gijoe-forever · 6 months ago
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miyagi-hokarate · 10 months ago
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Cobra Kai truly has some of the most Wiggles ass color scheming in its costuming design sometimes, but when it hits OH MAN DOES IT HIT..
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floralcrematorium · 6 months ago
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2010s Nostalgia || Hetalia Edition
Hetalia Youtube Nostalgia Playlist | 117 songs | 7hr 5min
• Hey Na Na - Katie Herzig • Viva La Vida - Coldplay • Rasputin - Boney M. • Glad You Came - The Wanted • Hot Mess - Cobra Starship • Counting Stars - OneRepublic • Fireflies - Owl City • Bombshell Blonde - The Jagged Edges • Do Better - Say Anything • Welcome To The Show - Britt Nicole • Dance With The Devil - Breaking Benjamin • Survive - Sick Puppies • Life is Beautiful - Sixx:A.M. • Fairytale - Alexander Rybak • Everybody Loves Me - One Republic • Don't Mess With Me - temposhark • Mimimi - SEREBRO • I Like It Loud - Cash Cash • I Just Wanna Run - The Downtown Fiction • I'm ALIVE! - Becca • Lovestruck - Breathe Electric • I Like To Dance - Hot Chelle Rae • Haven't Had Enough - Marianas Trench • Kiss Me Thru The Phone - Soulja Boy, Sammie • Hard out Here - Lily Allen • Runaway Baby - Bruno Mars • I Don't Care - Fall Out Boy • Airplanes - B.o.B., Hayley Williams • Rock Star - Prima J • This Is War - Thirty Seconds To Mars • Hey Brother - Avicii • Cinderella - Tata Young • Centuries - Fall Out Boy • Déjà Vu - 3OH!3 • Sexy, Naughty, Bitchy Me - Lene Alexandra • Miss Jackson - Panic! At The Disco, LOLO • The Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic! At The Disco • Europe's Skies - Alexander Rybak • Bad Apple!! - RichaadEB, Cristina Vee • Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off - Panic! At The Disco • Let's Kill Tonight - Panic! At The Disco • Hurricane - Panic! At The Disco • Casual Affair - Panic! At The Disco • Never Close Our Eyes - Adam Lambert • Playing With Fire - Ovi, Paula Seling • Angel With A Shotgun - The Cab • Nicotine - Panic! At The Disco • Killer - The Ready Set • How to Be a Heartbreaker - MARINA • This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race - Fall Out Boy • Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) - My Chemical Romance • Troublemaker - Olly Murs, Flo Rida • Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship, Leighton Meester • I Can't Decide - Scissor Sisters • One Woman Army - Porcelain Black • How To Start A War - Simon Curtis • Maps - Maroon 5 • Do Better - Say Anything • STARSTRUKK - 3OH!3 • Remember Everything - Five Finger Death Punch • The Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin • Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes • When You're Evil - Aurelio Voltaire • Canadian, Please - Julia Bentley, Gunnarolla • Sarah Smiles - Panic! At The Disco • Take Me to Church - Hozier • Viking Death March - Billy Talent • Headstrong - Trapt • Semi-Charmed Life - Third Eye Blind • Don't Believe A Word - Third Eye Blind • Warriors - Imagine Dragons • iNSaNiTY - CircusP • Paralyzer - Finger Eleven • I'm Awesome - Spose • 24 - Jem • Clarity - Zedd, Foxes • Hall of Fame - The Script, will.i.am • The Is Gospel - Panic! At The Disco • Immortals - Fall Out Boy • Rather Be - Clean Bandit, Jess Glynne • Wake Me Up - Avicii • a thousand years - Christina Perri • Just Like Fire - P!nk • Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift, The Civil Wars • Safe And Sound - Capital Cities • Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Lorde • Demons - Imagine Dragons • DNA - Little Mix • Remember The Name - Fort Minor, Styles of Beyond • Victorious - Panic! At The Disco • 右肩の蝶 (Butterfly On Your Right Shoulder) - Kagamine Rin/Len • We Are One (Ole Ole) - Pitbull, Jennifer Lopez, Claudia Leitte • Hero - Skillet • Maraca - Mohombi • The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy • DONTTRUSTME - 3OH!3 • Teenage Dream - Katy Perry • SING - My Chemical Romance • Good Time - Owl City, Carly Rae Jepsen • White Rabbit - Egypt Central • Not Gonna Die - Skillet • The Kill - Thirty Seconds To Mars • We No Speak Americano - Yolanda Be Cool, DCup • Nobody's Listening - Linkin Park • Disco Pogo - Die Atzen • German Sparkle Party - The Something Experience • Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects • I Could Be The One - Avicii, Nicky Romero • Can't Hold Us - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis • Still Into You - Paramore • Primadonna - MARINA • Pompeii - Bastille • 恋愛サーキュレーション (Renai Circulation) - 物語シリーズ • Awake And Alive - Skillet • Monster - Skillet • Poker Face - Lady Gaga • Falling Inside The Black - Skillet
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diminuel · 3 months ago
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In stinky child au
Do Crocodile still try to take control of the Alabasta Kingdom?
Or he ended up in Impel Down for an another reason?
I've talked about Alabasta a couple of times, but of course my blog is still a mess so I can only find this post here.
Keeping my answer under the read more!
Also, as always, people are welcome to add their two cents! It'll be a while until I get there/ will write a fic dealing with this.
The short answer is that no, he isn't trying to take control of Alabasta. He has no interest in being its king. It is the strategically safest location for him, he's nearly invincible and the pirates coming through either know how to avoid him or aren't strong enough to pose a threat.
Also, he knows about Pluton and wants it. Other than Dragon, Crocodile has always been a "solve problems with violence" kind of person. He thinks it's quicker and more efficient than what Dragon was trying to do. He has known Dragon since his Freedom Fighter days, before Dragon decided what he needed was an army that could fight. And Crocodile provides a lot of the funds and the weapons for it - big portions of the money he makes with the casino benefit the RA.
However, he feels that it's not enough. He thinks he has to find Pluton and he thinks its in Alabasta. He knows that he can't just ask Cobra about it because even just knowing about this and inquiring about it could bring the World Government down on their heads. So he's looking in secret, slowly, slowly.
That said, dissent has existed in Alabasta before he arrived. Droughts are frequent issues and often lead to localized unrest. He might cause some issues because his sandstorms when he's looking for hidden ruins etc might actually bury some towns and make already existing issues worse. But he's not actively out to cause harm. However, issues that keep the palace distracted suit him well. The less eyes on him as he's investigating, the better.
And then the Dance Powder incident happens. I'm playing with the idea that it wasn't his choice. But that Alabasta, particularly the Nefetari family, is a thorn in the World Government's side. So they bring Dance Power into the country.
They expect Crocodile to understand the message: do something with this. If you fail you're our perfect scapegoat.
And he's a pirate, he's selfish, he's too close to his goal, he must be. He can't stop now. So he lets it run its course, letting Cobra take the fall, like intended (he does tell Dragon about it, he maybe even can get away with warning Cobra that he has to take this seriously.) And even when civil war is imminent and Vivi wants to stop it, he knows that this is the best case scenario for him. With this kind of chaos he might get away with searching the palace or maybe even putting pressure on Cobra to tell him about it. The WG wants him gone, he might as well show Crocodile where the Poneglyph is, so someone can fight them.
I haven't fully thought it all through but yeah, Stinky Child AU Crocodile isn't really that much of a dick, just enough of a dick to put his interests above the ones of the Kingdom that has been his home for so long.
And he ends in Impel Down because he takes the fall for wanting to topple the monarchy by causing a civil war, he was the leader of BW and he knows too much. Straight to Level 6 with him.
Thoughts? Protests?
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hotvintagepoll · 7 months ago
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Propaganda
Maria Montez (Cobra Woman, Arabian Nights)—maria montez was a dominican actress who rose to fame starring in a series of technicolor adventure movies in the 1940s hollywood, becoming popularly known as "the queen of technicolor”. her dramatic persona and elaborate bejeweled attire in these films subsequently lead to her becoming an early camp icon to underground queer filmmakers like jack smith and andy warhol. maria was fiercely determined to become a Movie Star from early on and tirelessly promoted herself (she would be killing it as an influencer today probably) - she deliberately cultivated an outré star persona in the tradition of old school screen vamps like theda bara and alla nazimova and she was always serving no matter where she was or what she was doing.
Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.
This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Maria:
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Dominican actress dubbed the Queen of Technicolor. Starred in colourful action adventure movies and was Universal Studios “glamour girl” of the 1940s. She starred in 26 movies before her untimely death in 1951. Shot to stardom with Arabian Nights in 1942. Fought with universal over roles she was cast in and managed to negotiate better pay for herself before going freelance and starring in European movies.
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Judy:
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Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.
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Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me
I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.
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Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken
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terrence-silver · 3 months ago
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Also I had the best idea the other day after seeing Nick Marini Silver in the camo(?) with young Kreese in the cave.
Post 'Nam Terry Silver, with his new little ponytail, going back home to Cali only to somehow meet innocent hippie Beloved whose all about love and peace and hope- all the things Twig was concerned with- until it was purely just survival and he had to evolve into a Cobra. Yet, he can't help but become obsessed with Beloved...
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Summer of Love.
Twig!Terry Silver x Reader.
You had a ‘make love not war’ badge pinned to your jacket and Terry Silver thought that was the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
Of course, you weren’t the only one; that year in California there was an abundance of these smiling, airheaded cockroaches drifting around aimlessly with handmade embroidery featuring their empty, meaningless slogans — jeans patches, spray paint backpacks, sharpied on mud-crusted sneakers, assholes hand painting Yoko Ono’s likeness on their shirts thinking they’re making some big statement, vans decorated (if it could be called decoration) with corny, one-word mottos in the likeness of ‘Peace’ and ‘Love’ that made Terry’s gut lurch up in amusement at the vapidity. Must’ve been easy. Ranting about peace and love from the comfort of home, the easy summer of the West Coast washing away all problems with a warm, seaborne salty breeze, not doing anything at all but slum around in the heavy shade, but regardless, in spite of all their comforts, they all gave the impression of being dirty. Unwashed. Something the ocean couldn’t exactly scrub off considering it was internal as much as, often times, external. He thought you were the dirtiest of all. Not physically, but something about your manner as you spoke enthusiastically about your plans to go overland, on a trailer from one end of Europe, all the way Bangkok, through the Silk road along the Hindu Kush mountain range gave him the irresistible urge to wash your mouth out with soap and make you swallow the bitter, soapy load.
-"Kabul, Peshawar, Amman. I guess I wanna see these ancient, hallowed places before they’re irrevocably changed."-
You explain, engrossed in your own imagination like a child, a colorful crochet blanket sprawled out beneath you in the back of an open van, your legs hanging and dangling from the edge. Terry had learned you didn’t exactly have an address in the classical sense. Heck, hilariously enough, you didn't even drive the very vehicle you were laid up on, considering the act somehow backwards and harmful, a notion that made you inherently comical, ; you came to California and by extension joined your traveling troupe, to, as you put it, see the world. Go wherever the path took you. For all you were concerned, he was just some guy with the same goal in mind and not someone who just rotated back to civilization a couple of months ago. Who’s already seen the world, alright. Who’s already walked paths you could scarce imagine. Who’s already witnessed the change you were babbling on about firsthand. He left one country behind and came back to a totally different one. A country filled with people like you. You were everywhere, one way or another. Unavoidable. Reflected in every face. Every person. Every sight.
-"You know? Everything is eventually changed, usually for the worse and it’s good to grab the chance and see stuff while they last, in their original form."-
You continue, leaning on your elbows and smiling, your enthusiasm and zest like a biting into something way too sweet; both addictive and slightly disgusting. So. You wanted to go to Goa, Bangkok and India. What was next? Go to Vietnam too? Carry a transparent that said ‘Americans go home’? Was that it? -"Oh, I know exactly what you mean."- Terry interjects, feigning innocence, watching you idly twirl one of the suede leather frills on your shirt, not in a manner deemed seductive, because no, you weren’t out to seduce him or anyone. He could tell as much. He could tell someone who had insidious intentions from someone who didn’t. You merely thought you’ve made a new friend in him these past couple of weeks in the grand soulsearch called life, feeling relaxed enough to act whoever you wanted to act in front of him — he cultivated that atmosphere for you on purpose, wanting to have you trust him, wanting you to be relaxed, right before…right before — well, Terry wasn’t entirely certain what he wanted to do to you just yet, but he was certain it would hurt. -"I just recently came back. And the place isn’t the same."- He tells the truth by effectively lying; things have changed, yes, you just weren’t privy exactly how things changed for him. So naive and wide eyed, he told you he was part of the Peace Corps and you believed him because you had no reason not to. You didn’t think people were fundamentally bad, just occasionally misguided at worst and that was a worldview so alien he thought it should be placed in a jar and examined under a microscope for good measure. You went by Beloved around these parts, after all, instead of your actual name. That alone deserved to be scrutinized and laughed at in the line up of all the other facts about you that were funny all on their own. But then again, Terry found he strangely enough didn’t mind. He knew your actual name, and he recently discovered he didn’t want to share it with anyone. -"All around Asia, yeah? Right on!"-  You beam up, a light visible in your eyes. The light of admiration. Heavy, omnipresent, addictive. He wanted more. Needed more. Revolted that he did, yet still craving it. He wanted to take that light and crush it in the palm of his hands like a puny ant. But, he needed to separate you from everyone else here first; separate you from all these cockroaches mingling around with too many eyes that could potentially be on him. So far, nobody suspected him to be a returning vet. Especially you. That was your fatal flaw, Terry figured; the fact you trusted anyone at all.
Least of all him.
He supposed, irony of all ironies, that the handful of hair tied at the nape of his neck helped the overall impression and image you had of him. Half of the bums here had long hair. None was like his, of course. Unlike theirs, his hair was sacred. But, it helped perpetuate a certain look. Even the Cobra ink on the side of his ribs; you were convinced it was an aesthetic statement and no more than that.
-"I really respect that, Terry. I wish I could go too. You’re so lucky!"- 
You sigh dreamily, throwing your head back under the shade of the van’s roof.
Lucky?
He was lucky?
Sure, why not, so long as you keep bearing your neck to him the way you were.
-"Yeah, Cambodia, Thailand, Korea."- Terry keeps perpetuating a half-lie, seated on a low wooden lawn chair in front of you, his blue Ford pick up truck he procured for the occasion parked nearby, neglected and busted up just enough to give him the visage of some working class schlub mingling with other schlubs, the fan from inside your the van blowing in a cool breeze his way; he’s been to all of those places, that much was true, you just weren’t aware of the context he was there in; admittedly, you didn’t hate returning army men either like he initially was convinced you and all of your ilk would, finding roundabout ways to question you of your worldviews — no, you merely thought they were deluded, lost souls someone took advantage of, which was somehow only ever more infuriating than plain old hate. Humiliating. Pitiful. Like a disgustingly sympathetic nod nobody asked for causing him to feel a bit like a stray street dog someone threw a dry bone to chew on. Terry Silver preferred death rather than for someone to feel sorry for him, fueled to an even darker place every time you were hideously empathetic, towards him and the whole world, hit with a flash of greed, wanting your stupid kindness for nobody but himself. So, he keeps on lying. Anything to momentarily distract him from the violence brewing around in his mind like a tempest. -"But, my favorite experience has to be with the Peace Corps in ‘Nam, hands down. It was life changing."- Terry allows himself to smile, finding the urge irresistible. He’s told you so many made up stories about his volunteer work abroad that he almost felt bad for you and how desperately you believed him. Almost. All those hours spent on various lawns, picnic blankets, on the backseat of a car, walking along the beach, spinning made up scenarios you ate up like a child full of wanderlust, eager for someone to tell them a story of how the world is full of possibilities. Hope. Terry leans forward suddenly, his elbows pressed against his knees and your body moves, matching his, engrossed in the conversation, looking at him like he was about to share with you the answer to life itself. -"Would you like to go one day?"- Terry asks, all figuratives and future tense, chuckling, and oh, he would take you down a path unwalked before. That’s what you said you wanted after all. Go wherever the road took you, no? You nod vigorously, smiling wide, a warm twinkle in your eyes. Trusting. Pliant. Unspoiled.
He returns the gesture, bearing his teeth in the visage of happiness.
So, you wanted to have a Vietnam experience and that could very well be arranged.
But, thing is, he doesn't.
The thought remains firmly lodged in his head, all the things he could to do to you, make you suffer, take that sweet, sparkling light in your eyes and ensure it is a dimmed, lifeless thing after all the various methods through which he could cause you pain. Make you suffer again and again until you're a husk and your lesson has been learned; a remainder forever that life isn't just travel and seeing pretty places, instead, he's laid up with you in a pretty place all of his own, thinking he deserves his Summer of Love too, perhaps more than anyone else --- after all, he's fought for it. Toiled for it. Seen his friends murdered for it. He spent months in a cage for it. He's earned his place in the sun tenfolds over. And he enjoyed the game. He enjoyed this role he played in front of you. If Captain Turner could see how now he'd say he's 'gone native' and the idea only serves to amuse Terry doubly so --- the notion his commanding officer would be mad at him for anything only intensifying him further, supposing he wanted to spite the man from beyond the grave, if possible --- your head in Terry's lap, the foliage of the palm tree casting a long, heavy shadow from above obscuring your face, your jacket riddled with badges cast to the side in the beach sand at the foot of the tree. Thank fuck. -"You know, I always thought my travel companion wouldn't be anyone but myself."- You sigh, keeping your eyes closed only to flutter them open suddenly, looking at him engrossed in the task of smoothing the top of your head, fingers drawing patterns along your scalp. The thin layer of skin atop of the skull, potentially so easy to peel. -"As in, that I'd mostly be hitting the road on my own."- You continue; Terry spots the odd bit of hesitation in your voice. You lean up because he lets you, your weight prepped up on your elbows. -"All these others, they have someone other then themselves. Not me, though."- You glance further down the beach and the ramshackle collection of vans parked up along the coastline, the distant sound of music echoing through the seaboard. Beatniks making a barbeque and someone strumming a sappy guitar tune. Your tribe. The punks that drove you around. Dragged you from place to place. Occupied your time. Perpetuated this way of living you took to heart. Not for long, though. -"But, I think that's changed now."- You remark, forlorn. Of course it has changed. You were less and less a part of them and more and more a part of him than you could imagine. That's the way he liked it too.
-"When I leave here, I'd like you to come with me, Terry."-
You ask sweetly, halfway pleading, as much as he relished the notion of you begging him for anything, imaging you doing so on your knees, he had to concur internally that as much as you were convinced of the opposite in this very moment, you weren't in fact going anywhere. Where would go anyway? San Francisco? Out to Mexico? The thought made him want to throw his head back cackling. No. You didn't realize it just yet because Terry didn't want you to realize, but you'd be staying put, right here, with him. Indefinitely. Instead, he gives you the softest look he could muster to camouflage his intent, something within him melting and bleeding forth like warm, overly sugary pus, as he nods slowly, that desire to scrub the inside of your mouth out with soap every time you talked about leaving for somewhere else subsiding for a second, taking a backseat, overtaken by a certain gentleness, the assurance it was all just make belief on your part anyway because you wouldn't be going no matter how badly you were convinced of the opposite and no matter how badly he was convincing you of it. -"Yeah. Sure thing."- He says, absentmindedly, deliberate in his choice of words, deciding to never say 'yes' or 'no' decidedly, but you never notice, falling back on his back momentarily content and closing your eyes once more, seemingly enjoying the ocean breeze, choosing to trust the way you always did so far and when you're not watching, he weighs his options between tossing the 'Make love not war' badge he took off of your jacket into the sea and keeping it for himself as a memento and deciding it belonged to him rather than the depths of the rolling waves. After all, in Vietnam, they always had the tendency of collecting trophies. Sometimes it was ears. Sometimes it was chopped fingers. But, in your case, the notion of separating you into pieces he could keep starts becoming less and less alluring compared to the idea of having you whole and this thought hits Terry helming the steering wheel with you beside him on the passengers seat, all tender smiles and quiet warmth. During the war, he always daydreamed of someone writing him the way Betsy wrote to John --- the way all the other boys had sweethearts, wives and fiancées writing them too, wondering what it would be like if it was you who wrote to him, filling every page with your idealism and this puny belief in a better tomorrow. A field opens up in front of him. A coastal superbloom spreads as far as the eye can see. He figured you'd get a kick out of this shit, and just as he thought, you do, sighing deeply. -"Words can’t describe how pretty this is, Terry, so I’ll say nothing."- You turn to him, appearing serene, shrugging simply, your hand on his shoulders, touching him. He allows the gesture, leaning into it. Of course it was pretty. Desert Lillies, Verbenas, The Indigo Bush and Dune Evening Primroses spread on for miles. That's why he privatized the place. That's why he owned it. For you to indefinitely do what you liked with it. A gift you didn't even know was a gift just yet. -"Lets just enjoy it together, okay? Take in the moment."-
Terry feels his lips spread and a smile form in place of his stoicism so far.
He couldn't help himself. He brought you to a field of flowers and you were convinced he was the best of men. You were wearing a jacket riddled with pins, a weaved wicker purse, the birds chirping and your face was sunkissed with light; the fact he had to ruin this moment and squash the innocence of it both filled with blood with heat and made his gut lurch out in pain. Terry allows his himself to cackle quietly ---- at first as a slow rumble emanating from the back of his throat and then open, into his own chin. You give him a confused look. You were going to hate him so much for what he was going to right now and he both relished and reviled the fact.
-"What’s wrong?"-
You ask.
-"This is really funny."-
He manages. And it was. It genuinely was.
-"What is?"-
You prod on, scooting closer like you were worried for him, your fingers squeezing and kneading his shoulder and the concern shoots his blood down into his groin; at this point, he's outright laughing. How could he not?
-"Peace Corps."-
Those two words alone provide him with enough humor for him to barely contain it.
-"I was in Vietnam, but not with the Peace Corps."-
Terry shakes his head, feeling his own mouth pucker up comically, like he was teasing a child for believing his elaborate story about the toothfairy, and still, your trust stands there unshaken, your expressions lost and confused. You really bought into this crap.
-"Wait, what do you mean?"-
You scoot in your seat, fidgeting a bit, poor, beautiful idiot, your bag and all its many jiggling keychains and ornaments firmly clutched against you like a subconsciously protective barrier, your body facing him. A man just comes along, tells you a story and you go with it because your philosophy in life and first instinct was to not think someone just went along lying for its own sake, but see, that's where you were wrong. Terry supposed he loved and hated you for it, envying and coveting you and how unpolluted your mind was. Anyone could've come along and sold you on some bullshit and the idea of that momentarily infuriates him and relieves him --- he was infinitely glad it was him and that he was the first.
-"And I lied because you provided me with such wonderful sensations. Hated to see it ruined."-
He continues, ignoring your previous queries, the budding shock on your face positively delicious; the way it spontaneously grew in scope in real time as you sat in his busted up car surrounded by a meadow of flowers like a scared fairy or a deer caught in the headlights about to be trampled --- he could have the image and the whole scene commissioned and painted, framed and hanged above the mantlepiece facing his tub so he could have the vision of your naiveté collapsing in on itself for all eternity, admiring it while he bathed, had his mourning champagne, took calls. Touched himself underneath the searing hot water. Squeezing his cock in the palm of his hand. -"What sensations?"- You mouth, more breath than words at this point.
Your body language changing slightly. Skittish. Uncertain.
-"Friendship."-
Terry smiles into the word.
-"Hope."-
He adds leisurely, chewing on those four letters like they're bones.
-"Love."-
Finally, his hand grips the place where your shoulder blades meet your neck, caressing and squeezing there, ensuring his own body is distant; he was touching you and you weren't to touch him. Not when you were so close to realization and then, with in an instant, it hits you. The light from your eyes is gone and he feels the space in his trousers tighten. His teeth digging into his lower lip. -"You were in the army!?"- You gasp, like your lungs lacked the oxygen necessary for you to actually raise your tone and yell out, your voice crackling your throat as you tried to move backwards, further into your seat and the door on the passenger's side --- Terry doesn't let go, his hand still ever-present on your neck. A lover's touch transforming into a vice grip within seconds. He shrugs, deliberately mocking, paraphrasing and twisting every hippie-dippie bullshit talking point he's ever heard ever since he's stepped back on American soil.
-"What can I say, I was a demographically exploitable, impressionable youth and the big mean man from the poster tricked me into killing Gooks. I wouldn't have otherwise. I'm strictly anti-violence."-
Terry senses his own brows shooting up in a make-belief mask of feigned, parodied innocence only for your own to furrow and you look offended. Angry, for once in your life. Beautiful enough to consume. -"You're making fun of me!"- You cry out, desperately as he grabs you, both hands, and you struggle, to no avail. Your running days were over. You'd stay put for a change and you'd stay down. -"Don't you love me?"- Terry cocks his head only to find you quelled. Hesitating. Oh, you loved him alright. You just loved the pacifist idiot listening to you how you wanted to be a nomad backpacking in every backwater dump on the surface of the planet and not the man with the past and you couldn't immediately reconcile the two without betraying everything you stood for. -"I ---"- Your mouth falls open and he feels you shiver, your words caught on the precipice of your mouth. -"You said you wanted to see ancient places before they're changed, but do you think they were built on notions of peace? Every empire you'd like to travel to with me was built on war and conquest."- He shakes you, only slightly, hoping it'll make you come to your senses. You thought Xerxes in the remnants of Persia you wanted to see was a pacifist with a flower garden atop of his head or something? Did your beatnik friends tell you that? Your eyes shimmer, horrified, glossed over with suppressed tears he wanted to lick off your cheeks. -"God, what else did you lie about to me."- Your voice is barely audible, raspy, like the gravitas of the situation only just started settling in. If he wanted to mess with you further, now would be the ideal time, so he does just that, pointing his nose across the field, towards the skyline of the city and the tallest tower visible from plain on the outskirts of the highway. Impossible to avoid, juxtaposed like a distant fortress against the blue sky vista. Terry points the tip of his nose towards it, feeling rather triumphant of Dynatox's expansion. -"That compound. I own it. Along with half of the real estate in the country. Content?"- He snarks, tilting his head at your outrage. Not only was your lover a war criminal, he was an eco-terrorist mass profiteer as well. He's fucked you and you loved it too. -"I don't know you. Jesus. I don't even know you."- You murmur, wiggling out of his grip and moving because he lets you, very well intending to give chase once you practically jump over the closed door of the van, and unto the grass. Sure, why not. He'd get to fuck you knee-deep in flowers next. It was perfectly in-line with the life you led. He steps out of the Ford, slamming the door shut, his arms open and inviting once he finds you hastily walking down the meadow, no doubt intending to hitchhike your way back to the city. He couldn't allow that.
-"Why are you running? You've got it all now! A ticket away from backpacking your entire life away with a bunch of aimless bum punks!"-
He speaks plainly then; the jig is up, he tells himself, and playing games as only as fun as the revelation of true intent. His true intent being, taking you, his diamond in the rough, cleaning you up and separating you from those who'd get you hooked on a life of slumming it on every street from here to India. His wild blossom needed to be plucked, re-planted, placed in a hothouse, tended to, domesticated and copiously watered until it bends or breaks for him. You're practically running at this point, glancing back at him, face radiating ire. You were pissed the fuck off. Nice. Perfect.
-"Maybe I'm an aimless bunk punk too! Have you thought about that!? But, at least I didn't kill anyone! And I don't lie! Get away from me!"-
You yell, and Terry doesn't recall the last time he's seen you this angry, if ever, but the vision makes him smile and this point, he's so hard he can practically feel himself pulsate as he follows after you at a brisk pace, allowing you enough leeway to have you stupidly think you can just walk away from him while he's right there only to come up from behind you, always in your shadow, grab your forearms from the back, stop you in your tracks, spinning you to face him. Chest to chest, face to face, there was no escape. Why should his well-earned Summer of Love ever end? Have you asked yourself that?
-"See, that's where you're wrong, baby."-
He practically giggles, steadying you in his grip.
You're slippery, like a bar of soap. Luckily, he's stronger, not intending to let go.
-"You aren't an aimless bum punk. You're mine."-
He states the fucking obvious, grinning at the levels of your vexation growing.
-"And you are lying. You're lying to yourself when you refuse to fess up that you care about us."-
He inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dragging itself against the outline of your neck, inhaling all that sweat, the aroma of the great outdoors, the pollen of the field caught on your skin, smiling against you as he spoke, feeling you dig your fingers and nails into his arms, the jab of pain a relish, like an injected aphrodisiac in his system. His hand travels down, cupping you between your legs and on instinct, he hears your breath hitch. You liked that, didn't you? He rubs up against the side of your thigh, craving raw, dry friction. -"When you pretend that targets living in mud huts halfway across the planet getting napalmed matter to you as much as they do."- He presses his mouth next to the lobe of your ear, caressing the shell with his lip, feeling a slight shiver there, like your body spoke out in confirmation instead of you, even as you pushed and struggled, spilling words of venom when it was so clear your very nervous system craved to shout out a definitive 'yes'. -"You murderous son of a ---"- You seethe, trashing only to get hooked even more firmly against him, until he's practically embracing you not unlike wrangling a slithering Cobra, attempting to tame it. What's wrong? Were you afraid your friends will exclude you if they find out you've been getting fucked by a vet? Will they label you as less progress for it? Take your hippie credentials away? The continues massaging the seam between your hips, swearing he could feel the warm sensation of moisture and heat through the fabric, watching your mouth part even as you struggled. Bodies don't lie. He finds your zipper and the material of your panties underneath it, soaked to the very flesh. Ah, yes. There it was, all your political philosophies flying out the window proven just by how wet you were for him. -"You don't care about it that much."- Terry whispers laced with giggles, finding the bare skin of your cunt ready for his touch. Suddenly hungry, he devours your neck with kisses in-between words, pushing you backwards, hands all over, on the small of your back, around your waist, coaxing you down into the bed of flowers. He was going to have you, right here, right now. He's slept under the open sky and the wilderness for months and months only up until recently before rotating back to civilization, so for all intents and purposes, this should've been true return to form. -"You care about how good my fingers feel inside of your cunt much, much more and the thought of not being morally upstanding while getting fucked kills you on the inside."- He laughs, on top of you, finding you were no longer fighting it, maybe just barely, enough to make it interesting for him. The faintest spice of struggle with his hand up your leaking hole.
-"It kills you that your lizard brain rules you when I'm near."-
His hand propped up underneath your head, pillowing your contact with the bare soil underneath you, he admires you, all of you, cooing to you surrounded by flowers bent and broken at the stem through the impact of you both laying down in the bosom of the meadow, or more like, crashing into it; he supposed he despised the natural world as a whole --- a distaste he cultivated in Vietnam, in the jungle, overgrown, deep, impossible to traverse, during six months of monsoon rain, the perpetual, sinking moisture of the ground and the insects, centipedes as long as his arms, snakes, scorpions and things stemming forth from the muddy, slick bowls of the earth that would make any man's skin crawl, mowed down, culled and leveled, sprayed from above with an orange dust, the brainchild that birthed everything he wanted Dynatox to be --- a great equalizer of nature. The big, final X. But, you? Seeing you surrounded by the natural world? He supposed the only way he could ever tolerate nature is if it is in relation to you personally and no other way at all. Terry found no use for it unless it was in connection to you. That was his own lizard brain working overtime when you were near and he wanted you, needed to hear it from your own mouth that you were much the same as him. Weak around the resolve where he was concerned. -"Say it."- He demands it, firm lipped, his hand fishing around his trousers, pulling his cock out, hard, dripping precum, entirely ready for you. You shake your head, avoiding eye contact, pinning your gaze up at the sky; he could swear he spotted the faint, pale glimmer of suppressed tears. -"No."- You mouth bluntly. No? That just wouldn't do in this dojo. -"Say. It."- Terry repeats himself, insisting, annunciating every syllable, not intending to do it a second time, pulling your trousers down to your knees and spreading you. You could've shut your knees, but you never do; not that it would've stopped him, if anything, it would make this all the more profoundly enjoyable, but he reads desire, guilty, transgressive, hidden between the lines, yearning to burst forth. You wanted him too, but it went against your core values. Were you really as free as you thought you were, though? If you couldn't even fuck who you really wanted? Sounded like a miserable way to live. You moan and sob up at the same time once he's inside of you, bucking your hips up against him, managing a single word.
-"Yes."-
-"Yes, what?"-
-"It kills me ---"-
You stutter, attempting to repeat his words back to him beat by beat, only to stop, cutting yourself off once Terry picks up a pace, back and forth, back and forth, his fingers long since having undone your blouse, your tits and nipples bare, kneading them, greedy, wanton, unsure of what he'd do first, what he'd rather touch and when, finding he wanted all of you at once, no waiting, no hesitation, on a plot of land he owned, fucking someone who belonged to him.
-"What kills you?"-
He encourages, kissing along your jawline, biting, all spit, lack of decorum.
Finally, you break, and the tears flow like a river, your hands pinned above your head.
Complete defeat. Complete surrender.
-"You do."-
You whimper under the warm breeze, giving up even the faintest notion of finishing your sentence the way you should've; but he didn't mind this subversion. Actually, he rather prefered it, finding your mouth and kissing it deep, longer and hard, separating himself if only just a moment mid-trust to admire his handiwork and the pink bruise left behind on the side of your perfect lips that promised to grow blue by tomorrow --- a punishment for his tiny lack of control. Punishment for you not parroting his words back the way he ordered. But, you weren't going anywhere anymore, the final destination being right here, in this very city, so he'd have all the time in the world to train you as he liked. Teach you as he wanted and he feels his own throat hum in contentment, his cock lodged deep inside of you, remembering your badge and how he still had it somewhere in the inside pocket of his jacket left behind on the driver's seat of his truck; claiming one thing and then claiming another and ultimately, claiming everything you were, piece after piece, part after part, from the smallest, most insignificant pin, to the biggest, most crucial segments that made up who you were.
-"Good. Perfect."-
Terry murmurs victoriously, smiling, caressing the hair sticking to your forehead slick with sweat.
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the-french-belphegor · 2 years ago
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The year is 1884. John Kreese is the local sheriff and rules the San Fernando Valley with an iron hand (with the discreet help and financial backing of his old war buddy turned robber baron, Terrance Silver). He has a posse of promising young fellows working for him, the Cobras. First and foremost is his young right hand man, Johnny Lawrence, whom Kreese has trained in his methods and who is primed for his succession.
Except a stranger and his widowed mother from the rough side of New Jersey waltz into town one day, and they don’t act like the tenderfoots they’re supposed to be, East Coast and all. Daniel LaRusso (second-generation immigrant) refuses to back down when threatened and blunders straight into Kreese’s evil plans. Fortunately, he ends up making friends with Mr. Miyagi, a Japanese immigrant who fought for the Union in the Civil War. They bond over (amongst other things) being misfits and outsiders, and Mr. Miyagi teaches Daniel his family’s karate and how to shoot his opponent’s gun out of their hand lightning-quick.
At first, for young Mr. LaRusso, it’s a question of everyday survival, but it quickly becomes about exposing Kreese’s (and Silver’s) corruption, which Johnny doesn’t want to acknowledge (since Kreese practically raised him). But soon young Mr. Lawrence is going to have to make a choice: stand with his  teacher and protector, or listen to LaRusso’s warnings?
Doing an art trade and I got the lovely @jossujb to draw for 💜 I ended up doing a whole western AU. Now, of the two texts, which is the title and which is the subtitle? Yes. (couldn’t choose, they both felt corny but fun, so you get to decide!)
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deadite-central · 7 months ago
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Last time when I rambled on Alabasta, I talked about how terrifying the situation in the country is, and that continues on when we properly meet Kohza
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The rebels don’t want to fight, circumstance forced them to take this stand, and it’s even sadder to us as readers, since we know Cobra is on their side and is as much of a victim in this civil war as everyone
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On a much, much lighter note, Alabasta still does have a lot strong comedic moments, and Rainbase has got a lot of highlights (the entire Smoker chase after Usopp and Luffy run into him always makes me lose it)
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At Raindinners our characters finally get to meet Crocodile, and I do enjoy their interactions a lot. Also when you think about it, Smoker has got to be the person who has the most beef with the warlords man was probably cheering when they were disbanded
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And then Robin’s power reveal!! It’s done in such a cool way. Up until this point it was shrouded in mystery. So when it seems she stabs Vivi with her arm, when I personally first watched it my jaw was on the floor, but knowing about her powers it’s a fun scene. Her fight with Pell (it’s not even a fight tbh) is a really really good moment as well
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Vivi’s conversation with Crocodile is also a highlight to me. Not only does the man keep being a menace, the two of them see Alabasta through completely different lens, which allows for great contrast between the villain and one of our main characters, which builds characterisation for both of them
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Another great moment has got to be Mr Prince, genuinely one of the coolest Sanji moments, and sometimes, in a dire situation, having a character do cool shit is the best way to go about things
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To finish my thoughts off for today, we get to the beginning of the first fight between Luffy and Croc, which has such a hype feeling to it, even if I already know everything that will happen. It also brings up the fact that even to Crocodile, Robin is still a mystery, which just shows how he treats trust, and how that will come back to bite him later
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walkingthroughthisworld · 1 year ago
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Larry Taylor was born in 1942 in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He grew up in a family and community that emphasized the importance of military service. His great-great-grandfather fought in the Civil War, his great-uncle in World War I and his father and uncles in World War II. 
Larry Taylor joined the U.S. Army Reserve Officer Training Program at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Upon graduation in June 1966, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Army Reserve, then joined the regular Army in August, volunteering as an armor officer. 
He joined the U.S. Army Reserve Officer Training Program at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Upon graduation in June 1966, he was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Army Reserve, then joined the regular Army in August, volunteering as an armor officer. After graduating from the U.S. Army Armor School at Fort Knox, Kentucky, Taylor quickly realized he was better suited to be a pilot than an armor officer. He had already obtained a fixed-wing pilot's license before joining the Army and thought that experience would make it easier to learn rotary-wing flying. 
After receiving permission to train as a helicopter pilot, he attended the U.S. Army Primary Helicopter School at Fort Wolters, Texas, and then advanced helicopter training at Fort Rucker (renamed Fort Novosel in 2023), Alabama, where he qualified as an Army aviator in June 1967.
Taylor served in Vietnam from August 1967 to August 1968, flying some of the first Bell AH1-G Cobra attack helicopters in combat. Serving with D Troop (Air), 1st Squadron, 4th Cavalry, 1st Infantry Division, Taylor flew over 2,000 combat missions in UH-1 and Cobra helicopters. He was engaged by enemy fire 340 times and was forced down five times. The U.S. Army awarded him at least 50 combat decorations, including the Silver Star, 43 Air Medals, a Bronze Star and two Distinguished Flying Crosses. He also received the Republic of Vietnam Gallantry Cross with Bronze Star.
 Among his many harrowing operations, the most dangerous and frightening took place on June 18, 1968, when he rescued a four-man long range patrol team at significant risk to his own life. For his heroic actions that night, the Army awarded him the Silver Star, which President Joe Biden upgraded to the Medal of Honor in 2023. Taylor concluded his military service as a captain with the 2nd Armored Cavalry in West Germany. 
After his Army service, he operated a successful roofing and sheet metal company in Chattanooga and was involved with several veterans' organizations. He has also been a generous donor to charitable nonprofit organizations in the Chattanooga area. Taylor and his wife, Toni, reside in Signal Mountain, Tennessee.
(via Captain Larry L. Taylor | Medal of Honor Recipient | U.S. Army)
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docgold13 · 1 year ago
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Profiles in Villainy
Destro
James McCullen Destro XXIV, usually referred to simply as Destro, is an international illegal arms smuggler and manufacturer, operating with utmost secrecy, out of his ancestral castle in Scotland.
The silver mask Destro wears is his most distinctive feature. It is forged from Beryllium steel. For centuries, the Destro clan designed and sold weapons. In an incident dating back to the English Civil War, an ancestor of his was caught selling weapons to both sides. He was forced to wear a steel mask for his crimes (neither side were willing to execute him because they still wanted his weapons). Rather than taking it as a sign of shame, the Destro clan turned it into a symbol of pride. The patriarchs passed it down as tradition from father to son for over 20 generations.
As the central supplier of weapons to the terrorist organization, Cobra, Destro has battled against the forces of G.I.Joe on countless occasions.  Although a mercenary through and through, Destro has even aided the Joes when it aligned with his self-interests.
Actor Arthur Napier Burghardt provided the voice of Destro; first appearing int he debut episode of G.I.Joe: A Real American Hero, airing on September 12th, 1983.  
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jamescarpenterhooper · 5 months ago
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what well its just that you havent spoken to me in years except to call me a faggot or to dislocate my shoulder and you know what else is missing besides an attentive listener a segue i suppose forgive my bluntness please dont hit me but i could giv two shits about you or your vacant mind or your morbid curiosities or your dead fucking dog so why dont you just leave i never dislocated your shoulder according to my doctor you did in shop class last spring you twisted my arm behind my back and said you wouldnt let go until i said and i quote i like to get it up the ass i was just playing around with you oh that makes me feel so much better you know through my screams and the searing pain i can definely recall hearing laughter any way i can contribute to the fun of the group we were just messing around with you fuck you cb id rather you say we beat the shit out of you because we cant stand you rather than youre just messing with me that implies light teasing or slightly oproprious behavior i havent eaten in the cafeteria in 2 years for fear of going home with some part of it smeared across my shirt i havent been to the bathroom on campus since my head got slammed into a wall i believe you were there i didnt do that well you didnt stop it either and the faculty doesnt care you know what im tired of hearing they only pick on you because of your own insecurities aw jeez mrs blank now that you said that my head doesnt hurt so much and people wonder why kids bring guns to school to shoot you fuckers down maybe youre not the bully but you stand idly by and watch and to me thats even worse so please just go youre being hostile and im just trying to have a conversation with you like a civilized i dont want to talk to you i just want to be left alone i dont need social pointers i just want an apology for the five minutes youve stolen from my day see this is why you dont have friends i think we both know why i dont have any friends oh dont be so melodramatic youre in here crying about a dead dog and im being melodramatic shut the fuck up about my dog ok or what youll hit me go ahead ill show you how people get hurt and dont run away to cry like a big fucking baby whats so funny asshole im sorry nothing i dont see anything to laugh at its nothing its just that i was scared of you for like a second im sorry no its ok i deserved it promise me you wont bring a gun to school i dont even know where id get one you were one of my best friends you all were i just dont get it can i be honest if its any consolation none of us knew what to say to you after your dad got arrested it was pretty awkward it was more awkward for me im sorry we werent there for you that means a lot see now youre being sarcastic again no i wasnt its hard to tell with you truce i wasnt fighting a war but sure truce are you i dont know ive never had sex so kinda hard to tell at this point what about my dad im not sure thats considered sex you remember how my dog used to howl when you played the piano yeah i always found it pretty annoying he was singing along what do you think happens to animals when they die they go to heaven you believe in heaven sure there has to be some reward for living through all this and you think there are animals there in heaven the wolf will live with the lamb the lion will lie down with the goat and the calf the lion and the yearling together and a child will lead them the cow will feed with the bear their young will lie down together and the lion will eat straw like the ox the infant will play near the hole of the cobra and the child will put his hand into the vipers nest but my dog killed a living thing wouldnt god be mad he was sick cb he couldnt help it you know they say a dog sees god in his master and a cat looks in the mirror i hate cats me too
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frasier-crane-style · 10 months ago
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So I watched this.
-The opening image is in space, with Anthony Hopkins narrating about the Mother World*, and a wormhole opens that cannot be described as anything other than a Space Pussy. Uhh, Cinema.
*(an unwieldy title for a group of bad guys, so eventually the script starts calling them "the Realm" instead, though no one bothered to go back and have them stop talking about "the domain of the Mother World" and such)
-They also try on referring to the villains as "The King's Gaze," the name of the ship they crew, and of course, it is great fun to see working actors talking very seriously about how much they fear the King's Gays.
-As in any Seven Samurai riff, the good guys are humble farmers, which in Zach Snyder Land means they are both pacifistic Luddite believers AND burly Vikings who love to fuck.
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Ladies and gentlemen, a Quaker!
-They're also all white, making Sofia Boutella the only minority and also the violent outsider with a haunted past who keeps talking about how she doesn't belong and everything she touches dies and all that. It's a mite awkward. But she's also the only one who isn't DTF in the Fuck Farm, so who knows?
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-The, uhh, Mother Worlders* show up and prove an eclectic blend of Peaky Binders haircuts, Soviet Russia fashion sense, working-class British accents, and, uhh, Día de Muertos parade?
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Not since Cobra have so many random villain traits fallen under the same tent. You're left asking if it's political commentary or if Snyder just has something against the Angry Video Game Nerd.
-Snyder also tries to do a Good King/Evil Usurper bit with the Mother World, but makes it explicit that during the Good King's reign they were also an expansionist colonial empire just killing the shit out of things. As ever with da Snyd, it's unclear if this is meant to be subversive or just poorly thought out.
-I know there's no hiding that one is doing a Seven Samurai riff, but the MacGuffin is still... grain. The humble villagers aren't mining vibranium or anything, the evil Empire just really wants grain and these villagers are going to give it to them or else. You'd think a post-warp civilization wouldn't need to lean on subsistence farmers for snacks, but there you are.
-The appeal of this, if any, is to do R-rated Star Wars, but for some reason Netflix wanted a PG-13 version of the R-rated Star Wars, so we get something that's... maybe a little wilder than Andor? They redo the cantina confrontation between Obi-Wan and Cornelius Evazan, but here Evazan explicitly wants to rape 'Luke Skywalker' so, uhh, yay?
-Apparently the idea is to do a director's cut later on that'll be three or four hours; it's pretty obvious that stuff's been cut. The narrative spends a lot of time talking about how they're going to find a really cool guy fighting in gladiatorial combat at an arena. The heroes go to the arena, stand next to the arena, talk for a bit, and then leave. No gladiatorial combat is had.
Snyder, you're killing me, man. I thought the whole two-part business was so that we could have a whole movie to get to know these characters, but it basically goes Character Introduction > Standing Around In Crowd Scenes. Unless you're about to die, of course, in which case you get a sizable monologue to put in your acting reel before you leave.
-Oddly, they introduce quite a few characters who seem like they're going to be a part of the Magnificent Space Seven--guy trying to court Sofia Boutella, a turncoat Stormtrooper, a pacifistic robot--only to forget about them. I guess they'll show up in Part 2, but it seems unfulfilling to have this movie be a prolonged "Getting The Band Together" montage with some of the heroes not even getting to be in on the bonding. Which isn't much bonding to begin with, it's just Sofia Boutella sloooowly revealing her backstory and not even getting to the obvious punchline by the closing credits (you killed the princess, didn't ya? This universe might not have Force powers, but you don't need 'em to see that coming).
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theseventhoffrostfall · 9 months ago
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With the Tribes, what are the relationships between the different Tribes like? Like, even on a broad level I'm assuming in both diplomacy and war the conduct expected and allowed would be substantially impacted by any mix of factors. Their bandit/mercenary culture, their extreme transhumanism, their being spacers that don't actually hold planetary territory save through suzerainty, etc. Also, how do any peculiarities in the general Tribal approach to foreign policy effect how they interact with their non-Tribe peer-states, if you have that figured out?
So, to start off, it's not like there are a fixed number of tribes dating back to some specific founding point of their culture. Over the fifteen-ish thousand years the tribes have existed, they've merged, seceded, founded new tribes, wiped out others, and generally been a seething political jumble. It's still perhaps unsurprising that most extant tribes' own versions of history try to emphasize their own connection (either as successors or still-extant original groups) to their common origin, however.
As for their relationships with each other, I'd say they're less outright quarrelsome as a rule but you can draw parallels with hellenistic city-states. They’re a political-cultural-technological-ethnic (insofar as their strain of transhumanism qualifies as an ethnicity in a sci-fi context) grouping rather than a nation, but fundamentally look at the world through a lens of "Us" "peers" and "barbarians". They'll jockey internally for suzerainty of planets or similar sources of wealth and prestige, but given the number of actual external threats that could take advantage of infighting (their way of life, as you can guess, leaves them with a number of friendly powers greater than zero but not by all that much) they avoid shooting wars. There isn't really a standing council or any other central governance, but it's not all too uncommon to convene a tribunal of peers to, say, mediate a dispute between two tribes.
That said, there are both rivalries and alliances forming vague political sub-blocs. Notably Eissenschtadt and Samarkand are close allies, you might recall.
For non-peer states--as a general rule, there are exceptions such as generally either working as mercenaries for or raiding and pirating against the Empire-- the early stages of contact and diplomacy initially seem civilized. Sometimes they stay that way, and various tribes settle each into trade agreements, mutual defense pacts, early talks for mercenary work and the occasional technology swap, etc. But, somewhat more commonly, those early stages' actual purpose--sizing up their new friend like a pet cobra suddenly getting cuddly--comes back with the answer of "we can take these guys" and a tribe or even a multi-tribal coalition raises a warhost to go kick some teeth in, plunder what they can, and force the invaded party into paying tribute to make it stop.
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gijoe-forever · 1 year ago
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Issues 74 to 76 of the Marvel comic dealt with the Cobra Civil War. The comics included a map of the Cobra Island and details on civil war divisions among Serpentor, Cobra commander (Fred VII) and Destro’s Iron Grenadiers. This all occurred 35 years ago in the pages of Marvel Comics G.I. JOE: A REAL AMERICAN HERO
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askvectorprime · 1 year ago
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Dear Vector Prime, besides the trio of Blood, Dauros and Gilmer was ancient Earth plagued by any other Decepticon Pretenders?
Dear Pretender Peeved,
Oh, certainly—the Autobots spent centuries trying to corral them. You may already be aware of Bludgeon and his fellow Pretenders’ rampage through ancient Japan; these Pretenders ranged across the entire world, so you may be interested to learn about their feats and fates.
Bludgeon likes to claim to have taught humanity the art of war, providing weapons and armor to various groups, relishing in the bloodshed and chaos he caused. The Autobots sealed him away on many occasions, but his final sealing took place in the 10th century. He had teamed up with a sorceress who sought revenge on the slayers of her father, and her magical manipulations multiplied the mystic Metallikato might of Bludgeon's Pretender shell. He was eventually sealed away under what would eventually become the city of Tokyo.
Iguanus rampaged across early Europe, seizing whatever he could from the tribes who lived there. He was finally sealed away under Stonehenge by Metalhawk and the other Autobot Pretenders, although they never discovered Iguanus' treasure hoard—not that they made any particular attempt to reclaim his collection of trinkets, busy as they were keeping humanity safe.
Stranglehold maintained a petty kingdom in Northern Africa, using his impressive physical might and near-invulnerability to maintain control over those nearby. He especially enjoyed wrestling with humans, viewing them as pitiful challengers. In the end, one such pitiful challenger managed to defeat Stranglehold by getting him in a Cobra clutch. In shame, Strangehold abandoned his kingdom, and wound up in the crosshairs of the Autobots, who sealed him beneath the Atlas Mountains.
Carnivac and Snarler terrorized the lands of Arcadia, causing havoc and famine as they destroyed whatever civilizations tried to intrude into their wilderness domain. Their teamwork kept them undefeated until the Autobot Pretenders teamed up as well, separating and binding them between a pair of mountains.
Octopunch was the least active of the Decepticon Pretenders, preferring to keep watch over the slumbering form of his master, Devil Z. To avoid the Autobots, he ventured out only when he was in dire need of resources, raiding ships while proclaiming the might of the Decepticon god he served. In the end, the Autobots managed to lure him into a trap off the Ryukyu Islands, sealed beneath a collection of sandstones.
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terrence-silver · 2 years ago
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What would different era’s of Terry use as a cologne or a scent to make beloved be around him more?
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― What would Twig do? Hard to tell. But, maybe, just maybe, he's heard old folk stories around Vietnam, during the war, among locals, about ancient concoctions and brews that increased attraction from the wearer to their intended target, bordering on magical properties; something that appealed to the mind and the body. Something that back home might be deemed a love potion by any other name and while he thought it is a load of mumbo jumbo and old wives tales back then, he sure as heck he wishes he had a vial of that to spray all over himself now. Should he rummage through beloved's things and do some well meaning digging when they aren't likely to see, though? Just in case? See what scents and perfumes they use and align himself to that, ensuring he matches with them and ensure a higher probability of their attraction through that? Do some stalking and use observational logic? Use his newfound money and wealth to buy the most expensive thing on the market and hope smelling like raw cash would do the trick for him? Maybe appealing to the soldier in him is the right course of action; maybe smelling fresh and clean and orderly is the best tactic --- honest, good and old fashioned? Or maybe, just maybe, he should get to scheming. To cooking. o a bit of would-be witchcraft, not that he ever figured himself the type. A pinch of his sweat, a droplet of his blood, a lock of his hair, the salt of his tears, various fragrances and herbs he brought home from Korea to make his dish complete. It is not unusual for a soldier to make frag grenades and Molotov cocktails on the field, from scratch, so why would making a scent that appeals to someone's desire be all that strange? He's in love, and he's a little like a girl eagerly making perfume out of roses petals from his mother's garden. He is doing this for a good cause. Is it so bad that he wants you to be around him more than ever? It is not wrong. Not if it actually works.
― See, for 80's Terry Silver, whatever boyish, albeit obsessive innocence Twig would have on this topic with his homegrown solutions dissipates into outright Machiavellianism. In the animal world, he knows, beasts in heat secrete a sort musk that makes the irresistible to any would-be mate that catches their scent, and people are a type of animal too. Jungle rules are valid in civilization. Jungle rules are valid in desire and the arena of courting and conquest. More than any place else, actually. And so, a team of scientists, experts, doctors and chemists are commissioned and carefully vetted by Mr. Silver himself, in a hush-hush operation, to literally design the perfect scent. Just for him. With beloved you in mind. No expenses too big. No excess too excessive. Terry Silver gets what Terry Silver wants. Always. Mind you, he doesn't feel he needs a bottle of anything to already be alluring as he is, without the aid of science, but he supposes there's an undeniable sort of fun to this, an unabashed eroticism, in you thinking he smells so good, that it is physically, on a molecular level, impossible to resist him, felling you entirely under his whim of control and rendering you helpless under his literal spell, with no bullshit or distractions serving as obstacles. Should his people at Dynatox frequently dealing with gasses and toxins get involved with this project? They just might. And after months of genuine research, tens of thousands of man hours invested, nearly a million dollars blown into the ether, anything intrusively perverse, from a sample of his cum in the mixture and the collected venom of a rare Burmese Cobra (A shameless suggestion by Mr. Silver himself), the perfect, addictive, nearly hallucinogenic and entirely unethical cologne is designed. Nobody who sees you can quite explain why your pupils wildly dilate and why you ignore everything else when Terry comes into your line of sight but they suppose it must be love.
― You know what would be a great shortcut when you're old, you find love infuriatingly late in life, feel the rage of not having control of time itself and when such things happen and you wish you could somehow jump through all the social rings of fire that involve the dance of pleasantries with the one you want and actually get down to have them, right away, not a minute more wasted? A love potion. In such times, yes, a literal tonic to induce desire, skip all the nonsense, awaken the senses and make the brain receptive would come in handy. The notion almost amuses old man Terry. It really does. Except, few notions amuse Terry for their own sake without actually formulating into outright plans and possibilities in his head after a while --- as was the case all his life. And sure, he knows his way around fine art. Fine dining. Fine wine. Fine suits. Fine cars. Fine mansions. Fine perfumes and colognes galore, because he's a natural purveyor of the rare, expensive and exotic. Still, he finds most options available for the buyer's purse, self-proclaimed to make you 'irresistible' as poultry marketing tricks --- instead opting for something wrought from his own machinations. You get invited to dinner. You get wined and dined by an ever so charming old man. You get seduced. You get drawn in. You have a wonderful evening. And for some reason, you immediately, against all reason, find yours in Terry Silver's bed, that very night. First date. How? Not unreasonable, seeing as how he is quite alluring on his own, when he wishes to be, but unbeknownst to you, he has sprayed himself and his own environment with every aphrodisiac, incense and fume in the book and ensured his mansion smells like desire. Smells like sex. Invading the mind. Disarming, almost like a drug, to the point that the dinner was cut short and continued in his bedroom before you could even reason why. You supposed...Terry smelled quite nice.
You never realized you stood no chance the minute you crossed the threshold of his estate.
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