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undignifiedpopemobile · 1 year

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my driver hotness rankings

besties and behateds of the jury, this is maybe the most unhinged thing i will ever post but it is my sistine chapel it is my mona lisa. this is to me what citizen kane was to orson welles. i will prove to you today that my driver hotness rankings are objectively correct. i have assembled the evidence i have constructed my argument. (love you ell this one's for you.)

nyck (i’m so sorry). look someone has to go last. i am not prejudiced against short kings but it must be acknowledged that in combination with the face he is giving gnome. also i have seen the shirtless pics, and he is more ripped than george for christ’s sake there are so many ridges on his torso. he looks, to steal a phrase from patton oswald, “painful to fuck.” and i don’t have a vibe check on him yet so there is nothing else to compel me (benoit blanc voice) also i am not yet convinced he’s fast, which would increase his standing, because, say it with me, being good at things is hot. check back in after a few races. the thing where they tied him to a wheel rack was funny but not enough.

pierre. he’s fooled so many people into thinking he’s attractive with his beard contour and his donald trump ass haircut covering a truly atrocious hairline but there is no force on earth that can cover being a crypto bro. i have known so many and they are, without exception, the worst and more irritating people on the planet. if you own an nft you are not hot. if you TALK about it you are less hot. he has abs or whatever but i honestly think he is too ripped, similar to nyck. and i haven’t even mentioned the fact he’s a pedophile! his narrative used to be compelling to me because he got kicked out of red bull and i love redemption but he is a mid driver and a bitch and christian was right to fire him.

lando. this one may be controversial but i’m right and i can prove it: he looks like he’s twelve years old. who am i, pierre? i think the fuck not. admittedly he has nice eyes but he has a very oddly-shaped head. i could snap him like a twig, which looking at my dating history is not necessarily a deal breaker, but it is if he’d whine like a little bitch the whole time. he has never known the touch of a woman and he never will. the vibes are also atrocious: he’s a spoiled brat, and his interests are twitch and golf?????? he might not say racial slurs but he definitely crosses the street if he sees a black man. says he feels “uncomfortable” being around gay men with his shit off. bitch. i must clarify that i don't actually hate him but he has committed the worst crime to me: being a little irritating.

checo. people say he looks like tom cruise with a double chin but i just watched top gun and no he fucking does not. he looks more grizzled than fernando but in a haggard way not in a rugged cowboy way and he’s got a dad bod but not in a hot way. and the vibes are fucking off, absolutely swagless. fucking come on he’s had two seasons of getting his ass HANDED to him by max every week. i know it’s hard to be max’s teammate or whatever but i am pointing to him and saying MID. i don’t know anything about him personally except he’s got rich sponsors, he probably cheated on his wife, and he’s a homophobe. however he will move up if he goes full rosberg in 2023 and ruins christian’s life i do not pretend to be unbiased. the thesis of this one is that it is not hot to be boring. but if he becomes interesting i will change my mind.

oscar. see lando. he looks like a child! i do not believe he is 21 they are LYING because he's actually 14 and it should be illegal to let him drive. i do not believe he remembers obama’s first election. he’s up higher because i believe he is considerably more attractive than lando he has a sweet honest face i would kiss his little cheeks. but is he hot? ask again in five years. the narrative is also compelling to me because he did said “fuck the french” and that is hot that is HOT, but again, as of yet no vibe check. i see something in his eyes that indicates to me he may win the twink war but until first blood is spilled that is only hypothetical. sorry oscar nothing against you honey.

kmag. ok look. maybe i just don’t remember what kmag actually looks like but the picture on the f1 website is not flattering he looks like the stock photo wincing old man. i don’t think he’s unattractive really but i cannot put him above the rest of this list i fear! when he got pole that was really hot but what else is he giving? talking about balls? that wasn’t hot when dan did it and it’s not hot for kmag either. the vibe check should have enough data to produce something but it is coming up empty!!! i just do not know i’m sorry kevin. you do not have the x factor. you are not irritating, but to me, you are boring.

estie! you know he was below kmag but today i saw that gifset of him with long hair…. i could fix him (get him a hair stylist) he’s uncomfortably lanky. rat man may be affectionate, but rat man nevertheless. also i played myself by comparing himself to the flushed away rat because now i cannot see him without thinking about that. he’s got a really hot girlfriend which means he’s probably a feminist (will go down on a woman) and i know he doesn’t come from money. both of these things compel me tis true! but they are not enough to overcome the tragic truth that he looks like a cartoon character

hulkenberg. look ell i know i said he was conventionally attractive and i stand by that. he IS. but he also looks like a fucking ken doll. he has the GR wax doll disease. he went into the uncanny valley and he fucking founded a city-state there he’s building fucking governance structures and supporting a small private army to defend trade routes. his skin is so like….. tight. uncomfortable. and he is not redeemed by the vibe check. a million fucking races and no podium? and he wasn't only in shit cars! he was supposed to be a world champion coming up through the feeder series and he fell short of his potential. falling short of your potential is narratively compelling, but not in a hot way. i am pressing the big buzzer that says MID. boring.

lance. literally forgot about him until i got to number seven and then i was like….. wait a minute wait a fucking minute. he and nando are mirror opposites lance is here purely by virtue of his conventionally attractive little face. i can hear the ghosts of my jewish ancestors telling me to settle down with the nice billionaire jewish boy. but you know what? his voice is fucking irritating as shit and he has the least interesting variety of daddy issues. he’s got no fucking personality and he’s a nepo baby and he’s a mid ass driver and lawrence will not convince me otherwise by holding a gun to nando’s head and making him say shit about how good his stupid little failson is.

NANDOOOOOOO ok i know this one is controversial but i don’t give a shit it’s my list. i know he’s fucking eighty do you think i care? no. i couldn’t give less of a shit what he looks like. all that matters to me is that he wakes up every single day and chooses to be a mischievous little bastard who foments….. something. el plan etc etc. yes he fucking blackmailed mclaren yes he has committed war crimes yes he is a misogynist. what is this twitter? i do not have to be morally correct here. and lest we forget he is in fact a fantastic fucking driver (hot). let the slow dismantling of the stroll dynasty begin. and he has the most important variable in my calculations: he is interesting.

guanyu. my problem here is vibe check coming up empty. he’s reasonably good looking, he’s nice, he seems to be in love with val (good taste! see the coffee video) he’s the second most stylish man in the paddock mostly by virtue of the competition being fucking pathetic. he’s a little short but i am not prejudiced against short kings! but personality wise i fear there is not much there although probably this is on me for being a dumb american and not speaking chinese. also he’s like. ungodly rich. like richer than stroll. and the CCP of it all is not beautiful. perhaps most damningly: is he a good driver? i do not know! give him another year, but the jury remains undecided. he is right in the middle but i reserve the right to move him up pending developments

logan. you don’t know how much it pains me to put this motherfucker in the top ten. he looks like he was recruited into the us military directly out of high school because he was failing english and knew he couldn’t get into college, but unfortunately he is also objectively very handsome. he’s not higher for obvious reasons (florida. donald trump.) but i cannot put him lower purely off the virtue of his captain america fucking face. fuck him i hope alex makes him cry real tears on track by lapping him in every single race. but he is hot. maybe he'll prove me wrong and he can stay here! but if he brings fucking..... jd vance or whatever as a guest to a gp it's straight to 20 i shit you not.

alex. out of all the men on this list alex is probably the one i would most like to date. he’s nice, he’s reasonably charming, he’s a feminist, he’s got the angst of losing that red bull seat without the pierre of it all, he’s got the compelling homoerotic friendship with george but you know what this is not sash’s list of dateable men it is driver hotness and we must acknowledge the fact that he is not particularly good looking! like estie he has a fucking banana nuts hot girlfriend, but facially he is not always giving. he’s cute; he’s not necessarily hot. he’s this high only because i kept bumping him up because i was like “well i can’t put him below fucking LOGAN”. also, while i believe he’s a good driver, is he REALLY good, or just good? beating the shit out of latifi does not convince me of anything! like mick beating the shit out of mazepin it’s pretty much guaranteed to happen.

max. ok ell hear me out. right now he is not looking too hot but it's because of the bad haircut and he’s not racing. being good at things, say it with me, is hot and the only thing, the ONLY THING in max’s life is being good at racing. he’s fucking fast. also, he seems like he’s actually kind of a fun guy. when he laughs at his own jokes that is very cute i think. the little eye crinkles. the cheeks. when he’s got his hair grown out a little and a five o’clock shadow going… he can fool me into thinking he’s actually good looking and doesn't a little bit resemble sid the sloth from the ice age movies (sorry. but it's true) and the version of him i have made up in my head and convinced myself is real is extremely fucking compelling!!!! admittedly the kelly dynamic almost knocked him down but it takes two people to make a dynamic and i guarantee you i would not be giving any maternal energy at all. i think i could fix him (introduce him to pegging)

yuki. that’s right fuck you. he’s funny as fuck and we could do karaoke together. i would carry him around in my tote bag and he could eat off the children’s menu at restaurants (cost of living is high you save where you can.) he’s giving face and he’s giving body he’s actually so fucking handsome and the reason people are sleeping on how beautiful he is is because of the particularities of anti-asian racism, where “western” people read traditionally east-asian features as unmasculine, and therefore they are either fetishized or dismissed as romantic/sexual partners entirely. well i’m anti-racism bitch! yuki is HOT! also i know he’s not that good at driving or whatever but do you know what’s even hotter than being good at things? not giving a SHIT!!!! yuki is the spiritual successor to kimi raikonnen on this grid i’m fucking right and i’m the only one brave enough to say it. f1 is a hobby for him and he treats the sport exactly as it should be treated (with disdain, like it’s a mild inconvenience or errand on par with vacuuming) maybe this is inconsistent with my "being good at things is hot theory" but you know what? fuck you. it's my list i do what i want. if i contradict myself than i contradict myself

george. yeah…… i’m quite frankly a little shocked and upset he’s this high. i know i made this list myself but i’m not keeping track very well in all honesty and i’m about four drinks in. but you know what? i’m not blaming alcohol. this is accurate for my hotness rankings. i’m a bit of a george girl at the moment. every new fact i learn about him makes him more compelling to me. he's the george bit of alex's homoerotic relationship with george! really i only need one story about him to compel me: getting himself into the merc driver program with the power of microsoft powerpoint. he’s the most “he’s just like me fr” driver on the grid for me and i’m a big enough woman to admit that. the version of him i’ve made up inside my head has a personality and you know what? unfortunately for the haters he has proved them all wrong and he’s an excellent fucking driver. i don’t think he’s better than lewis but he stood up to the pressure of that second merc seat fucking fantastically even with his biological father there judging his performance the whole time! and i know he looks a little bit like a robot but it must be admitted! he is attractive! he’s got a great body! idk i’m gaslighting myself i guess it’s my deep-seated american desire to infiltrate the upper classes of england and bring it all down from the inside. but i’m keeping him in spot number five. and fuck anyone who disagrees.

valtteri. i mean. other than yuki the closest to kimi we can get on the current grid. lost his merc seat and immediately said “my ass will be fully out for the rest of my life and there is nothing you can do about it” can you imagine the amount of time toto wasted just saying “no valtteri you cannot post hole on instagram”. he’s a feminist he’s an icon! he’s not an outstanding driver but he’s solid! by number of wins currently fourth best cunt on the grid i believe! the mustache! he has alex albon energy in that i would actually date him but i think he’s more attractive. he is the only blond-haired blue-eyed man on the list who does not even a little bit activate the “nazi detector” in my brain which is admittedly a little overactive in the current political climate. i don’t know love isn’t rational. but i love him. i love him, your honor. and you will not convince me otherwise with facts (he's not really objectively all that physically attractive)

carlos. look the ferrari boys were pretty close together and ell i know you disagree with me here but ultimately it comes down to one thing i will discuss in the charles ranking and a couple things i will discuss here. yes he’s hot. fucking obviously. it’s barely worth pointing it out he’s outrageously attractive. but as i have said many times hotness is about more than the physical! and the vibe check is mixed. he does have the most compelling flavor of daddy issues (father is loving and supportive but still an unattainable ideal. the closest thing to god on earth for carlos sainz jr is carlos sainz sr and what a terrible legacy that is to bear) but on the other hand golf! and he has a weird and not very sexy voice! and he’s probably violently catholic! and there’s stories about him being kind of a dick to fans! i did not verify either of those things but fuck you this isn't journalism. and, most damningly, i believe that when it comes to driving he is…… FUCKING MID. there i said it. he got lucky his first year with and he’s still in denial about being the second driver to charles leclerc. have you seen the fucking instagram? girl fred vasseur may say he'll let it be decided on track but charles is coming to family dinners in the vasseur household. delusion is not hot unless it’s in a funny way (see: fernando, el plan). and i swear to christ if he messes up even a single race for charles this season because he thinks he’s better i will knock him down to the bottom of his list without remorse.

charles. it’s my list fuck you. other than george, charles (the version of him i have made up inside my head) is the most like me on the grid. he is— pause for dramatic effect— fucking COMPELLING. (benoit blanc voice) you know i love a narrative and he’s got a fucking narrative. he plays the piano (hot) he’s got the sexiness of the french language without the lameness of being french (yes i believe monaco is a historical mistake and a geopolitical aberration and should be incorporated into france and all those cunts should pay taxes but objectively monaco is very sexy!!! walt whitman i contain multitudes) and he’s got the catholic guilt of driving for ferrari without the lameness of actual catholicism (looking at you carlos) is he the most interesting bitch in the world? no. but he can hold a conversation, he has more interests than just racing and video games, and he’s much funnier in french, and as these boring ass guys go he’s pretty funny even in english. also, again, takes two to make a dynamic and i am funny enough for any two people on the planet. also, and this must be said, he’s a fucking excellent driver. BEING GOOD AT THINGS IS HOT! AND we have not even mentioned the fact that physically speaking he is what we call a Specimen. he’s got body, he’s got face. i know you don’t think he does ell but with respect you are wrong. he’s got the cheekbones he’s got the nose he’s got the fucking ridiculous shoulder to hip ratio, he’s got the hand porn. he has literal protagonist eye syndrome (they appear to be different colors depending on the lighting) he’s fucking insanely hot.

Lewis. I mean it’s just quite literally the only correct answer. he’s giving face, he’s giving body. the tattoos! dan thinks he has cool tattoos but he has pete davidson disease lewis actually has really cool tattoos. but his hotness is literally the least compelling thing about him. he’s multi-talented (music??? so hot) he’s not just a racer, but like, let’s not discount the fact he is the best f1 driver of all time. like i’ve established it’s hot when people are good at things (except golf). he’s not a businessman he’s a business, man. he’s got mad fucking drip. his politics are.............. of mixed quality really but by comparison he's practically bernie sanders. of all the drivers he’s the one i think i could make a socialist if i had a twenty minute conversation with him. i could get him to read marx i could get him to read zizek. not even to mention the compelling fucking narrative of his life. the karting years the brocedes of it all the mclaren civil war he is producing CONTENT. yes he speaks like a motivational poster and the dog account is cringe but the flaws make him human. if he were too perfect he would be less hot.

this is the judgement of the court

#ell i love you but this really should not see the light of day #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lewis hamilton #valtteri bottas #carlos sainz #george russell #yuki tsunoda #alex albon #sigh. why did i write this #oh that's right! drunk.

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starksvinyls · 1 year

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Title: A Day Off Rating: Gen Pairing: None Tags/Warnings: Non-Sexual Age Play, Solo Age Play Summary: Peter spends a day off from classes and Spiderman and his internship recharging his batteries. Notes: for @ageplay-may and the Sugar prompt for day 5: “solo age play” AO3 Link

Peter set the note May had left him back down on the counter and grinned. Another double. He was a bit concerned for how much his aunt had been working recently, but he was also so glad for the time alone. His classes were kicking his ass, he actually had to do work in college, unlike high school were he mostly breezed through. It wasn’t like he hated it, the challenge for his brain was great, but between that, patrolling and his internship at SI (official and everything! He even got college credits!), Peter didn’t really have much time to relax. Having the apartment to himself until tomorrow morning meant that Peter could finally indulge himself and recharge.

Scurrying back to his room, Peter couldn’t stop smiling. It had been so long since he’d been able to do this. He changed from his pjs into a pair of basketball shorts and a soft t-shirt, and then dropped down to the floor to pull the special box out from under his bed. It was a short, medium sized opaque plastic bin, and when he had it out, he undid the snap handles and pulled the lid off. Inside his treasures awaited.

Peter pulled out his Donald Duck sippy cup and matching pacifier, along with a kids pencil box full of crayons and a couple coloring books. He clipped the paci to his shirt so he wouldn’t lose it, and then gathered up his things, making sure to snag his plush Donald Duck on the way back to the living room.

He dumped his arm load onto the couch, taking a second to make sure Donald was sitting up and could see the TV, and then dug around to find the remote, making a triumphant noise when he located it between the cushions. Peter pulled up Netflix and started The Magic School Bus Rides Again before padding to the kitchen to pour himself some juice and get a bowl of cereal, humming along to theme song. Once back at the couch, sippy cup tucked into the crook of his arm, Peter plopped himself down and began shoveling Cheerios into his mouth, not caring about the milk dribbling down his chin.

Cereal gone, Peter slid to the floor and pulled over his coloring books and crayons, setting them up on the coffee table. He laughed at a science pun that Miss Frizzle made on the TV as he flipped to the next uncolored picture in his book. It was an unlicensed Avengers coloring book he found on Etsy full of someone’s own drawings. It was fantastic, and whoever had drawn them managed to get a lot of details right. He pulled out the blue crayon to start on Captain America’s shield.

By the time Peter was done with the picture of Cap, he had gotten through two episodes of the show. He was hungry again, so he got up to get another bowl of Cheerios. Ever since the spider bite, his appetite had been off the charts, and Peter had felt bad eating so much when he was in high school and unable to financially help his aunt with the grocery bills. Now, with his internship, he had some money coming in and was able to help with the groceries, which made eating until his tummy was happy a lot easier and guilt free.

After a second bowl of cereal, Peter was back on the floor, this time coloring a picture of himself, well his spider themed alter ego. He giggled as he colored in the panels of his suit. He was in a coloring book! How freakin’ cool was that?! Eventually, Peter got bored of coloring and Netflix and wandered back to his room to get out his legos. He had a whole box full of miscellaneous pieces, that he could play with when he was feeling little.

He sat criss-cross apple sauce on the floor and began to rummage through the box to find pieces adequate enough for his rocketship. Peter added pieces and rearranged pieces, then added more lego pieces. Finally his creation was complete! He had a mini rocketship in Iron Man’s colors and Peter smiled as he made it zoom around him, complete with sound effects.

Peter’s phone buzzed where he left it on his nightstand, and he leaned over to grab it. It was a text from Ned begging to hang out to “save him from death by studying”. Peter snorted and then shot back a text in the affirmative. He was feeling better, not so tense, not so stressed. Having just a couple hours to himself, a couple hours to regress and not have to think or worry about anything else other than what color crayon to pick, or which lego piece to use, was such a nice way for him to recharge.

#agepl4y may 2023 #peter parker #peter parker fic #*ageplay #starksvinyls fic

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homomenhommes · 8 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

c.1350 BC – Pharoah Akhenaten, husband of Queen Nefertiti, may also have had a male lover - his younger general, Smenkhare, who later became pharoah himself.

After the discovery in 1922 of the tomb of Tutankhamen (a child of unknown relationship to Akhenaten), Percy Newberry noted that objects had been taken from Smenkhkare's burial chamber to increase the treasure in Tutankhamen's tomb; and among these was a box inscribed on its knobs with "Smenkhkare beloved of Akhenaten" and "Akhenaten beloved of Smenkhkare."

Newberry in his article (1928) also drew attention to a small private stele (upright stone slab) in the Berlin Museum, originally made for a military officer, which showed two kings (identified by their crowns, one the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and the other a war crown), nude and sitting side by side. Although the piece is unfinished, with its cartouches blank (ovals which usually contained names), the figures seemed easily identified as Akhenaten and Smenkhkare, the former caressing the youth's chin while Smenkhkare rests his arm around the older king's shoulder.

Two other pieces then also came to mind, a relief of a similar youth pouring wine into Akhenaten's cup (Berlin Museum) and a sculptor's trial piece of Akhenaten kissing a child seated on his lap (Egyptian Museum, Cairo) - and some scholars pondered whether these pairs might also include Smenkhkare. (Actually the former conveys no sexual meaning, and the child in the latter seems very young.)

Subsequently, Egyptologists battled over Akhenaten's sexual biology and orientation. For example, Donald Redford, a Canadian archaeologist, wrote (1984) that he personally disliked "this effete monarch, who could never hunt or do battle," while Cyril Aldred, Keeper of Art and Archaeology at the Royal Scottish Museum in Edinburgh, saw (1968) "homosexual relations between the elder and the younger monarch" pictured on the Berlin stele, taking into account also the same-sex "beloved" titles, and the disappearance of Nefertiti's name from all records near the end of Akhenaten's reign.

1928 – Robert Indiana, best known as the creator of the LOVE series of paintings and sculptures, is an openly gay American artist who has incorporated autobiographical and gay themes within his work.

Indiana was born on September 13, 1928. Oil company manager Earl Clark and homemaker Carmen Watters of New Castle, Indiana, adopted the infant as their only child. Clark attended local schools before studying Russian at Syracuse University. He served in the U.S. Army Air Corps from 1946 to 1949 and then entered the Art Institute of Chicago with the assistance of the GI Bill. He won a scholarship to the University of Edinburgh. He earned an M.F.A. there in 1954 and moved to New York City. Clark rented a loft in an old warehouse on the southernmost tip of Manhattan that became an artistic center because of its cheap rents. There he became part of a group of young artists including Agnes Martin, Lenore Tawney, Jack Youngerman, and Ellsworth Kelly. For a time, he and Kelly were lovers.

Clark changed his surname to Indiana in 1958 to reflect better the American focus of his work. He first attracted notice in 1959 with unpainted assemblages, stenciled with short words and constructed from scavenged wood, pieces of iron, and wheels. Indiana is part of the pop art movement, though he deprecatingly refers to himself as a "sign painter." Like other pop artists he invests commonplace objects and familiar images with new meaning. However, his works occasionally deviate from the pop art norm by evincing intense personal and political engagement. They express concern over social issues and make pointed political statements.

His painting Yield Brother (1962), for example, focuses on the peace movement while his Confederacy series (1965-66), created during the Civil Rights movement, attacks racism in four southern states.

In addition, Indiana tends to be more autobiographical than other pop artists. For example, his EAT/DIE (1962) diptych focuses on the last word, "eat," spoken to him by his mother on her deathbed. The painting also evokes the diner his mother managed, which had the familiar "EAT" sign looming overhead. Indiana also collaborated with gay pop artist Andy Warhol on the 1962 short film Eat.

Indiana has also been influenced by the great American queer writers Walt Whitman, Herman Melville, and Hart Crane. His Melville Tryptich (1961) is considered one of his classic images, and several paintings have been inspired by Crane's poem of longing and gay affiliation, "The Bridge."

In 1964, Indiana received a commission from the Museum of Modern Art for a Christmas card design. He created a picture that emphasized the words Love is God (1964). Typical of pop artists, Indiana serialized the image. In 1966, he exhibited a series of "love" paintings, including a definitive version featuring four red block letters completely filling the canvas against a blue and green background. Each letter fills a quarter of the picture, the L and a tilted O in the top quadrants, the V and E in the bottom quadrants. The LOVE image had an immediate impact, especially among the youth culture of the 1960s. As a painting, graphic design, and a sculpture, it has become one of the most pervasive and widely disseminated images of all time.

In 1973, the U.S. Postal Service commissioned Indiana to do a LOVE postage stamp. The resulting product became the most popular stamp ever issued by the U.S. government.

In 1978, Indiana moved to Vinalhaven, Maine. Working with Vinalhaven Press, he has used the traditional printmaking media of etching and lithography to depict the solitude and isolation of his life in rural Maine. Indiana's more recent works include biographical elements of gay lives, including his own. Indiana continues to accept commissions.

c.570 BC – Anacreon, born in Teos, Ionia was one of the nine Lyric Poets of the golden age of Greek poetry. And being the good and manly Greek he was, Anacreon's poems and odes were largely about the beautiful boys he loved or longed for or held in his arms as he cooed lyrical poetry to them. He kisses and tells; he names names: Smerdis, Leukapsis, Smialus, Eurylus and Bathylus, are among the youths he sings to. From his erotic verse there survive striking images of his beloved young men: the peaceful character of Megistes, the eyes of Cleobulus, the blond locks of the Thracian Smerdis.

Anacreon's poetic sentiments and style were widely imitated by Hellenistic and Byzantine Greek writers, though they tended to exaggerate the strain of drunken eroticism and frivolity present in his work.

The structure of his poesy was so popular in its own time that others imitated the eponymously named "Anacreontics." Anacreon was rediscovered by English poets int he 19th century and they swooned for him like a well-oiled boy in the gymnasium. The vogue for Anacreontics in English culminated in the popular song "To Anacreon in Heaven." In 1814, Francis Scott Key wrote "The Star Spangled Banner" on this day, based on the then popular "To Anacreon in Heaven."

1952 – Randy Jones, born in Raleigh, North Carolina, is an American disco and pop singer and best known as the cowboy from Village People.

He attended Enloe High School in Raleigh, North Carolina and graduated in 1970. While there, he was a founder of Enloe's Drama Club, which was then called "Amicus Scaena"; Latin for "friend of scene" or "friend of theatre". He then studied at North Carolina School of the Arts before moving to New York.

Jones had a marriage ceremony with his boyfriend of 20 years, Will Grega, at a New York club on May 7, 2004. Although the marriage is not legally binding, as gay marriage was still illegal in New York state, Jones commented that: "It's only a matter of time before the courts rule in favor of what's morally right and humanly decent." The pair published a book together in 1996, titled Out Sounds: The Gay and Lesbian Music Alternative.

He released in 2007 a disco and pop solo album Ticket to the World. In 2009, he appeared on Flight of the Conchords in their music video for "Too Many Dicks".

2001 – On Pat Robertson’s 700 Club, Jerry Falwell says feminists and gays and lesbians were responsible for the 9/11 attacks.

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thevaudevilledemon · 2 years

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I thought about Donald and Gladstone being wild west outlaws so...

There are very few laws in the west, well there plenty but not for the outlaw, the rugged, bloodthirsty individual with a bounty on his head and reputation that keeps him safe from all but the boldest, bravest and stupidest. Some outlaws follow their own rules, some don't kill the unarmmed, some don't kill women or children, some only kill when they need to, but there is one law all outlaws follow; Do not mess with The Unlucky Shot, leave Donald Duck alone.

This is a law that is unwritten, but a law all must follow. He is no sherrif, no marshall, not even a decent shot. Duck couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. However, he is one of the most connected men in the whole country. His mother was Horty McDuck, the sister of the powerful lawman Scrooge McDuck, and his father was Quackmore Duck, the son of the Ol' farmer Elvira 'Grandma' Duck, herself a relative of the Coot family. Scrooge and Elvira are two people you never want to cross, and these connections go deeper. Donald is cousins with Gladstone Gander, Mr. Lucky himself, and though they vie for the affection of the lovely Lady Daisy, when push comes to shove, Donald and Gladstone can put aside their disagreements and shove. Don't forget his other cousin, Fethry 'Red Hat' Duck, and his brother Abner 'Whitewater' Duck. Abner could snap your gun in two with his bare hands, and Fethry, well he is a wildcard, we are unsure if he is on the side of the law, or the lawless, it seems he is both whenever something happens to strike his fancy. Beyond the familial connections, he is a member of the Final Five, a group of misfits who became one of the most feared gangs in all the state, and The Three Caballeros, the most eccentric bounty hunters. With the McDuck clan at his side, his grandma and cousins around him, and his friends, it is common knowledge that even talking about messing with Donald Duck is a death sentence, however, one day someone did decide to mess with the Duck.

I remember that day quite well, it was as hot and dry as any other day, and equally as loud and bustling. Carts and Wagons and Carriages were being pulled across the town by the dozens every half-minute. Workers were dragging crates and barrels into store rooms and dragging them out to the porches, dropping each one with a loud thundering slam on the heavy, dry wood. Store bells rang with such a consitancy that it was surely impossible for the shop clerks to keep up. I myself was just sitting outside of the hotel, whittling away at some dropwood I picked up the other day, a large man walked out of the hotel, he stopped. I turned to look at him, and I quickly turned away, I knew who he was, from one glance I feared for my life more than when I faced any other crooked scoundrel, for that before me was no regular wanted man, it was Dead End Pete, a man whose wanted poster warned everyone, "Bringing him in alive will get both of you shot on site, Dead only. $1000 for his body full of holes, double that for his head alone."

I prayed he didn't see me, but see me he did. I heard the sound of his pistol being cocked, I felt it placed under my chin, I felt his hot breath. He told me to put my knife down, I dropped it faster than I dropped anything else, it bounced off my knee, I heard it clunk against the wooden boards. I heard Pete's pistol fire, I was so scared, I didn't feel he had pulled his gun away from me, not until I heard him walk away, his heavy boots making some of the wood creak under his weight. I opened my eyes, he hit a random bystander, she lay dead on the ground. Everybody backed away from her, I caught a good glimpse of her, and I myself nearly fainted, it was Della Duck, Donald's twin sister. There she lay, dead, and killed for no real reason, or so it seemed. I remember, I remember looking at the crowd, and wondering how many more would be killed just by being near the two when they fought. Dead End Pete started a war, that the whole town would suffer from.

#donald duck #Gladstone Gander #disney au #western au #don't know if i will continue this #fethry duck #i mean tombstone is a disney movie #and tombstone is awesome if a bit romanticized #love that movie though #and yes the idea of jose and panchito just going bug nuts shooting up a saloon full of wanted outlaws is hilarious to me

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catholicbabybath · 1 month

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No, really leave it all up to Ralph Smart or someone like that because to be honest with you, it’s not like Donald Trump is going to fix the problem. LOL

But then Donald Trump wants to start trouble with England, and whoever else because he’s a fucking fat fucky from America

Donnie honey, if you don’t want to be called a fat fuck, maybe you don’t need to eat more than you need to eat

I said fucky worthless fatty

Go make a double chin for us all fatty fucky

So worth

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ramon-balaguer · 2 years

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Fact: #PresidentTrump is Healthy and looking good for his age, height and weight❗️ 🤩🙏🇺🇸 #REBTD😇 But the Sin 👿 Sick 🤕 Lying 🤥 Leftist ✊🏿 Liberal 🏳️‍🌈 Democrat 🏳️‍⚧️ Donkeys🐴 and Unicorns 🦄 altered his recent golf ⛳️ pic out of HATE to make him look chunkier, double chin and all wrinkled up. 😱 And of course conversely, they ALWAYS Alter #BloodyBiden’s pics to make him look alert, awake and better looking than a man with one foot and a half in the Grave and needless to say, Hell‼️

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gtunesmiff · 3 years

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CEMETERY WATCHMEN

This is a truthful and honest account from an old volunteer marine as he, while volunteering at a national cemetery in Oklahoma and how he helped an 85 year old ex-marine wife as she made what she thought may be her last trip to the cemetery to honor her family members from her father, to her uncle, to her husband and also to her two sons, all of them marines who had died in service to this great nation of ours.

My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a "slightly larger" uniform. Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.

The full dress was hot in the August sun. Oklahoma summer time was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail's pace. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about 4 or 5 bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste:

"She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!" But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the "In" gate and if I could hurry the old lady along, we might make it to Smokey's in time.

I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.

"Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?"

She took long enough to answer.

"Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days."

"My pleasure, ma'am." (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.)

She looked again. "Marine, where were you stationed?"

"Vietnam, ma'am. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'"

She looked at me closer. "Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can."

I lied a little bigger: "No hurry, ma'am."

She smiled and winked at me. "Son, I'm 85 years old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman, and I've a few Marines I'd like to see one more time."

"Yes, ma 'am. At your service."

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.

She murmured something I couldn't quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC: France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek.

She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.

She paused for second and more tears flowed. "Two more, son, and we'll be done."

I almost didn't say anything, but, "Yes, ma'am. Take your time."

She looked confused. "Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way."

I pointed with my chin. "That way, ma'am."

"Oh!" she chuckled quietly. "Son, me and old age ain't too friendly."

She headed down the walk I'd pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970.

She stood there and murmured a few words I couldn't make out and more tears flowed.

"OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home."

"Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?"

She paused.

"Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines."

She stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

"Get to the 'Out' gate quick. I have something I've got to do."

Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us down the service road fast. We beat her.

She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

"Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost. Follow my lead."

I humped it across the drive to the other post.

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice:

"Tehen Hut! Present arms!"

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.

She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most.

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

Instead of "The End," just think of "Taps."

As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer:

"Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas. Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us. Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts. They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy. In God We Trust"

If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!

God Bless America!

AMEN

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voxmortuus · 3 years

Note

I am back with another one for your event. I could probably keep coming up with more too. ♥ How about some daddy kink and a little bit of outdoor (or car) smut with Billy Butcher from The Boys?

PAIRING: Daddy!Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

UNIVERSE: The Boys

WORDS: 1.1k

SUMMARY/PROMPT: See above <3

NOTE: Sorry if this isn't what you expected, I'm hoping this finds you well love!

IMAGE CREDIT: Google I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF THESE IMAGES. If these are yours or you know who the creator(s) is please INBOX me and let me know. Thank you.

My Master Masterlist | Taglist

REQUESTS: 500 FOLLOWER EVENT REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN UNTIL AUGUST 15TH!

"Daddy?" You look up.

"Yes, Darlin?" He looks up from his phone.

"Can we go for an late night drive?" You ask him holding your stuffy in nothing but your nightshirt.

He looks up at you, searching your face. He puts his phone down on his lap, and smiled, checking his watch a moment, and looks back up at you. "It's 1 am. You sure you wanna go out?" He double-checks.

Eagerly you nod and bounce a little bit. "Oh, yes please, Daddy! I love late-night joy rides with Daddy!" You smile a bit.

With a chuckle, he looks over your face and nods. "Ok, ok, you going like that?"

"Yes, Daddy." You smile and sway.

Nodding his head, he stands up and takes your hand, and heads to the door. Grabbing the keys by the front door, he walks out of the apartment and unlocks his car. Opening your door, he leans in and buckles you up before walking around and getting in himself.

"Okay where to little one?" He asks you.

Putting your finger to your chin, you look over and smile. "Anywhere, just drive around town for now." you smirk. You knew what you were doing. You had this all planned out from the moment you woke up. With this devious thought in mind, you look down at your teddy bear and look over at Billy, and gasp.

"What's wrong, Baby?"

"Nelson isn't buckled up!"

"Ah." He nodded leaned over and unbuckled and buckled you with your teddy bear. "Better?" He asked Nelson and then looked up at you.

"Better." You nod.

"Can I drive now?"

"Yes." You give a single nod.

Turning the car on he put it in drive and slowly entered the street from the alleyway he was parked in. As he drove around you turned on the radio to the oldies station, at night there were hardly any commercial breaks, it was kind of nice. Feeling Good by Nina Simone had come on. You rolled down your window a bit and stuck your hand out the window feeling the air make your hand rise and fall. You chuckle a bit and put your hand back inside and roll your window back up.

You look over at him as he puffs away on his spoke, and drives you around the dead town. You put your hand on this thigh and smile. He looks over at you and smirks. You move your hand further to the inner thigh and move your hand up to the zipper of his pants. He chuckles smirking a bit and tosses his cigarette out the window rolling his window back up as he drives.

You bite your lip and begin to undo his pants so you can stick your hand down his pants. He keeps driving with a smirk on his face his elbow resting on the door his chin on his knuckles as you begin to play with him. Licking his lips he stops at a light and looks over at you.

"What are you doing?" He chuckled.

"Playin." You smirk.

"I see that. I'm driving you know."

"I know. Keep on."

"Aye, little boss." He chuckles.

As he drives off you continue to jerk your hand up and down his now hard length. Biting your move over leaning over after unbuckling, and grabbing Nelson to move his pants out of the way a bit more and take him into your mouth.

Moving his arm so you can get under it you hear him groan a bit. With one hand on your back, he moves it down your spine, slapping your ass lightly and you move your back end a bit as he begins to slowly rub your slightly wet lips. You moan against his member, your lips tighten as you begin to bob your head a bit. A growl escapes him as he turns the vehicle into an empty parking lot across from a business building.

Parking under a tree he leans the seat back a bit and watches your lips move up and down his cock. Growling he pulls you into his lap and slides you onto his cock and slowly pushes it into you. With Nelson under your arm, you grip at your shirt as you press your hands into his torso and let out a soft moan as you lean forward.

Your hips move up and down, easing his member in and almost out of you, from base to tip. The way your hips moved caused you to tighten around him as he would hold you still and thrust into you. Your small whimpers turned into moans. Your hands gripped at his shirt as he took control of the situation.

The car rocked a bit, the windows began to fog up, your moans got a little louder as he moved a hand under your nightshirt and gripped a breast. Your body trembled softly and you sat up a bit as you began to rock your hips a little rougher, grinding your swollen bud against his body. Feeling the friction your body trembled and you felt yourself getting wetter. Your moans got louder, more breathy, your hips moving with his as he helped guide you.

"Daddy, your cock feels so good." You moaned. "I love how you fill me, Daddy."

He had growled and watched you as you gripped tightly to Nelson and his shirt as you kept rocking back and forth.

"Just like that baby. Good girl, don't stop. Keep going until you cum for, Daddy." He tells you.

Hearing his words your body trembles as you pick up speed.

"Oh Daddy... Daddy... DADDY!" You scream as you start to move a little faster grinding yourself against him, giving your bud all the attention while gripping around his cock. "I'm going to cum, Daddy. But you gotta cum first, cum in my pussy, Daddy." you beg.

Without even hesitating he gripped your hips and held you down on him moving you, he thrusts up a bit and lets out a heavy growl as he finishes deep inside you. Your body trembles and you let out a scream as you finish. Pulling Nelson to your lips as you pant into him trying to control yourself. You remble again, with a second small release.

Sitting on him a moment, you move to the side and sit back in your seat buckling both you and Nelson up and look over at his cock and smirk again. Putting him away. You chuckle.

"Daddy, can we go to Mc Donald's and get a milkshake?"

Putting his seat back up he looks over at you and chuckles. "Sure baby. One Milkshake coming up."

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ninjadoodleduck · 2 months

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Hey y'all! Just popping in to say double chin Donald, ice cream Drake and LP, Drake and Gos, and moon Della are now available as stickers (or whatever else lol) in my redbubble shop! Check it out if y'ant! 🤓

#ducktales #donald duck #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #della duck #dt17 #duckverse #ducktales reboot #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #steekers

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cecilbaldwin-fan · 7 years

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Epic *ahem* cast selfies. These came out so cute. Symphocat and myself in Helsinki! She was every bit as joyful and energetic as I expected. It was so much fun to meet her!

#symphony sanders #welcome to night vale #cast selfies #we look fab #i don't have a tag for myself #what would the tag be #weird..queer..fat person #or something #the angle isn't the best but #i'm not donald trump #i don't mind photos with my double chin in them #my moment with symphony #she'was super sweet #epic finland show #hailvale europe

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cotton-tails · 3 years

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Fluffy follow on from this angst-fest:

Donald sleeps in the mansion that night. They get back pretty late and frankly, everyone’s too exhausted to do anything other than drag themselves to their respective beds and pass out. There’re more than enough spare rooms for the non-residents, and after a few arguments and coin-flips for the best rooms (courtesy of Drake and Fenton), everyone settles quite quickly.

After dozing off on his shoulder on the plane, Donald ends up picking up both May and June and carrying them inside, tucking them into a twin room next to his. They barely stir, only waking long enough to pull the blankets up further and curl up tighter before dropping back off.

Despite his own exhaustion, Donald makes the rounds, checking in on all the kids and making sure they’re all truly safe and sound. He’s not entirely sure he’d be able to sleep soundly until he’d seen each and every one. Which, with the number of children in the house now reaching the double digits, now takes a little while longer than it used to. By the time he reaches his own bed, the tiredness has really sunk in to his bones, and he doesn’t even bother changing before crawling under the covers and dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Which lasts about forty-five minutes.

Parental instincts are something that will never leave him as long as he lives. Even when the kids are all grown and he’s old and grey, he’ll still be a dad. And those Instincts will forever wake him up at the feeling of someone crawling into bed with him. No matter how deep a sleep he had been in moments before.

They also double as survival instincts. Good luck to anyone trying to sneak up on him while he’s sleeping.

So, when he feels the all too familiar feeling of the mattress sinking as someone else climbs up next to him, it's all he can do not to groan and possibly curse a little. Chances are it was one of the boys, most likely Louie, and honestly, after the ordeal of the day he'd hardly be surprised.

What does surprise him is turning over, blearily opening his eyes and seeing none other than his own sister attempting to get comfortable in the very small space between him and the edge of the bed.

"Dell?"

There’s a long silence, then, "no?" She's got a look on her face that even in the dark, he knows all too well, a weird mixture of guilt, worry and stubborn pride. And after the frankly traumatic events of the past twenty-four hours, he can't really say he's surprised.

"Hold on," he murmurs, shuffling over and giving her more room to get comfortable. She doesn't say anything, but he can see the gratefulness in her eyes as she curls up on her side and faces him. Her hair splays out on their shared pillow and tickles his nose.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

"It's alright," Donald replies, fighting back a yawn, "are you okay?"

"Couldn't sleep, kept seeing..." she trails off, but Donald knows what's eating at her. She'd barely left his side all evening, always finding excuses to touch, to make sure he's still really there; always linking arms, throwing an arm over his shoulder, or playfully punching him. He didn't comment, knowing how much his near-death experience had actually affected her. But moments like this show her true feelings with no reason to hide.

"I'm alright you know."

"I know you are, but every time I close my eyes all I can see is you falling, and my chest gets all tight and I can't breathe, and you're not there, I keep thinking I dreamt you coming back."

She looks like she's going to cry again, and he wants none of that. His hand finds hers under the blankets and he links their fingers and squeezes.

"Right here," he tells her, "I'm right here, we're all very much alive and safe, you don't need to worry."

She's quiet, looking into his eyes with an intense stare. He can see the anxiety, can see the worry, and the pain. He gets it; he won't pretend he didn't hear her scream as he fell. The sound still echoes in his head, but by miracle and magic, he's still alive, and they're still together. And if he’s honest, he’s definitely had more than his share of sleepless nights over her in his time.

"We should get some sleep," he says eventually, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder. He waits until she's completely fallen asleep, her face relaxing and breathing evened out, before closing his eyes and dropping off himself.

This time he barely gets twenty minutes, the time on the clock by the bed reading 02:07am.

Another body, much smaller, climbs up from the end of the bed, and slowly crawls up between them. It's always harder to tell between them in the dark, but when he had tucked them in he’d noticed they hadn't bothered getting changed. And Donald could just about make out the hood.

Louie then.

"You alright?" he whispers, and the small body freezes, wide eyes staring at him in the dark.

"I- uh-"

"It's alright, c'mon."

Louie relaxes at the soft tone and warm smile, and carefully carries on until he's tucked into the space just under Donald's chin. He wraps his free arm around him and rubs his back like he always used to when they were younger.

"Comfortable?"

Louie just nods into his chest.

Again, Donald waits until the boy has fallen asleep before trying to get a little sleep himself.

He doesn't even get that far.

Huey and Dewey don't say anything as they settle in; Huey tucking himself in between his stomach and Louie, and Dewey stretches out between Della and him.

"We all good?" Donald asks, watching them get comfortable with an amused smile.

They both nod, and Donald grins; they can finally all get some sleep.

An hour later and he's really starting to hate these instincts he's come to rely on all these years.

He has to say he's surprised to see Webby pulling herself up and finding a space to curl up just below the boys. Lena and Violet join her only minutes later, the three of them ending up curled up together in the space between his and Della’s knees. He doesn’t say anything, opting just to let them nestle down and go to sleep.

Next to join the party, and most surprising of all, is May and June.

He’s woken by the creak of the door, and manages to twist his head around enough to see the two girls stood anxiously by the door, hands clasped as tightly as his and Della’s, now squashed under a pile of children. He doesn’t bother checking the time, it’s still dark, and at this point he doesn’t care, he’s just going to stay in bed until he’s no longer bone-tired.

Honestly, he’s not entirely sure where they could fit, it’s not a massive bed, not a single, but not quite a double either. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“There’s still space,” he whispers, gesturing them over, “somewhere.”

They don’t move, glancing nervously at each other, then back at him.

“Come on, it’s alright.” He stretches out an inviting hand, smiling when they take a cautious step towards him. “you guys are family now, just find a space and squeeze in.”

They end up tucked into the crook of his knees, curled up tightly together and using his leg as a pillow. He smiles, reaching down and smoothing their hair. They smile gratefully, closing their eyes and settling down.

Again, Donald waits until their breathing evens out in sleep. That should be all of them now, and he’s so very, very tired. He drops his head back to the pillow, takes a deep, calming breath, and closes his eyes.

#Ducktales #DT17 #Donald Duck #Dad!Donald #Della duck #HDLW #Lena #Violet #May and June #Donald has adopted them all and nothing with convince me otherwise #The last one was just tears and angst #have some tooth-rotting fluff too #my stuff

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tiesandtea · 3 years

Photo

ashworthchris From the archive: Suede Opening Double Page Spread from Ray Gun 45 (U2 Cover). Published in April 1997. Photography by Donald Christie. Commissioned by @marvinjarrett.

This spread was inspired by Brett’s haircut. I always found it hard to work with curves - but it was a nice challenge as the the feature’s that came before and after this were pretty gridded and angular. The band name was Sellotape-manipulated type set on the Mac, the serif (shock, horror) copy in the bottom right was run through the office fax machine. And the type under his chin was set with Letraset.

#brett anderson #suede #ray gun 1997

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birds-punch · 3 years

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The Three - Way Scandal

Summary: When Mickey Mouse accidentally stumbles upon his best friend, Donald Duck kissing two certain Caballeros; the mouse quickly takes it upon himself to investigate if the duck is cheating on Daisy or not.

Characters: Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Donald Duck, Goofy, Daisy Duck, Panchito Pistoles, José Carioca, Several other Disney Characters.

Pairing: Donald x Panchito x José (Three Gay Caballeros), Donald x Daisy (past!)

Notes:

This is literally the first OT3 fanfic I’ve written in a long time and not to mention the very first time I actually written Mickey, Goofy and Minnie so I apologize if I made anyone OOC in this.

I also used Google Translate for the Spanish and Portuguese words that Panchito and José speaks in this fic, so feel free to tell me if I got anything wrong and I’ll quickly fix it.

“Hey Minnie, have you seen Donald? He wasn’t at the door earlier.” Mickey asked, getting off the stage after he introduced himself to the crowd.

Minnie looked up from her schedule, tapping her chin with her pen. “Sorry Mickey, I didn’t see him either. But Panchito and José are here tonight, why don’t you go ask them?”

Mickey’s expression lit up at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea! Thanks, Minnie!” He said giving her a wave, before walking off to find the two birds.

Surely finding two colourful looking birds would be easy right? Well apparently not, because after going through the entire theatre and checking every single table along with the foyer, (where he got the same answer from Daisy) the mouse still couldn’t find the duck. Letting out a tired sigh, Mickey went back to sit on the red couch that’s near the dressing rooms and the back entrance to the stage.

‘Where could Donald have gone off to?’ The mouse thought to himself, trying to come up with some ideas on where his best friend might’ve gone to.

As if the universe finally got tired of him trying to figure out, the sound of three muffled voices came into ears. Turning his head into the direction of the noise, Mickey found himself face to face with Donald’s dressing room door. Quickly getting off the couch, he walked over to the door about to knock when he noticed that it wasn’t even locked or closed properly, showing a gap large enough for anyone to peek through.

Despite knowing that’s incredibly rude to listening in on other people’s conversations and spying on them at the same time. Mickey couldn’t control his curiosity or his impatience from peeking through the gap, tuning his round ears towards the conversation.

The white duck fiddled with his work jacket, looking quite uneasy towards two familiar birds.

“Ooohh... I’m so nervous guys. I’m not sure if this is gonna go well for us in front of everyone.”

José immediately stepped in, a calm supportive smile on his beak, “It’ll be alright, meu patinho. Don’t forget that this not only you’ve been waiting for a há muito tempo, but also Panchito and I as well. We’ll be here by your side, up on that stage tonight.”

Panchito also stepped in, placing a hand on the duck”s shoulder. “Being nervioso for this big confession is normal, Mi Patito. But I promise everything will be alright in the end and if no one accepts us for what we have together,” the rooster then shook a fist in the air. “Iré a ellos y los haré comer mi puño!”

Mickey felt a rush of confusion go through his body. He doesn’t remember asking the Three Caballeros to perform for tonight or Minnie changing the schedule a little. They’re probably just here to visit their friend.

A smile finally forms on the mallard’s face, before wrapping his arms around the two Caballeros in a two way embrace.

“Thanks guys, I really needed that.”

“You do not need us to thank us, meu amor,” José replied, returning the hug. “Panchi and I tell you these things because we love you very much and are proud of how far you have come and how brave you are.” The parrot finished, taking Donald’s cheek into his hand.

“I love you guys too.”

Hearing those words was still as powerful as the very first time he told the pair his feelings of love a long time ago. Taking the initiative, José gently placed his beak over Donald’s before letting Panchito do the same.

Mickey’s mouth dropped open in shock at the scene that was happening right in front of his eyes. A million questions ran through his short circuited head. ‘When did this happened?!’, ‘Why didn’t Donald tell him and Goofy?’, ‘How long have they all been together?’

The mouse rubbed the back of his head, still trying to process what the Three Caballeros just did in Donald��s dressing room. He couldn’t believe that Donald had kept this secret relationship to himself for a very long time and so well that no one had even suspected that anything had changed about the white Pekin. But... if Donald didn’t tell anyone other than the fact that he either bi or gay (not saying that the mouse has anything against it.), does that mean it’s because he’s cheating on Daisy?

He immediately shook his head, trying to erase that last thought.

‘No way! Donald may cheat at anything, cheating in a relationship just isn’t like him!’ The star thought to himself furiously. A second thought then invaded his mind, ‘Then again... Whenever Donald and Daisy are together and Minnie and I go on double dates with them, he never really smiled on any of them.’

Mickey started to walk away from Donald’s dressing room towards the stage. But if that was the case, why would Donald even be cheating on her? Well, he’ll get some help trying to figure this out later. He must go and introduce the first cartoon to the guests.

“Hey Goofy!”

Said Goof looked up from the table he was serving.

“A-hyuck! Hi Mickey, what’s up?” He greeted, placing the ordered dish on the table.

The mouse looked around, before gesturing to his best friend to come down so he could whisper in his ear.

“There’s something I need your help with at the moment. It might have to do with Donald and Daisy.”

Goofy turned to look at his friend with surprise, already forgetting that he’s supposed to head back to the kitchen.

“Gawsh Mick. Is there something going on between Donald and Daisy?”

Mickey opened his mouth but then closed again, pursing his lips. Is this really a good idea? Getting Goofy involved in all this? Getting Donald to stop cheating on his girlfriend is one thing but he also doesn’t want to ruin Goofy’s friendship with the duck as well!

“Mickey, what wrong?” The dog asked, looking at how worried his best friend looked.

Drawn out of his thoughts by the waiter, Mickey looked up for several seconds then looked back at the table where Panchito and José were seated at, the two birds speaking to each other before getting off their seats and heading straight for the foyer, the parrot taking with him a glass of water. The mouse then turned back to look at his friend, still looking concerned as ever.

“Okay, Goofy I’ll tell ya. But not where everyone can see us.”

“WHAAAAAATTTTT?!!!!” Goofy’s voice echoed through the entire building.

“Shh!!” Mickey quickly shushed his best friend, looking around to see if Goofy’s outburst attracted any attention.

Goofy covered his mouth to prevent himself from yelling again.

“Are you sure, Mick? Is our pal Donald really cheating on Daisy with Panchito and José?” The black dog asked, still shocked by what his best friend told him.

Mickey scratched his chin, “Well I’m not really sure, until we get all the facts. It all might just be an inside thing they do together. But I did saw them heading for the foyer, so they be looking for Donald right now and we have to go see what they’re up to!”

With that, the two best friends quickly headed into the foyer before hiding themselves behind a pillar. There was Donald at the door greeting Pogo, Perdita and their one hundred and one children. After finishing with the last puppy, the duck wiped the sweat off his forehead in a show of exhaustion, before slowly looking up to see his fellow Caballeros coming up to see him again, a smile growing on his beak once José handed him the glass of water.

“Gawsh Mickey, I’ve never seen Donald look so happy to see someone like that before.” Goofy whispered, peeking out from behind the pillar with said mouse.

“Yeah...” the mouse couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealously at how happy the duck looked with his two fellow Caballeros. Not even he saw Donald this happy through all the past years they’ve spent together.

Panchito then said something that made Donald shook his head, smile still attached on his beak. Mickey believed he heard the duck saying he can’t take a break because he’s still quite busy tonight and that he wants to go over what he plans to say in front of the guests. José then placed a hand on the duck’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear that made the white mallard turned red before trying to cover his face, feigning annoyance as his two best friends (unknowingly) watched in surprise.

Before Mickey and Goofy could even try to process Donald’s extremely flushed face, Panchito then gently grabbed the duck’s head, pressing a soft kiss on the top of the duck’s beak before allowing the Brazilian Parrot have his share of kisses with the duck.

Goofy’s eyes bugged out and his mouth went slack jawed at the sight. He couldn’t believe his eyes! Panchito and José are smooching their best friend Donald and he seems to be enjoying it.

“I-It really is true... Our pal Donald is a cheating heart...” The dog muttered, still watching the three birds shower each other with loving affection.

“Yeah I... I guess there’s no point denying it anymore.” Mickey sighed, sounding quite sad that there’s a chance both his and Goofy’s friendship with Donald is ruined.

“What are we gonna do, Mick? Donald can’t keep cheating on Daisy like this!” Goofy whispered.

The mouse rubbed his chin in thought. “I’m not sure Goofy, but I remember the three of them discussing something about announcing to the guests up on stage tonight. Maybe if I can stop Donald and the other Caballeros from getting up on the stage, we might just be able to get this all sorted out.”

“Okay, but how’s that gonna work?”

“First; you go find Daisy while I’ll stall for time and once she’s here; Donald, Panchito and José will have to explain themselves to her, making them run out of time to get on stage and announce what they’re gonna say.”

Goofy saluted, “Got it Mick!” He than ran off to go find Daisy, leaving Mickey to continue watching the three birds talk to each other a little longer before making their way to the backstage, unaware of the spying mouse.

Donald wheezed from nervousness, going through some breathing exercises with Panchito and José, the two of them gently holding his shoulders.

“That’s it, Donal’. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.” José spoke softly, helping the white duck.

The rooster gently shushed in his ear, “It’s alright, mi Patito. We’re right here besides you and we’ll be together on that stage.” He then nuzzled the duck’s head feathers in a comforting manner.

A tiny smile grew on the duck’s beak, from his lovers’ support and the slow nuzzling on his head. The smile slowly changed to a determined expression as confidence slowly began to surge within in, his chest starting to puff out.

“Alright, I can do this! Panchito, José, come on! Let’s get on that stage!!” The duck spoke with much spirit and energy, immediately marching for the stage in a straight line. The two Latin birds shared a look of surprise before breaking into a small run to keep up with the confident Pekin.

“Pato, wait!” José called out, stopping just behind Donald who was an inch near the curtain. “Shouldn’t we wait for senhor Mickey first?”

“Aw, phooey!” Donald scoffed. “We don’t have time to wait for Mickey to introduce us, I’ll do it myself!”

“Whatever you say, mi amigo.” Panchito shrugged, unable to stop a proud smile from growing on his beak at how brave and confident his American boyfriend is.

“Donald, wait!” Mickey panted, stopping just front of the three birds as he tries to catch his breath.

The three birds watched the exhausted mouse with bemusement before the white duck turned back towards the curtain, not listening to his best friend due to being too focused on his current goal.

“Sorry Mickey, but We gotta go up on stage now.” The duck then hooked arms with Panchito and José, all three of them heading onto the stage as Mickey watches helplessly.

Upon seeing the crowd of Disney Characters sitting at the tables with all eyes on them, the duck chuckled nervously as he pulls his shirt collar. The two Latin birds gave their American lover’s arms a supportive squeeze, still holding onto to him. Letting himself take a very deep breath, he managed to regain the strength to speak.

“H-Hi everybody. Unfortunately we’re not here to perform tonight,” Several disappointed groans echoed through the auditorium, the crowd obviously wanted to watch the trio sing, like the previous times they were here at the house. “But we got something incredibly important to tell all of you.” Unhooking his arms, Donald took his two lovers’ hands in his’. Here we go, it’s the moment of truth.

“Panchito, José and I. We’re a-“

“Donald, stop! You can’t do this!!” A certain mouse exclaimed, quickly running up on the stage.

The American Pekin looked incredibly outraged, temper rapidly starting to rise. “WHAT?! WHY NOT?!”

Panchito and José quickly took hold off the angry duck’s arms to stop him from beating up the mouse, but they each still looked just as vexed as their boyfriend.

“Isn’t it obvious, Donald?” Mickey asked, trying his best to keep his cool and guard in case the duck goes after him.

“NO MICKEY, IT’S NOT IF YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT IN THE NAME OF DISNEY YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!!” The duck responded, struggling to put up his fists.

“STOP CHEATING ON DAISY, DONALD!” Mickey finally yelled.

Every guest in the auditorium gasped in shock from what their favourite mouse just yelled at the duck. Whispers started to fly around the tables between each Disney Character, everyone wanted to know what’s going on.

Donald’s expression turn from anger to utter confusion, loosing the adrenaline from wanting to punch the mouse as Panchito and José looked at each other, just as equally confused.

“Say that again, Mick?” The white mallard said, having trouble trying to process what he was just accused of.

Mickey’s expression also melted in bemusement. “Stop cheating on Daisy, Donald...” he repeated, also sounding confused.

“What’s going on here, boys?” Said female duck asked, walking onto the stage with Goofy and Minnie following behind.

Every single eye in the building landed on Daisy, as Donald facepalmed himself, silently asking himself why is this happening to him.

Thankfully José spoke up for him, “Nossas desculpas senhorita Daisy. It seems our amigo, senhor Mickey is accusing our Patinho of cheating on you.”

Daisy’s eyes widen slightly, looking at Mickey then at Donald and the two birds before sighing to herself, shaking her head. “Mickey, you’ve got it all wrong. Donald isn’t cheating on me; we broke up a long time ago.”

Another loud gasp went through the audience who were watching everything that unfolded right in front of their eyes. Mickey open and closed his mouth, unable to find the words to say when Donald chimed in, fiddling with the rim of his uniform jacket.

“Mickey, I broke up with Daisy so I wouldn’t cheat on her with the two guys before I started dating them. She knew the whole time because I had to tell her I love Panchito and José, I didn’t want to lie to her.”

The mouse took a while to process what the two duck’s just told him. Another question however, was on his mind. “But if you told Daisy a long time ago, why didn’t you tell me or Goofy until now?”

Donald slumped slightly, still fiddling with his jacket. “Because it wasn’t safe for all three of us at the time.”

Everyone in the audience immediately went quiet as they watched, Panchito and José gently placed their hand on the duck’s shoulder with sadness in their usually bright and energetic eyes.

A sigh passed the duck’s beak. “When all three of us started dating two years after our movie came out in 1945, we couldn’t have an open relationship because of society at that time and aside from Daisy and my three nephews, Huey, Dewey and Louie. no one would’ve understand what we have together. So all three of us with Daisy’s help, kept it a secret from everyone else.” Donald then let out a short laugh, “We’ve almost been caught a few times before, but somehow we still kept it under wraps.”

Shortly after the white mallard spoke his word, Panchito quickly took over.

“But you see Señor Mickey, now that sociedad has become more open minded and free, the Three Caballeros talked about finally coming out and we all agreed to tell everyone tonight at the House of Mouse.”

José then noticed that Mickey looked rather downcast, covering his face with his hands.

“Você está bem, Mickey?” The parrot asked just after Donald and Panchito noticed that something was wrong with the host.

“No.” The mouse replied, lifting his head up to look at his best friend, “I’m so sorry Donald. I should’ve asked you what’s going on between you and the other Caballeros instead of just assuming you’re cheating on Daisy and ruining your confession to everyone.” Mickey then turned to look at Goofy, “I’m really sorry I got you involved in this too, Goofy.”

The waiter simply brushed it off, “Aww, Mick. It’s fine. You were worried for both Donald and Daisy, I was too.”

Donald placed a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Well, the whole coming out wasn’t really how me and the boys expected it and I was pretty mad when you tried to stop us, but in the end we managed to do it and it seems everyone here, is okay with it too.”

As if on cue, everyone in the crowd started clapping and cheering as a show of support as Mickey pulled his best friend in a hug, saying his own words of support.

“What a night this turned out to be, huh?” Donald asked his best friend before saying a goodbye to Winnie the Pooh and Piglet.

“Ha ha, it sure has.” Mickey’s smile weaken a little. “I still can’t believe how much of a jerk and an idiot, I acted towards you and your boyfriends though.”

Donald sighed, “Mickey I already told you, it’s alright. It was kind of my fault as well since I didn’t tell before the show started.”

“You wanted it to be a surprise and I kind of ruined it.” The mouse rubbed the back of his head. “But it still turned into a surprise somewhat.” He remarked, laughing a little.

“Yeah, did you see the look on everyone’s faces when you accuse me of going behind Daisy’s back? That was priceless!”

The two best friends fell into a small fit of laughter when José rushed back inside the club, just stopping at their feet.

“Meu bem, it’s an emergência!” The green parrot said in between pants.

Donald quickly rushed to his Brazilian lover’s side. “What’s wrong, Joe? Are you hurt?!”

José shook his head, smoothing out his cream coloured jacket. “Não it’s not me. Do you remember, what you Americans called him...uh what’s the termo?” He snapped his fingers, trying to think. “Ah! That air headed dog called Gaston? He just said some really palavras horríveis about the three of us and Panchito just challenged him to a gunfight!”

The duck wakked in shock before grabbing a chair and running outside. “Panchito! Hang on, I’m coming!” He then ran off onto the street.

“Donal’ wait, you’re going the wrong direção!” The Parrot turned to the mouse and shook his hand in a way that would’ve made the rooster proud. “Sinto muito Mickey, but I must go and help my namorados now. Obrigado pelo seu gentil apoio, despedida!”

With that, José ran into the direction of the duck, swinging his black umbrella around like a sword as Mickey watched on from the inside of the House of Mouse.

#house of mouse #the three caballeros #three gay caballeros #panchito pistoles #jose carioca #donald duck #Mickey Mouse #goofy #minnie mouse #daisy duck #Disney #fanfiction

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la-muerte · 4 years

Text

EVERYONE READ THIS TO THE END ! THAT’S AN ORDER !

My friend Kevin and I are volunteers at a National cemetery in Oklahoma and put in a few days a month in a 'slightly larger' uniform. Today had been a long, long day and I just wanted to get the day over with and go down to Smokey's and have a cold one. Sneaking a look at my watch, I saw the time, 16:55. Five minutes to go before the cemetery gates are closed for the day.

Full dress was hot in the August sun Oklahoma summertime was as bad as ever--the heat and humidity at the same level--both too high.

I saw the car pull into the drive, '69 or '70 model Cadillac Deville, looked factory-new. It pulled into the parking lot at a snail'space. An old woman got out so slow I thought she was paralyzed; she had a cane and a sheaf of flowers--about 4 or 5 bunches as best I could tell.

I couldn't help myself. The thought came unwanted, and left a slightly bitter taste: 'She's going to spend an hour, and for this old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I'm ready to get out of here right now!' But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in.

Kevin would lock the 'In' gate and if I could hurry the old lady along,we might make it to Smokey's in time.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman's squint.

'Ma'am, may I assist you in any way?'

She took long enough to answer.

'Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days'

'My pleasure, ma'am.' (Well, it wasn't too much of a lie.)

She looked again. 'Marine, where were you stationed?'

' Vietnam, ma'am.. Ground-pounder. '69 to '71.'

She looked at me closer. 'Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I'll be as quick as I can.'

I lied a little bigger: 'No hurry, ma'am.'

She smiled and winked at me. 'Son, I'm 85-years-old and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let's get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name's Joanne Wieserman,

and I've a few Marines I'd like to see onemore time..'

'Yes, ma 'am. At your service.'

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flower bunches out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone.

She murmured something I couldn't quite make out.. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC:

France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section,stopping at one stone I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek.

She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen

X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.

She paused for a second and more tears flowed. 'Two

more, son, and we'll be done'

I almost didn't say anything, but, 'Yes, ma'am. Take your time.'

She looked confused. 'Where's the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.'

I pointed with my chin. 'That way, ma'am.'

'Oh!' she chuckled quietly. 'Son, me and old age ain't too friendly.'

She stood there and murmured a few words I couldn't make out and more tears flowed.

'OK, son, I'm finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.'

Yes, ma'am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?'

She paused. ‘Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines.'

She stopped! Whether she had finished, or couldn't finish, I don't know.

She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully.

I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

'Get to the 'Out' gate quick.. I have something I've got to do.'

Kevin started to say something but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us down the service road fast. We beat her.

She hadn't made it around the rotunda yet.

'Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost.

Follow my lead.' I humped it across the drive to the other post.

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny's voice: 'Tehen Hut!

Present arms!'

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye--full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud.

She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country,and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice far beyond the realm of most.

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

Instead of 'The End, 'just think of 'Taps.'

As a final thought on my part, let me share a favorite prayer: 'Lord, keep our servicemen and women safe, whether they serve at home or overseas.

Hold them in your loving hands and protect them as they protect us.'

Let's all keep those currently serving and those who have gone before in our thoughts.They are the reason for the many freedoms we enjoy.

'In God We Trust.'

Sorry about your monitor; it made mine blurry too!

If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under!

God Bless America.

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