#Fifty-Fifty Martinis

[askwhatsforlunch]

Fifty-Fifty Martinis

One of the simplest cocktails --and martinis-- to mix, these Fifty-Fifty Martinis are nonetheless a beautiful, bright and elegant tipple. One would expect no less from a Harry Craddock creation! Happy Saturday!

Ingredients (serves 1):

45 millilitres/1 1/2 fluid ounces (3 tablespoons) good quality London Dry Gin

45 millilitres/1 1/2 fluid ounces (3 tablespoons) good quality dry vermouth

two dashes orange bitters

2 lemon peels, to garnish (optional)

In a mixing glass, combine London Dry Gin, vermouth and orange bitters. Fill with ice cubes and gently stir with a cocktail spoon.

Strain into two chilled cocktail glasses, and garnish with lemon twists, if desired.

Enjoy Fifty-Fifty Martinis immediately.

[gojoshooter]

Hi bestie. I was at a party and saw this shit. Can you write a scenario/hc where gojo's crush uses his glasses as a reflective surface/mirror to put on her lipstick. Just curious how you think this would play out but this is somewhat so cute to me.

annon im snatching your brain 🏃 this is hella cute

Fifty Shades Of Friendship

an. both seem to like shades—you, on his eyes and him, on your lips

It's a chilly November night, and you're sitting by the bar counters in a little end-year party by your best friend and beloved classmate of Jujutsu High. The charming party host— no other than Gojo Satoru sits beside you on one of the stools and waves towards the under classmen messing around on the dance floor. It's not too late when his eyes land on your smudged petal pink lips, probably caused by the Martini you sipped with it's brim.

He snorts, sitting up his slacked back from the counter and pointing at your lip. “Look at that y/n, who did you make out with this time?” It's some sort of default setting of his phsycology to make remarks on his crush bestfriend, that is, you, like some damned antibody.

Raising your eyebrows, your fingertips reach for your lip by instinct. “Mm?” he rests his cheek on his knuckles, giving a soft smile “Yes your lips. Who was it, Nanami?” and he receives an eyer roll “Haibara. I knew it” “Martini, ’toru”

Then you're looking around the club, trying to find a quick reflecting surface... none. Hmm, you think, as you take out a wipe along with your rosy-coral lipstick. You're still looking around, when your eyes slide to Gojo's loud chortle watching his dorky juniors. An adorable laugh, and then, oh— there it is, makshift mirror.

Holding his cheeks by your fingers, your turn the white head and watch as a tiny tiny gasp slips out of your bosom buddy “’toru, can you look here for a second?” he binks, nodding unconsciously as his vision drops lower towards your lip that you jut out so adorably. He might just put his on yours.

Phew, if it wasn't for the club's lights, Gojo's red face would've been exposed. Dragging your bar stool, you slip closer to his shades and begin fixing your makeup. He watches your soft lips through the translucent black glasses, occasionally travelling to your puppy shaped eyes.

His cheeks almost match the colour of your lipstick by the time you're done and when your attention finally penetrates the surface of his glasses, you can almost make out his glacier eyes looking back at your softer browns... oh. Butterflies, butterflies in stomach.

Your leaning back straightens comically fast. Coming out of trance, Gojo blinks and looks away rubbing his warm neck. “Woah- woah...” oh gosh, and his pitch comes out way higher than it originally is? Did that little moment effect him someway? You tuck a strand of hair behind, wondering.

“Pretty, y/n... I like it” you smile lightly at his comment, taking your drink back from the counter. And just for the virtue of conformation, you reply softly “You like it ’toru?” a small lick on the corner of your lip, while you try to conceal your uncontrollable smile. Best friends to lovers doesn't sound like a bad trope afterall... “Would you not like to ruin it again?”

There it is—got him, not even the club lights can hide cheeks that red.

masterlist !!

ps. shy gojo >>>> also like and rbs are appreciated<333

tags. @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts @4sat0ruu @therealjustpeachesback

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Would've Could've Should've | prologue

listen to: Would've Could've Should've- Taylor Swift| Happiness Is a Butterfly - Lana del Rey (playlist here)

warnings: power imbalance (teacher, student), 20+ years age gap, toxic relationships. Drinking. Implied smut. Grief. As the story progresses warnings will be added.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

He was already inside the bar, quite a while there before you entered it. You didn’t notice him at first, not really. You were too spent to notice him first. The dimly lit room, sparsely populated with only a few patrons scattered around didn’t allow you to get a good look at him. 

He, instead, noticed you right away. There was something about you, a melancholy that he himself felt. It wasn’t per se that you’d made it obvious. No. The older he got, the more he simply knew things. Sometimes. Not all the time. Not really, right now as he nursed the whiskey in his hand, he only felt lost. He stole a glance at you, he noticed the way your face was contorting as you stared at your phone for a moment, the way you struggled not to cry for a single second. Eyes changing, a small kind smile, to Jimmy who asked you for your order. 

“A Martini?” 

He liked your voice. He enjoyed the way it was soft, the way you weren’t ordering anyone, he enjoyed the doubt, he relished in it. He enjoyed it when he was young and didn’t know much. It made you seem as if you hadn’t ordered it before. The corners of his lips tugged slightly before he sipped again on his whiskey, looking away momentarily. 

The bartender, an old man that night, brought you your drink silently. You took it and stared at it for a moment. Your mother wouldn’t like you drinking. She wouldn’t agree. It wasn’t you. You knew she was right, it wasn’t your thing to drink on a Tuesday night. It wasn’t you to cut out all of your friends. It wasn’t like you to move to the other side of the country without telling anyone. But the more you thought, without her, who did you really have?

Looking up suddenly, you feel his gaze and turn, your eyes meet his. His eyes were a deep shade of blue. He was approximately in his late forties, early fifties if you weren’t forgiving. His hair was soft and black, with a hint of white in the corners. There was an air about him that suggested he was cold and intelligent. You weren’t sure how to react, you stared at him. 

And then he smiled at you.  

“First drink of the day?” his voice low and raspy as his eyes fell on the Martini. 

If you were honest, it was your first drink in over a year. You hadn’t had time to drink while you were taking care of your mom. As you sat there, you realized that you hadn’t done a lot of things in your life. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out with difficulty. 

He stares when your hair falls in soft waves around your face. He’d seen his fair share of beautiful people but he felt drawn to you in a way he couldn’t quite decipher. A moth to a flame. You shine, sparkling like champagne in the light but then you again, you seemed like you wanted to hide. 

“You?” you asked, watching him intently. 

Beau shook his head. “Not my first,” he confessed. For some reason, he felt self-conscious about the way you were looking at him. He was probably too old for this. In truth, you were thinking he looked lonely too. And for a moment, since your mother, you felt seen. 

“What’s your name?” you asked him, a little bit more forward than before. 

“Beau,” he said. 

“Very French,” you answered, smiling approvingly. 

It didn’t suit him. He seemed to be the type of the men who had a stronger name at first glance but the more you stared at him, you believed you were missing something.  

“You?”

He smiled approvingly as well when you told him. He repeated it, slowly, he enjoyed the way it rolled off his tongue. You relished the way he said it. His eyes crinkle as he smiled at you. A surprising softness in the way he looked at you, made your heart beat faster for a moment. 

“What do you do?”

“Right now, I’m a student,” you answered, honestly. 

Beau cursed himself as his gaze traveled through your whole body. You didn’t give it away. A black pair of heel boots, those jeans, an oversize cream sweater. He understood it was cold, it was December, but you were dressed more conservatively than any of his students. It was also the way you carried yourself, there was a halo about you. You were grown up or you’d been forced to grow up. 

“You don’t look like a student to me,”

You raised your eyebrows as you sipped your Martini. “What do I look like to you?” you asked, giving him a sly side glance. 

Beau’s heart faltered for a moment. At least, that’s what he believed. The way your face lit up, it was a work of art. You were so beautiful, it was almost unfair. It was unfair that you probably hadn’t been born by the time he’d chosen a wife, it was unfair that he hadn’t met you before, it was unfair that he met you today when he’d fought with his wife for what it seemed like the million time this week. 

“I’m not sure,” he answered clearing his throat once he caught that he’d been silent for too long. “You just seemed more mature than for being a student,”

Suddenly, you felt stunned. The statement slices a painless cut in you. He wouldn’t know. He shouldn’t have known that’s what every adult told you since you were a kid. That you’ve always been responsible and mature, that you’ve always been able to relate more to adults, that you never needed someone to take care of you, that you were the one taking care of your mom. For the first time in forever, you don’t relish what he believes is a compliment. 

“It must be a lot,” he said when he figured your mind had gone somewhere else. 

“What?”

“To be as mature as you are,” he answered. “I understand,”

You are stunned, once again. You gaze at him as he takes the last sip of his whiskey and with a sigh, he gazed back at you. You were watching him wide-eyed, searching his features for something. He can see it, the way he just stroked a chord. You were watching him as if he’d known you your whole life. 

 “You want another drink?”

You pressed your lips together as you stared at the Martini for a moment, you tilted your head sideways as you weighed your options. The more responsible part of you thought that you should leave it at that. The other part, well, that other part was the one you’ve been holding back. 

“Thank you,” you said with a nod. 

Beau ordered both of your drinks with a certain ease. He wasn’t like the men you met before. He wasn’t like the boys your age. He didn’t seem cruel. He didn’t seem as insecure as they were. He didn’t seem too entranced by the idea of sex. He seemed like he actually cared. 

“What actually brought you here, if I may ask?” he said quietly as he took another sip of the whiskey. 

“I’m a student,” you answered, drinking your second Martini. “They called me because I’m the best,”

Beau smirked slightly. Nodding, he drank. He savored the way you’d said that you were the best, he enjoy confidence. For him, when he was your age, it seemed like it was the only thing he had. Sure, he was good looking and he was good with planes, but honestly what made him was his confidence. He gazed at you, those eyes looking at him through those long lashes, you felt like a dream. 

“You?”

Beau sighed defeatedly. “Been living here since my twenties,” he said. 

“Never left?”

“Left a lot of times,”

You nodded softly as your eyes took him in. You hadn’t noticed previously, but there, under his leather jacket, you easily could identify the beige uniform. He was Navy. By his age, he was probably an Admiral. You watch him drinking the whiskey, not aware of the way you suddenly tensed up. You could always ask him about it. You could always let him know that you were going to become a student in the next week at Top Gun, you could leave it at this. Selfishly though, you didn’t want to. 

It’d been a while since you’d met someone who actually caused an impression on you. 

“So, Beau,” you said softly. “Tell me about you with one rule,”

His lips tugged upward softly as he watched you, the way you were tilting your head, the way your cheeks were tinted with pink, your rosy lips, that sly smile. 

“Anything you want, doll,” he teased.

He saw you pressing your lips together, trying to drown the smile you felt. He could see how your eyes shimmered at the nickname. Maybe he’d embarrassed you and he truly had, doll sounded like something from the 80s but then again, it’d made your heart flip on your chest.

“Nothing about work,” you said softly, taking a sip and peacefully waiting. 

Beau’s brows furrowed for a moment. He waited, but you didn’t elaborate. A faint alarm could be heard in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. 

“Done,” 

The night passed along. You talked about Queen and Aerosmith. Beau told you how he was never really interested in the Royal Family, you talked about how your mother had told you about Princess Diana since you could remember. You talked about politics but both of you decided to drop the topic soon enough because it was getting to a heated conversation. You talked about ‘One-Hundred Years of Solitude’, how Beau’s father had forced him to read it while you’d stolen it from your mother. You discussed the Yellow butterflies and the way Remedios rose to the sky. He talked about his father and his mother, and how strict they were. You laughed at the stories of his youth, and when he asked you about yours, you told him that you’d been a quiet girl with not many stories to tell. He’d told you that you were still young, that you could still make stories. You wondered if he meant he could be part of them. Then, you talked about what you’re going to do for Christmas and New Year's, you end up telling him that you are going to be alone since you don’t know anyone here and your mom’s gone. 

You don’t expect it to roll so easily off your tongue if you were honest. The warmth of the alcohol fills your belly in such a pleasant way, bubbles climb to your brain and so suddenly your chest doesn’t ache so badly as you tell him that she was sick and had been gone for a month. Beau, who also began to feel like he was levitating around his fifth drink, gazes back at you with a puzzled look. 

When his parents passed away, although he didn’t express much. He always felt comforted by the presence of Lauren and his kids. All of them knew he was sad but he never said anything, all of them knew he needed them. He bit his inner cheek as he recalled those days, the days when he clung to Lauren and his family. It didn’t pass through his mind that he’d been looking for time to get away from them in those days. 

“So, honestly, why are you here?” he then asked softly. “If you’re alone, you could’ve stayed with your friends,”

You shrugged. 

“That’s not an answer,” he said more sternly. You snorted softly while sipping the last of your fifth Martini. In fifteen minutes midnight would come and now you didn’t have it in yourself to be a bit more careful with your words. 

“I don’t want to tell you,” you confessed. 

Beau gave you one of his amused looks. 

“No?”

“No,” you answered shaking your head as you stared at him. His face was lit up with amusement as he stared at you, biting his lower lip. You took a deep breath as you weighed your options, you decided on the latter. “Because you’ll never want to fuck me,”

For a moment Beau thought he didn’t hear you correctly. And then he looked at you, you were dripping beauty, youthfulness. Your eyes for a moment, he could see, were full of lust and that confidence that he now felt so deprived of. There was something inside of him that woke up with you. 

“I didn’t mean,” you began to retract as soon as he didn’t answer. 

Beau shook his head, worried he might’ve offended you and suddenly he held you had. 

Your breathing stopped as you watched his large hand covering yours, holding you. He was cold, goosebumps erupted on your skin as you watched him touch you, then your eyes fell on his. You could see he was trying to hold back, fighting with himself about what he should do. He exhales a sigh. 

“I’m just too old for a girl like you,” he answered softly but he gets closer to you, closer than he’d ever been throughout the whole night. 

Beau, who had been planning to return to his house where his wife was with his three children, was suddenly secretly waiting that you would fight him back on it. He watched you take in the answer as you bit your cheek and nodded softly, for a moment looking away but then scooting closer to him.

“Maybe you’re right,” you answered. 

“What?”

You shrugged but still, he waited for an answer, mostly demanding it by the way he was looking at you. 

“I believe I’m not too young for me to fuck you,” you answered with a Cheshire smile. “Maybe, you’re just too old to fuck me,”

Beau scoffed a small chuckle and for the first time his smile spread all over his face, his eyes crinkled as he watched you in awe, your face lit up in a soft laughter. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he mumbled.

“You’ve given me more alcohol than I’ve had in nine months, this is your fault,” you said shaking your head. You looked around the bar, it was almost empty now. “I’m going to go home,” you finally stated. 

“Let me take you,” Beau said in a hurry as he felt you slipping away. 

You looked back at him for a moment and then down at your hands, his touch lingering. For a moment, you wanted to let him take you but then you saw the gold band on his finger. Swallowing hard you stared at it for a moment. Everything had been so good until that moment, your heart aches at the thought. It wasn’t fair. 

“You’ve been drinking,” you stated as you pulled your hand away, for a moment, the better part of you taking control of yourself. 

“You can’t seem to hold down your liquor,” he answered as he placed some bills on the bar. Nodding towards the older guy while you put on your coat, faster than he expected you to. 

Beau didn’t really know what to do with himself but when he realized, he was closer to you than ever before. So close that he could smell the vanilla and almonds scent from your hair. You tilted your head up, gazing at him for a moment. 

And then just then he realized he never wanted to stop seeing you. 

“If you take me home we will have sex,” you whispered. 

“I don’t see anything wrong in that,” he breathed out. 

You raised your eyebrows at the statement. He didn’t seem to be insincere, he was telling you the truth. But you couldn’t believe it, not even if you wanted to. So, you asked again. 

“You sure you don’t?” you asked, watching him through your long lashes. Beau didn’t answer, he simply shook his head as his hand suddenly fell on your hip. You swallowed hard as you stared at him, pretending that his hand touching you didn’t light a fire inside of you. 

“I don’t want you to fall in love with me,” you finally breathed out. 

A last attempt to dissuade him and yourself, to pull back. But as you heard yourself you knew that it wasn’t true, what you really meant was ‘I don’t want to fall in love with you’. 

“I think it’s too late for that,” 

author's note: I'm so excited about this fic! Let me know your thoughts! I had a depressive episode this week lols. so it's been hard to write but I'm really proud that I've forced myself to write this!

taglist: @abaker74 @mandylove1000 @theyneedhelplol

[t00thpasteface]

"Thats an interesting work-out POD-ray, youve got a hundred fifty bellyaching pounds backside. If you get tired, just empty his hollow leg, probably half the poundage right there."

benefits of mulcahy inviting hawkeye over to work out:

hawkeye makes a LOT of comments on how big and strong mulcahy is (boosts morale)

convenient weight to use for pushups, bench presses, holding down mulcahy's legs for situps/crunches (giving a lil smooch every time he sits up), etc

hawkeye can go grab water and bring it back as needed (martinis do not rehydrate, you should know this hawkeye, you're a doctor and an alcoholic)

drawbacks of inviting hawkeye:

he assumed that the offer to work out together was a euphemism for sex and is kind of pouty that it actually wasn't

[kahahns]

KATHRYN HAHN fifty-one . bisexual . actor, producer . she/her a perfect day looks like.. ✮ It's cruising down a quiet country road, an oldies playlist blasting. It's an espresso martini in hand, dancing barefoot without a care. It's taking over a Karaoke machine at a dive bar. It's volunteering at the animal shelter, trying to resist the urge of adopt another. It’s introducing new friends to ranch water, lighting candles, and curating my crystal collection like a modern-day alchemist. And of course, my coven is always open to welcoming new witches. #witchplease ( @hollywoodfamerp )

[inversefunction]

everyone's a little late on mondays

built into our muscles twitch an hour

open before alarms go off fuck but

all of this again oh well that’s the life

we tell ourselves something like fifty

times a year i keep the books open until

ten anyway so i can sit and have my coffee

not worry about morning traffic and potholes

in center lanes no i can do my crossword

take an extra ten minutes in the shower

get enough done so by day’s end i feel like

i’ve already won the week and if its nice out

i call a neighbor out and down the street

for martinis on a patio - gin, up with a lemon

-rb.xyz

[shy-girl04]

the problem with ageing

is that by twenty-one years old

everything’s allowed: every film,

every spirit, every sexual position –

and all you have to wait for

is a free ride on the bus,

and half-price half-size lunches

if i were minister of culture

i would alter legislation:

beer and wine with food at sixteen;

vodka jelly, nineteen; gin at twenty-one;

twister lollies, twenty-three;

hot-air balloon rides, thirty

candyfloss at thirty-eight

cocktails only when you’re forty-one

baileys, sixty-seven

imagine the parties; frantic groups

of adults, skin still too unlived

to buy martinis at the bar, calling up their elders

for tips on how to contour wrinkles

guys pleading with bouncers

they are definitely forty, even forty-three

grey hair dye flying from the shelves

grandmas begged outside the offy

friends telling friends they’re so lucky

to look fifty when they’re only

early-forties so they can finally get into

the penguin enclosure at the zoo

and at the fun fair,

queues of sixty-year-old lovers

old enough at last

to ride the ferris wheel at night

outside the cinema,

just-retired friends scrunching faces

fake walking sticks and wigs,

to sneak into the new erotic movie;

certificate eighty-seven

and at ninety-five,

for those lucky few who make it

hobbling to the sweet shop

legal age at last

to buy watermelon bubble gum

and blow it in the street

Hollie McNish

[overdueforarevival]

Hunter has a complicated relationship with alcohol. That's the simple was of putting it. On Kamino, he'd only ever heard of the stuff, nothing could be smuggling into their home's impenetrable walls, no shiny had ever had the chance to taste the stuff.

He'd heard about it, though. Heard from their specialist trainers how some soldiers may turn to it for solace, to forget the hardships and the losses. Everyone who ever spoke of it insisted that they never touch it, not even a drop.

All of that goes out the window after their first mission and they're being applauded on Coruscant, invited out the a place called 79's by some regs from the 212th. Normally, they wouldn't hang out with other clones, but these were Cody's boys, so Hunter figured it wouldn't be so bad. One drink, they'd agreed, and then it'd be back to planning their next mission.

Wrecker refused to touch it, ordering a soft drink with a little straw he spent the next hour nursing. Tech choked on his first sip, eyes bulging as he spluttered, much to the amusement of his brother's. He joined Wrecker with a soda after that. Crosshair had one drink, maybe two, but no more than that. Hunter doesn't remember much of that night. Only the glorious oblivion that filled his head, the gentle sway of the floor beneath his boots and the fuzzy lilt of his thoughts. For the first time, Hunter felt normal. He hadn't ever felt that way before.

But he woke up the next morning, puking his guts up ten minutes before their briefing and the bright light of the holoprojector made him want to claw his eyeballs out. Never again, he had sworn.

Time went on and the Batch remained vehemently sober, until they swept in at the last moment and saved the 327th corps from certain doom and Bly insisted they treat them at a bar on some seedy planet they stop off at on the way back. Tech and Wrecker beg off, insisting that Wrecker should really go to the infirmary for the bump on his head and Tech should really go with him. So Crosshair and Hunter go alone with the regs and once again, Hunter has a few hours of respite from the endless pressure of perfection before the memories fade away into nothingness. Apparently Cross had to drag him back to the Marauder when he starts chatting up some locals with what Crosshair insists were bad intentions. Hunter doesn't remember a thing.

And he loves it.

It happens more and more often, anytime they pass a bar, Hunter drags them in for 'one drink' which turns into two, into five, into more than he can count. Tech finds he doesn't like most alcohol, but takes a liking to a martini, just one or two. Crosshair learns to let loose, he doesn't quite keep up with Hunter, but he comes close. This continues on for a while, until the drinks say the bar turn into drinks on the ship and suddenly Hunter doesn't remember the last time he was sober and not on a mission.

It's Tech who gets him to smarten up, Hunter thought he'd have walked into what the boys called their 'intervention' with a headful of statistics and fifty papers loaded up on his data pad of the dangers of alcohol. Instead, he looks Hunter dead in the eye, goggles removed, and he shakes his head.

'I don't recognise you, Hunter. You are not the man I agreed to follow into battle.'

And that's really what it comes down to. Hunter remembered then, what he was born to do. To lead. Hunter is a leader, he is notnormal, never has been and never will be.

He doesn't have a drink for months. And it kills him, it's all he wants, all he thinks about but he doesn't touch it, for his little brother who didn't recognise the boy he grew up with. There's times that he slips, times he fails and comes staggering into the ship, passes out on the floor and apologises over and over the next day. But, he does his best not to cock it up again.

Then they meet Echo, the infamous twin of Fives. They're known throughout the GAR for two reasons: their indestructible tactics and their knowledge of the night life.

Hunter has a bad day, he slips up and Echo finds him at a bar. Echo who doesn't know a thing about Hunter's past, who only sees his brother in desperate need of some relaxation. So they go to 79's and then some other bar and somewhere else after that. Hunter gets so drunk he doesn't remember a thing, except for one small moment as they staggered back to the ship, leaning on each other for support.

'They can't know I've been drinking... Our little secret, eh Echo?' he had said. And that it was. Their little secret. And it happened again. Then again, and again and he's never found a better friend than Echo, but the guilt is eating him alive. He should be better than this.

Tech is waiting for them when they stumble in one night and Hunter feels the blood in his veins turn to ice.

He'd never heard Tech yell before, he didn't know that the man could. But, boy could it sober you up.

Echo stands stock still like a child under fire and Hunter hangs his head in shame. He only interrupts Tech's tirade to insist it's not Echo's fault, that he didn't know Hunter wasn't meant to drink. Tech bellowed that that was not the point, that neither of them should be drinking.

The next day, Hunter and Echo make a pact to never touch the stuff again, if only never have to hear Tech shout like that again.

It's difficult at first, but then he meets a bubbly little girl, a sister at that, and suddenly it doesn't seem so hard. Not when he has a reason, a real reason, to put the drink down for good.

He doesn't slip up once after that, not a single drop of alcohol touches his tongue and though Omega will never know who he was before her, he'll always know just what she did for him. Hunter will always know that Omega was his saving grace, a gift sent from somewhere Hunter doesn't know, but it's the best gift he could have received.

And then she's ripped away from him a d no matter how hard he tries, he can't find her. Echo has left, Crosshair is gone and Tech is dead. It's just him, Wrecker and the endless expanse of space stretching out ruthlessly in front of them. There's an old bottle Echo kept under his bunk. 'In case of emergency' he'd said once with a wink. This was indeed an emergency and Hunter has to buy a new bottle the next day. it takes Wrecker a while to catch on, but when he does, he's fuming. He shouts and screams but somehow it doesn't seem half as scary as when Tech did it. Frankly, Hunter simply doesn't care. He just needs to forget, just for a little while, forget the pain pressing down on his chest, gnawing at his soul. Just forget.

It doesn't get better. There's nothing to snap him out of it this time, no terrifying speech or saving grace. Hunter has nothing left to control himself for. So he lets go and allows the fates to decide his future.

His future brings him his little girl back, eventually. He's completely fucked when they get her message, Wrecker has to read it to him, three times in the end, just to get the short sentence through his buzzing mind.

He doesn't have long enough to sober up, but he does shower and change his clothes. He hides the bottles and dumps the trash on the way and hopes she doesn't notice the way he trips down the stairs. Maybe she'll put it down to emotion, not the liquor swirling through his brain.

Maybe it's a good think he's intoxicated though, because Omega isn't alone and he has a few choice words for Crosshair, but all that comes out in his drunken state is a simple:

'Welcome home, Cross,'

And the rest is history. Omega stays close to him, so close that he doesn't dare risk a drink, she doesn't need to know that side of him. His saving grace has come home and that's all he needs. His little girl is better than any solace the alcohol could offer.

So yes, Hunter has a complicated relationship with alcohol, one that ebbs and flows with the tides,one that never truly fades. But it's a part of him, a part of who he is and he'll never forget where he came from and all the people he was before. He has his little family and his warm home on Pabu and that's enough for him now.

[eden-baileyrp]

Starter for: @celineediz Where: Louisiana Lunar Observatory

Honestly, Eden wasn't entirely sure what this fundraiser was for, she was just aware it was full of incredibly boring people. Mostly it seemed they were over fifty years old, more money than sense, and that also went for her 'date' for the night. A yacht broker who was sat on a pile of family money that he was more than happy to throw at Eden a couple of times a month to make him look good at the charity events he was invited to. Plus he tipped her incredibly well so she always made sure to make room for his bookings when they came up, but often they involved a lot of people watching for her while he schmoozed various other big wigs from around town, and tonight her eye had been caught by a young woman across the other side of the room.

Sipping her martini as she watched her over the rim she wondered to herself if she was older or younger than her, and also what her hair care routine was because that shit was glossy as hell. After a moment she squeezed the arm of the man she was making look better, murmuring in his ear that she needed to use the powder room, and crossing the expansive room until she reached the other. "I'm impressed, working with The Mayor is certainly an aspiration a lot of us have - how long have you been with him?" She clearly had his ear from the amount they spoke that night not to mention how she was never too far away from him in distance, Eden just assumed since she was never the only escort in the room at this kind of thing, the other shared her career path.

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Taming Arrogance - Chapter 6

*Warning Adult Content*

With three martinis sloshing around my empty stomach, I manage to sleep throughout the rest of the plane ride and through the landing.

By the time the two of us make our way to the luggage vestibule, my temples are throbbing.

Normally I can handle my liquor with ease but hard liquor with no water?

And no food beforehand?

And on a plane?

That's a headache just waiting to happen.

Blake walks over when he sees my suitcase coming around the corner.

He picks it off the belt and sets it to the side.

His luggage follows only a few feet behind mine and he lifts it off the belt as well.

"Our ride is here," Blake says handing me my luggage.

He leads the way without waiting for me to respond and in all honesty I'm far too hungover to protest.

The coolness of the air conditioning cuts off abruptly when I step outside the mechanical doors.

In its place a sticky warmth clings to my skin.

Despite it being so late into the night, the Floridian heat is brutal.

One of my buddies recommended we go here for spring break next year.

If this sweltering heat is any indication of how it will be during the day, I'm going to give him a resounding 'hell no' when I get home.

"Welcome to Florida," Blake says.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the moist, heavy air.

A lone convertible is parked alongside the curb of the airport and Blake waves his hand at the driver.

The man immediately steps out of the car and comes over to greet us.

He shakes Blake's hand in a respectful manner and takes each of our bags of luggage to put in the trunk.

"Safe flight, Mr. Benson?" the driver asks congenially.

Blake opens the passenger side door for me, pushing the seat to a forward position to let me through.

I swing my backpack off my shoulders and step into the flashy vehicle.

Blake gets in a second behind me and sets his carry-on luggage to the right of him.

It forces him closer to me and suddenly this spacious convertible doesn't have enough room in the backseat.

"It was wonderful, thank you Todd," Blake responds to his driver.

"Todd, this is my assistant, Mr. Greene. Callum, this is my dear friend and one of my longtime employees, Todd."

Todd gives me a friendly wave from the rear-view mirror.

I give a curt nod in return.

There's no reason for me to be acting like a prick but I refuse to allow myself to enjoy the company or the conversation of anyone who seems to be under the 'Blake Benson' trance.

Todd turns off his flashers and flips on his left blinker to get the car away from the curb.

"Where to, boss?"

"We have a reservation at the Hilton," Blake responds.

"The one in town?"

"Yes."

Todd pulls the car onto the main highway with ease.

"Need me to stop anywhere for a late dinner or a drink, boss?"

Blake turns to me and raises a brow, as if waiting for me to weigh in my opinion.

I shrug and lean back into the leather seats.

"I wouldn't turn down a few slices of pizza," I admit.

"Pizza?" Blake repeats slowly.

"Yea, pizza. You know, that shit that has dough with sauce and cheese on top of it? Sometimes people even go crazy and add a topping or two."

Blake chuckles and shakes his head.

"Oh to have the metabolism of an eighteen year old."

"Nineteen," I correct him icily, though I don't know why the mistake bothers me so much in the first place.

"Todd, would you mind ordering up a thin crust pizza for Mr. Greene and myself? Let's do half with green peppers and mushrooms and the other half will be..." Blake looks over at me, waiting to hear my topping preference.

I slide my tongue over my teeth.

What are the odds he likes the same exact toppings as I do?

One in fifty?

One in a hundred?

I could make up a different set of toppings but at the mere mention of my favorite pizza, my stomach growls with hearty approval.

"Green peppers and mushrooms are fine for my half too."

Blake looks surprised but finishes giving Todd the order anyway.

The two of them amicably debate back and forth on where the best pizza is in town and while they do so, my attention shifts to new sights coming into view.

City lights are becoming brighter, casting shadows over the looming and tropical looking palm trees that line the sidewalks.

There are a few bars and night clubs we pass along the way.

Each one seems to have drunken men and women stumbling out of the doors in search of a cigarette reprieve.

The night life here looks fun.

I wonder if Blake will let me go out for a night to try out my new fake ID at a club or two.

I frown at my thoughts.

I wonder if Blake will let me?

What kind of sappy shit is that?

He doesn't own me.

He's just my boss, after all and I'm the one who rearranged all of my plans to be here in the first place.

"What time will we get done with work tomorrow?" I ask Blake once he and Todd settle on a pizza place.

"The latest would probably be around eight or nine," he responds.

"Why?"

"Perfect. I'm going out tomorrow night. The night life here looks fun as hell." Blake's nostrils flare at my announcement and the heat behind his gaze is one I haven't seen before.

There's a strained silence that settles throughout the car.

Even Todd shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

Then I notice his eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror.

His gaze meets mine,and in a single look, I have the sinking suspicion that I'm barking up the wrong tree.

When Blake doesn't respond, I decide to push my luck even more.

"I hope you got us separate rooms," I say with a daring grin.

"If I get lucky I'll need a place to fuck."

There's no reason I should be spurring on Blake's quickly downward spiraling mood.

He's a professional guy and I'm sure hearing me talk so casually about my sex life is yet another issue that'll bring me one step closer to being fired.

Plus, Blake knows I'm straight.

I'm sure picturing me touching another woman is making him cringe with gayness.

Blake's jaw works itself into a tightened clench.

Wordlessly he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his cellphone and swiftly dialing a number.

He puts it up to his ear and stares straight ahead.

"Luke," Blake snaps in a quiet tone.

"What are the room arrangements at the Hilton?"

Silence.

"Call again please and cancel both of our rooms. Request the penthouse instead for the two of us to share."

Silence.

"Then book another hotel. Text me when it's done."

Blake hangs up the cell-phone and stuffs it back into his pocket.

Did he seriously just cock-block me?

Just because I'm on a work trip doesn't mean I'm on the clock 24/7.

There's no reason for him to prevent me from having a bit of fun just so long as during work hours I remain professional.

"What the hell?" I start to ask but Blake cuts me off.

"Todd, our room isn't quite ready yet. I'm sure there's still a pizza place open at this hour where we could dine-in. Would you find one and drop us off for a bit?"

I stare at Todd incredulously.

Surely he realizes how interfering Blake's behavior is and will have something to say about it.

Instead, however, Todd nods at the request and keys in a new location on his GPS.

"Sure thing, boss," Todd says quietly.

"Closest one is about fifteen miles away."

"Thank you, Todd."

I'm too dumfounded to say anything more.

It's evident that Todd is not on my side with this one.

Blake is always an asshole when it comes my manners and acting professionally whenever we're at the office but this is a whole new level.

He's never tried to play interference with my personal life.

What an uptight ass-hat.

Despite it being only fifteen miles away, the drive to the pizza place takes far longer than expected.

Or maybe that's just due to the awkward silence that's continually permeating throughout the car.

Either way, by the time Todd pulls up to the restaurant, I feel like an hour has passed.

"Thank you Todd," Blake says, opening the car door and climbing onto the sidewalk.

"'Course, Mr. Benson," Todd says.

"What time would you like me back here?"

"Half an hour. This won't take long."

The way Blake answers Todd's question sends a shiver down my spine.

I suddenly feel like a child who is about to be scolded.

Todd pulls away from the curb a moment later and Blake watches him disappear into darkness.

Ever so slowly Blake turns his focus to me.

"Mr. Greene," he says quietly.

"I'd appreciate it if you joined me inside for a slice of pizza. I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you..."

[reigningqueenofwords]

Sold

Word count: 937

Read on AO3

Part 2 of Lightening and Arrows

Clint smiled at you as the pair of you danced. “Are you glad you agreed to be my date?” He asked. 

You pretended to think. “I am.” You chuckled. “Thank you.” You smiled. “For helping me out of my head. I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.” 

“Anytime.” He grinned. “I am always up to show a pretty lady a good time.” He playfully flirted. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You teased. 

The two of you danced for a couple more minutes before he led you off the dancefloor, his arm around your waist. Feeling eyes on him, he looked around and spotted an annoyed looking Thor. He couldn’t help but smirk at the God. Sending him a wink, he turned back to you. “Would you like a drink?” He asked. 

You smiled. “Sure.” You agreed, letting him lead you to the bar. “Can I get a martini please?” You asked the bartender, while Clint then ordered a beer. 

Thor watched you and Clint flirt at the bar and shook his head. Briana swallowed awkwardly. “Can we dance?” She asked Thor, hopeful. After all, she was his date. He had been the one to ask her to go with him. He had seemed so excited until he saw you with Clint. 

He took a moment, then turned to her. “Of course.” He agreed, offering his hand to her. He gave her a soft smile as she took his hand. 

“Alright, now the part of the night we’ve all been looking for!” Tony got on stage, getting everyone’s attention. “The Avenger’s Auction! Can I get my teammates up here, please?” He grinned as he saw them all making their way towards the stage. “The first date that’s being auctioned off is…Captain America! Come here, Rogers.” He motioned for Steve to come stand with him. “You know the drill, ladies and gentleman. Bidding starts at five grand for a date with this handsome guy.” 

Steve looked at Tony and sighed. He reminded himself this was for charity. He smiled out at the crowd, knowing that this auction always got charity an insane amount of money. A hand lifted, the first bid put in. He wondered how high things would go. The year before someone bid fifty thousand for a date with him. 

You watched as bidding went quick for Steve. When bidding ended, you were glad you weren’t sipping a drink. The winning bid was a hundred grand that year. “Wow.” You breathed. 

“Oh, over double last year’s winning bid!” Tony laughed. “Nice. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth.” He smirked, making Steve lightly slap his arm. “If you’d just like to make your way over to Happy there. He’ll get your information.” He told the winner. “Rogers, back to the others.” He was loving this. “Who should we ‘sell’ next…?” He asked, laughing even harder as people actually called out names. “Oh, lively bunch this year.” 

Finally, he called up Bruce. He shyly went up, giving the crowd a small wave. He was so sweet, and you hoped he felt the same love that Steve did. The bidding didn’t go as fast, but people seemed to want him, too. You giggled as you could see him look a bit surprised, and a bit bashful, as the bidding grew. Finally, the winning bid was seventy-five thousand. 

One by one, the Avengers were auctioned off. Nat went for twice what Steve did, surprising no one. Tony outbid everyone for Pepper, amusing you. Clint got just about what Bruce got, and when he slipped back in line, he teased you. “You didn’t bid for my hand?” He whispered, making you giggle. 

“I didn’t realize I had to pay for it.” You nudged him. 

He pretended to think about it while Tony rambled on. “I guess you can get it for free.” The two of you snorted at how that sounded. 

“Since she’s been miss giggly with Legolas over there…Y/N, come on up!” Tony smirked at you as you blushed. “Don’t be shy, you can go back to flirting with the elf after.” 

You made your way to stand next to him, not seeing the look Thor had as Tony opened up the bidding. He was clearly not a fan of auctioning you off. You chewed on your lip, confused as to why bidding was going like it was. It was making you a bit self conscious, if you were being honest. 

Tony was confused, too. He felt you would have gotten nearly as much as Nat! “Fine, since you clearly lack taste, I’ll bid!” He announced, hoping that would egg the others on. “I bid a hundred thousand!” He grinned, looking around the room. “Going once….going twice…sold. To me.” He kissed your cheek to try to relax you. He’d likely gift that ‘date’ to Clint or Thor. He hadn’t decided who yet. “Back to line, Y/N/N.” He told you, and you hurriedly went back to standing with Clint. Your cheeks were red, but mostly out of embarrassment. Your friend had to place the winning bid. No one else was really bidding. It had only been thirty thousand before that. “Alright, Thor! Get on up here.” He motioned to the God. 

Clint gave you a small smile after he nudged you to look at him. “Night’s almost over.” He reminded you. 

“Thankfully.” You sighed, wanting to get home, and into a hot shower. You weren’t even paying attention to the auction anymore. Thankfully Thor was the last one up. After that was finished, things would start winding down. You would slip out, getting an Uber back to the tower.

[paradiserottttt]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐒 — a private, multimuse blog for lawlessfm

───────────────────────────────

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐎 "𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘" 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐎. the temptation. thirty-three. priest @ st. anthony of padua church. replicant.

introduction / interactions / musings

𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐘𝐔 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍. the firebrand. thirty-five. owner of olive branch martini bar. consigliere of dead hand.

introduction / interactions / musings

𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃. the king-killer. forty-four. owner of the new york ballet company. boss of white crocodiles.

introduction / interactions / musings

𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 “𝐇𝐄𝐗”  𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍. the hacktivist. thirty. junior coder @ stoneage industries. hacker.

introduction / interactions / musings

𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐍. the plague doctor. fifty-eight. baba yaga (killer) of the terrors.

introduction / interactions / musings

───────────────────────────────

as penned by lia + 25 + they/she + pst

[brain-amoeba]

tony stark x f!college!reader (unfinished)

(a/n: i must sleep so i can't finish fic but wanna see if this'll even interest anyone so here's a part 1/preview i suppose!

hope you guys catch the subtle iron man 1 reference and the little fourth wall break moment heehee. this one is for all of my girlies who absolutley crash and burn in social settings.)

warnings: age gap

Celebrity galas-- glasses pouring to life with champagne, attendees decked out in dresses that cost more than your tuition, and everyone sucked and tucked to absolute perfection. To be honest, you were completely out of your element-- but it would take more than silicone faces and fat wallets to scare you away tonight. As fate would have it, your university friend's father was employed by Stark Industries, and able to snag tickets to Tony's annual charity gala for the both of you in the name of "networking". Now, you were a studious young woman and by no means an airhead, but you were pursuing a notoriously difficult field of study that one Tony Stark happened to lead. Was this a longshot? Major understatement. Were you still determined to go after this? Absolutely.

Forging professional connections, rubbing corporate elbows, and enjoying a night with the stars would send your average college student reeling, but you were on a divine mission: to recruit Mr. Stark himself as your personal tutor. Was it presumptuous? Maybe a little…But you heard so much about some spider fella named Peter Parker who's rumored to be Tony's young protege! If a high schooler could earn such a role, what could stop you? (Well he is a spider and you're not, so…)

"Quiet you." You hiss under your breath, the sudden sound of your voice breaking your stream of consciousness. You were brought right back to reality-- the uproarious chatter, live music, and dancing couples around you soon dwarfed you and your sense of self worth. After such a brash display of confidence, albeit only in your head, you cursed yourself for falling just short of your goal. You made it all this way, you were handed the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter, and you were seriously about to throw it all away and bail all because of a feeling akin to first day jitters? If a flutter in your stomach was all it took to stop you, then maybe you didn't deserve Mr. Stark's guidance in the first place. Maybe you didn't even deserve to be here in the first place. Maybe you…needed a damn drink.

You walked with immense purpose to the bar, almost shoulder checking the gentleman to your left as you set your clutch on the counter and fumbled around for your cash. The bartender flashed a knowing glance. "A dirty martini please. Extra dry, extra olives." Your order may as well be a prayer and your cash on the counter, an offering. The bartender (and God) was not the only one who heard your prayer, though. The gentleman to your left turned to face you, looking down at you with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The bartender handed you your drink, and you quickly, yet politely, took a sip. Have to maintain some decorum.

"You know, usually I'm the one buying drinks for the ladies. How did you know that's exactly what I wanted?" Your brain did not immediately register that your presence was acknowledged and you slowly turned towards the male voice that beckoned you. In that moment you could have sworn your heart fell fifty feet into your ass and down to hell. Without thinking, you reached a hand up to the gentleman's face, holding his cheek then immediately recoiling and nearly screaming. "It is you! I'm not just dreaming!" You mused, and just as soon yanked from cloud nine as the immediate realization of what you've done kicked in. "Oh my god. I just touched Tony Stark, oh my god. Wait, you're Tony Stark, who am I talking to? I just touched you! What am I saying? I'm so sorry!" You stumbled over your words like a newborn deer and fumbled with your glass awkwardly before putting it to your lips again. A little more liquid encouragement and maybe you won't make an absolute ass of yourself again.

You felt a warm hand atop your wrist, bringing the glass down from your face. "Let me have a sip of that, will you?" Without a word of approval, Tony commandeered your drink, with your hand still attached to the glass no less. "I hate these things. I usually never attend these days…" He took another sip, then gently removed your hand from the glass and held it in his. "…But I was told maybe this time it couldn't hurt, that I could benefit from some good press, maximize shareholder value, bring peace on Earth and goodwill to men, all that jazz." Surely this is the part where you wake up and realize you slept through your morning calculus lecture, right? That you'll be back in your dorm, cozy under covers, clad in a random free shirt from a campus event, 3 sizes too big? Surely?

"I-I don't know how to maximize shareholder value…" You replied, utterly dejected. What does that even mean? Who is a shareholder? What do they value? "Neither do I, darling." He replied with a lighthearted chuckle. Upon taking a more sincere look at you, Tony felt a twinge of guilt. You were a nervous wreck, and your fresh face told him you were at least 10 years his junior. He pitied you, and subconsciously held your hand a bit tighter. "Tell you what, why don't we go get some fresh air? Not like you're going to miss much in here anyway." Tony offered, finishing your drink and tossing a wad of cash the bartender's way. You nodded your head meekly, too overwhelmed to speak. You were out of body, even moreso out of your mind, for agreeing and going off alone(!) with Mr. Stark.

[summertravelsbg]

Mirdites and Tosks Different Customs

The customs of the Mirdites and Tosks are very different. The Mirdites try to have some form of government, but the decisions are mainly made by the leaders of the strongest clans. Their laws are strict and sometimes harsh. One interesting tradition is the practice of adopted brothers. Two men can swear to be brothers, and their relationship is so strong that their children cannot marry each other. The Tosks are more hardworking than the Mirdites, and some of their leaders, called Beys, become relatively wealthy.

Albania’s Relationship with Turkey

While the Albanians would like to be free from even the small amount of control the Turks have over them, this control prevents the country from falling into chaos. The Turkish rule keeps the clans from fighting each other and stops the Italians from taking over the country. As a result, Albania does not have much influence in the Balkans. In a larger uprising, the Albanians would fight the Turks, but since they cannot unite, they have no political power Istanbul Day Tours.

Outrages and Violence in Albania

It is not surprising that in such a warlike land, there are many violent acts. For example, the first consul from Serbia to Pristina was killed by Albanians after six months because he refused to leave when they asked him to. The Albanians also expelled the Turkish governors of Pristina and Prisrend because they disliked them, and the Turkish authorities did nothing in response.

Violence Between Albanians and Others

In another case, three noble Albanians at Nich, after a big dinner, took their guns and started shooting at local farmers. One farmer was killed, and another was injured. A few days later, two of the Albanians assaulted a pregnant farmer’s wife. They gathered the farmer’s children, made them sit around a fire, and used shovels to throw hot embers on their arms and legs.

Sofia, an Albanian bandit, led a group of ten men and demanded 575 francs from the Mayor of Doumuntze. If the mayor didn’t pay, he threatened to burn the village down. Sofia had taken the same amount of money from the village the year before. At the same time, Sofia demanded another ransom from a rich man he had kidnapped the previous year. The mayor, fearing for his life, had no choice but to give him fifty dozen Martini cartridges as well.

Finally, near Uskup, a Christian man walked past a group of fifteen Albanian Muslims who were sitting and drinking coffee. One of the Muslims asked, “What if we kill him?” and the Christian man was killed shortly after.

[traveltoobulgaria]

Mirdites and Tosks Different Customs

The customs of the Mirdites and Tosks are very different. The Mirdites try to have some form of government, but the decisions are mainly made by the leaders of the strongest clans. Their laws are strict and sometimes harsh. One interesting tradition is the practice of adopted brothers. Two men can swear to be brothers, and their relationship is so strong that their children cannot marry each other. The Tosks are more hardworking than the Mirdites, and some of their leaders, called Beys, become relatively wealthy.

Albania’s Relationship with Turkey

While the Albanians would like to be free from even the small amount of control the Turks have over them, this control prevents the country from falling into chaos. The Turkish rule keeps the clans from fighting each other and stops the Italians from taking over the country. As a result, Albania does not have much influence in the Balkans. In a larger uprising, the Albanians would fight the Turks, but since they cannot unite, they have no political power Istanbul Day Tours.

Outrages and Violence in Albania

It is not surprising that in such a warlike land, there are many violent acts. For example, the first consul from Serbia to Pristina was killed by Albanians after six months because he refused to leave when they asked him to. The Albanians also expelled the Turkish governors of Pristina and Prisrend because they disliked them, and the Turkish authorities did nothing in response.

Violence Between Albanians and Others

In another case, three noble Albanians at Nich, after a big dinner, took their guns and started shooting at local farmers. One farmer was killed, and another was injured. A few days later, two of the Albanians assaulted a pregnant farmer’s wife. They gathered the farmer’s children, made them sit around a fire, and used shovels to throw hot embers on their arms and legs.

Sofia, an Albanian bandit, led a group of ten men and demanded 575 francs from the Mayor of Doumuntze. If the mayor didn’t pay, he threatened to burn the village down. Sofia had taken the same amount of money from the village the year before. At the same time, Sofia demanded another ransom from a rich man he had kidnapped the previous year. The mayor, fearing for his life, had no choice but to give him fifty dozen Martini cartridges as well.

Finally, near Uskup, a Christian man walked past a group of fifteen Albanian Muslims who were sitting and drinking coffee. One of the Muslims asked, “What if we kill him?” and the Christian man was killed shortly after.

[holidaysinn]

Mirdites and Tosks Different Customs

The customs of the Mirdites and Tosks are very different. The Mirdites try to have some form of government, but the decisions are mainly made by the leaders of the strongest clans. Their laws are strict and sometimes harsh. One interesting tradition is the practice of adopted brothers. Two men can swear to be brothers, and their relationship is so strong that their children cannot marry each other. The Tosks are more hardworking than the Mirdites, and some of their leaders, called Beys, become relatively wealthy.

Albania’s Relationship with Turkey

While the Albanians would like to be free from even the small amount of control the Turks have over them, this control prevents the country from falling into chaos. The Turkish rule keeps the clans from fighting each other and stops the Italians from taking over the country. As a result, Albania does not have much influence in the Balkans. In a larger uprising, the Albanians would fight the Turks, but since they cannot unite, they have no political power Istanbul Day Tours.

Outrages and Violence in Albania

It is not surprising that in such a warlike land, there are many violent acts. For example, the first consul from Serbia to Pristina was killed by Albanians after six months because he refused to leave when they asked him to. The Albanians also expelled the Turkish governors of Pristina and Prisrend because they disliked them, and the Turkish authorities did nothing in response.

Violence Between Albanians and Others

In another case, three noble Albanians at Nich, after a big dinner, took their guns and started shooting at local farmers. One farmer was killed, and another was injured. A few days later, two of the Albanians assaulted a pregnant farmer’s wife. They gathered the farmer’s children, made them sit around a fire, and used shovels to throw hot embers on their arms and legs.

Sofia, an Albanian bandit, led a group of ten men and demanded 575 francs from the Mayor of Doumuntze. If the mayor didn’t pay, he threatened to burn the village down. Sofia had taken the same amount of money from the village the year before. At the same time, Sofia demanded another ransom from a rich man he had kidnapped the previous year. The mayor, fearing for his life, had no choice but to give him fifty dozen Martini cartridges as well.

Finally, near Uskup, a Christian man walked past a group of fifteen Albanian Muslims who were sitting and drinking coffee. One of the Muslims asked, “What if we kill him?” and the Christian man was killed shortly after.