your eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going?” You hummed. He hummed in agreement, a soothing warmth spreading through his chest.

You babbled on for a few moments. Taking a bit of pride when his heart rate picked up from your words.

“Food,” Simon grunted, entering the room again. His eyes softened when they met Kyle’s. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing over Kyle’s forehead. Your heart warmed at the interaction. As Simon left he patted John awake.

“You alright?” He asked instantly, his hands gripping onto the railing of the bed.

“Never better,” Kyle croaked, making you giggle. John rolled his eyes, his lips resting against Kyle’s hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his jaw clenching. You bit your lip, adjusting yourself slowly so you were facing Johnny in an attempt to give them some privacy.

“Not your fault,” Kyle said slowly, his voice cracking. “Things happen,” he finished with a clear of his throat.

“Just came out of nowhere,” John sighed. “I-I,” he started. He couldn’t find the words. The feeling you get from watching a vehicle in front of you flip three times, knowing one of your greatest loves was in there without so much as a seatbelt was hard to put in words. “We’ll take care of you now,” John promised. “That situation has already been handled.” That sent a shiver up your spine. You knew first hand what John's idea of “handling” was. Yet if it was aimed at someone who deliberately hurt Kyle- you wouldn’t oppose it.

“I trust you,” Kyle groaned softly. You felt lips skim the back of your neck and you turned back over so you were cheek to cheek with Kyle. A happy rumble echoed through him before he cut himself off.

Simon reemerged with a nurse.

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this short chapter! See you in four days for chapter 30!!!! Ahhhh! 🧡

[plumpybread]

ALAO UMMMM FOR CHARACTERS IN THE LINEUP: Childe!!!!! I would LOVE to hear why he's so big! I don't know much of the Genshin lore but he's not Fontainian as far as I recall, so I'm curious why he's the largest in the lineup? He looks great at that size!

- lardguz

You got it right, he is not from Fontaine, but from the ice cold, mountainous nation of Snezhnaya (which is still far to come in the actual game and we don't know that much about yet)

Childe never planned to get this big, or barely gain any weight in general, it just happened faster than he could control it. When he first came to Fontaine for a mission, he didn’t think much about the huge portion sizes or how everything was loaded with grease and butter. He figured it was just the way Fontainians ate, and he didn’t take it too seriously. The Fatui higher-ups didn't tell him how long he'd be sent to manage the troops in Fontaine, and he only thought he'd be there for a month or two.

But then a month or two went by, and he started gaining as an effect of his stay in such a nation, and it was impossible to stop. His metabolism couldn’t keep up with the amount of food he was eating, and before he knew it, his weight shot up fast, just like every foreigner who staid in the nation for a long time. He kept telling himself he’d work it off later, but Fontaine doesn’t let you stop once you start. Restaurants kept encouraging him to eat more, the food was designed to push his limits, and after a while, his body just got used to overeating.

Eventually, many years passed, and Childe had still not received any commands to leave Fontaine, but at that point it was far too late. Even when walking got harder and his belly started resting on his lap, he couldn't stop eating. By the time he realized how bad it had gotten, he was already too heavy to move properly.

Now, at 3,782 pounds, he’s completely immobile. Weighing that much still allowed Fontaine-born men to walk, albeit very sluggishly, but as a man not born to carry such an extreme amount of weight, Childe's beyond bedridden, simply resting in one of the many rooms in their Fontainian Fatui base where he still tries to manage their troops as best as he can as he was ordered to many years ago.

He was still clinging on to the hope that his Fatui peers would allow him to leave Fontaine, He never thought it would go this far, but in Fontaine, once you start gaining, you don’t stop.

Here's an old-ish sequence of Childe's growth as he was sent to Fontaine I made during the infancy of the AU :]

It follows the idea that he was sent to work at Fontaine around the same time Aether arrived to Teyvat, so Aether witnessed Childe blowing up drastically each time they'd meet until he eventually found him bedridden by the time he got to Fontaine 5+ years-ish after arriving to Teyvat and spending a year on every previous nation.

[delulujuls]

the true one | jacaerys velaryon

hi, here comes the pt3 of my jace series. i was having few ideas for how to end this one but i got carried away and i even started to feel bad how i decided to solve it.

we will see if i will end this up on here or write another part because man i do really feel bad for aegon:( im not gonna lie, at one moment i started to smell a love trangle forming up here lmao

summary: love lifts you up, but it can also hurt you. in case of dragon princess and young prince from dragonstone, love saved westeros from war, but it broke one heart that was already broken enough. a shattered heard from someone who since the beginning wanted love, not the crown.

warnings: mentions of sex, nothing crazy though

pairing: sister!targaryen reader x jacaerys velaryon (ft. cregan stark aka the-best-wingman-in-whole-westeros and aegon 'the broken boy' targaryen)

King Viserys did not engage in many wars during his reign, for he was considered a wise and good ruler. However, those that were unavoidable, he almost always managed to win. There was one battle he unfortunately could not win, and that was the battle with his illness.

Death came for the good king shortly after his 52nd Name Day, leaving Westeros without a ruler. There were two candidates vying for the Iron Throne, each equally certain of their right to it.

Many believed that Rhaenyra, the king's first child, was the rightful heir to the throne. However, because she was a woman, the crown fell to Aegon, Viserys' eldest son. Ultimately, he was proclaimed the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but not everyone agreed with this decision. One of those who did not was Rhaenyra herself.

The Princess of Dragonstone, believing there had been a misunderstanding, began to gather allies around her who were willing to support her claim to the throne. Aegon, of course, did the same. At some point, however, there was no more talk of a peaceful resolution, and gathering allies turned into gathering armies. A cold wind blew over Westeros, heralding not only the coming winter but also war.

The most distant from the sunny King's Landing to the south was the North. There lay many settlements rich in resources and armies, which were now more valuable than gold. Both Rhaenyra and Aegon had no intention of wasting time. They had to secure allies faster than their opponent.

"You will go North," Rhaenyra told her eldest son. "Lord Cregan is closer to your age than mine. I am sure you will find a common language."

Jacaerys nodded silently and embraced his mother. He understood the weight of the task entrusted to him and intended to fulfill it to the best of his ability. Similar words Alicent Hightower directed to her eldest daughter when she visited her in her chambers one evening.

"Me?" the young princess asked, sitting in front of the mirror and brushing her hair. The maid who had been doing it earlier quickly left the room as soon as the queen appeared. "You have the King's Best Sword and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at your disposal, and you want to send me to the North?"

"Aemond may wield a sword skillfully, and Ser Criston may be an envoy of even the Father himself," she said, gripping the back of the chair her daughter sat in. "But they are still men. They are driven by the desire to fight and pride."

When she looked at her daughter's face in the reflection, the girl merely shook her head.

"The people of the North must see the sacrifice we are willing to offer. You will not gain their support by intimidating them with a dragon but with gentleness and a good heart, burning with zeal and the desire for peace."

"The desire for peace," the girl scoffed. "You want to send me there to gather people ready to go to their deaths."

Alicent lowered her gaze. She looked at her daughter's bright hair, flowing down her back like liquid gold. She took it between her fingers and began to braid it.

"You are betrothed to the king, soon to be his wife and queen of the Seven Kingdoms," she said. "You will present yourself to them as the king's prudent right hand and future good queen. No one warms the image of a ruler better than his wife."

"Rhaenyra doesn't need to send anyone to the North to gain their support," she replied, glancing at her mother in the reflection. "You know well that no one will stand by the usurper."

"Perhaps not by the usurper, but by the future queen, they might."

The young princess knew that her mother left her no choice. Knowing that her journey was doomed to failure, she mounted her dragon the same day and set off in the direction from which the cold, winter-foretelling wind blew.

The eldest Targaryen princess and the prince of Dragonstone had not seen each other since they had celebrated Rhaenyra's 32nd Name Day together with King Viserys. Much had changed since then. News of the king's death spread across Westeros, and the Targaryen family split in two. Nothing indicated that the young princes, bound by feelings, would ever meet again. Certainly, none of them expected to meet hundreds of miles from home on frozen ground.

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, knew this well. Ravens informing of the visit had reached him from both King's Landing and Dragonstone. The Small Council, in which the Wolf of the North sat, tried to dissuade him from the crazy idea of bringing both warring sides to Winterfell. However, Cregan was hopeful that Jacaerys was not driven by his mother's spirit and that the young princess was not a reflection of her cruel brother. He believed he would see dragons dancing while playing on the snowy sky, not waging war. He believed that youth and good hearts would prevail.

The prince of Dragonstone arrived in Winterfell first. Vermax swooped down from the sky with a roar, causing the inhabitants to watch the winged beast in horror. Neither the dragon nor its rider had any ill intentions. The same intentions did not drive the young princess, who arrived in the capital of the North shortly afterward. Just as the relatively small Vermax instilled fear in the people, so did the sight of the massive Vermithor prompt many to clasp their hands in prayer. May the Old Gods watch over the North.

When the Bronze Fury descended from the sky, Lord Stark and Prince Velaryon were on their way back from the Wall. They learned of the guest's arrival only when a rider came to meet them, announcing the arrival of a dragon.

"A dragon?" Jacaerys furrowed his brow and looked questioningly at the host. "Another dragon has come to Winterfell?"

"Yes, my prince," Cregan replied, urging his horse forward. "Let us hurry, we must not keep the guest waiting."

The young princess was informed that Lord Stark would soon arrive and was taken from the cold and invited to the chamber set aside for her stay in Winterfell. She removed her warm cloak and sat by the fireplace, rubbing her cold hands. She had been uncertain during the journey, but now she began to feel genuinely nervous. What was her mother thinking, sending her here?

Jacaerys remained silent throughout the return journey, gripping the reins so tightly his fingers went numb. Who had come to Winterfell? Had his mother sent someone after him? If so, why? And if it wasn't Rhaenyra, someone from King's Landing must have come North. Aegon? No, that would be too prudent. Aemond? Had he come to secure allies? And why had Lord Stark accepted this so calmly? Was it an ambush?

When they arrived at Winterfell, they headed straight for the castle. Instructed which chamber the guest awaited in, they went there immediately. Jacaerys' heart pounded wildly, and he did not share Lord Stark's calm demeanor. When Cregan knocked and pushed open the heavy door to one of the chambers, Jacaerys felt his heart leap into his throat. Hearing the knock at the door, the young princess felt the same. She took a deep breath and rose from her seat, smoothing her tunic with her hands. She looked up at the entrance and saw a tall, young man. She guessed that the steely-eyed youth was Lord Stark. However, he was not alone; someone else entered right behind him. The princess could not believe her eyes. She felt as though her mind was playing tricks on her after the exhausting journey.

"Jace?" she spoke uncertain, almost questioningly.

Jacaerys was in such shock that he felt as if his legs had grown roots into the ground.

"Princess," was all he could stammer out as she quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. The young prince closed his eyes and returned the embrace strongly. Feeling her in his arms, her hair tickling his face, he realized it was not a dream. It was truly her.

Cregan smiled at the sight of the dragons lost in each other's embrace. He knew he had no reason to worry. Kindness and youth would always prevail.

Still holding the girl, Jacaerys glanced at the Wolf Lord. Cregan smiled at him and quietly left the room.

"I thought I would never see you again," the girl whispered after a moment, pulling away and cupping his face in her hands. Tears shone in her violet eyes. Jacaerys took her hands and kissed each one.

"I feared the same," he admitted, not hiding his own emotions.

The pair sat by the fireplace, talking animatedly. They held each other's hands tightly the entire time, as if afraid that one might disappear at any moment.

They talked for a long time, forgetting the world around them. They spoke of what had happened to them since their last meeting, about the events that were tearing their family apart, and about the looming war. When their conversation turned to more serious topics, a servant entered the room, announcing that Lord Stark invited them to dinner. The Dragon Princess and the Prince of Dragonstone joined the Wolf of the North. The dinner was sumptuous but did not have many guests. The dining room hosted only the three of them.

"I hope you don't hold this arranged meeting against me, your Highnesses," Cregan said, pouring them wine.

The princess shook her head while eating, taking a sip from her goblet.

"It was a bold move, my lord," Jacaerys admitted. "I guess you had no certainty about how it might end."

"Indeed," Cregan acknowledged. "But I felt that neither of you held the dark values that sometimes blind your families. Luckily for me, and even more for the people of Winterfell, I managed to avoid making another Harrenhall here."

"You can't deny your courage, my lord," the girl smiled, glancing at him. "A bit of madness too."

Cregan smiled at her words and raised his goblet in a toast.

"I hope we can reach a good understanding together."

The princely pair also raised their goblets in a toast. That evening, there was no lack of wine and ale, and the topic of the impending war, though important, was left for another day. That evening was spent on more pleasant and mundane conversations. It did not resemble an evening where three representatives of different values gathered, but rather three friends.

As the wine started to buzz in their heads and the table was cleared of food, Lord Stark declared it was time to retire. After wishing each other a good night, Jacaerys went to escort the princess to her chamber. He held her securely by the waist to prevent her from falling, as their legs wobbled like reeds in the wind. The pair giggled quietly in each other's arms, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"Stay with me," she whispered when they reached her chamber. "I guess the nights are exceptionally cold here."

"How could I refuse you, princess," he smiled, and she returned his smile and pulled him inside. On unsteady legs, she walked to a small mirror and sat down, beginning to undo her hair. Jacaerys approached her and gently, with great reverence, began to help. He carefully untangled her braids, occasionally glancing at her face in the mirror. Their eyes met frequently, eliciting soft giggles. The young prince had never stopped having feelings for her, feelings that had blossomed so vividly when they spent time together on Dragonstone. The young princess couldn't recall a day when she hadn't thought of him. Her heart, which she was supposed to give to another, loved the Velaryon youth unconditionally.

"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he whispered. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, feeling as if he held velvet in his hands.

The girl smiled and stood up, facing him. She touched his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Jacaerys did the same, pulling her by the waist closer to him with his other hand. He noticed a necklace with a three-headed dragon, each head holding a green emerald, around her neck. The young prince's face saddened.

"Have you already married him?"

"No," she replied. "And I still don't want to."

Jacaerys looked up at her, about to say something, but she kissed him impulsively. Realizing what she had done, she wanted to pull away and apologize, but the young prince caught the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She cupped his face in her hands, returning each kiss.

"Marry me, princess," he whispered. "We'll run away to where the map doesn't reach. Away from all this."

The Dragon Princess smiled and nodded, kissing him tenderly in response. Their wine and ale-soaked lips exchanged deep kisses, and their hands clumsily removed each other's clothes. Shortly after, they found themselves in a fur-covered bed, lost in each other's embrace. They didn't think about whether what they were doing was wrong. What was wrong was marrying someone you felt only fear and hatred for. The young princess knew she could never feel for Aegon even a fraction of the feelings she had for Jacaerys.

As night turned to dawn, the pair lay entwined together. Their naked, sweat-drenched, and kiss-marked bodies lay intertwined, almost as one. The girl pressed her cheek against the prince's chest, stroking him gently, and he held her, tracing patterns on her bare back with his fingers.

"Let's get married here," she said after a while. "Here, in the Godswood."

Jacaerys smiled sleepily and hugged her tighter. "Do you think Lord Stark would agree to that?"

"I think he'd be the first to bless us."

The young prince chuckled softly at her words. The girl lifted herself and looked at his face.

"I love you, Jace," she confessed almost in a whisper. "And I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

The boy smiled and cupped her face. His heart swelled at her words. The love he saw in her eyes was boundless.

"I love you too, princess. I would give my life for you."

The next day, even before the three of them sat down for breakfast, Lord Stark knew what had transpired in one of his castle's chambers. He had heard that the bed in Jacaerys' room remained unmade and that he had arrived at the dining hall in the company of the princess. Cregan would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased. He hadn't realized the feelings the pair of dragons had for each other. It turned out that love could indeed conquer war. Still filled with apprehension, Jacaerys decided to present the Wolf of the North with the idea of marriage.

"Who am I to dissuade you from this idea?" he replied. "I will gladly lead the princess to the wedding myself."

That same day, in the Godswood, the wedding ceremony took place. Compared to weddings held in the Faith of the Seven, it was modest. Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, fulfilled his promise and led the dragon princess to the Weirwood tree, where her Velaryon prince awaited her. Beyond the wall of the Godswood, two large dragon heads watched, occasionally breaking the silence with squawking and growling.

The witnesses to the wedding were dragons, the Wolf of the North, the Heart Tree, and the Old Gods, who silently observed the marriage. Dry leaves rustled in the icy wind, and snowflakes settled on the rosy cheeks of the soon-to-be-married couple, who became husband and wife after a brief ceremony.

"So, it is done," Lord Stark smiled. "But what kind of wedding would it be without a feast?"

The newlyweds exchanged smiles and, holding hands, followed the Wolf of the North towards the castle. That day, the specter of war had to wait as well.

However, the next day, the issue of northern allies and whose side they would take had to be addressed. The dragon princess represented the greens, while Jacaerys the blacks.

"Have your lords side with us," the princess proposed during a Small Council meeting, gripping her husband's hand tightly under the table. "Not with Aegon or Rhaenyra. Let them withdraw from this battle for allies."

"With all due respect, princess, are you planning to fight? To be a third party in this conflict?" one of the men at the table asked.

"There will be no war," Jacaerys interjected. "And even if there were, it wouldn't be the North's war. They won't participate in what's happening in the South. This will weaken the military forces."

"We can't be neutral," another man stated. "Lack of a side is worse than betrayal. What if someone less benevolent than you comes on a dragon and razes us to the ground?"

"No one will do that," the princess assured. "I guarantee your safety."

"I do too," Jacaerys added. "The capital must understand that this conflict has no higher purpose and will only bring unimaginable misery."

"I'm afraid, Your Highnesses, that neither Princess Rhaenyra nor King Aegon will relent," one of the men replied. "Do you think your marriage would dissuade them? The King could annul it at any moment."

"The King can continue doing what he does best, drinking himself into oblivion and fucking whores," the girl snapped, involuntarily squeezing Jacaerys's hand harder. "If the news of the wedding isn't already on its way to the South, it will be soon. Tomorrow we'll head back and announce that the marriage is a peace treaty. And if that doesn't impress anyone, we'll send a message to all who have allied with both Aegon and Rhaenyra to withdraw their commitments. I swear by the Seven, no one, given the choice, will go to certain death. The fight between dragons will bring nothing else."

The princess's words brought silence among the gathered. After a moment, Lord Stark stood up and drew his sword, kneeling before the girl.

"You can count on me, princess. The Stark family will side with the young couple."

The dragon princess smiled and nodded to him. Grateful, Jacaerys did the same. Soon after, each of the men at the Council meeting followed the Wolf's lead. The girl's passionate and convincing words withdrew not only the Stark family but also the Umbers, Karstarks, Mormonts, Boltons, Ryswells, Reeds, Hornwoods, and Cerwyns from the conflict. And it was just the beginning.

That same day, ravens were sent to all who had castles from the Wall to Moat Cailin, from the Stormy Shore to Widow's Watch. Each message was signed by the young couple and the Wolf of the North himself.

"I wish you much perseverance, Your Highnesses," Cregan said before they mounted their dragons. "But I believe you will manage to dissuade us from war."

It might not have been appropriate, but the girl hugged him tightly in farewell. Cregan had done unimaginable things for them in just a few days. The Wolf of the North smiled and hugged her back.

"I've never met someone with a heart like yours, princess," he admitted. "You have my word that the North will always protect it."

Jacaerys extended his hand to him, but Cregan hugged and patted him on the back. The Prince of Dragonstone smiled and returned the embrace.

Two dragons left Winterfell, but the icy wind carried them for a long time. That same wind brought news of the wedding to the South shortly after, before they had traveled even a quarter of the way.

"May the Seven protect us," Alicent sank into her chair when the maester came to her with the news. She strictly forbade anyone to speak of it, especially to Aegon. She quickly sent for the Hand.

Otto laughed when he heard the news. His daughter, however, found no humor in it.

"Brilliant," he remarked, filling his goblet and taking a sip of wine.

"Brilliant?" Alicent thought everyone had lost their minds. "She broke off the engagement. Aegon could burn Dragonstone to the ground when they return."

"If I were Aegon, I'd pack the crown in the finest cloth, seal it with the best wax, and send it to Dragonstone immedatiely."

Alicent shook her head and buried her face in her hands. Otto did not share his daughter's pessimism.

"Or better yet, he should place it on dear sister's head himself when she returns from Winterfell," he corrected. "The girl circumvented a code we didn't even know existed."

"She caused a catastrophe!" Alicent exclaimed, looking at her father in disbelief. "She was Aegon's betrothed and the future queen. She was only supposed to go North to gain allies!"

"And she decided to end the war," he replied. "We definitely placed the wrong child on the throne."

Alicent shook her head in disbelief. She didn't know if her father was joking or if he genuinely saw no problem with the situation.

"So what should we do?" she asked, looking at him.

"First, we should wait for them to return and announce this joyous news," he said.

When the dragons reached the South, they decided to separate. Jacaerys returned to Dragonstone, wanting to personally deliver the news to his mother not only about the marriage but also about the withdrawal of the northern armies from the war. The princess returned to King’s Landing and immediately made her way to Aegon’s chambers.

She didn’t know if the news had reached her brother, but she decided to handle the matter herself and as a priority. A small dagger hung at her belt, and she had no guards with her except for the two standing in front of Aegon’s chamber doors. The men greeted her and bowed slightly, but she dismissed them as soon as she stood in front of her brother's chambers. She took a deep breath to muster some courage as she raised her fist and knocked on the door.

When a voice from inside instructed her to enter, the young princess pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. Aegon stood before a large mirror, dressed in armor. Three men were fussing around him, making adjustments, adding and removing parts of the armor. Three guards stood beside Aegon, talking animatedly with him. However, when they noticed the princess, they bowed, and the two tailors did the same. Aegon saw in the mirror’s reflection a figure he hadn’t seen for several moons. He smiled and turned, taking a sip of wine from the goblet he held.

"My brave, sweet sister," he said, stepping down from a small stool. He was drunk, as always. "Did you secure the North for me, my dear?"

"I need to talk to you," she approached, glancing at him. "In private."

"You heard the future queen, out!" Aegon commanded, waving his hand. Shortly afterward, the room was empty except for the siblings. The young king finished his wine and set the empty goblet aside, stepping closer to the girl. When he was within arm’s reach, he raised his hand to touch her cheek, but she pulled her head back.

"I hoped that your visit to the North would cool your temper a bit," he admitted, lowering his hand. "But i see that even the harshest cold can’t chill a dragon."

"I married Jacaerys," the girl said quickly, almost as quickly as if she had shot an arrow from a crossbow. Her voice didn’t tremble. She raised her eyes to her brother’s face. "I won’t be your wife, Aegon."

The boy snorted, but seeing her serious expression, he couldn’t help but laugh.

"What did you do?" he chuckled. "Repeat it, because I must have misheard."

"We got married in Winterfell, and Lord Stark decided to withdraw from the war. His vassal lords too, and the whole North was given the same choice."

Seeing that his sister wasn’t joking, Aegon wiped the smile from his face. His eyes, though glossy with alcohol, looked at her in shock. His eyelid twitched.

The young princess clenched her jaw. However, she didn’t take a step back. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, readying for a fight or flight. Aegon, however, didn’t say a word. He was the first to retreat. He reached for the goblet and poured himself some wine, drinking it greedily. The girl expected anything. She was ready for his screams, insults, and threats. She was even ready for him to raise his hand against her. But Aegon did none of that. He sat on the stool he had stood on moments ago and gripped the goblet in his hands.

"Why did you do it?"

The princess didn’t expect to hear that question. Now it was she who felt as if she had misheard.

"To weaken and humiliate me?" he asked, raising his eyes to look at her. "Or to hurt me?"

"I love him," she admitted sincerely. She wasn’t lying. It had never even crossed her mind to strike at her brother in such a way. "And he loves me. He is kind to me."

Aegon lowered his gaze, staring at the goblet in his hands. Despite the armor he wore, despite the title of king he held, he felt like a rat. His reaction surprised the girl. To such an extent that she didn’t know what to say.

"Would I be incapable of loving you?" he asked after a moment, looking at her again. The girl couldn’t meet his eyes.

"You only fill me with fear," she admitted quietly.

Aegon’s eyes roamed her face. He recalled a time when he had gone too far and threatened her with a knife, the times he bullied and intimidated her. He lowered his gaze. You fill her with fear, monster, he thought. You are a monster, Aegon.

In silence, the girl raised her eyes to her brother’s face. Deciding that the conversation had no chance of continuing, she turned to leave his chambers.

"I'm sorry," his voice called out behind her. The young princess turned and looked at her brother. Aegon’s cheeks were wet with tears. "I apologize for everything I did to you."

"I was never your enemy," she replied. She couldn’t muster anything more to say.

She quickly left her brother, heading to her chambers. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with her mother. She needed to recover from what she had just experienced.

Nevertheless, Westeros managed to dispel the looming specter of war. The wind from the North brought only winter, not bloodshed. Every few days, ravens arrived at Winterfell with news that another castle had joined the young dragons’ marriage and withdrawn from the war. Families from the east, west, and south did the same, sending their assurances directly to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra and Aegon had to abandon the conflict. Viserys’s eldest daughter even planned to go to King’s Landing to reconcile with her brother and acknowledge him as king. The same day she planned to set out, a messenger brought her a small chest.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing at the young man. She accepted the gift uncertainly.

"From King’s Landing, Your Grace."

Jacaerys stopped his mother’s hand as she reached for the latch on the chest. "It could be a trap."

"Would Aegon want to kill me in such a way?" she looked at him with amusement. The young prince hesitantly withdrew his hand.

Rhaenyra opened the box and had to blink several times. She reached into the chest and pulled out a crown. The same one her father had worn on his head.

In shock, she looked at her son and niece, who were as astonished as she was.

"Aegon returned your crown," the girl said quietly.

"It doesn’t have to be Aegon," Jacaerys shook his head. He didn’t believe in any good intentions from his uncle.

The girl took the crown from Rhaenyra and examined it in her hands. In several places, she noticed fingerprints stained with wine. She had no doubts.

"It was Aegon."

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[justwinginglife]

Can I please request the kafgang investigating a crankier than usual platoon leader reader? They assume its just a woman getting irritated because she looks like she's gaining weight but it's just her pregnancy belly showing with hoshina's baby...

Pregnancy hormones amirite? (I've never been pregnant before)

LOL I've also never been pregnant before but I love this prompt and I will do my best with it!

Soshiro loved that you were pregnant with his child. And not just because he'd done some delicious love making to get you pregnant, and not just because the idea of having tons of adorable little children running around was so precious to him, no- he loved that you were pregnant because he enjoyed all the ridiculous demands that you made.

Oh, today you wanted peanut butter on pickles? Sure, he could slather them up for you.

Oh, now you were crying because the sky was too blue today and it hurt your eyes? Alright, he could try a little rain dance to bring the clouds rolling in.

Oh, you didn't like the ending of a movie that was made decades ago and wanted him to fix it? Slightly more difficult, but he made bank as Vice Captain, he was sure he could hire a film crew and some actors and have that ready for you in a jiffy.

And then when the other officers started to pick up on your pregnancy-induced attitude, but didn't pick up on the pregnancy-induced part, he enjoyed it all the more. They figured you were just cranky because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or it was your time of the month, but when your belly started to show more proof of Soshiro's love, they attributed your irritation to gaining weight rather than gaining a child.

And you had no idea, because no one would dare tell a Platoon Leader they were getting fat. So instead you had to deal with random outbursts of "It's okay, Platoon Leader L/N, you're still beautiful as ever," or "I know this great workout if you're interested," or "Honestly, metabolism is overrated anyway."

It wasn't even the words that they said that bothered you as much as just the act of them talking at all, their voices sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, it was like the pregnancy version of a hangover- you just wanted everyone to be quiet.

Soshiro caught on and he steered everyone away from you until you could tolerate noise again, but not before he'd had a good laugh. Of course, if anyone dared to mention aloud that you were gaining weight or you looked different, like you were letting yourself go, he'd shut it down in an instant- towering over them with a booming voice and a threatening glare. But it cracked him up to see how cute your little nose was when you scrunched it up, confused at their attempts to make conversation with you. And it cracked him up that you were so obviously pregnant in his eyes and yet no one else had drawn that conclusion yet. He wondered just how bulging your belly had to be for it to register.

He thought he might make a game out of it, creating a points system in his head for each officer and awarding them whenever one of them got even remotely close to guessing correctly.

Shinomiya noticed that your requests had been seemingly bizarre lately and as you were a woman that she respected very much for your skill and your intellect, she knew there had to be a better reason for the fog in your brain. Point for her.

Nakanoshima noticed you'd thrown up in a nearby vase and while the men attributed it to food poisoning, she'd pondered a little bit harder about when the last time you asked to borrow a tampon from her was. Point for her.

Minase noticed (shyly) that your boobs were looking a little more rounded and plump than they usually did, and made a comment that maybe pregnancy would aid her flat chest as well. Double points for her.

Really at this point, it seemed the women were catching on faster than the men. Soshiro was suddenly embarrassed of his own gender when he had this realization.

He thought he might just break one day, screaming "I FUCKED A BABY INTO HER BELLY YA IDIOTS!!!"

But he didn't have to do that. Because one day, you'd strolled in while everyone was training and snorted loudly, saying "Wow, I could beat the entire sorry lot of you all at once even pregnant. Laps around the perimeter people!"

Everyone's eyes widened and their jaws dropped (the women a little less so than the men).

They'd barely had time to process this new information when you'd repeated in a louder tone, "Did I stutter? LAPS AROUND THE PERIMETER!"

And then they ran off, terrified at the thought of just how much torture one pregnant lady could dole out.

And Soshiro smirked again, amused as ever.

"Ahh, that's my baby. Almost makes me want to fill you up again."

[star-crossed-sluts]

Could you please write a loki x reader. Reader gains weight on accident at first but loki likes it so he gets reader to gain more. Fem reader.

If not it’s okay <3

I love writing about men discovering they like reader chubby <3 This is my first time writing third person limited focused on the male lead, so any feedback would be cherished

Contents: 1.1kwords, love mentions, weight gain and associated body changes/insecurities, giggly sex

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

Loki’s never been… particular, shall we say? 

Sex was nothing to him. A means to an end, no care for any specific physical form for his partner to have, let alone prefer it. Love on the other hand was something he’d never dreamed of having for himself - some abstract concept that didn’t exist, at least not for him. He never thought for a second that love was something he would hold in his arms every dawn and dusk, or that he could taste it in homemade cooking and smell it in the bathroom after you’d showered. 

In that aspect, you’d managed to exceed all the expectations he’d never had.

“Fuck!”

Loki never knew how terrible love could be. How his heart could drop out of his body just from a vulgar word in the other room, or how he could be so worried he could completely forget about using magic to get to you faster. Not until he was running through your apartment (which he was slowly and methodically laying his own claim to, until he was so ingrained in your life you couldn’t get rid of him. Naturally.) Why would anyone subject themselves to something that could hurt so much?

And then he laid eyes on your half-nude form and remembered.

Because you were standing in the middle of your bedroom in your undergarments (“please just call them panties,” you’d always beg) and he had the absolute privilege to stare at you as perversely as he desired. If another man thought of you the way he did, he’d have to reconsider world domination. Put the fear of the gods back into those mortals. 

But when you spun around to face him, you had a sour look puckering your lovely features. “You,” you accused, jabbing a finger at him, “are at fault here!”

“Probably,” he conceded instantly. “What have I done?”

You threw some of your clothes at him. He recognized them. You called them the good jeans. He called them infernal invention that keeps me from your sweet pussy. “They don’t fit anymore!”

He tried not to show his pleasure too much. “Oh?” He immediately knew he’d failed, your glare furthering. 

“Oh,” you mocked, a thick British accent on the word. “This is your fault, y’know? Before you, I ate pretty healthy. Now I’m going out every other night to restaurants that smother everything in butter and wine-”

“You’re upset about going out?”

Loki could practically watch memories of the delicious food you’ve been sharing dance through your vision, inducing a small dreamy sigh. “No,” you decided, “no, I’m not. No, I just-” You huffed, falling against his chest and trusting him to both hold you upright and comfort you - which he did happily. “I’m just frustrated because now I have to actually put effort into working out or find new jeans.”

And, well, Loki was adamantly against more jeans, so he may have gently swayed you to the other option. After all, he wanted you happy, and he didn’t care what your form looked like to make that happen.

Until he got you undressed in a different circumstance. 

Until he was bullying his way into your sweet cunt with your soft form pressed against him. Your breasts bouncing against the hard plane of his chest, thick thighs hooked over his slim hips, heels pressed into the small of his back. You felt like velvet all over - from the soft skin pulled taut over wide hips in his hands to the wet heat wrapped around his cock. He hasn’t been so close to blowing his load so soon since his first time between your thighs. 

“Look so beautiful, my love,” spilled from his lips like a waterfall. He simply couldn’t hold it back, and besides that, he wouldn’t want to. His Queen deserved to know just how stunning she was, every minute of the day. Especially when it made you moan into his ear, hand snapping over your mouth like you could take it back, turning away from him even as your hips met his with every thrust. 

His Queen was so shy. 

Loki took the soft tendon on your neck between his teeth, gently working a mark onto the skin, groaning against you as your walls fluttered around him at the sensation. “Don’t hide from me, love,” he coaxed. Long fingers wrapped around your neck from behind, rubbing gentle circles into your hairline, completely contrary and yet perfectly befitting the way he hammered into you. His other hand traveled your body like he was discovering you all over again, caressing every new dip and pudge of skin like you were the most amazing sculpture. People across the world would marvel at your beauty, whisper that man wasn’t capable of creating such magnificence - that you were instead made by a god. 

“Stop,” you slurred through the pleasure, his rolling hips working your sensitive clit against his dark hair. Your hand on his back clawed the pale skin, leaving your mark on him as it curled into a fist, beating the breadth of his shoulders with no force. You giggled through the moans as his fingers danced over your sides, hissing, “that tickles,” at him as if that would ever implore him to quit. “Stop fondling my rolls!”

“What a cruel world,” he lamented theatrically, the only way he knew how, “when a man can’t even fondle his dearest love!” 

“Be serious when you’re in my guts!”

“I am serious, darling!” A sharp tug pulled you higher up on his lap, cock spearing even deeper into you, pushing out a whine from deep in your chest. “Don’t you feel how well we fit? You’re perfect, my love, and your body’s no exception.”

He let you hide away in his neck, nipping your own small marks onto him as his thrusts turned slower, more sensual. “Even when I’ve gained-”

“Don’t you Midgardians have a saying about that? ‘In sickness and in health?’” 

Your lips stretched against him, betraying the way you tried to sound less eager as your hips rolled against his. “Those are wedding vows, Loki.”

He guided you to his lips, devouring you with a smile. “I’m practicing for the future, then.” 

He delighted in the way you giggled as you came on his cock, holding him close as he fucked you through it. He craved the way you no longer shied away when he groped your waist, pulling you harder against him as he used the way your cunt sucked him in to chase his own end.

He had a standing reservation made before your legs stopped shaking.

[whiteobsidian]

from cyra, to you

My struggle with LOA and how I overcame it.

During the summer (in 2020), around July I read a community post about the law of assumption, then I really did my research and had a better understanding of the law of assumption. It was quite fun and painful, I would read the same posts just to get reassurance that what I was doing was “correct”. Growing up with only listening to instructions made it a bit difficult to transition from the law of attraction to assumption. Though the law of attraction didn’t do  me any good.

When I got into the law of attraction in (last) december it was like a miracle had happened and I could change anything I “disliked” all by listening to some music online. I discovered those videos by accident, and I don’t regret it but I do regret abusing it and myself.  During quarantine + online school I was probably at my lowest point in life, I was depressed and scared and my anxiety had turned severe, especially as a black person during this period. I had also gained weight and my acne was worse than ever, In conclusion : I was insecure. Using subliminals was my escape from that, being so desperate to fit into today's beauty standards , I wasn’t doing myself any justice, I would get angry at the 3d for not showing what I wanted to see. I drank 2 liters of water a day, why wasn’t I getting results? I listened at low volume, why wasn’t I getting results? This mindset did change…. well kinda.

As I wrote earlier, I read a community tab from one of my favorite submarkes talking about how they used the law of assumption to manifest. I was obviously confused, I didn’t even know there were different laws/ ways to manifest. This got me into watching Hyler and Sammy Ingrams videos for a whole day straight. I was fascinated to say the least, and I was even more excited learning that visualization can also help you manifest, since I am a big day dreamer. A few weeks later, I had an instagram account and followed lots of coaches and accounts. I was doing self concept challenges and abundance challenges. I had manifested a lot of new things (clothes, macbook, food) but I wanted something more, something I saw as “BIG”. You might've already guessed : appearance changes.

I didn’t want to change for me, I wanted to change so I would be treated differently, that I would have a better life with prettiness. I had a ugly mindset and this ugly mindset told me I was ugly, I never really thought I was an ugly person before and I'm questioning why I ever thought I was in the first place, I had completely changed and it scared me, I was desperate. I would get mad when I didn't see what i wanted, this led me to repeating the old story over and over again. It took me longer than I expected to get my appearance changed because I had doubts. The 3d is a reflection, a movie of your thoughts. All I needed to do was to change my mindset on how I saw myself. 

Self Concept

Self concept changed my whole view on manifesting and honestly myself.  Your self concept is how you see yourself, how others treat you, how you see the world etc etc, for example if you believe that men or women treat you badly then it's going to reflect your reality. I had a lot of old  thoughts and assumptions that would mold into the 3d. Remember that no one is going to manifest for you, you have to do this yourself, know you are powerful, beautiful, and smart. Nobody can change these beliefs you have set in your mind except you. You need to work on yourself. 

Techniques and Methods

i’m going to put this out now, you DON'T need to do any methods or techniques to get “faster results” do whatever makes you feel comfortable, if you're new to the law of assumption feel free to try any techniques you're interested in, just don’t be pressured to. It's not mandatory to do all this extra stuff, unless you really want to. 

Timing

I know that all of us want our results to come quick, instant even and it is possible, but only unless you truly believe that. Know that your affirming is going to work and that your results are already there, if you are affirming for quick instant results, know that you will get quick and instant results. You don't necessarily have to believe in your affirmation, you just need to believe that what your doing is going to work. If you've been affirming and listening to subliminals for months and you're still “not” getting results it's not the 3d, it's you. 

Why?

You can manifest anything you want, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise but question yourself, why? Especially if it's an appearance change, I hope you're manifesting an appearance change because you're doing it for YOU. Not for validation, or to actually “feel” pretty. You are a powerful being, don't let others determine your self worth or determine who you are. 

Apply

Manifesting is simple, especially in the law of assumption, all you need to do is affirm, persist, and know.

Affirm for what you want 

Persist in that thought over and over

Know that your thought will materialize into the 3d no matter what

STOP over consuming info online, I don’t care if a loa creator posted, I bet you already know what it's about by the title. Stop going on instagram and tumblr just to read things you already know, if you're really that impulsive then delete the apps! Don’t waste all your time for reassurance to see what you're doing is right. There is no right or wrong, just manifest.

Have fun!

Have fun when manifesting, don’t make it seem like it is a chore or it's that pile of homework that's sitting around in your room. Think about it, you can manifest your dream life by just thinking, I want you all to have fun when manifesting, enjoy it! Know that you have everything you want all just by assuming!

Remember, you’re one of a kind <3

with all my love, 

xoxo cyra, 111 222

ps. I did manifest an appearance change (and everything else I wanted), all by working on myself! :)

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 21

Word count: 5589

Warnings: minors dni, angst, military setting, explicit language, use of weapons, mentions of injuries and death.

My feelings towards Price are continuously conflicted. On one hand, he’s been very generous throughout my stay with 141. He seems to trust my word at face value and has offered me protection with Soap and Ghost. He also seemed genuinely impressed with my work as a translator, and then again with my performance on the phone with my father.

On the other hand, he is the entire reason I’m here. Sure, Ghost arranged everything, but Price is the man behind every step 141 takes. Nothing is done without his permission. My existence is simply a form of currency to him. My value relies on how much my father is willing to sacrifice for me. Markets are rarely stable in times of war. One wrong move, and the stock will tank faster than in 1929. I feel the dip approaching like a rollercoaster at the top of a hill. Imminent. 

As he stands in front of me, Price has a welcoming presence, despite all of the atrocities he’s committed. Despite everything he has put me through to gain the upper hand on my father. Despite everything he is going to put me through.

His voice is soft as he speaks. We’re alone in my quarters. He leans against the dresser as I sit in bed with my legs pulled to my chest.

“We identified another rat,” a double agent. Another one of their supposedly well-vetted men who turned out to be a terrorist in disguise. His shoulders remain rigid and his arms cross over his chest. “He was in our transportation unit,” Price continues.

I search my mind for some of the faces I’ve come to recognize. There are too many to remember. I don’t know if I’ve even talked to any of the task force members in that unit. Everyone I know is an extension of Soap’s circle.

“What happened to him?” I ask.

“Nothing yet,” he answers. “We can’t risk tipping off the ultranationalists or the exchange being called off,” his thick English accent reminds me of a misty, fall day spent at a café. It’s cold, but there’s also something comforting about it - about him.

It makes sense how the ultranationalists always knew where we were. The mole could’ve tapped the vehicle GPS or tipped them off about which bases we were at. All of those attacks couldn’t have succeeded without him.

“Are there more of them?”

“Rats don’t lie alone,” there’s an underlying tone of disgust in his otherwise reserved voice. His message is loud and clear and more unnerving than ever. The men in 141 are even less trustworthy than I originally thought. “But I didn’t stop to visit about pest control.”

The air feels colder as the words leave his lips. My breathing pauses and the false ease of our conversation drops away like a theatre curtain.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms.

“When?” my soft voice is urgent.

“In fifteen minutes someone will drop off your gear. In forty-five you’ll get on the van. And in one hour we depart,” My chest clenches and I feel a nervous ball form in my stomach. I can’t believe how fast this is all happening. I’m not ready. I don’t have a plan to save myself if this all goes south. He doesn’t care if I live. Neither does my father. He might say he does, but he doesn’t, not really. I’m just an excuse for them to meet head to head. Just an excuse for them to pick a fight with one another. They don’t care what happens to me. Only I do.  Price watches my reaction closely. I can tell he half-heartedly expects a breakdown.

“Will Soap come get me?”

“Soap’s team left an hour ago,” they’re gone already? Why’d they leave so early? Why aren’t they all leaving together? I know the answer I’ll get if I ask these questions. I turn my attention back to the exchange.

“What’ll happen when we get there?” Price shifts his weight. He’s a busy man. He doesn’t have additional time to stand here and let me quiz him.

“We’re meeting at an old landing strip in the forest just past the Russian boarder. The exchange will happen in the clearing. Only a few of us will be there for the handoff: Ghost, myself, and a couple other sergeants.  The rest will be waiting in the surrounding woods on our side. But they won’t be alone. The ultranationalists will have men waiting on their side of the woods. In the event that this all goes South, you’re going to retreat to the defilade,” he takes a decisive step away from the dresser with his feet pointed towards the door. I don’t have much time to get any other information from him.

 “Wait what’s a defilade?” the word stumbles across my lips.

“The men in the trees,” Price pauses. Like always he has the army green hat on his head and is dressed in partial camoflauge. “y/n, I’m not saying it’ll turn into a dogfight, but your father doesn’t exactly have the best track record. Be prepared for that possibility.”

I heed his warning closer than anything else he’s said all morning. Why is Price going through with this if he thinks its going to go to shit?

“I’ll see you soon enough,” There’s a knowing look to his face. Maybe it’s the way his eyes slightly squint or the ghost of a smile that tugs at his lips. It ambiguous. Comforting yet concerning.

Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, a member of the task force drops off a bullet proof vest and new clothes to change into. She is tall and wears a uniform almost identical to the one passed onto me.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll escort you to transportation,” her voice is low and confident. There’s something reassuring about her presense and I’m just glad it isn’t Bennet or one of his friends taking me there.

After hastily throwing on the tactical gear and bulletproof vest, there’s still a piece of fabric sitting on my bed. When I pick it up I recognize the familiar black, fabric bag from several weeks ago. They’re blindfolding me again. Its eerily soft between my clenched fingers. I can’t fucking believe they’re doing this to me again. After everything, why now?

If Ghost was here, would he make me wear it too? Or is this all Price’s doing?

Her firm hand rests on my upper arm as she leads me throughout the compound. Soon the smell of gas filters through the mask and I hear the rumble of multiple engines. People are talking. Orders are barked from one person to the next. Gear is being loaded onto vehicles. Metal clinks and clashes against each other. Everything is in motion.

And then I hear his voice.

Ghost’s distinct tone cuts clearly through the air. It’s powerful and travels with a force that is impossible to ignore. I can pinpoint the exact moment he notices me. The orders he’s giving briefly falter. Then he’s approaching the sergeant and informing her he’s got it from here.

His strong hand replaces her’s. I imagine the warmth of Ghost’s hand through his glove and my sleeve. Ghost’s chest brushes against my shoulder as he leans down to speak. I blindly await his words, only imagining what we look like to the rest of the soldiers. Will they even notice or are they too preoccupied right now?

“You’re riding with me. Don’t say anything. The blindfold will come off once we arrive,”

“Where is th-“

“Don’t. Speak.” Ghost lowly cuts me off.

The van reminds me of the one before. Similarily, I think we’re strapped in against the walls of the vehicle. But I can’t tell for sure.

Ghost quickly buckles me in. His fingers are fast, yet cautious. He takes care not to pinch my skin between the clasps. For a second it almost feels like he’s lingering just to touch me longer. My remaining anger towards him melts for a moment. In a strange environment where I’m stripped of my senses, he’s the only thing that’s familiar. He’s the only one I might just be able to trust.

There are low murmurs amongst the other task members, but not the cheerful kind like before. These are the types of conversations reserved for before high-risk missions. Conversations that hum just above a whisper. They know not everyone will return. You can hear it in their voices.

The van rocks back and forth as we drive. Ghost’s thigh presses against my own. I melt into his side. The firmness of his strength is a reassuring senestion. My hand rests between our legs as my thumb gently traces back and forth along his pantleg. I wonder if he can feel it? I wonder if he knows how this is going to end?

The terrain progressively deteriorates from pavement to gravel to dirt to something far more unpredictable. When the van suddenly stops there’s a split second of absolute stillness. It only lasts for a single breath. Then, it’s go time.

The clicking sounds of seatbelts fill the air. Orders are reaffirmed down the line. Shuffling bodies exit the van. Cold air wafts through the doors.

The blindfold is harshly yanked off my head. Ghost’s calm eyes latch onto mine. In the sea of chaos flowing around us, he remains anchored.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Ghost only nods once, his eyes telling me all I need to know.

Thick forest surrounds us as teams of armed men meticulously clear the surrounding area. It’s daylight, but the shadows of the trees make it feel like dusk. The snow crunches under my feet and bitter air bites at my skin as visible clouds form when I exhale. We’re back in Russia. Ultranationalist territory.

Price appears from another van followed by a formation of armed men who surround Ghost and myself.

“We’re clear. Their men have claimed their half and the rest are waiting on the flat.”

“How many?” Ghost asks, his hand is glued to the automatic riffle clipped to his vest. His eyes continuously scan the area for threats. Everyone is on high alert. Something is happening behind the scnenes that I don’t know about. I can just tell.     

“Half a dozen,” Price responds.

“Beyond the zone of action?”

“TAC estimates about fifty,” Price’s attention is entirely on Ghost. He trusts his opinion more than anyone else on the task force.

“We’re outnumbered,” Ghost’s jaw clenches under the skull mask. His response is short and matter-of-fact. He doesn’t like this. “Update on demolitions?”

“They’re ready,” Price smirks knowingly. What the hell have they got planned? Where is Soap?

Ghost processes what Price has just said. Despite his hesitancy he seems to find some reassurance in Price’s words.

“Right. Y/n,” my eyes are already on Price. “When we go out there, you stay in the detail circle until instructed otherwise. Keep your act up. Sell it to your father. If something happens, retreat to the West side of the flat,” his instructions echo between my ears. This is real. This is happening.

“Affirmative,” I force my chin up.

Then like no time has passed at all, we march as a unit through the trees into a long opening. It’s an old landing strip once used for planes with an abandoned hangar at the far side of the field. The sun gleams through the opening in the trees and reflects off the snow. The brightness hurts my eyes at firt, but then as they adjust, I see several men gathered at a table in the center of the air strip. Its them. It’s him.

Fear pummels through my veins. It’s violent and demands my attention. Every sense feels heightened. Dread fills my body and weighs me down like iron restraints.

It takes everything I have to push myself forward. Every action feels forced. Snow sinks up to my shins as we walk, adding extra resistance. The space is large, spanning multiple football fields.  I feel their eyes on us from a hundred meters away. I don’t think I can stomach seeing my father after everything.

The tension is killing me.

Four men surround me as Price and Ghost lead them towards the group. The Ultranationalists have more men at their station, but some of them must be the prisoners theyre supposed to exchange.

At least that’s what I think until Price clears his throat. “You’re missing three sergeants,” His voice sounds different than I’m used to: louder, demanding, dangerous.

“No one’s missing, Captain Price.” My father’s all too familiar voice reaches my ears. “I assume it’s Captain Price, you didn’t exactly leave room for introductions.” it’s warm and relaxed. “They’re resting just beyond the treeline. We only wanted to garuntee your honest intentions before bringing them out,” he sounds completely in control, with his attention completely on Price. It gives me a moment to really look at him.

I haven’t seen my father in weeks and while he looks exactly the same, I can barely recognize the man in front of us. His beard is longer, but still well groomed. He’s dressed in dark greens and greys, the same as the other Ultranationalists. A toque covers his head and a warm winter jacket is hugged by a bullet proof vest. A chest holster hides a gun while his hands remain open and falsely inviting. His eyes look darker than normal. He must be tired. Or maybe it’s hidden rage that gives them that look. I can’t tell anymore. He isn’t the person I once thought I knew, that much is certain.

Our eyes meet and my blood runs cold.

“Dad?” my voice croaks. Price’s reminder to play into the traumatized daughter act weighs on my shoulders. Suspicious eyes square me up from every angle. There isn’t a single person here who fully trusts me. One wrong word and we could all end up dead.

“Y/n?” his brows furrow as his head cranes in my direction. “Y/n, are you okay? Just be patient darling, you’ll be safe soon,” I note how he chooses his words to influence my emotions. How many times has he done this before without me noticing?

“Right, lets cut to the chase then, bring the rest of my men out and she’s all yours,” Price says. I watch as my father eyes him up for a second and then nods in agreement. He barks an order in Russian to one of the men behind him who repeats it into a transmitter.

Then Price steps to the side, opening up a hole in the baracade of men surrounding me. Ghost does the same as he turns and our eyes lock. Under the skull mask I see his lower lids tense with suspicion. He doesn’t trust the Ultranationalists. Every person here has conflicting goals and values. No one is safe.

I can’t look at him for long. Beyond them, someone else expects me.

I take off running into his arms and hot, genuine tears fall from my eyes and freeze to my cheeks. As his arms wrap around me, I can’t hide the shudder of terror that ripples down my spine. It’s becoming harder and harder to separate my father from his actions. When I close my eyes, I see the footage of him ordering the execution of hundreds of vulnerable people. “I’m scared, Dad,” the hushed truth leaves my lips and brushes against the fabric of his coat. He doesn’t react to my words.

“Those aren’t my men,” A type of hollow furry reverberates through Price’s chest. A realization. A confirmation. They let me go too soon. Now I’m in my father’s arms, while the men marching towards them are more Ultranationalists. Not the taken 141 soldiers.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” he says with his arms still wrapped around me,” as I look over his soulder and past his soldiers, I see more men dressed in grey and green emerge past the treeline and stalk in our direction, guns in hand.

I hear Ghost whisper something into his com. I wonder how many guns are trained on us right now? How many snipers are hidden in the trees waiting for clearance?

“You don’t get to change the conditions of the exchange last minute.”

“I suppose you’re right. That’s not normally how we do things,” my father finally releases me from the hug. His leather glove wipes the tears from my face. The empty, almost irritated look in his eyes tells me he isn’t satisfied. “We don’t typically go through the effort of an exchange. However, Captain Price, these are unique circumstances. Yet, I can’t help the feeling that you are getting a better deal than we are. Look at all these men you’re getting. They’re incredibly valuable to us. They know a lot of information. Information that could hurt a lot of people. Not to mention your men who will be returned to you, once we adjust our terms, of course.”

“Is her life not valuable enough to you?” Ghost’s voice booms across the snow. It’s the first time he’s spoken since arriving. His official introduction to my father. In another life, I wonder if they’d like each other? 

“Of course it is,” he brings a hand to his heart and holds onto my arm with the other. It isn’t. I feel his grip tighten. “But that doesn’t mean this is a fair trade,” My stomach drops. He just confirmed everything I’ve feared without directly saying it. My life doesn’t matter as much as having an advantage on 141. He wants more. That greedy fucking bastard.

“What is then?” Price demands.

“You,” he answers. “And several lieutenants. Then we’re getting somewhere.”

“Negative. Never going to fucking happen. Get that through your thick, Russian skull,” large clouds form in plumes as Price’s burning words meet the arctic air. I sense the tension rising as more Ultranationalists approach the group. We were already outnumbered. Now it’s at least two to one. Why haven’t they called backup yet?

“It will. Wilingly or not,” there it is. The underlying threat of violence that has simmered just under the surface of this entire meeting has finally emerged. The Ultranationalists are more than willing to fight. Maybe they’re even counting on it.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Price sneers. I spare a glance in Ghost’s direction to find his eyes already on me. They’re unreadable. He’s never felt so far away.

“Yeah? What’s that?” my father’s cocky voice bites back. This entire time I feel his hands tighten around my arm as though my winter jacket isn’t there. The heavy vest weighs me down. The cold air hurts my skin. Everything feels off. And just when my attention is focused on every uncomfortable detail, Price’s words cut through the air with such clarity they almost don’t sound real.

“If you don’t follow through with our original deal, your wife will die.”

I feel my father freeze. His molten iron grip solidifies. At the same time my heart drops and it feels like I’m falling. My mom? 141 has my mom? My eyes flicker to Ghost, but he won’t look at me. He lied to me. Again. He fucking lied. Ghost had every opportunity to tell me and he didn’t. My cheeks flush with betrayal. After all this time… How could I be so stupid to trust him?

“That’s impossible,” for the first time, my father looks genuinely rattled. The Ultranationalists were supposed to have a team in New York to protect her. She would be almost untouchable. Yet, Price reaches into a large pouch on his vest and pulls out a tablet. On the screen is a livestreamed video of my mom tied to a chair in our family livingroom. The surge of panick that courses through my veins is indescribable.

Somehow, they did it.

“Go get my men,” Price lowly orders and I don’t doubt for a second he’d kill me or my mom to get what he wants. It’s a terrifying realization. He is willing to do anything to protect his task force. All notions of morals and ethics fly out the door when it comes to his men. Bennet was right. I’m not safe with them.

More orders fly out of my father’s mouth in Russian which are then repeated through the transmitter. All eyes are on the treeline waiting for the captured task force members to emerge.

I can’t bring myself to look at Ghost again. Not after this. Not after such a devastating betrayal.

Just as they emerge from the trees, a popping noise behind us in the distance snags my attention. I turn my head just before the men do, seeing nothing. But that noise, that unmistakable noise can only be  one damning thing.

Just like that, all bets are off the table.

I’m yanked behind the line of Untranationalists as each side raises their weapons at each other. The line hudles together and pushes back towards the trees as men from each side scream orders and threats at each other.

Over the shoulders of the Ultranationalists, I briefly see the six task members shift into formation, covering all angles. Price yells out something about their men and I realize they didn’t get ahold of the promised Ultranationalists or their captured soldiers. They are leaving completely empty handed, with the exception of my mom. If this doesn’t turn around, they’ll kill her. Nausea floods my stomach. I feel the blood leave my face. If I wasn’t being pushed back by my father, I would be sick right now.

The distinct sounds take me back to the night the Ultranationalists ambushed 141’s base. I’d never heard gunfire so close before, but that’s nothing compared to now. What once originated on the other side of the field, now sounds to be only meters away.

Price said if I get the chance, to escape to the West side, but right now, that’s impossible. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know that it’s any safer than being with my father. Nowhere is safe. The forest is crawling with armed men and even if I did escape, everyone would be looking for me and I don’t have anything to defend myself with.

“They’re moving forward!” I hear someone yell in Russian. We’re just entering the treeline as more men flood around us and then break into smaller groups. Everything is so completely chaotic and yet seemingly rehersed.

My lungs burn and for a moment I forget how cold it is outside. Adrenaline and panic fight with eachother as I try to distinguish what to focus on. So much is happening. I completely forget about my father’s grip on my arm.

“Y/n,” he braces my shoulders, encouraging me to look at him. His eyes are wide with excitement. I feel like I’m going to be sick looking at him. “Everything is going to be alright dear, we’ll escape to the trucks. Alright? Just follow me, okay?” I manage a small nod.

I’m yanked forward as we run through the trees. The group of men with us switched from those on the field and now there are only four additional Ultranationalists escorting us. I don’t know how long my father pulls me along for. It feels like miles and hours, but can’t be more than a few minutes.

A loud eruption shakes the ground as snow and dirt fly through the air and a tree crashes beside us. Holy fuck, that was close.

Smoke clouds the air as people shout and bullets fly. The scene can only be described as a deadly, gorilla clusterfuck with the goal of taking out as many people from the other side as possible. We are in an incredibly dangerous position.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, one of the escorts is shot in the leg and drops to the ground. Red stains the snow around him. My father yells in Russian to keep going.

We weave through the thick pines and any sense of direction I once had is gone. My heart thunders in my chest.

A loud shot rings through the air and another Ultranationalist drops to the ground. A second shot sends a bullet through his skull.

Someone is following us. Stalking us. Toying with us. My gut turns.

For a second, I wonder if it’s a sniper.

Then, a knife comes flying through the air, lodging itself into the back of the third of my father’s men.

It’s in this moment, I know exactly who is after us. After me.

The last soldier turns around and fires blindly into the trees behind us. As soon as his clip is empty and he pauses to reload, a single bullet pummels through the trees and it too, pierces his skull and stains the snow a brilliant red. His body slumps to the ground with a muffled thump.

My father pushes us behind the trunk of a large tree and grips his handgun in both hands. He doesn’t need to tell me to be quiet. I don’t think I could make a sound if I tried.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions echo in the distance, but there’s nothing close to us like there was before. The majority of the fighting is taking place closer to the air strip.

The only place Ghost ever struggled with stealth, is in the snow. There’s no technology in the world that’ll muffle the sound of his footsteps strategically approaching the tree we’re hiding behind. You can hear the frigidness in the air as the crunching snow gets louder. He’s close.

“Throw your weapons to the side of the tree and then slowly step out with your hands in the air,” Ghost’s demanding voice fills the air. A dissatisfied grumble ripples through my father’s chest. I shift to move from behind the tree and a large hand snags the back of my vest, pulling me back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

I bite my tongue. He doesn’t know Ghost like I do. There’s no escaping him. The best I can hope for is that he doesn’t want to kill either of us.

“I won’t repeat myself,” his voice sounds closer already. I can imagine him on the other side of the tree with his assault riffle pointed in our direction. Part of me wants to believe he wouldn’t fire on us. But I honestly don’t know anymore.

“Forgive me darling,” the hushed words come as my father wraps his arms around me from behind. He pulls me against his chest and presses the barrel of his gun to my temple before stepping out from behind the tree.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the panicked words bubble up my throat as I try and escape his deathly grasp. I twist and throw my weight around, but it’s no use. Even with one hand occupied, he’s simply too strong. “Let go!” The barrel of the gun bumps against my head as hysteria begins to cloud my better judgement.

Just feet away, Ghost stands with his weapon aimed directly at me. At some point he clipped the riffle to his vest and switched to his handgun. Behind the daunting skull mask, his narrowed eyes calculate our every move with extreme precision.

I’ve heard the rumors about Ghost. Caught wind of whispers detailing the horrors he’s capable of. I’ve even witnessed some of the brutality myself working as his translator. Yet none of that cruelty was ever directed toward me. Now, I find myself looking directly down the barrel of his gun. There is no escaping Ghost’s wrath. There’s no escaping my father’s wrath.

“Put the gun down,” he calmly instructs my father. There’s something different about his voice. Something tense. I notice a stiffness about his posture that isn’t usually there. I’m not the only one who picks up on his behaviour either.

“So that bastard was right,” spite laces my father’s voice. His hot words travel down the back of my neck as his arm wraps tighter around my chest. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

I blink. My mouth dries up and I’m left speechless. How the hell does he know? How did Bennet know? Who else knows?

“No, dad-” the words start to tumble out of my mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, little bird,” his tone is venomous. I’m a traitor to him. Sleeping with his enemy. “You fucking whore.”

Tears prick my eyes. His words stun me and I can’t help the self loathing that weighs down my shoulders.

“Let her go or I’ll shoot,” fearful tremors shake my body. My vision starts to blur with emotion. I’ve never felt so scared in my life. I truly may not survive this.

“Then what?” he sneers “You’ll kill me anyways.”

“If you don’t, your wife will die,” the ultimatum is clear. “Is she really worth it?” Ghost’s words sting like never before. I wish one of them would make a decision, put me out of my misery.

Then, as if without thinking at all, my father releases me from his grip and takes a large step back. My weak knees barely hold my shaking body and when I turn around to face him, I truly don’t recognize the man in front of me anymore. Hundreds of burning questions ache for air, but the only one that escapes my lips begs for the devastating truth.

“Do you- do you even love me?” I force myself to make eye contact with him. From the very start of this horrifying journey, something has been missing. Like I was trying to read a misprinted book.

My father purses his lips and furrows his brows. I know the answer when our eyes meet. Not now. Certainly not after betraying him like he thinks I did. He inhales like he’s about to answer when three deafening gunshots pierce the air. I feel the bullets whiz through the air beside my head and watch as one tears through my father’s arm and two hit him in the shoulder. His gun falls to the ground and his eyes buldge as he realizes what just happened.

Ghost rushes past me and tackles my father to the ground. He forces his arms behind his back, despite the bleeding wounds, and zipties his hands together. He groans empty threats, but they’re so muffled I can’t make them out. None of this feels real. Every part of my body feels numb and full of static. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

Ghost stuffs my father’s mouth with a gag and then covers his head with a black bag. I try to tune out the harrowing sounds of his muffled moans and the distant gunfire and explosions. I feel a panick attack building under the surface of my skin. This is all too much. My knees finally give in.

“Y/n? Y/n,” Ghost’s voice softens as he abandons my father for me. His gloved hands are gentle as they embrace both sides of my head. I flinch away from his touch, causing him to falter. “You’re safe y/n, I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe,” he crouches to the ground beside me and pulls me against his bulky chest. I missed feeling his warmth so damn bad. I want to trust him. God do I want to, but all he does is lie to me. “We just have to get closer to the runway. Then the extraction team will get us out of here,” he strokes my hair as he speaks.

I’m not ready when he pulls us up from our position on the ground, but there’s no time to be ready. Every second we waste in the forest - in Ultranationalist territory - is another second we risk running into more of their soldiers.

Someone is going to notice my father’s absence, if they haven’t already. And they will come looking, if they haven’t already. In which case we are in even more danger.

Ghost lifts my father to his feet and forces him to walk, at times roughly pushing him ahead. Watching them makes my stomach twist into a knot. I can’t believe I haven’t thrown up yet.

He switches the handgun for his automatic riffle again and uses the sight to scope out the surrounding woods.

I have no idea where we are, yet Ghost seems to know the exact path to our destination.

Twice, he takes out multiple men in the distance before they can spot us, but our treck back is otherwise eerily silent.

I don’t remember waiting for the chopter or boarding or the ride back to Latvia. But I do remember the pained sounds escaping my father’s chest as he sits across from me, still blindfolded.

I completely forgot about Soap’s absence admidst clusterfuck of everything else going on. That’s until I hear another member of the task force briefing Ghost on a separate attack they planned to take place while the exchange was happening. The whirling of the helicopter makes it almost impossible make out their words, but Ghost’s eyes give away everything.

“He was injured sir. Badly. He lost a lot of blood on the way back to base and they didn’t have the equipment to operate in the air,” I feel my heart rate pick up and watch as Ghost completely freezes.

I don’t hear what Ghost asks him next. I do however, see the soldier shake his head with remorse.

Dread consumes me.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hiii! Do you think Harry stopped growing at 17? If he was as tall as James in DH I would imagine he was taller than his father. I have three brothers and my family is full of male cousins and they all had growth spurts after 17. I could see him growing another couple of inches after the war. His mind and body is finally at peace after 16 years. I always hc him to be 6’0-6’2 at the age of 21.

As far as Harry being scrawny… aren’t most teenage boys? My brothers were into sports and didn’t get into the gym until they were done with high school. With the profession he’s in I would assume fitness would be a requirement for the role. Yeah, you have a wand but what if it breaks or you lose it? He has a huge target on his back having defeated the darkest wizard of all time, and I can’t imagine him not learning how to physically defend himself and his loved ones. I don’t see him a huge buff gym junky, but I do see him as someone who has a lean athletic figure and someone who concentrates more on leg day than arm day. I think going to the gym would be an escape for him and help him decompress. I know the hp world prefer a shorter skinny hero (probably because of Daniel Radcliffe) who looks like an underdog, however every underdog grows up and barely anyone has the same physique as their teenage self.

Honestly, all this differs a lot with genetics. Harry's growth spurts in the books reminds me of my younger brother. Like, my brother was like 5'2 at 15, then, in like, one month near his 16th birthday, he grew to 5'10 and when he was around 19 he grew again by two inches. So, Harry could definitely still grow taller, but we don't really have a way to know.

Like, men can still grow in height until their late 20s, and it's possible James didn't even finish his growth since he died at 21, so he might've grown even taller if he survived to 25. Like, that's possible. I just don't really have evidence for or against besides saying, yes, it's possible, but I wouldn't call it likely since it's highly individual and based on genes. Like, I know guys who stopped growing at 16 and have been stuck at the same height since then. I also know guys who are 25 and still grow taller. It's the magic of genetics.

Muscle mass, physique, and the ability to gain weight are also heavily dependent on genetics and age. Men in their teens and early 20s usually have a much higher metabolic rate, which keeps them lean regardless of how much they eat (again, genetics play a big role here and this isn't true for everyone). Physical activity like Quidditch, would make the already fast metabolism faster. This naturally fast metabolism, combined with certain genetic makeup, can leave you looking lean regardless of how much you go to the gym as well. Some men need to reach their mid-20s before they can actually start gaining the weight necessary to appear buff.

I think Harry would look less lean as he got older. Like, I can hardly imagine a Harry in his mid to late 30s being as lean as 16-year-old Harry. I think his physique will change as he grows, as happens to most people. But I agree with you I don't see him as a super buff gym dude at any point in his life. He's always on the leaner side in my head, but this is all in headcanon territory since it isn't covered by the books.

I would like to add that all the super short and scrawny descriptions of Harry come from the first 4 books when these descriptions are correct. In book 6 Harry is thin, but no one describes him as a scrawny boy with knobbly knees past book 4. Not even he himself. So I definitely see Harry of the final 3 books as more lean than scrawny.

And yeah, you're right about Radcliffe messing up everyone's mental image of Harry, both in looks and personality. It's one of the things that bother me most about the movies. And, everyone can headcanon whatever they want, but I personally don't like short Harry (when he's older, when he's 14, make him short). It's not his canon character and when writers write him short, it's sometimes accompanied by him being written as too passive and meek for my liking because Harry James Potter is not passive or meek. (Radcliffe Harry in the movies is much more passive, hence the skewed mental image I mentioned, but I digress).

Besides, while malnourishment and food intake could affect one's growth, people tend to overlook the 6 years of Hogwarts and Molly's food which would be a huge boost during his puberty years in which he's having most of his growth. Additionally, some people's food intake matters less to their physical development than others — again, I can't stress enough how specific genetic makeup is super important in all this discussion.

TL;DR

Harry might grow taller to be 6' or 6'2. We don't have any evidence for or against really, so it's up to your preference on what you want to headcanon. But it's definitely super possible. If Lily was taller than the average it would even be likley (but I couldn't find any notes on Lily's or Petunia's height). In the books, he is very lean, and it's a combination of a lot of different factors working together: his lifestyle, genetic makeup, and yes, being a teenage boy with the fast metabolism that comes with it. As Harry grows up, he'd probably want to stay fit, but to what degree is also in personal headcanon territory (I personally don't like him becoming an Auror, but that's my preferred headcanon. I still see him staying pretty fit out of paranoia, sort of. I mean, he spent all his teenage years with a Damocles sword over his head. He literally died. I think he's allowed to be a little hypervigilant after that. I mean, he already is, but you get the point).

[odyswap]

Log #9 Duel

The island was quiet, unnervingly so. No wind stirred the trees, no waves crashed against the shore. It was as if the land itself held its breath in anticipation of their arrival. At the heart of the island stood a great temple, its marble pillars worn smooth by time and salt.

A temple of Poseidon…

and Penelope felt, wary.

Her crew, hopeful, remained outside as she alone stepped into the grand hall, telling Ctimine to stay with the crew. The scent of brine and damp stone clung to the air. Torches burned a bright, flickering flame, illuminating the structure. At the far end of the chamber, lounging upon a throne of coral, sat the god of the sea himself.

Poseidon.

He was watching her, amusement playing at the edges of his sharp features. His trident rested lazily across his lap. He had the look of a man who did things for his own enjoyment, no matter the cost.

"So," he drawled, voice rolling like distant thunder. "Penelope of Ithica enters a temple of mine. Usually I go after the women, but this is a lovely surprise."

"I need to know how to evade Hades." she said, voice steady. "Dionysus said you might know."

Poseidon chuckled, rising from his throne in a slow, deliberate motion.

"Hades, eh? Why should I help you? What do I gain from this?" His gaze cast upon every little inch of Penelope.

"Maybe, you could convince me somehow? I'm sure Odysseus wouldn't mind~"

He reached out, fingers brushing a strand of her hair.

Penelope moved out of pure anger, stepping back, her sword sliding out of its scabbard in a heartbeat. "Try that again," she warned, leveling the blade at him, "and I'll show you exactly how I led 600 through war."

Silence hung heavy between them. Then Poseidon laughed, loud and deep, the sound reverberating through the temple walls. "Good," he mused. "I like when they play 'Hard to get'."

Before she could react, he struck. Hitting her with the blunt end of his trident, the force of his blow sending her skidding back. The sea god was fast—faster than any mortal opponent. But Penelope did not yield. She adjusted her stance, eyes locked on him, and lunged.

The battle was not a fair one. Poseidon was a god, his strength unfathomable, he could drown her instantly. But Penelope had spent her life in war. She had fought men, monsters and now even gods.

They fought back and forth. The god didn't tire or even bleed, while she was slowly losing this struggle. She reminded herself why she was fighting here, why she had to get home.

In a blur of motion, she found an opening.

With a well-timed feint, she ducked beneath his swing, twisting around to slam the hilt of her sword into his ribs. The impact broke his stance, and before he could recover, she was on him, her blade pressed firmly against his throat.

The temple was silent.

Poseidon's chest heaved. His teeth were bared in something that was not quite a snarl. Then, with one finger, he tapped her blade, pushing it aside. The gesture was not amusement. It was acceptance, bitter acceptance.

"Enough," he growled. "You've proven yourself."

Penelope stepped back, heart pounding. Poseidon sat up, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of his own anger.

"You want to stop Hades?" he said at last. "There is only one he fears. Not me, not Zeus, not any mortal. No, the one you seek is Demeter." "The goddess of the harvest?" Penelope asked.

"The very same." Poseidon's smirk was gone. "The mother who would kill anyone and anything for her daughter."

Penelope sheathed her sword, meeting Poseidon’s gaze with unwavering resolve. "Then tell us where to find her."

Poseidon exhaled sharply, turning back toward his throne. "Arcadia. I've given an answer. Take it and go."

Penelope did not thank him. The only thing she craved for now was to find her husband and home.

[teecupangel]

What about a kitsune Desmond, a white fox appears shortly after Altaïr's birth white as snow with one black leg and golden eyes it follows Altaïr for his entire life seemingly never aging and smarter than any animal should be. Years after Altaïr's death Des feels a pull and shows up at the birth of Ezio and gains a second tail, the same trend continues with the Frye twins, the Kenways and the other two post Altaïr protagonists whose names escape me right now which if my math is correct leaves him able to get his ninth tail as he steals his infant self from the farm

I'd imagine he'd get more powers from each tail he grows maybe foxfire with his second (fire that burns as bright as the sun) and gaining a human form around 4 or 5

I’m going to be honest with you, nonny, I know a bit about kitsunes, specifically fox spirits, because one of my favorite characters during my childhood is Daji (specifically Dakki from the og Houshin Engi anime) and I never stopped loving her in all her malicious tyrannical glory.

While fox spirits/kitsunes can be benevolent or malicious, a lot of fox spirits are shown to be trickster.

… and seducers.

Like, being able to shapeshift into beautiful women and men who ‘bewitches’ or seduces humans are signs of how old a fox spirit is XD

But I kinda like the idea that Desmond remains as a fox the entire time, never changing in size or weight.

His tails can easily be ‘disguised’ into one tail by making sure they all move as one so it just looks like he has one big bushy tail (which is strange but not ‘mythical’ strange).

Now, we want Desmond to have 9 tails so the list of people would be:

his initial tail

Altaïr’s

Ezio’s

Edward’s

Ratonhnhaké:ton’s

Arno’s

Evie’s

Jacob’s

The ninth tail would be his own infant self.

My suggestion for his powers are, depending on how many tails he has, he unlocks:

Immortality and eternal youth (default)

Foxfire (kitsunebi) – the number he can summons grows with the number of tails he has

Dream sharing with his current connection (Ezio, Ratonhnhaké:ton, etc) – he always appears as Desmond Miles in their dreams

Shapeshifts to Desmond Miles

Shapeshifts to any human he is familiar with (having genetic connections with them makes it faster to shift to their form)

Shapeshifts to anything that is not human

Possession (having a genetic connection with Desmond Miles makes it easier to possess that person)

Ability to cast illusions that are almost impossible to distinguish from reality

Omniscience due to a direct connection with the Calculations

(These are all powers that are more or less seen in kitsune stories. If you think there’s too many shapeshifting powers, kitsunes are also known for being able to turn invisible, can fly, bend time and space or make people crazy)

Oh and making Desmond a white kitsune is *chef’s kiss*. In folklore, a white kitsune has reaches the top of its powers and is called celestial/heavenly which is a good foreshadowing on how powerful Desmond could become.

If I may suggest, whenever Desmond uses his foxfire, his tails is engulfed in white flames like this (but white and gold and without the ‘seal’:

[choco-cherry-chunk]

Pregnant spock fluff? Merry belated holidays btw

And to you as well! Let me think…

Because I like him best in the context of the Triumvirate, that’s the route I’m going to follow. ☺️

I’m imagining that Spock tends to be mad awkward when it comes to being pregnant, as he considers the revelation inappropriate, to a degree. After all, it’s the most obvious proof of having had sex, and he’s always so private, even by Vulcan standards.

But any efforts to keep things under wraps are easily blown apart. With one partner constantly present when he’s working the helm and the other serving as his doctor, he’s screwed (more than literally). Every member of the crew knows about the pregnancy before Spock can blink, just by gossip alone.

But he does soften as he sees how excited his human partners are. Jim going on about nursery plans and McCoy exploring names, even ones that carry Vulcan connotations.

And boy, does he get to use a few. I’ve said before that I like the idea of Vulcans typically conceiving multiples, given the matter of Pon Farr and their manner of intimacy. Maybe Spock being an only child is a huge rarity. But he’s got a few cooking, thanks to his men, and he’s feeling a lot of things about it.

He starts to show fast and he worries is concerned that he’s growing out of his uniforms faster than he can replace them. Jim insists that his undershirt is fine in cases when he’s waiting for new attire, but everyone knows that it’s because he loves seeing how snug the item is on him.

And McCoy isn’t helping things. With his constant tinkering of Spock’s meal plan and efforts being made to ensure the solid development of the children, he makes sure that his Vulcan gains enough weight to feel well. And maybe a little extra…

It is very much a thing to watch Spock work as he gets further along, as he has to lean around his belly to work his station, make efforts not to drop anything, and certainly waddles about the bridge. It’s almost fascinating to watch.

[trancylovecraft]

(AOEX) YANDERE LUCIFER x READER: Radiance (DRABBLE)

i had a burst of inspiration at two in the morning, on christmas eve, in the middle of the night, pretty sure i heard santa on my roof. anyways, happy holidays you filthy animals!

"[F/N]!!!"

His shrieks rang throughout the broken rubble of the facility. What use to be white clinical walls and pristine tile flooring were now broken down into stone-dust and shards. Nothing left as that monster rampaged throughout the remains.

She ran, [F/N] ran like her life depended on it and it most certainly did. Her lungs burned as she traversed the rubble, Tears flooding out the corner of her burning eyes as her scorched lungs tried to keep up the pace.

The light behind her, The radiance showing in her peripherals couldn't distract her now. Even though it blinded her and started to sizzle at her skin, Her mind was a single track on the route to escape.

He couldn't get to her now, Not when she had made so many deals, So many months of planning and plotting to get her to where she was now. That one mistake, The one that made the house of cards tumble down:

He had found out of her escape.

Pandemonium broke loose. Both men and women screaming as his yells rang throughout the destroyed facility, They sounded strained, As if he was in more pain than he usually was. But most of all,

He was pissed.

His light was angry, It burned her and scorched her and she should've known. She had flown too close and had been reprimanded as such, Though it didn't matter as she felt the light getting closer. She'd just need to fly faster.

"[F/N]..!! Where are you.. My wife.. WHERE ARE YOU?!"

He screamed once more, Much closer. He was gaining on her quickly which only made the tears in her eyes fall much faster, Her choked gasps for air come out ever so more often. Her legs near given out, But she needed to go- To keep going, To get out of here-

"[F/N]!!!"

She felt something crash into her.

[F/N] let out a scream of her own, Falling down and hitting the broken tiles of the floor hard. She yelped, Crimson ichor already spurting out from a newly shard-cut gash in her head.

Her vision was blurry, A faint droning hum in the back of her ears as she felt her mind fade in and out of consciousness. However the only thing keeping her awake was the compressing weight on her back, One that kept her down on the ground.

[F/N] cried as she felt the charred claws of her captor wrap around her waist. She sobbed as his rotting nose was pressed into the crook of her neck, The way he let out a strangled purr as he did made her want to puke.

"Why.. Why did you try to get away from me..? I.. You ran away.. You.." His voice was like a raid siren in the middle of the night, The panic flooding through thousands was felt in the thundering of her one single heart as he spoke.

Lucifer's tail, The matted blonde fur wrapped around her thigh like a prisoners chain as he held her down to the floor. She sobbed as his rotten body encased hers, Face still pressed into her neck as she felt the nips of his fangs start to graze her skin.

"P-Please.. No!" [F/N] cried as she felt the bone start to dig into her skin, Head still pressed up against the rubble of the ground and his broken body still holding her down. He wasn't in his right mind.

And as her head turned and was met with the face of the beast, [F/N] wished she had never been born.

He was rotting from the inside out, Half of his face was decayed like he had already expired. If only, [F/N] thought. His platinum blonde hair was matted with the blood of others, He now had only one green eye wildly staring down at her, The other one fallen out ages ago.

[F/N] felt bile rise at the back of her throat as she saw the insides of his face, Half-rotten half-primal rage. She could see the bare surface of his skull, She could see his flesh hanging like drapes from his skeleton and how it almost ripped off his frame.

His power, He had exerted himself.

All to get to her.

"W-Why could you do this to me..? Why did you.. You're my wife, We married-! You-.. " Lucifer was cut off by a series of coughs, Mid-way through the markings he started to leave on her neck.

His teal military-uniform was ragged and bloody, His lengthy cardinal cape was the same, Only concealing the ichor better. This man was emotionally a machine, No feelings or deviation. Just an unfeeling machine churning out his duties.

Back then, [F/N] almost convinced herself that he was human. A cold comfort if not for his tail and cat-slit pupils. Not for the light he always radiated, Not like the glow he always emanated.

His glow wasn’t like the radiance of the sun, it wasn't like a lover's embrace on a cold winter's eve. No, Instead it was like the catalyst of a nuclear fallout.

He was the light in the sky moments before disaster, He was the death of thousands of men and women across era. He was The Morningstar, The one warned of in tales of old passed down through tradition and brushed off by the young.

But he was no joke, Not anymore as he held her near crying. Claws around her waist starting to dig into her skin and his coughing breaking down into wheezes, Teeth still lodged deep into her neck.

"You.. You must have gotten lost.. You must.. You got lost, Didn't you, My love? You.. You did!" Lucifer wheezed. This was no machine, Not anymore. He had sentience alright, But even so his delusions were not easily shaken.

[F/N] sniffled, Red eyes looking back at his horrific visage.

"P-Please- You gotta let me go, I can't stay here anymore- Please-! GRAH-!" [F/N] screamed as she felt his teeth gnaw into her neck and bite down, Blood gushed up from the wound and splattered on his rotten flesh.

And she wanted to scream, when she felt his tongue start to lick at her wound.

"Shhh.. You do not need to explain it to me-! You got lost-! You worried me.. You worried me.." He doted as his teeth parted from her wound and his tongue starting to lap at the blood, Almost caringly, Like a cat grooming it's young.

[F/N] sobbed. She knew very well that there was no getting through to him, Not in this state nor in his full power.

Her neck ached, Unable to support her head at it was fallen to the ground. Lucifer continued to tongue at her nape, She could almost feel him physically calm as he tasted the sweetness of her ichor.

"You worry me.. You.. I love you.. I love you, I love you.. I love you.." He said in-between each stroke of his tongue, Which just made her sob even harder. She wheezed, Body weak as she tried to crawl out from under his hold.

The stench was horrid, The iron copper of her blood mixing in with the ugly death of his rotting vessel. She knew he was in pain with every ache of his ligaments, With every tail-squeeze of her thigh she could feel his anguish.

But that didn't seem to matter to him anymore. Clawed hands still digging into her midsection as he claimed his prize, His wife, The one person in the damned dimension that took away his misery.

She loved him, She did. From the moment they met on that fateful night, When their eyes locked as he declared war on the true cross order. He knew that they were meant to be, The yearning obsession pounding through his heart being the tell-tale sign.

She felt the same way, She must have! Lucifer didn't know what he'd do if she didn't, What he'd do if he even had a suspicion.

The bodies around them, The splatters of organs and muscle was enough to tell [F/N] what would happen. The burning light coming from each and every single corpse, Their sizzled flesh smelling almost disgustingly like a meat on a grill, Just like the barbecue's she had when she was free.

But now he held her in a chokehold, What he thought was a lovers embrace. But this demon could never learn to love, Not in the way that could've ever been human anyways. [F/N] just sobbed in his arms, Unable to do anything else.

What could she do? This was The King of Light.

She could never escape, She didn't need a gilded cage to understand that part.

[gyuluttony]

i looooved your other txt ask! how about yeonjun + member of your choice that recently started dating and both start to plump up with relationship weight? one of them gains a bit faster than the other, and gets a bunch of casual comments from their mutal friends like “jeez, what has [member] been feeding you??” or “huh, you’ve been getting a bit fat, haven’t you?” but they both get at least a little soft cooking for and feeding each other💞

asks mentioning my ults always end up invading my brain space and causing me to hyperfixate until i end up writing them.. so that's exactly what happened here. i think i'm going to go with beomjun for this one because i do love a good bickering couple and especially when they get softer together...

Ice Cream

This is a feederism fic and features weight gain, mutual gain, breaking of clothes and stuffing. Don't like, don't read.

The key twisted into the lock easily and the sound of two men groaning came through when they finally made it into the space of their apartment. Yeonjun's voice was whiny as he complained, "You didn't need to order extra entrees when we already had that many appetizers!"

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, "I know you're not complaining considering you're the one who ate most of it." He seemed rather proud of himself at that statement, which would have riled up Yeonjun more if he wasn't stuffed to the brim at this very moment.

Flopping onto the couch and knocking his head back, he groaned. "Well, when you're bringing the food to my mouth with your puppy eyes, am I really going to say no? You're lucky you're cute otherwise I would have fought." Beomgyu laughed warmly after sitting next to him, a grunt leaving him as Yeonjun smiles, "Full after all those appetizers and then you had like three desserts. You just wanted to skip the entrees."

He caught the way his boyfriend flushed and nudged him, "You're talking about me feeding you all the entrees meanwhile you made sure I practically licked the plate clean for that brownie we got." Yeonjun caught the way his boyfriend's hand patted his own stomach, beginning the digestion of all the food that he had eaten of his own volition and through Yeonjun's coaxing.

Most nights were like this when they decided to go out anyways. Going to restaurants so that they could spoil the other with food were common and considering they were getting paid on alternate weeks, there was no real rest. Ever since they started dating a couple months prior after meeting through some mutual friends.

It was truly a blissful life. Until the party that they went to this week.

"Hyung, you're starting to get a lot bigger, huh?" Yeonjun's head practically snapped towards Kai, the youngest of their little friend group who covered his mouth, almost like he spilled something that he wasn't supposed to.

Yeonjun approached him, standing in his face, cringing inwardly at the way he didn't notice his thighs rubbing into each other when he walked. "What do you mean bigger?" Even if he needed to ask, he was very much suddenly aware of what the younger meant.

What he didn't expect was Kai's hands to find his belly, protruding over his waistband and pressing the confines of his shirt. "Woah, you're so soft now, hyung! Beomgyu's been good to you, huh?" He caught the way the younger winked but the feeling of hands rubbing his gut was flustering him in a way that he didn't realize.

When someone was as confident in himself as Yeonjun, there were some things that needed to be thrown away to not doubt yourself in specific outfits. That meant being confident in your body no matter what. But, it was almost like this comment made him more aware of the fact that he was practically about to burst out of what he was wearing and it probably looked even more strained after he had eaten a good amount of the snacks that they put out.

He felt the way his gut protruded and made holes in the button up due to them struggling to stay together, explaining why he might have had some difficulty getting the shirt on in the first place and as Kai's fingers poked the chub, he was aware of just how soft he has gotten since the first time he wore an outfit of this style.

Kai waves his hand, finally taking his hands of Yeonjun's fattened stomach before he adds, "You've been plenty good to him too though so I think it just makes you both look cuter!" Yeonjun was going to ask what he means before he curiously looks at his boyfriend and feels his mouth dry up.

That sweet tooth of Beomgyu's certainly was showing its effects, his thighs exploded while he sat on the couch next to Soobin. He was always someone who was on the chubbier side but now next to Beomgyu, most people wouldn't even notice the weight. Kai said they had gotten a little softer but given how Beomgyu's shirt was riding up whenever he got heated from Soobin winning in Mario Kart, he was well aware that they had moved past chubby a while ago.

Seeing Beomgyu celebrate and Soobin play fighting with him, now aware of how much of Beomgyu spills out of his touch and how Soobin's arms press into the flab fairly easily makes his face heat up. He should have probably realized this a lot sooner but they had gotten bigger since getting together.

How many times has his hands rested on Beomgyu's plump hips, pressing into them without realizing how much there was to hold? Is that why he had been squeezing his ass when he walked by more? Now that he was thinking about it, the younger man spilled out of his hands when he squeezed him in such a way.

It'd provide an explanation as to why Beomgyu came up from behind him and rubbed his belly, now realizing why his hands had a lot more room to explore than before as he tried to make sure to rub every part of Yeonjun's gut when he was stuffed.

Kai looked rather proud of mentioning it before Taehyun jabbed him with an elbow to the side, "You're making hyung overthink." Taehyun shot Yeonjun a thoughtful glance as Kai looked at him, worried now and using his doting eyes, "Ah, hyung! I don't mean it like a bad thing! You're both looking so happy it's adorable!"

The warmth on his face was unfortunately not lost on Taehyun who shot him a smirk before he added, "Okay, let's watch something before those two kill themselves over who got last place worse." Sitting next to his boyfriend on the couch, he was more aware of the hand that ended up on his thigh, not able to completely hold it like Beomgyu used to do when they started dating. Leaning against him, it was almost like his moobs acted as a pillow and it was the first time that Yeonjun realized his chest had ballooned to the point that they could be classified as that.

The rest of the night was spent with Yeonjun moving carefully so that he didn't properly burst out of his clothes and Beomgyu still coaxing him to eat more with him unable to say no. Taehyun's eyes ended up on him when he felt like loosening his pants, only adding to the embarrassment that he felt towards this incredibly late realization.

Arriving at their apartment, they stumbled back in a similar fashion how they did most nights as Yeonjun pressed his lips passionately into the younger, unable to hold back from the constant touches the entire night. He hadn't noticed all this excess prior to today and now that he had, it was just another thing to drive him crazy.

Feeling so confident in the weight, he's put on, he presses himself into Beomgyu, leaning against the door, their guts mashing into each other and a burp coming out of the younger, embarrassed due to how stuffed he is. "Sorry," spills out of his lips in a quick breath before they're against each other again, Yeonjun's hands slipping under Beomgyu's sweater to massage his belly only to get more whimpers from him, the pleasure from both the massage and relief from his boyfriend making him melt under his touch.

Whatever happened that night was the best time they ever laid together. Full of attention, love and admiration of the other's softened body. Yeonjun didn't know if he ever have enough fat to classify as anything but skinny before but Beomgyu made to show extra love, squeezing his softened gut, kneading the fat and biting every extra bit of adipose on his thighs.

However, what he didn't expect was the way that they didn't discuss anything. They carried on with their same habits. He noticed that Beomgyu's hands lingered a lot more and explored just about every extra inch of Yeonjun's body and he wasn't going to complain about it.

As Yeonjun boiled about five packs of Buldak for them to share, he felt Beomgyu press into him from behind, hands on his stomach as they slipped into Yeonjun's undershirt, rubbing his boyfriend's belly. It had gotten to the point where it protruded pretty proudly even when not stuff and was currently rumbling at the food that he was currently prepping. Beomgyu's own stomach slotted comfortably into the curve of his back.

"How much longer, hyung? I think we're going to get a noise complaint from the way this won't shut up." He lifts Yeonjun's belly and lets it flop down, causing him to jiggle as he feels himself shiver. He can practically feel Beomgyu's mischievous smile on his back as he turns, pinching the flab on his boyfriend's tummy.

"Yeah, this certainly isn't helping. So, it won't be too long." Yeonjun shakes Beomgyu's stomach for good measure, causing the younger man to yelp before laughing while hugging his boyfriend again. A smile curls at both of their lips before they resume the back hug position so Yeonjun could continue cooking.

The weight they've put on is just showing how comfortable they made each other.

Beomgyu's hands move up to Yeonjun's plump chest as he holds them, voice sounding shaky, "We're not that good with spice so maybe we can have some of the ice cream in the freezer after." Yeonjun's mind remembers how they bought two large tubs and he was already thinking of dessert with the five packs they were cooking. His touch was teasingly slow on Yeonjun's stomach, speaking his thoughts for him. Wondering how big he'd get with all of that food packed in there.

"One for both of us." Yeonjun said it simply and he felt a shaky sigh leave his boyfriend as his hands moved onto Yeonjun's large ass, his own gut hanging on top of it.

If they were this comfortable with each other now, who knew what would happen if they kept goading each other on like this. But, Yeonjun couldn't say he minded it.

[raspberrybluejeans]

hey rat! i was wondering if maybe you'd be willing to talk about your experience on testosterone? i know you've been on it for years - i'm around 10 months on tgel, and i've heard a lot about the first year/two years on t but not as many stories from further on in transition.

no pressure of course! much love to you either way <3

Sure! I have been on T for ten years and my memory isn't great so a lot of details are fuzzy, but I do remember that most of the changes were at the beginning.

Body hair, voice, change, bottom growth, all that pretty early and fast. I pretty much literally did not have body hair before T, like it was all really light and scarce, and T just hit me like a train and now I'm practically werewolf-esque. I've noticed I'm way hairier than my dad or brother so I think the artificial testosterone must do hair harder than natural lol.

One thing affecting my experience that I should probably mention is that I got a total hysterectomy, both uterus and ovaries, taken out about two years after I started T. So my body literally only has the T I don't produce any natural hormones anymore. The hysterectomy made me gain a bunch of weight and occasionally have heat flashes, which are normal menopause symptoms (which is basically the same as getting a hysterectomy, either way your body is no longer getting the estrogen and stuff) but they were lighter because I had T as a replacement hormone.

One pretty good thing is that acne more or less disappeared forever after the hysterectomy. Like I'll still get random singular zits once in a blue moon but I was having a lot of acne from being on T before that. I think it just sort of stopped the clashing of hormones or something idk. I have to literally put moisturizer on my face now though it's wild.

I also started out doing shots for T but switched to gel at some point. I can't remember exactly when but I've definitely been on gel longer than shots. I like it so much more. I hated giving myself shots so much it was just so stressful and unpleasant and the gel is so much smoother too, no hormone spikes and dips. I've heard its good to start with shots though, that it helps bring changes faster.

The only two things I can think of that really kept changing for me past the big changes at the beginning is that my facial hair has continued to slooooowly get thicker over time. My facial hair sucked ass so bad for the longest time. And it's still not great but its decent now. I think it is still slowly filling in. I had a friend who pretty quickly got perfect facial hair on T though so, this is just my curse.

The other one is unfortunately baldness. I think my hysterectomy exasperated this problem. For years I've been able to detect that my head hair has been getting thinner but it's only recently gotten to a point where its pretty noticeable to other people. I finally cut my hair last year which made me pretty sad because I really liked having long hair. I use minoxidil which I guess does something but its not much. I tried finasteride and had a very bad reaction to it. I know the biggest symptom it gave me was absolutely crazy brain fog. I think it might have done some other stuff too but I cannot remember thanks to the brain fog lol...

I would really like to learn how to wear wigs well (like, where you can make them look fairly real) but there's not a lot of sources for men/masculine hair so I don't know where to start. I have buzzed my hair before and I absolutely cannot stand it so I am not interested in just going bald lol. If I ever have reliable money I think I will do hair systems (which is essentially gluing a toupee to you, except it actually looks incredibly real and good; but requires frequent expensive upkeep).

So I guess TL;DR most of the changes were at the beginning and then my body started doing a dark ritual to sacrifice my head hair for beard hair

Thanks for asking!

[unicornpopcorn14]

Oooooh!! How about the "You're safe now" dialogue and the "pretending to be fine" one with some shin soukoku? Romantic and platonic, whichever you like most! I thought about aku comforting atsushi, but it can be the other way too.

This is my shot, you absolutetly dont need to do this if you dont wanna <3 take care

Omg ranidaee it's finally here! :D Tysm for the request! <3 Here is a fic related to recent chapters' events!!! (Specifically ch119)

This was written before ch.120, so there is no (spoilers) Aku stabbing here!

Ao3 link at the end of the post!

Eternal Sunset (Of the Spotless Mind)

“It’s no use, Akutagawa! YOU’LL DIE IF YOU FIGHT THAT THING!”

“Who the hell are you?”

The shocked, well-nigh confused reaction he receives does not disconcert him, as the Divine Being he is facing propels itself to strike. Activating spatial distortion is no easy feat. However, his duty here is to protect, thus fending off that only serves it. He would take aim, he would strike, as he’d pledged.

He has but the slightest clue on when the young commoner he had rescued learned his name. Akutagawa does not recall meeting him before, certainly not a white-haired boy whose features are too remarkable to forget. And he cannot fathom associating with an individual frail enough to have been nearly decapitated but a trice ago.

Said individual who is yet to cease being the Divine One’s target, and is but rooted to the ground, gaping at Akutagawa with a smile on his face, simply waiting for the blade to strike him.

Akutagawa grits his teeth, hastening for the commoner he had just avowed to never let be in the face of harm, and seizes him barely in time.

“Agh!” The young man, who seems to be slightly younger than him in age, dares act baffled by the turn of events.

Proven a distraction, Akutagawa resolves to escort him to the safest point in the airport. There would be no chance in gaining victory with a helpless commoner around to constantly guard, and the young man seems to be in need of an intermission, given the tears glistening his eyes, and in the way his chest is heaving at an irregular pace. That is no fitting state for a battlefield.

Akutagawa wonders what prompted him to be a part of it at all.

“H-Hey, wh-?!” The young man questions loudly, wriggling atop his shoulder. Elucidating deems a hassle, thus Akutagawa settles on silence as a response.

A chortle resounds behind, hollow. It belongs to Fyodor, the most heinous of men to exist, as he tuts, “Fleeing right as the fun begins? Whatever happened to fulfilling Bram-san’s testament?”

Akutagawa does not heed, opting to rush faster with the assistance of his armor’s stripes, soaring through the air.

“What shame. I’ll humor you this once, owner of the ‘blade serving the heavens’.” Fyodor mocks, voice remote, “As I have matters of my own to attend to.”

Akutagawa scowls, loathing the intonation of dishonoring his newfound status, and yet finds himself furtherly adamant to preserve the welfare of this white-haired fellow, as this is but another step closer to fulfilling his sanctified duty.

After all, the path of the knight paved before him does not merely obliges him to strike, but to also protect.

And protect he does, for they land in the farthest region of the airport, away from all the havoc and demolition. He sets the fellow down on his feet, assessing his ability to carry his weight before letting him pillar himself against the stony wall.

Akutagawa does not idle, preparing himself to propel back for no other reason but to pursue the potential annihilators of this world.

It all lies on his shoulders.

However, before taking a step, the young man clutches to his wrist in a grip that should not be felt through Akutagawa’s armor, but he does, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Is it possible, perhaps, that he wields more strength than meets the eye?

His inward question is discarded as he is prompted to turn round, unsure of why he was halted.

“You are safe now. There is no need to fret.” Akutagawa reassures, and he isn’t one to declare meaningless words. The young man is safe, as the Divine One is unable target someone Fyodor cannot see.

Akutagawa will make certain he is the only thing in that heinous man’s sight.

Once he comprehends whatever this lad is asking of him.

“I-I know…” Said lad nods, a smile on his lips, yet there is something about it that is fickle. Not necessarily disingenuous-- quite the opposite, mayhap. He is directing a look that Akutagawa cannot decipher, a mixture of emotions so potent, oscillating between grief, ecstasy, hope and delirium.

It's illogical.

And it should not affect him one bit. He is not acquainted with this crying, sniveling commoner. The only reason they're alone is to keep nothing that would divert his attention in the battlefield.

Then why does his heart twinge all the same?

No matter, it is only nugatory meddling here.

“I am obliged to pursue Dostoyevsky. I will not be stopped.” He says, prepared to unsheathe his sword if provoked. What else should this man need from him but protection Akutagawa has already provided? Surely he isn’t frightened by being left alone, is he?

"I know, just wait- let me take a breather.” His obstacle says, unoccupied hand wiping vigorously at his eyes, “I’m coming with you…"

He… wishes to join him?

Akutagawa frowns in disapprovement.

He finds the concept absurd. What use would this man be but a hindrance? What even makes him assume he is capable of touching Ameno Gozen, let alone defeating it?  

No, he has to rebound as one, fulfill his duty alone as he’d pledged by the sword. He will not imperil the entire world for the sake of a folly lad’s wish.

It all lies on his shoulders, he reminds.

"Do not be mistaken. I have ushered us here for a reason." He all but blankly points out, to which the silver-haired shakes his head. Akutagawa’s eyes descend, "You do not seem to be going anywhere with those shaky limbs."

It is but the plainest of observations. The young man’s legs appear to be scarcely holding his weight, along with his arms unsteady with each motion. Though he does not appear injured, nor with open wounds, something is sending quakes down his shoulders, his knees. Persistent and powerful.

Akutagawa is not sure what.

There is no time to ponder, however, for the world is at stake. He repeats his stance, prepares himself to soar once more.

He isn't expecting the lad to dispute any further. One should fear their demise, after all. Faced with such a formidable opponent. A being beyond reality. Beyond comprehension.

And yet, to his surprise, the clutch grows firmer. Iron-like. It effectively stops his tracks dead.

"No- I’m coming.” The silver-haired commoner grows desperate, shaking his head repeatedly, “Just a minute, I promise."

He asserts both boldly and shakily. Two extremes that should not meet in the middle.

Akutagawa perceives the rapid rise and fall of the other’s chest, the way he is desperate to cling onto composure, though it is slipping from his wet fingers swifter than a knight’s strike.

“You’d need more.”

The other grits his teeth, “I’m fine. I can fight-”

"And what ability do you possess that would allow you to contend against a being outwith your conception-"

"You know what my ability is.” He exclaims, “It’s all you call me by, for God’s sake!"

The claim reverberates around them, and Akutagawa remains indifferent against the outburst, seeing as it’s mere nonsense. He simply scrutinizes the fickle form of the one before him, before saying,

"I suggest sitting down."

It does not appease the vexed lad, as he bristles further.

“I won’t, Akutagawa.” He lastly relinquishes Akutagawa’s upper arm, “So don’t keep trying.”

"You are apparently stubborn.” And oddly forthright, though Akutagawa does not grant him the prospective satisfaction in divulging this.

"You're underestimating me." The fellow points out in a breathy intonation, piercing him with obstinate eyes. Sunsets.

"There is nothing to estimate. I do not know you." At the words, the sunsets lose their glimmer. Akutagawa does not dwell on it, "But I can draw conclusions based on what is apparent before me. You are shaking. You are tired. You should sit."

The young man seems like he is about to complain again, but Akutagawa prompts him this time, pushing his shoulders down gently.

His statements are proven as the lad nearly collapses under the light inducement, which instigates Akutagawa to lower himself as well, so as to not let the other keel over.

Settled on a knee, Akutagawa lets go of the trembling young man, and observes. He seems to have lost his spirit courtesy of what Akutagawa’s last said, granting him with a look he cannot decipher. Edging on assessment, though mixed with hurt and gradual devastation.

Then the young man’s lower lip quivers, and he leans towards him with his arms outstretched. His voice is piping as he questions,

"C-Can I...?"

Akutagawa does not get what he is insinuating, but there isn't something that should faze him, which is why he nods in place of demanding an explanation.

"Whatever it may be, make haste.”

And indeed he does.

Akutagawa is instantaneously pulled forward, arms entrapping his neck rapider than he could perceive. It solidifies his suspicion of this fellow possessing physical capabilities far beyond what he’d originally thought, given his agile maneuver that could nearly surpass Akutagawa’s, a daring knight.

Those thoughts are dismissed rather hastily once Akutagawa recognizes this as an embrace. It causes him to stiffen slightly, aimlessly wander his hands, and get the sudden desire to reach for his sword, though it dissipates.

He is being embraced by a stranger, who somehow believes he knows him, adamant about it, even.

Which is one reason he considers drawing away. There are more important matters that require his attention—the fate of the entire globe, for that matter.

Something about the way the young man clings onto the fabric he's manipulating, however, tells Akutagawa that he is in dire need of this.

And what is a knight’s duty but to serve?

Alas, he can spare this minute. Lightly, Akutagawa touches the other’s back, who burrows into his neck, heaving irregularly.

"Everyone’s… everyone’s suddenly gone. And then you come back… just as gone as them.” He croaks, voice muffled while he clutches further.

Though sounding as if he is sobbing, Akutagawa cannot feel any tears soaking his armor, which makes him believe the lad is only at the brink of it, reining in his composure by sheer will alone.

“I am not gone. You need not be afraid, you are safe.” Akutagawa speaks lowly as he pats, unsure.

It takes five more seconds for the young man to draw back, and Akutagawa clears his throat, averting his eyes momentarily. He tries to regard what’s occurred as yet another odd behavior the young man seems to exhibit towards him…

Though something is rumbling in his chest, faraway. A remnant of a sensation from a past life.

How peculiar.

“Sorry, sorry.” The lad sniffs, smiling a little, “This is probably so weird to you.”

"Indeed." He confirms, "I have always assumed it was common to introduce yourself by name first.”

"Right- uhh.” He stammers, “It's Atsushi. Atsushi Nakajima."

Akutagawa nods sincerely, vowing to remember it. Which he is certain will not be a grueling task, given that the name fits this silver-haired, sunset eyed boy perfectly.

A part in him somehow expected him to own this exact name, even…

"Nakajima-kun." It rolls nicely off the tongue.

Atushi recoils minutely, before the sunsets glimmer again, brighter than ever before.

“Wow.” He breathes, full of sentiment, “Never called me by my first name before.”

And it is right here, that the dam breaks.

He is crying.

He is crying, staring at him, but he is also smiling, as if all the answers to the universe lie on his shoulders. And they do, he reminds himself. That is the reason he is here, after all, to slaughter the divine being, put an end to Dostoyevsky’s reign.

Yet, by one means or the other, Akutagawa does not perceive it as weakness. He recognizes the look of a man who has been through so much in so little time, holding himself from breaking at the seams with all his might.

For the sake of aiding in a battle that might be his last.

For the sake of this world he does not wish to lose.

And it is beyond honorable.

Akutagawa has decided. He stands up, unsheathes his sword, and points it directly at the other’s face.

Atsushi does not flinch.

“Very well, Nakajima-kun.” Akutagawa says, pleased, "If you wish to accompany me on my pursuit for respite, prove your worth. Do not get in my way. I will not save your skin.”

Atsushi blinks twice, before smiling relievedly, standing as well,

"Never change, Akutagawa..."

Dostoyevsky lies await somewhere, with the Divine One secure by his side, an incomprehensible threat that no being shall graze, a mere flick of the wrist capable of enslaving billions under its mercy.

But his chest is light, as he steps onto the battlefield, Rashomon transforming his armor into mighty blades. And with Atsushi beside him, baring his claws, it strangely feels right.

Familiar.

Perfect.

*Evil giggling* I rly thought this was how things would play out, and then 120 happened and BAM! All my dreams shattered fkjwbfk

Hope you enjoyed, ranidaee!!! I enjoyed writing this a ton!! <33

The fic's on Ao3 too yayyyy