#family: musk

[togescents]

yes my poesie order arrived only a couple days ago, yes i cannot help myself and tested two already

Poesie’s White Rabbit: fluffy white fur musk, kumquat marmalade, lacy carrot flower, a wisp of hay and sweet fennel 

i sniffed this from the vial when it arrived (cold! it was near freezing when it got here!) and knew immediately i would adore it. we all know how much i love citrus perfumes, and that kumquat marmalade is to DIE for.

i tested it yesterday, and the marmalade faded faster than i would like tho i think it would get stronger as it rests (citrus tends to actually stick around on my skin, even though it’s known to be a fleeting top note). but it still added a lovely citrus fruity-ness to it. there’s a bit of earthy sweetness from the hay and fennel, and i don’t know what carrot flower smells like but i presume it’s helping either the marmalade or earthy notes. finally i got some of that fuzzy fur musk. fur musk and i have a contentious relationship, but since it takes a back seat to the rest of these notes, i quite enjoy it here.

i really hope this one comes back because i want to get a larger size. there’s still samples available through poesie’s lucky day sale, if you’re even somewhat curious i highly recommend picking it up!

Poesie’s Rich Ghost: Iso E Super, ruby red grapefruit, rich sandalwood, golden threads of saffron, a hint of jasmine perfume, grey musk, warm amber, marshmallow 

yup, today i tested the other citrus perfume i got lol. this is the one from last year’s ghost collection i really wanted to try, but since they were only selling sample sets or full sizes i didn’t pick it up. i guess they poured too many samples since it’s in the luck day sale, too.

this one definitely needs more rest. i figured it would since half of the notes are base notes, but i wanted to give it a go anyway because the combination of grapefruit and sandalwood in the vial was making me feel some kind of way.

i think this sandalwood is similar to the one sorcellerie has used in their sandalwood perfumes i’ve enjoyed, because it feels very familiar. the grapefruit also reminds me of NAVA’s grapefruit, which is a huge compliment since their grapefruit is what made me realize i go nuts for the note.

overall this blends together very smoothly, even though it needs more rest. the overall scent is a little on the muddled side. i’m not getting any jasmine (thank god) but i’m also not getting much else than light citrus and sandalwood + grey musk + other base notes. oh, and iso e super. that is also what’s reminding me of sorcellerie perfumes. i’ll set it aside and test it again in a month or so.

two other perfumes still for sale for their lucky day event that i own are Eat Me (peach lavender cake with a marshmallow frosting dotted with currants) and  Mayari (green bamboo, white tea, sea salt, ginger root essential oil, Cetalox).

Eat Me is delicious, reminding me of arcana’s popular Fille de Joie (Delicate lavender marshmallows and yellow peaches cured in a vanilla absolute bottle.) but more foody. the peaches are syrupy in eat me while they’re fresh in fille de joie, and the lavender is more smooth than fille’s very herbal lavender. i don’t normally like having perfumes that are so similar but these are different enough and i like them both that i’m not gonna get rid of either.

Mayari is quite possibly the best summer beach perfume, because it works great in humidity. the bamboo and white tea give off the vibe of green tea while the sea salt and cetalox give it that salty beachy edge to it. i literally don’t know how to sell it except to say it’s both something i’ve never experienced before while also being a “safe” perfume choice.

highly recommend checking both out if you haven’t already!

[idesofrevolution]

Quality Time

*PING* Rocco looked down and smiles. He'd been wondering what Carlo and their father had been up to for the past week. Ever since their mother left a couple of years back, their father had been relatively distant- choosing to spend his hours away from the office at the gym instead of at home with his sons. To be fair, Rocco had left the house at 18, and now at 24 he wasn't home as often as he'd hoped. Nonetheless, it took both boys by shock when their relatively distant father decided to take a month off of work to spend some "quality time" with his sons. Carlo got the first two weeks, and Rocco would have the second. What they were in for, their father wouldn't say.

Hey, Roc. Dad wants us all to meet up tonight. We're at the gym on Broad Street, meet us there in 30 minutes.

The text was odd, definitely different than the normally chipper tone his brother is known for having. There wasn't even a single emoji... Rocco had hoped that everything would go well, but from the curtness of Carlo's message, it wasn't looking good. He sighed, walking his lanky ass over to the closet and throwing on some clothes, wasting no time making the 20 minute walk down to Broad street. The dim neon glow of the Planet Jacked sign illuminated the front of the strip mall; at 9PM on a Wednesday, the gym was the only business open compared to the vacant suites and GameStop next door.

Rocco pulled open the door, pulling out his phone to text Carlo that he'd arrived. The response was immediate:

In the kettlebell room. Hurry up.

Something did feel off, but Rocco had dismissed it as an irritated Carlo trying to pawn their gruff and macho dad off on him. Neither were "manly men" by their father's standards, not that he'd ever treated them poorly by any means. It just meant that they had little to nigh in common with eachother, and little to build a very "buddy buddy" relationship on. But, at least he was making an effort.

Rocco made his way through the gym floor, weaving through benches and weight machines to the double glass doors that houses the calisthenics room. He pushed open the door, and walked inside. Right off the bat, his suspicions that something was off were proven to be justified as he saw his brother flexing in the mirror. Or at least, he thought it was his brother. The man had Carlo's likeness: his short stature, his green eyes, the black and green headphones... but this was not his brother.

Carlo was easily 100 lbs of muscle heavier than when he'd left with their father on Monday morning. His hair was buzzed short, his formerly friendly face now scowled an aggressive smoulder, his arms and legs were bursting with hard muscle. Compared to the 5'2" skinny 19 year old Rocco had known, this man might as well have been a stranger.

"Get my bag over there, gotta shower and change." His voice was harsh, gruff... as if he'd smoked eight cigars before working out. He remained flexing in the mirror, as Rocco stood there gobsmacked. His eyes quickly shifted from his physique to his brother standing perplexed at the door. "You gonna sit and stare or are we gonna get going?" Rocco slowly walked over to Carlo's gym bag, picking it up and straining to shlep it over his shoulder. "Jesus, Roc. We've got to get you into the gym. C'mon, let's go." Carlo turned and walked out of the room, with Rocco hastening to meet his pace.

"Uh, Carlo... Did you... take something? I mean, I'm not accusing you of anything, but how did you..."

"Get this fuckin' jacked? Dad helped out a bit." Outside of Rocco's eyesight, Carlo smirked devilishly. He sneered, hocking a mouthful of spit onto the garbage can. Rocco nearly dropped the bag and bolted. This couldn't be the sweet, naive little brother he'd grown up with. If anything, he was acting more like their father than himself. As they entered the locker room, Carlo stopped at the mirror again, pinching his chin as if he were checking himself out in the mirror. "Yeah, Dad was saying he wanted me to try some pussy this week, and that girls liked a guy with guns. Heh, it worked." He flexed his massive arms, the putrid scent of heavy unwashed musk wafted from his pits as he did. Rocco pinched his nose, dropping the gym bag onto the bench.

"Since when have you been interested in girls?" Rocco spoke with genuine concern in his voice. Carlo had been an out and proud gay man for years now. Their father never understood it, but it never really bothered him any. To him, as long as his sons were 'getting some' then all was well. But this, combined with Carlo's inflated ego and body...

"Since I felt like it. Thought I'd give breedin' a try. After six girls this week, I'm tuckered out." Carlo sauntered toward the shower stalls, tossing his hat and headphones to his brother before turning to face him. "Dad will be here in a minute, just wait here." With that, he walked into the stall, and Rocco could hear the water starting to flow. He fell backward onto the bench, awestruck. Turning to the bag, Rocco imagined vials and vials of steroids and testosterone hiding within. It was the only logical explanation. Taking a deep breath, he slowly unzipped the bag, and ripped the top open to reveal:

Nothing. Carlos' normal street clothes, albeit a bit stretched out now, and an empty shaker bottle. No drugs, no syringes, nothing incriminating whatsoever. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn't due to roid rage.

"NNNNUGUUHHHH" Carlo's voice echoed in the empty locker room over the sound of the showerhead. Rocco stood up quickly, darting toward the shower stalls. Before he could ask if his brother was okay, the noises began. Wet noises- unaffiliated with the running shower. Rocco slowly crept closer, and the sounds had become clearer. Slimy schlorps and squelches combined with Carlo's moans of seeming pleasure. Was he fucking a pocket pussy? Surely not, he assumed, though in the back of his mind, the brother he'd seen was not the Carlo he knew. "uuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNAGHHHHHH!" One final moan and a rubbery slurp, and the room was silent again.

Rocco quickly rushed to the end stall, ready to rip the white curtain open, only for it to open on it's own: revealing the hulking figure of his father. The shock was palpable, as thick as the steam in the air. His father towered above him, as he always did, a massive slab of hard meat with a face. Sweat dripped from every part of his hulking body, and his face was already plastered with a surprised expression. As if he weren't expecting Rocco to see him yet.

"Dad... Is Carlo oka..." Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he saw his brother slumped over on the shower seat, passed out under the hot streams of water: still in the shorts and running shoes he'd been wearing moments ago. His muscled body could barely bend at the waist, so his limp torso sat at a slight angle to the rest of his body. Rocco turned to his father, whose expression hadn't yet changed.

"I said I'd be there in a minute, Roc." The limber young man tried to rush to his passed out brother, only for the iron grip of his father to stop him in his tracks. "He'll be fine. He'll wake up just the way you know him, with a couple of extra pounds. Don't you worry."

"Dad, what the fuck is going on?" Rocco shouted at his father, whose brows began to furrow. The hulking man grabbed the white curtain, shutting it behind his son. Slowly the look of shock turned to one of seriousness, and a twinge of nervousness shot down Rocco's spine.

"I'm on vacation, Roc. With my boy. And now it's your turn to spend some time with your old man." Rocco took a step back, confused and anxious. "You're what, 24 now? Let me tell you something, Roc. When you hit 50, it doesn't matter if you're the sexiest god damn man alive- women just don't look at you the same. They take one look at you and see a stacked old man. They look at you like you're disgusting, Roc. I just wanted things to be the way they used to, when I was your age." Another step backward, and Rocco felt himself pinned against the wall. "It doesn't hurt. Carlo said it felt damn good. He'll wake up feelin' like a million bucks and go right back to sticking that greasy pole into some man ass. Might even be better than before. But you..." His father leaned in against the wall, the wafting stench of his BO encircling the two. "You swing both ways. So will you do your pop a favor, Roc?" Rocco swallowed his spit, as his father leaned in until they stood inches from eacother, eye to eye.

"W... What kind of favor?"

"Let me be young again. Just for a couple weeks. I'll hop back in Carlo if things get out of hand, he's already said he's good with it. Let your old man take you for a spin, show you how I used to do it back in the day. Then at the end of the month, I hop right out. Deal?" His father stuck his hand out, waiting for him to accept this insane deal. Rocco turned to his brother, slowly coming back to consciousness.

"... One week. And if you don't fuck things up, I'll think about the other two." His father smiled as Rocco shook his hand in agreement.

"Turn around, boy. And just take some deep breaths." Rocco did as he was told, slowly turning around and placing his hand onto the brown tiled wall. He could hear Carlo coming to, and hearing the wet clap of his father's hands rubbing together. "Alright, boy. It's gonna be tight, deep breath!" Rocco took a slow inhale, feeling a strange tingling sensation as he felt his father's hands on his bony shoulderblades. As he exhaled, he could feel the calloused hands slowly sink into his back. "Ohhhh, fuck." His father's gravelly bass voice growled in the cavernous room, soaring above the wet schlorps of his huge arms slowly sinking deeper into his son. Rocco watched as his father's hands appeared beneath the skin of his arms, the outline of his fingers sliding down his biceps and forearms was quickly followed by the sounds of rubbery creaks as his father's considerable muscles slid into his own. Bones cracked and skin stretched as powerful biceps and firm forearms swelled with the invasion, as his father's hands slipped into his own like two tight gloves. His meaty fingers cracked under their own volition, as his father flexed his new triceps.

"Da... Dad? Oh fuck, Roc! It's your turn now, huh, bro?" Carlo's chipper voice cut through the wet sloshing as his father stepped forward, shoving his huge sweaty feet forward into Rocco's heels, immediately swelling to fit his size 14 boats. His father's ripe foot sweat started to pour from his soles while his calves started to sink in as well. "Feels great, right? I mean look at me? Dad promised a rockin' bod, and I mean, fuck! What guy is gonna turn me down now?" Rocco continued his deep breaths, trying to ignore his brother's bizarrely normal demeanor.

"Boy, you remember what your dad taught you. Take control, and fuck hard. They'll be beggin' for that cock." As the words left his father's mouth, he thrust his groin against Rocco's rear, letting his son's skin wrap around his thick ass as he slid his beer can dick into the sheath of his boy's- quickly swelling thick and musky as his balls grew into the size of clementines.

"Roc, just wait. Dad's gonna take good care of you. We're closer than ever, right pop?" His father's hard, hairy torso sank quickly into Rocco, his back expanding as his body fully enveloped his father up to their necks. Massive, juicy pecs and washboard abs pressed against his taut skin, and sputterings of the old man's hair started to sprout across his legs, arms, and chest. Rocco looked down at his massive body, no longer under his control, inflated with his father's stature. He could feel the scratchy scruff of the old man's beard against the nape of his neck.

"Alright, boy. Let me just slide..." He felt his father's nose press against the back of his head, and as it sank in, his vision became fuzzy. "Right..." His neck bulged and stretched, his jaw clenched and sharpened. "On..." His hair grew thick and messy, his eyebrows fuller and lower. As the last of his head was swallowed by the back of Rocco's head, a final crack of his neck and a slow exhale signaled that Rocco had already sank into the recesses of his mind. Facial hair sprouted across his chiseled jawline, as he smiled his pearly white teeth. "In." His father's gravelly tone now bellowed deep from within. He pushed himself off the wall, stretching his now 6'3" body, dripping in his old man's fragrant sweat. Turning to Carlo, he raised his eyebrow.

"Alright, boy. Let's go get some ass."

---

"Yeah, this is my brother's place, we'll be alone here. Don't you worry!" Carlo led the couple into Rocco's apartment, the boyfriend ogling his juicy ass as they walked inside. "Yeah, he's in the other room. This way." Carlo smiled as he threw his arm around the duo, the woman blushing as she turned to him.

"You sure he's down for this?" Carlo only smirked as he opened the door to the bedroom, revealing 'Rocco' in all his glory, swiping through the endless supply of thirsty messages on his Taimi. The couple's jaws dropped at the very sight of him, fresh from the gym, smelling of a locker room right after a basketball tournament.

"Oh wow... Uh, Hi there... I'm Victoria and this is Ollie..." 'Rocco' barely looked up from his phone, picking up his ripe gym shoe and socks, and tossing them to Ollie.

"Sniff, boy. When you're done with that, you can do the same for my brother." The boyfriend eagerly started to huff the stinking sock, moaning in pleasure as he did. "And you..." He put his phone down onto the table, turning to Victoria with a wry smirk. "Come show daddy some love."

[lolothesilly]

"the new norm" rips the living room from "all in the family" almost exactly and its deeply funny to me

like i know tnn is SUPPOSED to be hugely inspired by aitf but its driving me crazy how thats THE SAME ROOM. right down to the little wall-hanging between the closet and stairs.

for context: all in the family was a show from the 1970s about archie bunker (a conservative white man), his simple but kindhearted wife edith, his progressive daughter and her husband, and various neighbors including a black couple and a feminist couple

the WHOLE SHOW is lightly making fun of archie, how he's stuck in his ways and out of touch, and how despite genuinely caring about his family he alienates everyone with his bigoted beliefs. it's a really interesting character study honestly

apparently even (or especially) back when this was airing, there were people who thought archie was the hero and not the butt of the joke. the rick sanchez problem is nothing new. it's just astounding to me how many people refuse to engage even an ounce of critical thinking.

anyway AITF season 1 is free on youtube, watch that (or literally anything else) instead of elon musk's cringe ass garbage

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in my house with my mom, when we saw a helicopter fly up just like a meter from the ceiling window (which was strangely huge btw). I tried to take a closer look to find out what’s going on and I realised that the pilot was Elon Musk. He was stalking me.

[dontmean2bepoliticalbut]

[k4rwl]

Obg pelos mais de 35 seguidores aq no tumblr

jantar na minha casa hj as 23:00 hrs em forma de comemoração

[peachybugsworld]

I saw this on twitter and oh my god 😭 genuinely because they don’t age them I’ve never thought of them aging

u/funshineyy on twitter

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ruth Ben-Ghiat at Lucid:

While the Fascist focus on growing the population was linked to Italy's perennially low birthrates, Mussolini's quote, which reflects his immersion in what we now know as Great Replacement Theory, reminds us that concerns with "childlessness" never occur in a vacuum, but are linked to concerns about race and "civilization."

Among today's far-right in Europe and America, Fascist ideas are finding new life. Misogynistic impulses to link women's societal value to their roles as mothers and limit or abolish their bodily autonomy find justification in the belief that populations must increase in response to fears of White extinction by non-White births.

In the United States, Vice-Presidential candidate J.D. Vance's offensive pronouncements about women echo Fascist notions of women as a tool of demographic growth, starting with his seeming belief that motherhood is the metric of a woman's worth to society. Anything that gives greater agency or independence to women in terms of their reproductive capacities and choices is seen by Vance as dangerous, from in vitro fertilization to abortion rights.  Vance's apparent agreement with the comment made by extremist Eric Weinstein on a 2020 podcast episode that the main purpose of the "postmenopausal female" is to raise grandchildren is also in this vein. While exposing children to grandparents is a great gift, Weinstein's clinical assessment of the "postmenopausal female" as having no other societal value is chilling. Keeping women in the home occupied with children throughout their lives means women are not out of the home, leading in politics, culture, finance and other sectors.

The same fear of female autonomy, and the same misogynist sentiments, lies behind Vance's apparent feeling that women should be forced to stay in abusive marriages. Vance is well suited to be the political partner of Donald Trump, who partly decriminalized domestic violence during his presidency: economic impoverishment, psychological and emotional harassment, and other forms of non-physical abuse could no longer be prosecuted. Vance's blaming of childless women for the supposed increased decadence of society and decline of civilization also has Fascist roots. The regime constantly juxtaposed childless women as morally unhealthy and representative of degradation (they were known as "the crisis-woman") with robust mothers of many children, who represented the best of Italian tradition and had shown their investment in the national future by giving birth multiple times.

And what to say about Vance's idea that childless people don't have a stake in society and thus deserve a downgrading of their rights based on their procreational status? In 2021 he made a remark that Americans with children should be able to vote more times in an election than their childless compatriots. That someone with Vance's opinions is now a possible vice president of the United States says so much about how far to the right the needle has moved and how extreme the GOP has become. The kindred spirits of Vance and the GOP on such subjects are not the leaders of democracies, but the heads of illiberal parties and states and the private sector actors who boost their causes. Vance would be right at home at this gathering of neo-fascist Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni of Italy, former Hungarian President Katalin Novák, and extremist billionaire Elon Musk, this last also obsessed with demography and prolific procreation by people with the right genes.

The far-right fascists have an obsession with fertility rates.

[jdsquared]

[idesofrevolution]

Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

[isawthismeme]

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My family and I spent the night at Elon Musk’s house, and for several hours I followed him around asking him to change Twitter back to normal. He had also kidnapped three Victorian women and kept them in his basement cellar.

[thewither129]

This says everything you need to know

The right actively LIKES pedophiles

Anyone pretending otherwise is defending the pedophiles

If this was Ava, shed be swarmed with death threats and get backlash far beyond what would be warranted for what she actually did

Since its their culture warrior, they flock to his defense to do what they love:

Calling everyone pedophiles except the real pedos

The right arent just weird, theyre actively vile and disgusting

[despairingdivas]

Who remembers when Elon Musk posted a Spy X Family meme?

I do!

[tobeflyhaikyuu]

So bc im obsessed with tower of god and getting back into anime/manga as of late, i revived an old twitter account

If yall wanna find me there, im @rekisparadise