#let me put ol yella down

[gender-euphowrya]

damn looking at all the Garbage Useless Clutter Shit apps and widgets and whatevers that come pre-installed (and sometimes can't be uninstalled!) on a windows pc is nauseating

[mrninjapineapple]

Fallout 4 Word Prompts - Toddy Leviathan Saloon Juniper

Here’s another 4 word prompt I did a while back. It’s a bit longer than the last one but I hope you all enjoy! :)

The Last Plank was full to bursting, every chair and table packed with people, all craning their necks to get a good look at Marcus and the Mariner. They were sat at the bar, blankets around both of their shoulders as their teeth chattered noisily in the silence.

Mitch placed two glasses of brown liquid on the counter before them, a thick layer of purple skim floating atop both.

Despite his obvious need for warmth, caution tempered Marcus’ reply as he picked up the strange brew and gave a cursory sniff.

‘What’s in this?’ he asked.

‘That’s an old family recipe,’ said Mitch proudly, nodding at the viscous liquid. ‘Whiskey, hot water, and tarberry syrup, all garnished with a couple mutfruit slices.’

The noxious potion bubbled in response.

‘Well,’ Marcus thought to himself as he eyed the glass. ‘It sounds almost like a hot toddy. Just with dirty water, weird irradiated fruit, and no honey…’

He mentally prayed to every God he knew – even mentioning Atom for good measure – before downing the entire concoction in one big gulp. His eyes began streaming as he felt the fire make its way down, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed hot shards of glass.

‘Smooth’ he managed, whispering hoarsely through gritted teeth.

As the feeling subsided, he became aware of the eyes upon him and turned to the Mariner.

‘I suppose you all want to know how it happened, then?’ he asked the room, sending a murmur through the gathered crowd. ‘How we killed the Red Death…’

Looking deep into his glass, he heard the chattering from the Harborfolk around him.

‘What happened?’

‘What was it?’

‘How big was it?’

As he sighed, about to begin his tale, the Mariner put her hand on his. She imperceptibly shook her head; a slight motion which only he saw.

‘I’ll tell you all what happened,’ she said, her expression grim. ‘What really happened…’

All eyes turned to her as the voices grew silent, the creaking wood and sloshing waves loud against the quiet.

‘We took the boat out slowly,’ she began, her tone as morose as her expression. ‘Avoiding the rocks and sunken ships, we came upon the island and saw the red light. When we finally moored the ship and got onto the island though-‘

‘We had no idea what we would actually be facing!’ Marcus interrupted, rising from his seat, all eyes shifting to him. ‘It crawled out of its cave with a great howl of rage, shaking the whole island! We saw its legs first, then its body, and finally the giant head of the great leviathan wormed its way from its burrow and we realised we were staring up at… the Red Death!’

The Mariner rolled her eyes at the melodramatic performance, but Marcus had the crowd enthralled with his story.

Continuing, he told them how the stalwart pair fended off the beast, at one point the Mariner holding it off with nothing but a broken oar whilst he danced and waved to get the creatures attention. His tale grew wilder as he went on, from utilising junk as weapons to a horde of super mutant pirates entering the fray, much to the crowd’s constant amusement.

They also played their part to perfection, their gasps and yelps punctuating the fantastic tale at just the right moments.

Marcus finished with the final breath of life of the Red Death, as it flailed wildly, broken oar handles piercing its hide and riddled with enough bullet holes to make a super mutant look away in disgust. His audience jumped to their feet, cheering triumphantly as they knocked their glasses together, laughing at their vicarious victory.

The Mariner turned to him as the crowd shouted and applauded, her narrow eyes contradicting her small grin.

‘What can I say?’ Marcus shrugged. ‘The people wanted a real story.’

‘Real?’ the Mariner laughed. ‘Like how I “fought valiantly against the foul creature, using only my wits and a rubber duck taped to the end of an oar to stay alive”?’

They both shared a real drink, laughing together as the crowd died down and dispersed.

After a few moments, they noticed that someone was behind them and turned to see that Small Bertha had joined them, hands on her hips as she gave Marcus an incredulous look.

‘Did any of that story actually happen?’ she asked, a little too loud for Marcus’ liking as a few other patrons glanced over to listen in.

He drew in close.

‘Look, Bertha, I’m going to level with you,’ he said quietly, the general bar chatter ensuring his privacy regardless. ‘We told everyone what they wanted to hear… what they needed to hear. You understand that, right?’

She eyed him for a moment before replying.

‘Of course I understand,’ she answered, nodding slowly as if realising a great truth. ‘Got any more stories?’

‘More stories?’ he said, sitting back on his stool. ‘Everything has a story to it, you just have to ask the right questions. What do you want to know?’

Her eyes went straight to the western revolver on his hip and he knew that she had approached only to learn more about it.

‘This?’ he asked, unholstering the weapon and twirling it around his finger expertly, revelling in Bertha’s awed expression.

‘Oh brother…’

The Mariner seemed less impressed.

Marcus asked the girl if she wanted to hear about how he got the revolver and chuckled at her energetic nodding as she took a stool beside him.

‘Well, it all started in Dry Rock Gulch, far away from here, in a place called Nuka-World…’

Marcus sipped the ice-cold bottle of refreshing Nuka Cola Wild as he sat in Doc Phospate’s Saloon. He raised an eyebrow at the familiar taste of the brew as it reminded him of Sunset Sarsaparilla, a popular beverage from his pre-war days, nodding in appreciation of the spicy aftertaste.

As he enjoyed a pleasant conversation with Mackenzie Bridgeman, the saloon doors swung open, the wooden clattering alerting the patrons as they all turned to face the newcomer.

Deputy Codsworth hovered in, a gun-belt tied clumsily above his thruster and a cowboy hat atop his head. A small star-shaped badge had been welded onto his front and he seemed to hold himself with more pride than usual.

‘Good aftern- I mean, howdy, sir!’ he said, his western accent quickly becoming one of the few wonders of the post-war world. ‘I’ve been runnin’ for a mighty long time to find you. Word is, there’s a no-good, yella belly just waiting to test your skill out by the ol’ livery.’

‘Buddy… I think you’ve short-circuited’ said Marcus blankly, prompting a laugh from Mackenzie.

The Mr Handy unit hovered closer and lowered himself until his eyestalk was at the same level as Marcus’ face.

‘Sir,’ he whispered. ‘That’s just my Southern accent. It’s really me… Codsworth! Sorry for the deception but I believe I’m rather taken with this whole dramatic persuasion. It’s really rather fun!’

Marcus sighed.

‘I know tha-’ he began, before pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

‘Well,’ Codsworth replied, tipping his hat and speaking at a normal volume once again. ‘Some outlaw callin’ himself One-Eyed Ike has challenged you to a duel… sir.’

‘My my, Overboss,’ chimed Mackenzie from the stool beside him. ‘Looks like its pistols at dawn.’

Marcus sighed again.

‘Fine, let’s get this over with…’

They left the saloon, two on foot, one hovering in mid-air, and headed down the dusty road. As they reached the middle, a protectron slowly began to saunter out of a large wooden building to meet them.

‘There he is,’ said Codsworth, his Southern drawl still going strong. ‘Ol’ One-Eyed Ike himself! No good, yella belly varmint!’

The protectron walked into the middle of the street as they stopped, eyeing him with suspicion.

‘Howdy partner… took your time… heh heh heh,’ droned One-Eyed Ike, his mechanical voice grating. ‘You ready to… test your shootin’ skills?’

‘Sure, but can we hurry this along, I really-‘

Codsworth turned to Marcus.

‘Sir, you must indulge in the drama. I fear One-Eyed Ike will never become a deputy again at this rate,’ he said, his eyestalk zooming in on Marcus’ confused expression. ‘Allow me to explain. Sheriff Hawk felt that Dry Rock Gulch could use some drama to drum up business again, and had a cracking idea. He conferred Ike’s deputy status to me and made him an outlaw, only offering him his former position if he is able to defeat a genuine gunslinger in a duel.’

‘…And he chose me?’ Marcus said, sighing for the third and, he hoped, final time that day. He cleared his throat and remembered the time he had pretended to be the Silver Shroud, fighting crime across the Commonwealth with his sidekick, the intrepid reporter from the Great Green Jewel.

She always hated being called a sidekick.

He felt a pang of worry as he thought of her venturing around with Nick and Curie, chasing another story, but he cleared his mind and focused on the ridiculous task at hand.

‘One-Eyed Ike, I presume? They call me Mar- I mean… Butch… Butch Cassidy, and this here’s the Sundance Kid,’ he said, pointing his thumb at Codsworth. ‘Heard you been lookin’ for me?’

‘I see that iron on your hip… Butch… We draw on three… May the better man win.’

‘Oh… I intend to.’

Mackenzie and Codsworth moved to the side of the street as bystanders followed suit, everyone peering from windows and doorways, eagerly anticipating the action.

‘Knock ‘em dead, Butch’ shouted Codsworth before slipping back into the shadows beside Mackenzie.

The street grew silent.

The wind whistled through the dusty street, sending a tumbleweed rolling towards the saloon. From his position at the side of the road, Codsworth began playing a sampling of music from the Dry Rock Gulch archives, which Marcus recognised from pre-war radio spaghetti westerns.

The music continued as the pair eyed each other, Marcus’ steely gaze meeting the focused camera lens of One-Eyed Ike. As the song began to swell, Marcus unbuckled the holster to his 10mm pistol and time seemed to slow.

He watched as One-Eyed Ike drew his own revolver, as he raised his own weapon. He had the pistol aimed at Ike’s chest… but the handle slipped slightly from his grip.

As he fumbled with his pistol, he heard a shot and felt the blank round strike his shoulder.

‘Looks like I won… partner… Too bad… Now, I gotta go see the Sheriff… See you around… Butch.’

With that, One-Eyed Ike trundled away and the bystanders began to return to their normal activity. Codsworth and Mackenzie sidled up to Marcus.

‘Bad luck Butch, we’ll get that varmint some other time’ said Codsworth, before hovering close. ‘Sir, don’t forget… It’s only me, Codsworth. I’m not really the Sundance Kid.’

Mackenzie chuckled and Marcus holstered his pistol, the trio retreating into the saloon. As they entered, Deacon approached, holding out a bottle to Marcus.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I saw what you did for Ike out there. I’ve seen you take out everything from radroaches to behemoths and you’ve never messed up a shot.’

Marcus took the bottle with a shrug, feigning ignorance. In reality, he was thankful that nobody realised that his pistol had jammed. He made a mental note to repair the battered weapon as soon as he was able.

‘Fine,’ Deacon continued, grinning. ‘But you should know by now, nobody can’t get anything past me.’

‘Really?’ asked Mackenzie, a smile growing on her face. ‘Not even me?’

Deacon’s cheeks grew hot, a crimson stain spreading across.

‘Well… obviously I… y’know…’

As Deacon floundered, Marcus examined the cold bottle of glowing, deep purple liquid. It had no markings or label but had a strangely familiar aroma as he drew it up to his nose to smell.

‘What is this?’ he asked, interrupting the awkward exchange between the couple.

‘Oh, right,’ said Deacon, thankful for the intervention. ‘That is a genuine bottle of Nuka-Gin. Only one of its kind. Apparently, Bradberton was some kind of genius with these things. Made a ton of products that never made it to the shelves.’

‘Hey Butch, I think that-’ Codsworth faltered at a stern look from Marcus. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s becoming something of a habit. I shall purge my addiction chip later. What I was trying to tell you was that Miss Sierra would want to have a look at that, I’d wager.’

Marcus eyed the Nuka-Gin, remembering the last time he had tasted genuine gin. It was back in his army days, just before his retirement. He could still remember the distinctive taste of juniper berries melded with the myriad spices added during distillation.

‘I’m sure she won’t mind if I just took a sip’ he said with a small smile.

He put the bottle to his lips, savouring the feeling of the cool liquid as it ran down his throat.

He instantly regretted his decision.

The acrid tang of burnt metal assailed his nostrils as the noxious concoction burned his tongue. He spat the drink onto the floor and stayed there, doubled over with his hands on his knees, until the retching had subsided.

‘So… you liked it?’ quipped Deacon as Marcus regained his composure. ‘Look, at least we know why Bradberton kept it off the shelves now. Silver linings.’

Marcus gave Deacon a cold stare.

‘That. Tasted. Like. Sh-’

Gunfire from outside the saloon interrupted him.

Moving to the window, he could see a group of raiders at the far end of the street, firing wildly into the air as they approached.

‘Stay here’ he said as he walked out, leaving his companions behind.

The street once again empty of bystanders, he found himself facing a small group of raiders. There were six in total, all of them in matching cowboy outfits save one, who wore a darker set, bulky with extra armour beneath.

‘You the one who cleared those lily-livered pinheads outta Nuka World, boy?’ asked the lead raider.

Marcus merely nodded, acutely aware that the group’s attention was focused solely on him.

‘Then you’s the one who’s been sayin’ Dry Rock Gulch is yours,’ continued the raider. ‘See, this here gulch is mine. Name’s Mad Mulligan, and you in my house, boy. So, I think s’only fair that you… compensate me before you leave.’

His eyes flicked to the exposed stock of Reason, still strapped to Marcus’ back. He drew the revolver from his hip and gestured to the rifle.

‘That’s a mighty fine weapon you got there. Now, I’m a reasonable man… so how’s about you throw it over to me or I take it from your cold, dead hands?’

Marcus unstrapped Reason, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. He noted the positions of the raiders, what weapons they had, any cover they could utilise, and any exits they could run to, all in a fraction of a second.

‘This old thing?’ he asked, holding up Reason. ‘No, I have an offer for you… Mad Mulligan. I like the look of that revolver of yours. How about you give it to me and you can leave… just walk away with your pals there? Or… I can take it from you?’

Mad Mulligan and his crew began to laugh, confident in their numbers.

‘You must be one duck short of a shooting range, boy! I’m gonna enjoy taking that gun!’

Marcus smiled as he flicked the safety off his rifle.

‘I’d like to see you try…’

‘No way you said that!’ exclaimed the Mariner, who had poked holes in Marcus,’ logic throughout the tale. ‘That’s something you think of afterwards and shoehorn into a story.’

Marcus began to protest but Bertha caught his attention.

‘What happened next? Did you kill Mad Mulligan? And his men? Is that how you got his gun? Why did you try ancient Nuka-Cola?’

All valid questions.

Marcus laughed, easing back on his stool as he drained the remnants of his beer.

‘Well, kid… they all saw Reason in the end.’

[auburnfamilynews]

Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images

Gave it some time, here are some thoughts.

Isn’t it funny? Two weeks ago, we were all gloom and doom, sky is falling, chicken littles.

Gus Malzahn wasn’t going to be the guy, but there was nobody prepared to fork over the cash for the buyout. Everyone that figured Yella Fella would pony up a solid $25M to send Gus off to Arkansas or somewhere found out that rich businessmen get rich by not paying that kind of money on a gamble.

Then, there we were. Gus is still on the sideline, coaching against Alabama in a game that he absolutely could win, especially without Tua under center for the Tide.

So what happened?

Gus not only tricked the greatest coach of all time into blowing a gasket, but he tricked all of the Auburn fans that wanted him gone as well.

Auburn beat Alabama 48-45 in the 84th Iron Bowl, which turned out to be the most insane edition of the storied rivalry. At a high level, here are some of the things that stood out:

The win puts Auburn at 9-3 for the regular season, which turned out to be one of the toughest in school history. The Tigers’ only losses came by 11 at Florida, 3 at LSU, and 7 vs Georgia. Before the year began, if we’d said that Auburn would go 2-1 against Oregon, A&M, and Florida, and 1-2 against LSU, Georgia, and Alabama, you’d probably take that. We did it. Successful year. Auburn now has a chance to reach ten wins in a bowl game, which will likely take place on New Year’s Day in a sunny Florida location.

Alabama’s season is ruined. Imagine being so spoiled as to think that your season is ruined at 10-2, with both losses coming by fewer than ten total points. There will be no Playoff appearance for the Tide in 2019, which means they miss the Playoff for the first time since its inception. MUST BE TOUGH. Cry me a river. While they’ve had incredible longevity over the last decade, this is a bit of a different feel. The last three good teams that Alabama played put up 44, 46, and 48 points on Nick Saban’s vaunted defense. In 2020, they stand to lose the vast majority of their skill players, offensive line, and a ton of their defensive stalwarts as well...

You know, these kinds of defensive stalwarts...

...who knows what kind of coaching turnover happens in the meantime for them as well. The point is, the #decline seems a little more founded in reality than hope.

Gus Malzahn once again showed that he’s THE guy that can get Saban’s gourd. Nobody else has that ability. Sure, Dabo’s beaten him a couple times, but those were straight up one-on-one slugfests where Clemson was just better. Auburn was better in 2013 with the Kick Six, and they were better last night too, but when you roll out something new (pop pass/punter substitution trick) and it causes Saban to bitch about the rules, you know you’re doing something right. You’re putting mileage on that engine, and that’s a good thing.

As for the game itself, what a wild ride. We had 48 combined points in the second quarter, two pick sixes (including one that went for 100 yards), and so many elements that harkened back to the Kick Six and must’ve given Saban a feeling like he was Buckner walking back into Shea.

Let’s dive in.

Same energy. pic.twitter.com/937LkobgoJ

— SB Nation (@SBNation) December 1, 2019

I saw so many people (Auburn fans even) talking about how rushing the field was dumb. If it annoys Alabama then it can’t possibly be a bad idea.

Also, doing anything to entertain of the MVP of the 2017 Iron Bowl is fine by me.

Bama just put this this L in a little rice it’ll be okay in a couple days

— Kerryon Johnson (@AyeyoKEJO) December 1, 2019

Auburn University! Where LEGENDS are made!!! WAR EAGLE!!! pic.twitter.com/4fCEL3fvyi

— Coach T-Will (@T_WILL4REAL) December 1, 2019

One point of contention earlier in the year was the fan support at Jordan-Hare Stadium. Auburn didn’t get to play any big games at home until Georgia, and while the crowd was unreal for that affair, we had to endure the “It was cold” excuses from the students after Ole Miss. Last night paid any sort of fan support debt in full.

Jordan Hare Stadium was ROCKIN tonight! BEST GAME EVER! #WarEagle #ironbowl pic.twitter.com/u7NvI8Qhn8

— Dana Spurlin (@dspurlin_tift) December 1, 2019

If you're wondering why Jordan-Hare Stadium was screaming "It's great to be an Auburn Tiger," it's because the Alabama section started a "Roll Tide" chant while Daniel Thomas was still down on the field injured.

— Nathan King (@byNathanKing) November 30, 2019

In the past, the Iron Bowl has always been a rivalry game that seems pretty clean on the field. Most of these guys grew up together, played against or with each other when they were younger, and so the bad blood on the field is kept to a minimum. It’s usually the idiots in the stands that can’t handle the tension and do things like “destroy historic landmarks”.

Yesterday, though, we got to see some real chippy play from both sides. Seth Williams got tagged with an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty (he is from Tuscaloosa, after all), and Boobee Whitlow was on the receiving end of a penalty after a helmet slap too.

All that an emotional ballgame means is that when it’s all said and done, you end up with a heck of a celebration... even if it is super goofy.

#WarEagle x #RidefortheBrand pic.twitter.com/JaVkHJEFnw

— Auburn Football (@AuburnFootball) December 1, 2019

Gus has reason to be excited. His offensive line — much-maligned throughout the season — did something incredible when you put it up against what we’d seen earlier this year —

Auburn's O-Line did not allow a single sack today and only allowed 4 tackles for a loss. AUsome job, young men.

— Auburn Elvis (@AuburnElvis) December 1, 2019

We got a superhuman effort from Derrick Brown with 3.5 TFLs, we got 114 yards from Boobee Whitlow, a turnover free game from Bo Nix, and we got the effort you’d expect from our opposing kicking game voodoo.

if you told me Auburn mic'd the uprights for this game and hooked them up to the stadium speakers I would 100% believe you https://t.co/gAigjBOdCW

— BUM CHILLUPS (@edsbs) December 1, 2019

Alabama’s missed field goal at the end of the Iron Bowl pic.twitter.com/YF6QE3UN6u

— Barrett Sallee (@BarrettSallee) December 1, 2019

I took a video of Alabama’s missed field goal WAR DAMN EAGLE EVERYBODY!!!!! pic.twitter.com/YUiS5igudU

— Graham Brooks (@The_GBrooks) December 1, 2019

For real, though... Auburn somehow escaped that game with injuries galore. Anthony Schwartz played exactly one snap before going out with an ankle injury, and we saw tons of dudes laid out on the carpet at various times throughout the game. Honestly, with the receivers that Alabama put on the field (Waddle was their FOURTH OPTION), there’s no reason that the Tide should ever lose with Tua, Namath, Mac Jones, you, or me at quarterback. Auburn somehow also forced Alabama to only use Najee Harris in a semi-meaningless way. He got 146 yards on 27 carries, and scored, but in the grand scheme of the game, did his performance really matter? It didn’t.

For the first time all year, against a good opponent, I had confidence that the offense was going to do something. Driving late to take the lead for good, I didn’t really feel nervous in thinking that we’d need some other miracle to take place for us to win. We went right down the field and got a Classic Gus Wildcat call for the game-winning touchdown. It just so happened to clown a Bama defender and make a meme out of Xavier McKinney.

And how about the final play? Being at the game, it was wild to watch. Jaylen Waddle was out there about 40 yards deep the whole time, and he had no idea he needed to run off until the final moment, but he didn’t get off the field before the flag was there to greet him at the sideline. Bama’s hero all game long was the guy that got flagged in the end. It’s poetic. What’s also poetic is Gus’ ability to needle at Saban by doing something completely legal. Saban’s literally just mad that he couldn’t use it first. The way he described the entire ordeal as “unfair” makes it seem as though Auburn put some sort of a cloak on Arryn Sipposs and smuggled him into the formation. Instead, they trotted him out with the rest of the offense, stuck him at receiver, and five-star corner Patrick Surtain decided to cover him.

Maybe Saban should’ve known that Auburn wasn’t going to go for it when a failure has the Tide already in field goal range. Maybe his years of football knowledge should’ve taken over. They didn’t. He panicked. His staff panicked. His players panicked. The process failed, and the best collection of talent in the country folded when it mattered most.

Gus Malzahn bamboozled Nick Saban. He ‘boozled him hard, and that’s going to be the most satisfying thing to come out of this Iron Bowl. Auburn scored 48 points, but the number of Nick’s gray hairs that’ll resist Just For Men’s latest formula are far more numerous.

War Eagle, everyone. #WeBeatBama.

from College and Magnolia - All Posts https://www.collegeandmagnolia.com/2019/12/1/20991010/about-last-night-15-auburn-48-5-alabama-45