#let men fart
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five has set my standards high for men 🫢 and i’m going to hold out for a partner like him.
It depends on what precisely about Five you would want to match your real life partner to, but in general I would advise against this. I was going to answer this simply but then I went into a full blown ramble so I'm sorry
Being fictional is Five's biggest allure...
Five is not real and that's a biiiigggg point in his favour. You will idealise him to the point that no real man could ever match up. Imagine a man saying that some super smart and sexy anime girl was his standard for IRL women. We'd rightly tell him that it was an unfair expectation.
If Five was a real flesh and blood man, tied to corporeal form and subject to the curse of existence, I promise you he would not live up to the standards set by the Five in your head. The truth is, Five can never fart on you in bed. He can never have that really irritating habit that makes you want to punt him through a wall, and he will never accidentally hurt you with a clumsy word or leave the dishes in the sink or whatever. He'll never criticise you for any of your bad habits either. Real men do all those things because they're human. They deserve your love and consideration. Don't hold out for a fantasy.
...but if he weren't fictional, he'd be a one man communist uprising considering all those red flags
We romanticize Five partly because he is an asshole. His sarcasm is amusing and acerbic tongue is attractive, mostly because we know there's tenderness underneath it. We have a uniquely intimate insight into his life, past and personality by virtue of him being a fictional character who we have seen when he thinks nobody is watching. We don't have that with real men. Romanticising assholes is something patriarchy has taught us. Just look at the Beauty and the Beast myth that replays itself in our culture again and again ("I can change him! He's different when we're alone, I swear!"). We like to imagine that Five would begin by being a dick to us like he does everyone else, but gradually we would end up being the special person who would bring out all the tenderness we know he has underneath. This is fine when it's a fictional character who we know for sure has all that tenderness underneath, but with a real man whose soul we can never know like we know Five's? No way. I can promise you that you should run a mile from a real man who sarcastically insults people and use their intelligence to put others down. A similar point to Five's violence. This is a character trait you should not excuse in real men. In real life, men who are violent to others will almost certainly be violent to their romantic partners. This is another bonus Five gets for being fictional: he lives in a fictional reality where his violence is justified and nbd because it's a world of comic-book morality.
Alright Mango, you fuckin' killjoy, what can I hold out for then?
Having said all this, I think Five does have some qualities you can admire in IRL men. I've said on this blog many times before that I think I find Five hot because he reminds me of my partner in terms of personality as well as looks. So this is what I think you wouldn't be unwise to look for in a man: 1. Someone with intelligence and competence. There is nothing sexier than someone who has faith in their own abilities and wields that knowledge with confidence, like Five does.
2. Someone with leadership skills without needing to dominate: Five sometimes falls foul of the latter but is usually pretty good at taking control of a situation whilst also hearing everyone out and using the knowledge of the entire room.
3. Someone with a sense of humour. Five's cynical little comments and charming phraseologies (e.g. "Chatty Cathies," "A nap and a schvitz, what more does a man need?") would be adorable in any man.
4. Someone with a mature outlook. Five is just happy living a comfortable life. He likes his creature comforts but he takes pleasure in the simple things. He isn't really competitive anymore because he truly doesn't feel like he has to prove anything. This is partly a result of his age, I think, so I would forgive a younger man for not having this outlook.
5. Someone who cares about his appearance: Five isn't vain, but he dresses carefully and intentionally for the occasion. It not only looks sexy, it shows that he has self-respect.
6. Someone who speaks to you the way Five speaks to Dolores: Five treats his (ex)partner with respect and fondness. He clearly worshipped Dolores when they were together but he didn't patronise her either. He spoke to her like an equal. And after the relationship ended, he never let anybody speak badly about her.
Ok, I'll shut up now.
#number 5 imagine#five hargreeves imagine#number five imagine#fictional men#fictional men are better#fictional men can't fart#let men fart
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Tag drop: Dorian Pavus
#dorian pavus. [ he says we're alike. too much pride. once i would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. now I'm not certain. ]#dorian pavus: ic. [ you find joy in it not shame. it shows. / why be ashamed? power should be respected. not swept under the carpet. ]#dorian pavus: inquiries. [ stop talking like you're waiting for applause. / what? there's no applause? ]#dorian pavus: countenance. [ i'm here to set things right. also? to look dashing. that part's less difficult. ]#dorian pavus: introspection. [ selfish i suppose. not to want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside. ]#dorian pavus: meta. [ you inspired me with your marvelous antics. you’re shaping the world. how could i aspire to do any less? ]#dorian pavus: little notes. [ living a lie. it festers inside you like poison. you have to fight for what’s in your heart. ]#dorian pavus: etc. [ you can't call me pampered. nobody's peeled a grape for me in weeks. ]#dorian pavus: magic. [ don't your spells whisper things to you? what is and could be? music in the mind of strange faraway places? ]#dorian pavus: inquisition. [ we're going to get lost and starve to death. aren't we? a glorious end for the inquisition. ]#dorian pavus: tevinter. [ despite appearances. we care deeply. about everything. we have no reserve. not in war and not in love. ]#dorian pavus: felix. [ even in illness he was the best of us. with him around you knew things could be better. ]#dorian pavus: gereon. [ we used to talk about how we could make real change in the imperium. then he gave up. he stopped trying. ]#dorian pavus: halward. [ i only wanted what was best for you. / no. you wanted the best for you. your fucking legacy. ]#dorian pavus: aquinea. [ her blame was cold and smothering. never spoken but always present. he couldn't face that. not yet. ]#dorian pavus: inquisitor. [ you have too many people asking you for everything under the sun. i won't be one of them. ]#dorian pavus: solas. [ you startled me. you're always so... nondescript. / please speak up. i cannot hear you over your outfit. ]#dorian pavus: varric. [ what do you think sparkler? ten royals says the next thing we run into farts fire. / taken i win either way. ]#dorian pavus: cullen. [ gloat all you like. i have this one. / are you sassing me commander? i didn't know you had it in you. ]#dorian pavus: cassandra. [ blue scarf? why would i be wearing such a thing? / It's a painting. work with me. it'll be fantastic. ]#dorian pavus: cole. [ you say you're handsome all the time. am i? i can't tell. / you're all right. might want to rethink the hats. ]#dorian pavus: vivienne. [ i received a letter the other day dorian. / truly? it's nice to know you have friends. ]#dorian pavus: blackwall. [ point is. you should let yourself off the hook. i know bad men and you're not one. ]#dorian pavus: sera. [ you magic me: i'll put three arrows in your eye. / now we can live together in peace and harmony. ]#dorian pavus: bull. [ no qunari would accept a tevinter mage unless it was a ruse. when should i expect a knife in the back? ]#dorian pavus: corypheus. [ one of yours? / one of mine? like a pet? a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? ]
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BBC Ghosts: This is the Captain. As a former commanding officer in WWII, he has a need for control humorously juxtaposed with the inherent impotence of being a ghost. His buttoned-up nature also serves as a metaphor for his repressed feelings as a gay man, masking a sensitivity that comes through in his gentle kindness toward others.
American version of Ghosts: Remember Tobias Fünke from Arrested Development? Imagine if he was constantly shitting himself.
Posted with permission from a text my partner sent me.
#f slur cw#bbc ghosts#ghosts bbc#the captain#the captain bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts the captain#ghosts the captain#american ghosts#original#my partner is right and i love that i am the one who gets these kind of smart funny texts#simon farnaby#cbs ghosts#ghosts cbs#ryan just texted me again with 'American Ghosts is basically still trying to catch up to Monty Python in terms of queer rep' XD#fuck she's funny#ben willbond#bbc captain is like 'idk why shirtless men make me flustered but I'm going to spend time with Kitty learning to look at clouds'#and it's this lovely metaphor for slowly learning to relax/let go of his need for control.#in this case through his extremely sweet relationship with Kitty#CBS Captain is like 'a lollipop?? oh my that's like a PENIS. [farting noises] oh no i poopied in my pants again!!!'#literally. he died of dysentery. and while there is comedic potential in a ghost that died of diarrhea#I question the decision to make it the central character trait of your only gay character#you already had a basement full of Cholera victims. surely you could have gotten your 'shitting to death' jokes out with those guys??#fav#the bbc captain is written with such love but the cbs version feels... not good.
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the party without fafnir just tolerating each other (affectionate)
#etrian odyssey#eo2u#flavio is the most annoying guy in the party let's be real (i love him)#besides chloe he has the least burden on him but his heart is so big he cries for everyone (i love him)#get yourself the friend that can be both happy and sad in your stead they just care so much ykno#anyways flav and trand banters are some of my favorites sdjfklj disaster men doing their best#ezro's fart
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THIS IS THE FART EPISODE
#oh my god#dndaddies#the dichotomy of the ttrpgs i'm listening to: one is rqg where they're getting SO CLOSE TO DISCOVERING PLOT HOLY SHIT WILDE WAS RIGHT#HOLY SHIT THE GARDEN OF YERLIK#the other one is d&dads where four men have fucking lost their children TWICE and now one of them is about to let out the stinkiest fart#on god's green earth#nat 20 fart 😭😭😭#bluebird.txt
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favorite kind of guy to see with a bad case of gas?
Tbh I got many different types of tastes but I think my main current favs are:
-Big tall stoic dudes who got a no nonsense type of attitudes, kind of come off as scary
-Silly fellas, just plain fucked up goofy dudes (like Sp//amton for example lmao)
or
-Monsters or ho//rror mo//vie sla//shers
#answering stuffs#eproctophilia#gassy#farting#eprocto#but lets be real one quick glance at my blog would tell you everything you need to know about my taste in fictional men fardting lol
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I feel like every time I hang out w sushi, I lose my voice the next day bc of laughing too much, also yesterday was a grim reminder of how lactose intolerant I was LOL
#when she dropped me off I just went into my house and let out the fattest fart oh my lord the cheese was not good to me#but that pizza pizza was good#and we watched all tobey spider man movies and god… he lived such a sad ass life#it’s so pathetic I love it so much#which made me wonder if he was the start of it all and my love for pathetic men#bc after all this time from seeing that movie in theaters back in 2002… I have never moved on from him#he was the start of it all?#x
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laughed way too hard for way too long at a barrage of fart jokes from the latest SuperMega video. i am a preschooler peddling as an adult, oh my god
#it's not my fault fart jokes are eternally funny okay#and they kept making them in quick succession not letting me catch my breath for a second#you know what . i was a 17 a little less than 3 years ago i'm allowed to be stupid#and the men who were making said jokes are well into their 20's so whatever#(i say ''whatever'' continuing to be embarrassed how humorous i found them making fart sound effects)#(WE ALL NEED A BIT OF WHIMSY IN OUR DAY TO DAY LIVES IT'S VITAL TO SURVIVING IN THIS UNWHIMSICAL WORLD)#anyway#been greatly enjoying their sonic '06 playthrough#supermega#miles mouths off
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did y'all ever have 1-hit-wonder singers with a fucked up gimmick like we had a guy in the 2000s who called himself ''bébé charlie'' and he wore a onesie and one of them frilly hats and he rolled around in a big baby stroller and he sang about poop with a digitally heightened voice
#HE WAS LIKE 35 AND HIS SCHTICK WAS hehee i'm babby lol poopoo#we also had sébasto he was dressed as a chicken he sang about dancing like a chicken#don't let anyone ever fucking tell you france has a culture it's a fucking lie we have grown men singing about feces#we Also have (present tense.) bébert le frelon this one is dressed as a bee and sings about cooking????#they were like irl crazy frog wannebes#speaking of crazy frog we had our own guy he was rené la taupe (rené the mole) and his song was about calling you fat#and farting#FRANCE IS FUCKING GARBAGE OK
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100 Kinky asks 😈
Top bottom or vers?
Dom, sub, switch?
On a scale of 0 to 10 how kinky would you say you are?
How many people have you had sex with last year?
What size is your penis?
When was your most recent boner?
When did you last cum?
How often do you jerk off?
What is the last thing you jerked off to?
Where did you last cum?
Are you hornier in the morning or evening?
What are your 3 favorite kinks?
What are your limits?
What kink would you most like to try?
What kink have you tried but didn’t enjoy?
Do you have a master/sub?
What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve done?
Favorite piece of underwear you own?
What underwear would you like to buy/be gifted? (pics welcome)
What underwear are you wearing right now and how long have you been wearing it?
Have you ever been wearing a jock or a thong to work?
Have you ever gone to work commando?
What socks are you wearing right now and how long have you been wearing them?
What shoes are you wearing right now and how long have you been wearing them?
Have you ever sniffed someone else’s underwear, socks or sneakers? Or made someone sniff yours?
Have you ever come inside a sock? A sneaker/boot?
Are you into body smells? What kind?
Are you into pits?
How hairy are you?
Do you prefer hairy or smooth?
Do you like being shaven by a dom/shaving a sub?
Do you like humiliation?
Do you enjoy exposing a sub/being exposed?
Do you like dirty talk? What names do you like calling/being called by?
Do you like spitting/being spitted on?
Do you like being punished/punishing a sub?
Do you enjoy receiving/inflicting pain? How strong?
What is your favorite pain instrument?
Do you like giving a spanking/getting spanked?
Do you like slapping/getting slapped?
Have you ever gotten marks/given a sub marks from impact play?
Would you hit a sub’s balls/let someone hit your balls?
Do you like chastity?
Have you ever worn a chastity device/been a keyholder? For how long?
Are you wearing a cage/keeping someone locked right now?
What is your favorite chastity device? Do you own any?
Do you like cock rings?
Do you like choking/being choked? How strong?
Do you like breath control?
Do you enjoy gas masks?
Have you ever tried poppers? Do you like that?
Do you like ass play?
What’s the largest thing you have fitted in your ass/someone else’s ass?
Do you own any ass toys? Which kind?
What’s your favorite thing to put inside your ass/someone’s ass?
Do you like getting fingered? How many fingers can you fit?
Do you like fist? Have you ever tried?
Is there anything in your ass right now?
What’s your prepping routine? Are you naturally clean?
Do you like rimming? Being rimmed?
Have you ever worn a toy in public?
Do you own any fetish gear?
Are you into leather?
Are you into spandex?
Do you own a rubber suit?
Are you into pup play? Do you own any gear?
Do you like putting a collar on a sub/being collared up?
Do you like holding your sub on a leash/being leashed up?
Do you like tying up/being tied up?
Do you own any bondage gear? What’s your favorite?
How long have you ever kept someone/been tied up?
Do you enjoy sensory deprivation?
Do you like putting a gag on a sub/being gagged?
Do you like mummification?
Do you like tickle torture?
Do you like consensual non-consensual?
Do you like role play? What scenario turns you on?
Do you like piss/watersports? How hard do you like it?
Have you ever tasted your own piss?
Have you ever tasted another man’s piss? Has another man ever tasted your own?
Have you ever pissed yourself/made someone piss themselves for fun?
Do you get turned on at public urinals?
Do you get turned on pissing in public/seeing other men piss in public?
Are you into farting on someone/being farted on?
Have you ever farted on someone/been farted on for fun?
Are you into scat? How hard would you like to go?
Have you ever tried scat play?
Have you ever given/received a blumpkin?
Are you into sounding?
What’s your darkest fantasy?
Do you like anonymous public sex? Ever tried a glory hole?
Have you ever visited a gay bathhouse? A cruising bar?
Have you ever attended an orgy?
Have you ever attended a fetish event?
Have you ever had sex with a straight friend?
Do you watch porn often? What’s your favorite way to watch it?
Do you read smut?
Do you have many kinky friends? Do your friends now you’re kinky?
Do you have a kinky partner?
Truth or dare? 😈
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ㅤ ◟⟡ ㅤׅㅤㅤgavin felt a flicker of frustration but quickly masked it with a smile, leaning in just enough to make his presence feel softer, warmer. he tilted his head slightly, giving cleo the same look he always used when he wanted to win her over. “mahal, come on,” he said, his voice dropping into something soothing, almost pleading. “you know it’s not like that. you’re making it sound like i chose them over you, but that’s not true. i’ve been tired, and i didn’t think you’d want to sit around watching me stress over deadlines. i didn't want to be that kind of person." he stepped even closer to cup her cheeks, gaze fond. “but i’m here now, like you said. doesn’t that count for something? i want to spend time with you. i'd already have left if i didn’t. so—let me buy you a drink, baby. let me make it up to you."
“uh huh…and then?” she tilted her head, waiting for another excuse to fly out of his mouth. “i've begged you multiple times to come hang out with me tonight…but one word from your friends and -” she couldn't even finish her sentence, letting out a scoff instead as she shook her head. “...but i'm here now aren't i…? let's hang out.”
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Welcome to the Team, Bro
TW: Misogyny, Homophobia
Your twenty-first birthday had been going absolutely perfect. Of course, you’d surrounded yourself with all your closest friends, all girls, obvi. Drunk off cheap grocery store champagne being sipped out of red solo cups, you all continued laughing and enjoying your annual birthday roast, regardless of how uncomfortable everyone was stuffed onto your small college apartment couch. It was all in the name of light-hearted fun—typical jokes about how you wear the tightest of clothes, how you seem to have retained more Sex and the City quotes than anyone else alive, and of course, your nonexistent love life with guys. The usual, nothing that cut too deep. You laughed along, leaning back in your chair, feeling comfortable and safe being with your gal pals.
But then the door swung open, and Levi, Jessica’s ultra jock boyfriend, walks in. The room goes completely silent for just a second, the atmosphere shifting rapidly. Levi, an absolute douchebro, is the kind of frat guy who dominated a space just by existing. Tall, muscular, and that same cocky grin permanently plastered on his face. He saunters into your living room like it was his own frat house.
"Hey, birthday boy!" Jessica teases, giving you a nudge. "Levi asked me if he could take a turn roasting you. He says it’s good practice for his stand-up career. Can you please let him go up? I promise he won’t say anything too horrible."
You blink. ‘What on earth could Levi even say? He doesn’t even know me?!’ you think to yourself. The other girls exchanged worried glances. The guy’s not exactly known for being subtle or sensitive, but before you can protest, Levi stepped towards the middle of the room, cracking his knuckles as he sized you up.
"So this is our little birthday bitch, huh?" His voice booms, loud and commanding. He stands in front of you, creepily grinning as he looks you up and down your skinny, twinkish frame. "Man, look at you. You’re such a fucking stick. Bet you couldn’t lift up a five pound weight, even if your life depended on it. What, a gust of wind gonna blow you over, fag?"
The girls laugh sporadically, forcing a chuckle just to try and relieve the tension. But as the words leave Levi’s mouth, a hot, uncomfortable sensation ripples through your body, and out of nowhere, you feel a tightness push itself against your pale skin. You glance down and your eyes widen—your biceps are swelling, your pecs thickening themselves into two smooth mounds of man meat. Muscles you’ve never even fathomed having in your life start to form, bulging out of your once-slender frame. Your shirt strains at the seams as your chest broadens to it’s sides, your chest pushing forward until they’re massive, rock-hard slabs, rivaling the tits of your girlfriends.
"Whoa, dude... what the hell are you saying, man?" you mutter, your voice suddenly much, much deeper, almost as deep as Levi’s.
The girls gasp, their eyes widening in shock, but Levi just keeps going, pretending to be unaware of what’s happening to the poor boy.
"But you know what?" Levi grins, his tone dripping with smugness. "I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s so obsessed with looking good that you wouldn’t even know what it means to get truly dirty, huh? Probably shower three times a day, all prim and proper. Nah, man. A real dude doesn’t give a shit about smelling fresh. Real men smell like bulls.”
As soon as he says it, a wave of heat rolls through you again. This time, it’s not just gonna stay inside yourself, no. It’s... in your gut. A thick, rumbling pressure builds up more and more inside you, and before you can stop it, a loud, wet burp escapes your mouth.
BRRRRRRRP!!
The girls squeal in disgust, but it doesn’t stop there. A loud, long fart rips through the air, and the smell is rank—sweaty, cheese, and 100% pure man odor.
PFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT!
Your armpits start to sweat profusely, staining your rapidly shrinking tank top shirt, and the once-fresh Polo cologne you had on is completely overpowered by the raw, animal scent of your dick stink. You can feel your skin getting greasy, and when you scratch your balls—without even thinking about it—they itch more, like you haven’t showered in days and you can’t help but touch it more and more.
"Ugh, gross!" one of the girls groans, wrinkling her nose. But as she pulls away, her eyes, they…change. Like she can’t stop glancing at your new Adonis body, completely disregarding, maybe even enjoying the smell. And she’s not the only one. All your former “gal pals” are starting to shake and whisper amongst themselves, their giggles turning into flirtatious murmurs, their shirts opening up as if he thermostat had been turned up to a hundred.
Levi leans in closer, his grin growing wider. "But hey, it’s not just about the looks, right? I bet this little fucker still can’t get laid to save his life. Probably jerks off to Tumblr stories every night instead of actually getting some pussy. Pfft. Bet he couldn’t handle a real girl if he tried."
Something snaps in your formerly gold star brain. You’ve always been gay, but now, that feels... weird. Incorrect. Immoral. Suddenly, the thought of even just hugging another guy seems wrong, as if you were worried you could catch gayness. Your eyes flicker over to Jessica and the others, and a new heat ignites inside your groin. Your mouth waters at the sight of your friend’s curves, their massive cleavage, their clean shaven legs. You want to be inside them. You need to be.
Memories shift. Nights spent dreaming about guys and writing fanfictions about male celebrities blur and twist into hazy recollections of fucking girls—lots of girls. So many, you couldn’t even remember one of their names. You can taste their pussies, hear their moans. Your cock twitches in your pants, straining against the fabric of your newly materialized gym shorts as you stare at the girls who used to be just your friends. Now, they’re more than that. They’re... opportunities. Sluts, ready for the taking.
"Fuck you asshole, I get laid all the fuckin’ time," you hear yourself shout, your voice deeper, more arrogant, your words rolling out in laughter like they’ve always been true. The girls giggle, blushing and shooting you lingering glances, clearly wanting your dick in their mouths. All of them. And in the pit of your stomach, you know they’ll all be yours by the end of the night.
Levi laughs, clapping you on the back. "Now that’s more like it, stud!" He steps back, crossing his arms, admiring his work "But let’s be real, this guy just thinks far too much, huh? He’s always overanalyzing shit, worrying about dumb stuff. A real bro doesn’t waste his time thinking. Just acts. Bet this guy’s head is still full of that nerdy fag crap."
You feel a sharp, dull shot of pain go through your head like a bullet, as if half of it is being yanked out. Your vision swims around the transforming frat room of breasts, and suddenly, it’s hard to think—like there’s a deep fog settling over your brain, clouding everything, mushing it into a few simple desires. The things you once knew—your studies, your hobbies, your passions—fade away, replaced by simpler, more immediate thoughts. Working out. Fucking. Drinking beer. All the things that matter to a real man.
The last thing to go is the memory of who you used to be. That skinny, smart, gay kid? Gone. Replaced by the image of you as a dumb, horny jock, the kind of guy who lives for the gym and pussy. The kind of guy who doesn’t need to think—because he already knows he’s the shit.
You blink, grinning stupidly at Levi, feeling the last vestiges of your old self disappear. "Yo, bro, I ain’t no faggot. Hey, where the fuck’s the beer at? We gotta get shwasted, man."
The girls are all over you now, practically throwing themselves at you. And why wouldn’t they? You’re hot as fuck, and you need to dump your cum in their needy holes. You’re gonna make these formally open-minded liberal intellectuals into perfect American mothers.
"That’s my boy," Levi laughs, handing you a beer. "Welcome to the team, bro."
#bro tf#douchebag tf#dumber#dumbification#broification#muscle tf#lib to con#before and after#gay to straight#straight tf
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Cursed Pigs
Content Warning: Incest, Weigh Gain, Homophobia, Misogyny
Mason was about to go on a date with his girlfriend, he sent a snap to his story to show off his body. Mason was a sophomore in college, he loved to workout, he’s the type of man who could easily steal your girlfriend.
Mason was an arrogant asshole who didn’t care who he was mean to, he was as homophobic as it gets, genuinely being disgusted by gay men. If any girl he dated had a gay best friend he’d force her to drop him, and they’d always listen because he was extremely good in bed. He hated fat people the most, found fat women to be disgusting and fat men to be pathetic. He learned all of this from his father of course, who he was on his way to visit for Labor Day weekend. His father was a muscular daddy type, if Mason had been in his 40s they could be twins.
He couldn’t wait to meet his dad for Labor Day, he and his father and they were planning on going camping. Mason had gotten home and called out for his dad. “
“Dad! I’m home!” Mason walked into the living room where the tv was on and his dad was in his cushioned arm chair, but his dad looked different. His dad had become fat, his once muscular body had been covered in blubber. There was a thick musk in the room, and he was just in underwear that had been clearly stained with cum and piss.
“Dad what the fuck happened to you, when did you become a fatass?!” Masons dad said nothing, instead he let out a rank fart. Frrrrrbbbbttt. “Oh god dad that reeks!” Mason didn’t realize what was on the tv, it was playing a weird sound and as Mason looked closer there were fat fags feeding each other with junk food. “Dad what the fuck are you watching?? What’s wrong with you!” As Mason yelled his minds started to feel numb, he started watching the TV and taking his shirt off.
A drip of drool started to fall from Mason mouth as he watched the fat men stiff each other with doughnuts, cake and burgers. He watched as the fat men started getting fatter, he was feeling hungry. “D-dad… what’s happening?” His dad continued to stay silent as he rubs his stinky crotch. Masons body started to soften, all of the hard work he had put into his muscles was being wasted.
The softening of his body continued, a feeling that was foreign to Mason. “You’re started to look good, boy” Masons father finally said something, his voice had gained a southern twang, which made no sense since they were from Jersey. Mason had a hard time getting his words out, he tried really hard to protest, but his cock was starting to stiffen.
“Da- daddy please… what’s happening?” Mason’s belly started to hang over his waistband, his chest was quickly becoming plump moobs. His v-line has become a u-line. “I-I’m getting fat… daddy why am I talking l-like a fag-got…” Mason grabbed his fattening belly, causing him to moan.
Masons body began to become covered in body hair, where he use to shave regularly, now he looks like he’s never seen a razor. A piercing formed into his nipple, his dad got up and tugged on it. “Smell my musk, boy” Mason’s daddy groped his moobs and played his with sons growing belly. “Mmmm your cock is getting covered in fat, boy. Fat boys don’t get big cocks, you know that piggy.”
Mason reached down and felt that his once 8.5in cock shrunken down to a 3in nub. Fat was swallowing his body and Mason fought with the urge to run and the urge to worship his daddy’s smelly cock. Mason was starting to get smellier and smellier, BO and musk emanating from his body.
Masons transformation was almost over, as his daddy played with his fat belly his brain was becoming foggier and foggier. His cock a useless nub that he can’t use to fuck bitches anymore. The misogynistic muscle head was gone and was replaced by a slobby, stinky fat pig.
What Mason didn’t know was that his father had pissed off a fatass on twitter, and she cursed him and his jock son to be fatass faggots. Because of her, Mason and his daddy were closer than ever before… and they could no longer spew ignorance because they were too busy shoving food into their mouths.
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Do it like a Macho
Joel finished putting on his favorite shirt to go out, and checked his chat again, he could hardly believe that he had agreed to go out with that guy his best friend had told him about, he had broken up with his ex months ago, and didn't seem to feel ready to take on another relationship, but, well, a date was better than staying depressed on his couch all afternoon eating junk food watching rom-coms.
He finished by adding his perfume, checking himself once again in the mirror, and sighing "Please dont be a jerk this time" he wished for his next date, when the bell ring got him out of trance.
He ran when he heard the doorbell, and to his great surprise, a tall boy, with a some-what tanned skin, clearly showing latino roots, beefy complexion, large muscles, showed out of his door. There was only one detail, the hunk boy was shirtless, only wearing some gym shorts, and if that wasnt enough, a slight stench was present almost immediately, making obvious it came from the big jock, Joel wrinkled his nose a little trying to be discreet.
"Ehh.. Hello, can I help you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, the jock frowned. "Are you Joel?" He limited himself to ask.
"Yes, uh, are you the boy with whom I had a dat..." his words were interrupted as the animal of a man simply proceed and grabbed him by his head, within a second, he had his head to remain below in one of his armpits, receiving directly that aroma he lingered before, making him cough on the manly scent.
"Shut up! Faggot!" Saul said with an expression of disgust, without any effort he grabbed Joel's shirt collar while he tried to gasp for some air "I don't go to dates with sissys like you! I only hang out with my bros" he told him furiously. "This should put some hair on that chest of yours" Not having time to react quickly, the stinky hunk let out a deep, nasty burp right in his face.
BOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPP!!!
"Now lets start... Real men don't cook, that's for the ladies" the jock said as he blew the remains of his burp towards the poor, scrawny nerd.
As Joel forcibly inhaled Saul's putrid smoke, his brain began to be penetrated by the stench, new memories being created that would replace everything that made Joel him, memories of his mother teaching him how to cook and take care of himself, became in memories of his mother cooking for him, his father and brothers.
"Ugh, God... That's disgusting" Joel swallowed the burp while trying not to vomit while gagging.
"Come on man, you have to get out the machismo inside you... Real men don't clean, we are made to be crude, and ought to be grotty" Saul raised a leg and squinted an eye, before grunting.
PPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!
After letting out a loud fart that rumbled through his shorts, with a quick maneuver Saul brought Joel closer to his butt, being greeted by the toxic smell emanating from it, Joel swore it would be enough to knock out an elephant, coughing violently.
Again, his mind felt blurred, his thoughts changing with more memories again, since he was a child, the nerdy boy had always been a clean freak, tidying his room and cooperating with his sisters to clean the whole house. now, for some reason he could only remember him and his brothers watching soccer games in their undies, dirty plates of food filling the kitchen sink, dirty clothes scattered throughout the all the house, the toilet bowl up and dirty.
"What's going on?" Joel said, now more dizzy and confused than ever, his nausea preventing him from reasoning clearly and making a superhuman effort not to smell that foul bomb.
"You're becoming a man, that's happening, you better brace your pathetic self, this is a damn combo" Saul warned, then his stomach growled fiercely, while a smirk appeared in his mouth.
"NO!" Joel pleaded, but it was too late, as his please were overshadowed by Saul bending down to be at his height, only to blurt out in his face "MAAAAN UUUUUUUPPP-UUURRRRRRP!!!!" He belched his words out, while forcing the weak gay boy to sniff the nauseating blast.
By that point Joel had already fallen to the ground, crying and suffocating, pleading that this was some kind of nightmare, Saul rolled his eyes and growled "What a fuckin baby, it's just a little man gas, what are you?! Uh? You're a guy, you should be proud... Real men always let the gas rip" he said. , before bending over again, putting his big ass in those smelly shorts scented with all those gases dangerously close to his face, to let one last fart finish his job, poor Joel just having a final view of the ass getting closer "NOOOOOO!!..."
PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT!!!
...
"And he is right..." was the first thought that Joel had after the abrupt attack in that gas chamber "Men always let it rip... A Man loves to let it rip, its just a dude thing we have to assert our dominance" was what came out then of his lips, before Saul heard and turned to see him, and a huge smile of satisfaction formed on his face.
"Fuck yeah man, nothing like dropping a fat one with your bros for a good laugh, right? We guys should always think farts are funny, they're manly" he remarked.
And as if it was a cue, a growl in Joel's stomach began to growl and make him uncomfortable, he simply patted himself and raised his leg.
PPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!
"ahh, that felt good" he sighed and letted a dumb chuckle "i have to quit that chipotle next time" he said with a grin, and Saul hit his shoulder playfully.
"haha that's nothing bro, the burping contest we had on our boys' night was brutal, man, you can even belch out the alphabet like a maestro, eh? Show off those roars" Saul added with a huge smile.
"AHHH.. BEHHH... CEEHH.. DEEEHHH" His mind was blank now, a simple order like that was enough to control him and make the burps start to come out of him, even when he didn't feel the need to burp, he just wanted to show off with his bro... It is what real men do.
"That felt good" He said, with a stupid grin forming in his lips too.
"As it should be! You gotta take pride in your machismo, huh? Machote" He said before slapping hiss ass, causing a small but putrid fart to come out of his now plump ass, making both of them laugh. "damn yeah, bro, its fuckin great to be a man" Joel said and Saul nodded proudly.
With that putrid gas, Joel sealed his new persona, letting his old gay and scrawny being fly away in the form of that smelly fart, to become a dumber, grosser, sexist, loud, and obnoxious version of him, a real man, and a real macho.
Seconds later he got a text from his best friend, or his best bro, and read it "Broo, hurry up and bring your fuckin ass here, we gotta have a boys night and watch the game, bring the beer, haven't Saul picked you up yet?"
He smirked and responded "On our way brodah, don't nuke your room too soon, I want to breath some fresh air for the match" He joked and chuckled dumbly, as he squinted one eye and simply lifted his leg to rip a fat deep one before going out his place, fist bumping with Saul.
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Hands Off
You tell Ghost that you're pregnant. He is ecstatic and wants to shout to the world. When you say you want to keep it quiet for a bit, he agrees and understands. Anything for you. Unfortunately, he can not curb his protective tendencies that have now ramped up to a 15/10. You're honestly surprised that he allows either of you to leave the house or for you to be away from him from any length of time. While he has always carried a pistol holstered at his waist, now he carries a minimum of two and an assortment of knives, first aid supplies, and anything else he thinks you might possibly need. This includes ginger in a minimum of two forms just in case you start feeling sick.
It takes less than a week for everyone to find out. Not because Ghost can't keep his mouth shut, but because he. Can. Not. Shut. It. Off. The moment any of the men crowd you, he is inserting himself between you and them, becoming a solid wall with a glare that could immolate a weaker person on the spot. You have to send him on errands to get any space at all, making for some concerned glances and raised eyebrows. When König pushes you playfully while he is across the room, Ghost explodes. Knocking König to the ground and pinning him there with a knife to his throat. König holds his hands up in surrender, confused as to what happened. It is your hand curling around his shoulder and your pleading voice in his ear that redirects him. He whips around, one boot planted firmly on König's chest and caresses your belly carefully, asking over and over if you are both ok.
You smile weakly at the room at large as they stand in shock. "Surprise! I'm pregnant." You could hear a mouse fart in the silence that follows. Then, weakly, "Congrats, Bubu" from the floor. "Oh, no. Ghost, let him up." Ghost moves his boot reluctantly, dragging it across König's chest. You punch his arm for being such a brat, but his face shows zero remorse. As König stands, the room breaks out into whispers. Your face flushes in embarrassment, and Ghost starts digging in his pockets. "Ginger chew? Hard candy? Emesis bag? Are you sure the baby is ok?" He is nearly feral trying to care for you. It starts with a quiet snicker from Soap, then the team begins laughing in full force.
"Never thought I'd see Ghost panic."
"Is he like this all the time now?"
"Ghost, you know we will keep her safe." The last is earnestly said by Captain Price.
"Then keep yer bloody mitts off! God damn touchy-feely pricks." You wrap an arm around his waist. "Our touchy-feely pricks, Ghost. Our friends."
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#cod fluff#call of duty#konig cod#domestic fluff
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I. Tenacity | Edelweiss
pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.
Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.
The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.
Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?
“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.
You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”
“Did you…?”
He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”
His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”
“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”
Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate.
Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG!
Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.
You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.
So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.
Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.
The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.
“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”
Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.
The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”
“Knife in my front pocket,”
“Slide it over,”
You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.
“You infected?”
You glared at him, “do I look infected?”
He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.
“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”
He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”
But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.
“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”
“I wasn’t,”
A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”
You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.
“You’re with the other settlement?”
“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”
“And at worst?” Joel barked.
Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”
Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.
When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.
To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”
“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.
“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”
“Any chance this dog fucks up?”
“Probably not,”
And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.
Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.
Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.
Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people.
Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure.
Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same.
You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.
“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing.
“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”
Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.
“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”
It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory.
That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for.
Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you’d never heard of before: a diva cup.
You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.
There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.
The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.
“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”
“Probation,” Joel interrupted.
Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.
“Jesus, Joel,”
He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”
“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”
Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”
Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”
“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.
“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”
“It’ll be safe,”
Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun.
You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.
At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.
And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?
Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.
But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it.
The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.
He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”
You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”
Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”
“Oh,”
“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”
Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”
Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.
“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”
Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.
“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”
“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”
“What an idiot,” you smirked.
A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”
“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”
Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”
He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know.
⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾
“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”
You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.
The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.
Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.
“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.
And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.
“How’d you know what they were?”
“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”
You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.
Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”
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