#Black Button Distilling

[goodspiritsnewsat]

GSN Review: Black Button Distilling + Fee Brothers Citrus Forward Gin barrel aged Citrus Bitters

Black Button Distilling, the first grain-to-glass craft spirits producer in Rochester, N.Y. since prohibition, has partnered with Rochester-based Fee Brothers, Inc. for their first ever commissioned distillery collaboration: Black Button Distilling Fee Brothers Citrus Forward Gin barrel aged Citrus Bitters. To celebrate this historic partnership, Black Button Distilling and Fee Brothers will…

[the-old-mayhem]

 “In corpse paint, Euronymous resembled a demonic mesh of Divine and Bela Lugosi-stout, with long black hair, a pointy devil’s beard, and a mustache waxed so the tips curled around like a pig’s tail.

His interest in chemicals led him to build an elaborate laboratory in the basement of the black house (article refers to Helvete as this), filled with beakers and glass distilling tubes, Bunsen burners and vaporous acids. He usually went around in a black cape, but in the lab he wore a white scientist’s coat, with gold buttons and a high collar. He spent hours down there laughing maniacally and mixing illegal chemicals together. An explosion once caused one of his potions to spill onto his hand. “It flamed up like a torch,” Hellhammer remembers. “Even underwater it just kept burning.” - From ‘Blood Drinkers and Hellraisers: Norway’s Deadly Metal Underground’, Spin magazine February 1996. Part 1 of 2 🕯️

(note - this article can be a bit hyperbolic/over the top in its descriptions but I do like the reference to Øystein’s chemistry experiments, which they’re correct in stating he was into)

(note from other admin- there's a very similar description of Øystein walking around in the white lab coat and having a laboratory in the basement of the Kråkstad house, and an explosion is also mentioned)

@the.old.mayhem on instagram

[kotias]

Writers Guild Cock Fight - Do I wanna know?

This is a retaliation piece against @lauramoon1987 ! You have been warned, Laura!! 🫵🫵🫵🫵

For the smut war going on on @goodomensafterdark !

Song to listen to while reading: Do I Wanna Know? By Arctic Monkeys

Tumblr excerpt word count: 721

Total word count: 1 957

Trigger warnings: consumption of alcohol

Type of smut: angsty post-season 2

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the tide

That sticks around like something in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

'Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee

Alcohol. That’s what he was missing. He extracted himself from his chair and walked to his kitchen, where an infinite variety of beautiful liquors, wines, beers, distilled alcohols were displayed. He did not even bother taking a glass out of the pantry and drank directly from the whisky bottle.

It took him about an hour to down the entire bottle, scorching the inside of his throat.

Not enough.

He raided his kitchen again, and found his bottle of absinthe. That should do the trick…

The taste of it on his lips was already enough to feel submerged with a fire that very much agreed with his demon body, and he filled a glass to the rim with it before storing it away. He took a large gulp out, shivered from it overwhelming his senses and coughed out the discomfort.

(Do I wanna know?) If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hoping that you'd stay

(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

He did not allow himself to think about the last memories he had collected before going to sleep, refused to let his mind wonder to the feeling of those soft, plump lips on his ow-

He finished his glass and threw it at a wall.

“Damn it!”

He did not want to think about it, it was too painful! Too fresh! Too- too- “FUCK!”

Those hands on his back, clutching at his vest like he was on a lifeline, the little gasp he let out, the conflict and storm of emotions in his eyes-

“FUCKING STOP IT!” he yelled, crashing into his couch. His mind was replaying it, again and again, never stopping, looping that memory until he was dizzy with it.

Soft lips, desperate gesture, clutching his lapel, hands on his back, gasp-

I forgive you.

“Oh, fuck you,” he grumbled at the universe at large after the second bottle of whisky had been downed, and let his body lie down.

Crawling back to you

The angel’s hand, clutching to his back for just a moment, the tip of his tongue pressing against his mouth, his wheezes as he touched him… the softness of his skin, the smell of old books surrounding him, the taste of sweet black tea in his breath-

Ever thought of calling when

You've had a few?

'Cause I always do

Maybe I'm too

Busy being yours

To fall for somebody new

Now, I've thought it through

“Actually, that ain’t that bad of an idea, is it?” Crowley mumbled with a weak crooked smile, his voice breaking in his throat. “I’ll give you something to forgive me over, Ô Supreme Archangel Aziraphale.” He put the bottle down on the lower table and reached down his stomach, grazing the fabric with his long nails. “You’d better hear my voice as I pray up to you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed as his cold fingers passed under his shirt and touched the line of crimson hairs coming up from his crotch.

Click. His snake belt fell open, the buttons of his slim jeans quickly followed. His left hand raised to his chest, pressed against it, forcing the air out of him in a soft growl. The tips of his fingers slithered under his collar, sending waves of scalding desire through his limbs.

Crawling back to you

The angel’s tongue pushing into his own, pulling him closer, hungry, hungry, so ravenous for him-

He moaned into the hollow of his mouth, his legs weakening under his love. Aziraphale’s lips, descending on his chin, on his throat, ripping his shirt open, and oh how mellow his voice was, rippling against his collarbone, penetrating his chest and pulling at his heart like it belonged to him.

Fic continuation on AO3

[trainsinanime]

That post about titles vs last lines (which is harder) is really interesting, because I see so many people say last lines, and that's not the case for me at all. I feel like talking about that, so here's some thoughts on how I write my last lines. I do not think this is universally applicable, I'm not even sure it works that well for me, but maybe it's interesting.

First things first: The last line is easy because you already got the reader on your side. They read through the whole thing without pressing the back button, and they know everything that happened in it. That doesn't mean you can do a bad job here, but it means they're complicit. What you write here is an inside joke between you and them, more or less. You get to use a something you established earlier, a theme, an idea, a literal sentence or similar, and repeat it or play with it, or do a punchline on it.

For example: Everyone Knows Black Cats Are Bad Luck discusses the common fan idea that Chat Noir and/or Adrien is somehow unlucky due to the black cat Miraculous, through a discussion between Adrien and Plagg. It's a simple dialectic: Adrien presents the thesis (also given in the title). Plagg presents the counter-thesis: No, that's stupid. The synthesis (well, it's not a perfect synthesis, Plagg mostly just represents my views here) is the finale, where they both bond even deeper. And the final line distills that synthesis down, when Plagg says,

"Kid, just remember: If I were unlucky, I'd have never met you."

Another option is to humorously counter the story you told so far. Works well for silly stories. For example, in A Friend Like That, the whole story is telling us that Adrien is enamoured with Marinette, pays super-close attention to her, and doesn't even know that he's doing it. It's all about how he sees her, and how much he loves what he's seeing. The final line reverses that, when Marinette says,

“I don’t know. I just wish, you know, that he'd finally notice me.”

Honestly that line is cheating, I don't think Marinette would actually say that. But nobody's called me out on that yet, because it's such a useful punchline.

Another good option: Imply the whole thing is a bit cyclical. The very short Drabble Absence just literally ends the same way as it started, but now we have a completely new context, and what seemed eery and sad at the start (assuming you didn't read the summary or tags; the thing was a Tumblr post at first) is now fun and light-hearted and silly.

(I still deeply regret that I didn't end Marinette's Choice with Marinette feigning death again. The last line there is okay, but it's just one final joke in a story that is just a list of jokes. If Marinette had "died" again, the whole thing would have seemed like a closed narrative.)

How do you help a good friend? ends with

“Only one way to find out, Chaton. Try following that advice you keep getting and ask me out.”

That's a callback to the very start of the story, which makes it feel like a closed narrative, and also implies the start of something new.

Depending on the story, you can also just go weird with it. In The Haunting Spectre, the level of silliness starts strong and keeps rising, and that's really the key thing the story is about. So when we reached the end and have finally reached max silliness, the end just turns it up a notch, when Chloé asks Alya,

“Anyway, I’m fairly certain Adrien doesn’t know that Marinette is Ladybug, but do you think she knows he’s Chat Noir?”

Of course, the best ending line in any of my stories is in Rooftop Musings, although I feel like I can't give any credit for it since it isn't from me, it's stolen, and the whole story is built just to get to it. After a bit of Kagami wondering about Marinette, Adrien, and that one episode in season 3 that made everyone ship Adrigaminette, you know where they were on top of the hotel and everything, we end with the most bitter-sweet line that I and all old Tumblr users know:

Still, if she could, if she had any chance at all, there was only one thing she truly wanted: Spend an extra hour in the ball pit.

[crowlines]

Hi, do you have any recommendations for washing clothes from your store for the first time? The printed button-down shirts with black on them bleed a lot and stain the rest of the shirt in my experience. I washed the shirt by itself on delicate, with cold water and mild, unscented detergent, and it still bled all over itself and wouldn't wash out with a distilled vinegar rinse/scrub or a mild stain remover. Is there any way I can save the shirt?

Hello! I haven't had any customers report this before so you may have just received an unusual defect item? Please email me at hello (at) crowlines (dot) net with your order number and photos for help though!

[lillykayewrites]

CHANGE ME CHAPTER FIVE:

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1953

Thud

Sauntering into the attraction, the door slammed behind me.

The crash of rusted, heavy metal screeching against itself shattered the eerie silence of the ill-lit building.

Turning around, I locked the door behind me and sternly walked to my office. I had only gotten three hours of sleep so I was thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to deal with any bullshit possibly coming my way.

    When I walked into the office, my uniform was folded neatly on the desk in front of me. Tossing my bag down, I picked up the clean, sharp-steamed shirt and the black pressed pants. 

I studied the uniform, actually impressed with how nicely pressed it was. Looking around, I didn't want to go into the dingy bathroom that most definitely had critters crawling around in it and probably twenty different diseases coating this poorly constructed stalls. So I just began to undress in the office.

  Because honestly, it was almost midnight, no one was here with me at this pathetic attraction and two... if someone were here, they would get the lovely metal bat that I possibly hid strategically in my duffel bag, totally not because I was ready to beat the shit out of a possibly murderous bunny or anything...

     So humming a happy tune, I stripped down to only my under clothing.

   Sliding on my dress pants and buttoning up my shirt, I looked at my reflection in the thick glass that separated me from the foreboding hallway.

Though my face was outlined, I couldn't see much detail except my slightly messy hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The pieces of hair that framed my face bounced as I turned my head and adjusted my outfit.

Setting my hands down on the desk in finality, I looked down at the security guard hat right in front of my hand. Biting my lip with a tired smirk, I sighed placing it on my head and staring into the glass once more. But this time, I could almost see the determination in my light eyes,

"Let's do this..."

2:24am

Time inched by.

I was fighting to keep my eyes open as I stared at the cameras so intensely that I was starting to develop a headache.

"So much for an exciting job... " I sighed, quoting the guy on the phone.

"I was hoping for a little bit of action..." I grumbled as I stared at the heavy door near the entrance, that held nock-off Bugs Bunny.

All of a sudden, my cameras flicker off and a loud slam of a door erupts from the distilled silence.

"Ho ho... that's what I'm talking about~" I growl, a smirk overcoming my face as my cameras flicker back on like nothing had happened.

"There you are..."

He was there.

He stood leaning forward, his hand against the wall to steady him. His robotic frame twitching and heaving like if he were breathing. Imitating the simple human action.

Slowly looking up, his head twitched violently every couple of seconds. But after a moment of gaining control of the uncontrollable spasms, he tilted his head and turned to the camera.

The disheveled and torn apart appearance drew away from the wall and slowly limped towards the camera. If he didn't have a permanent grin, it would spread across his face like a disease. I could almost see the gears in his head turning. Obviously metaphorically.

"He knows I'm here..." I whispered with a slight urgency.

Looking around for something to help me, or to keep me safe, I could hear the heavy clanking footsteps in the halls. I slid over the the cameras again and flipped through them to see that he was now in the vents.

"Oh fuck that." I said quickly intercepting him and my office, which evidently caused the air quality button to start flashing.

After rebooting the vents and searching for PeePaw Afton, I then thought about the reason I got this job.

"I'm here to talk to him! Fix things! Not run away."

Turning my head to the left stood the intercom, grabbing it quickly and flipping on the switch, the speakers in the attraction screeched before going down to a high-pitched hum.

"William Afton." I spoke out.

The fast paced footsteps ceased, relieving me slightly knowing that I had a least a moment before the serial killer made on with his merry way.

"My name is Y/N L/N...I know who you are... and what you have done. But I have not come here to lecture you on any of that. I come to help. Come to help you even... Now... I will strike you a bargain...You come to my office and we will talk, I will help you and the children that are still here escape from this Hell of a place...but my one exception is, I am to be untouched. You hurt me in any way and the deal is off.

Spirits, you, objects... anything. I will not help you. I will leave here even if force is required and I will be gone you will never see me again. You will be stuck here. Do you understand?...." My stern voice rang out.

I hadn't noticed but my hands were trembling on the base of the microphone. The entire place was silent and the lack of activity was starting to unsettle me.

Slowly switching off the microphone, the humming stopped and I could finally think clearly again.

    I grabbed my bag and shuffled threw my clothes that I had taken off earlier and unwrapped my bat just in case.

   Taking it out and resting it in my hand, I then realized what I was doing.

"This is insane... you're insane Y/N..." I whispered incredulously.

Setting my bag down shoving it under the desk, I got a unsettling feeling that crawled up my spine.

"Get up."  A voice whispered in my head.

Complying, I stood up slowly.

Knowing that someone was on the other side of the glass, I kept my eyes level. When I got up above the desk my heart caught in my throat, the ragged rabbit stood on the other side of the glass.

His tattered body heaved as a wheezing sound escaped from the corpse inside.

    I don't know much time passed as we stared at each other. Neither of us broke eyes contact, and I dared not to blink, almost afraid he would be gone if I were to do so.

It's him...

You found him...

As I studied my golden guest, I noticed that his hand was placed on the glass before me to sturdy himself.

All of the spring locks of the suit, the stray wires, and the remnant body still placed... well...stuck inside the suit, was visible throughout his body.

    Taking my hand, I slowly placed it on my side of the glass opposite of  him.

His eyes flickered down to see my hand mimicking his. Switching his glance back up to me, calculating orbs peered into my calm ones.

"I'm here to help... come inside." I said with a soothing and sturdy tone looking over to the door.

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the glass. I was was expecting to see the same animatronic features, but I was met with empty space from where he was just a moment ago. Stepping back from the glass quickly, I whipped my head towards the doorway,

"Wow... you're kinda tall..." I said a bit nervously trying to keep my composure.

His body stood unproportionally, shoulders slumped forward to a hunched state, but even then he was nearly Seven feet tall.

Awkwardly but kindly I put out a hand and gesture around the room.

"Uh well... make yourself welcome..."

Flicking his eyes around, Springtrap almost looks at me disgustedly as I slowly take my seat once again.

"Pardon me! I almost forgot! I know I just said my name, but I'm Y/N..." I smiled kindly towards the stoic animatronic.

"You said you could free and rid me of those filthy little shits..." William finally spoke.

"I can." I nodded "I have done a multitude of research on you Mr. Afton." I spoke clearly with an underlying fascination.

"I could care less what you know about me, but what I want, is out of this place! Away from those... THINGS. Now if you can do it, do it. If you cannot, you are useless to me." He spoke with such venom.

I could sense the pent up anger and the annoyance of something that was just out of ear shot for only him to hear as he shook his head to be rid of the sound.

"It will take a bit of time... but the way to free you is to burn the place to the ground... and I know. Simple right? But just trust me... it will work." I said looking at the more shaken animalized William.

As I spoke, his head began to twitch and his hands were pressing into the skull of the spring lock suit.

"Mr. Afton...?" I asked, a strange amount of concern taking over my features as I drew closer to him.

All of a sudden, the face plate of the suit flew open showing the decaying remains of a dead man.

I sucked in a quick breath as William fell to his knees gripping onto the mangled fur that was left on the suit as he made ears splitting screeches.

Hastily covering my sensitive ears, I slowly approached him. Standing before him in his vulnerable state.

"Help ME!" He screamed.

Taken aback but still kneeling in front of him, I swallowed hard before I put my hands on his head, his head twitching and spasming under my grasp. Whispering a chant to keep whatever was bothering him away he still shook and screeched, as I continued to chant I could then hear what he was hearing.

No....

Never.

You did this!

You won't be free!

You are GOING to pay!

"Enough!" I screamed into the attraction.

Suddenly, the voices went silent.

Racking in a labored 'breath', William began to heave violently. He smashed his fist to the ground causing it for a split second to rumble around us.

Quickly standing up to get out of the way, I noticed a group of young kids, but something was off... very off. One, it was four in the morning and no kid should be be here, and two, their pale ghastly complexions and sunken eyes told me these weren't some random children wanting to visit a night guard and her cracked out bunny accomplice.

"He hurt us..." One wailed,

"Don't you understand?!" Another cried.

"She will never know... never know the pain.." The last one seemed to envelop me in a reverberation of the child's voice.

"I understand what happened... but no... I can't and probably won't understand your pain. But I do know something. I am here and will free you all!" I said strongly stepping towards the kids, not letting the fear of the situation overcome me.

"You may not agree with me..." I said looking over to where William was watching me talk to his haunting past,

"Even though the things he did were dastardly, he too has served his time here in this Hellhole..." Stating bravely, I stood between the kids and William hoping that the tension would soon evaporate.

"Now it is time to get you all out of here so no more pain is afflicted on anyone else..." I said softly now looking into the mourning children's eyes.

"No more pain... just...just peace... for you all...."

[jayhorsestar]

background, Internal affairs promote rankings upon certain criteria, among which A. post uni studies, such as Master and PhD, so that to upgrade to commissioner, old 'major, or even 'colonel. district of Brasov RO at most 'colonel, no need to go 'brigadier, or 'ltn-major, alike. salary and 'revisal, the electronic labor registry, since 2010, modified accordingly, more classes, more cash monthly, more tax and health insurance, green card contrib. B. another criteria would be lesser non-performance over opened files (black ball), thus sometimes when stolen property, if assets would quantify 'rex fungibile, sort of bulk and the quality grades, potatoes two tons 2nd hand shelf life, then authors (perhaps assuming a group due to night and qty), Gendarmerie corps sent in villages settle upon gypsies to volunteer for jail and Court trials, and if not lesser than 6 months, and fines, misdemeanor, then prison time. guidelines provided beating up a la carte, by the book, and boys would had understood the getto feel, the gang, the duties and call of Codlea prison. thus the SOCIAL aspect of their living a life. the SOCIAL interaction. was grounded into violent approach. because goods stolen were 'rex fungibile, a certain qty could had been always replaced by another village and Mayor overthere, with similar quality and qty, preserving the foods reserves (distilled alcohol from potatoes was always traced and not by Internal affairs, and thus promoting would had become impossible, other Govt bodies becoming aware of the 'kitchen cooks). C. so we do not talk Gendarmerie corps solving through violent approach, files of certain gold jewelry set stolen, the Pope's pink diamond ring. not that B movie. by 2021, children of 11 old, were caught red handed, stolen toys retrieved, counted the civil prejudice by chief cashier on duty, warning made 10 minutes from shop manager, school would had been called immediately next time, parents already on way of thinking to calling and took children at home, sort of less than 30 min procedures, and fellas were again in the street. by 2023 nov, shop manager invited the two boys in the mess room, put me watch the kids, waited the G4S cash in transit solved the cash collecting of the day, keeping me introducing kids into firefighting gadgets inside the mess room, the blue button to release magnetic fire resistant huge heavy door, if needed, all that HR non-sense newly green recruits must learn by heart once they employees of SHOP, which procedures and what if hearing certain calls no windows, no need to WC either, so until local precinct bad boys arrived, and again getting through the story, and with the fingerprinting, at the Police HQs, perhaps at least two hours wasted by the two thieves of 11 of age. last year was at most 30 min, this winter was at least 120 min same shit. plus electronic fingerprinting. forseeing south BRV RO Gendarmerie corps usually prepping MPs and sniper police SWAT, whilst the Codlea and Dumbravita and Rasnov (mebbe), were dealing eggs from hens farms and forest woods, thus lots of beating up (until 2020). m

[sbknews]

Pre-season Battery Checks

Has your motorcycle been sitting in the garage or under a cover all winter long? Batteries lose power over time,but with a few basic checks and a bit of maintenance you can make sure your bike starts on the button whenever you need it. We asked the battery saving experts at OptiMate for their top tips. Your first job is to figure out the type of battery fitted to your motorcycle - is it Lead Acid (old school), Maintenance Free / AGM (common on most modern machines) or Lithium (becoming increasingly popular on high performance and off-road bikes). Here’s how to tell the difference.

Lead Acid Conventional Lead Acid batteries will usually be labelled with reference numbers starting with the letters YB, CB or GB (e.g YB14L-A2); Y, C or G (e.g Y60-N24L-A); or 12N (e.g 12N24-3) They usually have a black top with a row of plastic stoppers (three stoppers in a 6 volt battery and six in a 12 Volt). Inside are lead plates, surrounded by electrolyte mixture (the acid). This needs topping up with distilled water from time to time, so the stoppers can be removed to give access.

Maintenance Free / AGM Maintenance Free or AGM (Absorbed Glass Mat) batteries are the most common type used in modern motorcycles, and normally have reference numbers starting with the letters YTX, CTX or GTX (e.g YTX9-BS). They usually have a black case and have a stopper sunk into the top. Once filled, these batteries do not need to have the top removed, the acid level checked or be topped up. The electrolyte is suspended in fibreglass mats between the lead plates inside, hence the name.

Lithium Ion Lithium Ion is the general group name used for all Lithium batteries. There are many different types - Lithium Iron Phosphate, also known as Lithium Ferrous Phosphate, is used for engine starter batteries. These will generally be marked as 'Li-ion', 'LFP' or 'LiFePO4'. Like Sealed/AGM batteries, Lithium Ion batteries usually have a black case, but have no stoppers in the top.

Check the condition of your battery Multimeters can seem intimidating, but testing your bike’s Voltage with one is super simple, and they are a useful tool that costs little to buy. With the ignition off, set the multimeter to the ‘20V DC’ (direct current) range. Connect or touch the red probe/clip to it to the positive terminal of your battery and the black one to the negative terminal. If you’ve done it right, the Voltage should now be displayed on the meter’s screen. A healthy 12V battery should give a reading between 12.5V and 12.9V. A conventional Lead-Acid should read 12.4V to 12.6V;  a Maintenance Free/AGM should be 12.7V to 12.9V; and a Lithium battery will normally be either 12.8V or 13.2V. Next, start the engine and rev to between 3,000–4,000 rpm. This will indicate the voltage being put out by the alternator - an ideal charging range is between 14V to 14.5V, but down to 13.5V is acceptable. If you have a lithium battery, your machine's charging system should be putting out the safe charging rate of 14.4V. If it’s putting out more than that, there could be a problem. If the reading is too high the voltage regulator could be faulty, which will cause the battery to overheat and fail. If the reading is too low, the alternator is not generating sufficient current to recharge the battery - again another indication that there is a fault. To make life easy, the OptiMate TS120 plug-and-play tester uses simple icons to indicate that everything is OK, or to highlight potential problems. Attach a suitable OptiMate optimiser to your battery and it will test, check and assess your battery’s condition - again, using an easy-to-understand display to keep the user infomed - charging, repairing and even recovering deep discharged units automatically and safely.

Charging and maintaining Regularly charging and maintaining your battery not only keeps it working to maximum capacity, it can also double its working life, as well as significantly reducing the likelihood of it failing. There are many smart chargers on the market, which are designed to be attached to your motorcycle’s battery whenever it is parked up for long periods of time (more than a few days). These should not be confused with simple ‘trickle chargers’ which charge a battery slowly and then stop charging once a certain voltage is reached. Trickle chargers aren’t designed to be attached to batteries for long periods of time and won’t maintain a battery in the same way as a smart charger. Recommended by most major motorcycle manufacturers, OptiMate chargers and optimisers can maintain, test, charge and even repair a bike's battery, all completely automatically. All OptiMate chargers run a unique 'connect and forget' 24hr, 7 days-a-week, 365 days-a-year program, so they can and should be connected to your bike's battery and left to do their work – no user input needed. OptiMate Bronze series chargers automatically detect whether the battery is AGM or Lithium and charge accordingly - no need to pre-select or remove the battery from the bike - and will be suitable for the majority of modern bikes.. Visit www.optimate1.com to see the full range. For more info checkout our dedicated Optimate News page Optimate News See the complete OptiMate range of chargers and monitors at  www.optimate1.com. Read the full article

[bourbon-banter]

Black Button Distilling Cask Strength Bourbon Review

Black Button Distilling Cask Strength Bourbon Review

[goodspiritsnewsat]

GSN Review: Black Button Empire Apple Liqueur

Black Button’s Master Distiller, Jeff Fairbrother, has handcrafted a tasting experience unlike any other. Swirls of cinnamon and locally grown New York State apples are enriched by their bourbon’s signature notes of caramel and vanilla. This seasonal spirit is a perfect crowd pleaser served warm around a fire with good company as the leaves begin to turn and Autumn’s chill is in the air. It’s…

[bigwordsiknowbyheart]

Big Words I Know By Heart Episode 52: ‘Luminosity’

Big Words I Know By Heart Episode 52: ‘Luminosity’

The nice thing about having a room full of comedians is that I don’t need to be funny.  I’m not even sure if I was on this episode, but Guest Don Johnson and returning Co Host Jesse Winterhalter Jr. brought their A game.  Between the two, they’ve been entertaining Buffalo audiences no less than three times a week for no less than two years at their open mics, featured gigs, headlining gigs,…

[copperbadge]

The Cannabis Amnesty Box also inspired what is either going to be a short story or yet another Shivadhverse novel, about the last of the true Davzda distillers and Gregory III re-legalizing psychedelic mushrooms. :D 

Also I named Gregory II’s wayward son that Jason had to oust in order to establish the ben Jason dynasty. I named him Nathan, just ‘cause. 

(I’m titling it “Where The Oleander Grows” because I was listening to one of the four or so Mountain Goats songs I actually like when I came up with the idea, and everyone should name a story after Mountain Goats lyrics sooner or later.)

Davzda, traditionally, was moonshine liquor distilled and poured into sterile bottles, into which a handful of salt-dried psychedelic fungus would be added. Potent and incredibly distasteful, it was consumed in shots or with heavily-flavored cocktail mixers. Caught up in the anti-drug frenzy of the 1950s, Nathan IV ordered that the mushrooms which gave Davzda its...unique flavor, and psychedelic properties, be destroyed. At the time, the country still had a standing military, and they marched through the highlands (really just the one highland) on his orders, uprooting and burning Panaeolis shivadh wherever they found it. 

In some ways it was just as well -- eventually psychedelic mushrooms would be banned in Europe in any case, and true Davzda became illegal to possess or consume. An imitation Davzda flourished, made with salt-dried mushrooms that contained only the usual deliciousness of the white button variety. The flavor, still akin to that of vodka-wetted beach sand, was considered a feature, not a bug. 

This did not stop the dedicated from cultivating P. shivadh or distilling true Davzda. What it did do was make true Davzda slightly more dangerous to keep and sell -- and thus much more lucrative.

There were two Shivadh families who grew the mushrooms that were required for true Davzda, and only one that actually distilled the vodka-like liquor in which the mushrooms were suspended. This was bottled in a distinctive grey-green glass and sold both in Askazer-Shivadlakia and across Europe on the black market. 

It took television chef and social media influencer Eddie Rambler, Duke of the Orange and King Consort, roughly two weeks in the country to discover where he could acquire true Davzda. He'd had some experience of black markets, being raised in California. It took another week to charm the Lansky family (no relation to Meyer, so they claimed) into selling him some. 

He kept his mouth admirably shut about his source, did not even mention them in his imitation Davzda cocktail recipes on Photogram, and only bought four bottles total across the year. True, he did give one of them to the King Emeritus, who in theory had the power to instigate an investigation and have them all arrested and imprisoned, but as Bill Lansky, head of the family, was heard to remark, Michaelis ben Jason simply wasn't a narc. 

(There was a lot of speculation about what the King Emeritus did with a bottle of Davzda. The truth was really rather tame; aside from an occasional shot when feeling festive, he and his partner Jes mainly kept it in a high cupboard out of reach of the inquisitive teenagers who frequently came over to visit Jes's son Noah.) 

Michaelis ben Jason also hadn't raised a narc; his son, the current king Gregory III, presumably had access to the other three bottles, but hadn't bothered the Lansky family and it was possible didn't know of their existence. Rambler was a man who could keep a secret, they all decided.

And then one morning Nomi Lansky, youngest daughter of the clan and its most brilliant botanist and brewmaster, arrived at the growing shed, far up in the highland and deep in its wilderness, to find a man sitting outside, chair tipped back against the wall of the shed, reading. He was wearing black, with the gold filigree trim of the royal uniform, and his face was on the newest currency. 

She stopped, considering matters. He looked up at her and smiled. 

"Good morning, Ms. Lansky," King Gregory III said, closing his book. She considered running, and could tell he saw it. "If you like, go ahead. I'm here alone; I might be able to catch up to you if you run, but I doubt I could hold you."

[onlinewhole]

There are three unmistakable materials you can utilize: vape squeezes and oils, dry herbs, and concentrates. For the most part, you can't utilize one Black C-Cell Vape Cartridges for each fixing, at any rate, not without some extra hardware.

[dykevillanelle]

a definitive list of omfd characters, from most to least fuckable

my qualifications: lesbian, impeccable taste, been rotating pirates & friends in my head for 5 solid weeks

Ed Teach - everything about him is pure distilled Fuckability and Gender. i knew i would sell my soul to him the moment he came onscreen. he is sooooo babygirl

Jim Jimenez - vico ortiz ruin me challenge. the scene where they're fighting with jackie...powerful homoeroticism, i really enjoyed it

Spanish Jackie - ive been a leslie jones stan since 2016 and the copious amounts of red velvet just made me fall deeper in love. with twenty husbands you know she's a freaque

Mary Bonnet - ms bonnet you deserve to have it laid down So right. i know you have free real estate guy but i think one of your widows support group ladies or me could do it better

Oluwande Boodhari - every time he comes onscreen i legally have to say "oluuuuuuu" while making heart eyes. 11/10 would be a very attentive lover

Roach - absolutely insane little guy, my best friend. his query of "how does he kiss?" re: the hook-headed man tells me that he's a romantic at heart.

Frenchie - everyone loves a musician who schemes and steals fancy suits during a raid. would entertain me with theories about crystals and demons. <3

Evelyn Higgens - i couldn't handle her but i wish i could

Nana - i'm not sure if it's blasphemous to include a nun on a fuckability list but if any nun fucks, it's this one.

Fang - hot topic belt boy!!!! he DOES have stunning cheekbones and i adore him.

Abshir - scammer king. he would treat me right <3

Ivan - i want more ivan in s2. his vertical stripes and black vest are so fun and flirty! 8/10

Lucius - the sideburns really don't do it for me but he'd write pretty great poetry afterward, so i'll allow it

Stede Bonnet - right smack in the middle of the list. he's extremely mid but i will confess Liberated Stede taking his boat out onto the water in 1x10 has a certain je ne sais cock

Wee John Feeney - he would be so gentle and i love his star face tattoos. interior design king, excellent hair

Black Pete - we stan a guy whose love language is gifts. im gonna need him to show some loyalty, though

Nathaniel Buttons - i think buttons doesn't know what sex is. you know the elbow sex thing in rocky horror? that's his bag

The Swede - the whole teeth-coming-out thing really disturbed me on a primal level. this is nothing against him personally, our little nordic angel

[the point of unfuckability, all others ranked only for completion's sake]

19. Alfeo de la Vaca - good taste in citrus, bad oral hygiene. 1/10 would not recommend to a friend 20. Doug - per my girlfriend: "he's not so much rancid as he is utterly sexless". i think this is true even tho canonically he treats mary right. 21. Izzy Hands - when i initially conceived of this list, izzy was at the bottom, but somehow there are characters more rancid than he is. izzyfuckers DO NOT INTERACT this racist little rat man can choke but not in a way that he would like 22. Antoinette / Gabriel - i do love kristen schaal but. yuck 23. Badminton twins - would probably find some way of accidentally killing themselves and that just sounds like a lot of hassle. 24. King George - i think it just goes to show how bad jack and geraldo are that i'm putting them below a literal british monarch. but. this man is disgusting. 25. Calico Jack - he's never thought about another person's desires in his life. probably smells like a distillery and never learns your name. fuckable only for someone with intense self-loathing 26. Geraldo - you know how people talk about getting the ick? this man is one huge ick. i thought this even before i found out fred armisten didn't treat natasha lyonne like the queen she is. i would rather fling myself from the cliffs of dover than even consider touching this man

[inber]

“S’play,” Lambert said, squinting at the bottom of his empty cup, “S’play truth or dare.”

“What are we, little milkmaids on... a supper break?” Eskel snarked, leaning back on one hand. And then, “I wanna go first.”

“’Kay, Eskel, I dare—” Geralt began.

“No, no, y’gotta ask him if he wants dare. Or the other one.” Lambert said authoritatively, pouring more vodka into his cup, only half-missing.

“Fine,” Geralt conceded, “Dare or, or the other one, Eskel?”

“Dare.” Eskel said, accepting the flask of liquor from Lambert.

“See?” Geralt crowed, “See, he picked dare anyways—”

“You gotta play the game proper though!” Lambert pointed a finger, “Else—”

“I dare myself to punch both of you.” Eskel said, throwing back more of the rough-distilled drink.

“That’s not how ‘dare or the other one’ works!” Lambert said, glowering.

“Eskel, dare you to... take Vesemir’s favourite shirt from laundry, n’ wear it to breakfast.” Geralt said, effectively derailing Lambert’s protest train.

The two witchers giggled together as Eskel rose on wobbly feet, zig-zagging his way towards the line where clothes dried. When he returned, the pale grey shirt was buttoned over his clothing, ill-fitting across the shoulders and too baggy at the front.

The three of them guffawed at the hearth. More drink was poured and sunk. Eskel nudged Geralt.

“Y’go. Truth, or the other one.”

“Truth.” Geralt said, purely because he’d forgotten what the other option was.

“Pssff, chicken.” Lambert accused.

“That fancy bard y’talk about. Do you miss him in winter?” Eskel asked.

“Oh, oh, good!” Lambert clapped his hands together. “Do you, Geralt? D’you write him letters? Dear—dear fancy bard—”

“Jaskier, he’s called.” Eskel helpfully supplied.

“Dear Jaskier,” Lambert’s voice had gone squeaky falsetto, “Without you to warm my beefy buttocks, this season is—”

“Dare.” Geralt snapped, glaring at his brothers, “Dare, then. Fuckers.”

“Fine,” Eskel said, “Dare you to bring the bard next winter.”

Lambert burst into laughter. “Oh, fuck off, Eskel. He can’t even get over himself enough to say he cares for the fop, let alone bring him t'meet us.”

Geralt crossed his arms sulkily. “Only ‘cause, 'cause you’d scare him, both of you. And you smell.”

“You smell!” Lambert deflected.

“Listen, shut up,” Eskel said, and paused for a long moment with his tongue poking out, “Shut up. Maybe we smell, but we’d never scare him. On purpose.”

Geralt flicked lazy-hazy drunk eyes between the two men sat in front of him. Idiots, the both of them, he decided. Even if there was something soft and eager about their expressions.

It occurred to him with a sudden clarity that maybe they were curious about the lark that sung their praises; the human that Geralt had mentioned in passing so many times that a fondness could not be mistaken.

“’Kay.” Geralt said, reluctant, “I’ll ask him. But don’t be mad when he doesn’t want to spend months freezing his balls off with us. He’s very, y’know. Fine. Likes soft things. Good food.”

“Ohhh,” Lambert breathed, “Geralt’s scared we’re not fancy enough.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Yeah, y’are.” Eskel grinned.

“I hate both of you.” Geralt said, drinking so he wouldn’t have to talk, or think.

“Lambert, dare or... truth?” Eskel nudged the youngest wolf.

“It’s called truth or dare.” Lambert burst, exasperated. “And dare, obviously.”

“Dare you... to take a shot of black gull.”

---------------

Vesemir had seen his fair share of nonsense in the long winters spent with his pups. Opening the larder door to find them tangled in a pile beside the potatoes, unconscious and reeking of booze and tomfoolery, was unfortunately not wholly unusual. Geralt’s eyes creaked half-open at the intrusion.

“Can—can Jaskier stay, next year?” Geralt slurred.

“Why the fuck is Eskel wearing my best shirt?” Vesemir barked.

“Truth or... the other one.” Lambert’s voice was muffled against Geralt’s thigh.

They all startled like stray cats when Vesemir bashed a spoon against the back of a saucepan.

Training that year was rather brutal. Eskel was lumped with laundry duty until the snow began to melt.

But the year after that, there was music.

[chayscribbles-archive]

ANDROMEDA RUIN ☆ a writing excerpt

in which Finneas is a hot bisexual mess.

for context: the gang has invited themselves to a fancy gala at Councilor Gideon Black, aka Azami’s dad’s house to spy on some of the guests. dexaComs are this universe’s equivalent to smartphones-- they’re basically air pods that can create a holographic screen in front of your eyes. Finn and Val have elaborated a ruse to steal them from guests in a search for information.

for context on the “Lief” thing, you can read this.

words: 2202. idk what it is with Finn excerpts that i keep posting super long ones.

andromeda ruin wip intro ☆ read the other excerpts here

From the cover of the people around him, Finneas watched as Valyan approached their next target and began to engage in lively conversation with him, paying close attention to the man’s minute actions. Every time the guest started to raise his arm, Finneas anticipated he was removing his dexaComs and got ready to pounce, only to retreat when it turned out he was only adjusting his collar or scratching his temple. 

A feeling of unease began to creep over Finneas the longer he waited. And although he was beginning to get impatient, it became increasingly clear that this new feeling had nothing to do with the mission. No, it was a feeling he had learned very quickly to discern during his first few months out on his own after escaping Ghillairde. It was a chill on the back of his neck, the sharp sting of a pair of eyes boring down on him.

He was being watched.

Daring to take his own eyes off Valyan and their victim for a second, he quickly scanned the crowd. Azami and Petra were deep in conversation at the other end of the room and weren’t paying attention to him. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, really, as they were all engrossed in their own conversations or their appetizers or the objects for sale around the room, so why was he—

His gaze locked with Ansel Black’s. A soft “fuck” of surprise escaped his lips.

“Finneas Becker,” Ansel said, his jawline as sharp as ever. “Funny I’d run into you again in my own house.”

The young man had somehow come up next to Finneas while he was focused on Valyan, and now Finneas was trapped. He wore a tailored white suit lined with silver edging that hugged his silhouette and his dark hair was neatly combed back, making him look a lot more like a Councilor’s son than the nervous hoodlum buying stolen goods he was pretending to be when they first met. Finneas might have been tempted to offer a flirtatious greeting, if it weren’t for the Richeport City Police Department badge on his lapel.

“Oh, great. It’s Lief,” he said instead, doing little to hide his disdain.

Ansel tilted his head up in some pathetic attempt to appear tougher, which Finneas didn’t buy for a second from the way he fiddled with the silver buttons on his sleeve. “It’s Ansel, actually.”

The fact that he simply introduced himself by his first name— no last name, no “Officer”— was concerning. “Yeah, I know. What d’you want?”

Ansel shifted his weight and launched into what seemed like a rehearsed speech. “I’ve waited a long time to see you again,” he began, and Finneas had to resist the urge to say that’s gay, dude. “You should be behind bars, and I’m sure attending an extremely high security event like this uninvited will land you there.”

“Oh, but I was invited,” Finneas said with a smug chuckle, pulling out one of the dexaComs Valyan had lent him for the night to project the invitation with his name on it onto his palm.

“It’s a fake,” Ansel challenged. “You did some… criminal magic to make it look real.”

“Just take a look, my dear prince.” Ansel reddened a bit at being called “prince”, and Finneas inwardly chided himself for getting carried away. This is how you got yourself into this situation in the first place, you jackass. “You of all people would know how to recognize your dad’s seal.”

Ansel eyed Finneas, then leaned forward to peer at the seal, and the scent of cologne distilled from pure money wafted off from his shoulders. After a few seconds, he glanced up again, scowling. “I will find something that will get you the justice you deserve,” he swore. “Next time we meet, I’ll get you in handcuffs.”

“Whoa, okay, look,” Finneas said, throwing up his hands. “First of all, I stopped being interested in you the moment I found out you’re a cop. And secondly, we barely know each other. Feels a bit early to get freaky, don’t you think?”

This time, a full blaze took over Ansel’s face. “That’s… that’s not what I was implying,” he sputtered, “and you know it.” Still, Finneas caught the quick movement of Ansel’s eyes down to Finneas’ chest, peeking out from his open blazer, and he didn’t want to know what could possibly be going on in the young cop’s head at that moment.

Oh, no. Azami really wasn’t kidding when she said her brother had an obsession.

He searched the room for the quickest way out. His eyes immediately sought out Petra, who now idly nibbled on a roll alone by the door. A half-assed idea popped into his head, and while he hated it immediately, it was better than spending another minute with Ansel.

"Now, while it was nice to catch up, you’ll have to excuse me," he declared, once again diving into the sea of expensively-clothed bodies around him, praying Ansel wouldn't follow him.

By the time he reached Petra, her appetizer was gone, and she had spotted him as well. She nonchalantly held out her hand, expecting him to place a new pair of devices in her palm.

“I’m gonna ask you a favour,” he hissed instead, “but you’re gonna hate me.”

“I don’t know what you could ask to make me hate you any more,” Petra said, eyeing him. “What is it?”

“Could you pretend to be my possessive girlfriend for a few minutes so that Azami’s brother will leave me alone?”

“What?”

“Just say yes or no before he gets here,” he insisted.

To his relief, Petra swiftly grabbed his hand, shot the approaching Ansel a look that could cut through diamond, and dragged Finneas out of the ballroom with a determined stride. Finneas only dared to glance over his shoulder as they crossed the large doors and caught Ansel’s bewildered face through the crowd.

Weaving their way between guests, Petra led him across the hall and the west foyer to the drawing room. While devoid of people, it was the only way for guests to have access to the washroom, so Azami had suggested using the adjacent library for scanning devices, and that’s where Petra took him. It was only once they had stepped through the doorway and slid the door close behind them did she release his hand.

“Thanks for saving my ass,” Finneas breathed, flexing his fingers, which still stung from the tightness of Petra’s grip. For someone who was notoriously bad at lying, her performance was weirdly convincing, but perhaps her ire was driven by the fact that Ansel was meddling with their mission, and had little to do with any possessiveness Petra might have had over her pilot.

“That one was repayment for the breakfast.” She whirled around to face him, eyebrow raised. “What did you do to make him so obsessed with you, anyways?”

“Nothing,” Finneas defended. He couldn’t resist a smirk. “It’s not my fault I’m a hot bisexual rogue.”

Petra rolled her eyes, and he was impressed with how much restraint she mustered to keep from smacking him, which she clearly wanted to do. “Do you at least have something for us to scan while you’re here?”

Finneas fished into his pocket and pulled out his latest catch. “Where’d Azami go?” he asked as they settled onto one of the plush couches to get started.

Petra pulled her feet up to join her on the couch to sit crossed-legged beside him. “She said something about having spotted her oldest brother August and disappeared.” 

“Seems like everyone at this party is trying to avoid the Councilor’s boys.”

Finneas unlocked the dexaComs, then allowed Petra to take over the reigns for the search. The two fell into a comfortable silence, as had become the norm for them over the past couple of weeks. As it turned out, now that they weren’t constantly at each other’s throats, Petra was really easy to simply exist with in the same room. She didn’t require a lot of conversation, which was refreshing for Finneas— despite the outgoing mask he often wore when doing business, he usually preferred his alone time, but he found he didn’t mind so much when she was around. Sometimes, she would let him sit on her bedroom floor and go through her digital books full of wildlife footage to pass the time while she did her tests on the Mohanian plant. 

That was kind of what it felt like now, as he watched her fiddle with the two stolen earpieces on the cushion in front of her, scanning them for information. The gold accents lining her jumpsuit and the hem of her train, as well as that headpiece she hated so much, sent little flecks of light around the room like tiny stars, reflections from the chandelier overhead. Azami had been right earlier, Finneas mused. Petra did look like a queen, wearing a crown crafted from the rays of the sun, which framed the soft curls resting on her slender shoulders.

As if sensing he was watching her, she began to glance up, and he quickly averted his eyes to properly survey the room they were in. Next to the door through which they had entered the library, a second door stood ajar, and through the slit a glint of light caught Finneas’ eye.

“Hm, what’s this?” he mused, sauntering over to the doorway.

“What’s what?” Petra asked. Scooping up the earpieces that she had just finished scanning, she followed him as he slipped inside the room— some sort of study— and partially closed the door behind them.

Finneas marched up to an ornate bookshelf and picked up a tiny silver figurine of a slender dragon standing on its hind legs, wings spread out, head reared back, mouth open in a menacing snarl. The Little Dragon, one of the two Stardians of Dracaenos. Finneas couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Probably one of the relics stolen off Ghillairdan shrines when Sayntagnesia took over his home planet; a trophy from their bloody conquest. 

Petra snickered. “Did you really just get distracted by a shiny object?”

“Do you know how much a single one of these is worth?” Finneas said, turning it over, feeling the weight of its value in his hand.

“You’re just like a crow.”

“I have no idea what that is.” He glanced over his shoulder and made sure the library was still empty before swiftly pocketing the object. This was much easier than slipping something out of a guest’s handbag.

“If someone realizes it’s missing...” Petra warned.

“They won’t realize it’s missing. There’s five others like it.”

“Could you maybe focus on one crime at a time, please?”

“Something like this could be helpful to us.”

Petra crossed her arms over her chest. “How so?”

Finneas moved over to a minibar in the corner, admiring the vast collection of bottles from all over the sector lined up on the shelves. He had never been much of a drinker, but he recognized a good quality bottle when he saw it. There was wine from the vineyards in southern Sayntagnesia, ale from Epimerys, a bottle of khopeg from Buhaki Bomi, not to mention an entire row dedicated to Ihanashe’s famously expensive sweet teshigori wine. There was no way the Councilor was ever going to drink all of this, of course. Most of the bottles’ seals remained unbroken, simply there for show. Yet another display of indulgence.

“Say we go out on our next trip,” Finneas said, running his hand along the side of the shelf. “Shit happens, and we end up stranded in space. We could pawn off this thing for credits to survive. It’s probably worth enough to get by for a couple of weeks.”

"And we'll be wanted for both treason and theft."

“Always so optimistic, Lacroye. We’ll be wanted for so much more than that by then.”

He picked out the smallest bottle of teshigori wine with his eyes, one he was certain could remain hidden in the folds of his skirt. As his hand reached towards the shelf, the distinct echo of footsteps approached from the library.

Footsteps accompanied by voices.

Shit.

Normally, Finneas would have been able to conjure up a quick lie about what he was doing in that room—they had gotten lost on their way to the washroom, they needed a quiet place to make an important call—but in that moment, with Petra staring, wide-eyed, at the door, he simply froze.

The voices grew louder.

“...much of an issue, Councilor Black…”

He snapped out of his panic just enough to grab Petra’s hand and yank her behind the minibar. They scrambled to huddle together on the carpet, crammed between the legs of two white stools. Beside him, Petra’s breathing felt so loud, her heartbeat pounding rapidly against Finneas’ palm through her own. He gave her hand a firm squeeze—whether to reassure her or himself, he couldn’t tell. 

The figurine dug into his thigh, and he couldn’t help but offer a silent prayer to the Little Dragon for protection.

On the other side of the minibar, the door swung open.

please note that i’ve moved blogs. for more recent updates on this wip you can find me here: @chayscribbles​