#so theres been a couple more foot stepping instances since then

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

My dads playing video games with his cousin and voice chatting with him while they play and chewby heard brads voice and lost her shit lol

Its like layla whenever she heard my great grandmas voice

[illfoandillfie]

Impersonal

As promised, here’s the smutty followup to yesterday’s blurb! This is the fifth post of seven in my Platonically themed event. Again, it’s not really been edited because it’s late and I’m very tired but alas, thats how it goes. 

Words: 2,278

Warning: some vague dom/sub dynamic stuff with a more dom Ben, spanking, it’s P in V sex but theres a lot of talk about butts. Also they’re still dorks. 

It had been a nice day. You and Ben had gone out with a few friends, just a little picnic in the park to catch up with everyone. If you’d been at all worried about publicly being together on a no romo day, then it was for nothing. As much as everyone there considered you and Ben to be an item, it mostly went ignored, aside from a couple of questions about how you’d gone living together so far. But having such a big lunch, everyone having brought something to share, neither of you were especially hungry at dinner time. Ben whipped up a pot of butted noodles for you to pick at as you watched TV but it was soon set aside as you shifted to lean against the arm rest with your legs stretched out to lay over Ben’s thighs. Each of you were engrossed in your phones more than the quiz show he’d flicked on, occasionally sharing something you saw or read.  

You had opened tumblr and were scrolling through your dash, pausing to read longer bits here and there but mostly just liking images and reblogging memes. Until you hit a patch of not safe for work content. One of the porn blogs you’d long since forgotten you’d followed had hit a rare patch of activity, every second post one of theirs. Those posts you paid a little more attention to, especially when videos and explicit images were involved since you knew they were likely to be taken down soon and you didn’t want to miss out on seeing something hot. Unfortunately your headphones were in another room so you weren’t game to turn the sound on for any of the videos but the visuals and erotic comments below were enough to make you feel as if the room as heated up. You could feel yourself getting wetter at each new post but couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.  

A particularly good video of a sloppy blowjob made you clench your thighs together, your foot rubbing against Ben’s thigh as a result. His palm came to rest on the top of your foot, rubbing it soothingly, though his attention was still elsewhere. In fact, his gaze didn’t shift until a little later when you were looking at a very hot gifset of a woman on all fours, crying as she was pounded from behind. He cleared his throat. You jolted a little at the sound and tried not to look too guilty as you met his eye.   “You okay?” “Mmhmm,” His eyes travelled over you from the lip between your teeth to your tightly pressed thighs and your fingers wrapped firmly around the phone.   “I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, clearly meaning to do exactly that, “but ummmm, are you watching porn right now?” “No,” you answered too quickly. “Hey, you don’t have to hide it if you are, go nuts. I’m just a little curious about what’s turned you on so much you’re practically panting. And can I help?” “I’m not watching anything. It’s just some gifs I saw.” “Well I think QPR law states you have to show me or you’d be a big meanie.” You chuckled and handed the phone to Ben, a little curious about how he’d react.   Ben watched the gifs through a couple of times before nodding, “Yeah, that’s uhhh, that’s pretty hot,” he rubbed your foot again as he kept watching the looped footage. “Are you turned on?” “Yeah, a bit,” “Hmmm, same.” “Should we-” “Do you wanna-” You spoke at the same time and then both laughed a little as you simultaneously agreed, “Yeah.” Immediately you swung your legs around intending to walk towards the bedroom and Ben followed for about two steps before he stopped suddenly, “Wait. This is a no romo day, right? Do you still feel anti-romance?” “Yes and yeah I think so. Why?” Ben shrugged, “I don’t think we’ve ever had sex on a no romo day so...how does it work?” “Oh, good point. Well.” you wanted to keep it brief, already worked up and wanting to move to the fun part, “I think it’s probably best if we keep it on kind of the rougher side, a little impersonal even. Could you maybe hit it from behind? I’m not really sure eye contact and all that stuff would be as fun for me right now.” “No need to ask twice. My hot partner wants me to look at her gorgeous arse while I fuck her? Yeah definitely into that.” “Jesus I’d forgotten you’re an arse man.” It was true too. As much as Ben might prefer ass to tits he also enjoyed the visual stimulation of watching you – seeing the pleasure on your face, watching your body react to his. So, while doggy style was a regular position for you, variations of missionary and cowgirl were probably a little more frequent. Which was wonderful, except not what you needed right then. Ben responded by poking his tongue out you but he seemed quite as eager to move things along, “So rough doggy then? Can I spank you?” “You’d be into that?” He shrugged, “I know we haven’t really done anything kinky yet but yeah, I enjoy spanking. I mean...watching an arse jiggle after it’s hit is incredibly hot.” You giggled, “spanking is very okay then. You could be a little mean too if you wanted, maybe calling me a degrading name to get at that impersonal thing. Slut maybe.” He hummed uncertainly, “I can try it if you really want but I gotta admit I’m not as into degrading stuff as I am spanking.” “It’s fine if you don’t, whatever works. Honestly, I’m already super horny so just do whatever you’re comfortable with and don’t get too gentle or loving with it, and I’ll be happy.” “I can definitely do rough for you. For instance,” You gasped as Ben grasped your hips and turned you around, positioning you in front of the arm of the couch before he pushed you to bend over it. It was a surprise considering Ben’s typical nature. He had his controlling or domineering moments but generally seemed happiest when he was showering you in affection or letting you take charge. Adding to the surprise was the way he tugged your pants down to your knees and began to touch you through your underwear. It made you squirm, trying to find a little more friction, but he only gave you a quick spank. Not overly hard but it didn’t have to be to make you feel tingly. Just knowing Ben was capable of an action like that was hot enough. All the same he pulled your knickers down too and ran his fingers through your folds.   “Wow, okay. You meant it when you said you were horny. Pretty wet already.” “No shit Sherlock. You know I don’t need lines like that that get you interested in fucking me.” He gave you another slap for your insolence.   “Better get you stretched out then, hadn’t we?” You felt two of Ben’s fingers rest against your entrance and expected to feel them sink into you too. But it didn’t happen.   “What’s the hold up, Tiger? Ow,” the spank had been a little harder than the last.   “If you want them so bad, do it yourself.” Your breath caught as you realised what he meant and you shifted your hips back, levering yourself against the arm of the couch, until you felt his fingers penetrate you.   “That’s it Kitten. You’re too horny to wait, aren’t you? God you’ve got such a pretty arse. Giving me the best view right now. Your needy cunt soaking my fingers while your arse,” he hit you again, “jiggles. It’s making me so hard.” You whined, unable to find a better response, and rocked back against his fingers, slowly fucking yourself on them.   He let you go on like that for a little while, happy to listen to your hitched breaths and needy sighs as you got a little of what you needed. But then he pulled his fingers from you. You let out a disappointed whimper, “Ben, c’mon,” “I’m so hard from watching you be so desperate. Just gotta get my pants off. But you can play with yourself for me, can’t you?” You nodded and shifted so you could drop your fingers to your pussy. Ben gave your arse another slap, “Not what I meant Kitten. Play with your arse.” Startled by the low growl in his voice you quickly complied, leaning on the couch as your brought both hands up to grab your arse cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart to better show off your holes.” “That’s very good, Kitten. Spank yourself.” It wasn’t the same as when Ben spanked you since you knew what was coming and the position didn’t allow you to get as much force into your hits as he could. But it was definitely arousing and it definitely seemed to work for Ben. You’d barely registered the sound of his pants dropping before he was sliding into your wet and waiting cunt.   “I can take it from here,” Ben’s hands replaced yours, groping your arse as you dropped your arms back to the couch, though you felt it was useless to try and prop yourself up on them. It would only be a matter of time before you collapsed entirely.  

At first he kept the pace slower, letting you adjust to him, though each thrust was forceful, just as you’d asked it to be. But gradually Ben sped up, hands still playing with your cheeks, sometimes grabbing and sometimes spanking them. He tried to say more about how hot it was to take you like that but his own breath was escaping him as the words seemed to be. So he let his body talk for him as he pounded your cunt and dug his fingers into your flesh.   And then he pulled out.   You were on the verge of asking him who the fuck he thought he was when he said, “one second. Just want to try something.” and then, remembering he was meant to be acting mean, added, “And you just want me to keep fucking you, so you’re not going to complain.” In a disgruntled daze you let Ben help you up onto the back of the couch so that one leg was bent to lean against the arm he’d just had you bent over and the other dangled towards the floor. It took a little more adjustment before Ben was happy. First pulling you back towards him and the corner of the couch, and then pressing you to lean forward so your hips were raised and he could better access your pussy. You had to grab onto the back of the couch for support, digging your fingertips into the leather as Ben resumed fucking you.   The angle had changed a little and the position was slightly more awkward to maintain but it was worth it for the way your clit rubbed against the smooth leather, leaving a trail of wetness behind. Each thrust rocked your hips in such a way that you quickly found yourself getting close to release.

That, however, seemed to be Ben’s plan as he began telling you how good you were going to make him feel when he made you cum. “I know you’re close Kitten. So just cum. I want to feel your cunt on me when you do.” He lay another few spanks to your arse cheeks and that tipped you over into your orgasm.   But Ben didn’t stop.   “I th-think you can do bett-er than that,” he grit out as you clenched around him and he seemed to thrust twice as hard as he had before, “You were so,”   You grunted as he plowed into you. “So desperate before. So you can cum better than that. Right kitten?” You nodded and gasped out a, “Yes” as your arms shook with how hard Ben was fucking you.   But he didn’t relent. He kept going until he felt you tighten again and heard you moan, nearly sobbing as relief flooded your system.   That seemed to be enough for Ben and he let himself go too, holding your hip tightly as he pressed deep into you.  

Ben leaned his forehead against your back as he tried to regain his regular breathing rate and gave you a quick kiss there before he righted himself and helped you to dismount the couch. The evidence of your orgasms was still smeared across the leather but neither of you paid it any attention.   “Sorry I never called you a slut or anything,” Ben said with a slightly self-conscious chuckle, avoiding your eye as he hitched his pants back into place. “I just like Kitten better.” “Don’t be,” you said mirroring his actions to looking at him, “Kitten worked perfectly. Also, that was really good. Maybe you could be rough and mean more often?” “The double orgasm was a pretty good indication that it worked for you,” “Of shut up, I was being serious. It was really hot.” “Yes but I like teasing you, remember,” “Prick.” “That hurts,” he said with a fake gasp and a hand against his chest, “Keep talking like that and I’ll have to spank you again,” “Ha ha, very funny. Tease me all you want but we both you enjoyed it as much as I did.” “Maybe I did.” he conceded, “but I wasn’t going to hate it when I was watching your arse.” “Alright, you perv. Was there any leftover noodles? Bit peckish now.” “Yeah, in the fridge. Grab me some too would you?”

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist  request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things. 

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.” 

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in. 

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face). 

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!” 

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?” 

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

~

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds. 

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.” 

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in. 

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.” 

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers. 

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.” 

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood. 

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement. 

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections. 

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness. 

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.” 

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased. 

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face. 

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

[trendingnewsb]

Dr. Daves Field Guide to Bad Cocktails

If the idea of sitting in a dark, elegant bar, lapping at a small, icy pool whose waters have a way of smoothing the furrows in your brow and oiling the trunnions of your tongue appeals to you, then as dark as these times may be there is at least one recompense. It is now possible to get a perfect cocktail, or close enough, in every city in America. Ten years ago, it was not. That is a positive good, then, and sometimes a very positive one indeed.

But it doesnt always go that way, though, does it? You do your part OKgetting to the bar, finding a seat, putting your damn phone away, ordering a drink, looking expectantand the bartender does a stylish job of picking bottles, measuring and mixing, and pours your drink into a steaming-cold glass with a precise, crisp flourish. Then you take a sip. Oh no. The drinks list billed this Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds as a subtly-accented take on the classic Dry Martini. What you got instead is potpourri-tasting gin, cilantro-infused vermouth and aggressive splashes of bitter gentian aperitif and crme de violette, with a huge swatch of bergamot peel squeezed over the top. It smells like Victorian hand soap. It tastes like Victorian hand soap. It costs $15, before tip.

The expansion of the Cocktail Renaissance (as its aficionados have come to call it) from a few bars in New York, San Francisco, Seattle and a couple of other places to hundredswho knows, thousands?of bars practically everywhere has depended on a concurrent expansion in the amount of bartending and mixological talent and knowledge. But good bartending has expanded not as air does when filling a balloon, where theres an equal amount of it in every part, but more like how Legos fill a hallway when, on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you kick over the huge tub of them your kid left out. Although it doesnt happen with every step, every part of the hall holds the danger of putting your foot down on something fun that has turned diabolical.

What I mean to say is, not all tattooed young bartenders are the modern-day Jerry Thomases they think they are, and not every cocktail they make is the nectareous, brow-smoothing trunnion oil you hope for when you order it. Some, alas, are just plain bad.

The badness of many modern cocktails has been discussed widely and often, and by discussed I mean ranted about. Its easy to go off on the excesses of eager young mixologists who apparently watch too much Adventure Time and let its deadpan randomness infect the drinks they come up withlamb-fat washed rye-corn-barley eau de vie, citrus colloid, Indonesian palm sugar and brick dust, finished with a beet-Malibu foam; like that. What we need, however, is not more rants, as fun as they might be, but some basic science.

Before we can solve the problem of bad cocktails, we need to know the different ways a cocktail can go bad. We need a botany, a zoology, a classification. Every creeping thing that slideth over the bar must be known by his kind, that thou mayst order him no more. (I think it said that in the Bible somewhere, although I might be getting some of the words mixed up.)

Thats not a simple task. At first glance, it seems like cocktails follow Dostoyevskys happy-family rule; that the good ones are more or less all alike, or at least fall into a handful of common patterns (bitters-sugar-booze; bitters-vermouth-booze; sugar-citrus-booze, etc), and the bad ones are each awful in its own peculiar way.

Upon soberish reflection, though, one can identify two main realms of error, each with its inevitable subdivisions. The Strategic and the Tactical. Here, then, is a subjective, preliminary and open-ended attempt to sketch out the different ways mixed drinks can go bad. In this, Ive left out the main one, statistically speaking, which is the old Garbage In-Garbage Out: shoddy, artificial ingredients mixed sloppily together will rarely yield anything drinkable. Fortunately, most modern cocktail bars are out of that phase, at least. These, then, are higher-order errors, the kind you can make with booze that costs more than $20 a bottle and mixers that dont come out of a gun or a #5 can.

But before I get into the details, let me just say that as a mixologist Ive made drinks that fall into just about every one of the following categories and foisted them on the general public, whether at bars Ive consulted for, at charity events, at parties, during my occasional bartending shifts, or via the printed or pixelated word. I write, in other words, from inside the House of Bad. Its partly from making so many wrong drinks that Ive learned to make the occasional right one. Bearing that in mind, Im going to give examples here, some of mine, God help me, but many drawn from actual bars, lightly disguised (the purpose of this isnt to assign individual guilt, of which there is plenty to go around).

STRATEGIC ERRORS

Drinks with strategic errors will never be right because theyre wrong from the get-go; not even an Audrey Saunders, a Jim Meehan or an Alex Kratena, some of the top bartenders out there, could make them taste good without major surgery to the recipe. Here are a few of the most common mistakes.

Historical Errors

Warning signs: David Emburys recipe

Bad drinks, like disease, have always been with us. Some of them have interesting backstories. That does not mean they should be revived. Some of the most respected mixologists from the past, including Charles H. Baker, Jr., author of the legendary, and damned amusing, Gentlemans Companions, and particularly David Embury, the great theorist of mixing drinks, did not know how to balance a cocktail. Even the great 1930 Savoy Cocktail Book has far more wretched drinks in it than brilliant ones. Some whole periodsthe shockingly booze-forward 1950s; the sweet and sticky 70sare largely devoid of good drinks (the 70s ones, for instance, tend to require major surgery to make them drinkable, such as Jeffrey Morgenthalers addition of 125-proof Bookers Bourbon to the Amaretto Sour). You fish in these waters at your peril.

I learned this lesson back in 2005, when I was asked to provide an opening cocktail for a dinner featuring a few of New Yorks top French chefs, including Jacques Ppin and Andr Soltner, two of my culinary idols. I chose the Henri Souls Special, a drink recorded in Ted Sauciers 1951 drinks compendium Bottoms Up. Soul was the formidable presence behind Le Pavillon, New Yorks leading French restaurant in the 1940s and 1950s, and since Ppin had gotten his start in the city there I thought it would be an appropriate tribute.

Here, however, was the drink: 2.5 ounces Cognac, 1 teaspoon sugar, half a teaspoon lemon juice and two pieces of orange peel, shaken with ice and strained into a cocktail glass. OK, perhaps a trifle strong, I thought, but that was how they liked em then. That may have been true, but it was not how they liked em now: Ppin took one sip and left his on a convenient shrubbery-pot, and few people got through more than a few sips. They were right: the drink tasted like California jug wine fortified with rubbing alcohol. A good story does not fix a bad drink.

Also, see below under tactical errors.

Thematic Errors

Warning signs: garnishes fashioned to resemble known objects

A very fertile source of bad drinks is the idea that the drinks name should determine its ingredients. This can make for perfectly lovely drinkstake the Rob Roy, a Manhattan where Scotch whisky has been substituted for American ryebut it is risky, as it can lead to the choice of ingredients for reasons other than flavor and texture. A prime example is the drink I came across recently called the Indian Itch, where a few slices of the little, blisteringly-hot green Jwala pepper so common in Indian food were muddled in Indian rum, shaken with pineapple juice and a hearty pinch of curry powder (thats right, curry powder), strained into an ice-filled glass and topped with ginger ale. Yes, it conveyed the idea India. No, it did not also convey the idea drinkable.

A great deal of modern mixology flirts with this error: many modern drinks are thematic, and use unorthodox ingredients, from distilled dirt (seriously) to pigs eyeballs (again, seriously), to reinforce their themes. Are such drinks always bad? No. Should you be wary? Again, pigs eyeballs.

Volume Errors

Warning signs: bartender is either unenthusiastic or too enthusiastic at your order

By volume here I mean not the amount of liquid in the drink, but the amount of flavor. Some drinks have too little, but given the choice between, say, light, blended Irish whiskey shaken with lemon juice, simple syrup and a dash of elderflower liqueur, and Navy-strength gin, green Chartreuse, Fernet-Branca, Pimiento Bitters and rich, concentrated and sweet Pedro Ximnez sherry, Ill take the dull one. Two or three strong-flavored ingredients played against each other can work well, but with each additional one you risk the whole thing falling apart.

Unclubbable Ingredient Errors

Warning signs: herb garden behind the bar

The unclubbable ingredient is the one thing you add that refuses to get along with others, either by being loud and bullying and entirely blotting them out or by being passive-aggressive and persistent and speaking through all the silences. Smoky Scotch, Chinese baijiu, some mescals, absinthe, Fernet, and some pot-still rums all are dangerous in this way. But so are herbs, such as tarragon, chervil, and the like. They dont drown out the other flavors like the big spirits do, but they have a persistence that makes them linger when all the other flavors are gone. Thats not to say they cant be used well, just that they very often are not.

Brown Drink Errors

Warning signs: over 5 ingredients

Just as all colors, when blended, create brown, theres a flavor profile drinks tend to take on when theyve got too many ingredients. Sorta sweet, sorta bitter, sorta herbal, a little bit fruity, maybe sourish, too. Inexperienced mixologists, faced with a drink that doesnt quite work, have a tendency to keep adding ingredients until the thing tastes OK. Eventually, almost any drink, as long as it doesnt have an unclubbable ingredient, can be made to taste OK if you add enough stuff. But just mediocre isnt worth $15. For that, you want a drink that is focused; that doesnt taste like a little of this and a little of that, but rather has a point of view and a harmonious identity. The only way to get there is to strip away ingredients and start over with different ones; ones that get along well together. Knowing what those are takes experience. The older the mixologist, the fewer ingredients he or she tends to use. As the great jazz trumpeter Roy Eldridge once told Dale DeGroff, dean of American bartenders, when I was younger I used to play all the notes; now, I just play the right ones.

So much for strategic errors.

TACTICAL ERRORS

Drinks with tactical errors are fundamentally sound, but something has gone wrong in their execution. Here, Im not going to bother with simple incompetencereaching for the wrong ingredient, under-stirring, pouring fruit-fly infested liquor or spoiled lime juice, serving a drink in a warm glass, things like that. Thats just bad bartending, not bad mixology.

Historical Errors

Warning signs: Imbibe, by one David Wondrich, and a collection of other history books behind the bar

Some drinks are bad because their makers have gotten hold of a piece of knowledge from the wrong end and are letting it mess them up. For example, a common error I encounter occurs with the New York Sour, a whiskey sour with a float of red wine and one of my favorite drinks. Sometimes when I order one the bartender will add egg white to the drink. Historically, some sours used egg white, but never this one. The egg white produces a layer of froth on top of the drink, which clashes with the layer of red wine also being added to it, and you end up with a drink topped with an unattractive, pinkish muck, rather than a visually-striking, thin red line. Here, history has trumped common sense.

Another historical error involving egg whites occurs when the bartender, following an old recipe, adds a whole egg white to a drink, not realizing that eggs were much smaller in 1918 than the supersized jumbo ones we get in 2018. A little egg white adds a nice texture; a lot, and youre tasting egg white. Nobody wants to taste egg white.

Arts & Crafts and Food Tech Errors

Warning signs: more than two house-made ingredients on the cocktail list, or bar uses purchased simple syrup

Its fine to make your ingredients if you can do them masterfully and theres no other way to get them. Alas, too many bars make theirs just to say that they did. I cant count the number of times Ive had an overly sour Jack Rose (apple brandy, lime juice and grenadine) because the bar makes its own grenadine from pomegranates and sugar rather than using the commercial stuff. Admittedly, the ingredients of the supermarket brands are fairly appalling, but at least theyre really sweet and brightly colored, which is why grenadine was called for in the first place. Nobody ever talked about the stuffs flavor. A good house-made grenadine will duplicate the heavy sweetness and intense red color of the commercial stuff, leaving out the high-fructose corn syrup, the artificial flavors and the dyes (okay, sometimes a little food coloring helps). A bad one, as one encounters more often than not, will be sour and brownish and will neither adequately sweeten nor color the drink. Then there are the clumpy orgeats, the gritty tonic waters, the weird-tasting bitters, the infused vermouths that no longer taste like vermouth. Homemade ingredients can be great, but they have to be great, so to speak. Nothing so-so should go in a drink, no matter who makes it.

Which brings us to the other side of the equation; the crappy commercial products that are mucking up a perfectly good drink. Otherwise-crafty bars that purchase things like simple syrup (sugar and water, mixed), lemon and lime juice and Bloody Mary mix should be avoided. Theyll charge you three times what the corner tap will for the same quality of drink, or worse.

Helping a Brother Out and Helping a Sponsor Out Errors

Warning signs: More than 10 bottles youve never heard of; no bottles youve never heard of

These are the booze versions of the Arts & Crafts/Food Tech errors. We live in an amazing time where literally hundreds of new, small distilleries are making every kind of spirit imaginable. Some of them are even good at it. Many of them, though, are not quite there yet. When I see a local gin I havent heard of being used in my Martini, I start to get very worried. The Martini is a pitiless drink, and it demands a tight, focused gin. All too many of the new brands, in an understandable move to differentiate themselves from whats already out there, employ wide ranges of non-traditional botanicals. These can make for a weird Martini. A Martini should not be weird.

The same goes for whiskey. Too many of the new brands are under-aged, which mean that Old-Fashioned will be hot and fumey and redolent of the wet-dog aroma of new-make grain spirit. Thats not what you want. On the other hand, if the bar carries only big national brands, or has the whole line of Large Producer Xs flavored vodkas or rums on display behind the bar, it might not be the place for a fine cocktail.

Glassware Errors

Warning signs: All the drinks look like a giant, translucent version of a kids cup-and-ball game

Many new cocktail bars, having expensive and elaborate ice programs, like to show off by putting as many drinks as possible in bucket glasses (basically, large whiskey glasses), each holding one huge ball or cube of ice. Thats fine for an Old-Fashioned. Its not fine, or even acceptable, for a vast range of other drinks that want to be straight up in a stemmed glass. If I have one more Last Word served to me on the rocks I swear I shall go to a mountain cave and speak no more.

We could go on with all this, and perhaps in the future we shall. In the meanwhile, be warned and drink well.

Read more: https://www.thedailybeast.com/dr-daves-field-guide-to-bad-cocktails

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The 9 Fights You’ll Definitely Have With Your SO When You Move In Together

This summer, I purchased my first home with my fiance. Wed lived together in my parents home for several months, so we figured having a place to ourselves wouldnt be much of a transition.

I mean, we already lived together. We were going to be like two sexy little peas in a very overpriced pod! Except we werent. At least, not exactly.

Once its just the two of you, things do indeed change. By moving in with your partner, youre assuming the roles of husband and wife. But instead of being married to each other, youre mutually committed to this one, very expensive house thatll take the majority of your lives to pay off.

With such high stakes, theres a lot to gain and lose when you do finally move in. And as any couple whos ever lived together knows, you will find yourselves having a number of standard arguments over and over again.

Most of these arguments have no merit and brew from outside sources, but your partner gets the brunt of it because theyre, well, there. So lets get started on these arguments, shall we?

1.The conflict of the light switch.

Because I always grew up with pets, when I would leave the house, Id always leave the TV on for them so theyd feel less alone.

Since weve only had the house for a few months, I continue to leave the TV on when I leave. This INFURIATES my fiance, who, as soon as I step in the house, scolds me as if I were being reprimanded by a teacher in grade school.

Id then daftly counter with, Well, Im the one paying the electricity bill, so why do you care? and, as Im sure you can imagine, a whole other argument ensues.

2. Bills, bills, bills.

Money will always be a subject of contention for couples. Always.

Whenyou move in with somebody, you marry each other financially, so this contention can grow. Add to the fact that youre absolutely astounded by the amount of money youre now spending on bills that used to be spent on beer and just beer.

As such, your money becomes their money and vice versa. Your spending affects them and their spending affects you.

I should add here that bills arent often the source of an argument (at least in our home), but are instead used as a last line of defense in an argument.

For instance, if you pay the majority of the bills, you will undoubtedly use this against your partner when verbally backed into a corner. Its not a smart thing to do, but like I said, its a last line of defense. Its all youve got.

3. Settling on TV shows.

Im fortunate that my fiance and I like watching the same shows, but there are moments when we disagree and a lukewarm argument ensues.

For instance, I know my fiance doesnt want to watch a show when she innocently asks: Whats this? or What are you watching?

Knowing this is her method to vocalize her distaste for whatevers on, I surrender by delicately placing the converter on her lap, where shell then switch it over to The Food Network.

4. Accusations of ones laziness.

Since I work from home, my fiance likes to think I have the day to sweep the floors, do the laundry, fold the laundry and otherwise ensure the house is spotless.

To her, Im Cinderella with a laptop who writes the occasional boner joke in a Word document.

On the other hand, when my fiance comes home mid-afternoon, shell sit on the couch and eat a can of chickpeas, warm up some tomato soup and not do much else.

To be fair, she works as a baker and wakes up at 4 am, but when Im being accused of laziness, the claws comeoutand nobody is safe. Well poke at each other, accusing the other of being lazy, until an actual argument follows.

What you ultimately realize is that anyone can be accused of being lazy with the right argument.

5. The terrible, deplorable saga that is laundry.

Laundry. FUCKING LAUNDRY. Without a doubt, the worst chore of all chores.

While neither of us has any problem throwing a load in the washer or dryer, its the folding and hanging thats a pain in the ass.

There have been a few times where Ive washed, dried and folded the laundry, have gotten fed up and asked that she hang the laundry in the closet. This is where our arguments will usually begin.

Her side: Why not finish the deed yourself? Youre already 80 percent there. Mine: Ive done most of the work, just help me!

Conclusion: Laundry doesnt get hung but instead sits on the floor in a spare room.

6. Compromising on bedtime activities.

Because my fiance wakes up so early and I dont have a dedicated start time, our bedtime schedules are very different.

Though weve each compromised, we discovered many things about each other, such as: I like to watch TV in the bedroom; she doesnt. I like having a fan on in the room; she doesnt. She likes body contact; I dont. And so on.

I know were not alone on this one. I just know it.

7. Doing the dishes.

I actually dont hate doing the dishes. I really dont. I mean, I dont love it, but in terms of chores, its really not so bad.

I should add here that we dont have a dishwasher, so Ive kind of assumed this role myself. If you do have one and complain, youve got no foot to stand on. Im sorry, you just dont.

Like Ive mentioned, my fiances a baker and loves to bake at any and every given opportunity, so the dishes are seemingly endless.

I should also add that shes vegan and Im not, so to make sure that no animal product comes in contact with her food, our dishes are pretty much doubled.

When the dishes start piling on themselves, forming a steel volcano about to erupt with vanilla cupcake batter, Ill admit I get frustrated. Cue argument.

8. Whoever does the cooking holds all the power.

Like paying the bills, the person who cooks in the household will always highlight this fact when theyve got no other form of defense in an argument.

Its like a verbal stun gun: You bring it up, deliver the blinding impact that is your own pettiness and flee the argument hoping theyve got no retort.

9. Understanding that a womans beauty takes time.

Before living together, all Id see was my fiance walking down her driveway looking sexy and flawless.

Now that we live together, I understand that before she worked that driveway like a runway, she spent several hours doing her hair and makeup. Tack on another hour for the outfit.

Now that we live together, this becomes less flattering and more frustrating.

Here you are, all dressed, car keys in hand and should have left 10 minutes ago. But there she is, the love of your life, teasing her hair in her underwear with a glass of wine on the counter.

Like, come on. WEVE GOTTA GO!

Subscribe to Elite Daily’s official newsletter, The Edge, for more stories you don’t want to miss.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/the-9-fights-youll-definitely-have-with-your-so-when-you-move-in-together/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/02/15/the-9-fights-youll-definitely-have-with-your-so-when-you-move-in-together/

[adambstingus]

The 9 Fights You’ll Definitely Have With Your SO When You Move In Together

This summer, I purchased my first home with my fiance. Wed lived together in my parents home for several months, so we figured having a place to ourselves wouldnt be much of a transition.

I mean, we already lived together. We were going to be like two sexy little peas in a very overpriced pod! Except we werent. At least, not exactly.

Once its just the two of you, things do indeed change. By moving in with your partner, youre assuming the roles of husband and wife. But instead of being married to each other, youre mutually committed to this one, very expensive house thatll take the majority of your lives to pay off.

With such high stakes, theres a lot to gain and lose when you do finally move in. And as any couple whos ever lived together knows, you will find yourselves having a number of standard arguments over and over again.

Most of these arguments have no merit and brew from outside sources, but your partner gets the brunt of it because theyre, well, there. So lets get started on these arguments, shall we?

1.The conflict of the light switch.

Because I always grew up with pets, when I would leave the house, Id always leave the TV on for them so theyd feel less alone.

Since weve only had the house for a few months, I continue to leave the TV on when I leave. This INFURIATES my fiance, who, as soon as I step in the house, scolds me as if I were being reprimanded by a teacher in grade school.

Id then daftly counter with, Well, Im the one paying the electricity bill, so why do you care? and, as Im sure you can imagine, a whole other argument ensues.

2. Bills, bills, bills.

Money will always be a subject of contention for couples. Always.

Whenyou move in with somebody, you marry each other financially, so this contention can grow. Add to the fact that youre absolutely astounded by the amount of money youre now spending on bills that used to be spent on beer and just beer.

As such, your money becomes their money and vice versa. Your spending affects them and their spending affects you.

I should add here that bills arent often the source of an argument (at least in our home), but are instead used as a last line of defense in an argument.

For instance, if you pay the majority of the bills, you will undoubtedly use this against your partner when verbally backed into a corner. Its not a smart thing to do, but like I said, its a last line of defense. Its all youve got.

3. Settling on TV shows.

Im fortunate that my fiance and I like watching the same shows, but there are moments when we disagree and a lukewarm argument ensues.

For instance, I know my fiance doesnt want to watch a show when she innocently asks: Whats this? or What are you watching?

Knowing this is her method to vocalize her distaste for whatevers on, I surrender by delicately placing the converter on her lap, where shell then switch it over to The Food Network.

4. Accusations of ones laziness.

Since I work from home, my fiance likes to think I have the day to sweep the floors, do the laundry, fold the laundry and otherwise ensure the house is spotless.

To her, Im Cinderella with a laptop who writes the occasional boner joke in a Word document.

On the other hand, when my fiance comes home mid-afternoon, shell sit on the couch and eat a can of chickpeas, warm up some tomato soup and not do much else.

To be fair, she works as a baker and wakes up at 4 am, but when Im being accused of laziness, the claws comeoutand nobody is safe. Well poke at each other, accusing the other of being lazy, until an actual argument follows.

What you ultimately realize is that anyone can be accused of being lazy with the right argument.

5. The terrible, deplorable saga that is laundry.

Laundry. FUCKING LAUNDRY. Without a doubt, the worst chore of all chores.

While neither of us has any problem throwing a load in the washer or dryer, its the folding and hanging thats a pain in the ass.

There have been a few times where Ive washed, dried and folded the laundry, have gotten fed up and asked that she hang the laundry in the closet. This is where our arguments will usually begin.

Her side: Why not finish the deed yourself? Youre already 80 percent there. Mine: Ive done most of the work, just help me!

Conclusion: Laundry doesnt get hung but instead sits on the floor in a spare room.

6. Compromising on bedtime activities.

Because my fiance wakes up so early and I dont have a dedicated start time, our bedtime schedules are very different.

Though weve each compromised, we discovered many things about each other, such as: I like to watch TV in the bedroom; she doesnt. I like having a fan on in the room; she doesnt. She likes body contact; I dont. And so on.

I know were not alone on this one. I just know it.

7. Doing the dishes.

I actually dont hate doing the dishes. I really dont. I mean, I dont love it, but in terms of chores, its really not so bad.

I should add here that we dont have a dishwasher, so Ive kind of assumed this role myself. If you do have one and complain, youve got no foot to stand on. Im sorry, you just dont.

Like Ive mentioned, my fiances a baker and loves to bake at any and every given opportunity, so the dishes are seemingly endless.

I should also add that shes vegan and Im not, so to make sure that no animal product comes in contact with her food, our dishes are pretty much doubled.

When the dishes start piling on themselves, forming a steel volcano about to erupt with vanilla cupcake batter, Ill admit I get frustrated. Cue argument.

8. Whoever does the cooking holds all the power.

Like paying the bills, the person who cooks in the household will always highlight this fact when theyve got no other form of defense in an argument.

Its like a verbal stun gun: You bring it up, deliver the blinding impact that is your own pettiness and flee the argument hoping theyve got no retort.

9. Understanding that a womans beauty takes time.

Before living together, all Id see was my fiance walking down her driveway looking sexy and flawless.

Now that we live together, I understand that before she worked that driveway like a runway, she spent several hours doing her hair and makeup. Tack on another hour for the outfit.

Now that we live together, this becomes less flattering and more frustrating.

Here you are, all dressed, car keys in hand and should have left 10 minutes ago. But there she is, the love of your life, teasing her hair in her underwear with a glass of wine on the counter.

Like, come on. WEVE GOTTA GO!

Subscribe to Elite Daily’s official newsletter, The Edge, for more stories you don’t want to miss.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-9-fights-youll-definitely-have-with-your-so-when-you-move-in-together/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/170892645632