#jazz bard

[aurelion-solar]

Remix Rumble Unit Art - Battle of the Golden Spatula (CN TFT)

[fantastictalesofadventure]

𝗦𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼𝗼 𝗶𝗻 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗥𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗹𝗼𝗳𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗴𝗻, 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝗻𝘆 𝗚 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝘅𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗶𝘀𝘁.

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

I'm not saying that Flowers Husbands is back in business...

BUT WHAT I AM SAYING IS, Scott choosing to be a (spoilers) cat (spoilers) just to mess with Jimmy is golden

Like anytime he mentions it, it's just a series of "oh yeah I'm planning to go invisible and steal Jimmy's shit"

And the rest of the cast is like "okay... Anything else?"

Scott's just like "... Ehhhhhh didn't really think the rest through... Probably be a rouge route. And thief-ish...so I can't steal from Jimmy"

No thoughts. Just Be Gay. Do Crime.

[miss-sheepy]

Session 4 drawing! Ciel the bard plays a tune to try and calm down Whisper after a hectic premonition nightmare 🎵

Nightmare in question

[seagullcharmer]

the more i think abt my silly crossover fic the more i find issues with it..... like. i just wanted to play with a few characters (ha. ha. there were 12) but i keep struggling with it. i don't have a good fit for a time player. but luka is there. i could shove him in. but then i'd have to rearrange things. and i might just rearrange things anyway! maybe it's different sessions that have to come together like the kids and trolls! maybe the ladybug team is the only one with a decent enough seed to sprout a new universe (being the only group with a space player and a time player) and they have to find a way to get the other sessions together. idk! idk!!!

[dracomeir]

Just 'cause I'm really intrigued by this (and more or less tempted to draw..) do you have any designs/references for your Renegade Detective AU gang? Could help to also ramble a bit on their world and setting, even if you don't write it out. Always cool to get info about these fellas, might even help you brainstorm on plots and such for later whenever : )

Luckily for me, this is literally the only AU I have planned start to finish. I could write a whole essay, but I don't want to drop everything at once right now. :3

Also to anyone reading this, spoilers but not really since all of this would be in the prologue/chapter one, and I'm like 70% sure I'll never write this fanfic, but still.

So I'm lazy, and can't be bothered to redraw OG Pico into what Soft Pico is wearing, but that's basically what the uniform of the SCF (Special Crime Forces) is. This squad was created with Detective Pico as its leader, and they deal with any crimes where demons are involved. Forensics scientist Darnell wears a purple shirt. He's also the one who creates weapons, sprays, tranquilizers, and any other means of self defense that are effective against demons. Criminal analyst Nene wears pink. She gathers intel from less legitimate sources, keeps an eye on the black market for items of interests, and helps Pico determine what a suspect's next course of an action could be. She also tore the sleeves off of her blazer since she gives no fucks, and the higher ups can't do shit about it since Pico and his crew are the only one with the balls to deal with demons.

Pico is the only one of the trio to have dual pistols. One is a black one called Noir. He uses this gun for humans, and other creatures that don't require magical means to be harmed. His runic pistol is white, and is called Blanc. BF gave this to him back in college, and its enchanted by magical runes that allow him to harm demons, or any other entity that can't be harmed by non-magical means. He is considered a renegade in the force since he will break protocols/the law, and disobey orders if it meant saving the lives of others. Due to him and his squad being the only ones capable of dealing with demons, he hasn't gotten fired for his insubordination yet.

I quickly drew BF's design since I never drew him in full yet, but just imagine him with his usual hair, and pants matching his vest. The lines on his horns represent his energy level. This energy is required for him to live, and incubi/succubi can regain this energy by simply seeing certain thoughts/desires of those around them. Unfortunately for BF, he is unable to gain the energy he needs like others of his kind. This is due to an arch demon punishing him with a curse for betraying the clan, and preventing them from killing Pico, Darnell, Nene, and other students at college. This curse harms him if he doesn't actively block out the desires of others, and the only way for him to regain energy is to take the souls of others, killing them in the process. No one else knows about this until way later in the story. This demon attack on the college was also the reason why BF was forced to drop his human illusion, and his use of charm magic in combat causes Pico to jump to the conclusion that the incubus charmed him to make him fall in love, and breaks up with him. With the bad reputation of his kind at this point of time, BF had no chance to explain himself.

BF doesn't see Pico again until a few years later where a new program that employs demons as emotional support was made. This program is an attempt to improve the reputation of demons, and to show the general public that not all demons are a threat. With the help of the ginger's father (tank dad, yippee!), BF convinces the ginger to put an anti-magic bracelet on him to prove that no magic will get in the way of regaining his trust. He also cooks for him, plays his saxophone for BGM despite Pico's annoyance, and helps him fight demons once the detective trusts him enough to not use magic on him or his friends.

To give you a better idea what BF and Pico's dynamic will be like, here's a short dialogue exchange between the two of them when the ginger trusts BF enough to use lower level magic. A level of magic that allows him to see the thoughts/desires of others.

"Thanks, Pico. I promise to only look when I really need the ener- Wait. Why is your head empty?"

Pico simply shrugged in response despite knowing he had protection against the magic BF was using.

"Has your standards gotten higher since we broke up? Is my ass too small? Too big? Is my chest window not big enough? Is lean and muscular not good enough for you now? Do I have to work out?" He looked at himself in the mirror. "Actually, fuck everything I just said. I'm perfect the way I am. Still though, there's a hottie right in front of you, and you don't even have the smallest dirty thought of him?"

"Hm... Maybe you're not trying hard enough."

"Excuse me? You have no fucking idea how hard it is," he gestured to himself as he walked away to question his abilities as an incubus. "To look this good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to... Do maintenance on my saxophone."

The moment the door closed, Pico chuckled to himself. "Fucking idiot."

Edit: I forgor that Pico wears reading glasses.

[dndcharactersinfo]

College of Jazz Bards by CamunonZ

[javiersprincess]

lamb, tell me about your journey, any thoughts you've been thinking since playing the game 🎤

HELLOOO JAZZ ‼️‼️‼️ i love this ask so bad ive wanted to progress a little further before answering and to flesh out my character 🫡

FIRST OF ALL ‼️‼️‼️‼️ LOVE THIS GAME LOVE THIS GAME SO BAD ‼️ there is so much to do i really dont have the words but here is my character + her interpersonal journey ‼️

my first playthrough follows venlahne (VEN• LAH• NÉ) whos a cleric of lathander, of the light class. she comes from the coast, is not from baldur’s gate and instead is on a pilgrimage to find the Blood of Lathander and to rebuild the Rosemary Monastery. The only reason why she was captured is because she literally took one step through Baldur’s Gate and got SNATCHED. venlahne however is special, as she is been in constant contact with her god and sees the world through his eyes as an acolyte.

she’s a regular degular do gooder, with a penchant for picking up anything she can find even from the dead. in death there are new beginnings that includes items whos owners have passed on (they - especially astarion think this is just her rationalizing the looting.) but despite being a good person she sometimes butts head with others over her religious beliefs conducting her morals and choices (astarion and shadowheart and lae’zel especially)

now. This Is Where It Gets Complicated.

in the lore of dnd the god lathander particularly hates the undead as he sees them as abominations to the living (the act of dying is sacred to lathander as all mortal life has its course so the act of rejecting this through necromancy or vampirism is an afront to him) but the person that they r romancing is astarion the vampire. this is because lathander is also the god of youth, hope, and new beginnings. when venlahne grows closer to astarion she feels as if he was denied his youth, the foundation for one’s death so she loves him through that lens and wants to restore his freedom and later undo his vampirism.

a huge part of her story is learning how lonely she is when no longer under the veil of being the Morninglord’s chosen and astarion slots perfectly into the missing pieces of her life as she does in astarion’s !

[samthecookielord]

gee maggie who let you have 2 themes and 1 unfinished wip

[addictedtothesound]

Watch "MEGS’ VILLAIN SONG - I Won’t Say I’m In Love (but it’s villainous) | ANIMATIC | Disneys Hercules" on YouTube

[aurelion-solar]

ILLBEATS Illaoi, Maestro Jhin, Jazz Bard, Hyperpop Lulu & Ziggs - Legends of Runeterra Splash Art

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

Live Footage: John Finbury Teams Up with Bruna Black on Breezy and Soulful "Chão De Nuvem"

Live Footage: John Finbury Teams Up with Bruna Black on Breezy and Soulful "Chão De Nuvem" @heygroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron @cantabrunablack @GreenFlashMusic

Andover, MA-based Grammy and Latin Grammy-nominated drummer and composer John Finbury spent his teenaged years playing in rock bands at New York’s The Bitter End. Finbury went on to study classical piano, music theory and composition at the Longy School of Music at Bard College and at Boston University. Back in 2014, the Andover-based musician and composer released The Green Flash, a four song…

[yourworldiseternallycomplete]

had to make an emergency new character for dnd LOL but i love them

[coolseabird]

Awesome!

Belatedly noticed that my swords bard’s two most-used lutes almost—almost—resemble my own two instruments. The DLC “Lute of the Merryweather Bard” (L) has four strings, which matches my Fender Jazz Bass, but the standard starter lute (R) has six pairs of strings (12 total), a bit more than my custom mandocello’s four pairs (8 total).

So yes, folks, self-inserts for your characters are Just Fine and don’t let anyone tell you different.

(especially if your characters have better hair than you do)

[itsonlydana]

hello! I see you have requests open...(?) for the hobbit/lotr, and I was wondering if I could request a modern!thranduil x reader fanfiction? the reader is some sort of barista/baker/other thing, and Thranduil is obviously all rich and shit and comes in once, is enamoured by shy, flustered reader and then becomes a regular? obviously, they end up together in the end. thank you!

Lattes and Love | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

it's a rainy monday, perfect for a meet-cute with the new, handsome and rich customer that you totally don't embaress yourself in front of

tags/warnings: coffeeshop!au, fluff

word count: 2,7k

an: oh, this was such a good request! Thoroughly loved writing it :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"Falling for customers strictly forbidden!" was the non-negotiable rule for anyone who found themselves working at the loveliest café in Laketown; 'Beans & Leafs'.

Despite being written out on a wooden board behind the counter and in the kitchen, this rule was obviously ignored by more than half of the employees; the others were either happily coupled up, had no interest in romance, or had such an unhealthy work-life balance that this didn't matter anyway.

You, on the other hand, a longtime single and die-hard lover of romance novels, were one of the employees who couldn't go a month without an over-the-counter crush, serving coffees and teas as well as heart eyes and shy blushes.

You had perfected your craft of pouring coffee while thinking of scenarios where, instead of getting a tip, the handsome brunette with the gentle smile would wait until the end of your shift and invite you out for not coffee, but a drink, perhaps.

These fantasies did no one any harm; you would even go as far as to debate that the love you pledged for the customers was an ingredient that fitted exquisitely into the crushed beans and steamed milk.

There had never been any complaints, so there was no reason whatsoever why your boss, Bard, flung his arm out and pointed at the sign when the doorbell chimed one rainy Monday morning.

The weather had been particularly awful the entire weekend, clouds hanging low and leaving you to barricade yourself into your apartment, and when you'd left the house this morning, paddling away on your bike and avoiding muddy puddles as well as you could, the skies were still gray and gloomy. Inside the café the warm lamps tried their best to fight against the pale sunlight that fell through rain-streaked windows, coloring everything in washed-out watercolors.

When you followed the length of Bard's hand however it was as if the sun broke through, even if it was only for the few seconds you stared at the man who just entered the shop and stepped into the small line of customers.

He was breathtakingly gorgeous, right up the alley of models you saw in fashion magazines with his sharp cheekbones and the pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. Even his long black coat seemed like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and he looked, by all means, expensive.

"Eyes, Darlin', eyes."

It was only when Bard gently nudged his hip against yours as he passed you from behind and tapped one finger against the sign again, that you bewilderedly realized that hadn't been a direction to the customer's eyes – oh boy, they were twinkling like starlight – but rather a command to advert yours.

"Stop bossing me around," you groaned quietly, glad for the jazz music that played from speakers over your head and the chatter of the few other customers that had found their way into the 'Beans & Leafs'.

"I am your boss. I have every right to command you 'round," Bard said, knocking his knuckles against the sign, "And a rule 's a rule. Doesn't matter if you're the best worker I've got 'round here."

You stuck your tongue out at him of the corner of your mouth under the pretense that it was nothing but concentration over the milk you were pouring into a cup for the customer in front of you.

"You're so annoying," you said as you turned your back on the counter to grab a new cup. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The question was directed at Bard but it's not his warm voice that answers your teasingly snappy question, but a deeper one without the familiar drip of Bard's accent:

"Yes, actually, so I would appreciate my latte with three shots of espresso for takeaway please."

You immediately flew around, hot shame bubbling up straight into your cheeks as you squealed, "Oh shit– I mean, shit, sorry!"

Of course. Of course, the 6ft beauty was the next in line, casually resting one arm on the counter and scrutinizing you with those captivating bright eyes that, now that he stared at you and there wasn't anything between you except the bar and miles of shame, did look exactly like starlight. This was so unprofessional and it didn't help that you were frozen on the spot.

You heard Bard's rough laughter, saw him shaking his head in not-so-quiet disbelief out of your peripheral vision and it only fueled the blush that took over your whole face. "I'm so sorry," you apologized and lowered your chin to look away from the customer and down to the coffee machine instead.

Flaming red cheeks reflected in the silver metal greeted you as you let the machine take over for the espresso – arabica beans from Brasille, rich, sweet and slightly nutty, and, if brewed correctly, which you always managed, would leave a lingering taste reminiscent of dark chocolate. "Whole milk, oat, almond, or soy?" you asked, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that was lodged in your throat.

"Oat, please."

You nodded and fell into the rhythm that you were used to, that, despite the hope the ground would tear up and swallow you completly, comes like second nature. "I just want to let you know that I truly wasn't talking to you," you started and foamed up the milk, hiding behind the steam.

The customer huffed out an amused laugh. "No? You're only that cheeky to your employer?"

Great, now he thought you were an employee who didn't respect her higher-ups. "No no! It's a joke," you cringed at the nervous chuckle you laughed, "Nothing serious, just joking. He knows I would never disrespect him, he's a good boss, one of the best actually! And–" you heard your rambling and wanted to close your eyes at the next blink and never open them again, "– and I should probably stop talking now."

Bard passed you again, patting one hand fatherly on your shoulder though this helped barely because the slight touch immediately zipped straight through your spine. In what could only be described as unfortunate timing your arm flinched forward, breaking the carefully concentrated pouring of steamed milk into the paper cup, and to your horror you watched as the foam parted through the coffee.

And created the perfect heart.

You gave yourself a second to breathe, to stare down into the paper cup and this was totally fine; you made latte art all the time and most of your favorite customers got a heart one day or another. And even if you didn't know the man at all and already made a fool out of yourself, other coffee places did this as well.

It's just coffee.

But it was never just coffee with all the love you poured into it, wasn't it?

So you steeled yourself, ignored the churning of your stomach, and plastered on a flustered smile. "Here's your coffee, Sir." The heart cheekily smiled right back, foam bobbing on top and this was definitely a moment you would be thinking about, maybe even use as an opportunity to reevaluate the importance of Bard's stupid sign. "Cash or card?"

He already pulled out a sleek wallet, manicured nails and long fingers pushed a neat $20 over to you. He wore a smirk, the corners of his mouth turned so far up that white teeth showed and dimples buried themselves into his cheeks. "Cash. I suspect the tips go straight to–" one finger lifted and pointed straight forward, "you?"

"Me," you repeated and quickly shook your head, "I mean yes, they go to me."

"Good," he chuckled, "wouldn't want anyone else to share what you earned rightfully, don't we? Keep the change."

"But Sir!" you protested because this tip was ludicrously big for a latte; more than double the amount of what he had paid for the drink on its own without the free show of you being a complete fool.

The man arched an eyebrow though it carried nothing but curiosity instead of the superiority that it would communicate by an older, more stuffy guy.

You busied your hands, cleaned the frother, and emptied the remaining ground coffee into the trash before you ran a rag over the machine, or otherwise, the probability of ruining your nailbeds was much too high. "The coffee's maybe not to your liking – what if you absolutely hate it?"

"Then I will simply order another one another time," he replied and the hope that sprung up inside your chest, another time– another visit, he would come back– bounced around your ribcage and threatened to burst right through.

Your throat clicked as you swallowed, looking up from the dark brown coffee that filled the next mug, coffee black, arabica beans imported from Peru, fruity and perfect for the cappuccino order, up to the man, this stunning beautiful man who tipped like he could throw away money and not notice the amount missing, the epitome of all what you've dreamed about and exceeding those standards the longer he stood around.

You grabbed the opportunity, damned the sign because why the hell should anyone be forbidden to fall in love with him and bit down on your lower lip, smiling softy.

"Could I get your name?"

"I already have my coffee," he said amused and the heat was back in your cheeks. "But it's Thranduil. Nice to meet you," Thranduil's starlight eyes dropped to the name-pin buttoned to your apron and flittered back up, warm and deep voice wrapping around your name in a manner that was close to too overwhelming. "Now, let's try this drink, shall we?"

Completely entranced by his soft-looking lips that twitched back into a smile at the sight of the heart, eyes locking on yours again as he lifted the cup, you watched him take a sip.

A soft hum.

Long lashes fluttering shut against the apple of his cheek.

Yep, there was no way back from this. By the end of your shift, you would probably bike home and dream about this moment, when Thranduil opened his eyes again and you were still staring, caught despite the line forming behind him, other customers held up by Bard, this wonderful man you would never ask anything of him ever again, and Thranduil competed in the new game of who would look away first.

"Sweet," his voice was still deep, coated by a warmness that only satisfactory coffee would bring, and you swore you tasted the chocolate on your tongue as you bit down on it.

The way your eyes scanned the work area to check if you had accidentally poured sugar into his coffee, he didn't order any, right? – and while the oak milk carried some sweetness with it, it wasn't much but what if– were a clear message of slight panic, nervousness of having gotten his order wrong and Thranduil quickly deescalated the deep frown forming in your eyebrows.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't talking about the coffee," Thranduil said, and, lifting the cup to his lips, he winked at you over the rim.

He left you like that, mouth hanging slightly open while your mind ran the calculation of whether or not he had flirted with you.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze, only managing the midday and afternoon rush with the memory of Thranduil whom you swore, you saw rushing past the window of the shop in the evening, long hair flying in the wind at his quick steps and if your mind didn't play tricks on you, his head turned when he passed you, eyes finding yours in a second that quietened down all the sounds.

The next day, he came in again, a phone pressed to his ear and an apologetic voiceless: "So sorry," when the call was seemingly important enough for him to take his latte, foam-heart included, and dashed back outside, leaving you another hefty tip but no further interaction.

You sighed.

For good measure, you even glared at the sign.

Thranduil stopped by on his way to work every morning from Monday, Thursday and Friday, ordering his latte until it waited for him at exactly 7:45, the heart inside the coffee wandering onto the takeaway cup when you started scribbling his name onto it, first on the dot of the 'i' and then, later, when you were brave enough, next to the name.

It was a hurdle, more than often you had the sharpie pressed into the paper, blacking out from sheer panic that seeped through you like the dark ink that ended up either a smiley or a flower or full stop.

Thranduil would come in, sweep you off your feet by simply smiling or smirking at the new doodle on his coffee, steaming hot as soon as the bell announced his arrival, and leave. Never without tipping you enough for you to buy a new bike at the end of the first month of him visiting the 'Beans & Leafs'.

On Saturdays, Thranduil came in and settled his tall body into one of the window tables, entirely oblivious to all the ogling he got from passersby as well as customers, they stared all the same at his beauty and the weekend always got better because his sole focus was on you.

On Saturdays, he got his coffee, a Cappuccino served in dark blue mugs that complimented his white-blond hair and the rosé of his lips that savored every last drop, and he started asking you for your opinions on the breakfast options.

The first time he did it, long legs crossed over each other and his head propped up on his hands listening intently, you rambled on the entirety of the menu, babbling on and on and on:

"We got wonderful apple rose tarts, that truly look like roses, and rhubarb pie or a lemon shortcake – that one goes perfectly with the chocolaty taste of the coffee beans! And we have croissants, banana bread, and a cheese Danish!"

"Mhmm, all of those sound ama–" Thranduil started but was interrupted by your nervous continuing chatter:

"And of course, you could have a chicken and avocado sandwich, if you want something more savory. Or our chefs make a mean bacon and egg one with arugula and a blueberry vinaigrette?" you asked and threw a quick look to Thranduil who hid his amused smile that lit up his whole face behind his fingers. "Oh, or are you a vegetarian? Then I would recommend the olive, tomato and hummus bagel, but maybe you don't like olives. For that, we have a walnut quiche–"

"Yes, I am vegetarian–"

The smile bloomed past the, noticeably large, hands, the corner of his mouth curling up while his eyebrows furrowed in the concentration of keeping still, watching you in awe as your breath held on far longer than his ability to remain calm and it was only a matter of time until you were done.

Your eyes landed on the dimples, the soft crow feet next to his eyes, and low on oxygen you finally managed to detangle yourself from the menu that you had previously, in preparation for this moment, had carefully written down on your notesblock, the page now crinkled at the edges and most of the ink smeared under the hard press of your thumbs.

"Great! Do you want me to repeat the vegetarian options?"

Thranduil ordered all of your recommendations.

Not all at once, it wasn't past you to bring out dozens of plates at his request but Thranduil kept to two cups of coffee and worked his way through the display of cakes, pies, breads, rolls and sandwiches, always prepared by you.

You served him his first coffee with a heart in his mug and a plate for him to eat and after rushing through the next hour, eyes locking across the room now and again whenever you looked up from the coffee machine and he from his plate, you would bring him his second cup, carrying the heart-coffee and another one for you to sip on during your break, legs brushing against each other under the small table.

It was there, at this table, that Thranduil asked you out, not two months after the first interaction.

It was also at this table that he kissed you for the first time, tasting like love, lattes and a bit of chocolate.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[mafiatsunafish]

The daggers were surprised to see a man that looks like a younger version of Rooster walking into the Hard Deck.

He had the pilot starter pack, Hawaiian floral print shirt, sunglasses hanging on his inner white shirt and all that jazz.

But there was something just so wrong with him, the daggers couldn’t seems to wrap their head on what exactly was wrong.

And then they saw Hangman trailing behind the said man looking weirdly worried and awkward.

“Roo, I’m sorryyyyyy.”

The blond’s apology spooked the entire squad cause the know he DOES NOT say sorry to anyone, except when he really screwed up.

Another thing, so that man was Rooster but apparently just missing something?

Ah

A small cartoonish light bulb appeared on Phoenix head. She shouted:

“Hey Rooster, where the hell is your mustache!?”

It has been years since the last time she saw his bare face like that, ever since their orientation at flight school. Therefore, this creeped the fuck out of her.

Now the other daggers took a few seconds to reboot their brain and updated on the situation, started to boom bard the tall brunet with many questions.

To be fair, none of them NONE OF THEM ever see Rooster without his infamous porntasche, so oh my my for them.

Then Halo seemed to find out another thing that just out of place on Rooster point out.

“Rooster, that is one nasty black eyes you have there man, alright?”

The pair, Hangman and Rooster now sat with their squad, the blond still looked weird and the brunet looked so done but still somehow amused.

“Just feels like I want to shave it.”

Rooster shrugged easily.

“And the black eye in on me.”

Hangman suddenly answered and that take their friend out.

“Uhmmm.. what happened? May I asked? Should I even know?” Coyote asked wearily.

“This bastard, decided to shave his face, bare, without saying anything. Then acted like nothing happened, hugged me from behind when I was cooking. I turned around to see a fucking stranger standing in my kitchen so I punch him.”

“What!?” Their friends shouted

“It’s not my fault that I’ve never see him without damn thing on his face!”

Hangman shouted back while Rooster just laughing beside him.

“I vetted him for that, the last time I saw our chicken’s bare face was in our first week of flight school and that was years before Hangman meet him.” Phoenix was also laughing now.

“I’m alright now, just a punch. He screamed bloody murder when he saw my face like this too.” Rooster added

“Roooooo!” Hangman hid his face behind his hands and Rooster just kissed him softly on his side, still laughing of course.

“It’s ok darling.” Rooster said to his lover.

“Damn, but I understand what Hangman did cause you looked so weird” Bob said while giggling.

“Please put it back.” Fanboy distress mumbling get drowned among his squad mate various noise of amusement.

(The first time Mav and Ice saw Rooster with his mustache through a picture Slider sent them.

Slider was stationed at Rooster based then, he had to call the husbands to warned them first, before sending the picture.

But still.

Mav almost have a panic attack and Ice was so shocked, they then just crying that whole evening. Nothing can prepare them to see how much their godson looks like his father. To the point they almost believe that was Goose, standing there in his flight suit, smiling brightly at them.)

(The autocorrect had me rolling fr )