#truck driver lifestyle

[artisticdivasworld]

Celebrating NTDA Week: Honoring the Backbone of America

Next week is National Truck Drivers Appreciation Week (NTDA Week), and I think it’s a good time to take a moment and reflect on what truckers really mean to all of us. You might not think about it much, but the reality is, without truck drivers, we’d all be in a pretty tight spot. From the food in your fridge to the clothes in your closet, truckers are the ones making sure it all gets to where it…

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

Living Between the Lines Over the Road Semi Trucker Stainless Steel Tumbler Traveling Mug

Hit the road with our "Living Between the Lines" stainless steel tumbler, designed for those who appreciate the journey of life, one mile at a time. This durable tumbler showcases a sleek semi truck graphic, capturing the spirit of adventure and the open highway.

Features:

High-Quality Stainless Steel: Built to last, this tumbler resists rust and maintains its sleek appearance.

Double-Wall Vacuum Insulation: Keeps your beverages hot or cold for hours, perfect for long drives or relaxing breaks.

Easy-Grip Design: The ergonomic shape makes it easy to hold, ensuring comfort whether you're on the road or at home.

Spill-Resistant Lid: Designed for on-the-go convenience, the lid helps prevent spills while you navigate life’s twists and turns.

Whether you’re a truck driver, a road trip enthusiast, or simply love the freedom of the open road, this tumbler is a perfect companion. It also makes an excellent gift for the adventurers in your life!

Join the journey—sip your favorite drink and embrace life’s ride, one mile at a time!

Crafted from sturdy stainless steel, this tumbler is engineered with double-wall insulation to maintain your beverages at the perfect temperature for hours on end. Whether you prefer your drink piping hot or refreshingly cold, this tumbler ensures it stays just right.

Its sleek and slim design feels great in your hand and effortlessly fits into your car's cupholder, making it ideal for travel and daily use.

Complete with a convenient straw and spill-proof lid, this tumbler is designed for ease and practicality. The premium polymer coating not only enhances durability but also showcases vibrant colors with a glossy finish, ensuring the design remains bright and clear.

The slender straight shape makes it a breeze to hold and perfectly compatible with car drink holders. Versatile enough for both hot and cold beverages, it's your go-to companion wherever you roam.

Whether you're hitting the road or relaxing at home, this tumbler combines style with functionality, making it a thoughtful and practical gift for any occasion. Treat your friend (or yourself!) to this stylish tumbler and enjoy the perfect sip, every time.

This tumbler has a premium polymer coating which makes the design colors bright, clear, and complete with a beautiful glossy finish.

- The completely skinny straight shape makes it really easy to handle and even fit into your car drink holders.

- Can be used with Hot and Cold drinks.

- Made using a sublimation printing process that can be more costly than other methods, but it lasts longer, and will not crack or peel over time.

Tumbler Care instructions: Hand wash only- Do not soak in water- Do not use any type of abrasive sponges - Avoiding extreme heat- Not placing in dishwasher as it can be exposed to high heat temperatures. - Never placing your tumbler into a microwave- Allow your tumbler, lid, and straw to air dry

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

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[anastasiareyreed]

“ordinary russians are not guilty of anything and shouldn't be held responsible for the actions of their authorities”

meanwhile:

ordinary russians voluntarily join the russian army to kill Ukrainians and Syrians

ordinary russians organize safari hunting and killing Ukrainian civilians with drones

ordinary russians torture and execute Ukrainian and Syrian civilians and soldiers, filming it on camera

ordinary russians come to the destroyed occupied territories and arrange "fancy and mysterious" photoshoots like it's some kind of disneyland

ordinary russians go abroad to willingly glorify russia at pro-russian rallies

ordinary russians persecute and kill Ukrainians abroad

ordinary russians export stolen Ukrainian clothes, household appliances and cars to russia

ordinary russians buy all these stuff knowing perfectly well and seeing from the labels that these things were stolen from the houses and shops of murdered Ukrainians

ordinary russians donate to support the russian army

ordinary russians make shells and drones at factories in three shifts

ordinary russians sew equipment

ordinary russian activists weave camouflage nets, make trench candles and collect donations for the russian army

ordinary russian truck drivers bring all this to the frontlines

ordinary russians make software for missiles

ordinary russian tourists go on vacation to the russian-occupied Crimea

ordinary russians sell and buy apartments in occupied territories whose residents were killed

ordinary russians write happy comments after shelling Ukrainian homes markets hospitals and schools

ordinary russian doctors go to the frontlines to save russian soldiers

ordinary russians work in prisons and torture prisoners of war with starvation

ordinary russian teachers in the occupied territories reeducate Ukrainian children

ordinary russian social workers kidnap and take Ukrainian children to russia

ordinary russian miners extract coal for steel smelting

ordinary russian metallurgists work three shifts at blast furnaces to melt steel

ordinary russian celebrities shoot pro-russian films, write pro-russian songs and call to join the russian army

ordinary russians organize mass protests in russia against the closing of McDonald's, but not against the war

ordinary russian children draw pictures of russian soldiers brutally killing Ukrainians

ordinary russian artists in russia and abroad create pro-russian art glorifying russia and the russian army

ordinary russians create videogames that promote russian brutality and the army

ordinary russian teachers teach children to hate other nations

ordinary russian trainers prepare children for warfare and murder

ordinary russians ignore russian crimes on the territory of Ukraine and Syria as they ignored crimes on the territory of Georgia. because they believe it has nothing to do with them and it shouldn't affect their comfortable lifestyle.

should i go on?

Putin is not the cause of russian brutality, terrorism and bloodthirstiness. Putin is a consequence.

before Putin, there were other presidents, other tsars and other authorities in russia. only one thing has not changed — russian imperialism and chauvinism.

don't be silent and please continue to support Ukraine! don't let your politicians betray Ukraine, Ukraine needs help to defeat russia!

[mortiskiller]

Pignapped

Content warning: Contains violent language, physical harm, non-consensual feedism and other acts. This is just a story, don't be weird.

A commission for @collegefatty10

He was on the way back to the car after grabbing a pizza. It was routine at this point in his life. Eating all day without regard to his ever-increasing weight had led to some interesting eating habits. A breakfast sandwich in the morning had become three sandwiches with hash browns and two doughnuts. Lunch steadily grew into a multi-hour affair with trips to multiple drive-thru visits, door dash orders, desk drawers filled with snacks, and not to mention a new habit of pre-gaming before dinner. Driving to get his pizza led to stopping for fries, or nuggets, or a combo meal, or all of that, before he picked up his next greasy calorie bomb. This routine made his day predictable, pigs are simple after all. The same places and employees watched him fatten from the low 300s to his heaving 430 pounds. Day after day, pound after pound he kept ordering more. As his waddle slowed, his gut hung lower and lower, his face getting red and sweaty from the 20-foot walk from the car to the pizzeria, he was an easy target.

I had seen him months before on a lunch break. My eyes shot open as saw a hanging lard pile of a man puff his way into McDonald’s. It was a passing horny thought that I would see him again, maybe add it to my mental bank of images and memories to jerk off to later. Yet, he kept coming to the same places again, and again, and again till it was too much to resist. I mapped out his route, timed him as ordered, and ate his feasts. Noted how he favored his right leg as he waddled, his arms struggling to carry the ever-increasing amount of food he ordered. As I watched him, I couldn't help but notice the way his right leg bore the brunt of his weight, the limp a constant reminder of his indulgent lifestyle. I wondered how long he had been living like this, how many times he had ordered a pizza and not once thought about the consequences. I knew he would be easy to take. Easy to keep docile, dumb, and growing.

I waited till the moon was just a sliver in the night sky outside his favorite pizzeria. Checking my watch, as it ticked over to 8:40 pm, his sedan pulled into the parking lot, the front driver’s side sitting low as my soon-to-be pet pig drove. I watched from my hiding spot as he struggled to haul his massive frame out of the driver's seat, grunting and wheezing with the effort. The scent of greasy pizza wafted through the air as he waddled towards the entrance, his heavy footfalls reverberating on the pavement.

Once he was safely inside i made my move, slipping silently into the shadows and following him at a distance. Inside, he placed his usual order - a large meat lover's pizza with extra cheese and a side of garlic knots. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he paid for his meal, oblivious to the predator lurking in the darkness behind him.

As he turned to leave, I struck swiftly and silently, wrapping a thick cloth bag over his head. He struggled weakly for a moment before I pushed him back to the car. With ease, I kicked his right knee from the back and watched as he tumbled into the truck. His muffled moans of confusion and fear barely registering over the hum of the engine. He was mine now, another victim added to my collection.

I paused for a moment, considering my next move. He was a strange yet fascinating addition to my collection, and I relished the thought of having him under my control. I could see him squirming in the back, his heavy breathing and muffled cries a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

I parked the car in a secluded spot, away from any prying eyes. The moon now a hazy glow, bathing everything in a sickly light. I approached the car, opened the rear door, and lifted my newest prize out of the vehicle.

He was heavier than he looked, his bulk making it difficult for me to handle him. But I had experience, and I was patient. I carried him to a nearby abandoned warehouse, the cold metal of the hinges echoing as I pushed open the door.

Once inside, I placed him on a table, still wearing the cloth bag over his head.

"Hey, buddy," I cooed to the pig, my voice low and sinister. "You know, you're not going to like what's going to happen to you. I've got some pretty wicked plans for you. I'm going to fatten you up, relentlessly, until there's barely anything left of your dignity or self-esteem. You see, we're going to use you, and we're going to pleasure you in ways you can't even imagine."

The pig let out a soft grunt, the sounds muffled by the cloth bag still securing his head. I chuckle, a dark and twisted sound that reverberates through the cold, empty warehouse. Taking a step closer, my shoes scraped against the rough concrete floor.

"I've been collecting things like you for years," I whispered, running his hands over his captive's plump body. "I've come across so many of your kind, just like you, loving your comfort and your food. And I've had my way with them all. Oh, I've had so much fun, and you're next on my list."

As I approach the pig, who is still covered in the bag, he lets out a soft whimper and shakes his head, trying to free himself. His body wobbles with each attempt as he struggles against his bonds. Belly aching with his last meal the movement causes an unintended blech from beneath the bag. Swiftly, I remove the bag from the pig's head, revealing a face red, sweating, and fearful. The pig's eyes are wide and terrified as he stares up at me, taking in his new surroundings - cold concrete walls bare of any decoration, a king-sized bed next to a small bathroom, and a large full-body mirror.

"Look at you," I say with a hint of disgust mixed with fascination, "just look at what you've become."

"You know what you are now?" I ask quietly, “You are my plaything, a toy, a fat weak blubbery toy!” my digs deep into his belly hang, bringing a painful whine from the pig’s mouth.

"You are mine, completely and entirely," I continue, my voice growing menacing, "and I'm going to do whatever I want with you at my command." The pig tries to struggle again, but his movements are weak and pathetic. "Oh, but first things first," I say, walking over to the bed where I had left a set of handcuffs.

I restrained the pig on the bed, at once reluctant and terrified to yield to such volition.

"You'll get used to it, trust me," I say, my fingers tracing curious paths over his bulging form. "Maybe then you'll even enjoy it."

With the pig cuffed to the headboard and footboard, I began to study him, taking in every last curve and fold of his form. He looked so helpless and vulnerable like a lost child in desperate need of a firm hand to guide him.

Noticing the glaze that had settled over his eyes, I thought, 'Now we're getting somewhere.'

Methodically, I began to examine him as if he were an exotic creature, taking note of each flaw that had been revealed by my rough handling.

He would be my plaything, my plump and innocent pig. And I would use him, treat him, and abuse him in ways that would break him completely. I would fatten him up and weaken him until his body could no longer bear the weight of his own flesh. I would use every inch of this vulnerable creature, making him my own personal toy.

As I stood over him, watching him squirm pathetically on the bed, my mind raced with all the ways in which I could degrade him. My hands moved over his flesh, feeling him shake beneath my touch. I could feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of his fur, the weight of the fat that filled his body. It was all so delicious, so intoxicating, that I found myself growing hard at the thought of what I could do with him.

My fingers brushing feather-light against his skin, teasing him with every passing second. It was then that I decided upon the next part of his degradation. With a smirk playing on my lips, I retrieved a bucket from the floor, its contents sloshing against the sides with every move I made. It was filled to the brim with a half-gallon of lard-filled slop, designed to both fuel his growing hunger and make him feel even more vulnerable in his restraints.

As I drew closer, the pig let out a small whine, his eyes widening in fear and anticipation. He knew what was coming. I brought the bucket towards his mouth, and with a practiced hand, I tilted it so that the contents would flow easily. A funnel was inserted into his mouth, and with a cruel smirk, I watched as the slop began to pour down his throat, filling him to the brim.

End of Part 1.

[sansaorgana]

If the both of you were hurt in a accident, I can see Benny, even if he’s all battered and bruised, jump out of his hospital bed to see how you are 😍

hello, sweetheart! oh, he definitely would do that 😅💗 thank you for your request 😇 I got a little inspired by the movie Easy Rider when it comes to the accident 🙈

requests for benny are open 🥺🎀

Benny was a skilled motorbike driver and he knew when he could go faster and show off – he felt the motorbike like a part of his own body at this point. And as much as he loved to show off his skills in front of you, he would never do that when you were actually riding with him. No, when you were sitting behind him, clutching to his sides, he wouldn’t even speed up too much – just a little bit above the limit. Benny would never want anything bad to happen to you.

But Benny couldn’t control other people on the road. He could only control his motorbike but not the cars and trucks that were all over. Some of their drivers had a problem with the bikers – in the country that loved freedom so much, the ones who lived truly free remained the outcasts. And it was one of the truck drivers who made sure that Benny’s bike would lose its balance and end up in the ditch. Just like that, without even caring about the lady sitting in the back. He drove away. If he wanted to kill you two, then he could consider himself unlucky because Benny was too skilled to lose control of his motorbike completely and he managed to avoid the worst.

He had a slight concussion and his arm was twisted from putting it behind to soften your fall and make sure to at least protect your head. The nurses were trying to calm him down and make him rest but he couldn’t as he kept asking about you.

“Why isn’t she in the room with me?” He asked for the tenth time and the woman sighed, giving up.

“Women don’t share rooms with men,” she explained.

“I gotta see her,” Benny shrugged her off as she just finished putting a bandage over his twisted arm to make sure it would stay in one place now. “I gotta see my girl.”

“Mr. Cross, you’ve had a concussion. You should rest now,” the other nurse tried to make him lay down but he pushed her hands away.

“Not before I see (Y/N),” he gave her a deadly glare. “Why don’t you want to tell me what’s wrong with her?”

“You are not a family member,” the woman looked him up and down. He knew why they treated him like that – because he was a biker. A dirty bum and they didn’t approve of that lifestyle. In their eyes, it would be better for the society if he had died there.

“Just tell me the room number,” he mumbled but they looked at each other and left him, closing the door behind.

Benny was pissed. He was fine, after all. And he needed to see that you were, too. So, he jumped out of bed, feeling a little dizzy but ignoring it completely as he limped to the door. His legs were not broken but they still hurt badly after the fall.

He opened the door and found himself in the hospital’s corridor. He approached the small board with all the important information about the facility and he found out that the rooms for women were on the floor under his. So, he went to the emergency staircase – where no one would see him – and he slowly limped down with greeted teeth to handle the pain better. He was determined to find you and only then he would be able to rest properly.

He was planning to peek inside every room until he’d find you but at the sight of the woman at the end of the corridor, he realised he didn’t have to. He swallowed thickly as he approached your mother. She gave him a very dirty look but he also spotted some sympathy in her eyes when she saw the way he limped.

“Oh, Benny. I would beat the shit out of you but I don’t beat cripples,” she crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” he looked down. “How is she?”

“She’s gonna be fine. But if I see her once more on that goddamn motorbike of yours, I’m gonna kill you, boy,” your mother threatened and Benny looked up to give her puppy eyes like a beaten dog.

“Can I see her?” He asked, quietly.

“Go on,” your mother shook her head and pointed at the door on his right.

Benny pushed them softly and smiled at the sight of you sitting on your bed. You were reading a magazine and stuffing yourself with chocolates your mother had surely brought you. You had a scratch on your cheek and a bandage on your arm as well.

“Hey,” he greeted you awkwardly and you looked up. Your heart skipped a beat to see him so weak and hurt.

“Oh, baby! They told me you had a concussion, you should be in bed!” You protested.

“They told you, huh? They didn’t want to tell me shit about you. Had to see with my own eyes,” he admitted with a chuckle as he limped to your bed to sit on the edge. “You okay, baby?”

“Well, I’m worried ‘bout that,” you pointed at your cheek. “I’m worried it’s gonna stay. The scar, I mean. What they gonna call me then? Scarface?” Your lower lip trembled. “And I’m gonna be ugly.”

“You’re never gonna be ugly, stop it,” Benny dismissed it with a shake of his head. “And how’s your head, dollie?”

“I don’t even have a concussion!” You told him with a smile. “All thanks to you.”

“I’m glad. And the arm? Why is it bandaged?” Benny pointed his finger at it.

“I might have scars there, too. But that I can cover, right? It just got pretty bloody and some glass got inside but it’s not infected, thankfully. They stitched it up a little, so yeah,” you explained and shrugged your arms. “Gee, baby, that was so scary. Why did that redneck do that? We were just riding, weren’t we? What problem did he have with us?”

“I dunno,” Benny shrugged his arms, too and he looked down. “But your ma’s right, you shouldn’t ride with me anymore.”

“Don’t be stupid, I already told her there’s no way. If it was your fault, I’d consider it but it was not! And in fact, I am alive thanks to you,” you grabbed his hand to squeeze it. “Now, give me a kiss and go back to your room to rest,” you ordered and Benny cracked a smile at you.

He loved you for your spirit and devotion. He leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon your lips and he traced gently the scratch on your cheek.

“If it stays, it’s gonna look badass, dollie, I’m tellin’ ya,” he whispered and you giggled.

“When you say that, you’re making me want for it to stay,” you admitted. “Now, go rest.”

“Can’t I rest here?” Benny asked, giving you puppy eyes.

“You can,” you nodded and moved slightly on the bed so he could lay next to you. You went back to reading your magazine and played with his hair gently to soothe him.

He was dozing off when two old nurses opened the door to your room rapidly and you looked up at them, confused.

“For God’s sake, there he is,” one of them said. “Mr. Cross!” She approached Benny to wake him up.

“Let him stay here, sister,” you pouted.

“Absolutely not!” She shook him and he opened his sleepy eyes to rub them.

“You shouldn’t shake him like that, he’s had a concussion,” you pointed out and pushed her hands away.

“He should be in his own bed,” she snapped at you angrily.

You didn’t like the way they were treating him. He was your sweet Benny, your lovely boyfriend, the love of your life. And they were treating him like a piece of shit – worse than a dog.

You gave her a dirty look and caressed Benny’s face gently as his hazy eyes focused on you.

“Hey, baby, I think you should go now,” you spoke to him softly. “But don’t worry, we’re going out tomorrow, yeah? And I’m gonna take you home with me, no matter what my mum says. And I’m gonna take care of you,” you promised. “Now, go, sleep it off,” you encouraged him to sit up slowly and leave your bed as the two angry nurses took him by his arms and nearly dragged him out of your room. “Be careful!” You shouted after them but they ignored you.

MASTERLIST || BENNY MASTERLIST

[disniq]

Hi so uhhhh, not actually making any sort of relevant point about anything but I saw you guesstimating Jason's kill count and I have to justify the fact that I went panel by panel to hand count his kills SOMEHOW so like have the data please!!

Skipping dear Filipe's moldering corpse due to uncertainty, we start with Lost Days

Human Trafficking Truck Driver Ian, Egon, Steel Beam mercenary crew estimated at least five strong, three more of his teachers, eleven nameless russian mobsters, a cousin and a running buddy of a russian mobster: 23 people

Under the Red Hood

Eight heads in a duffel bag, four thugs with Freeze (Freezy boy does not die), Two confirmed on panel delivery man kills (Five-ten more suspected but we won't count em), Ten goons in the doorway when he swings the minigun on them as he and Onyx retreat, five more goons, Rocket launcher blast kills "most" of a security team with at least three members left alive so we'll call that three kills (far more deaths are implied), shoots a guy holding a lit molotov catching him on fire, then kills Captain Nazi (yay), forces Black Mask to kill six of his men, forces Some Guy to fight Black Mask to the death for him, and finally dear old Black Mask's PA is thrown through a window (his cycling class will miss him dearly): 42 people

(So, yeah, your ballpark of about a hundred give or take sounds about right, he's only got ~65 on panel, confirmed notches on his knife by the end of UtRH, and the implications seem to imply between 20 and 75 kills off screen)

That Time He Kidnapped Mia

Short and sweet, he only ices a pack of "brain donors": 5 people

Brothers in Blood

Two human traffickers, three more drug runner goons, two more goons later on: 7 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part one

Starting the running with two cops, lightning bug assassin, six mobstery big wigs, a guy, Flamingo: 11 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part two

Littleman Beaver's brother and his brother's fourteen goons, fifteen of his fellow inmates, then the grand poisoning of eighty-two people (well he poisoned more but we only get eighty-two confirmed as dead): 112 people

This is not even slightly a complete list, so consider this final number a lowball of:

Two Hundred people even!

as Jason's body count... at least pre-new52, don't ask me what's going on over there in modern canon, idk

Hope this was entertaining/useful to you in some way!

Best wishes -redhoodinternaldialectical

This is an amazing reference, thank you so much for sharing!!

I can fill most of the later stuff, because there's tragically little of it.

Nu52's attempt at giving Jason a concrete kill count was laughably low;

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #21

Rebirth was mostly non-lethal, with the notable exception of the gang Jason uses to establish his new edgy loner lifestyle after the famous rhato 25 beatdown from Bruce.

RHATOs (2016) #26

I count 11 of them, and I think it's safe to say they're all dead.

But then he teams up with Batwoman, and then Bunker, and then becomes a teacher at Lex Luthor's school for potential supervillains so it sort of tapers off again.

And then... there's the piece of shit dad he killed in Cheer in 2021.

Batman: Urban Legends (2021) #1

As far as I'm aware, that's the last time he killed in main continuity.

When will my son return from the war

[plutonic-rage]

My neighbors refuse to let me sleep so here's a few more rusty head canons.

1. He became more antisocial after the candy cane incident. Feeling as though he's too vulnerable outside of his truck, house and quiet channels.

2. Never worked out a day in his life, his strength came naturally with his lifestyle. Who needs expensive workout equipment when you can just chuck some dead people around.

3. Has nothing connected to his family, no photos, names or numbers. Everything he has to who he is has all been made up and faked.

4. Can't express joy outside of maniac laughter and intense shaking.

5. He thinks smoking calms him, it doesn't.

6. Enjoys a nice fat glass of plain white milk every day if he can do it.

7. Falls asleep in the driver's seat before he can even think about going into the sleeper after pulling off for a rest.

8. Cold and dead stare master. Makes his victims feel like victims before he does anything physical with them just by just staring at them.

9. One finger texter. Took him forever to even figure out how to type. Fingers baaaarely register against the screen.

10. Snores like a mother fucker.

[sporco-filth]

The Tourist and the Truckdriver - part 2

Leo, a thin, neat, polite tourist, is being driven into town by a truck driver after his car broke down. The truck driver is a gross slob, but perhaps there's something Leo can learn from him...

This is the end of the story by the way.

(as I said prior, this was based on a suggestion by @mblr126. To @mblr126, I'd like to apologise for not fitting everything you suggested into the story (the 'touching himself wherever he is' just didn't fit or make a lot of sense given he's driving, but rest assured Bazza does do 'it' quite freely), but I got most of it in so I'm happy.)

The drive continued on in silence for a bit, and Leo was about to ask the driver a few more questions about his lifestyle when he heard a strange, brassy sound over the roar of the engine. Suddenly, he was struck by a wave of foul-smelling gas. "Pua!" he gagged, scrambing to open the window. Bazza smirked. "Sorry, kinda forgot I wasn't alone in here." Leo breathed deeply the fresh mountain air. "That's OK," he said, having recovered. "I suppose in this life of yours you don't have to worry too much about what other people think of you?" He closed the window again. The smell still hungaround a bit, but the cabin had stunk of farts from the start, so by now he'd gotten used to the lingering odour. "Yeah, that's right," Bazza said, turning a corner. "It's the best." "Back home, in Italy," said Leo, looking at Bazza with something approaching admiration. "We have this saying: 'fare la bella figura'. It means a bit like what in English you say 'a good impression', but the idea is more than just that. Italians are always afraid of looking bad in public, so they keep up this… come si dice 'facciata'? front? They pretend to be perfect all the time." Bazza snorted. "That sounds like hell!" "It is," Leo nodded enthusiastically. "So why do you put up with that shit?" Leo shrugged. "I don't know… it's just how life is?" Bazza picked his nose, pulling out a massive piece of snot which he flicked away. "Not for me it ain't." Leo nodded. Perhaps there was something he could learn from this sciattone after all. For his whole life, Leo had done everything he could to make himself look good in the eyes of others: he'd be polite and vigilant of his every move and word, he'd feign interest even when dealing with the most boring people he'd ever meet, he'd keep himself looking thin and beautiful and elegant at all times. His life was dictated by his need to make sure everyone around him thought the best of him. Yes, it had it's benefits, but why should he care so much if a stranger thought he was a lazy glutton because he had a bit of fat around his belly, or a rude pig because he burped in public? Surely he could live a little freer, care a little less, and his life would be so much less exhausting? "If yer thirsty," Bazza growled, interrupting Leo's thoughts. "There's a can of Coke in the drink holder you can have." "Are you sure?" Bazza barked out a laugh. "I might be a rude arsehole but I know how to treat a guest right. Go on, take it." Leo took the can, cracked it open and took a drink, enjoying the fizzy rush of bubbles and sugar on his tongue. "I think we'll arrive at town soon," Bazza said, staring out into the gloom. "Where are you staying?" "At the pub, in one of the upstairs rooms." Leo took another sip. "Ahh…" "All right. I'll drop you off out the front." Leo nodded and downed the rest of the drink. He felt the gas build up in his stomach and, instead of swallowing it back like he usually did, opened his mouth wide. "BA-urrrp!" Bazza chuckled. "That was piss weak, mate. But practice makes perfect, eh? We've all got to start somewhere." Leo smiled, embarrassed, not so much for his grossness but for his poor performance. He rolled down the window and, deciding to follow Bazza's example, tossed the empyy can out the window. It felt incredibly ill-mannered to go to another country and treat it like a trash can, but Leo let himself do it just this once. It was actually kind of fun to do whatever he wanted without caring about what other people thought of him. If only I could live like this all the time, he mused.

Before long, the truck rolled into town and Bazza parked in front of the pub. "Well, here we are," he said, pulling up the handbrake. "I hope you enjoyed the ride." "I did," Leo said, smiling genuinely. "Thanks Bazza." "No worries, enjoy the rest of your trip!" Leo hopped out of the truck and went to the door of the pub. He turned around to wave as Bazza drove off. As he stood there, Leo thought about hid life. Here, on the other side of the world, he had no one who knew him, no one who would judge him or spread gossip about his perceived faults. Perhaps, he thought. I could start a new life here… He watched the truck disappear down the road. I wonder how difficult it is to drive a truck…

[littlemisscuddles]

I am his

The conclusion to a very long and difficult talk. The bedrock of what has the potential to make or break our relationship.

I have been aware of my submissiveness for many years, but he has only dabbled in the lifestyle for as long as we’ve been together. His confidence in himself as a dom waxes and wanes. My subby self goes into hiding for months at a time as our dynamic comes to a halt, but inevitably bursts forth kicking and screaming. Will she always have to hide?

“Are you ready to have a difficult conversation?”

“….yes” 🥺

“What if I can never be the dom you want?”

The words hit me like a truck. The reality of my submissive side, what sometimes feels like the truest part of myself, having to exist only in my mind is unthinkable. To not be able to share it with my person is even more so.

His engagement in this lifestyle which constantly tests his confidence and resolve becomes lost in the noise of life’s complications. Work. Family. Mental health. It all becomes too much to bear and I could never blame him for it. I am his no matter what.

Yet… there is a spark there that can’t be ignored. I am his and not in the traditional way. I belong to him. He possesses me and he likes it that way. Sure, life has its ups and downs, but that one fact will never change even when our dynamic does. We don’t need to give up on d/s, we need to evolve. Find ourselves again. Be willing to approach things differently. Carve out a path.

Too often we have tried to mimic what I see working in other dynamics on Tumblr. This time we are boiling it down to the basics and truly making it our own, with him in the drivers seat.

[artisticdivasworld]

Managing Stress on the Road: A Guide for New Truck Drivers

If you bought it, a trucker hauled it. As we celebrate National Truck Driver Appreciation Week, it’s important to not only acknowledge the hard work and dedication of drivers but also to address the challenges they face on the road—especially the stress that comes with the job. For new drivers, adjusting to long hours, unpredictable schedules, and the isolation that comes with being on the road…

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c31. Four or five.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, EDs and death.

song to listen to when reading this: Lo que puede, puede. Ca7riel, Paco Amoroso.

abstract: Simon here. You're following the story alright? Good, cause I'm not. Getting more and more confusing and everywhere I go, she's following. I can't get her to stop invading my space, it's getting repetitive.

'Oh yeah?' What a stupid fucking thing to say, Simon get it together. She looked at him, beautiful, tired siren eyes, beautiful long lashes, sad gaze. She nodded. She knew his family was dead, she knew cause he told her. How they died, she didn't know. Addiction? Something else? 'Yes, 'twas a…', lie Alba, '…drunk driver'. He nodded, his eyes still on her. He felt sorry. Why didn't she talk about her family more, why did she move away? Why was she so far from home? 'It's tough.' That's all he could say. I lost all my family, he could have said. But how do you explain something like that, how do you even say it out loud? How can someone like her understand what happened to him, how can someone like her comprehend. What happened to him was out of this world, his family, death, the bodies, what he had been through. It wasn't the same, sure losing a family member was awful, but it wasn't the same. They weren't the same.

He got up from the chair, taking a step away from her. He couldn't even look at her, he mumbled something about not staying at the base at night. And he was gone. She wasn't mad, she wasn't offended. She cursed herself for saying that thing about her brother, wanting him to feel like he could share parts of his past. It was probably too much, too soon. But still, if he wanted to, he would. Especially after throwing that tantrum at her place on the 24th. Don't expect me to listen to you bitching and moaning about my lifestyle and your brother and not wonder about it.

She went home soon after, she wasn't concentrating on her tasks, she was too tired. A walk with the dog, dinner, a shower. Things were only getting more complicated. She laid in bed trying to put the pieces together, the gentle snoring of the dog in the other room, the wind outside the window. How she was gonna manage to stay on top of things and stay sane, she didn't know. She had a meeting with Price on Thursday, three days after her chat with Simon. Didn't go well. She was sitting with her back straight, hair in a slick bun. She had a skirt on, a turtleneck, big chunky glasses. Her, Roman and Honey were academics in a room full of soldiers and men of war. With their stupid dictionaries and stupid papers, all written in gibberish. Price was mad. Honey, who took control over the situation, was trying to explain their findings to the captain. Behind the three, stood Scotland, Simon and Kyle, along with two other people. Scary stuff, it felt like they were being interrogated. They got new information about the mission. First of all, the Serbian group was talking about transportation. They were talking random numbers, they all suspected drugs. 160 grams per unit, 663 grams per unit. They started wondering which substance they were talking about, since the shipping was intended to reach different countries, and it was going to be pricy. One hundred thousand per unit. Cocaine, meth?

'So you have no idea what we're dealing with?' asked Price.

She was fed up with the captain verbally abusing her and her colleagues, so she spoke, 'You know, they're not talking about shipping tons of heroine like they're talking about football captain', she was raising her shoulders, 'They're discreet.'

'Okay, what are you suggesting we do then, Jude? You guys have made no progress.'

She stopped him again, 'We did, we just told you…' she pointed at Roman's notes in front of her, 'they're shipping single units in separate containers, they're using trucks to make separate shippings, we know it's something expensive…'

She was calm, collected, she was fucking hot as hell. Simon stared at the back of her head as she controlled the room, she was assertive. She was tense, he could see the muscles in the back of her neck. 'You have two days', Price had said. When she got up from the chair she was too mad to even acknowledge him. She turned towards the other two translators, he didn't know who they were. They said something in italian he thought, they all knew italian? They left together. All three.

She didn't even look his way. What, cause she was pissed at Price it meant she was pissed at him as well? What did he do? He thought they could maybe talk, she could share more of what they found... Maybe these two new friends she was working with were taking his place, she didn't need him anymore. He watched her leave the room like they didn't know each other, and he felt a strange pressure on his chest. She didn't look his way, like she didn't care that he was in the room. And she was the only thing he was concentrating on every time they were together so... What a shame.

It all happened so fast, one random Tuesday at 5pm. Honey tapped his hand on the desk three times, she immediately turned around, getting tangled in her headphones. Roman spilled some tea in the attempt of running from his desk to Honey's. 'Shit shit shit', someone whispered. Honey took off his headset, turning up the volume so that everyone could hear. It was a male voice speaking, he was speaking broken English.

'At four, пет, не знам.'

She glanced up at her colleagues. She understood what they said. They said 'four or five'.

'They want job clear and fast, да, добро'. Clear.

Honey was scribbling on a piece of paper, trying to get everything down as the man spoke.

'Read that, да, not many men. како се каже, English… code, secret. Secret.'

He went on for a minute, when he finished they all went back to their stations, at the speed of light. The reason was, if some soldiers went to different rooms to speak about the attack that was just announced they could share thoughts and information, they had to be at the top of their game for the next thirty minutes. She put on her headset, trying to calm the beating of her heart that she thought could explode out of her chest. She heard Serbian, she heard English. Someone said Видим се. See ya, that was the translation. 'Alright…' someone whispered.

'Oh, oh porca troia raga…', that was the clue for Honey and Roman to quickly turn towards her.

Her eyes luminescent, her ears burning, quick fingers typing on the Word document in front of her.

'A job at four or five, don't know the date, they're shipping something to Iran, circa 20thousand maybe more, cocaine and something else, but I'm not sure…' It was Madison, she guessed, referring that information to them. He was whispering into the recording device, speaking quickly so that he could leave that spot without being suspicious. 'Sending you a copy of the paper, gotta go, they have prisoners, poor people, they're all sitting in a room…they're killing them, they want to kill them…' He soon after stepped out of the toilet.

She finishes writing, and got up. She looked at the two other people in the room, just as surprised and shocked as her. Shocked and happy, they finally got something. Shocked at what they just heard, people, prisoners…

'Job at four or five, are they selling drugs?' Roman asked. 'To Iran?' She tried, Honey understood immediately what she was on about. 'No way! Fuck, poor people in a room?' He covered his mouth with his right hand. She had never heard him swear, or lose composure. 'Honey, they're doing something for the Iranian at four or five, they're paying them to do something.' She got up from her chair. Poor people in a room…

'Holy shit…' That was Roman.

'I thought they were gonna attack them, sell the drugs at higher price'

Poor people in a room…

'Hold on, sorry…' Roman got up as well, a piece of paper in his hand. 'What we heard on Sunday, about the shippings. They're selling stupid amounts, look…' He got closer to the others, a paper with translations and calculations in hand. 'They're shipping to loads of countries, nearly 5 pounds, 4 hundred thousand for 5 pounds of what, heroine? Why are these prices so high?'

'Cause they're not talking about drugs. It's the poor people in the room.' She got it.

Her blood went cold. It was true, they had been going on about refrigerated containers, moving trucks that could fit tons and tons of materials inside, too large to go without being checked, too risky to use for a bit of marijuana. They were dealing with larger objects. Pricier material, fewer pieces. They had people to kill… No… They had prisoners, people in a room. The Iranian paid them cause they had the people. She clicked her tongue, shook her head. This was above them, this was… too much. It was the people.

'It's organs. It's organ trafficking.'

'Oi are you even listening?' Ghost turned his head towards the voice on his right, Johnny was walking beside him heading towards the hangar. 'Wot?' He said, an annoyed tone. 'I asked how many?' He wanted his head to explode, he had a migraine, he was tired, Johnny was speaking… 'How many what?' He raised his voice. He had things to do, reports to finish, he had to pack cause he was about to leave, and he didn't even know if he was deployed, they just told him 'in case we need help' and it was fucking stupid, did I mention he was tired? 'How many units per container, why are you not listening?' He rolled his eyes, they were walking towards Kyle. 'They're late cause of a bloody sandstorm', he informed. They had to wait for all the soldiers who were still in Al-Jareena to come back, they would have a meeting with Price and apparently Shepherd was back for a while.

'Where's Thomas?' Johnny asked, Kyle shook his head. 'Couldn't make it again, he still has problems with his back.'

'Ah shit'

'Oi, did you get that email about that human rights convention and what not?' They were walking beside him, they were not shutting up. He craved his bedroom, his childhood bedroom in the UK, he craved silence, he craved warmth of a fireplace and a steak…

'Did you get it L.t.?' I didn't. I don't care. He said no.

'You never answered my question, I was trying to do the math'

'What question?'

'How many units of drugs per container did they say, heroine or cocaine, cause the weight would be different...'

'I don't know, whatever Alba said.'

The ceiling collapsed, the floor crumbled under his feet, his body falling though the abyss of Hell. Blood rushing to his ears. He watched as the two men's faces went from shock to fear. They stopped in their tracks.

'What the fuck?'

'Who the fuck is Alba, mate?'

'How do you know?'

'No way, Jude is Alba?'

'No fucking way, it's her you've been seeing?'

'What do you mean, you're going out with her?'

Before he could register the immense mistake he had made, he heard a voice. A sweet, sincere voice. He heard the voice he normally heard in his dreams, in his mind. The two men were soon forgotten, she was coming his way. 'Hey!' She shouted. She stood in the middle of the hangar, making a few men turn towards her. Her, in all her grace, her dark aura, her aura of power and knowledge. She looked pale, she looked… she was crying? She looked scared. Watching all three soldiers stop and look at her, she signalled them to follow her with a single nod of her head. Come with me, that was the signal. 'All three' She said. They followed like they were some damn dogs.

'Are you out of your mind!?' Price's voice was loud, his hands on his hips. They were inside the listening post room, him, Johnny, Gaz, the captain and the three scientists. 'What?' She raised her voice as well, he had never heard her like this before. 'Literally, what is your problem?' She spoke to the captain, crossing her arms. Price went on for a few minutes scolding the three academics. The accusations and the theories on organ trafficking were serious, and they had always talked about drugs, why were they abandoning that route? 'Because it makes the most sense, captain.' Tried Honey. He showed Price the list of all the weights and measurements they had heard about, which, as they discovered, fit quite perfectly the average weight of kidneys, lungs and hearts. 'That explains the refrigerated containers', she chirped in. 'And the prices', Soap, unexpectedly, gave her a nod of credit. 'And the poor people', finished Honey.

They explained it wasn't rare for poor people to get into situations such as organ and human trafficking. They could make a lot of money, they were easy to convince, easy to manipulate and desperate. It all started to make even more sense when they found information in Serbian news articles online about people disappearing in the latest few months. They found many individuals started reporting to be victims, or suspect family members to have had illegal surgeries for organ trafficking. 'They said they're receiving a note with a code of some sort', she was standing on Simon's right, near her desk. Her hair was messy and undone on her shoulders, she glanced at the time on her phone from time to time. Have you got somewhere to be? 'Probably containing information on when the shipment might be made, or what to do with the people they're gonna take the organs from'. The room was filled with silence. It was sad, really. They were glad they made the discovery, but overall, not good news. Price crossed his arms, looking down at his feet. It was clearly more than they were expecting. Simon would't take his eyes off Alba. He was proud, he was sad she had to deal with this tremendous job. She looked at him. He gently tilted his head foreword, as to say, you're good. He didn't know why it was so important for him to let her know that he supported her. She gave him a small smile. He felt they were feeling the same emotion somehow.

'Will you be able to translate the code?' asked Price.

'Sure, yes, we'll do everything we can.' Honey.

Price sighed.

'Good work.'

notes: massive chapter, sorry!!!

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[ananke-xiii]

Maybe if you could feel

All the heartaches I conceal

What does Sam want?

This is a long meta about "Breakdown" s13e11. You've been warned.

Sam Winchester upon hearing that his heart is worth 500k. If you don't find room in your heart to love him now you probably never will.

As I’ve said before, I honestly don’t know how to answer this question. Or maybe I do. We'll see how this post ends. What I do know is that the writers are sure that the heart of the matter for Sam is to be or not to be a hunter.

SPN finale seems to tell us that Sam wants out but does he really? The show makes a big deal out of this hunter vs “normal” life but is this the right question? If I think about it, the hunters’ world is very diverse: Bobby had a house and a yard and he had a very specific way of doing his “business”; Ellen run a bar; Jody and Donna live “normal” lives and have an actual job; those hunters from “Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox” formed a sort of community; Wally from “Stuck in the Middle (With You)" seemed to be a pretty well-adjusted guy; Garth studied to become a dentist and lived his life as a hunter on his own terms. Sure, most of these people have ended up dead or turned monsters so I’m not saying that the hunters’ life is an easy and cushy life. No, it’s high-risk and extremely dangerous (like a lot of “normal” jobs but let’s not go there).

What I am trying to say is that Sam and Dean are more of an exception than the rule. There are, factually, different ways to be hunters that Sam and Dean don’t even consider. Ah, yes. You will say now “yeah, duh, because nobody is as codependent (ugh) as them, that’s what the show is about etc”. Weeeeeeeeeell, the thing is that I don’t think so. I think that their “problem” is being unable to break free from the "John Winchester’s Way of Seeing the World". For John hunting was his new "home" and it was made of motel rooms and diners and bars and so it must be for Sam and Dean. Except, it must not. Even the bunker indirectly comes from him. Because they’re legacy. I mean, by the end of the show I don’t know if Sam considered the bunker his “home” or not but what I’m trying to say is that they took what they were given and never really questioned it. Or, maybe, what I'm really trying to say is that there are infinite ways to build a "home".

In s11 Sam must have been thinking about other ways because we know he was thinking about “settling down” with someone who knew the life. That was good, that was growth. That was imagination. But then Mary happened and then Jack happened and now, all of a sudden, it’s not the two of them anymore: whether they like it or not, they’re building a bigger family, they're creating a "home" together with new people in their lives (with great, oh god, greaaaat difficulty).

In “Breakdown” Wendy is family to Donna, therefore she is family to Sam and Dean too because, according to family’s transitivity, the family of my family is my family.

Growing up, gas stations and nomadic lifestyles.

What I like about Davy Perez’s writing style is that it’s very cinematographic. His ability in visual storytelling surely helps the episodes' directors because they are always shot very beautifully. Now I haven’t watched the movie so I don’t know if the vibes match but “Breakdown” is the title of a movie with Kurt Russel (somebody’s crush is showing hehe) and it’s, like, a thriller with truck drivers or something so he definitely took some inspiration from that movie, I guess. Of course, the title also refers to Sam’s depression. So let’s see what this is about.

Wendy is on a gap year trip (and she hasn’t been ho-) and her abandoned car has been found at the side of a road mainly used by long-haul truckers. She took some time-off before college to go on an adventure (s9 teaches us that usually women on adventures end bad in SPN but let’s move on). We don’t know her motivations but her name is Wendy so I must assume that Perez is telling us that she doesn’t want to grow up or maybe she’s not ready to go to college and wants some time, who knows? What’s important here is that the “Kids Who Don’t Want to Grow Up” theme is established. Since Sam will literally take Wendy’s seat in the torture chamber I must ask: is Sam a Wendy or a Peter Pan? In other words: will he leave Neverland/Hunting and go live a “normal” life or will he stay in “Neverland” and only occasionally visit the “normal” world? Will his children go to Neverland one day? We know Sam must be asking himself these questions because Dean has made them see “Lost Boys” 36 times. So, you know.

If the “Kids Who Don’t Want to Grow Up” theme was not clear Dean refers to Wendy as “Alice in Wonderland”. So this is NOT just about growing up, this is also about the loss of innocence. How does our Wendy lose her innocence? By entering “Mann(y)’ Truck Stop Café”. Oh gosh, this will be about SA. Oh my god, Sam, poor Sam (edit: and poor Wendy, the ep doesn't do her justice and neither did I by not mentioning her here).

What’s interesting about this episode is that we have seen these places countless times in the series: diners, café, bars, gas stations etc. They’re familiar to us. And yet, it suffices that a young girl enters one of these spaces during the evening that all of a sudden we realize how unsettling they can be. Wendy enters the café and it’s full of scary creeps: the cashier, the man sitting at the table, the truck-driver at the counter, the dude at the gas pump. To be honest I can’t possibly recall all of SPN episodes but it’s worth noticing that this shift in perception mainly happens when the protagonist of the episode is a woman. In “Ladies Drink Free” we are told that Claire can “deal” with creepy dudes and in “Alex Annie Alexis Ann” Alex is literally used as bait in bars. The first thing Sam asks Donna when they meet and she tells them about Wendy is “What was she doing out here?”.  What I gather from this question and from what the show is telling me is that “out here” is not a place for young girls and boys. In fact, Luis Fernando is met with the same fate as Wendy. Nosy cashier tells girls to “smile more”. Slimy Pastor Hankey is a fucking predator who flashes girls and kidnaps boys. The truckers on the radio make lewd comments at Dean’s request about Wendy. “Out here” is total shit, men are total shit.

And yet. And yet.

This is Sam and Dean’s world. This is where they grew up: between a motel and a bar. This is “John Winchester’s Way of Seeing the World”. Or was he really seeing? Was he paying attention? Evidently not, otherwise he wouldn’t have left his children leave in such danger. All of a sudden monsters don’t seem so bad. Or.

Or are we obsessing a little bit too much over normalcy and monstrosity? Are we losing our focus?

You see, and don’t quote me on that, but I think “Breakdown” is, again perhaps, the only episode where the show examines how they’re portraying a specific lifestyle, the “out here” lifestyle, the John Winchester’s lifestyle. Let me explain.

Post- November 2nd, John’s way of life is nomadic. He changes towns like he changes his clothes, he moves a lot, he’s always in a car, driving. As I’ve established, this doesn’t have to be a hunter’s life, but it’s John’s. He's found his meaning in it. And it’s Sam’s and Dean’s too. The opposite of a white-picket fence lifestyle is not a hunter’s life but it’s a nomadic one.

Now what is this episode telling us about various nomads? Well, to be honest, very bad things.

The serial killer, The Butterfly, is called this way because of his migration pattern: he seems to move from north to south and vice-versa. Like butterflies (by the way, you know Sam is depressed because a. he would’ve totally known Agent Clegg was full of crap, Sam Winchester knows his serial killers and b. Clegg’s pattern description wasn’t solid. I can’t really tell why but years of listening to true crime podcasts tell me so. The Sam I know and love would’ve called bull on the spot).

Wendy was on her gap year, travelling the country and look where she is now.

People who travel alone are targets.

People who won’t be missed are targets.

All the truckers in this episode are creepy.

The itinerant pastor is a sexual predator.

People who move as a lifestyle or because of their job are not portrayed very well in this episode, are they? They live liminal spaces and liminal spaces are always perceived as monstrous.

But then, a light: Liz. Liz is the truck driver that didn’t stop when Wendy waved for help from the side of the road. She didn’t do it because she was behind schedule. Boom.

All of a sudden we are reminded that these are real people with real jobs, they’re not the actual monsters we’re so quick to compare them with. But also, yeah, some of them act preeeeeeeetty bad.

Guess who is the actual monster? Your regular neighbor. The cashier at the café. And guess who ALSO acts bad: The FBI agent. Sometimes even good people can act badly if they’re desperate or if they have the power to do so. Or if it’s both. Donna, for instance, is a police officer who threatens the slimy pastor by telling him that he will get SAed in the cell. Or people don't help other people because they're on a schedule and if they don't make it on time they might get fired. In other words, the world cannot be contained and divided into perfect categories.

“Out here” there’s violence wherever you are on the spectrum between monsters who must be killed and people who must be saved (the show’s favorite false dichotomy).

So I ask: why, again, is the “white-picket fence” lifestyle treated as a standard for normalcy in this show? Why do nomadic lifestyles feel so threatening? What are they threatening exactly? “John Winchester’s Way of Seeing the World” wasn’t bad per se because he made Sam and Dean move a lot. It was bad because he neglected them, he kept them isolated. Because he treated them as adults and they were not.

The hunter's lifestyle is not about the monsters either. You can hunt monsters and have a house and a mortgage and do your job like Donna. But this doesn’t mean necessarily that you’re in the life. As a matter of fact, everybody is in the life. The only ones who are not in the life are the ones who don't know about the life. When they know about the life, they can pretend they’re not in the life but they are. Doug, for example, decides to pretend he hasn’t seen the truth. I don’t judge him for that, he saw a young man getting his arms severed on a webcam and he was turned into a vampire (another parallel to “Ladies Drink Free”). I can understand why he wants to pretend and go back to his old life. Truth is he never will. He will forever know that monsters are real and that knowing it doesn’t change anything: your neighbor can be a vampire and your colleague can be a serial killer.

The line between what’s the meaning of being human vs being a monster has never been thinner than in this episode. The atmosphere is rather bleak. The episode is not a positive one and it ends on a very negative note.

Wicked hearts, everybody needs food, the dark place.

'If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.'

Perez couldn’t find a better Psalm than this for Sam. It contains Sam in a nutshell. This is a psalm about sin and about prayers which are rather fitting themes for Sam. The Lord won’t hear your prayers if you don’t repent and move away from your sins. One has to be righteous, pure of heart and clean in order to be listened by the Lord. Sam struggles a lot against the concepts of purity and cleanliness. He is, after all, “unclean in the biblical sense”. One of the ways it can be interpreted is that Sam, by drinking demon blood, has violated the biblical law against blood consumption which has made him an abomination and has set him apart from humankind because blood is associated with life and therefore with God. Drinking blood is a sin that has contaminated him and he is, now, contaminated food in return. The "you are what you eat" hypothesis.

But blood represents family, too. A family that, no matter what, Sam seems to be unable to keep. And it’s not just family: everyone they know ends up bad (“I mean, when has knowing us ever worked out for anyone?”). Sam prays but nobody listens because (he thinks) his heart is wicked, dirty, impure. He feels unconnected, detached, separated. In a word, lonely.

While Donna is depressed because of her niece’s disappearance, Sam is facing the fact that Jack’s gone and, with him, his last hope to find his mother. He doesn’t want to help with Donna’s case because he doesn’t want to see. He wants to keep pretending but the wall is already crumbling: he’s not hungry, he doesn’t sleep, he stays in bed, he doesn’t want to “work”. He’s paralleled with Donna because of the huge loss and emptiness inside of his heart but he’s way more similar to Doug. Maybe Donna can live "the life" because she’s a hero but him? He just wants to go home. Neverland is not for him (“I… No. Maybe you all can live this life, but I can’t. I just wanna go home”). The things are two: 1. Doug, darling, there is no life you can get back to. You can pretend but that doesn't make it not-real anymore. 2. There is no “home” for Sam. And I’m not talking about a literal place to go back to, I’m talking about a feeling of “being home”. The dark place is, according to Sam, their lives. A life he has tried to pretend that it didn’t have to be this dark, he has tried to pretend that they could have a “home” but, no matter what, they can’t (although, Sam, heart, you really need to know that Dean actually can have a home and, in fact, has already been building one for years. The good news is that you totally can too, everybody can).

Sam’s heart is so devoid of warmth and nice feelings that’s not the place where the soul lives anymore, it’s just a piece of meat that can be sold on the dark web. How much is Sam Winchester’s heart worth? 500k US dollars. There’s a PRICE for his heart and its price is very high because “Folks, there are many pieces to Sam Winchester… but only one heart”.

I find this scene absolutely brilliant because it’s a very warped form of psychostasia, or the weighing of the soul. First of all, Sam’s not dead but he’s already being judged. Secondly, his heart, the seat of the “ka” (life) has not been weighed on a scale against a feather but it’s been put on auction to the best bidder: in this scenario it doesn’t matter if his heart is pure or wicked, what matters is who wants to pay more for it. In Sam’s world you’re either the food or the eater and Sam’s heart is the main course in this episode. This fits nicely with the myth of ancient Egypt where the soul would get eaten by a deity if the heart is heavier than a feather. I like how Egyptian myths keep popping up this season and how they’re super fitting. In this case, for example, the weighing of the heart is also closely associated with St. Michael who holds a sword and a scale. It’s cool, right? I mean, it’s totally not cool for my poor Sam, but it’s cool how symbols keep symbolling (lol) once you start poking at them.

So Sam. Sam’s being sold as food. He’s food just like the people who won’t be missed are food, according to Clegg. Sam’s complicated relationship with food now takes a new, darker turn. When Sam, Dean, Doug and Donna watch poor Luis Fernando getting chopped by Clegg, Sam winces and stops the video. The cashier/vampire laughs at him and mockingly asks him if he’s vegan. I don't think he's vegan but he sure is red meat this episode.

Another thing that I like about this episode is Clegg’s little monologue:

Sam: Why are you doing this? Clegg: Well, ‘cause somebody has to. How many monsters do you think are out there, Sam? You know, if you – you had to guess. Sam: Hundreds. Thousands. Clegg: Add a zero. Actually, add two. See, those freaks that you and your brother chase, those are just the ones that can’t pass. Either because they’re too mean or they’re too stupid, or both. But most monsters… hell, they could be your next-door neighbor. They work a regular job, mow the lawns on a Saturday. And they need to eat, which is where I come in. Sam: So you sell them people. Clegg: I sell them people other people won’t miss. And because I do that, I save lives. If my customers didn’t have me… then all those hungry, hungry hippos would be out there huntin’ and killin’. And you couldn’t stop ‘em. No one could. You should be thanking me.

If we can set aside Clegg’s sadism and capitalistic acumen for a moment we would see that the man does have a point. Let me explain.

It’s worth noticing that Clegg’s pulse on the monsters' world is paradoxically more realistic than Sam’s: there are thousands upon thousands of monsters. As a matter of fact, Sam and Dean only catch the ones that “can’t pass” (another whole essay could be written on this sentence alone), but here, in the real world, a monster can be anybody. And all these monsters need to eat, just like people.

First of all, hold on because this is mind-blowing: what Clegg is telling us is that Dean and Sam’s reality is not the totality of reality, it’s just what THEY experience. In truth, things are waaaaay much different. Once again in the episode I notice a subtle criticism at the brothers myopic, limited view of the world. They’re wasting their hearts away and for what? For nothing. The battle against monsters is a losing battle. The "out of the life" dream is just a dream when you know that monsters buy human meat on the market and it's, like, a totally normal thing that all monsters living "normal" lives know about. Meanwhile Crazy Clegg "out here" is "saving people" because he feeds people to monsters! The paradox is so incredible it’s almost ridiculous. But he’s got a bit of an ego here because the ones whom we should really “thank” are… the people who won’t be missed (sorry for being me for a minute but these are the poor animals of the world that humans horribly torture and happily buy to eat).

Do you understand that this whole Clegg economy is based on the murder of people on the fringe, people who inhabit liminality? People who are lonely? People who have no ties? People without family? And instead of metaphorically feed these people with care and love, they become prey and food so that the world can continue on its pretense that everything is fucking normal. It’s not just Sam who was pretending, it’s not Doug who has just now started pretending. Everything is a big pretense. The truth? Life is a dark place.

Dean: Hey, look, I know you’re in some sort of a— Sam: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, don’t – don’t… You keep saying I’m in a dark place, but I’m not, Dean. Everything I’m saying is the truth. It’s our lives. And I tried to pretend it didn’t have to be. I tried to pretend we could have Mom back and Cas and – and help Jack. But we can’t. This ends one way for us, Dean. It ends bloody. It ends bad.

This is the moment where I should say some inspirational stuff but no, as far as Sam Winchester is concerned, that is the truth. He has started off the season with what we now understand was fake optimism, he failed, okay, but he did try in his own way to support Dean in his grief while he was dealing with his own shit. He saw his brother die and then had to carry the faith for him too (all the while having nobody with whom he could talk about what he was going through). But he carried the weight and things got better cause Cas got back and Dean resurrected with him and then they lost Jack and now Sam has lost his hope to ever see his mother again (his mother who’s in an alternate world with his abuser, the angel that broke.him.down).

What’s more, by the end of the season Sam will indeed end bloody and his personal abuser will stick with him only to make sure to resurrect him and to remind him that their wicked more profound bond will be forever. A banner year for Sam.

So what does Sam want? What everyone wants. Love, people. It’s always about love. And some rest, everybody needs rest to love and be loved.

PS: I cannot know for sure but I know it in my heart that “Under Pressure” was some sort of inspiration for this episode. Its lyrics are literally this episode. And this is how the song ends (I don’t want to end on a sad note):

Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

Why can't we give love that one more chance?

Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love

Give love, give love, give love, give love?

'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word

And love dares you to care for

The people on the edge of the night

And love dares you to change our way of

Caring about ourselves

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

This is ourselves

Under pressure

Under pressure

Pressure.

[slaapkat]

what do you like the most about drifter hal?

I think what I like is how different it is compared to the expected superhero story. It’s also generally more fun and interesting in a storytelling sense. Hal’s working odd jobs (his stint as a truck driver being my favorite) while living out of hotels or off someone’s couch because he’s broke. He’s kind of left on the edges of the greater superhero community since he can’t hold down a job or place or relationship and it’s pretty heavily implied people like clark and bruce looked down on him for it.

I like especially how he comes to more or less embrace it by the 1990 run and appreciate the lifestyle for the freedom it ultimately offers in the end. Overall it allowed for more personality in the character I guess. Characters nowadays don’t really have as much of a rich inner personal life outside of the cape and mask anymore by comparison.

[walker-extended-universe]

Welcome Home

Relationship(s): August Walker & Stella Walker, August Walker & Cordell Walker, August Walker & Liam Walker, August Walker & Sadie Yoo, August Walker/Sadie Yoo

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Military, Post-Military, Post-Canon, Insecurity, Disability, Physical Disability, Amputation, Recovery, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: August came back from his time in the military, but he's not the man he once was. Can his family help him get back to his old self or is he too far gone?

Written for @augustofwhump Day 11: Scars, Insecurity

A/N: I know August didn't go to the military after season 4 but I already had AUs cooked up and I'm not letting them go now

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

----------

August had thought about the day he came home from the military for good a lot. He’d imagined himself leaving after a few years and transitioning into a more sedate lifestyle, maybe with Sadie by his side. He’d imagined himself going full career military and passing on a legacy of government benefits when he eventually bit the bullet. He’d imagined himself getting a hero’s funeral, remembered in pictures and funny stories until no one was around to tell them anymore.

In all his imaginings and daydreams, he’d never pictured this.

“Your recovery is coming along very well,” his assigned physical therapist told him. “Have you given any more thought to if you would prefer a prosthetic or crutches?”

“Crutches.” He’d made his choice soon after the amputation surgery. He’d seen the options and recovery schedule for a prosthetic. It was pricey, cumbersome, and something that would probably only lead to confusion and disappointment when he was wearing long pants. Crutches were cheaper and a lot more upfront about his baggage.

Crutches also meant he’d be going home sooner, but you can’t always get everything you want.

“Are you sure? We can-”

“I’m sure."

She blinked at him and nodded. “Alright. You’ll have to learn how to use them before we can release you. I’d also like to talk to your family about accommodations you might need at home. Is there a number I could call or….?”

August sighed. “My sister will be here in two hours. You can talk to her about all that.”

“Okay, we’ll do that then. Let’s just finish up your exercises and then I’ll come back to talk with your sister. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No. Let’s just get this over with.”

August could do the whole exercise routine by himself at this point, but it was definitely easier with someone else helping him. Having someone to help him balance made it easier for him to keep his eyes away from the scar he was left with. The phantom pains were bad enough; the ugly stump was just another unfortunate reminder.

He really just wanted to get his crutches and get back to moving on his own again, but he knew that would be a journey. A journey he wasn’t really looking forward to.

Especially not a journey he wanted to go on with his family.

He was glad Stella had taken the mantle of dealing with all his hospital stuff. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if the rest of the family was constantly hovering around him during this. He didn’t need their sugarcoated praise or unnecessary optimism. He didn’t need Gramp’s war stories or Dad’s constant assurances that this wouldn’t change anything. He didn’t need Mawline’s smothering or Liam’s assembly line of therapists to “heal his mental state”.

He just wanted to get on with the rest of his pathetic life.

—------------------

The road had been cleared before they went on it. Or, at least, they thought it was. Not that it was August’s job to worry about that. It was their Sergeant's job, or at least the drivers. He just got on the truck he was told to get on and zoned out during the drive to prevent himself from thinking too hard about their mission. He much preferred scouting to sniping, but he didn’t get to make those decisions.

He hated trips like this, but it’s what he signed up for. Literally.

Maybe he should’ve listened a little closer to his grandfather’s war stories before he committed to this. A little late to complain about it now, so he didn’t. Not to his fellow soldiers, not in his letters home, not even when he was drunk on leave. Bottling things up was the Walker Way and after a few years at it, August was a professional.

The explosion came from right under his seat. There was another one as the driver tried to regain control of the vehicle.

And then the ambush came.

August didn’t remember much after the first gunshot. He just remembered the smell of blood and the sound of someone screaming.

Later, his sergeant would commend him for his “bravery in the face of adversity”. If August hadn’t just heard that the infections in his leg wounds were too severe for the field hospital to handle and amputation was the best route, he probably would’ve punched the man.

August got a medal for his bravery. He got to shake the governor’s hand and his face was plastered on the front page of The Austin Chronicle and The Daily Texan.

The other 19 men in the truck with him died. They got no awards and their families got meager compensation. He spoke with one of the wives, tried to tell her he was sorry. She just smiled and patted his remaining leg and told him to say “hi” to his mother for her.

The more he practiced “walking”, the closer he got to going home, the more he dreaded it. He didn't want the welcome home party or the accolades of a “successful” military career. He just wanted to move on, forget how he ended up here.

But that would never happen. He could never be that lucky.

—-------------------

“So I did tell them you didn’t want a big party but-”

August groaned. “Just tell me how many people are going to be there.”

Stella sighed. “I managed to talk them down to Dad’s work friends. And nobody got plus ones. Oh, and Sadie will be there.”

Sadie. He hadn’t seen her since last Christmas. Knowing the first time she would see him again was like this made his stomach twist into knots.

Last time he’d seen her, they kissed under the mistletoe. It had gotten them laughs, but it made him want more.

One more tour, he’d told himself back then. Just one more and then he’d be good enough. His family would be proud of him, he could get great benefits on top of whatever job he picked up, and maybe he could finally ask her on a date. She might even say “yes”.

Fat chance of that happening now.

“I already told everyone you’ll probably be tired and you don’t need to be overwhelmed right now so the extra guests probably won’t stay for more than an hour. If you need me to, I can be the bad guy and kick everyone out early,” Stella promised.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “But I can deal. If I let them get all their hovering out of the way now, maybe they’ll chill for a bit.”

Stella snorted. “Yeah, right. Dad’s been excited to show you all the renovations they made for you and Liam really wants your opinions on his new ‘inclusive’ therapy plans for the rescue. And I’ve lost track of how many times Mawline’s asked me if I was absolutely sure you don’t have any new dietary restrictions.”

August groaned and slid down in his seat. “And they wonder why I wanted to stay at the hospital by myself….”

“You know it’s because they care about you. I know it’s clumsy and overbearing but they’re trying.”

“I know that but…. I just wish they wouldn’t make a big dal out of it.”

Stella gave him a side eye. “Auggie, you lost a leg. That’s kind of a big deal. I know you don’t want a fuss but it’s an adjustment for everyone. Just- I talk to them but you may just have to ride this out. They’ll calm down after a couple months and then you can go back to pretending this isn’t a big deal, okay?”

He sighed. She was right, to an extent. He’d had a lot longer to adjust to his new situation than his family did. And they did care, even if he didn’t appreciate the way they showed it.

“I can put up with the party for an hour and I’ll try not to rush Dad through his tour but can you ask Liam to hold off on the therapy stuff for a bit. I’m just- not ready to think about that.”

She nodded, smiling. “I can do that.”

Done with the conversation, August turned on the radio and closed his eyes, letting the music carry him away from reality for a bit. He would take any break he could get.

[st-el-la-luna]

WIP Wednesday

Sneak peek at the first chapter of Call of the Valley. My Stardew Valley Call of Duty AU.

You know, long haul truck driving lends itself easily to the serial killer lifestyle. It’s not unusual that you’d be on the move. You’d be constantly switching jurisdictions, you’d have access to people who might be on vacation, or moving, or running away. Not to mention hitchhikers. Your brain supplies helpfully as the semi-truck engine roars to life, the driver offering you a grin from over the center console, teeth yellowed and crooked, some fully rotted away.

He seems... Nice. Weird and stinky but... Nice.

You wouldn’t have gone with him if it weren’t for the fact that the lovely lady running the bed and breakfast hadn’t informed you that he was her son. Not that that really means anything. Ted Bundy was his parent’s son too. You shake your head and tell yourself to calm down. Nothing’s going to happen. Besides, this is the only way to get to Falcon Town, ever since the bus was shut down.

You distract yourself from the thoughts of being skinned and turned into a lampshade a la Ed Gein, by focusing your attention on the decorations around the truck. Namely, the dashboard that’s covered with the absolute, buttfuck ugliest little rat statues you’ve ever seen.

“This is my Pendelfin collection,” the man behind the wheel, Tony, says with an excited, almost childlike grin, eyes shining. “Well, part of it. These ones are my favourites. Well... My second favourites. Can’t risk my favorites being broken, am I right?”

You smile, so tight lipped you think it might seem, for a moment, that your mouth disappeared. “Right.”

Tony continues rambling excitedly about his Victorian orphan rats and you nod and hum when appropriate, not really paying attention.

[ghostismybbygorl]

Ahem

WHERES WHAT 141 DRIVES AND HOW THEY DRIVE

Price

So price has two cars a land rover for transporting things from base or if he's taking the team out for some gathering

He also has this baddie a old ford bronco that he refurbished. This car is his baby he only takes her out when its nice and warm

He drives like a old man.

Both hands on 10 and 2 or on hand on the steering wheel the other smoking a cigar.

Definitely drives the speed limit and obeys the traffic laws. He hasn't had a speeding ticket in 15 years

Ghost

So this mans drives a fast car and i will die on this hill. Have you seen him drive in las almas this man does not know how to drive a truck

He drives stick too

So i see him driving a subaru brz in black or maybe pink

I saw the pink one and i love the color of it

Also think id be funny if he just pulls up and everyone thinking its this frilly girlie pop but then this 6'4 man wearing a skull mask pop out of the car like its nothing

(I really want the pink car)

If you ride with him youre a survivor of his driving

This man drives FAST one hand on the wheel starbucks in the other. He ALWAYS drives with one hand and he's madly good at backing in and parallel parking.

Dont let him on the autobahn or he'd go as fast as his car can go

He has multiple speeding tickets its insaine that he still has his license

Hes a pro car weaver too if anyones going too slow hell pass them at

Soap

Since he's an outdoorsy guy i kinda see him drving a toyota 4 runner

Its got all the bells and whistles and he loves to take it mudding after a good rain storm

He's a pretty chill driver he drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other out the window.

He listens to his music on full blast so you can hear the rumbling of the speakers if your behind him

He does the california roll on stop signs

He goes ten over the speed limit but if hes on highways he usually goes 20 over

Gaz

Jeep lifestyle

He loves his wrangler and he'll go off roading with soap on their days off

Very chill driver he'll drive like 5-10 over 20 if hes in a rush

His hand position on the steering varies sometime its at 10 and 2 other times he drives with one hand

He's never gotten a traffic ticket and would probably cry to price if he did

He's gotten in a wreck before and it didnt leave a scratch on his jeep