#diplomat+cowboy

[kyberblade]

That’s the difference between Din and others.

Whenever he’s asked about the saber he says, “Whoever wields it can lead all of Mandalore.”

Everyone else says rule. Totally different mindset.

[hotvintagepoll]

I think it'd be pretty funny if you did a Best James poll. james vs james vs james. such a common name. (how many james were there when the tourney started???)

I think that's all of them! Good luck :)

[brotherwtf]

clegan time travel au? (kind of an extension to the night at the museum au)

John is a cowboy from the 1800s and Gale is a senator or diplomat or smth from the Roman Empire

John works on a ranch, a good old fashioned cowboy and is desperately bored with his life handling horses and tending the ranch

One day, a black mare is dumped on his ranch, and he's immediately taken by her. She's a stunning thing, sleek black coat and shiny mane and tail, and he immediately wants to take her on the trail

He decides to take her down to a mountain trail down south, and urges her to walk

They walk and walk, and John swears that the trail wasn't this far away. He's on a road he doesn't recognize, by a lake he's never seen before and he decides to get off the mare to look around

Insert hella homoerotic scene where Gale and John meet, Johns on his knees and Gale had a dagger pointed at him, maybe puts it under his chin and uses it to lift his chin up (grips chair)

They're both hella confused, John doesn't know what's happened and Gale doesn't know who John even is

Maybe John puts Gale on the black mare and starts walking north, and they end up back at John's ranch

Even more confused than ever, John forces Gale to sit in his Roman robes on Johns ranch while he tries to figure out what the hell happened

Now this could either be really silly or really tragic

Really silly would be they fall in love kinda fast, John realizes that the black mare allows them to move through time, and they just kinda goof throughout history, going wherever they please and just be in love, happy together

Or it could be just absolutely horrible and sad, they slowly fall in love on John's ranch, Gale still sometimes wearing his diplomatic robes to be more comfortable, and they spend the days telling each other about their respective time periods, Gale tells John about being a senator in the Roman empire and John tells Gale about the quiet life of being a rancher

Now when you try to play god and mess around with time, there's always consequences. Pretty soon time catches up to Gale and he starts to (literally) fade away. John notices when they're in bed together and can see the color of the sheets through Gale's hand

I want there to be a super angsty line before Gale finally disappears forever, smth like "I'll come find you, I'll always come find you" and maybe Gale saying "I'll always be with you, I wish I could stay with you

And John is left to grieve someone he wasn't sure ever existed, unable to tell anyone about his love and spending the rest of his life searching for Gale

WHAT IF GUYS: he finds the grave of Gale when he's old and grey, kneels before it and places the flowers he brought in the hopes of finding him on the headstone and just lays there, let's time pass until he, too, can join Gale

ooofff this ones got a little kick to it 🥹 this is a little disjointed but I thought it would be good for clegan lol. lmk what you guys think!

[panic-at-the-fiction]

Cowboy like me pt2

Summary: Percy knows a thing or two about letting go of the bigger fish you’re after and he won’t see you go now the road he almost went down with the briarwoods.

A/N: Honestly and emotional pairing that would be good for each other. Definitely would be a slow burn romance if I had the time to write more. Glad I can end it with hopes of more for these two.

Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet.

Fancy parties and dresses were a luxury I hadn’t seen in a while, but I wasn't here for the party. My bigger fish had taken me all the way to Emon, all the way to this celebration. I sneered in my inner thoughts. The man they were celebrating tonight was the man responsible for my brother's death. Lornak Syfe, he currently served on the Tal’Dorei council as the master of development, but I know. This man was not what he seemed.

He stood at the top of the stairwell, it was fairly crowded as people moved up and down talking about their rich people's things. My eyes stayed focused on Syfe as I slipped through the crowded, drink in hand, blending in. I was coming so close to what I had been searching for these last few years.

Before I could cross the rest of the distance to the stairwell, a hand slipped its way around my waist, pulling me away and towards the dance floor. “Just over this way.”

I turned, my eyes burning with anger at the person to drag me away from my target. “Percy?” There was venom in my tone, with a bit of fury, “what are you doing here?”

He took my drink out of my hand and placed it on a passing waiter's tray. He stopped pulling me along and turned to face me, keeping one hand on my waist as he took my hand in the other. “We,” he said firmly, “are dancing.”

I finally took stock that he had pulled me out to the dance floor. “Percival, I don’t have time for this.” I tried to pull away, but he only held me in position.

“I can see that, but I highly recommend that you hear me out first.” I watched as his eyes stayed tracked on Syfe. Percy continued to keep us dancing to the music, even as I was still hesitant.

“What are you really doing here, De Rolo?”

“Apparently stopping an assassination attempt.” I rolled my eyes.

“You don’t know my plans, maybe I just came here to speak to him.” He gave me a knowing glare.

He sighed, “I’m here with the rest of Vox Machina, they’re over by the drinks table close to drunk enough to cause a scene. I saw you and I could tell from your face something might be amidst. I couldn’t just sit back and not try to stop you, what kind of gentleman would I be?”

“We both know you’re no gentleman, Percival.” He gave you a weak smile. “That man killed my brother Percy, you can’t stop me from getting justice for that.”

“And I won’t, but this isn’t Justice (y/n), this is revenge. It costs more than you know.”

I swallowed my anger and brushed off the topic. “So what, you and Vox Machina frequent formal private council events now. I know you enjoy playing diplomat, but I thought the rest of your crew were above that.”

“We’re honorary members of the council.”

“Since when?”

“Since we killed a dragon.”

My eyes widened in shock, “you guys?”

“You know, we are actually quite capable when we use our brains, we just choose not to on most days.” I almost laughed.

“What happened to your brother?”

I gritted my teeth. “The Clasp.”

“The crime syndicate?”

I nodded. “My brother worked on one of Syfe project sites, he noticed some money was missing from the project. Syfe has been using these projects to fund his own personal expenses and paying off some debts to the Clasp. My brother was collecting evidence, he was going to report him when the Clasp shut him up on Syfe’s orders.”

“Your brother sounds like a good man.”

“He was.”

“Then he wouldn’t want you compromising yourself just for revenge.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted to die either, sometimes good people don’t get what they want.” I kept my eyes turned as I saw Syfe turn down a hallway heading to a secluded area of the party.

“You can’t do this (y/n), it's not justice, you know that. You’ll lose yourself.”

I couldn’t take it, I pulled away from him to stop dancing. I needed to get to Syfe while he was secluded, before he came back to the party. “What do you know about revenge, Percival? Who says I have to lose myself to get what I have wanted for four years now. I'm so close, why stop here?”

He grabbed my arm to stop me as I began heading up the stairs. “You know I understand better than anyone what it’s like. That hatred that fills you, I know it like the back of my hand. If you kill him, it won’t go away, it will just grow stronger.”

I stopped as I felt the tears burn behind my eyes. I swallowed hard as I turned around to face him. He had a soft look on his face, it showed just how much of this feeling he understood. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Your brother was collecting evidence, right? Do you know what he found? We could collect it and take it to the other members of the council. They’ll hear us out, they trust Vox Machina.”

“Are sure that would be enough? Putting him away in prison for what he did?”

“Sometimes I'm unsure, knowing the person who took it all away from you still breathes. But the alternative, letting them take what’s left, away from you.” He leaned in closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of my hair away behind my ear. “Letting them take you away, that’s just not an option.”

I swallowed and processed his words as I came to terms with him being right. I finally really looked at the man in front of me. “You’ve changed since I last saw you.”

“Let’s just say I found my bigger fish.”

“Did you get your revenge?” He knew what I meant, did he kill his Syfe

“The people responsible for my parents' death, what's left of them, is sitting in a cell where she will stay the rest of her life? I won’t to lie to you, I would have killed her if it weren’t for Vox Machina. I almost did, but if I had gone through with my revenge, I would be dead right now. They saved me, I owe them everything.”

“Well, I guess that means I owe you then.” I watched as he sighed and relaxed. He smiled as he linked our arms together, leading me away from the stairway.

“Looks like we need to get to work.” He said as we watched Syfe enter the party.

“Does that offer to join Vox Machina still stand?”

“Always.” He said quickly before he began stuttering. “I mean, I'm sure we can find room for you somewhere on the team.”

“Might not be so bad.” I smiled.

[rodion87g]

"Non-aggression Pact AU"

In order to avoid potential military action and threats from both sides, Kotal Kahn and Raiden make a small deal.

Shinnok's amulet remains in the possession of Raiden and the White Lotus, and Kotal takes one of the Thunder God's confidants to the Outworld. With the idea that "you have the power, and we have confidence that you will not use this force on us."

As a result of the negotiations, Kung Jin is appointed such an "ambassador" to the Outworld. For his diplomatic skills, ability to fight back on occasion, and knowledge (mostly theoretical) of the Outworld. In addition, he is not doing something irreplaceably important (in Mk11, he simply returned to the White Lotus, and did not stay in SF).

Kotal Khan agrees. And when Jin gets into his possession, he is provided with his own small (and not too cozy) room and a number of rules, instructing which places he can visit and at what time. Jin's main goal is to find a way in the local library to find something that can help save the revenant's soul and find a way to get to the Netherrealm.

However, no one was going to leave the guy unattended and appoint Erron Black to monitor him with full responsibility. Money doesn't smell of course, but the cowboy has already managed to understand what an irrepressible character the boy has. Therefore, in order for Black's head not to roll, if anything, he comes up with an ideal scheme.

He overwhelms Kung Jin with a lot of dirty and hard work. If the kid is so worried about the poor locals and is even ready to disrupt the execution of a thief, then let him help them. He makes him wash a lot of dishes in taverns, sweep the streets and work in the fields. Moreover, Jin mainly works in those areas that Erron patrols, so that he is definitely under supervision and does not get into trouble

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is halted in his tracks again by Lance’s sudden stop.

“Lance. Dude. Come on.”

Lance isn’t listening even a little. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, furrowed as they are, and his dark eyes flit rapidly back and forth, scanning the hustle and bustle of the giant crowd of the market they’re in.

Keith tries tugging Lance’s hand again. It does nothing. Lance always suddenly grows a ridiculous amount of muscle when he’s being stubborn.

“Lance,” Keith tries again. “What’s up? If you want to go to a stall you can say so, you know. You don’t have to just look around until I guess what you’re thinking.”

Lance doesn’t take the bait, which is worrying. Usually Keith has no trouble riling him up even playfully.

Lance mumbles something, standing on his tiptoes and leaning to try and look over the crowd. (Fat chance. The Megel people are tall as all hell. Even Hunk barely passes their shoulders.)

“What? You’re mumbling.”

“I think she’s lost.”

Keith blinks.

“Okay, that cleared up exactly nothing.”

Lance finally looks over at him, and Keith’s earlier judgement was correct. Lance is biting his lip. He looks upset, anxious.

“The little girl. I think she’s lost.”

“What little girl?”

“I’ve been seeing this little girl walking around every few minutes. She looks scared. She keeps walking up to people and running away when she sees their faces. I think she’s crying. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I have a bad feeling.”

That sobers Keith up quickly. Unbidden, a memory he hasn’t touched in a decade floats up to the forefront of his mind; blurry around the edges, like an old home video: him and his Pa, at a flea market in west Texas. Keith couldn’t have been more than three. He remembers holding his Pa’s hand, as he always did, his tiny palm wrapped tightly around his father’s calloused finger. It had been so loud that the noise had coalesced into one constant swelling sound, like the constant background noise of the desert.

He’d let go of Pa’s hand for a millisecond. Just — just for a second, as he’d waddled over to someone’s kiosk, awed at the shining jewellery and glittering stones. The old woman manning that kiosk had been amused by him, spinning him a tale he doesn’t remember about a brooch and the ancient princess it had belonged to. He’d wanted to keep it, he remembers, and when he asked if he could have it she had told him he could as long as his parents paid for it.

The terror had come so quickly.

He’d looked over immediately and realised he couldn’t see his Pa at all. He’d even climbed on the top of the kiosk to try and see better, but all he saw was a sea of baseball caps and cowboy hats, and no sign of his father’s messy black hair or broad shoulders. He remembers how quickly the tears came, how they’d blurred his vision until the massive crowd was a smudge of colours and shapes. His chest had felt so tight that he’d struggled to breathe.

He doesn’t remember how he found his Pa. He thinks his Pa must have found him.

But he remembers that fear in startling clarity, the galloping of his heart, the first time he’d ever really thought I am all alone.

“There she is!” Lance cries, and that’s all the warning Keith gets before he’s yanked in a random direction. He barely manages to keep himself upright, balancing only by his hand clenched tightly in Lance’s.

Seconds later they’re stopped abruptly when Lance lets go of his hand to brace them on his knees, bending down to the little girl’s height. She looks at him distrustfully, wary of both a stranger and a stranger who is so clearly foreign.

“Hey, kiddo.” The words are delayed by a fraction of a second, meaning they’re translated — Lance isn’t speaking English.

By the instant look of surprise and then familiarity that rushes through the girl’s features, Lance is speaking her native tongue. Where the hell Lance had time to learn Megeli, Keith doesn’t know.

(Except yes he does, because he’s stayed up with Lance before diplomatic missions, unable to sleep with all his nerves — diplomatic missions are not his strong suit. Keith has caught Lance, though, on several occasions, quietly teaching himself a few key phrases in the language of whatever people they’re visiting. He does it if he can on rescue missions, too, small phrases like his name and his purpose, and “we are not here to hurt you”. Comforting words, soft words. An active proof that the person coming to save you cares enough about you to learn your language so you can hang on to whatever familiarity you can, in your most frightening moment, without the just-a-second-too-long delay of the translators. Keith got a little choked up, when he first saw it; Lance’s purple eyebags and lost beauty sleep, all so he has an off-chance of comforting whomever may need it. He still feels in intense affection bubbling up in his chest when he thinks about it.)

“Where is your home?”

The phrase is a little klunky, kind of a strange thing to ask — Keith can’t imagine that Lance is fluent, or anything, they only learnt about this mission yesterday so Lance can’t have had much time to memorize many phrases — but it drives the point across.

The little girl bursts into tears, flinging herself into Lance.

“I can’t find my mama,” she wails, sobs wracking her tiny frame. Lance wraps his arms around her immediately, unhesitatingly, pressing her head to his shoulder and standing carefully once he’s got her secured.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here to help. You know Voltron?”

It takes her a moment to gather herself, maybe to place the name, but she nods.

“I am part of Voltron.” He makes sure she’s supported properly, balanced on his hip, then uses his other hand to point at Keith. “Him, too. We can help.”

The little girl contemplates them for a moment. Keith tries to make himself look as helpful and non-scary as possible, but only really succeeds in making himself look constipated and dumb.

The little girl giggles. “He looks silly.”

Lance laughs too, bright and loud and obnoxious, and it takes up all the air in the room and Keith wants to breathe in the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever inhaled.

“He does look silly. I think it’s the hair, hm? Very dorky.”

Lance’s words are no longer delayed, he’s back to English, but the little girl is unphased. She wipes her tears with her hands, and then on Lance’s flightsuit.

Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can we find my mama now?”

“Of course, kiddo. How about you sit on my shoulders? I’m not very tall on this planet, so it might help you see better.”

The little girl lights up.

“Can I stand on your shoulders?“

Lance snorts. “Absolutely not, pequeña. That’s a great way to fall on your head.”

The little girls pouts, but offers no further complaint as Lance lifts her by the armpits over his head and onto his shoulders. He plants on arms across her knees once she’s situated, and then reaches over to curl his free hand around Keith’s, beaming at him.

“Can’t forget Shiro’s rule,” he says, winking.

Keith swallows, face heating up as he entwines their fingers together, even though they’ve held hands a million times before.

That’s Shiro’s version of the get-along-pants, you see. Everyone has to do it. If you’re bickering for longer than what is acceptable (a standard known only to Shiro, who’s patience flounders between a level so awe-inspiring that Buddha would be ashamed, and shorter than even Keith’s fuse, depending on how long it’s been since he’s been in the same room as Slav), then boom! Guess who’s holding hands for the next several hours. Keith and Lance are a special case — since they spend inordinate amounts of time, and Keith is quoting here, “doing goddamn somersaults on my last nerve”, for every time they argue they have to hold hands for ten missions in a row.

Lance did the math. Based on all the arguing they did in their first few months in space, they’ve wracked up a handholding debt of about 54 straight years.

So it’s become normal for them, now, to hold hands all the time. Keith has pretty much gotten used to it — he leaves his room, sees Lance, and neither of them even blink before linking hands and moving on. It shouldn’t be a Thing. It isn’t a Thing.

But sometimes, it really is.

(Sometimes, like when Lance’s brown eyes are amused and mischievous and looking to Keith like he’s in on the joke, or when Lance is tugging Keith along to whatever dorky thing has attracted his attention, or when Lance is swinging their arms back and forth when he gets bored, or when he makes Keith twirl him around and Keith does without question, because as much as it makes his heart pound he will take any opportunity to have Lance twirled and dizzy pulled back against his chest, or or or —)

“What’s your name, buddy?” Lance asks, yanking Keith back into focus.

He has a funny way of doing that, Lance. Of dragging every inch of Keith’s attention on him.

“Gehma,” the girl says, appearing to be playing bongos with Lance’s head. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lance. And this is Keith.”

Keith raises his free hand as Lance introduces him, wiggling his fingers in an awkward half-wave. She imitates him, the way kids do with the world around them in general.

“Those are silly names. Do all of you have silly names?”

“Probably, by your standards,” Keith says, cracking a grin.

He loves kids. They’re hilarious. He’ll forever laugh at the time a random child walked up to Shiro at Walmart one day and told him he would look better bald with long nose hair. Keith laughed until he was hunched over, crying in the produce section.

Gehma continues to chatter on, asking a myriad of questions and making out-of-pocket observations about people. She also frequently yanks on Lance’s hair, who winces but allows it. At one point they even stop for snacks, because they’ve all been in the sun for a few hours and also because Keith’s stomach growls so loud that several people turn to stare, so. Food time.

“What does you mama look like, Gehma? It’s hard to see over everyone’s shoulders, but Keith and I may be able to help a little, at least. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

Gehma rattles off a description, half-helpful and half-information that would only ever be notable to a kid (“And she makes an excellent monster impression, so watch out for that.”). Keith keeps on high alert, though, looking for pink braids and a blue tunic that Gehma mentioned.

“Mama!” Gehma yells, after another twenty minutes of aimless wandering. She lunges forward so abruptly she and Lance start toppling forward. Keith rushes forward to plant on hand on the back of Gehma’s shirt and one hand on Lance’s chest, yanking them upright. He reaches up to help lift Gehma down, who takes off in a sprint the second her little feet hit the ground, into the waiting arms of a woman who looks very, very relieved.

“Oh, baby! Oh, Gehma, my girl, my little monster —” Every word is punctuated by a kiss, Gehma’s mother’s fluttering hands frequently patting random areas, making sure her kid is alive in one piece. Gehma herself has gone quiet, all the fear catching up to her, reminding her how scared she was without her mama.

It’s a lot for a little kid to handle.

“Thank you,” Gehma’s mama says, once she’s satisfied that her kid’s okay. “I couldn’t — I turned around for one second and she was — I was so scared —”

“It’s okay,” Keith interrupts softly, surprising himself a little. “Uh, yeah. Happens to the best of us. Not that I would know. I mean. Yeah. But it’s cool. I’m glad we found you.” He’s bright red by the end of it, and lowkey hoping something blows up so he has a reason to exit the scenario immediately.

Lance’s quiet laughter is not helping. It’s making Keith redder.

God, he’s going to find some way to blame this on Shiro and then yell at him later, for his own sanity.

“Thank you, paladin,” the mother says again, and this time she sounds amused.

“All good,” Keith chokes out. Lance squeezes Keith’s hand, nodding.

“Yeah! That’s what we’re here for. Stay with your mama now, okay, Gehma? Don’t let go of her hand.”

Gehma promises to be more careful, and then she and her mother are off. Keith watches them go with a fond, semi-wistful smile.

He misses his Pa.

“I miss my mom,” Lance says quietly, voicing exactly what Keith is thinking.

“Me too. Uh, my dad. Not your mom. Not that I wouldn’t miss her if I didn’t know her! I’m sure she’s great. But, I don’t know her? So. I don’t. Miss her. But —”

Lord above, someone put him out of his fucking misery. God. Is it impossible for him to, like, speak like a normal person?

At least the word vomit that just came spewing out of his mouth had one benefit, he supposes. The horrible sad look has dropped from Lance’s face, replaced with the pinched expression of someone trying desperately not to laugh.

Keith sighs. “Go ahead.”

That’s all the permission Lance needs. One second he’s shaking every so slightly as he tries to keep himself together, the next he’s collapsed onto Keith’s shoulder, laughing himself sick.

“Jerk,” Keith mutters, but it’s far to soft to have any impact.

“You’re such a loser,” Lance says fondly. It takes him a few minutes for the giggles to vanish completely, but eventually the do, and he steps out of Keith immediate space and starts to pull him along in a random direction.

Keith doesn’t miss him being so close.

He doesn’t.

(They’re still holding hands, for fuck’s sake. When did he get so greedy? When did he need Lance so close to him, all the time?)

“We should meet back up with the others,” Lance says, swinging their arms together. “It’s been a few hours, I’m sure everyone else is done shopping. Ooooh, maybe we’ll be the first ones back, and we can go for a swim! What do you think?”

Keith smiles, whipped as all hell, Lance’s endless enthusiasm and love and affection and joy just making every part of him feel all fond and squishy.

“Sure, Lance. Whatever you want.”

The worst part is he means it. Lance could ask if Keith wanted to go skateboarding on an active volcano, and Keith would say yes without a second thought. (He would still have the wherewithal to complain, thankfully. He’s not that far gone yet.) But as he looks at Lance, who’s beaming, dodging elbows of random passers-by and pointing out every little stall that he thinks Keith would like (“Hey, Keith, check this out! It’s like little knives but for your nails! That’s right up your alley, Freddy Krueger.”)…

Keith can’t say he minds.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/2/2024

as of friday i have lived in texas for a full year. that's the most neutrally diplomatic thing i can say about my time in this state so far

listening

i did a lot of driving last week and had the first album from genshin impact's legally-not-France nation on loop bc it's a lot of vivaldi inspired stuff and i find that soothing. however! one of my favorite pieces of music from this nation is this battle track. i don't have any music words but i do like the.. pipe organ emphasis? on the little flourish at 0:28. catholic brain go brrrr

-

reading

thank you mackintosh.

i liked gotham city: year one! many many many callbacks but framed in a way "and this is the start of the blueprint for how everything would go" which made me less annoyed than callbacks for their own sake. a very chandler-esque take on noir, by which i mean a fundamentally good (but tired) man gets beaten to shit and survives a doublecross as he unravels a fucked up little family dynamic for the pure nosy sake of unraveling it.

-

watching

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (2024, dir. Ritchie). a spy/action/comedy thing about Operation Postmaster, a wwii special operation off the west coast of Africa to disrupt nazi u-boat supplies.

i did not like this at all.

i generally like a guy ritchie film-- the holmes duolgy are movies i would happily rewatch at any time, but this one is very flat. there's very little banter and remarkably little dialogue-- long stretches of this film are of people getting from place to place in perfect silence. even the soundtrack is remarkably toned down. most of it sounds like ai-generatred morricone (very few of the musical passages like. resolve in any sensible manner. there is no theming and no noticeable leitmotif. one of the worst covers of mack the knife ive ever heard is at the climax of the fuckin film. what if someone ominously tapped a hihat to create tension for literally half the movie with NO other accompaniment). when it doesn't sound ai-generated and kind of off (morricone's cowboy western work is not what i expect for a largely seafaring wwii movie) it sounds like they rented a jazz five-piece for a weekend. one of the worst soundtracks i've ever heard. it was extremely distracting.

this is a heist movie that never really figured out how to effectively intercut actions its team is independently taking. there are also a lot of places where the cuts are very strange, especially in the final harbor scene flicking back and forth from the land crew to the boat crew. just felt very underbaked as a movie. i was frequently bored. not an effective comedy, action, or spy movie. just barely a coherent war movie, though not a very enjoyable one.

-

playing

the breath of the wild to genshin ripoff pipeline is pretty clear, esp in the legally-not-India nation with lots of legally-not-koroks. u get a bunch of chests and achievements if u find all 76, i finally sat down on friday with an hour-long walkthough video and found them all. every single four-leaf clover sigil is where one of these fuckers was. and to get to this point, i had to do a whole DIFFERENT quest chain with different collectibles to unlock some of the legally-not-koroks and also make room on my map to free up 76 markers. very annoying process. i fucking hate collectibles for the sake of collectibles and padding out gameplay. i could not imagine doing this if i were employed

-

making

cross stitch update.

i got this belt for the ren faire when my sister came down, finally got around to pulling it out of the freezer and cleaning it the other day, and it was what i can only call yucky-disgusting. an inordinate amount of scunge for a belt with very few signs of wear. it's impossible to photograph bc it's quite late and i did not think to take a before shot, but it straight up changed color. it is much lighter now

[soulreapin]

keith is the peoples princess

why do i know this?

because hes the most genuine motherfucker around. hes not flashy or nothin (except when he’s in black’s cockpit but that’s a different keith)

when he’s a part of the restoration effort and passing out water and bandaids to young children, he’s also inadvertently passing on sage advice on how to help themselves and grow up to be better than their predecessors

as a diplomat he’s not. The Most Awesome talker theyve ever seen but he does come up with solid and well thought up plans the day after a conference because he knew there was a way he just needed to figure it out

hes very true. and honest. livin by the cowboy code even if he doesnt realize it.

[isawken]

how i got invited to a council meeting for the world's oldest professional clown organization: a reflection on the value of weird niche interests and shooting your shot

it is 2 PM EST. i work from home- i've taken my work laptop to set up in the bedroom along with my personal laptop. i shouldn't be away for more than 30 minutes. call it a late lunch. i've made sure my Zoom icon has been changed from the little gif of a monkey from the video game Ape Escape wiping his ass with a towel over and over again to the far more respectable default icon. i've put my full first name as the username in place of "snart". i am very, very nervous. 2:01 PM. i always wait exactly one minute before hopping into a meeting i'm nervous about. i hate being the first one in a call. the burden of initiating casual conversation is one i particularly hate.

i enter the zoom room key and passcode and enter the meeting.

=================================

those who know me irl or follow me on twitter know that i'm like, really into clowns. i could (and probably will one day) write an entirely different thinkpiece on the reasons why this happened to me. i have not always been Clown Guy. i never hated them, but never loved them, until around 2018 when i started really getting into jesters. the interest in clowns was a lateral move at that point. this makes a lot more sense in my head than in real life, but whatever. you get the point.

i started doing clown make up, getting clown supplies, doing clown photoshoots for fun. a neat little creative outlet. then, as with all of my fleeting interests, i started consuming everything i could about the history of them. and my fleeting interest became a full blown fascination.

one of the more interesting things i learned about was clown eggs. short version: in the 1940s a dude named Stan Bult decided to make a clown organization. and as part of this clown organization he integrated a fun hobby- painting and adorning chicken eggs with the visages of famous clowns, and later, members of the organization itself. these eggs were a staple of the org until Stan's death in the 60s. The practice fell to the wayside for a couple decades, then was rebirthed in the 1980s, with a new group of chairclowns and a new artist. it is once again a staple of the organization, and one i am enamored with. the crazy part about it all is, Stan Bult was a chemist. not even a clown.

=================================

i am on the phone with Dee Dee, the lead chair of the organization. on my application i mentioned extensive social media usage, and she emailed me a few days after approving my application one evening asking if i'd be interested in helping out the organization with their social media presence. i'd be a fucking dunce to say no. she tells me about the current person in charge of their various social medias. she likes her, she says, pausing to add a tone to the next part of her sentence. it's the kind of tone you use when you are expressing dissatisfaction to someone and you're confident they'll commiserate your feeling. "but, she's not even a clown."

i give a very diplomatic (noncommittal) "ah, yeah."

=================================

it is a tuesday summer night and i am drunk, and i am filling out an application for a clown egg before i lose my nerve. i already have my signature make up. i'm actually really proud of it. red lips, blue nose, yellow eyes. red yellow and blue freckles. a red circle, blue square, and yellow triangle pattern above the eyebrows and under the eyes. red yellow and blue checkered button down with cowboy fringe on the chest. a tan stetson given to me by my grandfather. a gaudy clown face bolo tie. i did a pretty good job if i do say so myself.

i send the photos along with the application, 100% confident i will get rebuffed because i'm not a "real" clown. i do get rebuffed, but not in the way i expect. the person fielding applications, Dee Dee, instead gently asks me to submit a membership application first, then she'll be able to send in the order for the clown egg. she says my face design is very cute. i fill out the application and send it back in immediately.

a few days later and i'm sent an email saying my membership fee payment has been processed, and welcome to Clowns International! attached is a PDF of a hilariously simply-edited membership card. it's a sharp, bright red. it features my full name, my clown name, my signature, and my membership number. i'm clown number 22011. text in italics at the bottom of the card says "Members in Good Standing must show cards on request for all CI meetings."

i really hope i can go to one of those, i think to myself, giddy at this eyesore of a rectangle and what it means to me.

=================================

i enter the zoom meeting.

"Oh, there she is!"

i am greeted by a short row of older men and women. i am guessing the youngest aside from me is probably in their 40s. the oldest looks like they could be 80. Dee Dee starts right in.

"So that's what you look like under your makeup! Everybody, this is who I was telling you about, Ken____. She's a bit of a new clown, and she's agreed to help us out with some of our social media."

Dee Dee references a "blog" that i run. i am immensely thankful that she never asked to see my twitter account, and no one else on the call asks either. they just take my expertise on faith. well, faith, and the spiel i give them about how consistent posting will result in increased engagement, and how best to go about engendering social media growth. i throw out plans for posts- history threads, cute memes or art spotlights, posts highlighting members' eggs. the older ones just nod along, but one in particular is very enthusiastic. he tells me he had a tiktok recently get a million views of him and a clown buddy chasing each other in tiny cop cars. i nod along.

the tiktok guy and the guy managing the facebook argue for 30 minutes about whether or not to focus more on social media presence or maintaining the current membership. they go in circles until finally moving on to the horse hospital event (still not sure what that's about) and annual Grimaldi funeral service (i'll make a different post about that one day). then the newsletter. then some other random updates i zone out on. it has been almost 2 hours. i have my work laptop on the bed next to me and am covertly answering emails while the clowns bicker.

turns out even british clowns are exactly as grumpy as regular british people. who knew.

=================================

i am very good at making plans. i love nothing more than making a document detailing actions and ideas in a concise, clear manner. i make a social media treatment, detailing plans for potential posts and even fully written out history blurbs with pictures that can be adapted into threads or instagram posts. i send that out. Dee Dee asks me to follow up with the facebook guy and the twitter/insta girl. the facebook guy just straight up gives me access to twitter. the twitter/insta girl does not respond to any emails.

i've been posting on their twitter account for 6 months now. it's right here if you want to take a look at it. not to brag (lol jk this is definitely a brag), but i've just about doubled their followers in that time. the instagram girl still hasn't given me any log in info, despite my gentle offers to "help" with insta posts. i also notice it has not posted in about 2 years now. i am an interloper, a newcomer. she is the daughter of one of the chairclowns. i am sitting on this information for now. the last thing i want is to instigate a clown war with an old british person. i'd lose for sure.

=================================

i'm not a "real" clown. i don't do parties, i don't work at a circus. i don't think i ever will (i'm only 28 though, who knows what the future holds). all i do is clown around on twitter for people's amusement. but over the last two years i have gained so much understanding and respect for the profession, and all i want to do is share that. i have another board meeting with them soon. i am very curious how this one is going to go. Dee Dee has mentioned a few times how she wants to meet me in person one day. this is all kind of a charade- i am waiting for the day when they realize i'm not an active working clown in the traditional sense, and they kick my civilian ass out. i really hope i get a clown egg before that. it's been about 9 months and no word though, so my hopes aren't exactly high. i go back and forth on whether or not i deserve one. and then i remember that the founder of the whole organization was never a clown. he just really liked them. and it's lasted about 80 years now.

this whole clown thing has been one of the most positive forces in my life over the last few years. i'm sure most of you know how fun it is, to dive headfirst into a new obsession. it's fun to share it with people- most are immediately at least interested if not just bemused when i bring up clown stuff. and it gave me the confidence to apply to a fucking clown organization and get a membership card and become one of their social media managers and holy shit how fucking insane is that??? even if this blows up, even if i get kicked out and never get my egg and it all burns to the ground, that is something i can keep in my heart forever. that is a story i can whip out at any party for the rest of my life, and get chuckles. i may not be a real clown, but i'm definitely addicted to getting chuckles like one.

anyways, the moral of the story here is to apply to whatever your version of a world renown clown organization is. get drunk on a tuesday night and shoot your shot. and even if it doesn't go great you can always make a fun story out of it. or a really, really long post on tumblr.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | Bonus I

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Nada

Author’s Note: Thriving on the idea of defending Din’s honor against the Armorer <3

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Apostate

“Is there a reason why your covert decided to live on a planet with such violent creatures?” She asked as she piloted the Crest over the waters.

Din was manning the blasters, taking aim to put a stop to the reptilian creature that had interrupted the ceremony of the foundling. It would be his first time returning to the covert since they married –since saving Grogu –and he knew that his arrival was going to be less than exciting. While it wasn’t necessarily unusual for Mandalorians to marry outside their clan, she was not a Mandalorian herself and he wasn’t sure how the rest would feel. More importantly, he knew he would be facing consequences for the things he had done in the last several months.

“I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully, having blasted a hole through the creature and watching pieces of it explode across the beach. “Land over there.”

He pulled back from the guns, making his way back to the passenger seat. Grogu sat there, and he lifted the child into his arms as he peered out the window down at the covert who watched her land the ship. He had been teaching her how to navigate –her and Grogu, really –and how to pilot the ship. If anything because he liked seeing her behind the controls. But because she insisted she learn, in the very possible chance that they needed another getaway.

Shutting off the engines, she stood and held her hand out to him with a reassuring smile. “All will be well,” she promised as he stood, taking her hand in his.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure about that.

The Armorer stood beside Paz Vizsla, and the remainder of the tribe were scattered behind them as Din and his princess, with Grogu floating behind them, set foot on the beaches. Din greeted the Armorer with a nod, ignoring Paz who was staring him down. And Din knew he was. Because that's what Paz always did when Din was around: size him up.

“Din Djarin, you have returned with the foundling,” the Armorer greeted, motioning towards an opening in the mountains. “And the Princess of Senex.”

“Yes; the child chose to leave with me instead of remaining with his own kind.” He nodded as she stood up a bit straighter beside him. “And we married a short time ago.”

“So I have been told,” the Armorer murmured as they made their way into the forge. “Alas, there is nothing I can do for you here, Din Djarin. You are no longer Mandalorian.”

Even knowing that this was coming, Din’s chest constricted as the Armorer confirmed his transgressions. However, his princess seemed confused and almost offended as she cocked her head to the side.

“What do you mean? He has followed the Creed –he did not show his face until after we were married,” she argued, taking half a step forward. “We exchanged the Mandalorian vows; I am his riduur. You must recognize that –,”

“You are his riduur, princess,” the Armorer stated. “However, he has removed his helmet willingly. Had I known when he came to me, I would not have smithed your dagger, as he is an apostate.”

His princess and the Armorer stared each other down for several moments before she finally turned to him. She was searching for answers in his visor, as if trying to find his gaze. Waiting for some sort of explanation. And there were several –many of which involved her.

“When I saved Grogu,” he explained. While it killed him to detail his transgressions against the Creed, she deserved to know. But he didn’t want her to know how deeply he broke it for her. “I had to remove my helmet, and allow several people to see my face.”

She didn’t look convinced, however. Turning back to the Armorer, Din could see that the diplomatic side of his wife was coming out. He wondered if she knew she was using that royal ability of hers to speak, or if it simply came naturally to her.

“He removed his helmet to save a foundling. Is that not the highest honor of the Creed? To save a child?” The Armorer did nod once, but said nothing. “Should that not, then, outweigh the removal of his helmet, as it was necessary to fulfill the Creed?”

As if Din couldn’t fall even more in love with her, she had to go and fight for him in a battle of words. But he didn’t deserve her defense, as he knew what he had done. He knew why he was truly being excommunicated from his people. 

“He is not exiled for saving the foundling,” the Armorer continued. “You are aware of the Creed, princess. Which suggests you are aware that he cannot remove his helmet in the presence of any living being.”

Her brow furrowed as she considered what was being said. The Armorer stood, watching them both carefully, as the princess slowly turned back to Din, realizing what any living being meant.

“Din,” she murmured, her eyes searching his visor for any sign of misunderstanding. “Din, you said –if I didn’t see you –,”

“I know what I did,” he admitted, looking down at her. And he did know. He knew that removing his helmet –for any reason –would break his Creed. He knew the entire time; there were no loopholes. No way around it. He knew. “I know what I did, and I do not regret it.”

The Armorer watched them as his princess’s eyes welled with tears. And Din wanted to comfort her; wanted to draw her in, promise that it was not her fault. He knew what he was doing when he agreed to cover her eyes that first night on Sorgan. He knew what it meant when he removed his helmet and allowed himself to kiss her. It was not her fault; it never would be. 

He turned to the Armorer, holding his head high. “Were I to bathe in the Living Waters of Mandalore, would I not then be redeemed?”

“It is impossible; Mandalore has been lost.”

“But I would be redeemed, would I not?” He pressed, and the Armorer stared at him for a long time. “If I were to bathe in the waters and bring proof –would I be Mandalorian once more?”

“You would.”

“Then you will see us again.”

Their return to the ship was silent, with the only sound being the crunching on sand beneath their boots. She was angry; Din knew she was. She was easy to read on a good day, and even easier to read on a bad one. It was one of the many things he liked about her –she wore her heart on her sleeve and protected it deeply. 

“I think this is our first argument,” Din joked as he sat in the pilot’s seat, flipping the switches of the control panel.

“Is it an argument if I haven’t scolded you for being so careless?” She countered, and her tone was nowhere close to how joking he was. 

“I told you,” he reiterated, turning to face her. The teasing was gone, and he sat in front of her, posture straight as he turned serious. “You did not force my hand, you did not make me remove my helmet. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I was doing long before I even did it.”

She watched him for several moments, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest. Din took her silence as a sign to continue his side. “The day I found you –when you pulled me through the market on Nevarro –I knew I would not deliver you to your mother. I did not know I would marry you –but I knew that, when you protected me, the one hunting you, from the droids your mother sent after you, that I was done for. When you pressed against me in that alleyway; that moment.

“I broke my Creed,” he continued, reaching out to take her hands in his. “I broke my Creed because for the first time in my life, I wanted to be selfish and I was. And now, I am married to you and I will be redeemed.”

She stared at him for a long time, her eyes brimming with tears. But she leaned forward soon enough, pressing her forehead against the steel of his helmet. “I wish you would have told me,” she scolded still, but her voice was soft and trembling. Guilt ridden. And that killed Din, because he knew she was going to feel bad for his choices regardless of what he told her. “If I had known…I could have waited, Din. I would have waited to kiss you, if it meant not breaking your Creed.”

“You could have waited, perhaps,” he reminded her, bringing his hand up to rest against her cheek. His thumb ran over her cheekbone. “But I could not have waited any longer.”

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @lovelessprick @mxtokko @ellepascal @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dilf-din @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

[communistkenobi]

I really enjoyed Spectre of the Gun as a tos episode, I love when Kirk’s authority is constrained/dismissed and he has to rely on actually charming or duping people to get out of a dangerous situation. Like he’s always charming but I find it less compelling when it’s just part of his standard captain’s act, like then it’s just a powerful guy flirting with people and that doesn’t feel nearly as cunning or intelligent. and so like in the episode they get transported to the Wild West and are told by this alien that they’re doomed to die in a violent gunfight and so Kirk is determined to not start ANY fights of any kind to save his crew, so he spends most of the episode wandering around the cowboy town pleading with the gunslingers to have a conversation with him so they can work this out diplomatically, and the entire time they’re calling him a coward pansy who’s not a real man and he’s totally unfazed by that and is just like gentlemen gentlemen can’t we talk this out like civilised men? It makes his masculinity more compelling because he’s not bothered by being called a little bitch, he’s just like well you people are clearly barbarians and can’t be reasoned with, which is usually pretty loaded phrasing especially on star trek but when used on american cowboys is really entertaining

[branewurms]

somebody on this dev team has distinguished tastes and really wishes they could put a (visibly) aged hottie in in eiden’s harem

come to nu: carnival, we got gangster daddy and diplomat mommy and now!! cowboy gunslinger papa

[lizzie-is-here]

cowboy like me

“now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon” - t.s.

summary: stark parties aren’t your favorite thing, but one fateful night, bucky barnes changes it all

wordcount: <1k (tiny bby)

warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol

a/n: hey everyone! i’m still busy with college, but i have so many little ideas that i had to come back. starting with my favorite song, ofc these one shots aren’t really connected to each other, but i hope you enjoy anyway! love you all! 🫶

series masterlist

‘You asked me to dance, but I said, ‘Dancing is a dangerous game’.’

You hate Stark parties. It’s not that you don’t enjoy being with your friends, but god, you loathe nothing more than diplomacy.

The fake smiles and fake laughter turn your stomach. Maybe it’s your inner lie detector from years in Hydra, maybe it’s just your hatred of all rooms with too many people.

Your eyes flit around the room. You’re subconsciously checking for escape routes (the elevator), allies (your friends), enemies (a politician with a snooty look and a bald patch, among others).

“Not your scene either, huh?”

You blink back to reality at the familiar voice. The only person who can creep up on you like that is Bucky.

“Not particularly,” you chuckle, sipping your drink. Apple juice with a maraschino cherry and ice to make it seem alcoholic. “It’s just… overwhelming.”

You’ve been with the Avengers for a few months now, but these parties still unnerve you.

“I get that. It gets easier,” he says. You cast him a glance. Black dress shirt, dark jeans. He looks nice, but you don’t say that.

A couple drunk diplomats stumble over to the bar, invading your personal space as they demand more drinks.

Wringing your hands, you exhale heavily and scoot away from them. They reek of cigarette smoke and booze.

Watching you grow more nervous, Bucky decides to risk his comfort zone. I mean, it’s just to distract you, nothing more, right?

“Wanna dance?”

Taken aback by the request, it takes you a moment to respond. “Uh, nothing against you, but I’m not very good at that. I’ll probably step on your feet.”

“I’m a super soldier, I think I can take it.”

You can’t argue with that. So, with a slight hesitation, you take his hand as he guides you out of the dark and to the crowded dance floor.

He twirls you effortlessly, moving on instinct as you chuckle.

“Where’d you learn to dance so well?” you joke.

He shrugs, swaying. “I’ve got a few tricks from back then.”

Back then. Before Hydra.

“Got any tricks to stop these people from being so damn invasive?” He suppresses a laugh at your question, shaking his head.

“I don’t think anything can stop that.” He pauses for a second before grinning and leaning in conspiratorially. “I just glare at them. It’s what they want to see from us, anyway. What they expect.”

You smirk. “‘Us’?”

“Yeah. You’re like me, y’know? Gotta stick together,” he says. His eyes twinkle in the dim lights, deep blues that don’t look as sad as usual.

Bucky’s hand gently falls to rest on your waist, and when you look up to meet his gaze, both of you go quiet.

There’s no denying the tension. What started as a well-meaning effort to distract you from the crowd has worked too well. And now nothing matters but the two of you.

You sway closer, passing it off as part of the dance as your eyes search the room.

“You do remember I’m pretty damn fucked up, right? I’ve got plenty to be guilty for.” The self-loathing words taste sour. But it’s true. You and Bucky have both done horrible things under Hydra.

Unlike you, however, Bucky had a trial. Bucky was deemed not guilty and Bucky has Steve to defend him. It’s not like the team doesn’t stand up for you -they’re very good at it, in fact- but it’s not quite the same.

And your history especially leaves the influential guests and old men at parties such as these whispering harsh words behind champagne flutes.

You subtly nod to a small group of tittering women, a few of which you recognize as wives of politicians. They gasp as they spot you; one even grabs her phone to film you.

“That’s what comes with me,” you whisper. “More whispering and more staring.”

“I’m a pariah here.”

The hand on your waist offers a reassuring squeeze, and Bucky gently guides your face back from where you can’t seem to look him in the eye. He smiles, dazzling and perfect, and leans in.

“Takes one to know one.”

———————————————————————

‘Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon. With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con.’

You stir from your sleep, blinking slowly in the golden light of early morning.

That dream… You hadn’t dreamt about that night in months. You always enjoy it when you do, though.

“Doll? Are you up?”

You roll over at the sound of Bucky’s groggy voice, lazily tugging your comforter higher. As he pulls you in close, he traces circles on your shoulder, humming quietly. You shiver at the chill from the gold band on his finger. He quietly chuckles and holds you tighter.

“Yeah, just had a dream,” you mumble.

He blinks, a little more awake but not quite.

“Was it bad? Are you okay?”

You shake your head. “No, not bad. It was about the night we got together.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “God, that seems like forever ago and yesterday all at once.”

You grin against his lips when he pulls you in. The two of you part for air, in no particular hurry to get up.

“Forever, huh?” you tease, feigning hurt. You drape a dramatic hand across your forehead, miming taking a knife to the heart. “Ouch, baby.”

He huffs in mock annoyance and rolls his eyes.

“I never said forever was a bad thing,” he whispers, eyes staring right into your soul.

“You’re all I want, doll.”

‘I’m never gonna love again.’

[theaddictedwatcher]

Hello everyone!

The series I will introduce to you today is an American science fiction series categorized as cyberpunk. Created by Laeta Kalogridis (Avatar, Shutter Island, Alita: Battle Angel) and based on the novel of the same name written by Richard K. Morgan which was written in 2002, the first season of the series was commissioned by Netflix in 2016 and was released on the streaming platform in 2018. I'm going to tell you about the Altered Carbon series.

As always, let's start with a short synopsis: In a future where humans can transfer their minds from one body to another, Takeshi Kovacs -a rebel- is brought back to life 250 years after his death to solve the vicious murder of the richest man in the world -Laurens Bancroft- in exchange for his freedom. He must find allies, pay attention to every detail, and remember what he was taught as a diplomatic corps to succeed. And a short technical presentation : - Created by Laeta Kalogridis. Based upon Richard K. Morgan's Altered Carbon trilogy. - Music by Jeff Russo. - Main cast: Joel Kinnaman, Renée Elise Goldsberry, James Purefoy, Kristin Lehman, Martha Higareda, Dichen Lachman, Chris Conner, Ato Essandoh, Trieu Tran, Anthony Mackie, Lela Loren, Simone Missick, Dina Shihabi, Torben Liebrecht.

THE PRODUCTION

As I said in the introduction, Netflix ordered the series in January 2016, fifteen years after Laeta Kalogridis - the series's creator- optioned the rights for a film adaptation of Richard K. Morgan's 2002 novel Altered Carbon. According to her, the complex nature of the novel and the fact that the subject matter is rated R made it difficult to sell the project to a production company. But that was before Netflix launched the project as a series! In fact, the series was one of the many dramas commissioned in a short space of time by the streaming platform, which had committed to spending $5 billion on original content and agreed to make it a project for a mature audience over the age of 16.

Laeta Kalogridis co-wrote the script and was executive producer in addition to her role as creator of the project. Richard K. Morgan, the author of the novel, acted as a consultant during the production of the series. The first season - consisting of 10 episodes - was released in 2018 and the second season - consisting of 8 episodes - will be released in 2020.

In 2018, Netflix also announced an animated film derived from the series to ‘expand the universe’ by adding new elements to the story's mythology.

Titled Altered Carbon: Resleeved and released in March 2020, a month after the release of season 2, the feature film uses character designs by manga artist Yasuo Ōtagaki (Moonlight Mile). It is written by Dai Satō (Ghost in the Shell, Cowboy Bebop) and Tsukasa Kondo, directed by Takeru Nakajima (Sword Art Online) and Yoshiyuki Okada, and produced by Anima Studio. It also features an original soundtrack by Keigo Hoashi (Square Enix's Nier franchise) and Kinuyiki Takahashi.

Following the release of the second season and the animated film, Netflix decided in April 2020 not to renew the series. Unlike the cancellation of other series, the decision to cancel Altered Carbon was not linked to the COVID pandemic but stemmed from the lack of return on viewings to the production costs. In fact, the series is the most expensive Netflix production to date and, although production costs have not been disclosed, Joel Kinnaman - who plays Takeshi Kovacs, the series' lead character - said they had “a bigger budget than the first three seasons of Game of Thrones”.

Enough introductions, it's time to get to the heart of the matter! To be perfectly honest, I didn't enjoy watching this series, but I'll come back to that later. I didn't manage to watch it in full and haven't seen the film, although I'll give it a chance one day. In my observations and remarks, there could be questions that remain with me and which may have been answered in the episodes I couldn't bring myself to watch.

THE UNIVERSE

But let's start by giving you more information about the universe into which the series plunges us. The first season takes place in 2384, in a futuristic city called Bay City. In this future, a person's memory and consciousness can be stored on a disc - called a stack - implanted in the back of their neck. The shell can be human or synthetic. In the event of physical death, these storage discs can be transferred to a new envelope. However, if a person's disk is destroyed, then their death is final. While theoretically, this means that anyone can claim immortality, in practice only the richest people - the Meths - have the means to do so through the use of clones and remote back-ups of their consciousness. But these are very expensive and so reserved for a certain financially comfortable elite.

In this reality, Takeshi Kovacs - played by Byron Mann (Skyscraper, The Big Short) in flashbacks - is a political agent with mercenary skills. He is the only surviving soldier of the Envoys, a rebel group defeated during an uprising against the New World Order.

In the first season, which takes place 250 years after the destruction of the Envoys, Kovacs' stack is pulled from the prison where Kovacs was sentenced by Meth Laurens Bancroft. Played by James Purefoy (Solomon Kane, Churchill, Rome), the 300-year-old Bancroft is one of the richest men in the established worlds. Bancroft offers Kovacs a new shell - played by Joel Kinnaman (RoboCop, Suicide Squad) - and the chance to solve a murder and get a new lease on life.

The second season of Altered Carbon begins 30 years after the conclusion of season 1 and finds Takeshi Kovacs - played by Anthony Mackie (Captain America: Civil War, Black Mirror, Notorious) - the sole surviving soldier of an elite group of interstellar warriors, continuing his age-old quest to find his lost love, Quellcrist Falconer - played by Renée Elise Goldsberry (Hamilton, The Good Wife, Masters of Sex). The season picks up some of the characters from Broken Angels - the second book in the series - but has a plot closer to that of the third book in the series, Woken Furies.

THE POST-CYBERPUNK GENRE

The term post-cyberpunk was first used around 1991 to describe Neal Stephenson's science fiction novel Snow Crash.

In 1998, in an article entitled Notes for a post-cyberpunk manifesto, the writer and critic Lawrence Person identified the emergence of a post-cyberpunk current. Cyberpunk was popular in the late 1970s and 1980s (Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, William Gibson's Neuromancer). Lawrence Person defines post-cyberpunk as ‘bringing in characters and settings different from cyberpunk, and, above all, making fundamentally different assumptions about the future. Far from being lonely outsiders, post-cyberpunk characters are often an integral part of society. They evolve in a future that is not necessarily anti-utopian (in fact, they are often bathed in an optimism that ranges from caution to exuberance), but their daily lives remain marked by rapid technological renewal and ubiquitous computerized infrastructure.’ (Notes for a post-cyberpunk manifesto, 1998).

The following are the main differences between post-cyberpunk and cyberpunk:

Like its predecessor, post-cyberpunk describes a realistic near-future rather than distant futures set in space. The focus is on the social effects of technology deployed on Earth rather than on space travel.

Cyberpunk typically deals with addicted loners in a dystopia, whereas post-cyberpunk tends to deal with people who are more involved in society, from the middle classes of the population, and there are very detailed descriptions of the characters' environment.

The post-cyberpunk individual tends to be warm and funny, attempting seduction through optimism after years of seduction through dread with the cyberpunk individual, who is colder and more sinister.

In cyberpunk, the alienating effects of new technology are highlighted, whereas in post-cyberpunk, technology is society. Post-cyberpunk therefore allows more technocratic themes and themes relating to the downside of technology to be included than cyberpunk.

Post-cyberpunk also offers a more realistic description of computers, consisting, for example, of the replacement of traditional virtual reality by a network of voice, image, sound or holography based on the Internet, or the abandonment of metallic implants in favor of body modifications using biotechnologies (particularly nanotechnologies).

Post-cyberpunk undoubtedly emerged in part because science fiction writers and the general population were beginning to use computers, the Internet, and PDAs without suffering the massive digital divide predicted in the 1970s and 1980s. The underlying idea was therefore to humanize the construction of cyberpunk universes and bring them closer to the life that the world's population could envisage in the future with the new technologies that were flourishing. The nightmarish visions engendered by the genre, including and especially in the popular imagination, covered what such a future could contain that was desirable. This is not to say that technological paradise is just around the corner, but that it is possible to be healthy and sane in a hyper-technological universe.

Emblematic works of the genre such as Masamune Shirow's Ghost in the Shell, and the video games Deus Ex and Deus Ex: Invisible War by Ion Storm, Deus Ex: Human Revolution and Deus Ex: Mankind Divided by Eidos Montreal have all played a large part in democratizing the genre among a wider audience.

DIFFERENCES FROM THE NOVEL

As I haven't read the books, I'm giving you the information as I found it during my research into the series. I think I'll try to read the novels one day because, like the animated film, I'm very interested in the theme. As someone afraid of the direction our society is taking, of its relationship with technology, and in particular of its untimely and irrational use of artificial intelligence, I'm always interested in the warnings that artists try to convey through their work, whatever the medium. And I like to think that just because I didn't like an adaptation - it can happen - doesn't mean that the original material isn't worth discovering.

The first season is based on the novel Altered Carbon by Richard K. Morgan, published in 2002. This is the first volume of a trilogy recounting the adventures of Takeshi Kovacs, a post-cyberpunk techno-thriller series set on the West Coast of the United States at the end of the twenty-fifth century. Although the adaptation retains most of the main plot points of the first volume, the series introduces several major changes to its characters and organizations:

In the novel, the Envoys are elite soldiers of the Earth-based United Nations Protectorate, the complete opposite of the rebel freedom fighters portrayed in the series, who hail from Harlan's World where Takeshi Kovacs was born.

In the book, Takeshi Kovacs was imprisoned for his independent work after leaving the Envoys, whereas in the series, Kovacs is a captured rebel.

Reileen Kawahara's character in the novel was merely Kovacs' ruthless underworld boss and had no blood relationship with him, unlike their brother/sister relationship in the series where she is played by Dichen Lachman.

The Envoy who trained Kovacs in the book was Virginia Vidaura, whereas in the series she is only a minor character. The role of her trainer and her story are carried over to the character of Quellcrist Falconer, who in the third book is the messiah-like historical figure.

Falconer's rebellion did not take place during Kovacs' training, as in the series, but long before Kovacs was born in the books.

In Richard K. Morgan's novel, the Hendrix Hotel is a crucial character. It's not just a Jimi Hendrix-themed building, but also an artificial intelligence in the guise of Jimi Hendrix that has a strange bond with its only guest, Takeshi Kovacs. With Hendrix's estate refusing to license his image for the TV series due to its violence, series's creator Laeta Kalogridis chose the likeness of Edgar Allan Poe - played by Chris Conner - and a Victorian hotel for the replacement AI in Poe's image and said it would juxtapose well with the futuristic look of Bay City.

In the books, Kristin Ortega - played by Martha Higareda- is a much less important character. The main female character in the series, the dedicated detective doesn't have a devastating fight with the Ghostwalker, nor does she get a new super-powered arm. Her subplot with her family and religion isn't explored in the book and she isn't captured and tortured by Rei - although she is tortured all the same. Also, in the book her partner is called Rodrigo, not Aboud, and he doesn't date her mother.

And these are just some of the changes that were made when the novels were adapted for Netflix.

THEMES

Let's move on to the themes addressed in this dystopian work. Many of the themes addressed by the series - such as the human-machine interface, the alliance between technology and our society, cyberspace and objective reality, hyper-urbanisation and artificial intelligence - are recurring themes in cyberpunk and post-cyberpunk works.

Because of the technological implications, the subject also raises moral questions. Is murder always immoral if it is consensual and the victim can be reimplanted in a new body in the space of a few minutes? The police themselves issue permits for spectacular fights to the death, organized in the homes of the rich, with husbands and wives teaming up to fight to the death for entertainment (the winner receiving a new, improved body).

However, another major implication was raised during the first season of Altered Carbon, which Laeta Kalogridis herself underlines: the separation of soul and body and the question of gender identity. If you could choose your own body, would you choose the one you were born with? This is a critical question for transgender people or those whose gender is fluid, and, for the show's creator, the subject was only touched on in this first season. However, she told TheWrap in 2019 that she would like to explore this dimension in more detail :

“The idea that this kind of technology creates interesting intersections between your idea of your physical self and your idea of your inner or spiritual self, or your idea of being fluid in some way, certainly the idea of reassigning your gender, becomes a whole lot easier if you don’t actually have to do it surgically. At the very least it becomes different. You are still in a body you weren’t born in. And I think exploring the idea of being able to recreate the physical self in another different way, I mean we’ve barely scratched the surface of that. And LGBTQ, and so many issues, and the ways in which we feel comfortable or uncomfortable in our physical bodies, are things that I think the show is very right to explore but has not yet been able to do. Certainly first season. We touched on it a little bit — but not much. I mean if we did get a second season — which we don’t know yet — but if we were to get a second season, I would definitely say that was one thing we frankly didn’t have time to touch on and wasn’t dealt with in the book at all. We went a little further than the book did, but honestly, it was just about time.���

What's interesting to me about these themes is that the creators - Richard K. Morgan and Laeta Kalogridis - are both aware that technological developments of all kinds are changing the structure of the world, just as cars, air travel, the Internet, and cell phones have done, and that they're not trying to wrap a soft pink cloud around the dangers that could await us in a few decades.

COSTUMES

There's one aspect that surprised me, it's the costume work in the series. Having read that the production had created approximately 2,000 costumes for the series, including 500 unique, made-to-measure pieces, I was expecting to get a real kick out of this. And although the work of Ann Foley (Marvel's Agents of SHIELD) for season 1, Cynthia Ann Summers (The Last of Us) for season 2 and their teams is visible, I was expecting more grandiose costumes, especially for the Bancrofts who are one of the wealthiest families on Earth at the time of the story. The artistic direction chosen was to make simple, realistic costumes to illustrate the fashion of the future, while adding a color palette and specific details, notably for the Meths.

However, I really like the idea of subtle costume changes for characters who use the same body envelope to differentiate them, as with Miriam Bancroft and her daughter Naomi - both played by Kristin Lehman. Upon this subject, the actress declared that she was very interested in the challenge this ambivalence would require and that it was quite different from her usual roles.

SHOOTING LOCATIONS

The series was mainly filmed at Skydance Studios in Vancouver, Canada, where they stayed for eight months to shoot the first season. Most of Altered Carbon's scenes were created on green screen and in CGI to accentuate the futuristic effect of the universe.

Lead actor Joel Kinnaman told Canadian publication K5 News about the shoot:

"We had a set three soccer pitches deep. Around 400 or 500 extras were bustling around us, it was a real living city, with noodle stores, construction workers and police officers… You could just breathe in the universe without having to imagine anything."

Some of the sets were filmed in real locations, such as Laurens Bancroft's gardens pictured above which were filmed in the Rose Garden at the University of British Columbia, or the hall of the Marine Building, which served as the Bancroft family home.

The former Canada Post building was used as the setting for the Wei Clinic, where Kovacs was tortured. The scenes with the Envoys were filmed on the Sea to Sky Gondola suspension bridge in Squamish.

Other filming locations in Vancouver included the Convention Centre West Building, the VanDusen Botanical Gardens Visitor Centre, the UBC Museum of Anthropology and the Qube.

MUSIC

Finally, I'd like to mention the work done by Jeff Russo (Umbrella Academy) and his team on the series' soundtrack, which is, to me, the only real positive point of this adaptation. What I particularly liked about their proposal is that they managed to combine very modern tracks like techno or hard rock (e.g. Karate by BABYMETAL) with much older pieces like jazz masterpieces by Django Reinhardt or even classical music (Anton Dvorak or Mozart). Mingling this alliance with the original creations composed by Jeff Russo for the series allows this soundtrack to create the unique atmosphere of each scene, making it easier for viewers to identify the characters and the stakes involved.

To be perfectly honest, when I was writing this article, I was listening to the series' soundtrack which, even outside the series, is very catchy and captivating. Even though I wasn't really hooked on the series, it allowed me to immerse myself in this universe and draw some personal reflections from it. For me, it's one of the greatest proofs of a successful composer's work: managing to draw someone into a specific universe using a few pieces of music alone.

CONCLUSION

And we are done with the Altered Carbon series. If you've made it this far, thank you for reading and staying!

I'm a pretty tenacious person and don't like to give up on series along the way - even when I don't like them - so I have to admit I'm disappointed to have to add this series to the short list of abandoned series where it joins The Walking Dead and Breaking Bad (amongst others). Someday I hope that the animated film Altered Carbon: Resleeved will find favor in my eyes and redeem the adaptation of this universe, which at the moment still looks fun and interesting to explore.

Until that day comes, I'll leave you to it. Despite this setback for me, I can only advise you to follow Laeta Kalogridis' work and read this fine interview with her on the Refinery29 website, in which she talks, among other things, about her approach to nudity as a feminist weapon.

For those of you who have seen the series or read the novels, I'm curious to know your opinion, especially if it differs from mine. So feel free to leave a little comment below the article or send me a message, on the blog or on Instagram at @theaddictedwatcherreviews.

Have a great week, happy viewings, and I'll see you next time!

Eli.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

A Palomino Christmas

Jack Daniels x f!reader

|| Palomino universe oneshot, out of chronological order as I haven't finished the series yet. Can be read as a stand-alone. ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You spend Christmas at the ranch with Jack. You thought the present you got him was inspired until you see him wearing it - the cowboy way.

Inspired by snowsuit anon and this adorable post (and a super cute nickname for a pony) sent to me by @aynsleywalker.

Warnings: !Ski suit action!, drinking, mention of food, gratuitous descriptions of the male bulge body, dirty talk, safe unprotected sex, feelings so fluffy. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 4.5k

Dedicated to @guiltypleasure-girl who I'm so grateful to have made friends with this year and who, imho, draws the best Jack in all the lands. If you don't already, follow her art page @guiltypleasure-art for the most gorgeous fanart ❤️

It’s always busy in the Stateman’s main kitchen on Christmas morning. The smokey burn of firewood warms the cozy space as the radio blares holiday tunes. Poppy presides over the operations at the head of the table - everything is planned down to the T and everyone has a role.

On any other Christmas day, Jack would be her sous-chef, the one she relies on to keep everyone on schedule and in their place.

But alas, today is not any other Christmas day.

The normally put together cowboy ambles around the place like a headless chicken, leaving a trail of half-completed tasks in his wake. Tequila, in uncharacteristic discretion, follows two steps behind.

He turns off the tap that Jack’s left pouring into the already full kettle, draining the excess water and putting it on the boil.

There’s one slice of bread in the toaster, while another lies forgotten on the table, which Teak slides into the free slot and pushes down the lever.

Jack pulls a jar of pickles from the fridge unseeingly, putting it on the table and walking away in search of a mug under three sets of watching, worried eyes. Teak replaces it with his friend’s favourite strawberry jam without a word.

While the oblivious cowboy’s back is turned, Teak motions his hand and forth across his neck in a slicing motion, mouthing nope emphatically at the occupants of the kitchen table.

On his cue, Poppy clears her throat and speaks up, ‘Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go check on the horses after your toast? The stable boys want to leave work early today after doing their morning rounds.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he answers absent-mindedly, staring down into the empty mug in his grasp as if he’s lost his train of thought.

At that very moment, the toaster pops and Jack practically jumps out of his skin, stepping on Jameson’s paw where he’s lying on his rug in front of the fire, prompting an indignant yelp from the border collie and winces from around the table.

‘Sorry boy,’ he apologises and picks up his toast - burning his fingers - and stumbling over his feet to set his plate down. ‘Mornin’,’ he nods to the others without really registering who’s there.

Jack proceeds to butter his toast with such singular focus that he doesn’t notice when Tequila fills his still empty cup with coffee, only to knock it over immediately when a phone buzzes and his hand flies out to grab his. Ginger and Poppy trade concerned looks as he jumps onto his feet with another apology, snatching a tea towel to clean up the mess.

Eggsy, on potato peeling duty on the other side of the table, isn’t so diplomatic. ‘You’re jumpier than Bambi this morning, cowboy.’

Jack grunts noncommittally and chews on his toast, not rising to the bait.

‘Don’t be so nervous mate, we promise we’ll be on our best behaviour.’

Teak snorts from the kitchen counter where he’s making his PBJ. ‘I don’t know about England, but around these parts, lying on Christmas day is frowned upon.’

Eggsy replies high-handedly, ‘Can’t speak for you, Tequila, but I’ll be on my best behaviour.’

Ginger chuckles as Teak sits down at the table with his sandwich. ‘Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.’

Jack points a forceful finger at the boys, one after the other. ‘I swear to the baby Jesus Christ, if you two don’t behave yourselves, there will be hell to pay.’

Eggsy snickers. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Ol’ cowboy Jack falls heads over heels for a bird -’ he screeches when the coffee-soaked rag hits him in the face, which sends Teak into hysterical laughter. ‘Oi! What the fuck, man!’

Ignoring the ruckus, Jack dusts the crumbs from his hands and shrugs on his jacket, grabbing a thermos and filling it up with fresh coffee. With a hurried later, he strides out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the frigid morning air.

Thermos tucked under his arm, Jack rubs his palms together, warming his fingertips with his breath as snow crunches beneath his well-worn boots. The ranch is blanketed in thick snow, a picture-perfect postcard landscape as it is every Christmas. The morning mist has yet to burn off, but he can tell by the peek of blue through the clouds that it will be a fine day.

If your flight is on time, you should be on your way by now. He’d wanted to pick you up from the airport, but you insisted that there’s no point in him driving all the way there when you already know the way. Depending on the conditions, it shouldn’t be long until you arrive.

His list of chores isn’t long this morning - the stable boys will be on duty until lunchtime - but still, he wants to tick all the boxes before you get here. Striding into the heated stables, he says howdy to the grooms and whistles, smiling as dozens of faces appear at the doors, ears pointed forwards in attention, snickering and whinnying at him.

This never gets old.

‘Mornin’ ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls out, wandering down the stalls, rubbing a velvety nose here and pulling on a furry ear there. ‘Who’s ready to stretch their legs this fine mornin’, huh?’

Starting at the end of the stables, he unlatches Bourbon’s door and ushers him out of the stall, then crosses the aisle to let out Tanqueray, Champ’s elderly but still supremely poised Friesian, who clops leisurely towards the exit. Zig-zagging back and forth, Jack whistles, jostles and chats to the horses, all smartly dressed in warm rugs, as they file out down the corridor and into the courtyard for a bit of morning exercise while the stable boys mucked out their stalls.

‘No loitering, ma’am,’ says Jack sternly when Poppy’s mare, Pie, idles in the middle of the building. He gives her a firm pat on the rump to get her moving and whistles at one of the cheeky Shetland ponies who’s snuck into someone else’s stall. ‘Half-Pint! What did I say about stealing your friends’ treats? Shoo, now!’

The stables empty, the echoes of hooves on the concrete ground fading, with Scotch being one of the last to exit. Looping back to make sure there are no dilly-dalliers, Jack’s surprised to find the palomino, who would normally be leading the charge towards the grazing fields, still lingering at the barn doors.

‘Whatcha doin’, boy?’ he calls out.

Scotch tosses his head and steps to the side -

And you appear.

With the biggest grin, you run towards him and fly into his arms.

Your cheeks are wet, the spray of snow powder melting when it hits your skin. It drifts all around you as Scotch eats up the white ground, the thundering hooves muted by the soft cushion of the untouched, overnight snow. The mountain air is sweet and pure and stingingly cold, you can barely feel your face anymore - but it might just be from how hard you’ve been smiling.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a Christmas movie. The lush, green landscape you remember so well from your trip months ago is now all coated in wintry glory, but you still recognise the contours of the land and the mountains. It’s your first time in the saddle since - the whistle of the winds in your ear is a song you remember all the words to, the burn in your out-of-practice muscles all over a familiar old friend.

And you’re happy.

Slowing Scotch to an easy trot as you approach the end of the trail, your breath mists in front of your face as you look down over the ranch, a scene straight out of a classic snow globe, thin wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the wooden lodges dotted across the property.

Gently manoeuvring the palomino to a halt and giving him a pat on the neck, you turn to smile at Jack as he walks up beside you on Whiskey. ‘I’ve missed this so much.’

‘Me too,’ he answers, warm eyes on you.

You give him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been here the whole time, cowboy.’

‘I know. I’ve missed you being here.’ He reaches over and pulls your gloved hand towards him, presses a kiss to the back. You want to shuck off the leather and cup his whiskered jawline in your palm, push the well-worn hat off and twine your fingers into his hair -

Later. There will be time for all that later, preferably in front of a roaring fireplace.

You break the moment with an eyebrow arched in a challenge. ‘Race you to the stables?’

Jack grins. ‘You’re on, darlin’.’

Christmas dinner is in the main lodge, which you didn’t use during your trip in the summer. The intimate space is exuberantly decorated in red and gold, a huge, freshly cut pine tree stands proudly by the antique fireplace, a merry fire burning. The table is beautifully laid, silverware immaculately polished and fine china sit alongside holidays-themed napkins. A magnificent feast lines the length of the mahogany dining table comfortably seating eight.

But any kind of decorum stops there.

As the hours tick by and bottles of wine and sherry are emptied, the meal has descended into what Jack warned you in advance as ‘typical Kingsman chaos’. According to the cowboy, the whole Kingsman team comes to the ranch every summer for their annual company retreat, but only Merlin, Eggsy and Harry fly over for Christmas. And while their contingent is small, havoc is an inevitable conclusion where any number of the Kingsman are involved.

Desserts are still being passed around the table - sticky toffee pudding, pecan pie and Yule log - when Teak and Eggsy start to raise their voices and slap the table about British and American Christmas songs. They’re currently yelling - not singing - carols at each other, with Jameson barking excitedly in the background.

Tequila throws his hands up in frustration at Eggsy’s rendition of Twelve Days of Christmas. ‘Why is there a partridge in a pear tree? What the fuck is a partridge?’

Champ and Merlin are having a more civilised but no less intense debate about pies - specifically mince pies versus pumpkin pie as a holiday dessert.

‘Next year, old chap,’ declares Merlin. ‘I’ll bring mince pies with me and you’ll be eating your words, just you wait.’

Jack whispers in your ear. ‘He says that every year, but never does.’

You chuckle and turn your attention to Harry, who’s now insisting that they should put Love Actually up on the big projector screen after dinner, whereas Ginger and Poppy are lobbying for Elf.

‘Why not The Holiday? It’s literally the perfect American-British movie,' you pitch in, which launches another furious tirade of debate at your end of the table.

Jack mumbles under his breath. ‘Because they’re idiots and pointless, festive arguing is a winter sport around here.’

His arm is warm around your shoulders as you giggle into your mulled wine. ‘Is it like this every year?’

‘Yup,’ he answers, really popping the P. With a mild touch of embarrassment, he holds your amused gaze and asks, ‘Too much?’

Tipping your face upwards, you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

‘Just enough,’ you assure him as the corners of his eyes crinkle in the warmest smile.

You didn’t have time to drop off your suitcase at Jack’s cottage, which is a short drive from the ranch, when you arrived in the morning. Instead, with Champ’s blessing, you commandeered one of the guest cabins, all empty in the off-season - which is just as well. By the time midnight rolls around, it’s clear that no one is in any state to make their way back to their respective off-site houses.

Harry and the ladies retired to their borrowed rooms a little while ago, leaving you and Jack to round up the stragglers. You check on Teak, lying face down on the sofa, bundled up in his winter quilts in an aborted attempt to leave. A few steps over, you drape a blanket on Champ and another one on Merlin, who are passed out on armchairs which look comfortable enough to sleep in, socked feet up on matching ottomans. Eggsy is cuddling with Jameson in front of the fire, and Jack feeds the logs to make sure it burns till morning.

It’s bleak outside. Jack shields you from the worst of the winds, tucking you into his side as you trudge across the snow, the early start you’ve had catching up on you. Thankfully, the heating is already on in the cabin when you get there, and he starts a fire as well while you get ready for bed.

When you pad into the bedroom in your pyjamas, teeth brushed and makeup washed off, Jack looks up to see you holding a neatly-wrapped present, a shy smile on your lips.

Standing up from the fireplace, he dusts his hands and reaches for you, palms settling on the small of your back, leaning down to graze his still cold nose against yours. ‘Is that for me, darlin’?’

‘Maybe,’ you reply coyly. ‘Do you want to do presents now or tomorrow morning?’

‘Let’s do it now, I have to feed the horses early tomorrow,’ answers Jack, pecking you on the cheek. ‘Give me five minutes.’

The bed is cold, and you have to steel yourself to burrow into the icy cocoon of the thick covers, missing Jack’s warmth. He doesn’t make you wait long, re-appearing in just boxers, and a big box in hand, switching off all but the bedside lights.

Sliding under the duvet, he yelps when your icy feet tangle into his longer legs, making you laugh. His bare skin heats you up instantly as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his broad chest. You feel him hum when he asks, ‘You want to go first, darlin’?’

Blinking up at him, you answer nervously, ‘No - you first.’

He pushes the box your way and you sit up, pretending to shake the package to gauge what’s inside. Jack chuckles, his strong forearms dark against the beige quilt wrapped around his middle. Only his fingers give away his nerves, picking at loose threads in the fabric as you carefully unravel the wrapping paper.

Lifting the lid of the box, your lips part and you stare wordlessly at what’s inside.

‘Jack,’ you breathe. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Gently, you pull out the cowboy hat in tan suede, the smell of fresh leather comforting as you turn it over in your grasp, marvelling at the craftsmanship in the dips and swells of the construction.

‘Try it on, darlin’,’ he says, his shoulders relaxing in relief at your reaction.

You do, and of course, it fits perfectly. Shuffling onto your knees, you crawl closer to kiss him fully on the lips, tilting your head to the side so that his face fits under the brim of your hat. ‘Thank you, I love it.’

Jack arches an eyebrow. ‘You might want to check the box again, darlin’.’

Sitting back on your haunches, you send him an almost accusatory look. ‘You can’t give me two presents, cowboy.’

He shrugs with an insolent grin. ‘I’m a grown man, I’ll do what I like. ‘

Your eyes alight on the black velvet case at the bottom of the box, and you draw it out with careful fingers as if it will break. With one last glance at Jack, you gingerly lift the lid, feeling the hinges creak.

Jack watches you closely, his own breathing suspended as you stare down into your hands, thoughts whirring in his head. Is it too much, too soon? Is he comin’ on too strong? Would you even like it?

After the longest ten seconds of his life, you look up at him with soft eyes and brows drawn, a crack in your voice. ‘Jack.’

He gives you a lopsided smile and reaches for the box. ‘I went back to the same silversmith who made my belt buckle and asked him to make this.’

The chain is delicate in his big, weathered hands. It takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually manages to pry open the hinge of the clasp and holds out the necklace towards you in a question. ‘May I, darlin’?’

Turning around, the bed dips behind you as Jack shifts closer, cool silver kissing your décolletage as he fastens the clasp behind your neck. Your gaze drops downwards, the tip of your index finger testing the weight of the solid sterling pendant in the shape of a flask, Statesman emblazoned in delicate lettering -

A much smaller but exact copy of his belt buckle.

His words draw you out of your thoughts. ‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ you correct him, twisting around to tackle him into the mattress, your knees around his waist as you loom over him, knocking off your hat so you can kiss him properly. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’

The pendant dangles from your neck, tickling him on the chin as he winds one big hand into your hair, his eyes following as it sways. ‘It looks good on you, darlin’.’

The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest starts to recede as your eyes land on the present you got for him on the bed. The giddiness you felt when you found it is a distant dream, instead, anxiety threatens to take root deep in your head. If you got something from Amazon tonight, is there any chance that they could deliver tomorrow -

‘Darlin’. You’re thinking too loudly,’ says Jack soothingly, chucking you gently under your chin. ‘What’s wrong?’

You shake your head. ‘I got you a really stupid present. Let’s forget about it - I’ll get you something else.’

His brows draw together in concern as he grabs your wrists and pulls you flush against his chest so that there’s nowhere else to look but at him. ‘Don’t say that, there’s no such thing as a stupid present. Whatever you got me, I’m sure I’ll love it.’

You inhale deeply, chewing your bottom lip. ‘You mentioned a few weeks ago that your leather jacket and fleeces are too bulky and it’s hard to move around in all the layers when it's cold.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘That I did.’

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reach out and drag the package towards him. ‘Well, I saw this at my local shop, and thought it might help.’

Jack gives you a reassuring smile and leans back into the pillows, grabbing the present excitedly. He pulls you against his side, as if he’s trying to squeeze all the self-doubt out of you, the gift draped across your laps as he starts to unwrap it.

You’re a bundle of jitters when he rips off the wrapping paper with impatient fingers, and the lightweight and puffy blue fabric comes into view.

Jack shakes out the neatly folded one-piece. ‘Is it - a ski suit?’

You nod and point out the black contrasting detailing on the front of the suit. ‘It's light and it's warm. Look at the western design with the single point pockets - I couldn’t not get it for you.’

Jack chuckles, the sound warming you as his arm tightens around your shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So simple, yet so clever.’

‘You like it?’ you ask in the smallest voice.

‘I love it,’ he grins, drawing you in for another kiss. ‘Thank you, darlin’.’

Finally assuaged, you sag against him, a yawn creeping up on you as the tension in your body recedes. ‘You want to try it on now?’

Tucking you in, he says, ‘I’ll try it tomorrow, it’s been a long day for you, darlin’.

Putting your hat and his ski suit on the bedside table, Jack turns off the light, his body immediately seeking out yours under the sheets, claiming every inch of you with a leg between your thighs, front plastered to your back, palms under your ratty pyjamas top, splayed across your naked skin.

It’s been too long.

Nose tucked behind your ear, his arms full of you - finally here after months of feeling your phantom weight in his embrace - the night slips away as the snow falls outside.

It’s too warm under the covers when you wake up, even though Jack’s side of the bed is empty. You stretch lazily, the clock reads 8am but the fire is still going strong, he must have stoked it when he got up.

You decide to make some coffee and wait for him to come back before venturing to the communal kitchen for breakfast. While the water boils, you smile as you fiddle with the necklace sitting on your chest, warm and reassuring against your skin.

The smell of caffeine fills the cabin as you sip from your mug, and before long, you hear Jack stomping up the stairs, humming a country tune in his raspy baritone as he approaches the door.

Pouring him a steaming cup, you say, ‘Hey, I made you some coffee -’

You trail off when you turn around.

Your morning brain can’t quite grasp the picture in front of you. Jack’s still wearing his cowboy hat, his nose red from the cold. Vaguely, you realise he’s wearing the present you gifted him - and you congratulate yourself on the fact that it fits him like a damn glove.

The ski suit accentuates his broad shoulders and tapers in at his waist in a flattering cut, the zipper drawn all the way up to the hollow of his throat. He’s replaced the detachable belt that came with the ski suit with his own, the flask bottle buckle popping against the blue.

But the bottom half - that you have trouble comprehending. It takes you a beat longer to realise why.

He’s wearing full-length cowboy chaps over it.

Chaps are essentially leather trousers with the seat cut out, and Jack's wearing them with his belt looped through the straps. You know he only uses them when it’s muddy, to keep his jeans clean. He didn’t wear them at all on your pack trip, but you’ve seen a peek on Facetime in the rainy months in between. And now that you're seeing them in person, you decide that like them - a lot.

Your gaze, slow as molasses despite being completely unburdened by shame, slides all the way down to the triangle of blue framed by the negative space in the brown chaps where - for the lack of a better expression - his prominent endowment hangs heavy at the apex of his strong thighs. Not that you’re trying to look, but you can see the very heft of him through the fabric.

Jesus H. Christ. It’s too fucking early to be sinning.

When Jack realises that you’re staring, he says somewhat apologetically, clearly oblivious to the merry tangent your mind has gone off on. ‘Sorry, I know I’m not meant to wear it this way, but I didn’t want to get it dirty -’

You shake your head hastily. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s - perfect.’

Something breathless in your tone catches his ear, and he tilts his head to the side, one large hand coming to rest on his hip, thick fingers spread obnoxiously wide over the side of the chaps. The beginning of a cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. ‘Yeah, darlin’? You like it?’

Leaving your mug on the counter top, you bite your lip and give him your best teasing grin. ‘Why don’t you turn around so I can take a better look, cowboy?’

He arches an eyebrow at your boldness, but decides to indulge you. Voice dropping an octave, he rasps, ‘Better take a seat for this, darlin’.’

You grin and do as you’re told, turning the kitchen chair around so that you’re facing him, running your eyes up and down his frame as he steps into your space, narrow hips swaying to a beat you can’t hear. Hooking his thumbs into his belt, he suddenly turns with a dramatic flourish and arches his back, granting you an unrivalled view of his behind framed by the chaps cut off at the top of his thighs, the ski suit tight against his pert bottom.

‘Enjoy the view, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning over his shoulder at you.

You swat him on one cheek playfully, and when he swoops suddenly into your lap in a classic burlesque move, you squeal, ‘Jack!’

Bending his knees, he grinds into your thighs as you laugh, the ski suit soft on your skin while the leather chaps scrape against your bare shins. Turning around, he reaches up to tug the suit’s zipper downwards in a slow, deliberate course, and he purrs, ‘What say you if ol’ cowboy Jack gives you a proper show, hmm?’

You inhale sharply as the white wife beater underneath comes into view, and you reach up to help him push one side of the ski suit off his shoulder, revealing the firm line of his left arm.

‘Thought that was more of Teak’s thing,’ you quip, licking your lips as your eyes skim down his front to settle on the weighty bulge now straining against the front of the suit, your eager fingers pulling him closer by his belt buckle.

Gripping the edge of the table, he traps you into your seat, his stare dropping to the matching pendant resting on your now heaving bosom, taking in your blown pupils as he grins. ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

‘Aren’t I the luckiest girl,’ you muse, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the table, his hungry stare alone pinning you in place when you drag him down to you by his lapels.

Warm lips part yours and he delves into your mouth, kissing you deeply. The promise of more leaves you chasing him as he draws back with a drawl. ‘You’re about to get a whole lot luckier, darlin’.’

The thick material of the ski suit is almost pillowy as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. It rubs gently on your nipples as you rock against Jack, arms wound around his neck while his desperate hands cup and knead the plump swell of your ass, dragging you up and down his hard cock.

‘That’s it, you’re ridin' me beautifully, darlin’,’ he growls into your ear, exhaling hot and heavy as he nips your collar bone. ‘Missed you so much.’

His chaps are slippery under your bare thighs from your slick, and you clench at the sensation of being completely naked on top of him when he’s still fully clothed, only his belt and zipper undone so that he can fuck up into you, the rickety kitchen chair groaning under the weight of the two of you.

‘Missed you too,’ you whisper against his lips, crying out when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. ‘Yes, yes, harder, Jack.’

Leaning forward, he takes one breast into his hot mouth, one eye on your necklace that’s sticking to your sweaty skin before licking you between your tits and over the silver pendant, the salt sharp on his tongue. He hums, ‘You wear it so well.’

‘I won’t take it off, ever,’ you swear, throwing your head back when he scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, so full of him that your knees quake.

‘Good,’ growls Jack, thrusting harder into you, making your breath stutter. ‘Keep me with you, darlin’ - always.’

You smile, fingers curled into his hair, stealing a tender moment as your noses bump and eyes meet with the easiest promise you will ever keep. ‘Always.’

Notes: Am I allowed to pick favourites? I'm not? I'm doing it anyway -- this is my favourite out of all the holiday fics, no question! I'm so soft for cowboy Jack and his darlin' 🥹 We've been spending time with just the two of them so far in the series, so it was really fun to explore the group situations, especially with the Kingsman involved!

I hope you enjoyed this fluffy interlude. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and thank you so much for reading ❤️

[jazzy-art-time]

where would Dysnomia fit in jarble

CHANTING VIOLENTLY !!!

JARBLE GARGLE TIME!!! (That’s what a friend told me to call it when I talk about JarbleAU things. It sounds gross and I hate them for it (love you BabyGirl) )

BUT!!!

Dysnomia IS in JarbleAU, he is one of Goddess’ main guys in the Hend Family!!

He just… doesn’t have a design yet because I just haven’t done it lmaO. He’s a leafeon in JarbleAU though!! Since the reason that Dysnomia is a Sylveon in canon, are not present in Jarble.

They aren’t related by blood but Dysnomia is one of the few who actually got his last name changed to Hend like Goddess. He also acts as a donor for Goddess kids when she has issues getting it done for when she wanted children.

(there is no romantic or sexual things between them in JarbleAU, he was just a donor because she was having issues)

Although he does not see himself as the kids father (neither does Goddess) he still cares about them and gets Fun Uncle Rights™️

He’s a bit lazy in the sense of… he doesn’t really want to do a lot of the technical or “”political”” aspects of what the Hend Family does. Despite basically being Goddess’ successor (if anything were to happen to her). He likes working on the main and rather large family ranch and tending to that general large segment of land.

He’s a cowboy…,,, big ol gruff cowboy man. Arthur Morgan but leafeon /joking /silly

He’s lazy in that aspect of his job, he half asses a lot of it or has others do it for him. He Primarily has Ryan (from ask-Scrafty, he’s in jarble as well!) or Solo do a lot of that stuff on his behalf. He just doesn’t find much interest in that aspect of things. Goddess still forces him to do stuff, to the point that he at least understands/knows what he’s doing.

On the ranch however! He is a extremely hard worker. Like he goes hard and puts his all into working there or doing other aspects like that!

He hates going into the inner city or attending more diplomatic events. It means he has to clean up and get his hair combed properly and has to wear something other than his dirty ass jeans and shirt that’s torn to shreds. DONT GET ME WRONG he does like. Shower n stuff!! Trust me the man DOES touch soap, he just doesn’t like having to make a spectacle of himself or “pretty himself up” just to impress others.

He also just HATES being around the Mayor and the Farefell family. He finds the Mayor annoying as shit and then just the family issues between the Farefell family, but that’s a given. It’s Hend VS Farefell that’s the whole thang!! He finds Wem particularly disgusting and abhorrent (he’s correct) and doesn’t want to be around him or anyone Wem associates with by default.

HOWEVER… in Jarble. Dysnomia and Eden end up in a bit of a situationship. They hate each other at first but then Eden in this AU is well.. how he is. They end up messing around with one another without anyone knowing (minus those closest to them/those who figure it out over time). They don’t really see each other in any sort of romantic sense, Dysnomia tries to once or twice to appear more civil but it always just ends the same way.

There’s more to that aspect/how it ends up but I’ll avoid rambling about that for now lmaO

BUT YEAH!!! There is more to him, he’s one of the major “POV” characters for Jarble. I just haven’t had a chance to design him properly yet! I’ve tried a few times but generally ended up disliking how it turned out, so it hasn’t been done yet.

I don’t talk about him much BECAUSE he doesn’t have a set design yet. It’s easier for me to talk about OCs once they have a design, that way I can make silly comics or at least slap their face onto something

There are several characters I need to design for it but just.. havent yet lmao

But YEAH big ranch cowboy leafeon man!! He’s less dramatic and moody than he is in canon.. Jarble Dysnomia has no reason to walk around brooding or put on a fake intimidating face or be full of various hate fueled anxieties. He’s a man on a ranch and he likes rodeos and being outside, what more could a leafeon dream of /silly