people joke about the once-ler fandom now but like… i was there my dudes

i wasn’t a part of the fandom - i’ve never even seen the movie - but selfcest has always been appealing to me and even if i wasn’t vaguely interested, it was literally everywhere.

chances were at least - at least! - one person you followed would become a part of the once-ler fandom. likely more than that. and from them would come the tide of fanart, ask blogs, headcanons, amvs, playlists, and everything else

because no one in the once-ler fandom was low-key. everything was a high-octane nightmare built around one solitary dude. and when they talk about the AUs? lord, you can’t even imagine.

they became their own characters with their own names. i followed the steam-ler ask blog because the art was amazing and i like steampunk. there was a cannibal one, one-ler i think? my friend fisk had his own that became so much his own character that he was eventually redesigned into a completely original OC. it was the epitome of stretching a character thin because they’re the only “interesting” one.

and then it ended.

there was no big drama explosion; nothing new came out that was similar enough to drag the entire fandom away. it just… ended. the ask blogs went quiet. the fanart stopped. the fandom went peacefully in its sleep and exists only as a ghost of a memory now, something we have to explain to new tumblr users because there are no remaining dregs for them to glean the story from. 

the once-ler fandom was a shooting star, lighting up the sky with billions of selfcest pairings before vanishing over the horizon.

Watch on onlymtb.ca

Matt Macduff: Welcome to Octane One video. I’m feelin this for three reasons: 1. The song: Flocka, nothing like choosing a song and not giving a fuck what the pinkbike groms will think. And personally I think it suited it very well. 2: He lights up spots, literally. I think it’s sick he went out at night with a geney and lit up some spots to get a trick. 3: He’s seriously on one. As much as mtb street isn’t a ‘thing’ (they make bmx’s for a reason) he puts it down. Like some of those rail hops and that bar over the bench.. damn. 

High Octane Heist

It was one of those nights where the city was relatively quiet. Quiet by New York standards, anyway. The clubs and bars had just sent out their last call, the late-night crowds hobbling home to sleep off their good times. The sky was clear, the weather just right.

It was a perfect night for a drive. Granted, to the young man making his way through the parking garage, just about any night was a good night for a drive. Just had to find the right set of wheels first. His hands were itching, he felt empty, incomplete. An engine just waiting for the right hull to wrap around himself like a proper skin. 

Something to make Daddy proud. 

He was about to give up on this garage, move along to the next when he spotted her near the top.  There were probably cameras, but he didn’t care. Hood pulled up over his bald head as he slipped up to her like a tall drink of water glistening with cold condensation in the middle of a desert. 

“What a lovely, what a lovely! All cooped up here, alone…” He whispered quietly, his hands shaking with anticipation. 

Shining black like a shadow, punctuated by a delicious deep cherry stripe down her sides, but it wasn’t the paint that drew him to the Mustang. Under that hood, he could practically smell the V8 rotting away here in storage, begging to be released like the prized stallion it was locked away in it’s paddock. It needed the open field. It needed the open road. 

His breathing quickened as he glanced around the otherwise nearly empty lot, pretending to dig for keys in his pocket. One had to be careful with beasts like these, they came equipped with loud voices that barked in the night and drew attention if he wasn’t careful, but he knew what he was doing. Practiced movements with a bent wire, even faster moves with the wires inside, the machine barely had time to squeal before her alarm was replaced by the roar of an engine.

The radio was dialed to something loud and pounding that matched the revving snarl and with a squeal of tires and an elated cackle, the machine spiraled as fast as he dared down the ramp, straight through the ticket-gate, and out into the night.