#Film Fanatic Show

[mariocki]

Donald Sutherland guest stars as the appropriately named Philip Guest, a less appropriately unbalanced kidnapper, in Gideon's Way: The Millionaire's Daughter (1.21, ITC, 1966)

[amomentsescape]

Hey, earlier I was suprised to find theres no Christmas themed slashers x reader so could I request just that with the reader and the slashers separately decorating, baking, movies, opening gifts etc? Thx

Slashers Doing Christmas Activities with Reader

A/N: You're so right about not having any Christmas themed Slasher fics! I was thinking about coming up with a Christmas prompt list for the Gotham and Slasher fanatics. If any of you reading this would like a prompt list, let me know!

Freddy Krueger

He's been ready for Christmas all year

I mean, have you seen his sweater?

He knows you've been excited too

So what better way to celebrate than to decorate?

And decorating with Freddy is unlike any other

He can create literal worlds for you

You want 50 Christmas trees in the living room? Sure thing

You want actual elves helping you out around the house? Coming right up!

Plus, Freddy isn't much for decor, so he gives you free reign on doing whatever you want

He most definitely will joke around with you though

He'll change the gold lights to red or have "Santa Clause" tied up in the corner of the room next time you visit

It's all in good fun, of course

You punish him by forcing a Santa hat on his head

Michael Myers

The only "good" holiday to Michael is Halloween

What's the point of Christmas anyways?

Show joy to others and share kindness?

Gross

But he's with you now, so he has to make you happy in some way or another

When you suggest decorating the house, he just sort of gives you that dead stare

But he doesn't disagree

He watches you hang lights up and set up little trinkets everywhere

He will help you with the heavy lifting or anything that involves being really tall

Silently complains about carrying an actual tree into the house though

He doesn't really get the Christmas joy at all, but if it makes you happy, then so be it

Jason Voorhees

Jason's love for Christmas has never truly gone away

In fact, he really appreciates this time of year since there are less run in's with rowdy teens during the winter

So when you suggest a Christmas movie night cuddling together, he's all in

Of course, you watch the films you both remember from childhood

But you also decide to introduce him to the world of Hallmark movies

Unsurprisingly, Jason has a thing for cheesy romance films

But something about the snow falling outside in the woods while a warm fire burns in the fireplace makes Jason feel all giddy

Even a slasher can't escape the joy of Christmas

Thomas Hewitt

One of Thomas's favorite things to do during the holiday season is to decorate the tree!

It's one of the small childhood memories he holds onto, and he's very excited to make new memories with you

He happily carries in the tree, refusing to let you do any of the lifting

And once it's set up, you both are digging through old bins to find ornaments and lights to hang up

You both even make your own special ornament to put on the tree!

And once it's all set up, he lifts you up so you can put the star on top

You both end up turning off all the lights in order to just admire the tree better, just casually chit chatting and sharing festive chocolates

Bubba Sawyer

It's surprisingly his idea to bake a bunch of Christmas treats!

He got so many ingredients

Cookies, cupcakes, pies, if you can think of it, Bubba wants to make it

Of course, there's traditional Christmas music playing in the background

Bubba goes a little crazy with the sprinkles

By the end of everything, the kitchen looks like a war zone

But with everything baking, the house smells amazing

Instead of dinner, you both eat your treats

Bubba has a sugar rush and ends up excitedly bouncing off the walls

You both end up crashing on the couch on top of one another

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms loves Christmas

He has several classical records of Christmas music that he likes to play throughout the month

He has you help him dig out the old decorations he hasn't touched in years

You almost feel weird touching them since each ornament is worth $100 or more

But you and Brahms do have fun setting up the tree and putting the pretty lights everywhere

He also finds some old books he used to read as a child

You both read the Christmas stories together, sharing nostalgic memories of what the holidays were like when you were both younger

It's just a very sweet and wholesome night

Norman Bates

One day, the living is as cozy and cute as normal

The next day, it's suddenly decked out in lights, candles, and a huge Christmas tree with several pristine gifts under it

You mouth was agape

Norman just stood back with an innocent smile on his face

You had no idea he would do all of this while you were out

But thankfully, you had a few gifts wrapped up for him too

With a lighthearted Christmas show playing in the background, you and Norman swap gifts and open them together

The home is filled with surprised laughter and "thank you's" as you both look at what was given

You two know each other so well

He must have been Santa since he literally got you everything on your list

Billy Loomis

Yep, you guessed it

Christmas slasher films

But of course, Billy knows that watching horror films 24/7 every holiday isn't exactly the ideal celebration

So he tries to balance it out

Buys (steals) several expensive gifts for you and wraps them up

He even buys a few candles in your favorite scent to help make the mood more festive

Orders take out for you both as well

This makes the movie marathon feel more special

He MIGHT even let you talk him into matching pajamas

He complains but secretly loves it

Stu Macher

Buys you two matching onesies

He also finds a homemade hot cocoa recipe he wants to try out

He does accidentally burn himself, but it doesn't change his mood any

He might not love this holiday as much as Halloween, but it is a VERY close second

He also manages to find the largest Christmas tree you have ever seen

It barely fits in the house

But when it comes to Stu, everything needs to be extra

You both spend the night flipping back and forth between lighthearted Christmas films and cheesy horror ones

Eric Draven

Christmas has always been a favorite for Eric

It's the one day a year where things are a bit calmer, and he gets to spend it lounging around with you

He definitely made Christmas into a week long event by giving you a different gift each day

Cooks you breakfast in bed

Is somehow even more affectionate during this time

Refusing to decorate the tree unless you are doing it with him

Finds a little Santa hat for Gabriel

He literally just spends the majority of the holiday being lazy and cuddly with you

Not that you're complaining

[cupidastrology]

asteroid lust 4386 through the 12 houses ୨୧ 18+

please do not repost or copy <3

asteroid lust 4386 readings are currently open 🩷

read about what asteroid lust is about in this post.

you may read briefly on what asteroid lust is all about + what they play involving the 12 signs in this post .

to be brief, asteroid lust is the internal and deep desire to connect with another person, place, or thing. depending on where and how it's involved in your birth chart, it shows what you feel lustfully, deeply, intimately, and fanatically in that area of the birth chart.

asteroid lust 1st house - you find kinks and ways of arousal in the environment you're familiar with or what you are finding out for the first time. to be able to discover a new space to indulge in brings a fresh outlook on how to express yourself sexually and sensually. you are forever curious, cultivating new experiences with sexual fantasy.

asteroid lust 2nd house - you tie your kinks and sexual fantasies with your emotions, which may push and pull often due to constantly indulging yourself in new experiences. sexuality is heightened here, because emotions (represented by 2h) connect to curiosity and wanting a sense of intimacy. you are ready to mingle but you always land kinky experiences intimately or privately.

asteroid lust 3rd house - you are experimental and you can't help but think various areas of sex, wanting to try out different experiences with others. you may have a hand for drumming up fantasies for others, or have the ability to bring a sense of romantic energy to the bedroom with your words. sexting, dirty talking, and verbal words are a turn on.

asteroid lust 4th house - it can be hard to find the desire to reach out and share yourself sexually or in terms of expressing your sexuality with this asteroid in this home. you may have a kink for family, or reproduction, wanting to know how it would feel to belong as one with another person. you are discreet and private in the way you understand intimacy and fantasy with sexual relations.

asteroid lust 5th house - the ability to perform and create a fantasy for others may be a massive turn on for you with this position. you may want to perform to entice or drum up sexual energies, bringing a sense of healing even in artistry. photography or film may bring energies of sexuality to the forefront, healing any shame or jealousy that others may have of you. others desire the way you create the energy to attract others.

asteroid lust 6th house - you thrive off of the sexual fantasy of tending and healing your partner. you may even have strong feelings or desires towards self pleasure methods (such as masturbation mainly). there is a desire to indulge with others in a more holistic and natural way of sexual healing or understanding, like the use of hands, the mouth, and the eyes.

asteroid lust 7th house - youre drawn to the connection and intimacy of another's touch. you may want to always understand what another feels in order to feel satisfied. a partner's moans, actions, and positions in the bedroom may entice you to have even strong fantasies than the usual. a desire to be claimed and possessed in the cards with this position.

asteroid lust 8th house - sexual fantasy is based on the true emotions and intimacy of the self, in order to give to another. in this position, there is heightened greed with what you wish to give or share. you may possess an ability to attract the darkest of sexual fantasy, possibly bringing it to light in a reality. your desires may be shunned or shamed, giving it attention in privacy.

asteroid lust 9th house - travel and forms of spiritual belief connect to your sexual desires. you may be seen in a light of worship of others. your open mindness towards sexual fantasy may be present in all intimate connections you have.. you are interested in possible forms of knowledge or history of sex.

asteroid lust 10th house - you can't help but be in the spotlight around sexual desire and fantasy. you are desired and when it comes to intimate connects, they feel your need for them. sexual fantasy has to do with associations of major success. you may be judged for what you want in sexual dreams.

asteroid lust 11th house - friendships and specifically friends to lovers may be a subject connected to many sexual dreams and fantasies in mind with this placement. you may have alot of friends listing over you or always have this great ability to create scenarios involving best friends becoming so much more. you wish to have a fantasy that involved familiarity.

asteroid lust 12th house - your sexual fantasies may derive from tough and hard times in your life. you may be interested in ritualistic and forbidden forms of sex, you may even keep your desires locked inside yourself like pandora's box, never unsealed. you may express your desires around sex in ways that others want to sabotage, you know about sex in ways that it's almost dreamlike.

[fatherfigurefusion]

Randomly generating Ultimate Talents for the DRDT cast and ranking them on how fitting they are (Tetro Danganronpa: Pink Edition):

Teruko Tawaki, Ultimate Bounty Hunter

9/10: It's the Maki Harukawa-energy for me.

Xander Matthews, Ultimate Zoologist

8/10: He would be only the most fanatic of conservationists!

Eden Tobisa, Ultimate Figure Skater

7/10: Call that "Yuri on Ice"!

Hu Jing, Ultimate Superhero

9/10: Two words: savior complex. Also, the concept of buff Hu is heavenly!

J Moreno, Ultimate Impersonator

6/10: I can imagine that their background in acting would lead to them being excellent at impersonation, but doesn't feel nearly as fitting, compared to the previous talentswaps.

Veronika Grebenschikova, Ultimate Demonologist

10/10: ...Too easy.

David Chiem, Ultimate Internet Idol

10/10: Ai Hoshino/KAngel-core!

Arturo Giles, Ultimate Quiz Show Champion

6/10: If the topic is celebrities, Arturo would be a king at quiz shows!

Levi Fontana, Ultimate Gymnast

3/10: I kind of headcanon that Levi is not flexible in the slightest. Too much of a brickhouse.

Ace Markey, Ultimate Fire Dancer

9/10: You barely have to change anything about Ace's design for him to pass as a fire dancer. Also, imagine him having both stage fright and pyrophobia!

Min Jeung, Ultimate Mask Artisan

8/10: Don't know why, but this talent feels oddly fitting for her.

Whit Young, Ultimate Student Council President

7/10: Sure, Whit is a goofball, but I feel like he'd do his best to make school a fun and easy experience! (Also, Whit always seems to get academic talents in these talentswaps!)

Charles Cuevas, Ultimate Illustrator

8/10: I actually headcanon that Charles is great at drawing, so this talent is fitting for him, in my eyes!

Arei Nageishi, Ultimate Fashion Designer

10/10: Possibly one of the most fitting, non-athletic, talents for someone like Arei!

Nico Hakobyan, Ultimate Crime Scene Cleaner

7/10: It's just a feeling, but I could easily imagine them cleaning up a crime-scene with a straight face, a far cry from the timid soul first impressions would suggest.

Rose Lacroix, Ultimate Child Actress

8/10: I'm just imagine the Spurlings running the film industry, and hiring a young and destitute Rose as a child actress, with her photographic memory helping her memorize her lines.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

thank you so much for that excellent chani post. i've seen some annoying takes on twitter about how not making her totally devoted and subservient to paul makes her 'unlikeable' and i'm like. buddy. i think that speaks more to how you see women. than anything about her. this chani is very dynamic and interesting to me.

i'll be honest and say i've not read the books. this is me speaking from what i've seen of summaries, but i think giving her a real cause to fight for yet also genuinely loving paul gives her an interesting struggle, and also plays into how the portrayal of the fremen (seems to me to be) more diverse and nuanced. as in, the fremen themselves seem to have more of a push-and-pull to them. the clarification of how different fremen believe differently (the south being more fundamentalist) is a very important thing to include in a movie where you can run into the danger of saying that all adherents to a foreign, islam-adjacent (in coding) religion are all fundamentalists. that can (in less nuanced hands) be a pretty irresponsible thing. so showing that there's also more secular/pragmatic/less dogmatic sectors of the culture seems a pretty good counterweight.

so yeah. this is how i processed it as a movie-goer. and having chani represent that aspect (believing in people over prophecy, action over religion) and having stilgar as the humanized face of the southern peoples (showing that yknow, regardless of being fundamenist beliefs, theyre still PEOPLE with the capacity for love, friendship, honor) makes total logical sense. you're not just "telling" us that there's different aspects to fremen culture, you're SHOWING us by showing different characters who represent those aspects, without demonizing either or turning either into a one-note stereotype.

Thank you! I'm not someone who was a long-term fan of the books before the movie came out (I tried reading Dune as a teenager when I was reading a lot of classic sci-fi but found it too boring) but I did read Dune and Dune Messiah after the first movie came out, both because I wanted to know what happened next and because I wanted to have an opinion on how the movies worked as adaptations.

(book and movie spoilers below and also I basically ended up writing a whole essay in response to this)

My single biggest frustration with the book is that after they arrive at Sietch Tabr and Jessica drinks the Water of Life and becomes Reverend Mother...the book up and skips two years of the story and when we next see Paul he's already got Fremen followers who are ready to die for him and he's in an established relationship with Chani. Oh I was SO MAD when I got to this part. I was like FRANK. FRANK!!!! Did you seriously just skip two years of the most interesting part of your own story???

The thing is, even though I know that Frank Herbert's intention was to write a critique of the idea that oppressed people need an enlightened external (white) savior to liberate them...if you don't provide an alternate explanation for what's happening then you end up falling into some Orientalist tropes anyway. And because, in the book, we don't see the process of how your average background fedaykin comes to trust Paul as a military and political leader, there is nothing in the text to counter the idea that the Fremen are a bunch of unquestioning religious fanatics easily swayed to do violence by belief in a prophecy.

My second biggest frustration with the book is that we're given no reason at all why Chani would fall in love with Paul. While she has some memorable scenes, she doesn't have a lot to do as a character in the book, and she's missing from a whole chunk of the end...because she's in the south...because she and Paul have a baby, Leto II, who's then killed off-page when the sardaukar attack the south. (I'm honestly really glad they cut this from the film, because it never seemed to be given the narrative weight it deserved in the book.)

So you can imagine how happy I was when the Villeneuve movies figured out how to address both these frustrations by tying them together. The fedaykin don't just blindly accept Paul because of some prophecy. They come to trust him because he proves himself as a fighter, and because he starts out from a place of genuine solidarity and humility--which it is possible for him to do because he has no structural power over them at that point. And Chani falls in love with him for the same reason, in that heady environment of fighting side by side for a political cause, and maybe for the first time in a while starting to believe that you can win.

I think the Villeneuve movies improve a lot on what's in the book in terms of how the Fremen are portrayed...when we're with the fedaykin and/or Chani and Stilgar. There we see political debates and discussion and the fact that not all the Fremen think the same way. And we also see little humanizing moments of folks just hanging out, celebrating after a victory in battle and just shooting the shit and being friends.

I do wish the movie had extended this to more parts of Fremen society. If there's one thing I could have added, it would be seeing more of daily life in Sietch Tabr. It makes sense that when we're seeing things from Jessica's POV, she is more distant from and suspicious of the Fremen, seeing them as a force to be manipulated, but I wish we had even one or two scenes of people just being people in the sietch. It felt kind of weirdly empty and not particularly lived-in as a place, and I think they could've easily countered this, with scenes from Chani, Stilgar or Paul's POV, and that would have made it hit even harder when the sietch is attacked.

If there were two things I could have added, I wanted more exploration of the people of the south. Why are they more fundamentalist than the Fremen who live in the north? (We get one line about how "nothing can survive [in the south] without faith" but I wanted more than that.) While I think the movie did a fantastic job of humanizing and differentiating the Fremen we see around Paul, when we get to the south it does backslide a little into "undifferentiated mass of fanatics." Surely the people of the south also have some diversity of political views.

I think there are some interesting threads they could have pulled on in terms of how proximity to direct colonial violence shapes people's ideology. Sietch Tabr is one of the closest Fremen communities to Arrakeen, the seat of colonial control. They have probably had to mount some kind of armed resistance for generations just to keep from being wiped out. I can see that producing skepticism of the prophecy ("well I can't sit around waiting for a messiah but I do have this rocket launcher") as well as resentment at the idea of someone swooping in and taking credit for a struggle that you've put your life on the line for, and probably a lot of people you know have died for. There seem to be some generational differences, too, where young people of Chani's generation put less stock in the prophecy, while the true believers are mostly older. I can see faith in the prophecy coming out of despair--when you've been fighting for decades with no change, maybe you draw the conclusion that only an outside power coming to your aid will make a difference. While the people of the south are still under colonial rule, maybe being generally outside the reach of direct Harkonnen violence (the Harkonnens don't even know they're there) makes the concepts of both oppression and liberation feel more abstract and more receptive to being filled in with Bene Gesserit mysticism. It seems absurd to want more from a movie that's nearly three hours long already...but I wanted more of this.

Still, I do think they managed to improve on a lot of things that frustrated me or are simply dated about the book, while keeping the political thriller/war drama/epic tragedy elements that I think are the heart of the story, and in some cases drawing them out more clearly and effectively than the book did. The best kind of book-to-film adaptation imo is one that has a strong point of view in terms of what the story is About, on a large-scale thematic level, and is not afraid to change individual elements of canon in service of telling that story the most effective way possible in a cinematic medium. While there are always things I want more of, I feel like Denis Villeneuve really, really understood the assignment in terms of the overarching themes of the the story and he delivered so fucking well.

[endofradio]

the people who claim longlegs is transphobic clearly don’t know a thing about the 70s or 80s. marc bolan from t rex had long hair and wore makeup and dressed flamboyantly! does that mean he’s transgender? 💀 you guys are just exposing your own internal biased beliefs. there is a thing called glam rock like uhhh hello??? david bowie???

regarding longlegs’ plastic surgery, oz perkins confirmed that longlegs wanted to look pretty for the devil.

as for the long hair… dude. longlegs is literally just a glam rock fanatic 💀 his room says it all. why do you think t rex’s music kept showing up in the film 😭😭😭

[plus-size-reader]

Sweetheart

Horrorfest 2023

Charlie Walker x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2658 words

Warnings: none really. Just a little horror talk.

At the request of @armyangxls Hope you enjoy it love!

Summary: Inviting Charlie over when the murders start so you don't have to be alone.

—————————————————————————————————

You had always loved a night in.

Whether it was a cozy night spent snuggled up with a blanket and a good book, or a new release of a gory slasher you’d been anxiously waiting to get your hands on, it felt like there was nothing better in the world than being home. 

…but you had to admit that there was one thing that topped even your favorite at-home activity. 

Cinema Club. 

Which, while admittedly only being adjacent to what you’d be doing anyway, did offer the occasional change of scenery that you grew to greatly appreciate. ‘

The Woodsboro High School Cinema Club was the one place in the world where the film geeks and creatives at your school could come together to co-exist, which had been more than enough to draw you in. 

You had always loved movies as a means of expression and any opportunity to talk about them with people who enjoyed them just as much was too good to pass up. 

That wasn’t what really sealed the deal for you though. 

What kept you coming back to that mismatched group of nerds was the underbelly of Cinema Club, comprised of all the horror fanatics and true crime junkies of Woodsboro, who came to get together and discuss some of their favorite aspects of the genre. 

In a town so famous for its own serial killer, there was little open discussion about any aspect, which had never sat right with you.

After all, everyone on planet Earth had seen at least one of the “Stab” films, and still, most of Woodsboro’s residents actively chose to live in a delusion. 

That was what made Cinema Club so compelling, and its president along with it. 

Charlie Walker, or the King of the Freaks as you’d taken to calling him in the comfort of your own mind, was a huge film buff and one of the only people whose love of horror seemed to rival your own. 

He was clever and had a lot of interesting theories about a lot of different things, the Stab franchise and the events that inspired it chief among them. In fact, in the years you’d been attending his club, you’d 

spent several evenings heatedly debating over which slasher was the best or which classic horror trope you’d choose given the option. 

In a lot of ways, he was one of the only people you felt seen by in that way, and eventually, you formed quite an attachment to the man, even if you’d never acted on it. 

Maybe that was why you’d called him. 

It had really come out of left field, and you had never reached out to him before in your life outside of occasionally asking him about a point of contention within the horror community or to get his opinion on something.

You couldn’t even say that you were friends, but that didn’t change the fact that when you got the news that someone wearing a Ghostface mask was running around cutting people up, your first thought had been of Charlie.

It was only natural. 

You were going to be home all night long by yourself, and while that was normally your idea of a fantastic night, it seemed foolish to be alone like a sitting duck all night, hoping you wouldn’t run into a killer. 

After all, Ghostface was a legend around this town and you weren’t about to underestimate what someone could be capable of once they put on that mask.

It seemed right to be afraid, at first. 

Though, now that you were sitting in the dark waiting for Charlie to show up, you were starting to doubt yourself. Would he think you were a huge loser for bothering him over something so arbitrary? Was he doing something when you called? 

If he were, you figured he would have turned you down instead of telling you he’d be at your house in fifteen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think you were lame. 

God, you were lame, weren’t you? 

You started to sigh, debating whether or not you should just call Charlie and tell him not to bother, but you didn’t get the chance before a loud banging on your front door nearly sent you flying out of your seat. 

Your first instinct was to grab a kitchen knife and take it with you, sort of like how Casey’s character had in the opening scene of the first stab, but you quickly abandoned that idea. 

It hadn’t helped her, and you were sure it wouldn’t prove any more useful for you now. 

“Charlie? Is that you?” you called out, letting your careful footsteps carry you toward the door, without bothering to turn on a light. If it wasn’t him, you didn’t need whoever was out there knowing exactly where you were. 

Briefly, you felt a flash of heat wash over you at how embarrassing this would be if it was Charlie at the door, only to once again have that ice prick at your spine at the even worse possibility that he hadn’t left his house yet. 

What would you do if this was the killer at your door? If you opened it and found that haunting face staring back at you in the pitch dark?

You weren’t sure. 

“You alive in there, sweetheart? I brought popcorn”

All at once, relief flooded you as you took in the voice through the door. It was muffled, sure, but even if you weren’t entirely sure it was Charlie waiting for you, you were confident Ghostface didn’t use pet names like that on his victims. 

“Yeah, I’m good” you assured, pulling open the door to find none other than Charlie Walker standing there, that brown mop of hair falling in his face as he turned to meet your face. 

You weren’t entirely sure what he’d been watching out by the street, but in all honesty, you didn’t even question it. You were so glad to not be alone, especially after that scare, you weren’t even sure you’d processed it, even if he told you.

Proven further when he grinned at you like you’d missed something important. 

“I said, can I come in? I don’t think it’s safe to spend all night in the open doorway” Charlie hummed, making it clear that he was teasing you, which you nearly bristled at. Perhaps, if he’d been anyone else, you would have. 

That was the thing about Charlie though, even when he was poking fun at you, it never felt mean-spirited or cruel, and you appreciated that. 

You had always been a little hard to get to know, and even harder to get along with, but he didn’t even bat an eye at your slightly more reserved nature or casual obsession with grisly crimes and imagery. 

He never made you feel bad, or less than you were. 

“Sure. Come on in,” you suggested finally, taking a brief beat to collect yourself from the very hectic last 2 minutes. 

“Sorry, I feel like this is super weird. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight” you tried, hoping that sounded less pathetic out loud than it did when it reached your ears. 

It would be a lie to say that you’d never thought about having Charlie over, but never had it been under these circumstances, and never had it been this awkward. 

He must have thought you were a freak. 

“No worries. I was just going to spend it with Robbie and trust me, you’re much better company” he assured, watching casually as you closed and latched your front door and turned back to him, visibly relieved. 

He was telling you the truth. 

Given the choice, he would most certainly like to spend time with a pretty girl over the same guy he’d been attached to since grade school. After all, you’d made it clear when you called that you didn’t want to be alone. 

,,,and that you needed someone to look after you. 

Charlie was more than happy to be that someone, and he could protect you if he had to, especially from Ghostface.

“I don’t know about that. Robbie seems like a pretty good time” you countered, trying to joke back with him without it being weird, though he didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he followed you into your living room and helped himself to your couch. 

When you’d invited him over, you hadn’t really considered what you’d do to pass the time, but given the pretense for how you knew one another, and the Jiffy pop Charlie had brought, it didn’t seem too far off to put in a movie. 

“I was thinking about watching Stab 2 before I called you,” you prompted, assuming that Charlie would either agree or disagree rather quickly after the suggestion. 

You knew the President of Cinema Club to be a lot of things, but soft-spoken had never been one of them. 

“Sounds good to me”  

This room was one you’d set foot in at least once every day for most of your life, but it wasn’t the warm, inviting space it normally was, at least not with Charlie present. Under his watchful eye, you almost felt as if the air itself was popping with energy.

However, when you once again peeked at him and took in his composure, you realized that nervous energy was actually just buzzing under your skin. 

“The kill in the opening scene of this one is one of my favorite of the franchise. I think the practical effects are so well done,” you hummed, relaxing only slightly as the welcoming score to Stab 2 filled your ears.

The title screen flashed in black and green, a few choppy chase scenes from the middle of the movie playing on repeat while the music blared, and you ate it up just like you did every time. 

It was probably one of your favorite movies of all time, and without even thinking, you sat down next to Charlie, though you kept distance both between your bodies and between you and the back of the couch. 

“The gore in the first movie was more experimental, but I think by this one, they were more confident and knew just how far they could take all the body horror” 

Charlie hummed again, listening to you as you talked with more enthusiasm than he’d ever seen from you during club meetings. 

You participated in discussions, of course, but it was always  more muted and careful. Like, you were constantly worried someone would think you took it too far or crossed some line you weren’t sure existed. 

It was nice to watch you drop all the pretence for once and just enjoy something that clearly meant a lot to the both of you. 

“But, did you know that guy actually burst an eardrum getting stabbed like that, even with a prop knife?” he spoke up, pointing out one of his own fun facts. 

You didn’t, but you could believe it. 

The force that had to go behind something like that, even when it wasn’t real, had to be super intense and you couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of it, something you apparently said out loud, given Charlie’s face. 

“I don’t know. It might not be that bad, it would take forever though” he allowed, further shocking you as you processed both what he’d said and the fact that you’d accidentally just been way weirder than you’d meant to. 

You stopped, abandoning the movie fully now and turning to face where he’d been sitting, watching your reactions more than the movie itself. 

“What would take forever? Getting stabbed?” you questioned, only partially aware of what you may have asked him in your adrenaline-fueled haze. You couldn’t imagine it took too long from start to finish if you were being honest. 

Charlie scoffed, though it was more of a laugh than anything concrete or mocking, “No, bleeding out from a wound like that. It would take way longer than you’d think” he explained, with a casual shrug. 

You believed him. 

This wouldn’t be the first time he’d shared a strange or unexpected fact with you about something like that, and you certainly didn’t want to question him. Though, you did find yourself glancing toward the door and windows absently. 

When you two had discussed this before, it was always in a well-lit room full of people, but this was much more intimate…and ominous. 

After all, someone had just been stabbed to death yesterday in their home, and you didn’t like the idea of just how long it had taken them to bleed out. 

“Sorry. That’s in bad taste, huh?” Charlie tried, finding the joy he’d gotten from watching you excited coldly replaced with your discomfort, or fear, more likely. “Don’t worry, I got you” he assured, his gaze shifting from the side of your face to your hand.

You were holding the couch cushion lightly in your fist, almost as if it would keep you safe, and that just wouldn’t do. 

Not while he was right here, waiting to comfort you. 

“Nobody’s gonna get you” His words were soft, near a whisper as he focused on gathering his courage and finally made his move, reaching out to take your hand in his own. 

The action made you shift, and rather than falling off the edge of the couch onto the floor, you leaned back, closer to where Charlie was already situated. 

“I just can’t imagine what that’s like” you allowed, steeling your own nerves and meeting his eyes, which subsequently sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies into your gut. 

The topic was grim, and you both knew that, but for such a nasty conversation, you were feeling anything but disturbed. It would have been hard to be, with him looking at you like that, his thumb stroking your wrist gently. 

“You are never going to find out. I can promise you that” Charlie spoke again, more earnest now than you ever could have predicted.

It wasn’t something he could promise, you knew that, but that didn’t make it any less reassuring. 

“Charlie?” 

He hummed, never breaking eye contact with you, not even shifting even as you blinked away, your gaze flicking momentarily to the third death scene playing out on screen.

“This seems like a pretty good time to mention that I have a little bit of a crush on you” you mentally cursed yourself for how small you sounded, but not for long before you had to confront the feeling of Charlie’s mouth against your own in a bruising kiss. 

He had been waiting with bated breath to see which one of you would get the chance to confess first, and while he didn’t think it would be you, he couldn’t be happier regardless. 

The kiss lasted for quite some time, with Charlie only pulling away just long enough to fully close the gap you’d been keeping between your bodies this entire time.

“I’m so glad you called me” he whispered, one of his hands coming to rest on your jaw to keep you close while the other played gently at your fingers. 

You heard yourself let out a dreamy sort of sigh in reply, but you were far too caught up in what you were feeling to really process it. So, rather than dwell on it, you just nodded softly, “I’m so glad you came” 

“I’ll always be here when you need me, sweetheart. Don’t worry about a thing” he cooed, saying each word with the depth and sincerity as a vow, and the intensity that only Charlie Walker could pooling in those blue eyes. 

..and the thing was, you believed every word.

Even on this couch, in the dead of night, in the heart of Woodsboro, you felt completely at ease because who could really get to you when someone looked at you like that? 

Nobody hiding behind a mask, that was for sure. 

[danauschaewon]

my thoughts on dimension 20: fantasy high junior year ep 19 ragenarok Discourse™

⚠️ spoilers! ⚠️

from a watsonian perspective, the bad kids don't know of any way to cure a rage star. if any of the characters were stressed enough sufficiently to be angry (rage token), porter seems to be able to immediately control you so even not directly being controlled by a rage star seems to put you under ankarna's domain. there's no reasonable watsonian expectation for them to believe the ratgrinders could be redeemed, notwithstanding whether teenagers would show other teenagers who hate them that grace.

additionally, the Discourse™ seems to forget that there's ultimately a choice between following porter or not. lucy frostblade's sacrifice was extremely poignant because she chose to die rather than go against what she believed in. buddy dawn's immediate switch perfectly aligns with how religious fanatics believe/claim to believe whatever is convenient for them without any internal consistency. that doesn't mean that they weren't groomed by porter but there's really no ground for some of the moral absolutism I've been seeing here.

that also leads to something that I haven't seen people discussing; kipperlily and oisin straight up murdered buddy (their own party member, who they secretly treated as a pawn the whole time) by slitting his throat to try and keep the bad kids from being revived??? it's implied they also killed lucy and covered it up for so long that she is almost beyond reviving just so she couldn't snitch on them?? even if you liked the ratgrinders, they're much more ruthless than bad kids are, even if you take riz and fabian's comments into account. also, if the entire school was in fabian's house, they essentially tried to kill all 500 other students in their school + jawbone to beat a magical loophole to ascend porter.

and the obvious being: if you are fighting to end the world (remember they did bring down fig and gorgug, even if they are uncoordinated in pvp), don't be surprised when people fight you to save the world.

from the doyleist perspective, others have already pointed out that dnd is a combat focused game. if you fail a persuasion/intimidation/deception roll, regardless of what makes more sense for the story or the themes or your character, you probably have to fight to the death. this isn't a story written with a single overarching vision from one mind, it's real people being filmed in real time playing a game designed around roleplay AND combat. combat is gonna happen.

secondly, this is a world where powerful individuals have the ability to directly control the universe (magic). "might makes right" is a terrible moral system but that's also how reality works (laws are only (as strong as) their enforcement system, the police are an occupying army, etc).

human beings are social beings and our intelligence/creativity allows us to imagine a world where no individual or socioeconomic group can use might to make right. but our imagination also is limited by our own inconsistencies, ignorance, socialisation, habits, etc. and most importantly, our stories about the world mustn't confuse us from how the world actually is. not everyone can be redeemed, even if you want them to be.

if you want the world to change in a certain way, you have to gather enough strength to change it. the more it deviates from the status quo, the more strength you need. that's not just martial or economic power, there is social power that can be influenced by a collective moral or intellectual sense. however, those with the power to directly eliminate your existence will need to be sufficiently worried about consequences to not use that power (e.g. american police know they face no consequences for executing black people in cold blood, that's why they actually do kill instead of simply want to kill like other non-police racists).

if the ratgrinders want to kill the bad kids and ascend porter to godhood, they have to actually have to develop their skills to do so. that's why they exp levelled, they tried taking advantage of the last stand, one of them sent their grandma to kill the entire school at one kid's 18th birthday party. and correspondingly, if you don't want your 18th birthday party to end with your death + your entire school's deaths + the ascension of your teachers as the new god of rage, you gotta kill some grandmas and poorly coordinated exp levellers.

[themareverine]

MARE & THE WOLVERINE ▹ Good Poison

─ Logan Howlett x fem!OC

summary: The Northern Territories were the last place Mare McAffery ever imagined herself, much less a prize fighting bar with characters the likes of the one they call the Wolverine. A logging community and living out of a Motel 6—it wasn’t exactly Shakespearean. But sometimes, survival calls for a tooth and nail fight—even for a preacher’s daughter.

warnings: AU, age gap, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual romance, violence, angst, trauma, religion, self-insert, self-esteem issues, chance meetings, alcohol, grief/morning, mutual pining, falling in love, slow-ish burn, fluff and angst, canon-typical violence, virginity, reposted from my old account.

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“I’ve never met a more obsessive, religiously fanatical, irresponsible press professional in my entire career, McAffery—and I’ve been doing this thirty fucking years!”

“Told you to drop that mutant BS, McAffery—”

Blue light from her phone lights up the shadowed seat beside her, interrupting the cruel sting of thoughts lapping her brain like a pace car. Redlined and leading, her attention briefly drifts from the yellow lines of highway to the bright screen that lingers—to the text bubble with the little avatar face of who else but her mother, checking in on her for only the fiftieth time tonight. 

“I’m fine, ma,” she sighs to empty space around her. A glance upward through the windshield to the night sky canvases unfamiliar constellations, stars she’s never seen this far north. Living north all her life had prepared her for a lot of, well, Canada— but not the stars. There seemed to be more of them, dancing in troops that quickened the soul. They’d been hanging in the sky for hours, now, and every time her gaze flicked up—never saw the same cluster.  

Diiiing. The sound avalanches in the cab, almost. “Jeez, I’m fine, ” it’s more of a growl than anything as she reaches for the phone. Silences it. Practically tossing it to the cup holder, she shifts a little further against her seat, her ass into the three decade-old cushion just like she’d been doing for two days. Shoulders pressing back into the material of her seatback, a slight shiver races up her spine where frigid air snakes into the cab of the Jeep between gaps in soft-top canvas—irritates the hunger that’s been low simmering in her stomach since before the sun had disappeared. 

A quick GPS consult and civilization is less than ten miles on her course. It promises a bar, a Motel 6, some gas. Nothing fancy. Reading in-between trying to stay between yellow highway lines reveals that Laughlin City is a logging community, one of those let’s-film-a-cheesy-Hallmark-romance little sports that show up in romantic novels and on travel blogs. It’s quiet with a limited population, mountainside and traditional. Perfect. 

Starting directions to Laughlin City, you’re on the fastest route—-

“Considering I don’t see any freeways, I guess that tracks,” Frick, I’m turning into my mother talking to myself— and she had been, for two days. But that’s probably fine, better to keep herself company in the off-hours of radio. She couldn’t bear any more talk radio, didn’t have the caffeine or the patience to relive the same Shania Twain cassette tape for a twentieth time. 

Sighing, her head kicks back a little against the hard headrest behind her. Brightness from the GPS route is white-hot and blinding, has Mare McAffery turning her phone screen down to the fading 90s-print material of the passenger seat. She can see the little cloud from the hard breath she lets escape from between her lips, which subliminally raises the air on her arms. Sends a stab of cold through the bones in her hands. Even with air bursting from the defrost, it’s cold. Colder here, farther north, than her family’s quiet little farmland Minnesota home for this time of year—a t-shirt had felt like a good idea this morning at the truck stop. Splashing water on her face and smiling into sunshine. 

Her eyes drift to the dash clock as a hand reaches behind her to grope for the hoodie she’d abandoned. A little after 11—her time. Back home. Mare has no idea what time it is in Canada, under foreign stars and among unknown mountains. Though, really it doesn’t matter—time is a construct when you’re on the road. When you don’t really have anywhere to be in all that much of a hurry, when you’re getting out of Dodge and rethinking every strategic decision of your life.

God, what am I doing? Where are You in this? And the thought is random. Had been, for days. Quitting her job on the spot three weeks ago had felt like the move of the century, like a Neil Armstrong one-giant-leap-for-mankind on the moon type of deal. Once in a lifetime, defining. Must’ve been what the fathers of her nation felt, rising up to slay the Goliath oppressing them into submission—she’d bucked the power of corporate America, felt the sting of her whip for a final count. 

There’d never been more peace, more purpose about her life than in that moment, smiling down her nose at her boss. Knowing she’d left him in the lurch, had upset his canoe. Upstream without a paddle, take that you scumsucking piece of trash. Her guts had nearly risen up to her throat with the flood of pure adrenaline. Bolstered, like a shooting star— all hot and undiscerning strength. Every disgruntled employee in the history of the working class before her, caged within her bones. Finding justice in this one act, this flight. High flying and empowered, she’d crashed through the glass ceiling—unscathed, unravished. Free. 

Or so she prayed. 

Reality rose up to strike her like plague, chastened and vengeful. Leaving behind ghosts and midnight phantoms to haunt her even in sleep, her fears. Disease eating away at the flesh of her life, an insatiable predator unrelenting until satisfied. Picking its teeth with the bones of her future, the unknown. Grinning at her like a subtle, close-to-the-chest demon of her own making. Tapestry of her life began to unravel, unfurled by her own bravada, her own shield of faith in the unknown. Days bled eternally into weeks. Networking spiderwebbed away in the wind, disheveled and thin. Nothing aside from Oh-honey-I’m sorry’s and though-your-qualifications-are-impressive-we-regret’ s. 

Word traveled fast in rocks and cows country, not-the-Twin-Cities Minnesota.  Whoever didn’t look on her with sympathy dug her grave, or threw dirt on open wounds festering with her own shame. Nobody was eager to onboard the bloodhound trailblazing young lady with starry eyes and Superman hope. 

Singlehandedly she’d brought coverage of the community’s less-than-human population to hometown families and cropfarmers, faces nobody in her world desired. They’d kept the mutants at arm’s length, in the city and away from the grass that dances on the prairie; innocence of country living. Nobody wanted them in their ZIP code, their school districts—accidents raised taxes. No mayor wanted to address the subject at press conferences or on small city councils, no school board wanted funding for safe rooms or SPED. Better to lock them away in the concrete jungle of downtown, anonymous faces in a sea crying out for representation. 

Disarming a population’s ignorance had been a savage fight—soul crushing and abusive. Her head had been piked in every town-gossip-over-coffee table in the entire township, her family’s name raked over the coals in the editorials. Recklessly brave, but the greater good had come at a high, not-so-good price. Expensive for an under-thirty young little thing with bright aspirations, with a family standing behind her as pillars in a crumbling, paralyzed community.  

Better to turn a blind eye to the unfortunates than lend a hand likely to be bit, was the argument. Lambs to slaughter, all of her anonymous mutant sources had eviscerated from contact seemingly overnight—lost to anonymity, to the underworld of obscurity and fear. 

Foolish, simpleminded. White washed tombs, dens of vipers. Disheartened —didn’t they see—? 

A glance into the rearview and she’s able to make out the almost-cavernous upset digging trenches in the skin of her brow, the veil that’s overtaken once-bright eyes. All noted, even in the glare of blue light and shadows. She exhales deep and feels it, between her ribs. In, out—one, two, three; let it go, let it go let it go. That burning knot of lava that’s parked in between her shoulder blades shakes just a little, breaks apart. And for a brief moment, there’s cool relief that comes with another bite of May wind. Chases all the way down her spine, nips at her collarbones. 

Her grip tightens on the wheel, highway stretched unforgiving. Mocks her, reminding her how far away she’s attempting to fly, to hide . Inky midnight fans out before her— a lover, shadowing the world beyond the headlights of the Jeep Wrangler. Promising to hide her away, in a new world. The Wrangler seems to roar, engine loud in the empty night air, humming and thunking like old horsepower does. Whether in protest or jubilation, she’s not sure. Doesn’t even know if she wants to be. 

A wing and prayer. She’s left on a wing, with a prayer—it’ll carry her. To Laughlin, at least. 

Tires eat pavement like a beast, thrum thrum, thrumming away underneatht the rig almost in perfect step with the rabbit heartbeat kicking in her chest. Hears every rotation of rubber against asphalt through the canvas top. Tastes the cold bite of May night seeping through gaps and vinyl windows, cooling that still-there heat between her shoulders, that ache in the back of her eyes. 

Fiddling with the radio for the local news distracts her from GPS directions for a heartbeat. Almost missing the turnoff, she more forgoes the stop sign than actually misses it, engaging the clutch and brake to downshift. Skirting by the blaring scarlet of the sign, there’s no sign of headlights any direction at the four way. Except, in the distance, maybe five or so miles.

Between trees that canopy and dart in the breeze, trying to keep civilization a secret from the unsuspecting. Warring against the moon for rights to illuminate, to pierce through the veil of night—mountain peaks like dark sentinels, threatening and breathtaking in the faraway. Sits like a lion, stirring at the presence of the intruding Daniel. 

Laughlin City. 

“Bingo.” 

Mopping droplets of sweat pearling up from between his facial hair hasn’t ever felt more like a chore than it does right now, in the flickering light of a too-late pub crawling with county lowlives and province nobodies.  Every muscle burns with adrenaline that pistons through his veins like a hot steamroller, flattening any thought other than sucking air into his chest. Logan Howlett swears to God he can feel his very bronchial tubes with every pull of thick, curling air—wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t label every cell, working in unison to stitch him back together. 

It’s a delicate dance, healing after a fight. Body goes to work even before new wounds hit home—recovering from old ones, almost anticipating where new ones will land. Takes a significant amount of energy, a high unlike any amphetamine can deliver. Hot, heavy, painful bliss. That feel-good, fuck-this-is-perfect way he’s only ever experience in one other way—and that’s cock deep, in the right woman, red lines flaming down the length of his back. It’s taken a lifetime to ignore the adrenaline, the feel good burn of flesh stitching itself piece by piece. Wounds numbing over as the body corrects. Blood cut off from oxygen, sealed behind skin and screaming behind new scars. Bones correcting from fracture, pulled together with God-perfect precision no ER could ever match. Marrow stretching, cartilage welding back together. Feeling coming back with just as much prejudice as it had when it went. 

And it’s no different tonight, after a fight. Adamantium in his hands trembles, quakes with every beat of his pulse. Cold, itching with a sensation that only means one thing— air. Oxygen. Oxygen that fuels rage, that feeds the fire of release that’s a blazing furnace almost carved into the length of his spine. Bones, their marrow, they want air — crave it like demons. Flogging his soul like Christ at the crucifixion, crucifying him to the never-ending torment of holding it all together. Of balancing the line of monster and man, mortal and mutant. Ravages his will, rapes him of innocence, even in his youth. Even as a boy, even as James— he’d never had innocence. What even was purity to a man born to die but forced to live? 

He’d always been this, this h eld-together-with-threadbare-stitches-of-his-own-resolve carcass aching to die. Searching to live.

And it takes will, to live. Will of the ages, hills. Steadfastness of mountains to maintain the barrier between resolution and absolution. To not let go —to deny the impulses that scream through his blood like phantoms. Even the very stones beneath his feet cry out for his blood, for justice. Justice that had been lost through time, as others pass away. As he lives. His sins fade with those in graveclothes, but they haunt him like shadows. Peaceless life, ravaged. An ever-present war that carousels about his psyche. 

Don’t let go, Logan—don’t let them see you. Light a cigar. Suck in some brandy. Drown out the memories, the tombstones of everything he’s ever felt in his life rising up from buried graves and nameless mantras. It’s not for you, it’s for them. Never for you, always for them—

“—hey, you. Yeah, you— Mutton Chops. Yeah. It’s Wolverine, right?” 

He would chuckle if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Mutton Chops? 

Fingers scratch through the longer hairs, the corner of his mouth teases up with an amused smirk. Figures, they are a little dated. But, he enjoys them—he likes the way looks, always had. Cut a fine figure, and if he didn’t let himself know it, the women did. Been mooning over him since God knew . If he didn’t hate the attention, if he didn’t hate being seen; mingling with the echelon of the common man—-he could have any tit and skirt he wanted, most places. A few years of fucking anything that walked had lost its charm swiftly, and with gusto. 

Logan had learned early that he needed very few things in life to live, to survive. Living demanded the basic essentials, and a man isn’t truly a man unless he makes his own way. Women, well—girls were a luxury . Rubies and emeralds among the silver and golds of the everyday. High prices. Precious things in the eyes of God and the male sex, to be worshiped. Certainly so, can’t argue with the Twains and Shakespeares, the Psalmists of the ages—but they weren’t necessary. Not to survive. Little delicacies to make the journey tolerable, but not necessary. Privileges never were.  

“Wolverine—I’m talkin ’ to you!” 

But the alias is familiar, but the voice isn’t. Logan tosses back the bite of brandy that burns all the way down, snaps his attention from the bottom of the shot glass to the guy coming up behind him. Feet heavy, he’s at least six-two, two-fifty at a glance guess. Beer gut and a bald dome, some redheaded tart from across the bar reaching to pull him back. May as well be Vegas neon. Trouble—double order, by the looks of it. 

Shoulda been my middle name, “In some circles,” warmth skates into his blood, pulling at the attitude simmering at the edges of his resolve, “who’s askin’?” Fixing the edge of his shirt around the waist of his jeans, Logan ignores the instinctual twinge of pain that ricochets between his knuckles. One slip of his self control and there’s hell to pay—bloody, tastes-like-cold-steel hell.

Instead, his arms find the smooth bartop, glass hitting the bar with a crack. Logan pushes it away knuckles first, fingers tapping for another round. The bartender, he knows her as Sue—an aging sixties belle, witchy hair that’s perpetually pinned up in a clip—breezes by and snatches it away, promising him another with a hoarse, been-smoking-for-four-decades rasp. In seconds and the dark liquid spills into the shot glass, crystalline and pretty. 

Logan waves her come with two fingers, easing a little deeper into his usual barstool—the barstool he’s been parked in for eight months. Rolls a shoulder. A delicious little burn of healing muscle, dissipating bruises. Common place after a fight in the cage—there’s not enough curiosity in the eyes that are watching him. And he’s counting the paces of Big Boy coming up behind him, can feel the man’s anger from here. Tangible and inbred, like he’s been sucking the tit of pissed off since toddlerhood. 

The man’s huge hand is on his shoulder, jerking him back enough that it makes the barstool swivel. Logan’s spine snaps with alarm, with the initial gut punch of response. And he’s surprised with himself for a few heartbeats, that he’s chosen to shrug off the man’s arm instead of separate it from his body. A low, rumbling thunder of a growl simmering in his chest is almost animal, and he narrows a glare at the stranger. 

Sweating like a stuck pig, the man’s face is red as a beet. He’s a blush from either absolutely going batshit or having a coronary—Logan isn’t sure which he’d prefer. “I lost four hundred bucks because of you, Wolverine,” the name leaves his mouth with hacking spit, on the crescendo of a trail of spit that hits the floor at Logan’s feet in a wet plop . 

And for a second Logan expected Shit-For-Brain’s to continue, but he just stands there, sucking air.

“Tough luck,” Logan’s brows pop tall before furrowing into a hard line, irritation snapping  his tone like a fractured bone. Palming the pocket of his leather jacket taking up space on the barstool next to him, he manages a cigar from the pocket, with the God-knew-how-old Zippo. His favorite, he’d had it since—well. He didn’t keep track of trinkets. “Long odds, I guess.”

“The fuck you say?” 

He sighs. Deeply. Almost from the depths of his patience God has bestowed. “Anythin’ I can say that’ll make you vanish, bub?” Beer Belly doesn’t even flinch, except the hinge of his jaw snaps open. It could almost sway in the wind. Another sigh, “Take my word for it. Cut your losses and get Little Miss Strawberry Tart outta here—maybe she’ll cut you a deal on the way out.” 

In a matter of seconds the guy’s face drops into a gape only a choking fish could probably manage, and he really isn’t that far removed with all his sticky sweat making him look like a drowned, overfat bass. He stops sucking air like an emphysemic, maybe too stupefied to remember how. Logan’s fingers flick the flint of the lighter, cigar between his teeth as it bobs into the flame. Almost immediately, the thick curl of smoke stings his nose—chases the brandy in his throat, something magnificent . Fucking delicious. 

Small mercies, God bless them. Breathing in a wave of the thick, hot tobacco, it settles in the mesh of his lungs in a way that would probably kill lesser men—men who couldn’t die, anyway. He could fucking orgasm with how good this smoke burns, bleeding into his blood like good poison, and the exhale he gives may as well whip fifty pounds off the back of his shoulder. His head kicks back, brow furrowing as it cants to the side, taking in the craft of the ceiling. Brass tile— pricy . Riz didn’t strike him as a man with taste, but, stranger things. Interesting. 

In a flesh of fat and hairless dome, the man’s fist is curled around the collar of Logan’s shirt—he plucks him off the stool as if he weren’t anything more than a sack of meat. Surprise drops his cigar to the floor at his feet, the toes of his boots scuffing boards—and one glance to the man’s flexed arm reveals it’s absolutely straining for Beer Belly to suspend his bodyweight in the open. The vein in his temple throbs, cheeks almost purple as he splutters for air. Spit flies. Mingles in Logan’s beard. 

Revolting, but, give it a few seconds and—-

His boots find the floor heartbeats later, unphased. Logan’s turn, and it gives him great pleasure backhanding the man with his knuckles. Turning his head, saliva flying in trails of thick spit that hit somewhere he couldn’t care less about. Drive him half a step back, bring him back with his fist in tubby’s shirt—and mutant strength makes him weigh next to nothing. A little weight there, but nothing much—Logan could separate his spine from the rest of him without hesitation, thinking. Would be as easy as fileting a fat trout. 

The burn in his muscles feels magical.  And in three, two, one—he releases. Blood springs from between his knuckles, dribbling to the floor in fat drops. Scarlet stains adamantium, pearling along blades that all but sparkle in the perfect-low of pub lights. The burst of adrenaline immediately ravages the burn of pain, his bones all but ringing, chanting jubilation. And it feels so good, sometimes—so good to not have to hold back, to embrace the pain of living . 

Milkwhite, the man’s eyes haven’t unwelded from the blades dripping with Logan’s blood as they hover a breath from the fat flesh of his double-chin. Logan can see his life flashing through his eyes, like a film reel—every man’s always does in the face of death, his face. He’s shaking, Logan’s muscle absorbs every earthquake that pulses through the man’s frame. Shakes more than most—and that says more than it would, to many. Coward’s heart. Shriveled and died before they even got a chance to respond, he’d seen it before. Always took the easy way out. Talked big, acted small. His date would have better luck with an idiot savant than a coward, if Beer Belly here wasn’t a two-for-one. 

King Solomon had it right. Nothing new under the sun. 

“Told you to cut your losses,” it’s a snarl. Gravelled and aged, like every time before. Less human than monster, but he likes the fear—the respect —floating up to the man’s eyes from his soul. Logan releases him roughly, sending him foot over foot towards his date, across the floor. “Take her home before you regret somethin’ else.” 

Strawberry redhead is at his side, looking him over before she turns to consider Logan. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-something, too young to be running with a greaseball nobody with male pattern baldness and a Viagra problem. But tears run freely down her face all the same, as if she cares— and she probably does, because that’s the way of things. People care. It’s a human trait.  

All Logan can see is her enchantment with him. She isn’t afraid. While her date may have a coward’s heart, she certainly doesn’t—no common sense, a dense head, sure. But no fear. Funny how that works.

He’d smile if he wasn’t so pissed off, tired. And she doesn’t look him in the eye—her gaze is rooted on his hand, now at his side. His blood hanging out on the floor.  She blinks, only looks up at his face when the adamantium on display disappears between his fingers, sliding home in a way that echoes throughout his entire frame. Evidence of them begins to disappear as his flesh works to hide away familiar wounds, correct old sins. 

Her mouth, too, gapes like a fish. Nothing new. “You’re….you’re— wow, you’re a—” 

“—nobody you should care about, kid.” And that’s the long and short truth of it. 

Logan watches her help—he’s discovered his name is Harold—stand to his full height. Helps him sulk into a corner chair like a whipped puppy, and even from here, the purple on his jaw is already dark. Probably broken, but there’s little to do about it. 

Brushing off his arm, Logan lifted his other hand to examine it—pearls of blood. Still fresh on his skin. Evidence of their birth long since healed, he stretched his fingers before his thumb rubs between each knuckle, feeling. As if he’s never felt them before—because every time, the pain feels like it’s genesis. The beginning, new. A thrill unlike any other, in a sadistic kind of way that gives him life. Hope—that he’s still feeling. 

Turning to retrieve his cigar smoldering on the floor, Logan replaces it in the corner of his mouth. Takes another full breath, sinks low onto the barstool. The sting in his hands has almost entirely dissipated into tingling numbness, and that’s good—Sue knocks his drink to a stop in front of him. Shakes her head as her eyes landscape him up and down, like they’re digging his grave. She isn’t mad, he knows that—Sue has seen him rough up more than one Tom, Dick, Harry in this place. It’s like the revolving sun—they come in. Fight the cage. They lose, get pissed, and he knocks them on their ass. Simple science, really. 

Less dangerous and more dangerous all at the same damn time. 

“Feel better?” Thin, vein-tracked arms fold in front of her gravity-inspired chest. Heavy laden with turquoise and other painted stones, she’s the picturesque woman of her age—all gypsy, little else. If they’d be deep south in States, Sue could be confused for a bayou witch. And, thinking about her stirring a little pot of potions and cackling on to swamp creatures would be something else entirely. 

He chuckles, the mental picture amusing. Leaning forward a little on his arms, his brow peaks up a little. “Now there’s a question if I ever heard one,” his lips purse into a slow smile before he sits back, scratches his fingers through his sideburns— mutton chops, poor Harold had called them. “What do you think?”  

A lesser man wouldn’t hear it, but that bottom hinge on the front door howls something terrible in the rain. Signaling another interloper in their midst, Sue’s eyes flick past him to consider the body. It lasts a heartbeat, maybe the flow of blood, before her gaze is back to him—obviously no threat. Except, her arthritic hands reaching for a towel moves her a little closer, and she nods towards the door. 

“I think you’d better behave yourself,” she gestures with her chin towards the door, “new blood walkin’ in, Logan honey.” Nodding his understanding, he drags again at his cigar, then turns his head over his shoulder to eyeball the new body—- “Never seen her before. States girl, if I ever saw one,” Sue’s tongue clicks in the pocket of her cheek, “Poor thing’s wet as a drowned lizard. What she do, park half a mile away?” 

Drowned lizard? “Anyone ever told you you’re somethin’ else, Sue?” 

“Plenty—but don’t ask, Logan. Some things stay dead when you bury ‘em.” Her wink makes him snort, as if it’s something to joke about—and it is, really. To a man who flirts with death and defies it at every turn, nothing really surprises him anymore. The grave is little more than a calling card, and Sue knows that. Riz knows that. Everyone here knows this, but, chooses instead to look the other way—see him for what he is. 

Sue’s crooking a come finger at new blood before she’s even fully parted ways with him. “Hiya, honey. C’mere, sit down—we don’t bite.” Logan raises a Really? brow at her before Sue waves him off with a flapping hand. It takes everything he has not to smile at the old woman, but instead, he swivels a little. Back to the newcomer, who’s dropping into the corner barstool, well away from him and into the shadows. 

“Speak for yourself,” 

Sue whirls on him and tosses the towel she’s been keeping bar with at his face. Batting it away, he downs the brandy. “Oh, hush up!” Her chin gestures across the bar, to the cage—veiled in shadows, it’s little more than a knick knack without its lights, screaming crowds and humming jukebox that gathers every night at ten. Money changing, saliva flying—it sleeps like a tired beast until he rings the dinner bell.  “Well, most of us don’t bite—what’ll you have, darlin’?.” 

 If that wasn’t truth, well—Logan wasn’t sure what was. 

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[originaltribalscrivxx]

TEASING‼️‼️ Clenching & Flexing Firm Jiggly Bubble Ass College Ebony Milf In Cotton Cream Leggings.

Absolutely one off my favorites in my vault especially when it comes to my favorite thing in the world!!! FOR MY CLENCHING AND BOOTY FLEXING LOVERS!!!! Caught this last years HBCU Homecoming of 2023 I saw this very plump and jiggly college ebony with some jiggly buns walking and getting in line for some drinks. I got up right behind her and started filming immediately and loved her firm round cheeks in those cotton leggings and even noticed the round muscle tone and firmness of her ass!!! She began to shake a little bit making it jiggle, and me just knowing about petite ebonies like her having my key Scriv sense that she can probably clench and flex her ass really good squeezing those booty muscles making them bounce up and down and would love it if she did so. And surprisingly............SHE DID JUST THAT!!!!! She started showing off teasing clenching and flexing for me in different segments while we were in line having my wood brick at attention and throbbing 😫😫😫😫😫. I had to go to the bathroom afterwards just to calm myself 😂😂😂. Full video is 6:56 grab it for $8 Cashapp or PayPal. l've came so much and shot mad loads to this!!! (Not gonna lie) 😂😂😂 FOR MY

CLENCHING AND FLEXING FANATIC FANS!!!!!! IF YOU HAVENT GOT IT GET IT!!!

[r0b0s-robos]

Moon's Scary Stories to Fall Asleep To, a Halloween DCA Shortfic Summary:

It's Halloween and you're sick with the flu! The only way to overcome the disappointment of missing your favorite holiday is for your loving, doting partner to tell you scary stories. [ CH.1 - Zombie!Reader AU - Reader is a zombie, but Sun and Moon don’t have human brains so they’re all good. Sun and Moon live in delusion, believing you are just sick and that everything is okay and they just need to get you something to eat. You are hungry. So hungry. Always hungry. ] [ CH.2 - Vampire!DCA AU - Reader finds themself on the unexpected side of two Count's hearts- and fangs. They are so very excited to see that you showed up to their dinner party. Your only concern is... you don't see any of the food ] [ CH.3 - Cryptid!DCA AU - Reader gets lost in the woods and must make a deal with the guardians of the forest. Let's hope you succeed in their quest. If you don't, well... Being lost in the woods forever isn't so bad. Right? ] [ CH.4 - Frankenstein's Monster!DCA AU (Eclipse) - Reader takes refuge inside an abandoned laboratory one night. Inside, they find someone waiting for a new friend. You will be their friend, won't you? It's been so long since they had a friend... ]

Read the WHOLE fic and check tags -> here!

Sneak Peek Below!

From Ch.1

Horror movies weren’t everyone's cup of tea, but they were certainly yours.

Where others seemed to be squeamish and recoil at the gore on screen, you found it fascinating. You saw the art of horror. It wasn’t about getting scared, not all the time anyway. Mostly, it was about telling a story. It was about a narrative. That’s what compelled you to watch.

Plus, you loved a good practical effect! From the way blood splattered to costumes and set design, oh, you were a fanatic.

Just like you loved horror, you also loved Halloween. It was a package deal as far as you were concerned. It wasn’t just the scary Halloween movies you loved, though. You also adored the classic animated films and the feel-good ones like Casper or Addams Family.

It was a good thing, too.

Your collection of horror movies had been thoroughly run through and now, you were watching reruns of old classics on cable.

You were sick with the worst flu you’d ever had in all your life. Cursed and confined to the couch, you sounded like the gargling zombies on screen. All you’d managed to do was binge-watch movies and eat a few bites of food whenever Moon or Sun begged you.

Today was Halloween. Your unworn outfit hung on a coat hanger in the hall. The longer you stared, the more disappointed you felt.

At least you, Sun, and Moon had managed to completely deck the place out in décor before you caught the sickness.

What hurt the most was being unable to help hand out candy. The job went solely to your partners.

The sun hadn’t even set when the first knock came. Sun was more than eager to answer and gave each child a glowing review of their costumes and king-sized candy bars before returning to your side. This happened a few more times until the sky’s light faded and Moon took over.

Sun. Your poor Sun.

He fretted over you as if you had been diagnosed with a plague. You supposed his worry did make sense, given his sensitivity to all things virus. Moon wasn’t as vocal but you noticed how his treatment changed.

[heartfullofleeches]

Some background on my college yan and older neighbor reader because I love both very much

Tedric "Teddie" Jones- [he/they]

Teddie has always been a quiet and reserved guy. Sheltered by their parents due to difficulties at birth, Teddie would eventually receive his first taste of the macabre world as a young teen when a mishap at the local movie rent had him receiving a documentary on serial killers in the state instead of the age appropriate film his parents had picked for them. Saving all their allowance and birthday money to fuel their new obsession, now 23 year old Teddie Jones chemistry major is a horror fanatic, and has had vivid fantasies about tormenting those who have caused trouble in their life - but never the drive to commit such acts

Like many in the community, he avoided Reader when they first moved in per instruction of his parents. Through brief interaction over the years, he framed them as someone to be cautious of, though admired their independency and closed off nature. When rumors of their past began to pop up, he was the first to do some digging and his admiration only grew. The two wouldn't formally meet until one afternoon when his normally attentive parents forgot to tell him they had had the locks changed that very morning. Not wanting to be caught in the brewing storm, Teddie knocked on reader's door and asked if they could climb their fence to get to his backyard. Reader refused as they wouldn't be able to get over without a few scrapes and instead invited them inside to wait it out. With the way reader stared at him, a part of Teddie feared there was more to their generosity and lured him in with the gesture of kindness to add them to the growing roster of missing persons reports, but as soon as Teddie sat down they-

Just talked.

Reader asked how he was doing in school. How his parents were. They asked why he never used that skateboard they saw his dad bring home for him which Teddie had to bashfully explain he had fallen too many times for the idea of learning to be fun. It was the only time their expression changed during the conversation. They scolded him for giving up so easily and told him to bring it over if he ever got the chance. Within two weeks, Teddie had a new mode of transportation to and from school. When he asked why they helped him Reader said he reminded them a lot of themself when they were younger. Always afraid of the what-ifs and pain in spite of taking action. They didn't want him to end up like them at their age - alone with no one to turn to.

In that short timeframe, Reader became Teddie's rock. Whenever he had a problem they were who he fled to without a second thought. They shared their knowledge with him and in turn Teddie tried to be that same beacon of light for them they had been for him. He wanted to be their crutch, someone they could depend on in their darkest hour. Whenever he had thoughts of hurting others they always showed up in some fashion - encouraging them for his bravery or clutching their hands around his as the two drove a blade into the chest of their victim. They'd wash off in the shower together and Teddie would finally get to see more of their bedroom than just the glimpses he caught from his window. They'd lie together and with adrenaline still coursing through their veins, Teddie would finally know the warmth of another living being. They wondered if the kids would be reader's first as well. They dreamed they'd be each other's first in other ways, but would be fine with any outcome that ended with them both happy and in each other's arms.

Teddie is aware Reader sees them as someone to mentor which they use to their advantage to receive a taste of what their heart truly desires. They beg on their knees for dating practice so they can ask out someone they met at a party. Some make out experience would be nice too. Teddie works hard to someday become the person Reader can proudly call their own. They want to give Reader the youth they lost and take them heal their wounded heart to the world around them. The people in it can all burn for what they've done to them, but there's so much good the two can do together it all out weights the bad. If only they'd give him the chance.

"Reader"

Ranging somewhere from late 20s to early 30s- Reader was severely in high school for the hapless crime of being in the wrong place in the wrong century, Reader's misfortune only got worse as the one time they fought back to result in the head trauma and later death of a bully. At this point their harassment had escalated to borderline torture which left Reader with scars to this day. Through witness testimony and their injuries, Reader was not punished by the law by tradition means and instead sent away from the psychological damage they innocent caused.

Mostly free from their past, Reader could not return home after what happened and moved into a suburban neighborhood in a home owned by a distant relative who had passed and descendants who couldn't bother with the upkeep. Reader has made their peace, but is still haunted by ghosts and lessens their stress by avoiding relatively everyone. Well, mostly everyone. They take pity on the shy kid next door, seeing a reflection of themselves in him. When they heard they knock at their door they see a chance to right some of their wrongs and help the poor guy out. With their assistance, that quiet guy comes more out of their shell by the day and even managed to make a couple friends at their college. They couldn't be prouder.

Teddie still clings to their hip which puzzles them now that he has others who tolerate his company, but it's nice to have another voice in their barren fortress they call a home. Their age gap isn't too far off, but Reader can't help but find some of his mannerisms a little.. odd. Sometimes he waits on their porch like a lost puppy despite having a key, and he seems damn near obsessed with their love life which is pretty much non-existent. Must be just city things. They brush off his more outlandish queries and jokes that they'll kiss him if he gets a high enough score on his paper. The color drains from their face when the results are sent out and Teddie waits excitedly for their reward

[bothsloth-originals]

why did they have to take community off of Netflix and then hulu

I just wanna watch my tv friends go on their quirky little escapades

I want my relatable autistic film fanatic to continue making references to movies and tv shows and having crazy adventures of which I’m jealous

I want my relatable anxious overachiever to discover the world and form relationships with her friends

I want to live vicariously through these two mentally unstable characters that I relate to desperately

someone please help

[gliphyartfan]

your recent mafia au got me thinking. With halloween right around the corner, I'm curious to know how the chain would do on halloween after finally being reunited with reader. Would they go trick or treating? Go to or a have a halloween party? Have a scary movie marathon? They definitely would be excited to see reader in a costume, probably even try to match 😄 hope you have a good halloween 🎃 gliphy

Hope you have a happy spooky time too!

Hmmmmm had to think on this for a while

The Mafia Chain wouldn’t exactly go trick-or-treating, kinda can’t given they are…well Mafia.

But there’s no way they’d let Reader miss out on the fun.

(Plus it’s mean more memories made with their darling ya know. )

Maybe they take a spin on the tradition, where they orchestrate a lavish Halloween street party, shutting down part of the town for “security reasons” (though really, they just want to control the scene and since the territory closest to their home is safest? Not like the people living there would care about what the people who do more than cops do.)

They’d definitely make sure the streets are filled with decorated stalls, spooky lights, and candy stands so they can walk around with reader and enjoy the night together.

Wild. Four, and Wind would absolutely sneak away to join the kids for some trick-or-treating action, or rather Reader suggested they do that and they happily followed along to act as their “distraction” while they grab the best candies~

Of course, Warriors and Twilight would follow, trying to keep them out of trouble (and failing. miserably. but laughing about it.)

Meanwhile, Time and Legend would remain at the center of the party, to keep track of everyone, but also more than happy to show off their costumes with reader. probably something classic, refined, and flattering.

Sky and Hyrule would help keep the event running smoothly, subtly making sure everything stays perfect, all while stealing glances at reader in their costume.

And given that they probably have their inside men in the force patrolling the area, no chance of the street party being shut down!

Moving on!

—

—

If they decided on a private party, they would most definitely throw a Halloween party, a grand, mafia style event, where everyone is dressed to impress.

Reader would be the highlight of the night, no matter what costume they chose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now, matching costumes?

The absolute joy they'd get out of matching with reader cannot be understated. Whether it's sophisticated and dark, playful and spooky, or elegant and fantasy, they'd all be vying for reader's attention, secretly hoping their costume combo stands out the most.

The Chain would throw in every effort to ensure reader felt included and adored, and they'd take great pride in matching, each of them holding onto that sense of togetherness after so long apart.

Time would insist on matching costumes, something a bit dark and classy like a vampire lord with reader as his elegant vampiress, both dripping with sophistication and mystery. He would hover close to reader’s side all night, using any excuse to keep his arm around them.

Time might not show it outwardly, but he’s positively thrilled to be by their side again, and this night would be his way of celebrating that.

Legend would take a more playful approach, maybe convincing reader to go with a theme like ghost hunters or a dynamic duo from old horror films.

He wouldn’t admit it, but seeing reader so lively and happy in their costume would melt his usually standoffish demeanor. He’d tease them constantly throughout the night but would also make sure they stay close, pulling them into photos and conversations with that subtle smirk of his.

Wild would go all out on the costume front (I mean he’s an outfit fanatic during his journey and that follows him no matter what. So says I)

even if it’s just an excuse to see reader in something cute. He’d push for something fun and adventurous, maybe a fantasy-themed costume like a knight and a princess, or even something totally random like an iconic horror duo. If he has Majora’s Mask, he’ll definitely use that. (To Time’s exasperation)

But make no mistake, he would absolutely fawn over reader the moment he sees them, telling them how amazing they look. His eyes would practically glow when they finally match his energy in costume.

Warriors would go for something elegant but with an edge, a suave prohibition era mobster look that complements reader’s stunning costume.

He would shamelessly flirt with reader the entire night, likely offering his arm as he winks, “You know, we could conquer the world together.” There’s a mix of possessiveness and affection in the way he sticks close to reader, enjoying the evening but always keeping an eye on anyone who might try to approach them.

Twilight would likely pick something a bit rugged but undeniably charming, maybe a lone werewolf paired with reader’s mystical witch or something similar. Or he’d go all homely with just rancher style. (Or maybe he’d get a custom made outfit of his old rancher clothes. He’d love the idea of Reader wearing an Ordonian style outfit along with him)

He’s more subtle about his excitement, but reader would catch him watching them with those soft, almost longing eyes as they move through the party. When no one is looking, he’d pull them aside for quiet moments together, placing a hand at the small of their back while admiring them.

Hyrule might pick something like dark fairytale characters, enchanted but with a spooky twist. While he would try to remain composed, his face would give away how enchanted he is by reader’s costume. He’d be stuck in this constant state of awe, keeping close and helping them with anything they need, making sure their night is nothing short of magical (pun intended). He’d smile a little too hard when reader leaned into his side during the night. (Maybe use some of his magic to scare the kiddos wandering around)

Sky would go for something dreamy, maybe suggesting they dress as characters from a fantasy romance, like a noble knight and their beloved, or something with whimsical elegance. He’s a romantic not matter what.

He’d spend the entire evening doting on reader, sneaking soft compliments about how stunning they are, while enjoying every second of being close to them. He’d suggest they dance at some point, perhaps a slow, romantic waltz under the glow of the party lights.

Four might not outwardly say it, he would love matching costumes. His choice would lean toward something subtle and coordinated, like characters from a fairy tale or folklore that connected to his background or a more classic pairing. He’d be delighted if reader chose something matching without him asking, feeling a quiet sense of pride as they walked together, his heart warming every time someone noticed.

And if anyone flirted with reader or tried to steal their attention, Four would silently position himself between them, guiding reader back with a slight but unmistakable possessiveness. His quiet, intense focus would make it clear to anyone watching that he had no intention of letting anyone come between him and reader, especially not on a night like this.

—

Now if the Chain did manage to have a quiet night in (after ensuring that everything was secure and all potential dangers were far away), a scary movie marathon would be on the table. Reader would curl up with a blanket on the couch, and soon enough, the Chain would join them, turning the cozy night into a cuddle pile.

Wild and Wind would be the instigators, immediately throwing pillows around and getting everyone to relax.

Hyrule would sit at reader’s feet or close to their side, finding comfort in simply being near them. Four would join him.

Twilight would definitely steal the spot right next to reader, wrapping his arm around them, pulling them into his side for extra warmth.

Warriors and Legend would also stick close, trying to act casual but secretly thrilled to be near reader.

Throughout the night, there would be subtle touches, Sky handing reader popcorn, Time placing a blanket over their shoulders when the night gets colder.

The atmosphere would shift from spooky to soft, (and probably back to spooky if Reader is a horror fanatic) each of them finding an excuse to be near reader, their hearts light with the warmth of finally having them back.

By the end, reader would be snuggled right in the middle of the Chain, surrounded by warmth and affection as the night came to a peaceful close.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone loves a good snack. Regular meals are important for your health, but they are also a tyrannical regime that keeps you from shovelling MSG-laden tortilla chips into your mouth six or seven times a day. In the interest of personal freedom, I took over my cousin's failing food truck business and started serving up schedule-busting goodies all over town.

Admittedly, I didn't really care about feeding the masses. I definitely did not care about cooking for, and cleaning up after, random individuals that I would never meet again. What I got into this business for was the truck, a beaten-up old Isuzu NRR that I thought would make a good vehicle with which to tow. If I held out for long enough, then I could pay myself with the truck in lieu of a paycheque when the company went bankrupt.

Of course, I couldn't just sit on my hands and do nothing. To make things look good for the bankruptcy trustees, I was told, I had to put in a serious effort to craft and sell food across town. Soon I was selling hot dog buns stuffed full of Cheetos for seventeen dollars a pop. Customers lined up around the block. To my surprise and anger, this was the moment in which my natural-born business instincts finally manifested to produce some big-league cheddar. Some even maintained a website dedicated to tracking my every move around town, even commenting on my double-clutching as I tried to maneuver that tricky intersection before the downtown bridge without stopping for the red light.

Money was pouring in from a fanatical customer base, which made it improbable that I could pull off my truck-instead-of-cash trick. Not like I could stop for long enough to change the plate on the thing. I was invited to food festivals, park openings, and even had my own Netflix show for a little while, because they didn't want to pay writers anymore, and filming me for two hours of slinging greaseball fried food out of the window of my truck was cheaper. Don't worry: I made sure to ruin all of their takes by talking randomly about 1980s Korean economy cars, a topic that advertisers absolutely despise.

So what took out my business? It wasn't competition, or even that time I rammed the Mayor's limousine while rushing to the scene of a multi-vehicle accident to serve up hot snacks to the brave firefighters. Ultimately, it was my cousin, who wanted his now-successful business back. Without my brave leadership (and gonzo, irresponsible driving) at the helm, the quality of the food immediately dropped, and he went under. There is good news, however. I did get to keep the truck after all, even though Cousin Neutral had to torch it for the insurance money first.