serious flex

Promptober Day 3: Guns

(For @miluette‘s Promptober!)

Prompto had just finished taking a shower, his first real shower in what felt like days. Damn. There really was nothing quite like hot water on aching muscles after… how many daemons had they slayed in the last twenty-four hours?! He’d lost count, and quite frankly, he didn’t really care to find out. What he did care about, though, was hopping into a warm, comfortable bed and sleeping for fifty years after this shower. Camping be damned. (Sorry, Gladio.)

After drying himself off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and shuffled over to the mirror, freshening up a little before bed. Teeth brushed. Mouth washed. Hair combed, even if it really didn’t need it.

And then, there was the flexing.

Sometimes, Prompto got a little too invested with his reflection. It wasn’t exactly an ego thing - far from it, actually - but more like… a confidence thing. He liked to monitor his progress. And he’d made good progress, especially after leaving Insomnia with the others. He was finally starting to get some abs (squint, and they were totally there, okay?), and he was proud of them, even if they were decorated by faint stretch marks along the bottom of his stomach. His chest still needed a bit of work, as he had a little… more there than he cared to have, but it was nothing he couldn’t hide with his clothes.  And his arms? Well…

He flexed his right arm. He turned a little, to get a different angle.


It was something, he guessed, but it was still not good enough. To him, anyway. They were starting to gain some definition, but…

It was a little hard not to compare yourself to one Gladiolus Amicitia.

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Jacob Frye x Reader: In his Dreams
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A/N: A story where Jacob Frye thinks his S/O is dead only to wake up and find her in his bed. [R/Q from anon—thank you for your patience!] Because of the request, the point of view is going to be changed, and this will be read more like a fanfiction than a reader insert, I feel, so…insert yourself or insert a fan character or whoever. Hope that is okay~

Rating: SFW (graphic violence).

Your name: submit What is this?

He was always worried as of late. Jacob Frye had accepted (Y/N)’s hand in marriage, but that action alone…an action that should warm him to the core…chilled him to death as it felt like he had damned her to die. The mere wedding band he placed upon her finger was almost equal to a noose in his opinion, and he couldn’t help but find himself a reckless bundle of nerves when he wasn’t around his wife.

“I swear, you worry too much at times, Jacob,” (Y/N) teased, sitting down at the loveseat upon the train headquarters. “You weren’t always like this, so what has you so on edge?”

Admittedly, Jacob knew that this wasn’t like him—he knew it was weird and nearly out of character for him; however, he was denied any sort of love he found genuine growing up, and the fear of letting that slip away was heavy upon his shoulders and heart.

When (Y/N) called him out on it, he chuckled briefly while removing his top hat to dig his fingers within his hair as if to remove the worry from his mind. “I apologize for it, love.” Tossing his hat off to the side to let it land where it may, he moved himself upon the loveseat next to the woman he adored and sprawled across it with his head in her lap to gaze upward at her with a playful smirk, his hands folded upon his stomach as he did so.

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Eric inhaled deeply while painting his face with a serious expression. He flexed his broad chest and turned quickly to Arthur, who was slowly making his way towards their side of the bar with the rest of their cloaked posse in tow. They mumbled and whispered among themselves while flocking around both men, and Roan heard the familiar clinks of coin being passed around the bunch as Arthur (who still wore his excited grin) posed in front of him and gently placed his black bottle onto the countertop with a low whistle.

“You were slumped in front of that fireplace for a hot minute, young'un. Is this what you’ve devoted your life to?” the bartender said softly, pointing with his thumb at the portly bottle. "Roaming from place to place, looking for men quick to exhaust their funds by playing dangerous drinking games?“ He raised his chin and tilted his round head, giving Roan a once over as he stroked the neck of the bottle of ale with steady fingertips. "Where are you from? And what’s your name?”

“Not here,” Roan said, cracking his neck by jerking his head from left to right. “And that doesn’t matter to you. What matters is that I’m paying you to put on a show.” He motioned with his hazel eyes towards the bottle. “You can take what’s owed to you from my purse. I’m sure Goliath here won’t mind as long as he gets the rest if I fail, that right?”

“That’s right,” Eric huffed.

“But do you know what’s in this, my determined friend?” Arthur’s grin widened a bit more before he reached upwards and pulled the bottle’s green cork off. “Eric and I were originally discussing the popularity of two notorious brews in these parts.” He chuckled smugly. “The first, an eastern concoction named Jolalisma, is known for being a nasty mixture of spices and reptile blood, drunk only by the hardiest men and women who can stomach it in these lands.” Eric crossed his pale, brawny arms and sat straighter in his seat beside Roan. Arthur reached over the bar and affectionately patted one of his sinewy shoulders. "Our large specimen here prides himself on being able to do so.“

"But Eukat?” His grin faded and he crinkled his rich lips. “Not even it’s brewery reveals all of the ingredients on the bottle. And in bold, golden green lettering, we can see here…” he gripped the bottle by it’s base and turned it around so that Roan could see a golden patch of paper placed on the back of it. The lettering Arthur described was clear and simple, surrounded by the winding, venous tail of a black scorpion. “Consume at your own risk,” the bartender read aloud. Some of the cloaked figures snickered. Eric huffed once again.
“Both are popular because of their respective dangers to the average body. Eukat is made up of an assortment of spices, roots, and honey, but the real kicker, aside from it’s mystery ingredients, is a rare herb that goes by the name of Pinery.” Arthur’s eyes sparkled as he leaned in a bit closer to Roan. “Ever heard of it?”

“Not in this life,” Roan said. He could feel Eric’s eyes on him, the man just couldn’t wait to see him squirm.

“It’s a bitter product of the earth, so foul that it’s been rumored to send grown men into seizures after their livers failed to process it. Only a few can even stomach more than a glass or two, a feat that Eric here can also boast about.”

“But an entire bottle?” Eric interrupted. “That’s right suicide, that is.”

The cluster of cloaked figures around them suddenly began bustling about, and more coin was disbursed between them as they laughed and slapped each other’s backs, excited at the possibility of making a few extra coin on an otherwise ordinary winter night. Roan smirked. How he relished a great challenge, and who knew how much longer he’d be waiting in the lobby until he was escorted away to do what he came for in the first place?

“Well then,” he said in a confident tone, reaching out and grasping the short neck of Arthur’s bottle with the entirety of his hand. “That was a hell of a history lesson and all, but I’m still itching to snatch away your gold, Eric.” His mouth formed a sleek grin that rivaled Arthur’s in it’s enthusiasm before he lifted the container of Eukat and floated it towards his lips. “Even if it kills me.”

Art /  Being An Old Demon, Enrico Camerra

LRTIHEW: Part Eighteen

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter:

Previous Chapter:

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else

After returning home, Ivan unceremoniously kicked Alfred out of the house. He had some serious political muscle to flex and needed to prepare. The ash blonde was going to go in full military dress like he used to, one aspect of his devised psychological battle. It was intimidating, demanding, almost insulting in another person’s home. The natural instinct was to heed a man in uniform.

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Waiting for patching to end!? Watch this awesome trailer with Mastermind flexing some serious brain power!


The Autobots are flexing serious muscle and new weapons in Transformers: Age of Extinction, the fourth installment in the Michael Bay-directed live-action franchise.

Optimus Prime and Bumblebee took plenty of knocks in the third episode, 2011’s Transformers: Dark of the Moon. But the computer-generated pair quickly return to form in the new flick opening June 27.

They “are bigger and badder-ass than they have ever been,” says Lorenzo di Bonaventura, who has produced all four films, with Steven Spielberg and Bay as executive producers.

“Michael (Bay) has always been conscientious about the need to keep topping ‘the last one.’ First it was topping the animated Transformers television program, now we need to top our third movie,” says Di Bonaventura.

Bay says the “new chapter” required refreshing the look. “A lot of people are like, 'What does that mean, Transformers 4?’ It’s like Batman with a new suit. We needed to change the look from top to bottom.”