SEED. SWEAT. SNOOZE.
#GoldDay | Ezan the Emir’s Daily Grind
🕔 4:55 A.M. – Prince Problems Before Dawn
Before the sun even peeks up, I’m already by my boy’s bed. Nah, not “boy” like back in Percival’s days. Things changed. He asked to carry my SEED, asked from the heart. So, Freyr blessed him. Our Elias. Our son now. Mine. Ours. The Prince.
He’s huge, tall, beefy, a full-grown Arab stallion, but acts like he’s five in the morning. Wrapped around that stuffed stag he calls Mr. Stag, pulling the sheets tighter, whining like:
“Baba, not yet. Mr. Stag says no prayer without pancakes…”
I chuckle, brush the curls off his forehead, and kiss it.
“Time for fajr, ya habibi.”
Elias groans. But he obeys. Always does, for his father.
🕡 6:30 A.M. – Butlers, Buns, and Lost Jocks
Downstairs, Maksoud’s already on it. That’s Maximus now, Arabized, shaved, sharp. He bows and says,
“Good morning, Sayyid.”
Smooth as fresh cardamom. Amir’s brewing the dark roast, Namir’s got towels folded like a five-star spa, and I swear someone’s already lost another jockstrap...
We feast. Dates, eggs, meat, mana’eesh. Nothing fancy, just golden good. My son still yawns between bites, curls clinging to his forehead.
🏋️ 9:00 A.M. – Golden Arabs Only Gym
We hit the gym. I sweat. So much sweat. I seed the benches. You know what I mean. Basit and Jabir roll in all pumped. Rami cracks jokes. Ghazi sniffs himself and flexes. Raheem drops his bag and already smells like victory.
Then my brother Hamza arrives. Another Emir. Golden eyes. Grin like thunder. We bump chests like bulls and get to work.
Deadlifts. Presses. Pecs out.
“Bro, I’m leaking SEED,” I laugh.
By 10:15? That gym ain’t public no more. Civvies walk in… stop… breathe us in… and just start following Hamza’s form like it’s a holy text. Golden Arabs don’t try. We are. They convert themselves.
🍖 18:00 P.M. – Home Again. Family Vibes.
We feast again. Music’s on. Elias snorts at a meme Amir shows him. My son’s glowing, golden and proud.
By bath time, we’re quiet. Oils, steam, towels, silence. My muscles ache. My soul doesn’t.
📖 23:30 P.M. – Bedtime with My Prince
I sit by his bed, cream robe loose, gold trims soft in the moonlight. Elias mumbles about Mr. Stag needing a new belt. I laugh.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a golden stag who guarded a prince so strong…”
He’s out before the stag finds his crown.
I tuck him in. Kiss his forehead again. Whisper:
“You’re my SEED, my son, my joy.”
Lights out. Another golden day.
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