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[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Breaking the Class Ceiling Chapter 1

This is set in early 1900s U.S.A., during the Edwardian era with some style changes into the upcoming Art Nouveau period. I've changed history a bit for this. Pretending that America didn't have a full Civil War and trying to create a more optimistic outcome for the purposes of the story. I've also tried to research what the rules for society/socializing were back then, and tweaked some of them.

Warnings for upcoming chapters: minor character death, some sexual harassment/assault (but nothing too graphic or traumatic), smut.

Next chapter

The year was 1904.  America was in a technological boom and desperate to prove itself as a major power.  After infighting and a near civil war there had finally been peace and treaties made just years before, and as everyone learned to live with each other and create equity within their communities, prosperity flourished.  The World Fair was to be held in St. Louis, Missouri, that year, and the entire eastern seaboard was abuzz with excitement.  As families who had been previously destitute were now doing better financially they were all making plans and investing in the finer things in life, including making the big trip to St. Louis.  

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the son of an office manager, was taking up on his father’s work under a local lawyer in Brooklyn, New York.  He’d been working as a clerk in the office since he was a teenager, balancing books and ordering supplies.  His penmanship was the best in the office out of all the other clerks and receptionists, thanks to his mother, so he was in charge of handling official letters and working with dignitaries in the area.  It got him connections with the high class, and he was able to make good friends with business men’s sons, who were born into money.  He was able to get invited to all the big parties, hitch along with the high-brow at sporting events, and court the higher class women.  

His father, George Barnes, was proud of him for rubbing shoulders with the old money men.  Bucky and George were able to make a good living, but nothing that compared to the types of things that Bucky had been able to experience.  George encouraged him regularly to find a well off young woman to marry so that his future would be set.  Bucky worked and saved to make sure he had the best clothes and accessories so he would blend in with his friends, saving for his future when he could.  No woman in high society would give him a chance otherwise.

As Bucky was partying and scouting the local women, you moved back into town.  A rich woman whose family had hit it big in the beginning of the oil industry, you were the only one left after a long bout of illness that took your family.  All you had left was your uncle Alonso, who pretended to care for you, but was hitching his wagon to yours in hopes of a monetary gift and retirement.  He acted as your chaperone and matchmaker, looking for promising young men that he felt were worth your fortune.  Unfortunately for him, you were not looking for the same criteria of men he was.  He wanted someone high class, also from a well off family, or someone who would add to your fortune.  You wanted love, friendship, companionship, with someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by your fortune and your confidence.  A rich woman with full access to her own money was few and far between in this century, and you knew it.  You didn’t need a man, you wanted one.  A good one. 

The news of your arrival spread quickly.  Your last name was plastered on many a product and business, as you invested heavily in your home state, and the idea of an American princess returning after years of traveling was an exciting change of pace for Brooklyn.

“Good morning Bucky!” Steve Rogers greeted loudly as he swung open the office door, making it bang against the window behind it.

“Jeez, Steve, don’t break the glass, will ya?” Bucky grimaced, but gave him a clap on the shoulder in greeting.  “‘Morning, punk.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said sheepishly, checking on the glass then turning back to the front desk.  “Hey, did you hear about the Y/L/N girl coming back to town?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his paperwork, “Yeah, I heard.”

Steve looked at him expectantly.  “And?”

Buck glanced from the papers, the pencil in his hand hovering over the stack, “And what?”

Steve snorted at his best friend.  “And what?  She’s throwing a party!  It’s gonna be the biggest party Brooklyn’s ever seen!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you got your invite already,” Bucky looked back down at his paperwork.  Steve came from a wealthy family who had made good money after selling a number of sugar and tobacco plantations.  His father had invested well and they were able to live on without needing to work anytime soon.  Of course he’d get an automatic invite.

Steve sneakily took out an envelope, a sly look in his eye.  “Yep, and I may or may not have bribed the mailman to give me yours, too,” he waved the envelope in Bucky’s face.

Bucky gawked at him, his eyes widening as he stared at the envelope.  Sure enough, his name was written on it in pretty script.  He ripped it from Steve’s hand and hastily opened it.  The paper was high quality, the writing done with a neat hand.  His eyes flew over the page as he tried to comprehend the words.

“I got an invite?” he wondered quietly.  

“Yep, that’s all you, bud,” Steve beamed at him.  “And before you ask, no, I didn’t pull any strings or make any calls.  She invited you specifically.”

Bucky was having a hard time understanding.  He never got personally invited to things, he was always the tagalong, the guy who had to be let in by his friends who put a good word in for him and opened those doors for him.  

“But…why?” he thought out loud, looking off through the window at the people passing by.

“Beats me,” Steve said nonchalantly.  “But it’s gonna be the bee’s knees.  That mansion we’ve always wondered about downtown?  That’s hers!  The whole place is being cleaned up and prepared for a big night.  You’ll need new clothes,” he finished quickly, straightening up and dusting off his suit jacket.

Bucky sighed at that.  “I don’t have enough savings for a whole new outfit, Steve.”

Steve waved him off, “Please don’t insult me.  When you’re done today stop by Barton’s and he’ll get you fixed up on my tab.  And I’ve given him strict instructions to not let you barter him down to cheap materials, so don’t you dare try it, Barnes.  You will go to that party in glad rags just like everyone else.”

Bucky wondered what he’d done right in a past life to get a friend like Steve.  “Thanks Stevie, you don’t have to do that.”

“Bullshit I don’t,” Steve countered.

“Language!” a yell came from the back.

“Sorry Mr. Fury!” Steve yelled back, looking sheepish again.  

“Alright, I’ll go,” Bucky quickly agreed, knowing he’d have no other way of looking appropriate for such a fancy function.  He knew of you, hell anyone would have to be living under a rock to not know who you were in America and many parts of Europe.  He wondered how you’d heard of him and what made you want to invite him at all.  Things were changing in society, but inviting a clerk to a multimillionaire’s mansion was still strange.

***

The weeks seemed to fly by as the party approached.  Bucky had been fitted with a whole new suit from Clint Barton’s warehouse.  Steve bought him a new straw hat for it being the first spring party with a crimson red ribbon, a matching crimson lounge coat and pants, white dress shirt, an off-white and navy plaid waistcoat, cobalt blue bow tie and cognac-colored Oxford boots that were shined to perfection.  To up the ante Steve threw in gold chain cufflinks and a matching plaid pocket square.  Bucky always brought his own pocket watch given to him by his father.  It wasn’t in the best condition, so it could give away his status, but it was the one piece he wouldn’t compromise on.

Bucky had seen the hustle in town get worse as the party got closer.  The women were desperately trying to find new fabrics and accessories to make them stand out and be in-fashion to catch your attention.  The barbershops and salons were busier than usual as people got themselves cleaned and spruced up.  There was one particular day where the sounds on the street had become quite intense as a crowd followed someone.  He looked out the window and could only make out the top of the hat on your head as people not-so-discreetly-whispered your name repeatedly, some being brave enough to approach you on the street and introduce themselves to try and gain favor.  He wondered what you looked like, what you’d be like, what things you’d seen on your travels.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.  He was getting older than most of the upper class men around him, and hadn’t been able to peg down an upper class woman, let alone any woman yet, but you had invited him to what would be the biggest party of the season, so he hoped you were a little more open to people from all walks of life rather than just the upper crust.

Party day began with a buzzing excitement over the city.  Bucky could feel it himself as he finished work that day and ran home to wash up and get ready.  Steve was going to pick him up in his car so that they could come in style, and Steve was desperate to show off his new 1903 Pierce-Arrow.  Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to fool you into thinking he may be in a higher social standing than he was, but he would at least show you he could play the part.  

The mansion was nestled in between other downtown homes that paled in comparison to its opulence.  The gilded aged home was covered in turrets and filigree detail around the edges and doors.  Fresh flowers were adorning every window facing the street and the front entrance that people were filing into by the time Bucky and Steve pulled up.  Pastel floral colors and shining buttons with pristine white satin gloves shone in the sunset as they entered the front hall.  Traffic jams were happening every ten steps as the partygoers got lost in the decor of the mansion, craning their necks as they looked up at the paintings on the walls and the murals on the ceilings.  Bucky found himself getting caught up in the majesty of the mansion as well.  He and Steve had peered into the windows through the years as it sat empty, wondering what it looked like inside.  Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for what it was.

The ushers herded the people along the hallways towards the middle of the house, which opened up into a grand ballroom.  Seating was scattered along the walls with waiters holding platters of decadent-looking food and sparkling champagne flutes.  A small orchestra was playing in an upper balcony above the party, with another balcony across the way holding a band that waited for their turn to play.  The fresh flowers continued inside along the walls and pillars providing a sweet smell to waft through the room.  As everyone was finally admitted and waited in the ballroom the orchestra became louder to gain the attention of the audience.

Everyone fell silent as the orchestra finished and all turned their eyes towards the doors at the other end of the ballroom from where they’d entered.  After a brief pause the doors opened and presented the host of the party.  Good god, Bucky thought.  You were dressed in a cadmium blue evening gown that had elaborate ruffles and appliques that shimmered under the lights.  The neckline was wide, the off-the-shoulder sleeves hanging on your upper arms showing off your upper body, and the front dipping lower down your chest than what was considered normal or appropriate in American fashion, displaying a tantalizing view of your cleavage.  Whereas all the other women had their hair curled and pinned up on top of their heads, your hair was in intricate braids and wispy curls with pieces deliberately falling out, the rest pinned up with sapphires.  Instead of traditional white pressed gloves your hands were adorned with lace gloves that matched the color of your dress.  You also weren’t wearing an overly restricting corset.  Everything about your outfit made you stand out.  Bucky could hear a few light gasps and whispers in the crowd at your dress choice, and it made him smile.  As you confidently walked into the ballroom, smiling kindly at everyone, he noticed a mark on your upper left arm.  Was that…a tattoo?  Unheard of.  You were a walking contradiction, and he felt like he was going to like you already.  Just a step behind you was an older man that was dressed more in the British fashion, looking out at the crowd and scanning carefully.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Steve murmured next to him, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of the champagne in his hand.

“Mmhm, this should be fun,” Bucky agreed, his smile widening.

A butler walked forward from the side where you entered and cleared his throat, “Presenting, Lady Y/N Y/L/N, and her uncle, Mr. Alonso Y/L/N!”

The band now took a turn as you let people come up to you first, greeting them politely and giving customary head bows and occasional handshakes.  As you glided through the people Bucky pulled Steve along to a point where you’d be walking by soon.  “Come on, Steve, you gotta introduce me,” Bucky urged him.

“Buck, you introduce yourself, you got a personal invitation.  You don’t need me,” Steve protested, trying to finish his drink.  

As they settled in their spot, slowly pushing forward to greet you soon, you finished talking to a man who evidently thought highly of himself, a Mr. Rumlowe, who eyed you like something to eat.  Bucky knew him and his reputation.  Seeing the tightness of your eyes as you dismissed yourself from him, he hoped you could already see past his facade.  Your eyes fell on him and Steve and you smiled politely as you walked up to them.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Steve Rogers,” Steve spoke up first, giving you a head bow.

“Ah yes, Steve, your father was a good friend of my late father,” you said, your eyes shining at the recognition of his name.  Your uncle behind you shifted as he recognized the name as well, his mood lightening.  “He always spoke highly of your family.  I am planning to call on your parents at a later date, I hope you’ll join them when I do.”

Steve seemed delighted at the prospect of the meeting, “Yes of course.  My father has spoken of nothing else since your arrival.  You may get his card before he gets yours.”

You laughed lightly at him, introduced your uncle to him, who was very interested in Steve, then turned your attention to Bucky.  Your bright Y/C/E eyes gave him a quick look up and down, as if memorizing him.  Bucky knew he looked a bit more colorful than the other men in attendance, a purposeful choice that he was now patting himself on the back for making.

“And you must be James Barnes,” you offered him in greeting.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Yes, Miss Y/L/N, I’m surprised you know me already.”

You raised an eyebrow conspiratorially at him, “I do, your mother was a favorite of my mother’s.  I do wish I had had a chance to meet her.  My mother always spoke fondly of her,” you added, a look of mourning flashing across your face.  “I have a photograph of them together, and you look just like Winifred.”

Bucky’s breath hitched at the mention of his mother.  She had died suddenly a few years ago, taking his father’s cheerfulness with her.  She had been a bright light in the community, always looking out for others and educating the girls in the neighborhood.  He remembered her mentioning your family’s name before as being good people, but nothing concrete that would have made it seem like they were close friends.

“Oh, that’s very kind.  I am sorry I didn’t know they were good friends, but she always spoke highly of your family,” he added politely.

You nodded, your eyes searching his face for a moment.  You then surprised him by reaching your hands out for his.  He quickly met you halfway, reciprocating the greeting so as not to embarrass or reject you.  Your uncle scoffed and excused himself at your actions.  If his dismissal bothered you, you didn’t show it.  A quick glance at your hands and arms revealed that the tattoo peeking out from your sleeve was an elephant with an Indian print inside of its shape.  He could feel the stares on him as you held his hands, stepping closer to him to speak lowly.

“I hope you and your father will accept my deepest condolences.  Losing a mother is…” you trailed off, your eyes growing sad as you searched for the right words, “it is one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced,” you squeezed his fingers.  “I plan to call upon you and your father as well, please promise me you’ll accept?  I’d like to be your friend,” you proclaimed.

Bucky was floored.  It was extremely bold for a woman to ask for friendship outright from a man, and yet you showed no signs of embarrassment or hesitation at the situation you’d just created with him.  He lightly squeezed your fingers back, giving you a small smile.

“Yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N.  I’d love to be your friend, as long as you save me a dance,” he teased her.  He knew he was pushing his luck and protocols of manners, but he was rewarded when you gave him a hearty chuckle.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes,” you answered him, letting go of his hands and lacing yours together in front of you.  

“Oh please, Mr. Barnes is my father.  Friends call me Bucky,” he added.  Although it was incredibly informal to give you the option to call him his nickname, he could tell you were more open to a break in etiquette.

You smiled widely at that, “Hm, Bucky.  I like it.  Well my friends call me Y/N,” you offered him your first name back.

“Y/N,” he repeated, liking the way your name sounded on his tongue.  

You gave him a quick sly smile, “I like your candor Bucky.  Come find me soon for that dance.”

“I will, Y/N,” he gave you a smirk back.

As you bowed your head in farewell and moved on to the next person Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.  He turned to Steve whose wide eyes were gaping at Bucky in amazement.

“What just happened?” Steve asked once you were out of earshot.  

Bucky shrugged as he picked up a champagne flute from a nearby waiter, “I don’t know, but I like her.”

As the night drew on and you had greeted everyone at least once, the dancing began.  The orchestra and band took turns each song, playing slower European melodies and then switching to more American upbeat tempos.  You flitted across the dance floor, taking short breaks here and there to speak to the groups of women in the room, making small talk and promising audiences and outings.  Bucky was impressed with your ability to charm each person you talked to, ignoring the stares and sideways glances from disapproving eyes and enjoying yourself.  You ate freely, which was also strange, as most women didn’t snack offhandedly in upper class dance settings, and you nursed a champagne flute between each break you took from dancing.

Bucky decided it was time to take you up on that dance, moving through the crowd until he was on the outskirts of the dance floor, waiting for you to finish your current dance with Steve.  You spoke with him as you danced, your laugh ringing out periodically at something he said.  As he watched he felt a hard nudge to his side.

“You’re a real popinjay,” Brock Rumlowe muttered, bumping his shoulder into Bucky.  

Bucky rolled his eyes, not deigning to turn towards him, “And how’s that Rummy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rumlowe grunted.  He pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a white powder.  “Tonic?” he offered it to Bucky.

“No,” Bucky scoffed.  

“Your loss,” Rumlowe shrugged, taking a quick sniff before pocketing it so no one would see.  “You think you’re real big stuff, hm?  Getting to hold her hand and get an invite?”  He circled around Bucky’s back.  “You’re nothing,” he spat.  “Here among the high life, you’ve got nothing to offer her, or anybody for that matter.  I wonder if she knows your clothes were bought for you, by your beau Rogers.  Just go home, you mooching, freeloading, indigent bum.”

Bucky breathed deeply to calm himself.  Normally he’d just sock Rumlowe, but not here.  His father would never forgive him.

Rumlowe chuckled at his silence.  “We’ll see who she chooses.  Her uncle’s scouting for suitors.  She’s getting older, needs to marry and hand down that fortune to somebody.  Don’t want a spinster with that much money and a dead womb, such a waste.  I think he likes me,” he added.

Bucky sighed, “A woman with her fortune doesn’t need an elder to decide her future for her, Rummy,” he chided, finally giving him a glance.  “You’ll have to impress her, not the uncle.  And judging from the look on her face after meeting you earlier, I’d say you’re not winning any prizes soon.”

Before Rumlowe could say anything the dance ended, everyone clapping as they separated from their partners.  Steve saw Bucky on the side and led you over to him.  

“Ah, there you are, Bucky!” you chimed, your eyes lighting up.  “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared on me.”

“Never,” he said, placing a hand on his chest in jest.  It made you giggle.  “May I have that dance you promised me earlier?”

“Yes,” you answered, nodding resolutely. 

Bucky offered his arm to you and led you out to the floor, giving Rumlowe a triumphant smile.  Rumlowe gave him a scathing glare then stalked off.  Steve laughed and pumped a proud fist in Bucky’s direction.  As they got into position and the music started Bucky tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing.  He’d had some practice in dancing at other parties, but wasn’t the best at remembering which dances went with which songs.

As you came together and he took your right hand in his left, then wrapped his left hand around your waist, he pulled you in a little closer than he would normally.  Your eyes widened slightly but you smiled easily, letting him guide you across the floor.  

“You’ve come back from some long travels, is that right?” He started the conversation, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yes, I’ve been working my way through Europe, Africa, parts of the Ottoman Empire, and then the East Indies,” you answered.  “After my family passed, I was looking for an escape, so I quite literally ran away from my problems to tour the world.”

Bucky laughed at the forwardness in your answer.  “Well what better way to handle grief than to ignore it?”

You chuckled at his joke, enjoying the fact that he was willing to entertain you and speak plainly without such pretense.  You meant it when you said you enjoyed his candor.  You were looking for someone to not only share your life and fortune with, to create a family, but for someone you would genuinely enjoy spending time with and who would let you live your life without constant chastisement about rules and standards.

“I wouldn’t say ignore it, more like work through it while working through the countries,” you explained.

Bucky’s eyes lit up, “Oh? And what did you find while you were out there?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly as you remembered your travels.  “I found a new god in each place.  Rejection of a god.  A new way of living.  A new way of grieving.  Acceptance,” she trailed off.  

Bucky tightened his hold on you, grounding you back into reality.  You wistfully came back to the present, squeezing his arm that you were holding.  “It was beautiful,” you whispered.

He smiled at your tone.  “It sounds beautiful,” he agreed.  “I would like to see more of the world someday.”

“I hope you do.  It’s good for you,” she smirked at him.

“Is it?” he chuckled again.  He then leaned in and lowered his voice, “If you don’t mind me asking, is that where your tattoo comes from?  The east indies?”

You glanced at the tattoo and nodded.  “Yes, India, it was amazing there.  The air is filled with spices!” you whispered at him, your nose scrunching and eyes narrowing as if you were telling him a secret.  

Bucky had never met a woman like you.  All the etiquette and propriety that everyone else was adhering to you seemed to throw to the wayside.  It was hard to get to know women in society well before courting them, and even then everything was watched by chaperones or the public around you.  Finding someone with a full personality that she was unafraid to boldly show off was new.  He wasn’t sure how to handle it, but he liked it.

“I’ve read about India, my father was always picking up books about far off places.  He loves learning about tropical flora and fauna.  He used to have quite a garden before my mother passed,” Bucky continued the conversation, not wanting to lose the momentum in their interaction.

Your eyes widened considerably.  “Ooh!  I have a greenhouse!  In the back courtyard!  I was able to bring home many tropical plant species, and I’ve had a gardener taking great care of them.  I will show it to you when you and your father come to visit,” you offered excitedly.

The music died down and you both pulled away to give a proper bow.  As you straightened up Bucky quickly took your left hand, and in a quick flourish pulled your glove off your hand and kissed over the knuckle of your ring finger.  There were audible gasps around you at his brashness, whispers and gossip erupting in quiet fervor.  Pulling off a glove was scandalous, seen as a form of undress.  You gasped lightly, a look of shock briefly gracing your features, but you quickly schooled yourself and smiled widely at him.

“Thank you, Y/N, for this dance, and your offer,” Bucky held your bare hand in his for a moment longer, giving you a deep gaze before placing your glove back in your hand.  “I look forward to the greenhouse tour.  My father will be pleased.”

He bowed his head, gave you a wink, then walked away into the crowd.  You stayed still, your right hand sliding over your bare left hand, gingerly touching the knuckle where his lips had been.  A blush filled your cheeks as multiple women surrounded you, giggling, gossiping and fussing over getting your glove back on.

NEW STORY!

Here's something I thought of. I hope you guys like it. I tried to write it as a "You" fic rather than Y/N, but there are a couple of Y/N's here and there for dialogue.

[licially]

Reminisce

// I'm no stranger to writing canon characters, but writing one with little to no material is something I've been trying. Have my rendition of Atlas May, a very short one.

The man stood silently near a footpath, near a bunch of buildings that closed off the street from the main road. He’d been here multiple times before, the same spot with the same corner with the same exact pose. His cane almost denting the stonework beneath him, as cars drove across every aspect of the busy main road. His focus for the roads diminished as much as his awareness for the time; after all, the clock that was up ahead were just off by a few seconds. Amidst the burning fuel and rubber, he stood still with an unexplainable expression. It was neutral, but with every passing moment he seemed more and more mysterious. Untethered to his consciousness, but rather absorbed in his subconscious.

The traffic didn’t seem to help him out of it either. He had been standing out in the street adjacent to the speakeasy with the specific intersection being near the bridge that turned towards street just by the Little Daisy Café. A lot of traffic from Illinois towards Missouri goes through here, and he observed vehicles like birdwatching. Sometimes, some trucks with his supplies will turn at his road without hesitation. Other times, he’d watch the busy road towards St. Louis as passersby go on with their lives, unaware of the person whose hobby is to observe.

Although he indulges his time alone, inevitably something will come up that will distract him, and tether him back to reality. It’s only a reward for what he’d done for the business he’s keeping alive with his partner, and his wife. Work, however tiny it is, had been his focus for all the times he’d been here, and he’s not letting anything stop it. As the traffic slowed, his hearing picked up two pairs of footsteps that walked towards him, his ears slightly twitched as his eyes reeled towards the source of the sound.

“Atlas!” A more than excited, gruff voice came up behind him. He immediately turned around, and saw his companion walk up to him with a glass of sparkling wine in his hand. “Where’d you been? The party inside is much warmer than out here!” He puts his hands on his shoulder that had him holding his cane, nothing too rough so that they lost balance. Atlas quickly looked at a brightly smiling Asa, alongside a concerned Mitzi that he turned his attention to. 

“Let’s go back inside, darlin’. You’ve been out here for too long.” She spoke up, reaching out for Atlas’ free hand and holding onto it. Her hand, however, showed a different warmth in comparison to Asa’s. 

To Mitzi, her hand on his was a way to show her love to him. Normally at events like this, Mitzi wears gloves to not let her hands be dirtied by anything. This time around, however, he saw her other hand had the glove that she took off. Her white dress was dimmed by the night’s light outside, and for her to dredge through the dirty roads and footpaths was dedication. She held her hand out to him, and his reluctant hold turned into a much more assuring one. 

Yet Asa felt cold. His voice reeked of alcohol, foods, and everything in between that contradicted his surname. Although they both helped each other to achieve this status and where they are now are held together by their alliance, his breath was shaky at best, and his hands didn’t have the same amount of togetherness that he had thought. His smile didn’t seem genuine either, it’s as if he only wanted him to be back in there for his benefit and showing off instead of letting him be.

Although both had intentions that were the same, the sincerity of each of them was a massive difference. He didn’t want to say much – as if he had much to say – so he nodded, taking Mitzi’s hand and slightly batting away a tipsy Asa. Mitzi smiled at him, as they all turned back into the street towards the speakeasy. His observations, however, lingered in his mind. He’d never been wrong about anything that he’d suspected before, and this time he’d still be right. 

Albeit it’s the last truth he’d ever find out.

[alannacellucci]

The Breakers Music Room —

The MUSIC ROOM, designed by Richard van der Boyen and Allard et Fil, reflects the French Baroque interior the Vanderbilts would have seen in places like the Paris Opera House, and was the setting for family weddings and debutante parties. Gold and silver leaf, blue-grey Campan marble from France, mirrors, and crystal light fixtures combine to make a glittering effect for evening concerts and receptions. The spirit of music and numerous great composers are celebrated in the ceiling painting. This room and furnishings, in addition to those in the Morning Room, were designed and constructed in France then shipped to this location for installation.

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The Breakers Morning Room —

The wall paneling in the MORNING ROOM was designed by Richard van der Boyen, who carved elaborate garlands and figures in the late Renaissance style. Classical mythology and allegories decorate this room, from the painted allegory of the four seasons on the ceiling, to the Muses who appear in the corners of the room, painted on platinum leaf panels.

The room also displays portraits of Cornelius Vanderbilt II by the preeminent American portrait painter, John Singer Sargent, and the Count Laszlo Széchényi and Countess Gladys Széchényi, by the Hungarian artist Philip Alexius De László. Countess Széchényi was born Gladys Vanderbilt, the youngest of Cornelius and Alice's children. In 1908, Gladys married Count Laszlo Széchényi, a member of Hungary's premier aristocratic family and a minister to the Court of St. James in London and, later, to the United States.

When her mother Alice passed away in 1934, Countess Széchényi inherited The Breakers. In 1948, to raise funds for the Preservation Society's restoration of Hunter House, Countess Széchényi opened The Breakers to the public for tours. That same year, she leased The Breakers to the Preservation Society for $1.00 a year and continued to fund the maintenance of the house. The Preservation Society purchased The Breakers in 1972 for approximately $400,000. As an early member and supporter of the Preservation Society, Countess Széchényi made a major contribution to the preservation of Newport's architectural heritage.

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The Breakers Breakfast / Dining Room —

The BREAKFAST ROOM served as both breakfast room and informal family dining room. The table, which may be extended to seat 16 would have seated the entire family or served as seating for a small, informal dinner or luncheon. One of the premier decorators for America's elite families, Jules Allard et Fils Cules Allard & Sons) of Paris, supplied the Louis XV style furniture for the room and decided on the room's color scheme. The Vanderbilts were surrounded by imagery of the harvest.

Look around to see fruits and vegetables plentifully adorning the walls. The 12 rose-colored stone columns are solid alabaster and draw your eyes upward to the ceiling painting of the goddess Aurora heralding the dawn. The massive chandeliers and wall sconces in the Imperial design are made of French Baccarat crystal, and were piped for gas and wired for electricity at the time the house was built. The crown shaped tops indicate the style, while the rings on the chains were used to adjust the flow of gas.

Allard and Sons of Paris assisted Hunt with furnishings and fixtures, Austro-American sculptor Karl Bitter designed relief sculpture, and Boston architect Ogden Codman decorated the family quarters. The mansion covers nearly an acre of the 13-acre property and has 70 rooms including 48 bedrooms for family and staff. There are 27 fireplaces. It was equipped with electricity – still a novelty in houses during the Gilded Age – as well as gas for lighting.

The Breakers has entertained presidents, royalty and guests from across the world for more than 125 years and today is visited by hundreds of thousands of people each year. It is the flagship of the Newport Mansions and a world-famous iconic image of the City-by-the-Sea. The Breakers was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1994.

[vivelafranceblog]

Josephine Baker

French dancer and singer

Freda Josephine Baker, naturalised as Joséphine Baker, was an American-born French dancer, singer and actress. Her career was centered primarily in Europe, mostly in France. 

Born: June 3, 1906, St. Louis, Missouri, United States

Died: April 12, 1975, University Hospitals Pitié Salpêtrière - Charles Foix, Paris

Children: Stellina Baker, Akio Bouillon, Brahim Baker, Jari Baker, MORE

Spouse: Jo Bouillon (m. 1947–1961), Jean Lion (m. 1937–1940)

Parents: Eddie Carson, Carrie McDonald

Siblings: Willie Mae Martin, Margaret Martin, Richard Martin

In September 1939, when France declared war on Germany in response to the invasion of Poland, Baker was recruited by the Deuxième Bureau, the French military intelligence agency, as an "honorable correspondent". Baker worked with Jacques Abtey, the head of French counterintelligence in Paris. She socialised with the Germans at embassies, ministries, night clubs, charming them while secretly gathering information. Her café-society fame enabled her to rub shoulders with those in the know, from high-ranking Japanese officials to Italian and Vichy bureaucrats, reporting to Abtey what she heard. She attended parties and gathered information at the Italian embassy without raising suspicion

The Château des Milandes is a manor house in the commune of Castelnaud-la-Chapelle in the Dordogne département of France

In 1940, the entertainer Josephine Baker rented the château and then bought it in 1947. It has been listed as a monument historique by the French Ministry of Culture since 1986

When the Germans invaded France, Baker left Paris and went to the Château des Milandes, her home in the Dordogne département in the south of France. She housed people who were eager to help the Free French effort led by Charles de Gaulle and supplied them with visas

Later years and death

In 1968, Baker lost her château owing to unpaid debts; afterwards Princess Grace offered her an apartment in Roquebrune, near Monaco.

Baker was back on stage at the Olympia in Paris in 1968

Baker was interred at Monaco's Cimetière de Monaco

Place Joséphine Baker in Paris

Place Joséphine Baker in the Montparnasse Quarter of Paris was named in her honor. She has also been inducted into the St. Louis Walk of Fame

and on March 29, 1995, into the Hall of Famous Missourians

St. Louis's Channing Avenue was renamed Josephine Baker Boulevard,  and a wax sculpture of Baker is on permanent display at The Griot Museum of Black History.

Josephine Baker in her dressing room at the Casino de Paris in Paris, 1931.

Photos by Boris Lipnitzki

[candy-floss-crazy]

Over the years we have come across a multitude of questions about candy floss. Some are quite sensible, others belong in a joke book. We are going to look at, and try to answer some of our favourites. Can Dogs Eat Candy Floss Candy floss in itself isn't harmful to a dog. It is basically pure sugar. However it will lead to a blood sugar spike, then subsequent drop, which isn't the best thing for your pet. Because most breeds tend to be smaller than humans this will be more pronounced, and because dogs aren't used to a sugar intake that high it amplifies the effect. So we wouldn't recommend giving them more than a pinch of floss. Who Invented Candy Floss A dentist. No really, it was a dentist. To be fair, he wasn't just a dentist. He was a political activist, invented a method to purify Nashville's water supply, wrote children's books and invented a lard substitute. William J Morrison really was a dentist. He didn't invent candy floss per se. Cooks had been making spun sugar for hundreds of years. What he did invent was the electric candy floss machine. Or as he called it then fairy floss. This enables large quantities of floss to be made very quickly. Previously making spun sugar was a tedious affair, suitable for topping small cakes and the like. He debuted his machine in 1904 at the St Louis World Fair. It was an instant success, he sold 68,655 boxes of the stuff at $0.25 a pop. That's the equivalent of selling $500,000 worth allowing for inflation. Why Do Some People Call It Cotton Candy If you call it cotton candy you are most probably from North America. Which is a little strange, because they originally called it Fairy Floss. Sometime after thew switched to Cotton Candy. The Australians and New Zealanders still refer to it as Fairy Floss. Us Brits Candy Floss, The South Africans Tooth Floss, though the Afrikaners call it Spookasem (Ghosts Breath). The French barbe a papa (Daddy's Beard), Dutch Suikerspin (Sugar Spider), and the Persians Pashmak (Wool Like). So the name all depends on where you come from. Is Candy Floss Bad For You We once read that there are no poisonous substances, just poisonous doses. For instance, water is widely regarded as one of the healthiest things you can partake of. However drink too much and you die. Candy Floss is the same, sugar, pretty much all it is made of, other than a minute trace of colouring. Is one of the basic requirements for life. No sugar in your body and you end up dead. So a little candy floss won't do you any harm. If you eat nothing but floss, then you will become really fat, lose most of your teeth, and can trigger sugar diabetes. So our tip is everything in moderation. Can I make Candy Floss At Home You certainly can, chefs have been making it for hundreds of years. A simple recipe is available here. You can also buy cheap little electric machines that make it in the same way as the commercial machines do. Truth be told they are not very good, but they do work well enough for a kids party or similar. Does Candy Floss Go Off Not really. Bacteria, which is usually responsible for food spoiling, doesn't like sugar rich environments. This is why throughout history sugar has been used to preserve food. You can't get much more sugar rich than candy floss. Additionally the heat generated to make the floss, around 186 Celsius. Makes sure that the floss is pretty much sterile as it is being made. However, what does happen, is that the floss gradually absorbs moisture. This leads to it shrinking back into its sugar form, so after a while you end up with a coloured sugar lump instead of a bag of floss. Happily popping it in the freezer means it will last months. The best bit is, you can eat it straight from the freezer as it doesn't actually freeze. The cold air doesn't contain moisture so it extends the life. Is Candy Floss Halal It can be. The ingredients are sugar, and basic colouring flavourings. Now sugar is just pure sugar so no problems there. The flavourings and colouring depends on what exactly is used. Red colour tends to contain the powdered shell of a species of beetle. Called cochineal it is a species native to North America. Alternatives are available, but if you want to be 100% sure then just eat white candy floss. That is made with nothing but sugar, and Silver Spoon brand is both halal and kosher. Where Do I Buy Candy Floss Near Me Any local funfair will sell floss. Many supermarkets have small tubs available. Or there are mail order sellers. How Is Candy Floss Made A band of happy pixies live in the bottom of the machine, merrily knitting the sugar in to candy floss and pushing it through the little holes in the centre of the machine for the operator to collect with a stick. Of course some people claim there is a scientific explanation, personally we like the one above, but if you are one of those boring grown ups who think magic isn't real, here is an alternative explanation. The sugar mixture is poured into a rotating drum. The high speed of the drum forces the mixture against a wire mess around the perimeter. This mesh is heated to 186 degree celsius. This heat breaks the bonds of the constituent molecules (carbon, oxygen and hydrogen C12H22O11). The hydrogen and oxygen atoms form molecules of water, which instantly evaporate due to the intense heat. This leaves only carbon behind, which burns and begins to caramelise the sugar. As it caramelises the liquid sugar is forced through the tiny holes in the mesh and solidify as they meet cooler air. As this is happening thousands of times a second. You get a mass of candy floss composed of these filaments which are just 50 microns in diameter. Why Is Candy Floss Pink Actually it isn't. Pure candy floss is white. The only ingredient is sugar. For other colours of candy floss you add a tiny amount of colouring. So it can be pink, blue, green, orange, yellow, purple and so on. It tends to come out as pastel colours, so you dont really get a deep red, it comes out pink. Does Candy Floss Have Gelatin In As a general rule no it does not. But, you would need to know the food colouring ingredients list used to change it's colour. There are literally hundreds of different food colourings out there, so some may contain gelatin. To be absolutely safe, eat white candy floss, as this is entirely pure sugar. What Goes Well With Candy Floss Far and away the most popular is popcorn. The two can be combined on a single cart and are ideal for weddings, parties or events. Victorian Catering Cart Read the full article

[chemicalsectorupdates]

Paper Cups Market Forecast: Projections and Strategic Recommendations

The Versatile Yet Humble Paper Cup History Paper cups were invented in the late 1890s by Lawrence Luellen, a dentist from St. Louis, Missouri. Prior to paper mugs, drinks were served in glasses, mugs or metal cups. Luellen saw an opportunity to create disposable drinking cups for public places like circuses and fairgrounds where it was difficult to clean glassware. In 1890, he patented a cup-making machine that could rapidly produce paper mugs by pasting paper onto a paper mache mould. These early paper mugs were not lined and would dissolve if any liquid was left in them for too long. While paper mugs only gained popularity over time as the manufacturing process improved, Luellen's invention laid the foundation for what would become a ubiquitous single-use item. By the 1920s, cup manufacturers started lining paper mugs with wax or plastics to prevent disintegration and leakage. This made paper mugs a more viable option for on-the-go drinking outside the home. During World War II, paper mugs saw a boom in demand as traditional glassware was in short supply. This cemented their role as a versatile and disposable alternative. Types of Paper Cups There are a few main categories of paper mugs based on material, size and use: Hot cups - Made from thick paperboard lined with a heat-resistant plastic or wax coating. They are designed to hold hot beverages like coffee and keep the drink insulated for a period of time. Popular sizes include 8 oz, 12 oz, 16 oz and 20 oz. Cold cups - Similar in composition to hot cups but thinner to avoid over-insulation of cold drinks. Often used for beverages, snacks and frozen foods. Sizes range from 8 oz to 36 oz party cups. Takeaway cups - Tall and narrow cups ideal for on-the-go drinking. Sturdy construction makes them leakproof for travel. Many fast food restaurants use branded takeaway cups. Portion cups - Short and wide cups used for individual servings of food like soup, ice cream or salad. Convenient for events, airlines and cafeterias. Common sizes are 4 oz and 6 oz. Party cups - Disposable cups for events and gatherings where paper options are preferred over glass or plastic. May have colorful designs or themes printed on them. Range in size from 8 oz to 24 oz. Confectionary cups - Small cups designed to hold individual candies, nuts or snacks. Usually 2 oz or smaller in size. Often feature colorful patterns for visual appeal. Materials and Manufacturing Process Paper cups are made from paperboard - a thick, fibrous material stronger than regular paper. The manufacturing process involves: - Card stock paper is fed continuously through a series of rollers to create the stiff paperboard material. - Dies or moulds shape the paperboard into cups. Modern high-speed machines can rapidly form hundreds of cups per minute. - A heat-resistant plastic liner is applied to the inside using a spray or dip coating method. This prevents liquid absorption. - Inks are printed onto the outside surface through a multi-color rotary press for branding or designs. - Cups pass through an oven to cure the lining and ensure a moisture-proof seal. - Lasers or blades cut thecups from the continuous roll and they are stacked into boxes for shipping. - Quality checks ensure structural integrity and compliance with food safety standards. The paper cup remains both tremendously useful yet strains sustainable practices due to its fleeting usage. While improvements are being made, further innovations are still needed to balance convenience with reduced environmental fallout from this ubiquitous product. Whether reusable alternatives can achieve comparable affordability and scale also remains to be seen.

[authorityappraisals]

The Role of a Real Estate Appraiser in St. Louis: Unraveling the Secrets of Property Valuation

In the bustling city of St. Louis, real estate has always been a prime investment option for both homeowners and investors. The value of a property can fluctuate dramatically, influenced by market trends, neighborhood developments, and various economic factors. In this dynamic landscape, the role of a real estate appraiser is of utmost importance. A real estate appraiser serves as a crucial link between buyers, sellers, and financial institutions, providing objective and accurate valuations. In this blog, we delve into the significance of real estate appraisers in St. Louis and explore the key elements that define their profession.

Understanding the Role of a Real Estate Appraiser:

A real estate appraiser is a licensed professional with an in-depth understanding of the local real estate market. We act as impartial third parties, assessing the value of residential and commercial properties. Our primary responsibility is to provide a fair and unbiased evaluation that helps buyers, sellers, and lenders make informed decisions. Whether it's for a home purchase, refinancing, or property development, a real estate appraiser's insights are essential to avoid overpricing or underpricing a property.

Appraisal Methods Employed in St. Louis:

Real estate appraisers in St. Louis employ various methodologies to determine a property's value. One of the most common methods is the "Sales Comparison Approach," where the appraiser evaluates the property's value by comparing it to similar properties recently sold in the same neighborhood. The "Cost Approach" is also used, which estimates the property's value by calculating the cost of rebuilding it from scratch, taking into account depreciation and land value.

Factors Influencing Property Valuation in St. Louis:

Several key factors impact property valuation in St. Louis, making the role of appraisers crucial in capturing the intricate details. Location remains a fundamental determinant, as properties in sought-after neighborhoods often command higher prices. Economic conditions, job growth, and local amenities also play a significant role in influencing property values. The condition of the property, its size, layout, and recent renovations are other vital factors considered by appraisers. Additionally, they assess the prevailing market trends and demand-supply dynamics to provide accurate and relevant valuations.

Navigating Complex Regulations and Legalities:

Real estate appraisal in St. Louis must comply with a myriad of regulations and legal requirements. They undergo rigorous training and obtain state-issued licenses to ensure they meet professional standards. These regulations aim to maintain the integrity of the appraisal process and protect consumers from fraudulent practices. Appraisers are also bound by ethical guidelines to maintain objectivity and avoid conflicts of interest, ensuring a fair evaluation for all parties involved.

The Impact on Real Estate Transactions:

The role of a real estate appraiser has a profound impact on various real estate transactions. For sellers, an accurate appraisal helps set a competitive listing price that attracts potential buyers without undervaluing the property. On the other hand, buyers rely on appraisals to ensure they are paying a fair price for the property we wish to purchase. Lenders, too, use appraisals to assess the risk of financing a property, ensuring the loan amount aligns with the property's value. In the absence of reliable appraisals, the real estate market could suffer from instability and unreliable pricing.

Conclusion:

In the fast-paced real estate market of St. Louis, real estate appraisers serve as invaluable experts, providing reliable and objective property valuations. Our meticulous evaluation methods, adherence to regulations, and understanding of local market dynamics ensure that buyers, sellers, and lenders make well-informed decisions. As the city continues to evolve and grow, the role of real estate appraisers will remain pivotal in shaping the future of property transactions in St. Louis.

[dominateeye]

Hundreds of Washington University campus community members and local activists demanded the private university stop investing in Boeing during a Saturday protest because it supplies weapons to Israel. ...

"End the siege on Gaza now,” the group chanted as they marched around the campus before setting up an encampment at the school’s Tisch Park. “Stop the killing. Stop the slaughter. Gaza must have food and water." ...

All will be charged with trespassing. Some will be charged with resisting arrest and assault, Wash U officials said in a statement. ...

Jill Stein, a Green Party presidential hopeful in town for a campaign event, was briefly detained and then released. ...

In St. Louis, the students and activists expressed outrage at the school’s response to an April 13 pro-Palestinian gathering on campus where police arrested 12 protestors and gave them summons to appear in court. Wash U officials suspended three students on the grounds they disrupted an on-campus event.

More than 130 students, faculty and staff signed a letter to Washington University leaders earlier this week criticizing the university for allegedly infringing on students' freedom of speech. ...

At Saturday’s protest, students said they were frustrated with administrators who don’t appear to be interested in what students are trying to tell people about the war in Gaza and the plight of Palestinians. The arrests and suspensions after the earlier protests made that clear, students said.

“The fact that it has happened before proves that the administration is not really interested in listening to student voices about any of these concerns,” said Max Franks, a Wash U junior, during the protest. “The administration is interested in protecting its image and its bottom line. So if we hope to achieve anything, those are the things that we need to interfere with.”

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Harry Binder Greeted By Friends On Return," Ottawa Citizen. November 3, 1942. Page 20. ---- Intends To Rejoin Family in Winnipeg After Long Stay in Prison. ---- Smartly dressed in a grey tweed suit, the parting gift of Kingston penitentiary which he left last Friday after spending two years and four months of a three-year sentence there, Harry Binder, erstwhile Communist, arrived in Ottawa last night. On hand to meet him at the Union Station was a group of friends and his brother, Louis, released from the same penitentiary six weeks ago, who yesterday applied at the Sparks street recruiting depot for readmission to the army which discharged him almost three years ago. Changed Appearance. Harry Binder was changed. His cheeks were sunken, and the jovial manner of former days was replaced by weariness and gravity. He has lost ten pounds and is suffering from a stomach ailment. After a medical examination in Toronto Saturday, the doctor advised him that there was nothing seriously wrong which rest, a diet and some good home cooking could not cure. After spending a few days in Ottawa, Harry intends to rejoin his wife and four-year-old daughter, Joan Emily, in Winnipeg. Mrs. Binder he has not seen since May, and Joan Emily was last brought to visit him almost a year ago. Questioned as to his views on the war, Harry said: "It seems clear today that the gravity of the situation requires the utmost that every Canadian can give to the war effort. Uppermost in the minds of all of us, of course, is the problem of a second front and each of us, I believe, is directly concerned with that front. We must devote all of our time and energy to assuring that that second front is opened in the shortest possible time." His Greatest Concern. It was not, he said, the trials of prison life and the separation from his family and friends which grieved him most during his internment. "While my personal problems were difficult," he declared, "my greatest personal concern was whether or not we would in sufficient time be able to bring about the mobilization of our resources and manpower to defeat the plans of Hitler." Harry has promised Justice Minister St. Laurent that, as long as the Communist party is banned in Canada, he will not participate in the activities of that organization. He thinks, however, that if the ban on the party were lifted, it would strengthen the unity of the Canadian people in the war. "By the way." he interrupted. "tell me, how is the Victory Loan coming along in Ottawa?" Harry Binder was sitting in his cell in Kingston penitentiary after a lunch of fish-cakes last Friday noon when he first received word that he was to be released. A guard came to the door and told him to gather up his personal b longings and to go to the chief keeper's office. There, with 15 minutes to change and catch the train to Toronto, he divested himself of prison costume and donned the suit, shoes, overcoat and accessories which the government supplies to released convicts. He was given a national registration card, a ration book and the sum of $18.70, this being his wages for two years and four months at the rate of five cents a day minus 22 cents weekly for tobacco and cigaret papers.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

veracity - v. dunn

As promised, here’s one of our many resident himbos, Vince Dunn, in “I didn’t realize wer were dating.” As I’m sure a lot of other writers have experienced lately, reblogs have definitely been down, so I would love it if you’d give a reblog if you like it. I also read the tags! Alternately, feel free to keysmash in my inbox or let me know what your favorite parts were. 

word count: 4.9k+

warnings: light sexual content (brief)

Aly Kalinski had never bothered leaving her home town. Why would she? She loved St. Louis. She was born there, went to public schools in the city, and barely moved ten miles away from home for her art degree at SLU. For all its faults, she loved her city. Aly met Vince her sophomore year of college, an accidental run-in at her favorite sandwich shop that had turned into a friendship that had turned into a relationship. So it was a no-brainer decision for Aly to stay once she graduated, getting a position teaching middle and high school art at a school in the suburbs and a loft in downtown. She didn’t want to leave her parents, or her city. Or Vince. 

They had just gotten together, and it really hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone but them. Her older sister rolled her eyes when Aly told her, saying that “it was only a matter of time. You two practically act like an old married couple already.” Her parents were shocked even less. Vince’s teammates had actually been some of the biggest perpetrators in the first place, not-so-subtly leaving them in rooms together at parties and encouraging Aly to admit the feelings she wasn’t even sure she had until a few months ago. But it had happened organically, so naturally that Aly really couldn’t even put a pin on the point where their friendship had turned into romance. All she knew was that she was falling hard for Vince Dunn, and for once in her life, she wasn’t trying to stop herself. 

September

Clashing teeth and her hands running through his hair and his fingernails digging into the backs of her thighs was all Aly felt as Vince held her up against the door. “Vin, bedroom,” Aly gasped, pulling away for air. 

“Mhm,” he said absentmindedly, his lips trailing kisses down the column of her neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked backwards into his room, dropping her down on the bed. She fumbled with the buttons on her shirt as he frantically pulled his belt off. God, it had been too long since they had touched each other. Vince had only recently returned to St. Louis for training camp and the start of pre-season, but he had been so exhausted from drills and scrimmages that all he could manage on nights they got together was curl into Aly’s side with some take out and turn on reruns of Kitchen Nightmares. She had visited him in Toronto for two weeks in July and August — it didn’t always work out so perfectly, but she was thankful that teaching meant most of her summers were free — and they had obviously had sex while they were there, but she had been missing it more than she wanted to admit. Missing him. 

So when they went out to a downtown bar with the rest of the team to celebrate the end of training camp, and Aly didn’t have work the next day, they were both more than happy to indulge in a little liquid courage. Which meant a couple of  drinks and a few more flirty touches later and the pair made their excuses to the rest of the group, Vince pulling up his Uber app before they were even out the door. And they weren’t exactly subtle about it  — Sammy had definitely shouted “USE PROTECTION” while Vince threw him a middle finger  — but they they needed each other too much to really give a fuck. 

Vince trailed his fingers up her now-bare sides, the clasp of her bra falling open with a well-practiced flick. Aly palmed him over his jeans, trying half-heartedly to reverse their positions. Vince groaned. “Not tonight, baby. I need you.” Well, it’s not like she was going to argue with that. Her leggings came off in record time. His jeans followed. Aly dropped her head into the crook of his neck as he slid into her. God, they could do this a million times and she’d never get used to how good he felt. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, Aly, you know that?” Vince gasped out. 

She pressed a kiss onto his shoulder. “You might've mentioned it once or twice, but feel free to keep going, Dunn,” she said. 

He quickened his pace. “I will.” Ten minutes and two orgasms later, she was wrapped in Vince’s arms, trying to savor every last moment before she had to get up and use the bathroom. “I meant what I said, you know?” Vince said, one hand carding through her hair. “You really are incredible, Aly. And when we’re together…” He paused, searching for the right words. 

“There’s only a few things in my life that have always come easy. Hockey, never being able to say no to ice cream, and you. I never feel like I have to be anyone other than exactly who I am when I’m with you, and I don’t know if you know just how meaningful that is for me. I need it, and I need you.” Aly smiled, turning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. This was the closest he’d gotten so saying he loved her, and she’d take it.��

January

Aly sipped her champagne, her eyes surveying the downtown St. Louis ballroom where she found herself on a Saturday evening. Her free hand fingered with the sequin-adorned cloth of her dress, brushing up against the thigh-high slit. It wasn’t something she would have ever bought for herself, but she loved it. It caught the light like nothing she’d ever seen and Vince’s jaw had nearly fallen off the second he saw her when he picked her up for the gala. He had bought it for her, too, insisting that if he had invited her the least he could do was spare her the expense of going out and buying one on her own.

Her job paid well for a teacher, especially one in their first few years, but she wasn’t about to complain when Vince gave her his card and sent her into the shopping district to find a dress for the night. He had told her to get something stunning, and she had delivered in spectacular fashion. It was the Blues’ big fundraising gala for the year, an annual charity event to benefit the children’s hospital. Essentially, the night was an opportunity to party on the team’s dime while wining and dining Midwestern elite in a bid to get them to open up their checkbooks. It was something that Alexandra Kalinski was proving surprisingly adept at; even though she didn’t have nearly the rapport with some of the businessmen and philanthropists as most of the players and their partners did, she was able to turn on the same “teacher” charm she used on back-to-school nights, lay the accent on a little thicker than she usually would, and tug at the heartstrings of multi-millionaires with a story of a seventh grader in one of her intro painting classes who had been treated for leukemia in the hospital’s oncology ward. They couldn’t write the checks fast enough. 

But Aly found herself at the bar a few hours in, next to Sammy as Vince smooth-talked someone she vaguely recognized as an exec for the Cardinals. Transitioning from friendship to being a couple, at least in regards to their social lives, had been much easier than she had thought. It had all just been so natural that people probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it hadn’t been for the looks she gave him, or her now-permanent spot on the “good chair” in the family box — that everyone else claimed was too lumpy but Aly swore up and down was the most comfortable place in the whole room  — or the time Colton had walked in on them hooking up in a supply closet at the Enterprise Center during a wine tasting with season ticketholders. But she had loved everything in their relationship so far, loved how welcoming all of the other WAGs were and how happy everyone had been for them when they finally got together. “God, it was about time,” Sammy had said. 

She could see that the person Vince was talking to had started making his way over to the reception table, where all the donations were being collected, and caught his eye just as he was being swept into yet another conversation. Vince liked people, there was no doubt about it, and he loved being able to help out a cause as incredible as the children’s hospital, but after almost four hours of schmoozing and small talk it was beginning to take a toll on even him. Aly gave him a tiny nod, a signal that anyone else probably would have missed, but one that Vince understood instantly. She was coming to get him. Alexandra was by his side in thirty seconds flat, her hand resting between his shoulder blades while she smiled apologetically to the man across from them. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got a headache and have had a bit too much to be driving myself home. Would you mind taking me?” 

Vince nodded, trying to keep his enthusiasm dampened. “Of course, babe. No problem.” He gave the businessman his best PR smile. “Sorry to have to leave so abruptly, but duty calls. Thank you so much for coming out tonight and supporting such a great cause, it really means a lot to me and the whole team.” With a perfunctory handshake, they began heading towards the exit, his hand gripping hers as they wove through the crowd. “Thanks for that, Aly,” he said as he opened up the passenger door for her. “I really was running on empty there.”

She smiled softly back at him. “Always.”

May 

Vince’s arm was draped casually over the back of Aly’s chair, his fingertips dancing over her shoulder. She was beaming up at the couple under the flower-covered wedding chuppah at the end of the aisle, leaning into Vince’s side. Her cousin Olivia was getting married, her and her soon-to-be wife Yara had been together for years and had finally decided to take the next step. When she got the invitation four months earlier, she hadn’t hesitated to invite Vince as her plus one. They had been dating for a little under a year by that point, but seeing as how most of her family was local — some of her mom’s family was in Wisconsin, but nobody really aside from that — he had already met everyone important. 

The ceremony went by in the blink of an eye, Yara and Olivia broke the glasses, and everyone began milling over towards the barn for the reception. Olivia and Yara had already met Vince some six months before, and had immediately taken to each other. The brides came over to their table after thanking everyone for coming, and dinner was served. She had never seen anyone eat as many dinner rolls in one sitting as Vince did.

---

“Alexandra!” Aly heard an excited voice from the other corner of the room over the cacophony of the music, and barely turned her head quickly enough to see who had called her name before she was pulled into a warm hug. 

Aly laughed when she saw who it was. “Nice to see you, Aunt Ruth. Aunt Ruth, this is Vince. Vince, this is my Aunt Ruth,” Aly said, gesturing to the woman across from them. 

Vince held out his hand, but Ruth waved it off. “We’re huggers here, Vince. She brought you to the wedding. You’re practically family.” She raised her eyebrows at the couple. “When’s it going to be your turn, hm?” 

Aly groaned. “Aunt Ruuuth.” 

Ruth shrugged. “I’m just saying. Your bubbe’s not getting any younger, and I’m sure she’d love to see some of her grandchildren with kids of their own.” 

“How about we, uh, get off of that subject,” Aly said, her cheeks burning. “That’s up to this one, after all,” she said, patting Vince on the arm. Vince ducked his head, understanding the grip of Aly’s hand on his arm as I love this woman but I swear to God if you don’t get me out of here I think I might combust.

He smiled apologetically to the older woman, feigning a glance at his watch. “The ceremony was amazing, Ruth, but I think I’ll have to be taking Aly home now. We’ve got early breakfast plans tomorrow and I’m sure you know how this one gets when she doesn’t get a full night of sleep.” Aly squeezed his hand in appreciation. 

“Of course,” Ruth said, smiling at the pair. She winked as they turned towards the door. “But think about it.” 

Aly ran her hand through her hair as soon as they turned the corner into the dirt parking lot. “Thanks for that, Vin. We don’t have breakfast plans, though?” 

Vince shrugged, an impish smile on his face. “Guess we do now.”

October

“I bought that tea you like,” Vince said from his spot on the couch. “I didn’t want you to be over here while you’re looking after Henry and run out.” Henry was Vince’s rottweiler, a rambunctious eleven month old that he had adopted at the middle of last season. 

Aly smiled as she opened the cupboard, seeing her prized brand of Irish Breakfast next to his favorite type of coffee. “Thanks for that, Vin.” 

He shrugged as the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t mention it.” 

The Blues were about to leave for their first real road trip of the year, and it was an unspoken agreement by this time in their relationship that Aly would stay over at his apartment while he was away. Early on in the relationship, she’d just stop by a few times a week to water his plants, and then he got a few fish, and then Henry came along. It didn’t take much convincing from Vince for Aly to agree to look after them; Henry loved her almost as much as he did Vince, and getting to see him before and after school helped to curb some of the loneliness she felt in Vince’s absence. 

She turned down the hallway, taking her bag into his bedroom. He had a guest room that would have been just as convenient to stay in, but she had grown used to the feel of his sheets and liked having the ensuite bathroom. Plus, she had already not-so-subtly taken over one of the drawers in his dresser. Her bag had the jeans, button downs, and blouses she’d need for work — her school mostly adhered to a smart casual dress code, plus she was an art teacher — but there were plenty of sleep shirts, underwear, and leggings in the dresser. If push came to shove, she also wasn’t above stealing Vince’s old sweatshirts. He always said she looked better in them anyways. 

Even when Vince was back in town, she slept over enough for it to make sense for her to have a space of her own; it just wasn’t practical for her to have to drive fifteen minutes to her apartment and back again just to grab a shirt if she wanted to spend the night after a movie date ran long. They hadn’t broached the conversation of moving in together yet, though. It was something that had crossed Aly’s mind, and if she knew Vince as well as she thought she did, he had thought about it too. But she wasn’t in a hurry to break her lease and he hadn’t said anything about it, so she had decided to let sleeping dogs lie. 

She tucked her bag into the corner of his closet, padding into the bathroom and closing the door. She cursed herself as she pulled down her shorts, realizing that her period had started and, conveniently, her purse was out in the living room. Biting her lip, Aly decided to rummage around in the vanity, praying to God that she’d left something from the last time. It wasn’t like she thought Vince would be weird about it if she asked him to bring her something from her purse; he never had been before, even when she had bled through a pair of his sweats one night staying over. “Not a big deal,” he had said, shrugging and tossing them in the washing machine. “I needed to do laundry anyway.” But she’d rather not ask if she didn’t have to. She crossed her fingers as she pulled out the last drawer, her head turning to the side in confusion as she saw an unopened box of tampons. Her eyes softened in realization. He had bought them without her ever having to ask. 

January 

It was bye week for the Blues, which meant everyone who hadn’t been picked for the All Star Team suddenly had an extra week in the middle of the season and nothing to do to fill it. Or, rather, had a week in the middle of the season and had to find something to do to fill it. In Vince and Aly’s case, that something turned out to be a trip to the Bahamas with some of his teammates and their wives. It had been a no-brainer for him to invite Aly; everyone else was bringing their partners and Vince knew she had a few vacation days saved up from work. They had been planning it for months, Aly having requested the time off as soon as she was able, and had blissfully traded in the chilly winters of Missouri for a balmy week on the shores of Nassau.

Vince had wanted to go to Iceland originally, half to do with the hiking and half to do with the ponies he saw in a National Geographic article as a kid, but one Google search from Sammy led them to the unfortunate realization that being so far north, there were only about six hours of daylight each day and the temperature topped out in the mid 30s. Vince looked a little deflated when he read the forecast. “Don’t worry,” Aly had said, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “We can go in June, after school lets out and before you head home for the summer. I’ve heard amazing things about their hot springs.” Sammy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Aly hit his shoulder. 

But the Bahamas were proving to be one of the most beautiful places she had ever been. “Better than home?” he asked as they lay stretched out on the sand while they watched the sun dip below the horizon. 

She scrunched her nose at him. “Unfair comparison. St. Louis is hovering around freezing and perpetually covered in a layer of slush this time of year. And, to be fair, it’s an endearing layer of slush and I love it. But right now I think I’d rather be where it’s 75º and sunny and I can lay outside looking hot as hell in a bikini without worrying about freezing my tits off.” 

Vince choked on his rum punch. “Worried about that, are you?” 

Aly shrugged. “I’d rather deal with a sunburn. Which, speaking of,” she glanced over at Vince, “you’re looking a little red. Don’t worry, though. I’ve got as much aloe vera as I could pack in a single quart bag. Would have tried to sneak in a whole bottle, but didn’t want the feds after me.” 

Vince laughed, a whole body laugh that all but consumed him for a few moments, before pulling Aly in to rest against his chest. “I’m really happy you came, Aly. You know that, right?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? All-expenses paid trip to the Carribean with you and our friends, getting to hang out on the beach all day and drink cocktails without having to worry about driving home after?” 

Vince gasped in mock offense, the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her waist coming to clench at his heart. “You’re killing me here, Aly! You mean to tell me this whole time you’ve only been using me for my money? I expected more from you.” 

“Not just your money, Vin,” she giggled, settling into his touch. “I tried to pay for my share of the expenses, you wouldn’t have it. But seriously, I do really love it here. It’s gorgeous, and so peaceful, and there’s really not anything I think we could do to make it better. I love you, Vince Dunn.” 

“I love you too, Aly Kalinski.” 

April 

“One sec, I’ve got to go grab something,” Vince said, smiling at Aly as he pushed his chair back from the table. It was the day after he had come home from a two week road trip, and he had invited her over for dinner, told her to dress nice, and made what actually turned out to be a very respectable dinner of ravioli and roasted vegetables. 

She nodded as her heart started to pound faster and faster, coming to a peak when she thought her chest was going to burst as Vince returned from the bedroom, turning a blue velvet box over in his hands. “I know it might seem unexpected, but I saw this the other day while I was downtown with Sammy and I don’t know, just somehow knew you were meant to have it. Knew it was meant to be yours. Something I hope you’ll see as a sign of how much I love and care about you and how even though we might not always physically be together, you’re the person I trust most in this life.” 

He slid the box across the table to Aly, who opened it with shaking hands. Inside was a silver necklace with a pendant of an olive tree on it. It was absolutely gorgeous — and Vince was right, very her — but it was not what she had been expecting.

Aly snorted, burying her face into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to have to call my mom.” 

Vince was confused. “Why?” 

Aly rolled her eyes. “I told her I was coming over here for dinner and you told me to dress nice. She thought you were going to propose.” 

“Propose?” Vince asked, dumbfounded. “Why would I propose?” 

She tried to wave him off, but Vince could see the shimmer of hurt behind her eyes. “I mean, we’ve been together for almost two years. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

“Together?” He looked over at her. “For two years?” 

“Yeah?” she said slowly, thinking he had forgotten their anniversary. “Come June, two years.” 

Vince swallowed hard as it began to dawn on him, looking down at his hands. “Together...She thinks we’ve been together for,” he looked up at the ceiling, “twenty-one months.” 

“You keep repeating that word, babe. Together. What’s confusing about it?” Aly said, giving him a weird look.  

God, how was he supposed to tell her? “I didn’t know we were together. Are together? Let alone that your mom was expecting a proposal.” 

Aly’s blood ran cold. “Let me get this straight,” she said, pausing. “You didn’t know we’re together? What did you think we’ve been doing for almost two years?” 

“Being really good friends?” 

She shook her head. “Why did you tell me to dress up when I came over, then? Why did you make dinner?”

He fixed his eyes on a chip in the coffee table. “I knew you’d been having a rough week and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“What about the vacation?” She questioned.

He shrugged helplessly. “Everyone else was going in couples, and you’re my best friend down here regardless.” 

“Me coming to all the games? Sitting up in the box?” 

“You’ve become friends with all the WAGs, and I love having you there to support me,” he tried. 

“The sex?” Aly asked incredulously. 

Vince winced. Okay, that  one was a little harder to explain away. “I just always thought that we were both single, both hot, both too busy to get into relationships. Each other’s best options.” 

God, Aly felt like a fucking fool. She felt like she’d been played, because in a weird, sort of twisted way, she had. “You said you thought it was because we’re both too busy to be in relationships now. But Vince, I know you have no think energy out your ears, but I need you to concentrate for a minute. Think about most couples you know. They get together a few times a week if they don’t live together. We do that.” He nodded. 

“They have a drawer or a part of a closet at each other’s places, they look after each other’s plants and dogs when they’re out of town. We do that. They become friends with each other’s friends, they visit each other’s families, they take weekend trips together and fly to the Bahamas with friends when they have a week off. We did that.” She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “They dance around in the kitchen together and make love and go to the zoo at least once a month because I love seeing the otters. They comfort each other when they’re at their worst, encourage each other at their best. You said you didn’t have time for a relationship, but you didn’t realize that that’s what we’ve been doing, Vince.” 

Now it was Vince’s turn to be struck speechless. Aly wasn’t meeting his eyes. And honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He turned to look at her, but she had stood up abruptly from the couch, pacing nervously as she slowly made her way to the door. “I, uh, I think I should go,” she said, looking down at her hands. 

Vince stood up, taking a half step towards her before deciding that it was best to give her space. “No, Aly, you don’t have to go. We can talk. I think —”

“No, I think. I think you don’t feel the same way, and I’ve been misreading things for two years. And that’s fine, I can’t force you to fabricate feelings that aren’t there, so um. I’ll go,” Aly said, shaking her head stiffly. She opened the door and shut it, and Vince was suddenly stuck in the loudest silence he’d ever heard. It was like he couldn’t move for a minute, as if all of his muscles were paralyzed, and then he came back to reality. Aly had only been gone for maybe a minute at most, but it felt like an hour. 

Vince bolted out of the door, not even bothering to lock it, running straight past the elevator. Stairs would be quicker. He caught her just as she was exiting the front door, one of her hands coming up to wipe a stray tear off her cheek. “Aly!” Vince called. She hesitated for a moment but kept walking. Vince ran across the lobby, not even caring about his complete lack of shoes. “Aly! Wait up, please.” 

She turned around, eyes watering, and sighed, walking over towards one of the chairs with a defeated look on her face. She didn’t even sit down, just perched on the arm like she wasn’t quite comfortable with actually settling in, like she needed to be able to up and leave at any given moment. “Please, Vince. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I’m not mad at you for not feeling the same way, it wouldn’t be fair of me and people can’t control their feelings, but I feel like a fucking idiot right now. Like I spent so long misreading all sorts of signs and signals and words —”

“What if you didn’t?” Vince asked breathlessly. 

Aly looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“What if you didn’t misread anything, Aly? What if you didn’t have to be mad at me for not feeling the same way, because I do?”

Aly sunk into the chair, her eyes meeting his for the first time since she had left his apartment. “Then why...Why did you not say anything? How did you not know we were in a relationship?”

Vince ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. “Because I thought that’s all you were going to give me. And if that was it, that was enough for me,” he smiled sadly. “I thought everything, the sex and the wedding and the Bahamas, was just me being a good friend and you needing a stress relief and someone who’d always be in your corner. I never knew this was supposed to be a relationship. I didn’t think you wanted anything serious. And I had resigned myself to that, come to terms with only getting stolen kisses on late nights and early-morning coffee runs before you had to head to school. If I only got you halfway, I was okay with it, because I love you and that was better than nothing.” 

“You what?” Aly’s breath caught in her throat. 

“I love you,” Vince said. It was the easiest thing he had ever admitted. Because it was true. 

He had told her he loved her before, but as Aly searched his face, she could tell that he meant it in a different way. In the way she always wanted him to. “You love me?” she asked, voice cracking. 

Vince nodded. “I do. I’m in love with you. And you don’t know how good that feels to admit.”

Aly gave an airy laugh, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear before Vince had a chance to get it for her. “I think I might.”

“I’ve just got one question, though,” Vince asked. 

“Which is?” 

He cracked a smile. “You’re not going to make us change our anniversary date, are you? It would be pretty weird to explain to everyone and I really don’t want Aunt Ruth to find out and show up at my door to chase me around with a chainsaw.”

Aly giggled, leaning over and placing an exhilarated kiss against his lips. “No.”

[prettyoddfever]

IT’S ALMOST HALLOWEEN

I know I have like a bajillion moments that are all my “favorite thing P!ATD ever did,” but Halloween 2008 seriously ranks way up there.

THE SONG & VIDEO:

Rock Sound asked Ryan in fall 2008 what his nightmares were like as a kid and he said “I was walking through a jungle and there was Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolf Man walking around too. I don’t remember what happened; I just remember that they were always there.”

A fan who was hoping to meet the band after one of the mid-October shows was told by Zack that the guys wouldn’t be coming out of their bus because they were busy getting drunk and writing a Halloween song haha. I saved a note of that because I didn’t think we’d ever get to hear it... I was just going to add it to a list of things that I hoped would get leaked someday.

Right before the St. Louis show the band posted on their blog: “we’re shooting a video ourselves for a halloween song we wrote, and need supplies/suggestions, drop them off tomorrow and you might see them again before the 31st. it’s almost halloween!!” And then they added the edit: “we will be in St. Louis so bring any halloween stuff to the show, the video will be shot tonight and monday.”

the main rumor was that they were filming a Nearly Witches video.

it sounded like the party scenes were filmed after the St. Louis show. idk if Dashboard Confessional had much to do with this, but guys from The Cab & Plain White T’s were definitely there.

PATD had the 20th off, so that's when they filmed the outdoor stuff near St. Louis. Ryan told Kerrang that the band went camping while they made the video. Zack complained the next day in Minneapolis about his bug bites ha. 

The picture above was posted on the band’s blog on October 24th with the caption “We wrote a song. We made a video. We did it all by ourselves.” Their next post a couple days later had the video.

You can see more of their blog posts here... the “Everybody SCREAM!” post on October 11th could show they had some lyrics done, but it was posted as a caption for a Ghostbusters edit. (The dates I’m listing could all be one day earlier or later btw depending on time zones & what you qualify as the next day... like I think 2am is still the previous day).

It’s Almost Halloween happened towards the end of the Pretty. Odd. cycle, so Ryan was trying to do more of the singing. The song also sounds closer to what The Young Veins did since that’s the stuff Ryan & Jon were writing at the time.

right before Halloween you could download the song from FBR’s webstore. The CD also got on there but I think that was a mistake because it was taken down. 

a friend sent me this recent interview with Spencer that everyone else has probably already seen... there were a couple new bits of info in there that were fun to hear!

A few fans had already started making their own versions of the video before the contest was even announced.

CONTESTS / PROMOS / “THINGS I DID NOT WIN”

Fans could vote on buzznet for which band member had the best costume. 

Northern Downpour started their Halloween video contest a bit earlier than the FOE one (as in before Halloween lol). NDP’s contest was different, but the entries were still entertaining (here’s the winner & second place video).

People created SO many fun videos – here are some that are left. 

Friends Or Enemies waited until like Halloween or the next day to announce their dance off contest... I just remember it felt like funny timing for making a video about how it’s almost Halloween. But here’s the announcement: “Since the band was new to the whole synchronized dancing thing, the Panic dudes want to see if you can do it better. Make a video to ‘It’s Almost Halloween’ with your own moves & upload it to this group now. The band will be judging & the video w/the best dance will receive some of the costumes worn in the ‘It’s Almost Halloween’ video. People wearing costumes will get more points.”

I would have absolutely loved to win Bden’s cape, but I’m also kind of grateful now that the deadline was too soon for a lot of us to get our potentially embarrassing videos planned & submitted.

Here’s the winning video. And then here’s the band’s message to them and the bundle of prizes they won:

THE SHOW(S):

The first time PATD played It’s Almost Halloween live was at the October 29th show. They also played it on October 30th (I liked this video the best but this one’s good too). The band had pumpkins onstage during the shows leading up to Halloween, but they added more decorations + costumes for the actual Halloween show.

this tombstone was the best decoration haha.

the first 1,000 people at the Halloween show got a cd of It’s Almost Halloween (it looked like the one in the black envelope in the picture above).

Brendon threw candy into the crowd from the pumpkin buckets :)

Jon & Spencer abandoned their masks after they played the first song (It’s Almost Halloween). Jon also had this hat at the meet & greet that he wore onstage for a bit (along with a beard for a short time).

Ryan skipped his hood but was stuck trying to play guitar with toilet paper arms. Here’s a comment he later made. 

Brendon loved his cape so much that it made me so happy. Fans talked about seeing him playing frisbee in the parking lot before shows in late October – he’d be wearing his regular clothes but had his cape on. He had to take it off after the second song during the show... and then his glasses disappeared too (but at least his shirt still had fake blood). 

Brendon sometimes changed the lyrics in That Green Gentleman this season, so he did it at this show too. He also messed with the Shout lyrics.

here’s a playlist of some videos from the Halloween show.

anything I post from Halloween 2008 will end up in this tag.

I combined some fan videos from the Halloween show to get a general idea of the night:

[licially]

Another one hour practice::

≥ This time it features my Lackadaisy OC: Andrew Jacobs (second image), and Mordecai Heller in a very very hypothetical situation.

In the bombed out quarry, the dust settled. Excavation machinery littered throughout the ground served more as cover than their actual purpose, and the spotlights that were once used for helpers and workers that wanted some extra overtime for being overly dedicated towards the goal of finding riches from the earth below. 

One such site nestled itself between the Mississippi river and nearby McKinley bridge that served as a railway during the era’s boom for transportation. Rapid industrialisation brought on rapid developments for the city as a whole, with railways being a hot commodity to bring people, materials, and supplies over from other major cities to this place without the need to make round trips. One of such materials are from the quarries surrounding the river, and one such quarry was Sedgewick Sable’s.

Within this quarry, alongside countless others sprinkled throughout the region, he had networked hundreds of workers and thousands of business opportunities thanks to the essential materials from them: coal, clay and aggregates of sand and gravel. These key ingredients in the construction and energy departments made Sedgewick one of the most sought after persons within the St Louis area. 

As of right now, the quarry is abandoned. Not because it’s closing down, but it’s the dead of the night. Disturbed by 4 shots from the depths beneath the open wound of the earth.

Ducking from cover to cover, just behind some more excavators, hid a well fitted cat. He peeked out of a tiny vantage point from one of the tiny holes meant for screws, and analyzed the immediate area in the tunnel vision he had forced himself upon. As he looked around, more and more stones and gravel covered the ground like the seas, and the dark night sky contrasted between what was too far and what was too close. 

He backed out, slowly, as his ears twitched to any subtle sound that may give a clue to where another… thing, whatever it may be, is. 

A cricket chirp, just a bit to the distance. To the left, about 3-4 feet away from him.

The wind blew slightly against his ears again, this time only proving a disruption more than being a helpful asset.

Silence blended into the winds. A good opportunity to focus on the threat at hand,

Soon, footsteps. Directly to his right, with some hastily drawn breaths.

Knowing this, he fled back towards the left and behind the frontside of the cockpit of the excavator, just enough time for him to take another vantage point: the glass of it doubling as a mirror. Knowing this, he kept his gun poised on his right hand, using his more dominant side to adjust the golden pince-nez that slipped closer to slipping off. 

His eyes bore a deadly glare: a green gaze that heavily contrasted the black and light gray fur that covered him. His suit, although dirty from the earlier gunfight, serves complimentary to the fur and camouflage for a more intimate and dark encounter for his works as the triggerman of the Marigold gang. He had been spending time perfecting his art of flawless executions, whether it be people or a job. 

At last, he spots the person fallen prey to his trap through a double reflection of the mirror: a scrawny, rough around the edges gray cat, with a death stare muddled between his yellow and purple eyes. Their pocket watch dangled into a side pocket from their suit, and his jacket was all sorts of torn up, revealing hidden scars and markings of their fur as they stepped closer and closer towards Mordecai. 

He spoke up. In the face of death, the opposing party spoke up in a raspy voice:

“I promise I don’t mean any harm.”

Mordecai, on the other hand, didn’t want to fall into the bluff. No matter how truthful it seemed. As he swung around the corner, and aimed towards the left hand side shoulder. When he did analyze him during the one-sided conversation, he spotted a handle of a gun: a Colt Detective Special. 

However, the disadvantage at hand was he would have needed to have one chamber unloaded in case of misfiring. Knowing his way of talking, he was up against someone who wasn’t proficient in firing guns let alone to carry one for this specific scenario. 

As he pulled the trigger, the recoil struck Mordecai predictively towards his left hand, where he is most dominant. His eyes kept a fixed position on the person who received a bullet, which was the detective. He witnessed him clutch at his left shoulder and gritting his teeth in pain, expectedly applying a lot of pressure onto the wound. However, he stood there.

Unexpectedly, he kept talking.

“I… do not. Mean any harm.”

Even though it’s choked by the impacted wound, it didn’t seem forced at all. Usually, most would run away and some would attempt to strike back. Those who did the latter did not see another day, and those who did the former only lived for a few seconds. After which, they would soon join the graves who attempted to be brave about it.

Blood dripped towards the gravel, still lit up by the spotlights directly above their heads. 

“Harm is an intention, not a meaning.”

The triggerman shot back at him, with words and not bullets, and wills to indulge in a conversation untethered by harmful intentions. However, the gun still pointed at the detective, and one wrong move could prove fatal. 

The detective stayed vigilant, and spoke through the hissing.

“I wanted to talk about… Marigold. You left it by your own accord, correct?” 

“Well yes, but what relevance does that serve in this current… scenario?”

Mordecai replied, slowly lowering his gun. He let absolutely no one else know about this, only Mitzi had the word from him. But, as the detective let out a slight cry of pain, he posed another question that got Mordecai’s full attention.

“The case of Atlas May has been reopened. It’s believed that Mitzi May had involvement in the case. And you were the last person seen with her, before she vanished overnight.”

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

In Afghanistan the Lion of the Panjshir did more than Sun Myung Moon ever did to bring down the Soviet Union

In the past the Unification Church has claimed that Moon could take much credit for the fall of the Soviet Union. Not so.

Since his death in 2001, Ahmad Shah Massoud has become a national hero in Afghanistan. A fierce fighter, yet a moderate and thoughtful man, he was the only leader who never fled the country through all its ups and downs. He was awarded the title "Hero of the Afghan Nation" by President Hamid Karzai immediately after his death; today, many Afghans consider him to have almost saintly status.

In the west, too, Massoud is held in high esteem. Although he is not as widely remembered as he should be, those in the know consider him to be the single person most responsible for bringing down the Soviet Union and ending the Cold War – more so than Ronald Reagan or Mikhail Gorbachev. Today, the Panjshir region that Ahmad Shah Massoud controlled is one of the most peaceful, tolerant and stable areas in war-ravaged Afghanistan.

When Ahmad Shah Massoud was in the third grade, his father became the chief of police in Herat, northwest Afghanistan. The boy was a talented student, both in elementary school and in his religious studies. He eventually took to a moderate type of Sunni Islam, with strong Sufi overtones.

Ahmad Shah Massoud attended high school in Kabul after his father transferred to the police force there. A gifted linguist, the young man became fluent in Persian, French, Pashtu, Hindi and Urdu, and was conversant in English and Arabic.

As an engineering student at Kabul University, Massoud joined the Organization of Muslim Youth (Sazman-i Jawanan-i Musulman), which opposed the communist regime of Afghanistan and growing Soviet influence in the country. ...

On December 27, 1979, the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. Ahmad Shah Massoud, The Lion of the Panjshir, immediately devised a strategy for guerrilla warfare against the Soviets (since a frontal attack on the Afghan communists earlier in the year had failed). Massoud's guerrillas blocked the Soviets' vital supply route at Salang Pass, and held it all through the 1980s.

Every year from 1980 to 1985, the Soviets would throw two massive offensives against Massoud's position, each attack larger than the last. Yet Massoud's 1,000-5,000 mujahadeen held out against 30,000 Soviet troops armed with tanks, field artillery and air support, repulsing each attack.

This heroic resistance earned Ahmad Shah Massoud the nickname "Lion of the Panshir" (in Persian, Shir-e-Panshir, literally "Lion of the Five Lions").

In August of 1986, Massoud began his drive to liberate northern Afghanistan from the Soviets. His forces captured the city of Farkhor, including a military airbase, in Soviet Tajikistan. Massoud's troops also defeated the Afghan national army's 20th division at Nahrin in north-central Afghanistan in November of 1986.

Ahmad Shah Massoud studied the military tactics of Che Guevara and Mao Zedong.

His guerrillas became consummate practitioners of hit-and-run strikes against a superior force and captured significant amounts of Soviet artillery and tanks.

On the 15th of February, 1989, the Soviet Union withdrew its last soldier from Afghanistan. This bloody and expensive war would contribute significantly to the collapse of the Soviet Union itself over the following two years – thanks in no small part to Ahmad Shah Massoud's mujahideen faction.

Outside observers expected the communist regime in Kabul to fall as soon as its Soviet sponsors withdrew, but in fact it held on for three more years. With the final fall of the Soviet Union in early 1992, however, the communists lost power. A new coalition of northern military commanders, the Northern Alliance, forced President Najibullah from power on April 17, 1992. ...

In April 1992, resistance leaders in Peshawar tried to negotiate a settlement. Massoud supported the Peshawar process of establishing a broad coalition government inclusive of all resistance parties, but Hekmatyar sought to become the sole ruler of Afghanistan, stating, “In our country coalition government is impossible because, this way or another, it is going to be weak and incapable of stabilizing the situation in Afghanistan.”

Massoud wrote: “All the parties had participated in the war, in jihad in Afghanistan, so they had to have their share in the [new] government, and in the formation of the government. Afghanistan is made up of different nationalities. We were worried about a national conflict between different tribes and different nationalities. In order to give everybody their own rights and also to avoid bloodshed in Kabul, we left the word to the parties so they should decide about the country as a whole. We talked about it for a temporary stage and then after that the ground should be prepared for a general election.”... LINK

in 2001 Massoud and his Northern Alliance, which controlled parts of the Afghan northeast, led the only remaining resistance to the Taliban, who earned international notoriety by hosting Al-Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden.

Al-Qaeda intended to kill Massoud three weeks earlier, sending two bombers disguised as reporters to request an interview with him, but he made them wait for 22 days before granting the pair a 5-minute interview that proved deadly. 

The extremist coalition of al-Qaeda and the Taliban wanted to remove Massoud and undermine the Northern Alliance before making their strike against the United States on September 11.

Had he been killed earlier as planned, experts predict the Northern Alliance would have fallen and put the US-led invasion of October 2001 in jeopardy without its crucial Afghan partners.

"The goal was to eliminate all types of resistance before the September 11 attacks," said Afghan analyst Haroon Mir.

Read the full story here: https://www.thoughtco.com/ahmad-shah-massoud-195106

Sources:

AFP, "Afghan Hero Massoud's Assassination a Prelude to 9/11"

Clark, Kate. "Profile: The Lion of Panjshir," BBC News online.

Grad, Marcela. Massoud: An Intimate Portrait of the Legendary Afghan Leader, St. Louis: Webster University Press, 2009.

Junger, Sebastian. "Sebastian Junger on Afghanistan's Slain Rebel Leader," National Geographic Adventure Magazine.

Miller, Frederic P. et al. Ahmad Shah Massoud, Saarbrucken, Germany: VDM Publishing House, 2009.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmad_Shah_Massoud

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Pink Moon Rising

Notes: Erzulie - Gina Torres Agwe - Gary Dourdan Ogoun - Jimmy-Jean Louis Damballah - Elvis Nolasco Baron - Mustafa Shakir Maman Bridgette - Saorise Ronan Filomez - Logan Browning Ti Malice - John Boyega Papa Legba - Sydney Poitier Anaisa Pye - Danai Gurira

----

Jo knew the moment that the letter box had a raised signal that there was something peculiar going on at that point.

They rarely got mail - most post going to the bar and she or Grey would pick most up whenever they went by to either do work or visit Harry, sometimes the researcher would bring any post with him for a movie night instead - and usually only ever junk mail and not worthy of the flag going up.

She wrapped Nana’s leash around her wrist a few times as the dog pulled and tugged impatient to go inside and have some water, and flipping the mail box open; Jo frowned at the light pink envelope with something written harshly in jagged lettering in red on one side and some design on the other. Picking it up and finally heading inside and unclipping the dog as she went running down the hall towards the kitchen and her water bowl, Jo flipped the letter back and forth over her wrist as she walked after at a slower pace.

“What you got there, Jo?” Grey’s voice pulled her out of her pondering, the flipping stopping after a moment as she moved around to press a quick kiss to the back of his neck on her way past to grab a juice out of the fridge.

“Letter.”

“Oh? Did Harry come around?”

“Nah, it was in the letter box.”

“We got a letter in the letter box?”

“I did.” She replied as she moved to sit down at the kitchen table, flipping the envelope upwards to face her - taking in her name clearly but jaggedly written across the front in the dark reddish brown ink, with a few dots bled across the front. Running her finger over her name, Jo lifted her finger to her nose before pulling a face realizing it hadn’t been ink at all. Perturbed, she flipped the letter back over and sucked in a breath at the delicate design all the same dark red - blood, not ink, as she’d identified - with two waves curling opposite each other, forming a heart alongside the soft swirls and the biblical-like crosses stabbing through the center of it. A design Jo was used to drawing on a rundown floor in dust or carving into a candle. “Oh.”

“You got a letter? Here?” Grey’s voice was tinged with worry from what she could hear, finger still running gently over the design and not yet daring to break the seal. “Who’s it from then?”

“A.. friend, I hope.” She muttered the last words as quietly as possible, a tiny frown on her face before sliding a finger under the envelope tongue and slowly tearing it open.

Pulling the single card out from inside, Jo let out an unexpected laugh at the design on the front - a soft pink moon with three circles underneath it all in a soft shimmering card stock - and the swirly lettering stating ‘You’re Invited!’ written across it. Opening the card itself, there was a date, time and address as well as three little crosses in the bottom corner all in the same not-ink writing as the envelope.

“What is it, Jo?” Jo jerked a bit at the hand on her shoulder as the shadow came over to look, a concerned look on his face that she’s sure came from her laughter and the peculiarity of it altogether.

“It’s an invitation, hun. I’ve got a… party to go to, maybe.”

—

Jo let out a quiet sigh to herself as she actually found herself out front of the building compound listed at the address on St Charles Avenue. It was definitely not somewhere she would usually be found, but as she had gotten out of her car and walked up the block towards the place, she found herself glad that she’d decided to wear something nice as she looked up at the ornate doorway of the exquisite old building. It helped the layered yellow dress she’d gotten the previous year and the jeweled sandals matched with it so well but both allowed her comfort while looking in keeping with the sophistication of the event. It also helped that the skirt of her dress was flowy enough to allow a pair of thin bike shorts underneath that likewise let her wear two thigh holsters for a pair of knives, just in case - she had been invited after all, but she wasn’t completely foolish.

Stepping through the wrought iron gates of the external courtyard from the street into the space, Jo blinked in confusion as the sounds of the traffic outside disappeared and were replaced with the sweet sounds of birdsong and the soft sound of music echoing out from the doors of the building. The whole place felt peaceful yet joyful all at once, and something settled sharply in her stomach to be on guard against giving in to that feeling. She’d been tricked once before from it, and she wouldn’t give in again so quickly.

Moving along the path and up the old stone steps up to historic mansion - it's columns white and gleaming, with the white wrought iron spandrels and fretwork like beautiful spiderwebs spreading from one pole to the next over the wide porch as she made her way up. The wood didn't even groan under foot despite clearly being aged and worn in, lived in and welcoming to many, many guests over the years. The front door was intricately carved wood with brightly colored glass shards cut into the design like jewels. It all made a very beautiful and awe-inspiring visage, and as Jo lifted a hand to the elegant door knocker she half expected to be shooed off as an interloper, someone clearly not suited for such a place even with her designer dress and pretty shoes from someone who likely would fit in in such elegant surroundings.

There was an extremely tall man that opened the door, his face set in a firm but bland expression. "Invitation?"

"Oh, uh. Here?"

"Hmmm, Harvelle-" The man frowned for a moment and looked carefully at the invitation she'd handed over with a slight bit of trepidation and then pulled up a clipboard to review. There was a moment before he stepped back and to the side, door opening wider and a hand waving her in in greeting. "Welcome Ms. Harvelle. You'll find the party in the inner courtyard, and all gifts are to be presented when requested."

"Gifts?" Jo asked, confusion rife as she moved through the door and craned her neck up at the man as if he'd have an answer, before frowning in confusion as the welcoming smile slid off of his face and was replaced with the same bland look as before. His eyes looked glazed over though and unfocused as he took a step back to stand beside the door and almost blended into the shadows. Blinking a few times as they watered trying to keep his stare and catch his eye contact, she rubbed at her eyes a little before nervously making her way further into the grand house.

The floor felt strange underfoot, and glancing down, she was surprised to see the entire floor was covered in a thick layer of rose petals from the lightest whites to the deepest, darkest reds and all the shades in between. They were thick enough to coat the entire surface and the scent of roses came forth with each step but was somehow suitably subtle and delicate to the flowers themselves. The grandeur of the place was beyond anywhere Jo was used to visiting - art covered the walls of the entry foyer and then the hallway she slowly made her way into, and there were antiques in the Spanish, French and English styles as well as some clearly even more ancient designs that echoed the beadwork and colorful nature of Africa that somehow stood out even more in beauty against the other flourishes. Moving along the hall, turning left when she got through the first set of doors out of habit and then following the turn of the hall to the right - Jo stared in wonder at the light filtering through the next array of stained glass windows and double doors that opened into the inner courtyard where she could hear noise and see the shadows of figures moving around.

The courtyard was clearly where she was expected to go, as it was filled with guests milling about in different groups and the aurora of power from so many Pagan gods assembled in one place was electric. Her eyes darted about cautiously before entering the courtyard - taking in the wide number of people and the different postures across the space. That she could tell who was a god and who was merely mortal like her felt unsettling, the brightly colorful garb and confidence that rolled off of the gods so at odds with the people - horses, her mind supplied to her, or rather those that would wish to provide their bodies for possession and channeling of the gods and goddesses will - that were in mostly dull neutral clothes that hung from their frames but was not so standardised as she’d have expected. It was more the deference and slight bow of their heads that gave away those here as worshippers from those to be worshipped. There were still more people though - those mortals who offered other types of sacrifice than their own beings, clearly wearing their version of ‘Sunday Best’ and while not so subservient as the horses milling about, were still clearly deferent to the gods that moved through the space, heads tilted just that little bit or eyes just not able to hold direct eye contact with those they worshipped to. Wiping her sweaty hands cautiously against the fabric of her brightly colored dress, Jo took a calming breath before throwing her head back and stepping forward as confidently as possible once she’d taken in as much as she could from the secluded spot just before the doorway, eyes up and back straight, refusing to be thought as cowed by any of those with power in the space.

The purpose of the celebration was clearly easy to locate - the rattan throne raised up on a dais towards the centre of the courtyard was obvious and drew the eye. The peacock chair throne was resplendent in its detail the same was the goddess that sat upon it was glorious in the late-morning sun. Erzulie was holding her court.

Jo’s eyes locked onto the goddess’ after a few steps into the courtyard, and the slow smile that came across the goddess of femininity’s face grew with each step as she reached out a hand, beckoning to her as Jo moved slowly forward. Her wrists were covering in gold and beaded bangles, her golden rings shining catching the light as she called out in a warm, comforting voice, “Joanna! My darling girl, come here.”

It wasn’t a command at least, and Jo felt her own lips twitching into a smile at the way those between her and the one goddess she knew parted like the sea before her. Moving closer, the blonde barely concealed an eyeroll as she got to the raised platform acting as a dais that the beautiful goddess sat on. The rose petals were twice as thick on the platform, and Jo glanced in confusion as a man with thick braided hair stood up from a seat off to Erzulie’s right-hand side to take the brightly embroidered pillow from his chair and placed it a foot before the goddess with a smirk. Looking at the pillow and then back to meet the woman’s eyes, Jo quirked a brow at the other questioningly as the goddess stood.

“My sweet girl, how are you? Did you have a good trip down to my humble little party?” “I mean, New Orleans in Summer is a bit of the pits.” “So true, so true my dear. Much warmer here than that little lake you’ve taken to.”

Jo found herself holding back an eyeroll at that - the crisp summers at home compared to the muggy humidity of Louisiana were the difference of the sweat beads rolling down her back - and taking the goddess’ hand when she offered it before scowling slightly as she was guided down onto the bright pink cushion as Erzulie settled herself back onto her rattan throne with a ringing laugh.

“Apologies though, youngling, I unfortunately am not the one who can control the weather. Nor was I the one to name the date,” Erzulie shrugged a shoulder, the delicate golden chains that adorned her neck and shoulders rattling faintly with the movement as she shook out the yards of shimmering pastel pink silk that was draped over her body from the haltered dress the goddess wore about her to cover her own bejeweled, bare feet. Jo spotted the flash of toe rings on the feminine toes that poked out before being covered with the silk as she herself had plopped down indelicately onto the cushion at the goddess’ feet, uncaring if her shoes scraped up petals or her skirts caught between her legs. “You see, today is my feast day.”

“Happy birthday.” Jo snarked back with a smirk, picking at an invisible piece of lint from her lap before she looked back up at the other at the laugh that rang out again. “If I’d known, I’d’ve brought a present.”

“Ah, but already have - or rather, will - my little flower. It has been quite a time since you’ve made a devotional, after all, and I had hoped you would have done one before now so I could be my very, very shiny best-” The dark skinned goddess pouted, lips full and as pink as her dress as she looked the part of a spoiled child not having gotten her way, before she tossed her head back and gave another of those shrugs that made her necklaces and chains catch and shimmer in the light. Erzulie waved a non-commital hand again before she reached out to run the same over Jo’s own hair with a softer smile. “But then I thought, what better gift, my sweet, then for you to come and partake in the festivities yourself? Besides, half the point is the show after all, and your devotionals are always so… What word would you say, my love?”

The man who’d moved the pillow spoke then, even without Erzulie’s eyes moving from Jo’s face. “Awe inspiring, my beauty.” The man smiled - all teeth sharp and white like a sharks - towards Jo for a moment before glancing over his shoulder back towards the goddess’ face. “You will always in all ways be the most gorgeous woman of course, but you do always seem more refreshed and extra beautiful afterwards.”

“Oh you flatter me, my love.” Jo blinked in surprise to see the slight blush on the other woman’s face before she let out another loud laugh. “But you are right. You see, Joanna, your prayers are always so invigorating for an old lady like me. And I’d love to rub that in that good for nothing Anasia’s face that I have such a daughter.”

Blonde brow raised, Jo blinked a few times as the goddess’ words before she shrugged a shoulder of her own in return. It was true she hadn’t called upon the other’s powers in some time - her hunts more straight forward lately and even more sparsely in between as she had spent more time working on answering hunter queries and helping research than actively hunting for a while, soaking in the chance to be at home during the warm months to spend with her love and baby girl instead of in her sweltering car on the road - and if the answer to getting home safe and sound was to light a candle and say her usual prayers for safety and protection, it wasn’t like that would be hard. Sitting on a cushion like a pet at the others feet however, that was not so easy, and shuffling uncomfortably, Jo raised her other brow before sighing.

“I suppose that would have ta do for a gift, right? Can’t really pull anythin’ out of my pockets when I hadn’t planned anythin’.” “So true, but don’t you worry my dear, I can promise to appreciate it the most.”

“Even more than my gift?” The man standing to the left of Erzulie’s throne spoke then, dark brown eyes sparkling with the same humour as his tone as he placed a hand over the other’s shoulder. “Why, I am hurt, my love, absolutely skewered through. I thought my love meant something!”

Erzulie let out another loud laugh, her hand moving from Jo’s hair to catch the man’s hand and pressing a bright pink lipped kiss to the palm of his hand - an imprint left behind as she squeezed his fingers. “You think so very highly of yourself, don’t you, husband-dear?”

“Of course, my dear, I’ve always done so. A snake may change his skin, but he doesn’t change what he is.” “Damballah, you think your gift outshone mine?” “Given mine did not smell of seaweed, Agwe, I am absolutely certain it did.” “Mine did not smell like seaweed, you good for nothing snake-”

The back and forth between the two men was quick and fast, Jo barely registering the jokes of the two as her mind scrambled to assign the name of Damballah, the serpent father, to the standing man and the title of Agew the sea god to the man that had set the pillow down for her. Blinking rapidly, her eyes quickly jerked between both men, scanning anything that would be recognisable before she noted the golden rings each wore with their own symbol that matched two of the three rings on Erzulie’s own hand as she laughed and batted at the both of them. Turning her eyes over towards the quiet, stoic man that sat to Erzulie’s left in front of Damballah, Jo noted the ring on his hand barely visible under his own long sleeves despite the heat matched the goddess’ last ring - identifying him as the third and last of her husbands, Ogoun the warrior. As the three others continued to speak, their tones warm and playful even if the gods both had a slight undertone of threat to it, Jo found herself simply staring back at the silent, considering look she was getting from the third.

“Come on, girlie.” Jo jerked in surprise at the hand that fell on her arm as the sea god got back to his feet with another of those sharp, white smiles. “We’ll have to show you around to our love’s guests before the devotionals and sacrifices start. It’s all part of the spectacle to show you off after all.”

“I, uh, that is, I’m not-” The hunter stammered a few times as the god stood in front of her and held out his hand to help her up. Panicked, Jo’s eyes darted back to her patron’s for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Erzulie really was the only one she even knew how to interact with at all in the room, but the goddess was smiling gently at her as she was pulled to her feet. “Um… o-okay?”

“Don’t worry, little huntress,” Agwe spoke gently a few moments later after he’d helped her back to her feet and down the steps from the dais and back into the milling, curious crowd. Jo’d noticed how Damballah had moved to reset the cushion onto the seat the sea-god had been on and taken the spot for himself as the pair had moved away, Erzulie’s attention taken up by her other two husband’s as her first had taken Jo away. His voice, the first husband’s, was soft and his green eyes caught her uncertain ones as she finally looked back from the centre of the room to catch his own. “You are here under my lovely wife’s complete protection, little one. Nobody here could touch you, even if they dared. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Oh will I? What makes you think I’m worried ‘bout that?” “The ear splittingly loud thudding of that heart of yours, first off-” “I am not-!” “And secondly, because my darling beauty did mention your first interaction with a crowd of gods may not have been so… comforting an experience as she hopes you will find this one.”

“Oh?” Jo breathed the word out in surprise, blinking widely as she glanced over her shoulder towards where the beauty still sat laughing with the men to either side. Surprised that the goddess might have understood or possibly even felt Jo’s uncertainty and fear the first time they had met. That a being with endless years and so little humanity left to her could remember and thought to ensure that Jo would feel comfortable was a peculiar feeling. Turning back to the speculative look she was receiving from the god holding her arm as he took two cups of some fruity drink from a passing waiter and held one out to her, Jo quirked a brow up at him. “And what makes you so certain I’m safe here? I know your, uh, pantheon of sorts isn’t known to be the most…”

“Cohesive?” “I was gonna say safe.” “Ouch, cruel! No wonder you are my love’s favored!” “Favored?”

“You think all of those who pray to my love gets their prayers answered?” Agwe sent her a surprised look in return as he took a sip of his own drink as Jo fiddled with the straw on hers, before letting out a loud crack of laughter that sounded like the oncoming book of thunder rolling over an unprepared sea. “Only the most special of our devotees get even more than a scrap of our attention, given our long lives and how little you little humans deserve of our attention. And you, dear flower, are by far my wife’s most favored and most devoted and most loved daughter.”

Jo barely held back the shudder at that thought. She took a sip of her drink mulling over the words as she was slowly led in an aimless circle around the room, as if the god leading her had no intention of actually introducing her about until he was certain of her mindset and understanding of the situation she had actually entered.

Swallowing the sugary sweet nectar from the mango drink, she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and really looking around the assembled groups. When she’d arrived she had thought that it was simply the changes in clothes and the crackling of energy that could show the difference between the gods and those devotees at the party. And while that was true, she could see clearer now as she glanced about the different groups milling about. There was no touching, no interacting, no affection or care shown between the gods and the humans in the space. The way the mortals would defer and drop their gazes after a few seconds made complete sense - devoted, god-fearing humans of course feeling unworthy of attention or uncertainty at catching more than a little attention - but blinking her eyes, Jo found herself surprised to note how those she could see to be gods barely noticed those beneath them. Their gazes would slide over and off the mortals, never catching any amount of attention for more than a second, as if there was nothing of interest to them. That was, except when she would catch an eye looking at her that stared firmly back all around the room. Even the god holding her elbow gently was unusual, no other god seemed to even brush a human as they stood talking. Everything seemed so in tune towards the fact that people were boring to this crowd of gods, that humans were typically below notice.

“Oh.” “Very succinct of you, Joanna.” “It’s Jo.”

“Of course it is, Jo.” The correction took her by surprise, eyes jerking back to the smirking god beside her as if he knew he’d managed to catch her off guard. A large hand threw out gesturing about the space for a moment as they finished the first lap about the room towards his goddess wife. “But the point stands, as I hope you’ve noticed. You are safe here, for humans are both nothing to us, and you are also important to my love so will be safe here on her devotional day.”

“So I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t her party?” “Of course not. But it is. So you will be safe.” “Uh huh.”

There was a long sigh before the god beside her let out a chuckle. “Since you seem to have grasped some of it, let me introduce you around then. But no taking advantage of your protection to cause trouble-” The look she got from Agwe, as she raised a brow and opened her mouth as if to argue, was knowing and bemused. “You think I don’t realise only one as troublesome and unpredictable as my love would catch her attention? No, I see through you, girlie, and I would think better of some of it.”

“Only some?” “He means anything that would get you into the more fun kind of trouble.”

Jo let out a surprised yelp at the interruption from her other side, eyes wide and confused at being approached out of the blue by someone here. Everything seemed so strangely structured even though it wasn’t, and she half expected to be the one taken to be introduced to whomever Erzulie or her husbands’ decided to dictate she would. Blinking in surprise, she turned to look at the boyish grin on the man that had approached, taking in the roughishly bemused look on the man’s face.

Swallowing thickly on nothing, Jo shrugged a shoulder as she glanced back at the god that had let go of her arm at the other’s appearance before raising a brow at the newcomer. “What kind of fun is that?”

“My kind, I’m betting. Or perhaps Baron and Bridgette’s type.” The boyish charm didn’t leave at all as the god grinned at her still, his eyes shining with a warmth she hadn’t noticed had been missing in Erzulie’s companions until she saw it in this god’s eyes. There was a beat before a wide hand was held out towards her, and Jo let out a loud laugh as she shook his only to have an unexpected zap come from the touch. “My bad!”

“Ti Malice, are you up to your tricks again?” “Hey, I heard you promising safety not utter boredom. Lighten up, Agwe, or your wife might get bored of all three of you and be after some more fun.” “What makes you think anyone wants your kind of fun here?” “If I wasn’t wanted, my invitation would’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

“What makes you think it didn’t?” Jo could hear herself speaking before she recognised she’d even spoken, and getting a warm laugh from the man beside her felt like both an achievement and something easy to achieve all at once. Agwe simply gave a sigh and an eye roll as she turned to look at the new god. “Or would it not have mattered if it did get lost?”

“Oh it absolutely wouldn’t have mattered. I never miss a party when I can.” The god grinned back at her, all teeth but in a way filled with joy and excitement and not the slightly cold, predatory look that the sea-god’s smile gave off. There was a beat before the other smiled even wider and gave a exaggerated bow and hand gesture. “Since the cold fish won’t do it, may I introduce myself? Ti Malice, trickster-extraordinaire, pleasure to meet you.”

Jo let out a little giggle of her own at the flashy showmanship, her mind immediately recognising some of the flare to the god’s presentation from her experiences with her fake-trickster friend. “Nice ta meet cha, I’m Jo Harvelle.”

“There now, boring bits out of the way - we can get rid of the boring old seaman, right?” Ti Malice’s smirk should have sent a shiver down her spine if it had been directed at her, instead it was fully focused on the glaring god beside her who stared back for a long moment. “Oh come on, old man. You know I might be a trickster but I’m not an idiot. Besides, your wife is waving for you.”

Jo glanced back over her shoulder as did Agwe beside her, both to see Erzulie waving a hand towards them and calling barely audibly over the distance and the hum of conversation in the room for the sea-god himself. Jo glanced up at the taller god for a long moment before he gave her a sharp nod and turned to head back to his wife’s side. Blinking a few times, she was unsurprised to realise the trickster had stepped carefully closer on her other side that she shuffled an inch away, getting a laugh in response.

“Don’t worry, I’m far far more behaved than what my title suggests-” “Oh? Because I’ve some history with tricksters. And the last one I dealt with was a right piece’a work.” “Have you now? Which of us was that?” “Stupid fuckin’ fairy-”

Her grumbled words got a loud laugh from the trickster beside her, his laughter bouncing about the courtyard and cutting over and through other conversations like a booming thunderstorm. Jo blushed as she noticed several heads turn their way and staring for a long moment, fiddling with her dress awkwardly as she waited for the man beside her to unbend from his laughter.

“Oh! Oh no wonder you looked like you’d sucked a lemon! Not all of us are like him, I promise.” Ti Malice’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears of laughter as he finally righted himself, wiping at his eyes with a few warm chuckles. “I mean, we are all like that - but some of us are a little more fun and a little less sadistic.”

“That’s good to know-” “If you want sadistic though- come with me!”

Jo let out a surprised yelp as the god grabbed a hold of her closet wrist and tugged her quickly, pulling her through the crowd and weaving through the different groups milling about until he’d reached some unknown destination. She looked up from her feet, where she’d been focusing on not tripping over or slipping on the built up rose petals covering the uneven ground, to blink in surprise at the pair that the trickster god had brought her to.

A willowy, redheaded woman with pale skin that glowed in the warm sunlight that managed to dapple through the overhead tree canopy and an even taller man with skin as dark as hers was pale looked back at her curiously. Ti Malice’s grin was uncomfortably towards that edge of sadistic glee as he gave a tug to pull her in closer to the small little group. “Hey Mama and Daddy, want to see something strange? Look at this one!”

Jo jerked her hand back out of the god’s grip, temper flaring as she slapped away the hand flourishing towards her as if showing off something to the other two. The look of unrepentant on the trickster’s face was far too well suited to his boyish face, and she barely bit down snarling at him as she was gifted with a teasing tongue stuck out at her for a second.

“Malis, what trouble are you causin’ now?” The woman spoke softly, voice gentle and lilting with an Irish accent that matched up in Jo’s mind with her looks quickly. Glancing between the goddess and the man with his arm firmly around her waist, there was a second before Jo managed to work out the pairs identity as the Baron and his wife, Bridgette. “You sure you should be playin’ such games today?”

“Oh Erzy has a good sense of humor when she wants to-” “And you think today she does?” “Well, she will. Or else she’d’ve sent Ogoun over to stop me.”

“He isn’t wrong, renmen,” The Baron said, his voice a gruff growl. Jo barely stopped the shiver the god’s voice made want to happen, the tone rough and somehow bone-chilling for her. Likely something to do with the power the god of the dead held. There was a second before she managed to get control of herself again and glanced up to meet his piercing look straight on like none of the mortals in the whole space seemingly had, and couldn’t hold back the shiver at the next words spoken. “You have died.”

“Yeah, just the once.” Jo replied after a long, quiet moment between the quartet, unable to drop the death god’s gaze. “Fun times had by all, totally enjoyed chokin’ on my own blood. Would totally recommend it.”

“Would you now?” Jo swallowed thickly herself at the dark smile that graced the god’s face as he stared back at her undeterred from her sarcasm. Baron’s eyes stared her down for a further moment before he finally turned to look towards his wife with a wide grin. “I like this one.”

“Now, sweetie, I don’t think that’s goin’ ta work very well. You know how Erzulie is about bein’ the centre of attention and sharin’ anythin’.” Bridgette’s smile was just to the side of patronising as she gazed back at her husband for a moment before rolling her eyes at his shrug. Turning towards Jo, the redhead held out a dainty hand to shake. “Since neither of these men have any manners, I’m Bridgette, and this is my husband the Baron.”

“I guessed that.” Jo smiled back slightly, still processing what the pair had been talking about before shaking her head and taking the other woman’s hand. “ ‘m Jo. Erzulie’s my, uh, I guess patron?”

“Oh yes, that’d be the right term for you-” “Good to know.” “I much prefer my followers to be like that myself too. Unlike some others.” “Huh?”

“Not enough free will, sweetheart, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Bridgette waved a delicate hand around towards the rest of the crowd, pointing out towards the horses milling about in their dull clothes and heads entirely bowed to below that of the shortest god irrespective of their own height. There was a much older man, clearly an old god from the gnarled hands and grey hairs, that was seated and slumped slightly that they all kept to below despite his clear disinterest in being so measured against. And then likewise she pointed to some of the other devotees who kept their eyes downcast but in constant look out for if they’d spoken too loud or interrupted a god’s voice. “I mean, the power is nice and all, but I miss the irreverence of the Irish sometimes.”

“Oh, but don’t you think we deserve subservience?” The chirped voice sprang up on Jo’s other side, and jerking to the side, bumping into the grinning trickster, Jo looked surprised at the young looking woman beside her with a head full of thick curls and wide almond shaped eyes. Her pink dress matched the tones of Erzulie’s herself, and Jo blinked in surprise to see it - having figured the goddess would’ve wanted to be the only one in the color on her special day. “Hi! I’m Filomez, you must be Joanna Harvelle.” There was a second before the girl seemingly broke all patterns of the other pagans and moved forward to tug Jo into a tight hug. “Erzulie’s told me so much about you! I look forward to seeing your devotional later.”

“You’ll be partaking?” The rumbled words from the Baron were less surprising this time as Jo gave a few pats to the young woman’s back before the shorter goddess - one of the only ones near Jo’s own height - pulled back. “So that is the surprise, hmm.”

Jo gave a shrug of her shoulder as she shifted a little, uncertain if she should speak more or not as Malice seemed to jump in making up some story about an entire secret room of devotees that were due to arrive and bolster the beauty goddess’ powers to outshine everyone else in the space. Filomez nodded along, agreeing repeatedly and eyes wide and happy as she spoke about her ‘big sister’ having promised something spectacular. Jo’s stomach felt slightly queasy as she listened, finishing her drink slowly as she shrunk in on herself. It was pressure, and pressure on her she could tell, even if there was any sort of joke that it might not.

Looking around the space, she noted other gods and goddesses having arrived, and especially a beautiful woman in a bright yellow dress that almost outshone against Erzulie’s own glorious gown. Jo frowned noting it, looking around the courtyard for a moment and noting how that goddess seemed to stand out alongside Erzulie. All the others, while dressed ostentatiously and clearly in rich and vibrant colors, were not eye-catching and attention seeking in a way like the newly arrived goddess was. Filomez wore a soft baby pink dress that draped around her to show off her slim figure but it didn’t scream for attention, likewise Baron and Bridgette were matched in black and red clothes that sucked the light from around them but still didn’t draw attention to them over anyone else. Malice’s bright orange jumpsuit might have stood out anywhere else, but seemed considered and paired back in this crowd somehow. But the newly arrived goddess stood out, and in a way that, as Jo flicked a glance towards the centre of the room where Erzulie and her husbands sat to see the glare upon her goddess’ face, was inappropriate.

“Look what the cat dragged in-” “Don’t you mean ‘look out for the cat fight’, Malis?” “Same thing, Baron.”

Jo frowned slightly, attention drawn back to the group she stood near to notice the glare being delivered towards the newcomer from Filomez, and blinked a few times at noticing how the younger looking woman’s face had shifted. It was something she’d seen on Erzulie’s before, the shifting of which facet took control but without the entire change of hair style like the first time Jo’d met the goddess of women. “So, uh, who’s that?”

“Anaisa Pye. She thinks she’s better than my dearest sister.” Filomez spoke, voice harsh and gravelly to the exact opposite that it had been sweet and light before, and it wasn’t until a meaty hand landed on Jo’s head that she realised she’d been waiting for the goddess to speak some more.

Jerking in surprise, she looked up towards the person who’d interrupted to see the impassive looking face of Erzulie’s third husband, Ogoun, looking back at her. “You need to come with me.” The man’s voice was still so quiet, and after a moment he removed his hand and turned back towards the dais and started to walk without waiting for her.

Glancing back to the assorted gods she’d stood with, Jo was unsurprised to see Ti Malice’s eyes glittering with mischief as he opened his mouth to suggest she stay where she was. The other three were less clearly unbothered by the massive warrior god’s arrival and departure, and after raising a quick brow, Jo turned back towards the centre and headed towards her goddess. After all, if she was being summoned, it would be to pray; and then she’d likely be able to head home before any kind of troubles could start if the change in atmosphere she’d noticed since the goddess Anaisa Pye’s arrival spelt.

As she reached the dais, Jo was surprised to notice that the newly arrived goddess was standing before Erzulie herself, cocky smile to her face. “Why, Erzulie, old girl. How lovely to see you today! I hope you’ve not broken your back putting this all on, I wouldn’t want you straining anything.”

“Anaisa, you actually managed to get out of bed for once!” Erzulie replied snippily, eyes focused like a cat on it’s prey. “Tell me, did you make sure to get all the prayers for the year in before this? I mean, that’s the only way you’d get the energy to even make it here.”

“You underestimate my followers, as always. But I suppose you can’t have quite so devoted worshippers as the rest of us who fulfil their needs better, Erzie.” “Better? Oh, you mean by having so few calls that you’ve the time for all, what, three people who ever think to ask you for help, Annie?” “They can’t be all so desperate as to have to ask for yours, you know.”

Jo had to bite down on a smirk watching the two goddesses at each other’s throats as she waited patiently a few steps away. It wasn’t surprising to find that not all gods could stand one another, the animosity reminding her of the Irish couple she’d been exposed to - but without the underlying sexual tension, which she had to cover her mouth to stop from laughing thinking at that comparison.

She must have made a noise though, as Jo found herself with the attention of both goddesses upon her then, and shrinking back a step Jo scowled at the one closest to hers remark. “Oh, what a beautiful dress. I do so love yellow. Are you one of mine, human?”

“Anaisa, that is my follower.” Erzulie’s words were hissed out and sharp, eyes just as cutting as she glared towards the other goddess. “My husband had fetched her for me, Joanna, my darling girl, come sit. We’ll get to your gift after the others.” Jo frowned for a second as she realised that her patron hadn’t dropped her glare from the other goddess’ face yet and yet pointed towards a spot for Jo to sit. Her frown disappeared to realise that she was pointing at the seat that Ogoun had been sitting in before instead of a cushion on the floor, and glancing up, Jo noticed that the tall warrior was stood behind the chair instead. “Quickly, my flower, before the stench of some uncivilised upstart goddess gets caught entirely in my nose.”

“Oh you-” Anaisa sneered back for a second, glaring towards the goddess of the day for a moment, before she turned to stalk off to the side as Jo sat down and Erzulie stood in the same moment to draw the attention of the crowd.

That wasn’t hard for the goddess though. She barely needed to raise her voice to silence all the murmuring of the gods around the space, hands thrown wide and shimmering small golden light sparks around the space where her chains and bracelets and rings caught the sunlight. Erzulie clearly intended to make a point of this all. “Everyone! Thank you all for joining me today on such an important date.” Her voice was sweet and warm, but the underlying current of power that ran through it reminded Jo of her other facet - the fierce, blood thirtsty side that gave the power to the downtrodden to rise up. “I look forward to our next gathering for the next feast day with glee, but before that can happen, so to must todays rituals. My love, the first?”

Jo was unsurprised to see that Damballah was the husband to step forward and beckon to the first of those humans here to give over a ritual or gift to the goddess. What did surprise Jo was to witness how those who were so drawn into this religion and practices gave their thanks to a deity right in front of them. She knew, of course, how the usual practices went and was not surprised to see a goat’s blood spilled at one point or, given the goddess in question, bottles and bottles of perfume poured out into vessels before the worshiper would spill drops of their own blood in as well. She was surprised however to witness how with each prayer or sacrifice that the goddess seated on the throne beside her would glow faintly, and that each devotee was granted the permission to approach the dais and kiss the goddess’ feet before being rewarded with a kiss to the crown of their heads. It was something strange to see the looks of wonder and awe on each of the worshipers faces as they genuflected over and over as they retreated after each of their provisions; that such a small symbol, from a goddess that Jo saw more as a quirky aunt that pinched her cheeks than a deity, meant so much to these people. Jo even watched with eyes wide as the practitioner who introduced her to the idea of drawing from the voodoo gods was there and gave her own thanks. Jo was more surprised to see the look of absolute astonishment and wonder when the other saw her seated there. That look would haunt her for a while.

As the last person bowed and scurried back from the dais, Jo was unsurprised to see a hand held out to her from the god standing behind her. Ogoun helped her to her feet, even though Jo raised a brow at the sheer idea she might have needed the help, and walked her to the same spot that the others had stood to put forth their sacrifices.

Jo waited a second after he’d let her hand go and moved to take the seat that she had vacated to look about uncertainly. It was all well and good to pray, and she would easily, but after witnessing the others it felt a little anticlimactic, especially since she clearly held far less belief than the others.

“Um…” She shifted her weight awkwardly, weighing up the options. “I, uh-” Looking around, Jo could see a few gods shifting their own weight and twisting to mumble to one another. Obviously laughing at the lost little girl, and likewise laughing at Erzulie who stared down at her impassively. There was a moment as a dark brow quirked at her, before Jo glanced around again before letting out a quiet noise of approval as she spotted something she could contribute. Approaching the closest table, Jo pulled a lit candle from the centrepiece before moving back before the altar - candle still aflame and the wax dripping down one side of the candle to the floor. It took barely a moment to pull one of the blood-dipped daggers she had strapped to her legs to start the carvings that she knew off by heart at this point, even as she felt her cheeks flushing brightly at the laughter and murmurs she could hear from those around her at that. As she finished the last of the swirling curls of the heart design for the goddess before her, Jo raised an eyebrow back at the other before setting it down.

There didn’t seem to be anything for a moment before Erzulie gestured towards the flame with her hand and Jo gave a quiet sigh. Kneeling down, she pressed the edge of her blade to her thumb before holding her dripping finger over the flame itself. Pressing on the wound gently with her other hand until a enough drops of blood had fallen to extinguish the flame, Jo let out a gasp as she noticed the light in the room change from the overhead shadows of the sun to something shining and golden before her. Looking up, it wasn’t just her clearly surprised to see the amount of light shining off the goddess. Erzulie sat smiling wide, toothy and pleased, as her skin seemed to almost glow golden like her necklaces and chains, and her hair likewise shone golden. The shine didn’t go down completely like it had after a few seconds from the other sacrifices and rituals, it seemed to sink into the goddess’ skin but not leave as a whole, her whole being softly radiating light under her form as she smiled down towards the blonde.

Rising to her feet, Jo approached at the hand the goddess held out towards her, frowning slightly as she got before her. “I ain’t kissin’ your feet, just so you know.” Jo heard herself speak again, and scrunched her eyes up as she heard what she said, before letting out a sigh of relief at the laugh she got in response.

“Of course not, my flower,” Erzulie replied gently, standing from her seat for a moment like she hadn’t for the other followers before surprising her with a kiss to her forehead unlike anyone else. “You’ve been having a very good time lately, Joanna, I am so happy for you and that I can share in even a little bit of it. Thank you again, my sweet girl.”

Jo felt herself frowning slightly as the goddess pressed another kiss to her forehead before letting go of her, and stepping away, Jo was not surprised to see that those milling around were no longer looking at her at all but drawn entirely like moths to the flame towards the power exuding from the goddess behind her. It was expected. Gods of their kind, those with slowly diminishing follower bases but who still relied upon them would always be drawn towards such sparks of power, and especially the god or goddess that had it at the time.

Moving through the crowd moving forward was easy enough for her - no other mortals seemed to still be present, having left after each of their sacrifices or prayers themselves; and what was a mortal to a god? Shaking her head to herself as she wiped her dagger off on a nearby cloth napkin, Jo was actually surprised to hear a cough from behind her. Turning about, she kept a firm grip on her blade and the cloth as well as she stared cautiously towards the god before her.

“A pretty demonstration there, girl.” The god was surprisingly tall compared to when she’d seen him before, spindly though and his eyes seemed almost ancient as she looked up at him. The god hadn’t moved at all throughout the whole time she’d been there from the seat he’d been sunk into, his old body clearly reflective of his age and looking down at the cane and dog by his side, Jo let out a whoosh of air as she realised which of the loas had approached her. The only one old enough not to care for the frenzied and overly bouncy reaction of the goddess on her throne. Papa Legba stared down at her with eyes milky from cataracts but that seemed to see right through her. “I would leave if I were you, child. They say beware being a favorite, but also being known to be favorite can be even more dangerous. Especially amongst those starving for power.”

Jo frowned slightly, twisting the hand at her side holding the cloth napkin as the god’s dog shuffled forwards to sniff at her hand, before she moved to stroke the animal’s head for a moment. The god’s words felt kind in a way none of the other’s had - the trickster wanted to cause trouble; the god of the dead wanted to get under her skin and his wife was simply bored; the young goddess was bold but didn’t have enough to know what was right or wrong; the fiery competitor had said no kind words towards her that weren’t selfish in it’s own; the three husbands cared only for their competition and their wife; and while Erzulie favored her, that was always self serving and selfish as the goddess was. The old man’s words felt kind for the sake of kindness and compassion. The voice that spoke of more than just his own power nor the demands for power from humans, the communicator between the worlds of gods and the realms of humans, the one who still held a compassion for humans and their fleeting worlds.

As the dog snuffled at her hand and after she scratched under it’s chin, Jo glanced up ready to thank the other to note his warm eyes already nodding to her without her having to speak. There was another moment before the old god turned, picking his way back into the crowd, through which Jo could still see the golden goddess spinning and laughing and soaking in all the attention she craved so much. Drinking in being the centre of the world for a few brief hours in a way that left the blonde sighing in sympathy and pity as she turned to head home to true safety and where the world span from.

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[candy-floss-crazy]

Over the years we have come across a multitude of questions about candy floss. Some are quite sensible, others belong in a joke book. We are going to look at, and try to answer some of our favourites. Can Dogs Eat Candy Floss Candy floss in itself isn't harmful to a dog. It is basically pure sugar. However it will lead to a blood sugar spike, then subsequent drop, which isn't the best thing for your pet. Because most breeds tend to be smaller than humans this will be more pronounced, and because dogs aren't used to a sugar intake that high it amplifies the effect. So we wouldn't recommend giving them more than a pinch of floss. Who Invented Candy Floss A dentist. No really, it was a dentist. To be fair, he wasn't just a dentist. He was a political activist, invented a method to purify Nashville's water supply, wrote children's books and invented a lard substitute. William J Morrison really was a dentist. He didn't invent candy floss per se. Cooks had been making spun sugar for hundreds of years. What he did invent was the electric candy floss machine. Or as he called it then fairy floss. This enables large quantities of floss to be made very quickly. Previously making spun sugar was a tedious affair, suitable for topping small cakes and the like. He debuted his machine in 1904 at the St Louis World Fair. It was an instant success, he sold 68,655 boxes of the stuff at $0.25 a pop. That's the equivalent of selling $500,000 worth allowing for inflation. Why Do Some People Call It Cotton Candy If you call it cotton candy you are most probably from North America. Which is a little strange, because they originally called it Fairy Floss. Sometime after thew switched to Cotton Candy. The Australians and New Zealanders still refer to it as Fairy Floss. Us Brits Candy Floss, The South Africans Tooth Floss, though the Afrikaners call it Spookasem (Ghosts Breath). The French barbe a papa (Daddy's Beard), Dutch Suikerspin (Sugar Spider), and the Persians Pashmak (Wool Like). So the name all depends on where you come from. Is Candy Floss Bad For You We once read that there are no poisonous substances, just poisonous doses. For instance, water is widely regarded as one of the healthiest things you can partake of. However drink too much and you die. Candy Floss is the same, sugar, pretty much all it is made of, other than a minute trace of colouring. Is one of the basic requirements for life. No sugar in your body and you end up dead. So a little candy floss won't do you any harm. If you eat nothing but floss, then you will become really fat, lose most of your teeth, and can trigger sugar diabetes. So our tip is everything in moderation. Can I make Candy Floss At Home You certainly can, chefs have been making it for hundreds of years. A simple recipe is available here. You can also buy cheap little electric machines that make it in the same way as the commercial machines do. Truth be told they are not very good, but they do work well enough for a kids party or similar. Does Candy Floss Go Off Not really. Bacteria, which is usually responsible for food spoiling, doesn't like sugar rich environments. This is why throughout history sugar has been used to preserve food. You can't get much more sugar rich than candy floss. Additionally the heat generated to make the floss, around 186 Celsius. Makes sure that the floss is pretty much sterile as it is being made. However, what does happen, is that the floss gradually absorbs moisture. This leads to it shrinking back into its sugar form, so after a while you end up with a coloured sugar lump instead of a bag of floss. Happily popping it in the freezer means it will last months. The best bit is, you can eat it straight from the freezer as it doesn't actually freeze. The cold air doesn't contain moisture so it extends the life. Is Candy Floss Halal It can be. The ingredients are sugar, and basic colouring flavourings. Now sugar is just pure sugar so no problems there. The flavourings and colouring depends on what exactly is used. Red colour tends to contain the powdered shell of a species of beetle. Called cochineal it is a species native to North America. Alternatives are available, but if you want to be 100% sure then just eat white candy floss. That is made with nothing but sugar, and Silver Spoon brand is both halal and kosher. Where Do I Buy Candy Floss Near Me Any local funfair will sell floss. Many supermarkets have small tubs available. Or there are mail order sellers. How Is Candy Floss Made A band of happy pixies live in the bottom of the machine, merrily knitting the sugar in to candy floss and pushing it through the little holes in the centre of the machine for the operator to collect with a stick. Of course some people claim there is a scientific explanation, personally we like the one above, but if you are one of those boring grown ups who think magic isn't real, here is an alternative explanation. The sugar mixture is poured into a rotating drum. The high speed of the drum forces the mixture against a wire mess around the perimeter. This mesh is heated to 186 degree celsius. This heat breaks the bonds of the constituent molecules (carbon, oxygen and hydrogen C12H22O11). The hydrogen and oxygen atoms form molecules of water, which instantly evaporate due to the intense heat. This leaves only carbon behind, which burns and begins to caramelise the sugar. As it caramelises the liquid sugar is forced through the tiny holes in the mesh and solidify as they meet cooler air. As this is happening thousands of times a second. You get a mass of candy floss composed of these filaments which are just 50 microns in diameter. Why Is Candy Floss Pink Actually it isn't. Pure candy floss is white. The only ingredient is sugar. For other colours of candy floss you add a tiny amount of colouring. So it can be pink, blue, green, orange, yellow, purple and so on. It tends to come out as pastel colours, so you dont really get a deep red, it comes out pink. Does Candy Floss Have Gelatin In As a general rule no it does not. But, you would need to know the food colouring ingredients list used to change it's colour. There are literally hundreds of different food colourings out there, so some may contain gelatin. To be absolutely safe, eat white candy floss, as this is entirely pure sugar. What Goes Well With Candy Floss Far and away the most popular is popcorn. The two can be combined on a single cart and are ideal for weddings, parties or events. Victorian Catering Cart Read the full article