#added some brandy that has been in the back of a cabinet for at least 8 years

[corrupted---minds]

I made a concoction

[sirtwentyofhousegoodmen]

If you're doing prompts then I'd love to see what Arcturus reaction was to Lucretia being born

February 12th, 1925

The sound of a wail of pain punctured through the tense silence that had settled over the drawing room of Grimmauld Place.

“Your grandmother didn’t make nearly as big a fuss as that slip of a wife of yours when she gave birth to my children,” groused his grandfather Phineas Nigellus, though, like so many of his rejoinders in the past few months, it lacked any real bite to it. The half-blind, knock-kneed, rather frail man sat on the divan across from him was a shadow of the dignified, intimidating headmaster he’d been not three years ago.

Seventy-five was rather young for a Wizard to get so sick—but he supposed with his youngest son’s death and his eldest’s dipsomania, it was only a matter of time before all the stress got to the old goat and he keeled over.

“Melania is of a more delicate disposition than mother,” his father said, oddly sober. Arcturus supposed once he’d got the news that Phineas Nigellus would grace them all with his presence he cleaned out his liquor cabinet in anticipation.

At least something was enough to get him to look up from the bottle.

“Delicate,” Phineas Nigellus wheezed out, shaking his head in something most likely meant to convey his contempt for the word. “Weak, more like.” He turned his milky eyes over to Arcturus. “Pray she handles the stress of it better than your mother did, boy.”

“Father,” The heir to the Black family, rather than defend the memory of his wife, merely screwed his face up as if he were in pain.

Arcturus glared at his grandfather, hotly. “My mother did her duty and gave my father two sons.”

“Yes,” Phineas Nigellus took a puff from his cigar, following it with a shaky sip of brandy. “And only one of them is of any use to us—with only a girl to show for it. Duty, indeed.”

Regulus shifted uncomfortably, swirling around his drink in his goblet.

“Father, can we not have a day of peace?” His Uncle Arcturus spoke up from his seat on the chaise, eyes focused on his lit cigar, as if putting it through some sort of imaginary test. “Daughter or not, this is a joyous occasion—another addition to the House of Black.”

“Pah, of course you’d think that. It’s not another addition, you clod, it’s another girl.” Phineas Nigellus grunted out, and his second son—who’d only given him granddaughters—clenched his jaw in anger but remained quiet. “And in a month, Pollux is going to give us another. Four sons, four bloody sons I gave your mother—and what do they give me in turn? Two brides for another man’s son to carry on his name—and no one to carry on mine.”

“Arcturus has all girls, Cygnus gives me a dolt and a squib, and Sirius an impudent wretch and a pansy.”Phineas Nigellus shook his head, looking so very tired, then heaved out a rattling sigh. “If only my father could see what’s become of this family.”

Before he could turn around from his spot standing at the fireplace, a sharp retort for his corpse of a grandfather fresh in his mind, the double doors of the drawing room burst open, and Lycoris—hair slightly undone and her dress a wrinkled mess—stepped inside, reflexively scrunching up her nose at the pungent odor of tobacco and brandy.

All the sons of Phineas Nigellus, who had been weathering their father’s sputtering outbursts of contempt with quiet dignity, stood up from their seats, save the old man himself who merely lifted his head as if to hear better.

"It’s as the healer said: A girl, Archie," Lycoris said, beaming. "Red-cheeked and healthy.”

All the men in the room turned to offer their congratulations to Arcturus.

“A girl,” His father said, his eyes glimmering with an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. “You’re a father now, Archie.”

Arcturus nodded, not quite believing the fact himself. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Father grabbed hold of his hand tightly, and he flinched at the touch. “You’ll be better than I was, won’t you?”

The question took him by surprise, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare back, dumbly. Finally, he settled for another, albeit more terse nod. The rest went unspoken between the two of them—for what else was there to say?

His uncle Arcturus came up to him next, unusually jovial. “Congratulations are in order, my boy,” He sighed, then shook his head. “In a better world, that child might have been my granddaughter,” his eyes glazed over in that way they always did when he spoke of Cedrella. For all the man’s insistence he wanted nothing to do with the daughter that had run off with a blood-traitor, he did a terrible job of keeping the longing from his voice when mentioning her. “But, either way—a new Black is cause for celebration, and she’s still my blood. A word of advice, if you would, nephew?”

He leaned in closer. “Daughters are hell.” His smile turned rueful. “Cherish them while they’re with you, for you’ll miss them to your bones later on.”

Arcturus gave him a bland smile, silently noting the advice, though he was sure he’d forgotten it almost as soon as it was said. Uncle Cygnus’s congratulations—as well as grandfather’s begrudging words of commendation—too, became blurred and indistinguishable from each other. The only coherent thought in his head at the moment was the fact that there was a daughter waiting for him upstairs. His daughter.

He’d never given much thought to actually having a child. Of course, he knew what his duty was, and that one day he would be expected to further the Black line, but the idea was always rather abstract. Now—with a real child...

For the first time in his life he was at a loss.

After a few more felicitations—along with a rather loud toast from a plastered Regulus, who’d resorted to drinking away the stress of sitting next to grandfather—Arcturus made his way up to the rooms Melania had been locked away in for the last five hours.

Opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of his wife, a tightly wrapped and rather fussy bundle laid atop her chest.

Melania looked up at him in the doorway, and gave him one of those shy smiles of hers, and he froze.

She’d never looked more beautiful.

“Hello,” She whispered, voice obviously spent after five hours of screaming.

“Hi,” he said back, awkwardly balancing from one foot to another. Why on earth was he acting like some hormone-fueled fourth-year?

Warily, he approached, and as he got closer to the bed he could see a soft tuft of black hair emerge from underneath the bundle.

Melania shifted on the bed in order to allow him some room, and he sat down on the edge. He couldn’t help but think that this was the closest they’d ever been, marital duties aside.

“She looks like you,” Melania said, after some minutes had passed in silence.

Arcturus, still in shock, peeked over and saw two pairs of gray eyes identical to his looking up at him.

“She has my coloring,” He corrected her, clearing his throat, which had become rather closed up. “She has your face, however. Just as beautiful as her mother.”

Melania blushed—Arcturus had called her beautiful many times, but it always came across as a statement of fact rather than out of any affection. This time, however, his voice was tender—or as close to tender as he got.

“Have you given her a name?”

Melania shook her head. “I thought it only proper to wait for you, to see if you had a particular suggestion.”

Arcturus smiled at the typically dutiful reply, and was even moved enough to grace his young wife with a light kiss to her crown, much to her surprise.

“What was that for?” She asked, eyes darting about the damask coverlet, shyly. It occurred to him that for all she was a wife and mother now, she was still a nineteen year old, with all the flights and fancies of pureblood women her age. His own mother had given birth to him at that age—and it struck him then that in three short years he would be older than Hesper Black had ever or will ever be.

How odd it was—to outlive someone who seemed so immortal in his own memory. Odder still, thinking about death when in the presence of new life.

“I can’t repay you for all you’ve given me,” Arcturus said, voice softer than it had ever been. “I—I—I,” he cleared his throat, harshly. “There has never been a more loyal, nor more dutiful wife, madam.”

The smile she gave him this time was even bigger, and he found himself returning it.

Arcturus turned back to the girl, his girl, only to find her tiny, doll-like hands tugging fruitlessly at his sleeve. He chuckled warmly at the sight.

“My, look at her—this one will cause us some trouble.”

Melania sighed, fond exasperation writ across her face. “I can already tell.”

“Lucretia,” he said, after a moment. Melania blinked up at him. “It was my great-grandmother’s name—a rather rare name, as far as concerns our family, but hopefully the added sentimental streak will finally get the old bastard to approve of something I do.”

Melania nodded, then looked back at their daughter, beaming with pride. “Lucretia,” she said, resolutely. “Lucretia Lycoris Black.”

Arcturus snorted. “How long did it take for my sister to bully you into that one?”

Melania flushed a deep scarlet, then began mumbling feebly in defense: “It was not—she was a great help during the birth—“

Rolling his eyes, he cut her off: “Don’t get yourself into a state, we won’t be disappointing Lycoris today. Lucretia Lycoris Black. It’s perfect.”

He looked back down at his daughter, into those eyes that were all guilelessness and innocence and hope, as well as a not insignificant amount of trust. It reminded him of the way Lycoris and Regulus would look up to him during their childhood—but more.

So much more.

“She’s perfect.”

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Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 10: Goody Two-Shoes Catholic Schoolgirl

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: The boys like long walks on the beach, messy ice cream cones, expensive liquors, and, of course, public displays of affection (which is putting it mildly). Although that’s not her idea of a perfect date, she still wants to prove she can keep up. 

Word Count: 6,404

Warnings: Language, drinking, smut (noncon breathplay, dubcon public sex, fingering, some really intense stuff in this chapter, be warned!!!)

Masterlist / AO3

A/N: Aaaaaaah I posted this chapter last night and today when I tried to change a tag and reblog it, it broke the chapter!! How do I reblog things without breaking my posts??? I just hope I’m not making duplicates of this by posting again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

“Here, baby, you got a little—” Steve reached his hand towards her face to wipe off a smear of chocolate syrup from the corner of her mouth, but she caught on too soon and her own thumb beat him there. A quick swipe of her finger and the chocolate was gone, and her thumb was in her mouth, sucking it off, wide innocent eyes flickering back and forth between Steve and Bucky.

Bucky didn’t realize he had groaned until Y/N was smirking at him with glossy pink lips, her ice cream cone melting in her hands. After dinner, they had walked around and finally decided on ice cream. That had altogether been a mistake for Steve and Bucky, because it allowed their girl to finally realize that she had just as much power to tease them in public as they did.

She felt much looser after Steve had secretly gotten her a gin of her own at the restaurant, and now she was settling back into their old dynamic with the added exception that they touched her much more than usual. The sexual tension was driving them all crazy.

They were both painfully hard in their jeans watching her lick creamy vanilla drops of melted ice cream off her waffle cone. At least they were sitting at a table outside the ice cream shop and the surrounding area was mostly deserted. 

“Seems like I’m winning the game, now,” she simpered, her mouth running quicker with the alcohol in her blood.

Bucky swallowed hard, because she was right, but he schooled himself and smirked at her. “In your dreams, sweetheart.”

Steve was a little more flustered and was having a harder time with her newfound confidence. “You don’t win the game. That’s not a thing. It’s rigged against you for a reason.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she glanced surreptitiously to their crotches, the prominent bulges confined by denim. “But I’m clearly winning.”

The waffle cone dropped to the ground with a sad crunch as Steve grabbed her arm and started pulling her in the direction of the car. “We’ll see how long that lasts when we get back to the house.”

Once they got back, Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter with their girl wrapped in his arms, hands wandering around her body as she squirmed. Meanwhile, Steve rooted through the liquor cabinet.

“How long of this can you take, doll?” Bucky whispered, breath hot against her ear. His hands trailed up her thighs, raising the hem of her skirt indecently high.

“Hey!” she whined, breathless, as he revealed her pussy, although of course nobody was there to see it except Steve, who glanced up from the liquor cabinet to leer at her before going back to his search. She had no idea what he was looking for, but he had told Bucky to keep her busy, so she suspected that he was taking a long time on purpose.

“Ah-ha!” Steve exclaimed, head emerging, a twenty-year-old bottle of cognac in his hands, while Bucky’s fingers skated over the juncture between her leg and pussy, the tips just grazing the outside of her labia before disappearing, and then she felt the soft fabric of her skirt against her once again.

“I like the way you think, Rogers,” Bucky said as Steve brandished the liquor bottle. His arms returned to her waist, and he squeezed her tight. The sound she made was in between a squeal and a giggle and it made Bucky’s stomach do a cartwheel. 

As Steve reached into the upper cabinets to take down three of her father’s brandy snifters, she said, “My dad got that for my mom for their fifteenth wedding anniversary.” 

“Your mom likes cognac?” Bucky was surprised. They usually saw her mother with a vodka soda—fewer calories, of course.

“No,” she laughed, “That’s why she left it here.” Steve snorted, pouring their glasses before handing one to each. “Here, I’ll teach you guys the proper way to drink it,” she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“There’s a proper way to drink cognac?” Bucky asked.

“There’s a proper way to drink all alcohol,” she answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Well go on then,” Steve said, nudging her with his elbow. “Teach us what you know.”

She held the glass with the palm of her hand cupping the rounded bottom. “Hold it like this so the heat from your hand warms up the cognac.” The boys followed her lead. “The way the top of the glass is narrow traps the aroma, so then you can smell it,” and she did, and the boys did too. She continued, “And you can make some kind of bullshit comment about how the oak note is most profound, and there’s a subtle fruity scent, and a spicy undertone like cinnamon or nutmeg. And then everyone thinks you’re really cultured but the truth is you’re just making everything up but nobody else knows enough about it to contradict you.”

Bucky snorted and ducked his head against her shoulder, and even Steve huffed a laugh. “Who taught you that? Your dad?”

“My dad’s that type of guy,” she confirmed, sipping the drink. “They’re both all into that high society stuff. I could tell you what meats go best with cognac, what cheeses to pair with it. How to make a good sidecar—I think we have Cointreau down there, actually.”

“I thought you never drank before,” Bucky said.

She shrugged, “My dad would let me have a little sip every now and then. That’s how you’re supposed to drink cognac, not chugging it like that,” she nodded to Steve how had been taking a long drink. Immediately he lowered the glass and glared at her.

“If you’re so cultured, what’re you doing here slumming it with us Brooklyn boys?” Bucky asked, squeezing her again with the arm he still had wrapped around her middle.

“Hey,” she whined, jabbing back at him with her elbow. “I’d prefer hanging out with you over going to one of my mom’s fancy dinner parties any day.” 

And it was true. Despite all that they had put her through over the past few days, she still cherished their friendship, and she still enjoyed hanging out with them—when they weren’t testing her physical boundaries, that is.

Even when they were, maybe she didn’t mind it as much as she let on. Or maybe she was only thinking that way because of the alcohol.

“Aww,” Bucky cooed teasingly, “Our girl’s such a sap, Stevie.”

“Both’a you are big saps,” Steve said, hiding his smile in his glass.

She rolled her eyes. “Why do I like you guys again?”

They continued their little banter, getting looser and looser as they finished their glasses. Bucky and Steve each had another glass, but she only got halfway through her second before Steve decided she had had enough.

Bucky’s hands continued roaming her body throughout, sometimes teasing her enough to distract her from whatever she was saying only for his hands to move back to innocent territory, leaving her wanting and needy and frustrated, although she wasn’t quite ready to speak up about it yet.

Truthfully, the alcohol was the only reason she wasn’t objecting to his touch as much as she usually would. Her brain, in its alcohol-induced haze, reasoned that she needed to pick her battles, that maybe she could relax for the night.

She just felt so good, like honey flowed through her body, and she relished the slow, sweet, stickiness—and oh boy, did her thighs feel sticky. It was almost distracting—but then again, everything was distracting. Was she drunk? Is this how being drunk felt?

“Let’s take a walk on the beach,” Bucky suggested, “It’s a nice night out.”

“Good idea,” Steve smirked at him and she easily agreed, inhibitions lowered. She leaned into their touch as they led her outside. Steve had one arm slung around her waist while Bucky held onto her hand, shoulders brushing.

Once they reached the sand, she kicked off her sandals with a giggle and left them at the back gate to the house. Bucky and Steve toed their shoes off, too, leaving three pairs waiting for them to get back. 

It was a quiet night, a crescent moon shining in the sky and sending barely enough light down to see in front of them. Stripes of silver reflected off the waves and the only sound was the hush of the water and their mild conversation, Y/N’s occasional giggles.

As they walked further down the beach and away from the house, Steve slipped his hand down, playing with the top of her skirt and then cupping her ass through the thin fabric. At first, she tensed again, but then relaxed when all he seemed content to do was touch her through her clothes, going no further for a long while. Steve’s touch had her feeling more apprehensive for some reason—maybe she was getting used to Bucky after the past few days. Maybe she would get used to Steve with time, too.

The cognac had hit her by then, and she had her own arm draped across Steve’s wide back for balance. Her mouth was running on its own as they talked about nonsense.

“I really like your tattoos,” she was saying.

“Well they’re all mob tattoos, sugar,” Steve said. His own tattoos included the one on his lower abdomen, the official seal of the mob across his chest, a large piece on his back with an eagle emerging from the sun, and a tribute to his mother on his arm—a custom design of a blue jay perched on a heart, surrounded by her favorite flowers: Queen Anne’s lace, hydrangeas, and gladiolus flowers. There were more, small and large, and she wondered how many there would be if she counted them.

Both he and Bucky had gotten a matching tattoo together, a black star on their bicep, to memorialize their brotherhood. Bucky had fewer tattoos than Steve, but he also had the seal of the mob, a traditional portrait of the Statue of Liberty on his other bicep, and a piece on his stomach that included a white wolf.

“That’s a lie,” she said, and her fingers skimmed over his right bicep where the tattoo for his mother was. Steve stiffened a little, not wanting to get into this conversation. She didn’t say anything about it though, and then her hand dropped, running down his chest, dipping up under the hem of his t-shirt and tickling across the BROOKLYN tattoo on his stomach. It was a bold move for her, but her brain didn’t question it, the alcohol controlling her actions now. His cock twitched at her touch and he squeezed her tighter, imagining her hands drifting lower.

Before he could do anything, her hand was gone and she was saying something else. “I think I’ll get a tattoo one day.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, right, sure you will.”

She smacked him in the arm but then he captured her hand in his again, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “I will!”

“You’re a little goody two-shoes Catholic schoolgirl,” Bucky said, “You’re not gonna get a tattoo. Plus, you father would never let you.”

“I don’t need his permission. I’m 18.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Yes you do, sweetheart.”

“And I’m not that good!”

“You sing in the church choir,” Bucky said, “You’re literally an angel.”

 “I break the rules sometimes!”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, squeezing her ass tight. “What rules have you broken?”

She had to think about it. “One time I skipped class with Wanda and we went to Prospect Park and got ice cream.”

“What class?”

“…Okay, it was our free period. But we’re not supposed to leave campus during free period!”

“Oh, Stevie, I think she wants to be a bad girl. She’s trying so hard to prove herself.” She spluttered in response, not knowing the right thing to say. Because it wasn’t true—she didn’t want to be bad… She just wanted them to know she was capable of it. The alcohol made her want to match their debauchery, although she had never had the urge to before.

Steve turned to her, stopping her in her tracks. He pulled her closer and took her chin in his fingers. “You know when you break the rules, you get punished, sweetheart. You willing to accept the consequences?”

She frowned and said, “You only get punished if you get caught.”

“I’ll catch you every time.”

Lost in his intense gaze, the alcohol and her arousal dulling her brain function, she could only pout at him.

“C’mon,” he groped at her ass again and then swooped her up over his shoulder while she squealed. “Let’s get in the water.” He wanted to see her wet and shivering for him—ever since he saw her in that little white tank top, all he could think was how the fabric would look when it was soaked.

“What?” she cried, “No way! It’s too cold!” She hit at his back but before she knew it, he was tossing her into the ocean. The water wasn’t that high, but he set her down with enough force than she fell over onto her ass, a wave rushing over her suddenly. She shrieked at the feeling and then scrambled up. It was barely shin-deep, and the bottom of his pants were getting wet, but it was worth it to see her like this.

The fabric of her top was soaked through, clinging obscenely to her breasts, nipples clearly visible beneath. Her skirt was dripping wet and sticking to her hips. As Steve admired her, her anger was charging up, and then she came at him, hitting his chest with her little fists.

Her weak punches only made him laugh and he easily captured her wrists in his hands. “Sorry, baby,” he shrugged.

“No you’re not!” she yelled, struggling against him. “You’re such a jerk sometimes!” She was mad, but only a little. Truthfully, she was feeling so great that she didn’t really mind, nor did she realize how provocative her clothing had become.

He laughed at her feigned fury and held her back at his arm’s length, eyeing her body again—although she seemed almost oblivious to his wandering gaze. She only noticed when he spoke. “Look at you, doll.” His voice was almost a growl, low in his chest, rumbling through his body and to hers. She shivered as the wind swept by them, and her nipples pebbled in her top.

“Wow,” Bucky drawled, now stepping up next to them. He had rolled his jeans up so they wouldn’t get wet. “Lookin’ like a wet dream, sweetheart.”

She blushed and ducked her head, but Steve lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. This time, she didn’t pull away or struggle, she only gave into it, leaning into him and kissing him back tentatively. It helped that his body was so warm and she was freezing now, soaking wet. He dominated her mouth, the kiss, but she sank into the sensation, the anxiety that usually fueled her resistance quelled by the rush of alcohol through her veins.

On his tongue, she could taste cognac and peppermint and the Parliaments he smoked, and his lips were a little chapped, rough on her own. A shudder went through her and he wrapped her up in his arms. Bucky came up behind her and ran his large palms up and down her arms. Their warmth seeped into her, making her feel like she was melting against them like warm honey, every part of her going loose and limp. Wetness gathered between her thighs, only heightening her arousal, which had been simmering in her stomach all night.

Bucky’s hand snuck between their bodies and he cupped her sex fully in his hand, the only barrier between their skin being her skirt, the fabric still damp with seawater. She moaned into Steve’s mouth and he brought his own hands down to grab her ass, pulling her body further into Bucky’s hand.

“Oh,” she groaned at the delicious pressure, allowing Steve to grind her hips against the hand.

“Soaking through your skirt, baby doll,” Bucky growled into her neck. His hand bypassed her skirt and then it was on her heated skin, and she mewled from the dizzying sensation. While he palmed at her clit, his fingers slipped through her folds, needlessly spreading her wetness—she had already dripped halfway down her thighs. “Stevie, she’s so wet for us,” he moaned against her shoulder, easily slipping one finger into her cunt.

Steve broke the kiss, and she turned her head to gasp at the barrage of arousal sweeping through her. Chuckling against her cheek, Steve muttered, “I’m sure she is. Her nipples have been hard since we were at the restaurant—seems like she liked our teasing more than she let on.”

“Is that true, darling?”

“No.” Shaking her head, eyes shut, her head lolling back onto Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s not true.” But her pussy contracted against his finger and when he slid another in, she clutched at Steve’s arms, crying out breathily.

“Stop lying to us,” Steve grunted against her neck, pressing slick kisses along her skin. She smelled like lavender and oranges and vanilla, the new perfume she wore sinking into her damp skin, the wetness and the heat between their bodies amplifying the scent. “Stop lying to yourself.” He pressed her down harder onto Bucky’s hand and the tips of his fingers pressed into places so deep, places that had never been touched before.

She keened and panted, then collected her wits and said, “’m not lying.”

Immediately, suddenly, Bucky pulled his fingers out and smacked her pussy twice, hard, causing her to cry out and lurch forward. She collided with Steve’s chest and stumbled, but he steadied her before she fell. “Good girls don’t lie, baby,” Bucky growled, biting down hard on her shoulder. “Do they?”

She shook her head, but whether it was at his question, or at the notion that she was lying, or at him denying her pleasure just as she was about to come, was anybody’s guess.

Then Steve’s hands were working at Bucky’s fly. “Bucky’s gonna fuck you, baby doll, and you’re gonna come so hard for him, as many times as I say, until—”

“Wait!” she gasped, some of her senses coming back to her suddenly as she reminded her own drunk ass that they were in public and someone could see. 

It was one thing to have Bucky touching her when they were on the sailboat in the middle of the bay, and another to have them touching her at a booth in a private little corner of a restaurant across the island. But it was an entirely different thing to have Bucky’s cock against her ass on the shoreline in this area of town. It wasn’t incredibly busy, but there were a few other houses up and down the beach. None too close—they weren’t fucking in someone’s backyard—but someone could walk along the beach and come across them right there.

Despite her sudden protest, they ignored her—like always. As Steve’s hands unzipped Bucky’s jeans and Bucky flipped her skirt up, she darted out of their grasps, past Steve, and up the shoreline, into the shallower waters until she was almost at the sand.

They caught up to her in no time, and Steve wound his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, practically carrying her now. Her feet left the earth and he growled in her ear, “Baby, good girls don’t run.”

“Wait!” she turned in his arms and placed her delicate hands on his broad shoulders. “Let’s go back to the house! Please! Someone could see!”

He smirked and Bucky positioned himself behind her. They were no longer so deep in the surf—the waves only lapped at their feet occasionally now, the foam tickling their toes.

“No one will see, doll,” Bucky assured her, running his hands up her arms soothingly. “I promise—I’ve never seen anyone out here this late. Plus, a lot of people just went home so all the summer homes are vacant now.”

Her face showed skepticism but she allowed Bucky to pull her down to the ground, her knees sinking into the sand, and Steve followed when Bucky tugged on his hand. 

“Just relax. No one will see,” Steve whispered to her before taking her face in his hands and kissing her. This was remarkably affectionate for Steve, and it caught her so off-guard that she sank into the kiss, paying more attention to his thumbs stroking her cheeks than Bucky lifting her skirt up. Bucky kissed her neck and his stubble on her sensitive skin added to the sensations her mind was processing as he touched her ass, spread her cheeks apart.

“So fucking pretty,” he rumbled against her neck, his hand drifting down to play with the wetness on her thighs. “Stevie, you should really feel her.”

Steve’s hand joined Bucky’s, his short fingernails raking up the inside of her thigh before pressing against her pussy. “Oh, Bucky,” Steve groaned, “She’s ready for you. Aren’t you, baby?”

“No, I—I’m—” She had no idea what she was about to say, why she was still protesting, when they had teased her to the edge so many times that night that she would do just about anything to come. Her words were cut off when Steve pressed three fingers against her cunt, spreading her labia open before sinking his fingers deep inside. “Please,” she squeaked when he found that spot deep inside her that made her cry out without even realizing she made a sound, and then his fingers were pressing hard and fast into that spot until she was practically limp as she leaned back against Bucky.

“Ah, right there,” Steve said pridefully, dragging her almost to the edge and pulling back right as she was about to come. He licked his fingers off with a smirk and when she whined about his stopping, he said, “I want you coming on Bucky’s cock so he can feel how good it is.”

 The next moment, she felt Bucky’s cock where Steve’s fingers had been, the blunt tip pressing inside of her and splitting her apart. As she was distracted by the feeling of Bucky slowly filling her inch by inch, Steve tugged down the thin straps of her tank top, fingers drifting to pull at the neckline until one of her breasts was freed. Bucky’s hands held her hips in place and Steve’s lips met her own, kissing her lax mouth. 

She held her breath once she felt Bucky’s pelvis meet her ass, his cock completely sheathed inside of her, and she felt so full, almost on the edge of too much, but Jesus it was good. A little ball of anxiety remained in her head about if someone were to see them, but every time she dwelled too much on it, she felt overwhelmed, adrenaline coursing through her—and not necessarily in a bad way, she realized.

Then Bucky pulled back out and she actually whimpered at how it felt, the contrasting feelings of full and empty inside of her, the way his cock stretched her so perfectly.

“Fuck, her pussy feels so good,” Bucky groaned. Steve observed the scene, enraptured by the view. Bucky’s eyes shut tight, mouth open in a groan as he fucked back into her; her own face, so blissed out and flushed, lips swollen in the sweetest pout; her body, wet and wanting, clothes clinging to her skin and providing the barest amount of cover; her legs quivering, hips shifting back subtly into Bucky’s every thrust.

“Good God,” he grunted, trying to breathe through his own arousal. He could probably come right there, but he definitely wanted to wait.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Bucky asked in her ear, thrusting shallowly inside of her.

She nodded and keened at his hand sneaking around her hip and cupping her pussy again, just like before, long fingers feeling the way his cock slid in and out of her, the ball of his hand pressing up into her clit. 

“Fuck,” she mewled, bucking her hips into his touch.

“Hey,” Steve snapped, twisting her nipple. “I don’t like hearing that kind of language from your mouth.” A loud cry left her lips, and Steve continued, pinching at her other nipple with quick hands. “Not so loud, baby girl,” he murmured, “Wouldn’t want the whole neighborhood to hear, would we?”

And she was so wound up already, so on the edge from their teasing, from not being able to come all night, that his words did it for her, and she was coming, hips canting back onto Bucky’s cock, back arching, chest pressing into Steve’s harsh touch.

They held her gently in their arms as she came until she was trembling, her pleasure sweeter than any drug for them. She whimpered and moaned, gasped when they touched her in just the right spots, tight hands on her hips, lips mouthing at her shoulder, harsh pinches to her nipples. Steve kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, then nudged her chin towards Bucky’s waiting lips, and Bucky kissed her through the aftershocks, still pumping his cock inside her until she whined into his mouth.

When she was done, panting into the air between the three of them, Bucky’s breath hitting her cheek, Steve chuckled against her neck. “You love this,” he told her, fingers finding her clit, Bucky thrusting harder inside of her now. She shook her head slightly and Steve grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. Lying.” His teeth were gritted and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. “We can both tell how much you want it, how fucking filthy you are for us. You wanted us all throughout dinner and you want us now, and we’re not going to stop until we get our fill.”

“No,” she gasped, still trying to fight the pleasure that was building back up so quickly again. “I—I don’t—”

Steve stood up and stepped back, “Buck, hold her down and fuck her hard.”

Without the support of Steve in front of her, her body collapsed forward into the wet sand, holding herself up now on her forearms. Her body jolted forward with each punishing thrust of Bucky’s hips. Bucky leaned down over her and then she was flat on her stomach as he rutted her into the ground. Sand stuck to her skin on her arms, her chest, high on her thighs and all down her legs. 

“That’s right, baby,” Bucky growled in her ear, hips thrusting wildly. “Take my cock, take it, take it.” And she was forced to do just that—lie in the sand and take it, whatever way he wanted to fuck her. She felt dizzy, her mind fuzzy, and his cock almost hurt with the force that he was fucking her. So soon after her last orgasm, it felt like it was tearing through her, and she could feel every inch of him, hard and heavy.

He shifted his hips on his next thrust and hit her g-spot dead center, and she cried out at how good it felt, hands digging into the sand in an attempt to grab onto something, coming up empty as the grains slipped through her fingers.

Bucky chuckled above her as she squirmed. “That’s it, right there, isn’t it?” He hit the spot again and again, grunting in her ear. 

“Make her take it, Bucky,” Steve said, palming himself through his jeans, “Force her to take your cock. I want you to fuck her until she’s coming again. She wants you so bad, baby, I can tell.”

Bucky held her wrists in one hand and thrust into her continuously until she was practically crying, another weaker orgasm washing over her. Once it was over, she laid limp in the sand while he used her body. “We know you love it, sweetheart. You love my cock inside you, love it when we fuck you. Your pussy needs it, ain’t that right?” She shook her head feebly and he chuckled.

In one movement, Bucky yanked her upright by her shoulder into his chest, taking all the pressure of his cock off of that spot inside her. She cried out from the sudden change in stimulation. It would have been a relief if his cock wasn’t stretching her now in a totally different way, almost burning, painful, but only fueling the fire in her body more. “Please, Bucky, please—" She had no idea what she was begging for, but she needed something—a break, maybe. A minute to rest. Maybe she needed to come again. She didn’t know.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me you need me to fuck you, that you need me to make you come.”

But the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth—she couldn’t make herself say them, she was too overwhelmed. The connection between her brain and her mouth was severed, and all she could do was cry out and moan into the salty air around them.

“If she’s not gonna answer you, let’s put her mouth to better use,” Steve suggested, pulling his own cock out of his jeans. He had been content to watch them, but now he was so painfully hard, he had to get his hands on her.

“No, wait, don’t—” She didn’t know how she would be able to breathe with his cock in her mouth when it was already so hard, every one of Bucky’s thrusts pushing the air from her lungs like she was being winded. But her protests fell on deaf ears and then his cock was lodged in her throat. 

Fellatio wasn’t an entirely pleasant experience, she was finding—at least not like this, as she gagged and choked and slobbered all over herself. Although she did like the sounds Steve made, his little groans and grunts, the occasional whimper. It made her feel like she was taking something from him, making him more vulnerable. It made her feel powerful.

As Steve fucked deep into her mouth, her airway was cut off, and eventually she needed to breathe. Struggling and smacking against his thighs, she tried to pull away but he had a tight grip on her hair. 

“Get her hands, Buck,” Steve grunted, thrusting in a little deeper and holding himself there. Once Bucky restrained her wrists behind her back, Steve took one hand from her hair and used the other to pinch her nose shut, further cutting off her oxygen supply as he fucked her face. As her body became looser and more pliant with oxygen deprivation, her mouth and throat became lax, allowing Steve’s cock to go deeper in her mouth, and when Bucky let go of her wrists, she was too weak to struggle. 

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Good girl,” Steve breathed, voice low in his throat, guttural and strained, “Taking us so well, just like you’re meant to. Doing such a good job for us.”

“Gonna come soon,” Bucky grunted, forehead pressed against the base of her neck.

“Make her come again first,” Steve breathed, “Then you can come.”

Bucky brought one hand to her clit, rubbing in quick circles. Her body jerked between their grasps, every muscle quivering as she was brought closer to orgasm. The oxygen deprivation made her every nerve feel fuzzy, somehow accentuating the pleasure she felt in her core. “C’mon, honey, be a good girl and come for me.” 

He wound her up tighter and she vibrated with need, letting the pleasure wash over her like a riptide in the ocean overtaking her, pulling her under as she came so hard she blacked out. They both came at the same time as her, with Bucky pulling out of her pulsing cunt to empty on her ass while Steve pulled away from her mouth and came on her face so she wouldn’t choke.

Steve had been supporting almost her entire weight with his grip on her hair, so when he finally stepped back and let her go, she almost collapsed forward before Bucky caught her. “Woah,” he breathed, easing her onto her back when he realized she was not entirely conscious.

Quickly stuffing themselves back into their pants, they kneeled at her side. Blood turning cold with fear, heart pounding out of his chest, Bucky shook her limp body gently by the shoulders. Remaining calm and collected, Steve said her name a few times, hoping to rouse her. “Baby,” he said, voice stern, “Wake up, honey.” She shifted, but did not open her eyes until Steve smacked her cheek lightly. “Wake up now, Y/N.”

Bucky felt immeasurable relief when she finally responded, frowning a little bit as she awoke. She gazed up at them with unseeing eyes, her entire body exhausted from the events of the night. Blinking lazily, eyes glazed over, she turned her face into Steve’s touch when he ran a hand through her hair.

“You did really well for us, sweetheart,” Bucky said, straightening up her clothing and brushing the sand from her skin. Whining, she twitched and shied away from the coarse gritty feeling scraping at her delicate skin. “There you go, baby, just a little more.” His hands ran over her breasts and arms, her thighs, even brushing some sand from her cheek, trying to be as gentle as possible. Meanwhile, Steve tried to wipe the come off of her face but only served to messily rub the semen into her skin before he gave up.

“We gotta get you cleaned up. How do you feel?” Steve asked, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face.

“Tired,” she responded, closing her eyes again.

“Hey, stay awake until we get back to the house,” Steve said sternly.

She laughed weakly, just a little huff of air and a lazy twitch of her lips. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Steve smirked while Bucky laughed. “I’ll carry you,” Bucky said, collecting her from Steve.

“Was it good?” she asked, voice cracking, eyes oddly watery as she gazed up at him. He knew she was probably feeling vulnerable and sensitive after being used by them so roughly, and he knew the importance of taking care of her after a hard session like that. Aftercare was his forte, after all, and he was well-versed in comforting her after Steve’s outbursts or admonishments. This wasn’t very different from that.

Bucky nodded, cupping her cheek. “It was really good, sweetheart,” he reassured her, “You were really good, such a good girl for us.”

She looked over at Steve, an unsure look on her face. “Did you like it, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes softened and he nodded. “I loved it, darling. You did amazing. You pleased us so well, and we can’t wait to do it again.”

Turning her head into Bucky’s chest, she nodded, seemingly content. “So did I win?”

“Win?” Bucky asked.

“Did I win the game?”

Steve laughed at that. “Yeah, honey, you definitely won.”

“I thought it was rigged against me,” she sassed him as they stood up and started to walk back to the house.

“Just because you won doesn’t mean we lost,” Steve said.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to. I make the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

As they walked back to the house, Bucky kept a running dialogue of praise, telling her how good she was for them, how much they loved it. However, she was unusually quiet, even as Bucky rinsed her off and dressed her in a pair of athletic shorts and a sweatshirt. 

As he tucked her into bed, he asked, “You okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, an absent look in her eyes. “Tired.” Truthfully, she didn’t know how to feel. A dozen different emotions ran through her head, and she didn’t know which ones were rational responses to the events of the night and which were not, but she didn’t have the will to process them right now. Her mind still felt fuzzy, her body weak, sleep calling to her louder and louder with each second. 

“Okay, honey.” He kissed her forehead, each of her cheeks, and finally her lips, so gently that she would have cried had she not felt so drained. “Get some sleep, baby.”

Bucky slipped into his bedroom where Steve was waiting, fresh clothes and all. As Bucky changed his own sand-covered clothes, Steve said, “I should’ve gotten a picture of her with my come all over her face.”

He hummed, because yes, that would have been hot, but also his blood still felt cold from how scared he got when she passed out. “We need to be more gentle with her,” he said finally, frustration evident in his voice as he yanked his sweats on. “You need to be more gentle.”

Slumping down on Bucky’s bed, Steve scoffed. “She won’t break. She’s perfectly fine.”

“Steve, she passed out. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Steve was on his feet then, squaring up to Bucky, faces almost touching. His tone turned cold when he spoke next. “I think I’m running the show here, Buck. I say what should or shouldn’t have happened.”

Bucky wasn’t scared by his intimidation tactics. “It’s different with her and you know it. She isn’t like the other girls we’ve shared—she’s not used to it. We need to work her up slowly to this kind of shit.”

The sound of Steve’s phone ringing interrupted their conversation. He pulled it out and frowned. “It’s Tony,” he told Bucky before answering. Tony started speaking as soon as Steve picked up, and Bucky could hear his rapid voice from the other end, although he couldn’t make out specific words. “Slow down, Tony,” Steve said, “What happened?” After a moment, he blew out a breath, his face falling. “Shit.” Tony said something else, and Steve responded, “Of course. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Then Steve hung up and Bucky asked, “What’s that about? We need to go back to Brooklyn?”

Back to his stoic demeanor, Steve nodded, expression severe. “We need to pack up. Stane got arrested and Tony wants us back in New York immediately.”

[mel-at-dusk]

HOW THE MARASCHINO CHERRY BECAME A COMFORTINGLY TRASHY AMERICAN ICON

Just when did the syrupy, lipstick-red lynchpin of ice cream sundaes, 1970s fruit salads and throwback cocktails conquer the world (and your grandparents’ home bar)?

The cocktail cherry may be small, but it looms like a fiery red planet over the modern history of eating and drinking. Look, there it is, bobbing around in the rust-brown murk of a Manhattan; and, hey, there it is again nestled in the snowy peak of an ice cream sundae, lurking in the syrup-soaked folds of an upended can of fruit salad, or in your parent’s drinking cabinet, languishing in a sticky jar first opened at the dawn of the Clinton administration.

For more than 100 years it’s been the Zelig of the culinary world, beaming out from multiple places it probably shouldn’t be, inviting you to spear one with a cocktail stick, bite down and let your mouth flood with the unmistakable taste of… well, what exactly?

Not actual, fresh cherries, that’s for certain. No, the taste of a cocktail, glacé or ersatz maraschino cherry has nothing to do with the luscious, grape-like subtlety of real stone-fruit. Its impact on the palate — almonds and preservatives and a great, hallucinatory wash of artificial sweetness — is the flavor profile of a cherry as described by a drunken child. Something that, even way back in 1911, was railed against in a New York Times editorial as “a tasteless, indigestible thing, originally, to be sure, a fruit of the cherry tree, but toughened and reduced to the semblance of a formless, gummy lump by long imprisonment in a bottle filled with so-called maraschino.”

And yet, even though this resistance to the gloopy, synthesized commercialism those little red globules represent is at least a century old, the cocktail cherry abides as a cultural artifact. Not just in the post-Mad Men context of master mixologists hoarding artisanal Luxardo cherries or producing their own housemade varieties, but in studiedly kitsch, revivalist dessert parlors like New York’s Morgenstern’s Finest Ice Cream; and even, scattered throughout Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time… in Hollywood, garnishing the industrial-strength whiskey sours of one Rick “Fucking” Dalton.

“When you see a bright red one now, it’s like a bartender with a waxed moustache and sleeve garters,” notes Jared Brown, drinks historian and master distiller with venerated British gin brand Sipsmith. “It’s no longer just itself. It’s nostalgia and irony and humor.”

So how does something so ridiculous and occasionally reviled come to have such durable appeal? How the hell are they even made? And what, exactly, do bitter food standardization wars, embalming fluids and carcinogenic food dyes have to do with it?

Well, pour yourself a stiff Mai Tai, crown it with what may be your final ever cocktail cherry, and let’s chart the turbulent life, near-death and eventual resurrection of a near-indestructible American icon.

As with most convenience foods, the cocktail cherry story starts out innocently enough. Cherries stretch back to the prehistory of Europe and West Asia, and pretty much since that time, they’ve been notorious as the frail divas of the produce aisle — difficult to transport, susceptible to bruising and known to liquefy without refrigeration. And so, innovative orchard owners in the early 1800s — most notably the Croatian-born, Italian-based Luxardo family — started preserving at-their-peak cherries, both as an alcoholic liqueur and steeped in a boozy brine made up of mulched cherries, pits and sugar.

This was the Big Bang that gave us the maraschino, named for the sour, Marasca cherry variety that Luxardo made their own. It wasn’t long until these pickled fruits were infiltrating the U.S. as part of the wider mania for cocktails in the mid-to-late 19th century. (The original 1888 recipe for the martini, as Brown notes, called for a “cherry rather than an olive.”) But soon, that original, burgundy-hued Luxardo maraschino was joined by a whole Rothko color wheel of lurid U.S.-made knock-offs, soaked in cheaper preserving syrups.

One reason for this was pure cosmetics. “The first taste is with the eye, and in the days before social media, the maraschino cherry offered a huge visual bounce,” notes Brown. “Think of it resting in the brown tone of a Manhattan — it’s like a bright red beacon in the drink. [And so,] there was a need to get it as brightly colored as possible.”

Yet it’s also notable that the maraschino cherry’s turn-of-the-century ascendancy also coincided with the wider vogue for lab-made dyes, flavorings and additives that flourished in the pre-FDA era. (Relevant: This was also a time when, at the behest of nervous dairy farmers, margarine had to literally be dyed pink in some states to broadcast the fact it wasn’t butter.) “For many years, I’ve asked audiences at tasting events what maraschino cherries, grenadine and sloe gin have in common,” says Brown. “And the answer, of course, is nothing. Nothing! And yet, go back to my childhood and they were all the same color and flavor because they came from the same lab.”

Throw in the arrival of Prohibition in 1920, and the fact it meant fruit could no longer be preserved in alcohol, and other brining methods needed to be found. It was a team of Oregon-based scientists who, after more than five years of experimentation, realized that calcium salts could preserve the Northwest’s seasonal glut of fresh cherries, and also help them retain their firmness. What’s more, in the 1930s, this same team realized that if you bleached the cherries and then dyed them red (or green, or even, occasionally, electric blue) the vivid pop of color would be even more pronounced. At this point, the American “maraschino” — leached of its natural color, embalmed in synthetic preservative and flavored with almond-derived benzaldehyde — had mutated into something only tenuously related to its European forbearer.

The original maraschino farmers in Italy were — if you can believe this — not crazy about American producers using their name to hawk cloying, cherry-shaped candies the color of antifreeze. But by 1940, they had lost a long-stewing food standardization battle, when the FDA decreed that the name “maraschino” had now evolved beyond its original meaning and, to most Americans, meant the artificially flavored neon red scourge of the Luxardo family.

And so, in the wake of World War II, the cocktail cherry’s cultural dominance truly began; slotting into an additive-laced mid-century food landscape, they gleamed from Betty Crocker cake recipes, adorned every other drink at a newly established 1950s Tiki bar chain called Trader Vic’s, and even, come 1978, gave their name to a hardcore adult film called Maraschino Cherry. “I remember adoring them,” says Brown, recalling his 1970s childhood in upstate New York. “There was nothing better, when we were out at a restaurant, than getting a cherry on a little plastic cocktail sword.”

If anything they were even more adored in the U.K., where a collective, post-rationing proclivity for all things sweet only added to their appeal. Eccentric TV chef Fanny Cradock would place them on the top of troublingly phallic “banana candle” party concoctions, and in Only Fools and Horses — a beloved, long-running BBC One sitcom about a family of luckless grifters living in South London — it became synonymous with main character Del Boy and his fondness for gaudy drinks that represented a tacky sort of sophistication. Even when I was growing up in 1990s London, my parents — first-generation Nigerians who rarely drank — would always have a glowing container of what we knew as glacé cherries beside a long-opened bottle of brandy.

“You can’t underestimate the power of a good garnish,” laughs Alice Lascelles, drinks writer and author of Ten Cocktails: The Art of Convivial Drinking. “That Day-Glo cherry is something I associate very strongly with childhood and the idea of a grown-up drink, a celebratory drink.” This mixture of childishness — of innocence — and a more adult glamor seems to be at the heart of the cocktail cherry’s appeal throughout this period toward the end of the last century; they’re fruit with all the subtlety and unpredictability chemically extracted, an unapologetic hit of trashiness that appeals to both Chuck E. Cheese birthday party attendees and the kind of chain-smoking bar flies we all sat two stools from long before social-distancing measures required it.

But, of course, the cocktail cherry party came to an abrupt halt later in the 1980s. Partly, this may have been lingering scares over the occasional use of Red Dye Number 4 — a chemical colorant with some links to cancer in animal trials — in some preserved cherries, permitted because they were deemed to be “decorative” rather than a foodstuff. Also: There were unfounded rumors about formaldehyde being used as a preservative which, perhaps fittingly, just wouldn’t die.

Mostly, though, their waning was linked to the demise of the movement that first popularized them in the U.S. “The maraschino cherry collapsed precipitously along with the collapse of cocktails,” says Brown. “Suddenly, you weren’t finding anyone over the age of 10 lunging toward maraschino cherries, and what happened was people discovered wine, which eventually went into craft beer.”

At that point, in terms of the popular consciousness, cocktail cherries were mostly glimpsed at the fringes of culture, or within insalubrious bars with “C” hygiene ratings tacked to their windows. Then, inevitably, as the cocktail revival of the mid-2000s began in coastal cities, sailor-tattooed mixologists started looking into what preceded the neon cocktail cherries of their youth, and eventually rediscovered Luxardo’s original, burgundy-colored and naturally sweetened maraschinos.

“I remember I’d race [Milk & Honey founder and bartender] Sasha Petrosky and Audrey Saunders [of the Pegu Club] to a place called Dean & Deluca because it was the only place you could buy Luxardo maraschino cherries in New York,” recalls Brown about the frenzy during the craft cocktail boom. “It didn’t matter which one of us got there first; we would end up [dividing] them out until the next shipment.” Now, Brown reports, Luxardo is sending “palette-loads a week over” for import and he himself preserves around 200 jars of maraschino-style cherries a year to sell from his home in the English countryside. In 2017, Luxardo planted 2,000 new Marasca cherry trees in Northern Italy — taking their total to 30,000 — just to keep pace with demand.

The pendulum, after all those years of traffic light-red candied cherries, has swung back to something purer again. Yet, interestingly, the unnatural cocktail varieties haven’t disappeared. They’ve had their own rebirth, whether crowning old school cocktails at acclaimed, 1960s-inspired Detroit bar Hammer and Nail, or clogging social media feeds as part of author Anna Pallai’s Twitter account-turned-campy-coffee-table-hit 70s Dinner Party. “There’s a definite trend for kitsch that’s brought them back,” says Lascelles. “Instagram has helped as well, because they really pop in a picture.”

It makes sense that the current, extremely online moment — where almost everything can be both completely sincere and larded in multiple confusing layers of irony — would be the time when both these diametrically opposed approaches to cherry preservation would find room to flourish. They are, as Brown notes, “jubilant and ebullient at a time when humor and fun is something we are all desperate for.” It seems as plain as the unearthly red glow, beaming from the bottom of a filled coupe glass in the corner. Like that opened jar in your parents’ home bar, the cocktail cherry isn’t going anywhere.

[saxonspud]

Kidnapped - Chapter 5

Josiah Trelawny, stopped outside the saloon. He removed his hat.

This wasn't his preferred watering hole in St. Denis. He much preferred the higher class establishment in the centre of town, but his would do. It was a better place to discuss the sort of business he would be discussing today.

He walked through the doors, and waved a greeting to the barkeep, before heading to the back room.

“Ahh Josiah, good to see you,” Dutch greeted, as he poured him a drink.

Josiah placed his hat on the table, and sat down, taking a sip of the alcohol. He nodded. At least the refreshments were better than the locale.

“So, how did your foray go, into the world of fathers and daughters,” Josiah smirked.

Dutch rolled his eyes, “the man’s a real piece of work, his daughter on the other hand.”

Josiah chuckled, “she’s a sweet little thing, he hardly lets her out of the house you know.”

Dutch hummed, and reached down into a bag that was under the table.

“Tell me Josiah, where would a man like Jonah McKenzie obtain garments like this?”

He pulled out the dress that you had been wearing, when you took your little trip into the woods.

Josiah raised his eyebrows, “Not from St. Denis, or Paris. That looks more Italian. Milan? Maybe.”

Dutch nodded, “its what our dear Mr. McKenzie has been dressing his daughter in!”

Josiah chuckled, “only the best, and skimpiest outfits when your trying to marry your daughter off to a rich oil magnate.”

Dutch hummed, and narrowed his eyes, “maybe. What sort of money does a wardrobe like this cost?”

Josiah, took another sip of his drink, and scratched his head. “A whole wardrobe, eh?”

Dutch nodded, “even down to her undergarments and night clothes. All of the finest silk, or gossamer lace!”

Josiah frowned, “too much for a man like McKenzie, maybe I should dig a bit deeper!”

Dutch rolled his eyes, “well you haven't got long. Have you contacted him about where to leave our money?”

Josiah chuckled, “not yet, but the plan is rather cunning. I’ll need the assistance of one of your ladies, Mary-Beth perhaps.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes, “she wont be in any danger?”

Josiah shook his head, “no, not at all, but she will need to dress very smartly! Why don’t we discuss the details back at your country house,” he smirked, “then you can introduce me to the lovely Miss Emmeline!”

“We can discuss it here, Josiah. Now’s not a very good time for her to be seeing strangers.” Dutch advised.

“Nonsense Dutch, all the effort and leads I’ve given you. The least you can do is let me see her!”

Dutch sighed, “very well. Lets head back now, I need to get back anyway.”

The two men stood up and left the bar, heading back to Shady Belle.

Josiah and Dutch hitched their horses and headed towards the main house. Arthur was sitting on the steps. He glanced up and waved to Josiah.

“How’s she been, son,” Dutch asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “she was yelling earlier, but I thought it best to leave her alone. She’s probably a bit pissed.”

Dutch nodded, “why don’t you take Josiah up, I’ll be up in a little while. Hopefully she’s calmed down a bit by now.”

Arthur headed into the house with Josiah, whilst Dutch headed over to talk to Hosea.

Josiah frowned as they headed up the stairs. “is she still annoyed about the kidnap.”

Arthur hummed, “not exactly, there was a bit of an incident, she tried to do a runner, so she’s been shackled to the bed.”

“Arthur!” Josiah exclaimed, “that was never part of the plan!”

Arthur shrugged, “plans change, you know that. We never planned to run into trouble in Blackwater!”

Arthur lead Josiah into the upstairs living room, then entered the bedroom.

As soon as he opened the door, he stopped dead.

“Oh fuck!” he exclaimed.

The bed was covered in blood. Blood was dripping from your foot, where the metal had bitten into the flesh.

Arthur ran out of the bedroom, and threw open the doors of the balcony, he yelled down.

“Dutch! Hosea! You better get up here! Bring bandages, and hot water!”

Josiah, stood in the doorway, staring at you.

Arthur shook him, “Josiah, just get out the way, we need to sort this out.”

“Wait Arthur, where’s that camera of yours, take a picture!”

Now it was Arthurs turn to stare, “what!” he exclaimed.

“We can use it for leverage, if her father gets difficult.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, and reached into his satchel. Grabbing the camera, he took a picture of you covered in blood, and shackled to the bed.

“You’re sick sometimes, you know that Josiah,” Arthur hissed.

“Means and ends, Arthur. Means and ends!”

Dutch ran into the room, his face paled, when he saw the blood.

“Emmeline!”

He ran into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest, “Emmeline, sweetheart, talk to me!”

Dutch glared at Arthur, “where’s the fucking key Arthur, get that thing off of her!” he yelled.

Arthur ran over to the desk in the sitting room, and fumbled around in one of the drawers, finally finding the key. He rushed back, and unlocked the cuff, removing it from your ankle.

Hosea had followed him in, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you two sometimes,” his hissed.

“Please Hosea, just try and fix it,” Dutch pleaded.

Dutch stroked your face, “Emmeline, come on sweetheart.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, you looked at Dutch, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Why do you hate me? Why doesn’t my daddy love me?” you whimpered.

Dutch cupped your face in his hands, “look at me Emmeline, I don’t hate you, I’m sorry sweetheart, we’re gonna fix this!”

He kissed your forehead.

A tear trickled down your face, “I’m sorry, it wouldn’t come off, I tried, but it wouldn’t come off.”

“Oh Emmie, sweetheart. It wasn't supposed to.”

Dutch wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into his chest.

“Arthur!” he whispered, “get me a glass of brandy, quickly son!”

Arthur nodded, and headed out into the sitting room. He opened the cabinet, and found Dutch’s stash of Fine brandy, and a glass. He poured a measure, and rushed back into the bedroom.

Arthur handed the glass to Dutch.

“Emmie, Sweetheart, drink this,” Dutch this.

You lifted your head, and Dutch put the glass to your lips.

As you swallowed the alcohol you coughed.

“I...i don’t like it,” you moaned.

Dutch stroked your cheek, “it’ll help, Emmie, just a little bit more.”

You took another sip, and grimaced.

“Good girl,” Dutch, stroked your cheek, and kissed your temple.

“Why did you call me Emmie?” you asked, frowning.

Dutch smiled, “Don’t you like it?”

You rested your head on his chest, “I do like it,” you mumbled.

“Then my little Emmie, that's what I’ll call you,” Dutch purred.

Hosea looked up at Dutch and nodded. Dutch looked at your ankle and it was all bandaged.

“am...am I in trouble,” you whimpered.

“Maybe,” he soothed, “just a little.”

“P...please don’t punish me,” you sobbed, “I’m s...sorry.”

Dutch stroked circles on your back.

“Hush now, Emmie, I think you’ve punished yourself enough already.”

Hosea undid the chain, from the bed. “I’ll get rid of this, do you need anything else?”

Dutch nodded, “I’ll bring her down in a bit, can you ask Susan, to get one of the girls to clean up the blood, and get some fresh bedding.”

Hosea nodded, and left the bedroom.

Dutch looked across at Josiah.

“I’ll talk with you Josiah, in a little while. In the meantime fill Arthur in.”

Josiah nodded, and left with Arthur. They closed the door behind them.

“Now Emmie, we need to get that nightgown off,” Dutch advised.

You shook your head, and brought you arms up to your chest.

“I can’t...can’t be naked!” you exclaimed.

Dutch frowned, “Emmeline, what do good girls do?”

“behave,” you mumbled.

“And what else?” Dutch asked sternly.

“Do as their told?” you proffered.

“Exactly, now what happens if you don't do as your told?” he warned.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “wait...please, I’ll do it.”

Dutch smiled, “good girl, lift up your arms.”

You tentatively raise your arms, as Dutch pulled the hem of the nightdress over your head, and threw it on the floor.

Dutch gently trailed his fingers down your bare back.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, “so delicate. Such a good girl for me.”

Dutch kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your collarbone.

You lowered your head as you felt your face heating. You’d never been naked in front of anyone before.

Dutch gently put his fingers under your chin, and tilted your head up.

“Emmie, look at me.” he whispered.

Your blue eyes, gazed into his brown ones.

“Tell me, who’s good girl are you?” he asked.

“Y...yours.” you stuttered.

“who’s gonna look after you,” he continued.

“Y...you are,” you answered.

Dutch smiled, and gently kissed your lips.

Dutch stood up, and grabbed a spare shirt out of his dresser.

He slowly dressed you in his shirt, leaving a few buttons undone at the top. The shirt was large, and just hung off your shoulders, leaving the tops of your shoulders bare, but covering the arms. It was as long as your nightdress, so looked a little like a nightshirt. The material, was soft to the touch. The looseness of the garment, made it more comfortable than your nightdress.

Despite being laundered, his scent still lingered on the material.

“Put your arms around my neck Emmie?” Dutch urged.

As you did, he lifted you up, carrying you bridal style.

“Will you always look after me?” you asked

Dutch smiled, “always, princess.”

“Even after daddy pays you?” you added.

Dutch chuckled, “Even after that.”

You frowned, “won’t he and Mr. Cornwall be angry.”

Dutch laughed, “yes princess, they’ll be furious!”

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

hey uhhh idk if you write this kind of thing, but i have an alcohol problem. in the past i’ve found your writing about depression really validating bc i’m a big Queen fan and it kind of... normalises my issues? idk, i just wondered if you’d ever write about alcoholism? maybe the band coming to terms with the fact that the affected member isn’t just a “party animal” and actually has an addiction, then getting them help? yh sorry if this is a weird ask 😅

Content Warning for Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse

♚

John’s eyes fluttered open, the room still spinning, the bathroom lights looking like the spotlights on stage. His cheek was cold and flush against the rim of the toilet seat, his body hunched over it. He spit the foul taste from his mouth into the bowl, lifting his heavy head up, to look over at Roger who was standing by the door.

“At least you made it this time,” Roger said with a chuckle. John smiled at him, nodding slowly in agreement. Throwing up in anything but a toilet or trash can was a definite way to end a party and ruin the mood. And the both of them still had a lot more dancing and drinking to do.

Roger helped him up, John flushing the toilet before washing his hands and rinsing his mouth. The nausea was already fading. A good puke was all it took to get back in the game. It worked nearly every time.

Roger pat John’s back as they walked back out into the party, John intent on keeping up his antics. One instance of vomiting was not going to keep him from participating in this rager.

The music blasted, the bass rattling the windows of Freddie’s house. Colored lights spun all around the room, illuminating the party goers smiles and laughs. The dance floor, which was once Freddie’s living room was packed with hot bodies all pressed against each other, writhing and swinging to the beat that was almost too loud to be heard. Hands groped and pushed, feet shuffling. Heads were thrown back, liquid courage streaming into open mouths.

John lost Roger in the crowd, the blond probably craving another fix of the white stuff going around like candy. John needed his own fix, so he headed for the makeshift bar. One plastic cup, a dash of orange juice and a helping of vodka. His heart sped up as it slithered down his throat, nestling into his irritated and hot stomach. Immediately, the warmth spread through his core, his limbs beginning to feel like lead again, his mind beginning to fog.

He made himself another, forgoing the orange juice in favor of plain vodka. He let out a fiery sigh, now ready to join the others on the floor.

He floated over to a familiar puff of curly hair, a loopy smile on his face.

“Enjoying yourself, John?” Brian yelled over the music.

John began to sway side to side, the music dictating his every move. “Yes,” he said with a bubbly giggle.

Brian couldn’t hear him but figured he was. He continued on with his awkward dancing, his hands in the air, unknowingly moving away from John.

John didn’t care. He let himself get carried away by the funk, his knees bending, shoulders rolling, head bopping. He felt careless and free. He danced up women and men alike, accepting every drink that was pushed into his hands. He was rained with cigarettes and even found his way back to Roger, his nose red and white.

The room was ill-lit, but Roger’s eyes looked black, consumed by the pupil. “Want some?” he asked, holding up a plate. John held up his cup, graciously filled with brandy. He shimmied away, working his way over to Freddie, half naked and drenched in sweat from nonstop dancing.

John wrapped his arm around Freddie’s waist, startling the singer. Freddie playfully slapped John’s shoulder, saying, “You scared me! How’re you holding up, Deaks?” John just hummed the lyrics in response, too far gone to make any sensical words. Freddie found the answer sufficient, letting the two of them bop together to the music for a bit before scampering off to make out with Jim again.

John downed the last of his brandy, the world beginning to spin again. He laughed, unsteadily walking back to the bar for a refill. He could barely coordinate himself, but he got there in one piece. More vodka, his preferred vice. One swig, two swigs, three. A stranger, whooping and hollering, added more to his cup. He couldn’t say no. Down it went.

He unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. It was hot and he was roasting.

Everything became too woozy. He sipped more. The music sounded like blurs. The lights looked like smudges. He sipped. He felt nausea tickling the back of his throat. Another sip.

His conscience told him to stop.

Something deep in his heart told him to not listen.

Bottoms up.

He fell back onto his ass, his cup spilling all over him. He licked at his arms, trying to salvage what he could. And then he laid down.

He was 10 and on a merry go round, laying flat on the middle, being spun over and over, faster and faster by someone he didn’t know. Faster and faster until the sky white and he was soaring.

A torrent of vomit came out of John and all over himself. He rolled over and continued heaving and retching until he was pure again, the floor defiled with his filth.

I didn’t make it this time, Roger, he thought.

♚

“You went real hard last night, John. Just came to see if you woke up this morning,” Brian said as he hung his coat on the coat rack, walking into John’s house.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Got too excited is all,” John said, shuffling to the kitchen in his bathroom, trailed by the guitarist.

Brian chuckled, rubbing his neck. “I think we all did. Roger called me this morning, not knowing how he got home. I was the one who got him the bloody taxi!”

John snorted, walking up to his coffee machine. “He looked manic last night. His eyes were all wild. Sounds about right,” he said, pouring himself a cup, offering one to Brian who declined.

He rummaged through his medicine cabinet, pulling out some over the counter pain killers. This time, Brian accepted the offer.

“Even the virtuous Brian went hard last night, hmm?” John teased, popping 4 tablets into his mouth, swallowing it with the black coffee. Brian waved him off, taking his tablets with water.

“It was Fred’s birthday. Kinda hard to resist the devil when Freddie’s the one throwing the party.”

True that.

Brian sat by the kitchen table, sipping his water and wincing at the sunlight that poured through the window. He became so quite that in John’s hung-over brain, he forgot he was even there.

He poured himself some more coffee, throwing in a dash of sugar, a splash of creamer and a hearty glug of vodka from the flask he had in his robe pocket.

“John, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Brian said, making John jump in surprise.

“Jesus Christ. Sorry. Sorry. Bad habit,” he said softly, his face reddening as he dumped his concoction down the sink.

“Habit? You’re telling me you not only do this daily, in the morning none the less, but you walk around with a flask in your bloody dressing gown?” Brian asked incredulously, the tendons in his hands popping out.

John was faced away from Brian, holding onto the edge of the sink. He squeezed it tight, letting out a sharp puff of air. “I’m hung over. I- it was a mistake is all. Sorry.”

Brian wasn’t so sure about that but left anyways, his welcome clearly overstayed.

Once the door was closed, John ditched the coffee and cream, going straight to his flask.

He wondered if Brian would bring this up again.

♚

John felt a firm slap to the back of his head, flinching as he woke up, looking around for the perpetrator, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Why’d you even come over if you didn’t want to help?” Roger asked, throwing an oil stained towel at John’s face. John was too slow to catch it. He set the towel down on Roger’s work bench, lazily getting up and toddling over to Roger who was crouched by an old car.

“Sorry. Tired, you know,” John offered, a weak excuse but the only one his hazy brain could make up.

Roger recoiled at his presence, nose scrunching up. “Jeez, John. Were you partying last night?”

John shook his head. He was home all night, watching TV.

“You fucking reek like a pub, mate. What’s up with that?” Roger said, his perfectly blue eyes looking him up and down.

John should’ve probably been scared from the interrogation, but he felt too loose in the joints to care.

“Oh. I had a few drinks,” He admitted easily.

“A few?” Roger spluttered out.

“Maybe more.” John shrugged.

Roger’s lips pressed into a tight line, taking in John. Dirty clothes, disheveled hair. Bloodshot eyes and a 5 o’clock shadow. He didn’t look put together.

Roger looked at the asphalt at his feet and then up to John’s eyes.

“You know...Brian told me he caught you putting vodka into your coffee one morning…is that true?” His head was tilted, eyebrows furrowed.

John thought for a moment. “Probably.”

Roger cleared his throat, not prepared for that answer.

“Are you drunk now?”

“A bit.”

“And you drove here?”

“Mh-hmm.”

Roger got up, dusting his jeans, his head shaking. They all knew John had an affinity for drinking. It was obvious during parties and after shows. The man liked a stiff drink. Who were they to think any worse of it?

But lately, John hadn’t been himself. Sloppier and lax. Always dozing off, always up in his head. They thought he was going through a down period. None of them would’ve guessed he was a functional drunk. Not until right now.

“You need help, John.” Roger said, his voice a mixture of confusion, fear and sternness.

John leaned back to look up at Roger, frowning. “What? No, I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m way passed that mate. You need help and I’m gonna get you it.”

John huffed, standing up, wobbling some. He walked past Roger, back into Roger’s house, saying, “I did not come here to be lectured. I don’t need help. I’m fine. I’m going.”

There was a tight grip to his arm, tugging him backwards. He was now in front of a red-faced Roger.

“And I’m not letting you drive home,” he said, teeth grit.

“You don’t have any right to do that! Let me go, Roger. I’m fine! I’m fine! Let me go!” John hissed, struggling against Roger’s unwavering hold on him.

“Fine,” Roger said, his eyes big as he let John go. John crashed to the floor, his flask and keys flying out of his pocket. He scrambled to pick it up, but swiftly and with sober ease, Roger snatched both of them up. He walked away after that, without so much as a word to John.

“Where are you going?” John yelled, fighting a losing battle with gravity as he tried to get up.

“Gonna make some phone calls. Meet me in the kitchen whenever you can,” Roger replied with a bitter sting.

John gave up, laying down on the cold tile. He shivered, his stomach churning.

I didn’t make it this time, Roger.

♚

Dear John,

I’m terribly sorry I never noticed you were suffering. I should have been a better friend. I took you under my wing after all. I should have noticed.

I hope that here, you can begin to find peace again. I’m still not sure what’s ailing you, but when you get out, we can work on it together, alright? I need you to know that you’re not alone. That you aren’t bad. That you’ve done nothing wrong. The human condition can be treacherous at times. The need to numb it isn’t a sign of failure. It’s a sign of a fight to continue in any capacity possible.

I love you so much, Deacy. I can’t wait to see you again. I want to go shopping with you and maybe you can stay with me and Jim sometime, if you’d want.

Take care of yourself. Heal. Breathe.

Love, Freddie.

♚

John,

I apologize for my lack of initiative to figure things out. I’m sorry I chose my own comfort in ignoring this rather than reaching out. I promise I won’t ever do that again. You are one of my greatest friends. I’ll never do anything to jeopardize that. I need you here with me ‘till I’m old and grey and I’ll make sure that you never go through something like this again.

I pray that once you’re out, we can talk together and do some soul searching. I know what it’s like to be so down that only a substance feels like the right medication. I understand more than I’ve let on to you guys before. You can always come to me to talk. I guarantee you, I probably was there too at one point or another.

Until then, I hope this place does you well. A break from the stress of life is always a good thing. Don’t rush it. Take your time here. Let yourself unravel. Be truthful with the psychologists. Don’t be afraid to sound silly or obnoxious or rude. You won’t be any of those. The mind is a weird place. Let yourself be vulnerable.

I’ll be seeing you soon, Deacy. Keep your head up and you might just see the stars!

Bri.

♚

I’m so sorry.

RMT

♚

John sniffled, putting away the letters his best friends had written for him. He got out of his bed, walking towards the window. He leaned against the windowsill, the morning sun heating up his skin, lighting up his face.

This was the first day he felt completely detoxed. No shakes, no anxiety, no nausea. He finally felt free of the chain around his ankle. He could move better, think clearer, breathe deeper. He felt like this whole recovery thing might work. He might be a human again. No need for liquid crutches. Just a man. A free man.

He cracked open the window, sticking his head out to smell the spring air. His cheeks felt an invigorating cool breeze and not the frigid porcelain for once. A smile tugged at his lips, his hands running through his hair. He was ready for today.

He had group therapy in an hour. He had time to bang out some letters before then. He rushed to his desk, pulling out some pen and paper.

Rog,

Don’t be sorry. It should be me who’s sorry. Without you, without the other guys, I would’ve kept spiraling.

I wouldn’t have made it.

But I’m here and alive and I think I’ll soon start to thrive.

So, I want to thank you. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for still loving me as a brother even after I yelled and cursed at you. Thank you for taking my life into your own hands. I’ll never be able to repay you. But I’ll try.

I want to tell you about my time here. I don’t know, maybe you’d be interested.

Every morning, we wake up at 8. We get to….

[bountyofbeads]

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/amp/ncna1044121?__twitter_impression=true

This whole story is worth a read —NBC is so lucky to have reporters like @oneunderscore__& @BrandyZadrozny

Pro-Trump news outlet The Epoch Times funded by Chinese spiritual group: NBC News has exclusively learned that the popular conservative news site The Epoch Times is funded by a Chinese spiritual community called Falun Gong, which hopes to take down the…

Trump, QAnon and an impending judgment day: Behind the Facebook-fueled rise of The Epoch Times

Started almost two decades ago with a stated mission to “provide information to Chinese communities to help immigrants assimilate into American society,” The Epoch Times now wields one of the biggest social media followings of any news outlet. (VIDEO)

By Brandy Zadrozny and Ben Collins | Published Aug. 20, 2019, 4:12 AM ET | NBC News | Posted August 20, 2019 |

By the numbers, there is no bigger advocate of President Donald Trump on Facebook than The Epoch Times.

The small New York-based nonprofit news outlet has spent more than $1.5 million on about 11,000 pro-Trump advertisements in the last six months, according to data from Facebook’s advertising archive — more than any organization outside of the Trump campaign itself, and more than most Democratic presidential candidates have spent on their own campaigns.

Those video ads — in which unidentified spokespeople thumb through a newspaper to praise Trump, peddle conspiracy theories about the “Deep State,” and criticize “fake news” media — strike a familiar tone in the online conservative news ecosystem. The Epoch Times looks like many of the conservative outlets that have gained followings in recent years.

But it isn’t.

Behind the scenes, the media outlet’s ownership and operation is closely tied to Falun Gong, a Chinese spiritual community with the stated goal of taking down China’s government.

It’s that motivation that helped drive the organization toward Trump, according to interviews with former Epoch Times staffers, a move that has been both lucrative and beneficial for its message.

Former practitioners of Falun Gong told NBC News that believers think the world is headed toward a judgment day, where those labeled “communists” will be sent to a kind of hell, and those sympathetic to the spiritual community will be spared. Trump is viewed as a key ally in the anti-communist fight, former Epoch Times employees said.

In part because of that unusual background, The Epoch Times has had trouble finding a foothold in the broader conservative movement.

“It seems like an interloper — not well integrated socially within the movement network, and not terribly well-circulating among right-wingers,” said A.J. Bauer, a visiting professor of media, culture and communication at New York University, who is part of an ongoing study in which he and his colleagues interview conservative  journalists.

“Even when discussing more fringe-y sites, conservative journalists tend to reference Gateway Pundit or Infowars,” Bauer said. “The Epoch Times doesn’t tend to come up.”

That seems to be changing.

Before 2016, The Epoch Times generally stayed out of U.S. politics, unless they dovetailed with Chinese interests. The publication’s recent ad strategy, coupled with a broader campaign to embrace social media and conservative U.S. politics — Trump in particular — has doubled The Epoch Times’ revenue, according to the organization’s tax filings, and pushed it to greater prominence in the broader conservative media world.

Started almost two decades ago as a free newspaper and website with a stated mission to “provide information to Chinese communities to help immigrants assimilate into American society,” The Epoch Times now wields one of the biggest social media followings of any news outlet.

In April, at the height of its ad spending, videos from the Epoch Media Group, which includes The Epoch Times and digital video outlet New Tang Dynasty, or NTD, combined for around 3 billion views on Facebook, YouTube and Twitter, ranking 11th among all video creators across platforms and outranking every other traditional news publisher, according to data from the social media analytics company Tubular.

That engagement has made The Epoch Times a favorite of the Trump family and a key component of the president’s re-election campaign. The president’s Facebook page has posted Epoch Times content at least half a dozen times this year— with several articles written by members of the Trump campaign. Donald Trump Jr. has tweeted several of their stories, too.

In May, Lara Trump, the president’s daughter-in-law, sat down for a 40-minute interview in Trump Tower with the paper’s senior editor. And for the first time, The Epoch Times was a main player at the conservative conference CPAC this year, where it secured interviews with members of Congress, Trump Cabinet members and right-wing celebrities.

At the same time, its network of news sites and YouTube channels has made it a powerful conduit for the internet’s fringier conspiracy theories, including  anti-vaccination propaganda and  QAnon, to reach the mainstream.

Despite its growing reach and power, little is publicly known about the precise ownership, origins or influences of The Epoch Times.

The outlet’s opacity makes it difficult to determine an overall structure, but it is loosely organized into several regional tax-free nonprofits. The Epoch Times operates alongside the video production company, NTD, under the umbrella of The Epoch Media Group, a private news and entertainment company whose owner executives have declined to name, citing concerns of "pressure" that could follow.

The Epoch Media Group, along with Shen Yun, a dance troupe known for its ubiquitous advertising and unsettling performances, make up the outreach effort of Falun Gong, a relatively new spiritual practice that combines ancient Chinese meditative exercises, mysticism and often ultraconservative cultural worldviews. Falun Gong’s founder has referred to Epoch Media Group as “our media,” and the group’s practice heavily informs The Epoch Times’ coverage, according to former employees who spoke with NBC News.

Executives at The Epoch Times declined to be interviewed for this article, but the publisher, Stephen Gregory, wrote an editorial in response to a list of emailed questions from NBC News, calling it “highly inappropriate” and part of an effort to “discredit” the publication to ask about the company’s affiliation with Falun Gong and its stance on the Trump administration.

Interviews with former employees, public financial records and social media data illustrate how a secretive newspaper has been able to leverage the devoted followers of a reclusive spiritual leader, political vitriol, online conspiracy theories and the rise of Trump to become a digital media powerhouse that now attracts billions of views each month, all while publicly denying or downplaying its association with Falun Gong.

Behind The Times

In 2009, the founder and leader of Falun Gong, Li Hongzhi, came to speak at The Epoch Times’ offices in Manhattan. Li came with a clear directive for the Falun Gong volunteers who comprised the company’s staff: “Become regular media.”

The publication had been founded nine years earlier in Georgia by John Tang, a Chinese American practitioner of Falun Gong and current president of New Tang Dynasty. But it was falling short of Li’s ambitions as stated to his followers: to expose the evil of the Chinese government and “save all sentient beings” in a forthcoming divine battle against communism.

Roughly translated by the group as “law wheel exercise,” Falun Gong was started by Li in 1992. The practice, which combines bits of Buddhism and Taoism, involves meditation and gentle exercises and espouses Li’s controversial teachings.

“Li Hongzhi simplified meditation and practices that traditionally have many steps and are very confusing,” said Ming Xia, a professor at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York who has studied Falun Gong. “Basically it’s like fast food, a quickie.”

Li’s teachings quickly built a significant following — and ran into tension with China’s leaders, who viewed his popularity as a threat to the communist government’s hold on power.

In 1999, after thousands of Li’s followers gathered in front of President Jiang Zemin’s compound to quietly protest the arrest of several Falun Gong members, authorities in China banned Falun Gong, closing teaching centers and arresting Falun Gong organizers and practitioners who refused to give up the practice. Human rights groups have reported some adherents being tortured and killed while in custody.

The crackdown elicited condemnation from Western countries, and attracted a new pool of followers in the United States, for whom China and communism were common adversaries.

"The persecution itself elevated Li’s status and brought tremendous media attention,” Ming said.

It has also invited scrutiny of the spiritual leader’s more unconventional ideas. Among them, Li has railed against what he called the wickedness of homosexuality, feminism and popular music while holding that he is a god-like figure who can levitate and walk through walls.

Li has also taught that sickness is a symptom of evil that can only be truly cured with meditation and devotion, and that aliens from undiscovered dimensions have invaded the minds and bodies of humans, bringing corruption and inventions such as computers and airplanes. The Chinese government has used these controversial teachings to label Falun Gong a cult. Falun Gong has denied the government's characterization.

The Epoch Times provided Li with an English-language way to push back against China — a position that would eventually dovetail with Trump’s election.

In 2005, The Epoch Times released its greatest salvo, publishing the ''Nine Commentaries," a widely distributed book-length series of anonymous editorials that it claimed exposed the Chinese Communist Party’s “massive crimes” and “attempts to eradicate all traditional morality and religious belief.”

The next year, an Epoch Times reporter was removed from a White House event for Chinese President Hu Jintao after interrupting the ceremony by shouting for several minutes that then-President George W. Bush must stop the leader from “persecuting Falun Gong.”

But despite its small army of devoted volunteers, The Epoch Times was still operating as a fledgling startup.

Ben Hurley is a former Falun Gong practitioner who helped create Australia’s English version of The Epoch Times out of a living room in Sydney in 2005. He has written about his experience with the paper and described the early years as “a giant PR campaign” to evangelize about Falun Gong’s belief in an upcoming apocalypse in which those who think badly of the practice, or well of the Chinese Communist Party, will be destroyed.

Hurley, who wrote for The Epoch Times until he left in 2013, said he saw practitioners in leadership positions begin drawing harder and harder lines about acceptable political positions.

“Their views were always anti-abortion and homophobic, but there was more room for disagreements in the early days,” he said.

Hurley said Falun Gong practitioners saw communism everywhere: former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, movie star Jackie Chan and former United Nations Secretary General Kofi Annan were all considered to have sold themselves out to the Chinese government, Hurley said.

This kind of coverage foreshadowed the news organization’s embrace of conspiracy theories like QAnon, the overarching theory that there is an evil cabal of “deep state” operators and child predators out to take down the president.

“It is so rabidly pro-Trump,” Hurley said, referring to The Epoch Times. Devout practitioners of Falun Gong “believe that Trump was sent by heaven to destroy the Communist Party.”

A representative for Li declined an interview request. Li lives among hundreds of his followers near Dragon Springs, a 400-acre compound in upstate New York that houses temples, private schools and quarters where performers for the organization’s dance troupe, Shen Yun, live and rehearse, according to four former compound residents and former Falun Gong practitioners who spoke to NBC News.

They said that life in Dragon Springs is tightly controlled by Li, that internet access is restricted, the use of medicines is discouraged, and arranged relationships are common. Two former residents on visas said they were offered to be set up with U.S. residents at the compound.

Tiger Huang, a former Dragon Springs resident who was on a U.S. student visa from Taiwan, said she was set up on three dates on the compound, and she believed her ability to stay in the U.S. was tied to the arrangement.

“The purpose of setting up the dates was obvious,” Huang said. Her now-husband, a former Dragon Springs resident, confirmed the account.

Huang said she was told by Dragon Springs officials her visa had expired and was told to go back to Taiwan after months of dating a nonpractitioner in the compound. She later learned that her visa had not expired when she was told to leave the country.

Campaign season

By 2016, The Epoch Times Group appeared to have heeded the call from Li to run its operation more like a typical news organization, starting with The Epoch Times’ website. In March, the company placed job ads on the site Indeed.com and assembled a team of seven young reporters otherwise unconnected to Falun Gong. The average salary for the new recruits was $35,000 a year, paid monthly, according to former employees.

Things seemed “strange,” even from the first day, according to five former reporters who spoke with NBC News — four of whom asked for anonymity over concerns that speaking negatively about their experience would affect their relationship with current and future employers.

As part of their orientation, the new reporters watched a video that laid out the Chinese persecution of Falun Gong followers. The publisher, Stephen Gregory, also spoke to the reporters about his vision for the new digital initiative. The former employees said Gregory’s talk framed The Epoch Times as an answer to the liberal mainstream media.

Their content was to be critical of communist China, clear-eyed about the threat of Islamic terrorism, focused on illegal immigration and at all times rooted in “traditional” values, they said. This meant no content about drugs, gay people or popular music.

The reporters said they worked from desks arranged in a U-shape in a single-room office that was separated by a locked door from the other staff members who worked on the paper, dozens of Falun Gong volunteers and interns. The new recruits wrote up to five news stories a day in an effort to meet a quota of 100,000 page views, and submitted their work to a handful of editors — a team of two Falun Gong-practicing married couples.

“Slave labor may not be the right word, but that’s a lot of articles to write in one day,” one former employee said.

It wasn’t just the amount of writing but also the conservative editorial restrictions that began to concern some of the employees.

“It’s like we were supposed to be fighting so-called liberal propaganda by making our own,” said Steve Klett, who covered the Trump campaign for The Epoch Times as his first job in journalism. Klett likened The Epoch Times to a Russian troll farm and said his articles were edited to remove outside criticism of Trump.

“The worst was the Pulse shooting,” Klett said, referring to the 2016 mass shooting in which 50 people including the gunman were killed at a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. “We weren’t allowed to cover stories involving homosexuality, but that bumps up against them wanting to cover Islamic terrorism. So I wrote four articles without using the word gay.”

Klett said that the publication also began to skew in favor of Trump, who had targeted China on the campaign trail with talk of a trade war.

“I knew I had to forget about all the worst parts of Trump,” Klett said.

Klett, however, would not end up having to cover the Trump administration. Eight days before the election, the team was called together and fired as a group.

“I guess the experiment was over,” a former employee said.

The content

The Epoch Times, digital production company NTD and the heavily advertised dance troupe Shen Yun make up the nonprofit network that Li calls “our media.” Financial documents paint a complicated picture of more than a dozen technically separate organizations that appear to share missions, money and executives. Though the source of their revenue is unclear, the most recent financial records from each organization paint a picture of an overall business thriving in the Trump era.

The Epoch Times brought in $8.1 million in revenue in 2017 — double what it had the previous year — and reported spending $7.2 million on “printing newspaper and creating web and media programs.” Most of its revenue comes from advertising and “web and media income,” according to the group’s annual tax filings, while individual donations and subscriptions to the paper make up less than 10 percent of its revenue.

New Tang Dynasty’s 2017 revenue,  according to IRS records, was $18 million, a 150 percent increase over the year before. It spent $16.2 million.

That exponential growth came around the same time The Epoch Times expanded its online presence and increased its ad spending, honing its message on two basic themes: enthusiastic support for Trump’s agenda, and the exposure of what the publication claims is a labyrinthian, global conspiracy led by Clinton and former President Barack Obama to tear down Trump. One such conspiracy theory, loosely called “Spygate,” has become a common talking point for Fox News host Sean Hannity and conservative news websites like Breitbart.

The paper’s “Spygate Special Coverage” section, which frequently sits atop its website, theorizes about a grand, yearslong plot in which former Obama and Clinton staffers, a handful of magazines and newspapers, private investigators and government bureaucrats plan to take down the Trump presidency.

In his published response, publisher Gregory said the media outlet’s ads “have no political agenda.”

While The Epoch Times usually straddles the line between an ultraconservative news outlet and a conspiracy warehouse, some popular online shows created by Epoch Times employees and produced by NTD cross the line completely, and spread far and wide.

One such show is "Edge of Wonder," a verified YouTube channel that releases new NTD-produced videos twice every week and now has more than 33 million views. In addition to claims that alien abductions are real and the drug epidemic was engineered by the “deep state,” the channel pushes the QAnon conspiracy theory, which falsely posits that the same “Spygate” cabal is a front for a global pedophile ring being taken down by Trump.

One QAnon video, titled “#QANON - 7 facts the MEDIA (MSM) Won’t Admit” has almost 1 million views on YouTube. Other videos in the channel’s QAnon playlist, which include videos about 9/11 conspiracy theories and one titled “13 BLOODLINES & their Diabolical End Game,” gained hundreds of thousands of views each.

Travis View, a researcher and podcaster who studies the QAnon movement, said The Epoch Times has sanitized the conspiracy theory by pushing Spygate, which drops the wildest and more prurient details of QAnon while retaining its conspiratorial elements.

“QAnon is highly stigmatized among people trying to push the Spygate message. They know how toxic QAnon is,” View said. “Spygate leaves out the spiritual elements, the child sex trafficking, but it’s certainly integral to the QAnon narrative.”

Gregory denied any connection with "Edge of Wonder," writing in a statement that his organization was “aware of the entertainment show,” but “is in no way connected with it.”

But The Epoch Times has itself published several credulous reports on QAnon and for years, the webseries hosts Rob Counts and Benjamin Chasteen were employed as the company’s creative director and chief photo editor, respectively. In August 2018, six months after the creation of "Edge of Wonder," Counts tweeted that he still worked for Epoch Times. Counts and Chasteen did not respond to an email seeking clarification on their roles.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Second-hand Negotiations 11/28

Michaux Vidal jerks his head up quickly as the door suddenly opens, while under his desk, a hand moves instinctively toward a hidden dagger. But then he hears Lebeaux's voice and sees the blinding white figure before him, and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I though I'd locked that," he comments before rising. "This is an unexpected visit. Come to inspect my equally abysmally uninspired apartment?" His tone is playful, and he's smiling now, despite his momentary shock.

Lebeaux Desrosiers sniffed mildly in distaste as he smoothed the lapels of his coat. Enjoying being a glimmering beacon of white in an otherwise dark room. “How charming, you’ve decorated it rather like your natural habitat. All it’s missing is stalagmites.” He teased lightly as he closed the door behind himself and made his way over to the desk. “I have indeed. As well as to keep you abreast of the brewing situation that may or may not end in your death.” Lebeaux also set a small paperbox down on the desk. “Since you don’t seem to fancy sweets. These are spiced rice crackers from Kugane. They may be more to your taste.” At least he’d brought a gift to go along with the bad news.

"If you think this place looks like a cave, you should see my room at Scho-- I mean, the Dove Roost. All stone, just one window, and even more books. If I could put stalagmites and stalactites in there, I probably would." Then again, Lebeaux probably shouldn't go anywhere near the Dove Roost right now, given that Solenne is currently living there. Bad, bad idea. Michaux walks around the edge of the desk, letting the fingers of his left hand trail lightly over the wooden surface as he moves. He smells of greenery and earth today, clearly having spent at least part of his morning in the field. His hair is wind-tousled, and he's clearly dressed for field work. He days Lebeaux's mention of the business that could result in his death with an almost placid air, as if he's used to finding himself in such situations. Which would be true. "Very well, let's hear it." But then he's distracted by the box. He reaches for it, opens it, and eyes its contents. "That's surprisingly thoughtful of you."

Lebeaux tilted his head thoughtfully. “That sounds miserable.” Both the dark, stone room and the fact that it was in the same building as Idristan and Solenne. “I’ve spent far too much of my life in dark, cold stone rooms I will pass on that.” He offered cheerfully, folding his arms lightly across his chest.  He smiled serenely as Michaux accepted the offering. “Leon has chosen to change the terms of our arrangement. It isn’t enough for you to simply stay out of his way.” Lebeaux explained calmly as he leaned lightly against the desk. “There are two options. You remain out of Kugane for the foreseeable future, until Leon gets himself killed specifically. Or you perform a task that has not yet been set to prove your obedience and willing to do as I say.”

Michaux Vidal hums. Fair enough about the dark, cold stone rooms. he's seen enough of Ishgard to almost lose his own taste for stone. His expression darkens at the mention of Leon's name. "I can try to stay out of Kugane, but I can't make promises. And Leon could still kill me over here. Or have one of his spies do it for him. According to Solenne, there aren't many places I could go to escape his reach. Or his master's reach, more accurately." He sighs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "What task does he want me to perform to prove my obedience? He must have mentioned something."

Lebeaux reached up to remove his hat and set it down on the Duskwight’s desk. “Unpleasant conversations are best had over tea or brandy.” He suggested calmly. “Both would be the preferred method.” He suggested as he strode past Michaux, reaching out to trail fingers lightly along the other’s smooth chin, before helping himself to one of the nearby seats. “Your hospitality matches your décor.” He teased lightly as he settled in.

Michaux huffs, but his subtle smile returns. "So both Daijiro and Iskandar tell me." He walks to the cabinet and pulls out a half-full bottle of brandy. It isn't quite top shelf stuff, but still a decent Ishgardian vintage. He touches his fingers briefly to the teapot to reheat the tea within, and pours a cup for Lebeaux. He sets it upon a tray along with the brandy, cream and sugar, and carries it to him. Since there is no table in his makeshift sitting area, he sets the tray on a pile of books. He then realizes he forgot to include a spoon, so he goes back for one. He definitely needs to working on this host thing. "There," he finally sighs, flopping into the chair beside Lebeaux. "Enjoy."

Lebeaux waited patiently for the tea to be prepared and brought over. His pale gaze drifting over some of the titles on the shelves around him. Once it was served he took his time adding in generous amounts of sugar, cream and brandy. He held the tea in his lap, stirring lightly as he finally turned his attention back to Michaux. “Your presence has been requested at the interrogation of a Ruby Sea sailor. I negotiated for control over the time and the place in an effort to ensure no traps would be laid for us, but the entire situation hinges on your cooperation.” He explained calmly, smiling all the while. “I’m sure he desire that you use your dark arts to pry the truth from her.”

Lebeaux would find mostly history books on the wall, neatly organized by category and author, but there's a substantial and growing section devoted to books on magic. Some of the titles in both sections are rather controversial, especially among the magical works. But none are actually illegal to own. Those books are locked away somewhere in the Dove Roost. Michaux's expression grows darker as Lebeaux lays out the facts of the situation, and finally he rises in agitation and walks back to to the cabinet. A bottle of Limsan rum soon emerges. "Of it would be that. He would demand I do something that he knows I'll refuse to do. He just wants an excuse to kill me, doesn't he?" He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and then he walks back to his chair and drops into it with a groan. He starts drinking his rum straight from the bottle.

Lebeaux at least pretended to be civilized enough to be drinking tea, even if the majority of the cup he brought to his own lips was brandy. ”Yes, well. It’s a rather difficult situation all around.” He agreed. “He is demanding that this is the price you pay to continue living. Though should you bend this once to his whims there is really nothing to stop him from using this ploy over and over again.”

Michaux unconsciously places a hand over his lower belly where Leon stabbed him. He still starts awake at night sometimes, thinking that he's been stabbed again, or worse, that it's Lebeaux, or Pahja, or Idristan, Sollenne, or Adeya who has been nailed to a wall. His eyes fall shut briefly. "So it sounds like my choices are to be on high alert for another attack for the rest of my life - and hope Leon doesn't decide to target my loved ones instead - or get ready to compromise everything I believe in and act as his puppet for the foreseeable future." He blinks his eyes open and raises them to Lebeaux's face. "Not much of a choice, is it?"

Lebeaux tilted his head and his brows soon followed suit. Summoning up a fair imitation of ‘sympathetic’. Though still his sharp, chilly eyes watched the Duskwight carefully. Inspecting his body language in addition to the words he was saying. “You would know him better than I would.” The Ishgardian noted before a slow sip of his brandied tea. “How ruthless or true to his word he is. If I were in his position, I would wring you for all you were worth. Yet he seems to despise you, despite realizing there is some value there. Perhaps being utterly repugnant to him would be enough to discourage frivolous favors. You tell me.” He mused thoughtfully.

Michaux snorts at Lebeaux's offhanded remark about what he would do to him in Leon's position. "I've no doubt you would, but you wouldn't hate me for the same reasons. It's that hatred that really makes this tricky. I think he wants to kill me, and he's already demonstrated that he's capable of it. If I turn out to be useful after all and he's forced to let me live, he'll probably do his best to torture me with increasingly unpleasant 'interrogations' until I can't stand it anymore. Then my usefulness will be gone and he'll be permitted to get rid of me." He takes another swig of rum and rubs his forehead. "I'm already repugnant to him, I think. Because I'm a Duskwight, and I'm proud of it, and I've immersed myself in my clan's history. I'm happy with who I am. Leon detests Duskwights, and yet, according to Solenne's intel, he's half Duskwight himself. I bet he can't bear the fact that I'm all right with being a complete abomination when he's mortified by being half of one."

Lebeaux frowned slightly as he considered Leon. Race amongst elezen was a more trivial matter in Ishgard, save for a few jokes about a certain High House’s tendency to dig themselves into trouble, rather literally. “How amusing. He looks more a Duskwight than several actual Duskwights I have met.” He mused with a low chuckle. Shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Nonetheless. I’ve nothing he wants so I am unable to influence this transaction much save for warn you when I hear of a new turn of events.” He smiled thoughtfully upwards. “And in that matter, if I were he, I would likely feed me false information to flush you out into the open where you could be more easily disposed of.” He chuckled quietly at the thought of it. “Any roads. I have laid the matter in your hands. Now it is your decision what you will do with it.”

Michaux is starting to eye Lebeaux rather uncomfortably. "Stop planning how you would control or kill me. I'm starting to get nervous." He drinks a bit more rum as he thinks over all Lebeaux has told him. Then he sets his bottle down and rises. "I've been given two options, and I like neither of them." He disappears around the edge of a bookshelf, and the doors of his wardrobe can be heard opening and shutting. Then he returns, carrying the beautifully ornate wakizashi across his palms, complete with its original scabbard. Now that it's been cleaned up a bit, it looks more like a work of art than a weapon. Who knows how much Leon actually spent on it, but it must have been a grand sum indeed. "I will choose a third option and kill Leon with his gift to me, as I promised."

@secrets-and-aetherlight

[patiencekindnesscourage]

That was a yes...

Cherry clambered over the final log that lead into the area surrounding Bardock’s pond, sliding down the hill that created a natural barrier and stretched into the foothills. Bardock didn't appear to be home, likely off taking advantage of the warm weather to find a mud hole to wade in and fight the summer heat. The paladin sighed softly. Wallowing meant she'd be cleaning muddy fur out of his gear for weeks... and out of her own armor and clothes as well. It was a hassle, and time consuming, but she understood that it did help keep the bugs off of him. Turning, she popped over the log to make sure Grant was doing okay through the thick brush. "We're here!" She grinned, vanishing again to set her pack down against the trunk of a tree and stretch, taking in the cool air. "It's good to be back, isn’t it?"

Grant smiled, following not too far behind he propped down his own things against a nearby boulder. "Been a long time," He said. For the past month they had been planning this little trip, and especially now with everything going on they needed it. It was a quiet to place to relax, and especially to think. "We really should come here more often, eh? Only a day's trip from the city." He came up behind Cherry and wrapped his arms around her. "It's been an absolutely lovely day so far, darlin'. First that breakfast, and now we'll finish it off here."

Cherry inhaled heavily, savoring the scent of sweet grass as it cooled from the heat of the day, the subtle musk of the forest around them and the crisp, clean smell of the pond. She loved it out here. Saying they needed this little getaway was an understatement after the past months events and injuries, Roxy going missing and the threat of war, it didn’t look like things would be improving any time soon. A night under the stars was exactly what the doctor ordered, at least for a night or two. "Too long." She sighed softly, sinking back within his embrace, arms gently hugging his own around her. "I can think of few places better to finish a good day. And i'm glad you enjoyed the breakfast." Mostly she was glad she didn't burn it. "Just you, me, and the stars."

Grant nodded. He took in a deep breath, then let out a relaxed sigh. "Mhm..." He kissed the crook of her neck. "A beautiful night... a beautiful woman. Let's set up, eh? I have a little somethin' for you, but first... mind gettin' a fire started while I unpack?"

The paladin smiled softly, coloring beneath his kiss as she shared the view with him for a moment, taking in the peace and comfort of the man she loved. Finally, she gave a chuckle and nodded " I'll get the fire going... And I brought the leftover biscuits. Well... four, I gave the rest to William." She extracted herself slowly to gather the kindling and clear a patch of soil for the fire, digging down slightly before steepling the wood and digging around for her flint.

Releasing Cherry, Grant moved over to the boulder where he left his things. "Great! I brought some bacon. Found a few pods of okra too at the market before we left." He opened his pack, and gathered up the food he had brought, all packed neatly in cloth. He set them by the fire, then started to set up their tent. When he was finished, he produced a bottle of brandy from his pack, the expensive kind he kept on the top shelf of his liquor cabinet. 'Corlain Brandy.' "This little hideaway will always be special to me, darlin'. Nothin' but good memories here, because right here... this was when I really fell in love with you. Here," He handed the brandy over to her. "Let's open this thing up. Real special vintage, eh? Been agin' since before Orcs were on Azeroth. They say it's like heaven in your mouth. Just gotta get a corkscrew and some glasses from the ol' pack."

"You found Okra?" She blinked, lighting the fire and beginning to slowly feed it until it built itself into a decent blaze. Dusting her hands off on her pants she peered curiously at the brandy. She had seen it at the top of the cabinet, mostly collecting dust. Where it was placed, she figured it must be something truly special and left it where it was. She had heard of the vintage from several friends but never having actually seen it before, didn’t realize what it truly was until now. It wasn't entirely surprising that grant had a bottle of it, in fact, it seemed strangely fitting, he tended to collect odd vintages for special occasions and kept them like treasure within his cabinet. Turning the bottle over in her hands, she smiled, feeling her cheeks heat up beneath her growing blush. "It was my secret for years, mostly a place to escape for me to go to and think, or even just relax..." She said quietly, looking back up to him. "And your first visit here I threw you into the pond, and realized when you splashed back up... that I loved you too." She moved over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "It's one of my favorite memories. And if this is as old as you say it is, we might not want to sit too close to the fire."

Grant chuckled softly. "And I remember I got you back for throwin' me into that pond, so we're even." He rummaged through his pack for awhile. "And the whole place is our wonderful little secret. Ought to stay that way too." Smiling, he gathered up a corkscrew and two drinking glasses. "Now I believe I made a little promise awhile ago. About when you finished that Westfall breakfast." He fell to a kneel, and set the glasses down by the fire. "Darlin', I've told you this before, and each time I meant every word of it. You're an amazin' woman, and everyday spent with you has done nothin' but put a smile on my face or made me smell the roses. My time with you is somethin' I don't ever want to end, and so... let's make it that way. You and I, darlin'... always." He unholstered one of his revolvers, and popped the cylinder open. An empty cartridge fell out of it, and looped around it was a truesilver ring with three small diamonds of a clear cut on the head. Inside the stones was a faint swirl of blue arcane energy. It seemed to shine, but gave off no light. "Chereisie Crawford... I'd be the happiest man in the world if you made me your husband." He smiled, eyes staring up at her as he presented the ring.

Cherry wrinkled her nose at him. "Yes, we are even... at least until it happens again." She winked teasingly, adding a final log to the fire while he collected the corkscrew and glasses. "This place will always be our little secret... beyond Bardock of course, but I don't think he's talking." She smiled affectionately, clutching the bottle against her chest until he knelt. The small paladin blinked at him, feeling her cheeks suddenly flushing more. She stared in surprise as he unholstered one of his revolvers, revealing the cartridge with the ring held around it. The paladin swallowed suddenly, looking roughly like a beach fish and still clutching the bottle of brandy.

She had always thought he was being playful when he claimed he'd propose if  she made the breakfast, her own goal of making it to give him something she knew he loved, that he missed, and to surprise him.

Cherry nearly dropped the bottle as she stared at the ring, then at him, quickly putting the bottle down before it actually did drop. "Oh..." She stuttered softly, gaze finding his as he smiled up at her, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in. Too many words and emotions bubbled up in her head, colliding in a chaotic mess that left her tongue tied, grasping for the right words, something eloquent.

Tears began to build within her gaze as she nodded and slowly knelt before him. "I... yes... " She finally managed, breaking into a smile that lit her freckled features.

Grant closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled. "That was a yes..." He murmured to nobody in particular before opening his eyes again. His hand gently caressed her cheek, fingers brushing away tears as he pulled one of her gloves off to slowly slide the ring on. Then he kissed her, arm pulling her in and holding her close. He was exactly where he wanted to be. With the woman he loved so deeply.

Something within her broke, all those bundled emotions spilling out in a happy chuckle. She swallowed again and grounded herself in the warm caress of his hand. Warmth flooded from her as she sunk into his kiss, holding him tightly and folding within his arms as he pulled her in. The tears came slowly at first, trekking freckled cheeks to land on his chest and her own, building into a light rainfall of joy. "I never want it to end either." She whispered softly. "You are a blessing in my life, my Light." He kissed her again. He was stilll smiling, and suddenly, with her in his arms, he playfully brought them both to lay comfortably on the soft patch of grass. His eyes darted to the stars briefly, then turned to meet Cherry's eyes. "You make me so damn happy, Cherry!" He excalimed. "I love you so much, and I know things ain't exactly the most peaceful especially with everythin' that's been goin' on, but I know no matter what happens we'll pull through it, and see it to the end. I can't see a future without you."

Cherry 's own smile couldn't be removed even if she tried, returning his kiss and adding several of her own until he lay them both on the grass. She couldn't take her eyes off of him, still in pleasant disbelief. She hated how she could never find the words she wanted when emotions were involved, left smiling up at him, tugging her other glove off to toss to the side and freeing her to cup his cheek within her palm, chuckling at his exclamation and turning even more red. "I wish I was as eloquent as you." She smiled. "You make me happy too, more than I’ve ever felt, ever knew that I -could- feel. Every day and every night, every moment... I love you, Grant Cousland... there is no future without you." The paladin admitted, caressing his cheek and letting him feel a small touch of what she felt, not wanting to overwhelm him. "Good or bad, so long as I'm with you, we can survive anything."

@redeemed-gunslinger

(taken from rp logs, so I apologize fort the choppy format)

[patriotsnet]

How Many Republicans Needed For Impeachment

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/how-many-republicans-needed-for-impeachment/

How Many Republicans Needed For Impeachment

Other Presidents Threatened With Impeachment

How many Republicans will back Trump amid impeachment inquiry?

A significant number of U.S. presidents have faced calls for impeachment, including five of the past six Republican presidents. But few of those accusations were taken seriously by Congress.

There were even rumblings about impeaching the nation’s first president, George Washington, by those who opposed his policies. Those calls, however, did not reach the point of becoming formal resolutions or charges.;

John Tyler was the first president to face impeachment charges. Nicknamed His Accidency for assuming the presidency after William Henry Harrison died after just 30 days in office, Tyler was wildly unpopular with his own Whig party. A House representative from Virginia submitted a petition for Tylers impeachment, but it was never taken up by the House for a vote.

Between 1932 and 1933, a congressman introduced two impeachment resolutions against;Herbert Hoover. Both were eventually tabled by large margins.;

More recently, both Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush were the subject of impeachment resolutions submitted by Henry B. Gonzales, a Democratic representative from Texas, but none of the resolutions were taken up for a vote in the House Judiciary Committee.

Unredacted Version Of Mueller Report

The House Judiciary Committee has subpoenaed the unredacted Mueller report and Attorney General Barr has rebuffed this, leading to a contempt citation from the committee. A lawsuit is also contemplated.

On July 26, 2019, the Judiciary Committee asked federal judge Beryl Howell, who oversaw the Mueller grand juries, to unseal the secret testimony because the committee is “investigating whether to recommend articles of impeachment” to the full House. Howell ruled in favor of the request on October 25, 2019, finding the impeachment investigation legitimate.

On November 18, 2019, The House counsel filed a brief with Judge Howell to release the materials immediately, as redacted grand jury testimony appeared to show the President perjured himself before the Mueller probe and it was part of the impeachment inquiry.

On December 16, another brief by the HJC, said that they still needed the materials, as some redacted materials appear to be related to the Ukraine matter.Previously, an appellate court had scheduled oral arguments in the case for January 3, 2020.

Vote Comes After Surprise Call For Witnesses

Trump acquitted despite new evidence about his failure to protect Pencea surprise Democratic request for witnesses with five Republican joining DemocratsJaime Herrera Beutlertold CNN new details about House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy’s phone call with Trumpone of the 10 House Republicans who voted to impeach Trump last month

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Hearings And Investigations: December 2018february 2019

The ranking members of the House Judiciary and Oversight committees place job listings in search of experienced lawyers to aid in investigations of Trump and his administration.

Speaker-Designate Nancy Pelosi, in an interview with Today‘s Savannah Guthrie, refuses to rule out an impeachment inquiry.

The new Democratic Congress convenes. Jerrold Nadler takes over the House Judiciary Committee as chairman. He has said he will file another resolution and its subsidiary subpoenas for inquiries relating to possible criminal charges associated with the Stormy Daniels affair and the conspiracy convictions of Michael Cohen related to it.

H.Res.13, the first of several impeachment resolutions, is introduced into the House by Representative Brad Sherman.

In response to Trump’s public statements about Michael Cohen, representatives Elijah E. Cummings, Adam Schiff, and Nadler issued a joint statement warning Trump against interfering in the upcoming Cohen hearings, saying “Our nation’s laws prohibit efforts to discourage, intimidate, or otherwise pressure a witness not to provide testimony to Congress.”

The inspector general of the GSA issues report declaring that the president may have violated the emoluments clause of the Constitution and chastised the lawyers in the case for refusing to consider the possibility.

H.Res.13 is referred to the Subcommittee on the Constitution, Civil Rights, and Civil Justice.

The House Impeached Trump

An impeachment vote in the House happened today, Wednesday, December 18. A markup of the articles happened last week and now the House has formally voted on impeachment.

The Constitution only allows impeachment on the grounds of treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors. Articles of impeachment are essentially formal allegations against the President.

You can read all the laws on impeachment proceedings;here.

A simple majority vote was needed in the House to impeach Trump. This would be fairly easy, since the Democrats have a majority in the House. If all 435 House members vote, they would need 218 votes for a majority to be reached. There are 235 Democrats in office in the House, one Independent, and 199 Republicans, Reuters explained.; Thats more than enough to reach the majority need to impeach Trump.

For Article 1, abuse of power, there were 230 votes for impeachment, 197 votes against, and 1 present from Tulsi Gabbard.

BREAKING: A historic vote: President Donald J. Trump has been impeached by the House of Representatives for Article I: Abuse of Power. Final vote: 230-197-1.

Brandi Buchman

But thats not enough to remove him.

Don’t Miss: What Year Did The Democrats And Republicans Switch

How Many Us Presidents Have Faced Impeachment

Only three U.S. presidents have been formally impeached by CongressAndrew Johnson, Bill Clinton and Donald Trump. One of those presidents, Donald Trump, was impeached twice during his single term. No U.S. president has ever been removed from office through impeachment.

In addition to Johnson, Clinton and Trump, only one other U.S. president has faced formal impeachment inquiries in the House of Representatives: Richard Nixon. Many other presidents have been threatened with impeachment by political foes without gaining any real traction in Congress.;

The framers of the Constitution intentionally made it difficult for Congress to remove a sitting president. The impeachment process starts in the House of Representatives with a formal impeachment inquiry. If the House Judiciary Committee finds sufficient grounds, its members write and pass articles of impeachment, which then go to the full House for a vote.

A simple majority in the House is all thats needed to formally impeach a president. But that doesnt mean he or she is out of a job. The final stage is the Senate impeachment trial. Only if two-thirds of the Senate find the president guilty of the crimes laid out in the articles of impeachment is the POTUS removed from office.

Although Congress has impeached and removed eight federal officialsall federal judgesno president has ever been found guilty during a Senate impeachment trial. Andrew Johnson came awfully close, though; he barely escaped a guilty verdict .

Impeachment Of Donald Trump 2021

Cabinet White House staff Transition team Policy positions Polling indexes: Opinion polling during the Trump administration

On February 13, 2021, former President Donald Trump was acquitted of incitement of insurrection. Fifty-seven senators voted to convict and 43 voted to acquit. Conviction requires a two-thirds vote of senators present.

On January 13, 2021, the House of Representatives voted to impeach Trump by a vote of 232-197 for incitement of insurrection. The resolution followed the January 6, 2021, breach of the U.S. Capitol, which disrupted a joint session of Congress convened to count the electoral votes from the 2020 presidential election. Ten Republicans supported the impeachment.

The resolution alleged that Trump attempted to subvert and obstruct the certification of the election results and incited a crowd to breach the Capitol, leading to vandalism, threats to members of the government and congressional personnel, the death of law enforcement, and other seditious acts. to read the resolution.

On January 12, 2021, Trump called the impeachment resolution the “continuation of the greatest witch hunt in the history of politics.” He added, “For Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer to continue on this path, I think it’s causing tremendous danger to our country and it’s causing tremendous anger.”

This page contains an overview of the following topics:

10Footnotes

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Ukraine: Pelosi Agrees To Proceedings

In July 2019 a whistleblower complaint was filed by a member of the intelligence community, but the Director of National Intelligence refused to forward it to Congress as required by law, saying he had been directed not to do so by the White House and the Department of Justice. Later reporting indicated that the report involved a telephone conversation with a foreign leader and that it involved Ukraine. Trump and his personal attorney, Rudy Giuliani, had been trying for months to get Ukraine to launch an investigation into former vice president and current presidential candidate Joe Biden as well as his son Hunter Biden. Trump had discussed the matter in a telephone call with the president of Ukraine in late July. It was also revealed that Trump had blocked distribution of military aid to Ukraine, although he later released it after the action became public. The controversy led House Speaker Nancy Pelosi to announce on September 24 that six House committees would commence an impeachment inquiry against Trump.

Republicans Cant Impeach Joe Biden At Least Not Yet

BREAKING: Republicans Don’t Have Votes to Block Impeachment Witnesses

The ongoing chaos in Afghanistan has led many Republicans to, understandably, criticize President Joe Biden. But at the same time, some have decided to go a step further and call for his impeachment.

Rep Marjorie Taylor Greene filed three articles of impeachment last week against Mr Biden, while Sen Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, his former friend, has called for his impeachment as well.

But if the idea of impeaching Mr Biden sounds ludicrous and politically unfeasible, thats because it is. While Mr Graham, who went from being one of former president Donald Trumps biggest critics to his biggest apologist in the Senate, and Ms Greene, who has done nothing but promote absurd conspiracy theories and antagonize her fellow members, may want to take advantage of the crisis, there is little to no feasible way for it to begin, at least for now.

First and foremost, the major reason is that Republicans are in the minority in the House and the Senate. While some Democrats may not be happy with how Mr Biden managed Afghanistan, immigration or the eviction moratorium, all of which Ms Greene cited, they arent going to collaborate with Republicans to impeach him.

The remote chance of this passing the House aside, if it makes it to the Senate, Republicans would again have to contend with the fact they are in the minority and two-thirds of all Senators need to vote for a conviction. In the last impeachment earlier this year, only seven Republican Senators broke rank.

Read More

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Trump Et Al V Mazars Et Al

The House Oversight Committee issued a subpoena to the Mazars accounting firm for Trump’s financial information from before his election to the presidency. The President and his lawyers have tried to delay or prevent this information from getting to the committee by seeking a court injunction against both the committee’s leadership and Mazars.

On April 23, 2019 U.S. district judge Amit Mehta set a May 14 date for the preliminary hearing, although several weeks later he decided the entire suit would be heard on that date. May 20, Mehta ruled that accounting firm Mazars had to provide its records of Donald Trump‘s accounts from before his presidency to the House Oversight Committee in response to their subpoena. In a 41-page opinion, he asserted that Congress has the right to investigate potential illegal behavior by a president, including actions both before and after the president assumed office. The ruling was appealed by Trump’s personal legal team and briefs for such were due by no later than July 12, 2019, when oral arguments were scheduled.

Oral arguments took place on July 12, 2019, before a three-judge panel consisting of Neomi Rao, David Tatel, and Patricia Millett. On August 8, the Justice Department filed a brief supporting the president’s position. On October 11, 2019, the appeal panel affirmed the ruling 2â1 with Neomi Rao dissenting.

What About Covid Safety Measures

Prosecutors from the House and Trump’s defense lawyers will sit at long tables designed to give them room to be socially distanced from one another.

To accommodate social distancing among senators during the trial, there will be seats reserved for them in the galleries, so they do not have to sit at their desks on the Senate floor for the entire trial, a Senate official familiar with the planning told NBC News.

Senators may be in the public galleries above the Senate chamber which have been closed to the public due to the pandemic and in the “marble room,” which is just off the Senate floor and where the trial will be shown on television.

The precautions mean some members will not be at their desks during the trial. Senators will need to be on the Senate floor to vote.

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Republicans Who Voted To Acquit Trump Used Questions Of Constitutionality As A Cover

Following the vote, McConnell gave a scathing speech condemning Trumps lies about election fraud as well as his actions on January 6, only moments after he supported acquittal.

That speech was emblematic of how many Republican senators approached the impeachment vote: Although GOP lawmakers were critical of the attack on January 6, they used a process argument about constitutionality in order to evade confronting Trump on his actual actions.

Effectively, because Trump is no longer in office, Republicans say the Senate doesnt have jurisdiction to convict him of the article of impeachment. As Voxs Ian Millhiser explained, theres some debate over that, but most legal scholars maintain that it is constitutional for the Senate to try a former president.

If President Trump were still in office, I would have carefully considered whether the House managers proved their specific charge, McConnell said. McConnell, however, played an integral role in delaying the start of the trial until after Trump was no longer president.

His statement on Saturday was simply a continuation of how Republicans had previously approached Trumps presidency: Theres been an overwhelming hesitation to hold him accountable while he was in office, and that still appears to be the case for many lawmakers.

Sending To The Senate

Once the House votes to impeach, the speaker of the House can send the article or articles over to the Senate immediately or she can wait a while. Many Democrats in Pelosis caucus have urged her to do so immediately.

The speaker met this week with the nine impeachment managers she appointed to argue the case and is also consulting the Senate, according to Colorado Rep. Diana DeGette, who is one of the managers. She says it hasnt been settled yet when the House will send them over.

Another of Pelosis managers, Pennsylvania Rep. Madeleine Dean, said Thursday that what we did in the House, in bringing forth a single article of impeachment with the urgency that we did, I think should indicate to you that we feel an urgency in our caucus to move forward.

Once the articles are sent over that is usually done with an official walk from the House to the Senate then the majority leader of the Senate must start the process of having a trial.

Recommended Reading: How Many Republicans Are There In The Senate

Read Also: Democrats Voted For Trump

Schumer: Agreed Structure For Trump’s Impeachment Trial Is ’eminently Fair’

The managers could then have a debate and a vote on calling witnesses or subpoenaing documents. If that does not happen, the two sides would move on to closing arguments, which would last a total of four hours.

The trial was set to break from tradition and be held on Sundays instead of Saturdays at the request of Trump’s legal team because one of them, David Schoen, can’t work on the Sabbath.

However, Schoen in a letter Monday withdrew the request and said the role he would have played will be covered by the defense team, and there shouldnt be any delay on his behalf.

This will likely lead to a change in the schedule laid out in the resolution and will be passed Tuesday, according to a person familiar with the planning.

What To Watch For

While Trumps impeachment in the House is a foregone conclusion, conviction in the Senate is a far murkier question. A handful of senators have advocated Trumps resignation or removal without explicitly voicing support for impeachment, but Democrats may struggle to muster the 17 GOP votes needed to get the necessary two-thirds majority. Additionally, McConnell has signaled a Senate impeachment trial likely wouldnt occur until after Trump has left office.

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Schiff Says He Hopes Vote To Consider Witnesses Will Inspire Republicans To Come Forward

Congressman Adam Schiff, a Democrat from California who was the lead impeachment manager during the first impeachment proceedings involving Mr. Trump, said he hopes more Republicans who have information about the former presidents conduct on January 6 come forward and make themselves available to testify.

In an interview with CBS News, Schiff recalled a similar occurrence in last years proceeding, where a witness came forward after watching the hearings in the House to provide relevant information.

That could very well happen here, he said.

The California Democrat said calling new witnesses opens the door for discovery of new information.;

Schiff also said Congresswoman Jaime Herrera Beutler, who the House managers said they want to subpoena, would be a low-risk witness for the Democrats, but warned House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy could present more challenges.

Schiff cited McCarthys recent trip to Florida, during which he met with Mr. Trump at Mar-a-Lago and discussed Republicans regaining the House majority in 2022, and said McCarthy made it clear the GOP is relying on the president to help deliver them victories in the next election.

Is that the kind of witness with those kinds of incentives that you want to rely on to be candid? he said. And I dont think that McCarthy has a reputation for candor, so thats very risky. Whether he will dispute the account of Congresswoman Beutler or add other things to the conversation, you just dont know.

[charllieeldridge]

7 Best New Orleans Cocktails (+Where to Drink Them)

When it comes to the best cities for cocktails, it’s hard to top New Orleans. After all, the motto of the Big Easy is “Laissez les bon temps rouler” — “Let the good times roll.”

Those good times are fueled largely by booze, thanks to the abundance of excellent New Orleans cocktails.

I often complain about my home country’s uptight drinking laws, but thankfully those puritan rules go out the window in the Big Easy.

Here you can drink in public, bars can stay open 24/7, and there are even drive-thru places for frozen daiquiris.

Speaking of partying, I most recently visited the city during our year-long party celebration There are so many New Orleans festivals and events!

Rest assured that I did some quality research in order to present you with some of the best cocktails in New Orleans.

In this article, I’ll run the gamut from the classy to the debaucherous, which can usually be accomplished in half a city block here.

There are so many fun things to do in New Orleans (don’t miss the swamp tours), and if you fancy an adult beverage when you travel, you’re going to love visiting the Big Easy.

Read on for a look at some of the best New Orleans cocktails and recommendations on the best bars to get them.

Wondering where to stay in New Orleans? Don’t miss our epic guide to the best Bourbon Street hotels and information on staying in the French Quarter.

1. Sazerac: The Official Cocktail of New Orleans

Ingredients:

Herbsaint

Bitters

Rye Whiskey

Sugar Cube

Lemon Wedge

Of course, we have to kick off our list of the best New Orleans drinks with the original.

Some actually claim this to be the oldest cocktail in the United States, as it dates all the way back to the 1830s. As with many things in New Orleans, there’s an interesting backstory behind this classic drink.

As the story goes, a Creole man named Antoine Peychaud came up with the recipe. He was the owner of an apothecary and a big fan of a brand of French brandy called Sazerac-de-Forge et fils.

After hours, he would serve up a mixture of the cognac with his own home-made bitters. He served the drinks in an egg cup known as a “coquetier.” Some believe to be the origin of the word “cocktail,” but apparently that’s a tall tale.

While historians may debate whether or not this was actually America’s first cocktail, one thing is for sure — the Sazerac was an immediate hit.

A saloon named Sazerac Coffee House started buying Peychaud’s Bitters and mixed them with the cognac and sugar. The new cocktail was the talk of the town and was immensely popular.

A few decades later, the main ingredient changed from cognac to American rye whiskey.

This was due to an epidemic in Europe that destroyed many of the vineyards in France. Without grapes, people turned to grain alcohol like whiskey. Another change to the recipe came shortly thereafter when bartenders added a dash of absinthe.

Things were going great for the Sazerac until absinthe was banned in 1912 because it was thought to cause hallucinations.

Bartenders replaced the banned booze with anise-flavored liqueurs. The most common was Herbsaint, which was made right in New Orleans. It’s still used to this day, alongside Peychaud’s Bitters and Sazerac Kentucky Rye Whiskey. Add in a sugar cube and a lemon wedge as a garnish and you’ve got an official Sazerac!

The Sazerac is so important that a Louisiana state senator even tried to have it declared the state’s official cocktail. While this wasn’t approved, his efforts were not in vain. It’s now the official cocktail of the city of New Orleans.

You can order up a Sazerac all over New Orleans, but the best place to have one is definitely the Sazerac Bar. After all, it’s right there in the name.

This bar is located in the Roosevelt Hotel (click here for directions). Other popular spots to try this classic New Orleans drink include Sylvain Tavern and Arnaud’s French 75.

If you’re interested in experiencing these bars with a fun and knowledgeable local, check out this walking and drinking tour. Four cocktails are included in four different bars, plus an informative guide.  

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2. Hurricane: One of The Best New Orleans Cocktails for Rum Lovers

Ingredients:

Rum

Passionfruit Juice

Orange Juice

Lemon Juice

Simple Syrup

Grenadine

Garnish

What is the most popular cocktail in New Orleans? These days, one of the quintessential New Orleans cocktails is a Hurricane.

It’s probably the most popular cocktail in the city for visitors, who enjoy slurping one of these potent concoctions as they stumble along Bourbon Street.

The Hurricane drink dates back to the 1940s and the post-prohibition era. Local tavern owner Pat O’Brien invented the drink when he needed to get rid of a bunch of rum. You may be wondering why he had an excess supply of rum. Of course, there’s a story behind that as well!

You see, rum was one of the least popular liquors at the time. O’Brien’s distributors forced cases of rum on him before they would sell him more popular liquors like scotch. He decided to whip up a concoction of rum with passion fruit and lemon juice.

The drinks were served in hurricane lamp-shaped glasses, and thus the Hurricane was born.

The recipe is still basically the same after all these years, and Hurricanes now include a garnish of an orange slice and a cherry or two.

Pat O’Brien’s bar is still a mainstay in the city and is the top place to try the famous Hurricane drink (click here for directions). In addition to their signature Hurricanes, you can also enjoy dueling piano music as you sit by their flaming fountain.

Since you’re in New Orleans, you might as well take advantage of the fact that you can drink in public and order daiquiris from a drive-thru.

Go ahead and grab a Hurricane to-go for a wander up Bourbon Street. You can also try one of the frozen varieties from a drive-thru. When in Rome!

3. Brandy Milk Punch: Best Brunch Drink

Ingredients:

Brandy

Milk

Powdered Sugar

Nutmeg

Our tour of New Orleans cocktails moves on – or should I say “stumbles on”? – to Brandy Milk Punch. The Big Easy didn’t invent this classic cocktail, but the city definitely perfected it. Once again, there’s a lot of history behind the drink.

The story of Brandy Milk Punch in New Orleans goes back to the late 1940s. At the time, Dinner at Antoine’s was a popular murder mystery. The name came from a local restaurant, which was the setting of the story.

The owners of Antoine’s and several other restaurants and bars would often gather to play poker.

Owen Brennan owned a bar on Bourbon Street at the time, and the other guys made a bet with him that he couldn’t open a restaurant. A friend remarked to him “If there’s dinner at Antoine’s, why can’t there be breakfast at Brennan’s?” 

We have this interaction to thank for the beloved modern-day tradition of brunch. The idea of a late and lavish breakfast complete with cocktails started at Brennan’s in New Orleans.

With a need for eye-opening cocktails, Brennan went with Brandy Milk Punch. As you may have guessed by now, the key ingredients are in fact brandy and milk!

Add powdered sugar (or simple syrup) and a dash of nutmeg on top, and you’ve got one of the best cocktails in New Orleans.

Tourists outside of Brennan’s

Not surprisingly, Brennan’s remains the top place to try Brandy Milk Punch (click here for directions).

You might as well go ahead and do the whole brunch thing there during your weekend in New Orleans, as many say that if you haven’t had brunch at Brennan’s, you haven’t really been to the city.

For a different spin on this drink, head to Bourbon House to try their frozen Bourbon Milk Punch.

RELATED POST: Want to get your “brunch on” in other cities in the US? Here are some of the best places to eat in Chicago, including breakfast, brunch, lunch, and dinner. 

4. Ramos Gin Fizz: A Cocktail for Gin Lovers

Ingredients:

Gin

Lemon Juice

Lime Juice

Flower Water

Egg Whites

Powdered Sugar

Milk

The Ramos Gin Fizz is one of the most well-known New Orleans drinks. Its name comes from Henry C. Ramos, bar owner and inventor of the drink. He came up with the cocktail back in 1888, and it has been a staple of NoLa ever since.

Ramos invented the drink at his bar called the Imperial Cabinet Saloon by mixing gin, heavy cream, powdered sugar, lemon & lime juices, an egg white, and orange flower water.

His recipe called for 12 minutes of vigorous shaking, which is quite a lot of work to make a single cocktail!

When he sold the bar and moved to a new place he called The Stag, he actually hired a whole team of shakers to help whip up his signature drink.

He basically set up an assembly line where each person would shake it for a minute and then pass it on. After sufficient shaking, they added a bit of soda water on top to give the drink its fizz. 

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He originally called the drink a New Orleans Fizz. Years later, the Roosevelt Hotel bought the rights to the drink from Ramos’ son after Prohibition ended.

To honor the inventor, they named the drink after him. It was also at the Roosevelt Hotel that former Louisiana governor Huey Long fell in love with the drink.

Apparently, Long loved the Ramos Gin Fizz so much that be brought a bartender with him on a trip to New York just so he could teach people there how to make it.

This guaranteed that Long never had to be without his favorite cocktail on his frequent trips to Manhattan. What a legend!

The Roosevelt Hotel remains the best place to try one, so you might as well order one up after you try their Sazerac to make for an epic tour of New Orleans cocktails. Another good spot to try one is the Carousel Bar (click here for directions), where you can try several other famous New Orleans drinks.

RELATED POST: 21 Fun Things To Do in New Orleans – A Guide For Travellers

5. Vieux Carré: For Those Who Want a Strong Drink

Ingredients:

Cognac

Vermouth

Whiskey

Bitters

Garnish

Just as is the case with New Orleans food, there’s an obvious French influence with the city’s cocktails. Just take the classic Vieux Carré, which is French for “Old Square” and a nod to the French Quarter.

Much like the city itself, the Vieux Carré is both potent and smooth at the same time. This signature New Orleans drink dates back to the 1930s and the Carousel Bar in Hotel Monteleone.

The bar is still there and it’s definitely the best place to try one of the top cocktails in New Orleans. It’s actually centered around a vintage carousel that you spin around as you drink. How cool is that?!

It’s a melting pot of a drink, with French cognac, Italian vermouth, American whiskey, and Caribbean bitters. Drinking a Vieux Carré is kind of like drinking the history of New Orleans! It typically comes in an Old Fashioned glass along with a cherry or lemon wedge as a garnish.

6. Pimm’s Cup: Simple and Refreshing Cocktail

Ingredients:

Pimm’s

Lemonade

7-Up

Cucumber Garnish

As a city that gets very hot and enjoys day drinking, New Orleans needs a light, refreshing cocktail. Cue the Pimm’s Cup, which came to the Big Easy via London a century after its creation.

We have London barkeep James Pimm to thank for this delightful concoction with a recipe that remains secret to this day. Over the years, he actually came up with six different variations of the drink.

Pimm’s No. 1 Cup is the one that made its way across the pond when the owner of the Napoleon House gave it a New Orleans twist.

He took the popular tonic and added lemonade, 7-Up, and a cucumber garnish. This is definitely one of the most refreshing cocktails in New Orleans!

The Napoleon House is still the best place to try a Pimm’s Cup in the Big Easy (click here for directions).

Isn’t it awesome that the places where most of these famous New Orleans drinks originated are still going strong? Another great spot to enjoy a Pimm’s is Bar Tonique, where they’re just $5 on Mondays. I’ll drink to that!

7. Hand Grenade: A Dangerously Strong Cocktail

Ingredients:

Vodka

Gin

Rum

Melon Liquor

Simple Syrup

Water to Dilute the Alcohol

Fresh Cantaloupe or Honeydew Juice

(The ingredients are a “secret”, but this is pretty close.)

Our tour of New Orleans cocktails comes to a fitting conclusion with the Hand Grenade. As the name implies, this drink packs a serious punch. If you’re looking to crank it up and get crazy on Bourbon Street, this is your ticket!

Owners of the Tropical Isle bar, Pam Fortner and Earl Bernhardt, invented this dangerously strong cocktail. They describe it as “a wonderful melon flavor drink with lots of liqueurs and other secret ingredients.”

A Hand Grenade comes in a green plastic yard glass with a base that resembles, you guessed it, a hand grenade.

Much like a grenade, you’ll want to exercise extreme caution with one of these in your hands. The creators themselves warn that while #2 will give you a nice buzz, #4 might result in public nudity. They even say you’re on your own after the fifth one!

You can only find Hand Grenades at the various Tropical Isle locations along Bourbon Street (click here for directions to one of the best). You can also get them at the Funky Pirate bar, which is a great place to catch some live blues.

Tourists drinking a hand grenade at Tropical Isle

If you can manage to put down an entire Hand Grenade, you’ve got a nice souvenir cup to bring home to remember your trip. Of course, if you had one too many Hand Grenades, remembering anything might be a bit difficult…

Ready for Some New Orleans Cocktails?

It’s really is fascinating to learn the stories behind some of these classic New Orleans cocktails. Read this post out loud as you sip on a few of these drinks and you’ll have your very own episode of Drunk History.

While many tourists to the Big Easy get stuck drinking overpriced, watered-down cocktails on Bourbon Street, there’s a lot more to discover when it comes to drinking in NOLA.

Get out there and start your day with a Brandy Milk Punch at Brennan’s, then move on to a Gin Fizz during the hottest part of the day. 

After a nap and some tasty New Orleans food (probably a po’ boy or a bowl of jambalaya), you’ll be ready to hit the streets again in search of the best cocktails in New Orleans.

Go ahead and grab yourself a Hurricane or a Hand Grenade and join the revelry at least once.

If the crowds and the noise drive you crazy, there are plenty of chilled-out bars you can retreat to. Best of all, many of them never close. And they say New York is the city that never sleeps…

Have you been to New Orleans and have a great recommendation for a specific cocktail or bar? Drop a comment below and let us know about it!

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7 Best New Orleans Cocktails (+Where to Drink Them) published first on https://travelaspire.weebly.com/

[blackhatandfriends]

I absolutely loved the fic about reader owning a bar for villains!!! I can't stop reading it you did an amazing job!!!! if you ever feel like continuing it in any way I think it would be wonderful!! Or if you don't that's fine too!!! It's amazing either way!!

SIDE JOBVillainous x Evil Bar Owner! Reader

A/N: I really do enjoy this little idea! This is what happens after you find 5.0.5!

.

“Hm…no answer.” You said, setting the phone back onto the receiver. You tried your cell with similar results. 5.0.5 sat in the corner, warming up after who knows how long outside. He fell asleep rather quickly.

“A cell tower or two must have been taken down in all of that destruction or something.” You thought, “Either that or that technopath finally decided to do something with his life other than hit on girls in my bar.”

Either way, you were going to have to drop off 5.0.5 in person. You didn’t mind too much of course, Black Hat was the best of the best, and he didn’t live very far away. His support meant a lot to you, so it was the least you could do for him. Regardless of what he may say, you considered him your friend.

So when the blue bear woke up the two of you headed down the street together (there was no way that thing was going to fit in your car) towards Black Hat Manor.

A rather rough looking Dr. Flug answered the door and you wondered when the last time he slept was. But he perked right up when he saw 5.0.5 standing next to you.

“5.0.5! You’re home!!” He said, hugging the bear with joy, “I thought you were gone for good this time! Thank you so much y/n.”

“It’s not a problem, Flug.” You smiled, “I found him wandering around the alley…with quite the trail of destruction behind him I might add.”

“Oh, yeah.” Flug rubbed the back of his necks as a few sweat marks appeared on his bag, “We were just testing out a new invention. It ended up making 5.0.5 here into a much fluffier Godzilla, but when the effects wore off, we weren’t able to find him.”

“Ah,” You replied as the rain began to come down once again, “That sounds quite interesting. Would you mind if I stepped in for a little while? Just to dry off and warm up before I brave the walk back home.”

“You walked here?” Flug asked.

“Well…5.0.5 didn’t really fit into my car…”

“Ah, well sure, come in.” Flug said, stepping aside to let you and 5.0.5 into the front room of the mansion. You placed your coat and scarf on the coat rack and hung your umbrella nearby. As you did so, Black Hat entered the room on his way to do who knows what.

“Flug!” He barked and the young scientist bristled with fear.

“Y-Yes, Señor?” He asked and you shook your head inwardly at his fear. One day he’d learn. One day he’d have to.

“You didn’t tell me we had company.”

“Y/N was just dropping off 5.0.5.” Flug explained, “And what with the storm…”

Black Hat looked outside with a raised eyebrow and then nodded. He waved his hand dismissively at the doctor, “Very well, you may go now. I shall keep y/n company.”

Flug looked back at you and you smiled slightly with a shrug before he scurried off into the depths of the manor with 5.0.5. Black Hat gestured for you to follow him into a small sitting room. The space was more intimate than the front door, yet carried an intimidating air. The seats near the window were deep red with dark wooden claws supporting them. Black Hat asked you to sit in one, as he would presumably sit in the other. They angled in to allow for easy conversation.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, nodding towards a liquor cabinet on the far side of the room, “Wine, Brandy, Scotch? I may not own a bar, y/n, but I do have quite the selection.”

“I don’t doubt it,” You smiled, “But I didn’t come over for a business affair. And besides…” You pulled a small flask filled with your favorite drink, alcoholic or otherwise, and tapped it with your finger.

“Suit yourself.” Black Hat said, a glass of wine suddenly appearing in his hand. A wine that you could tell had been…added to, if you catch my drift. You didn’t have to know his tastes to figure that one out.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, something Flug only dreamed of doing, for a few minutes. You looked out the window at the rain. Black Hat sipped on his wine. For a while you amused yourself with watching drops of water race one another down the glass, lightning occasionally lighting up your face.

“How’s the bar, y/n?” He bagan some polite conversation when it became apparent that the rain wasn’t going to let up.

“Business as usual.” You sighed contently, “Most of the thugs and common criminals realized a while ago that I was running a more…classy operation. There are the occasional nobody’s who stroll in from time to time, trying to be bigger than they really are, but for the most part it’s high end villains just looking to relax a bit.”

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself.” Black Hat said, taking another sip of wine, “I must say, I was quite impressed the last time I was there. Live music was a nice touch.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, “I try to pull in acts from time to time, since I’ve got that little space in the corner.”

“Well that kid on the piano certainly created a great atmosphere.”

“You mean, Tom? Yeah, he’s been busing tables for me for a few months. Come to find out he’s got hands like no one this side of Hatsvile. I pay him to play now.”

Black Hat hummed his approval and something inside of you warmed up. Any praise from him was high praise, and you knew it.

“What about you?” You asked, “You seem…tired, lately.”

“Demencia is a handful, the Bear can’t be helped, and Flug…”

Black Hat didn’t even have to finish for you to understand. The scientist clearly had guts…but he was still nervous, untrained, filled with fear.

“He’s been getting better.” You remarked, thinking back on his time in the bar. The first time you’d seen Flug he was afraid to speak to anyone, even to order a drink, and now he seemed more at ease. Nonetheless, your host scoffed.

“But he still has a long way to go.” Black Hat said. You could tell his feelings of worry had passed, but there were other things on his mind… you knew it.

You took another sip from your flask and looked out the window once again, “So… is there anything you need from me?”

He smiled at your perceptiveness. You truly were growing up.

“How would you feel,” Black Hat hummed and looked up to you from his wine, his smile and stare piercing you to the core, “About a little side job?”

[toujoursimpxre-blog]

Letter #1

Sirius,

You have questions, I know. And there will be answers. But not today. Today there is not time as James will soon be calling you. Asking you to come help him unpack the house that we BOTH know he has not unpacked.

He needs you, Pads. Go to him. Remind him how to live again. Remind him that’s it’s okay to live again. That the children need him to.

That you need him to.

And call Remus before you go. Merlin knows you two are gonna need some supervision if anything is to get done.

Later. I’ll explain it all later.

- Lily

PS: I miss you.

The letter had been waiting for him when he came downstairs that morning, sitting quiet and innocent on top of that day’s Daily Prophet, to which he wasn’t subscribed but that seemed to find its way to his doorstop every morning none the less.  This letter was different from the rest of the letters he’d received in the days since he’d been home, since -- since everything happened -- and from the very first glance, even before he recognized the handwriting on the envelope, he knew that something about that damn letter was going to throw the life he’d been trying to stitch back together into disarray all over again.

But then, Lily had always had a knack for that -- throwing things into chaos right before settling them back down into their proper order again, tidier and more sensible than they’d been before she’d gotten started in on them.

And it looked like she was still prepared to do that, even after she was gone, and the whole world had turned upside down.

Sirius had been held by the Ministry for a week after it all happened, held on suspicion for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles.  “Twelve Muggles” -- that was how they were referred to in the papers, that was how they were known; twelve nameless Muggles lost in addition to fucking Peter, an afterthought to the story for everyone else it seemed, though not for him.  Sirius, at least, would remember their names, even if the rest of his world had never bothered to learn them in the first place.  The fact that he’d been cleared hadn’t changed that; the fact that twelve people had died on that street and not thirteen hadn’t changed that.

The revelation that Peter Pettigrew had faked his own death had caused an uproar across the Wizarding World, but still it hadn’t changed the fact that only Sirius knew the names of the other people who’d died.

It was hard to forget the names of people you’d been falsely accused of murdering, after all.  And even after he’d been released, they stuck with him, and he had begun to think they always would, and in a way he welcomed that.  Someone should remember the names of those who’d died, adding them to the list of souls Peter Pettigrew had to account for.

A list that already bore a name it hurt to even think about.

It could have been worse -- for Sirus, that was -- and he knew it.  He’d spent a week in Azkaban before being hauled back to the Ministry, interrogated in a dizzying, horrifying marathon that last over the grueling course of several days before being exonerated and released, sent back out into the harsh light of a world that had gone crazy in his absence.  It had been a horror, but it was manageable -- and it could have been so much worse, without the Longbottoms roaring on his behalf until Crouch caved under the public pressure, permitting a trial he’d initially denied.  So much worse, without James’ testimony that Peter hadn’t been the man they’d thought; that Peter had betrayed them all.

The clearing of his name and his release, all rolled into the overarching drama of Voldemort’s defeat and Lily’s heroic death in defense of her son, had left a half-mad public torn on whether or not to accept Sirius’ innocence even in light of these new revelations.  And many of that public, overwrought and with no idea what to do with themselves now that the war was done and they were free, had decided to express their opinions in writing, and send those opinions directly to Sirius himself to enjoy.

At least by now, with the world slowly sorting itself out again, the Howlers had stopped coming.  That was no small blessing for his nerves, not to mention his temper.

That morning, the morning everything changes again, the only letter which greeted him was from the very last person he would have expected to be sending him -- or anyone, for that matter -- letters, and the familiar handwriting sent a sharp stab of surprised grief shooting through him as he stared incredulously at the letter waiting impatiently for him on his doorstep.  Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose, biting his lip as he reached down to pick it up, kicking the door closed behind him as he turned to make his way back inside.

Morgan was with Fiona that morning, and for once Sirius was grateful of that fact, as he was near weak with shock and almost sick with a roil of emotions he couldn’t name, couldn’t begin to sift through, and he was certain that this, if any, was a morning where the no drinks before noon rule was meant to be broken and that rule wasn’t the sort of thing one broke when alone and in charge of small babies.  Taking the letter into the kitchen he poured himself another cup of coffee; this time filling the cup only halfway before moving to the liquor cabinet and pulling out a bottle of his father’s best brandy and filling the mug the rest of the way with it.  He’d had toast in, and he slapped it on a plate absently, leaving it on the counter as he lit a cigarette and came over to the table, staring at the letter.

Lily --

It hurt, thinking of her; hurt more to think how much time he’d spent lost in a haze of love and guilt and jealousy, unable to untangle his friendship with her and his love for Lils, the girl who’d given him hell from the first day he’d met her, back on the train to Hogwarts a lifetime ago, from his intense feelings of jealousy toward the beautiful, happily smiling woman who’d married James, the man that Sirius loved.  His friend, his Lils, the gorgeous girl who’s stolen his James out from under him; one in the same --

But even that wasn’t fair, not really. 

Not when he and James had made no promises to each other and Sirius had held no claim on him.  Not when it had only been an extension of their friendship, just a thing that happened sometimes, when they were drunk at first but then sometimes when they were sober too, after that, never as much as Sirius wanted but enough to make him need more, to want more though he’d never been able to bring himself to ask for it, to let on how much it meant to him, how much James meant to him.

Not when Sirius had known, had fucking known that James was going to grow up and get married and have a family, a wife and children and everything good and normal that wasn’t anything Sirius had to offer.

Not when Lily had loved James every bit as much as Sirius had loved him, and James had loved her in return.

Not when Lily had never even known.

“Fuck, Lils.”

He takes a long swallow from his mug, the brandy-laced coffee burning his throat as he finally reaches for the envelope, quietly opens it and tries to steel himself for what he’ll find inside.

The coffee’s gone, and so’s half the bottle of brandy, by the time he finally manages to get a call in to Remus that afternoon to tell him to prepare himself to be drafted as the official co-chairman of the unpack-your-shit-Prongsy committee, the first meeting of which should be starting anytime now.

He still hasn’t eaten, the toast long since forgotten, but he’s had another shower and scrubbed away the last traces of tears, and he’s got Lily’s letter memorized now, the words seared into his mind, onto his heart, and he can hear them in her voice, like she’s standing at his shoulder, whispering into his ear.  So strongly can he feel her there with him in that moment that he’s almost surprised when he turns around and the room is empty, when there’s no one there but him.  And for a moment the confusion that’s swirled around Lily in his mind these past few years is gone; the jealousy, the regret, the guilt for being jealous in the first place are all, for the moment, set aside, leaving nothing more than the love for his friend and his grief at losing her.

“I’m sorry, Lils,” he murmurs quietly into a room that doesn’t feel as empty as it is, speaking to Lily as he waits for James to call, and when James does -- not more than a half hour later, just as the letter had said he would -- Sirius will be all smile and energy even though it’s hard, remembering finally to get some food in him, showing up with Remus and some beers and several large pizzas.

“I’m sorry everything got so fucked up, and that I didn’t figure out how to deal with it better, and that . . . that I can’t remember the last time I told you I loved you and that I never got over him while you were alive and fuck, Lils, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry you died and I wasn’t there to help you.”

He closes his eyes, willing back tears, though he’ll wash his face one more time before leaving, just to be sure there’s no hint of if left to worry James later.

“But . . . maybe I can help you now.  I owe you that, Lils.  Fuck, I owe you.”

He bites his lip, takes a slow, deep breath, and reaches out, touching the letter one more time even though he doesn’t need to see it to know what’s written there, and in a voice almost too quiet to hear, lost in the still house and the waiting silence, adds his own post script with a soft, sad sigh.

“I miss you, too.”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Genesis 2/31

Previous chapters -  One

Genesis

AllyinthekeyofX

Two

Georgetown. Washington D.C. 7:06p.m.

Mulder found himself to be so preoccupied with his thoughts, that on opening the double doors which led in to Scully's apartment building, he failed to see the female who, at the exact same moment, was exiting. They collided heavily, and he suddenly found himself looking directly in to the angry blue eyes of his partner. Judging by her statement she had been about to give him a piece of her mind, but on realising who he was, her mouth closed abruptly.

"Mulder? ... what are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home."

Mulder waved the file at her.

"I need to show you something."

Scully groaned as she identified the tagged brown cover of a 'visiting' case file.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm kind of in a hurry right now."

"A date?" Mulder asked irrelevantly, trying to delay the moment for as long as possible.

Scully smirked at him and folded her arms across her chest.

"Yeah, a date. With my mother. Which..." she checked her watch, "I'm currently running twenty three minutes behind for, and if you don't get out of my way I'm going to miss out on entirely."

Mulder made no move to allow her past, and as she looked intently at him, Scully felt the first impressions that something was wrong, nervous tension caused butterflies to break out inside of her, fluttering within her as her expression became guarded.

"Mulder, what is it?"

Her unease only intensified as her partner failed to respond, just stared down at her, the dilemma written clearly across his face. He spoke only when the tension between them became such that Scully could almost hear both of their heartbeats.

"Not here."

He turned the corner which led to Scully's apartment, and waited impatiently as she withdrew the keys for the door from her pocket, noticing how her hand shook as she fitted the key in to the lock. After what seemed like hours, she swung the door open and gestured him inside, following him in and slamming it shut behind her. Mulder flinched at the sound. Scully faced him accusingly.

"Whatever this is about Mulder, it had better be good," she warned.

Mulder crossed the room and picked up the telephone. He handed it to her.

"Call your mother," he advised. "Tell her you can't make it."

"What?.....Why?"

The exasperation was evident in her voice, and Mulder held up his hand to silence her, a conciliatory gesture which indicated to Scully that he was aware that he was making a mess of things.

Sighing heavily, she backed down and accepted the proffered phone from him, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she waited for the call to connect.

As she greeted her Mother, Mulder used the time to get himself under control, wishing he felt more confident that he was indeed doing the right thing, that in coming here he was serving her best interests. He glanced around the familiar surroundings, recalling the time he had spent here in the past. He had always felt comfortable here, the open space and layout of the rooms a direct contrast to his own cramped apartment.

Scully took great care of her home and Mulder had never come here to find it anything other than neat and organised.

Tonight was no exception. The setting sun's rays danced brightly on the white walls, lending everything a bright, rosy glow. It was a place to relax in, to unwind after a hard day. It represented all that was positive about his partner, gave him valuable insight as to what she was like underneath the professional, tough facade she wore like a suit of armour. Her femininity manifested itself here more than anywhere else both in the decor and the layout.

He had been surprised when he had first had cause to come here, beginning to recognise her not merely as his partner, a scientist, but as a woman in her own right, living a life outside of work which he knew nothing about. Somehow, it made what he was about to relate to her all the more difficult.

"So are you going to tell me what's so important I had to cancel my evening or do I have to guess?"

Scully sat down opposite him and clasped her hands in front of her, crossing her legs as she regarded him quizzically.

Mulder took a deep breath, uttering a silent prayer as he did so.

"I came across an unsolved case amongst the batch that arrived today. It involves the disappearance of a small child out of San Diego. An old colleague of mine sent it out to me in the hope we could add some insight on to what may have happened to her."

He paused, trying to find the right words.

"Her mother has alleged that it may be kidnapping, although there's no evidence of that being the case."

Scully raised an eyebrow, the confusion evident on her face.

"A kidnapping? You're not interested in kidnappings, Mulder."

"I'm interested in this one. I'm pretty sure you will be too."

He reached forward and handed the file to her.

"Here. See for yourself."

Scully frowned as she turned over the first page, eyes moving rapidly across the text as she absorbed the words. The bewilderment all too patently displayed across her features as she struggled to comprehend why Mulder had singled out this case amongst the thousands of children who disappeared every year. She could see nothing in this which would warrant their involvement.

She advanced a page forwards and froze, mouth dropping open as she slowly lifted her head to gaze uncomprehending at her partner. The colour had all but drained from her face, so rapidly had the transformation taken place, that Mulder had been almost able to see it happen.

"Emily . . ." Scully whispered in a voice which was barely audible.

Mulder quickly got up and joined her on the couch, gently prying the folder away from her fingers which were locked on to it rigidly. He placed it behind him and turned back to Scully.

"No," he corrected carefully. "Not Emily. You know that can never be."

Scully focused on his face, responding to the compassion that was evident in his tone as she struggled with the emotion raging inside of her.

"Then who . . ." She trailed off as Mulder laid his hand over hers.

"You know who she is. Just as you know who Emily was, and how she came to be."

He watched her attentively as she digested the information. He had never expected that this day would come, had never foreseen that more children equivalent to Emily had been born. He should have accepted that this was at best a futile hope, that someday more evidence of what had transpired would come to the fore. He had prayed that the day would come later rather than sooner, but it was here, and he couldn't disregard the consequences any longer.

Scully shook her head numbly, and she pulled her hand away from Mulder, rising from her seated position suddenly. Her eyes appeared alarmingly blank as she spun around, away from Mulder, heading for the kitchen.

"Shit." He muttered, heading after her.

He discovered her at the table, shoulders shaking as she cradled her head in her hands.

"Scully . . ." he ventured uncertainly.

She did not acknowledge him, and Mulder ran his hand through his hair, questioning himself over how to react to her. He understood her pain, but was equally aware that her reaction would only serve to precipitate that pain. He crossed the floor and came to a halt in front of the cabinet. Reaching down he removed a bottle of Brandy and a glass, then as an afterthought added another one, opening the bottle and pouring liberal amounts of the liquor in to each. He picked them up and set one on the table in front of his partner, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her.

"Scully."

No response.

He extended his hand and carefully drew her hands away from her face. With the other he pushed the brandy towards her.

"Drink some of this."

She eyed the glass's contents warily.

"Do it, Scully. It'll help," he advised.

Slowly, Scully wrapped her shaking hands around the glass, but was unable to still the trembling sufficiently to bring the glass to her lips.

Mulder recognised that in this situation at least, he had to take charge. Removing the glass from her, he set it down on the table before walking around the table and hunkering down beside her. Raising his own drink to her lips he inclined the glass just adequately enough so that she was able to take some of the liquid.

She swallowed heavily and the action brought about a storm of coughing as the unaccustomed alcohol burned her throat. When the sound abated however, Mulder was at least gratified to observe that she appeared to be more in control, that the shock to her system was lessening.

"I'm sorry, Mulder . . ."

"Ssshhh. It's OK. I half expected this. You don't need to apologise to me, you know that."

Scully gazed in to his face, and not for the first time realised how lucky she was to have him for a partner . . . and as a friend. She squeezed his hand.

"Thanks."

He smiled up at her.

"No problem."

Scully took a deep breath.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked shakily.

Mulder got to his feet.

"I'm flying out to San Diego tonight. I'll call you when I get there."

"What do you mean you'll call me?"

Mulder shook his head.

"I don't think that it's such a good idea for you to come with me right now. Not until I have a better idea as to what's happening out there . . ."

"No way," Scully said vehemently.

Then, she let her voice soften slightly.

"I know why you're doing this, that you're trying to protect me. But I need to go there, Mulder, I have to. I owe it to myself . . . and I owe it to Emily. Please understand that."

Mulder let his gaze settle on the window, watching his own refection as he struggled to find the right words to make her understand.

"I just . . . I don't want to see you get hurt all over again, and I'm afraid that if you come down there with me, it will become inevitable. I don't think you're ready for that. Not after everything you've been through."

Scully rubbed her fist across her eyes, grinding the last residue of tears from them. She recognised and appreciated Mulders concerns, but this was the one time when her feelings towards her partner were not going to get in the way.

"I'm fine. I'll *be* fine. And I am going to San Diego. With or without you"

Her eyes challenged him to argue further, and Mulder knew that he was beaten. That she would follow her own path regardless of his reasoning to the contrary, and if she so chose, she was more than capable of doing it without him by her side. He wasn't prepared to let that happen.

"I'll book you a seat." He conceded wearily.

Continued chapter 3

[mechagalaxy]

Ringo and Chrono

Mountain Climbing Mecha Combat

Brought to you by ANN, A Newschannell for Mecha Combat

Highlighting the July 3320 King Chrono

interview John Ringo #899287

Back on K2. I had almost forgotten how high that top was, and how hard the opposition was. Sixteen opponents, ranging from 26 to 81 levels above me and outmassing me 585 to 1180 tons.

But as this was a Chrono, I followed my usual routine. Get there early and have good positions when the (early) snapshots are taken. This time it worked pretty well. Quite a few of the others were late to arrive, so I ended up sixth in my first try. Still a bronze, but some bragging rights as well. Those who got most points on their mountaintops and earned Gold, Nephilax and REAL bragging rights this time were:

Div 1 (21 players): Fabio Favaro, Fusion (+13420) Div 2 (17 players): Mark K Penner, Zeon (+16260) Div 3 (32 players): German Jaramillo, Northwind Dragons (+27920) Div 4 (28 players): Steve Nanning, Zeon (+23070) Div 5 (24 players): Justin Bertelli, Phoenix (+5290) Div 6 (31 players): Jack Travis, Phoenix (+2480) Div 7 (22 players): Richard Ward, Knights of Chaos (+8580) Div 8 (32 players): John Ringo, Emerald Dragons (+15250) Div 9 (24 players): Roy Cristofer, M.P.A. `Squad B`s (+1810) Div 10 (18 players): Stug Hill, 144th Caissan Light Cavallery (+14340) Div 11 (3 players): Elmer_Fudd, Politically Incorrect (+42130) Div 12 (2 players): growol, INA Acadamy (+43460)

Total participants: 254, Total Medals: 155 (of 180 Possible)

Again a lack of players in the two lowest divisions, this time 20 bronzes and 5 silvers went unclaimed. Is it to short time between the climbs?

It was a short Chrono, and those who got in early had an even bigger advantage than normal. With only 64 scorerounds, joining up after 16 have passed leaves a lot to cover. It also ended early, but even so the winners in at least ten of the divisions was apparant hours before the end.

Zeon and Phoenix both managed to land two Golds this time, no unaligned Goldwinners, and Elmer_Fudd from Politically Incorect got his second Gold in a row.

There was a New Climb anounced shortly after the end of the chrono, Timing was again short, but I went looking for an intervee. As luck would have it I met another reporter and recent winner. John Ringo (#899287) was busy, but we scheduled time for an interview in his office for later.

At the appointed time I was allowed into his sanctuary. GG had certainly spared no expenses in letting their newest intern be focused. In the spacious 800 cubic feet office everything was a subtle reminder of the tasks at hand. From the desktop made of Fury Laser casings, the visitors couch as a field stretcher. His own chair was a relic from before the Red Ant cockpit upgrade, and his shelves looked to be made from the missile storage of Double Mordrems.

Now, if his coworkers were of the booze stealing variant, I had brought just the thing; Snavrumian Brandy. The smell and taste is so vile that even Boris and Keikko refuse to be in the same room as an opened bottle, and would rather get sober than drink it.

Presenting it to him with some anecdotes from when my coworkers were emptying my liquer cabinet, and dire warnings of the smell and taste, we opened some beers and sat down for a relaxed talk.

John Ringo Hi Sten. Thanks for stopping by for the interview.

Sten Hugo Hiller Congratulations on a well deserved new Nephilax. You started your career back in `95. First mention I find of you in the CW records is alongside Robot`s Revenge in 96. In 97 they got Incorporated into AFF and you was in warious AFF units and got two CW Golds until you left for Dragon Training 2 in 04. When you left them for Arcane sanctuary in `10 you had gotten two more CW Golds. Then was a short stint in Project Mecha in`13 and back to Arcane sanctuary in `14. In `15 you were back among the Dragons, and have claimed another 3 CW Golds alongside them. Are you wandering days over now, or are you still looking for distant pastures and other companions?

John Ringo After some time in AFF I was asked to join Scott Abbott and help form a new family of clans that we now all know as the Dragons. My first job was to take on the command role in DT2 and help develop our lower level pilots. From there I was moved into Arcane Sanctuary and Project Mecha as needed to help develop some of our mid level Dragon pilots. Now I am in a command role for one of our mid level front line units. So while it might not look like it I have not been wandering I have just been moving around as needed with in our clan family of clans.

Sten Hugo Hiller While the CW Golds rolled in, you were less successful in the KOTMs, in fact it took you two decades before you got your first win there in the August `15 Mountain of Fire. Since then you certainly picked up the pace, and this was your 11th Gold?

John Ringo Yes as a young pilot I made some mistakes as I was learning the ropes and it cost me fighting against veteran pilots in my first KotMs. Then for a number of years I only entered when there was a quest given by the Craftsmen for so many medals in a row etc. Now I am back better geared and seeing what I can make of myself. Yes this last event was my 11th Gold win.

Sten Hugo Hiller All Golds are impressive feats. Your perhaps greatest moment of glory was in `16 when you won three Golds in a row. What Gold is most special for you. The first, the last, the next or some other?

John Ringo Every Gold medal feels good. There are a lot of tough pilots to face off against each event so getting that Gold is always special. If I had to pick my favorite it would have to be winning 3 in a row. That was crazy hard winning the 3rd on a double Gold bump against pilots 30+ levels larger than I was.

Sten Hugo Hiller Yes, as I said an impressive feat, especially since some of them was more than twice your level. If we get back to your latest win. It was the first unlimited Gold you got. Are the limited formats more to your liking?

John Ringo I enjoy most of the formats for KotM - Chrono is one of my least favorite as I often have to many things that need my attention to make sure I can stay high up on the rankings for the needed points. I do really enjoy a good unlimited brawl though. Sometimes it is great to have everyone bring their best and throw down and see who wins. I do think that some of the limited ton events help smaller level pilots have a chance at another Gold if they are on a Gold bump. Fighting in an unlimited event when you are in a division or two higher then your normal one makes it extra hard to place against the larger pilots unlimited formations.

Sten Hugo Hiller I might have noticed that a time or two myself. When it comes to the limited formats, they tend to be lumped in broad groups. One of them is the Rainbows. You have three Golds in double Rainbow, and none in single or triple. Coincidence, or are the formats more different than most think?

John Ringo I will enter any format. For me it is just a matter of do I have the time to compete or not. Sometimes if you do not have the time you can enter and then hope you are strong enough to hold your place and camp a medal. Most of the time at the level I am at this will not work and if you can't actively fight you will not place.

Sten Hugo Hiller Seem to be that way all over, exept perhaps in div 11 and 12 where medals seem to mostly go unclaimed. Another broad type of limited is the weapontypes. You have won some fire events. Are they a favorite of yours?

John Ringo Yes fire events can be lots of fun. Everyone likes it when they score a coveted "Ignite" on a foes mech *Smile*

Sten Hugo Hiller The last broad event is weightlimit. You have wins there as well, both in Point and Frontline. When it comes to weightlimit, do you prefer max weight or mechtype, say max 25ton or Hoplite?

John Ringo I like them both. It can be difficult to buy and maintain a full formation for all the mech type events though. Pilots who are short on resources can have better luck fighting in a weight-limit event.

Sten Hugo Hiller Ah, yes the resource situation. Many have mentioned that getting the needed resorces, especially crystal and ferrite, was getting harder. How are you set, feeling the pinch or have the successes in the circuits kept you affluent?

John Ringo Right now I have enough to keep up. Once I unlock the next class of mech that could all change. I figure you can never have to many Crystals or Niodes so I will keep working hard to grow my stash.

Sten Hugo Hiller Niodes are a different kind of kettle, although as a writer you get to pick up some for articles and interviews. You have been around since there was 25 medals in the KOTMs, how do you view the reduction to 15?

John Ringo Most of the time you try to take rule changes in stride and evolve how you play to win. The smaller amount of medal places has increased activity for most of the events and that can make things more exciting. When I do not have time to actively fight in an event then I miss the extra medal places as it would increase my chance of at least camping a Bronze *Smile*

Sten Hugo Hiller You stated that you will participate in any events, provided you have the time. If you were to design a new KOTM, what would you chose?

John Ringo A reverse progressive pileup event could be interesting

Sten Hugo Hiller From your lips to the Developers ears. Your success in getting KOTM Golds proves your knowlegde is good when it comes to what mechs, weapons and equipment a would-be-Goldwinner should aquire. The fact that you are commander of a Dragon unit just gives it added weight. So, without giving away to many secrets, any recomendations?

John Ringo Well I would tell newer pilots to be very careful how you spend your niodes. Try to get full formations for the different Kotm/CW specalty formations - Crystal mechs are better than no mechs. Then pick something you want to be really good at and focus on developing that aspect. Say you want to have a strong 20T formation, then you can invest your extra resources there and win more of those events as unless you can spend real money in this game it is very hard to be great at everything. Also as this is just a game do not let your defeats get you down. Just have fun *Smile*

Sten Hugo Hiller Thank you for that sound advice. Now, I notce the sixpacks are empty and the time you alotted me are up. Any final words?

John Ringo I would like to thank everyone who enters Kotm and CW. The more pilots in these events the more fun it is. I also want to thank all the pilots who are stronger than I am. You keep setting the bar high and gives me something to work on and reach for. Thanks for your time today Sten. I enjoyed your visit.

And off I went. Time to get this article posted, and he surely had better things to do than sit in his office.

Upcoming Event: Limited Tonnage Bring whatever mechs, equippped as you like. But watch the total weight allowed by your division. Bringing in more will result in officials redlining your mechs, leaving gaping holes in the formations.

Event ends March 4 between 2100 and 2200 New York Time.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Patronizing the New Shop 08/20

Luke Gravespast was bent over some spread papers, the door opening barely registering until there was a voice.  And then he twitched his lips, a glance over his shoulder - there were no apprentices or keeps (yet, maybe?) and it was just Luke tending the floor of the almost homey place.  "-You ain't dead," he said in greeting, standing up and shuffling his papers into an ordered stack, looking Lebeaux over, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Lebeaux Desrosiers flashed the saintly smile in the direction he heard noises and soon after a familiar blonde head popped up. The medic extended his long arms outwards to show he was very much alive and in one piece before they folded over his chest again. “See, we nearly had a pleasant moment until you opened your mouth.” He teased flatly. “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I’m sure you’re thrilled. Though that would explain why you’ve not been around the Tradehouse lately."

Luke gave a polite almost grin of a smile, hands folded under his arms in a manner that was at least consistent with how he held himself.  "Ain't heard much from t' boss lady except on a job I wouldn't touch with a ten fulm polearm, so's been mostly keeping myself in regular work." He sounded pained to admit that Lebeaux was one of his better connections for well-paying work.  "And I were movin' in," he added, lightly scratching the side of his jaw at the trimmed beard.  Which then led to a slight frown, one shoulder riding, before he made a gesture to the set-for-company couches.  "Y' want a seat, I c'n make you somethin' t' drink up." Manners dictated he was even required to control the brow twitch that Lebeaux had shown up on his doorstep...

“Ohh? You’ve turned down a job from the Proprietress herself?” Lebeaux mused as he looked around the shop. “I see you’re still moving in. It’s really quite… quaint.” He removed his hat and held it out towards the other as Luke made the mistake of inviting him in and making himself comfortable. The rule of vampires also extended to pompous elezen. “Tea or brandy, preferably both if you have it.” He glanced over the seating options, perhaps looking for the one least likely to transfer dust or dirt to his coat. “What was the job that was worth the risk of burning your shaky bridge with her?”

"I didn't turn -down- a job, jus' lettin' someone else pick it up.." Luke idly waved a hand, sounding almost amused. "Besides, information ain't what I do, aye?  Let the folks who handle tha' work handle tha'." It wasn't turning it DOWN it was making sure he didn't TOUCH it - exactly the best place to be in.  And while the rule of vampires extended, that required someone to know them... Garleans didn't really have those traditions. "Wh-" He saw that held out hat and took it, adding it to the half-partition and setting it there for safe keeping.  "I c'n do both fer y', sit down, if y' want," he added with a wave to the seating again.

Lebeaux sniffed in amusement. “She asked you. For information.” Well that was certainly rich. “She has several competent brokers, I can’t fathom why she would turn to you.” He smiled as he opted for one of the seats nearby, settling himself primly onto it. “Unless it was the sort of thing you would have more expertise in. I doubt it would be something so simply as locksmithing or patching up a faulty stove.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does it have anything to do with your side project, I wonder?”

"Open call~" Luke clarified, the man getting tea down and sniffing the water like he was checking it before starting to heat the water up, picking herbs out.  It was time to remind Lebeaux that he was supposed to be a hick. "Still workin' on that project but slowly gettin' everything set up t' be able to resume working on it." Hopefully by the tone Lebeaux would read 'and you're not invited to see the facilities either' but he wasn't going to hold his breath with this Elezen. While he measured out the tea, Luke kicked open a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of what one would have to presume was brandy, kicking the cabinet closed again. He couldn't check to see if he was doing a decent hick impression or a little too much, quite yet.

“Ah, I see. Well there may be hope for you yet, then.” Lebeaux offered cheerfully. “Ignoring an open call isn’t quite the same as turning down a job offered to you directly.” The elezen looked around at the surrounding furniture, deciding it was still new enough not to be too terribly saturated with residual ‘country’. He shifted his attention back to Luke, smiling serenely all the while. “Oh, good. That brings me to one of the reasons I’ve decided to drop by. It’s somewhat related to your own project, in fact you may have some familiarity as a byproduct of your own research.”

Luke snorted as he took the water off boil, tipped his finger in the air a few times until the boiling stopped, and then poured it over the tea.  For a backwater he could at least make tea well?  It was all down to the leaves now!  "Oh yeah, ain't dumb 'nough t' ever do tha'," he said with an eyeroll, keeping that from Lebeaux.  Because he was more than once or twice tempted for his jobs...  The furniture hadn't hit 'lived in' look, still near new. Not the country.  "An'... wha' reason would tha' be," he said with just a tad bit of hesitation, a furrow of his brows as he grabbed cups, and something that looked like a wood tea tray to load things up on.  "I'm cautiously ears..."

Lebeaux waited patiently for his tea, smiling in his best approximation of ‘warm and friendly’ all the while. Even if his icy eyes did narrow slightly as he observed the method in which the tea was prepared. “If I recall your ramblings correctly, you were on about a project to combine the means of aether manipulation along with magitek.” His hands raised as long fingers curled to gesture several things coming together, apparently feeling it would help clarify what he meant to the other. “I would be interested in rather the reverse. A magitek device to disrupt aether.” He separated his hands and splayed fingers wide. “To limit or entirely prevent casting within a designated area.”

Luke set the tray down, sliding the brandy bottle over - it was probably brandy, nothing amazing but not rotgut - and a cup of tea to Lebeaux.  "Y' want..." His expression looked almost wildly concerned at that, sliding himself a cup of tea and setting the teapot down, the tray flipped as a little platform for it.  "Why?" Or the read-between-the-lines-question, who.

Lebeaux removed glasses from his jacket pocket and slid them onto his nose as he lifted the bottle offered to him. Making a quiet sound of derision through the nose that said just what he thought of that, though he at least had the decency not to say it out loud. He was a guest after all. “Well. Considering I just laid out what I would like for it to do, the ‘why’ should be rather obvious, Luke.” He said flatly, smiling all the while. He accepted the cup of tea and took a small sip to taste it before he added a generous splash of the brandy. The brew he at least approved of. “I would like to limit or prevent casting within a set area.”

Luke was not going to offer Lebeaux the top shelf, if he even could have afforded it.  Only after the man sipped and then augmented his tea did Luke pick his own up, giving it a taste check before hip-leaning against the table since he didn't quite want to sit.  His brows were knit together a little in concern, fiddling with the teacup by spinning it around in his fingers.  "How large?  How long? What type?"

Lebeaux smiled sweetly. Now he was getting it, those were far more acceptable questions. He took a small sip of his fortified tea and nodded his satisfaction. “I would prefer a fifteen to twenty fulm radius from the device. I can work with ten. It will need to be an absolute aether dead zone, no conjury or thaumaturgy or even teleportation. The bit that may be tricky is I would like to be able to activate and deactivate it at will.” Lebeaux took a long sip of the tea and tilted his head as he smiled a bit flatly at Luke. “If you weren’t made aware by the gossip, the damage done to my office was courtesy of a mage. I would like to ensure there is no chance of a repeat performance.”

Luke exhaled slightly, a short chuff of air as he breathed out.  "You wan' t' be able to turn it on an' off a few times, or... how fast?  Y' want a..." He drank the tea again, muttering under his breath and eyes narrowed.  "That's not... uh... usually allowed stuff, y' know?"

Lebeaux lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I realize this is quite a tall order and not the sort of thing one would come across in the markets or salvage yards.” He noted calmly, the smile growing somewhat over the edge of the cup. “I’m sure you’re already aware that much of what the Golden Fox deals in isn’t quite ‘allowed stuff’. Yet considering your interest in the field you seemed the best candidate to run my problem by. I have looked into arcanima and warding, yet that would require a more permanent effect.”

Luke shifted on his feet, slowly twisting the cup of tea again in his fingers, his expression something that was more than a little conflicted but also interested.  "I... am, aye, an' jus' makin' sure you know that this could... get y' a bit of attention.  You say you don't wan' permanent... somethin' like this might... need stuff laid out 'r down at least?"

Lebeaux tilted his head as he considered it. “Some accommodations may be made to ensure its efficiency. I’ll not have my rooms tangled in wire and cable but I can surely make adjustments as the remodeling is done should minor changes be necessary.” He smiled, his head still tilted as he peered at the smith. “Which part of it would draw attention? Acquiring materials, fabrication, installation?”

Luke shifted on his feet as he considered, fingers tapping against his arms as he mapped it out mentally. "...Installation," came the rather quick answer, a twitch of his mouth as he continued to think. "Problem's s'more in the matter of the fact if y' want it concealed, gonna need t' be careful on how it's put inta place." He scratched the stubble on his jaw, eyes narrowed at Lebeaux.  "I c'n get away wit' tha materials rather easy, s'fine fer me.  You?  Gonna shine yer nose inta the wrong places if y' do it.  So gonna have t' put tha fabrication all on me fer tha' an' acquirin' s'well."

Lebeaux straightened up far enough to have a sip of tea. “In that case I have no choice but to defer to your expertise in matters of acquisition as well as design. Surely your estimate and quote will reflect accordingly. As well as a consideration towards keeping the matter between us.” He smiled serenely and this time tilted in a small mock-bow. “There is a budget limit, should we come too close or exceed it I’ll simply have to return to my standard method of breaking or removing the fingers of mages who irk me.” He suggested cheerfully.

@glowinggunmetal