#marillenschnaps

[whoreofbabylonofficial]

diese spezifische sorte kuchen + kaffee trinken + kette rauchen

[quackity1999]

i think you'd like something with 2 parts Cointreau, 2 parts lime juice, 1 parts Marillenschnaps, bit of Angostura bitters, twisted lemon peel garnish, grind a leaf or two of mint with a pestle in the glass. Top it off with a bit of soda. have it with some dark chocolate. you're explosive like that, pure combustion in the block. i'll call it the Charrería if it doesn't turn out tasting like shit!

better send that off to one of our bartenders. they'll have a fucking blast with it.

[gvladi727]

#switzerland #edelweiss #schnaps #marillenschnaps #liquor #löwen #fiftystonewhiskey (at Bürglen) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cac37sytlle/?utm_medium=tumblr

[morgenlich]

researching what liquors are popular in austria for fic writing purposes and just remembering how one of my main impressions of vienna was that Czech beers were advertised more than Austrian……

[wander-yet-wonder]

State of Dreaming

Roderich is reunited with his husband as he returns from the new world. Not really tied to a specific expedition but food, music and clothing are all historically accurate. This is partially me just wanting to write some passionnate SpAus, and partially reflecting on how Austria's perception of the world being perfect when he's with Antonio being the actual illusion instead of the waking up. Notes at the end! Lemon Word count: 2671

AO3: x

How could there exist a world beyond those green eyes? So vivacious and always filled with the promise of danger… Or was it excitement? Roderich had never really been able to discern between the two. He couldn’t follow whenever Antonio sailed across the world. Adventure didn’t appeal to him that way, it downright terrified him to be on open sea. But his husband was restless, was a wanderer, always looking for the next escape. So, he was left with this fate where when Spain’s ships sailed out the world around him slowed down. It left him standing on watchtowers staring at the horizon until the wind and whipped up seawater had made his lips crack. It left him wondering if he was Calypso, letting Odysseus go or Penelopea, waiting for Odysseus to return. Some days he almost hates him for leaving him so much.

But today! Today, oh happy day! Today he is Demeter, after Persephone returns from the underworld. Antonio picks him out of the crowd waiting at the docks with ease and with one hand pulls him tight against his hip. He kisses him and Roderich just blossoms. Spring has returned.  

Sitting at a celebratory banquet and after having switched from wine to the marillenschnaps he brought all the way from home, Roderich feels his mind returning to him. He’s getting normal again, like he was asleep and dreaming for all the time Antonio was gone.  Lost in strange poetic metaphors about classical antiquity. He and Antonio are holding hands underneath the table and he feels grounded and real and pleasantly drunk.

“I can’t believe you kissed me in front of that crowd.”

Roderich never really fears for his soul when being with Antonio. Before their union he had a long conversation about it with his archbishop. The man had assured him that for creatures like Roderich the bible needed to be read slightly differently. That it prescribed laws for humans and that if Roderich wanted to know how he should live, he should study the holy Jerusalem, the kingdom of god and other holy countries and try to live like them. That meant he had to spread himself over the world, build his imperium and spread Christianity. He felt like his union with Spain was really important to achieve that, so it was a union favoured by God. Also, it was all within the holy office of matrimony. Still kissing in front of a crowd, to whom they appeared like regular humans- that was dangerous. It had made his heart race.

“Did you dislike it?” Antonio looked up from the pork ribs he was eating with his hands, kind of resembling a dog with a bone.

“No… It was exciting.” Roderich looked away with a shy smile but underneath the table squeezed Antonio’s leg.

That earned him a knowing grin from the other over his bone. They both knew what was coming. It would have to wait a bit longer though. Roderich didn’t mind, the anticipation made it all extra exciting.

It didn’t end with just dinner either, no this was a night for celebrating! Morisco style musicians were brought out, their sweeping rhythms and expert playing almost overwhelming Roderich’s senses. He was educated in the Pythagorean approach to music, mathematical, harmonious. These melodies still kept all that mathematical intricacy but there was something else as well. A deep sweeping urgency that pulled at his body in an almost primal way. Music that was both cerebral and emotional.

“Come Rodrigo- you want to dance I can see it; your entire body seems to be pushed at ahaha!” Antonio was tugging his sleeve trying to get him to the centre of the room.

But Roderich faltered slightly. “I don’t know… I feel like I’m to drunk to properly count the steps- or to remember any Baja Danza…”

Antonio leaned closer to him. “Then don’t. Just dance with me.”

Roderich gasped softly. Dancing without any form? Not a high dance but dancing like a drunk peasant during a farmer’s wedding? It’s not that he didn’t know how good that would feel. He’d been at those celebrations, sung while standing on tables, being an alpine farm boy. But he’d never done it in a royal court. Scandalous – but too exciting to pass up on.

How did Spain always bring out this side of him? He was trying so hard to make everyone see he wasn’t an uncultured Germanic but an actual proper renaissance court. Still he found himself grinning and then an actual laugh bubbled in the back of his throat.

“I see being on a ship so long turned you in an actual sailor, we’re not in a tavern you scoundrel.” He chastised Antonio but was grinning as he held both his hands following him to the dancefloor with every intention of just letting Antonio spin him around until he saw stars.

“I should be careful! I heard sailors are good-for-nothings that’ll make you pretty promises. You’ll probably say you’ll marry me and then leave me with my honour taken from me!” Antonio had looked confused first: “But we’re already marrie- oh.“ but then caught on to the little scenario Roderich was playing out. “Ay, my beauty in a foreign port- dance with me just for one night. My ship leaves tomorrow and I’m a lonely man. Just dancing, I promise no babies will come from it.”

Roderich laughed and let himself be wooed by his dangerous sea captain. He didn’t even stop to think how those words of seduction had come so easily from Antonio, like he’d had a lot of practice using them when staying in his American territories. To him right now Antonio was just a good actor.

They didn’t even need words to agree when they’d steal away to their chambers. Somehow it felt like they were still dancing, it all went so smooth. The hands Antonio uses to lead him around the dancefloor now gently urge him to the bed, sliding lower than appropriate but who cares, they’re alone. He’s laid on his back on the bed and Antonio crawls over him, there’s a moment where Antonio just touches his face, studying him as if he’d deciding whether he’s real. Roderich can’t really tell what the other is really thinking but the next moment he’s kissing him, kissing him with the same hunger with which he’d devoured almost an entire ham that evening. He missed this, his entire body missed this in in an almost visceral way. Everywhere he was touched he could feel lightning shoot trough his skin and God, Spain was touching him everywhere. That was everywhere he could reach, Roderich felt increasingly like his favourite slashed wams that he wore for special occasions was committing a grave offense by still being on his body. Antonio licked his neck and sucked a kiss under his collar and Roderich let go all decorum. With an impatient grunt he rolled up his hips, letting Antonio feel exactly what kind of state he was putting him in. Antonio let out an amazed laugh, it seems that that breaking of decorum was exactly what he wanted to see.

Antonio sat back up and started unbuttoning his doublet. Roderich took this as a sign that he should get out of his own clothes as well. He sat up on his elbows and diligently pulled the knots out of the cords that tied his hoses to his wams but he couldn’t do it without sometimes glancing upwards to see how much of Antonio had been revealed so far. When Antonio let his shirt join his doublet on the floor Roderich abandoned undressing himself in a heartbeat. The moment he saw that lightly toned chest, stained by the South American sun in a caramel colour he’d find unattractive on anybody else, he flew up and kissed it hard. He was taken aback by his own eagerness but it was almost like he was being moved by something outside himself. He trailed sloppy open-mouthed kisses all over him, inhaling his scent, slightly salty and slightly sweaty and oh how he missed it. He sucks down on Antonio’s nipple and is vaguely bemused by how the fine black hairs on his chest brush against his cheek as he does. Above him he hears Antonio moan a curse, followed by the movements of him unlacing his breeches. Undoing the codpiece doesn’t really change much because behind it Antonio is just as firm as the little pouch. Roderich glances down from his ministrations to get a good look at the other’s now bared erection and moves away from his chest.

He's breathing tentatively as they lock eyes for a moment. Without words it’s agreed how to proceed. Roderich wriggles himself out of his breeches while Antonio moves over to the cabinet to retrieve a flask of olive oil disguised amongst scented hair oils. Roderich manages to get himself naked in time and crawls under the heavy wool blankets ready for Antonio to join him.

The other is awkwardly undoing the bows above his knees that are holding up his breeches and stockings while simultaneously walking back over to the bed. It makes him stumble a little, but he manages to get naked by the time he reaches the bed.

“Stop laughing at me Edelstein- I can hear you.” Antonio says in a mock threatening voice. With a sweeping motion he throws back the covers. “And stop hiding, let me look at you I haven’t seen you for so long.” Roderich complies and stretches out his body appealingly, inviting Antonio into the bed with his eyes. When Antonio is in there with him, the covers pulled back up, it feels different. Naked flesh against naked flesh feels intimate. They’re protected by the covers, and the curtains on the bed, in their own little world where no one else can touch them.

They kiss for the first part of it. Just sighing softly into each other and running hands up each other’s sides. Roderich makes sure to get a good handful of the other’s ass as well. It perfectly fills his long hands and Antonio makes a funny angry sound whenever he touches him there. Soon though, they know they can no longer wait. They share a kiss with their crotches pressed firmly together, grinding softly for some much-needed friction when some drops of precum fall from Roderich’s dick onto Antonio’s leg and they exchange a knowing glance. Still breathing heavily Roderich rolls onto his back and lets his legs fall open. Antonio sits over him and with a practiced ease has worked two fingers into him in no time.

Roderich is holding his breath and clutching the sheet but knows he should let both go in order to relax enough for Antonio to take him. Antonio leans down and splays his free hand over Roderich’s abdomen, studying the colour contrast between his caramel coloured hand, roughened up by sea travel and tying ropes, and the milky white softness of Roderich’s stomach. “Hermoso.” He chuckles before curling his fingers trough the small trail of dark hairs and following them downwards. He takes a firm hold of Roderich’s cock and sets a steady rhythm as he tries a third finger. It works like a charm and soon enough Roderich finds himself panting and ready for him.

“Am I dreaming?” He asks with an absent-minded smile as Antonio crawls over him again. “You dream about this when I’m gone?” The way Antonio asks makes it clear that he wants to tease him but Roderich isn’t ashamed to admit it. “Yes, both when asleep and when awake.” He must’ve looked slightly sad because Antonio kisses his temple with a surprising gentleness. “I’m really back.” It’s almost like Antonio is reminding himself instead of Roderich, like he to lived in a state of dreaming and is now back in reality. But it being very different to Roderich’s being consumed by thoughts of Antonio and unable to think of anything else. More like he dreamed an entirely different life where he didn’t think about him at all, and now was woken up and had to remind himself that this was reality.

They’re anchored together again. Antonio pressed hard and firmly inside of him. Roderich inhales sharply but then encourages Antonio in setting a steady rhythm, rocking him like the sea.

Their mouths find each other, the kiss more improvised due to the movement and the gasps and sighs they breath into each other’s mouths. Antonio presses his tongue deep inside of Roderich and Roderich pulls him in with his legs. They’re tightly wrapped around Antonio’s hips and the impatient pulls he uses indicate that Antonio should speed up. Give him more. When the other doesn’t take the hint, he tears himself away from the kiss however delicious it may be to moan. “Please, harder.”

Antonio looks at him wildly appreciative and follows immediately. Every other thrust Roderich can feel Antonio hit something inside of him. He’d never really understood how that worked but whenever he was touched right there, he felt a strange rush of warmth and a pressure in his lower abdomen that just felt so good. He could feel it slowly build until it tipped over the edge- he felt like he was right about to come but it would last so much longer than when he would just touch his cock. Antonio was glancing down at him with a smug look obviously happy to see he was doing this to Roderich. He smirked and sped up making the large four poster bed creak dangerously with his movements. Groaning loudly Roderich grabbed two handfuls of the other’s curls. He made sure Antonio kept the right angle and speed with his legs and rewarded him with the wildly appreciative faces he made. When it finally hit him, he convulsed below Antonio. His load smeared between them and he had to hold onto Antonio’s shoulders like he was holding on to reality. He felt like he was about to faint but Antonio grunting and labouring above him kept him from doing so.

Roderich had unhooked his legs from across Antonio’s hips and let them fall open to the side, which allowed Antonio to sit up a bit more and change his angle. He gripped Roderich’s hips tight and with fast and shallow thrusts slapped their skin together. Roderich was just letting himself fall back into the pillows still reeling, but now being able to look up to Spain just in time to see him smile trough a whimper and feel the hot spurt of semen inside of him. Antonio pulled out before being completely done and sent two more spurts onto Roderich’s already stained stomach and crotch. It was clear Antonio was fighting the urge to just collapse onto Roderich but managed to motivate himself to go and grab a handkerchief to wipe them down a bit. Roderich sure wasn’t moving anywhere, feeling like his legs had Spätzle inside of them instead of bones.

Provisional cleaning was deemed enough by them and Antonio pulled Roderich close against him. Chest against back and cock against ass with a strong protective arm wrapped around him. Roderich didn’t bother with pillow talk, he knew Antonio was out like a light after sex. But he took a moment to look at their intertwined hands in the pale moonlight. Their wedding rings slightly knocking together.

This was the world. This was the whole world. Within these curtains, within these four posters, within these two arms, everything made sense. He knew which way was up, he could see the beautiful intricacy of the way god had crafted the correspondences of the larger world outside them and the smaller world inside them and everything in between. He loved and was loved in return. Antonio was his and only his again, no more being afraid. Food, drink, dancing, music, love. He drifted of to sleep, his chest almost hurting with how incredibly happy he was. This was the world.

[durchquer22u23]

14.7.

Heute soll unsere Tour nur 4 Stunden Gehzeit haben. Wir verabschieden Margarete und Tomas mit Schüttelfrost. Sie steigen ab ins Tal und lassen sich vom Taxi weiter befördern.

Ebenso verabschieden wir uns auch von Nina, die gleich zur Dreischusterhütte weitergeht, um von dort den weiteren Via Alpina für ihr Tourangebot im August zu begehen.

So starten wir drei ganz gemütlich. Der Himmel ist bedeckt, und wir hoffen ohne Regen die Sillianer Hütte zu erreichen.

Wie schon an den Vortragen geht es hinauf auf den Kamm. Entlang an Schützengräben und alten Stellungen gehen wir weiter nach Nordwest.

Unsere Hoffnung, dass es eine gemütliche Tour werden könnte, wird schnell enttäuscht. es geht auf und ab, wir nehmen ein paar kleinere Gipfel mit.

Vor allem aber gibt es immer wieder Stellen, die uns in Bezug auf Steilheit und Exponiertheit fordern. Auch das Wetter macht nicht mit. Es regnet immer wieder etwas, wenn auch nicht heftig.

Die ganze Zeit versuche ich mich an die Tour 1996 zu erinnern. Mehr als ein Gefühl schon mal dagewesen zu sein, ist da allerdings nicht.selbstBilder, die mir mein Bruder Christoph schickt, helfen nicht viel, abgesehen von der Erkenntnis, dass ich gealtert bin.

Auf der Hütte angekommen, wird das Wetter wieder schön. Allerdings habe auch bald Schüttelfrost. Nach einem Mittagsschlaf und einem leckeren Himbeer-Mohnkzchen ging es mir etwas besser. Eugen geht schließlich mit Erkältungsgefühl und Ibuprofen früh ist Bett.

Martin und ich sitzen mit xx, die auf der Hütte arbeitet, noch etwas länger. Sie erzählt aus ihrem Leben: erfolgreiche Diplomstatistikerin macht eine Winzerlehre, fährt mit dem Fahrrad durch Schweden, Norwegen, Schettlands, Schottland und Irland, geht 22 Jahre nach Südfrankreich und baut dort Wein an und arbeitet jetzt auf während der Saison auf der Sillianer Hütte. Ihre Weinempfehlungen werde ich zurück in Hamburg probieren. Der Abend endet wie auch meine erste Tour am Karnischen Höhenweg 1996 mit einem Marillenschnaps. Es folgt eine unruhige Nacht.

Wie immer mehr unter

[stammtischmarswiese]

Juni 2022 - Großes Schutzhaus Rosental

Nachdem wir beim Mai-Stammtisch schon den 14. Bezirk beehren durften, führte uns der Juni-Stammtisch erneut nach Penzing. Dieses Mal auf den Satzberg, oberhalb des Dehneparkes und gleich neben den Steinhofgründen gelegen, ins große Schutzhaus Rosental.

Am Rande der Großstadt werden die Gäste laut Homepage seit 1904 mit klassischer und gepflegter österreichischer Küche bewirtet. 2018 wurde das Schutzhaus neu übernommen und renoviert. Im Innenbereich des Schutzhauses gibt es jetzt einen Hochzeitssaal, der allerdings vom Design her eher an eine Jugo-Disko erinnert. Ansonsten gibt es noch einen urigen Raum im klassischen Schutzhaus-Look.

Wir saßen bei herrlichem Wetter und 24 Grad auf der Terrasse und durften den herrlichen Weitblick Richtung 13. Bezirk genießen. Als Speisen wurden ausgelöstes Backhendl, Cordon-Bleu, Hühnerschnitzel, Solo-Spargel und Apfelstrudel mit Vanillesauce ausgewählt. Es gab wenig auszusetzen – stabile und gute Wiener Küche. Fassbier gab es von Starobrno und Gösser.

Unser derzeit jüngstes Stammtisch-Mitglied, Baby J aka Jonathan Rosinger, feierte sein Stammtisch-Debut. Neu-Papa Rosi lud die Runde als Einstand auf eine Runde Zirbenschnaps ein.

Die Kellner waren nett, es hätte das eine oder andere allerdings ein bisschen schneller serviert werden können. Auf die zum Cordon bestellten Pommes vom MC wurde vergessen. Dies wurde allerdings durch 6 cl Schnäpse (statt der üblichen 2 cl) wieder gut gemacht.

Zur Sperrstunde um 22.00 Uhr setzte sich der Kellner noch 2 Minuten zu uns, und lud die Runde auf einen Marillenschnaps ein. Ein schönes Ende.

Um 22.15 setzte dann ein heftiges Gewitter ein, was den Stammtisch endgültig auflöste. Alle eilten, schon leicht angetropft, nach Hause.

Ein gelungener Juni-Stammtisch. (Der Bürgermeister)

Es werden diesmal 4 von 5 Wildschweinen vergeben

Fazit: - sehr schöner Weitblick - Spielplatz für Kinder vorhanden - die Speisen waren sehr solide

https://www.schutzhaus-rosental.at/

Anwesend: MC, Amici, Floh, Amber, Rosi, Jonathan R., Alina, Ursi, Leni, Alex

[toloud]

Kein bock mehr mich in der Kneipe über den Bundestag und den neusten Marillenschnaps zu unterhalten

[mchanzoprompts]

Truth or Dare

If one were to judge from the wreckage strewn across the rec room, the party was a clear and absolute success. In one corner, the Christmas tree technically still stood, albeit listing in its base in a way that suggested the vibrations from one good footstep would send it toppling. It was altogether fortunate that the decorations were made entirely of extruded plastic in appropriately festive colors and glitter-painted craft foam because no one had wanted to risk destroying Reinhardt’s antique blown glass ornaments that he’d had shipped in from Germany. Two dozen strands of lights hung from the ceiling, some colored, some white, along with half a hundred snowflakes cut from white construction paper, all of them dangling from not particularly well disguised wads of industrial strength epoxy. Some of them were even still working, casting a gentle glow over the proceedings taking place below.

  Angela had given the entire affair her tacit blessing by sighing heavily and absenting herself from the rec room with a pot of tea and the hardbound copy of The Collected Works of O. Henry that she found under the tree some hours earlier. Hana and Lucio were curled up together in a fort built out of all the furniture cushions and an assortment of blankets filched from stores; the action in the rec center’s holotank showed they were still awake but the relative silence suggested they had their headphones on. Lena and Emily had given up some time before and retired to their quarters, leaning heavily on one another in order to keep to their feet. Fawkes and Rutledge vanished at some point, with Mei and Zarya in tow, all four giggling drunkenly in a manner that boded perilous for some innocent piece of machinery somewhere in the Watchpoint. Reinhardt lay in the middle of the floor some feet away, half-buried in the detritus of orgiastic gift-opening, head pillowed on a stack of eye-searingly hideous sweaters, snoring thunderously under the influence of his failure at a succession of increasingly ridiculous dares. Genji and Zenyatta were off somewhere canoodling in a manner that everyone would politely mistake for meditation because absolutely no one, even in the heat of a cutthroat game of Truth or Dare or Drink, wanted to take the step of asking either of those two how they actually went about having sex.

  The table was covered in empty or near-empty bottles: a ten year old bottle of whiskey Lena had brought with from London that would not live to see eleven, half the case of schwarzbier that Reinhardt imported from Germany, two bottles filched from Torbjorn’s not as hidden as it could be stash of brännvin, one each of kirschwasser, zwetschgenwasser, and marillenschnaps, some horrifying species of tequila fished out of a sealed storage compartment, and the cooking sherry, which no one had yet condescended to open. Hanzo flatly refused to sacrifice any of his junmai daiginjo-shu to the cause of getting the rest of the team, as Jesse presciently put it, “absolutely shitfaced plastered” though he did drink his own failures from his sakazuki once it was established to hold as much as a standard shot glass. Not for the first time, he wondered somewhat blearily, why a Watchpoint that had been largely abandoned for years had such an enormous collection of novelty shot glasses immediately on hand.

  “….annnnd done.” Jesse flopped back into a chair in a fashion rather too coordinated for the amount of alcohol he had consumed thus far.

  Also distinctly unfair: the fact that he had just successfully completed all three elements of a standard field sobriety test and Hanzo was, himself, sober enough to admit that fact. “That is so.” It took him a moment to remember how to properly formulate what he wanted to say in English. “I think that you must be cheating somehow.”

  “Cheating?” It came out as a laugh, the sort of laugh that did more to warm Hanzo’s insides than all the potables he’d consumed thus far, his dark eyes shining in the lights from above and his smile the sort of thing he charge for by the hour. “How d’you come to that conclusion?”

  “I think,” Hanzo replied, contemplatively, his words spaced in a manner that he knew betrayed the precise state of his inebriation, “that you have had your liver replaced with some sort of super-efficient cybernetic alcohol filtration system. Otherwise, you never would have managed that lift-and-turn maneuver without falling on your very fine ass.”

  Had he said that aloud? Yes, yes he had, and elected to allow it to stand: the man had a ridiculously attractive ass, never more so than when he encased it in close-fitting jeans. Which was the case just now.

  The corners of Jesse’s also very fine mouth curled back in a smile that could only be called wicked. Yes, entirely wicked. “There is another explanation for my ability to drink all y’all under the table. You wanna know what it is?”

  “My curiosity is a searing fire. Do quench it.” When had his mouth gotten so dry? He poured the last of the kirschwasser into his cup and used it to lubricate his tongue for whatever came next. It was his turn, after all.

  “I used to play this game with Morrison and Reyes, one of whom was a legit evil genius, and neither of whom could actually get drunk any more thanks to all the shit the SEP did to them back in the day. Did more to develop my tolerance for alcohol than anything else in the world.” The look in his eyes was, briefly, fond and wistful. “Your turn.”

  “It is.” Hanzo acknowledged, nodding slowly. “Truth.” Because his dignity would absolutely not survive a dare and he doubted his own liver would forgive him another drink so soon after the last.

  “Well, I gotta admit, I’ve had a question for you that I’ve been holdin’ on to for a while now.” That wicked, wicked smile had returned and now he leaned close, dark eyes glittering.

  Hanzo found himself leaning into it, as well, undisturbed by the invasion of his personal space occasioned by Jesse’s hand on his knee, sliding slowly up his thigh, or the warm, whiskey-scented breath against his neck and cheek as Jesse murmured, close against his ear, “When was the last time you were fucked good and proper, darlin’?”

Hanzo pressed the last of the space from between their bodies, reached down and thumbed open that ridiculous belt buckle. “Hopefully tonight.”

[solivar]

Truth or Dare

aka the time I tried to write PWP McHanzo smut and it technically only achieved one of those goals

Also there is a distinct absence of motorcycles.

 one were to judge from the wreckage strewn across the rec room, the party was a clear and absolute success. In one corner, the Christmas tree technically still stood, albeit listing in its base in a way that suggested the vibrations from one good footstep would send it toppling. It was altogether fortunate that the decorations were made entirely of extruded plastic in appropriately festive colors and glitter-painted craft foam because no one had wanted to risk destroying Reinhardt’s antique blown glass ornaments that he’d had shipped in from Germany. Two dozen strands of lights hung from the ceiling, some colored, some white, along with half a hundred snowflakes cut from white construction paper, all of them dangling from not particularly well disguised wads of industrial strength epoxy. Some of them were even still working, casting a gentle glow over the proceedings taking place below.

Angela had given the entire affair her tacit blessing by sighing heavily and absenting herself from the rec room with a pot of tea and the hardbound copy of The Collected Works of O. Henry that she found under the tree some hours earlier. Hana and Lucio were curled up together in a fort built out of all the furniture cushions and an assortment of blankets filched from stores; the action in the rec center’s holotank showed they were still awake but the relative silence suggested they had their headphones on. Lena and Emily had given up some time before and retired to their quarters, leaning heavily on one another in order to keep to their feet. Fawkes and Rutledge vanished at some point, with Mei and Zarya in tow, all four giggling drunkenly in a manner that boded perilous for some innocent piece of machinery somewhere in the Watchpoint. Reinhardt lay in the middle of the floor some feet away, half-buried in the detritus of orgiastic gift-opening, head pillowed on a stack of eye-searingly hideous sweaters, snoring thunderously under the influence of his failure at a succession of increasingly ridiculous dares. Genji and Zenyatta were off somewhere canoodling in a manner that everyone would politely mistake for meditation because absolutely no one, even in the heat of a cutthroat game of Truth or Dare or Drink, wanted to take the step of asking either of those two how they actually went about having sex.

The table was covered in empty or near-empty bottles: a ten year old bottle of whiskey Lena had brought with from London that would not live to see eleven, half the case of schwarzbier that Reinhardt imported from Germany, two bottles filched from Torbjorn’s not as hidden as it could be stash of brännvin, one each of kirschwasser, zwetschgenwasser, and marillenschnaps, some horrifying species of tequila fished out of a sealed storage compartment, and the cooking sherry, which no one had yet condescended to open. Hanzo flatly refused to sacrifice any of his junmai daiginjo-shu to the cause of getting the rest of the team, as Jesse presciently put it, “absolutely shitfaced plastered” though he did drink his own failures from his sakazuki once it was established to hold as much as a standard shot glass. Not for the first time, he wondered somewhat blearily, why a Watchpoint that had been largely abandoned for years had such an enormous collection of novelty shot glasses immediately on hand.

“....annnnd done.” Jesse flopped back into a chair in a fashion rather too coordinated for the amount of alcohol he had consumed thus far.

Also distinctly unfair: the fact that he had just successfully completed all three elements of a standard field sobriety test and Hanzo was, himself, sober enough to admit that fact. “That is so.” It took him a moment to remember how to properly formulate what he wanted to say in English. “I think that you must be cheating somehow.”

“Cheating?” It came out as a laugh, the sort of laugh that did more to warm Hanzo’s insides than all the potables he’d consumed thus far, his dark eyes shining in the lights from above and his smile the sort of thing he charge for by the hour. “How d’you come to that conclusion?”

“I think,” Hanzo replied, contemplatively, his words spaced in a manner that he knew betrayed the precise state of his inebriation, “that you have had your liver replaced with some sort of super-efficient cybernetic alcohol filtration system. Otherwise, you never would have managed that lift-and-turn maneuver without falling on your very fine ass.”

Had he said that aloud? Yes, yes he had, and elected to allow it to stand: the man had a ridiculously attractive ass, never more so than when he encased it in close-fitting jeans. Which was the case just now.

The corners of Jesse’s also very fine mouth curled back in a smile that could only be called wicked. Yes, entirely wicked. “There is another explanation for my ability to drink all y’all under the table. You wanna know what it is?”

“My curiosity is a searing fire. Do quench it.” When had his mouth gotten so dry? He poured the last of the kirschwasser into his cup and used it to lubricate his tongue for whatever came next. It was his turn, after all.

“I used to play this game with Morrison and Reyes, one of whom was a legit evil genius, and neither of whom could actually get drunk any more thanks to all the shit the SEP did to them back in the day. Did more to develop my tolerance for alcohol than anything else in the world.” The look in his eyes was, briefly, fond and wistful. “Your turn.”

“It is.” Hanzo acknowledged, nodding slowly. “Truth.” Because his dignity would absolutely not survive a dare and he doubted his own liver would forgive him another drink so soon after the last.

“Well, I gotta admit, I’ve had a question for you that I’ve been holdin’ on to for a while now.” That wicked, wicked smile had returned and now he leaned close, dark eyes glittering.

Hanzo found himself leaning into it, as well, undisturbed by the invasion of his personal space occasioned by Jesse’s hand on his knee, sliding slowly up his thigh, or the warm, whiskey-scented breath against his neck and cheek as Jesse murmured, close against his ear, “When was the last time you were fucked good and proper, darlin’?”

Hanzo pressed the last of the space from between their bodies, reached down and thumbed open that ridiculous belt buckle. “Hopefully tonight.”

[furimi3]

Wir radeln durch den schönsten Teil des Donauradweges, die Wachau. Weinberge und Marillenbäume, soweit man sehen kann. Am ersten Heurigen will ich Rast machen, aber Peggy ist es noch zu früh zum trinken. Bitte, kann es, wenn man in der Wachau ist, je zu früh sein ein Glas Wein und einen Marillenschnaps zu trinken???

[toniologe]

Prinz Fein-Brennerei Marillenschnaps Obstbrand (1 x 1 l)

Prinz Fein-Brennerei Marillenschnaps Obstbrand (1 x 1 l)

Herrlich duftendes Marillen-Destillat, mehrjährig im Steingut gereift, gibt diesem Produkt die unverwechselbare Note. Dieser zart duftende Marillenschnaps ist eine traditionsreiche, österreichische Schnaps-Spezialität. Zart duftender Marillenschnaps unverwechselbare Note mehrjährig im Steingut gereift [amz_corss_sell asin=”B00G6ECD1S”]

[bietenonline-blog]

PRINZ Marillen-Schnaps / 40 % vol. / 6 x 1 l + 2 Miniaturflaschen = Vorteilspack EUR 112,74Angebotsende: Mittwoch Sep-9-2015 15:11:59 CESTSofort-Kaufen für nur: EUR 112,74Sofort-Kaufen | Zur Liste der beobachteten Artikel hinzufügen View full post on

[tucholsky-berlin]

Schnaps #marillenschnaps #digestif #österreich #wachau #zillertal #deutscheküche #berlin #tucholsky #berlinmitte #torstraße (hier: Tucholsky-Restauration)

[quentrovity]

Passau before hitting the Brauhaus. Splendid local beers and schnaps. They serve an astonishing Marillenschnaps there. Made in Austria but very special. Differs from the ordinary Obstbrand. Will take one home.