Caption Contest - Tumblr Posts
Reblogging, since the comment section has too small a limit for the caption I have in mind. This is for PICTURE 1: "Let me pass, Donald," you demand of the heavily muscled Adonis in front of you. Your former friend stares at you as he blocks the way out from your cul de sac of lockers with his thick, meaty arm. His white muscle tee strains against his taut skin, accentuating every curve, every perk along his rippling abdominals, shelf-like pectorals, and perfectly inflated biceps and triceps. The scent of axe body spray rolls off him, but not so much as to be overbearing, surprisingly enough. The bands on his wristwatches glint in the flickering locker room lights as he stares at you with his head slightly cocked. His gaze unnerves you, a strange blend of curiosity, a predatory analysis that verged almost on dissection, and that sort of confused glaze that hovered over his eyes more and more often, giving them a dull sort of half-emptiness that left you wondering whether anyone was home up there. So did most of the school staff, nowadays. Donald frowned slightly. “I told you, bro, it’s Donny now,” he said in that infuriating low pitch of his. He was clearly straining to force his voice to deepen, and it showed, but he didn’t care. He just kept doing it, like some sort of idiot to please the rest of the team. He shook his head and his medallion jingled slightly as it swayed between his thick pectorals. You didn’t have time for this. “All right, let me pass, Donny,” you say. “Come on, man. I’m gonna be late.” You hated having gym class last period. You always had to wait for everyone else to get out of the locker room, so you wouldn’t get bullied for your figure, and then you had to rush to get to the buses, before they left. Donny shook his head again. This time, he grinned at you, displaying perfectly straight white teeth that accented his sharpening features. You could see the hints of the squares that were becoming more and more prominent at the base of his jaw. “Nah, bro. I don’t think so. We gotta talk.” “Later,” you insist as you try to shove your way past him. A burly arm quickly shoves you back. “No, he insists, his eyes smoldering darkly as he scowls at you. “Now,” he says forcefully. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you insist. “You tried out for the football team. You made the cut, made new friends, found new interests. I get it.” “Nah, bro. You don’t get it.” Donny shook his head. “Yeah, coach talked me into football. Sure, I liked it, and yeah, it made me have to stop being your DM, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you, bro!” “Haven’t thought about me? Haven’t thought about me?” Suddenly you’re feeling angry. “Don’t you dare pull that crock of bull shit with me! You think I haven’t seen you walking the halls with those goons, shoving kids into lockers, giving wedgies, calling people like me, ‘fucking pansies’ and ‘faggots,’ because we’re not fit, like you?” You strut forward and jab a finger in his chest. “You’re as bad as the rest of them!” He stares at you blankly. “Well, duh. I’m a jock.” He shuddered, then chuckled, a deep sort of guffawing sound. “Damn, that feels good to say.” “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s your excuse? The mighty quarterback is a douche, because he’s a jock? Are you even listening to yourself?”
You hear the sound of the bell going off to signal the buses have left, but by this point, you’re too mad to care. It was time to air some grievances and settle this relationship once and for all. “Yeah, bro. Now it’s time for you to listen,” Donny said with a radiant smile. “Ya see, bro, bein’ on the football team, it’s kinda like role play, ya know?” “Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here.” Yet again, you found yourself flung back as Donny continued to steamroll through his explanation, heedless of any protests or exertions you might try to make. “See, bro, as the QB, I call the plays. I have to look at the strategies, analyze what the players do, anticipate all the outcomes, and work my ass off to make sure I’ve got the build and the knowhow to beat the other team. It’s like when I used to DM. People come with character sheets, and I help ‘em fill out their stats and level up.” He flexed one of his meaty biceps. “I’m telling you, bro, it’s fuckin’ ace.” “So, you’re basically telling me that you’ve been working out, acting like some gym-obsessed meathead, letting your grades drop, all for the sake of what your twisted dumbass head thinks is some sort of extended campaign?” Donny beamed. “I knew you’d understand.” “Understand? Understand? Are you insane? How the hell is any of this supposed to make a lick of sense?” you huff. The humidity from the showers is still permeating the room, making your shirt cling to your chest as you sweat. “Easy, bro.” He grinned, bearing his teeth in that predatory way all bullies in the school seemed to manage so effortlessly. He held up a sheet. “Summer break’s coming up soon.” “So?” You pant. The air seems thicker somehow, and you find yourself leaning against the lockers. The cool metal feels so soothing against your skin, even as the room starts to spin a bit. Your shadows dance and flicker with the lightbulbs as Donny continues to grin. Or ... was that a sneer? Your stomach clenches and gurgles, followed by a practical explosion of air that expels itself out your mouth against your will. “Dude,” Donny chuckles. “That was epic!” “I ... I don’t f--EE--l so good,” you crack. You feel something cold shoved into your hand. “Drink this. It’ll help,” Donny promises. He twists the top off with a burly snap, then brings the thing to your lips. You taste something thick and creamy with the aftertaste of vanilla. “Wuh ... wut is it?” you ask. In your dazed state, you don’t even notice how deeply you’ve pitched your voice. “Protein shake. Good shit, huh?” Donny asked as he scribbled something down with a pen. “Uh ... yeah. ... Good shit.” You don’t know why you keep repeating him but ... it just feels easier to do things that way. “Think of it like a potion of strength, bro. The more you drink, the stronger you get,” Donny explained. You take another sip. A pleasurable sort of tingling has settled into your muscles and scalp. “Cool. Cool....” you low even slower. “You gotta watch those fluids, when you’re working out, bro,” he says seriously as he jots along a clipboard. “Working ... out?” You furrow your brow, confused and turn to see your book bag has been replaced with a gym bag. “Happens, when you push too hard. I told you you didn’t have to prove yourself to the guys. They aren’t messing you again, are they?” he asks fiercely, protectively. “Uhhhh....” He crouches in front of you. You blink, and suddenly, you feel intense pressure in your pectorals and biceps. The sweat is pouring down your face, but you keep going, breathing in and out, in and out. “That’s it, just five more,” Donny encourages. Five more what? Clank. You hear the weights clacking as you strain. Two grips are held firmly in your hands as you force your arms together. The word Butterfly suddenly arises in your head, kinda like the ones you felt in your stomach earlier. You breathe, and you feel the material in your shirts draping wet against your torso. Have you lost weight? Donny scratches something else on his clipboard, and suddenly you’re breathing heavily. Your legs feel curiously wide, and you’re not sure why. An itch bothers you, and you reach down to scratch, unashamed. Your sweats cling tightly to your frame, the familiar green tusk-mouthed shape of your school’s mascot perks up against your chest. Donny is holding a clip board and grinning. “Now that’s what I call hustle!” he crows. Next, your throat feels strangely raw as you back away from the weighted training dummy. Everything feels heftier, but ... it’s in different places now, more evenly distributed. The dull glint of plastic catches your eye as you turn to look down at the thick pads that now adorn your shoulders. Next, you’re sitting at a table, a massive steak in front of you. The table is rowdy with thick, heavily built boys tearing into their meals, while Coach Madsen beams at you, and Donny smiles. A thick hand slaps you on the back and you turn to see Felix, one of the biggest tormentors in the school. “Damn, bro. Didn’t expect you to make it, but you really got what it takes.” He smiles. “You’re all right.” You notice he has a bit of a swollen lip and just a hint of bruising beneath one of his eyes. You feel a bit of an ache, yourself in your jaw, but you enjoy the meal. Next, you’re sitting wedged between a bunch of Donny’s teammates. Donny is using a pointer to help illustrate a play between a series of circles and exes. Something is buzzing in the background in your ears, but you don’t pay attention to it. You have to focus on Donny. He’s the QB. QB calls the plays. Gotta know the plays. Then, suddenly, you’re staring at a board filled with the same symbols and then some, but you don’t understand a lick of it. You spread your legs as you slump in your chair, bored out of your mind. You scratch absently at your crotch, just like you did in the locker room. Do ... you feel ... bigger down there? Instead of alarm, you feel ... pleasure? Pride? “Fuck, yeah....” It’s out of your lips, before you can even think. More scrabbling, more scratching. Suddenly, your’s holding something heavy in the air. The world comes into focus, and you’re holding the waistband of a pair of boxer briefs. Thick veins snake down your python-like arms as you grin like an absolute idiot, spurred on by the deep, hooting cheers of the other muscled boys near you. Then you’re sitting in front of Coach Madsen. You’re looking down at a sheet on a clipboard with your name on it, numbers, stats, and the position: Lineman. You blink blearily few times, and suddenly, you’re holding a pen. You scrawl your name on the dotted line, then look up at your coach. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Then you’re back in the locker room again. There’s Donny leaning against the entrance. He’s staring at you. You stare back at him. You smell of the fresh axe body spray you just applied. Your hair is carefully styled with the aid of some hair wax, and your white shirt strains even tighter than Donny’s against your thick pecs and broad shoulders. You stand up and find that you now are nearly a head taller than your old friend. You grin at him with that same familiar glazed expression in your eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks. There’s only one answer you can think of. “Bro....” Donny smirks. “Now you get it. Come on, bro. Gym’s waiting.”
A small caption contest:
Hey there guys. I’ve come up with this small challenge for you guys.
The general idea of the contest is the following:
In this post I will show you 3 pictures, Tagged by number. The challenge for you guys, is to write the best caption for one of the pics in the comments.
These are the things you’ll have to do:
-make sure to make clear which picture of the three you have chosen to caption at the start of the message.
-let your imagination run wild. Growth, muscle drain, and so on… you name it!
-pick only one picture! If you choose multiple, I will only take the 1st one in count.
-make sure to leave your caption in the comments of this post.
Those are the only 4 things you’ll have to do.
For every picture I will decide who wrote the best caption. And for those winners I will write a personal story. I will notify you guys once I’ve picked the 3 winners, and I’ll message them personally. Good luck with captioning! And here are the 3 pictures:
