[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

For anyone following this side blog, I’ve moved it to its own blog over @filthierfrank . Feel free to follow from there, as I’m feeling the Frank muse enough to give him his own blog lately !! 

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

discordantmadness‌

@filthierfrank​

“If I tell myself to fuck off and my self fucks off, does that mean… I still exist?” Someone found Jeff’s stash of devil’s cabbage.

“What if we exist… outside the fabric of existence itself…? If we fuck off, are we just fucking back into a continuous cycle?”

   “So wait...if we can both fuck ourselves into existence, does that mean I’m my own dad?” 

   Consider him shook. 

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

FRANK ENERGY :  is “borrowing” a trap of Amanda’s  to crush one entire watermelon.                                  is loudly pronouncing he’ll be in his office then angrily gets in a locker.                                  is getting into real shit arguments with Alexa, an actual fucking echo dot.

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

“Knock, knock. It’s me: Kick Names and Take Ass.” Who wouldn’t open the door, honestly?

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

[kinowoo]

HAHAHA

[lyrickadaisical]

Visit Original Link

She’s the fire in the sin And I burn breathing her in Now it’s love suicide And I sell my soul for the high

[adrenal-deactivated20190326]

mistle toe. For smeg. From @filthierfrank. Idk I assume it's an accident.

if   it   wasn’t   for   the   fact   that   she   was   bleeding,   pooling   crimson   from   an   open   gash   across   her   stomach,   she   would   have   laughed   at   the   sight.   and   still,   when   she   lifted   her   head   and   saw   the   mistletoe   hanging   above,   she   scoffed.   the   sound   comes   from   deep   in   her   throat,   more   angry   than   amused. 

‘       you’d   have   to   kill   me   first.       ’

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

  Run down or not, a ski lodge was a ski lodge, and a ski lodge was a tourist trap for the holidays. So of course there was still some mistletoe hanging around in the doorways—some nailed up so high that Frank would have needed a running jump off the top of the staircase and a precise slam dunk to smack the poisonous little plant off its moorings. How had the last holiday renter even managed that, Frank wondered? They were some sort of extra, pinning it in the highest point of the rafters like that as if it was all some master plan to keep chapped up lips locking all year round (not that he needed some fucking plant to tell him when to swallow Julie’s face).

 The runner’s disdain at discovering the patch of holiday cheer at his prompting—a single, exposed fingertip cocked towards the tacked on tradition—earned a snicker from behind the lopsided grin of his mask. Had she honestly thought he was expecting anything from the coy exchange? Well, aside from having her drop her guard for a few precious seconds. “Hey, Horseface…how ‘bout you kiss your ass goodbye?” Seconds is all he needs to fall upon her, the wicked edge of his hunting knife hurrying to open more veins. More blood. Real festive color.

[pizzamafiaart]

Julie is the one behind the camera laughing

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

arachnideity‌:

Temporarily, just to see what the kid would get up to, Ent had themselves invisible, prodding deep in his mind so he could feel them there. And oh, wouldn’t the gods of Chaos smile down upon them! Only thing they’d change is have the knife start chatting with Frank.

But there was a limit to how far their bit of tomfoolery could go. Their goal was to bring Frank into the Realms, not kill him. Needed to keep him intact. So they manifested in his vision again, forming a dark ring of black fog around him as he took a cooldown from hacking up the tree.

“Such precise knife skills,” they remarked, noting the new striations in the tree, “you’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

  Frank had garnered many a headache before, but not even the nasty quality of that skullthrobber he’d gotten after stealing that fat guy from the comic store’s vape right out of his damn training bra was on any level remotely close to the ethereal talons picking his brain currently. He wasn’t so good with managing his pain. That much was certain when the actual pain-in-the-ass-itis kicked his every time he got packed up and shipped off to another foster family that thought he was fixable somehow. Sure, he’d found ways to soothe such wounds, but considering those involved drugs, crimes against humanity, and now—murder apparently, they weren’t a long-term fix for the foul energy growing wild as weeds inside his black lock of a heart.

 Whatever had plagued him leaving him was of no real relief. It left his mind swollen and red while he heaved frozen air into his panicked lungs, unable to really soak in enough oxygen to keep from sounding deranged as he wobbled from one foot to the other—a white girl wasted way of straightening up so that he didn’t look so damn weak swinging his knife in front of him to point at the dark figure again. Just what the hell was it? Some figment of his hardly guilty conscience? Part of him didn’t want to know. Just knew that he wanted it gone so he could rejoin his crew and hightail it out of there before someone saw them.

  “The fuck…did you even just do?” He growls, eye twitching in his skull with the persistence of roadkill nerves he doubted grinding a fist in would smother it. “You’re about to get a firsthand taste of these knife skills, smartass!” He lunges. His body, after it short occupation, is hardly in the shape to, but he does it anyway, the feral, frenzied way a fox might even with an arrow through its neck. Flipping the hilt of the hunting dagger expertly through his uncovered fingers, he clasps it with the blade turned out and raises it high over his shoulder, spring up into the air on the back of his heel just so he could try to slam it down in the taller figure’s face, one that looked exactly like Coach Lars’s and made his blood run colder than the dropping temperature.

[decipherable]

YOU MIGHT FALL IN2 THE FORBIDDEN ZONE!!! commission 4 @prextinct

[senseijasper]

Frank: Do you think i can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Susie: You’re a hazard to society.

Joey: And a coward do 20

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

Julie? What an actual rat kin. Running shit like hex: whack a mole as fuck. Can't stand such obvious freaking rat tactics. The Legion would be better off without-*trips as many pictures of Julie cascade out of his hoodie* sh-shit! Those aren't mine! I'm holding them for a friend, ok-*more pictures falling as he scrambles with feral frenzy to collect them all* listen though! This friend, she's making me a dartboard out of these shitty-*photobooth phone pic of them smooching back in the day settles on top of the stash; cherry on top*...the friend is Susie. She's a real fucking monster.

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

suffocationpit‌:

                “I’M  AFRAID,  LIKE  IT  OR  NOT,  yer  little  motley  crew  will  have  t’  listen  t’  me,  if  y’  want  t’  survive  in  this  world.”  There  is  seriousness  in  Macmillan’s  tone  as  he  straightens  his  shoulders,  lifting  his  gaze  to  stare  at  the  Legion’s  self  proclaimed  leader.  His  fingers  tighten  a  fraction  around  his  trap.   “Yer  may  think  it  is  all  fun  an’  games  in  this  world,  huntin’  others,  but  remember  what  yer  are.  Like  those  yer  kill,  yer  are  but  human.  And  in  servitude,  to  that  ‘uv  an  Eldritch  God.  Displease  Her,  and  She  will  ensure  y’will  SUFFER  FOR  IT.  She  ensures  all  debts  are  paid  in  full.  If  yer  do  not  feed  Her,  She  will  ensure  She  still  has  Her  fill.  She  will  make  yer  wish  yer  never  knew  pain.  I  know  all  about  it.  Laugh  all  yer  like  about  my  knee,  lad.  I’d  like  t’  see  how  yer  fair  after  having  half  of  it  lost  t’  rot  an’  gangrene.”

                 It  had  been  an  accident,  of  course  —  She  had  never  intended  to  wound  him,  wanted  to  heal  his  injury,  but  Her  desperate  hunger  had  only  made  the  damage  worse,  turning  it  into  a  festering,  cankerous  mess.  Pulling  a  pair  of  pliers  from  his  bag,  Evan  begins  to  tinker  with  the  trap  sitting  in  scarred  palms  some  more,  vision  returning  to  focus  on  his  work.  After  a  brief  pause, he  continues  conversation;  wants  to  make  it  crystal  clear  Frank   is  aware  of  the  Nightmare  Matriarch’s  capabilities.

                “Susie,  is  it?  Little  lass  with  pink  hair?  I  see  reluctance  in  her.  The  Entity  will  prey  on  that  quite  easily.  If  the  lass  does  not  kill,  or  shows  any  waver  of  remorse,  any  glimmer  of  regret,  The  Entity  will  come  f’  Her.  She  will  make  that  girl’s  life  livin’  hell,  and  same  with  any  of  the  others.  If  yer  cannot  pull  y’  weight,  if  y’  cannot  do  what  needs  t’  be  done,  She  will  torture  y’.  She  will  make  yer  feel  things,  see  things,  y’  never  thought  possible.  Many  a  man  has  gone  insane  in  this  place.   Just  because  we  are  killers,  does  not  mean  we  are  immune  t’  pain,  sufferin’.  We  can  die  here,  just  as  they.  The  choice  is,  we  have  a  say  in  the  matter.  Provide  worthy  sacrifice,  and  yer  will  be  rewarded.  Fail  Her,  and  yer  will  know  all  about  it.”

                 A  loud  click  sounds  as  the  coil  is  finally  fixed  into  position,  and  Evan  lifts  it  up  to  the  moonlight  to  analyse  it  better,  head  giving  a  small  nod  at  his  handiwork.  That’ll  do,  he  thinks,  beginning  to  put  the  trap  and  his  tools  away  back  into  the  bag.  Next  he’ll  have  to  dye  them,  to  better  conceal  them  in  darker  environments,  stain  them  deep  brown  with  the  bottle  of  tar  he  received  as  his  last  offering.  Speaking of  offerings  —  “Yer  have  real  potential,  Frank.  I  see  a  fast,  agile,  proficient  killer  in  yer.  With  proper  guidance,  I  think  y’  would  do  very  well.”  Macmillan  fastens  his  bag  to  his  belt,  vision  still  facing  downwards  as  he  continues  to  talk.  “However,  I  understand  y’  are  used  t’ being  the  biggest  fish  in  the  ocean,  but  now,  yer  swim  among  much  bigger  sharks,  lad.  Y’  could  do  with  a  few  lessons  on  how  this  world  works.  How  t’  reap  the  best  rewards.  Because  they  are  worth  every  drop  ‘uv  scarlet,  I  assure  yer.”  

                He  delves  one  blood  -  stained  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  yanks  out  something  dangling  on  a  chain  adorned  with  beads.  It’s  a  MEMENTO  MORI  OFFERING  —  not  an  ebony,  but  still  good  enough.  A  nice  shiny  skull  carved  from  ivory.  “This  will  grant  y’  the  favour  ‘uv  killing  one  survivor  by  yer  own  hand.  No  need  f’ hooks.  Y’  can  stab  as  long  as  y’  like.  It’s  yours  —  if  y’  will  take  a  few  lessons.  Wouldn’t  have  t’  tell  y’  friends.  It  would  be  strictly  between  you,  me,  an’  whatever  survivor  I  have  left  in  a  trial.”

  He’d never kept much meat between his ribs after he’d traded his jersey in for a hoodie and a Letterman jacket. The layers of clothes he kept coiled up in like a snake stuck in its own, molting skin, did well to keep his bones warm, but also gave him a bit of bulk to his physique that may have fooled anyone other than Julie into thinking he was still that aggressive athlete who’d been banned from the court foul behavior despite hardly committing any fouls on his fellow players. No, the innocent people that got in his way—those were the ones he had proven himself most capable of hurting. Taking up smoking had really put a damper on his athlete’s appetite, and it showed here in the goddamned shadow realm, or wherever he and his crew had ended up after the frosted winds had forced deeper into the woods with frozen dirt and blood under their fingernails. It was only when he wriggled a bit under his layers, slender shoulders impatient with a nervous sort of energy that encompassed that of a stray, skinny wolf desperate enough to launch itself upon a reindeer’s haunch, that it became apparent to anyone watching him closely enough that he relied on his outer layers for upper body brawn. He was only so vaguely aware of it himself until his furtive gaze would land on the Trapper’s exposed shoulders along with the hooks and metal beams that pierced them, a sobering reminder that he wasn’t so ham-armed he could split his sleeves with a single flex. Man, if he could, he’d never get Julie off his dick.

 “Humans killing humans. What a shocker.” He doesn’t have to roll his eyes under the bug-eyed mask; his tone says his eyes have clocked out in the back of his skull they’ve rolled up so far. “Guess the Entity isn’t into releasing lions on the masses.” And to be perfectly honest, he still wasn’t sure what the hell this Entity was, only that it had taken him into some dark place that always seemed to have some monstrosity meandering about, talking with an expired accent that made his grand-fosters sound fresh and innovative, yet sporting the physique of a literal steroid-induced Viking. Side-eyeing the Trapper’s knee, he wondered just what a guy had to do to get munched on by a god besides look tasty. The thought didn’t seem to bother him when it was his own nose he had to keep clean despite the layer of grime that had built up on his face under the mask—proof of a hasty burial that had landed him in whatever level of hell this was. The second one of his own is brought up, however…

  “We’re talking about a chick who takes chemistry club for fun here, not Canada’s Next Top School Shooter.” Though he knew the old man was probably just trying to warn him, the literal dissection of another one of their legion had him boiling, that much was evident as he tapped the hunting knife faster against his shoulder until he couldn’t take it anymore and slammed the blade straight through the log he was sitting on, standing up afterward to swing a finger in the Trapper’s direction. “You know what the shittiest thing about group projects are? It doesn’t matter how hard you work your ass off, because that one slack-Jack is going to sleep through half of it and either get credit or pull the rest of the group down with him.” He’d know. He was that guy. “If your Entity is smarter than a dumbass school system, it’ll do the right thing and eat my ass. ‘Cause none of them would even be here if it weren’t for me. I’m the head of this snake.” The agitation in his movements were clear. He was about as tense as that trap the man was oiling down; raw, unpolished energy. Did he actually mean that? Frank’s brow furrowed under his mask as he contemplated the pretty promises, and the ivory sheen of the little skull swinging before him. There had to be some catch to all this, but he couldn’t see it for the basketball it was getting slam dunked over his head.

 “I don’t get it.” He interrupts loudly, somehow controlling the urge to reach out and just take the little trinket before the Trapper could pocket it again. “How’s a fucking key-chain going to kill anyone? I mean I’d rather be stabbing than denying them the Heimlich maneuver, but call me old fashioned.” He has to admit, the proposition of letting his pent up anger run wild again instead of throwing his back out trying to piggyback survivors to hooks sounded too good to be true. Surely someone with as janky as a knee as this old fart knew a thing or two about what he was talking about? Crossing his arms in front of him, he peered over his shoulder as if he wasn’t sure about the whole his friends not finding out about their top dog taking advice thing, but when a bush failed to rustle and the coast seemed clear, he turned back to regard old Methuselah. What could it hurt? Well, except a survivor. “Kay, but I’m not taking notes.” Once a drop-out, always a drop-out.

[gemoglobinchik]

Weak newcomer…

[arachnideity-a-blog]

"Nobody move ." -filthierfrank

Usually, Frank withdrawing a knife at such a swift speed would seem intelligent. But now it just looked arrogant, revealing the immature fool he truly was. Being a god gave you a knack for that sort of thing. Especially when the soon-to-be pile of ash started begging for their life.

But that’s not what they intended to do to the youth in front of them.

“You must not be able to see a thing. I’m the only one here.” a groaning voice echoed.

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

 So what if drawing a knife on a hooked and struggling survivor was “immature”? It had taken nearly the whole night to drag his prey up to its perch like some leopard cub with a wilder beast, and as far as he was concerned, he’d earned the right to gloat, taunt, and make tasteless jokes as usual. Mostly tasteless because refusing to move would lead to the strung up lad’s demise, but also because he couldn’t move too well like that anyway. Plus there was always the threat of teammates lurking nearby, ready to rip him off by ripping his kill off the hook before he’d even gotten a chance to enjoy it. With his tent pitched, he tips his head back to regard his cursed critic through squinted disdain. “I told’im don’t move and he can’t even. What’re you, tone-deaf?”

[filthierfrankmoved-blog]

suffocationpit‌:

                         “NOTHIN’ ‘BOUT  KILLING  IS  EASY,  LAD.  That  is  an  assumption.  When  yer  think  like  that,  yer  become  sloppy  in  yer  execution,  and  lazy.  Killing,  especially  in  here,  will  never  be  easy.  A  good  killer  doesn’t  think  of  it  as  such.  It  is  his  art.  And  no  art  comes  without  its  struggles.  Aye,  there  are  times  when  y’will  indeed  find  it  certainly  more  simple  an’  straightforward,  such  as  dealin’  with  those  unfamiliar  to  this  world  an’  its  rules,  but  yer  will  also  find  times  where  y’  will  be  face  t’  face  with  veterans  ‘uv  this  realm,  those  that  know  how  t’  run,  where  t'  hide,  and  how  t’  fight  back.”  Macmillan  speaks  firmly  while  tuning  the  trap  that  sits  between  calloused,  rugged  hands,  attaching  a  rusted,  bloody  coil  while  he  reprimands  Frank’s  words.  “I’ve  been  doing  it  f’over  one  hundred  years,  an’  not  even  I  could  do  it  blindfolded.  Yer  need  yer  eyes  to  read  the  signs  ‘uv  this  world.  A  little  word  ‘uv  advice?  Keep  an  eye  on  the  crows.  They  will  tell  yer  where  survivors  are,  better  than  scratches.  Watch  their  heads. They  will  always  be  lookin’  at  a  survivor,  for  they  are  but  Her  eyes  and  ears  in  this  place,  servants  an’  spies  of  the  shadows.”

   “Yeah, when your knees look like they could give out at any given moment, I guess most things aren’t easy, are they, old man?” Though clearly venomous, his words seem to lack a certain potency with his mask barring them from rotting his lecturer’s resolve. Then again, the added barrier of the trap-setter’s mask probably helped in distilling his saucy tone too, now that he thought about it. Some trade-mark the Legions’ masks turned out to be. Just about every yahoo and their maggot-ridden horse had one in this place, whether whittled out of bone and wood or painted on. It was a real fucking originality fest, here in the Entity’s realm! Posers, all of them.

   Crossing his arms so that he could tap the flat of his blade impatiently against his shoulder, Frank studied the rusty jaws in the Trapper’s lap, not at all ready to admit he was semi-intrigued by the device . Fur trappers were always setting those things illegally out in the woods trying to get at the beavers in spring, and one time he’d even found a dead one in the grip of one and had a real good time of hiding it under Jullie’s bed until she noticed.Of course, he wouldn’t admit his interest so easily, especially not to some ancient ass bald guy who sounded like he was straight out of the goddamn Great Expectations film he’d snooozed through long before dropping out of school. “Here’s the problemo, Methuselah.” He starts up again, sliding one hand free of his cross posture to gesture idly as if he could conjure up an actual image of his complaint as he spoke about it. “If I start taking your word to mean anything than a steaming pile, my crew starts listening to you. And frankly, that ain’t happening.” Even if he was horribly intrigued. The vibes this guy gave off were something else, for sure. Maybe the slight incline of his lanky body as he leaned into listen further betrayed him, but that had never stopped his indignant yapping before.

   “Veterans...psh. You know how it is. Those old bones’ll rely on some fresh meat eventually.” Though he planned to jam a knife in their throats instead of checking them into assisted living.