MacroAndroPhilia

I like big men. AO3: macroandrophilia

[macroandrophilia]

Just FYI

This is a "woke" space that supports the rights of everyone. Yes, including trans people.

If you can't separate your power imbalance fantasy from the reality that all people deserve equal rights, that's your skill issue not mine.

That's all.

[macroandrophilia]

Colton Haynes posted this, and since it's the trend right now Instagram, I decided to ask three AIs to enhance it. The prompt for all these is "Brighten the picture and add 50lbs of lean muscle."

Grok doesn't quite care to brighten things up and also gives the most "fake" result. The skin does have that AI sheen. It kind of just blows up what's there a little and makes it more like a morph.

MetaAI makes the pecs less meaty but it does look a little more realistic. It does brighten stuff up, at least.

ChatGPT understood the assignment both in size and brightness. Colton's abs don't look as airsprayed as before. It does change the face more than the previous two, tho.

[macroandrophilia]

Came back to this to give Gemini a try. Prompt: Brighten the picture and add 50lbs of lean muscle. Not much changed. If you see a side by side it's really only the arms that got a bit bigger. I have prompts that do end up with more noticeable changes.

[macroandrophilia]

Colton Haynes posted this, and since it's the trend right now Instagram, I decided to ask three AIs to enhance it. The prompt for all these is "Brighten the picture and add 50lbs of lean muscle."

Grok doesn't quite care to brighten things up and also gives the most "fake" result. The skin does have that AI sheen. It kind of just blows up what's there a little and makes it more like a morph.

MetaAI makes the pecs less meaty but it does look a little more realistic. It does brighten stuff up, at least.

ChatGPT understood the assignment both in size and brightness. Colton's abs don't look as airsprayed as before. It does change the face more than the previous two, tho.

[macroandrophilia]

Image prompt: Create an image of a tropical beach at dawn. A male pro bodybuilder slowly emerges from the water onto golden sand. Low-angle shot capturing the turtle’s movement and the glowing pink-orange sunrise. Soft, directional morning light casting long shadows.

Video prompt: The man quickly transitions into becoming a seven foot tall, very lean, and very muscular heavyweight pro bodybuilder wearing a shiny leather pair of bodybuilder posing briefs, flexing cockily for the camera. Have the scene smoothly transition into a bodybuilding posing stage, with bright lights, and a velvety red curtain.

[macroandrophilia]

Image prompt: Create an image: a young college student built like a brickhouse on steroids, forged in the fires of relentless gym grind and protein-fueled fury. The guy towered at least 6'4", shoulders cannonball-wide under a fitted black tee that strained against slabs of dense muscle, the fabric pulling taut across pecs that rose and fell with easy breaths and arms like coiled pythons, veins mapping paths from relentless iron work. A dense beard framed a square jaw, dark and rugged; with tousled hair fell just shy of reckless.

Video prompt: Have the man quickly and smoothly transition into becoming a very tall and lean professional heavyweight pro bodybuilder wearing blue denim bodybuilder posing briefs, flexing his biceps cockily.

[macroandrophilia]

Stiles wasn’t sure why he came. Maybe for the stale punch and a chance to judge how badly everyone else had aged. Maybe just to prove to himself he could come back to Beacon Hills and survive the night without a supernatural incident. He hadn’t expected to feel this awkward. Or to still be this skinny. Or for Jackson Whittemore’s teeth to be that white. What the hell was that man brushing with? Liquid diamonds?

He adjusted the collar of his too-tight dress shirt and slid along the bleachers, trying to be invisible. Ten years later and Beacon Hills High still smelled like gym socks, disappointment, and floor wax. Some things never changed.

And then Danny Mahealani walked in, and suddenly, everything changed.

“Holy shit,” Stiles whispered under his breath.

The man who stepped through the gym doors was not the quietly confident goalie Stiles remembered. This Danny looked like he’d been carved out of sun-drenched marble. Golden skin, wide shoulders stretching the seams of a crisp white linen shirt, chest so thick the buttons looked like they were working overtime. His arms—God, those arms—thick and veiny and casually folded as he scanned the crowd. His thighs were tree trunks, clearly visible even through tailored navy pants. Every step he took made his shoulders roll and flex. Stiles was unwell.

Danny caught his eye almost immediately.

He grinned—soft, knowing, a little amused—and made his way across the room like a man who knew how many eyes were on him. Stiles froze. All the blood in his brain relocated south.

“Stilinski,” Danny said, voice low and warm, a little deeper than Stiles remembered. “Still pale, still twitchy.”

Stiles laughed nervously. “Still hot, still obnoxiously perfect.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “That a compliment or a cry for help?”

“Both,” Stiles muttered. “Definitely both.”

Danny chuckled, and Jesus, even his laugh was toned. “You look exactly the same,” he said, eyes lingering. “Maybe a little taller?”

“You look like you ate the old you. And then bench pressed him.”

Danny grinned, easy and smug. “Occupational hazard.”

“Of what? Godhood?”

“Fitness modeling,” he said. “Mostly athletic wear. I do a few protein commercials. Some surf stuff. And I’ve gotten into triathlons. Did Ironman Kona last year. Third place.”

Stiles choked on his own spit.

Danny casually flexed his right arm, running a hand through his hair—and holy shit, was that a vein snaking up his bicep?

“It’s wild, honestly,” Danny continued, as if Stiles wasn’t trying to pretend he wasn’t full-on staring. “I do yoga every morning on the beach. Sunrise vinyasa. Helps with recovery. Then strength training. I’m prepping for a show next month. Classic physique. Trying to push into heavyweight.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Danny grinned wider. “You okay there, Stiles?”

“I—yeah. Just—processing.”

“Want to feel?” Danny asked, lifting one arm and flexing again. He wasn’t even subtle about it. The peak of his bicep looked obscene.

Stiles made a choked sound but stepped forward, reaching out with trembling fingers. His palm met warm, dense muscle. It twitched under his touch, hard and alive. He’d touched werewolves before—Scott, Derek, Isaac—but Danny didn’t feel supernatural. He just felt… real. Like effort and sun and protein shakes and discipline. Like power.

Danny leaned in. “It’s even bigger when I pump up. You should see my leg day routine. I squat over 500 easy. But I kinda prefer bench. Something about the stretch across my chest. You know?”

Stiles’ knees wobbled.

Danny’s smile turned sly. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes,” Stiles blurted. “God, yes.”

Danny tilted his head, pretending to think. “You free tomorrow morning? You could come by the beach. Watch me do yoga. Maybe I’ll show you a few stretches.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Do they end with you flexing again?”

[macroandrophilia]

The first time Stiles came home from college, it was Thanksgiving. He hadn't expected much to have changed. The house still smelled like coffee and old leather. His bedroom was still a mess of high school leftovers. His dad was still Sheriff Noah Stilinski — dependable, steady, a little worn at the edges from years of late nights and small-town drama.

But when he pulled up the driveway and slammed the Jeep door, the man who came out onto the porch didn’t look exactly the way Stiles remembered.

Sheriff Stilinski had always been broad, built like an old oak tree — stubborn and sturdy. But now... now there was a heaviness to him, a thickness. His uniform strained a little around the shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up, and Stiles could see the rounded bulk of his forearms, bigger than before, veiny and solid. His chest looked heavier too, the buttons on his shirt sitting a little too snug against the fabric.

"There's my boy!" his dad called out, voice still warm, still familiar — but somehow deeper, rougher, like it had been sanded down to something heavier.

Stiles swallowed and jogged up the steps, feeling a weird flutter in his stomach. He blamed it on the long drive.

The Sheriff pulled him into a hug, clapping a big hand against his back. Stiles half-wheezed — not because his dad had ever been a gentle hugger, but because now there was actual mass pressing into him. His dad was dense. Solid in a way he hadn’t been before.

“You’re getting strong, old man," Stiles wheezed, half-joking, as he pulled back.

His dad just laughed, ruffling Stiles' hair with a hand that felt bigger, rougher somehow. "Station gym," he said. "Figured I'd put it to good use now that I’ve got more time on my hands. Can't let the rookies outpace me."

He said it so easily, so matter-of-fact, like he hadn't clearly packed on at least twenty pounds of muscle. Maybe thirty. Maybe more.

Stiles shook it off. He was imagining it. He had to be.

[macroandrophilia]

Joe is Ken's best friend and rival from a nearby military academy. They never miss a chance to hang out and fight to see who's on top.

Yet another toy I would've loved to have.

[macroandrophilia]

I just need more muscular werewolves on TV, ok?

[macroandrophilia]

College Ken: Jock Editions! Ken's in college and it's not just the books he's hitting. Ken is, of course, a natural athlete, and he's ready to get into the mat with anyone brave enough to challenge him.

One of the many toys I wish existed in my childhood.

[macroandrophilia]

Eli Hale, all grown up.

[macroandrophilia]

[macroandrophilia]

I made myself an Indian bodybuilder to worship.

[macroandrophilia]

Ian didn't act like much had changed, he simply told interviewers "Peter is coming back as an Alpha for the new Teen Wolf series, I needed to look the part."

[macroandrophilia]

What do you do once you've become so unrealistically strong that no supernatural threat dares to challenge you?

Easy, you marry your co-alpha, and become the loveable neighborhood DILF couple that has new heartwarming stories every week.

Alpha Wolves, the sitcom, follows the lives of Scott and Derek McCall-Hale, their growing family, and the wacky situation a family of werewolves faces while trying to stay secret.

[macroandrophilia]

What do you do once you've become so unrealistically strong that no supernatural threat dares to challenge you?

Easy, you get stronger.

Alpha Wolves, the next Teen Wolf movie.

[macroandrophilia]

The Teen Wolf reboot spent most of its preproduction budget in getting the entirety of the Hale-McCall pack unrealistically jacked.