#fourth circle

[mask131]

Dante’s Hell: Two sides of the same coin

VIII) Fourth Circle: Greed

Upon entering the Fourth Circle, Dante and Virgil are confronted by a being that is alternatively called “Pluto” and “Plutus”. Called “mankind arch-enemy’s”, this entity, called by Virgil the “cursed wolf of Hell”, after frightening the visitors with an ominous sentence, is promptly shut off by Virgil, who reminds him that their journey is ordered by the powers of Heaven themselves, which makes Pluto/Plutus fall onto the ground, vanquished. Dante here reuses another figure of Greco-Roman mythology, or rather two figures conflated into one: Plutus, the Greek god of wealth and riches (it makes sense he would appear in the Circle of Greed), and Pluto, the alternative name for Hades/Dis Pater, the ruler of the underworld and king of the dead in Greek/Roman mythology. This confusion was originally present in the Greco-Roman culture itself:  “Pluto” means “the wealthy one”, “the rich one”, and already the Greeks and the Romans had established that the god of the underworld ruled over both the dead and the underground riches (metals, gemstones, etc��), to the point Plutus himself was sometimes seen as part of the chthonic gods. The fact Virgil’s world so easily break down Plutus/Pluto, as he falls on the ground “like a ship’s sail when the mast breaks”, “deflated, tangled in heap”, shows how this embodiment of wealth, while seemingly grand and frightening, is actually empty and quite weak when confronted with the true powers of good. And more importantly, Pluto/Plutus is given a line that has been a true mystery…

“Pape Satan, pape Satan aleppe”. It is the mysterious sentence that this entity tells to the protagonist as he enters the Fourth Circle of Hell, in a rage-filled tone, to threaten Dante/the Wanderer – and this sentence isn’t written in any actual language or dialect known. Some words can be recognized, such as the name “Satan” repeated twice, but otherwise it is a cryptic mumbo-jumbo, a nonsensical sentence to decipher. Many people have interpreted this sentence without ever agreeing on what it could mean: the most common theory is that this sentence is supposed to be an invocation to Satan, where Plutus invokes the devil himself onto the Fourth Circle, or maybe alerts him of what is going on, possibly invoking him as the “pope”, “emperor” or “god” of Hell.

Unlike the previous circles, here the sinners of Greed are divided into two clear groups, the Prodigal and the Misers, who embody the two aspects of the sin of greed (at least according to Dante). Both groups are cursed into constantly rolling before them enormous, heavy weights, while circling around each other, constantly shouting insults and war-cries at the other group, before finally throwing their weights at each other in a big, thunderous clash. Then each group gains back their weight, rolls out again with more insults and screams, clashes their weights again, and it all repeats forever and ever… Dante throws in a LOT of Greco-Roman references, from the constant rolling of a big boulder/weight as a nod to the legend of Sisyphus, to the clashing of the boulders being described as Charybdis making the waves crash against each other – but here the punishment still fits the contrapasso, because each group is doomed to constantly exhaust themselves by pushing aimlessly a huge, heavy rock that represents the material wealth and the earthly riches they grew so fond and attached to in their life. Of course, there is also a morbid irony in the fact that these two groups are locked into an eternal hatred, each one accusing the other of being the sinner, the vicious, the criminal, while no one realizes they are both in the wrong, due to the embodying the two extremes of greed: the Misers hoarded their wealth for the sake of owning and being rich, selfishly keeping all for themselves in a pure act of avarice, while the Prodigal expressed the reverse excessive love for money and goods, by spending their existence wasting their riches and squandering their belongings instead of putting them to good use. But both are now in Hell two undistinguishable groups in both body and action – only the specifics of the insults they throw at each other can allow to differentiate them. Or little proverbial details – for example the Hoarders have tight fists (showing their inability to lend a hand and their tight hold over their money), while the Squanderers have no hair (because an old Italian proverb says that prodigal will “spend even the hairs on their heads”).

IX) The Fifth Circle: The Styx

It is quite interesting that the second of the rivers of Hell, the Styx (also taken from Greek mythology) actually overlaps with the Fifth Circle of Hell. Indeed the Styx/Fourth Circle here is a sort of swamp, a marsh created by a spring of dark waters “boiling and overflowing” into a ditch, and drowning gray slopes until they turned into the great “slimy pond” that is this circle.

The Fifth Circle is often called the Circle of Wrath, because the main group of sinners here are those that allowed their life to be dominated and burned up by anger – now they forever wander in the swamp of the Styx, naked and muddy, their faces distorted by rage. In a constant state of wrath, they constantly fight each other with their bare arms, heads, feet (and even teeth), into violent muddy and swampy battles where they end up tearing the limbs of each other, without ever resting.

But there is a second group of sinners in the Fifth Circle… Sinners that are not wandering through the marsh, but rather sitting at the bottom of the slimy water, waiting in the black muck at the bottom of the Styx, constantly sighing and making bubbles as they only way of proving they exist. Their crime is apparently to have been “sluggish” or “sad” even in the most joyful and happy of days, and to have let “dejected/gloomy/slothful” smokes smolder in their hearts… This second group of sinners, doomed to stay under the surface, in the dark muds forever, is the subject of one of the big debates of the Divine Comedy… Indeed, from the choice of words and the general behavior they show, many read them as being the sinners of Sloth. But not of Sloth as we know it – rather as Sloth was originally… the vice of Acedia. A quick history lesson: “Sloth” in the seven deadly sins is a very recent addition. Or rather Sloth as “not liking work and loving too much rest and comfort” is a modern reinterpretation of the original sin it corresponded to. Originally, the sin of “sloth”, the sin that led one to not put any effort into things, to neglect their duty, to waste their talent, to dislike hard work, was not “sloth” but a thing called “acedia”. Acedia has been described as many way: the vice of despondency, a spiritual sloth, or the precursor to today’s burn-out. Acedia was a spiritual evil, a mix of sadness and boredom that led one to lose any kind of interest and involvement into whatever project or cause one could be part of, a spiritual torpor and numbness that destroyed any kind of love, hope, joy or care people could pour into the world – and, more than just causing one general disgust and indifference towards anything, could ultimately lead to despair/depression. This was the original sin part of the “seven deadly” – which only came to be known as a material, work-related “sloth” later in history. Many people consider that the sinners at the bottom of Styx are sinners of acedia, and thus it would make the total of deadly sins treated in the Upper Hell five instead of four, by adding Acedia/Proto-Sloth to Lust, Gluttony, Greed and Wrath.

However, there is a group of people that do not agree with this theory because they point out that ALL of the Circles of Hell are focused on one specific vice or sin, and that no other Circle hosts two vices at once. For example Greed has two groups of sinners, but they are both aspects of the disorderly love for wealth that is Greed. So, they argue that the sinners at the bottom of the Styx must be, like those at the surface of the swamp, sinners of Wrath, instead of suffering from Acedia (which is a distinct and different vice). Their theory is that we have to interpret their sin as one of “slothful and apathic wrath”, that make them constantly sad and burning inside – in this viewpoint, the sinners here (often called the “Sullen”) are thought to represent an internalized, passive form of wrath (unlike the exterior, active, violent wrath of the sinners of the suffer), to be sinners guilty of grudge-holding, rancor, spite and bitterness.

The debate is still up – maybe it is one, maybe it is the other, or maybe it is both at the same time, who knows!

Passing by the marsh, our protagonists arrive at the foot of a high tower, with at the top two flames appearing – that another fire answers far-away in the distance. It is actually the signal to call another boatman of Hell, here to take the Pilgrim and Virgil across the Styx proper (as a river flowing away from the marsh), and the one riding those “filthy waves” across the “marsh vapors” and swamp mists is yet again another Greek mythological figure: Phlegyas.

Here to take our protagonists to the famed and dreaded City of Dis…

[fjotla-vithir]

🧛🏼‍♂️H🩸E🩸S🩸P🩸E🩸R🩸O🩸S🧛🏼‍♂️

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[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. ��And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[wolfythewitch]

I was curious to know. Out of everyone, why is Odysseus your fav character?

Good question!

The third one doesn't quite fit but you get my point. I'm a very predictable person Haha

[corallapis]

[quirinah]

i! ro! ha! (six years edition)

[miredball]

THE BEAR social media part 11: community love

[meanwhile-in-hell]

tooday eric went to the fortth circle of hell. in the ayyteenth century eric accidentally tempted a human to start spending enuff munny on enuff material objects for a long enuff tyme to qualify him for damnation for greed. eric would never tell anydemon, but he had lyked spending tyme with mozart. and it really has been a long tyme senss he last saw him. becaws of staffing shortuhjes, no one stopt eric from interupting mozart’s punishment to have a totally normal frendly chat. he showd him a video on his tablet of some humans performing his mewsik, and told a few jokes that the human did not laff at (being in hell for a few hundred yeers can sometymes have a neguhtiv effect on someones sinss of hewmer) eric evenchewally returnd to the main floor of hell, and mozart returnd to halling vareeus heavy things arownd the fortth circle for eternity.

[urkuri]

[skyfallscotland]

So this has been in my head all day and I just had to get it out. I don't know if I'll just leave it here or uh...yeah. @justallihere I want you to know you're taking FULL responsibility for this nonsense. This is your fault 🫡

(consider this some AU world where Tyrrendor successfully seceded years ago, Xaden is king, and they have their own riders academy but Tairn still bonded Violet because he lives to make Xaden's life difficult, also...violet/cam/liam has a certain appeal to it...no, someone stop me)

“You know you can enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Violet Sorrengail says judgementally. “If you’re forced to follow me around, you may as well have some fun.” 

“I’m not forced to follow you around.” He replies immediately, shifting on his feet as his eyes scan the dark tavern, noting each of the patrons lingering by the bar. It’s true he’s not. His brother had asked and he had accepted. It’s the least he can do while they try and figure out how to deal with this—the mess that Tairn has caused, bonding a rider from Navarre.

“Sure you’re not.” There’s that judgemental tone again.

“Perhaps I just enjoy your company.” He tosses back, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Violet eyes his boyish grin before snorting, shaking her head as she picks up her drink—some sweet-looking lavender concoction. 

“And if I decide to enjoy someone else’s?” She challenges, a hint of conceit in her voice as she leans around him, nodding her head. “Like maybe Prince Cam’s? He’s been watching me since we got here.”

Liam’s head whips around and he instinctively moves to the side, shielding Violet’s body with his own as his eyes search out Navarre’s third prince. It takes a moment to find him, shrouded in darkness where he sits in the far corner of the tavern, boot on his knee as he nurses a glass of bourbon, his posture unnervingly relaxed. 

He can’t quite make out the other man’s eyes across the room, but he knows from memory they’re a deep forest green, just like the rest of his family. “Yeah, totally fine with it.” Violet says sarcastically, drawing his attention back to her. She looks pointedly at his torso and the way it’s shifted automatically to shield her from the prince’s view. 

“I’m not forced to do anything.” He insists, dragging his attention back to their conversation. “But I am here to keep you safe and that,” he shifts his eyes back to Cam, “is not safe for you—not anymore.” 

It’s entirely out of her control—out of all theirs—but Violet Sorrengail is now the key to taking down Tyrrendor, so regardless of how she might feel about it, he’s going to protect her and that means not going anywhere near Navarrian royalty. “I’ll go and see what he wants.” Liam says sternly, his hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Go back to your friends.” 

Her jaw tightens and she opens her mouth like she might protest, but clearly thinks better of it. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, swiping up her drink and turning on her heel. She tosses one final glance over her shoulder towards the dark corner the subject of their conversation is in, but otherwise doesn’t falter, storming back over to her squad.

He watches, waiting for her to be safely ensconced between Rhiannon and Ridoc before striding slowly to the other side of the tavern, moving easily through the Saturday evening revelry until he’s standing over a man he’s only ever seen in passing.

“Liam Mairi.” The prince’s lips tick up. He drags his eyes up over Liam’s frame as the blond rider does the same. He’s sprawled out in the chair, relaxed as could be, his knees slightly spread as he takes a long draw of liquor. “Come to threaten me away from Sorrengail?” 

“You know who I am.” It’s half statement, half question. 

“I made it my business to know.” He taps his fingers on the table in front of him. “A Tyrrish citizen attending Basgiath War College? That sort of news travels fast.” 

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Cam’s lips tick up like that’s something amusing. “Many things.” He pauses for a moment, studying Liam’s face. “Where’s your king?” 

Liam tenses. “In Aretia. Obviously.” He tries to appear as relaxed as the prince in front of him, but he’s certain he fails. “Xaden has a country to run, unlike…some.” His tone is mocking, challenging in a way he should probably refrain from, given his status as a diplomatic representative. 

“Yes, it’s terrible being third in line. I really detest having all this free time to do whatever I like, truly.” He downs the rest of the bourbon in his glass, dropping it onto the table. “Tell me, does she know?” He climbs to his feet, circling around the table slowly, like a predator. “Do you plan on filling her in? After all, it’s only fair given the danger it puts her in—being bound to your king.”

“She doesn’t know.” Liam lowers his voice threateningly, “and you’re not going to tell her.” Blue meet forest green in a fierce glare. “Interesting that you do though,” he moves closer until there’s only an inch or two separating them. “I guess that means you’re just like the rest of your family—happy to sit back and watch the world burn.” 

That gets a reaction out of him, the younger man stepping forward with a snarl on his lips. “You know nothing about me.” He looks up into Liam’s eyes. “You riders always think yourselves so superior to everyone else.” His voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible over the revelry of the tavern. “Just because I’m not flying around on the back of a dragon, doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing.”

He’s slightly shorter than Liam but just as well built and when he steps further into the blond’s space, Liam can’t help but look. His sandy brown hair is immaculately styled, his clothes are clean and pressed, and when he glances down even the man’s boots shine. It’s obvious he doesn’t belong here but…there’s something in the way the other man holds himself—with a spine of steel—that stirs something within him. That same steel is reflected in his eyes. 

“So what are you doing?” He murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up mockingly. “What’s your plan to help fight a war your family would stop at nothing to keep quiet?” Cam’s jaw is clenched, like he’s fighting to keep something in, rather than speak his mind. Almost against his will, Liam’s hand rises, his fingers sliding over the scruff on the other man’s jawline as he cups it gently. “All that power and what do you have to show for it?”

Cam’s lips part, his eyes roving over the blond’s face. “Nothing I can talk about here.” His green eyes are hard, unflinching as he tilts his head, pressing his cheek into Liam’s hand.

“Are you asking to get me alone?” The Tyrr’s lips curve up in a smirk.

“Would you like that?” The prince fires back.

He would actually. The shock of that revelation has him faltering, his usually unflappable composure dissipating as he stares down at the slow, arrogant smile spreading across full pink lips. 

“Tell your king I want to speak to him, Mairi.” The younger man whispers, reaching up to lace his fingers through Liam’s before removing the blond’s hand from his face. It feels like it takes an eternity for their hands to separate, his fingers sliding purposefully over Liam’s own. “Whenever that dragon of his drags him back here.” The prince turns to leave, his torso brushing Liam’s as he slides past him, far too close for it to be considered accidental. 

“And where will you be until then?” Liam enquires, his eyes dark.

Cam looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “I’ll be around.” He disappears into the crowd, going unnoticed by the rest of the taverns patrons and Liam watches him go, a dangerous, terrible curiosity stirring in his chest. 

He remains frozen for a moment, unmoving until a flash of silver catches his eye and he shakes it off, striding across the floor to rejoin his new squad.

“That looked like it went well.” There’s laughter in Violet Sorrengail’s voice and a hint of arrogance as she ribs him. “I’m glad you took care of it.” A sarcastic grin slides over her face as she lifts her drink to her lips. “I’m fine here if you need to take care of anything else.”

He stares at her, unimpressed. “Very funny.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, her eyes dancing with mischief. “First time with a man?” This woman is entirely too smart for her own good and it’s only going to cause him more and more headaches as time goes on, he just knows it. 

“I’m not into men.” He shuts her down. 

“You’re a consummate flirt, Liam Mairi.” She laughs. “I refuse to believe that.” 

But he’s not lying. Consummate flirt he may be, but he’s never been interested in anyone of the male gender…until now. Liam knows himself and his own mind well. He’s not into men, but Navarre’s third prince and his quiet arrogance, his ridiculously green eyes and the way his skin feels beneath Liam’s hands? That…that he may be into. 

Shit. 

[fourswords]

i know i don't shut up about it but i think it really truly says something about link's nature as a whole that the four of them got attached to shadow so ridiculously fast. vio at least had the excuse of hanging out with him for however long it was but it was still indicative of that same nature that he quite literally accompanied shadow in burning down a good portion of hyrule's lands and STILL quietly mourned him after they'd "killed" him. but then you have the most obvious examples of blue and green getting so unbelievably distraught when shadow "died for real this time (he did not die for real this time)" after interacting with him in a manner that wasn't "trying to murder each other" for a grand total of like. five minutes. ten minutes tops.

shadow helps them out exactly one time (and really you could see it as him just doing the bare minimum to clean up the mess he created by getting link to release vaati in the first place) and suddenly the links as a whole are like "FORGIVEN!" and if "making friends" was a button they all started hitting it so hard that it broke. shadow was like "still doesn't make me part of the body :(" and green speaking for all of them was like What the fuck are you talking about. Of course it does. We're friends. and by god is that going to influence everything that happens after the manga. like no matter what issues themselves arise between link and shadow that they're gonna have to work through (namely: vio's betrayal) if anyone ever tries to tell him that shadow still poses a threat to hyrule as a whole and he's an enemy and should be taken out then link is just gonna hit them with some flavor of this and that's gonna be the end of the conversation:

[maroonmused]

U ever think about the fact that the MSM games canonically exist in Spiderverse Miles' universe? Imagine Spiderverse Miles seeing Insomniac Peter and recognizing him as "that Spider-Man from my friend's video game"

it takes about 5 minutes for insomniac peter to go from thrilled over meeting another version of miles to mid-existential-crisis because what do shapes have to do with his fighting style…circle triangle what exactly. now that he thinks about it maybe the world does kind of slow down every time he executes a finishing move but he’d just been chalking that up to adrenaline. and sometimes his life does kind of neatly fit into a three-act story but may used to say that’s more of a circle of life kinda thing than narrative convenience…but is it? things have actually been a little fuzzy since the whole doc ock and sable and maggia thing went down….at least until he and miles were fighting rhino. then he took off for symkaria and huh….they did get kinda fuzzy again. almost like it was narratively unimportant. he also feels this weird, nagging sense of anxiety every time he puts off a major task and it’s almost like the world shoves him in that direction anyway. conveniently timed phone calls. an inner monologue that guilt trips him when he lingers. now he’s hyperventilating in the middle of the lobby and 1610-miles is about to join him in the panic session because somebody just recognized him as the guy from those cool animated movies. peter’s still trying to find his health bar because he feels like he might be dying

[sabrina-bee-art]

The Wizards are Sad Pieces of Toast, change my mind.

The Wizards are this seasons big bad villains. Or, the attempt at villains, ig. The way they are introduced, set against all the other villains the Winx have already beaten, it sets the expectation for the audience that the Wizards are even more evil, cruel and dangerous than all the villains that came before. And I guess on paper they are. Theoretically they are responsible for the genocide on the Terrestrial Fairies, which is pretty horrifying. Even Faragonda doesn’t dare speak of them out loud. And initially that’s intriguing. But when we meet them properly, they are just so boring and ineffective in comparison to Valtor or the Trix. Or even Darkar and he mostly hung out in his creepy cave castle.

I like the Wizards entrance, sort of. I like that they initially are after Bloom and want to steal her power (we’ll disregard for a moment the fact we learned in season 1 that a fairy’s power can’t be stolen) and when they realise, she isn’t the one they were looking for, they just yeet her to the side. That’s funny and unexpected. Every other villain before was after Bloom, and now for the first time, she isn’t the main centre of attention. She’ll make herself into that, later. But back to the Wizards.

We quickly realise that the Wizards are just…ridiculous, not menacing. Their actions don’t live up to the expectation set by their introduction and I think that is the main problem I have with them. How am I supposed to take them as a serious threat when the first two thirds of the season, the Wizards spend their time essentially playing pranks on the Winx? All they do in their brief moments of screen time, is to stand around and complain about the Winx. Then they try to ruin the Winx reputation and get so angry over the people of Gardenia liking these girlies. How very high school mean girl of them. It gets to a point where even the Winx are just annoyed when the Wizards show up and treat them more like an inconvenience than the evil final bosses that they end up being. Well, unless the plot demands otherwise.

It doesn’t help that, until the Winx get Believix at the end of the sixth episode, the Wizards could beat them at any point, since they canonically created a spell that renders Fairy Magic basically mute. But they don’t do anything with their advantage. Instead, they are absent for a good chunk of episodes and then only start messing with the Love & Pet shop, for no other reason than that they don’t like the Winx and find them annoying. After Episode 7, when the Winx insta-defeated them, they just sometimes attack randomly, but not with any sort of plan they want to achieve. Even though Roxy is not very protected, like the Winx don’t organise a watch for her or coordinate schedules so that someone is always with her, the Wizards only try to kidnap Roxy once. Unsuccessfully, because they conveniently forget to take her powers that particular time.

At the end, when they reveal themselves to be the Big Evils after all, I couldn’t take them seriously, with all the silly bullshit they pulled. They don’t even have any memorable personalities either. I can’t even recall all their names: there’s Ogron and Duman. Gantlos? And??? I'm sure there's a fourth one, but I couldn't remember his name if you'd held a gun to my head.

Ogron, or more like budget Valtor, in a sad attempt to be the next “charming” villain, monologues all over the place, throwing around threats and sassy lines. When Valtor did it, at least he made his threats reality thus giving his words weight. Ogron just talks shit and then gets jobbed by the Winx.

Another aspect to the detriment of the Wizards is that we don’t really get to spend much time with them. In season one and season three we spend a good chunk of most episodes with the Trix and Valtor and get to know them, their plans, and personalities. That’s why they are so memorable. The Wizards don’t get the same treatment. We barely cut away to see what they are up to, and when we do, they mostly complain about the popularity of the Winx. I’m serious. These are our villains!

We never learn their plans either. Why do they want the Terrestrial Fairies powers so badly? Just to have it? Because that’s an evil villain thing to do? Why did they start the genocide in the first place? What is their end goal now? Why do they want the White Circle? What are they planning? The audience not knowing the villains plan is a problem. That’s our frame of reference for the stakes of the season. Whenever the Winx and Wizards fight, we should clearly know what happens should the Winx lose. When we don’t understand the Wizards ulterior motives, their actions become meaningless and confusing. I would go so far to speculate that there never was a concrete plan for them, writing-wise. They are just a trope, a vessel, a hinderance for the Winx to fill this season with something. They aren’t real characters.

Let’s look at their plan, or lack there-of: At first, they want to steal Roxy’s power, then they leave her alone for a bit, messing with the Winx instead. Then they suddenly forget about Roxy and want the White Circle. Then they play more pranks and inconvenience the Winx some more. And in the end, they want to destroy Tir Na Nog…for some reason??? Because the show needs an evil final boss? With the other villains in previous season, the audience always clearly understood what their next steps would be. That adds suspense and urgency, like “Oh no! The Trix are about to steal a codex, can the Winx stop them in time???” Because we understood, that if Darkar gets all Codex pieces, he would be super powerful and destroy the Magical Dimension, the audience understood the gravity whenever the Trix managed to steal another piece. Now granted, that’s not a particularly original plan, but that’s not the point. The Wizards just randomly show up to fight, not really following any plan, or rather, whatever this episode’s plot requires. They don’t have an overarching plan. I’d argue because they don’t need one, because they will lose at the end regardless, but there not being any really just makes the Wizards seem like nothing more than a mild inconveniences to the Winx. Depending on the episode, of course, and whether we need to bring in artificial tension.

The fact that they don’t even have a proper villain’s lair speaks volumes. The Trix had Cloud Tower in season one. Darkar had his fancy underground castle. Valtor first had his cave on Andros, then Cloud Tower. What do the Wizards get? An unspecified industrial looking area and then…the sewer. They hide out in the sewer. Ewwwww. They don’t have a creepy castle, nothing. They could have had a sort of Tir Na Nog foil, a creepy old castle maybe, or even lived in the Ruins of Tir Na Nog. No. They hide in the sewers of this random Californian town.

I cannot stress enough how the majority of the season the Wizards are just sad pieces of toast and then at the last minute, they are revealed to be the big bad final boss. Their tactic of feigning their surrender could have been interesting, but by that point they already had lost all their intrigue. The Winx had already won against them every time they fought, so why should I feel any sort of threat or danger?

[respectthepetty]

The streets are talking, and they are saying GeminiFourth will be in the Semantic Error remake, but . . .

I like them, but if they get a university BL, when these grown folks are still playing high schoolers, I'm gonna be salty like that sea between Israel and Jordan -> Dead.

However, I don't want them near the Love Sick remake, so . . .

Can we get a third secret option?

[minijenn]

I think Dreamworks only knows how to make like, three kind of movies. Ignore the ones not sitting in any circle. They're the weird fucking outliers.

[star--nymph]

some random rec on tumblr/tiktok/reddit: this Persephone and Hades retelling is so good! it;s so romantic and feminist and really puts a spin on the myth

said retelling: Hades and Persephone were actually in love and Demeter just threw a hysteric fit because she's a borderline abusive helicopter parent and oop now she's a terrible in-law keeping these soulmates apart hijinks ensue