#The Lost Distillery Company

[thelordfool]

HELP ME PLEASE!!!!!

Long story short: I'm unemployed and will not, unlike what I originally thought, qualify for unemployment benefits.

Please read the readmore for additional context on why I'm unemployed. This post is basically a continuation/update/redo of this post. I'm suffering a sickness with no medicine the past week, applied for almost 100 jobs the last two weeks, am disabled/queer/nonbinary/tired of ebegging. I'm also in the negatives in my bank account because my car payment came out, so I need to get that covered.

pp/vm/ca

$250/$1151.51

i need at least $511.51 of this by the first. please spread if you're financially unable to help, every person this reaches helps! here's the breakdown of the costs: $640 - car payment + late fees $380 - rent $131.51 - negative amount in bank currently

Oh hey thanks for stopping by to read this annoying tale of woe and being angry at capitalism. Prepare for wall of text.

I once had two jobs. The first job, at a chain restaurant, was a bit of a clique-y experience where I was working my damndest to be the best bartender they ever had. I still have all the cocktails memorized. However, I continually faced discrimination in the form of severe misgendering, no matter how often I corrected them. I was also set up for failure. Usually, when someone gets hired for a position, there's some amount of training to be done, no matter how experienced they are, right? I was going in nearly entirely inexperienced into the role. I knew how to make cocktails, sure, and was and still am very good with people and selling. But I was trained for two days. Two. Then, on my first night alone (a Friday), I was watched by one of the bigwigs at corporate who saw every little flub and failure. This caused a demotion-ish. I was demoted to barback but was allowed the same privileges. Until their next visit. That upset the hell out of me - I was well trained by that point and could do it all, with one hand tied behind my back. I digress. It was about 2 months following my demotion when i finally walked out. A new bartender had been hired and she thought I was being a total creep by looking at a ticket that had just come in. She stormed off to report me to the manager who, even after hearing my side where I had asked her if there was anything on the ticket that I could grab, said that I "needed to communicate better," and "you should be learning from her," and "you're a grown man, you should know better." I don't think I need to explain why that was so upsetting.

But I didn't report them, because I just wanted to be done with it. I was also working another bartending job, and everythign was literally perfect other than the hours, honestly. I loved the product the distillery made, I loved the people I worked with, and most of all: I had my own regulars. Last month, they hired a new hospitality director, who announced there would be some restructuring, including getting rid of servers while also making a full dinner menu to serve alongside drinks. I said nothing of it, despite my disagreements, and she assured us all that no one would lose their jobs, but just moved into different roles. We all kinda grumbled about it, and I told her that under no circumstances would I work back of house. Easy peasy. Till it wasn't, and I came home to a voicemail while on break with my partner that I'd been let go due to the restructuring. So much for no one losing their jobs, right? I hadn't been the only victim of this. I have my suspicions as to why the new hospitality director did these things, but I've no energy to throw around conspiracies. All I know is that I was shafted by both of these places and I'm tired of being broke. I'm applying, still going to fight, and... sigh.

tl;dr (why did you click the readmore?): i left a job due to discrimination and lost another due to company restructuring and i'm tired and sad and aaaaa.

[f0point5]

What if I told you I’m back?

This was a request but tumblr ate, you’ll all just have to believe me. Someone asked for a Max POV during the best friend era. So, I decided to go with this one ✨set 16th April 2018✨ the day after the Chinese GP, because I feel like we don’t talk enough about the early friendship.

I hope this finds its way to whoever sent in the ask and that you enjoy it 🫶

Max almost turns around three times on the way to your building.

The first time, it’s when he realises it’s late, gone ten p.m. on a Monday, you might be asleep. He should go home and come by tomorrow. But you’re a night owl, you won’t be asleep.

The second time, he thinks you won’t be asleep, but you won’t be expecting company. He hasn’t even texted, and he should have, but he left his phone in his jacket which he gave to his concierge to send upstairs with his bags. He shouldn’t intrude. But he’s not exactly company, he’s seen you in your pyjamas, it’s not like he’s suggesting you go out.

The third time, it’s the absurdity of the situation that gives him pause. He hadn’t even set foot in his building before setting off to yours. After three and a half weeks away one more night shouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe you’ll think he’s a bit strange. But equally, it shouldn’t be a big deal to just see you for a minute, right? If only just to give you your present.

He’s surprised by much he found himself missing you. It’s not like he hasn’t been used to being away from his friends and family his whole life, it’s not even like you didn’t talk while he was away. You talked a lot. But, he rationalises, he’d got used to having you around during winter break, you’d hardly been apart. You’d even come home to his mum’s with him just before Christmas. Your presence, your perfume, your way never letting him finish a sentence, it was all normal to him now. It wasn’t that he needed it, just that he had had to learn how to be without it, and that had been harder than anticipated. The last time he’d done that he was eight.

It only occurs to him now, as your building comes into view, that you might not feel the same way. You’d said you’d missed him countless times in the last three and a half weeks, but that didn’t signify. After all, he’d said it maybe twice and he here he was, asleep on his feet but at your door because he didn’t want to go home without seeing you.

He should just go home.

“Max?” No turning back now. He turns around to see you, dressed in a pretty blouse and a short skirt, teetering towards him on stiletto heels. “Maxy, Maxy, Maxy,”

You collide with him before he has a chance to laugh at the way you were squealing like a child. He hugs you back, holding you up when you lift your feet off the floor for a second. He’s half expecting you to smell like a distillery, unable and unwilling to comprehend that your reaction is all your own. But all he smells is your perfume, and it feels like Christmas all over again.

“Hey,” he says, lowering you to the ground and finally getting a good look at you. Your hair’s a little shorter, your face is- no, you couldn’t have gotten prettier. You’re a bit more tanned.

“I thought you were still in China,” you say, squeezing his shoulders. “You look so hungry, have you lost weight?”

“I just got back,” he says with a shrug. You’re almost his height in your heels, he notices for no discernible reason.

You take in his no doubt plane-rumpled appearance. “Did you come straight here?”

“Uh,” he clears his throat. He’s not going to admit that when you’re giving him a warranted look of confusion, but he doesn’t want to lie either. “I brought you a present.” He holds up the package, wrapped poorly on the flight home. Even the flight attendant had given him a sympathetic look as she watched him struggle.

“Aw, thanks,” you say, pressing your key fob against the censor and pulling open the door before Max can get to it. “Come up,”

“Are you sure?”

You give him an incredulous look, lit up by the golden glow of your lobby lights. “Of course,”

You tell him about the dinner you were just getting back from when he arrived, all the way up to your flat. Some people would find it odd or even rude that Max has been a continent away, racing the fastest cars on the planet in front of millions of people, and yet you’re perfectly at ease taking time to talk about your overly creamy pasta. Max likes it, relishes it, even. You’ve never seen him or his job as anything special. He went to work, you went to dinner. It’s normal. Just friends catching up.

You let him into your flat, heading straight for the kitchen, and Max takes the same seat at the breakfast island that he always does. He idly wonders if anyone else has sat in it since he’s been away.

“But then it’s not exactly Naples, you what can you expect. Sometimes I think the French sabotage Italian food on purpose,” you say, filling a wine glass with water from your fridge dispenser. “Great race, by the way. Glad my voodoo worked,”

Max scoffs. “So, you didn’t watch it,” he shakes his head as if that will help the memories fade quicker.

“I did. Got up at the crack of dawn and everything. And I cursed your car not to win,“ you say with a mischievous grin, pulling out a can of red bull from the fridge.

Max frowns. “What the fuck?”

“You can’t win when I’m not there to see it,” you declare, handing him the Red Bull. He reaches to take it, but you don’t let go until he looks at you. “I’d have been devastated,”

For the first time in his life, Max is actually half glad he didn’t win a race.

He chuckles, opening the can with one hand while sliding the gift along the counter towards you with the other.

“Well, I want to win,” he says, as you start picking at the copious amount of sellotape. “So you’ll just have to come to all the races,”

He’s surprised how much he means that.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Maxy. Oh my God, you can’t wrap for shit,” you say, finally managing to pull apart first Max’s wrapping, and then the box containing the, “Chopsticks?”

“Very fancy chopsticks,” Max explains. He points to the set of dark wood chopsticks you’re holding, gesturing to the intricate gold figures entwined on the top. “See, one set has dragons and one set has a phoenix? They’re famous in Chinese mythology. The guy said to give It to someone you like, they’re supposed to bring luck. Or something. I didn’t really understand his English,”

You stare at them for a while, a sort of bewildered smile on your face, and Max almost slaps himself. He should have just bought you a handbag. They had a Chanel in China. Why didn’t he just listen to his dad? This sentimental shit is weird and embarrassing and he should have just gone home.

“So,” you say, using the chopsticks to point at Max accusingly as you smirk at him. “You like me now? Who would have thought? After all those years of telling everyone how annoying I was, you like enough to want me to have good luck,”

“You-“ Max fights the urge to argue.

That smug look on your face still triggers him something awful. But behind it is someone who has become important to him. It’s not just that you know things about him that even he’s forgotten, it’s that he doesn’t want there ever be anything you don’t know about him. You him laugh, and he never wants to see you cry, and he’s used to being reviled and admired, and even liked, but you’re the only person who’s ever made him feel this understood.

“You’re my best friend,”

Once, he might have been embarrassed that you don’t say it back, but just like you know him, he knows you now, too. You grin at him, sipping your water as you look at him over the rim of your glass.

“Well, despite the fact that this whole chopstick story sounds like the beginning of an Indiana Jones movie, they’re beautiful, and I love them, and I promise I will only ever use them to eat Chinese food with you,” you say, putting the chopsticks back in their box. “And I’m glad you’re home.”

Max doesn’t say anything, fiddling with the can again, and you sigh.

“When are you leaving again?”

“Um,” he hesitates, like if he doesn’t say it then it won’t happen. He gives up and gives you an apologetic smile. “Thursday. Going to the UK for some work and then straight to Baku,”

“Oh,” your face, falls, and you toy with the stem of your glass, only for a few seconds, before you shrug. “Well, we should have dinner before you go, and then-“

“Do you-“ He cuts himself off, because he knows he should think about this more, but then you’re looking at him and he’s done thinking. “Do you want to come?”

“To the UK?”

“Yeah,” Max mumbles, looking down at his Red Bull as his fingers fiddle with the tab. “And to Baku,” he glances up to see your reaction, “and, I mean, anywhere,” he adds a shrug, because, obviously, the invitation is totally casual.

You shrug back. “Okay,”

He can hear his dad already, complaining about how you’re a distraction, you bring cameras and drama, how Max gives you too much of his attention on race weekends. But there’s worse things than Jos’s moaning, like not seeing you for another two weeks.

He barely has time to think about that before a Chinese takeout menu slides into his vision. He looks up at you, confused. “Didn’t you eat?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like you have in about a week. You are starting to get Cillian Murphy cheekbones,” you grimace. Max has no idea who that is but based on your face he doesn’t want to look like him. “And besides, I want to test out these magic chopsticks,”

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 61: I Bet It Stings

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

I don’t like this. Do not. Like. This. Being escorted by my broers, sure. Being escorted by the Peaky Blinders, oké. But having to travel with a stranger?

“How long is the drive to London?” Mr. Dixon asks in his Southern drawl as we exit the barge. 

And I thought I stuck out here. A Georgian distillery man in a cream suit catches even more attention. Vader certainly has a fair share of business associates.

“Please be patient, Mr. Dixon. A car is on its way to meet us.” I walk up to the ticket office and signal to the man inside. “Hello. I am Verena Steenstra, foreign representative for Thomas Shelby and Shelby Company Limited. Is there any transport scheduled for us?”

His eyes light up at the mention of the company. “Of course! Right this way.”

We’re led down the dock and into a parking lot, where a shiny Fiat 501 is waiting.

“Woo-wee! This Mr. Shelby sure does know how to spend his money,” Dixon comments as he inspects the car. “What a beauty.”

“Mrs. Thorne sent the car, Ms. Steentra,” the driver informs me as he places our bags in the trunk. “She said to tell you that Mr. Shelby is currently doing business in London.”

A perfect warning. It’s also a perfect way to escape my escort. Thanks, Ada.

The panic of the market crash is already spreading. I see it on everyone’s faces as we’re driven through London’s crowded streets. The Houses of Parliament stand proudly ahead. The Fiat parks near the front and I head straight to the nearest phone booth.

“Ada? I just arrived in London. Any news?”

I hear her grunt. “Business as fucking usual. God, I hate him so much right now! I hope you didn’t come back just for him.”

“You know that’s not true,” I mutter sourly. “Sometimes I hate him, sometimes I love him. There are even times when I want to shoot him. Are you alright?”

Ada sighs. “Do not say a word. I’m pregnant.” She’s-?! “Don’t say a word! It’s bad enough hearing Linda and Lizzie complain about their husbands. I don’t need someone breathing down my own neck.”

So Thomas did marry her. Is that what it takes? Get knocked up and Thomas Shelby marries you. I swear sometimes I want to slap him straight across his hoogdravend face-

The face I spot across the courtyard. Thomas. Wearing a sharp navy suit and his signature hat. Quite the hoity-toity job for a man who breeds horses.

“We’ll talk more when I get to Birmingham," I mutter before hanging up.

I lead Dixon towards the gangster, trying to keep my breathing steady. You are not here for him. You are here to earn money. You are here to help your family.

“Well, well, well. Thomas Shelby, MP,” I mock brashly.

Thomas, who still has his back turned, freezes. He whips around and his look of shocked recognition is priceless.

“Verena,” he breathes out. “You’re here…”

Yes, I still exist. Yes, I did pick out a dazzling blue dress to show off my best features. No, I do not regret showing up unannounced to him.

“And I brought business with me,” I finish for him and gesture to my escort. “Thomas, this is Mr. Dixon, from Georgia. He owns a distillery operation in Tennessee.”

Thomas looks between us. Then down at my hand. One might say he’s examining for my own wedding band.

“Great. Why is he here?” Thomas asks bluntly.

I wave a finger at him. “Be nice. He’s here because he lost stocks, the same as you, and wants to do a sale. And…”

“And to escort this lovely lady,” Dixon states and boldly places a hand on my waist. “Her daddy asked me to. A true beaute if I ever did see one. How fetching, indeed. Too bad you’re a Yankee.”

Thomas stares the man down with an icy glare. “Hilarious. May we please proceed, Mr. Dixon?”

“Before you both start, please tell me why you have summoned Liam?” I demand lightly. “Before I left he mentioned receiving a letter from you. Obviously you two stayed in touch.”

Thomas stays quiet for a second, measuring his words. “Your brother is a hard worker. He secretly offered his services for the time you are here so he can keep you safe.”

Keep me safe? That practically means keeping an eye on me! Why on Earth would Liam desire to work with the Peaky Blinders? The job is cut-throat, brutal, adrenaline-inducing- Who am I kidding? He’s a prime candidate for it. I know it’s his decision but I do not want my broer being caught up with Thomas more than he has to!

“Very well. I will leave you men to talk.” I back away crossly and start walking back to the car.

Mr. Dixon gets a confused look. “Ms. Steenstra, I’m supposed-”

“You were supposed to escort me from New York to England on orders of my vader. You have fulfilled that obligation, therefore your services to me are no longer required.”

I am going to Birmingham where the real action is. Not all these suits meeting in dark rooms. I am going to bring my information to Arthur, the head chairman, and continue on my merry way-

“That is all?”

The hidden upset in Thomas’ voice leaves me feeling both cocky and… shameful. It pains me to treat him like this but I am not lowering my defenses again.

“I did not come here for you, Mr. Shelby,” I reply, still facing away. “I am here because this new depression has twisted my hand and I am here to earn money.” He has no response to that. “Now you know what it feels like to face the other end of disappointment.”

I bet it stings.

“Is this about Lizzie?” Thomas asks when I start walking again.

“You brought it up, not me. Good evening.”

“Oi! Verena-!” He’s trying to follow me.

I pivot and hold up a hand to stop him. “Stay away, Thomas. I’d rather not repeat the same routine. You need help, I support your ridiculous idea, you botch it up and push me aside, and I walk away.” I slide into the car and give him one last look of warning. “Let’s skip to the last part, shall we? I’m going to see Ada and get some real business done.”

Thud!

I shut the door in his confused face and watch as he gets smaller and smaller behind me. Remember, Thomas, you made me into this.

The instant the Fiat drops me off at Ada’s house she comes running from the front door to give me a hug.

“You’re back!” The Shelby zuster cheers. “Did you see Tommy yet?”

Her subtle curiosity makes me give her an annoyed smirk. “Left a Southern gentleman to talk with him. Now that people in America hear my family’s partnered with you lot they all want in on the action.”

She tilts her head. “Maybe the Southern man fancies you.”

“He’s here for business, same as I.” That closes the topic. “What about you? I guess you missed sex after all.”

Ada smiles and pats her stomach as we make our way inside. “Polly predicts it’s a girl. Says I should name her Elizabeth.”

“And who’s the lucky father?” I grunt as I heave my trunk into the parlor.

“His name is Ben Younger. A black man.”

“Another blessing from God,” I declare warmly and ignore her last comment. “You should be very happy. He sounds like a very charming man if he has won over Ada Thorne’s heart. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Ada smiles gratefully, then turns to a different subject. “I don’t know what plans you have yet. I’m meeting Tommy in a few days to discuss some things with a comrade.”

He’s still dancing with socialism? Wonderful. Something else we can disagree on.

“Speaking of, Tommy wanted to know why you’re giving him the silent treatment.”

Is that what he thinks I’m doing? If anything, the treatment I’m giving him is his own. And I will be anything but silent about it.

“I am not.”

Ada rolls her eyes and pours some fresh tea. “Come off it, Verena. You haven’t been too chatty with him since you last left.”

“Thomas used to appreciate me for listening. Now he won’t even say thank-you. So he’s going to get his own words spat into his face.”

“Yes, well, Tommy’s a stubborn twat.” She gives me a pointed glance. “Yet you still wear his necklace.”

Drat. She noticed. I finger the silver pendant around my neck, unable to think of a reasonable rebuttal. I can’t help it. I tried to dispose of the thoughtful gift that reminds me of him. Either it’s nostalgia or pathetic pity on myself, but I cannot bring myself to throw Thomas’ cross away.

“Can you please just say something so he’ll stop nagging me about when you’ll start talking again?”

Something about how she says that sounds practiced. Anticipated. Not like something Ada would normally go along with.

I pick up the teacup and inhale the sweet scent. “He told you to ask me, didn’t he?”

“Yes! He called me before you got here! And I’m tired of being a bloody messenger!” Ada outbursts. “So tomorrow you are going to Arrow House and talking to him properly!”

My jaw drops. “I don’t-!”

“Shut it.” Ada picks up a briefcase and sets it on the table. “Here. These are documents from some contacts in Boston. Go have him sign them and talk to him before he nags my ear off. No more squabbling. This is an order on behalf of the company. End of discussion.”

Sneaky Ada. How does she expect Thomas and I to chat and make up? And for me to risk opening up again? He’s like a drug. The longer I know I can’t have him, the more I want him. The devil of Birmingham.

I could leave straight to Germany now. Leave before I get in too deep again. Thomas might not like it. But my precious time should be used for making money and avoiding more heartbreak. Then again, Polly wouldn’t approve if I go without seeing her. I could give in and let them hate me… No. No matter how hard I try to convince myself, I cannot let him go. 

The only thing I can do is my job.

@meadows5

[letsgobarbs]

Part (5/6): All I Want For Christmas Is You

Series Index Part 6 (End.) Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence

Jack scrubbed the counters until they were spotless and shiny, he could make out some of his own features on the veneer coating the wood. It had been the oddest few months of his life, constantly feeling like he was in the twilight zone. They had offered him a small studio in the employee housing at the distillery along with a job as a bartender. He had put up with probing and pricking and all sorts of lab tests to further study the effects of the Alpha Gel and improve it, which wasn’t even as bad as the hours of intrusive mental evaluation where he had to hash and then rehash his past and trauma. It was kind to call it therapy, mental torture was what it was. Despite all of it, or rather, because of it all, he was very grateful. This was mercy and grace he didn’t deserve, and anybody else with his sins wouldn’t have received. It was the help he hadn’t realised he needed but was thankful to have received anyway. 

Although, he could do without the around-the-clock surveillance. The cameras in his room had long been removed but he was constantly watched at work like he was going to throttle a poor tourist ordering a drink. Currently, Agent Mezcal sat on a barstool looking pleased as a peach watching him work and snobbily pointing out all the imaginary spots he had missed. He had a rolling roster of agents coming in, gloating and insufferable, to watch how the mighty have fallen. His anger had long eased to prickling irritation when he had read the faintly pitying, concerned look in their eyes. They had all found out about the tragedy during his trial, and were just looking out for him in their own emotionally constipated spy way. But the routine was growing old fast. 

The only company he could stand these days was Tequila, who had blown into this place after hours like a tornado in a trailer park and had fairly roughed him up— he had intended to beat Jack up within an inch of his life but had quickly lost interest when he had just taken that beating. But Jack was itching to fight back these days, because what the fuck was he doing cozying up with Katie from accounting? Katie was in the pub every damn evening flirting with anything in a pair of boots. He should be partnering up with the new Agent Whiskey on the field and take any chance to woo her. 

That’s another one he missed, Elizabeth had taken to field work like a duck takes to water. He had made his apologies once she had come down to visit him for holding back her career. He hadn’t known that it was something she had genuinely wanted to try, she shone in her role as their strategy executive— there was nobody else he would trust his life and safety to. But for years, she had been stretched thin, serving as both his surveillance agent as well as the agency’s strategy executive. All because he selfishly refused to let her go, she had been one of the only two people at Statesman who had known his past, anybody who would replace her would have also had to be informed of it, and he was just too ashamed to let anybody else know of his shortcomings. 

Matching up with a new surveillance agent was always an exercise in the most uncomfortable experience of being known and perceived. They saw what he saw, heard what he heard, constantly haunting him like a ghost that whispered instructions into his ear. Jack was still unable to break the habit he had formed of turning on the tap while taking a leak out of fear that Ginger could hear him tinkling. There was always little to no privacy on missions, they couldn’t ever convince Jack again to take a dump with someone virtually present in the bathroom with him. Lizzy could enjoy someone else questioning her sexual prowess, and see how it feels for a change. Not that anybody was trying to convince him of anything. 

His future was still up in the air, they hadn’t exactly offered to bring him back into the agency, let alone back on the field. He was too afraid to ask, and even if they did allow him back, Jack didn't know if he could trust himself again. Although, Champ had apologised to him, because Statesman assumed responsibility for some of his actions, and had insinuated that he could be open to having him back. Personally, he thought it was horseshit.

They had concluded that the Alpha Gel Tech needed more post-treatment regulations. While it worked miracles physically, agents couldn’t return to their missions immediately after partial amnesia and mental age regressions. Especially when the only current method for bringing back their memories was to trigger them using a stressful or tragic event of the past. It harmed their mental health and decision-making capacity. He understood that this had largely factored into his reduced punishment but Jack would carry the weight of his own decisions, and he had regretted them— however belatedly that might be. He believed, nonetheless, that it was a good start to vet and evaluate an agent’s mental state after using Alpha Gel; although, he couldn’t attest to its effectiveness because he recognised that they were all spies— agents— and excellent actors skilled at lying and disguising. 

Regardless, after his chat with Champ yesterday, his restriction had been lifted, and he was no longer constrained to the distillery grounds. He was… free to go, or stay as Champ had very kindly pointed out. Then, earlier today, his therapist had asked him what he wanted to do. And he hadn’t the foggiest. He had never considered what he wanted. He could stay, be a bartender; but it had been a very long time since he had worked in the service industry and he had lost his touch. He couldn’t muster up the charm, sometimes he felt out of touch with his surroundings and at times could be the surliest bartender to boot. 

He had never decided to do something because he had wanted to, Jack had merely drifted to where the wind took him. After his girlfriend and kid had died, Jack had joined the military with the expectation of never surviving it, there had been nothing and nobody left for him in the world. But somehow, he had survived it, and had gotten recruited to Statesman. This too he had never expected to survive, Gin had assured him it was the most dangerous job in the world. 

But he had learned to live amidst the dangers of this job. Jack loved his job, even when it was taking its toll on him. Most importantly, he loved the people he worked with, because they made surviving feel a lot more like living. They had been his friends and family; Jack had been the ungrateful ass who hadn’t paused to realise and appreciate that. But he did now, so he supposed he wanted to stay at Statesman. He just didn’t know what that looked like if it wasn’t a bartender or an agent.

He supposed he could go to the ranch, and take a little break to figure things out. But he didn’t want to go there. He had bought that ranch as soon as he could afford to; it had been her dream, living off of the land, raising kids in a big house with lots of animals— one of those dreams you talked about but secretly believed you would never achieve. But when he stood in that big ranch house, he realised he didn’t know what colour she would want the walls, or what fabric she would like the cushions and curtains to be, or what stone she would prefer for the kitchen counter. Jack had thrown the house at the designers with a hefty check and they had given him a show home fit for the magazines. But it wasn’t home. 

He supposed he should go to her grave. Get some flowers and profusely apologise. He had allowed his grief to turn into something ugly and vengeful instead of letting them go. It was an insult to their memory for him to commit atrocities in their name— citing their loss as an excuse for harming millions of people. He knew if she could speak from beyond the grave she would say something along the lines of ‘Don’t put this on me, Jack Daniels.’   

The only thing in his life Jack remembered wanting, desperately wanting, was a family— people he could go home to. They were nearing the end of October… Even after almost ten months, Jack couldn’t imagine any version of a family that didn’t include Marley at the centre of it. But she wasn’t his, and never would be. If he had thought himself undeserving of her before, now he was nothing more than a sewer rat pining after the prettiest bird in the sky. The very thought of her hurt; he had left her thinking she would be his undoing but he had managed to ruin everything all on his own. Every reason he had constructed to not be with her sounded so monumentally stupid now. Except, now he didn’t have a good enough reason to go to her. 

He knows he didn’t deserve any better, but it still stung that Gin had notably avoided him. He hadn’t seen him ever since that meeting where he had been dismissed from his post. Tonic had visited, glowing with happiness, they had finally come out to their respective families. All he had offered as an explanation was that Gin was busy with ‘family stuff’ which was the worst excuse because it only made him worried about Marley. How did the wedding go? Had she been infected by the Golden Circle products? What about Grandma Marge? Another reason he couldn’t be a bartender; he couldn’t keep tabs on her. 

“Word around town is you make a mean Old Fashioned, boy.” Gin. It was surreal to see him standing there, Jack felt tears sting his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Even after all these years, this man could make him feel like a lost little boy looking up at his father for guidance. Always the steady source of strength, support and calm even when Jack had evaded him and his meddling. He kept his hands from reaching out to him, unsure of what he would say next. 

“You gonna just stand there or give this ol’ man a hug?” It was all the invitation he needed, Jack rushed around the corner to embrace the older man squeezing his shoulders in apology, in gratitude, in disbelief. Sometimes he still felt incredulous over the forgiveness and kindness he had received, they were things he was still trying to practice for himself. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know, son.”

The conversation was always easy with Gin, but even after several drinks between them, he still felt stifled. There were stilted silences between them as if he was waiting for Jack to say something he wanted to hear, and Jack knew what those could be but was too afraid to say them.

“So, what’s kept you so busy these past few months?” Was he so upset with him as to avoid him for months?

“Marley isn’t doing so well.” Gin dropped that bomb with all the flair of a man commenting on the weather. And then he went on to talk about taking some time off to go on a family trip, with no further explanation. Was he going to make him ask?

“What happened to her?”

“To who?” 

Jack gave him a look of disbelief. He can’t be serious. She probably wasn’t in imminent danger, or he wouldn’t be sitting here. But he felt worried and agitated anyway, his heart raced and his chest felt tight. Gin better start talking, now. 

“Oh, Marley? She was getting harassed by that Cole boy, had to change houses because of it and everything.” Jack was out of the door before he even registered what was happening, his apron was still tied around his neck, he flung it off and threw it behind him at Gin who leisurely followed him out. 

“Thought you didn’t have any intentions for my niece, Jack Daniels.” The words stayed him in his place. He— still didn’t have any intentions. How could he?

“I just… gotta make sure she’s alright.”

“Take my word for it, she’s alright.” 

“I have to see it. With my own two eyes.” He had to see her. As soon as that thought had occurred, it took root in his mind with such ferocity that it was all he could think. He had to see her.

“You don’t even know where she lives.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Jack whipped around again, desperate for some answers, “Tell me where she lives, Gin.” 

“What do you plan to do when you meet her?” He hadn’t planned anything. He was going to go over to her address and sit outside until he caught a glimpse of her. 

“If you plan to break her heart, I think it’s best if you don’t go. I understand that you… might be feeling responsible for her. But she has family looking out for her, she’ll be just fine. She deserves some time to move on from you.” She hadn’t moved on from him? 

“I say all that and you just fixate on that last part?” Had he said that out loud?

“I can read you like an open book, Jack.” He had once been looking at her Instagram photos, only to catch a glimpse of his grinning face in the reflection of his TV. He had realised a long time ago that he couldn’t mask how he felt for Marley at all. 

“Her new neighbour is very attractive, I quite like the man for her.” Jack bristled at the thought of her with anybody else. He had wanted her to find love, and have a family. But in all his wishes there had been some faceless, shapeless entity irritatingly hovering around her like a mosquito. Now, Gin was painting an image for him, her neighbour. They would exchange hello’s and howdy’s as they left for work and came home; maybe this new guy would offer to tend to her front yard, or maybe he would give her welcome-to-the-neighborhood cookies. Jack was fuming, huffing out of his nose like a prize bull as he started the car. He had left Gin behind somewhere, a crowd of tourists having separated them. His phone pinged with an address shared by Gin. 

The drive was agonizingly slow, he hadn’t realised today was Halloween. Little kids in their costumes were carrying around their tiny plastic pumpkin baskets and trick-or-treating their way around the quaint little neighbourhood. Jack stared at the skeleton on the door cackling its evil laughter at him while he waited for someone to open the door. He had knocked before he could talk himself out of it, but the impulse to just run away before she answered the door was still steeping in his mind. His stomach was churning with anxiety, but try as he might, he couldn’t stamp down the rising hope in his heart.  

The door swung open to reveal a blur of blue-green, and the door was slammed shut in his face with a dramatic gasp— the skeleton swinging forward to catch him in the nose. The door swung open yet again and the light teal mass launched itself in his arms, pushing him back a few steps with its force. Jack felt a laugh bubbling up his chest escaping as a loud guffaw— bright and free. Marley— covered in a teal catsuit, a platypus beak lay behind the threshold and her brown fedora lay by his feet. She was dressed as Perry the Platypus. 

“You couldn’t have called before coming? Or given some prior notice through your spy channels so I could at least have chosen a sexier costume.” Jack couldn’t stop giggling, her entire face and hands were covered in teal body paint that was rubbing off on his clothes, his neck, shoulders and the side of his face. 

“And miss this precious sight? No, thank you.” Jack held her tighter in his arms, his heart at ease for the first time in months. Everything was right in the world again. 

“How are you?” 

“Better now that I’ve seen you, Sugar.” Mundane exchange of pleasantries that failed to conceal the relief and joy that permeated through him. 

“You owe me a kiss.” He would owe her as many kisses as she would like. 

But Jack languidly raised a single doubtful eyebrow, “Do I now?” He glanced down at her lips, they were also teal, and his own mouth twitched in amusement. 

“Yes, there was a mistletoe over our head when we were dancing. We didn’t kiss and bad luck has plagued me like stubborn gum stuck under my shoe…” Bad luck had plagued him too, catastrophically even. Jack vowed to kiss her under every mistletoe they found. It was a vow he would keep until the end. 

“So really, it’s your fault. And you should kiss me now to cast away the bad luck, then maybe one more time as compensation for my troub—”

Jack kissed her. He would kiss her so often, that she would never need to ask. But maybe, sometimes, he might make her ask because she begged so prettily— coy and mischievous, knowing she would be getting her way in the end. But this kiss, on her front porch, was a reunion like no other. It was a reclamation in its own right. There were no sweet, cautious pecks and warm presses of lips. There was the scrape of his tongue against hers, and then he devoured her, prying her jaw wide with his own, stroking his tongue deeper into her mouth until she was boneless and pliant in his arms. In just the few, short desperate seconds, she had relented to the gentle exploration of her mouth, yielded herself to his reverent worship of her lips. 

Marley arched into him, pressing herself against him, and accepted every tug, every bite, every stroke and flick he offered like proof of his adoration and devotion, encouraging him with soft sighs, hitched breaths and clipped puppyish moans that went straight to his stiff cock. He ground his hips against her soft belly to relieve some of the ache, earning him a delightfully surprised gasp he swallowed into his mouth along with her lips.

His fingers pressed tightly into her skin, leaving soft indents and molding the flesh to his touch as he felt and caressed down the curve of her hip, gently nudging her thighs to place her bare feet over his boots. There was a chilly nip in the late October air, and the grounds got colder as the sun set. Jack walked them both back into her home, noses nudging each other; lips, swollen and shiny with their shared spit, meeting in soft, feather-like kisses. Jack traced the shape of her lips with his, nudging the door close behind him with a foot, before chasing her tongue deeper into her mouth again. Kissing Marley had thwarted all of his anxieties and insecurities, but the sound of the door closing behind him with a dull thud made the rest of the tension and strain melt away from his frame. He was home.

Series Index Part 6 (End.)

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

THINK HE IS NOT TELLING THE WHOLE TALE.

The whisky, released in 2020 by Sam Heughan, has taken on a different narrative by late 2024, as Heughan himself pointed out in an article for THE ARBUTURIAN.

It’s important to clarify that although the author mistakenly referred to him as a whisky distiller, Heughan does not own a distillery and is not a whisky distiller himself. A whisky distillery is a facility where whisky is produced, and all the distillation processes for Sassenach whisky take place at Loch Lomond Distillery.

For four years, Heughan has been developing a version through interviews, articles, podcasts and other media why he chose the name Sassenach. But, In a cynical world, this information changes the equation a wee bit, for an individual using their success in another field to allow themselves to carve out a little new version of his whisky name is not easier to be sympathetic.

Sam Heughan named his whisky brand "The Sassenach" after the nickname his Outlander character gives his English wife, Claire. The Gaelic word "Sassenach" simply means “English” (man or woman) and does not translate to ‘outsider.’ Heughan has mentioned in previous interviews that the whisky is named “The Sassenach” in honour of his show's love interest. Now that the Outlander series has come to an end, Heughan needs to enhance the name "Sassenach" with another version to market his products effectively.

Why would he want to brand a Scotch whisky with a Scottish word which means “English person”? It’s a curious name for a Scotch whisky! He selected the brand "Sassenach" for economic and business reasons, aiming to attract the attention of his Outlander fans, particularly those drawn to his character, Jamie Fraser. Many female fans of Outlander began to embrace the term Sassenach, encouraged by Sam Heughan himself, even though the term is often considered derogatory towards English people. Sassenach brand includes a wide range of products sold by Sam Heughan, such as drinks, hip flasks, whisky glasses, tartan items, scarves, tote bags, and more.

Understanding that JAMMF is a ghost and Outlander filming is over. I'm not too sure at which consumer market a whisky of that name would be targeted. After the series finale. Outside the U.S 🇺🇸 and Canada 🇨🇦 (just Ontario) In the European Union 🇪🇺 his name brand Sassenach was refused and lost his legal battle, or further afield I presume?

Perhaps he doesn’t want the Sassenach brand to appear ruined this festive season, so he’s begun using his creativity to boost sales. So his whisky is named his mother now. After a barrage of adverts on his Instagram urging his fans to shop more and more, it seems he is manipulating perceptions to change the original reason behind the whisky's name. This adjustment appears to stem from his internal desire following the end of the Outlander series, as he attempts to craft a new narrative filled with magical memories. However, in reality, this approach may not be adding joy for his fans; rather, it is distracting from it.

Consider, for just a moment, how this new version he wants you to accept might be detracting from your holiday joy. This year, don’t let him ruin your festive season. Instead, wait for his public relations team, marketers, and advertisers to refine his new story. While they may try to embellish his whisky's backstory to suit his needs, this could ultimately detract from the genuine joy of the season.

Posted 24th December 2024 🎄

@emel98 Great Glen Company commissioned Sassenach Tartans for Alex to dress as a Scot in a kilt, a traditional Scottish garment. Why didn't Sam wear his Sassenach First Love tartan instead of Alex to the awards night? That night was important for his Sassenach whisky? Sam is getting so confused.

[farfromstrange]

Austin: Masterlist

Read Me on AO3!

Pairing: Owen Sleater x F!Reader

Warnings: (Sort of) slow burn, smut (18+), alcohol consumption, bootlegging, drugs, canon typical violence, murder, blood, misogyny (this is the 1920s, after all), foul language, illegal activities, organized crime, plot, Additional Tags Added Before Each Chapter

Summary:

As your father's only daughter, his distillery business was always destined to be passed down to one of his male business associates after his death. In the wake of the Prohibition Act, the government shut down the factory. You lost your job and your home, and upon your return, you had to find out that the man who used to be in charge of your father's legacy had gone underground with the company's secrets. That night, you made a mistake that forced you to pack your bags, burn all bridges to your old life, and move from your small hometown in Texas to Austin. In a world ruled by men, the only way for you to survive was to make the world believe that you'd died. In your stead, you gave life to someone else; Mister Austin—a man, and now one of the most powerful players in the bootlegging game. A year later, Nucky Thompson, an old friend of your father's finds a way to send you a rather ominous letter. Considering your history, you don't have much choice but to meet him yourself. The question is just, at what cost? As it turns out, Atlantic City is nothing like you expected it to be, and when you meet Owen Sleater, the walls you've built around you start to crumble, and you find yourself on the edge of losing not only everything you worked so hard for but your heart as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

ZERO: Prologue

ONE: Welcome To Atlantic City!

[misssophie-me]

Very good! As for the German situation and the Sasse Distillery: yes, it is a distillery which makes liquors, not beer. And believe me, it's quite small, most Germans have never heard of it nor do they know where to find Schöppingen on the map. It's ridiculous. Noone, not even us stupid Germans, would ever mistake Sasse with Sassenach, just bc some letters are the same. 🙄 I think they made up this lawsuit out of nowhere bc they wanted some free promo for their products. They don't have any other advantage from it. But it backfired. It's unlikely that their custumer base has increased, even after they won the lawsuit. They have presented themselves as a provincial, petty, thirsty and unappealing company. Speaking for myself: I'd rather stop drinking (...no...I won't... ahem) than to buy some of their products. As for the Sassenach, right now Germans cannot place an online order to get a bottle of it. As soon as you're identified as being from Germany and wanting your bottle to be sent to this beautiful country, the order is being stopped and you get kicked out of the system. 🤬 Luckily, I got a bottle of Sam's whisky bf he lost this legal dispute, and it's good to hear that they still try to find a solution. *sorryforthisrant*

Labor of love

I was very interested to see what S told Mark Gillespie on the last episode of the latter's WhiskyCast podcast, @bat-cat-reader immediately shared with us.

It was a most instructive 35 minutes. I listened to all of it, because I wanted to also hear Gillespie's tasting notes forThe Sassenach. And I regret nothing: once you get past the traditional (and a bit obnoxious) 'why The Sassenach?' question, you're in for some interesting news.

You can listen to it here, by the way:

Before anything, who is Mark Gillespie?

One of the most respected professionals in the very small world of alcohol specialized podcasters, with a 37 years work experience in media and broadcasting, spanning household names such as CNN, Bloomberg, Wall Street Journal, Gallup and MSNBC. But also, and this I found very interesting, given the current context, the owner of CaskMedia, a firm specialized not only in media production, but also marketing and PR.

The podcast was recorded at The Metropolitan Club's library, moments before the Keepers of the Quaich dinner, where S was a keynote speaker. So not 'just there for the Haggis Ceremony ' - a 'guest of honor' is never invited just for the show, people should have known better, eh?

S's 7 minutes interview starts at the 09:32 mark. Comments in brackets are mine.

Gillespie surely doesn't like to beat around the bush and after the customary niceties, asks a million-dollar question:

MG: 'I have to ask: did you have the troubles (problems?) in Germany straightened up?'

SH: ' Ha, ha, ha [not an organic giggle, but hey - gotta do what you gotta do, eh?]. Well, I am not entirely sure I should talk about it [speaks very quickly and through his teeth - visibly annoyed/nervous; not entirely sure I got it all correctly, so feel free to amend in comments], ah... ummm... not as yet... not as yet...ummm...we did fall into an issue with the name Sassenach, which was similar to a big brand in the US... ah!... in Germany, sorry... of a beer brand... I...I personally don't see the similarity [neither do I, S...neither do I], but I am sure once people taste our whisky, they'll know what it is, whatever the name is on it.'

Yes, this interview was probably rehearsed. Yes, Gillespie might have sent the questions to S/his people in advance for reviewing. No, he could not speak about a legally complicated situation before the final settlement with that Schoppingen beer brewer (penalties are probably still to be fixed and paid, but I will check that, so don't take my word for Gospel truth, yet). I will write separately about this whole thing, because I still think that was a very questionable decision of the EUIPO. Not because it royally pisses me off (so fucking unfair!), but because I really fail to see the proper legal reasoning and basis for it. His answer was perfect, under the circumstances. Absolutely perfect.

Anyways, FWIW, it would seem some sort of solution has already been found ('whatever the name is on it') and that most probably would be to rebrand it. And sell it on the German/EU market under a new name.

Lallybroch (https://trademarks.justia.com/981/67/lallybroch-98167525.html), perhaps? Time will tell, but that could explain this recent trademark application I didn't have time to properly look into, yet:

Further ahead (and fast forward through the cask version release, these things bore me to death), we land on another (as yet) unexploded ordnance:

MG: 'I have to mention your show MIK that you do with Graham McTavish, you visited a bunch of distilleries during that one... any visit in particular stands out?'

Now I am not very sure if that question was the best possible one, since that SAG-AFTRA strike is still an ongoing situation. And his answer was quite clever, changing the focus on their visit to Laphroaig's distillery on Islay and waxing lyrical about the casks, the peat, the landscape, etc. But other than a perfunctory and logical 'we', I heard absolutely nothing about McTavish, and it could have been so damn easy to further change the subject and mention his bourbon, with a few kind words. Therefore, I think things are pretty obviously not exactly on the sunny side, between the two. And I guess we all know why.

To end this long post on a cheerful note, I almost forgot to mention something very important. Answering a listener's question about Sassenach not being available in Rhode Island/part of New Jersey, S said something very interesting: 'obviously you can get it online, (...) we've just signed a deal with Southern Glazer's, so we're rolling it out. It is a limited batch, so you know, every year we do do a release and it is very limited, so it does tend to sell out pretty quick. But yes, it is available (...), but obviously you're not gonna see it in every bar, restaurant or retailer, because we just don't have enough of it. But online you can get it and great delivery service, it's very quick.'

I am taking two things home from this last answer: demand exceeds supply, which is both a blessing (solid yield, room for expansion) and a curse (lackadaisical market presence). On short to mid term, distribution will concentrate on the online market, with the help of Southern Glazer's superb infrastructure.

Remember the older guy he had lunch with in MIA, in May? You should, if you didn't focus on Mordor's inept babble about shirts, ballerinas and the like. That guy was instrumental into arranging the deal with Southern Glazer's. Just the biggest wine and spirits distributor on the US market, mind you.

Don't believe me? Check this out:

That company was founded in Florida. Its HQ is still in MIA. He didn't go there because he was looking for ballerinas at his birthday dinner. He went there because when these people are available to meet you, well: you leave everything aside and you damn GO.

Now who the hell is writing fanfiction, eh? You really should be ashamed, madam.

I rest my case.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“HUNT PLEADS GUILTY TO MARKHAM HOLD-UP,” Toronto Star. February 27, 1933. Page 2.  ---- Remanded Until March 13 in $2.780 Bank Robbery ---- Elroy Hunt, 26, pleaded guilty to robbing the Canadian Bank of Commerce branch at Markham of $2,788 on Jan. 30 last and was remanded until March 13 by Magistrate Keith. Hunt was represented by Austin Ross. M. A. Mackenzie, branch manager, swore Hunt and Frank West tied the staff up, attempted to lock them in the vault and left the bank on the afternoon of the hold-up, being lost night of on Yonge St. at Elgin Mills. The manager told of the chase which he and a customer made after the two men. 

Inspector Albert Boyd and Det.-Sergt. George Tuft told of going to Chicago and arresting Hunt. In his statement Hunt said that he and West "decided to steal a car and get some money," the officers said.. The two men, according to the state- ment, drank some wine and on passing the bank in a car which they stole from Dundas and Yonge Sts., Teronto, decided suddenly to hold it up. 

After the crime they drove Aurora where they abandoned the car on a back street,

Crime Not Premeditated "I did not premeditate robbing the bank or stealing the car," Hunt's statement, said. Counsel pointed out that before the crime Hunt, who was unemployed, had been living at Wellington House. Inspector Boyd said about $20 of the money was recovered. 

Both officers said Hunt was very truthful, giving them full details of the hold-up.

Hunt's previous record included a month for theft of a blanket in the west in 1927, a five-dollar fine for vagrancy at Moose Jaw in 1928 and 30 days in 1929 on a theft charge at Saskatoon. 

Magistrate Keith decided to defer sentencing Hunt until the charge against Frank West, laid by city police, had been disposed of. Both his worship and Crown Attorney C. Frank Moore commended the excellent work of Inspector Boyd and Detective-Sergt. Tuft. 

When aged Arthur O'Kell told Norman Smith that he could not oblige him with any money, Smith rolled him down an embankment at Preston Rd., tore out one of his teeth and threatened to "shoot him" if he didn't "give up his roll," O'Kell testified in charging Smith with assault. 

P.C. Williams of York township police, who picked Smith up on Dufferin St., said that he jumped from the motorcycle sidecar as the officer was starting the machine and was caught only after a chase across a plowed field. 

Smith claimed that he was drunk, and remembered nothing of assaulting either O'Kell or Joseph Watts, a returned soldier and cripple, who claimed that Smith "rushed" him and knocked him down. Smith gave as a reason for his attempted escape from the officer the fact that "I thought he was going to pick me up for a drunk." He was found guilty on both charges and remanded until Friday next for sentence. 

Fined $200 for Still George McFarlane, 21, facing a charge of criminal negligence arising out of the death of Murray Richardson, was remanded until March 21 on bail of $2,000. McFarlane is alleged to have driven the car which struck down Richardson Danforth Ave. early Sunday morning. 

Mike McGee was fined $200 or 6 months and one month for being in illegal possession of a still. R. C. M. P. officers told of finding a complete still, with 25 gallons of mash, in the basement of McGee's home. Mike had never made a cent out of his opposition to the "big distillery companies of Canada." his counsel, Paul Hinds, told the court. McGee, who said he was a teetotaler, declared a "friend" named Jack had persuaded him to go "into the business." 

Remanded for Sentence. Antonio and Armand Prisi and Fidel George, York township youths, were remanded till Friday for sentence on a charge of breaking into a hardware store on Pritchard Ave. and stealing a shotgun, ammunition, flashlight batteries and bulbs, fishing outfits and cash. Most of the goods were recovered in a hay loft on a farm and under the floor of one of the lad's homes, the court was told. 

On three charges of housebreaking, Richard Garner, 16, and a juvenile were remanded for a week and allowed out on their own bail. They are alleged to have broken into York Memorial collegiate, Vaughan Rd, collegiate and a store, police saying jewelry and $8 in cash were stolen from one school and chocolates and other articles from the store.

[prairiescotch]

It is great to see The Lost Distillery Company returning for the fourth day of the Scotch Whisky Advent Calendar!

This company is really something. They describe themselves as a “boutique” whisky company, and they definitely do something unique -- utilizing a team of academics and experts, they research distilleries that stopped operating decades or even hundreds of years ago and attempt to recreate what their whisky might have tasted like. It’s complicated -- you can read in more detail here -- but even if it’s way off the mark, it’s about the coolest idea there is.

The distillery in question here is called Dalaruan, This Highland distillery, located in Campbeltown (I love Campbeltown), likely triple-distilled its whisky and used peat from the Hebrides and, inexplicably, Ireland. Cask genesis is all over the place, as everything from beer to sherry to rum casks and everything in between would've been used before legal requirements came into play. After starting up in 1825, it ran clear through to the Great War when distillery activities were halted. It never came back to full production, and was sold off for municipal housing in 1925. 

HOW COOL IS THAT?

So it’s obviously not the same as the juice that would’ve been produced then, but given that Dalaruan was aged as long as 27 years, it might have been pretty good! The Lost Distillery Company uses a host of single malts from all over the map to try and recreate the product in a blended malt that is aged in ex-bourbon casks. The result, part of TLDC’s “Classic Selection” line, won a gold medal at the Scotch Whisky Masters awards this year. This is 43% ABV and, true to the era, contains no colouring or chill filtering because those wouldn’t have existed in the 1800s. 

From the first sniff the nose is so good! Rich butter and caramel, mixed with big Sherry spice, raisin and plum...all wrapped in a big blanket of not-unpleasant earthiness. An Old Pulteney-style maritime sea salt combines with a medicinal Islay-style peat, complementing the overall bouquet but not dominating it. On the tongue it hits with huge Sherry-aging spice notes, but it’s also vegetal and earthy and bitter to go along with that load of spice. Plenty of red fruity sweetness mingling with toasted nuts and a deeply integrated smokiness that becomes most prominent towards the finish. 

This is a fascinating experiment that I am very happy to have taken part in. For some reason I have a hard time believing that whisky could be this good and complex in the 1800s, but I’ll give it to them — it’s a hell of a welcome thing in this day and age.

[thelordfool]

Help! I just lost my job!!

oh boy another mutual aid post!! hi everyone. it's me, your nonlocal disabled nonbinary fool :) i was working in my dream job at a distillery until they let me go via voicemail due to "restructuring" of the company (more on that for people who ask if you want some tea). this means I'm waiting for unemployment to be approved and I was already actively searching for a second job. Maybe this will let me be full time at a bar somewhere? Who knows! Anyway I still have a car, medical bills, and rent to pay for so until then, I've made a goal of $790 (380×2 for car and rent each, plus the 30 for medical, I'm on food stamps so I am grateful to not worry about that) too get me through until our unless I get a job/UI.

0/$690

pp / ca / vm

[tommysbentley]

Perfect - Tommy Shelby x Reader

“Can I hold you, Tommy?” you asked your husband as he sat on your shared bed. He was clad in his undershirt and boxers, glasses resting on his sharp nose as he read his evening paper.

Looking up from his paper, your husband drank in your figure. The short blue nightgown adorning your body, the lace trim kissing the tops of your thighs and caressing your chest. He admired the look of your freshly washed face, hair slightly damp at the hairline from the water splashing on it. He breathed in your scent, which he loved. You smelt warm and slightly floral, not overpowering at all.

After a long day, truly nothing was better than an evening in with his lovely wife. Wait. Were you talking to him?

“Sorry love, did you say something?” your husband said, snapping out of whatever trance we was in before.

You blushed as you climbed into bed next to him. You didn’t want to have to repeat your request again.

“Can I hold you, darling?” you repeated, quietly. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, heat flooding your face.

“Why’s it you want to hold me? Always thought it was supposed to be the other way around.” Tommy responded, his charming smirk gracing across his handsome face.

You blushed again. How is your husband as handsome as he was when the both of you were in school? He laughed and pulled you closer, his large hand clasping your wrists and his face nearing yours.

“What’s gotten into you, doll?” He laughed as he pressed his palm into your heated cheeks.

“Nothing, Tom. Can’t a woman just want to hold her darling husband?” you bit back.

“I suppose so. C’mere, doll. Let me lay on ya’.” Tommy said, lifting himself to rest his head on you, and letting you wrap your arms around him.

“Is this okay, Tom?” you asked quietly, as you felt your husbands muscles relax and tension escape his body as he cuddled up on you.

“More than okay, this is perfect.” he responded, his speech muffled by the slip you were wearing.

The two of you rested like this for a while. The ticking of the clock and the sounds of your matched breathing all that was needed as you both enjoyed each others’ company. Your hands made busy rubbing your lovers head and back, fingers grazing his toned figure as he nestled on you. As much as you loved tangling in the sheets with your more-than-attentive husband, these acts of romantic intimacy were equally as nourishing to you both, and to your marriage.

Time together like this was sparse, with the Shelby Company Ltd growing day by day, your husband acquiring new factories, distilleries, and ‘deals’ almost daily. He felt bad for the time spent away from you, and always tried to send you gifts and little messages when the distance grew wearing on your marriage. Of course, Tommy knew presents weren’t enough to make up for lost time, but he hoped that it would remind you that you always lived a special corner of his mind. Regardless, you were endlessly proud of your husband - war and loss took their toll on him, but you were proud to see him grow into the man he dreamed of becoming when you were children. You loved that he could now accomplish his goal of providing for the Shelby clan and it’s posterity.

“This is nice, you know? Why don’t we do this more often?” your husband asked, turning to face you.

“Because, my love, one of us is is often too busy bouncing between Birmingham and London to come home and cuddle up to his wife every evening.” you responded, no malice behind your words.

Tommy released a sigh, reaching to grab a cigarette and a light. You took the lighter from his hand as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. You lit his cigarette for him and waited for him to take a puff before passing it to you. As you took an inhale of the cigarette in your hand, your husband pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you.” you both said at the same time, smiling once you realized you had said it simultaneously.

“Let’s get some rest, ay’ darling? Got a big day ahead of me tomorrow.” your husband said, putting his cigarette out on the crystal ashtray next to his beside. He lifted his shirt off, causing you to bite your lip as you explored the view before you.

“Oh, love, I don’t think I’m tired just yet.” You responded, your voice laced with a slightly seductive tone.

“Well then, doll. I think I have just the solution for that!” Tommy’s brummy accent deepening as he pulled you closer to leave kisses on your sensitive neck.

A/N: Hello fellow Tommy simps 🤠 my ask box is open for anything (thirsts/suggestions/whatever).

[bradpittwh0re]

faceclaim: kendall jenner

pairings: brad pitt x model!reader

warning:fluff

forbes

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forbes  Supermodel and Keeping up with the L/N star Y/N L/N has become the latest celebrity to launch her own Tequila brand, called 818. Read more at the link in the bio.

view all 4,803,987 comments

y/nfan46 finally a celebrity that not launching another beauty brand

y/nfan21 yes a tequila company was such a surprise from her

pittfan57 818 is such an iconic name

y/nfan52 where can i get that hat

y/nfan53 ya i want it immediately

bradfan60 isn't she a model not a ceo

y/nstan01 she can be what ever she wants

y/nfan74 another job for kris jenner

y/nhater no thanks

ynfanstan23 nobody asked for you opinion

yourinstagram

liked by yourinstagram , bradpitt and 6,935,490 others

yourinstagram  almost 4 years i’ve been on a journey to create the best tasting tequila. after dozens of blind taste tests, trips to our distillery, entering into world tasting competitions anonymously and WINNING (🥳) ..3.5 years later i think we’ve done it! this is all we’ve been drinking for the last year and i can’t wait for everyone else to get their hands on this to enjoy it as much as we do! @drink818 coming soon 🥃🤤

view all 1,358,902 comments

y/nfan11 OMG literally my mom

bradpitt so proud of you “yournickname”

yourinstagram thanks babe

y/nfan29 the “babe” my heart 

y/nfan34 4 years of hard work

haileybieber Cutiessss 😫 , so happy for you 

yourinstagram thanks you girl

bradpittupdates

liked by bradpittfan83 , pittstan72  and 383,932 others

bradpittupdates post via brad’s insta

view all 23,621 comments

y/nfan8 the third pic has my heart

pittfan28 i hope the second pictures means an interview with more brad content

pittfan29 yes we have been starved for days

y/nfan10 cant wait meet joe black

bradfan21 y/n always looks so adorable

y/nfan37 we see the 818 promo

bradfan31 brad doing more work for y/n than her pr team is so funny to me

y/nfan52 i’m going to be sitting and waiting for the photos

y/nfan11 “yournickname’s tequila delivery service” is such an iconic name

bradfan42 the billboard uhhh

vanityfair

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vanityfair   Presenting our April/May cover star, Brad Pitt.

In this Issue the actor talks about his upcoming release “Meet Joe Black” aswell as work/life balance with his reality star girlfriend

view all 43,743 comments

pittfan32 already purchased

bradfan93 trying to find a the copy in my area

bradfan41 same there already gone and just came out

bradpitt so happy that you guys could have me 

(liked by vanityfair)

y/nfan she not just a “reality star girlfriend” her name is Y/N

y/nfan52 and the highest paid supermodel

yourinstagram That’s my boyyyyy

enews

liked by y/nhater02 , y/nhater22 and 718,304 others

enews Y/N L/N accused of cultural appropriation over 818 Tequila ad. thought??

view all 4,803,987 comments

y/nhater01 fuck y/n , she is the worst

y/nhater02 her whole family is just trash

y/nfan03 I love y/n but this ain’t it

y/nhater04 she should just stick to modelling

y/nhater05 she not even good at that

y/nhater06 A WHITE GIRL SELLING TEQUILA ????

y/nhater07 we got her to disable her comments y’all

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram 818 opening advent

 comments has been disabled 

y/nwardrobe

liked by dojacatfan09 , katyfan03 and 12,453 others

y/nwardrobe  outfits of some celebs of who were in attendance to 818 launch party

view all 5,674 comments 

dojacatfan04 she had the best outfit of the night

kittykatfan22 right after katy

haileyfan06 both of you needs to be serious

justinbieberfan23 what’s on with my boi hair 

bradpittfan03 brad is so hottt!!!!

drakefan48 why drake looks so lost

drakestan72 but he is still fine thought , so what

y/nfan86 why would y/n invite her ex to an event + her current bf

haileyfan02 her and hailey are besties and her justin were so long ago

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram  818 launch party

comments has been disabled

drink818

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drink818  summer activated

comments has been disabled

bradpitt

liked by yourinstagram , pittfan and 8,345,632 others

bradpitt so proud of my tequila girl

view all 2,314,234 comments

y/nfan87 i imagine brad’s whole camera roll is just y/n

y/nfan30 a girl could dream

y/nfan67 im still waiting for my brad pitt

bradpittfan05 girl you’ll have to wait in line

yourstylist nothing is stronger than y/n and tequila

yourinstagram NOTHING

y/nfan66 y/n always got a drink in her hand

y/nfan32 period as she should

y/nfan61 manifesting this

y/nfan69 I AM CRYING , i want this , i need this

yourbigsister so iconic

y/nupdates

liked by y/nfanpage , y/ndaily and 16,921 others

y/nupdates y/n posted via her twitter

view all 3,990 comments

y/nfan08 finally i have been waiting for this

y/nfan61 most of it is already sold out 

y/nfan67 11:11 make a wish

y/nfan92 already bought five things , thinking of buying more

y/nstan03 is it just me who misses y/n’s comments section

y/nfan27 not just girl we all do

---------

author note - had this idea for a while and finally decided to make it , i also been busy with summer school but i’m working on two posts right now that should be posted soon thanks byee. I just watched bullet train , should i do a review

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Claire—

I think you know why I’m here.

🌶🌶🌶

Coworkers-to-lovers with our sexy cowboy Agent Whiskey (how can I not pick him? He’s got that lasso and whip 🥵)/Teasing

I also love a good coworker’s trope. What can I say?

I feel like you already know what I like so do your worst babe. 😏 I’m giving you free rein, pun intended.

Lauren, you’re a menace and you must be stopped!!

This Ask was too much fun to write up for you. It took me a long time, because I wanted to get it just exactly right! I hope you think it’s hot, because I’m blushing here, seriously. And I also may have lost control of the word count… yee haw! Hope you enjoy!! :D

Nicknames

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x “You” (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: curse words and vulgar language; mentions of food and alcohol; Jack overhearing you masturbate; wrist restraints/F receiving; teasing and orgasm delay/F receiving; oral sex/F and M both receiving; protected P/V sex; use of nicknames (“good girl,” "baby girl," “sugar,” darlin’,” “sweet girl,” “filthy girl”)

Ball-buster. Bitch. Battle-axe. Nicknames that were whispered as you walked the halls of different companies. You were used to overhearing and trying to ignore them as you worked to complete your consulting jobs, knowing that they weren’t really personal. Nobody was ever happy to see a consultant, because once you left, budgets would be cut or jobs would be lost. You were practically immune to them by now, but they sometimes echoed in your head after work as you sipped glasses of wine in hotel bars, or the rooms that all blended together, month after month on the road.

The consulting firm you worked for was well-run, well-respected, and well-organized, and it mostly drew corporate or government clients. You were often called in to streamline operations and cut unnecessary expenses, but unfortunately that meant making a lot of recommendations for who to fire. Shareholders loved you and employees hated you. It was a hard line to walk, and you always did your best to recommend new avenues for the redundant employees, find positions in the organization where they could be useful, but you found that the chopping part of the job got harder and harder each time. You were starting to feel soulless, and your heart was aching for companionship. But the pay was excellent, and you figured you could do it for a few more years. You could hang in there and chase the money, with the ultimate goal of saving up to fund two dreams that you had been nursing forever: a house somewhere in the country and the time to pursue writing.

Your love life was stale, and you were tired of meeting the exact same type of buttoned-down lawyers and businessmen no matter where you went across the country. There had been a few flings here and there, but no flutters for a long time, no butterflies in your tummy. You always hoped that the next job, the next airplane touchdown, would get you closer to meeting someone with a spark that would respond to the fire in you… but every day it seemed more and more like your love life would remain on hold, probably until you could settle down and buy that house, look for a man who really did something for you.

You started the week-long contract with the Statesman Whiskey distillery the same way you started every job, meeting with the President and CEO in their offices, meeting with their lawyers, meeting with blur after blur of corporate cogs. The only difference was that this organization was very much in love with their own Western mythos, and the President was decked out in a Western-style blazer with a tan Stetson perched on his graying blonde hair. He insisted that you call him “Champ” and as long as he was signing the checks, you would call him whatever he liked.

You took a seat at the large table in his wood-paneled office and declined coffee from the assistant. You made the usual pleasantries before opening your portfolio and you started taking notes, making plans, zoning out into the business-speak and corporate org charts as they were passed around the table.

Suddenly the door flew open and a man strolled in, “Sorry I’m late. Damn plane took off late from New York.” He was tall, with wide shoulders hugged by a black Western-cut blazer over a crisp white shirt. A black Stetson set off deep brown eyes that twinkled above a neatly-trimmed dark mustache. Midnight-blue Wranglers hugged his narrow hips. He tipped his hat to you and then reached out one broad, well-manicured hand to shake yours.

“Well hello there, darlin’. I’m Jack Daniels, most folks call me Whiskey.” He winked at you and something low in your belly twitched. Gosh, he was gorgeous. You barely even registered the “darlin’” that would have normally grated. From him it was charming.

You introduced yourself and Champ explained that Jack was the head of Statesman operations in New York. You made a note on your paperwork and then explained the consulting plan so far for the distillery. You found it awfully hard to tear your eyes away from Jack for the rest of the meeting, and from the amount of times you caught him staring right back, you hoped the feeling was mutual.

When the meeting was over, you were scheduled to take a tour of the Statesman Distillery facilities. Unfortunately Ginger was unavailable, called away for something urgent. You were about to offer to postpone when Champ turned to Jack with a smile.

“Jack, my boy. You wouldn’t happen to have the time to give this fine lady the fifty-cent tour of the distillery, would you? I’d hate for her work to be delayed because of a little hiccup.”

Jack beamed at you, “It would be my pleasure.” He crooked one elbow out toward you, a chivalrous, old-fashioned gesture that from anyone else would have been odd. But from him, like the “darlin’” nickname, it was charming. You found yourself tucking your hand in his elbow without hesitation. Suddenly you didn’t feel like a hard-ass consultant looking for budget holes, you felt like a young girl on a date with a debonair bachelor. Maybe these were the butterflies you had been looking for all along.

Jack gave you a thorough tour of the distillery grounds, and you were a bit sad that you had to release his arm in order to take notes. After a look at the processing floor and the barrel aging warehouse, you found your arm tucked back into his for the sunny stroll back to the main offices. And there were those butterflies again. You tried to keep your mind on your work.

“So you head the New York offices?”

“Yes ma’am. I oversee all of Statesman’s operations for the East Coast division.”

“Actually, that was one question I had. What percentage of Statesman’s sales really come from the East Coast? From what I could see on the org chart, the office there is nearly as large as the main headquarters here. That’s quite unusual for a homegrown Kentucky whiskey brand.”

Jack cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. You guessed it was because of your budget-cutting recommendations, the final chop that Champ might make after your tenure here. If you suggested massive cuts to the New York office, Jack might very well lose his position.

“Well, I’ll let Champ tell you all about that this afternoon.” He winked at you, and you felt something warm bloom behind your sternum. “Right now we’re gettin’ on toward the lunch hour. Do you have any plans, or may I take you out?”

You felt a hitch in your breath and you smiled. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

Lunch with Jack was surprisingly comfortable, like two old friends catching up, although you did notice that he was adept at sidestepping your questions about the New York operations. He turned on the charm when you asked directly about his life in Kentucky and his work with Statesman, and he invited you out to his ranch for an overnight visit, if you could fit it in before you left town on Monday.

While you didn’t normally mix business with pleasure that way, you found yourself taking Jack up on his offer to visit the property on Saturday. There wasn’t a conflict of interest that you could see. Your final report would be submitted to Champ on Monday, and the promise of seeing a country house and animals sounded so exciting. Maybe Jack could give you advice on what to look for if you wanted to buy in the area.

The rest of the week at headquarters flew by, and on Friday afternoon you finished all of your meetings and were heading out when Jack caught you in the lobby.

“Would you like to get some dinner, sugar? I can’t imagine the hotel you’re at has anything close to a quality steakhouse, and it would be a disgrace if I let a visitor like you be lonely in our fair city on a Friday night.” Jack’s lips curled into a warm smirk as he held your gaze. You found yourself drowning in the deep brown pools of his eyes.

“Thank you Jack,” you smiled. “That does sound a hell of a lot nicer than eating takeout in my hotel room. Lead the way.”

Like lunch earlier in the week, your dinner conversation with Jack was pleasant and easy. By the time you wrapped up, it was nearly 9 p.m. and you were relaxed and in a good mood for the first time in ages. Jack drove you back to your hotel and insisted on walking you safely to your room, that old-fashioned gentlemanly charm on display. You hadn’t felt this level of being cared for in so long. It made every date in the past decade wither in comparison. Despite having fun with a few flings here and there, you hadn’t had a man quite this attentive, this attractive in your orbit… ever?

When you got to your door, you felt yourself hesitate, wanting to invite Jack in. You searched your mind for any conflicts of interest. It wasn’t like you could influence his job, or like he could influence your recommendations one way or the other. You had already seen everything you needed to at the distillery, all you had to do was crunch the final numbers and write your report.

But propriety won out, and you simply thanked Jack for a lovely evening and for walking you safely to your room. He winked at you and you felt your stomach flip.

“I’ll pick you up at 9 a.m. sharp, and we’ll head out to the ranch. I’ve got a feeling you’ll love it.”

You lit up and smiled. “Can’t wait. See you tomorrow.”

Jack surprised you by lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, and you wished more than anything that you could invite him in. He winked again and sauntered down the hall. You watched him go, biting your lip the whole time.

---

Saturday morning you were up and dressed by 7, hoping that sneakers and sweats would be appropriate for touring the ranch. You didn’t tend to bring hiking boots or jeans on consultation trips, so you supposed that your running gear would have to do.

After packing an overnight bag you were at loose ends, toes tapping on the floor while you aimlessly flipped through TV channels and sipped your coffee. You still had ages until Jack would pick you up. Why were you so nervous? Oh, right… because he was handsome and charming and taking you to see his country house, something you had dreamed about having since you were a little girl.

Finally, 9:00 a.m. rolled around and you leapt up at the sound of a knock on your door. You took two deep breaths and steadied yourself before checking the peephole. Jack was there, looking deliciously dressed-down in dark jeans and a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up and sunglasses hanging in the open neckline. You yanked the door open and tried not to sound as breathless as you felt.

“Jack, hi! You could have just texted me. I would have run down to the parking lot.”

“Well that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, would it?” He grinned. “You ready?”

You nodded eagerly and smiled back, feeling those butterflies again in your tummy. “Yes, I’m really excited. Just let me grab my bag.”

Jack’s fingers brushed yours as he took your overnight bag from you. A shiver ran up your arm, and you turned to close and lock the door. When you tried to take it back from him he waved you off.

“No, ma’am. Ladies don’t carry their own luggage when I’m around to help.”

You fought the urge to sigh deeply and stare at him dreamily. God, had any man ever treated you so politely? You caught a whiff of his cologne as you walked beside him, something spicy and deep, reminiscent of leather and expensive whiskey. It took everything you had to not simply grab his hand and lead him back to your hotel room.

Jack led you to a black Bronco in the parking lot, and made sure you were tucked in safely before he closed your door for you. You were fairly vibrating with excitement, and you wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Were you going to do something stupid like make a move on Jack and ruin his friendly offer to show you around his country property? Could you keep your hands to yourself for the next 24 hours? As if you could ward off the thought of it, you flattened your hands together and tucked them between your knees.

As he drove out of the city, Jack pointed out landmarks and sightseeing points of interest, and before you knew it, you were out in open country, speeding along toward Jack’s property. You felt awkward sharing your dream with Jack, but you took the leap and told him about it.

“I’ve always wanted a house out in the country, ever since I was a little girl. I know it’s silly, but it just seems so peaceful. Lots of space to think and breathe. I’ve always wanted to just live in the country and write.”

To your relief, Jack didn’t laugh or question you, didn’t poke fun like previous boyfriends might have.

“I hope you’ll enjoy visiting. It ain’t much, but I like having someplace to get away from it all when I can.” Jack drawled. You closed your eyes and sighed, breathing in the fresh air as it whipped through the car.

Despite the fact that he kept telling you that it wasn’t impressive, wasn’t anything like a working ranch with hundreds of heads of livestock, you knew that you would like it anyway. You longed for quiet, open air, and the sight of stars up above.

It was close to lunchtime when Jack slowed the Bronco and turned down a dirt road. He stopped and hopped out to open a gate, drove through, and then closed it behind him. After another minute of traveling down the bumpy gravel drive, the vehicle crested a small hill, and the view took your breath away. Green fields bordered a tidy, 2-story white house with a gray roof. Three horses nibbled hay next to a barn, a few goats wandered in their pen, and a small pond glittered in the sunlight. Beyond the property, hundreds of trees made a backdrop that looked more like a painting than real life.

Your jaw dropped open and you breathed out a small, “Ohhh. It’s gorgeous.”

Jack laughed, “Thank you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”

“Who takes care of it while you’re in New York?”

“Neighbors from the property down the road. Their teenage son likes having a little extra pocket money, and I appreciate having some extra eyes on the place while I’m gone. I usually manage to get back here every weekend or so.”

He parked and helped you out of the vehicle, and grabbed your bag from the back. When he opened the front door of the house you were greeted with the scent of lemons and fresh linen. Jack opened the windows in the kitchen and dining room, and a summery breeze filtered in through the screens.

Jack set your bag on the couch and started puttering in the kitchen, heating up lunch and making a pot of coffee. When he refused to let you help, you entertained yourself by browsing the bookshelves in the living room and admiring the huge stone fireplace.

Jack’s furniture tended toward dark wood and lots of rich brown leather, which you thought was just right for a cowboy. He had several large-scale watercolors on the walls that ran to themes of horses and wildflower landscapes. A handmade quilt was draped over the back of the couch, worn soft with repeated washings and looking like an heirloom that had been passed down for generations. You decided that you liked Jack even more now that you had gotten a glimpse of his personal space, the sum total of all the little choices that he had made in setting up his home here.

After lunch, Jack took you around to meet the horses and the goats, letting you pet and feed them by hand until you’d had your fill of wet snouts snuffling your palm, giggling all the while. Jack soothed the horses with his deep voice and soft words, and chided the goats for being greedy. After a while he took you to the barn to see the barn cat and her kittens, and let you climb the ladder to the hayloft, keeping his hand on your lower back all the way up and all the way back down.

When you hopped off the last rung to the ground, you turned and faced Jack with a grin a mile wide.

“Thank you, Jack. This is amazing. You’ll regret inviting me out here, though. I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

Something wistful flashed in his eyes, and for a moment the air felt heavier, more momentous than before. You held your breath and kept your eyes pinned to his deep brown ones, waiting for… you weren’t sure what, exactly. You just didn’t want the moment to end.

Jack cleared his throat and broke the spell. “Well, if you’re ready to head back to the house, we can freshen up for dinner. And maybe after that we can make a fire in the firepit out back, watch the stars come out.”

“I’d like that.” You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to voice all the other things you might like to do with him.

You followed Jack back up to the house. He carried your bag upstairs and showed you to the guest room. It was a charming bedroom with old-fashioned yellow wallpaper, the window looking out onto the barn and the pond. A large wooden dresser, a queen-sized bed with a brass headboard, and a cozy blue armchair filled out the room.

“Bathroom’s just across the way, and my rooms are at the other end of the hall. Just holler if you need anything.” Jack closed the door behind him and you sat down on the white woven bedspread. This was heaven. You kicked off your shoes and curled up on your side, and closed your eyes for a moment. Before you knew it, you had drifted off into a nap.

The smell of hot cornbread and something spicy woke you, and you were surprised to sit up and see that the sun was low on the horizon. You stretched and padded across the hall to the bathroom, admiring the old-fashioned cast iron tub and longing for a hot bath later that evening. When you had finished and washed your hands, you crept downstairs, feeling sheepish for having fallen asleep.

You heard Jack humming something to himself, punctuated by the sounds of closing cupboards and of plates being set on the table. You smiled, enjoying listening to him, comfortable and happy playing the host.

“Hey, I’m sorry I fell asleep. Anything I can do?”

Jack spun to face you and smiled. “Not a thing, sugar. Just got done with the chili and the cornbread. All you gotta do is eat.”

You sat and Jack served up dinner. You were surprised by how comfortable it was, letting him fuss over you and make sure you had everything you needed. He was more attentive and kinder to you during one meal than any man had been in recent memory, and you wished you could let him do this for you every day. True, you had only known him since the beginning of the week, but it didn’t seem like he was putting on a show, or like there was anything false under his gallant behavior. He seemed warm, genuine.

You suddenly ached at the thought that your visit was already halfway over, and that you would have to go back to the hotel tomorrow to finish up your reports. And after delivering them to Champ on Monday, you would be getting back on a plane and leaving Jack behind. You swallowed down the sudden lump in your throat, feeling silly that you were missing him already.

Jack cleared the table and tried to refuse your offer to help wash up, but you elbowed him out of the way at the sink and grabbed the sponge.

“I’ll wash and you dry. Fair? You already cooked, Jack, the least I can do is help clean up.”

“Alright, little lady, but normally I wouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior from a guest.” His warm smile and a wink softened the harshness of the words. You smiled and handed him a clean plate, watching his hands and strong forearms as he wiped it off and put it in the cabinet.

After making quick work of the dishes, Jack brought out two mugs for tea and set the kettle to boil. He propped his hip against the counter while he waited, and you fought the urge to slip your hands around his waist and tuck yourself against him. He looked so relaxed, the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows, strong forearms crossed over his chest.

He caught you staring and you felt your face heat with embarrassment. You flicked your eyes to the blue gas flame under the kettle and tried to collect yourself.

Jack spoke in a warm tone. “I sure am glad you came to visit, darlin’. What did you think of the critters?”

Your face split into a broad smile. “Oh, they were lovely. I’ve never fed a horse before. They were so gentle.”

“Do you think you might want to take a ride tomorrow morning? We can go out for an hour or so.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ve never done that before, I’d be too nervous.”

“Nothing to it, I’ll show you what you need to know.” Jack turned as the kettle whistled, and he poured the water into the mugs.

You watched his broad shoulders and back, wondering if there was anything else he could show you. You admired the way his hands moved deftly to set everything on a tray, ready to carry it out to the fire pit. You longed to have him as yours, to be able to touch him whenever you wanted. But you really didn’t want to screw this up by mistaking his kindness for actual interest.

Maybe if you could arrange to return to Louisville soon, or make it to New York for another consulting job, you could see if Jack would want to go out, have a proper date. You were fairly certain that he was just being kind to a visitor, indulging your city-girl interest in country life, doing the gentlemanly thing of being courteous to an out-of-town tourist. And that didn’t warrant you leaping at him like a lovesick schoolgirl.

You followed Jack out to the back of the house, stepping off the patio and walking about ten yards into the dark backyard. The fire circle was large and ringed by stones, the area around it paved with gravel. Four rough-hewn wooden benches were arranged around the pit, and two large, flat boulders served as side tables.

Jack set the tea tray on one of the boulders, and you took a seat on a bench, leaning against the back of it and feeling like this was the most relaxed you had been in ages. The night was chilly, but you were still fairly warm in your sweatshirt. You picked up your mug and wrapped your hands around it, watching Jack as he jogged back to the house and picked up a basket of firewood from the back porch. When he got back to the firepit, he started arranging supplies for the fire.

“How do you do that? How do you know what to do?” You took a sip of your tea, but it was still too hot to drink, so you just cradled the mug in your hands.

Jack looked at you with surprise. “You don’t know how to build a campfire?”

You shook your head.

“C’mere.” Jack motioned you over, a brief flick of two fingers curled in the air, and you practically leapt to your feet. Jack patted the ground next to him and you kneeled, suddenly aware of how close he was, and how warm.

Jack picked up a sheet of newspaper and twisted it into a long rope, then handed you a small stack of newspapers to work on. You made five or six more, and then Jack told you to pile them in the center of the fire ring. He wet the small pile with some lighter fluid and then crisscrossed small twigs over the stack. Finally he placed four small logs in a teepee shape and used a long fireplace match to catch the newspaper in three different places. After just a few minutes, the twigs were starting to catch, and you heard them crackle and pop. You were transfixed by the orange sparks and the flames as they licked and caught the wood. It seemed like magic, another old-fashioned skill that Jack had, like his charm and his manners.

Suddenly Jack’s big hand was on your shoulder, and you realized that you were leaning so close that the heat was making your face sweat.

Jack squeezed your shoulder gently and stood up. “Why don’t we move over to the bench? I can pull it a little closer, but I can’t have a guest falling into the fire on my watch.”

You laughed and put both of your hands out for him to help pull you up. Jack’s broad hands engulfed yours, and as you stood back up, your eyes met his. You were sorely tempted to lean into him, to refuse to let go of his hands, professional boundaries be damned. Jack’s eyes lingered on yours a moment longer, then he squeezed both of your hands and let go.

He turned and grabbed the bench, dragging it closer to the fire. You sat down and wrapped your chilled fingers back around your mug. Jack settled on the bench next to you, not entirely at the other end, but with a polite amount of space between you. You longed to scoot toward him and close the gap. The longer you were around him, the more trouble you were having remembering why you hadn’t just invited him to your hotel room on Friday night.

As you sat and watched the fire, the silence of the night was only broken by the pops and hisses coming from the fire. Neither you nor Jack spoke, but it was a comfortable silence, and you felt that it would break naturally if one of you decided to say something. The breeze picked up and rushed through the tops of the trees, and an owl nearby hooted softly. You tilted your head back and gazed at the stars, smiling to yourself at how serene and comfortable you felt.

When you brought your face back down to take a sip of your tea, you noticed from the corner of your eye that Jack was gazing at you. You looked at him and saw his face turned toward you, one side lit by the warm glow of the fire, his eyes fixed on you intently.

“What?” You rubbed your nose with your sleeve and brushed your fingers across your chin, hoping that you hadn’t dripped chili anywhere. “ Do I have something on my face?”

“Yeah. A smile.” Jack’s tone was light, his teasing gentle. “You’re looking far more relaxed than you were when I first walked into that conference room, sugar. You enjoying yourself?”

“I am, I really am. I haven’t had any kind of a vacation in…” You counted back, trying to remember. “... Four years?”

“Well, that’s entirely too long.” Jack’s voice was low and buttery, somehow resonating right in the center of your chest. “I’m glad I could provide you a little getaway for the night, let you relax and stop thinking about work.”

“I do need that,” you murmured, taking another sip of tea. “It’s awfully stressful, trying to figure out how to help companies without hurting anyone. I get tired of being the bad guy, you know?”

“Hmm…” Jack murmured, staring into the fire. “I can see how that would get tiring.”

You noticed belatedly that his arm was draped over the back of the bench, his thick fingers just centimeters from your arm. You turned your body to face him, sitting sideways on the bench. You were resisting the urge to scoot closer, to snuggle up under his arm or touch him the way that you had been fantasizing about for a whole week. You wrapped your fingers tighter around your mug, trying to keep your hands to yourself.

You looked at him and smiled warmly, “Thank you, Jack. You don’t know how nice it is to come out here.”

He smiled at you and picked up his own mug, taking a sip of tea and looking back at the fire. You let more time pass in companionable silence, feeling grateful that Jack didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with small talk. The moon rose higher as the temperature dropped. Soon the tea was gone, the fire was burned to embers, and the night was cold enough that you decided it was time to head upstairs.

You smiled at Jack and thanked him for the tea, promising him you would keep your mind open about horse riding in the morning. You headed back to the house, leaving Jack by the fire circle. It took every ounce of strength you had not to look back to see if he was watching you walk away.

Upstairs, you ran a hot bath and helped yourself to some of the citrus-scented bubble bath and bath salts that were displayed on the counter. You luxuriated in the warm bubbles and fantasized about calling your boss in the morning to quit your job and just stay on the ranch with Jack for the rest of your life, whether he wanted you to or not. Maybe you could offer to be his property manager? Live at the house full time and learn how to care for the animals while Jack was away? You lifted a handful of bubbles up and blew them into the air. It was a silly fantasy, but maybe you could scale it back a bit. Maybe you could figure out a way to come back to this part of the world and see Jack again, stay with him longer, figure out how to ask him on a real date. Maybe…

When the bathwater turned cold, you rinsed off under the warm showerhead and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel. You brushed your teeth before changing into clean underwear and a soft, oversized pajama shirt. You crossed the hall and snuck a look toward Jack’s door at the other end. No light spilled out from under the door, he must still be out back near the fire pit.

You climbed into bed, expecting sleep to come easily, but all you could do was stare at the moon outside the window and think about Jack. Something warm started pulsing between your legs, begging for attention. You decided to indulge, feeling just a bit dirty about touching yourself while you were a guest in Jack’s house. But fuck it - needs were needs, and the release might help. Maybe you could stop thinking about throwing yourself at him at every opportunity. Stop thinking about his big hands and strong arms, stop chewing your lip every time his big brown eyes landed on yours. Maybe you could stop thinking about how he would taste if you kissed him, or how he would smell if you buried your face in his neck. Stop thinking about how warm he was when you knelt next to him at the fire circle.

You let your fingers wander down to your hips, slipping past your mound to spread yourself open. Your other hand came up to your breast, grasping at your nipple and tugging just a bit, that hint of pain that made the pleasure even better. You imagined Jack’s mouth working hard over your nipples, imagined him slipping his thick fingers inside of you. You dipped your fingers in and out of your slit, dragging wetness up to surround your clit, to ease the slide and pinch of your fingers.

Thoughts of Jack filled your head, the smell of his cologne, the feel of his broad hand on your back when you climbed the ladder to the hayloft, the way he had winked and called you “darlin’” at your first meeting. You found your rhythm and worked yourself up to the edge, breathing heavily and biting off Jack’s name with a whispered moan.

You imagined Jack leaning over you in this bed, kissing you and touching you, holding your hands above your head and pinning your wrists to take what he wanted. You imagined that he could do that for you, take control so that you could stop thinking and being in charge all of the time. Jack could be the kind of lover you needed, restraining your hands so that you could simply exist, simply take what he gave you. You felt your climax begin, and your pelvic muscles started to spasm. You kept stroking your clit, and as your heart rate picked up you threw back your head and cried Jack’s name just a little louder, letting yourself give voice to your desires. You withdrew your hand and felt the last throbs of your climax slip away.

After a few minutes you rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom, used the toilet and washed your hands. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, eyes bright and excited from your release, but you felt sad. It was almost as if you had missed your chance, as if you were getting farther away from Jack instead of closer to him. You had hoped that just giving in and letting yourself indulge in the fantasy of him might help dampen some of the embers of your crush, but instead it just made you feel wistful and somehow more wanton. You wanted to go find Jack and kiss him and just throw yourself at him, but you couldn’t do that here, while you were a guest. He’d shown you nothing but polite hospitality and given you the space and opportunity to breathe and relax. You couldn’t assume he was interested, couldn’t just make a move on him and risk making the rest of your trip and the ride back to the city so awkward.

You met your eyes in the mirror and blew out a deep breath. You could do this, you could keep your thoughts and your hands to yourself, you could take Jack’s nicknames of “darlin’” and “sugar” at face value, and not read anything more into them. You could stay away from him. You nodded once at yourself and then turned out the light, throwing the bathroom into shadows, the feeble nightlight the only bar against the gloom.

You opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall, running headlong into something warm and solid.

“Oof! Oh god, Jack!” Your voice was a rough whisper, a concession to the late hour. You giggled with nerves, “You scared me.”

As your eyes adjusted, you saw Jack outlined against the silvery blue rectangle of your door, dark eyes fixed on you. His white T-shirt practically glowed in the moonlight, legs clad in blue plaid pajama bottoms, feet bare.

You felt your stomach flip over. Something about the late hour, the darkness, the intimacy of you both standing there in your nightclothes… it felt strange and slow, like a dream shrouded in shadows and whispers, like something not quite real.

Jack’s whisper was soft in the dark, “I’m sorry, darlin, I…” He trailed off, and simply stared at you, those dark brown pools appearing black in the dim light.

You felt your breath catch, and suddenly you weren’t sure how to start it back up again. You moved a little air in and out of your lungs, shallow, like you were trying to be silent in the face of a skittish deer. But Jack wasn’t skittish, and in fact he seemed to be devouring you with his gaze.

You felt your body heat from both ends, warmth running down your face and up from your toes until you felt feverish with desire. Your heartbeat sped up with a vengeance, and the throbbing was mirrored by the swollen flesh between your legs.

Hunger. That was the look in Jack’s eyes. He looked hungry, and the longer that you both stood there, making no movement, no noises, the hungrier he began to look.

Jack took one step toward you, slowly, like he was giving you time to get used to the idea of him in your space, and then another step brought him practically on top of you. You sighed and tilted your face slightly up toward him, and then his mouth was hovering just inches from yours, his voice deep and sonorous as he murmured.

“Did you- were you-” Jack halted, and it was the first time you had seen him displaying anything even close to awkwardness. He looked deep into your eyes, searching for something.

“What, Jack?” Your voice a breathy whisper in the dark. “Was I what?” You brought your hands up, fisting them both in the sides of his shirt, not daring to let go. Jack’s gaze somehow bore even deeper into yours, a tiny crease appearing between his brows, his eyes liquid and shimmering in the dark.

“Were you calling my name, sweet girl? When you touched yourself?”

You bit your lip and nodded, “Yes.”

You barely had time to register the swift tilt of his head as Jack brought his lips to yours, hot and insistent, his large hands curving around your waist to pull you close. His solid bulk was warm and reassuring, wiping away any trace of your embarrassment about having touched yourself in his home.

You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and held on tight, feeling in danger of floating away on the cloud of bliss that was consuming you. Your senses were filled completely with Jack, his warmth and his scent, his grip on you and his mouth pressed to yours. You were breathing him in as fast as you could and he just kept going, giving you no room to pull away, not that you would have wanted to.

Jack pulled you tight against him, and the feel of his erection pressing against your hip made you moan. You felt your panties drenching with your arousal, and suddenly you weren’t shy anymore. You pulled your head back and tried to huff out words in between Jack darting back to your lips for kisses, stealing your breath with every kiss he stole.

“Bed- Jack, please- take me to bed.”

He didn’t speak, but instead bent his knees and wrapped his broad hands around and under your backside to hoist you up, wrap your legs around his hips, lips still working to steal kisses from you as he walked you both down the hall to his room.

You fumbled behind you for the doorknob and Jack kicked the door the rest of the way open. You barely got a look around, but the furniture seemed to echo the rooms downstairs, heavy square frames in dark wood.

Jack dropped you gently down on his king-sized bed, spread with a navy blue duvet. He reached down to the hem of your nightshirt and lifted it over your head, letting out a soft hiss at the sight of your bare breasts. He leaned down over you and you lay back across the bed, reveling in the feeling of Jack kissing you and running his warm, plush lips down your throat and over each breast in turn.

“Jack, please, I-” A gasp tore the rest of the words from your mind, Jack’s lips were leaving hot traces on your pulse point, your collarbones, your sternum. His tongue licked a heated stripe up the underside of your jaw, then into your mouth eagerly. You forgot everything you were going to ask.

Jack broke the kiss and hovered his mouth just over yours, murmuring against your lips.

“You what, sweetheart?” The endearment struck you deeply, somehow more intimate than the casual uses of “darlin’” and “sugar” he had uttered since your first meeting. You felt your pussy clench, and you opened your legs to wrap them around his hips. He pressed his hard length against your mound and swirled his hips, pulling a moan from your lungs.

“Tie me up? Just a little. Please?” You kissed him again, hoping that he would understand and be able to comply with your desires. That he wouldn’t think you were odd for wanting it like that so soon. That he would know how tired you were of being in charge, of having to make awful decisions about who stays and who goes, how exhausted you were from thinking all the time.

Jack pulled his head back and looked at you in the near-dark, the little furrow appearing again between his brows. You looked at him pleadingly, trying to show that you were serious, that it wasn’t a game you were playing just trying to be kinky or seductive. How you wanted him to take over and dole out pleasure to you in little doses, then toss you over the cliff, let you come hard and finally relax for once.

“Please,” you whispered again, running your hand up over his forehead to smooth his hair back. Jack turned his head and captured your wrist with his mouth, seizing it gently with his teeth and licking warmth into the skin trapped between his blunt incisors. The electricity of it ran up your arm and hardened both of your nipples. Jack let go and ground his erection once more against your clothed slit.

“Okay,” Jack whispered, and then suddenly he pulled away from you completely.

He stood up and wrenched your panties down your legs, and you heard the sound of a few stitches tearing loose. The next thing you knew, Jack was straddling your hips and pulling both of your wrists up, twisting and wrapping your underwear over and around until your hands were bound together. He gave them a quick tug and then slipped down the length of your body until his face hovered over your cunt. It had all happened so quickly that you gasped, shivering with delayed surprise.

Jack wasted no time in spreading your legs open and diving in, licking you from bottom to top and then going back again and again, wetting you with every hot stroke. He buried his lips hard against your folds and hummed, and the vibration of it made you buck your hips. Jack spread both of his big hands over your pelvis and pressed down hard, pulling his face away from you with a long suck.

His voice was dark, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t. Move.”

You looked down at him and nodded, and he rewarded you with a wink and a, “Good girl,” before diving back in for more.

Jack slipped two thick fingers inside of you and curled them up against your G-spot. You squeaked out a wail and desperately tried to hold still. His fingers were so big and the stretch was divine, all you wanted to do was shimmy your hips and fuck yourself on his fingers. You gave one experimental wiggle and Jack’s other large hand came up quick and pinned your hip down. He growled deep in his throat without pulling his lips away from you, and you felt your cunt get wetter. You sighed and tried to relax. Jack was in control. Jack was going to take care of you.

A sudden flick of his wrist and the glide of his thumb over your clit made you shout, and your pelvis lifted off the bed, despite Jack’s hand holding you down. He stopped licking you completely and then looked up at you with a smirk.

“I thought I told you to stay still. That sure didn’t feel very still to me, darlin’.”

You laughed, a way of shaking off your awkwardness. Something about Jack taking control was exquisite, but you hadn’t sunk all the way into it yet, and you needed to turn your brain off, all the way off.

“I’ll be good if you make me come.” You breathed out the words in a gasp, trying to twist your hips to grind down harder on his fingers. “Please, Jack? Please make me come.”

Jack rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over your clit, looking thoughtful. One dark lock of hair tumbled over his forehead, casting a shadow over his eyes. Then he grinned, his teeth glinting silver in the faint moonlight from his window.

“You’ll do exactly as I say?” His voice was deep, and your pussy clenched around his fingers.

You nodded rapidly. “I’ll be good, Jack. I’ll be so good for you. Please… I wanna come hard around your fingers.”

“Oh, baby doll. I don’t know if I can believe that, comin’ from a filthy girl like yourself.” Jack curled his fingers again, then dipped his head, a flash of his wet, hot tongue sliding through your folds before he raised his face once more.

He licked his lips, then smiled at you again. “You sure do taste good, though. What if I just lick you until you’re almost there? You gonna wait to come until I say so?”

“Yes, Jack. Yes, please!”

“Hold still, for me baby girl. I can’t eat you out properly if you’re buckin’ around like a rodeo steer. You have to hold still and be good for me.” He grinned. “And if you do exactly as I say, I promise you’ll feel real good.”

“I will. I promise.”

He nodded once and then dove back in, and it took everything you had not to move. You concentrated on the way his tongue moved hot between your folds before it found your clit, the way his large hand was centered just above your pubic mound, pressing down flat so that there was pressure on your G-spot from his fingers curling and stroking up inside of you.

As you tried to empty your brain and concentrate on the sensations, you felt the first hints of your climax start to build, and you whined, one leg lifting up in a reflex. Jack stilled his movements and kissed your clit softly.

“I thought you were gonna listen to me, sweet girl.”

You exhaled with pursed lips and relaxed your muscles, and Jack went back to work on you. His lips and tongue and fingers were relentless, and within a few minutes you were whining, legs shaking involuntarily. Jack paused again, and you felt the promise of another orgasm slip away.

Jack chuckled low in his throat. “You gotta hold still, honey. Good girls don’t disobey, do they?”

You cried out, gagging on your, “No!” and forced yourself to hold still as Jack resumed his onslaught, dragging the sensations of another orgasm-to-be from your center. You locked your muscles in place, and the tension of it all made tears spring to your eyes.

You sniffled and moaned, “Jack, please!”

He lifted his lips from your slit just long enough to say, “Not yet. I’ll tell you when you can come, sugar.”

You wailed a bit, but you figured it wouldn’t be long. You trusted Jack, and you knew that when he did let you come, it would be exquisite. Jack continued to wind you up, using his lips and tongue, pressing his hand down even harder against the flat of your lower belly to increase the pressure on your G-spot.

Just when you were about to yell at him to stop, that you couldn’t take any more, that you were drowning, Jack lifted his head and said, “Now,” and then he plunged his head back down for his final assault on your tender pussy.

Your body obeyed him instantly, and you felt your slick cunt squeezing his fingers harder than you had ever imagined it could. Jack continued to lick you through your climax, keeping his fingers in place and licking you softly up and down the folds on each side of your clit. Finally you stilled, and tears leaked from both of your eyes as you caught your breath.

Your abdominal muscles were sore and your legs ached, but you felt entirely new inside and out. Endorphins and dopamine rushed through your brain, leaving you floating and giddy. You threw your chin up and back, rushing cool air into your lungs and groaning out a laugh of pure bliss.

Jack slapped your thigh gently as he stood up. “Was that good for you, sugar?”

You nodded and looked at him, reveling in the sight of his glossy mouth, the way his T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, the erection straining against his thin pajama pants.

“Yes, Jack. Oh god, thank you. That was so good.” You smiled and held your wrists out to him. “Care to untie me and let me return the favor?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Jack winked at you, and you sat up to let him untangle your wrists from your underwear, loving the way his big, warm hands rubbed the delicate skin where you had been bound.

You smiled up at him and gripped the front of his waistband. “May I?”

He looked down at you and nodded, and you pulled his pajama bottoms down, nearly drooling at the way his cock sprang free, just inches from your face. You moaned, low and throaty, and then gripped him before guiding him into your mouth. He tasted like hints of the campfire and clean cotton, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of having him inside of you after this.

You ran your tongue under his head and down the shaft, curling your fingers around the base of him and taking him as far into your mouth as you could. You heard Jack hiss above you and both of his big hands came to your shoulders and pushed you back a bit. You slurped off of him and looked up as you worked your hand up and down.

“What is it? Something wrong?”

“Nothing, just not gonna make it very long if you keep on like that, darlin’.” Jack cupped your chin and ran his broad thumb over your lower lip. “Your mouth is divine, sugar, but I wanna bury myself deep inside of that pretty pussy so bad.”

You beamed up at him and nodded. “You have a condom?”

Jack stepped back and you let go of him. He peeled off his clothes and then retrieved a condom from the bedside table drawer. You reclined against the pillows and watched him roll the condom on, eagerly anticipating how he would feel inside of you.

Jack kneeled on the bed between your legs, and there was that hungry look again, like he couldn’t wait to devour you again, like he had been waiting for you all day, all night. He propped himself up over you and you opened your legs, feeling him slide right in like he belonged there. Your cunt clenched around him as he hit home, and then he held himself there as you both breathed deeply, getting used to each other and letting pleasure wash over you. Jack kissed you deeply, and you loved the way that you tasted on him, mixing with his own cologne and the minty remnants of his toothpaste.

You moaned into Jack’s mouth and cupped his face, and he started moving in and out. You lifted your legs and caged them around his waist, feeling the way that he dove deep with every thrust and drag of his hips. Jack kept kissing you as he increased his pace, and soon he was dragging you along with him, rocketing you both towards release.

You cried into Jack’s mouth as you felt your second orgasm start to stutter and squeeze around him, and Jack thrust a half-dozen more times before he suddenly buried himself deep and held it there, feeling the way your cunt caressed his dick before he shuddered his own spend into the condom.

After a moment, he pulled back and looked at you, his warm eyes shining in the dark. His whisper was ragged and full of love.

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

---

After just a few months of living with Jack, you had new nicknames, much nicer than the ones that used to echo around your head after a long day at work. And instead of trying to ignore them like the old mean names, now you got to hear them, really listen to them dripping from the plush lips of your lover.

“Darlin’” as he nuzzled your ear while showering with you on lazy weekends... “Sweetheart” as he hugged you from behind while you stood at the stove... Baby... Bombshell... Dumplin'... Jack whispered them to you in the early morning hours, or murmured them into your neck while you sprawled together on the couch in the evenings. And your favorite, “Sweet, filthy girl,” growled into your ear just below your blindfold at midnight.

You liked those nicknames much better.

---

Agent Jack "Whiskey" Daniels character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair @fan-of-encouragement @nolanell @deadhumourist

[farfromstrange]

Austin [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

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Pairing: Owen Sleater (Boardwalk Empire) x F!Reader

Warnings: (Sort of) slow burn, smut (18+), alcohol consumption, bootlegging, drugs, canon typical violence, murder, blood, misogyny (this is the 1920s, after all), foul language, illegal activities, organized crime, plot, Additional Tags Added Before Each Chapter

Summary:

As your father’s only daughter, his distillery business was always destined to be passed down to one of his male business associates after his death. For your own protection. But he did teach you a thing or two about liquor, making sure you could always fend for yourself. Then, after the prohibition act was passed, the government shut down the factory. You lost your job working for a prestigious family, and upon your return, you had to find out that the man in charge of your father’s legacy went underground with the company secrets.

That night, you ended up making a mistake that forced you to burn all bridges to your old life. That night, you packed your bags and moved from your small hometown in Texas to the City of Austin where, in only a few months, you built a business out of producing and distributing whiskey and rum in the way your father would have wanted you to. In a world ruled by men, the only way for you to survive was to make the world believe that you’d died, and you gave life to someone else—Mister Austin. A man, and now one of the most powerful players in the bootlegging game.

A year later, Nucky Thompson, an old friend of your father’s finds a way to contact you. He asks for a meeting, but you’re wary. Considering your family’s history with him and the message he sent you, you don’t have much of a choice but to go to him yourself instead of sending your right-hand man, but at what cost?

As it turns out, Atlantic City is nothing like you expected it to be, and when you meet Owen Sleater, the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crumble, and you find yourself at risk of losing not only everything you worked so hard for but your heart as well.

A/n: This man drove me mad the second he opened his mouth. I instantly folded, and then I randomly got this idea. I thought it would pass, but apparently not. I guess I have to get used to this. Charlie Cox puts his whole soul into every character he plays. How can you NOT fall for him?

-> First chapter coming in March!

“A sea of rum couldn’t intoxicate me as much as a drop of you.” — unknown

Playlist:

1. the last great american dynasty (Taylor Swift)

2. exile (Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver)

3. I Don’t Want To Live Forever (Taylor Swift ft. Zayn)

4. illicit affairs (Taylor Swift)

5. King (Florence + The Machine)

6. Burned (Grace VanderWaal)

7. Dream Girl Evil (Florence + The Machine)

8. as good a reason (Paris Paloma)

9. Eat Your Young (Hozier)

10. Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene (Hozier)

11. Girl With One Eye (Florence + The Machine)

12. Snow Angel (Renneé Rapp)

13. the fruits (Paris Paloma)

14. Graceland Too (Phoebe Bridgers)

15. The End Of Love (Florence + The Machine)

16. the lakes (Taylor Swift)

17. Me and the Devil (Soap&Skin)

18. Hot Gum (Sofia Isella)

If you want to be tagged for this series, let me know!

[wandawiccan60]

Happy Birthday Special

How I Think Tom Hardy Characters Think of Their Birthday???🎂🥳

A/N: Hey everyone I hope you guys are having a wonderful day and I am taking the time today to make this fun and cute post of what I think every Tom Hardy character will react or think when ist their birthday. This is on behave of Tom Hardy’s birthday today and I wanted to do this for fun and just being overpassionate for this man. I hope you guys enjoy this cute and fun post and please again reblog, comment, and follow I would appreciate it a lot and I want to thank as always for you guys for the follow you guys rule!!! And without further ado. Enjoy!!!

The Kray Twins(Reggie & Ronnie): Legend 

🧡🥃✨: Being the Princes of East London, they would most definitely celebrate the whole entire night at The Esmeralda Barn. Reggie would be in his own world with friends, colleagues, and especially with Frances who is dear and precious to him.

Ronnie however, would spend time with Teddy and mostly wants to do something “spicy” when he gets back home and smoke a big cigar and be the king he feels he always is. Pretty much if any of the two get drunk they would definitely get in a fistfight if Ronnie or Reggie says something idiotic but would still have a good time since they are both brothers since they've been in their mother's womb.

Eames: Inception

🕰️♟️❣: A thief and a doppelganger, he wouldn't be much of a party person but instead want to spend his time with the people he loves without celebrating without having a cake, presents, etc. He would rather want to maybe have a special someone by his side and possibly if mostly if that someone would be his companion and the love of his life. He would feel appreciated and that would be his special present for the rest of his life.

Tommy Conlon: Warrior

🥊🤎🧡: Tommy is the quietest and very antisocial person to ever walk in Philadelphia. An ex-marine and MMA fighter he wouldn't want to celebrate his birthday with anybody, especially with his family that he is not even close to. He would rather be alone and by himself not wanting any type of attention from nobody since he is a lone wolf himself. However, for a while later, Tommy would then feel lonely, and depressed, and would likely want to have some company around. He would then have the courage to call his brother Brandon and his dad Paddy if they want to go anywhere to eat. At the end of the night, he would feel more grateful to have his dad and brother around. Without them, he would be lost and since it is his special day he would want now to spend more time with the only family he has forever.

Eddie Brock/Venom: Venom

💙🖤🍫: Venom would likely want to get a huge chocolate cake for his best friend, knowing that Ann has Dan now. But Eddie would appreciate it so much on Venom that he wants to make Eddie the best birthday in his life. They would then go on a motorcycle ride and enjoy the nightly lit city of San Fransisco while Venom would feel the cool breeze on his face(except with no hair). But moreover, Eddie would love it if he could share this special day with someone knowing he wants Ann by his side but that won't be possible. But in time Eddie would end up finding someone and after every birthday he gets that special someone who would mostly do things that would be something precious and memorable.

Alfie Solomon’s: Peaky Blinders

🍞✨🤎: Alfie would pretty much close his rum distillery since he doesn't want to know anything about business since it is his day of course. Alfie is a party animal he would mostly spend his day at Margate and drink, dancing, and sing, and hire a band to play some music, and invite his close friends that he thinks to deserve to come to his home. Alfie would in that same night maybe find the love of his life and maybe just maybe they both might end up doing a “one-night stand” if you catch my drift. Probably that person and Alfie would get along well afterward and who knows that someone will change his life forever not expecting to have such a gift in his life.

James Keziah Delaney: Taboo

🎩💀🩸: James is the type of person who is the least worried to celebrate the day of his birth. He has the mentality of a businessman, wanting vengeance from the bloody East Company that wants the land of his mother's birthland Nootka Sound. He worries to have everything in his hands that his father has left behind for his son. But somehow just maybe someone on the brink of all the dark clouds and shadows there would be someone who would embrace him for being alive and wanting him to know that he is special in his own way. James would find it unusual at first but after some realization, he would appreciate it besides taking the souls of those that deceive him or threaten to end his life.

Charlie Bronson: Bronson

🕶️🤎👊🏻: Bronson is the man who would want to make his birthday someone BRILLIANT, Out of this world, and would love to release so much chaos inside the prison. He demands a cake, some of his favorite food, and most of all let everyone know who the fuckin’ boss is inside the walls he has been caged for so many years. He would also demand to have a day off and away from his cage but it wouldn’t really last for much since he might end up getting into a fight with some random twat and forcefully get back to prison. But to Bronson, it would be the best day of his life knowing that freedom was around him but yet again his home is in prison.

Bane: The Dark Knight Rises

🖤🦇❄️: Bane would have no time celebrating himself for he only wants to do is conquer, take over Gotham, his relationship with The League, and kill the Batman(Bruce Wayne).  He never really saw the point of celebrating his day when he was born into a world that is filled with darkness, madness, and overall feeling like there is sometimes no purpose in life. But there is one person that he only cares to have and protect and that is the child he saved from the darkest and deepest depths of The Pit. Talia Al’ Ghul for Bane is the only reason he is still alive and just having a small celebration with her is enough for him to care for and want.

Max Rockatansky: Mad Max: Fury Road

💥🧡☀️: Max wouldn’t remember much about his birthday, since he has lost his will to live, his family, and himself mentally. He would just spend his life roaming around the endless Wasteland and just survive in a crazy world where everyone thinks they are crazy including himself. But if maybe just one person could bring his insanity back he would still think it is pointless to remember and to even mention it again. However, if that ever happens if that one person does make some sense to him again, he would embrace his day and appreciate having that special person to bring his old life back into a world where there is nothing but dust and survival of the fittest.

Tuck Hansen(Blue Eyes): This Meas War

🧡⌚️😊: Tuck would be the type of person to want to celebrate his birthday without a care in the world. With or without friends he would make a wild party inside his mind and drink all night long, get himself a cake to celebrate, food, and mostly just be a one-night man with himself. But he would much rather want to share his day with someone special even if he had tried to win Lauren’s heart he also had his son in mind. And so he took his son out for dinner and even though his ex-wife is not present he appreciated a lot to have his only son here with him knowing Tuckk loves him to death. But after some time later he then would find himself with the love of his life and would preserve such a treasure that he wants to spend his entire time with that person.

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[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

He Crosses a cultural line in the standard game of exploiting his semi-celebrity tequila for cash.

“Tequila production is traditionally a family business in Mexico,” was made as a drink to share while celebrating, reunions, and fiestas in local communities in Mexico.

Since 2017, numerous celebrities have launched or bought into tequila brands, including Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (Teremana Tequila), Michael Jordan (Cincoro), Sean “P Diddy” Combs (DeLeón Tequila), Nick Jonas (Villa One Tequila), Rita Ora (Próspero Tequila), Chris Noth (Ambhar Tequila), and Guy Fieri (Santo Spirit), among others. People in the tequila industry call it the “Clooney effect.”

The tequila industry’s rapid growth has an environmental price — in one of Mexico’s proudest cultural traditions, it reduces history to a marketing campaign from a semi-famous individual. SH is 'self-worship' and not only that, His business partner AN doesn’t have aligned with the spirits market, he has no idea about the alcohol sector. He couldn’t help SH make complex decisions and guide his project recently, SH lost a legal battle with German distillery over Sassenach whisky, his firm The Great Glen Company -AN is Director- applied to register the brand name as a trademark to sell the whisky across Europe, but failed, he was detrimental to SH business. This is critical no matter the situation, which is in total opposition because doesn’t grasp what it takes to make tequila.

The “authenticity” of an owned tequila brand is a nuanced topic. Carlos Santana-musician- is the only tequila-associated celebrity to have been born in Mexico -Jalisco. SH has not a tie to the country or to its distilling traditions. He’s not investing to build distilleries, or distilling these products themselves. He did not even have ever visited at a Mexican distillery until 2020. It's the same situation with his whisky 🥃 with the exception, he visited some whisky distilleries before launch. He needs to have a unique and interesting story. He has not a great story. “I love tequila, so I made my brand one,“ it’s not an interesting narrative. He did not get into the weeds on tequila production processes.

it’s not good another semi-celebrity wants to enrich himself with Mexican culture by riding a horse through fields of agave and eating “tortillas” for his clip show. Mexican culture appropriation happens when he adapts elements seen as advantageous for his business.

El Tequileño Tequila Sassenach is what it is because It doesn't evolve as part of Sassenach spirit they are different worlds. “He didn’t create it.” The Key to El Tequileño taste is his distiller Antonio Salles third generation who currently holds the title of Master Distiller at El Tequileño. After tinkering with the formula, Salles came up with a reposed product.

Tony Salles must protect what is the fruit of the work, effort, and traditions of Mexico and defend the origin of tequila authentically Mexican. The manufacturer (El Tequileño) must bottle the 100% agave Tequila itself within the area protected by the general declaration of designation of origin. The 100 per cent blue agave is just one of four crucial 'ingredients' that go into making the perfect bottle of real tequila. It’s not SH or Sassenach Spirit.

The Sassenach tequila $ 99 (Tax+shipping) has not ranked, there is nothing here that is anywhere close to what a good, traditionally made tequila strives to be. The shelves in America are not stocked with his brand, has been sold by pre-order through the Reserve Bar site, El Tequileño launched 55.000 bottles over 41.000 litres of tequila, around 8.600 cases, it’s not relevant for the United States market that consumes 110 million litres per year (about 29 million gallons) and 18.3 million cases last year.

His tequila Reposado, which means rest, refers to tequila that is aged from between two months to a year in oak casks or barrels which can produce sweet notes. In fact, El Tequileño Sassenach claims it has sold out in one market even so close to its official launch - a strategy in which low production leads to a cult for Sam, following driven by scarcity. The company won’t disclose its inventory, just that it has produced several thousand cases. But is El Tequileño Sassenach really worth that price tag? Not really. He’s not a creator of tequila. This was not something he was going to create is a contract with El Tequileño, and after he does his marketing play.

The reason he insisted repeatedly with El Tequileño and the answer was NO, the distillery, even hadn't planned to do that. El Tequileño is not making his tequila because the distillery doesn’t make tequila for anybody else since its founding in 1959.

After seeing SH sharing photos of himself drinking and opening up a bottle of Tequila, wanted to see what all the hype was about. Essentially, it's exactly the same bottle of original El Tequileño Gran Reserva Reposado for $ 59, and he just buys that, and then he just used his marketing and his branding to sell it to you. He’s not “making” tequila, he’s just buying stock and labelling it. He’s working with contractors, he doesn’t need to plant crops of agave and wait seven years for them to mature, and he’s not involved in the process. What you're paying for is the SH affiliation and not the quality of tequila.

So, you should drink a brand that gives back to the birthplace of tequila—rather than one that feeds his Hollywood ambitions. It's not good when his brand uses his fan's base power to pay so little to producers for their hard work in Mexico and then sell the bottle for hundreds of dollars to Outlander fans in the US, springing up in the 'place to be of the moment' in Hollywood. (He’s not a very well-known Hollywood C-list actor)

Plenty of tequila appreciators loves a flavourful añejo or reposado — When you go for a margarita you’re looking for salty and tingly, which isn't something you get from Sassenach tequila, flavours of vanilla that don't taste much like traditional tequila.

But if sweet isn't your thing, I'd say to skip Sassenach tequila and try out “Casamigos” next time you're in the liquor store or at the bar.

Salud!

*Credit to the owner

Yes, SH, Viva Mexico! 🇲🇽 Next year he'll be with a shot of tequila, like a ‘charro horseman’ with a mariachi band.