#man o war cigars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seaslugfanclub · 3 months

Text

Kool-aid Isn’t the Only Thing I’m Thirsty For

Happy 4th of July everyone!

————————————————————————

“Y’know my great grandfather was stationed in France?”

“No shit? My nephew was deployed there.”

“Yeah— Cant remember for the life of me what division he was in, but he was sent back to the states after he blew off most of his fingers.”

“Yeesh.. Makes me mighty glad I missed out on all o’ that! hey- make sure to keep flippin’! These need to be grilled correctly.”

“Don’t tell a man how to use his own grill…”

Sykes, Rourke, and Alameda hovered over the grill, Sykes in charge of the burgers as he shot the shit with the old commander and cow wrangler, a half-smoked cigar hanging from each of their mouths and a chilled beer bottle in hand.

It had been a while since Sykes had celebrated the 4th, but he had subtly dominated the command of the grill. And Rourke was more than happy to piss away time, puffing on his cigar as he talked about old war battles with the two other men.

The sun beat down on the men, who had stationed themselves in the old lot behind the main studio building, both Rourke and Sykes had exchanged their usually stiff outfits for their old wife-beaters. While Alameda wore a simple plaid button up. An old radio played classic yacht rock, sitting atop a splintering picnic table. And a cooler filled with drinks was placed beside the grill, a few spare wasps hovering around the yellowed plastic of the cooler.

“(Y/N)!!!” Sykes hollered, Rourke and Alameda flinching at the noise,

“How're you doing with the Kool-aid!?”

(Y/n) opened the door to the backyard, calling back, “Almost done!!!”

Closing the door, (Y/n) turned towards Medusa, who was finishing mixing the disgustingly sweet drink, limp cigarette between her lips

“Hey, don’t get any cigarette ash in it!” They whined.

“Oh please, I won't! At least the ash would cut back the sugar.” Medusa muttered, sweeping back her dangling American flag earrings.

(Y/n) nodded, pulling on the hem of their denim shorts that stuck to their sweaty skin. “Cool, Imma bring out the ketchup and shit, Facilier, do you wanna join us?”

Facilier, who was draped on the counter across from Medusa, top hat off and slightly fanning himself shrugged,

“Eh, I’m not too big on burgers Chére. And I’m pretty sure drinking even a small glass of that red monstrosity will put me in an early grave.”

“You sure? I brought some illegal fireworks that we’ll be setting off later? You could do the honors of lighting them?”

Facilier paused his fanning, “…Illegal you say? What kind?”

“Oh I’ve got; Snakes, sparklers, firecrackers, M80, black cats, Roman candles, screamin’ Mimi’s, ladyfingers, fuzz buttles, snicker bombs, church burners, finger blasters, gut busters, crap flappers, whistling bungholes, spleen splitters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hoosker do’s, hoosker don’ts, cherry bombs, nipsa daisers with scooter stick, and whistling kitty chasers.” (Y/n) listed off with their fingers.

…

“….Well, I could never pass up a good ol’ Roman candle… sure. Just let me know when you bring ‘em out.”

(Y/n) laughed, nodding excitedly as they carried out all the condiments, paper plates, and napkins to the backyard, Medusa bustling beside them with the large pitcher of iced Kool-aid.

“I haven’t had a proper July 4th cookout since I was a girl! I still remember my ol’ mother and father screaming over the undercooked hot dogs… Oh, back when this country had proper domestic violence~” Medusa cooed, a nostalgic smile making her eyes squint.

The park attendant gave Medusa the side eye, brows furrowed before shaking their head, (Y/n)’s attention quickly turned towards the large men outside.

They tried not to blatantly stare at how tight Sykes beater was stretched around his chest, or how all of the men’s chest and arm hair were slicked with sweat, OR how an old anchor tattoo made itself known on Rourkes back whenever he flexed, OR OR how good Alameda looked taking a long puff his cigar.

…

“…Meat's back on the menu tonight…” (Y/n) thought to themselves, hoping that the heat could excuse their flushed face.

To break out of there thoughts, (Y/n) shouted to the group,

“Alright! Who’s ready to party!?”

———————————————————————

“What in god's name are they doing?” Hook muttered, watching through the window in morbid fascination as (Y/n) fanatically cheered on Facilier, who had begun to laugh maniacally as he shot off three Roman candles at once.

“Oh it’s that silly American holiday, today. The one where they dress up is garish clothing and raise their cholesterol.” Cruella hisses, already feeling a headache coming on. “I tell you those Americans eat like they have free healthcare..”

“Ugh, a wretched holiday for a wretched country, the traitors..” Governor Ratcliffe sneered.

“Oh, now look at that—” Hook pointed out,

From the backyard, Rourke hands (Y/n) what seems to be a small, multicolored bazooka, a wicked grin on his face as he helps them light the rocket's fuse.

Rourke ruffled their hair, stepping back a few paces to join Sykes and Slim’s side, watching proudly as (Y/n) braces and aimed the rocket towards the sky, shooting a fiery ball high up into the night air, which promptly exploded into a burning flower of sparkles. The firework joking one of many across the dark sky.

“USA! USA! USA! USA!”

…

“…I bet 30 dollars one of them is losing a finger tonight.” Clayton speaks up amongst the crowd of villains watching from inside.

“Aye, make that 50.”

————————————————————————

Just wanted to write a little blurb celebrating the 4th of July! I realized just how little American villains the Disney cannon has, and I wanted an excuse to thirst over Rourke and Sykes in old wife- beaters grilling me a burger🤤.

(ALSO DISCLAIMER!! This was merely written for fun. I love America and I love the beautiful nature it has, but I don’t love the American government.

This was not written with any political intention, only thirst for old men and Kool—aid.)

#disney villains #self insert #disney imagine #disney x reader #lyle rourke #disney atlantis #bill sykes #medusa #dr facilier #alameda slim #4th of july #america ya

135 notes · View notes

yanderewritingdump · 1 year

Text

I've read too many COD fics, and now I'm stuck on scary military dudes who use their skills/resources inappropriately to keep an eye on you.

AFAB reader, female pronouns/gender language used, MDNI.

AN: I would like to share that I know squat about the military/guns/technology, but I think they're neat in certain fictional setting. Most of my information on the world of COD/military on has come from either watching my brother play it more than a decade ago, unwillingly listening to various people rant, and social media thirst traps. Please suspend your disbelief and forgive any inaccuracies you may find.

It was too much of a habit to pull up the camera feed of your back porch, watching you rock gently as you diligently worked at what must be your latest project. Something was taking shape in your hands, but his knowledge of things outside of war and death tended to be a bit spotty. He thought it looked vaguely like a thin, holey scarf. It was the third color he’d seen you use in the last two weeks as you tried to teach yourself from the book next to your rocking chair. He wasn’t exactly sure what you were doing with the ball of twine and weird plastic tool, and he was pretty sure you were terrible at it from the way you grumbled and picked it. The breeze rustled some of the pages, lifting stray strands of hair into your eyes, before picking up and shutting the book gently on the delicate beaded chain that you had put together. That really got you muttering, and he huffed a soft laugh.

Your hair caught the light of the afternoon sun, shining and soft looking. The desire to run his fingers through it, to grip a fistful at the back of your head and pull you into his kiss thrummed through him. He wanted to suck your lip into his mouth for his teeth instead as you chewed on it in thought.

That was too common of a thought. You were always focusing intently on something, a million miles away as you gnawed on your poor lip and thumbs.

He shouldn’t watch you enough to know all these little details, to have all these little fantasies that are ingrained in him with simple habits of yours. But some nights it was the only thing to ease his troubled thoughts half a world away. He was just as addicted to you as his captain was to his cigars, and he was even less to give you up even if the others managed to find out about you.

It's hard not to notice a hulking man sitting in the far corner, no matter how much he blends in to the shadows. At least, it was hard for you and your friend where you were propped up on the bar with your drinks and dinner. When Caden spotted him, he nudged you in the ribs, not so subtly nodding at him as the normal Thursday night crowd milled around you. "Aren’t you in the market for a fun time?" he teased, “because that looks like a fun time.”

You elbowed him back harder in an attempt to hide how flustered you were. "Shut up," you hissed. You risked a glance towards the far corner table, the second of what would probably be at least a dozen more as the night went on. Even in the dimmest part of the bar, he seemed massive, sprawled out with his arm slung over the back of the chair and his legs spread wide into the aisle as he slowly sipped his liquor. The fuck-off vibes radiating off of him were clear even from this distance. “I don’t think he’s looking for company tonight anyway,” you said with a little disappointment. Caden rolled his eyes at you, and it devolved into your familiar bickering as he tried to convince you to approach him and you grumbled at him for trying to live vicariously through you.

He rarely indulged himself in these little trips to see you in person when he wasn’t on a mission. It felt too risky. He shouldn't be seen frequenting the same places as you, staring at you for hours on end. Normally, he wouldn’t even let himself be seen, but something was making him either bolder or stupider when it came to decisions about you. How was he supposed to resist pressing you into the cheap lacquered wood of the bar and leaning down to breathe in the smell of your hair and perfume? How could he not see if your hips felt as good in his hands as he imagined they would? It would be impossible not to press against you and see what sort of sounds you'd make with his lips pressed against your throat.

But he liked catching you looking at him, lip caught between your teeth for a brief moment as you flushed and looked away. Maybe if he were a different person, a more normal person, he could buy you a drink and flirt with you. Instead, he had camera covering every inch of your home and more than one pair of your underwear hidden away in his belongings.

The others would laugh at him if they saw how he was almost drooling over you.

You were in a heated conversation with your friend, heads close together as you whispered intently back and forth before he seemed to have to last word at the way you angrily got off your stool. From his spot, it was easy to tell which profanities you were hissing at him as you grabbed your drink. He was amused by it all for a moment until he realized you were tentatively approaching him instead of finding a different chair for your friend's partner, as was generally expected of this frequent ritual.

He knew what he looked like. A giant of a man drinking alone in a dingy, poorly lit bar did not generally get any positive interest. Apparently, you were braver than he gave you credit for. As badly as he wanted to actually interact with you, he wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to reign himself in if you tried to flirt with him. He really didn’t want to have to turn you down. If his pretty girl wanted him, he would let you have him because he had no self-control when it came to you.

Maybe that’s why he ended up letting you flirt with him and buying you another drink. It was definitely why he let you lead him to your home, pretty, soft hands occasionally reaching back for him in the cool winter air as you giggled at his terrible jokes.

It made you seem even more like a dream than you already did.

He let you hook your finger around his, leading him into your cozy, two-bedroom home. He knew all about it, had access to all the cameras that your parents and family friend insisted you setup around the older home, and had even set up other cameras to cover the blind spots you had missed. Knowing all of that was different than you leading him by the hand inside.

Not that you knew what you were inviting inside your sanctuary.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to press you against your front door, letting his fingers dig into your waist to finally, finally let himself know what it felt like as he presses his mouth to yours. The soft, sweet noise of surprise that fades into a pleased hum satisfies something inside him. He would take care of you tonight, and he’d make sure to ruin every other man for you while he did it.

The gentle way you lace your fingers through his hair and crane up to meet him while he dominates your mouth was adorable. You were pliant against him, letting him drag you that much closer to his body with more soft, pleased noises. How could you be so soft and yielding to a man like him?

You make him crazy, he decides, letting his hands slide down to your thighs. The way you cling to his biceps, nails digging into his hoodie and as he yanks your thighs up around his waist make him smirk against your throat. “Which door?” he murmured against you instead of sucking bruises into the thin, delicate skin like he wanted to.

Fuck, it was hot how strong he was, you thought, locking your ankles around him. He hadn’t even made that discouraging grunt as he just wrapped you around his waist. Only one arm was supporting you as his other hand crept under your shirt to rest on the small of your back. Your back arched, pressing more firmly into him and the kisses he was lavishing on your throat. Each step he took made him grind against you, and you dug your nails in harder at the sheet size of the bulge against you. “Fuck,” you hiccupped when he nipped your throat.

“Which door, sweet girl?”

Surely there was a bruise forming now from his incessant, sucking kisses. “Left door. Kind of a mess. Sorry.”

He shrugged as he set you on a clear area of the bed, laying you back and caging you in for a moment with his body as he devoured your mouth. One of his hands was keeping your hips firmly anchored to his, grinding you against him while the other worked under your top to unhook your bra. When your hands tug at his hoodie, he sat back and yanked it off, letting your ass rest against his firm thighs for a just moment. You didn’t get to enjoy the view of his well-muscled chest for long before he was leaning over you again to divest you of your own top.

Propping himself on his elbow above you, he takes a moment to enjoy the view. You were flustered and flushed, lips plush and shiny from his rough kissing. You looked like you wanted to cover yourself and hide from his scrutiny, but you settled your hands on his sides, biting your lip and looking at him shyly. “So pretty,” he rumbled appreciatively before he was diving down to drown himself in you again. He nipped down your throat to your breasts, gently biting and licking one nipple as he worked your pants open and slipped his hand inside.

He wanted to skip ahead, throw your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until both of you were puddles on the bed. He couldn’t let himself see you against after this, though, and he knew that you wouldn’t be able to take that kind of treatment.

You were impatient to be kissed again. Hand tugging at his hair as you urged him back up your body. He let himself be tugged until his face was even with yours but just out of reach. “Patience, pretty girl,” he scolded smugly. That smugness turned into a groan with him dropping his head into the crook of your neck when he felt how wet you were for him. His fingers were practical dripping as he tried to mimic how he’d see you touch yourself. “Fuck, did you like my kisses that much, sweetheart?” he asked.

You whined, arching into the touch as best as you could under his body. His voice was sinful, low and gruff with a certainty that told you he was used to being listened to. Between that, the confident manhandling, and the way he kissed you like he couldn’t live without you, how were you supposed to stand a chance. “I want more,” you moaned instead of answering. “Vince, please.”

He huffed a laugh that registered as a little dark and sinister to some distant part of your brain as you tried to rock against his finger faster. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” he rumbled, dragging you to the edge of the bed. Before the surprise had worn off, your pants were gone and he was on his knees with your legs over his shoulders. His arm was like an iron band across your hips, preventing you from jolting away at the first hot swipe of his tongue. Both of you moaned.

It seemed to set off something animalistic in him. The low grunt and groans rumbled through you as he sucked and licked at your clit with a single-minded determination. You were lost in the sensation, trying to grind against his face despite the way he held you down, and your hands fluttered between gripping his hair, his arm, and the bedding.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he was in heaven. How else could he explain how it felt to hear you moan and chant his name like a pray as your thighs clenched around his head? The noise you made when he sank his fingers into you must have been the sweetest thing he’d ever hear. He was glad the camera he’d set up in the bedroom had good audio.

Your nails were digging into his arm, leaving pretty little marks that he wanted to tattoo into his skin. Your walls were fluttering around his fingers, thighs trembling against his ears as you tried to stutter out a warning that’s cut off by every muscle in your body clenching. He loved the way your body tries to pull his fingers deeper and the way your clit pulses against his tongue as he sucks on it. He only let up when you whine his name, trying to wiggle away from his grip.

He let you, taking mercy on you just this once. He couldn’t have his pretty girl tap out before the fun even started when she had begged him for more could he?

You were panting, arm thrown over your eyes to block out the light of the room. “Fuck. I didn’t know I could come that hard.”

The bed creaked as he climbed back on, manhandling you on to your stomach and shoving pillows under your hips until he deemed them in the correct spot. “Oh, darling,” he rumbled against the back of your neck, ignoring your yelp of surprise, “that sounds like a challenge to me.” Something in you clenches at the dark promise in his voice.

His forearm was planted on the bed beside your head, supporting him as he ground his cock through the mess between your thighs. “Do you have a condom?” you manage to ask. “I’m not on anything, and I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone home with me.”

There’s a bit of panic bubbling in you, ruining the nice little high you were coasting on before he flashed a small foil packet at you. “Wasn’t exactly planning on going home with anyone myself, but how was I supposed to say no to such a pretty girl flirting with me? Just want to enjoy feeling how wet I’ve got you before I put it on.”

He didn’t like the panic in your eyes when you asked, but something in him preened at the implication that you couldn’t help but want to take him home with you. You knew he’d take care of you, didn’t you? He tore the packet open with his teeth, trying to memorize the way you looked under him even as he mourned not being able to have the full sensation of fucking you.

It was a tight fit despite how wet he had gotten you, and he held your hip to keep you in place as he eased inside you. Your soft, pretty noises as you tried to rock back into him were not helping him stay in control. “Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart.” He was breathing deeply, head pressed between your shoulders as he reigned in the wild urge to pound you into the mattress and the clench of his balls.

“Fuck me, Vince,” you whined, struggling to push back against him. None of your toys had filled you quite like he did, and you clenched around him in an effort to get him to move.

He growled something against your shoulder, forcing your knees to open more with his own before he was plowing into you. His grip on your hip and the weight of his body pressing into you kept you pinned in place as he started up a steady, hard rhythm that had his balls tapping your sensitive clit with each thrust. It had you moaning curses as your hands wrapped around his wrists in a vain attempt to do something. “You wanted me to fuck you, sweetheart. Now be a good girl for me and take it,” he said, hot breath ghosting across your overheated skin before he was sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder.

His firm hold hadn’t relented, forcing you to take what he gave you and scramble to hold on to something. There was already a tightness building in your abdomen, and it only grew faster as he found the perfect angle. “Please don’t stop. Shit. Please, please, please,” you hissed, eyes squeezed shut tight as you chased your orgasm. As if solely to be cruel to you, he pulled away. “No, no, no, no. Fuck. Please, Vince!” You looked over your shoulder at him to try to see why he was leaving you high and dry just in time for him to flip you on to your back and sink into you again.

He looked smug and rumpled in the best way as he found his rhythm again. His dark eyes smirked down at you while that thick, calloused thumb found your clit. You wrapped around him, trying to make sure he couldn’t do that again. He kissed you for a moment, and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “Hush, pretty girl. I’m going to take care of you. I just want to look at you when you cum.” His shot straight through you, and it was just enough to send you over the over the edge.

Your thighs clamped around his sides, nails scratching down his back. He watched you throw back your head, whispering a choked off version of his name as he tried to keep his rhythm steady. It was hard with you clenched around him so tight and the feeling of finally having you under him. “That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he murmured, petting your waist gently. He managed to keep it together until your thighs relaxed against him and you started making that needy overstimulated noise even as you arched into his touch and rocked up to meet him.

He wasn’t sure that he had ever cum that hard or that much. It seemed to go on forever as you kept grinding on his ridged body.

He managed to roll off of you before he collapsed, taking a moment to let his bones solidify again before he got to work cleaning both of you up.

#yandere male #yandere x reader #afab reader #yandere smut #yandere writing #yandere male oc #yandere oc x reader

85 notes · View notes

blitzendoggo · 1 year

Text

O' Lily of My Valley

Glib has seen his love grow old too many times, he just wishes there was a way to keep him around.

Goodbid/Glib (3583 words) TW: Lots of Death Talk

Glib is old. Not physically, he stopped aging a millennia ago, but mentally.

He’s seen cities rise and fall, walked the streets of plague-ridden villages, and held the hands of dying soldiers who were shot in a war they never wanted to fight. He’s known the corrupt rulers who are too arrogant to fear death, the coughs of children too young to understand what it truly means to die, and young men who call out for their mother on their death bed, only to meet him. He’s buried everyone in his family, all the people he grew up with, and all of their kids several times over.

He was the first to become a God, and he was just unlucky enough to become the permanently immortal God of Death, doomed to walk Vontral alone.

Except he’s not quite alone.

Sure, there’s Callum, the insane God of Dreams, but there is also a certain half-elf mortal who gets reincarnated every 200 years, and always seems to come back with an infatuation with death.

“Those are bad for you, you know,” Glib says as he pulls his hood off his head, his brown hair falling limply in front of his deep green eyes while he steps out of the darkness from beside the man. The setting sun casts long shadows across the buildings, giving an ethereal, almost spooky look.

“So you’ve said,” the mustached man says nonchalantly. He’s leaned against a brick building in Bowenburg, watching the mostly empty streets while blowing smoke from a cigar that hangs loosely from his lips. His eyes stay transfixed on the unaware people in front of them, unbothered. He knew Glib would come to him.

The god scowls as he grabs the cigar from his mouth and puts it in his own, sliding to stand next to the taller man. The smoke fills his mouth and floods his airless lungs before he lets it slowly seep from his mouth like a dragon. “I mean it, it’ll fucking kill you,” he growls.

“Death doesn’t scare me,” he says cheekily.

“I should,” Glib says snappily. “Most people are fuckin’ terrified of me.”

“Well, I’m not most people, now am I?” he shoots back, mirth twinkling in his coal-black eyes.

For a moment, Glib considers telling him everything, the reincarnations, the old love, the lifelong relationships, all of it, but he stops. “No, no you aren’t,” he settles on instead.

“Besides,” the half-elf begins slowly, grabbing the cigar back from the god, “An early death just means eternity with you sooner.”

“Goodbid,” Glib growls, though all his previous names sit heavy on his tongue. Lawrence is always the first to come to his mind because it was the first, followed by Naethan, Plutos, and Milburn, but this time it’s Goodbid. Johnny B. Goodbid. “You’d be with me for eternity anyway, why are you fuckin’ wasting the time you have among your friends and family.”

“My family won’t talk to me no more, not since I began workin’ in your bidness,” Goodbid brushes off easily. “And Mr. Goodbid works alone, I ain’t got friends other than Death himself.”

Glib growls, but knows there’s no way to convince the half-elf. There never is. “Why are you here anyway? Aren’t your stomping grounds Riftreach and east of it?”

“Yeah, but I heard a rumor of this dope ass horse that walks the town at night.” The taller looks at him with a cheesy grin. “And I want him.”

“Her,” Glib corrects, “And you can’t be serious, you came all the way out here to try to catch a horse?”

“What? I’m a man of style and that white horse is stylin’!” Goodbid jokes. He snuffs the end of his cigar on the brick wall as the sun disappears over the horizon.

“Let me get this straight, your plan is to what? Stake out here until a pretty white pony comes prancing through town and then you are going to try and what? Catch her?” he questions, his irritation at the plan slipping into his words.

He has to admit that it does sound like something that he would do.

Every iteration of him always loved horses, and Milburn, the reincarnation before Goodbid, had a gorgeous brown and white horse that he lost on the coast just east of Bowenburg. The horse was given to him by his father the Friday before his death, so Milburn named her Friday and treated her like royalty, often better than he even treated himself, so losing her was the worst thing imaginable for him. For nearly ten full years, Milburn searched for that horse day and night, begging Glib every night to promise him that Friday hadn’t died yet and that there was still time. The search for her killed the half-elf, but the horse never did die. Well. The horse, unless she gained immortality through magical means, died sometime after Milburn, but Glib pointedly refused to check because an angry part of him would try to take his wrath out on an innocent horse who got spooked in the middle of the night and ran off.

Distantly, Glib wonders if Goodbid’s infatuation with this infamous white horse is the past echoing through him.

“Hey now,” the mustached man begins, bringing the shorter out of his train of thought, “I thought you promised me you ain’t a mind reader!”

“Goodbid,” Glib groans, using a bit of irritation to mask the fear that he would lose this reincarnation to horse hunting as well.

He laughs. “What? I think it’s an excellent plan, thank ya very much.”

The Death God levels a flat look at him before shaking his head and stepping back towards the shadows, drawing his hood up.

“She doesn’t come out until about two,” Glib explains. “You might want to sleep until then.”

Without hesitation Goodbid sits down in the alleyway with his back to the brick wall.

“What- no- I meant-” the Death God sputters.

“I ain’t gonna spend money on a bed if I’ll just have to kill the staff that sees me,” Goodbid, ever the penny pincher and hitman, reasons. “I ain’t exactly supposed to be in Bowenburg.”

“And the better option is to just sleep in the alleyway?” Glib questions, gesturing to the many ways that he could be spotted and captured.

Goodbid just smiles up at him. “But my guardian angel wouldn’t let that happen, would he?” he asks cheekily, already settling against the wall and closing his eyes.

“I’m not your fucking guardian angel!” the shorter retorts, but it doesn’t come out as hostile as he intended it to.

“Then why are you always here for me?” Goodbid questions, sleep edging into his voice.

Glib is silent for several minutes, as he watches the other’s chest rise and fall until it evens out into sleep before he answers. “Because you’ve always been here for me.”

Despite himself, the human mutters a small spell that would redirect anyone’s attention away from the alley, fulfilling his role as guardian angel as he settles against the opposite wall, alternating between watching the half-elf sleep and watching the empty streets of the college town.

A chill settles in the air after a while, causing Glib to drape his cloak over the sleeping man to keep him from shivering in his dreams before he tilts his head back and bathes in the cold air as it blows across his icy skin. He lets his eyes drift up to the sky and traces over the stars that have been named and renamed by every new generation of scholars.

He thinks about old times when he and Lawerence- no, it was Naethan then- used to star gaze. The half-elf would name the stars and constellations easily before asking Glib for their old names, and in every language the old god could think of.

He stares silently at the sky until his mind inevitably wanders into the song that seems to live within his brain.

“Lily, o’ lily of my valley won’t you stay the summer long?” he sings softly, remembering the first time he sang it to Goodbid.

“Fall leaves me tired and winter is cold without the sweet ring of your bells to keep my body warm.”

Although he had been Plutos at the time.

“Your lips are poison and your love leaves me dizzy, o’ lily of my valley, won’t you just kiss me?”

He had been so nervous to show him the words, worried he’d understand what it actually meant.

“Summer grows near, your time comes to an end, and until springtime, I can’t kiss you again.”

But Plutos was none the wiser.

“Lily, o’ lily of my valley can’t you stay this summer long?”

He had asked Glib to sing it to him whenever he was upset, like a lullaby.

“Lily, o’ lily of my valley, I will miss you while you’re gone.”

And he had it sung to him on his deathbed.

“Beautiful song,” Goodbid says groggily as he sits up, causing Glib to jump.

“Jesus!” he hisses.

“Nope, just Goodbid, but I’ll give it to ya, Mr. Death, you were pretty close,” Goodbid teases.

Glib swallows the uneasy feeling of being called “Mr. Death,” but it’s not like this Goodbid knows any better. Glib stopped telling them his name in hopes that one day he would remember on his own.

“What time is it, anyway?” the half-elf asks, stretching like a cat, the Death God’s cloak pooling in his lap as it falls off his shoulders. “Do I got time to catch a few more Z’s?”

Glib looks back to the sky, tracking the moon. “No, your internal clock was fucking spot on,” the Death God mutters. “It’s nearly 2 a.m. exactly.”

“Well, hot-diggity-dog!” he says with a manic grin. “Well, let’s get on movin’!” He stands up, straightening his clothes and mustache as he throws the cloak back over the short man.

“Mustache, do you even have a clue where you’re going?” Glib says as he steps out of the alley behind Goodbid.

“Not even a little,” he says as he weaves through the streets. “But I’m sure I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Goodbid,” Glib growls. “Tell me you actually have a-”

As if cued in by Glib’s annoyance, the sound of hooves clopping on the stone roads draws both their attention.

Before the Death God can stop him, Goodbid is racing towards the noise. The Death God follows close behind him, muttering swears in every language that he knows -which is all of them- as the tall man almost certainly runs headfirst into a guardsman on horseback.

They burst into a plaza, illuminated sparsely by floating magic lights, but standing in the center is a beautiful white horse with a long flowing mane that ends in electric green. She is larger than a normal horse and has an otherworldly calm about her. She stands patiently, white hair covering most of her eyes, before she turns and calmly trots away.

The pair stands gobsmacked for a little too long before Goodbid is back to running after her. A feeling washes over Glib that tells him something is amiss here. This horse has never allowed herself to be seen so clearly by anyone before, only flashes of white hooves and green tails trotting between streets. The fact that she let them see her leaves a funny taste in the old god’s mouth.

“Goodbid!” Glib hisses as he too runs after them. “Something isn’t right!”

“Not now, Death!” Goodbid whisper-shouts back. “We’re hot on her tail!”

Glib makes an annoyed sound but resolves to ignore his discomfort as they weave through the streets. They’re right behind her, step for step, and seemingly gaining on her, until they burst back into the open plaza from before, and the white horse is nowhere in sight.

“Damn it!” Goodbid swears. “I thought we had her!”

Glib scans the streets as he mutters, “This is probably for the best.”

Goodbid sighs dramatically. “Why can’t I have a snazzy horse?” he jokingly pouts, though Glib can spot the genuine disappointment in his face.

“Because I don’t think that was a normal horse,” Glib explains looking back up at the taller. “Trust me, something was up with her.”

“Well, now, I personally think a bounty hunter riding a ghost horse would be even cooler than a bounty hunter riding a pretty white horse-”

“Goodbid-”

Their little “argument” is cut short by the sound of hooves, though this time they are moving much faster and growing louder instead of softer.

The pair look around frantically before spotting the white horse barreling at them with her head low.

“Shit, shit, shit-” Glib screams as the massive horse hooks her head between Goodbid’s legs, throwing him onto her back and biting into the Death God’s cloak, lifting him easily off the ground.

A white and green mist forms around them as the horse continues barreling forward before in a flash of white -and a wave of nausea- they are suddenly somewhere else.

It resembles a weird amalgamation of Riftreach and Bowenburg, with the sleek style of Bowenburg buildings and the layout and height of Riftreach. The streets are impossibly clean and the sky is blindingly white, bathing the entire area in the same otherworldly glow that surrounds the horse.

Glib roars in anger, more at the audacity of the animal bringing them here than the fact that they are actually here. Thick black fog begins to billow from his cloak as his skin turns ghostly transparent, revealing his skeleton. His eyes become unearthly black as a sickly grey and poisonous purple swirl around his hands, but before he can fire off any of the spells he has, the horse drops him flat on his back.

“That will not be necessary,” the horse says, her voice carrying that same ethereal calm that surrounds her.

“You fucking talk?!” he shrieks, rage still boiling in his blood.

The horse gives him a flat look. “Yes, I am Friday, the Goddess of Fate, and I can talk.”

“Friday?” Glib echoes, bewildered. He stares expectantly at the horse for answers, but she offers none. Surely this can’t be the same horse, but the name is too convenient.

Goodbid awkwardly slides off her back and helps Glib stand up before half-hiding behind him. “Ms. Friday, this ain’t some kinda punishment for trying to catch you, is it? Because I didn’t know you were a sentient horse, and I do treat my horses quite well-”

“No, Mr. Goodbid, it is no punishment, I just needed to step in to make sure what needed to happen, happened,” she says to silence his ramblings.

“And how’d you reckon that?” Goodbid asks, a naturally curious man.

“Your vanity and love for horses would surely draw you to Bowenburg if you heard of an impossible-to-catch white horse,” she explains simply.

Goodbid is silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Well, now, I guess there’s no use in arguin’ with a goddess of fate now is there?”

Friday laughs, though it sounds more like church bells ringing. “No, no, there is not, I know what is fated to happen so I know what has already happened.”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds about right,” Glib sighs.

“So, what are we here for then?” Goodbid questions. “You say you brought us here to make sure fate don’t change, but I don’t see much changin’.” He gestures around them before looking more closely for seemingly the first time. “And, uh, where is ‘here’?”

The goddess shakes her head. “Walk with me,” she says simply, as she begins trotting towards a large building at the end of the street.

“Well, you heard her,” Goodbid says after a moment of vaguely confused silence before he begins to march after her, Glib reluctantly following.

“This is a place known as the Order Realm,” Friday explains. “It is much like the Death Realm that your friend there comes from.” Goodbid looks at Glib before turning his attention back to the horse. “The Primordial of Order once lived here, but was killed by their creator, the Nothing. Butinstead of letting their power be destroyed, they and their seven siblings -in their respective realms- created thrones which would distribute power to any mortal who sits in them.”

They have reached a tall white cathedral with green and grey stained glass windows. Friday easily trots up the stairs and into the building, walking towards a strange-looking chair at the far side. It’s made of metal and gears with tubes full of green liquid running up and down the sides.

“The four possible powers of Order are Fate, taken by me; Peace, taken by an older God named Vaktaan; Knowledge, taken by a man named Aldor; and Law,” she stops speaking as she reaches the throne before looking at Goodbid. “Who is meant to be claimed by you.”

“Me?” Goodbid asks, stopping nearly ten feet away from the chair. “Why me?”

Friday gets a pensive look to her face, well, as pensive as a horse can be. She looks at Glib, but only for a moment before carefully saying, “Fate works in mysterious ways, and you are fated to be with another immortal.”

“Ain’t no way an immortal would choose to be with me,” the half-elf counters. “I’m just Mr. Goodbid.”

Glib snickers at that, earning a confused look from the taller. “You have no idea, do you, Bid?”

“Mr. Death, are you telling me that you’ve been holding information back from me?” Goodbid asks, sounding more betrayed than accusatory.

Friday steps in to save Glib needing to explain. “He has only withheld information that you would discover in due time, as you have every time.”

Goodbid stares at her for a long moment. “What do you mean ‘as you have every time’?”

“Sit on the throne and everything will become clear,” she says, gesturing at the chair with her head.

“Why should I trust you?” Goodbid counters, resting his palm on the hilt of his short swords. “You’ve done nothin’ but kidnap me and my friend and talk in damn riddles.”

“Goodbid,” Glib says. “Trust her, sit on the chair.”

“I thought you had a bad feelin’ ‘bout this!” The hitman snaps back.

Glib tries to stay calm as he explains. “I had a bad feeling because you came to catch a magic horse with no plan and we were actively being led into a trap to get us here.” They hold intense eye contact for another few seconds before Glib says, “You’ve said it yourself, you aren’t afraid of death.” Another few seconds of silence before the death god growls, “Sit on the throne.”

Goodbid looks between Glib, Friday, and the chair for another few seconds before hissing, “Fine, what’s the worst that can happen?”

He walks over to the throne with a clearly fake confidence and sits down on it, crossing his arms.

For about three seconds, nothing happens, but then the gears begin turning, and the sound of metal clicking rings through the air. The liquid in the tube swirls and pumps faster before metal arms on either side of the chair clasp down onto him. The room fills with blinding white and green light.

“What the shit?!” Glib yelps, stepping forward, mind racing on ways to get the half-elf free before all the noise comes to a stop, and the metal arms slowly retract.

Sitting in the chair is still the half-elf, though his suit is now white with a green tie and pinstripes. He looks around, mildly confused, flexing his hands as he tries to adjust to the increase of power.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Friday says, as she turns and begins walking towards the doors at the far end. “You’ll have much to speak of.”

“So,” Glib says, drawing his attention to him once the horse is gone. The light of recognition dances in the taller’s eyes, yet it’s different from five minutes ago. “How do you feel?”

“Glib?” he says instead.

The human’s stomach drops, and butterflies erupt, the contrasting feelings nearly knocking him off his feet.

“No,” the death god says, deep in denial as hope blooms in his chest. “No fucking way you remember.”

The half-elf grins at him, though it’s not the typical smile of his persona. It’s a genuine smile that softens his eyes in a way that makes the human’s heart speed up and time slow down. “Glib Murphy,” he says slowly, as if savoring the way the name fits in his mouth. “I remember you- well, I remember everything, but most importantly, I remember you.”

“Lawrence?” Glib says quietly. The hope spreads like fire through his veins and settles like hot coals in his hands. He wants- no- needs to lay his hands on the half-elf, but he can’t bring himself to move, as if he is afraid that if he moves too quickly, or speaks too loudly, this moment will shatter and his Lawrence will return to being “Mr. Goodbid”.

“That’s the name, Mr. Murphy.” He holds open his arms as he adds, “And I hope you’ll wear it out.”

Glib’s legs are moving before his brain comprehends it, and he crashes headlong into the taller’s open arms.

“I swear to fucking god if you die and I lose you for another two-hundred fucking years-” Glib says into Lawerence’s new white suit.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Glib,” he soothes. “I’ll stay the summer long.”

#d&dorks #mr. goodbid #glib murphy #fanfic #glib/mr.goodbid #so a lot of this is based on the fact that lily of the valley bloom every year but only for four weeks #and are also very posionous #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad

8 notes · View notes

adhdavinci · 8 months

Text

Torn shoots a glare at Jinx as he lights his cigar next to the war table. “What? Ya don't got a taste for the finer side o’ tobacco?” Jinx blows the smoke towards the rebel leader. The tatted man raises an eyebrow. Instead of responding, he walks around the table and plucks the cigar from Jinx's mouth. “Hey -!” Any further protest dies in Jinx's throat as Torn stares straight into his eyes, takes a deep drag, and exhales right into his face. Lithe fingers place the stick back between Jinx's lips. Torn walks away, into the back room, his hips swaying. Jinx obviously follows.

Jinx Kinx 2: Cigar Play

full pic in the fic, also on Bsky and NG

#jak and daxter #jak 3 #jinx #torn #jnd #tornjinx #jinxtorn #smoking cw /#burn mark cw /#my art #mine #my fic

3 notes · View notes

askthestans · 2 years

Text

I Know We’ll Meet Again Some Sunny Day...

~ Somewhere In the Pacific Ocean ~

Waves roll and roil as they circle a lone boat in the waters. On its hull reads 'STAN O' WAR II' in capital white letters.

The air is frigid, punctuated by the occasional warm furl of coffee, cigar smoke, and spicy cologne scents mingled together. The black and crimson craft bobs along, glossy with moonlight and the golden glow of a single window.

Within that window stand two men so similar in profile and color - eyes tea brown and hair wavy and silver - that, if not for their different clothes and glasses, one would mistake them as clones. That is, until one sets his palms on the oak table.

He sifts these six fingered hands through yellowed pages with maps on them. A little smile comes to his face as he then organizes the maps into neat piles, sorts them into a folder, then places the folder atop a maroon book with a golden hand, covering the numeral six in the center. He takes a swig from an owl shaped mug, sighs pleasant and quiet, and leans against the table as he looks out at the sea, eyes forever trained to look for what secrets it could be hiding.

In the corner is the other man, sifting through objects in a tattered leather steamer trunk. Coins with emperor’s faces long worn, multiple dice with different numbers of sides, a crystal dagger, papyrus scrolls, a flat stone with Elder Futhark runes etched into it, a clover with twelve leaves, and on one end, multiple knitted sweaters, glittery letters tucked into their arms, and a different design on each front.

He refolds them gently, fond memories resurfacing with every stitch. A banshee whose screeching was really practice for a heavy metal band and not an omen of death. A skeletal, antlered wendigo whose rotting smell he perfectly recalls even now, and whose ability to mimic his brother’s voice still chills him to the bone. Then there’s the one with the vampire who never sparkled in real life nor was actually that attractive, though he knows that kind of embellishment was to be expected.

At the very top is one with him and his doppelganger walking side by side towards an A frame house with the words ‘Mystery Shack’ on the roof, and a portly man, a woman, and a teenage boy and girl with matching hair there to greet them.

But that memory hasn’t happened just yet. Nor would any holding of hands be involved, he knows, but he grins crookedly at the sentiment.

That night, they fall asleep to the lullaby of waves and each other’s calm breathing. The next day, they pull into a quiet harbor, get into a maroon car, and drive through the morning mists into redwood forests. By dinner, they’re at that house, walking side by side towards it, and to their delight, the scene is a little different than it was on the sweater.

This time, the figures don’t wait by the door. They rush forward. Hugs and questions and comments about what’s changed and what hasn’t begin. By the time they’re ready to head inside, the teenage girl is already measuring one brother around the waist and arms, and the teenage boy is already pouring over the maroon book with a hand and a six on the cover, given to him by the other brother.

After dinner, they sit around the living room table telling stories until eyelids get heavy. Summer begins again the next day, and though - like twins - more things are the same than not, there are some distinct little changes.

There’s a different kind of rift that needs patching this time. What was broken long ago takes more than adventuring around the world for a few months to fix. But everyone can see it’s well on its way towards mending.

A Few Days Later in the Shack Living Room...

Stanley: You know, as much as I like travelin’, it’s sure nice to be home, ain’t it, Ford? The best part is seein’ Dips and Mabel again, with you here the whole Summer this time. I missed those kids more than anything. Besides, I need their help with those comics I’ve been workin’ on. Mabel’s great at drawing, and Dipper’s a genius at comin’ up with plot twists.

Stanford: It’s strange. Back in those days before our fight, I never pictured my house so full of life. I always thought I’d be alone, pouring over my research. The worst part is that I was content with that. Pleased, even. But now I dread thinking that that could have been my life.

It’s even better than I could have imagined now, actually. Not only are you here, but Dipper and Mabel... they add a lot of light to this old place.

Stanley: Don’t worry, Poindexter. I’m sure it’ll get a lot more stuffy and moody again now that you’re back.

Stanford: Hmm, we didn’t run out of that air deodorizer we had on the ship, did we? I fear the Shack might start to smell more now that you’re back, too.

Both give each other a glare. Then their expressions melt into grins and a shared chuckle.

Stanley: You know, I get the strange feeling like we forgot something before we left on our adventure, though. I mean, more than what got zapped outta my brain when I socked that soggy corn chip who tried to end the world, or whatever.

Stan and Ford think to themselves for a moment, then shrug. It’s not until that night, upon Ford logging into his old laptop, that they realize what it was.

Stanford: Uh, Stan? Could you come down here? I think I discovered what that thing we forgot was.

Stan comes down into Ford’s lab with Soos, Mabel, and Dipper in tow, a conversation about the time Stan punched a kraken in the eye following them in fragments.

Stanley: Yeesh, Ford, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Like that one poltergeist jerk we exorcised in Peru after he told us he was gonna haunt our fridge for eternity. It can’t be that-

Stanley: ...

Mabel: That’s right! They were doing that cute old man ask blog thingy.

Dipper: Think anyone who asked one of those questions is still even around? Soos, you made stuff for the fandom, right? Are people still interested?

Soos: Of course they are, dood! I’ve been writing Stanfiction for years now, and if there’s anything I’ve learned, well, two things actually... it’s that people just can’t seem to get enough of these guys hugging, and second, the best way to get readers is to have Ford as the main character.

Stanley: Wait, why does Ford get more attention than me!?

Stanford: Is it my intelligence and vast knowledge of all things supernatural and theoretical? My dark backstory as an outcast and my struggle to fix my mistakes? Or maybe my tragic, devastating need for validation of my wisdom and capability after a childhood with a father who never gave me the approval I so desperately-

Soos: I dunno. No one really said anything about your chapters until the one where I put you in a red speedo. Got lots of reviews and favorites and requests for more after that!

Someone even sent me fanart for it! Here, I was saving this for you for when you got back. I’m gonna miss having this fella on my nightstand.

Stanley: Lookin’ a little drafty, there, Fordsy.

Stanford: Soos, that specimen incinerator I left down here still works, yes?

Soos: Yeah, I use it to burn mail Stan still gets here from the IRS all the time! Also the DEA, the DNR, the FBI...

Stanford: Fantastic! Now, do an old gentleman a favor and set that thing on the ground.

Soos: Sure, I guess?

Soos sets it on the floor. Ford takes out one of the many pistols on his belt under his trench coat and zaps the fanart with a quick electric blue beam. Then he takes a rifle out that shoots a small bubble that encapsulates the crater. A miniature nuke goes off inside, shaking the lab around them with an ear-splitting explosion. Ford lifts the bubble filled with glowing ashes and walks over to a hatch in the wall. It squeals as Ford wrenches it open. He dumps the bubble into the incinerator, which hungrily accepts it with green tongues of otherworldly fire. Meanwhile, the others stare on with blank faces.

Stanford: Ahh! Isn’t the power of science magnificent?

Dipper: Grunkle Ford, was that... legal? The mini nuke part, I mean?

Stanford: My boy, if there’s anything I learned from your Grunkle Stan these past few months, it’s that if there are no cops around, anything’s legal! Also, I’m already a wanted felon in over a thousand dimensions, and I’ve set off nukes far larger and for far less than that.

Stanley: Soos, you made copies, right?

Soos: What do you mean? Of course I-

Soos: I mean, no, I did not make multiple high quality copies of that fanart. There are no copies in my wallet, on my bedroom wall, in the cash register, in my secret hidden Stanfiction box in the woods, in the hands of those government agent doods who raided the house last year, or in the visor of my truck whatsoever. Nope. Nada. N-none?

Stanford: I knew I could count on you to do the right thing, Soos. Otherwise, if I ever saw that fanart again, I’d have to set off more nukes. Specifically targeted ones. We wouldn’t want that, would we?

Soos: Y-yes, Mr. Pines! No nukes! I could go for that! Actually, I gotta go, now that I think of it. I’m late for my burning evidence and raiding a government office appointment. You have fun answering those questions!

Stanley: Ugh, you’re no fun. Lighten up, Sixer! The internet’ll just make dozens more.

Stanford: And here I thought I’d escaped hell when I came back through that portal.

Stanley: Anyway, we need to get back to business. We have 516 messages to sort through, and I’m not about to let my reputation as the internet’s favorite Grunkle die! We might not answer all of ‘em on account of some being repeats, but we’ll try to do the best we can.

Stanford: Alright, as long as there is no more art of me wearing... never mind. Let’s just get to it. I think we should open the ask box again, too. We’ll answer a mix of old and new ones. Eventually, we’ll catch up.

#gravity falls #askthestans #stanford pines #stanley pines #ford you have no idea what the internet has done to you and let's hope you never find out #also I've been on hiatus for years but HI

29 notes · View notes

strykingback · 11 months

Text

Location: Balders Island, Off Of the Atlesian Archipelago Time: 7:00 PM Atlesian time Zone. OST: Enemy Base (Warning For Autoplay!)

_____________________________

A timid man was currently approaching the doors of the CEO's office as he gulped a bit holding some files and papers in place from everyone. Feeling his own heart racing as the doors opened.

"Come in." A young but deep and burly voice said with the man walking in timidly as the doors closed behind him. As he tried to keep his composure as he was not expecting himself to be the one delivering the news the CEO of the Solitas Liberation LLC. Yet, he took a deep breath in and exhaled carefully.

"S-Sir. As you may know I have brought the reports you have asked for from the counterhacking team who sadly failed to contain the hacker that managed to steal some important data, plus some of the bills from the ships we have smuggled from the Atlesian Military and modified to our own benefit." He said holding up two of the papers.

"And?" the CEO continued.

"O-O-Oh yes! There is also the fact that after much toiling from the S-S-Science Department that we have finally found a 99.8% chance of bringing back the dead with no other defects shown with Project Immortalis after a two week levy. As for creating immortal soldiers.... its still a fifty percent chance, S-Sir." The Timid man said while a huff was seen with a strong hand putting his cigar on his ashtray for a minute.

"Ahh..... I remember it like it was yesterday... back fifteen years ago. I was merely but an old man at that point. Seeking out his own reasons to start a war.... and yet I wanted to dance upon a pyre of those Brumelian whelps..... witholding all that dust to themselves and much more....." the CEO said leaning back against his chair the back still being faced towards the Timid employee.

"S-Sir?"

"Ahaha.... Then when I simply requested Dr. Democritus a new way of energy little did he know I had him create a weapon.... a weapon that would revolutionize war. Shame the weak crybaby had to off himself... I could have used him for this..... and Jacques Schnee my young protege... he is still as weak as ever from what I heard. Yet, when I came up with Project Immortalis it was originally born out of my own greed..... to create immortal soldiers to slow down the Brumelian march on Atlas.... fuck those Mantlean weaklings." He said picking up his cigar.

"Now when I "died"... heh. Lets just say I still had plenty of supporters who were willing to pick up the slack.. you included. Soon we gained more benefactors and sponsors as we grew. While I was in "incubation." Heh. Its funny ain't it, but then though that damn traitor who used a blizzard against us and used it well against us.... did you find out his name?" The CEO continued.

"U-Uh! Yes sir... his name is Zek Sunna Simo...." The Employee said with the CEO chuckling. "And who is up next for testing of Project Immortalis....." he asked.

"A Mrs. Atya Sunna......Zeks mother... sir."

"Heheheh. She's his mother? Well if she dies we can send her body to him as a way of saying how hard he fucked up.....because now. We're just going to make sure she suffers...." The CEO said.

"Y-Yes Sir.... but aside from this dont you think it is possible that it is p-p-possible that the Atelier Paladins will a-a-attack..?" the Timid employee asked.

"Please no need to call me Sir." The CEO said turning around to be a strong looking man with a smirk on his face as he took a huff of his cigarette.

"Just Nero will do, son."

CLONE OF THE DISGRACED GRAND COUNCIL MAN OF ATLAS, CEO OF THE SOLITAS LIBERATION LLC, NERO BASILLICUS.

"And if those pieces of shit want me... they'll have to get through a lot to get to me...."

EVENT DATE WILL BE REVEALED SHORTLY!

#[The Disgraced Councilman- Nero]#[Mission Details Being Revealed- Event Teasers]#//Oh right He's going to be a TEMPORARY MUSE/ EVENT ONLY MUSE #//So I may post a bio here and not on the muse pages

3 notes · View notes

sad-eyeeess · 2 years

Text

• comfortably numb by pink floyd

• stairway to heaven by led zeppelin

• estranged by guns n' roses

• wish you were here by pink floyd

• time by pink floyd

• november rain by guns n' roses

• black dog by led zeppelin

• paranoid by black sabbath

• war pigs by black sabbath

• hey you by pink floyd

• dogs by pink floyd

• sweet child o' mine by guns n' roses

• nightrain by guns n' roses

• like a stone by audioslave

• ramble on by led zeppelin

• us and them by pink floyd

• master of puppets by metallica

• one by metallica

• the garden by guns n' roses

• another brick in the wall, pt. 2 by pink floyd

• i can't by radiohead

• sulk by radiohead

• just by radiohead

• smells like teen spirit by nirvana

• iron man by black sabbath

• wasted years by iron maiden

• holy wars... the punishment due - megadeth

• ace of spades by mötorhead

• airbag by radiohead

• paranoid android by radiohead

• love hurts by nazareth

• still loving you by scorpions

• fade to black by metallica

• creeping death by metallica

• identikit by radiohead

• my iron lung by radiohead

• since i've been loving you by led zeppelin

• whole lotta love by led zeppelin

• hotel california by eagles

• have a cigar by pink floyd

• eruption by van halen

• dead by my chemical romance

• little sister by queens of the stone age

• high hopes by pink floyd

• coming back to life by pink floyd

• black math by the white stripes

• you don't know what love is (you just do as you're told) by the white stripes

• the bends by radiohead

• anyone can play guitar by radiohead

• no more tears by ozzy osbourne

• the final cut by pink floyd

• ride the lightning by metallica

• nothing else matters - metallica

• r u mine? by arctic monkeys

• teddy picker by arctic monkeys

• there, there by radiohead

• electioneering by radiohead

• reapers by muse

• we got it going on by bon jovi

• the hell song by sum 41

• for the love of god - steve vai

• money by pink floyd

• crying lightning by arctic monkeys

• pretty visitors by arctic monkeys

• jigsaw falling into place by radiohead

• you by radiohead

• civil war by guns n' roses

• dani california by red hot chili peppers

• shine on you crazy diamond by pink floyd

• voodoo child by jimi hendrix

• electricityscape by the strokes

• the modern age by the strokes

• alive by pearl jam

• yellow ledbetter by pearl jam

• bodysnatchers by radiohead

• can't stop by red hot chili peppers

• scar tissue by red hot chili peppers

• your time has come by audioslave

• poles apart by pink floyd

• song seven by interpol

• obstacle 1 by interpol

• i bet you look good on the dancefloor by arctic monkeys

• bohemian rhapsody by queen

• beat it by michael jackson

#Spotify #playlist #radiohead #music #guitar solo #the beatles #scorpions band #the cure band #guns n' roses #led zeppelin #pink floyd #metallica #audioslave #black sabbath #spotify #pearl jam

8 notes · View notes

ikaikaaaron · 4 months

Text

Spicy tasting notes of hickory, oak, cayenne pepper, earth, and nuts

Man O' War Ruination Robusto No. 1

5.5 x 54 box - pressed

10 notes · View notes

hvnnibvni · 1 year

Text

Bruh… I just butchered a conversation. I can’t even explain it like okay- so I can speak 3 languages fluently. French from my dad, Spanish from my grandma and English. I KNOW YALL all my bi/tri/polyglot lingual people have this problem. Tell me why I’m having a conversation with my mf uncle and he the type of uncle that’s a theorist but like kinda cool and goofy. We were talking about 9/11 and how it was prolly planned by the US to start a war and get oil.(don’t ask). And my grandma is talking to me in Spanish from the kitchen window. And my momma talking to me in Spanglish alongside my grandma and it’s sounds chaotic but it really wasn’t I can jump between conversations fine but this time ion even know what happened. I started responding to my grandma and mom in French and they’re responding in Spanish which further confuses me, and responding to my uncle in Spanish so now we’re all yelling and confused. And then to add my father was sitting right next to my uncle drinking coffee and smoking a cigar wearign adidas slides WITH NO SOCKS! WHO DOESNT WEAR SOCKS WHEN THEYRE WEARING SLIDES. MY DAD WAS RAW DOGGING SLIDS BRO. PAUSE… and after the whole episode happen he gone talk about some “why yo face look like that… you look like you gotta poop. But that can’t be bc girls don’t poop.” that literally came out of a 40 y/o man with 4 kids😐 So yeah there’s my Saturday morning 😌💀 how was yours?

#trilingual #polyglot #bilingual #loud house #saturday #family #dads #crazy ass family #nah really these mfs is crazy fr

2 notes · View notes

boomgers · 5 months

Text

Estrenos · Mayo 2024

La siguiente lista contiene los títulos de las nuevas producciones que llegarán a las salas de cine, canales de televisión y plataformas de streaming en México durante el mes de mayo de 2024.

• 1 de mayo de 2024 Apple TV+ · Acapulco · Temporada 3. Cines · Profesión Peligro. Cines · Garfield: Fuera De Casa. Cines · Jugaremos En El Bosque. Cines · Amor, Mentiras y Sangre. Netflix · Heeramandi. Netflix · Hablando Con Franqueza. Netflix · Fiesta En La Madriguera. Star+ · Mission: Yozakura Family.

• 2 de mayo de 2024 Max · Felices Los 6. Max · Hacks · Temporada 3. Max · Mil Veces Hasta Siempre. Netflix · T·P Bon. Netflix · Todo Un Hombre. Netflix · Te Llevo En El Alma. Netflix · Secretos De Los Neandertales. Prime Video · La Idea De Ti.

• 3 de mayo de 2024 Netflix · Sin Glasear. Netflix · Selling The OC · Temporada 3. Netflix · John Mulaney Presenta: Estamos Todos En Los Ángeles. Prime Video · Clarkson’s Farm · Temporada 3. Star+ · Se Busca Cita.

• 4 de mayo de 2024 Disney+ · Star Wars: Historias Del Imperio. Netflix · Katt Williams: Woke Foke.

• 5 de mayo de 2024 Netflix · The Roast Of Tom Brady.

• 6 de mayo de 2024 Max × Discovery · Supervivencia Al Desnudo: Naufragio.

• 7 de mayo de 2024 Netflix · Millonarios Del Mundo En Corea.

• 8 de mayo de 2024 Apple TV+ · Materia Oscura. Disney+ · The Beatles: Let It Be. Netflix · La Final: Caos En Wembley. Sony Channel · Casados Con Hijos. Star+ × FX · Feud: Capote vs. The Swans.

• 9 de mayo de 2024 Cines · Un Nuevo Comienzo. Cines · El Planeta De Los Simios: Nuevo Reino. Max · Pretty Little Liars · Escuela De Verano. Netflix · Bodkin. Netflix · La Madre De La Novia. Netflix · Gracias, ¿El Siguiente?. Netflix · El Guardián De Las Monarcas. Prime Video · The Goat. Prime Video · Maxton Hall.

• 10 de mayo de 2024 Disney+ · Doctor Who. Netflix · El Rey Del Cachopo. Netflix · La Vida Entre Leopardos. Netflix · Sangre de Zeus · Temporada 2. Netflix · Horizontes Pokémon: La Serie · Parte 2. Netflix · El Ultimátum: Decir Sí O Decir Adiós · Sudáfrica. Star+ · Las Sombras Largas.

• 12 de mayo de 2024 Max × Adult Swim · Smiling Friends · Temporada 2.

• 15 de mayo de 2024 Netflix · Ashley Madison: Sexo, Mentiras Y Escándalos.

• 16 de mayo de 2024 Cines · V De Victor. Cines · Amigos Imaginarios. Cines · Tarot De La Muerte. Cines · El Hombre De Los Sueños. Cines · Monkey Man: El Despertar De La Bestia. Netflix · Bridgerton · Temporada 3 · Parte 1. Prime Video · Outer Range · Temporada 2.

• 17 de mayo de 2024 Apple TV+ · The Big Cigar: La Gran Fuga. Netflix · The 8 Show. Netflix · Telma, La Unicornio. Netflix · El Poder Policial En EE. UU. ViX · El Extraño Retorno De Diana Salazar.

• 22 de mayo de 2024 Apple TV+ · Trying · Temporada 4. Disney+ · Monsters At Work · Temporada 2. Netflix · Buying London. Netflix · Las Fuerzas De Élite Más Poderosas Del Mundo. Paramount+ · Lolla: La Historia De Lollapalooza.

• 23 de mayo de 2024 Cines · Los Extraños · Capítulo 1. Cines · Furiosa: De La Saga Mad Max. Netflix · Llantas. Netflix · Un Lugar Seguro 2. Netflix · Franco Escamilla: Ladies’ Man. Netflix · Garōden: El Camino Del Lobo Solitario. Netflix · El Vendedor De Ilusiones: El Caso Generación Zoe. Prime Video · The Blue Angels.

• 24 de mayo de 2024 Disney+ · The Beach Boys. Netflix · Atlas. Netflix · Mi Querida Oni. Netflix · Mulligan · Parte 2. Netflix · Jurassic World: Teoría Del Dinocaos. Prime Video · ¿Quién Lo Mató?. Prime Video · Dom · Temporada 3.

• 25 de mayo de 2024 Max × HBO · Gaga Chromatica Ball. Paramount+ · South Park: El Fin De La Obesidad.

• 26 de mayo de 2024 Max · Mis Aventuras Con Superman · Temporada 2.

• 27 de mayo de 2024 Max · Nick y Aaron Carter: Ídolos Caídos · Parte 1. Max × Discovery Home & Health · Kilos Mortales México.

• 28 de mayo de 2024 Max · Nick y Aaron Carter: Ídolos Caídos · Parte 2.

• 29 de mayo de 2024 Netflix · Biónicos. Netflix · La Vida Que Querías. Netflix · Bailar Para El Diablo: La Secta De 7M En TikTok.

• 30 de mayo de 2024 Cines · Club Cero. Cines · Inmaculada. Cines · Sismo Magnitud 9.5. Cines · Ángeles Inesperados. Netflix · Eric. Netflix · Geek Girl. Paramount+ · El Juego De La Pirámide.

• 31 de mayo de 2024 Disney+ · Jim Henson: El Hombre Y Las Ideas. Netflix · Ni Una Más. Netflix · Una Parte De Ti.

* Las fechas de estreno pueden estar sujetas a cambios.

#Estrenos Del Mes

0 notes

teacherintransition · 10 months

Text

Six Months Young; Six Months Old

Observation of the transitions for …uh, the teacher

The repetitive, merry go round cycle of time spins again and it’s the holiday season. (Bah humbug) Yes, surely I jest, a little; but the calendar turns and our behaviors are dictated by it. A good/bad kinda thing happening. One of my goals when embarking upon retirement was to free myself, to the degree possible, of the time obsessed routine of our lives …you know, free your ass and your mind will follow. It’s a tougher task than we realize. For two years, our cycle had an unplanned, but very welcome change when Kim and I embarked on a eureka path of traveling the country and the world thirteen weeks at a time. Oh it’s a scene man; fun, exciting, challenging, adventurous and we love it!

Being an anxious over thinker, I will on occasion deconstruct events in a way that most folks do not. Great perceptions and observations? Yes, please. Worries and anxiety on the side? Sorry, no substitutions, you can’t have one without the other. Over analyzing this may be, but it seems that I’m able to experience what life would be like based on certain choices. Allow me to elaborate: choice one, hitting the road and seeing sights and countries that are new to us; choice two, settle at the homestead and do my Nacogdoches stuff. We’re doing both. I can see what the two lives are like and how different I am in each situation. Neither are intrinsically bad, but very different.

Kim gets two thirteen or more week gigs a year; which is twenty six weeks and we are home twenty six weeks. That’s half a year each broken up every three months. They do differ. Three months at a time we are in Nacogdoches and life slows its pace. We walk our same walks, cook at home more, sit in the swing with my pups, visit our kids and grandkids often; pretty much routine. I grab coffee at the same coffee shops I’ve patronized for years, enjoy cigars with my fellow middle aged and older dudes at our lounge and engage in common conversations. We check on my aunt and one of my best friends often and it’s the same ole same ole. Routine and tradition can be a good thing, but …but while here, I feel my age. I don’t feel bad, but I’m aware of a downward slope in things. I’m not fooling myself, I know I got more behind me than in front of me. It’s ok, but I’m not ready to slow down so completely. I’m lucky it’s only three months at a time.

How does choice one differ from being in Nacogdoches? It differs magnificently. For three months at a time Kim and I are seeing, living at, experiencing things and places we’ve never been. Everyday is something different. Do I get coffee at a local establishment? Of course, I’m a civilized man. Beyond that lifetime routine, it’s an adventure daily. Mountains to see and trails to hike, museums to visit, Art to see, people to befriend, pubs to crawl, cities to explore, art to make, new restaurants to try …it’s exciting my friends… oh, very exciting. Yes, we get a little tired and homesick at times but it makes us feel young and adventurous …like I said, it’s a scene man. We never thought we would ever have the guts to do life like this.

I’m certain you’re expecting me to say which is my favorite approach. Apples and oranges, both different, but I do like oranges a bit better, but enjoy apples too. Traveling is the orange. Yessir and all the tangy, sweet flavor that goes with it. It’s movement it’s not sitting still, it’s growing as a person, it’s finding new worlds to explore and share. It’s not being a slave to routine just visiting it once in a while for rest and stability. I remember watching “World War Z” with Brad Pitt. In a scene where he’s trying to get a family to leave with him to escape the zombies, Brad tells them, “we gotta go …movement is life.” Keep moving, keep growing, keep seeing and don’t let the zombies get you; or the rocker, avoid the rocking chair. Again, let me say there is no self delusion here, but we’re gonna squeeze all we can out of our days for as long as possible. This is good advice for our younger folks too. Don’t chain yourselves to routines… keep moving!

#open mind #retirement #coffetime #stress #change #teacher #i need friends #health #writing #education

0 notes