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fuckyeahdindjarin · 9 months

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IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season.

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress. ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar -

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real.

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes.

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth.

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze.

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too.

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over.

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself.

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down.

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body.

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back.

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag.

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather.

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek.

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off.

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat.

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you.

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact.

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition.

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips.

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon.

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest.

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him.

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up.

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds.

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️

Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #Spotify

473 notes · View notes

starsreminisce · 2 months

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I think I've pinpointed my issue with ACOWAR; the books essentially foreshadow the stories of Elain and Nesta when their book comes back into play to expand on what we were told would happen.

In WAR, Nesta shows that she feels more at home in the HoW and the NC. She takes a stand when she feels like she can help people, foreshadowing her powers with her finger point. She’s comfortable in Illyrian leathers, showing she fits in more. Moreover, Cassian constantly badgers her to train, and we see glimpses of the inevitability of their bond snapping into place.

It’s funny how e/riels like to quote and use WAR to justify their ship as endgame. However, if one were to zoom out of that lens, it shows just how drawn Elain is towards Lucien. Lucien knows when to push to fight for Elain and when to pull back to empower her to do more, and, more importantly, what the mating bond means for them both.

I am sorry to say, but Azriel is going to play a version of Graysen for Elain in her book or, at the very least, he’s going to be lumped in as a final straw for Elain to process just how differently she is being treated by males other than her mate, especially when she is not being heard or when her wants are being dismissed.

Elain is also going to realize just how differently Lucien treats her and realize just how much she's drawn to Lucien. Considering all the moments where we see Elain with Lucien, we see her attention towards him in subtle ways: The meeting at the library, the half-step towards him, saying his name when he's being disrespected by other people, asking if he was alright as he ran across the battlefield towards her, peering at his face, and the push from Feyre that prompted Elain to ask him to come live in Velaris.

Lucien, too, we saw him advocate for her while she is not in the room. The only reason why Elain got better was because Lucien pushed for her to get outside, while slipping into heir markers, and the reason why they won the war was because Lucien believed in her vision to find Vassa. When Lucien said that he is not needed here to find Vassa, we get moments of Elain being able to do more. We see her learning a new skill, using her powers to find the Suriel, kicking off the hound, and wanting to plant more gardens.

The consistency and depth of Elain and Lucien's interactions in WAR lay a sturdy foundation for their relationship's credibility. Elain's emotional responses and Lucien's actions on her behalf bolster the authenticity and depth of their connection. These pivotal moments serve to anchor the Elucien ship in the narrative.

Every interaction between Elain and Lucien is charged with understanding, tension, and mutual longing. Their dynamic mirrors SJM's narrative approach of challenging destined pairs, ensuring their journey is fraught with obstacles. Through these trials, they are compelled to confront their bond together. And after the events of ACOSF, their union feels not only inevitable but earned, solidifying their place as a compelling and deeply intertwined pairing within the series.

#pro elucien #elucien #elain x lucien

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avocado-writing · 9 months

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notes: LMFAO HERE WE GO. went hard into the monster fuckin with this one. this request was also done by @youhavesinnedverybigly which you can read here it's very 💕💞💓💗💝💘💖 thank u for requesting @silcosmoke!

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: E, minors dni

word count: 1.1k

tags: eldritch being biblically accurate angel; use of glitch text

You’re lying flat on your back, pawing up at the soft hair on his chest, and feeling absolutely ravished.

“Aziraphale,” you sigh, letting your tongue caress every syllable. You say it with deference, with rapture, like a prayer dropping from your lips. Aziraphale breathes a heady sigh at the sound of your pleasure and takes the hand you explore him with, bringing it to his face so that he might kiss its palm.

“My love. My darling,” he sighs, thrusting his hips into you a little more sharply. You groan at the feeling of him filling you, the stretch he gives you is always so gorgeous. With a devilish grin you contract your muscles and clench around his thick cock. He moans like he’s being paid by the hour, lost in the tight grip you give him.

“Good lord… you’re so… I’m… I’m…”

Your usually erudite lover becomes laconic when in the throes of lust, something which you take great pride in being the cause of. You assume he means he’s going to come so concentrate on your own orgasm, shutting your eyes and touching yourself. After a couple of moments, when you don’t hear that little sound he makes when he spends, you open them again.

And shriek.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Wh̴a̶t̶'̷s̶ ̸t̴h̴e̸ ̶m̸a̸t̸t̷e̵r̵ ̶m̶y̵ ̷d̵e̴a̷r̸?̷”

The voice doesn’t come from his mouth, because he no longer has one. Aziraphale has, to put it simply, begun to change. His body is no longer the soft, pink, lovely thing you’re used to; he is instead emitting such a bright light that it hurts your eyes if you’re not squinting. There’s no making out any of his features. An angelic lens flare.

“You’re… you’re glowing?!” you manage.

"A̸̓͜m̴̪͝ ̷͈́I̸̖̕?”

Somehow he’s still fucking you, hips rolling as he presses deeper inside. Your body is filled with wave after wave of pleasure as Aziraphale shifts before your eyes, his transformation not stopping his lovemaking. It’s a difficult thing to watch, in fact, you get the sense that if you try to observe it too closely at the very least you’re going to get a terrible migraine, so you turn away.

“M̴̛ͅy̶͕͌ ̶̯̔d̷̹̈a̴̙͒r̶͈̆ļ̵̑i̴̼̍n̶̼͂g̴͕̈,̴̟̀ ̴̤̿Ī̶͎'̵̼̂m̸̘̈́ ̴̗̆ŝ̷͇o̶̞͝ ̸̦͂s̴͉͂o̸͙̍r̷̰̈́r̷̟̂ȳ̸̻,̷̧̅ ̶̨̃I̶̢͠'̴̱̕l̴̡̃l̴̨̐ ̵̬͒s̵̝͐t̸͉̍ô̶̡p̶̞̄ ̵͌͜a̷͝ͅṱ̵̀ ̸̖̒o̸̺͋n̸̰͒c̵͈̾ḙ̶̀-̷̬̏-̴͔͐”

“No! No, don’t you dare. Fuck… just… tell me when you’ve finished changing…”

Your body is bathed with a warm, delicious feeling, both outside and in. Your skin feels like you’re being dipped in balmy water, every cell ignited with the feeling of rapture as your angel shifts. Where you can feel him entering you your body shudders as he presses deeper than he ever has before, filling not just your hole but every part of you, gratification swallowing you entirely. You’re aware of the feeling of being lifted into the air, but not by strong arms or a solid back, no, you’re floating.

B̴̜͇̯̼͊̈E̶̫͊̑̿̃ ̵̩̾N̴̩̯͚͉̈̈́̾̑Õ̵̢̰͕͖̎́͝T̸̛͖̳̺͈̽͂͋ ̶̧̹͎͛̄̀͘ͅA̷̛̱̅̓̉F̸̦̔͒Ŕ̴̳̯̪̐͊Ả̷̗͓͎̗͂Ī̴͕͍̠͂͋D̴̮̹̱̣͊̌,̵̨͘ ̸̼̠̬̹̿̍͠͠L̴̨̫̜͖͛̈́̐Ơ̸̡̈̀̽V̵͈͙̹̱́E̸̞̭͐.̶͍̲̆̌̃

You open your eyes when you hear him speak. No, no, hear isn’t the right word, you feel him speak directly into your mind, his voice reverberating around your body like a fucking pinball. You throb as you feel him pull out and push back in, every sense on fire in the best way.

It takes a moment for you to fathom what you’re looking at.

You’re inside him, which is a bit of a mindfuck, because he’s very much still inside you as well. But it’s easier for him because he no longer exactly has a corporeal form. Instead, Aziraphale is a series of concentric, rotating rings, each emblazoned with a thousand eyes. You know they’re your angel’s eyes, because they’re green-blue-brown, shifting in seconds the way they change whenever you’re in different kinds of sunlight. Every single one of them is focussed on you as they turn, looking at you with so much adoration you feel you very well may burst with it.

Outside the sphere in which you float, a dozen white wings beat slowly; feathers fall and turn to stardust as they go, and your body is showered with it. He engulfs you in this form. And yet you are still at his perfect centre, the apple of his eyes.

It’s fucking bizarre. And you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

“Aziraphale,” you gasp, and a hot beautiful light surrounds your body, making you glow before it begins to push at your entrance and fill you even further. You nudge your legs open and make room for the angel to pleasure you properly, your head rolling back, threatening to tip you; but he keeps you perfectly in place. “God, my god. You’re gorgeous.”

A̸̟̬͍̓̔̀͜͝S̵̪͉̄̓̌̊ ̶̳̓̄̿̀Ą̵̤͌̇̚R̵̖̬͛̆̚E̶͔̬̝̿̄̇ ̵̧̞̞̑̕Y̶��̜̎O̸̧̦̪̙̚U̸̯̣͙͊͆̾͝ͅ,̸̡̞͈͌̇ ̸̧̗͉͒̎M̵̹̆Ȳ̸̭̠̱̑̾ͅ ̴̧̓̑D̶̝̩́̈͊A̸̫̔R̸̖̂L̷͉̆͗I̸̛̟̿̍N̴̠̞͕̖͒G̸̲̘̙̼̑.̵̡͂͆ ̵͎̾̚ͅǪ̷͉̩̓̋ͅH̴͈͚̺̱̉̑,̵̹͆̑ ̸̨̙͘H̵̲̀͛̂Ő̴̺W̸̲͈͎̖͑͋̀̑ ̸̡̭̫͒͝͝Į̶͎̠̱̆̎͂̑ ̸̧̛͉̮̊̋͜L̸̻͔̤̼͑̀Ȍ̴̝͔͙̊̀V̵̺̫̞̈́̈́͌́Ę̶̛̭̞̹̇̋͐ ̴̞̞̏̔̋͠Ỳ̵͇̔̑͜͝Ǒ̶̺̝Ŭ̷̙͕̗͎.̴̣͓̳̊̑͝ ̴̛̝I̶̼̩̊ ̴̟̿̈̎͜ͅŴ̷̛̮͝Ạ̴͚͈̇N̸̪̝̠̻͆̕T̸̺̪̮͒͝ ̷̙̣̓͊̽̽T̶̹͉͍̣̈́O̵̪̐͊͜͜͠ ̸͈̠͇͒K̶̯̉̊̓E̴̱̓͜͝E̷̖̜̥̒̏͝P̶͆̾̈́̕ͅ ̴̡̰͍͊Ý̷͍̳O̶͔͕̓̚͠Ű̵̦̫͍́͗̃ ̷͉́͆̈́̏H̴̰͖̋E̵̢͉͋́̈͊R̶̼̱̎͛E̴̪̩̦͌͐͑̚ ̷͇͓͎̥͒͗̾̓F̷̨̒̐̇Ỏ̶̘͍̞R̷͇̤̼͉̓̈́̍͋Ē̴̥V̷̢̑̍Ẻ̶̞̪̥R̸̡̮̬͓͐̈́̓̄.̴̨̞͚́͐

You feel like you’d let him. You could stay trapped inside your angel ‘til the end of time, for the rest of eternity, however long he wants to keep you there – just so long as he keeps bringing you this pleasure. Every sense drips with it, molasses-thick and saccharine. Your head swims, your hole grips.

“I’m going to come,” you gasp.

C̶̢̛̪͎͚̞̥͊̏͆̇͌O̶̠͎̍̈́̈̐̈́̄M̵̨͎͔̤̈̏̈́͝Ẹ̴̜͇̐̓ ̵̫̳̦͔̘͍̹̑̓̑͊̾͌͘F̷̛̣͉̗̮͕̦̏̀̃̅̆̕͜O̶̧͙͎̖̥̾̍̄́̾̊̚R̵̢̜̘̅̎̇̐̽ ̸̡̛̫̮͔̦͋̈́̀̕͝Ḿ̴͚̺͕̱̫̫E̷͍͗̂̇́͒͘̚.̵̡̧̡͎̝̦͑̔͛͜ ̸̛͈͊͂͒̃I̴̥̫̒ͅ ̶͖̹̻͌W̸̲̞̆̀̉̇͘Á̶̝͎̬̰̞̬̈́͛̈́̎̈̓N̵̨̖̳̞̖̪̺̐Ṫ̶̡̪͇̟͚̥̽̚ ̶̛͓̭̖̊͒Ṯ̵̡̨͖͙͇̦̊̌̏̇͗̉͠O̷̞̺̟͆̔́͆̕͝ ̵̡͍̳͍̳͖̎͜F̴̰̑̏̒̽̍̂͝Ȇ̷̝̜̈̓̽̉͐́E̶̢̨̗͖̟̯̽͒̚͘͜͝L̶͚͒̒̀͠ ̸̪̗̥̍͆͠͝Y̸̼͈̤̅̅̌O̸̹̦͑̑͆͘̚ͅÛ̸͎̃̿̇̇ ̸̲̲̼̒̓̈͘R̴͍͎̜̓̋E̷̢͂́͋̉̈̎̕L̵̼̽E̶͇̔̈̈́̓̈́̅̔À̶̪̥͇̠͆̓͘͠͝S̵̥͉̫͖̀̍Ḛ̵̢͈̗̩̇͑̂̔̔͘͝ ̵͇͖͔̗̳̙̑͌̇̕Ą̸͎̭̾͐̂̈Ś̶͕͔̦̥̈͌̽͂͒̏ ̵̢͈̹͘I̴̫̬̜̔̒̉̂̽͜ ̷͖̙̖͚̗̓F̵͇͒̎I̷̼͌̉̈̐̕͘L̶̨̥͉̝͙͊ͅL̴̛͙̂̄̓͒͛̉ ̴̛̗͓͎̭̳̋́̊̈́͗͠Ỳ̷̧̛͎̼͍̩̥̎͘O̴̢͈̮̟̜͌̈́̈̈́͠͠U̵̧͔̺̼̤͕͓̿̈̃͠.̸̛̪͎̺̱͕̼͎́̊͘

You don’t need telling twice. Your orgasm rockets through you, splitting your fucking soul in half, and you drink down every drop of gratification he gives you. He wrings your body out for every drop of satisfaction you can give him. Stars explode behind your eyes and, when he’s in this form, they may very well be real ones, your consciousness elevated into space as your angel gives you your deepest release and follows in kind.

Aziraphale glows so brightly that you have to squeeze your eyes shut so they don’t get hurt. Outside, every bulb within a hundred metres of the bedroom fucking shatters. People screech as little pops of glass scare them but you’re too lost in this moment. Aziraphale comes in stardust, littering your body with his angelic spend, and as you finally catch your breath you find you’ve been gently lowered back onto the bed.

Eventually the euphoria your body is thrumming with calms down and you’re able to open your eyes. Aziraphale is there, in his usual body, lovely and soft and perfect, smiling down at you with such adoration you feel overcome with it. He says your name like a psalm.

“There you are,” he whispers, holding you close. “Are you alright, my darling?”

“Wonderful,” is all you can manage before you kiss him, because it’s true.

if you couldn't read the glitch text:

what's the matter, my dear?

Am I?

My darling, I'm so sorry, I'll stop at once--

BE NOT AFRAID, LOVE.

AS ARE YOU, MY DARLING. OH, HOW I LOVE YOU. I WANT TO KEEP YOU HERE FOREVER.

COME FOR ME. I WANT TO FEEL YOU RELEASE AS I FILL YOU.

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @cool-iguana @this--is--music @ilyatan @lxsm2 @clarina04 @wtfhasmy-lifecometo @mrgatotortuga @wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @silcosmoke @kimqueenofhell @chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t

#aziraphale x reader #request #michael sheen x reader

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comradekatara · 4 months

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Re: Zuko sexism and fandom: I think that a LOT of people are just genuinely unwilling to actually view Zuko's bad behaviour as actually consequential. He gets "forgiven" by the Gaang and he has a big dramatic duel and then he rules the Fire Nation so it's fine actually. If it wasn't fine he wouldn't have been forgiven, like Jet! They use the lens of end-of-series Zuko, influenced by how the Gaang forgives him, to then retroactively handwave away his earlier behaviour and view it as if end of series Zuko is just misguidedly doing those things, rather than it being an actual expression of what he believes in and his morality at that point in time. Part of it is an abundance of sympathy and projection because he's the most explicit (and arguably only explicit, because other child abuse victims are never injured or attempted-murdered that we know of, and that's the bar for many viewers. Neither are any other than Zuko positioned piteously or as victims of Serious Injustice.) child abuse victim in the show and we see so MUCH of his internal struggle. For like a whole book. There's also a consistent trend of viewing the Fire Nation as Yes, Actually, being better than the other societies, they just shouldn't have tried to spread it via war, so yes Zuko is ✨indoctrinated✨ but in a feminist galaxy brained way not a bad fascist way. So the colonialism would've been fine if people had just agreed with how great the Fire Nation is! Pretty much the entirety of Zuko's bad behaviour is handwaved away as "he's a good guy who had a bad life! We forgive him for all of it, he's trying!" And to a lot of viewers, it's also "he's also hot and I've had a crush on him since I was like 14!". He's genuinely a huge asshole to pretty much everyone around him like, almost 24/7, for the majority of the show. And he has his reasons but he's still caused a lot of harm, and that we see? he's basically only revised his views on violent colonialism, making his Anger other people's problem, and some parts of racism. He only ever addresses what he's done to the Gaang and Uncle to. Does he buy Song another ostrich horse? Does he give Kyoshi reparations? Did he ever find out if that farming family with the kid Lee were harmed for harbouring a FIRE NATION PRINCE? What did he do to apologise to the Southern Water Tribe? Whatever he did to apologise to and thank Mai, if anything, I can guarantee it wasn't enough. That's just his personal stuff, never mind his policy choices as the New Fiery Dictator. It's so boring and frustrating how much people gloss over his jagged edges, because without those edges his narrative and how he fits into the world and story just collapses completely.

you’re so right about all of this. I think his final scene with mai is especially emblematic of how his resolution is framed as “and they all lived happily ever after” even though I remember perfectly well how he treated that poor girl so I’m just yelling at her to run away the whole scene. although I will say that stealing song’s ostrich horse was probably his most justifiable crime just bc if I was a disfigured burn victim and someone tried to touch my face without asking I’d also consider committing petty theft against them. ngl. he still does owe her a new ostrich horse though. and of course framing his ascension as some grand victory is thematically/telelogically appropriate, but I highly doubt he would be like. good at firelording. but that’s for another post. ppl really like smoothing out his edges and treating him as if he’s beyond reproach when everyone only finds him so compelling in the first place because his flaws are so obvious, so they assume he’s more “complex” than the other characters (and also more relatable, but that’s for another post too). it’s actually kind of funny if you think about it. “he’s the best because he’s so noticeably flawed and therefore so complex but also I love him so he doesn’t have any flaws actually and is probably a feminist socialist who loves eating pussy and listening to women.” and this is also lowkey how ppl talk about sokka too but at least sokka does actually do those things, zuko doesn’t even pretend to😭 anyway. i keep saying today that you guys couldn’t handle revolutionary girl utena, but you guys REALLY couldn’t handle revolutionary girl utena…

#which reminds me that I still need to finish that sokka/nanami essay #estra-die-ol #asks #also ofc zuko and mai are both gay. but that’s beside the point #zuko #hot takes #mai #song #sorry I know she meant well but I hate that girl!!!!#she has smug nurse energy 2 me #like no u can’t touch some guy u just met learn some fucking BOUNDARIESS #anyway. he was still wrong for stealing her mode of transportation lmfao

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notsogoodphotographer · 1 month

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Hi i want to talk about my all time favorite camera 📸

pls ignore all my grammar mistakes, i’m not professional reviewer 😂 i just wanna talk about this camera.

This is the Sony RX1Rii, this is the third and “most recent” version of this camera. i put “most recent” in quotes because this camera is almost 10 years old. don’t like the old age fool you because this camera can keep up with the newest cameras in its niche.

This little point and shoot sports a 42mp full frame sensor. YES, F U L L F R A M E!! This tiny camera is actually smaller than all the x100 series (minus the lens on it). The camera has an incredibly sharp Zeiss Sonnar 35mm f2 glued to. This camera has 399 af points, with eye AF. The camera is incredibly fast and accurate!! the camera is pretty much a tiny packaged Sony A7Rii!

One of my favorite features of this camera is the pop-up EVF! This is a feature that was added to only this version of the camera and it’s a feature that i wish sony continued to incorporate into some of their other smaller cameras like the A7c or a6k series!

The camera does shoot video up to 1080 120fps, but does not have picture profiles such has S-log or HLG. This was a camera made strictly for photos, which is probably for the best because the battery life on this camera is terrible, any kind of prolong video shooting would absolutely burn through these batteries in minutes.

That brings me to my next point, my cons. There’s not many but i figured i’d point them out anyways for those who are interested in this camera. these aren’t make it or break it cons, these are just issues that hinder it from being the greatest camera ever released (IMO)

1) battery life, i believe it’s rated for like 220 shots. Ive definitely gotten it to last twice than that. That tiny body processing all that data on some of the tiniest batteries makes sense why it’s so bad. Luckily batteries are cheap and like i said they’re tiny, so they’re pretty easy to carry around!

2) no picture profiles in video. i know i touched on it briefly up above and this camera is mainly a photo camera AAAAAND hybrid cameras were just beginning to grow in popularity around the time this camera came out but it would’ve been amazing to have s-log in this camera for little snippets here and there. i know at the time IG and other photo sharing apps were mainly photo sharing apps, and a camera that was built strictly for photo has no business having usable picture profiles in video.

3) no crop mode in RAW. this one is weird to me because i know the A7Rii has an APS-C mode where you can shoot RAW photos with an inbody crop and there’s times that i’d love to shoot something at 50mm (35mm + sony’s 1.5x aps-c crop). there is a digital zoom option but that’s for jpg only.

4) PRICE!!!! why the fuck is this camera still being sold for $3200??!! this is a 10 year old camera with outdated tech. i bought mine used for $1900 (which is about the price of the fuji x100V at the time of purchase) and i still think that’s a little too much.

that’s really about it aside from minor complaints of not having tele/ wide converters. i’m also sure all of those cons stem from the small battery. I’d love to see all of these corrected in a Mk3 one day, but as of a couple weeks ago sony just discontinued the Rx1rii’s production. I’m being a little hopeful but maybe that means we’re getting a successor, i doubt it but a boy can dream.

I don’t really do reviews or anything but this camera has had my heart for the past 9 months so i had to show it off/ talk about it. this to me in the perfect everyday camera. it never leaves my side and comes with me to any and every trip! Im always blown away by the photos i create with this little camera and i know whenever a mk3 comes out im going to hop on the chance to buy on immediately!

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inukag-archive · 6 months

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Inuvember 2023 Part 1

In honor of @inuvember InuKag Day, the Archive Mods have put together a 30 item InuKag recommendation list: one InuKag fic per prompt. Since this list is longer than our usual, we've split it into two parts. Enjoy!

Day 1 Inuyasha

I Hate That Fucking Well by @kstewdeux (M)

Post-manga. Inuyasha POV. Inuyasha's inner thoughts and monologues. Rated M for fucking language

Day 2 Kagome

Cinnamon Hearts by @fandomobsessions016 (M)

"So, you may be wondering, what’s this story about anyway? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s about how this queen, almost lost her crown, her throne, but worst of all… it’s about how this queen almost lost her king…

Hindsight, of course, has perfect vision, but at the time I did not. I was a girl becoming a woman who fought bitterly against change that was inevitable. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was right in front of me.

What I wanted more than anything was to keep Inuyasha.

High school forced my eyes open, tested our “unshakable” bond and made me confront my biggest fear. All because…

I caught feelings for my best friend.

I like-liked my king."

Day 3 Sango

Forever Home by KittyKatz (M)

How long had he roamed the earth in a form that was not his? Beaten, dirty and caged, he finds one last bit of fortune when she comes to rescue him from this place. But his road to redemption will not be easy. And he will find, that no matter how the world has changed, his old enemy remains. And this time, they plan to destroy him once and for all.

Day 4 Miroku

Under the Northern Lights by @lostinfantasyworlds (E)

Kagome Higurashi has her dream job, working as a photographer for the internationally well-known Yugen magazine. Her career whisks her all around the world, leaving her feeling lonely sometimes but mostly just incredibly grateful to be doing what she loves. When she gets assigned to Alaska for a month to photograph a series of celestial events, she runs into Inuyasha, a half-demon who lives on his own in the middle of nowhere. A mutual attraction draws them to each other, but Kagome's time there is limited. Will giving in to their desire lead to love or heartbreak?

Day 5 Shippo

Oh, But You're Good To Me by @witchygirl99 (E)

It’s a terrible photo, really. The action figure takes up the entire bottom of the screen and part of both of their faces. Shippo’s giggling though, eyes shut and crinkled in his mirth while Inuyasha looks at him. His expression is clearly fond. It’s the softest Inuyasha has ever, ever seen himself.

This is fatherhood, he thinks a little wildly.

He sends the photo to Kagome.

Inuyasha is a single father. Shippo is his adopted son. Kagome isn't supposed to be in the picture, but somehow, she returns anyways. A story about family, love, and all of its obstacles.

Day 6 Sesshomaru

Whispers in the Wind by @ruddcatha (G)

It has been 500 years since Kagome jumped back down the well to be with Inuyasha. A messenger waits to see her family, and is joined by a surprising guest.

Day 7 Rin

My Life Before You by @len-barboza (E) -- based on a story by Mizune-mei

No English language summary provided. Inuyasha había vivido la mayoría de su vida huyendo, un huérfano medio demonio considerado por la gente una aberración, rechazado por demonios y por humanos, pero quien pensaría que esa era una mejor vida, al menos un propósito lo movía; sobrevivir, que sucede con un hanyo con una vida longeva, en completa soledad.

Day 8 Kikyou

Stolen Soul by Kimberly-A (T)

COMPLETE Kikyo uses a spell to exchange bodies with Kagome, leaving Kagome stuck in the dead shell and Kikyo comfortably human. In the aftermath, Inu-Yasha faces difficult choices. InuKag, not very Kikyo-friendly.

Day 9 Koga

A New Moon, A New Start by @pinestripes (T)

Kouga visits the village near the Sacred Tree. On this particular evening, he finds that a certain half-demon is more on edge than usual.

Day 10 Kagura

The Portal Between Worlds by @neutronstarship (E)

Ten years ago, a portal transported Inuyasha from the demon realm to the human realm. Now a half-demon alone in a world he doesn't understand, he will do anything to get home. When Onigumo brings him a book with all the answers, Inuyasha pushes aside his misgivings and works with the man. He just wants to get home, after all.

Kagome just wants to make an extra buck (and find demons), much to Kikyo’s chagrin. That is why she published Demons Among Us! after all. But strange things start happening when she puts the book online. As if people are using it to open the portals that it hypothesized… When Kagura and Sango join the fray, the stakes grow higher as they try to find the source of the portals.

When Inuyasha encounters Kagome, fate is not what it seems. Not one, but two realms are in danger for their survival. What happens when the final portal opens and an unknowable terror is unleashed? Can the Demon Hunters save the world?

Day 11 Naraku

You Rescued Me by @keizfanfiction (E)

Maybe it was fate that he decided to take the back way home that night, but whatever the reason, Inuyasha was grateful for arriving just in the nick of time to rescue a waif of a woman who had clearly been through hell. He never would have imagined that she would end up rescuing him, too.

Day 12 Band of Seven

Delicate by @akitokihojo (T)

To trust someone, to let them in, what an unsettling ordeal. Kagome is easy and safe, and Inuyasha is difficult and guarded. She can put him at ease with a smile, simultaneously setting him on edge. It was nothing until it was something, creating absolute chaos and uncertainty within the both of them.

Day 13 Jinenji/ Shiori

How Does Your Garden Grow? by @dawnrider (M)

An Ingary-esque AU: Kagome, the newest generation of caretakers of the Higurashi House, finally starts to feel like her garden and business is thriving with the help of her friend Jinenji. Their routine is thrown off by the arrival of an injured visitor who does not want to be found...

Day 14 Toga

Taisho School of Acting: A Quick Guide by @jeremymarsh (G)

“Excuse me, what?” Kagome looked at her best friend with eyes as big as saucers, lips parted, and her mind replaying what he had said a moment before – trying to find a sense but to no avail. “You heard me.” Inuyasha scowled, looking down, arms crossed and lips pouting, just like he did every time he didn’t like the topic at hand. The problem was he had started it this time. “Yeah, I did.” Kagome shook her head and inhaled deeply before she continued. “And that’s why I’m asking you to repeat yourself since I’m having problems believing that certain sentences left your mouth.” “I said,” Inuyasha started through clenched teeth, still not meeting her gaze, “come to my family Christmas dinner this Sunday.” He stopped, ran a hand through his silver mane, closed his eyes, murmured something unintelligible and then added: “As my girlfriend.”

Where Inuyasha tries to fool his parents and miserably fails.

Day 15 Izayoi

The Silence of Daisies by Fierywenchxo (T)

Inuyasha shares with Kagome one of the biggest secrets he's ever kept. One-shot.

READ PART (2) HERE

#inukag archive #inukag fanfic #inuvember #long post #inuyasha fandom

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isfjmel-phleg · 1 month

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After my presentation of the Secret Garden and CEN paper, someone in the audience asked about applying the lens of CEN to other children's book from the same era. I thought about it afterward, and the best example that came to mind was Anne of Green Gables.

Anne Shirley, before her arrival at Green Gables, has experienced CEN. It has played out in a much different way for her than it does for Mary and Colin in TSG, due to differences in social class, but the principle has been the same. As an orphan raised in homes that viewed her as an inconvenience and a sort of unpaid servant, she has never had an adult in her life who prioritized her emotional well-being, who took the time to be kind to her, to listen to her, to teach her how to function in the world beyond basic survival. She is aware that no one wants her after her parents' death, and she is made to feel guilty by her caretakers for having the audacity to exist and need to be "brought up by hand." It's difficult for Anne to even talk about these experiences when Marilla asks her. She's relieved to get relating them over with, because "Evidently she did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not wanted her."

And then there's this exchange:

“Were those women—Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond—good to you?” asked Marilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye. “O-o-o-h,” faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. “Oh, they meant to be—I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people mean to be good to you, you don’t mind very much when they’re not quite—always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know. It’s a very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don’t you think? But I feel sure they meant to be good to me.”

Anne has clearly been mistreated, but she's describing--and pointedly not describing--suggests less of aggression and physical harm and more of something missing, an emptiness, a lack of love--CEN. Likewise, she herself exhibits some signs that can be associated with this type of maltreatment. Difficulty with emotional regulation, attachment problems, extreme sensitivity to rejection, negativity toward herself, excessively immersing herself in imagination (a mild dissociative tendency), anxiety around social situations (regarding how to behave correctly and whether people will like her), etc.

And in a way, the entire first book of the series deals with how she finds healing from her past of CEN, through gaining the love and acceptance of her new family, of friends, of an entire community.

From what little I know of L. M. Montgomery's life, CEN was likely a factor in her own upbringing, and it repeatedly features in her novels (The Blue Castle and Jane of Lantern Hill, for instance, in particular feature heroines who have experienced CEN) with poignancy. Montgomery paints moving portraits of how badly children can be scarred by a lack of love and affirmation.

Anyway, situating Anne's backstory as rooted in CEN helped me put my finger on one of the reasons that I felt that the recent series Anne With an E--at least the first season, which is all I've seen--misunderstood the nature of Anne's past. In this version, we see flashbacks to Anne's past, in which she is being viciously bullied by other children for her talkativeness and imagination. They even go so far as to stuff a mouse into her mouth, and the show suggests that Anne has PTSD as a result of this kind of treatment.

And yeah, Anne's childhood in the book isn't great and clearly has hurt her deeply, but this interpretation felt off to me. What Anne has to say--and not say--about her past in the book suggests not that she was targeted as an object of others' aggression but that she was disregarded. No one was giving her a second thought. That's not as dramatic and shocking as vicious bullying, but it's another, more subtle, insidious kind of maltreatment, just as hurtful in its way but harder to pin down. It's easy to portray a quick, sensational scene of our protagonist being obviously, overtly, grandiosely mistreated, but how do you show the gradual piling up of years' and years' of being treated like you don't matter? All the tiny incidents that chip away at one's sense of self-worth? The building of a worldview in which you must earn love and acceptance but somehow you can never manage it and of course it's your own fault?

And I'm reminded how recent adaptations and retellings of TSG shift the narrative toward grief, which is easy to dramatize, big and impressive and full of obvious pathos. It's an easy way out of depicting a subtler kind of suffering, and the same way, Anne With an E replaces Anne's CEN with bullying and PTSD. There is a place for such stories, but Anne's isn't one of them. It's almost as if there's an inability to understand or a reluctance to depict any kind of suffering that isn't big and grand and shocking. There are many ways that people can be deeply hurt, and it doesn't always look like a major traumatic event that's easy to pinpoint. Sometimes the hurt isn't a tidal wave that engulfs in a single devastating event; it's a slow drip that erodes oneself away little by little. That's closer to what is depicted for Anne, and Montgomery's other protagonists who have experienced CEN, and it's important to recognize what exactly is going on because this sort of thing still happens every day in the real world, in many forms, and it needs to be seen and combatted. And seeing this form of maltreatment play out in literature helps us recognize it and empathize with and reach out to those whom it has impacted--or possibly even to identify it in our own histories and search for our own healing.

#I apologize if not everything is phrased perfectly - I'm just working through some initial thoughts on this #but I hope the point of what I'm trying to communicate will get through

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su-itca-se · 8 months

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Dear Brother (Oniisama e…) LaserDisc scans and machine translations

These past few years I have fallen in love with the work of director Osamu Dezaki. Alongside Tomorrow’s Joe (Ashita no Joe), I hold Dear Brother in the highest regard.

It was a 1991 anime based on Riyoko Ikeda’s 1974 manga. You should watch the anime. It’s on Tubi for free. But really, just trust me. Buy the Blu-Ray from Discotek.

This anime came and went. There isn’t any merchandise besides some phone cards. Decaying fan sites and discourse is out there, but it’s a bit of a hunt.

Some time ago I saw a fan letter written by Hideaki Anno, apparently from the LaserDisc releases. From what I could tell, the LaserDisc packaging featured a treasure trove of notes from the staff that I just had to read. But I couldn’t find them!

If you’re not aware, LaserDiscs are one step above burnable trash in Japan — often on sale for 200 yen or less in heavy boxes shoved into the corner of second-hand anime stores. So I bought all five volumes of the 1993 Dear Brother LaserDisc release, was thrilled to notice unique letters from staff and industry luminaries in the interiors, and I scanned everything! And machine translated them.

I hope this (long, comprehensive) post brings fans of Dear Brother the same pleasure it brought me to compose it!

Note: I cannot read Japanese. I’ve used Google Lens for OCR, and GPT-4 for translation. My scans are good (and you can get them on Archive.org in high res) but these translations are not archive-quality and should not be depended on without verification. I’ve done my best to make corrections and have attempted to wrangle the correct tone and meaning out of the AI, but they’re essentially just for fun. Corrections of the most egregious stuff would be welcomed, email me: [email protected].

Volume One

Each disc is themed after a character and colour. The back is peppered with screencaps and notable quotes (“Anata wa dare?” says little Nanako) as well as series credits. The two notable parts to translate are the disc synopsis, and the subheading (seen here in pink on the far left.) Maybe it’s a pull quote? Not really. So I called it a subheading.

Volume One Subheading

A forbidden cult anime masterpiece born of satellite broadcasting is finally available on LD.

Volume One Synopsis

Private Seiran Academy. A story of beautiful love and deep hatred unfolds at this prestigious all-girls high school steeped in tradition. The protagonist, Nanako Misonoo, who is thrilled to enroll in the high school division of her dream academy, encounters three stunning individuals: Miya-sama, Sanjust-sama, and Sho no Kimi. She also gets introduced to the glamorous world of Seiran Sorority, a society that only the chosen few are allowed to join. As a freshman granted unexpected membership in the Sorority, Nanako begins to take a deep look at love, friendship, and the essence of being human, all while being surrounded by envy and jealousy. She confides her various experiences at the academy, along with unspeakable worries and hardships, in letters to her elder “brother” and a young man named Takehiko Henmi… A masterpiece anime born of satellite broadcasting. It is a work by Riyoko Ikeda that the Dezaki-Sugino duo took on for the first time in 11 years since “The Rose of Versailles.” It is considered a unique work that brings a fresh, unprecedented shock by transcending the framework of TV anime with its aesthetic world.

The disc looks like this:

An “obi” (sash that covers the spine) is included. Of course, it says “My tears won’t stop!” in huge text, sells it as the latest Dezaki/Sugino collaboration, and describes it as tanibi na sekai — a poetic concept of a romantic, sublime world of aesthetic beauty.

There are two paper inserts in each volume. The first one looks like this, and is an index of LaserDisc chapter markers based not on plot developments, but notable character quotes.

There’s also a form you can fill out to get a telephone card. Simply cut out a coupon from each volume to prove you bought the full set. Be quick, entries are due end of March 1994.

The interior is the best part. Here’s the spread for Volume One.

I haven’t translated episode synopses, but I’ve attempted to translate both the staff letter and the “letter to dear brother” from someone external to the production. There’s a bio for each author.

Volume One’s “From the staff to all the fans”

Bio:

Osamu Dezaki Joined Mushi Production in 1963. After directing series like “Astro Boy” and “Goku’s Great Adventure,” he was selected as the general director for “Tomorrow’s Joe” in 1970 at the young age of 26. Born on November 18, 1943, and hailing from Tokyo, he has received high praise as a director. Subsequently, he has brought numerous masterpieces into the world, including “Aim for the Ace!”, “The Adventures of Ganba,” “Nobody’s Boy,” “Treasure Island,” “The Rose of Versailles,” “Space Adventure Cobra,” “BB,” and more. He is also referred to as “Sakimakura” and “Mataba Sakimakura.”

The letter:

This is my second time working on Ikeda-san’s work since “The Rose of Versailles.” Her works have a unique aroma, whether you call it a theme or a world. They seem to pursue the literary aspect of the story. When I read the original work of “Dear Brother,” I was very drawn to these aspects, and at the same time, I felt a sense of anticipation that it would be difficult, but perhaps various images could be created. It’s not just about being cool or intense; it’s about creating images that resonate more and more with people’s hearts. Fundamentally, there is an original story, but when the characters start to move, and each begins to live, the story could go anywhere. I always had that sense of tension. So, rather than sticking to the original work, I placed more emphasis on the directorial focus of the reality of the characters who had started to move. As for the techniques, it was not something I was particularly conscious of, but I used a lot of completely black shots simply because I honestly felt they needed to be black. Whether or not it was successful, I wanted to effectively overlap the visuals with the characters’ psychology by delivering such physiological shocks. The psychological fluctuations of the people are indeed the overall aroma of this work. How the audience perceives that aroma is something I want to leave up to each individual’s free sensitivity. - July 8, 1993, at Tezuka Pro

Volume One’s “Letter to Dear Brother”

Bio:

Mutsumi Inomata Born on December 23 in Kanagawa Prefecture. After working with Ashi Production and Kaname Production, she is currently freelance. After going through Ashi Production and Kaname Production, she is now a freelance artist. Mutsumi Inomata is her real name. She was born on December 23 in Kanagawa Prefecture. She is active in both the fields of anime character design and illustration. In the realm of animation, she served as the character designer and chief animation director for works such as “Plawres Sanshiro” and “Genmu Senki Leda,” and as the character designer for “Future GPX Cyber Formula.” As an illustrator, she has also provided numerous illustrations for novels, including titles like “Prince of the Universe,” “Dragon Quest,” and “Continent of the Wind.”

The letter:

Comics are way hard to translate without actually knowing Japanese. Here’s my best effort to uncover some meaning.

For several years, I had stopped watching anime and stuff… Living a hectic life, it’s been like this for a while now. Having a set day and a set time to watch a specific program (not just limited to anime), had become impossible for me. Recording videos is also a hassle, and first and foremost, I just don’t feel that “I must watch the next episode!” kind of emotion anymore. Ah well, I was thinking maybe I’ve just become an adult. Heh heh heh. I’m such an idiot. No, that’s not it.

The blonde guy in the bottom-right is labeled as her friend, and she’s saying something about “Poupee-chan”. I think in the second panel he’s yelling saying “But that doll is supposed to be a girl!”

The final monologue starts with:

By the way, I have a container for “dangerous items” at the corner of my work desk. I keep things like cutter blades in it, so that I don’t accidentally drop them on the floor and cut myself or something. The “dangerous items” container I’m using now has a sticker with Saint-Just-sama’s “Nanako’s Eyes,” heh heh heh ♡

That’s about all there is to note about Volume One, besides the fact it comes with an enormous poster (it’s the same art used on the cover of the Discotek Blu-Ray.)

Volume Two

Volume Two Subheading

Those eyes of that person, mysteriously and beautifully shining. Why these feelings? Why...? The increasing heartbeat, the endless tears of adolescence. A masterpiece of forbidden cult anime born from satellite broadcasting! The second installment on LaserDisc!

Volume Two Synopsis

Nanako’s life at school, after being chosen as a sorority member, was not all glitz and glamour. There were misunderstandings with her best friend Tomiko, and jealousy and slander from other students, including Misaki Aya. And then there was the obsessive love from her fellow sorority member, Nobuo Mariko. “What is a sorority? Is it really that important?” Nanako began to question the very existence of sororities. Yet, she tries to look straight into herself, even while confused. Always before her were the mysteriously beautiful and shining eyes of Saint-Just. Drawn to those eyes that seemed to peer into a distant past, Nanako attempts to uncover their secret. Then, by chance, she finds out about the special relationship between Fukiko and Saint-Just. Could it be that Miya-sama and Saint-Just-sama are…? The complicated interplay of relationships and the previously enigmatic characters start to become a little clearer in “Volume 2: The Chapter of Freezing Rain.” The subtle breaths of the people surrounding Nanako can be heard.

Volume Two’s “From the staff, Dear Nanako”

Bio:

Hideo Takayashiki Born in 1947, native of Iwate Prefecture. After passing through Osamu Tezuka’s Mushi Production, became a scenario writer. Known for scripts of theatrical anime films such as “Hang in There, Tabuchi-kun!”, “Barefoot Gen”, and the “Phoenix” series. Also worked on numerous TV anime scripts like “Gutsy Frog”, “Gamba’s Adventure”, and “Tomorrow’s Joe”. Additionally, wrote scripts for original videos and TV dramas like “The Laughing Target”, “One-Pound Gospel”, and has written many novels, actively contributing as a versatile scriptwriter. Member of the Japan Broadcast Writers Association.

The letter:

Dear Nanako Misonoo, How are you? How is university life? It’s hard to believe that three years have passed since then. I was involved with you and those around you for just one year, but in retrospect, it was a very intense year. In any case, I did something terrible to you. It may have been the extreme form of “bullying” in some sense. My work as a scriptwriter involved probing and expanding the uncharted worlds between the frames of original works, constructing new narratives. In a sense, it was a painful job. And for you, it was excruciating. But now it’s a wonderful memory. I am filled with the feeling that I did some real work after a long time. How is your best friend, Tomoko? What about Mariko? I assume Fuki is becoming more and more beautiful? Do you occasionally receive letters from Kaoru? This summer marked the third anniversary of Saint-Just-sama’s passing. Thinking back, it was an unusually hot day. Your anguished form, waiting alone at the platform while listening to the chirping cicadas and the sound of the sea, is still etched in my memory. I hear that there has not been a single day without flowers at the electric pole where Saint-Just-sama fell. I am grateful for the chance to have met you and the people around you. Autumn, 1993

Volume Two’s “Letter to Dear Brother”

Bio:

Kazuhiko Shimamoto Born April 26, 1961 From the hinterland of Hokkaido After being selected as an honorable mention in the 9th Shogakukan Newcomer Comics Award Debuted with “Hissatsu no Transfer Student”. His masterpieces include Gyakkyo Nine’ and Moeyo Pen. Examples include Flame Transfer Student’ and Kamen Rider ZO.”

The letter:

Another piece directed by Osamu Dezaki and supervised by Akio Sugino has become a permanent edition (converted to LaserDisc)! (Hooray!) From the anime “Ashita no Joe” (1), the unique and beautiful way of life portrayed in anime is so intense that it has consistently given us dreams, hopes, despair, loneliness, friendship, love, perseverance, and revival! These works have even surpassed the original works in the emotional impact of their final episodes. I continue to be captivated by the atmosphere conveyed by these works. The reason I enjoy drawing the final episodes of my own works is entirely due to Director Dezaki’s influence! Currently, Osamu Tezuka and Ikki Kajiwara, the two individuals whom I revered as gods in the manga world, are no longer with us. Even now, these works, which possess added charm, continue to provide us (even those who have become professionals) with anticipation for the next episode, life lessons, and motivation for creating works. Seagulls, dance! Liquids, shine!! Wind, blow and then, “Why go to such lengths?” Charafo! Go as far as you can go! Mariko, somehow you’re really scary, Mariko.

Then the words scribbled next to the drawing of Mariko:

You are the protagonist of this work! I’m paying the most attention to you. You’re not alone! That’s right! Make me Mariko’s ‘older brother’… ‘older brother’…

Mariko is saying (OCR mangling here, sadly):

Thank you… I just feel… that’s special… Why not? If I had to say, maybe it’s a ‘woman’s world’…

(Clearly a reference to Rikiishi Toru of Dezaki’s earlier anime Ashita no Joe, who intensely speaks of a “man’s world”. He and Mariko love a good starvation diet!)

The little chibi version of Shimamoto(?) in the bottom left is saying:

But everyone, don’t easily become someone’s ‘older brother.’ It’ll be troublesome later!

GPT-4 noticed a cute reference it couldn’t include in its translation. Its note:

The text seems to be OCR scanned partially, and hence some meanings might be missing or distorted, such as “マンガ界のジョン・シルバーだ!!”, which appears to compare Dezaki and Sugino to a ‘John Silver’ of the manga world.

Volume Three

Volume Three Subheading

It’s not too late; our beautiful time can still be preserved, forever unspoiled, just like this white snow… A forbidden masterpiece of a cult anime born from satellite broadcasting! The fourth release on LD!

Volume Three Synopsis

Suddenly summoned to the sorority house, Nanako is pressured by Fukiko to end her relationship with Hemimi. Upon hearing this, Saint-Just confesses her complicated relationship with Fukiko. The shocking truth behind why “Miya-sama” wanted Nanako in the sorority unfolds, leaving her deeply shaken. Meanwhile, Saint-Just is tormented by the realization that the stronger her feelings for Fukiko, the more she ends up hurting her. The complex relationship between Saint-Just and Fukiko has a tragic past involving a near-suicidal event. On another front, Mariko causes an incident by attacking Misaki, motivated by slander about her parents’ divorce, which leads to a movement spearheaded by Kaoru to abolish the sorority. Amid the crumbling sorority, Fukiko remains composed. The fourth volume, “Chapter of Snow Dance,” captures her frightening yet noble confidence and deep sorrow. In the snow that never melts, remains the sad yet beautiful promise of Saint-Just.

Volume Three’s “From the staff to all the fans”

Bio:

Tomoko Konparu Born on March 13, 1956, in Nara Prefecture. Pisces. Blood type AB. A fan of both manga and anime, she became a screenplay writer and debuted during her university days with “Ikkyu-san.” Anime works include “Urusei Yatsura: Only You,” “Urusei Yatsura: Remember My Love,” “Touch 2: Farewell Gift,” “Phoenix,” “Cat’s Eye,” “Hime-chan’s Ribbon,” and more. Novel works include “Mystery at the Tower of London,” “Mystery at Nara’s Great Buddha” (published by Kobunsha Bunko), among others.

The letter:

When I heard that this work was going to be turned into an anime, I was shocked. I’d known about the series since its serialization, so my reaction was something like, “What!? Are they really going to do it!? And on NHK of all places!?” Expanding on the original work and filling in the parts that hadn’t been depicted was incredibly challenging, but also enjoyable. What surprised me was that, around the midpoint, the characters started to assert themselves, taking actions that were entirely different from what I had planned. The princess would say, “My pride isn’t so easily swayed,” San Just would insist, “I’m not going to commit suicide,” and even the older sisters of the sorority were like, “We can’t back down now.” Every time this happened, I had to rework the composition. This phenomenon of “characters moving on their own accord” was a first for me in an anime series, and it was an incredibly fresh and pleasant experience. That being said, it’s rare to be so emotionally invested in characters while working, to the point of even role-playing their lines. To be honest, this was a work that got my inner anime fan excited. Ah, I want to do work like this again!

Volume Three’s “Letter to Dear Brother”

Bio:

Keiko Fukuyama Born on September 7. From Tokyo. Currently, she is working as a manga artist, authoring works like “Ruru-chan of Star Island” and “The Tale of Appfelrant.” She also illustrates for children’s stories, including the “Mama Ghost Series.”

The letter:

It appears to be titled “To the Unforgettable Older Sister”. Much of it is too hard to OCR. It opens with this caption:

“To My Older Brother…” is so melancholic and sentimental that it instantly takes us back to our student days where we felt we were tossed around by fate for no fault of our own…

Here’s some of the text beside the character drawings:

Fukiko/Saint-Just: Reputed as the most beautiful sisters in school Mariko: The most popular Mariko-san who lured our tears. There’s a lot to think about! Tomoko: A straightforward, kind friend Nanako: So there I was, fully embracing my Nanako persona, reaping all the sorority perks you could imagine. (I mean, they even say they’ll hook me up with a dreamy guy!) 💧 And just when I’m soaking up that sorority vibe, guess who’s set to make a surprise appearance right after the teaser for the next issue!

Text coming out of the TV:

It was “Oniisama e”!!!! Poor Mariko-san, right~ Misaki-san also, there was no need to say that much, you know.

Volume Four

Volume Four Subheading

It’s not too late yet, our beautiful time can still last forever, unspoiled by anyone, just like this white snow… A forbidden cult anime masterpiece born from satellite broadcasting! The fourth installment on LD!

Volume Four Synopsis

Suddenly summoned to the sorority house, Nanako is pressured by Fukiko to end her relationship with Hemmi. Hearing this, Sanjust is compelled to confess his relationship with Fukiko. The shocking truth makes Nanako reel in disbelief. He deeply ponders that the stronger his feelings for Fukiko, the more he ends up hurting her. The unusual relationship between Sanjust and Fukiko reveals a tragic past of a failed double suicide. Meanwhile, in the school, an incident occurs where Mariko, slandered for her parents’ divorce, attacks Misaki, leading to an anti-sorority movement centered around Kaoru. Fukiko still acts nonchalantly in front of the crumbling sorority. The volume unfolds displaying Fukiko’s terrifying yet noble confidence and deep sorrow. A beautiful yet sad promise lingers in the snow that never melts.

Volume Four’s “From the staff to all the fans”

Bio:

Kenichiro Haneda Born on January 12, 1949. Graduated from Toho Gakuen College of Music in the Piano Department. An accomplished concert pianist, Kenichiro Haneda has a broad range of experience, including composing and performing music for movies and TV themes, as well as acting as a musical director for musicals and commercials. He has worked on numerous soundtracks such as NHK’s morning drama “Youth Family,” TBS’s “Women Work Hard” and “Life Is Full of Demons.” With his genre-defying approach to music and his bright, humorous personality, he is a sought-after multi-artist in various fields.

The letter:

I’ve worked quite a bit with Music Director Seiji Suzuki in the past. Suzuki gives me the music menu, and I’m the one who creates it. We’ve had some pretty detailed discussions about it. Of course, I’ve read the original work as well. When I read it at home, my daughter gives me a puzzled look, as if to say my interests have changed quite a bit (laughs). I think I wrote around 40 songs in total. The music is meant to have a Baroque sound while also feeling contemporary. The order was for something classical yet with a pop atmosphere. The image that immediately came to my mind was a rhythm section, with a harpsichord playing the melody. String instruments intricately marking the rhythm, much like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. And on top of that, a flugelhorn playing the melody… Regarding the scenes where the piano is played, I played all of it myself. I often compose and perform my own pieces. It’s less about talent and more like playing two roles; maybe I contribute quite a bit to cost-saving (laughs). In any case, this work has a unique atmosphere. If the music I created successfully captures that, then I must again express my gratitude to Suzuki for coordinating everything. October 28, 1993, aired on NHK

Volume Four’s “Letter to Dear Brother”

Bio:

Hideaki Anno Born on May 22, 1960. Originally from Ube, Yamaguchi Prefecture. Height is 180 cm; weight is a secret. Debuted as an animator during his time at Osaka University of Arts, working on the TV version of “Macross.” Later worked on “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind,” the film version of “Macross,” “Royal Space Force,” and others, before directing “Gunbuster” and “Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water.” Currently planning new projects.

The letter:

Way to go!! Oniisama e… Wow!! The long-awaited, tumultuous Volume 4!! This volume shows us the peak of the series, from Mariko-san’s stabbing incident to the dissolution of the sorority. Amazing, this is really amazing!! Yes. Especially the heartbreaking breakdown of Nobuo’s family, and the portrayal of the sorority’s downfall reminiscent of the French Revolution, are things that are indescribable with words. Yes. The highlights this time are– Brilliant! Highly sophisticated direction and high-quality animation in Episode 27! Tear-jerking! In Episode 28, Mr. Nobuo Hikawa’s soul-stirring outcry!! Upon hearing those lines, my tears really wouldn’t stop. Seriously. Amazing!! Oh, so moving! The heartfelt words of Miya-sama at the end of Episode 32. The sight of Miya-sama waiting alone in the Sorority House and those lines really hit me hard. Moreover, as always– Incredible!! The world that reminds me of ‘Aim for the Ace!’ and ‘The Rose of Versailles’!! Impressive!! The drama unfolds only in limited settings, like homes, trains, buses, crossings, schools, and other familiar places!! Very Sophisticated!! The direction, composed of stillness and motion, light and black, feels so mature. As expected, Dezaki-san! And, Powerful!! Nanako-san is turning into an adult right before our eyes. Moreover, the music is also great!! I wish the BGM CD would come out soon. The use of chimes and telephones remains clever as ever!! Ah, the only thing missing is a bit more on the background elements… by H. ANO ‘93 10/27

The tiger is saying “It’s awesome, isn’t it!”

Written above the drawings of Mariko and Saint-Just: “These two are definitely the ones. Yes.”

Volume Five

Volume Five Subheading

The summer full of light ends, the eventful summer ends… And then the cherry blossoms bloom again… Brother, I am now… A satellite broadcast-born forbidden cult anime masterpiece! The final chapter on LD!

Volume Five Synopsis

Finally, the petition to abolish the sorority has garnered signatures from over two-thirds of all students. As the campus is in a state of upheaval, Saint-Just is lost in thought alone. One day, he calls Nanako out and promises to take her to the beach where he used to go often with his mother when he was younger. However, on the promised day, Saint-Just never shows up. His sudden death plunges many people, including Nanako, into the depths of sorrow. Among them, Kaoru, who is battling cancer and fearful of its recurrence, takes the news of Saint-Just’s death most seriously. She finds comfort in the warmth of Takahiko Henmi, but continues to stubbornly refuse his love, thinking about his future. Love, friendship, bonds… The fifth volume, titled “Chapter of the Fireflies,” explores the dignity, beauty, and value of human life. Seasons turn, and the cherry blossoms bloom again, bringing back familiar scents to Nanako. All of this is accompanied by the most beautiful “love.”

Volume Five’s “From the staff to all the fans”

Bio:

Riyoko Ikeda Born December 18, Showa 22 (1947). Native of Osaka City. Blood type AB. Graduated from Tokyo Metropolitan Hakutsuru High School and went on to the Philosophy department at Tokyo University of Education (now Tsukuba University). Began drawing manga during her time in school and debuted with “The Girl in the Rose Mansion.” In 1972, she achieved great success with “The Rose of Versailles,” acquiring a broad fan base that transcended the realm of girls’ manga. Known for her keen historical perspective and deep insight into human nature. Active as a writer and essayist as well. Her hobbies include Nihon buyo (Japanese traditional dance), oil painting, movie appreciation, vocal music, piano, cooking, and knitting. Her work has been selected for the 76th Nika Exhibition. Major works: “The Rose of Versailles,” “Window of Orpheus,” “Empress Catherine,” “To My Brother,” “At the Ends of the Sky,” “The Blue Pomegranate,” “My Manga” Books: “If Only Life Could Be Lived Once,” “Women of the French Revolution,” “Women Who Wrote Masterpieces” Currently writing “Eroica” and “Prince Shotoku.”

The letter:

As one who has journeyed far from that radiant chapter called youth, a time that shone with an almost awkward brilliance, I find myself in a peculiar blend of bewilderment and nostalgia. Seeing my old ideas of high school life come to life as animation almost 20 years later is surreal, to say the least. Still, it’s exciting: hearing voices given to these characters, seeing them talk, laugh, and get angry. Watching them come alive is truly a thrilling and satisfying experience. Ah, adolescence — everyone’s inescapable stairway to adulthood. Some people take each step slowly and carefully, while others rush ahead, ending up out of breath or even lost. And then, there are those who may lose their direction, standing still, contemplating each step. Wrapped in the love of family, meeting various people, nurturing friendships, experiencing love, and going through the ups and downs of hurt and forgiveness — it would be wonderful to climb those steps in such a way.

Volume Five’s “Letter to Dear Brother”

Bio:

Rumiko Takahashi Born in Niigata Prefecture. Debuted in 1978 with “Katte na Yatsura,” submitted while still in college, in Shonen Sunday. Famous works include “Urusei Yatsura,” “Maison Ikkoku,” and others. Currently serializing “Ranma 1/2” in Shonen Sunday.

The letter:

A masterpiece infused with the creator’s soul. When I heard from the staff that “Oniisama e…” was getting the anime treatment on satellite TV, I was surprised. I’d delved into the original comic before and it’s quite an eccentric story. “How are they going to pull this off?” I thought. But learning that the script was in the capable hands of my acquaintance Tomoko Konparu, I was very excited. In fact, the anime that aired was genuinely captivating. The characters are so larger-than-life that they electrify the screen the moment they step into frame. It’s been a long time since an anime had that kind of presence. I believe the animation is done by the same people who worked on “Tomorrow’s Joe 2.” The scenes are so visceral that you can almost feel the punches land and see the fighters hit the mat. I kept asking myself, “Why isn”t a mouthpiece flying out?” (laughs) My favorite character in the work is Nobuo Mariko. The scenes where she bites her lip until it turns a flushed red, I find it really cute. But what blew me away was the show’s emotional intelligence. Just when the heroine seems on the brink of breaking, a lifeline is thrown her way. This nuanced touch prevents the darker, more harrowing elements from overwhelming the viewer. It’s as if you can feel the sincerity of the creator throughout the piece.

And that’s it. Again, check out the full scans on Archive.org, and remember to encourage all your friends to experience this beautiful anime!

#oniisama e #dear brother #osamu dezaki #riyoko ikeda #laserdisc #anime #おにいさまへ…#出﨑統 #池田理代子

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cutepsycho17 · 25 days

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Haiiiii ^_^ hi!! hiiiiiii <3 haiiiiiiiii hii :3

Welcome to my blog :3

(13+ only)

Irl i'm just cringe fem-nonbinary artist and cosplayer from Poland

(i use she/her/they/them as prononus)

I mostly make SFW art but sometimes i making mild suggestive and little bit gore....pls don't hate me for that

nothing to say lol

-16 years old (older in the drawing so that anything legal :3)

-b-day: 7th november (plixie month)

my prononus are: she/her/they/them

🩷💜💙 (i like both :3)

fandoms i'm in:

-vocaloid/utau

-project sekai

-mario bros

-incredibox

-parrapa the raper

-genshin impact

-league of legends

-my singing monsters

-cookierun

-my little pony (Childhood)

-sonic

-scott pilgrim

-brawl stars

-madoka magica

-hazbin hotel/helluva Boss

-monster high

-clone high

-pokémon

-sanrio series

-south park

-family guy (kinda)

-masa works design

-rick and morty (kinda)

-demon Slayer

-yo gabba gabba

-MAD (kinda)

-smiling friends

-paw patrol (Childhood)

-teen titans go

-adventure time

-simpsons (kinda)

-mister maker

-your turn to d!e (kinda)

-Higurashi no naku koro ni

-boku no hero academia (kinda)

-pretty blood

-eddsworld (kinda)

-omori

-spongebob

-the amazing world of Gumball (Childhood)

-danganronpa (kinda...)

-boungou strays dogs

-bluey

-pizza tower

-subway surf (kinda...+ Childhood)

-one piece (kinda)

-neros day at Disneyland (kinda...)

-rayman

-bad guys

-melanie Martinez

-blackpink

-SMG4

-THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

-MURDER DRONES

-kung fu panda (kinda)

-five nights at Freddys

-welcome home

-skullgirls

-needy girl streamer

-the walten files (kinda...)

I think its a all....i guess

(PLS DON'T HATE ME 🙏🙏🙏)

DNI:

-PROSHIP/COMSHIP

-IZRAEL SUPPORTERS

-PICK ME B!TCHES (THEY ARE SO PROBLEMATIC AND ANNOYING FOR ME)

-TERF

-PEDOPH!LE/ZOOPH!LE

-UNDER 13

-TRANSPHOBIC/HOMOPHOBIC

-FATPHOBIC/RACIST

-ANTI-FURRY/ANTI-THERIANS

-PROBLEMATIC PEOPLES

-LARRY X LAWRIE SHIPPERS (BRUH...THEY ARE SIBLINGS)

-KAGAMINE RIN X LEN SHIPPERS (BRUH...THEY ARE SIBLINGS)

-MAKING NSFW OF MY OCS WITHOUT MY PREMISSION (WTF)

-OR IF YOU ARE JUST BAD PERSON

-IRL GØRE (THAT'S MAKE ME SICK IN MY STOMACH)

‼️PERIOD‼️

THIN ICE:

-alfred Playhouse fans (can still interact if want)

-don't hug i'm scared fans (can still interact if want)

-jinx fans (can still interact if want)

-dogday X catnap shippers (can still interact if want)

-cringe peoples

‼️ PLS DM ME IF I FALLOWING SOMEONE BAD‼️

ART TRADE/ART REQUEST OPEN:

I WILL DO:

-FICTIONAL CHARACTERS

-MONSTER GIRLS (BC YES :3)

-OCS

-SFW/MILD SUGGESTIVE

-MILD GØRE

-PASTELGØRE/CANDYGØRE

-KAWAIICORE

-SHIPS

-FURRY/ANTFRO

I WON'T:

-NSFW/HARDCORE NSFW (SORRY BUT I WON'T POST SMUT AT YOUNG AGE)

-HEAVY GØRE (THAT'S MAKE SICK IN MY STOMACH)

-MECHA/WEAPONS (LIKE SHOTGUNS OR SOMETHING ELSE I GUESS)

-OLD/MIDLE AGES PROPLES (I CAN'T EVEN DRAW THEM)

-ACTUAL ANIMALS (SORRY-)

-PROSHIP/COMSHIP

-FETISH/VØRE ART (EW, YUCK!!)

‼️ DON'T COPY/TRACE/STEAL‼️

-ALSO DON'T REPOST MY ART

-BUT YOU CAN TAKE INSPIRATION OF MY OCS IF YOU WANT (BUT PLS TAG ME), AND YES YOU CAN SPAM LIKING, I DON'T MIND

-FEEL FREE TO USE MY ART AND FANARTS AS PROFILE PICTURES OR USE THEM AS EDIT (BUT PLS TAG ME)

ALSO COMMISION WILL BE OPENED IN: 25/08/2024 (SO PLEASE BE PATIENT) i changed the date bc yes

I THINK IT'S A ALL I GUESS...

THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU WILL HAVE GOOD DAY BYE BYE ^^

‼️13+ and 16+ content so beware‼️

#looking for moots #new rules #meet the artist

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hlficlibrary · 8 months

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✤ Crime Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ my heart, in deadly rhythm by orphan_account (M, 42k)

There exists somewhere a very, very small list containing the names of people who don’t want Louis Tomlinson dead. Harry Styles may or may not be one of those people.

(or a Spies!AU in which Liam is the Wade to Louis' Kim Possible, Zayn seduces people for intel, Niall is an expert at blowing things up, and Harry is more than a bit famous in his particular field... or infamous, actually. And Louis? Well, Louis just wishes people would quit trying so bloody hard to kill him all the time.)

2️⃣ A Rose, By Any Other Name by iwillpaintasongforlou / @canonlarry (E, 10k)

“I don’t understand, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says quietly.

“You don’t have to understand, sweetheart.” Louis reaches over and runs his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, watching the boy’s breathing pause as he dares not move beneath the touch of this strange, imposing man. “All you need to know is that you work for me now, and that I’m going to keep you safe from all the bad people in this city, you hear?”

Louis Tomlinson is the head of New York City's mafia, and Harry is the beautiful boy from Texas who falls in with the wrong crowd (which turns out to be the right crowd).

3️⃣ Little Cub by aace1234 (NR, 68k)

Harry is head of the underground, he's ruthless, possessive, feared and powerful.

Louis is a student, his dad works for Harry but Louis has no idea about the underground world.

What happens when Louis Dad causes trouble and Harry kidnaps Louis for revenge.

4️⃣ we've got the world in our hands by sarcasticfluentry (E, 54k)

A mutants/superpowers AU. Louis and his friends attend the Cowell Institute for General Education and Mutant Training in London; when Louis meets Harry, the newest student at the Cowell Institute, he immediately recruits Harry to help play matchmaker for his friend Zayn. Harry and Louis are so caught up in meddling in Zayn's love life, though, that they don't notice that their own friendship is progressing into something more. Meanwhile, an ominous threat up north grows slowly until suddenly, no mutant - or human - is safe.

5️⃣ Watch Him As He Goes by LoadedGunn (M, 14k)

It's why Harry loves assignments with Louis; they're thrilling in a way. It's like he never rests. He's this animated, gorgeous guy who's all over the place and Harry actually has to work hard just to catch up to him.

It kind of reminds him of trying to stalk a predator stalking its prey, with his old 70-300 mm lens. Only the predator is a cheeky arsehole. "Come along Harold, I know you usually wait for your zebras to pose for you but here you've got to think on your feet," Louis yelled one time, before disappearing to interview Detective Payne. Never mind the fact Harry was slow in the first place because of Louis' tight jeans.

Or, the AU where Louis' the best police reporter in the country, Harry's the new photographer who is more used to penguins than human subjects, and also there are superheroes.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry (E, 68k)

On the surface, CitizenX, an international caritative nonprofit, looked like any other nonprofit, funding humanitarian missions worldwide and striving to make the world a better place, one donation at a time.

At least, that was what Harry thought, until he was hired as a computer specialist for a spinoff agency called carish, whose true purpose was to reveal CitizenX’s tangled web of lies.

As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

When the worst happened and Harry and Louis found themselves thrown together in hiding, with only each other to rely on, Harry never could have predicted the turn their relationship would take.

Nor could he anticipate that it would all be taken away from him and he would have to decide how far he was willing to go to get Louis back.

💎 All My Roads Lead to You by @dandelionfairies (M, 41k)

Harry’s stuck in a life he didn’t choose after leaving home at eighteen. Bartending and running drugs were never on his list. Louis is an undercover cop sent in to figure out exactly what’s going on inside of the bar. Neither could have known they’d be drawn to each other.

It’s obvious to Louis that Harry isn’t aware of everything that happens in the backroom. It’s obvious that Nick [Grimshaw] has used Harry’s vulnerability, insecurities, and naivety to keep the man exactly where he wants him.

Harry has never admitted to anyone who he is. They wouldn’t accept him. In fact, he has no doubt that if anyone found out he’s gay, he’d be dead. He doesn’t want to let that wall down for Louis. Because no one can know. But that’s easier said than done. Louis is everything Harry could have ever pictured.

💎 Cowboy Like Me by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings (M, 29k)

Going legit and starting over in a small town was supposed to solve all of Harry’s problems. That was until a string of robberies in wealthy towns brings him face-to-face with his rouge ex-partner and their dicey, unresolved past.

💎 Tonight's the Night by @jaerie (E, 24k)

Tonight’s the night. The night Harry has been waiting for. Everything has been carefully planned, nothing left to chance, the scene set and waiting for their arrival. It’s time.

Harry lives a double life. During the day he's Harry- trusty blood spatter analyst, at night his darkness comes out to play. So far he's been able to act his way through a normal life without drawing attention. What happens when that is no longer the case?

Or a Dexter AU where Harry is Dexter, Liam is Doakes, Niall is Masuka and Gemma is Deb.

💎 Harry, That Kills People by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup (T, 2k)

If there’s one thing that Harry hates, it’s getting his clothes dirty.

If there’s one other thing that Harry hates, it’s murder.

Unfortunately, right here and right now, Harry’s clothes are dirty, and he’s murdered someone. So. It’s not a great day.

“Ugh,” says Harry. “Yeargh. Bleh.”

#ficrec #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghome #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #ladylondonderry #jaerie #rearviewdreamer #loadedgunn #dandelionfairies #scrunchyharry #sarcasticfluentry #aace1234 #iwillpaintasongforlou

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cryptovalid · 1 month

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'Remember it' should not be retconned

I'm serious, the lack of stakes is what's killing superhero media. People don't have 'superhero fatigue' they have 'status quo fatigue'. Characters are resurrected at the drop of a hat and it does not make for good storytelling. Spoilers ahead for episode 5 of X-men '97.

'Remember it' genuinely affected me on an emotional level precisely because it didn't shy away from how senseless, traumatic and terrible genocide is. Reversing it would recontextualize genocide as something less urgent, less tragic. In the real world where genocide happens, this is irresponsible and callous, particularly given the roll our own governments play in it.

In a good story, characters are changed by what happens to them. In long form series like Marvel Comics, this rarely sticks because people become attached to characters and view their status quo as comforting and profitable. Over time, this leads to convoluted stories without meaningful tension. We know everything will be alright

Adaptations have a unique opportunity to actually make meaningful character growth happen and say something with it. If a character dies, they can still exist in other continuities.

Something like this is probably the best ending for a character like Magneto. In his last moments, as tragic as they are, he does what only he can, to stave off a genocide he has been fighting tooth and nail since childhood.

In the end, even Erik Magnus Lensherr, the Master of Magnetism, is just a man in the face of extinction. And when he speaks his final words, I can't help but realize that they were spoken millions of times in similar circumstances, to this day. What can anyone say in the face of death on such a massive scale? Not 'never again', sadly. It never stopped. Untold millions have told children 'Don't be afraid' in the moments before they died.

This sickens me. We all wish that brute force could solve this problem, that there's a magic wand to turn back time. And this is what superhero stories have always boiled down to: wish fulfillment.

I'm not mad at anyone for whom this was too traumatic, who would turn the clock back to a time where Gambit, the Morlocks, Magneto and the other casualties are alive. This would obviously be a better world to believe in.

I just think it is not good storytelling. We can't view real world genocide through that lens. Honestly, I don't know how the show will progress, or even who the villain is.

It could be Trask, Guyrich, Mastermold, Nimrod, Bastion, Cassandra Nova, Onslaught or Apocalypse, to name just a couple of options. The show could end with Bishop destroying the Kaiju-sentinel before E-day.

All I know is, we need reminders that there are real stakes in real life, and that tragedy just happens. When Remy says 'Remember it', he's not just talking about his name. He's talking about this massacre, about the martyrs.

Remember the dead. Fight like hell for the living.

#Remember it #x men 97 #genocide cw #murder cw #magneto was right #gambit #E is for Extinction

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

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III ║ Dapple Grey

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ << Part 2: Buckskin | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 4: Strawberry Roan >> }

Rating: M (will be E in future chapters)

Summary: Tinder is a dangerous game. So is Never Have I Ever.

Warnings: Flirting, yearning, insecurities, sexual tension, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendoes, language, mention of food, drinking, drinking games, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: I had a little bit of a meltdown writing this part. Thank you @mandoblowmybackout and @prolix-yuy for talking me out of it ❤️ I had the busiest week so I didn't have as much time as I usually do for edits, so this chapter's a bit of an… experiment 🙈 Thank you for everyone who's been so kind to me and this series - I hope you enjoy this part! 🦄

Dapple grey: A grey or white horse with spots or areas of a darker colour.

Day 2

‘Stop looking at me.’

‘I’m not.’

You turn the camera around to show Jack the photo you just took and deadpan, ‘I have literal proof of you looking straight at me.’

The two of you are sitting underneath the shade of a tree, a simple lunch laid out in the middle on a picnic blanket. The horse’s saddles and packs are resting against the trunk behind you while they graze nearby.

In front of you, several yards away, the grassy plain drops off into a deep valley. And beyond - a sight to behold. If the bentonite hills had been sculpted by a higher being, they must have run an inadvertent finger through the clay while it was on the spinning wheel, creating dramatic curves that cut into the soft rock. The hills are painted from left to right for miles and miles in white, red and green stripes, candy cane colours faded under the sun.

Jack gives you a scowl as he rolls up his tortilla wrap, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. He grumbles, ‘It’s hard not to. You’re pointing the camera at me.’

‘Well, you gave me full control of today’s photography, so you have to do what I say.’

He flings an accusatory finger at you. ‘Only because you promised to help us with our marketing.’

You press a dramatic hand to your chest. ‘What exactly are you insinuating, cowboy?’

‘You’re obviously taking pictures for the Tinder thing instead, which, by the way, I am not convinced about,’ replies and takes a bite of his wrap.

‘Not convinced - ha! Says the guy who drives two hours to a bar and doesn’t even know if he’ll get laid,’ you retort. ‘And don’t you worry, cowboy, these pictures will definitely work for both the ranch and Tinder.’

His frowns. ‘What do you mean for the ranch?’

‘I mean for the website and social media. Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t any pictures of you on there already. You guys would get so much business you’ll have to turn people away.’

He cocks an eyebrow, arrogance seeping into his smile. ‘Oh, and why is that?’

You roll your eyes at his fishing for a compliment. ‘You know why, cowboy.’

‘Enlighten me, darlin’,’ he insists with a wink. ‘I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.’

You put the cap back on the lens and reprimand, ‘What did I say about your ego last night?’

You avoid his gaze as you unwittingly steer the conversation into dangerous waters. You probably shouldn’t be bringing up anything from the night before - at all. There’s no alcohol to blame in the bright light of day though. Somehow, just being around this cowboy is enough to cloud your better judgement and make you say reckless things.

When you finally peer at him out of the corner of your eye, he casts you no more than an amused glance. Polishing off his lunch and dusting his hands, he looks away to watch the horses.

The morning hours before passed with no mention of what transpired by firelight. All the tension that has built up between you two in the dark burned off with the daybreak mist, and you’re feeling a lot lighter after your little bedtime distraction. And in the absence of any suggestive ogling or innuendoes from the cowboy, you conclude that you must have gotten away with it. All you are is a bit saddle sore, but nothing too serious, and you ride on with little difficulty.

An easy camaraderie has set in between you and Jack after surviving your first night together in the mountains. The banter packs a bit more punch now that you are no longer complete strangers, and you spend the morning trading horsey stories.

Jack learned to ride on his uncle’s farm. His first pony belonged to his older cousin who lost interest in the sport, so he spent years riding Sparkles, resplendent in matching pink bridle and saddle, until he outgrew her. He worked in and around the equestrian circuit until Champ offered him the job ten years ago, after meeting at a rodeo.

The conversation petered out when the lush green landscape gave way to drier sand, and suddenly, towering ahead, were the famous soaring red earth formations that you’ve been travelling the last two days for. Jutting out of the ground and chiselled by centuries of wind and rain, the echoing clops of the horses’ hooves bounced off the crimson stone as you rode under arches and past columns, dwarfed by the natural architecture.

After spending the better part of an hour exploring the red earth valley, you were taking a quick water break in the shade, when an idea struck you.

‘Do you think I’d get a discount for my next trip if I helped you guys with your online marketing?’

Jack chuckled. ‘Already thinking about coming back, huh? I mean I’ve always been told that I’m charming, but a turnaround this quick-’

You leaned out of your saddle to give him a small slap on the shoulder for his cheek. ‘Don’t let it get to your head, cowboy. I’m doing it for selfish reasons - a project like this would be a great addition to my portfolio.’

‘What exactly do you do for a living?’ he asked.

Capping your water bottle, you fastened it to its holder. ‘Branding and marketing. I work at an agency now, but someday I want to start my own business, so I always take on projects on the side when I have time.’

‘And you didn’t even bring your own equipment?’ he teased.

You pouted. ‘C’mon, let me borrow yours. I won’t drop it, I promise.’

With a dramatic sigh, Jack relented, ‘You know I can’t say no to you, darlin’.’

Now, hours later, he clearly wishes that he did. Jumping onto his feet, he leans down and unceremoniously plucks the camera from your hands, prompting an indignant cry.

‘That’s it,’ he grunts. ‘I’m laying down the law. No more pictures of me today.’

You shrug, not bothering to look up as he walks away towards the saddlebags. ‘Joke’s on you, cowboy! I got more than enough for your Tinder profile and the ranch.’

At the unexpected click of the shutter, your head snaps up to see Jack grinning at you from behind the camera a couple of feet away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Taking photos for your profile,’ he replies triumphantly.

You pull your hat down low over your face and grumble, ‘Stop it! I’m covered in sweat and dirt.’

He scoffs. ‘So am I! Didn’t stop you though, did it?’

Ugh. Does this insufferable man not understand that sweat and dirt only adds to his appeal?

You grouse, ‘And how are you going to be able to help with my profile? You’ve never even heard of the app.’

Jack crouches down to pack the camera securely in a saddlebag, peering at you over his shoulder. ‘I’m a man. Surely my opinion would count for something.’

Oh, he doesn’t need to tell you that. He’s all man. One whose very tight jeans are practically straining against his pert backside while he rearranges the packing on one knee.

Standing up, Jack whistles at the horses grazing nearby. He turns to you and says, ‘Come on, darlin’, no more clownin’ around on my watch. We got some ground to cover to get to our camp for tonight.’

You groan half-jokingly, climbing to your feet and grumble, ‘Yes, sir.’

You notice the way he stiffens. There’s a twitch in his neck as if he’s holding himself back from turning towards you, and his jaw shifts like he’s grinding his teeth. When you walk up behind him, he clears his throat deliberately and busies himself with the tack as the horses trot lazily back towards you.

Interesting.

You reach out to rub Scotch on the nose when he approaches, giving him half of the apple you saved for him from lunch. You keep an eye on Jack, your mind whirring, as you saddle up for the afternoon.

Turns out the cowboy wasn’t joking. It’s a seriously hard ride, with long stretches of cantering over flat ground. It’s as exhilarating as it is hard on your body - your calves and thighs are burning, your shoulders ache, and you start to actually worry if you’ll be able to carry on tomorrow. If you even survive this afternoon, that is.

You’re on what feels like the hundredth backbreaking canter streak of the day. Jack and Whiskey a safe four horse-lengths ahead, Bourbon following behind you and Scotch. The sun is veiled by clouds, but the heat is no less forgiving. You’re sweat-soaked to the bone, hair sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck. You’ve never been so desperate for a shower and a cold drink.

You see Jack stand up in his stirrups and turn around in his saddle to check on you. You must look like hell, because he takes mercy on you and holds up a hand to signal the end of the lope. When Scotch slows down to a walk next to Whiskey, he asks, barely winded, ‘You ok, darlin’?’

Panting for air, you reach desperately for your water. ‘Are you trying to kill me, cowboy? You remember what I said about the gym last night, right?’

He chuckles, taking a drink of water himself. ‘I’m sorry, I know I’m pushing you, but there’s somethin’ I want to show you before we lose the light.’

You swipe at a bead of sweat running down the side of your cheek with your clothed shoulder, too tired to sit up straight in the saddle anymore. You point a threatening finger at him. ‘It better be worth it, or I swear I’ll have your head.’

Jack gives you an encouraging pat on the back. ‘I promise it will be. Come on, darlin’, I know you can do it.’

Despite your exhaustion, some baser instinct in you can’t help but preen at his words. Damn your need for approval and praise from the lips of a handsome man.

It’s another hour or so on the road when you discern a drop in temperature, the sun starting its descent for the day, though the sky remains bright. Jack slows you down to an easy trot, craning his neck, as if searching for something. Distracted by an itch on your ankle, deep inside your boots, you don’t notice Whiskey coming to an abrupt halt in front of you.

‘Whoa, sorry,’ you apologise, gathering up the reins last-second to stop Scotch from running straight into the chestnut’s rump. ‘I wasn’t paying atten- ’

You trail off when you look up, hands frozen awkwardly in mid-air as all your motor functions grind to a stop.

You’re not sure how or where it came from - an enormous field of wildflowers in bloom stretches before you, as far as the eye can see.

‘Did I deliver on that promise, darlin’?’

Air rushes into your lungs when Jack’s words register, and only then do you realise you’ve been holding your breath. Robbed of your faculties, you answer with a mute nod.

Jack smiles broadly at your speechlessness. ‘Come on. Let’s take a closer look.’

Scotch follows when Jack nudges Whiskey down the small slope. The meadow parts like softly lapping waves around the horses’ knees, a riot of colour and scent. If it was earlier in the afternoon, you’re sure there would be a muted buzz of honey bees hard at work. It’s mostly still at this hour, other than the whistle of grass and leaves brushing the horses’ legs as you make your way deeper into the field.

Your eyes dart about, barely focusing long enough to recognise what’s in front of you - bluebells, woodland sage, verbena, daisies, foxglove - and far more that you can’t name off the top of your head. The sweet nectar is overwhelming, and when a breeze stirs, it washes over you like a gentle mist from a perfume bottle.

Slowly regaining your senses, a familiar sound catches your ear. Glancing to your left, Jack has his camera aimed at you as the horses walk slowly.

You grin, not caring that you’re a mess. Your knees brush when the horses drift into each other’s course. ‘Thanks for bringing me here, Jack.’

‘My pleasure,’ he tips his hat at you. ‘So - there’s a camp around three quarters of an hour’s ride away, but we can stay here tonight if you want to.’

Your chest swells excitedly at the prospect, but you demur, ‘Will it be too much hassle? We don’t have anything here.’

With a wave of his hand, Jack dismisses your doubts. ��It’s just the two of us, it can be easily done. There’s a stream a short distance that way, which is all we need. I’ll take care of everything else.’

A grin breaks across your face. ‘If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble - I’d love to camp here tonight. Thank you.’

Jack nods. ‘Of course. Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

You don't want to contemplate how you’ll ever go back to an existence where you don’t have cowboys with gorgeous brown eyes telling you things like that. And you suppose you don't have to - at least for a few more days.

‘Can I help with anything?’ you offer.

He shakes his head adamantly, one hand outstretched as if to physically stop you. ‘Absolutely not. Stay here with Scotch and Pinto, take a breather, stretch your legs - I’ll get everything ready.’

When Jack and Whiskey return half an hour later, having loaded up on water and firewood, he finds both horses untacked and brushed down. A smile tugs at his lips - of course you wouldn’t listen to him. The tack and saddlebags are neatly laid out, the cooking supplies already unpacked in preparation for dinner.

Scotch and Pinto are lying down, hooves tucked tidily under themselves, snacking on grass and half-dozing. You’re sitting cross-legged next to the palomino, braiding daisies into his white mane. You look up when you hear Jack approach.

‘I moved us further down so we don’t set fire to the field,’ you joke, pointing at the slightly barer patch of land.

‘Well done, darlin’,’ he replies and dismounts, giving Whiskey a big pat before quickly unsaddling him. Tipping his face to the sky, he remarks, ‘I think we’ll have quite a sunset tonight.’

Despite it only being the second day of the trip, you and Jack seem to have settled into a comfortable rhythm. He sets up the fire while you shower, and then you feed the horses - dry feed with apple and carrot bits for tonight - while Jack nips off for his.

He doesn’t protest when you help with dinner - corn chowder and jacket potatoes are on the menu this evening. While Jack preps the vegetables for the soup, you oil, season and wrap the potatoes in foil, planting them directly into the fire for a slow roasting.

At the first sign of the sky turning colours, you set up your phone on timelapse, propping it against your water bottle behind the two of you, with the horses and the campfire in-shot as the sun starts to sink. You don’t have to worry about battery life as the solar chargers are fully charged from abundant sunshine these couple of days, and there will be electricity at the Halfway House when you get there tomorrow.

At some point, both of you stop what you’re doing to watch the sunset. The sky is stained blood orange, the colour dripping from the horizon to stretch across the field of wildflowers until it is awash in red. A flock of birds cut across the cloudless horizon in a homeward formation, their caws echoing in the valley.

The digital click of the shutter pulls you out of your thoughts.

‘Jack,’ you berate him half-heartedly.

‘Come here, darlin’,’ he shuffles closer and turns the camera around so the front is pointed at you both. You can see your reflection in the lens - and he presses the shutter-release.

The chowder is delicious, as has been everything Jack has made so far on the trip. But after dinner, when the plates have been washed and the sleeping bags rolled out, belly full but slumber not yet come knocking, and Jack asks if you want a nightcap with a twinkle in his eyes - you decide that’s your favourite time of the day.

He puts a kettle on the fire, and pulls a tin of cocoa from a saddlebag. ‘You want a hot chocolate? We can make it Irish.’

You chuckle. ‘Sounds good, cowboy.’

Steaming mugs in hand, Jack carefully makes his way to your sleeping bag, the fire tracing his silhouette in bright orange. You take one, legs crossed and elbows on your knees, thanking him before taking a ginger taste.

A violent cough racks your frame, the potency taking you by surprise. ‘Jesus Christ - is this three-quarters whiskey?’

Jack cracks a roguish grin in your direction. ‘Maybe. But I bet you can take it, darlin’.’

Holy fuck.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck and spreads over the planes of your cheeks, and you duck behind your drink. Under the cover of night, in that gravelly Southern drawl, his words wield an unholy power.

Not ready to spar yet, you take a steadying inhale and a long sip, the alcohol burning on its way down. You grab the camera that’s been lying closeby all evening and say, ‘Let’s go over the photos I took today. I might even let you choose which ones to use for your profile.’

He snorts in jest, but shifts closer so that he can see the screen. ‘Sure, I believe you, darlin’.’

For such a good-looking man, Jack doesn’t seem to have a vain bone in his body. He is complimentary of your photography, stopping you when you want to zoom past the reel of your scenic shots. Instead, he takes the time to politely appreciate the composition, framing and lighting. But whenever one of him shows up, it’s he who wants to fast forward, uncomfortable with the attention of seeing himself on film.

When your drinks run low, Jack gets up to get more cocoa and hot water. You two are in the middle of an argument about the merits of (or according to him, the lack thereof) candid shots, after he vetoes one that you propose for Tinder.

‘Why that one?’ he disputes, collecting your mug. ‘I’m not even looking at the camera!’

‘That’s the whole point!’ you rebut. ‘It’s natural and in the moment. It’s a great photo of you!’

You ignore him as he grumbles while he mixes the cocoa. You click all the way through the reel, reaching the last photo of the day - the selfie of the two of you at sunset. Glancing up to make sure Jack is still occupied, you steal a moment to really study at the shot.

It’s a flattering take, the lighting and angle kind on you. You admire the way Jack’s eyes crinkle warmly at the corners, one side of his moustache tilted up with his smile, tidy teeth peeking out from behind that wicked mouth.

This damn cowboy.

Accidentally, your finger brushes a button on the dial, taking you to the top of the SD card. What comes on screen first appears innocuous enough - but when your gaze focuses, you freeze and your jaw drops.

Jack’s just poured a tall measure of whiskey into each mug when he notices you’ve fallen completely motionless, camera still in your hands. With a frown, he leans over to see why.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he swears loudly, leaping forward to snatch it away from you, nearly knocking over both drinks in the process. He just about tosses the machine away as if it burns him. ‘Shit, fuck, shit. Fuck!’

You haven’t heard him cuss much yet on the trip, and you’re not sure if that’s what triggers it, but suddenly you’re laughing so hard that your chest heaves and your lungs ache. Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you gasp for breath, what you saw on the screen seared into your memory.

It’s a photo Jack took of himself in what you assume is a bathroom mirror, his left hand holding the camera. Something about him is different, maybe his hair is a bit shorter, more slicked back. A flannel shirt hangs unbuttoned on his firm body, just like yesterday when he was undressing at the lake. It’s innocent enough up to this point.

Lower still, his belt with the now familiar flask buckle dangles undone, jeans shoved carelessly just past his pelvis. His large hand - which you’re now used to seeing deftly grasping the reins or resting on his thigh as he rides next to you - is wrapped around the base of what appears to be a very generously sized, very hard cock.

You just wish you’d been granted a few more seconds to peruse before Jack ripped the camera from you.

Finally, you wheeze, ‘Who takes nude pics on a DSLR?’

Jack runs a palm over his face and sighs. ‘You saw the state of my phone, the camera doesn’t work. The pictures were for my ex, she lived two states away and we didn’t see each other much. I thought I deleted them ages ago.’

You make grabby hands at the fresh hot chocolates, which he passes to you. You squeak, ‘I’m not drunk enough for this.’

Even in the dark, you can see the tips of his ears turning beet red, and you don't think you're imagining the insecurity in his tone as he mutters, ‘Sorry, that was embarrassin’.’

‘Why are you sorry? I didn’t see anything you should apologise for,’ you reply truthfully, swirling your drink, the hot steam warming your nose as you take a sip.

Jack peers at you with a bemused frown. ‘No?’

His gaze follows as you lick an errant drop of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. You add slyly, ‘I don’t see anything to be embarrassed about, either.’

‘Is that so?’ He hums thoughtfully, a self-assuredness squaring his broad shoulders as he leans towards you. ‘Does that mean you liked what you saw then, darlin’?’

It’s a loaded question. You give him a lopsided smile, and with more bravado than you feel, you quip, ‘I don’t know - I’ll have to take a closer look, cowboy.’

He holds your challenging stare when he knocks back a mouthful of his drink, and smacking his lips, he grins, ‘All you have to do is ask.’

Batting your eyelashes ironically, you half-joke, ‘Do I have to say please, too?’

Jack breathes out hard through his nostrils, a strangled laugh caught in his chest. He chides, ‘Behave, darlin’.’

And with two little words, he turns the tables on you and shoves you up a metaphorical wall. The shudder that ripples through your body at being told to behave by this cowboy doesn’t escape his keen observation, and his lips quirk in a cocksure manner.

Jack opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he’s interrupted by a quick succession of pings from your phone, which has been silent since the start of the trip. The sound is alien in the quiet of the mountains.

Your brow wrinkles in confusion. ‘Uh - what’s happening?’

It might be wishful thinking on your part, but disappointment seems to flash across Jack’s features as you change the subject.

‘There’s a weather station nearby. Sometimes we get the splash off,’ he explains.

You give him an enquiring look. ‘You know what I’m going to do now?’

Jack sighs in resignation. ‘I won’t be able to get away with this Tinder business, will I?’

‘Don’t be so glum about it, cowboy, it’s fun,’ you wink. ‘First things first - do you have a Facebook account?’

Lying on your stomach, your pillow tucked under your chest and your socked feet up in the air behind you, you look like you’re settling in for the long haul. Jack rearranges himself accordingly, rolling up his sleeping bag and reclines into it like it was a beanbag. With a deep drag of his drink, he takes stock of the situation.

First, Champ tries to set him up with you.

And now, you’re trying to set him up with an online dating account.

If questioned a few moments ago, he would still have thought that he was the cause of your little show last night. Right now - he’s not so sure anymore.

He’d been on the cusp of sleep when he heard you - a whimper that would’ve passed him by if the fire had cackled, or if a breeze had rustled the leaves in the trees. But in that window of perfect silence, he heard you. It paralysed him, sending blood rushing everywhere but his head, and he was up for hours, until his erection was eventually forced to dissipate from literal exhaustion.

Today has been something of a struggle, but he has bouts of sleeplessness every now and then, and even when it gets really fucking bad - he copes. He knows for a fact that you haven’t noticed. Hell, even his own team can’t pick up on it unless it’s been three nights and he literally trips over his feet walking on the fourth morning.

On the upside, at least the fatigue has forced him to keep his head on whatever task is at hand, sparing no room for thoughts about what he heard in the dark. But when you said ‘yes, sir’ earlier with such casual nonchalance, and the way you so boldly met him blow for blow just now - it took him all he’s got to fucking physically hold it together.

He’s not sure how it’s gone from that to you setting him up on Tinder, and by extension, with other women - in so fervent a manner.

Has he been reading you wrong this whole time? He’s barely taken a break from flirting with you, and he knows he’s not imagining your reactions to him when he pushes you a bit harder - just so he can see your eyes widen and hear your breath hitch - for him.

Watching you type on your phone with gusto, shooting questions at him - what’s your email address? How old are you? Do you want to link your Tinder account to your Facebook? - he wonders if he's lost his touch without realising it.

It’s been a couple of years since he broke up with his ex-girlfriend. She was sweet but his heart wasn’t in it, and the long-distance didn’t help. It’s been the odd one night stand here and there since, and while he’s not one to brag, his record is pretty damn near perfect.

Not that there’s much competition in this neck of the woods - well, Tequila puts up a good fight if they’re on a night out together. But right now, he’s the only man for miles and miles, and somehow, he’s still losing.

So he tops up his mug (it’s mostly just whiskey now), and he drinks until you reach out and poke him on the knee, grinning from ear to ear. Jack bites the inside of his cheek and wishes you wouldn’t smile at him like that. Not when he can’t figure you out.

You wear the fireside glow so well, like you’ve always spent your days in the saddle, traversing the Wyoming hinterland, and ending your nights at the warmth of a campfire.

Like you belong here.

‘What do you think?’ you prompt him, tipping the screen towards him.

He takes your phone and studies it. It’s a photo of him that you took this morning, with his age and job listed on top of it in the bottom left corner. He shrugs. ‘I don’t know, you tell me. I have nothing to compare this to.’

Undaunted by his uninspired response, you swipe through enthusiastically, showing him the other uploads. ‘Look, I took some pictures from your Facebook page too. Trust me, you’ll be knee deep in pussy before you know it, cowboy.’

He chokes on his drink, which draws a chortle from you. He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. ‘Are you always so crass, darlin’?’

You salute him with your almost empty mug. ‘Only when nefarious cowboys spike my hot chocolate with way too much whiskey.’

He huffs a laugh. ‘One more or should we call it a night?’

‘We can’t go to bed yet, setting up your account is only step one. I still have to show you how to swipe right,’ you protest, but the screen abruptly goes blank when you tap on it. ‘Shit, the connection’s gone!’

‘Praise the Lord,’ Jack proclaims, turning his palms heavenward in relief. His knees creak when he gets up to add more wood to the fire. ‘What do you want to do now, then?’

You put your phone away reluctantly. ‘I don’t know. What do you usually do with guests?’

‘Depends,’ he grunts when he sits down, close to you. ‘If the Kingsman were here, we’d play poker and darts.’

‘I got to say I’m glad they’re not here, then,’ you say with a wrinkle of your nose. It’s getting colder, so you sit up and drape the cosy blanket across your shoulders. When the idea comes to mind, you almost leap up from your seat in excitement. ‘Oh I know! How about a game of never have I ever?’

Jack scoffs. ‘Are you fourteen?’

‘It’s a classic. Please? It’ll be fun,’ you needle, waving the now half-empty bottle at him. ‘We still have to finish this off.’

He pins you with a stern look. ‘We’ll get wasted.’

You shrug with a cheeky grin. ‘So? I’m on holiday, and we’re halfway there already.’

‘Just don’t blame me for your inevitable hangover tomorrow, darlin’,’ he replies in capitulation.

‘I’ll give you a get out of jail card,’ you assure him. Rubbing your hands together, you jump right into it. ‘Ok, I’ll start - never have I ever had a dog.’

Jack drinks, repositioning his long limbs so that he’s sat with one leg outstretched, and the other bent at the knee. He asks, ‘You’re not a dog person?’

‘I love dogs, just never had the space in the city,’ you answer. ‘I’m the designated dog sitter for all of my friends and neighbours though.’

Setting the bottle down between you, Jack continues, ‘Never have I ever had a cat.’

You drink and muse, ‘I miss having a cat - haven’t had one since I was a kid. Maybe I’ll look into adoption when I get home.’

Travel comes up next. You drink at his never have I ever been to Asia (you went backpacking all over for two months after graduation), and he drinks at your never have I ever been to Europe (he travelled to Greece for the Olympics when he worked as a groom for a short stint).

You trade several more benign questions until, with an impish grin and a rush of alcohol-induced adrenaline, you tilt your head to one side and change the direction of the game. ‘Never have I ever - sent nudes.’

‘That’s not fair!’ complains Jack as you giggle, thrusting the bottle towards him.

‘I’m the guest, I don’t have to play fair,’ you retort.

‘Two can play this game,’ he shoots back, narrowing his eyes playfully. ‘Never have I ever used Tinder.’

‘Well played, cowboy,’ you smirk, grabbing the whiskey from him and taking a sip. After a moment’s consideration, you divulge, ‘Never have I ever had a one night stand.’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline, his voice deep as he comments, ‘So you’re one of them good girls, huh?’

Teeth catching your bottom lip, your answer echoes so clearly between your ears that for a moment, you thought you’d said the words out loud.

I can be. For you.

‘Always been a relationship kinda girl,’ you admit, somewhat belatedly, as he takes a sip.

He smiles, then with a wriggle of his eyebrows, he fires his next shot. ‘Never have I ever - fancied a cowboy.’

Your mouth hangs open in bewilderment, your heart threatening to hammer its way out of the confines of the ribcage. Is he drunk?

Well, you both are.

He’s watching you, his posture loose and relaxed. There’s no deviousness in his gaze, not even the playful kind. If anything, he appears - genuinely curious?

You suppose you could lie, but… you don’t want to. Keeping your eyes on him, you pluck the whiskey from his grasp. You add high-handedly, ‘Just so you know, I’ve met a lot of cowboys before you. So many, you wouldn’t believe.’

A lazy smirk curls his lips as he watches you take a swig. ‘Sure, darlin’ - what with all the ranches you’ve been to.’

Dangling the bottle in front of his face in a challenge, you retaliate. ‘Never have I ever fancied a guest.’

Instead of reaching out with his fingers, Jack drags himself across the sleeping bag so he’s practically hovering over you to grab the whiskey. Echoing your words, he says, ‘Just so you know, I’ve met a lot of guests before you.’

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. He’s so close you’re tempted to count the whiskers on his neatly trimmed beard.

‘It’s your turn, darlin’,’ rasps Jack, but you’re immobilsed by the brush of his calloused fingers against the tips of yours, planted on the sleeping bag.

You stammer, coming up blank. ‘Um - uh - never have I ever - ever -’

Jack gives you a crooked grin. ‘Need some help?’

Throat dry, you can only nod.

He leans in, his exhale hitting the shell of your ear, and he delivers the coup de grace. ‘Never have I ever touched myself thinking of said cowboy.’

Your eyes widen and you stop breathing. Oh fuck. He heard you. He knows.

Turns out you weren’t quiet enough after all.

And yet - you can’t bring yourself to be ashamed, not when he’s staring you with something that looks a lot like reverence.

You realise you haven’t addressed the gauntlet he’s thrown down at your feet. Bringing the whiskey to your lips, you confess with a wet gulp of whiskey, the liquid sloshing hollowly in the almost empty bottle when you place it down next to you.

The tension thrums between the two of you like some quantum disturbance, one that’s been building and ebbing for the last forty-eight hours. The air grows thick, his eyes dropping to your mouth the same time his rough palm moves to cover the back of your hand, startling you. Misjudging his proximity, your nose knocks into his cheek when you turn your head, and a quiet gasp slips past your lips when you feel his hot breath brush the hollow of your neck -

So caught up in the moment, it takes you three long seconds to realise that the two of you have suddenly broken apart, and three more for your head to grasp why.

The ringtone blaring from your phone is deafening in the tension-laden silence. Across the bright screen, your ex’s name flashes clearly.

Motherfucking cockblocking asshole.

Before you can unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth to protest - or ask him to please stay - Jack has gotten onto his feet with a rueful smile and a shake of his head. Scooping up his sleeping bag and tucking it under one strong arm, he reaches for a bottle of water that he filled up earlier and places it next to your pillow, knowing that you’ll need it in the morning.

Even in the shadows, you can discern his eyes sliding over your face. His whispered words barely reach you as he turns on his heels. ‘Good night, darlin’.’

You let the call ring out.

It’s still dark when you feel a hand grip your shoulder, pulling you out of a shallow slumber.

‘Jack?’ you croak, rubbing your eyes that are sticky with sleep. ‘Is something wrong?’

He shakes his head with a reassuring smile that you can barely see in the din. ‘No, I just wanted to show you somethin’. Put on your shoes and bring your blanket, darlin’, it’s cold.’

Even wrapped up in fleece, you huddle into yourself as you follow him. He leads you past the dying fire and snoozing horses, a thermos in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of a battered thick denim jacket.

You stumble when your feet catch on knots in the grass, and Jack reaches out to steady you, his reflexes fast even in this ungodly hour.

When your sight slowly adjusts to the darkness, you see that you’re approaching what you presume is Jack’s sleeping bag on the ground. He nudges you gently towards it with a quiet, ‘Make yourself comfortable, darlin’.’

You do, hugging your knees to your chest, your icy fingertips trying to find warmth under the blanket. Jack settles down next to you, and noticing your shiver, he wraps his extra quilt around your shoulders.

‘Tea?’

‘Yes please.’

The thermos warms your hands as you hold it, hot steam hitting your face as you drink carefully so you don’t burn your tongue. You’re too groggy (and more than a bit hungover) to try to figure out what is going on, and Jack doesn’t enlighten you, happy to sit in the silence as you pass him the bottle. The tea burns a comforting trail down to your stomach, warming you from the inside.

You don’t have to wait long for what comes next.

It starts with the faintest of glows. The ghost of your breath misting in front of your face. The distant, backlit profile of the Bighorn. The outline of bush and flora, then the textures fill in as the light swells. And without warning, the dawn breaks, colour spilling across the field of wildflowers, like a light has been switched on.

A light fog hangs in the air, gently refracting the morning rays into an iridescent sheen. In every direction, the ground is carpeted by a sea of summer blooms. It looks like a page ripped straight out of a book that starts with the age-old refrain of once upon a time.

You turn to Jack. He’s watching you closely with a smile, hair sleep-mussed, the sunrise casting him in rose gold.

It might have been you. It might have been him. It might not matter in the grand scheme of things.

The next thing you know, your shoulders bump and your lips meet. A sigh catches in your throat when he takes your lower lip between his, dragging slowly and sweetly, the wet friction and the tickle of his moustache on your Cupid’s bow chasing a shiver down your spine.

When he pulls back, he traces the tip of his nose across your cheek before tucking it behind your ear, his arm closing in around your waist.

‘Happy birthday, darlin’.’

More notes: They're going to get to the Halfway House next chapter. Just FYI 👀 I've really made you guys wait for the smut for this one, I swear I didn't plan it this way, but here we are. In the meantime, I'm going to try not to psyche myself out because I haven't written any smut since Consent ended. But I'll worry about that later, for now, thank you for reading and for the wonderful feedback so far - comments and reblogs are so appreciated as always!

Horsey notes (optional reading): This part is a bit thin on horses so this is quite random. Horses love treats - carrots, apples and polo mints will all be devoured. Make sure the treats aren't cut too small to encourage horses to chew before they swallow. Carrots can be broken into 2 or 3 pieces, and should be fed horizontally instead of vertically, to encourage chewing. Apples can be quartered or halved. When feeding, stretch out your hand flat, don't curl up your fingers or you can accidentally get bitten!

#jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels au #kingsman golden circle #kingsman fanfiction

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