#that stupid studded beard

[petew21-blog]

Uncharted territory

Danny made sure that he had everything. His costume of Nathan Drake from Uncharted was amazing for this year's Comic Con. He was inspired after he saw his bully dressed as him for Halloween. He needed to be better, but unfortunately he didn't have the muscles to show off. So he went for the shirt.

The bully looked so good. Danny even saved the photo from his instagram and jerked off to it, imagining that he would go to Comic Con as him. He would definitely get a LOT of attention.

He was about to head out to wait for his friend Martin to pick him up. But before leaving he decided to fully use his costume and play one last quick game of Uncharted before leaving.

Danny turned on the play station, excited to start his immersive experience.

The game launched and Danny clicked continue. But something was different. His controller was vibrating and overheating. Something was wrong. Danny felt a force pulling him into the game. He wanted to let go of the controller, but it was too late.

He opened his eyes. Gone was his nerdy room with comic books and a computer set. He looked around to see the jungle surrounding him. He looked down. His Nathan Drake outfit now fit way better then before. But his hands were entirely different. They were strong, veiny and hairy, not like his teen body. His shirt was strechted over his bulking pecs and the buttons of his shirt did a really bad job of covering his hairy torso.

"Oh no" he said out loud noticing the sudden voice change. He put his hand up to his throat to feel the protruding adam's apple. His hand continued and felt the stubble on his face.

"No fucking way" he tried to search for something that would show him his reflection, but the only thing he found was his knife. He pulled it out to take a look at his new face.

"Holy shit. I'm Nathan Drake! No way!" his manly voice was so erotic.

He turned around and grinned.

"I am Nathan Drake. And I am in my own game of Uncharted, with fictional characters and no one who could judge me." his grin was now even more apparent. He immediately ripped off his clothing he had on.

His body was sweaty from the humidity of the jungle, but also from the thrill Danny was now experiencing. He took a whiff of his new armpits. "Ooooh. That smells so... manly!" his hands traced the hairy line of his chest over to his abs. "These are amazing"

He came back to try out his nipples. They were really sensitive. He played with them for a while.

And the jawline! Danny would kill to look like this forever.

Everything was different. No more skinny arms, no more hairless body, no more struggles to grow a beard. No more...

He froze in place. There was one thing he definitely needed to check out

His hand made its way aggresively into his pants. There it was. A beautiful thick meat. Danny felt the weight of it. It was perfect. He never even hoped to be such a stud.

He was ready to enjoy his body fully, but something happened. He started moving through the jungle. His shirt appeared back on his body. His body was moving as if something else was controlling it. There was a background music, which was more and more intense every second. The mission started. He had to fight for his life. But Danny felt as if he had no control of it. And the thing that controlled him did so many stupid mistakes. And then it happened. He died. Danny felt the pain in his body. Overwhelming and liberating at the same time. He closed his eyes.

Danny was forced to open them again. The mission restarted. "What the hell?" someone was playing the game. And Danny was now trapped as Nathan in the game.

The first death was one of MANY. Danny stopped counting after he reached number 28. He just prayed for it to end soon.

Meanwhile, in front of his Playstation sat his body, playing the Uncharted, grinning.

"I'll teach you how to play the game. I'll show you what it's like to die over and over again!"

Nathan was making sure to let Danny Die in his body as many times as possible.

His phone was vibrating.

"Hey. Yeah I'm ready. I'll just close the game and will meet you downstairs." Nathan tried the best impression of Danny to not raise any suspiciouns.

Nathan grinned mischievously.

He ran to the car.

Martin:"What took you so long?"

Nathan:"I had to fix settings in my game. It was too easy."

Martin:"Ok. You ready for comic con?"

Nathan:"Yes, sir"

Danny's struggles unfortunately did not end, because Nathan made sure to leave the game on and not only that. Nathan somehow messed with the settings and the story. Nathan's enemy - Atoq Navarro was now present after every death Danny went through.

What was horrible wasn't his presence, but the fact that he was 3 times bigger and his only goal was to fill Nathan's body with his cum. EVERYTHING was 3 times bigger and Atoq needed Nathan filled up.

Danny:"I hope they come back from Comic Con soon. I'm not sure how many fillings I can take." but Danny knew that he was now a character in the game. There were no limits for his pleasant suffering.

Anonymous request from Inbox

What about a swap between a cosplayer and the character in game? Like someone cosplaying as Nathan drake from Uncharted getting swapped with the ingame character while the ingame character gets put in the real world to play the video game?

[ultram0th]

December 15: Nick Urankar

00 │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15

Fitness entrepreneur Nick Urankar frowned as he examined himself in the mirror. From another’s perspective, the man’s body appeared to be blessed with plump muscle that he’d diligently worked hard for. His cut-off t-shirt showcased his chiseled abs, the fabric ending just below his impressive pectorals. Nick was a hunk, through and through.

Still, that beard-framed frown was ever-present as he studied his muscled form in the mirror.

The source of his annoyance was a stupid comment from some anonymous user on Instagram.

Nick was in the process of trying to gain new subscriptions to his fitness programs come New Years, which was when the fitness community would usually experience a boom in followers. He’s opted to go the family man route, which was something he’d often do in his regular posts.

Ultimately, Nick had decided to post a picture of himself shirtless, showing off his rock hard chest muscles with the caption: “New Dad Bod!”

It had worked initially, and Nick had seen a plethora of new subscriptions piling in at a rapid rate from dads who wanted to trim a little belly fat. However, there was one comment under the pic that had stuck out to Nick: “That’s NOT a dad bod! 👿”

It was a simple comment that should’ve been nothing at all, yet, Nick couldn’t deny the irritation that bubbled up in his gut over it. The influencer had tried his best to ignore it, but obviously since he was still thinking about it, it’d clearly annoyed him.

“‘Dad Bod’,” Nick snorted as he rolled his eyes, imagining the type of body that the anon must’ve been referring to: big belly and saggy pecs. That wasn’t the type of dad bod that Nick wanted to have, hence his bulky form.

The hunk finished up his night route before lying down, trying to force the odd comment out of his brain. As he lied down in bed, a strange tingling sensation broke out over the muscle dad’s body and he could hear the springs in the mattress groaning more than usual…

Nick’s morning alarm beeped, letting the influencer know that it was time to get up and get ready for his morning stream. The stud liked to post his Sunday morning workouts on his socials, which served to act as advertisements for his workout routines.

Nick threw the covers off of himself and sat up in bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. The man felt a lot more tired this morning, and he scratched at his belly absent-mindedly as he let out a loud belch. He stood up and began to waddle towards the bathroom, unaware of the jiggling feeling that was emanating from his torso as he moved. He entered the bathroom and turned on the light, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull at what he saw.

“Fuck!” Nick cried out as his eyes honed in on the massive belly that was attached to him.

Standing to the side, Nick bore a profile of someone who was not active in CrossFit, but who instead would often lounge on the couch and drink beer all day. His gut was massive! It protruded far out in front of him, and when he moved the slightest bit, Nick’s new big belly would jiggle and bounce incessantly, illustrating that it was mostly fat. Worse was that his chilled pecs had puffed out too and they sagged a little more than they should’ve, coming to rest atop the man’s new belly. 

As Nick poked and prodded his larger form, the stud noticed that the rest of his toned muscles looked puffy now. There was still some muscle evident on his frame, but they were all now covered by a thick layer of fat that obscured their contours. Even his face looked rounder, his cheek bones hidden by the new roundness quality.

Out of shock, Nick waddled over to the scale in his bathroom and stood on top of it. He inwardly winced as he had to look over his cresting gut in order to gawk at the red numbers on the scale: 301 lbs. A total gain of nearly eighty pounds of what seemed to be pure fat, with most of it on his gut.

In his shock, Nick couldn’t help but grab at his gut with both of his shaky hands, giving it a rough shake. He felt the blood drain from his face as his new belly jiggled like crazy, a far cry from his previously flat, chiseled abdominals.

“Now that’s a dad bod!” he heard his deep voice exclaim, almost proudly.

The influencer jerked back in surprise at his words, noticing for the first time that he’d been smirking during his entire inspection. His cocky grin bore a proud aura that only grew as the inflated man rubbed his new gut lovingly.

The inflated influencer felt his legs propel him forward on their own accord, moving as if they had a mind of their own. His beefier arms reached out and grabbed his phone, setting it up onto its tripod as he started to record.

The altered Nick felt humiliated as he saw his phone live recording him, showing his larger new dad bod on display for his thousands of followers to see. However, despite his inner panic, the hunk only continued to smile widely at the camera.

“Good morning everyone,” the beefy dad bodded man greeted his followers, rubbing his belly lovingly. “I thought that this would be a good time to give you all a check in on my hot dad bod.”

The stud felt himself continue to rub his bigger belly, making the rotund gut shake like a beach ball in front of him with every movement. Nick screamed on the inside, but was powerless to do anything besides show off his inflated, beefy form. His abs and muscles were completely shrouded by the thick fat that he was showing off, the cocky smile on his round face indicating that he loved every bit of it.

“This is what a real dad bod looks like,” Nick heard himself say, immediately thinking back tot he obscure comment that he’d read the other day. He looked down at his big belly and gave it another shake, knowing that the mysterious comment must’ve been behind his recent transformation.

The influencer with the big dad bod continued to show off his girthy frame, beyond humiliated, yet smiling widely the entire time.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

He Canceled Hot Girl Summer 🔥

18+ mdni series master list

13 months ago...

The night that the birth control decided to fail...|

You were laughing with Aaliyah over something stupid as the two of you waited at the bar to order your drinks. Well, actually, the topic of the moment was seeing Jay get hit on by a guy who clearly didn't know that she wears a strap. Maybe the poor drunken man thought Jay was just a tomboy or didn't know what a stud was, but she didn't complain as her drinks were being paid for.

“She's fucking awful! I hope that poor man knows what he's asking for.” You shouted with laughter, flipping your hair over your shoulder. There was a brief sound of someone going careful and a hand being placed on your waist. “Huh?” You turned and were met with the prettiest blue eyes you've ever seen.

“ ‘areful where ye swing tha hair lassie.” The man with which the blue eyes belonged to had given you a teasing grin, “ ‘lmost took ma eye out.” His accent was thick, and if you didn't have practice with understanding your brother-in-law's Baltimore accent, you would have been lost.

“Why are you close enough to get hit by her hair?” Aaliyah snarked. Her lip was turned up, and eyebrows raised.

“Nae need tae get tha claws out, just tryn’ ta get a pint!” He glanced at Aaliyah and then back at you.

“Well I'm sorry for almost taking out your eye handsome, it'd be a shame for you to lose it.” You make no move to hide that you find him attractive with the way you look him over. You turn to face him completely, ignoring how your friend huffs indignantly. “Let me make it up to you by buying you a shot.”

“Innit ‘posed ta be tha other way ‘round?” He asks as he leaned into you. He still hadn't taken his hand off of you and instead pulled you in closer to him.

You hummed and nodded your head and introduced yourself to him, and in turn, he told you to call him Johnny. The shots got ordered along with your insanely sweet drink and his beer.

“My friends and I are gonna be bar hopping tonight, we're just waiting on my brother and one more friend to get here.” You told him you're practically sitting in his lap at the bar. Standing between his legs closely and enjoying his warmth. You've already made your mind up that he was going home with you.

He cuts a nice figure, fine with well built muscles, and that fucking mohawk and the stubble that's not quite a beard yet. He's ruggedly good-looking but also has that boyish charm. It's in the way he speaks to you that lures you in, because he's funny too and that's your downfall. You've always loved a clown because truth be told if a guy couldn't make you laugh, he couldn't make you wet, and that's just a fact.

“Ye're gonnae be hopping in those heels?” He looks down at your platform pumps and laughs, “Ye're more likely to break an ankle in those.”

“Johnny!” You giggled and ran your fingers through his hair, “you're fucking stupid.”

“I could be fuckin’ ye stupid.” He fires back, his voice low. His eyes are half lidded, and you suspect they haven't left your lips or boobs for the better part of the conversation.

You're stunned for a moment and sip your drink, trying your best to get your bearings. Not one to be showed up and flustered so easily an idea pops into your head. At some point, he said that fruity drinks were mostly sugar, insulting your precious sex on the beach. You take another sip of your drink and then kiss him, shoving your tongue and the liquid into his mouth.

Johnny is shocked for a second before he kisses you back with just as much excitement. Both hands rest on your ass and he squeezes. A groan coming from deep within his chest. When you pulled away, you nipped at his bottom lip and smiled at him. The energy between you two was efficiently charged, a promise of what was to come.

“Come with me and my friends tonight, my friend Rosette needs some company, bring the pretty boy you're here with.” You say, “and then when I inevitably break my ankle in my heels, you can carry me home.”

Johnny only grins, “sure thing bonnie.”

Chapter 2: A year later, and he's finally in your DMs📨

The Hot Bitch Club🔥💖🔥GC

Aaliyah: Bitch! Check ur Insta😠 NEOW

Rosette: srry bby in advance, I couldn't stop her 😔

Jay: I sat back and watched. Ngl😁

You: 🤨 wth? Ain't yall out partying?

You had just put your sweet baby down for the night, and part of you was praying he'd stay asleep for a while. There were plans to catch up on your shows and finally do something to your hair. The last four months have definitely been an adjustment. For all the blessing Omari was, he certainly didn't take his little foot off your neck. He was already particular about everything in his little life. He has just discovered his own little feet and gets angry when he thinks you have taken away his toes with the introduction of socks and booties.

Omari really is just spoiled. He's the first baby in your family since your youngest brother and he's treated like a little king. Your father wasn't too happy that you had him, even more unhappy when you refused to come home back to the States. Your reasoning is that you weren't giving up your dream job that you managed to snag a year ago, and your employer did not want to let you go. So, thus, it became the reality of your family visiting as often as they could. And they made it a point to spoil this infant rotten. When the girls are around, you don't even think he sits on his own ass.

But that's besides the point because right now you are quickly scrolling through your Instagram notifications and seeing a barrage of likes and all of them are from either ‘KG_KG’ or ‘Tavishstation’ and all of them are on photos of you and Omari. Then a message pops up from the user Tavishstation.

Tavishstation: Bonnie lass, uh yea, is he mine?

You: I'm srry, what now? Who is this? Quickly.

Tavishstation: it's me Johnny MacTavish from a year ago…

You stare in pure shock and immediately click the profile. Immediately, your body goes cold as you stare and scroll through the feed of the hot, funny, and freak nasty guy that left you with Omari. They had the same blue eyes, and while Omari was on track for much more curly hair, the color was even the same. The feed was filled with the life of an army soldier, photos of gun ranges, army fatigues, and group pictures with what you assume to be colleagues. Dotted between those snapshots of work life were pictures of his family, large gatherings, sisters and brothers, cousins, and fuck he was Catholic? Not that that was a bad thing, but you could already hear the headache of your GiGi going “Omari is AME, he needs an old fashioned baptism, hell the white suit is already bought.”

You: Johnny! It's great to hear from you! 😅

Tavishstation: 🤨🤨🤨 why didnae ya tell me?

You: boy! You did what sneaky links are supposed to do! Sneak outta my house before I woke up! 🙄

You: 🤔🤔Also, explain to me how I was supposed to find you when all I knew was that your name was Johnny and you hunch like a dog in rut?

Tavishstation: really that's all you remembered about me? Can't say I'm not happy about that 😉

You: 🙄 sir…please be serious I beg.

The little typing bubble is reappearing and disappearing for several seconds. He's seemingly trying to get his thoughts together. To calm your nerves you get up and start flipping through Hulu, anything to ease the tension in your body. You didn't plan on reconnecting with Johnny, you didn't even think you'd hear from him again. Hell, you didn't even think about dating as your baby and career came first. Long nights working and early days running yourself ragged. Daycare drop offs and pick-ups, juggling meetings with your boss, and an endless stream of trying to find time for sleep. The thought of finding a husband or even a fuck buddy fell to the wayside.

Tavishstation: Look, I know that this is sudden. I really am just as surprised as when I found out from your friend Aaliyah. I had to practically beg her for a way to contact you. I don't want you to think I'm the type of man who shirks on his responsibilities, and Omari and you are my responsibility now. I'm on leave for a while, and I would like to meet him and see you and just kinda figure out where to go from here. Maybe we could get a paternity test?

You stared at the message and agitation slowly crept up your spine. A DNA test? They shared the same eyes, Omari even had his father's big head. You should know, you had to push him out of you!

You: a dna test? bsffr John. 😒😑

You: you and him have the same face and eyes. The nose may be mine but everything else is all you.

Tavishstation: nae bonnie, I want it so I can sign the birth certificate. Trust I see that he's my clone.

You: look, John I don't need you to sign anything, especially if you're doing this out of obligation and not cause you genuinely want to. The last thing I wanna do is go through the courts and shit should you decide you don't wanna play Daddy anymore. Let's just save us all the headache.

Tavishstation: Bonnie lass

Tavishstation: gimme a chance plz? We can co-parent and I'll follow ur rules and everything.

You take a screenshot of the conversation and send it to Rosette privately. She's the only one who has ever kept a level head, and after you sent one to your older brother Autumn. He would have a more invested cause in this new development seeing as how he was the Omari's godfather.

Rosette: he has a right to try girlie. Give him a chance.

You: idk, I don't wanna deal with a sometime parent.

Rosette: he didn't know and when he found out he got sick and vomited on Aaliyah's shoes. He really did beg. We broke down and gave him your insta.

With the chat with Autumn it was only one sentence.

Autumn: don't bring him to the crib. We will meet him together in public. Dad and Mom would not be happy about this if I let you meet him alone.

You flip back to Instagram and see that Johnny sent additional messages.

Tavishstation: I didnae upset ye?

Tavishstation: of course we'll do it all on your terms bonnie.

You: fine. Tomorrow is Sunday. We can meet in public for brunch with my brother Autumn.

Tavishstation: can I have your number? 🥺

You: 🙄 fine.

You send him your number and not even thirty seconds later your messages ding. It's him.

Johnny: Thanks my little bird

You: did you just call me a bird?

Johnny: yea tha a problem

You: these cultural differences between us will get you cut wide open. Don't let my friends hear you say that.🙄🙄🙄

Johnny: OH yeah! Thas an insult to you americans 😂

You: look, here's the address to where we are meeting in the morning. Let's try to keep it all low key?

Johnny: I'll try, but I'm meeting my son and seeing my girl. There will be tears and none of it will be low-key. 😊☺️

You: imma stop ✋🏾 you right there. We are not doing the whole me fucking my baby daddy thing. We are co-parenting should this work out.

Johnny: 🙂🫠 if you say soooo

You: 🙄😒 night John.

Johnny: night Bonnie, kiss our bairn for me. 😘

On Johnny's end, he's back on base. Part of him can't sleep and he's wishing for Sunday morning to hurry up and get here. He's got a bairn, a wean, a little him just out in the world. He missed all of the pregnancy, and he wondered if he would have been any good at that part.

When he got back to base that night, he was still in a state of shock. Kyle only patted him on the back and said that they were all with him no matter what. Simon just shook his head, mumbling something about “you gotta take one out of Captain's book and keep them very well hidden.”

It was John who had the most sensible advice, always like a father to him. He had taken him outside before he sent his initial message. Lit a cigar and offered him one too.

“You need to decide before you go barging too eagerly into their lives. That girl and her baby have been fine without you so far.” John took a drag of his cigar to let the words sink in.

“Am I not supposed to want to be a part of their lives?” Johnny finally asked. He didn't really smoke cigars, preferring other leaves when he was alone with Kyle. But the taste grounded him and took the edge off.

“I'm saying that you need to offer her and your son something that other people, her family, can't give her. You need to be consistent and honest about who you are and what you do. We've got enemies to high heaven and back kid. Won't do her any good if she can't make an informed decision.” John is speaking from experience, his own wife is a testament to how carefully he keeps that part of his life hidden.

Johnny lays in his bed, scrolling through your Instagram page. It's littered in photos of the past year. Ultrasound photos, candid pictures of you holding your baby bump, an elaborate and fun baby shower that he wished he and his family had been part of. Omari is perfect, all gummy smiles and blue eyes that match his own. It's like looking into a mirror. He scrolls to a picture a little farther back, careful not to double tap and like anything. He finds what he is looking for, a photo of him and you from when you first met.

It was the two of you mostly sober before the body shots started. He was sitting at the bar, and you were sitting in his lap. The two of you looked like a perfect couple, and he remembers that moment clearly. He thought about it during his year away and imagined that he had a girl waiting for him back home. You had kissed him and made him drink that fruity drink of yours, and it made his stomach flip. Such a pretty brown bonnie wanted his attention, and he really thought you were the prettiest bird in the bar that night. There was something there, hidden beneath the flirtatious touches and kisses, behind the teasing words and slurred praises, even after the heat of sex cooled into sweet kisses and cuddles.

He should have stayed a little longer and dealt with the chewing out from John and Simon.

He had a chance to get what he wanted this time around. He hopes you feel that spark again, and then everything will snap into place.

Tag list: @evergreenlake @royalty-cashinout @leahnicole1219

[octuscle]

Hey Chronivac support, I met up with a friend the other day and I saw his brother for the first time when I picked him up. He’s a really sexy Arab guy. Is there a way I could use Chronivac to make me a really huge Arab stud that his brother would be into and date?

Just use the Chronivac chat function. I'm pretty sure that will end in a date. If you're not too stupid. I'll find out your crush's number somehow and send it to you.

"Sup, bro?" Your hands are getting sweaty. He has actually answered you.

"Everything k w/ u? am i interrupting the wudhu?"

Shit, what does he mean now? But the app answers on its own "Bruh, i pray am and @ noon. Tht must b enuff".

"Dude, thats mor then enuff. I just go 2 the mosque on fridays".

Praying just once a week wouldn't be enough for you. Yes, to be honest, you don't pray twice a day either. But the idea of having his hot ass in front of you on the prayer mat. To start wanking your cut cock.

"Bruh, were r u pumping iron?" Shit again, you know he's super athletic. Unfortunately, you're not really. But again, the app answers for you. And names his gym.

"Rly! bruh, den we must no each other. I pump der 2"

"I dont think so. Im always der b4 sunrise prayers. I wouldve seen u der"

"Machine, bruh. Nah, im der in da evening"

"Den let's make an appointment." Your muscles swell. The morning workout is clearly having an effect on you.

"Bro, I'd love to work out with you in da evening. I just have to make sure it works with barber"

"Im always @ barber in da evening 2. Were do u go?" The app answers again automatically. Again, it's your crush's barber.

"Dude, im der 2. Send pic!" You take a selfie. You try to show off your bold undercut, your massive beard and your plucked eyebrows. And that a little bit of your bare hairy chest is also showing.

"Yo, i no u bruh! ur always @ seifallah's fo' haircuts."

"Correct, bruh. Send pic" As if you needed it. You have lots of pictures of him on your cell phone. But not one like this. His picture goes from the base of his cock to his perfectly styled hair. A picture of a man. But you're hairier. And more muscular.

"Ur mounir! of course i no u. Bruh, lit pic" He switches on Facetime. Bingo!

"Do you like what you see?" you ask. You can see his arm clearly moving up and down. "Turn your phone down" he replies. You show your bulge in close-up. And start kneading it. A wet patch of precum forms. "Send me your address, I can show you da real thing". His contact details arrive in a fraction of a second. Hmmm. Jeans or caftan. Caftan is quicker. You'll be in the car in five minutes. And in half an hour, your friend's brother will be pulling your panties down with his teeth. Have fun, you two!

The picture of you facetiming with Mounir found @fitbearcatcher

[hookedonhuge]

2Good2B: MASSive MASS Protein Powder

When confronted out the front of the gym by a man offering to sell you a large 2kg bottle of protein powder, you felt stupid forking over the cash. You looked down at the bottle with its ridiculous name: ‘2Good2B: MASSive MASS Protein Powder’. You thought to yourself that there is no chance this will help you at all. But is that really what you thought? You did buy it after all, so you must have thought deep down that there is a small chance this can be the missing ingredient that will finally turn your small, lean body into one bursting with muscle.

The bottle read: ‘Stimulates growth and guaranteed to significantly increase mass within a week’. It read exactly like an overpromising scam, but that didn’t stop you from putting into your protein shake and doing your workout as usual. Your gym session didn’t feel any different, and you didn’t feel any different afterwards either, besides feeling a bit deflated after your questionable purchase.

The next day.

It was hard to get out of bed; your body felt like it was filled with lead. You eventually willed yourself up, as you did every morning, to get ready for your morning jog. Once you were on your feet you noticed the heavy feeling still hadn’t gone away. You must not have slept well last night, you thought. It was when you put on your clothes that you finally realised something was up. Both your shirt and your shorts hugged your body tightly like they ever had before. It couldn’t be, could it?

You were a stud. That’s exactly what you thought as you looked into the mirror, flexing your biceps that now barely fit into your sleeves. It wasn’t just your arms, but your chest, legs and butt were all hugged tightly by your clothes. It felt amazing. You couldn’t wait to test out this new body on your jog, but most of all you couldn’t wait to down more of that protein powder and hit the gym.

Two days after using the protein powder.

As much as you didn’t want to get your expectations up too high, you were excited to wake up the next morning and see how your body had changed this time. You felt heavy yet again, and this time quite sweaty too. Your first instinct was to reach for your pecs and feel if they had grown bigger. They indeed had grown a little bigger but that wasn’t all. They were hairy! Quite hairy too!

You rushed for the mirror, and what stared back at you was not someone you recognised. You had a beard to go along with your hairy chest. You had hairy arms and legs too; you were hairy all over. You didn’t know what to think, but you weren’t complaining that you felt a little bigger than the day before. If a bit of hair was the only cost for all this mass, then you didn’t mind one bit.

Three days after using the protein powder.

Hair was not the only side-effect you had to worry about, as when you looked in the mirror that morning you found a soft, hairy belly protruding out in front of you. In a sense, this wasn’t a side-effect as much as it was a part of the main product. You certainly had ‘significantly increased’ your mass overnight. 

This protein powder adventure sure had been a rollercoaster, and you were disappointed it had to end with so much damage having been done to your waistline. 

UUURRRP! Your belch stunk of that dreaded protein powder. Without even thinking you started rubbing that bloated belly of yours. All that gas leaving your stomach made you realise just how hungry you were.

As you searched your kitchen for something to eat, the cursed bottle of protein powder kept catching your eye. ‘MASSive MASS Protein Powder’. It had truly made you massive. Every time you looked at it your stomach seemed to growl in response. Maybe your protein powder adventure didn’t have to end here. No, what were you thinking, why would you consume anymore of that questionable substance?

However, it was your stomach that won over your mind; you were hungry and it felt like it was the only thing that could truly satisfy your empty stomach. You downed a whole bottle of your protein shake then made another shake for your trip to the gym. You wanted to see if you could find the guy who sold this protein powder and get him to explain himself.

Of course, the man wasn’t there but since you were at the gym it was time to start turning that mass on your belly back into muscle mass.

Four days after using the protein powder.

UUUURRRRPP!

It seemed that your belly had become your morning alarm, set to wake you up as soon as it felt like it needed to be fed. Boy did it need to be fed too, your stomach felt like a bottomless pit of hunger. You knew you had made a big mistake in continuing to use that protein powder yesterday.

You rolled out of bed, and made your way to assess the latest damage. It was a tough decision to go see your progress over filling up your ravenous belly. Maybe it was pointless to look in the mirror as each loud step gave a clear indicator that the news wasn’t going to be pretty anyway.

Yep, you were even bigger. This time however, instead of the mass going all to your belly, your muscles had exploded with size underneath your soft exterior. You felt the need to capture this moment and snapped a photo of your huge, hairy, beefy body in your tight underwear. No doubt you were going to have to do a complete wardrobe do-over.

GRROOOOWLL! It was time for your stomach to take over. You stomped off down to the kitchen, this morning determined to end your run with the ‘MASSive MASS Protein Powder’. You filled yourself with as much food as possible to make sure you would have no protein powder cravings. Bacon, eggs, cereal, yoghurt, fruit, more bacon, more eggs; none of it seemed to be enough.

BUUUURRRRPPP! Your roar of a belch made you realise how awful you smelt. With your increasing size you stopped noticing that your body hair was thickening every morning too. Along with it came a permanent, sweaty stink. You lifted up your arm and sniffed your hairy pit in curiosity. Your nasty odour took your breath away. You really had become a giant, smelly beast of a man.

BUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPP!!! Your burp felt like it completely emptied your stomach and worst of all, it reeked of that horrible protein powder. Now that you had got a whiff of that protein powder again, your mind was hooked on it. Your body knew that only it could end your insatiable hunger.

You gave in. You gave completely. You didn’t stop until the 2kg bottle of protein powder you bought was empty. 

You didn’t know what to do after your feast. Your life had now become nothing but eating and going to the gym, and you had eaten your breakfast already. The only option then seemed to be the gym.

Despite your insecurity about your size and odour, the second you walked into the gym you felt at home. You lifted weights heavier than you had ever dreamed of lifting. Your rank odour soon filled the entire gym but you didn’t care. You just continued lifting weight after weight leaving behind your sticky sweat wherever you went.

After your mammoth workout you hit the showers. As the water rushed over your already soaked body you rested your back against the tiled wall and placed a hand on your belly. You swore you felt your stomach push out against your hand. Then you no longer had to guess, as you could feel your entire body swell up with mass. Belly, chest, arms, legs; they all expanded, encasing the last remnant of your old body in incredible bulk. You had probably at least tripled your old weight by now. 

You got out of the shower and put on your once baggy shorts, which was the only thing that still fitted you (they didn’t really fit but it was the only clothing left you could manage to wear). 

As you left the gym you caught sight of a familiar man. ‘2Good2B’ it said on his shirt. Huh. You felt like you had something important you wanted to say to this man. Something that felt charged with emotions, yet those emotions weren’t there to harness.

“Wow, look at the size of you!” The man said as he placed his hand on one of your huge arms. “I was going to offer you this ‘MASSive MASS Protein Powder’ but it looks like you might not need it.”

It felt good to have your size recognised and it made you finally feel proud of your humongous body. It feels good to be huge, in fact it’s all you ever dreamt of being. You read the description on the bottle: ‘Stimulates growth and guaranteed to significantly increase mass within a week’. That sounds too good to be true! “I’ll take two!” You said with a beaming smile. “Even big boys like me need to keep growing!” BUUUUUURRRRRPPPPP!

[honey-milk-depresso]

Honey, do you mind blessing us with your essay about Tr*y's stupid old ass married?

His big boobas even bigger

His hair starting to get gray and him growing a stupid stud beard

This bitch would be such a ridiculous dilf-

sorry teacher- my essay was handed late- 😔

EW WHAT- NO WAY-

Honestly, he’d be the “I wanna settle down in my family bakery” kind of guy, and he could live with it without a spouse. Although… when he does get a spouse, he’d probably never be able to see himself living without them.

I see him with stubble he shaves regularly and yes, his green hair, especially at the sides, will start becoming a more soft, pale and pastel green that’ll slowly grow grey.

He would want kids. At first, he thought “nah”. But when he gets a spouse? He dreams a lot more about it if anything. So much so that he almost thought he had them (until he actually does). Wouldn’t force their partner to have kids with him but he’ll just think about that reality a lot.

NO SHIT- he’ll be a good father. I mean, he’s an older brother and sure, you can argue that being a father and older brother is different, but he has experience taking care of kids because he had younger siblings much younger than him so he’s just gonna be so TOOTH ROTTINGLY SWEET WITH HIS DAMN KIDS ARGH—

*Ahem* Anyways, yes. Yes I see him as an, ahem, attractive man in his 30s to maybe 50s, and— wait— NO IM NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY THAT- ITS JUST DUE TO POPULAR BELIEFS I SWEAR-

ALSO ALSO-

he got cake- okay bye-

[shieldofiron]

¿Qué le ha Pasado al Sábado?

Eddie Munson was known for three things. The first was the time he read his poem out loud in class and it turned out to be about a human falling in love with a dwarf woman, and so everyone knew that Eddie Munson liked chicks with beards. He was known for his old metal lunchbox, of course.

And also, known mostly around the popular girls, he was a safe drive home. No questions asked, apparently, if a girl came to him at a party and tugged at his sleeve, she would be ushered safely into his van for an uneventful, if loud, ride home.

Heather didn't do sleeve tugging. And she didn't normally do things like this. But some older boys had gotten into the party, and Tina was apparently trying to kick them out with some help from that kid from California. And one of them wouldn't leave Heather alone. And her ride, Melissa, had disappeared. And Heather had a stupid curfew.

So, now she was here in a van that smelled like feet, trying not to think about what could be baked into these nasty seats.

The famous lunch box sat between her heels, cold against her ankle.

Munson glanced at her, just out of the corner of his eye, "Nice costume."

She eyed the same old clothes he wore every day, "Right back at you. You going as the town drug dealer?"

"And you're a black cat," He smirked, "Didn't waste even a single brain cell on that."

"I'm saving them for something worthwhile," She smiled sourly. Her knee shook and she folded her hands in her lap, trying to calm herself.

"Yeah, like what?"

"I thought this was supposed to be a no questions asked kind of thing."

"Just trying to make conversation," He sighed.

She leaned over and turned up the music, trying to stare straight ahead and not notice the way he turned to look at her.

Heather was not known for a lot of things. She had no notable crushes, it was widely agreed that no one in school was good enough for her. People didn't know her real favorite song (Red Hot by Mötley Crüe), her favorite color (Orange), or her favorite movie (Phantom of the Paradise.)

Heather enjoyed the control, knowing what other people thought of her. Like the boy next to her in the car.

She let out a breath, licking her lips and tasting the baby pink lipstick she'd carefully applied before going over to Munson and pulling him away from the partygoers.

"Turn here," She pointed.

"A dirt road? I thought you lived-"

"Did I stutter, freak?"

He rolled his eyes, but turned as directed, "As you wish."

"Okay, where-"

"Just park," Heather's leg was shaking again. Damn it.

He threw the van into park with a sharp jerk of his arm, "Holloway, if you brought me out here to get jumped, I have a crowbar under my seat, and I don't-"

"Shut up," She stared out wordlessly at the night.

"I'm not fucking-"

"Shut up," She reached over and grabbed him by the chin.

It wasn't what she expected. She expected a sort of wild kiss. Mashing mouths, and getting this ridiculous crush of hers out of her head. But his lips were soft, and her stomach went kind of melted and fluttery when he reached out, just a few seconds in, and held her jaw too.

Heather wasn't known for it, but she'd been watching him. Laughing raucously with his friends in the lunchroom, throwing balled up paper in the back of study hall. She'd picked up one once. It was a drawing of a dragon curled around a princess with dark hair. His claw was reached all around her waist, claws digging in.

Heather dug her nails into his cheek and Munson groaned, his lips falling open. He tasted her, and then groaned again.

She'd seen the other girls climbing into the van. Chrissy Cunningham putting a hand on his leather clad arm. A hand, studded with jewels hovering at her waist.

Heather climbed over the seat, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. He kept one hand on her face, callouses brushing the sensitive skin of her neck, rings brushing against her hair. The other hand slid up her thigh, rippling the material of her fishnets. Frissions of heat rolled up her spine.

"Curfew?" He asked dazedly when they finally parted, baby pink lipstick smeared over his face, sticking in his stubble.

She patted his cheek, "Don't waste any brain cells. We have better things to do."

---

For @gonegrove

[h0riz0nstuff]

HORIZON ZERO DAWN’s ASSHOLE BEARD AGENDA … An essay with a lot of words.

Come, dear reader, let me take you on a short trip around hzd’s Gallery of the Bearded Asses. Let us start with the Astoundingly Terrible Very Bad.

Mad Sun King Jiran : I guess no explanations are necessary, here. I had a theory about those beards, but it was only complete when I saw in the comics that Jiran also had it. xD

Ahsis : The highest ranking assho… I mean member ! of the Lodge (quote Talanah xD) So many studs ! Can you bet he liked that style so much on Jiran that he decided to emulate it ? Or just to suck up. That’s possible too ! Who next is in the Beard Team ? A healer with dubious ethics, that’s who ! Ah Ghaliv, your beard is salty, but not as salty as you, you exploitative piece of trash.

Next in line… Oh look, it’s history’s dumbest murderer, Ranaman ! … I bet he doesn’t have as many studs because he had to sell some of them to pay his gambling debts. (Did you know you can fail/finish that quest by not freeing his sister and he gets off scot-free ?? That’s unacceptable, Guerrilla. I do not accept this.)

Moving on, there’s this guy, Vashad, who really lets you know he doesn’t care who his snapmaw hunting business kills as long as he gets his shards. Sure you can make a deal with him. But you can also kill him, and when you do, Talanah tells you she approves !

And then there’s this rando named Bashad at the Hunter’s Lodge, who hogs the bar and insults you if you address him. Charming. (I’m not entirely sure, but for a while i thought he was one of the hunters who went after Talanah later on ? I’m probably wrong, but I wouldn’t put it past him.) EDIT : I’ve found one more !! In the first comics, there’s Gediah Kho Veriv, the asshole General who Amadis served under (and killed, ultimately) ! He’s sporting a variant with just two studded prongs on the front ! (VARIETY xD) Alas, I have reached the limit of pictures on this post so you’ll just have to trust me on that. So far so good. Who else among the Carja features a face full of stupid beard ? NOBLES, that’s who ! Eat the rich ! And Marad does tell you that the ones queuing to see Avad are all a bunch of whiny babies. Literally a third of them or so feature The Beard xD (They’re always a bit different each time, but there seems to always be the same ratio of Stupid Beard). I found one of them at the Carja camp in The Cut, and like, they’re all asses there, so… (have you looked at the trophies on their tents ? They’re all watchers heads. They come to the Cut to hunt WATCHERS. Outstanding xD) So, here we are. But I hear you telling me “yeah, but I’m sure some  random NPCs also feature the beard, you know how these things work”, and to that I answer : Yes ! they do (not much, tho). And I’m sure they’re all some cousin twice removed of Ahsis and fully deserve to be identified as being Part of The Terrible Team xD In short, here is my conclusion. The beard exists solely on asshole characters, even if not ALL terrible characters feature the beard. … I need you all to know that I worked very hard on this ! I did a lot of research and I had to look at despicable faces. I suffered for science ! ಠ.ಠ FOR SCIENCE ! … look, it’s 10 days to Forbidden West and I just finished a huge piece of work and I just had to blow out steam xD And if I suffered in my boredom/steam outing, you must suffer too !

[maletf32]

Im curious about the wishes, im a latin guy who has always wanted to be more muscular. Ive seen many images of iraqui men who have massive muscle, can you please turn me into one?

You have good taste sir! Now just let me do my magic, and you can get the perfect middle eastern body you desire. Now let me just show you something...

See this guy? You may not think it’s you, but it is man. Let me explain why. You have those perfect pecs and abs, just the right amount of hair. You have that perfect short black beard, which nicely accents those kissable lips of yours. You have that intense stare, perfectly emphasized by those thick brows.

Hmm, anything I’m forgetting? Oh right, just that fat cock you’re hiding in those shorts. Almost every day you are bringing over another guy just to fuck him as hard as you want.

Well, I think that’s everything Omar. Not sure why you wanted to transform into someone you already are. What's that? Not your name? Don’t be stupid Omar, just look in the mirror and see that I’m right. You’re a hunky middle eastern stud, always have been. I won’t keep you too long, can tell you’re horny as fuck and eager to shove that dick in some lucky guys mouth.

[southern-god1]

We Southerns are all godly as you say, but one thing I’ve never been is studly. An annoying new gym full of yankees moved in a couple doors down from my office though and gave me an idea. Could you transform and use some of those CrossFit carpetbaggers to make me into the Southern stud I’ve always dreamed of being?

Thank you, Sir!

Adam

Haha, of course I can! For the record, the phrase “CrossFit carpetbaggers” had me laughing hysterically.

-

Adam was deeply frustrated with his office job. No, not just frustrated. He was filled with hatred for his office job. It was boring and soul sucking and all that jazz, yes, but that was nothing compared to the goddamn Yankees who had set up a fucking gym right. Next. Door.

The noise never stopped! They wouldn’t stop dropping weights, grunting and making other irritating noises, playing strange music, and talking in their irritating accents. He could hear it through two offices! Two!! It was maddening. Adam just wanted to scream, the constant racket was just so fucking annoying.

It was a Monday afternoon, when Adam finally decided he had enough. He yanked off his tie and strode down the street to the CrossFit studio. Ugh, he’d show those stupid CrossFit carpetbaggers what was what! Striding into the gym, Adam, seething with anger, yelled.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

As the large and well muscled people all turned to look at him, a small part of Adam’s brain began to think this was perhaps a miscalculation, but he kept yelling, his accent coming out as he yelled.

“Y’ALL ARE SO FUCKING LOUD, I CAN HEAR YA THROUGH TWO OFFICES! JUST…SHUT! THE! FUCK! UP!!!!!”

His anger spent, Adam promptly realized yelling at people twice his size was a very bad idea. They approached. As one laid a hand on him, something very odd happened.

As the annoyed Yankee grabbed Adam by the shoulder, Adam saw red…quite literally. Then blue. Then a flash of white. Had he been punched or something and his vision was out of whack? No, no he definitely would have felt a punch.

The Yankee tried to move Adam around to confront him, only to discover something quite alarming. His hand wouldn’t move! It was seemingly fused with the wimpy office workers flesh! Then there was an incredibly weird itching sensation and his hand grew incredibly warm, as it literally began to melt into the Southerner’s skin! He screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!? LET GO OF ME DUDE!”

Adam was just was baffled as the Yankee was, but, unlike him, he was feeling intense pleasure, cock hardening despite the situation. Much like his cock, his shoulder seemed to be hardening as well, becoming incredibly broad, stretching outward as the hand and now arm kept melting into his flesh.

Adam’s shoulders popped as they broadened, darkened to become tanned from being in the sun rather than spending all day in the office.

The terrified Yankee began to scream as he continued to be absorbed, and another came over and grabbed Adam’s other side, only to begin to be absorbed as well, his left shoulder quickly starting to match his newly enlarged right shoulder.

Adam happened to be blocking the exit, so the other Yankees could only stare in horror and disbelief now. Adam groaned as his head grew foggy, his arms feeling incredibly hot as they began lengthening, veins and thick cords of muscle growing up and down his arms like kudzu up a tree, thickening into huge arms even bigger than the Yankees they had come from! Adam’s voice deepened, his accent becoming more intense as his jawline sharpened, itching furiously as a handsome beard developed.

Two more Yankees had run over to try to help yank their friends off the thing on the doorstep, to no avail, and were absorbed, screaming, into Adam. His chest felt incredibly heavy, and warm, as years worth of muscle developed in a matter of seconds. The heat spread to his bones, becoming more intense, like a hot Southern summer, spreading through his skeleton, bones popping audibly as he stretched taller, wider, becoming an immense stud.

Then, the heat moved down to his legs, as the Yankees were fully absorbed, his legs becoming thick tree trunks of muscle. Adam blinked a few times. He looked down at himself, astonished. What had happened? Whatever it was, this was fucking amazing! Adam smirked at the remaining Yankees with his now electric blue eyes, and boomed in now deeper voice, booming through the room like thunder with a Southern accent.

“Y’ALL ARE MINE NOW. PUNY YANKEE CROSSFIT FUCKS SHOULDA SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Effortlessly, the now larger Adam intercepted the fleeing Yankees and absorbed them into himself, adding to his already impressive body, developing his mighty muscles even further and gaining a few more inches.

When all the Yankees were absorbed, the heat from earlier traveled down…to his cock and balls. Adam’s cock began to lengthen, his balls swelling and churning with mighty Southern seed, and the pleasure was indescribable. Moaning as he looked at himself in the mirror, Adam came hands-free, soaking his suit pants with his massive load, only for them into become gym shorts, his suit becoming a cut off sweatshirt wrapped around his immense frame.

As Adam’s clothes changed, so did his personality. He became cockier, a proud Southern stud, a massive bodybuilding behemoth, cocky and eager to show puny Yankees the size and power of a real Southern God. The scrawny Atlanta office worker had been transformed into an immense Georgia titan, and he smirked cockily as he lifted a 30 pound weight, amused by how light it was. Now fully in touch with his powers which had awakened by accident, the CrossFit sign outside morphed to “Adam’s”, and all signs of Yankee influence vanished. The now almighty Adam smirked with satisfaction as he looked around his new gym, full of heavy duty equipment, the weight in his hand having morphed into a 140, the same kind Tebow used in his workouts.

But something still didn’t feel right. He wanted more! Maybe he should go find more puny Yankees to dominate and turn into more muscle and mass? Adam smirked at the thought of getting even bigger and flexed cockily. Fuck yeah he should, bigger was always better, after all! Dumb lil CrossFit carpetbaggers wouldn’t know what hit em!

-

Hope y’all like it! Especially you Adam! Lemme know what ya think maybe? If you can keep your hands off yourself long enough to type, that is!

Because this involves significant body and personality change, I’m going ahead and tagging it as a Southernization.

[misterghostfrog]

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed. 

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin. 

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His  jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick. 

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air. 

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him. 

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?” 

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

[octuscle]

Uh, hi, is this Chronivac Support Texas? I had a problem with mine. I was trying to turn myself into a big huge redheaded stud, big beard, you know, the works. The damn thing froze or didn’t do anything. Stupid thing, maybe it’s the heat…so I hit the button a lot. Like, 10 times, maybe? What’s gonna happen to me?

Dude, what do you expect? Einstein once said, "The definition of insanity is: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Well, I think you're insane…

Sure, the process has hung up. And the fact that you activated it several times in addition didn't make it better. I have now stopped twelve of the 15 activated processes. But three processes are now running one after the other.

Well, as they say: Everything is bigger in Texas. It's just a pity that nobody here understands you with your strong Scottish accent. Please remember to wear sun protection factor 100 when you go out.

I found your Ginger portrait @homme-parfait 

[fox-guardian]

c4 jon... hehehe bombs

[ID: A digital drawing of Jonathan Sims, a thin, brown-skinned man with long, black and gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun with a matching mustache, a light beard, small stud earrings, half-moon glasses on a green beaded chain, and wearing a black button-down. He is blushing with an annoyed expression, with one eyebrow raised. Next to him is a small cropped image of a face making the same expression. end ID]

i continue to love his stupid mustache

[multiverseoffandoms-blog]

Infatuation // G.W pt.1

A/N: This is part 1 of my George in love with his brothers girlfriend series. Let me know if you guys enjoy it. Warnings: Maybe angst, fluff? Poor writing, I dunno haha.  Paring: Fred x female!Reader, George x female!Reader

If George was certain of anything in his life, it was of his infatuation over you. From first year watching you stumble down the Great Hall steps to the Gryffindor table after being sorted into your house, all the way up to the present. He was undecided about a lot when it came to choices, but he had be certain about you since the moment he laid eyes on you. And his first glance was never his last. 

He tried to keep to himself, but he would be lying if he said that whenever you graced a room with your presence that it didn’t bring him an unbelievable amount of joy. If he noticed you in the court yard, laughing with some Hufflepuff friends, his steps would falter as his orbs fixated on you; your hair that seemed to dance against the evening breeze, the sun hitting your eyes at just the right angle to make them sparkle. You took his breath away almost every time he saw you.

Of course, his twin brother, Fred, would you be paying attention and would collide with his brother back, unknowing that he had stopped in his tracks. And Fred would follow his brothers gaze, grinning widely before dragging George over to you.

And why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t Fred be excited to spend every waking minute with you.. his girlfriend.  -

It was another excitement filled Friday evening at Hogwarts, with most students still riled up from the arrival of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students all here to try their luck at becoming a representative champion for each school during the Triwizard Tournament. As Dumbledore had announced at the assembly — much to everyone’s objections — because of the severity each task held, no student under the age of seventeen had been permitted to enter their name.

A small group gathered in the Gryffindor common room, “inner circle only” if you will, as everyone fussed and chattered about the upcoming tournament. Most of the people sat in the room consisted of under seventeens, including George who wasn’t impressed with the rule at all, so majority of the conversations were souly based off “what if!”

George was sat on the arm rest of the hideously red couch that was placed strategically in front of the fire place, a few other chairs being dragged around to fit everyone. His arms sat crossed against his chest as he listened to the chatter around him. From the place beside him, Fred spoke.

“Absolute rubbish if you ask me!” He shouted, earning a few cheers around him. The two brothers had agreed to enter their names into the goblet as soon as they heard about it, so it was safe to say that their plan was a bust.

“I guess it’s a good thing no ones asking you then is it, Weasley!” George nearly fell to the floor when he heard your voice carry through the room. Most of his peers seemed to laugh loudly at your comment, but all he noticed was the light that drew itself to you as you bounced down into the common room. Fred moved slightly, lifting a couch cushion before throwing it in your direction. George watched you dodge it with ease, before bringing yourself over and plopping yourself practically into his twins lap. “Serotonin gone,” He thought to himself as he got to his feet, deciding that the far wall would be much more welcoming.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Hermione spoke from beside George. She had unknowingly frightened him, causing him to jump from the sudden conversation.

“Merlins beard Granger, do you think you could make yourself known next time?”  “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t moping around like a wounded animal!” She grumbled, snapping her book closed and turning her eyes onto him. They said nothing, George refusing to break first and speak what he was sure the young witch already knew..

He was in love with his brothers girlfriend.

“Boys,” she spat it out like she already knew everything there was to know about the male species. Being the smartest witch of her age, George didn’t doubt that she did — or was fairly close — to knowing everything.  George gave himself only moments to weigh the pros and cons of his situation and how it could go wrong if he were to speak the truth out loud. He thought about what would happen IF she were to tell anyone, but the voice in his head reminded him of why Harry and Ron trusted her so much; she could keep their most deepest truths to herself.  “Okay, fine,” George finally spoke, and when he did Hermione turned her whole body to him. She looked up to him, a sad smile setting itself on her lips.  “Harry looks the same way when he sees Ginny with Dean,” she added. George sighed, nodding his head as he crossed his arms over his chest again, kicking absentmindedly at the floor. He felt stupid, harbouring a crush on his twin brothers girlfriend. Hogwarts was filled with so many beautiful women that he couldn’t even explain it, and yet the only one he had ever wanted was with his brother. It was completely wrong on so many levels..

“I heard they’re not “together”” she was sure to put air quotations around the word ‘‘together.’ George huffed as a sort of half laugh, turning his attention back to you. He watched as you sat beside Ron, laughing loudly as you tried to convince him to take the sweets you had offered him. From where he stood, he could tell they were hiccough sweets, and he couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto his face.

He sighed again, turning back to Hermione. “Even if they’re not.. together. That doesn’t mean they’re still not.. involved.” He cringed at the thought.

“And how are you so sure that what they have just isn’t a comfortable friendship?” The two Gryffindor’s turned their attention back to where you and Fred danced around, the crowd laughing loudly as Ron exploded into a fit of hiccoughs.

-

“Have I upset you?” You asked out of curiosity when you found George. He was sat tucked away by the restricted section in the library, books sprawled over the desk in front of him. He pulled his attention from his parchment, before meeting your eyes with a confused frown.  “I don’t believe so, but if you know something I don’t know then please-” George gestured to the spare seat beside him. “-do take a seat and explain my dear,” he grinned up at you, giving you a wink as you challenged his stare. Finally, you caved and plonked yourself down in the seat beside him, pivoting your body so you faced him.

“I do know, that you’ve been lacking on your pranks, and have been less annoying that you usually are. So, what’s the deal Georgie? You sick?” You reached out and placed the back of your hand against his forehead, not missing the way he relaxed at your touch. You pretended to study his features for a bit, before pulling back and sitting upright. “Just as I suspected, you’re completely fine. Which leaves absolutely no reason as to why my best friend has been avoiding me!” Your voice had raised a level, and you were only just aware of how dramatic you were being.  George seemed to panic, and for a split second you thought you were actually right and that he had been avoiding you. It made no sense, George was your best friend and together yours wrecked havoc on the stud not body together, not to mention the professors. You two had a bond unlike most, it was actually George who you were friends with first. You loved him, just as you loved the rest of the Weasley family.  He pulled out his potions book, flicking it open to a random page before turning it to you, indicating that this is why he had been so distant. You frowned, sitting forward to take the book from him. A moments silence passed, before you brought your attention back to him.  “And what does an ageing potion have to do with anything?” You asked. For the second time that evening, his eyes widened as he searched his mind for an excuse.

“I’ve had a theory, and it’s probably so dimwitted that it’s absolutely brilliant!” You nodded for him to continue.

“Dumbledore cast an age line around the goblet. Well - and again this is just a theory - if I make this potion correctly, it’ll age Fred and I and we’ll be able to add our names into the tournament!”

He spoke so casually, like it wasn’t probably the most dumbest idea he had had. You eyed him, before bursting into laughter. Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to contain your laughs, but every time you looked at George you would lose your composure all over again. George smiled beside you, his eyes on you, watching every move.

“I’m sorry George, really. I didn’t mean to laugh.” You told him, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks. “In retrospect, an ageing potion does seem like the correct way to go - if your trying to make yourself older. But this time, there’s obstacles in the way of just a simple ageing potion, what once was a simple task, could now be rather dangerous George. This could have serious consequences.” 

George propped his arm up on the desk, before leaning his head onto his palm. He pouted his bottom lip out at you, and you tried to ignore how his sweet puppy dog face made the butterflies in your stomach stir.

“Are you worried about me, y/n?” He teased, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ears so he could see all your face. You were vaguely aware of how inappropriate the situation was, knew that any bystander would definitely mistake the situation for something it’s not if they happened to pass by at this moment.

“Would they be able to tell that George isn’t Fred?” As soon as you thought it, you wanted to backhand yourself.

You watched as George dropped his hand from your hair, his knuckles brushing gently against the side of your face, as he let his hand fall to rest on your knee. The energy in the room seemed to shift almost instantly, the tension so thick it almost chocked you.

You swallowed against your drying throat, your eyes locking onto the boy in front of you. He was a mirror of his brother, and yet at the same time almost everything was different about him. To the small freckle on the side of his neck, all the way down to his face structure. George was a few mill shorter than Fred to. 

“George..” you warned, your voice barely above a soft whisper.

“I heard that you and Fred aren’t together-” he started.

“You’ve heard wrong, George.” Okay, it wasn’t a complete lie. Although you and Fred weren’t exactly official, the two of you were still respectively loyal to one another. You couldn’t tell people that though, especially not George. Imagine the rumours that would circulate if you jumped from one Weasley to another!  “If I’m so wrong, then why haven’t you moved?”

He was right.

This was wrong.

Everything about it was so completely messed up that you knew you had to stop it.

And yet you made no move to do so.

“Tell me to stop,” George almost pleaded, like he was fighting with himself to. He had to know that every aspect of this situation was wrong. You sat in silence as you watched his slender fingers dance along your thigh, the feather touch he had causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. His hands were warm, his palm resting against the inside of your thigh while his fingers fiddled with the bottom of your skirt.  You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, and you were sure George could to. He had shifted closer to you, his long orange locks falling over his face as he watched you through his lashes. It would be a lie to say you weren’t attracted to him, that his movements didn’t cause a wetness to pool just behind your clothed core. You felt his breath fan across your face when you shifted in your seat to try and relieve some of the friction building between your legs. He was so close to you, nearly close enough to..

You sat back, reaching down to take his hand in yours. George’s lust blown eyes met yours, and he was reminded instantly just who you were and the severity of the matter. What was he thinking?

Better yet, what were YOU thinking?

“I’m flattered George,” your voice was harsh, probably due to the fact that every bit of saliva had dried from your mouth and made it nearly impossible for you to speak. “But we shouldn’t,” you stood, holding his hand a second longer before releasing his hold.  “I look forward to seeing how your ageing potion turns out.”

-

He wanted to throw himself off the astronomy tower, his face was nearly as red as his hair. He was so embarrassed. He hadn’t known what came over him, one moment he was looking at you, admiring how beautiful he thought you were, and the next he was trying to cop a feel right in the library. And the most absurd thing; you hadn’t acted instantly to stop him!

He pulled himself to his feet, hurriedly shoving his books into his bag before leaving the library to find Fred. The ageing potion had been an irrational thought souley conjured in that moment to impress you. If he was being honest, he had no idea the repercussions the plan could have. He just wanted to seem cool to you. Never would he think that you would actually want to see it. So he set off to search for his brother and fill him in on his idea - leaving out the part about you of course - and hoping that you hadn’t told him what his brother just tried to do.

He needed to sort out his priorities. 

[avintagekiss24]

heavy is the head that wears the crown; and the heart > bucky barnes

|| pairing: romanian!king!bucky barnes x black!queen!reader

|| word count: 3,273

|| warnings: language words

|| challenge: @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge: royalty au + “i’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” “that’s the problem with most people. they dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 N1: modern royalty au

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​ Y1: “i regret nothing.”

|| summary: there are many decisions to make as queen; some of the heart, some of the mind.

|| link: ao3

|| note: this is really late for maree’s birthday challenge! i’m so sorry babe, but i hope you like it! i hope it’s okay that i made it a modern royalty au instead of a traditional royalty au!

so, for this to make sense, we have to pretend that after the south seceded from the united states in 1860, they never rejoined the union and the civil war never happened. we also need to pretend that the united states had kings and queens instead of presidents, lol. we also have a cameo by a real life duke and duchess :) also, sis does not play in this.

hope you guys enjoy, and happy juneteenth!

You walk slowly through the trees, the tips of your fingers grazing over the bloomed flowers. The bottom of your dress is caked in dirt as it drags behind you, your black Converse shoes leaving soft imprints in the soft earth. You don’t care - you never have - but your mother surely will. Another dress ruined! My God, when are you going to learn some etiquette! You are thirty one years old, girl!  You smile and chuckle slightly as her words swirl through your head. Dinner will be fun tonight. 

You stop and bend slightly to pluck a rose from it’s bush. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, letting the natural, earthy scent fill your nose. You close your eyes and hum a little as you exhale slowly, letting your eyes flutter back open. 

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

You laugh as his voice fills your ears. You don’t turn to face him. Instead, you do just the opposite. You turn away from him and keep on your leisurely stroll as you continue to sniff at your pretty red rose, “I’m not a hard person to figure out, Mr. Barnes.”

“That you’re not. That’s what I like about you.”

You scoff but laugh again, shaking your head softly. You take a few more steps before you shriek when two long arms wrap around your middle. He lifts you off your feet, twirling you around as you laugh wildly. He sits you back down, facing him this time, and crashes his lips to yours - stealing every ounce of breath out of your lungs. He squeezes you to him as you moan lightly and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Hi,” he says softly after he frees your lips.

You giggle as he rests his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed from the kiss, “Hi there,” you whisper, “You are awfully brave for pulling this little stunt with my mother being right inside.”

“I don’t care about your mother,” he shrugs, “Do you?”

You send your eyes towards the sky, pretending to give it some thought, “Not really, no.” 

He finally opens his eyes and they almost take your breath away. You’ve been staring into those blues since you were kids, but the deepness of them - the emotions that swirl in them at any given time - surprises you every time. You cup his cheek, a dark beard blooming across his skin and rub your thumb underneath his right eye as a dreamy smile covers your lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You say softly, watching as the smile broadens on his face.

You send your eyes down to his chest, finding him in a crisp white button up shirt and a black velvet sport coat and pants, complete with a pair of off white, studded loafers, “You broke out the Tom Ford just to see me?”

“Not this time, darling.” He smiles, throwing his arm over your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “I had an engagement with Prince Harry and the Duchess Megan this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I was supposed to be there.” You laugh, shrugging. 

He laughs at your nonchalance, “You were certainly missed. To be perfectly honest though, Harry and I had bet going that you’d blow it off.”

You nod, shooting him a quick finger gun, “Both of you are very smart men.” You giggle, “It’s just one more thing for my mom to be mad at me about. Whatever, I’ll text Harry and Megan my apologies.”

The two of you walk slowly through the vast garden until you are no longer visible from the main house. You wave at the horse handlers as they work your champion thoroughbreds off in the distance. You swallow and let out a breath as your mind starts to wander again, your stomach twisting a little. 

“I’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” You say softly, dropping your eyes to the rose still in your fingers. 

You hear Bucky sigh, “That’s the problem with most people. They dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your face, “Don’t be a smart ass, Barnes.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, threading his fingers with yours, “I mean it. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to marry him.” He stops moving as you continue to step ahead of him, your arms spreading out between the two of you as he continues to hold your hand, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You answer firmly, “I’m listening, I know.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I don’t. I love you.”

“Then marry me. Come back to Romania with me, be my queen.”

“And denounce my country? Just leave them behind with no heir? I can’t do that.”

“Your cousin could be Queen.”

“She’s an idiot!” You laugh, “We’d be in a world war within months.” You drop his hand and step away from him further, spinning on your heels suddenly to face him again, “You could move here.”

He nods slowly, “I could.”

You scoff, “Stop it.”

“I could - I would. If you really wanted me to.”

You shake your head, “You’re too idealistic.”

“And you’re too cynical.” He rebukes, keeping his gaze on you firmly, “We could make this work, you know we can.”

“How can you run a country if you’re thousands of miles away from it?” You sigh, “You’re a King, you need to be there.”

He scratches his head as he closes his left eye, tilting his head towards the sky, “Um, have you heard of the internet? FaceTime, email - Zoom - I hear that’s great.”

You roll your eyes again as you groan loudly, turning away from him. You slump your shoulders as you throw your head back , closing your eyes as the sun beats down on you. You wish this was easier. You wish you had the guts to tell your mother to just piss off so you could run off to Romania and spend the rest of your life in his arms, but then there’s the other side of your heart. Half of you doesn’t want to leave. You want to take your rightful throne. You want to be Queen. You’ve prepared for it your whole life, it’s your destiny - and you’d be good at it. 

How could Bucky not be a part of that destiny? That’s the real question you have. That’s what keeps you up at night these days as your calling draws nearer and nearer. He’d throw it all away for you, but you can’t do the same for him - and that makes you feel guilty; and sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You ask, not turning around.

“That,” he says in a way that you know he’s smiling, “Don’t feel guilty.”

“How do you know I feel guilty? I’m just standing here.”

You hear his feet in the grass as he moves towards you, and then feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he sweeps your braids over your shoulder, “Because I know you.” He whispers into your ear before he pushes away again, stepping out in front of you. 

You open your eyes and watch as he spins in the grass, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this up for me,” he continues, “It’s 2020, not 1940 - you don’t have to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for just for some dude.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

“Just,” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath,  “Please don’t marry him.” He says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The him he speaks of is Scott Lang, the appointed King of the South, né Atlanta. He’s a nice man; kind, funny, sweet - and he adores you, but he’s boring. He’s predictable, and your mother loves him. That alone makes you want to scream and run for the hills. It’s bigger than you though, the marriage. It’s not one out of convenience or even one bred from a matchmaker. Your marriage will unite the South back with the rest of the United States. Scott will ultimately relinquish his throne, and you’ll be the first Queen to reign over an intact America in over a hundred years. 

But that isn’t what you want - not with him.

Bucky is slightly irrational at times - incalculable almost every time. He has a subtle boldness that’s attracted you to him since you were kids. You remember it like it were yesterday, the first time the two of you met. The annual meeting of the Royal families, this time held in Britain. You were seven, Bucky was nine. Your fathers introduced the two of you in the middle of the great library, telling you both to run along, don’t make a mess. Without knowing each other for a full minute, he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the library, reaching out and tipping random books off the shelves as you ran between the aisles.

You loved him right then and there, and every minute since. 

“I’m not going to marry him,” you finally answer, “I just have to find the right time to tell them. There’s a lot riding on this.”

He nods slowly, “I know. The merger is… big.”

“I’ll make it happen.” You shrug, “I always do. The South was stupid to secede in the first place and now they’re reaping what they sowed. A few more years of this and they’ll be destitute, they know it.”

Silence drops over the two of you as you look at each other, just blinking randomly and breathing. He tilts his head and smiles at you slowly, watching you as your mind turns. He knows that in three months time, on your thirty second birthday, you’ll be made Queen. He knows you’re ready, he knows you’re capable; but he also knows you’re scared. Uncertain of what’s to come for yourself, your country; and for the two of you.

He holds out his hand to you, not saying a word, just extending it - waiting for you. You move forward without hesitation, sliding your hand into his and letting him press you to his chest. His large hands sweep around your sides and slide up and down your back as you wrap your arms around his middle. You flatten your hands on his broad back and nuzzle into his sport coat, shielding your face from everything and everyone. You close your eyes when he runs his hand over your hair and presses kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’ll be right here,” he whispers softly, “I’ll always be here for you, sweet girl. No matter if you are mine or not. I promise you that.” 

“I know you will,” you sniffle as tears start to fall, “I want to be yours forever.”

He hugs you to him again, rocking your bodies back and forth softly, “Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.” 

You squeeze him tighter.

You twist your hands within one another as you stand behind the two great doors. You can hear the muffled commencement speech taking place on the other side, people cheering and clapping. You swallow hard. You let out a focused breath through your teeth. You lower your head and unfold the balled up paper in your hands. 

I love you. Always.

Bucky

It’s simple - not even on his official letterhead. It’s just a blank sheet of paper confessing his adoration of and for you. You take another breath and force it out between your teeth as you ball it up again and lift your head. You run your gloved hands down your red and gold military jacket, rolling your shoulders before craning your head back and forth. Your medals clink softly from the disturbance of them, but to you, the sound is deafening as everything else blurs into the background. The doors open and the military men and women before you begin their procession into the Great Hall. 

Time to go.

Trumpets start to sound when you make your entrance into the room. Tv cameras zoom in on you as the audience in attendance stand to their feet. You focus forward as you move, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. The room is full of Royal families from all over the world, the press, and your extended family - all ready to watch the transfer of power. You blink, diverting your eyes quickly to your left, catching a quick smile and a secret wave from the Duchess of Sussex. The Duke of Sussex tips his head towards you and you return the gesture, winking playfully at Megan as she bounces baby Archie in her hands. 

You blink again and there they are; those ice blue eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, dressed in his military uniform. A white satin embroidered jacket, complete with the numerous gold medals he’s earned along the way. A white and gold sash crosses over his chest as the artificial lights glint off of the gold and silver pins and buttons littered across his jacket. 

His hair is trimmed - shorter than you like it, to be frank - his dark beard neatly manicured. He’s a sight - a vision, and if you had any doubt at all, it’s all thrown out the window now. Just with a glance of him. 

You walk to the steps where your parents stand, a diamond encrusted crown in your mother’s hands. You kneel on the small red pillow on the top step and drop your head as the speaker begins again. 

“Here, on the first of July, in the year twenty twenty and on her thirty second birthday, we honor the change of power from Queen Johana to its rightful heir, her only daughter, our royal Princess. Queen Johana, please remove the Princess tiara and replace it with the crown.”

Your mother bends, plucking the precious tiara you’ve adorned for so long from your head. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as the official crown, her crown, is rested atop your head. She slips her index finger to your chin and lifts your head so your eyes can meet hers for the first time as Queen. You note the water that builds in her eyes as she smiles at you. You smile back, knowing in the depths of your heart that no matter how much the two of you fight, no matter how different your politics are - you are her only daughter - and her love for you knows no bounds. 

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers.

“Thank you, mama.” 

When your mother stands again, the speaker announces, “Queen, please rise and address your court.” 

You stand and turn, holding your head high as the room erupts with claps and cheers. Your parents step into the background as you nod and wave, mouthing your thank you’s before you cross your arm over your chest to cover your heart with your hand. Picture cameras click loudly in every direction as the television crews zoom in on you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker announces, “Your Queen.”

“I have something I want to say, if that’s okay.” You say, turning towards the commencement speaker. 

You move to the podium and clear your throat, waiting for the applause to die down before you start to speak, “I know this is unconventional to address you this quickly, but you all have always known me to be this way, and I do not intend to change. I am very proud and humble to be named your Queen today. This is a long time coming and I thank each and every citizen for supporting me up to this point and beyond.”

You take another breath, “As you know, I am to marry the King of Atlanta, Scott Lang, to unify this great United States of America again at the end of this month.” You lift your eyes and stare straight into the television cameras in front of you, “I have no intention of going through with the marriage.”

Gasps of shock ring through the room, the loudest coming from your mother. You throw your eyes over to Bucky as he blinks back at you, his lips parted, his face flushing red at your impromptu announcement. He runs his hand through his hair in complete disbelief and shrugs at you as he shakes his head, mouthing what are you doing? at you.

You smile, “The King of Romania, James Buchanan Barnes, and I are in love, and have been since we were children. I plan, if he’ll still have me, to marry him on the twenty fifth of July, here in New York. On the twenty sixth of July, I will issue an executive order demanding that the South rejoin the United States within thirty days, and that all members of their parliament dissolve immediately. King Lang will be acclimated into my court and will serve as an advisor to help oversee this merger. If there is any resistance, or the order is not signed by the end of the thirty days, I will have no choice but to find the South and Mr. Lang, guilty of treason, and will send in our military to take control.” 

“I realize this sounds harsh, but I’m giving plenty of time for both regimes to come together and iron this out peacefully. But I must warn, do not take my kindness or my generous time frame as weakness. If I have to take control the hard way, I will. We are only strong when we are together, and I fully intend to right the wrongs of the decisions made before me.” 

You glance to your right, finding Scott’s dark eyes on you, his mouth set in a hard line as anger washes through him, “I am not my mother,” you begin again, speaking directly to him, “I am not my grandmother, or any woman who has come before them. I will not let the South perish because of stubborn minds and brash, pompous attitudes. I will not continue to turn a blind eye to this situation, but I’ll need your help, Mr. Lang, to make this as easy as possible.” He takes a breath and lowers his gaze from yours, already realizing just who he is up against, “Please, do what is best for all of us.”

You turn, facing your parents, “If I learned anything from my parents, it’s to stand up for what I believe in. I believe in love. I believe in peace. I want to thank you all again, and please know that I look forward to serving you and this great country of ours. Thank you.”

Without another word, you step away from the podium and move down the steps as the room goes haywire, every media outlet shouting and screaming questions at you. You stop in front of Bucky, extending your gloved hand to his. He takes it without hesitation, without fear, and hand in hand, the two of you walk down the center aisle as all hell breaks loose around you.

“It’s been all of five seconds, do you regret this yet?” You ask, laughing a little as cameramen scramble to get pictures of the two of you.

“You know me, babe,” he says easily, shrugging as the two of you push through the doors, “I regret nothing.” 

Neither do you.

“Oh, hey!” You smile, “I forgot to ask you, will you marry me in like three weeks?”

He throws his head back, laughing, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

[unbury-the-gays]

Things Kiyan hates about Adrien

Kiyan: There are way more things I hate about Adrien than like about him. His stupid beard, his extensive swords collection, oh, and he loves horses so much, he once talked about his stud for two hours. I timed it. And he only stopped because he saw me timing him.

Kiyan: Granted, he laughed and kind of made fun of himself. It was a nice moment, but still.

Kiyan: He always twitches his eyebrows when something catches his attention, and he tilts his head whenever I say anything rude, but he never makes fun of me, which is nice.

Kiyan: Usually he's an impatient asshole, but when we're alone he's very affectionate, and kind, and surprisingly tender, and- oh fuck, I’m in love with Adrien.