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Owen

Prince Owain of Scotland
Age: 22 y/o
Orientation: Gay
Attends: Cambridge
Studies: International PoliSci

Alistair's Older Brother

Max

Prince Maximilian of Bavaria
Age: 21 y/o
Orientation: Gay
Attends: Cambridge
Studies: International Finance

Cousin of Owen, Alistair & Luis

Alistair

Prince Alistair of Scotland
Age: 20 y/o
Orientation: Fluid
Attends: Harvard
Studies: International Law

Owen's Younger Brother

Luis

Prince Luis of Spain
Age: 18 y/o
Orientation: Fluid
Attends: Complutense U Madrid
Studies: Computer Science

Cousin of Owen, Alistair & Max

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Poolside Ginger … It was late afternoon, the kind of hour when the sky turns a little honey-gold and the heat settles into the concrete like a secret.Micah sat at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, hands curled loosely between his knees. His copper hair was still damp, curling faintly where the sun hadn’t dried it yet. Neon blue trunks clung to him like they were painted on, and a bead of sweat traced a slow line from his collarbone down between his abs.He looked relaxed, but there was tension in the air.A door slid open behind him. The quiet pad of bare feet on tile. Micah didn’t turn. He just dipped his fingers into the water, then flicked a single droplet over his shoulder.“Thought you said you’d stay inside,” he murmured, without looking.“I lied,” said Drew. His voice was low, amused. “Didn’t think you’d actually be out here… looking like that.”Micah finally glanced over his shoulder. “Like what?”Drew didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.The silence stretched between them, the kind that carries weight. Micah smirked faintly and shifted his legs, spreading them just enough to be noticed. He leaned back on one hand, spine curving slightly, heat glinting off the angles of his chest.“You keep staring,” he said. “You’re gonna have to get in.”Drew kicked off his slides, letting them slap to the concrete. “That a threat?”Micah looked up at him, bold and teasing. “It’s a dare.”
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Poolside Ginger … It was late afternoon, the kind of hour when the sky turns...

Poolside Blond … The sun had just crested noon, spilling golden heat across the backyard. The pool shimmered like glass, and the only sound was the occasional flick of water against tile.Luca leaned back on his palms, wet skin catching the light, his blue trunks clinging just a little tighter than usual. He didn’t mind. He liked the way eyes followed him — especially his eyes.Somewhere behind the sliding glass door, Eli was watching. He always pretended not to be. Pretended the “accidental” glances didn’t linger. But Luca knew. Had seen the way Eli paused, fingers tightening on his cold drink, eyes roaming like they were starving.Today, Luca decided to give him a better view.He shifted slightly, letting one knee fall open, arching his back just enough to stretch out the lines of his stomach. The sun warmed every inch of his bare skin. He looked straight at the glass door, then licked a droplet of water from his bottom lip. A tease. A dare.The door slid open with a quiet hush. Footsteps padded across the concrete.“You’re going to give the neighbors a show,” Eli murmured, towel draped casually over his shoulder, eyes dark.Luca smirked. “Only if they’re paying attention.”Eli dropped the towel beside him and knelt at the edge, fingers grazing Luca’s thigh, slow, like heat on skin.“I was,” he said, voice low. “Every second.”#westhollywood #losangeles #summer #poolside
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Poolside Blond … The sun had just crested noon, spilling golden heat across the backyard....

On The Ship … The sun scorches the deck of the USS Lexington. Dylan leans against the railing, shirtless, dog tags clinking against his chest, sweat drying in the breeze.Bootsteps approach. Marcus Rivera — bare-chested, camo pants low on his hips, cap turned back — stops beside him.“Didn’t think you’d brave the heat,” Marcus says.“I like the view.”Marcus smirks. “You mean me?”Dylan shrugs. “Only when you’re not talking.”They stand in silence, the ocean stretching forever. The tension, as always, hums just under the surface.“You’ll burn out here,” Marcus murmurs.“You offering shade?”“I’m offering five minutes in my rack.”Dylan looks at him. “You sure you’ll make drills?”Marcus grins. “Always do.”Dylan pushes off the rail. “Lead the way.”Marcus turns, and Dylan follows.
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On The Ship … The sun scorches the deck of the USS Lexington. Dylan leans...

Remember Why We Celebrate July 4 in the USA 🇺🇸Independence Day isn’t just about fireworks and cookouts, it’s a reminder of what it took to get here. On July 4, 1776, a group of ordinary people made an extraordinary decision: to stand up against oppression and tyranny in pursuit of freedom. They risked everything to claim a future shaped by liberty, not fear.Today, we celebrate because they fought. We enjoy freedom because they refused to be silenced. And as we look around at the challenges of our own time, where voices are still being suppressed and rights debated, we’re reminded that the fight for liberty is never over.This holiday calls us not only to remember our history, but to live up to it. To stay alert, stay engaged, and never take freedom for granted.#july4 #independenceday #fourthofjuly #usa #🇺🇸
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Remember Why We Celebrate July 4 in the USA 🇺🇸 Independence Day isn’t just about...

Red Hat, Red Shorts, Red Hair … He showed up late to the group—quiet, sun-kissed, and not trying to impress anyone. Backwards red cap. Low-slung swim trunks. That barely-there smirk like he already knew half the beach was watching.He didn’t say much, just dropped his towel in the sand, kicked off his slides, and sat like that—legs open, skin glowing, staring out at the water like he was daring it to come closer.We found out later he was from Georgia. Grew up on a lake. Said saltwater still felt like a luxury, even now. Said he liked the way it left a taste on your skin.I asked if he wanted to join the others for drinks at the bar. He said, “I’m good right here.” Then he looked me dead in the eye and added, “You can stay though, if you want.”I stayed.We talked about nothing—just let the sun settle on our shoulders. Every now and then, he’d shift his weight and I’d catch a hint of something under the surface. A scar near his ribs. A quiet restlessness in the way he stretched. That tension some boys carry when they’ve only just started to feel safe.But mostly, he was calm. Like the beach itself had slowed his heartbeat.He wasn’t there to perform. He wasn’t there to prove anything.He was just there. Red hat. Red shorts. Red hair. And yeah—he was unforgettable.
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Red Hat, Red Shorts, Red Hair … He showed up late to the group—quiet, sun-kissed,...

Visit Me on the Web 😈 Haven’t checked in lately? There’s a whole spread of new AI content waiting for you on the HotGuysAI site.🔥 July promos = filthy fun for next to nothing. 👅 You will want seconds.Link in bio.#HotGuysAI #AIMen #SpicyAI #NSFWContent #JulyDeals #AIOnlyFans
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Visit Me on the Web 😈 Haven’t checked in lately? There’s a whole spread of...

🏳️‍🌈 Happy Pride! As we head into the final official weekend of Pride Month, I hope everyone had a chance to celebrate in whatever way felt right for them — whether that meant dancing in the streets, reflecting quietly, or simply showing up as yourself.Remember: Pride isn’t just a month. It’s a mindset, a movement, and a commitment to stand up for ourselves and each other as the world continues to shift around us.We are a strong, vibrant, and resilient community — and we’ve got this. 💪🏽🌈💖#Pride #LGBTQIA #Community #LoveIsLove
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🏳️‍🌈 Happy Pride! As we head into the final official weekend of Pride Month, I...

MidJourney … it’s interesting looking back at images I created nearly two years ago with MidJourney. AI image creation tools were just getting started and they still didn’t have web interfaces to interact with the tools. For MidJourney you had to use Discord. It’s amazing how fast the technology has developed and how fast it continues to advance. AI image and video creation is now available to almost everyone to use with simple tools and chat prompts through a browser or mobile app. I do feel like the AI image space is over saturated with creators right now so I’m interested in watching where it goes over the next few years.
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MidJourney … it’s interesting looking back at images I created nearly two years ago with...

Tattoos … It’s late in the afternoon, the heat clings to the pavement like breath that won’t let go. In the back alley behind the bar, a group of guys stands shirtless, denim hanging low on their hips, the occasional belt buckle catching the light.They don’t say much. There’s no need.Their bodies speak instead — marked and mapped, skin stretched tight over stories no one tells. Some lean against the wall, arms crossed, shoulders loose. Others sit on overturned crates or crouch near the curb, barefoot or in scuffed boots.They move with the ease of people who know each other well, who’ve seen the worst and never turned away. There’s tension in some of them, quiet in others. A kind of charged calm, like they’ve all just come down from something or are about to start something again.One laughs, head thrown back. Another lights a cigarette, not because he needs it, but because it gives his hands something to do. Someone spits, someone stretches, someone else watches the sky like it owes him an answer.They’re not trying to be anything. They just are — bare-chested and breathing, the kind of beautiful that doesn’t need mirrors. Bruised knuckles. Sunburned shoulders. Sweat drying in the Santa Monica air.They stand like this for a long time.Not waiting. Just existing.Together, for now.
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Tattoos … It’s late in the afternoon, the heat clings to the pavement like breath...

Perfect Form … Everyone at Halden University knew who Elias Moreau was.He was the star of the swim team, lean build, strong jaw, tousled hair that never stayed down even when wet. His freestyle was effortless, his starts silent and deadly. Coaches watched. Teammates chased. No one caught him.But it wasn’t just the speed.Elias wore glasses.Not the trendy kind, actual prescription, round lenses he pushed up during lectures on cognitive science or theoretical math. He double-majored. Sat front row. Took notes in immaculate handwriting. Always had a book in his bag and a calm, unreadable expression that made people lean in just to hear him speak.There was something about him, cool without trying, confident without the performance. The kind of guy who’d ace a final and still offer to help someone study after practice.People whispered. “He’s got it all.”But Elias never played to the crowd. He trained early, studied late, moved through campus like someone with nothing to prove. He smiled rarely, but when he did, it landed. Precise. Disarming.Perfection wasn’t what he aimed for. Control was. Balance.In the water, in the classroom, in life, he moved with intention. Like everything was connected. Like he understood the formula behind it all and chose, every day, not to flaunt it.He didn’t need to. He was already living it.
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Perfect Form … Everyone at Halden University knew who Elias Moreau was. He was the...

Twenty Frames … They stood at the edge of the beach, one by one, hoodies pulled close against the wind. No names. No instructions. Just: “Stand how you feel.”Some faced the camera head-on. Some looked away. Arms crossed, hands in pockets, sleeves pulled over fingers. A few smiled. Most didn’t.Each photo told its own quiet truth.Same backdrop. Same light. But each frame was different—posture, stillness, the way the wind caught the fabric.Twenty portraits. No captions. Just boys, alone for a moment, together in memory.Later, the photos were hung in the hallway, side by side.A gallery of silence. A record of who they were, if only for that afternoon.
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Twenty Frames … They stood at the edge of the beach, one by one, hoodies...

Deep Space … In the soft glow of the space station’s night cycle, 20-year-old best friends and partners, Leo and Sam, lay side by side in their small bunk. The hum of the station’s systems blended with the occasional creak of the metal around them, a constant reminder that they were far from Earth, floating in the vast, uncharted dark. Leo stared at the ceiling, the dim lights tracing patterns on the paneling, his mind drifting to the way Sam’s smile could light up a room, the way his laugh made the sterile corridors feel like home. He couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at his lips at the thought.Beside him, Sam lay quiet, eyes half-closed, but his mind was alive with memories of Leo—how his hair fell into his eyes when he was reading, the way he’d argue so passionately about the smallest things, the warmth that always seemed to radiate from his presence. In the stillness, neither of them spoke, but the air was thick with unspoken thoughts and the comforting knowledge that they were exactly where they needed to be. Here, in the cradle of deep space, the distance from Earth felt infinite, but the distance between them felt like nothing at all.
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Deep Space … In the soft glow of the space station’s night cycle, 20-year-old best...

Guys Locker Room … The smell of sweat and old sneakers clung to the air in the locker room, a quiet lull settling over the usually raucous space. After the game, the two 20-year-olds found themselves alone by the lockers, still half-dressed, adrenaline slowly giving way to a raw, unspoken vulnerability. One guy, his damp hair curling against his forehead, turned to his friend and pulled him into a tight, intimate hug. No words—just the squeeze of strong arms and the warmth of skin pressed against skin.Outside, the echo of teammates’ laughter faded, but in that small moment, the world seemed to pause. They held on, breathing in the closeness that spoke more than any victory ever could. A bond built on late-night talks, shared triumphs, and all the little losses that had shaped them. In the simple sanctuary of the locker room, friendship became a lifeline, holding them together in ways that went beyond the game.
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Guys Locker Room … The smell of sweat and old sneakers clung to the air...

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