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wolfsclothing6 · 1 year

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You were tired of living a life where your inner self failed miserably to match what you wanted to look like. Growing up, you always wanted to be a big, studly, masculine bear of a man. Sadly, genetics didn’t cooperate. You tired seeing a personal trainer to bulk up, but all you did was develop some minor lean muscle and lose what fat and padding you had. You tried bulking shake after bulking shake, but your metabolism simply outpaced whatever you ate. You tried to quit shaving, and even uses some chemicals and supplements to encourage facial and body hair growth, but it came in patchy at best.

You had all but given up on reaching your ideal image of a man when you saw this ad when you were browsing some hot bear-on-bear porn. The pop up ad advertised a way to “unleash the ideal you”, and showed a before and after of an average looking college aged guy next to a bear version of the same guy. You thought it almost certainly would be a hoax, or some sort of minor change, but you decided to check it out on a whim. It ended up being some sort of specialized jockstrap. Small magnets in the elastic supposedly realigned your body or something, and it would allow you to become your ideal you. You dismissed it as garbage, the same crappy pseudoscience you had tried before, but for some reason you couldn’t make yourself exit the page.

You sighed, and looked at the reviews. There were a lot of before and after pics. They all actually looked like decent mock-ups too. There were about four dozen pics of guys in just a jock on the left, and pictures of their new bear bods on the right. All the details matched too. Hair color, facial structure, even the tattoos on two customers matched. Maybe this might be something worth while. When you got to the checkout page, you were surprised to find it was only $25.00. Even if it was just trash, the boner you got from the thought of all these guys turning into bears was worth that price, so you ordered the ‘strap and went to beat off to the customer review images.

The jock arrived three weeks later. You had all but forgotten about it, and it came just in time for a trip to the mountains with your buddies for some skiing. You opened the small package, and found the simple white jockstrap and the instructions. Apparently you had to wear it for a continuous 24 hours for the effect to occur, and for its patented magnets and sensors to realign your chakras or something. You were going to try it later, but you decided to slip it on now. It would be funny to start changing on your trip, and you could play the change off as some sort of guy thing if by some miracle it actually worked. After pulling it onto your smooth frame, you snapped a before pic for the website. There was a mention of a money back guarantee, minus shipping and handling, so if it was a flop at least you could get some cash back.

The car ride up was uneventful. It was you and three of your best friends in an SUV for a 6-hour trip. You had to readjust your crotch frequently through the trip, as it turned out the jockstrap was not the most comfortable pair of underwear you never worn. By the time you got up to the small cabin the four if you were renting, you could not wait to get to the bathroom and readjust. When you went to check yourself out in the mirror, you were in for a shock. The area right around the jockstrap was thoroughly coated with dark colored hair. It seemed that your pubes had to come in rather thickly, and were growing outwards from the jock. Already you could see a large coating of hair enveloping your ass, the upper parts of your calves, and making its way up your belly. You noticed that your butt seemed to stick out more, and when you grabbed your cheeks, you felt a great deal more mass. It was not just fat either, there was definite muscle tone on your booty now.

While those changes were astounding, even more surprising was what was filling out the pouch of the jockstrap. Before the change, having a nice somewhat narrow seven-incher, but you would be struggling to measure anything less than nine inches now. Your dick had grown thicker as well, and the lightest touches caused it to firm up and begin drooling precum. As your dick moved, you couldn’t help but feel your balls were enhanced as well. While you could not see them, as the ‘strap was in the way, you could only imagine the pair of fat low hangers that would be nestled beneath your dick, constrained and held in place by the mesh of the jockstrap.

It had been just barely eight hours, and already the change was so noticeable that you felt your heart rate increase as you scoped yourself out in the mirror. You began adjust the strap, preparing to take some pictures with your phone, when you recoiled when you saw the hair start to recede, and your ass start to deflate. The label did say you had to wear it for a continuous 24 hours, but it looks like you wouldn’t be able to adjust much at all. You had about enough time to quickly pop your dick out and take a piss, but anything more than that seemed to start to revert to the transformation. You dressed quickly and rejoined your buddies, hoping they wouldn’t notice your nervous energy or thicker rear.

The evening, while fun, was not terribly eventful. You all cooked dinner, play cards and drink beers, and went to bed around midnight. You were struggling towards the end of dinner, since you could tell your stomach was definitely starting to grow bigger. Your new gut was coming along quite nicely, and you knew that dinner had barely taking the edge off of the newfound hunger you possessed. You ended up sneaking into the kitchen once everyone else was asleep and gorging yourself on beef jerky and chips until you finally felt satisfied. A quick look in the mirror show that the hair had to come all the way up to your sternum, and that your new belly now was easily twice the size it was before. It was a little softer than a muscle gut, certainly more gut the muscle, but you can feel the firmness under the fat. Your new quads were incredibly thick, and were starting to stretch out your jeans. You switched into a large comfy pair of pajama pants and a hoodie to sleep in, knowing that by the time you woke up, your new body would be almost complete.

Instead of being aroused by your alarm clock, you were surprised to be woken up by a loud snapping sound. Groggy, you checked your phone to find you had turned off your alarm in your sleep, and it was almost eleven. You searched around for the thing that caused the noise you heard, and it wasn’t until you begin examining yourself that you realized it was the sound of elastic breaking. You pulled down your pajama pants, a task that was much harder to do now, and looks down with chagrin as he saw your jockstrap now lay in tatters. As much as you wanted to be upset, you noticed the changes were not reverting. Putting two and two together, you realized it was exactly 24 hours since you first slid the ‘strap on. You bolted out of bed, impossibly eager to see what transformation the night had brought.

You rushed to the bathroom and locked yourself in, closing your eyes as you turned on the lights, waiting to see the new you. As you looked in the mirror, it was everything you had wanted and more. You were about two inches shorter than before, standing at a proud five-foot-nine now. You also were surprised to find that you looked a little older, with a little bit of gray in your hair. But that paled in comparison to the fact that you had a thick and full beard. It hugged the rugged contours of your face, emphasizing your overt masculinity now, showing off the strong jaw and confident smile you now possessed. You eagerly pulled off your hoodie and pajama pants and stood in front of the mirror naked. A grin split your face as you now had trouble seeing your skin under all the fur. While there was a clear delineation between beard and fur, from your collarbone down it look like you were wearing a second shirt made out of black body hair. It completely coated your pecs and your gut, thickest at your groin and at your armpits, but it reached all the way from the tops of your feet around to your back and upper arms. While you were apprehensive about having a hairy back and biceps, it looked so evenly spaced that you knew you would not mind.

Your body had continued to pile on weight while you slept, a sexy mixture of fat and muscle that showed off the strength of your large arms and legs while also demonstrating the fact that you certainly were not cutting calories. A comfortable layer of pudge coated the muscles, and you knew instinctively that plenty of people would love the fact that you could be described as cuddly now. You your cock and balls looked about the same, maybe a little bit larger, but you were not able to tell. The biggest remaining change was in your ass. It seems like someone has shoved an air hose between your cheeks and pumped until it could not grow any bigger. Two large wobbling mounds of hair-covered flesh stuck out from your previous flat ass, and you couldn’t help but play with them. You groped and grabbed and slapped your own rump, slowly getting turned on with how large it was and how much it jiggled.

Between your new endowments and your new ass, you knew you would have no problem finding someone who was physically interested in sleeping with you. The most noticeable change of all though was a sense of relaxation and peace. While you were far sexier than you ever hoped to dream, the fact that you now felt like your view of yourself matched what other people would see was an incredibly good feeling. You love the fur, the size, and the enhanced aura of masculinity about yourself. You carried yourself with better posture now, not only because your new body was more equipped for it, but because you felt more confident and empowered. As you got changed to go skiing, you knew that even if you might lack the skills and abilities, with your newfound body, you would give it your all. As you finished zipping up your jacket and headed outside, you briefly wondered what your friends might think of you. That thought was quickly tossed away as you smiled, realizing you didn’t care what they would think. It might be a shock, but you loved the new you and we’re not at all afraid to show off your new bear body.

#gay #transformation #male transformation #fat #bear transformation #bear tf #daddy bear

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

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White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross’air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

#tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb sergeant hunter #sergreant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch series #sergeant hunter #hunter x reader #hunter clone #hunter x you #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #jessiebanethedragon #white sands warm the cold sea

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border-spam · 4 years

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Troy HC dump

These span all eras and are valid for the Troy I write , some are 18+ so read more at your discretion:

Hugely into any puzzle / collection echo games (think puzzle and dragons), and uses them to relax very often in private. Finds puzzle games really destress him and help him sleep. Has spent an insane amount of money in them.

Keeps his own personal coffers and the amount he spends wouldn’t even be noticeable against his almost infinite wealth , but he’d be intensely embarrassed if anyone found out how much God King Calypso spends on gatchas.

Hair is naturally very thick, his iconic hairstyle was originally born out of frustration after going for a bandit mohawk, realising how much work that was going to be every day, then swiping it all forwards and hoping for the best.

Has v little torso hair but does pluck the patchy little bits he grows for the aesthetic, bitch.

Incredibly hygienic for a Pandoran, but more so with his oral hygiene than anything else. Had to keep a rigorous cleansing routine for the first few months after his jaw mod and just kept it up from then on.

Understands a huge amount of different languages, but not fluently. Leda taught him the basics of a lot of language cores and he can understand and read a lot relatively well. Cant speak or write them though, and keeps this skill close to his chest.

He’s intensely clever and realised early how useful it was to understand what sponsors were saying to each other in “private” by using another language during meetings with the twins. He’s turned having his intelligence underestimated so often into a weapon he wields with great skill.

His hand writing is atrocious. He can read it fine, but not even Tyreen can half the time. Almost proud of having his own shitty shorthand code he can use for notes.

Can count the amount of times he’s worn underwear by choice on his one hand since adulthood. Didn’t have any on Nekrotafeyo, and fuck it. Freedoms comfortable and let’s you have very low slung pants.

Very low slung pants are very good at distracting possible competitors/business partners enough during interactions to either cause them to slip up, or underestimate his cunning again. Either works fine for him, he gets attention, and the upper hand. Win win.

Snores really bad from a combo of mods and compromised respiratory system. Modded tongue tends to slowly extend the deeper his sleep gets, and he’s woken up with it over his eyes before. Will completely deny he snores, only Tyreen has heard it and she’s clearly lying, right?

Did most of his own piercings and barely flinched. Full on SOBBED after he pierced his nips. Sat on his bathroom floor for an hour waiting for the pain to pass while strongly second guessing his life decisions.

Gets extremely emotionally invested in classical music / soundtracks and falls asleep listening to his fave playlists often. Has nicer dreams when he does than if he doesn’t, and also feels like it helps boost his creativity while working. Doesn’t know why.

A combo of keeping his neck covered under the collar, and the scarring on his throat, has left it hyper sensitive when uncovered. A caress will instantly have him snapping viciously or melting into a gasping mess of goosebumps and shivers depending on who’s hand it was.

Super comfortable with nudity, his self esteem issues are focused on his body’s layout and the self perceived damage/disfunction of it, nudity doesn’t come into play at all.

That is, as long as his bracer is on. What’s under the bracer is the one part of his body he would be terrified of showing to someone he valued in a vulnerable situation. Any COV worshipper stupid enough to think just because they can touch him naked means they could try and touch under the bracer is going to really miss their hand afterwards ( if they are still alive to miss it ).

Would love to be able to play a musical instrument well but he’s struggled with any he tried before as only his existing hand is dextrous enough for one. Would really appreciate and treasure someone with the patience and kindness to teach him, but knows that would mean dropping the God King persona, and can’t justify damaging their reputation just for something that would make him happy.

Gets recognised instantly regardless of how he dresses or looks, which he loathes. There is no way to hide his height or build, let alone the markings on his face. Really misses being able to just wander and explore like he could in the COV’s early days.

Really, really, really loves food, but his ill health means he can’t eat the way he’d like and often has to avoid foods he wished he could eat more. God King Calypso is known for being exceptionally choosy about the food he eats. In reality, Troy just can’t trust a lot of the overly rich food he’s served.

Massively enjoys cooking in his Sanctum when alone, and would treasure doing so for anyone he sees as a friend. Has, very rarely in the past, and loved seeing how surprised they were that he’s not useless at it.

Solely drinks alcohol to get drunk, can’t really taste beer very well and doesn’t enjoy most spirits. He’s a functional alcoholic but would deny he relies on it or other drugs (he absolutely does) and blows off concern from medics as it being something he chooses to do, not needs.

Wishes he could smoke Pandoran weed but wouldn’t risk the damage to his weak lungs, tends to make tea with what he grows in his ship, shares it with Tyreen a lot. She can’t touch plants, so he has no problem doing the green thumb work and sharing with her when she needs to relax.

Unless their dad had thought it to them or they saw it in an echo show, then the twins had no grasp of basic social do’s and don'ts when they reached Pandora.

Troy would have no problem sitting in a merger meeting picking his nose while Tyreen scratched her ass in front of board members. They learned a lot of their social skills the hard way, having been asked to please, please stop by priests and saints.

Has never won a burping competition against Tyreen in his life. Is genuinely irritated by this.

Can’t dance. Can strut and pose, has a great sense of rhythm, just cannot for the life of him do anything dance wise. Please don’t ask him to it will end in tears (his).

Savant with numbers, sees them as patterns like his dad did. Thought everyone could till he met people on Pandora. Gets aggressively frustrated with anyone who he needs to explain his process for reaching a mathematical conclusion to, because they never get it.

Complete idiot tier for animals. Likes them a lot, just doesn’t know what any of them are and no one is in a position to correct him without risking embarrassing the God King publicly and having their neck snapped.

Calls everything he sees a Skag. Rakks? Flying Skags. Bullymongs? Arm Skags. Skags? “Those bitchin lil’ mouth dudes.”

Really enjoys art and has a beautiful defined style with spray paint. Dumbs it down for propaganda, but his Sanctum is filled with canvases that are experimental colour and line pieces. Very much likes working with holy iconography but tends to only illustrate Tyreen this way in his own time..

Spends a lot of hours in the Mechanicum and knows a lot of the Tinks in higher leadership position by name. Likes to talk engineering with them and feels comfortable enough to drop a lot of the God King persona and actually enjoy the conversation.

A Troy who’s excited and interested in a discussion is all twinkling eyes and gentle, eager smile. He often has to remind himself to shift back into persona mid conversation, and it can be quite.. sad.. to see him go from so clearly happy, back to an icy, scathing asshole.

Incredible at lying but cannot bluff for shit. Play any card game with him and he has instant facial tells (squints and sticks his tongue slightly out the side of his mouth when looking at his cards). Doesn’t understand why he could never win against his dad or Tyreen, probably never will.

Would never wear his reading glasses publicly, thinks they completely destroy his overall aesthetic and lines of his face mods. Won’t accept his’s wrong about this from anyone, though he personally likes how much more like himself he looks when wearing them in private.

Tyreen was so sick of seeing his ass crack, she was the one who suggested the overly tight belt that became part of his outfit. All his pants that are the right length are far too wide in the waist for his narrow hips. He could just get fitted ones now, but the low slung waist line + belt combo is part of his look at this point.

Incredibly high pain tolerance for almost everything, says he barely felt the tattoos and genuinely means it. The constant pain from the bracer and damaged shoulder joint has let him numb to most other relatively low levels of pain.

Is an amazing kisser as long as what you enjoy is the threat of being consumed alive. Troy’s mouth is a self designed weapon, verbally and physically, and he’s never been in a position to learn to use it tenderly. Doesn’t let worshippers choose to kiss him when bedding them, and is aggressive with it if he chooses to kiss them.

Would love to learn how to be tender from someone who cared for him and he felt safe enough with to allow his persona to slip and be vulnerable with, but as the years go on and the God King becomes more in control, Troy has become resigned to the fact that it’s something he will never have.

Very self conscious about his hygiene and showers usually twice daily if he can. Everything on Pandora is covered in sweat and filth, and he can’t risk getting infections considering the amount of open ports along his body. Really enjoys scents and has a surprisingly large collection.

Gets highly irritated with public displays of affection. Intensely, soul crushingly envious.

This gets dangerous late God King era as he becomes more and more violent. People have learned to be extremely careful to not show affection to each other in viewing distance of him at all, or risk losing a limb. Or worse.

Sex drive only gets higher as time goes on. For the first few years he much preferred pleasuring himself rather than interacting with the squalid heaving masses of followers throwing their bodies at him, but by the time of the God King era in later COV years, he can’t stand touching himself anymore. He doesn’t want to touch his body, and the God King is more than happy to let others praise it nightly instead.

Sleeps with huge cushions he brushes off as being for comfort, but deep down he knows its because their weight and pressure helps him not feel so alone.

Squints a lot and is known for scowling, but it’s mostly due to terrible headaches, not eye sight issues or his mood. The dark eye makeup helps with the glare a little but he’s noticeably paler than his sister due to the bright sun causing them more often than not and him preferring to stay in the shade of indoors.

Has kept every single thing given to him out of kindness. Will keep sugar packets if someone brings him a coffee with one out of concern for him looking tired. If he feels it was done because they like him and not out of respect for his title, he will keep anything he’s been given.

Most of the people who gave him these tiny things he’s kept.. well.. they aren’t around anymore (no one he’s gotten to know well chooses to stay very long ).. but he still likes to look through them sometimes when he needs to be reminded he’s possible to like.

The collection looks like a little box of trash to anyone else, but bar his old jacket his father made for him out of one of his own that he still keeps hidden away, it’s probably his most treasured possession.

#troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #my writing #my hcs

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allabouttherelationship · 4 years

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Mac and Riley, Just Roommates

Chapter 2

Following Season 4, episode 9

Mac glared fixedly at the numbers again, scrawled in sequence in Russ’s penmanship. Not that he had required them written down. The sequence replays precisely, 44, 8, 2, 12, 11, 75, 7, 31, 51, 77, 2, 11, 38, 53, 51, 77, 2, 11. It was the final communication from Oversight, James Macgyver, his father, with the words “you’ve got that son?” tagged with intention on the end.

To say that it had been the nastiest two weeks of his life, was well, a gross understatement. One Mac compared to the words written by James Watson and Francis Crick in 1953, proposing the double helical structure of DNA. Most famous among scientists for its coyness and underestimation and for the significance of its prediction.

He experienced angst, Codex was real and still out there, his mom had been a DSX agent underwriting a dooms day project, he had a mysterious living aunt bent on murdering ¼ of the world’s population, his father, absent from most of his life was now permanently dead, and with the slam of a button he had chosen a husband and father to die to save a city.

Elbows stationed on his work bench, Mac rested his hefty head in the palms of his hand. Then vehemently pushes himself back from the bench in a grunt of defeat, his metal stool clanging to the wood floor. He scowled at it, his chest expanding and contracting in patchy breaths.

“You break it you buy it” Mac overhears alongside him.

Mac guardedly lifts his head, his stare in concentration on Riley’s face. She bestowed him a slight, but deliberate smile, just cresting at the corners of her lips. Mac knew that his hesitancy had been routed in fear, but he immediately treasured it was unnecessary with Riley. Bozer, Matty, Desi and Russ had come at him with sympathy, completely a fitting retort but regrettably not desired and hostile to the blocks of Jenga precariously towered around his emotions. Riley’s approach had mirrored Mac’s instinctive response. From the moment in the war room, in which Mac verbally acknowledging his father was dead but had believed Mac to be the only one to stop Codex, Riley was steady with “so what are we doing now?” It should not have staggered him, Riley seemed a tuned to what he needed at any given moment, even when he himself was cluelessness.

Riley sauntered in front of him, bending down to recover the lifeless stool. While doing so, she gives Mac clear vision of her well-proportioned backside. Mac experiences a piercing intake of breath, permitting his eyes to remain a fixed. He had unequivocally not forgotten their exchange that morning, just a few weeks ago, following the evening Riley had moved into his place. At least this reaction to a spectacular view, supported Mac in concluding that despite the trauma of the last weeks that he wasn’t completely dead inside. Overall, he had had zero time to scrutinize what had transpired previous between them.

Riley travels to the other side of the work bench. “Still working out what your dad was trying to communicate?” she questions. Mac nods in affirmation, his brows knit once again into a downward “v” and he repositions his worn-out body on the, now, upright stool opposite her. Mac then spits out the exact words he had used after the viewing his father’s abnormal farewell message, and while his computer famed out “so much for closure”… adding, “he just leaves me a puzzle”

“Hey Mac”, Riley starts gradually “I know that your dad often lacked in the father-like department.” Mac approves with a slight snort. “But he was always your dad. And as your dad he believed in you. Even in his last moment or message he trusted you to be the person to figure this out”, Riley pointed directly at the mess of numerals on the page. “You got this Mac” she whispers, the same line as she had stated previously and habitually, in his dire moments. Mac just continuous stares intently at Riley. Riley continues, “but Roomie, you have been at this for days, without sleep or food, you need a break, a distraction”. Mac immediately thinks to open his mouth to protest. Anticipating this Riley, leans gracefully across the work bench and places her index finger to his lips. “Trust me” she begs.

Her finger was the only point of contact, but it was resting gently it was against Mac’ s lips. Riley was beyond the point of lying to herself, she had experienced agonizing day dreams about Mac’s mouth. Her point of connection registers for her the tiniest explanation of the texture which is warm and firm. Unhurriedly, she allows her finger to drop. Although very pleasing, she is criticizing her own activities given all Mac has experienced the past weeks, telling herself this maybe poor timing.

Mac clears his voice, “What did you have in mind?”. Riley’s face lights up, as she hears a slight tease in his voice, and sees the smallest of childlike sparkle in his eyes.

“How about heading out, grabbing a slice at the arcade, let me school you again in Ski-ball” Riley jokes. “Davis, you may have schooled me once, but I will knock that Ski-ball crown off your pretty little head” he says in a challenging voice, he pauses “but not in the mood for crowds…”

“So then we’ll stay in… a binge watch of the Fringe?”, she queries. Riley is aware it is one of Mac’s beloved Sci-fi’s. Mac’s grin is genuine. Riley accepts this as confirmation she has nailed her suggestion. She erects her cell from her back pocket, starts dialing “Ill order a greasy wheel, you grab the bubbles”.

Hours later, they make it to season 3 episode 3, Riley pauses the show seeking explanation, “wait didn’t Milo calculate that Olivia would die in the car chase? Mac nods in agreement, and casually states “spoiler alert, she is from the alternate cosmos, and Peter is going to bang her doppelganger”. Riley had been mid-glup of her beer, his stark comment shocked her, resulting in the beer spraying from her lips. It covered the coffee table, floor and Mac. She covered her mouth in horror, as Mac’s eye brow’s raised. Unable to contain it, a boisterous laugh rippled from her chest, Mac joined in, his laugh equally animated.

Riley stands, “I’ll case down a towel from the kitchen”. Mac stands as well, glazing down at the splattering across his t-shirt. Mac reaches his arm behind head to grab his shirt, he whips it off in one fluid motion, as Riley arrives directly in front of him. Riley stares hungrily at the expanse of Mac’s chest, her eyes drifting downward over his chiseled abs and navel sitting just above expertly hung jeans. Mac registers his reactions, feels his chest puff and Riley’s eyes searing a path of heat down his body. He watches as Riley lifts her hand holding a t-towel and touches it to his pectoral. Then the t-towel flitters to the ground. Riley’s finger tips, graze his scar at the top of his chest, he observers her unconsciously but greedily licks her lips.

Mac starts reciting a few digits of Pi in an attempt to control his own physical reactions. He eyes grow wide as saucers as Riley leans forward to set her mouth to expanse she had been caressing. Her lips pleasantly sting his skin. Mac’s head falls back as a groan escapes.

They both lift their heads, eyes locked together. In a flash motion, Mac reaches his hand to tangle in Riley hair. He aggressively pulls her face towards him, smashing their lips together. His body feels like an immovable mass, rooted in this position. Mac briefly registers the science behind kissing, his internal monologue acknowledging the field of philematology, the complicated study of kissing. Lips having more nerve ending that any other part of the human body, and when pressed against one another the brain goes into overdrive releasing oxycotin, dopamine and serotoin, direct to the pleasure center of the brain. Riley fragments her lips and sweeps her tongue past Mac’s teeth. This action obliterates every scientific explanation, all Mac could do now is sense and feel. Her cashmere lips continue to shove eagerly against his, while her tongue strokes his with skill. She tastes zesty, subtle notes of tomato sauce and pepperoni. He hears her make quiet mews of pleasure which go straight to his gut, and marks his own moan resonating in his head. He feels a lust induced haze, anticipation, and desire.

Mac tugs away, only because he necessitates oxygen, his clutch remains impenetrable on the back of her neck.

Probing her eyes, Mac is able to squeak out, “Riley where is this going?”

Riley smirks with sugar in her grin, “I was banking on your bedroom?”

Mac scenes fissures of electricity shoot into the room. He reaches down lifting Riley under the thighs to straddle his torso, effortlessly, like she is air. Riley buries her hands in his thick locks messaging his scalp. He walks in long deliberate strides towards his room. He sinks them both, sitting evenly on the bed, Riley still straddling his hips. Hands decisively on his upper body, Riley leads Mac back to lay on the bed, looking at him like a cat downing a canary. It is like a black hole pulling him in, until his gravity is lost under her touch. His solid hands seek out Riley’s hips, fingers skating beneath the edging of her shirt and thumbs making spellbinding circles against her silky abdomen. The blood flowing through his body feels like a jackhammer, as he registers the slow growing tension against the fly of his jeans. Riley trails him downward, inserting her hands either side of his head, she plasters hot kisses the apex of his erratic pulse and across foundation of his square jaw.

Mac’s cell phone sings and vibrates from jean pocket muted under Riley’s thigh. The ring tone being “She’s the boss” Mick Jagger hit from 1985, which signals Mac is the Matty. He digs in his pants for the phone, “What is it?” Mac answers, clearly in frustration. Matti’s voices rings out, “Woah Blondie, a reminder of who you are talking too. Get your ass to the Phoenix, you are wheels up in 3, got a lead from the recovered data at the explosions site. “I’ll ring Riley and the rest of the team” Matty ends. Mac, lets out a ragged breath, “no need to call Riles, I will let her know.”

Riley hikes herself off Mac’s body to a standing position at the edge of the bed. Mac perceives that, like him, her breathing remains labored. He rises himself, planting his feet directly in her personal space. Gazing with promise in his voice “Riles, this is not over…”, Riley’s 110 watt smile radiates as she responds, “I’m counting on that boy wonder!”. She swaggers form his bedroom to get ready for the op, offering him a swift wink.

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spoonyruncible · 7 years

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This has probably been done before and better but Consider: Petunia was the witch and Lily was not.

Okay, so instead of being a bitter jealous hurt person Petunia is a happy one. Lily is excited beyond the telling of it. She has to know everything. Petunia likes the attention too, likes being cool. They stay close. More importantly for the first time in her life Petunia isn’t an upper middle class kid, she’s a Muggleborn. She can never be a Pureblood. This totally refocuses how she sees people. Hell, even Lily’s stupid little friend from across town in his patchy hand-me-down clothes is a Halfblood and that’s more than she can say for herself.

Okay, Petunia gets furious when Severus has the unmitigated gall to keep talking to Lily over breaks like they're still friends. She knows the kinds of people he hangs out with and the racist bullshit they pull. How would they feel about his little Muggle friend, hmm? So imagine our girl Tuney in her Ravenclaw robes sidling up to the Slytherin table at lunch and asking after Sev’s mum. Mentioning low key that he and her little sister (no magic, poor thing), are best friends. Imagine her casually dropping his soppy letters home to Lily that she stole so there is no question he’s a garbage little liar.

But also Lily. Lily is at the center of all of this. Lily. Learns. Potions. Petunia doesn’t teach her, it doesn’t even occur to her that Lily can learn. No, this is all Lily’s doing, Lily whose sister comes home on holiday her pockets full of frog spawn turning teacups into rats, Lily who wants to play too, just straight up breaking into Tuney’s room while she’s out. Lily who practiced basic spells with her sister’s wand and refused to cry when she noticed they were never, not in a million years, going to work. Lily who didn’t quit because of that, who read the History of Magic textbooks because even magic history is just history until she could ace the HOM O.W.Ls. Lily who, and this is canon, saw potions and it just clicked. There wasn’t any hesitation or doubt, she read the textbooks and it all came together, the timing and the nature of ingredients and the precision. It’s not too terribly much different than baking and Lily is so good at that her mum thinks she ought to pursue culinary though Lily reckons she’d rather focus on chemistry. Petunia finds out when she catches one of her essays corrected in red pen instead of Slughorn’s sloppy quill work. “He was wrong,” Lily explains, not remotely apologetic, “I mean you were wrong too, but he was wrong about why you were wrong.”

James still loves Lily. They meet at the train station when she’s seeing her sister off. “Are you going to Hogwarts?” James asks. Lily smiles, but sadly, “Not this year.”

Just before that happened: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you can't go. I'm sorry. I thought when you turned eleven you could go too but.... but it's not like that. There's nothing I can do." "Don't be silly, Tuney. I've got Mr. Feathers, I'll write this Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!" (Petunia’s owl is named Mr. Feathers as creativity is not her strong suit)

Anyway, no, James still loves Lily and he is still every ounce as stupid about it. She’s the girl from the train he always just misses after that first time. Is she a Prewett or a Weasley, maybe? With that hair she could be either. Maybe she’s a squib. There is something about her that bothers him in an ‘I want to pull her pigtails’ kind of way. Never in a million years would he associate the Little Red-Haired Girl with, of all people, Petunia Evans. Who would?

So, okay, yeah, Lily is stubborn and Gryffindor af. Personal letters get owled to Dumbledore on the daily insisting she be permitted to attend her sister's Quidditch games as it is only fair. (Petunia doesn't play, she's the announcer)but Dumbledore is still himself. He’s positively charmed by the angry little Muggle girl writing him because he loves moxie and also chaos. Besides which Lily learns he likes lemon drops and mails them to him as a bribe. Which, yes, this really messes up James Potter on a deep personal level because here is this boy, trying to play Quidditch and just avoid all the random conspiracies that infect his life and then in the MIDDLE OF A GAME James flies side by side with Sirius, quaffle in hand, "Si, hey! Hey! Look over there, in the Ravenclaw section! It's the girl from the train station!" "ARE YOU MAD??? GO THROW THE BALL AT THE HOOP YOU DAFT BASTARD!" "Who is she?" Sirius, at this point, hits a bludger at James on purpose. “I saw stars when I looked at her.” “You saw stars because of a head injury I gave you.” “Yeah, what the hell, mate?”

Somehow, I'm not sure how, Petunia gets into the Slug Club. She brings Lily to a party as her +1. Slughorn is amused but not annoyed, like, "Ms. Evans, when you said you were bringing a guest this was not exactly what I expected and you have never been one to do the unexpected." But Petunia does not back down. "Professor Slughorn, it's just a party. Though, if you get a moment then I think you'll find that my sister is exceptional at potions. And I don't mean for a Muggle. She's probably at a seventh year level, though I'm not a potions professor so what would I know?" "A great deal, I would imagine, Ms. Evans. If your judgment has failed you I'll be terribly disappointed."

Again, I want to make it very clear, in canon, Lily was in the Slug Club because she kicked ass at potions. This is different. Here Potions is the only magic she has, the only connection to her sister's wonderful world that she's able to touch herself. She's better than witch!Lily ever was. Horace Slughorn is so delighted he makes her a member. After some tipsy bickering with the rest of the staff Lily is afterwards invited to all Slug Club functions. She floos in, always with ashes in her hair and a fire in her heart.

It gives her a nickname, the way she comes to the parties. She's called 'Fire Lily'. Every time she arrives it's by flame, she smells of smoke and her hair looks like embers. James is the one who starts it and, after hating it for a few months, she loves it. Magic has given her a new name. She belongs there. No one could ever argue. She doesn't have a house or a wand or any magic of her own but she belongs there because she and Petunia insisted she belonged.

You can't just have someone as pig stubborn and smart as Lily Evans with her opinions and determination and expect she has anything other than absolute willingness to throw down against some Pureblood elitist that calls her out. Without a second of hesitation Lily Evans agrees to duel some racist brat that decided to be a crybaby about her magical status. Literally everyone tries to talk her out of except James who has stars in his eyes and Petunia who is just like, "No, she does this. She's doing this. I can't keep her out so she's going to embarrass me horribly but trying to stop her would be worse."

The duel happens. It’s tense. People have gathered to watch. Lily Evans is holding a wand that someone loaned her. The second the match starts she pitches the useless wood stick at the face of the idiot who ever thought fighting her was anything even approaching a good idea. Without an instant of hesitation she bum rushes her opponent and tackles them, a nasty hex grazing her in the process. Still, by the end, neither of them has a wand and people have to drag her away while she’s still throwing punches and kicks and trying to bite.

Later, in the hospital wing, "Hey, Tuney, I won a duel." "I don't think we can convince the headmaster to let you try the sorting hat but there's not really a point. You're a Gryffindor."

#harry potter #headcanon #harry potter headcanon #Wait? Did I not tell you? Professor Dumbledore let me do the hat and you have great judgement because I am a Gryffindor!

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cjwritesfanfiction · 7 years

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Possession

Summary: Everyone knew by now that Alex was Thomas’s alone. Right?

Author’s note: This drabble is based off of @katzun ’s sinners au. Look at her art FIRST to understand the dynamic between Thomas and Alex. TW: MINOR VIOLENCE, MENTION OF BLOOD ——————————————————————— There were a couple of things that demons had in common that really annoyed Thomas. Most of them looked down on humans, with the exception of James and a few others. Now, this didn’t really bother Thomas before. But, that was before Alex came into his life. Alex was a headstrong, courageous, and incredibly smart human whose wit rivaled Thomas’s own. No matter how wonderful Alex seemed to be to Thomas, he couldn’t change how the other demons thought about humans.

In hell, humans were possessions. It was a way to show rank, power, and status. The beauty of a pet told demons you were of high status and should be respected as such. Thomas had always made sure to have beautiful pets. In fact, it was Alex’s attractiveness that drew Thomas to the human. The fact that bruises, cuts, and scratches made Alex look even more beautiful was a nice bonus.

But, the thing that separated Alex from Thomas’s pets in the past was that he hated being ordered around. Every command Thomas gave the human was met with resistance, which infuriated Thomas to no end. Usually, Thomas would force Alex to do what he wanted, but today was different. A major headache had prompted Thomas to let Alex have his way.

Earlier that day, James had informed Thomas that there was a problem at the gates that he needed to deal with personally. Normally, Thomas would have no problem leaving his domain, but now Alex was here. He couldn’t leave his human alone for that long, which was the reason for Thomas’s headache.

Thomas wanted Alex to wear his collar. Alex refused to wear it. There isn’t any need to go into further detail about their two and a half hour arguement except for the outcomes. Alex got his wish. Thomas got a headache. Still, Thomas was sure to keep Alex right in front of him to convey one thing to the other demons: “he’s mine”.

The problem at the gates seemed to be a complicated one. The demons who lived near the gate were the youngest and least powerful demons in hell. With that being said, they were also the most mischievous. Some of the upper level demons were complaining that the younger demons were stealing their property, but none of them had enough power to do anything about it. While Thomas was talking with one of the victims of the alleged thefts, Alex had wandered off because he was bored of hearing about problems that didn’t concern him. After about twenty minutes, Thomas noticed that Alex was gone.

“Where’s Alex? ” he asked James, who was thumbing his way through the reports.

“I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”

“I thought he was with you.”

A feeling of panic and uneasiness settled in the pit of Thomas’s stomach. Although Alex didn’t wear his collar, Thomas’s mark was still present around Alex’s wrist notifying other demons that he was taken. The mark of Satan would be enough for upper level demons to leave Alex alone. However, lower level demons underestimated his power and would be quick to challenge his position. Anxiety quickly festered into rage and anger. How dare someone even think about touching his Alex?! Didn’t they know who he was?! Thomas felt his skin burning and his hands caught fire. James quickly looked away and stepped out of Thomas’s way. There was only one thing on Thomas’s mind. He needed to find Alex. ————————————————————————- Meanwhile, Alex was doing his best to keep some lower level, demon freak off of him. Unlike Thomas, this demon looked less human. Thomas was able to shift his body into whatever he needed depending on the situation. But, this demon was stuck in his true form. Ugly horns curled out of his head, and his body was covered in patchy goat fur. Alex had the suspicion that he used to be human. The demon went in again trying to get Alex to kiss him. Alex promptly kicked him in his sensitive area and screamed at him.

“Stay the fuck off me, asshat! ” he yelled grabbing his wrist. Everytime the other demons touched him, it burned his skin as if fire was touching it. “Thomas might not be here, but I don’t need him to kick your ass! ”

The demon growled and grabbed Alex’s hair pulling the human towards him. “Shut up, pet! You will do what I say! ”

“I said, fuck off! ” That snide comment earned Alex a hard slap in the face. A little trinkle of blood rolled down his cheek and dribbled down his chin. A single drop of blood hit the floor before the small hut started on fire and started to burn down. Alex looked towards the door and only saw a sea of black. In the center, there was a pair of pissed off, yellow glowing eyes glaring towards Alex and the demon who had kidnapped him. The demon opened his mouth to say something, but then he suddenly burst into flames. He screamed until he couldn’t anymore and fell to the ground with a thud. He wasn’t dead, but he felt all of the pain of being burned to death. Alex was scared, and his ears rang from the screams of the demon laying on the ground. He looked back at those eyes and reconized the burning passion in them.

“T-Thomas? ”

“Alexander. Come. Here. ”

Alex swallowed and stood up stepping over the demon on the ground towards the dark mass. When Alex finally reached it, possessive arms wrapped around Alex and squeezed tightly, not letting go. And Alex let them hold him until they got home. By that time, Thomas had cooled down, but he still had his possessive streak. He let go of Alex, and Alex turned to face him.

“Thomas I-”

A pair of lips crashed against his surprising Alex. Alex quickly got over the initial shock, welcomed the kiss, and pushed back. Mouths slipped open. Kisses quickly changed into a sloppy, open mouthed makeout session. Alex and Thomas fought each other for dominance as Thomas shifted his body weight to pin Alex on the bed beneath him. Because of Thomas’s leverage, he eventually earned dominance and Alex allowed him to trail kisses down his jawline and neck. A cold metal collar was pushed shut around Alex’s neck unmistakingly marking him as Thomas’s. Thomas growled in delight and left dark marks on Alex’s neck before saying one word that excite Alex and sent shivers down his spine.

“Mine.”

#jamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #james madison #tw: violence #sinners au #dat collar thing ;)

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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Henry Cavill Reveals How He Grew His Excellent Mission: Impossible Moustache

http://fashion-trendin.com/henry-cavill-reveals-how-he-grew-his-excellent-mission-impossible-moustache/

Henry Cavill Reveals How He Grew His Excellent Mission: Impossible Moustache

The true star of Tom Cruise vehicle Mission: Impossible: Fallout may rank below new cast member Henry Cavill on the cast list but sits above his top lip in the actual film. Yes, for the sequel – in which he curbs his Superman spandex for a villainous role as a CIA Agent tasked with eliminating Ethan Hunt – Cavill rocks the most impressive of moustaches.

“I really enjoyed having it – it was perfect for this character,” Cavill says sitting down with FashionBeans ahead of the film’s release. He’s not wrong. Its presence in the film injects the British star with a flash of old-school Hollywood merged with hard-ass SAS helping breathe life into a character you would not want to cross in a dark alley — think 40s Gregory Peck after a few months training with the Special Forces.

Cavill was required to keep the moustache for far longer than he expected due to production delays caused by Cruise’s well-documented ankle smash – something, he tells us, that wasn’t easy.

“As much as I enjoyed having it, I wasn’t expecting to keep it for a year; I thought it was only going to be for six months. By the time it came to the end of the movie, I was glad to shave it off.”

So, how did he maintain it? Rather humbly, he takes no credit for successfully reforming the most maligned of facial hair styles. “Hair and makeup sorted it mostly,” he admits. “I let them focus on it because if I’d tried to do it, it would have been messed it up. I’d have ended up cutting it too short and it would have looked stupid.”

Why It Works

Growing a moustache and keeping it for longer than a single Movember campaign is a bristly business. For Cavill, who’s played DC superhero alter ego Clark Kent across three films, it helps that he has the cliff-face bone structure that the style looks best on. Not everyone can pull one off, but Cavill is a rock-solid, granite-jawed exception.

Another key attribute which stands him out is the way he shunned the clean shaven look in favour of accompanying designer stubble – the so-called beardtache. That makes the moustache look modern rather than calling to mind images of 1980s sports pundits.

The rugged look is backed up by the tache’s simplicity. Rather than being long or bushy like a throwback Tom Selleck, it sits tidily on his face and blends into his look, naturally aided by his darker complexion. It looks like a masculine, half-forgotten approach to grooming, even if the truth is that it requires as much maintenance as most beard styles.

How To Get A Henry Cavill Moustache

First the good news: you don’t have to be Superman to nail the look; there are a variety of face shapes which complement a moustache should you wish to grow one. For further inspiration, look no further than Jude Law, Zac Efron and Milo Ventimiglia. Then there are those who rock stronger growth in their upper lip area than the rest of the face and have retooled this as an advantage (see: Robert Downey Jr and Colin Farrell).

With this in mind, a moustache is likely out of the question if your hair grows faint and patchy. But for those who struggle on the beard-front, it can be a perfect alternative not to mention a great sartorial decision. Convinced you’d like to grow one yourself? Below are all the tips you need courtesy of Murdock’s Dan Glass and Richard Brittle from Pall Mall Barbers.

1. Commit

If you’re growing one, grow one – hide the scissors and don’t trim until you see a full moustache smiling back at your from the mirror. The same goes for shaving in the areas surrounding the upper lip – keep the hair growing for six to eight weeks otherwise instead of looking like you‘re growing a moustache, it’ll simply look like you forgot to take the trimmer above your lip mid-shave.

2. Seek Help

After six to eight weeks, throw it over to the professionals. Consult with your local barber about what look you’re going for (take in a snap of Cavill for reference). Their mission, should they choose to accept it, is to tell you whether it’s an achievable goal or potentially what could better suit your sense of style.

3. Comb

In the interim, invest in a fine-toothed comb and keep the moustache looking tidy. Use it daily and give the hair a midway parting to ensure it comes out from under your nose. Brush diagonally across the lip, not straight down – you don’t want any stray hairs dangling over your top lip.

4. Mow Your Mowser

After your consultation with a professional, buy a quality beard trimmer with adjustable trimming lengths and a detail head that lets you work under your nose. Remember, to get Cavill’s moustache, you need to maintain stubble elsewhere on your face and keep the moustache longer – trim it by half an inch to an inch (grade three or four) and get right underneath your nostrils to maximise tidiness. Keep it as close to the top lip as you can manage: you don’t want any skin showing.

5. Wax On

Something that will come in handy when you’re styling is a quality moustache wax. This will lubricate the hair and skin beneath it as well as keeping the moustache itself looking neat.

Key Products

Mission: Impossible – Fallout is released in cinemas on 26 July

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lookingforcatharsis · 6 years

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I don’t like the body I have.

I’ve been overweight basically my entire life. As long as I can remember anyway. I’ve tried for almost as long to do something about it, and it’s never worked. I’ve never even gotten to the point of losing noticeably and gaining it back, the trend has always been upwards.

I have stretchmarks. Deep troughs follow the bend where my shoulder becomes an arm, right in front of my armpit. My biceps have white scars, aimlessly jolting back and forth on sharp angles, like lightning. My stomach has raised red ridges, running up and down.

I’ll always have them, even if I miraculously lose what gave them to me.

My hair is unmanageable.

The hair on top of my head rest uncomfortably between wavy and curly. As a result, I can’t wear it in the style that straight-haired people do. Generally, it just looks messy. recently, My hair has been quickly getting damaged, rife with split ends. I haven’t changed my routine so I don’t know why.

My beard is thin and patchy. I wear it because I can’t stand to look in the mirror and see a double chin. I’ve made it worse; I’ve developed a habit of almost constantly tugging at it, and have pulled out countless hairs as a result. especially in the area between the tip of my chin and my cheeks, I’ve thinned it. My beard is also wiry and unmanageable. The ends split for seemingly no reason. A pathetic teenager mustache is all that will grow on my upper lip.

I can usually go through life just feeling self conscious about the way my flesh strains at my clothes, leaks out whenever and however it can. Above the waist of my pants, under a shirt that has shifted oddly.

I remember a time that one of my closest friends posted an image gallery. At a card game tournament, a man posed behind seated men whose lower backs or ass cracks were visible, leaking out. I almost cried at all the people laughing at it. That could have been me a million times, when this fucking corpse overflowed out of the clothes I put on it. I tried to point out that this was body shaming, a thing that these people were openly against, and I was brushed off.

That hurt.

#self loathing #self image #self hatred #fat #depression #mental illness

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aeyemenethes-blog · 7 years

Text

Lathbora viran Ch. 8

Well, it's Friday again so here's the next instalment of Lathbora viran, which is also found on my AO3 page: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/23847855

Returning to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes brought back images of smoke, guards shouting, and the graceful moves of a certain elven mage slaughtering demons. Though the memories of that night were now only phantoms, the tension prickled along my shoulder blades, travelled down my spine to settle into the half hard shaft of my cock. My gaze found its way to the gentle curve of the Herald’s ass, and my eyes swung back and forth to the hypnotic pendulum motion of her full hips; watching her lead the group of Inquisition members and former rebel mages.

The area was eerily calm without demons, but a massive green scar flared angrily, and crackled with so much magic. It taunted me as a sore reminder of my latest mistake, but soon it would trouble me no more. Corypheus was still out there, however, with my orb and whatever monstrous plans he concocted in his mind. Some already made known through the Herald’s trip into that corrupt future.

Cassandra and I stopped beside the Herald, both of us glancing over to confirm she was ready. Ellana still appeared laden from lack of sleep despite every measure I took each night in the Fade to soothe the nightmares. Sighing, the elven mage gave a nod of her head before moving closer to the heart of the Breach.

Taking that as a sign, Cassandra turned to address the ranks of mages lining the crumbling banister of what was once the upper levels of the Temple. “Mages!” She called out.

I held up my staff horizontally as a focal point noting the grimaces of a few mages – particularly Enchanter Sulen – for having to follow my instruction. After he spoke directly to the Herald about my insubordination, he sought me out to apologize for his earlier behaviour. What I would give to be a fly on that wall during such a humbling conversation. The daggers he threw at me now with his eyes was a sweet reward indeed.

“Focus passed the Herald,” I brought my staff down at my side and outstretched my free hand. “Let her will draw from you.”

I raised my staff high to be a signal and watched Ellana. My eyes settled at her ass once more and I licked my lips. Fenedhis! This isn’t the time.

Wouldn’t have noticed her raise the Marked hand to connect it to the Breach were it not for the nauseated pull of both magicks that tore my attention from her feminine assets. Growling, I lowered my staff to strike the ground and give the signal. Behind me, I heard the grunt of the mages as their staffs followed suit. Electricity ignited through the air and my stomach lurched but I managed to stand my ground, not hunching over.

A brilliant light sparked from the connection and then an explosion ripped my feet out from under me. I fell on my back seeing the Seeker land likewise on the dirt beside me. She shot to her feet almost immediately, barely fazed, and made her way to where the Herald crouched, nursing her left hand. I took my time getting to my feet feeling blinding pain just behind my eyes.

Bowing my head, I squeezed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose until the red lights turned to a cool black behind my eyelids. A cheer rang out among those gathered, and I cracked my gaze to see the Breach only a tiny scar in the sky, and Cassandra leading the Herald in a celebratory parade back to Haven. I watched the mages and Inquisition soldiers follow before walking closer to examine the quiet remains of the Breach.

A gentle hum travelled as electricity pulling up the small hairs along my arm as I stopped where the Herald of Andraste had stood. The air retained a faint aroma I associated as Ellana. I closed my eyes to drink in the fleeting curls of her scent before returning my focus on the faint green glow hovering in the sky. Mana touched my fingertips. The sudden urge to rip the Breach back open called to me, but I swallowed the suicidal thought down like bile souring in my throat.

I must wait a little longer to assault the Veil.

“Solas?”

I half turned to see Cassandra now stood feet behind me. Alone. Her eyes shifted, staring at the sliver of green in the sky before gazing into my eyes. She chewed on her bottom lip as she probably thought about what to say, what to ask.

“The sky is scarred but calm. Your Herald was successful.” I answered her unspoken question, watching a spark light in the Seeker’s eyes.

“Thank you, Solas. I’ll let the Herald know.” Cassandra said with a slight nod of her head before, turning on her heels and rushing back to Haven.

Watching her leave, I glared up at the Breach wondering where Corypheus hid with my damned orb. It might be time to leave now to figure out where the creature holed himself up. Turning back toward Haven, I forced myself to walk. I would slip out after everyone else slept off their celebrations.

“Chuckles!”

Before I could react, the Durgen’len’s meaty fist caught my arm at the elbow, and began to drag me toward a group sloshing ale everywhere and belting out slurred songs. Caught off guard by Varric’s manhandling, I forced the tension from my body and the magic back down into my veins to allow him to direct me.

“Solas!” Ellana chuckled, waving from the Requisition’s table. Cassandra stood next to the Herald’s side and she nodded when her eyes met mine.

I gave a small smile to the elf before Varric shoved a mug of ale into my hand. The Iron Bull clapped me on the back and clinked his mug against mine, causing ale to slosh over the rim, splashing onto my tunic sleeve. He laughed in an obnoxiously high level, shouting something in his native language that came out too slurred to even make out that they were words. I rolled my eyes, smelling the overpowering stench of alcohol from my own mug.

We did just close the Breach so why not celebrate?

Didn’t you want to leave?

I should still put up a front so they don’t suspect. I just won’t drink myself into a stupor.

The Wolf growled back at me but let the argument settle. I took another swig of my ale and sat down by the fire pit to listen as Varric regaled us with another wild tale of the Champion of Kirkwall. It was in the middle of Varric’s second story, and my second mug of ale, that the alarm bells truck overhead, cutting off all celebrations.

“That does not bode well.” I said, staring up at the sky.

Gasps replaced laughter and Cassandra brandished her sword, calling for us to make our way to the gate. I picked up my staff and fastened it onto my back as I abandoned my mug on the bench to follow the Seeker’s order. I felt compelled toward the Herald’s side to see her through this new danger, whatever it was. Cullen rushed over to us an immediately began informing Ellana what the scouts found. I didn’t listen to the exact words being said.

Another presence lurked on the other side of the main gate – similar to myself – moving closer at an alarming speed. My eyes narrowed not knowing what to expect. Evanuris? No, that was not possible, but whatever drew toward us exuded a kindred presence to me. Light flared from the other side, pounding at the wooden gates followed by a soft, masculine voice.

“I can’t come in unless you open.”

Ellana flew down the stairs and yanked the brass rings to wrench the massive wooden doors open. A large soldier stumbled forward – not even aware they already expired – only to fall when two metal daggers sunk into their back with swift, horizontal swipes. As they fell to their knees and toppled over, a young man in patchy leathers wearing a gigantic wide-brimmed hat hunched over barely showing physical signs of exertion. The brim of the hat hid any facial features of the lad giving off a look of mystery that I knew well. My eyes fastened upon the creature in human form.

“I’m Cole.” The young man introduced, coming closer. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this? What’s going on?” Ellana demanded, all signs of alcohol and joy fled in that accusatory tone.

My magic rippled to the surface pulling me past the boy toward the dark forests into the mountains beyond. Familiar energy. I knew what was on its way toward us before Cole spoke again. At least I didn’t need to leave to search for the Magister now.

“The templars come to kill you--”

“Templars!” Cullen charged in, cutting the boy’s warning short with a snarl. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole hunkered down as the Commander approached, readying to attack if provoked. Fade bled from him lashing around the boy to solidify into twin daggers by his side. He seemed to call them whenever he had need. I stood impassive at the top step, watching the exchange between the three, my interest piqued when the boy turned to point into the shadows directly behind.

I angled my view to see the two figures leading these Red Templars as Cole named them. The one man with red lyrium sprouting from his chest didn’t interest me – a foolish human seeking to end his life in madness. It was the tall, reddish-black darkspawn; the sickening Magister, that brought my gaze to narrow to points. Magic sparked along my fingertips teasing at the old mana floating through the air seeking me. No one else could see the connection unless they carried a great connection to the Fade, but the close proximity chilled me. I drew back into the shadows, passing the line of mages and Inquisition soldiers before anyone might notice the strange phenomenon. Cole’s sharp eyes shot my way and followed me. Curiously, however, he said nothing to either the Commander or the Herald standing beside him.

So… you feel it too, Young One.

Cullen began bolstering the army, tearing the young man’s attention back to them, before unsheathing his sword and trumpeting the attack. Ellana made her way to Varric and Cassandra to debrief the situation. I rose and casually walked over to meet them.

Corypheus comes a calling.

Shut it, Wolf!

I – it – laughed in response for a few seconds and then went silent. Sometimes I truly felt like two different dualities in one body. Foolish as that sounded even to my ears; if that were the case it would make ignoring the Dread Wolf much easier. Honestly, the truth was more complicated.

As I neared, Ellana gave me a fleeting smile, informing us that we were heading to guard the trebuchets.

. . .

The second trebuchet went up in a blaze of glory, burying a large portion of the attacking army. Overhead, the enemy sounded the horn of retreat and the Inquisition soldiers threw up cries of joy. Though my initial reaction was to join them, I knew Corypheus wasn’t about to give up so easily. Not after he survived unlocking my orb; doing so would be a pathetic way to end.

A shadow flew through the pale moon releasing a deafening roar and belch of fire. Flames slammed into the trebuchet, sending us back in an explosion of burning wood and metal. I rolled onto my side feeling a multitude of tender skin along my body that would most likely bruise the coming morning. Picking myself up, I dusted the debris from my mage robes and check to see nothing actually broke from the fall.

“That’s not possible!” I called out as the dragon circled back to us. Fenedhis lasa! He has a dragon under his command!

“Everyone to the gates!” Ellana ordered and shot toward Haven.

We passed the open gates – stopping only to break the boxes blocking the front door to Harrit’s house – with the dragon flying close at our heels as Cullen urged everyone through. Slamming shut the doors with the dragon overhead, we took the steps two at a time.

“We need everyone in the Chantry.” Cullen commanded then faced the Herald. “It’s the only building that might hold against that… beast. At this point just make them work for it.”

“Let’s get people to safety.” Varric called out.

Hulking soldiers – more beast than human – poured over Haven’s feeble fortifications as if being produced from endless rifts. The Herald barrelled through the Red Templars as a windstorm against unsuspecting tree branches. Her fury propelled each attack, sundering the enemy troops to save the villagers trapped by the crumbling collapse of Haven. Only when each villager was rescued, and sent to wait at the Chantry, did Ellana round us in the building too.

Inside the Chantry, I ducked into the back to quickly check on the elven servants. A particular group huddled in a corner seemingly cowering, but on further inspection each one held a dagger or sword at their side. Determination gleamed in their wild, fury-soaked eyes. We all locked gazes as I drew closer.

“Ser.” Their temporary leader, who I recognized as the first agent I smuggled inside the Inquisition, greeted me with a slight bow of her head. “Everyone is ready to lay down their lives so you might succeed.”

She kept her voice low to prevent anyone not of the order to catch what she told me. I shook my head, placing a hand on her upper arm as if trying to comfort her.

“If at all possible, living is preferred.” I said without hesitation or remorse. “Now search the grounds, halls and holes. We must escape, with Herald or without.”

“What of you, Ser?” The elf frowned.

I nodded to the group, breaking contact and slipping back to the entrance. I go to reclaim my orb, though that wasn’t something my agents needed to know personally.

As I made it back to the Chantry’s front door, I saw Ellana’s haggard face light up.

“Solas, there you are. I didn’t want to leave without you – ah – my best healer by my side.” Ellana grabbed my arm and directed me to where Varric and Cassandra checked their armour and weapons.

The Herald repeated the plan she and Cullen formulated. It was hasty and guaranteed no definite success for survival, but it was a plan of attack. It required a distraction and, naturally, the Herald volunteered us.

“I understand the strategy.” I said, following Ellana back into the bitter snow with Varric and Cassandra in tow. “But I usually avoid drawing this much attention.”

The Red Templars waited for us, proving it a trying fight as we made our way down to the last intact trebuchet. More ambushed us upon arrival, including abominations who were once men. The Blight festering in these former templars’ veins rubbed me wrong, recalling memories of when Andruil – the Evanuris the Dalish named as the Great Hunter – travelled to the Void to hunt, until she too felt as vile as these creatures. It fuelled my thirst to cut them down. Nothing so corrupt should be allowed free reign in Thedas and Elvhenan, and I would see that they never would again.

Our scuffling against the creatures, was quick and brutal, as we laid into all who blocked our objective. As we fought, I kept my eye out for Corypheus. He was here somewhere, I felt the power of my orb drawing closer. When the hulking abomination – largest of all the Red Templars – fell to the ground, we were given a breather.

“Crew the trebuchet.” Cassandra called, pulling her blade from the body of a dispatched templar.

I blasted the last templar on my end to watch as Ellana finished aiming the trebuchet. Cuts along my body pulled and I hissed at the stinging at first.

“Is everyone alright?” Varric asked, plucking crossbow bolts out of the scattered bodies.

“Nothing that some salves can mend.” I muttered with a deep frown that creased my brows as I examined my robes. “My clothing, however, is a different story entirely.”

“Ugh! Again with your tunic, Solas. Would you and Dorian grow up already? You two are as bad as the Circle mages, always complaining about clothing.” Cassandra scrunched her nose and grunted in disgust.

“Apologies, Seeker.” I turned to her with a twitch of my jaw and a look in my eye that caused Varric to start laughing. “I shall have Dorian burn all my clothing and--”

“Move! Now!” Ellana shouted, retreating from the trebuchet in haste.

A shadow of wings flew closer followed up with a stream of fire that rammed into the barrels of powder near the trebuchet. The explosive sent me reeling into the dark, disorienting my senses. Then I hit my head against something cold and solid ripping all consciousness from me.

#Solas #solas romance #solas x lavellan #solavellan #solavallen #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #fanfic #writing #amwriting #writers

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