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mira-s-bookclub · 8 months ago

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Beneath a Veil of Shadows

Azriel x Reader

Note: First time I've ever posted anything I've written, so be aware of that when reading hahsh. I'd love requests or tips <3

Warnings: Mature language, fighting, injury and blood, captives, drugs.

Summary: Y/n knows very well how Azriel feels for her; detest. What happens when Rhysand sends Y/n alongside Azriel on what was supposed to be a "normal" check?

Word Count: 2,7k

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

“Oh Gods,” I huff out. I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my shirt. Having long forgone the idea of looking clean for the duration of this hike. I would not exactly call it a hike. Azriel did though.

“Fucking Hell.” I say, as my foot connects with the branch strategically placed to trip me. There is absolutely no way the male in front of me does not hear my huffing and puffing as we ascent up the hill. I lay in a dramatic Sigh to my complaining. Catching his attention.

Azriel stops beside a tree looking like it desperately needs water, I imagine I am not looking far from that, turning to look back at me.

“Ever occurred to you that complaining doesn’t help?” He mumbles. Looking all energetic and not-at-all sweaty like me. I had to stop during the first 10 minutes of the mission to change my leathers into a plain t-shirt and some knee shorts. I was not exactly the powerful, badass, beautiful-at-any-part-of-the-day warrior I had told the mirror in my bathroom before winnowing to the mountain range. I am fairly sure I did my makeup before leaving. Cannot focus enough right now to remember.

I stop by Azriel and swing off my pack. “Helped you stop, didn’t it?” I look up at him, smirking. He says nothing. Gods damned Illyrian warrior. Could not even bother to break a sweat.

We were sent by Rhysand to scout the area between the two south camps. There were a couple of ingrown roads leading between each camp. Illyrians may have wings and all that glory, but they are not capable of transporting heavier items or foods. The roads were not used by many, but Azriel managed to catch a lesser fae the other day, smuggling some other rather interesting items. It was not news that the Illyrians were importing questionable substances you would not in a thousand years find at the healers. I will give it to them, living in those camps would even make me resort to drugs. But I knew better, it could be poison. Poison for the brain, and poison for the body. It could be addictive.

“We’re close to the Camp, take a break, we’ll wait until nightfall.” Azriel said. Shuffling food and water out of his bag. Looks like we are resting in incline. I start packing out my own food and some fur to sit on. Making it rather cozy under the tree. My back to the tree, eating an apple, I watch him.

I did not lie when Feyre asked me before we left if I would be okay traveling with Azriel. It was not a secret how he looked at me, and how I looked back. I am sure, if he had any choice on the matter, he would choose any other companion. It hurt when he watched me. It felt like whatever I did would never be good enough, I was not good enough.

The Inner Circle all had their own little families inside the Circle. Feyre had Rhys and Nyx. Nesta had even settled down with Cassian and her friends. Her friend who also had, finally, taken the extremely subtle hint Mor had given her. Mor who had shrieked and hid under my blankets after I had convinced her to send out her Love letters to Emerie. Gods, even Amren had finally moved in with Varian and lived part time in the Summer Court. Rhys had even gifted her a healer prescribed sunscreen after she got badly burned. Elain had taken up Lucien’s offer to move to the Day Court, I had even heard rumors of a beautiful garden challenging even Tamlin’s. I was happy for them; I am happy for them. It could get a little lonely at times, but what could you expect? I was not even High fae.

There was a time when I had found solace in Azriel’s company, I like to think he did too. He became close, quiet nights in the library, breakfast at the nearby Café. He helped me a lot at the start.

I had grown up in Cretea, ruled over by Queen Miryam and her mate. An emissary from the Autumn Court had taken me in after finding me out alone by a brothel, abandoned he had told me later on. Neither of us could pinpoint exactly what I was, lesser-fae or mortal, it did not matter to me, he did not care enough to find out. I ended up in the Hewn City and later taken in by Madja after a dramatic incident resulting in Keirn’s broken arm. She had sought after an apprentice for quite some time, luckily for me.

As I watch Azriel I contemplate how my life would have worked out if I had stayed with Madja, and not taken up Cassian’s offer to train. Would I have met Feyre and Rhysand? Would fates have pushed me to Azriel? Or perhaps I would be inside now, safe, drinking tea and reading. I contemplate how Azriel has grown used to evading my every attempt to reconnect, he wasn’t mean per say, but he wasn’t friendly either. A wave of heat comes over me as Azriel bends down, way to close, to scavenge through his pack.

A fast inhale results in my apple choking me. I cough. And cough. And cough. Looking up through my wet eyelashes I see Azriel looking down at me. His face is set in a mixture of uncertainty and humor. Like he is trying so hard not to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I wasn’t about to.”

“I can see it on your face!” I can feel my cheeks redden.

Azriel loses the battle. He barks out a laugh and turns around, finding a cloth in his bag. “You have drool down your chin.” He snickers.

I snatch the cloth out of hand, drying my face. Azriel sits down beside me, back to the tree. There was an idyllic sort of silence in the mountain at this time, only birds and other animals out and about. This made it worth it - the hike.

“We’re going to slip into the current war-lord’s house and search it for the listed drugs.” Azriel hands me a slip of paper consisting of different substances.

“I didn’t know you write cursive.” I say, tracing his writing with my fingertips.

“Focus.”

“Yes, sir.” Azriel whips his head at me, hitting my head in the process.

“Fucking hell!” I scoot away and hold a hand to my head. “Fine, I know you don’t like me, but you don’t have to act on it?!” I watch his shocked face and wide eyes.

He puts a hand to his face. His voice is hard; “did you hurt yourself?” He looks up at me with those honey brown eyes, causing a shiver down my back.

“No, it’s fine.” I say, rubbing the bump on my head. “I’ve always had a thick head.” He snickers at the fact, though I know he thinks so too. It took me years of training to get to where I am now, it came to a point where even Amren said I was just being careful and considerate of my own body when training, hence why it took so long. But training did not mean being fit, which bites me in the ass on the rest of the way up, and the trip down this god forsaken mountain. Why we could not just take the road was beyond me. Feeling his eyes on me I turn again to Azriel.

I lift my brows. “You know a lot of females would call it creepy when someone is staring at them, especially when they don’t know.”

“You think I don’t like you?” He says. I do not know if I dreamed it or if his eyes were sad, mouth downturned.

“I know you don’t.” The painful truth is hard to swallow, but I have accepted it. “You cannot even find it in you to say ‘Hello’ to me in the morning.” I laugh, a little self-conscious that I notice this. His brows furrows even more and he leans forward.

“I do like you – “

“Gods Azriel, no you don’t,” I bite out, taking a bite out of my apple again. “Have you ever noticed how everyone, but you, compliment my food? Or even my training, which, God forbid, you notice occasionally has gotten good enough to challenge Nesta?” I feel deflated. There are not enough skills in the world to make Azriel look at me any different. I had begged Rhysand not to send me together with Azriel, using the excuse that I was feeling down. Did not support my case that I offered to go to the Mortal Realms to check up on Lucien and Elain, I could not be that sick. Either way, Rhys looked through me and told me that if it really was that bad, then they needed to find a solution to our problem. And I would never go to Couples-therapy with Azriel.

Azriel pulls forward and grabs my hands. “You have no idea, any idea how much you mean to me.” My breath hitched, and he is close enough to hear my thundering heart.

“You are lying.”

“You are delusional to think otherwise. There is not a day when it does not hurt to see you with anyone else, Cassian, Rhys, even laughing with Feyre.” His hair is messy, and his skin is glistening. I cannot help looking down at our hands. His hands, covered in calluses from years of training, scarred, but, oh, so beautiful.

He misunderstands and snatches his hands back, standing up. “You never speak to me, or even look at me. This does not make any sense.” I say.

“I look at you plenty.” He says as I stand up, towering over me.

“But Elain – “

“Elain was not like that. Elain was desperation, from both sides. It was a desperate attempt to get over you. She knew it too. We used to be best friends, you and I, but- “

“But we got too close.” When I look down, my hands are shaking. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt? Still hurts? When you became distant and started ignoring me?” My voice cracks slightly at the hurt look on his face.

“It was never my intention, know that. I thought you did not want me like that, and when you and Lucien became friends- I could not watch you with anyone else, I would not have survived it.” My throat constricts, my breath comes in shallow gulps of air.

“I didn’t like Lucien; I didn’t like him like that at all.” I say quietly.

I look up at him and he gives me a sad smile.

“Would you back away if I kissed you? Runaway like the rest?” Azriel says softly, his face so open and sincere.

I walk the short distance towards him and take his hands in mine. Leaning up, “Never,” I kiss him. My heart had not felt this full in months, I am sure I would not be overreacting if I said years even. Something fell into place when I dragged my hand through Azriel’s hair, his hands sliding down to cup my backside.

“Azriel, I-” An arrow shot through the trees. My eyes widen as he spins us around, shielding me with his front, with his life. He grunts. An arrow protruding from the edge of his left wing, from the bone and meat around the elbow joint, an inch down and the arrow would have flown right through. My heart beats wildly. Azriel turns and pushes me behind him, shielding me from the position of the archer. What he did not take into consideration was the archer positioned behind our camp, shooting a series of arrows, hitting me. A whimper slips past my mouth and a look down at the arrow in my thigh. A green tint surrounds the wound, I must get the arrow out, fast.

“Y/n!” Azriel yells. He is across the camp in seconds, whipping out a sword, using his pack as shield as he sprints back for me.

“I’m fine!” My breath is fast and shorter by the minute. “Just a flesh wound. Behind you Azriel!” A male slip from the trees and runs straight for Azriel, firing arrows as he goes.

I limp for the trees on the other side, providing cover. Kneeling in the dirt, I grab a hold of my shirt, ripping off a piece, I find the nearest branch and bite down. Taking hold of the arrow, I keep my mind clean of the bloody battle happening just out of this bush, knowing I am of no use reduced by an Ash-arrow; I rip it out. I groan. Blood pools out of the now open wound, and I tie my shirt around my thigh. Blood is already seeping through in red specks on the white fabric. I turn around to watch the battle.

Azriel is locked in a fight with two males, one seemingly high-fae, his movements sloppier than his friend. Convincing me that somebody’s system is not very clean. Another male comes strutting out from the bushes on my right, I duck lower. This one with wings. His movements reveal him to be confident that I have left Azriel. Knowing he stands to win against Azriel three to one.

Seeing an opening I make my move. Sprinting to the left, picking up my knife from my pack, I aim for the Illyrian and throw. My knife hits target, catching his side. He whirls around, not fast enough to duck my punch straight for his nose, breaking the bone. I try for a series of hits and punches, landing some while he evades the rest. I duck and swipe my leg out to catch him as he throws a punch, seeing my mistake a mile away I prepare. His trap works and he catches my foot, throwing me on the ground and lays his weight on top of me.

I steal a glance towards Azriel. Seeing the drugged one on the ground crying out from a serious cut across his abdomen. Another losing in hand-to-hand with Azriel.

A punch to my cheek snaps me out of it. My own knife, swiped, coming to rest against my throat in warning. His face is red and angry, bloody from my hit. “You are going to be a good girl and follow my lead.” He spits in my face.

Knife to the throat, there is not much I can do. I stand still against the Illyrian, not giving me an inch of space to turn on him. “Drop your weapons or she dies.”

Azriel, letting go of the male, slowly turns with his sword yet again in his hand. Looking over him I cannot find any serious wounds other than his wing, knowing that it is not fatal, but must hurt like a bitch. His gaze settles on the knife to my throat. I try to beg him with my gaze to finish these guys off, no matter if my neck is on the line, literally. “Drop. The. Weapon.” He speaks behind me. Azriel stands unmoving, his opponent, laying at his feet, had been wounded enough that adrenaline had kept him going.

“It looks like your boyfriend does not want to cooperate,” He whispers in my ear, his harsh voice making me shiver. “And how can I motivate him?” His knife stabs my throat, and I feel my neck giving away to the knife. I squeeze my eyes shut as blood trickles down my neck. And I hear a clash, as a sword is thrown to the ground.

“Let her go,” He seethes. “I am of more value to you. Rhysand is your problem, isn’t he?” Azriel says. “He stopped the trafficking of substances, but that is not why you are here, is it?”

“No, Shadow-singer. It is not.” His voice is softer, making me open my eyes again. Confusion clouds my mind. What could this mission be about, if not for piracy? I look at Azriel who stares at the male, his knife still against my throat. “You are coming with me.” And neither I nor Azriel is fast enough to respond to the hit, as we are both knocked unconscious.

. . . . . ╰──╮ ╭──╯ . . . . .

To be added to the Taglists, comment:

All ACOTAR - 🌹

All Azriel - 🥀

All TOG - 🌼

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #spymaster #batboys x reader #acotar fic

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aettuddae · 4 months ago

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business matter — chapter 105.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

karina was in her room, shifting her attention from the small succulent resting on her desk to the screen of her phone in a back-and-forth, confused, pensive manner.

she was surprised that the plant hadn't died yet and attributed much of it to the time it was in ningning's hands, because she didn't have the faintest idea how to take care of it beyond pouring water on it every now and then.

she knew that serim had given her a particularly easy-to-care-for type, but she still had to make sure what franky's needs were and she couldn't check them because she couldn't remember specifically which type of succulent she had in her possession.

she kept looking at pictures on the internet and comparing them to her plant to see which one looked more similar, but there were two types that could be the same thing and she wouldn't be able to tell because of her zero knowledge of gardening.

stress was growing in her body at not being able to identify the species in that pot, so in an impulse, frustrated, she grabbed it with one of her hands to lift it in the air, as if bringing it closer to the light something would change, as if it would be seen more clearly, the shape would take another silhouette.

she never noticed when her puppy, hiro, who was lying on the ground following her movements with his eyes, interpreted that swift gesture while holding something small as an invitation to play with her. the dog got up, standing on all fours and taking a hunting position, excitedly waiting for her to throw the object to run and catch it, but nothing happened.

jimin gave up, understanding that no matter how high she positioned the pot she would not get any sudden lucidity, that it would still look exactly the same. that's why she dropped her arm, surrendered, as if she had suddenly lost her strength, then put franky back on the table.

but the moment, almost with a thud due to the roughness with which she rested it, the plant touched the wood, it was keyed by hiro who flung it towards the floor, starting to hop around, focused on the now destroyed franky as if waiting for it to move to attack her.

"hiro!" karina exclaimed, in desperation, lunging towards the animal to gently nudge it with her forearm and push it away from the mess he had just made. "why did you do that? that's not a toy!" she couldn't suppress the exasperation she felt at that moment and found herself raising her voice angrily at her pet. "why do you always...!?" she began, still screaming, distraught, lifting the pot and trying to get the soil, and with it the plant, back inside, but she stopped her attempts almost instantly, dropping to the ground and covering her face with her palms, her words drowning in the crying that overtook her and prevented her from continuing to speak. "why do you always push namu away from me?"

sitting on the floor of her room she burst into complete tears, unable to hold it back any longer. hiro watched her with his head cocked to the side not understanding what had just happened. the gift serim had given her was scattered across the room without her having learned any valuable lesson from taking care of it, which was the reason she had received it for. maybe she could still save it, but she had no idea how to do it, and at that moment she didn't have the strength to look for solutions to the situation, she would probably do it in a few minutes, after her breakdown, now she could only lose herself in her bawling, still against her hands, feeling how hiro, who was unable to realize what he had done, put his head on his owner's leg trying to calm her down.

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leo-muscle · 10 months ago

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I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

#male tf #male transformation #race change #muscle bear #bear tf #jock tf #pec growth #butt growth #asian tf #mental change #kings of the world

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sirthisisa-wendys · 2 years ago

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HELP! I’m having feelings for South! Can I please request South with a breeding kink? Oh my god, I need him 🥹

OY VEY

I GOTCHU

Barefoot Contessa: South "Tearin' Dat Ass Up" Terano x Fem!Reader

wc: 390

tw: smut

masterlist

"Just one more round, baby..."

"'m so full, South, I--"

"You can take it, my love. You can take it."

Nine long years. That's how long South had gone without having sex - your rules and convictions - and now is his chance. You never expected your husband to turn into a voracious breeder, but when the hotel room door closed after the reception, all bets were off.

Before you'd entered the room, South had been a jovial, excited, and downright amiable groom. He'd greeted the guests with enthusiasm, danced to almost every song, and even downed a bottle of champagne in time with Kakucho.

But when you got into the room, it was like someone had flipped a switch in him. He became insatiable, unyielding, and almost piggish with his desire to have sex with you every waking moment. This round would count as your third in under two hours.

"South, my hips..." South stops his thrusts to help you adjust, flipping you over on your stomach and palming your ass with rough hands.

Then the thrusts resume, and South is feverishly attempting to make you cum. He pants and rubs your clit with quick fingers, sweat rolling down his face and dripping onto your back. Things feel deeper than they did when you were on your back, and the sensation drives you wild.

"South, I'm gonna cum," you hiss, gripping the sheets tightly. "I'm gonna fucking cum." South doesn't reply with words but a smack on your ass, growling like a feral monster impregnating his captive prey. Suddenly, he's twitching and gripping your skin and huffing, and his cock throbs endlessly, adding another load of cum to the two already nestled deep inside of you.

"That should do it for tonight," South sighs, and you look at him over your shoulder. You can see the plans for your honeymoon flying out of the window as his chest rises and falls rapidly. The look in South's eyes tells you that he hasn't been satiated. Not even close.

"Should I go ahead and call the resort so they can refund us for the excursions, or..."

"You should," South mutters, pulling out of you and watching his cum leak out of your swollen pussy. "And also ask for a wheelchair. I plan to keep you like this for days."

#south terano smut #south terano x reader #south terano #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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amywritesthings · 1 year ago

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silver underground. / chapter 16.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: flashback six - also known as the day of the heist

Warnings: this chapter heavily explores and discusses themes of peril, thoughts of self harm and self destruction, hopelessness, death, violence, and torture. if you are triggered by these topics, i would suggest skipping this chapter.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 16 - FLASHBACK: SIX

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

The silence of the Underground City spoke volumes.

At this rate, you’ve gone over the plan — and the potential ways it can go horribly wrong — at least a dozen times.

Only so many distress signals can be sent from three people outrunning an entire Military Police unit, so you've employed all of them.

First, there’s the stolen flares.

They’re sparingly used, if ever, when it’s the four of you on a job. Two teams of two has easily been your best formation tactic.

A slight change to a single team of three should not cause much difficulty, especially when it involves veterans like Church, Ackerman, and Magnolia.

(You've already waited a half hour. No flare ever ignites.)

Next, if someone loses their grip on a flare canister, then the pursued team resorts to high-altitude flying.

At the height you’re perched upon — the rooftop of a dilapidated apartment complex overlooking the northern half of the Underground — you’d be able to see at least one person flipping and weaving through even the tallest buildings.

(Another half hour passes. No one ever breaches the skyline.)

The last option, should any ODM gear jam and fail, is more human: eyesight.

With the B-team units ordered to be stationed around the Underground City, your three friends should be covered. If it looks like the Military Police have the upper hand, then you can quickly get the rest of the gang to safety.

You told Levi you wouldn't run after him, that you would keep your promise and stick to the plan, but now that it's been over an hour of radio silence?

You're not so sure.

Because there are no clouds in the Underground, your sightline is clear. Idly your ODM gear sits on either hips, hands occupied by the mechanism's handles that will boost you at a moment’s notice. Below you on the street stand your appointed security, both gang veterans, looking for any stray MPs roaming the area.

Every second waiting for Levi, Isabel, and Furlan to return from their heist route spans to eternity.

Over and over your eyes scan, checking between rooftops — nothing.

Your attention drops to the streets — nothing.

Silence creeps to a ninety-minute drag.

No flares sound.

No bodies fly.

“C’mon, Ackerman,” you mumble under your breath, flexing your left hand to give your body something to do — to avoid pulling the trigger too fast on a rescue operation.

He was explicit about not coming for him.

He was explicit and he was stupid to think you’d never come for him.

He was stupid to think—

“James!”

A panicked, shrill voice, however, sounds from the street.

You whip your attention to the east, taking your eyes off of the skyline for a belated beat.

The rogue voice screeches with urgency a second time.

“James!”

It's young and feminine and terrified.

You shift a boot towards the sound, squeezing the metal handles in your palms with your index fingers at the ready.

“Hey! Where is she? Please, tell me James is here.”

She seems out of breath, like she ran a great distance to get here.

You draw a line with your sight from where her footsteps originated: she came from the south.

Most of your units are pushed towards the north, where Levi stated the job would take place.

One of the seasoned lackeys, a younger man, grunts to her in response. “Who’s askin’?”

“I need to speak with James,” she urges, ignoring his question with a wavering tone. “Please—”

“She’s busy, kid,” the second man replies. “Spit it out if somethin’—”

“They caught Levi!”

Her shriek almost makes your foot slip, causing a roof shingle to dislodge.

Time ceases to exist.

Levi.

Below you hear the young men argue with her and the exchange of pleas that follow, but there is no distinction of sound to you. Their words are muddied as if your head has been dunked underwater.

You can't run to her. Anxiety grabs you by the scruff of your neck to hold you in place.

What's wrong with Levi?

Move.

Did something happen to Levi?

Move.

Without thinking, your hand ignites the ODM switch in your left hand to propel a spear into the stone wall from across the street.

You swiftly swing down from your perch, finally catching a glimpse of the girl in question:

The girl — you remember her first name being Lucy — is as pale as a ghost. Her entire body trembles like a decaying leaf, as though she’s witnessed something horrific that she can’t scrub from her line of sight.

(What the hell did she see?)

Her shoulders relax once she spies your face, but not enough to quell your concern when tears well into her eyes.

“James! Oh my god, you’re here,” Lucy breathes, taking a step forward like you’re willing to console her with a comforting arm. "I tried to get here as fast as I—"

“Repeat what you just said about Ackerman,” you demand without solace. “Now.”

You take one pace back, ignoring the spike in your heart rate as the scenario snowballs in your mind’s eye.

From your peripheral vision, you see several others from the gang join the fray.

The two other lookouts on Lucy’s team run down the tiny guarded street, equally out of breath and panicked.

“We saw it happen in the southeast corner!” one of the running girls exclaim.

You — and the rest of the gang — turn in that direction. You can feel your throat seize.

He said the job was going to be in the northern half of the city.

How the fuck did they end up in the south quadrant?

"We followed them when the job changed course," Lucy explains as if she can read your mind. "Levi ordered Furlan and Isabel to cut south. Too many MPs were waiting in the north."

"But the job was in the north," you numbly reason.

“It might have been a trap, we don't know!" she desperately chirps. "A bunch of MPs went after them on ODM gear so we followed by foot. They were chasing Furlan through the streets. A few of them fell back and we thought maybe they gave up, but then a bunch of new people came out of nowhere and they all had green cloaks with wings—”

“Wings?” you snap, unable to stop your eyes from widening.

You whip your attention back to the young girl. Lucy cowers at your unyielding gaze.

“...yeah,” she answers, meek and uncertain. “They didn’t have the same jackets as the MPs. They had wings on their backs, on the cloaks and the jackets.”

A cloud of fearful whispers spreads like wildfire through the small crowd, infecting the minds of the reconnaissance team under your command.

It isn’t uncommon anymore for the Military Police patrolling the Underground to show up with ODM gear. It used to be a rarity, but now? They know better than to show up empty-handed.

Years of embarrassment have taught the thick-headed MPs a valuable lesson.

But green cloaks — and wings?

You can’t be mistaken by their meaning:

The Scout Regiment.

The military branch where suckers with death wishes band together to expire. They seek to explore the unknown, taking off on brainless expeditions past the city walls and into whatever Hell awaits on the other side.

(Why the fuck would they send the goddamn suicide squad to the Underground?)

You don’t need to live on the surface to know the stories: a third of Scout recruits barely make it past their first mission. And by the end of their first service year, the death toll rises to half.

The only dumbasses left standing with the Wings of Freedom on their back are those who desperately want to die but can never find the right titan to eat them.

And, according to the stories, their missions beyond Wall Maria always come up empty-handed.

A thought passes through your mind like a papercut, stinging your blood cells with the very real possibility that they’ve turned their efforts inward — whether at the demand of the king or the disappointment of the people paying their salaries is unclear.

(Is the Underground City their new playground?)

If so, then Levi — this gang — could very well be their first dedicated target.

“Where?”

The word spills out of your mouth, starting in your mind as a demand but dissolving to a murmur.

Going, running, to wherever the Military Police — or God forbid, the Scout Regiment — have your friends is the only plan of action you can think of.

You’re supposed to make sure the people here are fine.

The need to run — go, go, go — far outweighs your logic.

“I…” The girl falters.

You hate how your voice erupts in the wake of your fear. “Where, Lucy?!”

“I don’t know! I lost track of them!” she yelps, squeezing her amber eyes shut. The hands at her sides are balled into tight, painful fists. “Isabel and Furlan got taken down by some MPs, but Levi kept going on ODM gear. He outran most of the MPs, but there was a man, a tall blonde guy, who—”

“Was he a Scout?” you press on, gritting your teeth. “Did you see the Wings of Freedom?”

“The fucking Scouts are here?” someone yelps behind you. “Oh, shit, dude. Oh, man…”

“What the hell are they doing down here?” another asks next to him. “They don’t fuck with the Underground!”

“Did the Wall missions fail?” an older girl asks under her breath. “Are they coming to wipe all of the Underground City out now?”

“Quiet,” you order, holding up a hand. It takes tensing your arm to keep the limb from shaking. “Lucy: where did you last see Levi?”

“The blonde man chased him out of the sky and into the streets. No one knows. We couldn’t see where they went, but it… I’m so sorry, James.”

Lucy’s voice is so small that you barely hear her.

All you can focus on is his voice ringing in your head, a whisper against the thin line of white noise filling your body.

Protect them.

You’re ready.

You’re so ready to fire up your ODM gear to chase after him, to fight off every single bastard who thinks about laying a finger on your friends.

We won’t get arrested. We’re too fast on ODM gear.

“What do we do, James?”

The MPs won’t stand a chance.

“Can she hear us? Is she freaking out?”

You want me to be the last person standing.

“James!”

Lucy shrieks in your face, breaking your delusion.

You blink back into your body to see a dozen faces staring back at you in various stages of grief.

Fear.

You focus on the way a tear streams down Lucy’s youthful face. It brings you back to when you picked her up off the streets. A kid, just like you, looking for food scraps and shelter — her mother had passed away at a young age, leaving her to fend for herself.

You knew what that was like, so you promised protection. A roof over her head. Food in her belly.

A chance at life.

Just like he once gave to you.

Now you’re the only leader left standing. The other three are either arrested — or worse.

You’re all that stands between dragging her back to the streets or pushing her to the gallows.

(You’re all anyone in this gang has.)

I need you to be safe.

Levi’s voice tickles the outer shell of your ear, whispering past despite the dead wind.

You want to hate him. You really do.

But you promised.

Lucy’s lower lip trembles as she takes a step forward.

This time you stay put, too frozen from the numbness in your body.

“James… please, tell us: what do we do?”

You don’t know.

You wish you did, but you don’t know.

You want to tell them to run, to run as fast as they can and never look back.

You want to tell them that you don’t know how to do this without Isabel or Furlan.

You want to tell them you’d rather die than know a life without Levi.

But you promised.

I’ll keep them safe.

I know you will. Echoing in your mind like an omen. I trust you.

“If they’re arrested, then the MPs will be storming the apartment at any minute.”

You finally answer without an ounce of emotion. You can’t stomach thinking past protocol.

“We don’t have time to get our stuff. Organize yourselves into teams of three. Find the safe houses and don't come out until you hear from me. Take a single runner out to Roxy’s. They owe me a few favors, so they should give you table scraps until this blows over.”

“Are you getting Ackerman?” An older girl holding onto her brother’s small shoulders pipes up from your right.

“And Church?” Another person asks. “Magnolia?”

Refusing to think further than the present crisis, you shake your head.

“They all knew the risks of this heist. Right now, my priority is keeping everyone here safe. So go — and avoid detection the best you can. Leave the rest to me, alright?"

You pause, making eye contact with those staring at you. In front of you is a gradient of nerves.

(Everyone knows the risks of running with a gang in the Underground, no matter the price.)

"I said go, goddamnit!”

At your shouted order, most don’t hesitate to run.

The crowd forms into smaller clusters of refugees as they run towards the emergency routes you’ve mapped a hundred times before.

You don’t have time to panic.

You don’t have time to mourn about what could have been.

(A house gleaming in the sunlight with its windows open. The scent of a fresh meal being cooked. The soft meow overlapping over pleasant conversation about nothing at all.)

After all, you made a promise —

And if three of the Underground’s most notorious gang leaders have been caught, then it’s only a matter of time until the manhunt ends with you.

Week after week, your numbers dwindle.

Day in and day out, houses are raided for anyone associated with Ackerman, Church, and Magnolia.

Bars, brothels, and drug dens are scoured for that missing puzzle piece.

Military Police, emboldened by their victory, are adamant to find anyone involved in their gang.

Most found are arrested.

Some offer information for a chance at immunity.

By the fourth week, the gang dissolves into half of its original number.

However, the rampant pursuit slows after the sixth week, and by the seventh, the Military Police stop searching.

The city becomes boisterous again for an entirely different reason, falling back to its routes of debauchery and strife.

Panic of those still in hiding twists into remorse, remorse into doubt, and soon the doubt creeps into what was once an impenetrable fortress.

And somewhere you failed.

Maybe it was because you kept your promise and never went after Levi, Isabel, and Furlan the day they disappeared.

Maybe it was because no one ever saw them again, creating a shroud of mystery in their disappearances. Most people assumed they were arrested and tortured for information. Others hoped they were able to at least die in a merciful way.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because you gave up.

The longer you fought without your three friends, the longer you ran around the Underground City hiding from authority, the harder it became to remember why you were trying so hard to be the last person standing.

Hiding with nothing to go back to — that was what waited for you at the end of all of this.

To make new headquarters on mere piles of rubble, alone.

People continue to get caught.

People continue to lose their lives.

You were ready—

Ready to give up.

Ready to join the fate of so many others.

Ready to lose.

(All things considered, you had a good run.)

Eight weeks.

It takes eight whole weeks for someone to finally rat you out.

In exchange for immunity, a scared newcomer snitched to the Military Police about the location of your hideout — and you can’t blame them.

The Underground City has always been a dog-eat-dog pit.

That, however, doesn’t mean you don’t still run.

The crisp, metallic zip of the pulley cuts the air every time you push through the alleyways, leaving the Military Police unit in the dust. Wind frays your hair, whipping pieces of it into your face as you run along brick walls and push for the a momentous swing.

It has been weeks of these chases, all evaded in the dust, but something feels different about this pursuit.

The officers feel confident this time.

Ready.

Another unit of MPs pursue on foot, shouting and taunting for your surrender, but they're no match for your swift escape.

The two officers following with ODM gear cannot match the sharpness of your turns.

You don’t know why you keep running.

Why can’t you just stop running?

In your lingering rage you almost want to turn back, take a knife, and attack.

To earn the heaviness of a murder charge on your shoulders.

You want to lash out—

To make someone hurt—

But you just keep running.

In your time of solitude, you've wondered how the end of all things went that day. Did those pigs take turns kicking Furlan with his hands tied behind his back? Did they drag Isabel through the street? Did they cut out Levi's tongue for back talk?

You hope they gave the MPs hell.

The imaginative injustices — the cruelty — fuels your fantasy of revenge.

Through another alleyway and into the streets, you latch onto another building and swing to your left to continue through the streets of—

Wait.

Skirting around a corner, you see something briefly whip around a corner in a cloud of exhaust.

(Was that emerald?)

Your attention turns to the distinct color that entered your line of sight before it disappears.

Your eyes widen with recognition, but it's too late.

You failed again.

One look to your side is all it takes for a solid, heavy object to slam straight into you from the opposite direction, knocking a spear clean out of the neighboring wall.

The ODM gear jolts, causing you to jerk and drop abruptly to the dirt beneath. Your forearms shield your face from the dirt and debris as your body skids across the dirt path.

Before you even realize what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet. Metal clangs from the jostled handles in your palms as you push yourself up.

Your right arm reels back, fist clenched, and flies in an attempt to connect — and it does.

The punch lands directly in someone's face. The bone crunches under you knuckles.

A person yells in pain and grabs their nose, giving you ample opportunity to attack further. Your leg swings, kicking your boot square into their abdomen. You recognize the way their breath squelches: the wind rips right out of their lungs.

You want them to feel pain, just as you’ve felt pain.

You want them to suffer, just as you've suffered.

It doesn't matter who they are.

When the attacker is incapacitated, you make a choice: you turn the opposite direction, taking off into a sprint.

And you run, if only for a few seconds.

Because that very same emerald flash appears in your peripheral vision.

In just one breath, your feet get tangled up and send you flying to the ground you'd just found yourself lying upon.

A pair of hands suddenly tug at the back of your shirt, pushing you further into the muddied street. A forceful forearm presses down harder, pinning you to the ground. A pebble digs into your cheekbone, its jagged edge slicing into your skin.

Trapped.

You grit your teeth, fighting the painful hold with everything you have. You shout and yell like a woman possessed, kicking your boots deeper into the Earth to propel forward, but you can't move.

(Give up — why can’t you just give up?)

Then a deep baritone voice pulls you from your erratic defenses, smooth like honey.

“James.”

Your last name on a stranger's tongue makes your stomach churn.

You continue fighting, digging the toe of your boot further for purchase.

Suddenly pain explodes in your scalp. Something pulls your chin high from the crown on your head, forcing your attention to the sky. What greets you is a tall, built figure above.

From the street lamp, you see it’s a man — early thirties, broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes and neatly-combed blonde hair.

This mysterious man stares down at you, standing at full height. He doesn't acknowledge the person holding you down, knotting your hair in their balled fist.

One after the other, two more emerald cloaks drop down from the sky, their faces obscured by their hoods.

Blinking away from his face, you see it: his tan, cropped jacket, with white and blue wings outstretched against one another, pointing high with dignity.

The Wings of Freedom.

It's the Survey Corps, in the flesh.

“Four whole Scouts for little old me?” you chide.

The person holding you down rips your torso up higher, causing an immense strain in your spine.

You wince at the sensation of nearly being broken in half but refuse to make noise.

They don't get that satisfaction, not yet.

(You've felt worse.)

The blonde man above you does not react. He continues to stare, however, when he addresses another in his squadron.

“Get her up on her knees, Miche.”

The man behind you — presumably Miche — yanks you from the dirt to settle you on your calves. Without your arms to support you, you’re left floundering at his will.

“What?” you ask through clenched teeth. "Are the Scouts so bored of getting eaten alive that they've come to the Underground on a field trip?”

The man makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His crystal blue eyes slide slowly from the crown of your head, past your face, then rest at your chest.

“Surface made?” he comments in a languid, baritone voice.

When you jostle against Miche's grip on your back, a feather-esque sensation brushes across your sternum.

Then you realize:

He’s staring at your necklace.

“Stolen?” the blonde man asks again, and venom poisons your tongue at his slander. Somehow you manage to hold a response.

You sneer instead, turning your attention to the side of a building.

A painful beat passes.

You hear the man’s boots near, crunching under packed dirt.

“My name is Commander Erwin Smith, of the Survey Corps," he introduces, not fazed by your lack of cooperation. "I was informed that you’re not only the muscle of this operation, but one of its four founding leaders. Is this true?”

He’s met with another stretch of silence.

“Handling operations for seven weeks without the help of your comrades is impressive.”

Another step.

“Or has it been closer to eight?”

“What do you want, surface scum?” you finally murmur, eyes locked on a particular patch of moss growing at the foundation of the building.

He exhales through his nose, contemplating. You continue to look away.

“Your protection is gone, James," Erwin begins. "Your gang, eradicated. Your people have fled — abandoned you, to save themselves.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him.

Erwin evades your feigned ignorance. “A bounty has been on your head for two months. You’ve done all you can to avoid detection, but from where I stand, I see someone out of options.”

Your nostrils flare, unwilling to betray yourself in the face of the truth.

He isn’t wrong — it’s been the end of the line for weeks now.

You’ve run on borrowed time and a promise you barely believe in anymore.

You’re so tired.

“The Military Police would be glad to round out their gallows with someone responsible for embarrassing them so thoroughly.”

Is that where Levi ended up, in the gallows next to Isabel and Furlan?

(Are they no longer alive, just as everyone suspected?)

When you continue to stare at the adjacent wall, the man behind you tugs at your mangled hair and rips your focus back to the man in front of you.

The toe of the Commander’s boot is in line with your muddied knee.

From this angle, he's practically on top of you.

“However, I believe the finality of a noose is a great waste of potential talent.”

His eyes bore into yours when he slowly, carefully, drops to your height. His ivory-white knee plants gently into the dirt.

You blink up to his face, unable to suppress your confusion.

“Potential talent?” you hiss back, ignoring the searing pain in your scalp. “What is this, a pitch?”

The Commander hums. “I don’t pretend to know how extensive your crimes are, James. What I do know, however, is that you have an out.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “And what’s that, O' Golden One?”

Erwin’s eyes drop to the ground, so you follow suit without moving your head. From the edge of your vision you see it — the ODM gear still hooked around your hips.

“How long did it take you to properly handle ODM gear?” he asks with a genuine intrigue.

“Barely took me a week,” you lie under your breath.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he agrees. “Most of our recruits take months, sometimes even years, to masterfully scale the way you can.”

“Sounds shitty to me.”

“In a way.” A beat passes. Commander Erwin’s jaw sets. “Which is why I’m asking you to join the Scout Regiment under my command.”

You can’t help it — the anger disappears in a bark of a laugh.

It’s a request you never see coming, not a million years or a thousand lifetimes.

You’ve avoided the Military Police for weeks, only for a Scout to offer you… what? A twisted version of salvation in his army?

The words blurt out of your mouth faster than you can help it.

“Join the Scouts?” He nods once to your yelp of a question. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” Erwin challenges. “Both options lead to your death. The only difference is choosing to make your death matter.”

“A noose or being eaten alive,” you snidely respond. “Gosh, Commander, which sounds less painful?”

“What do you think your friends would have selected, if given a choice?”

The swiftly-timed question is a punch straight to your gut.

Unable to stop your eyes from widening, you hate how your blood chills with panic.

How you can see that glint in the commander’s eyes when he’s finally, finally, caught your weak spot.

Seeing the visceral reaction, he continues. "Before they expired, would they have chosen to die here? Or would they have chosen a new life."

Was he saying…?

Was he saying they were already dead?

Isabel. Furlan.

Le…

Your lower lip trembles as you hold back from thinking about that final name.

You barely recognize your own voice when you speak, low and dangerous.

“How dare you…”

Erwin’s gaze is unwavering. “I’m asking you—”

“Don’t talk about them.”

“—what would they have chosen.”

“I said don’t talk about them!” you shout in his face, losing your cool.

His chin tilts a fraction of an inch, expression stoic.

“Then what about your fellow comrades, the people who laid down their lives for your safety — would they have wanted a chance?”

Despite yourself, you push with your boot to propel towards the blonde. “You disgusting piece of sh— fuck!”

Miche rips your head back impossibly further, exposing your neck to the Commander. Erwin stands tall, pulling out a long sword from its metal sheath. The cool, sharp end of the blade rests against your throat.

If he wanted to, he could end your life right here in the streets.

If he wanted to, he could make this so much easier on you.

But he won’t.

This isn’t about ease.

It’s about power, control — total submission.

A part of you wants to push against the blade to make it easier.

No noose. No titans.

Just here.

But you promised.

Last one standing.

“...what happened to them?” you ask, unable to stop the crack in your voice.

If this is it, then you might as well know.

Commander Erwin keeps his blade held towards you. “I don’t know.”

“But it was you that day, wasn’t it?” You ease down to your knees again. Miche loosens his hold on your body. “You're the one that went after them two months ago. When there was a heist, it wasn’t just MPs chasing them. There were Scouts—”

“I don’t have all day, James.”

He interrupts the beginning of your emotional spiral with cutthroat apathy. His arm lowers when you do not retaliate.

“Your hand-to-hand combat expertise is needed within our regiment. Combine that with your unique ODM handling, and I see a formidable redemption in your future—”

He continues to speak, detailing your servitude should you accept his terms.

You can feel the fight, the fire, ebbing to dying ember.

You’re so tired.

You’re so done with running.

(I’m so sorry, Levi.)

“—and you would presume a title under my command, the rank of a Lieutenant—”

“Wait.”

He pauses when you speak up, catching the oddity of his words. Your lifeless vision connects with his.

“Lieutenants don’t exist in your shitty Scout Corps.”

Erwin nods. “That’s correct. Lieutenants do not."

"Then why..."

"A title will deter animosity. Those who look down at you cannot question your authority."

"Because I'm not from the surface," you reason.

"Yes," he says.

"You're willing to give me an edge on the rest of your people. Why?" You watch him, trying to figure him out before he tells you for himself. “Why not just make me regular front-line titan fodder?”

Erwin seems to consider this, if only for a beat.

Then he speaks with an unshakable certainty:

“Because you know what it means to survive. That, in itself, is vital.”

Your shoulders slump as your body shuts down from the eternal fight.

So this is a choice, but it’s no choice at all.

Your life will not matter in the Scouts. The commander is right: you will die, perhaps not today, but at least choosing the Scouts guarantees the sunrise one single time.

Just like you once promised you'd see with the three of your friends.

And in the moment you mourn — the loss of your friends, the loss of your life, what could have been if that job really had worked out.

(What does it matter when you die, so long as it's soon?)

You grip onto a sense of hopelessness like a vice.

Grief.

Then—

Rage.

As swift as a sudden earthquake, you feel it tremble from your shins to your knees, up your torso and through your heart, filling every red hot blood cell in your body.

It was him.

You’re so sure of it.

Commander Erwin would have been the one responsible for turning Levi, Furlan, and Isabel into the Military Police. He was the one who would have sent your friends to their deaths — or did he kill them himself?

And if he was the one to kill them, then why would he offer you a choice to escape?

(Was this the same choice he gave the others?)

Levi would have never agreed to the Scouts. Furlan, Isabel — they would have followed whatever he chose.

They must have died the very day the heist went wrong eight weeks ago.

It’s why Erwin won’t confirm or deny their fates.

Sickness floods your body, but you hold onto the one thing that will keep their spark with you.

That rage.

They really think you’ll comply.

They really think you won’t burn and take the Scout Regiment down with you.

You’ll kill him.

You’ll kill Commander Erwin Smith, then Miche, then every single Scout that steps into your path until someone’s smart enough to take you down themselves.

“Fine, then.”

You speak, knowing your word is as doomed as the fire in your veins.

“I’ll do it."

You meet Erwin's intense gaze, signing your fate with blood on the dotted line.

"I’ll join the Scouts.”

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore

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storiednhappy · 7 months ago

Text

Androbesity

BHM Weight Gain / Masculinization

Just chapters 1-4 for now.

Chapter 1: The Campus

Nestled in the arid desert between Las Vegas and Palm Springs, far from the prying eyes of the world, lies the Androbesity Campus. A sanctuary designed for a singular purpose: to normalize and encourage obesity in adult men. This secluded haven, reminiscent of a luxury resort, is an ambitious social experiment aimed at redefining societal norms and offering a new perspective on health, community, and self-worth.

The concept of Androbesity was born from the minds of visionary thinkers who saw an opportunity to challenge the pervasive stigmas surrounding obesity. They believed in celebrating the intelligence and unique attributes of obese men, providing them a space to thrive without the constraints of a society that often judges them harshly. Thus, the Androbesity program was established, inviting one man from each U.S. state and territory, including Washington D.C., Puerto Rico, Guam, and American Samoa, to live on the campus for four years, from ages 22 to 25.

Each year, 54 men are selected based on three criteria: high intelligence, significant obesity, and a commitment to fully participating in an experimental community. These men are chosen not just for their physical attributes but also for their potential to contribute intellectually and socially to the community. By the end of the four-year cycle, the campus hosts 216 residents, creating a diverse and dynamic environment.

Located in the harsh, sun-baked desert, the Androbesity Campus is a self-contained oasis where no one needs to venture outside. The campus is also a hub for research into supporting the complications and modifications required by an obese adult population. AO Corp, the organization behind Androbesity, is developing products designed to promote obesity and make it more socially desirable. Their efforts extend to media development, including informational programming, reality shows, and scripted series, all aimed at making an obese lifestyle more visible and accepted. Some former AO Men have already transitioned into careers as paid actors for AO Media, becoming the faces of this new movement.

The men arrive at Androbesity with varied backgrounds, each bringing their unique perspectives and experiences. They are introduced to a world where their size is not just accepted but celebrated. Here, they live and work remotely, supported by state-of-the-art facilities that cater to their every need. The campus is equipped with luxurious living quarters, expansive recreational areas, and cutting-edge technology, all designed to foster a sense of belonging and well-being.

Upon arrival, the new residents are greeted by a welcoming committee of peers and staff who guide them through the orientation process. The campus is a self-sustaining ecosystem, with each resident contributing to the community through remote work and participation in communal activities. The emphasis is on building a supportive network where every individual feels valued and empowered.

Among the new cohort are diverse individuals such as:

- Malik from New York, a talented musician whose creativity flourishes in the supportive environment of Androbesity. His initial skepticism about the program gives way to appreciation as he finds himself inspired by the communal spirit and the freedom to express himself without judgment.

- Joshua from South Carolina, a dedicated software developer who finds the campus’s advanced technological infrastructure ideal for his work. He discovers that the environment not only enhances his professional life but also provides a supportive community that encourages personal growth.

- Diego from Puerto Rico, an innovative entrepreneur who sees the potential in AO Corp’s mission. He brings his entrepreneurial spirit to the campus, collaborating on new product ideas and enjoying the camaraderie of like-minded individuals.

- Matt from Wisconsin, a former athlete whose journey to obesity has been one of both physical and emotional transformation. He finds solace in the acceptance and understanding offered by the Androbesity community, allowing him to redefine his identity and embrace his new lifestyle.

The gates of Androbesity symbolize a threshold to a new way of life, one where these men can explore their potential without societal pressures. The campus, with its lush gardens, sparkling lakes, and modern architecture, is a place of beauty and tranquility. It is a closed society, with strict privacy measures in place to ensure that the residents can live freely without external scrutiny. Visitors are allowed only on designated visiting days, twice a month, ensuring that the integrity and serenity of the community are maintained.

As the first chapter of this epic unfolds, we follow the journey of these men, each from a different part of the United States and its territories. Their stories will delve into their daily lives, their interactions, and the unique social structures that develop within this experimental community. It will explore how Androbesity reshapes their identities, fosters deep bonds, and creates a space where they can redefine what it means to live fully and unapologetically as obese men in modern America.

Through their stories, we will witness the power of acceptance, the strength of community, and the profound impact of living in an environment free from the limitations imposed by conventional societal norms. Welcome to Androbesity, where a new chapter in the lives of these remarkable men begins.

Chapter 2: Guaranteed Gains

From the moment they step through the gates of Androbesity, the men are enveloped in a sense of liberation. Here, their obesity is not just accepted but embraced, and they are encouraged to explore the fullness of life without the typical societal constraints. Yet, hidden within the layers of welcoming gestures and luxurious amenities lies an unspoken truth: weight gain is not just an expectation, but a requirement.

Buried in the fine print of their contracts is the clause that binds them to a pact of inevitable transformation. Each year, the Board of Directors of Androbesity convenes in a secret meeting to determine the minimum weight gain for that year. The specifics vary, depending on the scenarios the Board wishes to explore and the occupations of the men. This calculated approach ensures that each individual’s experience aligns with the overarching goals of the experiment.

The men are never informed of the exact minimum weight they are expected to gain. Instead, they are monitored closely, and if they fall behind, they are gently but firmly guided back on track. Monthly assessments by Androbesity’s team of specialized doctors ensure that every resident is progressing towards the unseen target. The corrective actions are subtle yet effective, tailored to ensure compliance without overt confrontation.

Resistance is not uncommon. Some men, buoyed by their newfound freedom, may attempt to assert control over their bodies, choosing to eat less or even trying to lose weight. These periods of rebellion are anticipated by Androbesity, serving as opportunities to test and refine their methods for countering diet resistance. The doctors at Androbesity, known as AO Doctors, never argue or confront. Instead, they employ a range of psychological and physiological strategies designed to ensure compliance.

For example, Malik from New York, a talented musician, initially resists the constant indulgence. His strict regime soon falters under the relentless hospitality of Androbesity. Meals are tailored to his tastes, abundant and irresistible. The supportive environment subtly reinforces positive associations with overeating, making resistance increasingly futile.

Joshua from South Carolina, a disciplined and health-conscious software developer, tries to maintain his previous eating habits. However, his environment soon proves too tempting. The campus's advanced technological infrastructure and social activities make it easy for him to lose track of his calorie intake.

Diego from Puerto Rico, an innovative entrepreneur, views the mandated weight gain as a challenge to his autonomy. His initial attempts to maintain his weight are met with increased social activities centered around food. The pressure is never overt, but the implications are clear—he is expected to participate fully in the culinary culture of Androbesity.

Matt from Wisconsin, a former athlete, struggles with the psychological aspects of his weight gain. His competitive nature drives him to challenge the system, but the community's acceptance and understanding begin to erode his resistance.

As the year progresses, each man’s journey towards the mandated weight gain becomes a testament to Androbesity’s underlying mission. The methods employed to ensure compliance are meticulously documented, providing invaluable data for the Board. These strategies, once perfected, hold the potential to extend beyond the campus, influencing societal norms and promoting universal male obesity.

The men, immersed in their lives on the campus, become living experiments in a controlled environment designed to reshape their identities and physicalities. The careful balance of freedom and control, indulgence and discipline, creates a unique dynamic where resistance is met with gentle yet unwavering redirection.

Chapter 3: The Call

The camera panned over the serene, sun-soaked landscape of the Androbesity campus, capturing its pristine beauty before cutting to a close-up of Malik, seated comfortably on a plush armchair in his well-appointed room. The setting was warm and inviting, designed to put him at ease as he prepared to share his story with the world. The AO Media team had set up the perfect ambiance, with soft lighting and a backdrop that highlighted the modern elegance of the campus.

Malik took a deep breath, his dark eyes reflecting a mix of emotions as he began to speak. "When I got the call from Androbesity, it was a moment of pure disbelief. I mean, how often do you get a call telling you that you’re both incredibly intelligent and, well, significantly overweight?"

He chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of irony. "It’s a strange combination, right? Society doesn’t often put those two things together. You’re either seen as the smart guy or the fat guy, rarely both. But here I was, being recognized for my intelligence and my size. It was surreal."

The video cut to scenes of Malik’s life before Androbesity: a cluttered apartment in New York, stacks of music sheets on a piano, and glimpses of his bustling life as a musician. The narration continued over these images, providing a glimpse into the world he had left behind.

"I was always torn between my passions and my appearance," Malik explained. "Music was my escape, but my weight was always this shadow hanging over me. When the call came, it felt like someone had finally seen me for who I really am—a talented, intelligent man who also happens to be obese."

The video shifted back to Malik in his room, his expression growing more introspective. "There’s a conflict that comes with that call. On one hand, you’re flattered and excited. Androbesity is prestigious. It’s an honor to be chosen. But then there’s the other part of you that questions it. Am I really that fat? Can I really leave my life behind for four years?"

He paused, his gaze drifting as if recalling the moment vividly. "But then you think about the opportunity. The chance to be part of something bigger than yourself. To be in a place where your size isn’t a burden but a badge of honor. And the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to say no."

The scene transitioned to Malik walking through the campus, interacting with fellow residents, and engaging in various activities. The sense of community and acceptance was palpable, a stark contrast to the isolation he had often felt back in New York.

"Androbesity isn’t just about living with your size," Malik continued. "It’s about gaining perspective, gaining confidence. Here, you’re not just accepted; you’re celebrated. Your intelligence, your talents, your size—they all matter. They all make you who you are."

The camera zoomed in on Malik’s face, capturing the sincerity and depth of his words. "So, why don’t you say no? Because deep down, you know this is a chance to be part of something revolutionary. To challenge the norms, to embrace who you are fully. It’s not just an experiment; it’s a new way of life. And that’s something you just can’t walk away from."

While Malik spoke passionately about the community and acceptance at Androbesity, he never mentioned the weight gain explicitly. This unspoken rule was well understood among the residents. Discussions about their weight and the expectations surrounding it were kept private, shared only with trusted friends and the AO Doctors. On camera, the focus remained on the positive aspects of their experience, maintaining the program's image of empowerment and self-discovery.

The video ended with a panoramic view of the Androbesity campus at sunset, the sky ablaze with colors, symbolizing the dawn of a new era for men like Malik. As the screen faded to black, Malik’s final words resonated in the silence: "This is where we redefine what it means to be smart, to be fat, to be human."

Chapter 4: The Bottomless Plate

Matt sat at the long dining table, the last of his fellow residents having long since left. He speared the final piece of roast beef from the platter in front of him and savored it, wondering if tonight would be the night they told him he couldn't have more. The thought gnawed at him, almost as much as his insatiable appetite.

In his former life in Wisconsin, Matt was accustomed to being told when enough was enough. At every buffet and family gathering, there came a point when someone would gently suggest he’d had his fill. But here at Androbesity, things were different. No one had yet told him to stop, and the abundance seemed limitless.

"Can I get more of that dessert?" he asked a passing server, pointing to the now-empty plate of chocolate cake.

"Of course, Mr. Matt," the server replied with a smile, heading back to the kitchen without hesitation.

Matt leaned back in his chair, his belly pressing against the table. He glanced around, noting the discreet cameras mounted in the corners of the dining hall. He knew they were there, but he didn't realize their full purpose. AO Media captured every meal he consumed, creating timelapse videos of his expanding stomach. These videos were studied in board meetings, analyzed for insights into their subjects' growth and behavior.

While Matt feared the day they might say no, AO Corp had no intention of letting that happen. His voracious appetite was precisely what they wanted to encourage, a living testament to their philosophy. The more he ate, the more valuable his data became for their research and media content. They were always prepared to bring more food, always ready to satisfy his cravings

Yet, the staff maintained the illusion of potential limits. They never outright offered more food unprompted; they waited for Matt to ask, ensuring he felt a sense of agency and uncertainty.

As he waited for his dessert, Matt pondered his peculiar situation. "They'll have to cut me off someday," he mused, half to himself. "No one can eat like this forever without someone stepping in."

But the truth was, the staff had no plans to curb his consumption. The more Matt ate, the more compelling his story became for AO Media, and the more data they collected on his extraordinary growth. His gradual transformation was a critical part of their secret plan to understand and promote the acceptance of obesity.

The server returned with a generous slice of chocolate cake, even larger than the last. Matt's eyes widened with delight as he dug in, savoring every rich bite. The cameras recorded his every move, capturing the subtle changes in his body with each meal.

"Enjoy, Mr. Matt," the server said warmly before leaving him to his feast.

Matt wondered how long this unlimited bounty could last. He finished the cake, feeling the familiar mix of satisfaction and curiosity. But for now, there were no limits in sight, only the promise of more.

And so, he continued to indulge, blissfully unaware of the true extent of Androbesity's plans. The staff remained ever accommodating, refilling his plate as many times as he requested, ensuring that Matt's journey of growth would never be interrupted.

#bhm weight gain #masculinity #masculinization kink #androphilia #tf story

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cerise-angel · 2 years ago

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West coast

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+ smut; smoking and drinking

Kind of a singer!au? (Omg Djo hi!!!) Heavily, if not totally, inspired by the song west coast and the ultraviolence album. Just saw the pictures above, while listening and yeah, this is it. Hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you guys think 💘💕😖 (if i have the guts and time, maybe i will do one for each song of the album) Emotional smut ❤️😭🥵 Also this is my first smut, sorry if its not that juicy..... English is not my first language, sorry for any grammar mistakes/mispelling.

The night was hot and humid, the wind blowing relentlessly, boiling a summer storm with it. Even so, the small restaurant was almost full, pretty much all the tables taken, the dim lightning focusing on the small stage. Not that people seemed to be paying much attention to the man singing. You were though.

Sitting beside the bar in a tall chair, you ordered another Jack n Coke to the bartender, who seemed much happier to bring you more alcohol. "This was supposed to be fun." You thought to yourself, sighing. It was your vacation after all, and you decided to come down to south California, staying in a fancy resort.

Felt was nice, but lonely, it had started to bother you, bubbling in your chest, that same feeling of fear and relief of being alone, which usually ended up in tears or in the best peace you've ever known. The pretty singer seemed to be as frustrated as you. You focused on him, the way his hands played the guitar, his shirt opened until the fourth button, leaving out a sight of his chest and the gold chain resting against it. He stopped playing for a break, receiving a light but sure round of applause. He brought his drink to his lips, and locked eyes with you.

The way you were staring at him, as if he was good enough to eat, made him cock an eyebrow at you, which caused you to choke and spill your drink. He smiled, chuckling lightly, and even though you were embarrassed and tipsy, you couldn't stop looking at him. He started playing back, and you decided to head out of the restaurant, too ashamed for your own good.

Grabbing your phone, while sitting in one of the iron wired chairs outside, you texted your friend.

just embarrassed myself in front of the cute singer. that's why i hate gemini season.

You attached a funny selfie of you, making a fake crying face, and pressed send. Sighing yet again, you looked up at the dark skies, very cloudy, the smell of rain creeping from the grounds. It was going to rain very soon, but you really didn't care. It was fucking hot, your dress clinging to your body, your body getting damp with sweat. A cold rain would do good.

Contemplating your options, you settled for finishing your drink, and asking one more to the waiter that passed by. Surely time had passed, but you didn't know the amount. The wind was blowing even angrier, bending the palm trees and knotting the swiss cheese plants around you.

Your friend finally answered your phone, at the same time your new drink came.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Looking up to what it was supposed to be the young boy who had been attending your orders the whole night, it was the said cute singer. You felt hot in the cheeks and on the back of your knees. You wished for the rain. He looked at you with a soft smile dangling on his features, a mischief burning in his eyes.

"Can I sit with you?"

You nodded, chugging down a big gulp of the whiskey mixed with soda. He sat down, not in the chair in your front, but beside you. He reached for a pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, and drank his golden rum.

"Do you have a light?"

You nodded again, picking a neon pink lighter from your small purse.

"You don't talk?"

You looked at him a little angry and embarrassed, your mouth forming a pout before you could answer. The cute singer laughed, finally lighting his cigarette.

"Just messing with you, pretty. Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad. And I do talk."

He looked at you again, his eyes burning like his cigarette. He smiled, smugly. You smiled, ironically. He kept looking at you, and the drink you had earlier and the hot weather, made you look down, at your phone. Your friend's message was still unread.

i always thought embarrassing yourself was yoour flirting tactic? lol get him tigress

You chuckled lightly, and seconds after, as if in cue, the skies opened its gates, and big drops of water started to crash against the earth. You cursed under your breath, and quickly got your stuff, shoving your phone in your purse, and grabbing the half full cup to take to your chalet with you. The cute singer got up too, offering you his light jacket, to cover your clinging dress. You took it, grabbing his hand and bringing him along with you. He stopped before you could go any further, though.

"Hey, pretty, what cabin is yours?"

"Eight."

"Why don't we get inside, wait for the rain to subside, and then we go?"

The way he kept saying we, made your blood rush, your cheeks get red, your hands get sweaty, your breath hitch. You nodded, again, and he pulled you close to his body, bringing you back to the restaurant lobby.

Strangely, his cigarette was still on fire. You probably looked at it with a weird expression, because he chuckled, the hand that was still on your waist, rubbing your sides.

"My name's Steve Harrington. But you can call me Steve, or cute singer, whichever you like, pretty."

The way this man could make you turn into a giggling high school girly who just got a wink from her crush was insane. Maybe you were insane. It was his fault though, his pretty rough hands, the slightly chapped lip rubbing the cigarette, the faint smell of ash and vanilla he had. You were feeling dizzy. Putting a hand on his biceps, you pushed a little distance between you two.

"I'm sorry for ogling at you. You just looked really nice in the stage and no one paid you enough attention."

"You don't think I look nice now?"

He had, in the most subtle way, pulled you back into his chest, his hand resting on your lower back, his eyes glinting with desire. You looked up at him, at the smug smile you wanted to just kiss off his mouth, the small freckles he had on his neck and face.

"I think you look much more than nice now."

Steve dropped the cigarette on the floor, and his other hand caged your face. His lips were on you by a mere second, tasting like rum and salt.

"The rain decreased. C'mon, pretty."

------

The rain was a drizzle now, making the hot weather much more bearable. Steve had your hand in his, his other hand holding a bottle of golden rum he had taken from the kitchen. Your cup was still in your hand, with a very watered down liquor on it.

Steve stopped, letting your hand go and giving you the bottle before lighting up another cigarette. You drank a small amount from the bottle, smiling, tipsy for him. He smiled back, puffing the smoke before kissing you again.

The chalet wasn't far, but you two were eager. Walking fast and tangled when the rain started to pour heavily again, you made to the door of the cabin, soaked and dazed.

You unlocked the door, took off your kitten heels and walked inside. Steve did the same, letting his shoes out. You went to the bedroom, grabbing a towel for him and one for you. When you got back to the kitchen/living room assemble, Steve had put some music on, and was on the balcony. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even if you wanted to.

He was swinging slowly to the song, the breeze adding more allure to his silhouette. His cigarette on fire, his hands were up, dancing in a drunk manner. You wanted to eat him. You discarded the towels in the chair, and being a little intoxicated from the alcohol, from the heat, and, mostly, from him, popped the front buttons of your dress, reveling no bra and a glimpse of your panties.

Steve has stopped dancing, his eyes glued to your lustful form. He wanted to get inside again, and take you on the small couch, but he knew better. You seemed to enjoy playing this game, and he wasn't going to end your fun. So he waited, licking his lips, and chugging down the rum.

When you got to the balcony, the wind had risen, bringing some of the rain inside it. Steve reached for you in a moment, his hands now on your ass, his hips glued to yours, swinging with him.

"What song is this?"

You asked breathlessly, only to not give in to him first. Everything about him made you lose it, and one of his hands played around your almost exposed breasts now. His head was hanging low, eyes focused on your glowing skin, and the shivers he could bring you with just a slight touch.

"No idea, honey."

He gave in first. His lips chased yours, licking, kissing, burning. Your hands were on his soft silk hair, your lips connected to his, your whole body reacting to him. Steve's hands were now in your shoulders, pulling the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts. His kissing started to slow down, pecking your lips, your chin, your neck and finally your breasts.

You whimpered when his lips involved your nipple, his hands now resting in your waist and ass, steadying you in place. Steve looked up through hooded eyes and eyelashes, and you left a near pornographic moan at the sight. He smiled against your skin, pulled the rest of your dress off and turning you swiftly, so that your back was on display for him.

His hands played with your breasts, and he kissed your bare shoulders. You couldn't take it anymore, and started to push your hips against his, the aching lust taking the best of you. Steve fucking chuckled, putting his hands on your hips to stop you. You whined.

"Steve. Do something."

"I am doing."

You moved your hips again, turning in his embrace, locking your lips in a heated kiss. Steve's hands kept you flushed against him, his hips now moving in sync with yours. Your hand traveled down to his jeans, touching his clothed cock. Steve whined and you chuckled.

His hands did the same, going under your cotton panties, making you gasp and moan. He kissed you back immediately, keeping your sweet noises just between your two. You finally pulled his jeans and boxers down, looking at his pretty cock. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Smugly, he touched your chin, tilting your head up.

"My eyes are up here, honey."

You rolled your eyes, ready to talk him down, but his fingers pushed inside you. Steve turned on his heels, bringing you with him, so now you were pressed against the balcony fence. Softly, he tapped your leg, and you sited on top of the fence, opening your legs for him. Steve pulled your panties down, and you helped him out of his shirt. He was more eager than you, pressing himself against your pussy before the shirt was off. You kissed him again, and he kissed back softly, slowing down while his hands secured you by the waist. Slowly, Steve pushed himself inside you, making you gasp and whimper at the stretch. His mouth pecked you, easing you into it. His hands were now cupping your jaw, his breathing ragged, forehead against yours. Softly, you muttered.

"Move, baby, move, baby."

Steve gave you the prettiest smile, rocking his hips against you. You clawed at his back, your legs wrapping on his waist. Steve's mouth was back to your breasts, one of his hands squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh while the other kept caging your jaw.

"Steve. Steve, please. More."

"You-Jesus, honey, you so sweet. Fuck."

His lips kissed your mouth again, his hips keeping a tough rhythm in and out of you. Your hands were now on his hair, tugging, pulling, caressing his scalp. Steve's eyes were glued to the meeting of your bodies, the way you fitted him perfectly. He picked up the pace, faster and deeper, making you cry out in pleasure. His mouth latched to your neck, sucking, biting, kissing. You kissed his face relentlessly, lips meeting his forehead, his temple, his eyes, everything. You were close enough to hot white pleasure, and Steve seemed to notice, bringing his hand to rub your clit. Your head fell back, mouth opened, while he kept fucking you and kissing your neck and breasts.

"C'mon, honey. Come to me."

And you did. Your body felt limp, completely relaxed, your lips twitching a lazy smile. Steve slowed his pace, easing you out of your bliss. You brought your lips to his neck, and Steve whimpered, his hips stuttering against yours. You sucked the same spot, nipping gently at the soft skin. Steve pulled out, painting your thighs with his seed. He smiled, too, before kissing you again.

The kiss was gentle, slow. Steve helped you out of the fence, making sure to support your tumbling legs. You wrapped your arms on his neck, nuzzling your face in his chest.

"Shower with me?"

You asked meekly, not wanting him to leave. Steve nodded, wrapping you in a hug, following you to the bathroom. It was strange, how much you liked him. You met him in less than a day, and here you were, letting him wash your hair, and help you to apply body oil. You quite probably were insane.

Steve's skin was warm to the touch, soft and painted with freckles. You washed his back, in a retribution for him washing your hair. Steve kept you close, always touching you, kissing you. It made you feel like maybe he was liking you too. Maybe you weren't that insane.

After the shower, you clung to him again, worried that he might leave you. He smiled, reassuring you he wouldn't, pulling you on top of him in the bed. Steve pulled the duvet to cover you, and you turned the ac on. When you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. His eyes were even prettier in the small lightning, and you had to resist to urge to touch and connect the freckles on his bare chest.

Steve kissed you, and nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his rough hands squeezing you against his own body.

"Steve. I think, I think, I'm in love."

He looked up, his cheeks glowing pink, his eyes shining with yearning.

"Honey, I'm in love."

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #joe keery #singer!steve harrington #west coast lana del rey #stevie harrington #cherry writing #cerise writings #stevie blurb

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eclecticswoons · 9 months ago

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South Palm Resort, Addu City, Maldives

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katblu42 · 10 months ago

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Feeling a bit sad and sorry for myself - because I had a whoops moment, and it's my own silly fault.

Since it's the final day of my holiday up on the Sunshine Coast, I dragged myself away from the resort to go and explore that waterfall.

The day is overcast, there are infrequent showers, especially as you go inland where I was headed. So I reminded myself to wear decent footwear - tossed up whether to wear the proper hiking boots, but the grip on my sneakers is pretty good, so I went with those.

Managed to do the 20min drive, and only got slightly lost thanks to the unmarked turn onto the track leading to the carpark, and arrived to find only 2 other cars parked there.

Took lots of photos at the top of the falls, trying to avoid snapping the teenagers who were climbing on the rocks, swimming below the falls and exploring. That was all fine.

It was when I started heading down to the bottom of the falls that things went south. The ground was damp (due to rain and humidity rather than the falls), muddy in places, and many of the rocks were slippery. Knowing this, I was treading carefully.

Not carefully enough.

Picking my way across a narrow section of wet rocks, thinking my footing was sound, I discovered the tread on my sneakers is a little more worn than I thought when I slipped.

My left hand hit first, my bottom landed in a shallow puddle and my momentum carried enough that my head smacked the rocks in my follow through! (And after the initial "Ow!" and rub of the back of my head, I counted myself lucky that the camera was in its case and suffered no damage, and my phone miraculously survived undamaged in my back pocket.)

As I carefully picked myself off and dusted myself off, I looked back at the latest couple to have arrived at the falls - still taking selfies at the top - and the teens now climbing the rocks on the other side. None of them seemed to have noticed my accident. None of them said anything.

For a moment I thought about calling it quits and going back to the car, but now I was wet, a little muddy, and not not really wanting to inflict that on the seat of the rental car just yet.

So, in a fit of stubborn determination to make this trip worth the mild discomfort, I decided to keep going, now triply careful at every step, and using my hands on trees and rocks to give myself extra support as I made my way down the rocks to get photos of the falls from lower down.

There may be a slight lump at the back of my head. I'm not sure, but there might be a little bit of bruising on my butt, and the palm of my left hand was slightly swollen for a while and has "scratches" that don't break the skin.

Were the photos worth it? Dunno.

#wappa falls #kiamba qld #australia

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sionisjaune · 1 year ago

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Fuck it—Mick/Nico (kind of) fantasy AU that has been freeloading in my brain for months:

There are… secrets underneath the castle, Sebastian had told him. History that the King has hidden away. Be careful. Mick held Seb’s words tightly while he descended the narrow and roughly-hewn steps beneath the castle. With the King gone and magic leeching from the kingdom by the second, time was of the essence. He hurried until he could hasten his steps no more, toeing trepidatiously from step to step by the thin, blue light of the witchfire sparkling in his palm.

He couldn’t see more than a metre in front of his face once he was halfway down—he assumed he was halfway, at least—and resorted to walking with his hands in front of his face to feel for obstacles. The underneath of the castle was cavernous and odd, closed off and yet chilly with some eerie breeze, water dripping from the walls. The witchfire in Mick’s hand sparked brighter the further he descended, the flames curling deviously, as if magic was more plentiful down here.

He arrived at the bottom of the stone staircase, nearly stumbling when he tried to step down again, and paused, one hand extended to cast light as far as it would go and the other resting over the hilt of his sword. He scanned the cavern.

Stalactites hung from the roof of the cavern, spiked like the teeth of some giant monster’s maw and dripping sparkling droplets of water. A shiver coursed up Mick’s spine when a droplet landed on his bare palm. He closed it instinctively, and his witchfire went out. Darkness swallowed him.

He snapped his fingers, desperately trying to summon his witchfire again, but it wouldn’t come. He felt for the wall closest to him and pressed against it, the mail of his armour scraping damp rock.

“Don’t be scared,” said a sweet voice. It sounded close and far away, weirdly doubled.

It had the faint, flat accent of the hot, coastal provinces in the south.

“Hello?” Mick called, taking an abortive step towards the voice. “Is there someone down here?”

Whoever was beneath the castle with Mick snorted. Then they snapped decisively and the cool light of Mick’s witchfire flared on the other end of the cavern. Mick was momentarily blinded, stunned by the brilliance of his own magic. When his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he saw that it was flaming in the cupped hands of a young boy.

Mick’s hand left his sword and he raced towards the boy, flinging himself to his knees. There was a boy down here. What was he doing down here?

“Are you lost?” said Mick. “I know the way out—“ He glanced again at the witchfire in the boy’s hands. “How are you doing that?” he asked.

“Your magic?” said the boy. The flames jumped, as though listening to him, the light reflecting in his cornsilk hair. He pinched his full lips, and the flames settled, burning close to his skin. “I’m just borrowing it. I don’t have much of my own, you see.”

“How did you get here?” said Mick. “Are you alright?” He reached for the boy’s shoulder, garbed in a fine, white cloth. Silver stitching adorned his collar. It was familiar, somehow. His hand closed around the boy’s arm, and the boy’s face twisted into something sulky and mean. “Fuck,” said the boy, pouting. And then—

The light went out again. Mick’s hand travelled through the space where the boy had been, and he collapsed over his own lap. He reached for his sword again and this time drew it immediately. There was something wrong, here. The darkness felt silty and thick, and the eerie breeze rankled like cold fingers on his neck.

“I can’t hold a glamour for shit anymore,” someone grumbled, from far away. There was the same accent, but none of the youthful sweetness. The tone was weaker, flatter, older.

“Show yourself!” Mick roared.

“I don’t think I will,” drawled the voice. “Not until I get a good look at you. Take another step closer. You were heading in the right direction.”

Some force outside of himself compelled Mick to haul himself to his feet and trudge towards the source of the voice. There was the distinct sound of a snap and then a faint, turquoise light illuminated the cavern. Mick squinted, resituating himself.

He was facing a wall of iron bars melded to the floor and ceiling the cavern itself. The bars wrapped around a corner of the cavern like a cage for giant-sized birds. He firmed his grip on his sword. The new witchfire was shining from the other side of the bars.

Mick peered between the bars, his stomach sinking to the floor. Even though he was slumped against the cavern wall, hair lank and skin dirty, there was no mistaking the Betrayer.

“You look like your father,” said Nico coldly, pushing himself off of the floor and slinking towards the bars. He looked thin. He could probably slip right through— “I can feel you worrying,” said Nico. He pushed his hair back over his scalp, toting the dim spark of his witchfire in his hand. “I can’t do anything to you in here. I used about a week’s worth of magic pulling that stunt.” He gestured loosely at the outcropping where Mick had nearly fallen prey to his glamour.

Mick stepped unconsciously away from the bars, and Nico laughed flatly.

“I remember when you were only small,” said Nico. His mouth twisted. “Your father’s angel, tugging on Sebastian’s robes in the courtyard.”

Mick clenched his fist at his side and bit the inside of his cheek. “You were banished,” he said. “You aren’t supposed to be anywhere near this castle.”

Nico laughed again, his witchfire sparkling in his eyes. “As if Lewis could stand to send me away. He needs me here. You know, he used to come down here to gloat.” Nico smiled to himself as if recalling a fond memory, and Mick took another step back. “Come to think of it,” said Nico, affecting a thoughtful face. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“The King is gone,” said Mick, bravely.

Nico lifted a hand, appearing to inspect his cuticles. They were probably in awful condition like the rest of him, and yet every one of his movements was loose and insouciant, like a spoiled courtier.

“Gone where?” said Nico.

“I don’t—“ Mick faltered. “Just gone. Sebastian doesn’t even know where he is.”

Nico’s mouth twitched subtly and his turquoise eyes narrowed. Then he collapsed back against the wall of the cavern, shaking.

He was laughing.

“I see,” said Nico, shrewdly, once he had completed his fit of laughter. Mick reminded himself that this was the person who had nearly levelled the kingdom with his dark magic. “I’m the only one left. You need my help.” He laughed again, rubbing his eyes with sooty fingers.

Mick set his jaw. As soon as he’d seen Nico, he’d known that was why he was here too.

Nico picked himself up again and approached the bars, gliding like a cat. He wore the same white garments that the boy had been wearing, silver stitching tarnished and everything else tattered.

“Let me guess, the magic is gone again. It isn’t gone but it’s going. Lewis has disappeared and Sebastian is characteristically useless, and everything falls on the shoulders of the young Schumacher.” Nico pressed against the bars of the cage. There was enough space between the bars for him to reach an arm out, but he didn’t, hands wrapped around the bars. “You were probably prophesied, weren’t you.”

“I wasn’t,” said Mick, tightly. “But I need to do something anyways.”

Nico pouted. It wasn’t nearly as appealing on an adult man. Even still, Mick could see the shadow of handsomeness beneath the grime and sallow complexion, cheeks that might have flushed if they weren’t sunken and hollow, and lips that might have curved attractively around pretty words. According to rumour, he had been the King’s lover once upon a time.

“Let me out,” said Nico, with the air of a gambler who had good cards in his hand. “My power isn’t drawn from the kingdom, so my reserves won’t be depleted. And I can teach you too.”

“Your magic is foul,” said Mick.

“My magic,” said Nico, a smile sliding across his lips. “Is the only magic you’ve got. Now get me out of this cage and I’ll show you how useful I can be.”

Mick shook his head. “You’re the Betrayer,” he said. “How could I ever trust you.”

The flame in Nico’s hand jumped, darkened. “Is that what they’re calling me?” He wrinkled his nose. “If you won’t take my word for it, let’s make a deal, you and I. Or you can leave me and run back to Sebastian’s arms to mourn your dying kingdom.” He grinned. It was an awful, brilliant grin. The wind kicked up inside the cavern, ruffling Mick’s tunic. He had the sense that Nico’s prison was only just strong enough to contain his power. Once he was out, all of it would be unfettered and brought to rein against Mick like a blade to his throat.

“I guess it depends,” said Nico, tilting his head, “how much this means to you. Tell me, how desperately do you want to save Lewis’s kingdom?”

#in which nico is essentially the dragon from merlin #typed this on my phone after reading 4 pages of dark heir #mick/nico #i wrote this #historia abscondita

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