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sirfrogsworth · 9 months

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Some of you may remember me mentioning my quest to get black cherry soda and several shipments ending in tragic bottle breakage. I have been seriously craving this soda for nearly a month now.

I contacted Boylan and accused them of shoddy shipping.

They very politely informed me it was not their shoddy shipping store on Amazon.

After some additional Amazon analysis, I felt foolish about my inaccurate accusations.

They informed me there were no local distributors of Boylan brand bottled black cherry beverages. They said they had no control over Amazon shipments and recommended I order directly from them. That would make this already pretty pricey pop about $15 more expensive after shipping and tax.

I had nearly given up.

After the $220 pizza and the $250 battery replacement and an almost assured account overdraw in my future, I'd have to wait at least until next month to satisfy my soda craving.

But when I went to my local Schnucks grocery store last night I decided to check the soda aisle to see if there were any alternatives.

My first find was Schnucks' own generic brand black cherry soda.

I have to say, that is a cute label for a generic store brand product.

After some research, I discovered this is a rebrand of a classic Vess soda. I like Vess soda! They make a wonderful cream soda concoction that my grandma used to buy whenever I would visit on the weekends. And I specifically told my mom never to buy cream soda for home because then it wouldn't be special when I had it at my grandma's house.

Sadly, I was unaware it was Vess-in-disguise and I was not trusting of a generic store-branded soda. Sometimes these low-cost rebranded items can be good, but it is always a crapshoot. I mean, their generic peas are 70 cents cheaper than Green Giant, but they are also mushy as heck. So based on my previous peas experience, there was a good chance it would taste more like black cherry cough syrup than soda.

I didn't know it was Vess, okay?

REMEMBER THE PEAS, PLEASE!

I fell into a soda research rabbit hole. Vess was acquired by a company called Cott Beverages in 1994. And Cott was then acquired by a company called Refresco in 2018. And Refresco partnered with Coca-Cola and is now their main manufacturer in the United States.

So I guess it is actually a Refresco Cott Vess Schnucks brand black cherry soda in partnership with Coca-Cola.

Capitalism is fucking weird, dude.

So the possible cough syrup RefresCoVesScnhucks was in my cart. I was considering taking the risk.

But then I noticed... the Fitz's section.

A locally owned and operated boutique soda bottler.

*heavenly music*

And do you know who owns Fitz's?

Mr. Alfred J. Fitz! (I don't actually know his first name or middle initial.)

Who founded Fitz's in 1947 as a drive-in restaurant based around his popular secret root beer recipe.

That's right. Fitz's was not enveloped by an incestuous line of conglomerates successively eating each other.

And because of that, they went out of business in 1976. The soda biz is rough if you don't have a multinational manufacturing and distribution network.

But then Fitz's was revived in 1993 by two plucky entrepreneurs who were determined to rebuild the brand using the original secret root beer recipe from Mr. Alfred J. Fitz.

Small business wins the day!

And then they sold out to The Westgate Group in late 1999.

Which then sold it again to Clayton Capital Partners in 2003.

Will capitalism please stop fucking with soda?

But then one of those plucky entrepreneurs thought the brand was being damaged by soulless investment firms and bought back Fitz's. He restored it to glory and I'm sure he will never sell it again*. He is intent on maintaining the Fitz's tradition and image as a beloved St. Louis small business that culturally enriches our famed Delmar Loop with vintage soda bottling techniques customers can watch when they visit the Fitz's restaurant. Neat!

*Unless RefresCoVesScnhucks offers him a bunch of money.

I can't believe I forgot about Fitz's. I used their root beer as a subject for one of my favorite product photos.

To make a long story as long as humanly possible my god why are you even still reading this...

...wouldn't you know it, Fitz's makes black cherry soda!

It is delicious.

Craving accomplished.

#I can't decide if it tops Boylan or not. I think it is one of those “not better just different” type deals

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recurring-polynya · 1 month

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Izakaya Kamenoya, part 3

It's been so long, and I kept getting busy with stuff, but rest assured, I have not stopped thinking about every shinigami's favorite watering hole, Izakaya Kamenoya, for even one second of that time, and today I am going to talk about what's really important: what kind of booze can you get there.

The multiplicity of drink options is honestly the thing I really love about Kamenoya. On a meta level, someone has to draw all this stuff, like, with their hands. I have no idea, actually, if the animators consider this sort of thing a break from all the powering up and sword fights and rolling across cave floors, or if they consider a Trip to the Bar to be really tedious. My point is, they very well could have just always drawn people drinking out of the same cups, except they didn't, they drew a series of loving close ups of sake-pouring and a variety of drinkware styles. On a more Watsonian level, I just like the idea that, like Alice's Restaurant, you can get anything you want at Izakaya Kamenoya. So let's get into it!

I think the thing that really made me notice this was this scene from the Amagai Arc, where you see Kira doing mokkiri, or overpouring his sake. (At least I think that's what he's doing. The articles I read sounded more like the server is supposed to do it, which emphasizes the establishment's generosity, so maybe Kira is just being a messy drunk. I'm pretty sure you're also not supposed to pour yourself sake, you're supposed to do it for your tablemates)

Often, mokkiri is done into a masu, which is a small square box that was used as a standard measure for rice. You can see Nanao drinking out of one here!

What kind of cup to drink your sake out of is a huge topic, but basically, it depends on the flavor and characteristics of the sake. The fact that Kira and the Lads are drinking out of clear glasses might imply that they're drinking chilled, summer-style sake (or possibly trying to appreciate the clarity of the vintage, as if this is what you call up Iba and Renji to go to the pub for).

I am not an expert, so I'm not going to attempt to identify exactly what these different cups would be classified as, but you can see a variety of shapes, sizes and materials.

I found less information on different shapes of tokkuri (that's the slightly bigger bottle that you serve from), but those come in a variety, as well. Mostly, they have either the large, oval-shaped jugs you can see in the first picture, or the more slender white ones in the second. I am really fond of these tall boys that Kira and Hisagi have, which seem to have straighter sides than the other kind, kind of like a milk bottle.

While we're looking at that picture, there's an ad on the wall for beer. Beer!

In modern times, beer is actually the most popular alcoholic beverage in Japan, which Wikipedia tells me came about after WWII because of restrictions on the use of rice. They've had beer since the Edo era, though, and many of today's major breweries got started in the late 1800s. I love the idea that beer is a thing you can get in Soul Society, but it's clear that it has not overcome sake in popularity the way it did in the World of the Living--which makes sense, because of they never had those restrictions. (In other words, throw this in the bucket of stuff like tattoos and attitudes toward homosexuality that I think diverged from the Living World because of weird quirks of history).

In fact, Kamenoya apparently imports beer from the World of Living (maybe it also has local brews as well).

Look how lovingly that bottle of Kirin is drawn. 😂 The fact that it's shown in a glass mug in the ad, but served in a Pilsner glass here supports the idea that there are multiple kinds of beer available. Now, I believe that Kirin Zero is non-alcoholic. It's surprisingly hard to do research on beer labels from 20 years ago. I couldn't find a label that looked exactly like that, and Kirin's non-alcoholic offering seems to be called Kirin Free now (Kirin Zero is now zero-carb and I couldn't figure out if it's alcoholic or not). In any case, I am choosing in my heart to believe that this is because of weird TV censorship and in no way implies that Rukia is not one of the champion drinkers of the Gotei-13.

Don't get me wrong! I love a bar that offers non-alcoholic options! You can also get tea at Kamenoya, which you can see Tobiume and Okyō drinking below; Momo has some as well (they also have a discussion about it)

earlier posts in this series: (part 1) (part 2)

#izakaya kamenoya #i was going to talk about food too but this post is long enough so i guess we just gotta have a PART 4 #i actually think it's really great that they show characters who don't prefer to drink #i just wish it wasn't always the tiny lady characters #bleach is also really good at often showing that strength goes with spiritual pressure and not with size #and i think alcohol tolerance should go the same way #ukitake always gets to drink and he's on like 9000 medications!#show us komamura going to the bar and ordering water in a large bowl you cowards!!#at least we have matsumoto sloppy drunk feminist icon

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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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on a scale of 1 - 10 what would you say the alcohol tolerance of the characters in FnF are.

2 - Caitlyn: She isn't a fan of drinks, and even at social functions, tends to eschew the champagne for a tall glass of water. Sometimes if there is wine served at her family's dinners, she'll take a few sips, make appreciative noises about the label/year, then put the glass on a maid's tray when nobody's looking. The staff know the young miss dislikes spirits, and the nicer ones will sneak her a fresh juice at her mother's parties.

4 - Jayce: Like Caitlyn, he's not too fond of strong drinks. Champagne just goes up his nose, and the hard stuff makes him queasy after a few sips. At galas, he'll snag a glass of champagne - and then proceed to hold on to it for the duration of the night so nobody tempts him with refills. On the rare occasions he partakes too much, he's a friendly but somewhat pensive drunk. Will ruminate at length over his Hex-tech projects, science, magic, philosophy, the human condition - and his mom. Awww.

6 - Viktor: Undercity-born and bred, so he's had his share of gutrot hooch when growing up in the Fissures. Has better tolerance than Jayce, and sometimes monitors his science-buddy's intake to make sure he doesn't fall asleep facedown in some caustic solution. On principle, he is a teetotaler. Not only would booze exacerbate his poor health, he's generally at once drunk and high off the adrenaline of his and Jayce's projects. If he breaks his own rule and actually gets drunk, you'd best leave him alone. He's a quiet, bitter, irritable mess who just wants to lament his fickle mortality in peace.

7 - Jinx: Likes the fruity concoctions and cocktails, and can knock 'em back like a pro - but she isn't allowed a lot of opportunity to partake, because 1) Silco orders his crew to keep watch over her intake, and 2) having grown up in a bar, she doesn't find alcohol a huge novelty. Mostly, she sees liquid cheer as something losers need to give them courage. She's already got plenty. Not to mention loads of heavy artillery, all which requires a cool eye and a steady hand. She'll stick to her favorite cherry soda in her favorite sippy cup, tyvm.

8 - Vi: She's not much of a drinker. Like Jinx, having grown up in a bar, she also doesn't find alcohol hugely interesting. In many ways , the opposite: she's watched people get belligerent and make absolute jackasses of themselves while drunk. If invited to a night of drinking, she'll indulge in moderation, then quickly go into 'designated driver' mode and begin watching her companions' intake. Booze isn't bad for a little buzz, but she hates having to break the seal and go pee every twenty minutes.

9 - Silco: This man grew up drinking absolute poison. By this point, either his liver is made of steel - or on its last legs. That said, he's more of a casual drinker; he can go without alcohol if necessary, but nicotine is his real vice. Has an appreciation for top-shelf whiskeys, and the rare vintage wine - but in a pinch he'll drink the same swill as everyone else in the Lanes without batting an eyelid. Best stop him from getting drunk though. He's prone to rants full of billingsgate and general belligerence. Might threaten to gouge out someone's eye with a broken bottle right before he blacks out.

9 - Mel: Has a surprising tolerance for strong drink, and enjoys using them to smooth tempers and sweeten temperaments during galas and negotiations. A little liquid cheer enhances a good verbal spar in her experience. That said, she prefers high-end wines and will turn up her nose at hard liquors and beers. She also prefers to drink in moderation, so it's very rare that you'll find her tipsy, let alone drunk. On the rare occasion that it happens, she'll get somewhat quiet and melancholy, and want to go paint by herself.

10 - Sevika: An enigmatic well of a woman. Booze goes in. Nothing comes out. Not words, not tears, not tantrums. She's been known to drink the toughest comrades under the table, then shrug it off and go shoot pool or enjoy a round of darts. She's also the person the crew summon when Silco threatens to get too deep into his cups. He'd never tolerate being bodily hauled up to his quarters. But she can match him shot-for-shot and take his invective in stride, until he subsides into sleep. (She'll treat herself to his fine cigars afterwards. The next day, Silco will pretend he doesn't notice they're missing.)

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane sevika #arcane silco #arcane mel #arcane jinx #arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane vi #silco #vi #jinx #sevika #mel medarda #jayce talis #viktor #arcane headcanons #arcane headcanon

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trivialbob · 8 months

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Today was scorching hot and very sunny. I doused myself with suncreen, filled a backpack with water, more sunscreen, and dental floss, and went over to the "Great Minnesota Get-Together," otherwise know as the annual Minnesota State Fair.

When I arrived at 10:00 AM the place was packed. If you do not revel in big crowds, sweaty people, fried food, food on a stick, high food and drink prices, farm animals, or tractors, this place is not for you. I can tolerate this mixture of things if I go to the fair every few years.

Lots of people. Did I already say that?

Getting there is easy if one takes a bus. $5 buys a round trip ticket from one of several park-and-rides around the cities. Both the bus ticket and the admission ticket can be purchased online ahead of time. Very easy.

People watching is excellent. Food smells are delightful. The assortment of eats is interesting. It would never have occurred to me to make deep-fried pickles. I didn't try them but I heard some people raving about how good they were.

French fries and huge tubs of chocolate cookies are popular and available in several stands. I shudder thinking what a nutrition label on those cookies would look like. It likely would indicate a serving size as "one small bite" just so the amounts of sugar, sodium, and fat didn't exceed 200% of the recommended daily allowance.

For my lunch I tried the HotDish-on-a-Stick. Hot Dish is a Minnesota thing, made with a tater tot topping over a mixture of meat, cream of mushroom soup, and maybe some veggies. The stand selling hotdish-on-a-stick didn't have a line of people. That is not a good sign. It did have a sign explaining what you got for $7 (a bargain compared to other food stands).

I liked the concept, but results didn't work for me. It tasted like deep fried batter. The mushroom-hamburger dipping sauce was too salty, and I only dipped into it one time.

Some food stands had enormous lines. There must have been 150 people waiting for a new-this-year doughnut stand. "The Doughnut" was $5. Based on the long line, they easily could charged more. The Peanut Butter Cream doughnut was $10. At that price I would have thought it would be served on a stick. This stand had me curious, but I wasn't going to wait in that line.

On Machinery Hill there were collections of vintage farm and garden tractors. Very cool. There were also lots of trucks, modern lawn equipment, side-by-sides, ATVs, and travel trailers on display. I sat on a swell little John Deer tractors and made revving noises with my mouth, much like I did as a 5-year-old in Sears stores long, long ago. I thought it was funny, but an actual 5-year-old boy today looked at me and backed away.

There are also a lot of the "as seen on TV" displays, selling items you didn't know you had to have!

The 4H people had farm displays. I like those kids. The Miracle of Birth Center had newborn calves, chicks, goats, and lambs.

After several hours of walking around my feet were burning and my back hurt a little. As I made my way back to the gate where the buses were, I stopped to try some deep fried mac and cheese bites and have a beer. Those bites were delicious. The beer, while a little pricey, was extremely refreshing and frankly worth the price in that heat.

I plopped into a seat on the articulated bus. The air conditioning worked very well. I actually started to nod off as we waited to leave.

Four blondes and a brunette get on a bus...

No, this isn't a joke. It really happened. As my bus started to pull away and take us back to our cars, an adorable young woman, the brunette, walked up to the driver.

"Wait, where does this bus go?" She apparently missed the large banners with park-and-ride names and the those same names flashing on the bus LED signs.

The driver explained that we were going to the Bloomington park and ride, next to the Mall of America.

The brunette turned to her similarly cute cohorts, the four blondes with nearly identical haircuts, who sat midway down the bus.

"What bus did we take to get here?"

The other four came up to the front of the bus. They discussed it. I heard one blonde say she was sure they had not parked in Bloomington.

"Ohmygosh, will let us get off this bus?"

We hadn't left the parking area yet so the driver politely said he could do that. The brunette turned to address the rest of the passengers.

"I'm so sorry you guys, to make you wait like that." (It had been under a minute.)

Everyone said it was no problem and wished them well finding the correct bus. I smiled, then dozed off for the ride to Bloomington.

#There was only one stop #So clearly there was no need for anyone to pull the bell cord #A mom told her young daughter she could still pull the bright yellow cord and light up the STOP REQUESTED sign as we got close to the stop #That was adorable too

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missrayon · 6 months

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hi... u shared your favorite lou reed facts.. do u have favorite beasties facts

omg I would have to think about this because I definitely do. how much is crazy adrock armchair psychoanalysis I wonder. well I think it's very sweet that adrock was a fan before he joined the band. when he said he used to see them around and think they were the kinds of people he wanted to be friends with... 😵‍💫. we all know they were a hardcore band but I love telling people that. and they played with reagan youth 🫶. I love that they "discovered" ll cool j and public enemy literally built def jam only to be screwed over so heartlessly. the way rick rubin was convinced that adrock was the star and russell simmons was convinced that mca was the star and no one gave a fuck about mike d calling him "the one who sounds like he has to try" and tried to get them to kick him out of the group. I'm haunted by their slapstick horror comedy film that never came to fruition. what they were gonna call licensed to ill. they're banned from performing in china and anyone who played their tibetan freedom concerts is also banned from performing in china. I love that there is no record of their alleged british airways lawsuit like okay myth building. we know I'm obsessed with the fact that adrock met liam gallagher during the doomed meth trip. and we know how personal opening for madonna on her virgin tour is to me. yauch vehemently denying that he made out with her and then a few years ago she changed her previous claim and said it was actually adrock. it's been said that mca threw the beer can at that fan in liverpool and ad whammy took the fall. I love that adrock auditioned for oliver stone's the doors... who was he reading for we can only wonder... I love that yauch is like actually a filmmaking pioneer inventing angles and shit. and who doesn't love their general paul's boutique antics. wearing vintage women's clothes blowing so much money that their label decides they're not gonna promote the album at all after their extravagant launch party for it. when they told blur to fuck off. the missing hydraulic penis. the ione skye saga. when they broke up and adrock left to be an actor claiming he watches the films of kenneth anger "all the time". sued by the beatles. are these really facts or just incidents I think are funny. world's vilest pop group ❤️

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imaynotdrinkbutiknowwhatilike · 1 year

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1958 Carling Black Label Beer

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morganofthewildfire · 2 years

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Don't Say You Need Me - Chapter 1

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based on the album Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey

masterlist

~2.5k words

this is a shorter chapter, just to start the fic, but they'll get longer after this! Let me know what you think!!! I'm super excited to share this with you!

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My life, it comprises of losses and wins and fails and falls

~ money, power, glory by Lana Del Rey

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No one was listening to her.

Aelin had been playing at this stupid bar for nearly an hour, and the best she’d cobbled together was a few girls who looked far too young to be in here. And chances were they recognized her one semi-popular song from Tik Tok. Her record label had manufactured a trend to it, and it went somewhat viral, to Rolfe’s pleasure.

She didn’t mind the trend, the exposure was good. But now to Rolfe, that was enough. No more money, no more effort, needed to be put into promoting her album. Hence why she was here.

“Look at you kids with your vintage music,” she sang softly, slowly transitioning into the next song. Her fingers danced across the plastic keys of the keyboard, desperately missing the smooth ivory of a real piano.

It made sense there was no real piano here, as the wood would get trashed in an instance just from the musty stench of beer, but she still craved the feeling of real keys under hands. She couldn’t afford a real piano for herself either, so she relied on going to a music store that had one on display. The owner, Emrys, had always been kind to her and let her play on it whenever she stopped in.

Which was often.

She was a musician, an artist, she needed to keep creating. Words and melodies constantly flowed out of her; she needed a way to pull them all down out of the sky and lay them neatly into songs tied up with a perfect ribbon that she could deliver to her record label.

Not that they appreciated it.

She could bring them a hundred songs right now, a hundred potential best sellers, and they’d shuffle them under a pile of paperwork, telling her to go sit down and be patient and wait until they told her when to write.

Rolfe was the worst at that, the CEO of the label. He was a very financially cautious boss, or really a money hoarder, and refused to shell out any more money than he thought he ever needed to. Which meant from the moment her first album, Blue Jeans, came out, there’d been practically no promotion whatsoever.

It’d had its moment briefly, but it was already faded into the abyss.

Which was why no one was listening to her.

“You get ready, you get all dressed up,” she sang, “to go nowhere in particular.”

The lilting chords hung a little too electronically in the air, but she pushed through, crooning into the microphone hooked onto the keyboard. Aelin loved this particular song, affectionately called Love.

She’d written it in her early days of writing music, back at the orphanage, or girl’s home she should say. That was the official name. But it was an orphanage.

At least there they’d had a real piano.

So this song had been sitting with her for about six years. She’d only been sixteen, but already forced to mature far more than other kids her age, giving her a unique perspective she just had to write about. She was nostalgic for a life that had never been hers, and this song was all about that.

A rose colored version, sure. But it was still almost unbearably honest.

The dimmed lights above the “stage” area of the bar set the mood, and she leaned into the music as it welcomed her with a comforting embrace. No matter what happened, she could always rely on that.

“Can you play Invisible String?!” One of the girls watching shouted out as the song came to a close, and Aelin was momentarily happy at getting a request, before realizing that the song being requested was not actually hers.

Aelin’s hands slowed to a stop on the keyboard, and she glanced out to where they sat at a table close to the stage.

Did they even know she was a songwriter? Or did they assume she was just covering a bunch of different songs? Did they know who she was? At all?

Fighting the rising anger in her, she swallowed it all back, prying her stiff fingers off the keyboard.

“I’m afraid that’s not my song,” she said, speaking to them. No one else even noticed she’d stopped playing. There was rowdy laughter and loud conversation, gross men guzzling beer and generally being disgusting.

Aelin hated that she had to stoop to this level to play, but her record label wasn’t networking for any opportunities for performances. She wanted to tour, at least a little bit, but the idea was vehemently shut down.

Technically, she could get in big trouble if they found out she was here. So technically, it might be a better idea to let those girls think she was just some cover artist. But her pride had always been her fault, and her unbearing temper.

Aelin liked to say it fueled her determination, and it was true for the most part, but it also got her into some sticky situations. She just couldn’t help herself sometimes.

“I’m just playing my songs,” she said, smiling tightly, “but I appreciate the request.”

Without waiting for a response she set her hands back down, transitioning into another song. This time Lucky Ones.

This song was also special to her, they all were special to her, except it stung a little bit. This song was about a dream she had, of a girl and a guy running along a beach, just happy and together, enveloped in a once in a lifetime all consuming love. She’d had to write about it, even if it was something she’d never experienced herself.

The hollow, aching feeling of loneliness had made its way into many of her songs, though none she’d ever finished. Loneliness, and that fear that once you found someone, you’d never be enough for them. And you’d be left desperately trying to hang on as the other person walked away.

She saw out of the corner of her eye as the girls left, apparently bored with her now, and she clenched her jaw, momentarily stopping singing.

Turns out it didn’t even matter, because the cord was yanked out of the wall, plunging the keyboard and the microphone into silence.

“What the hell?” Aelin cursed, whipping around to see the owner of the bar, Erawan.

“Time’s up,” he said, gesturing for her to leave the stage. “The boys want to listen to the jukebox now, not your sad shit.”

The boys. Gods.

“You know, whatever,” she spit, standing up. “Fine.”

She grabbed her bag, stomping off the stage, heading directly toward the bar. Her worn out sneakers landed in a puddle of what she hoped was beer, splashing up against the hem of her jeans as she stormed to go get a drink.

She’d even posted to her meager social media following that she’d be here, and all she’d gotten was a couple of girls who looked like they were out past their bedtimes.

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath as she collapsed onto a barstool. Aelin had thought when she’d gotten a record deal, it would be her big break. But here she was, still struggling.

“Can I get an old fashioned?” She asked the bartender, nearly begging for the drink. The man just turned to look at her, a brow raised.

“Can I see some ID?” He asked flatly, and she nearly rolled her eyes, but reached into her tote bag regardless to dig out her wallet. With her long hair tied loosely in a braid down her back, and her simple tank top, no makeup on, she probably did look young. Though she was only twenty two; but still, it was annoying.

Her birthday was coming up anyway, she was almost 23.

Aelin whipped her ID up for the bartender to see, and it took him a second to read, but he nodded and she mockingly put it back into her wallet.

“An old fashioned, you said?” He asked, and she nodded, before -

“Wait,” she said, stopping him mid grabbing a glass. “How much does it cost?”

The bartender just chuckled, gesturing with his head over toward the booths on the side of the room.

“You’re good,” he said, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Guy over there came and said he would pay for your next drink. I didn’t think you would ever come down from the stage, but here you go.”

Aelin raised a brow, and the bartender got to work making her drink, leaving her sitting there in contemplation. It was probably some gross dude, but she couldn’t deny she was slightly curious. So glancing over her shoulder casually, like she was just surveying the bar, she looked over toward the booths.

And her heart stopped.

The man was sitting alone in a booth, tucked into the corner, but he was visible enough that she recognized him as he lifted his drink in greeting. Oh she recognized him. How could she not?

As an aspiring singer/songwriter, there was no way she couldn’t recognize him, the guy was one of the most famous names in the industry.

Arobynn Hamel.

He was one of the most successful music moguls around. His record label housed the biggest talent, had the most connections, had everything you could want as a new artist. And he was here. And he bought her a drink.

Aelin watched as he took a sip, before blinking and turning back to the bartender, processing everything. What the hell?

Should she go over there?

Yes, was her immediate answer. But even when she got her drink, she hesitated. What would she even say? What did he want? What, what, what.

So many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

Lifting her chin up, she clutched her old fashioned tightly, pushing herself to a stand. He’d bought her a drink, he could explain why.

Her other hand was tight on her tote bag as she made her way away from the bar and to the booths on the side. Arobynn Hamel was sitting casually in one, his arm draped around the back of his bench, his other holding his drink. It was some sort of cocktail, but she didn’t know enough about alcohol to identify it.

“Miss Galathynius,” he greeted, gesturing for her to sit down across from him, and she blinked in surprise as she did. The wood was uncomfortable underneath her, but she barely noticed. “The lovely manager said your name as you got on stage,” he added a tad sarcastically, answering her unspoken question.

“You’ve been here since then?” Aelin asked, her voice slightly tight. She’d been performing for almost an hour, though she was sure she would’ve noticed had he come in in the middle of her set. But it made her a bit queasy knowing he’d been watching her sing the whole time. Queasy with nerves, wondering exactly what he was thinking. If he was impressed.

“Indeed,” he said, lifting his chin and looking at her, as if appraising her. She shifted a bit nervously. There was a moment of silence, and she sipped at her drink waiting for him to say something. “Did you write all of those songs yourself?”

Aelin nodded, setting her glass down on the lacquered table. “Yes,” she added, effectively repeating herself. “I write all of my own music.”

He hummed in contemplation, and she just stared. Arobynn Hamel was a remarkably famous man, but he was also remarkably private. Everyone knew what he looked like and how he made money, but no one really knew anything about him.

It was surreal to have him sitting in front of her.

“At Hamel Records, we pride ourselves on having both accomplished singers and songwriters,” he said, and her heart nearly stopped. “I believe you fit that criteria.”

Aelin realized she was gaping, and quickly shut her mouth, clearing her throat. To hide how shocked she was she took another sip of her drink.

“You just met me,” she finally settled on, her voice tight. “And no offense, but why are you here? It’s not the most glamorous location.”

She winced a bit, realizing the impertinence, but he just chuckled, the sound rumbling across the table. There was still loud raucous going on in the rest of the bar, but she could barely hear it, almost like a wall had gone up between this table and everyone else, sealing them off from the rest of the world.

“I like to stop in places like this,” Arobynn answered, lifting the hand draped over the bench to idly gesture to the rest of the bar. “To scout out new talent.” He quirked an auburn brow. “I may be the boss but I like to have a more personal touch on everything.”

Aelin nodded slowly. That made sense.

“So what do you say?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink. “Are you interested?”

“What?” She croaked out, adrenaline racing through her body. He just chuckled again.

“Where do you want to be in five years?” He asked, leaning forward a bit, one arm on the table. “Where do you see yourself?”

Aelin considered the question for a second, her heart pounding as she answered. “I want to be a star.”

He smiled, resting back against the bench. “I can make that happen.”

She wanted so desperately to say yes, to take whatever half baked deal he was offering her and hope it turned into more, but -

“I’m already signed to a label,” she said so quietly she was nearly whispering. “My first album is out through them. Blue Jeans; Blue Ocean Records.” They’d been the only ones interested in her two years ago, when she first began desperately hunting for someone to sign her. This hadn’t been an option then. Arobynn fucking Hamel hadn’t been sitting across from her, asking if she was interested in making a deal.

Of course she was. But it was too late.

Arobynn just winked, pulling out a business card and a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He set it on the table, clicking the pen and writing something down on the back of it.

“Here,” he said, tucking his pen back in his jacket and sliding the card across the table toward her. Aelin pried it off the sticky lacquer with one hand, feeling faint. “If you’re still interested, meet me there tomorrow night at 10 pm. Tell the bouncer you’re with Arobynn Hamel.”

He stood up from the table, straightening his jacket, and looked down at her. She could barely breathe.

“We’ll see what we can do about making you a star,” he said, and then he was leaving. His sleek silhouette as he headed toward the door far contrasted the rest of the bar, and all she could do was stare as he left. She needed to write a song about this feeling, something she’d never felt before. The feeling that finally, finally, something in her life was going to change.

-----

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#rowaelin #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #rowaelin au #throne of glass au #rowan x aelin #dont say you need me

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stone-cold-groove · 5 months

Text

A vintage Daeufer Lieberman Brewery Daeufer’s Special Xmas Brew label.

#vintage packaging #vintage labels #typography #vintage typography #beer labels #beer #breweries #daeufer lieberman brewery #vintage illustration #christmas #christmas season #holiday season #xmas #christmas holidays #christmas aesthetic #beer drinking #adult beverages

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professortennant · 1 year

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hey yo my friend, long time no see, how you doing? i can ask for 19 and/or 20 for the writing warm up prompts please? 💜

hi friend! doing okay and glad to be dipping toes back into fandom waters <3 #20. wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Samantha Carter, it turns out, is a no-good, dirty rotten thief. He suspected her when he'd returned to the commissary to find his plate of fries a few handfuls short and his second-in-command looking suspiciously like the cat got the canary, greasy fingers and lips and all.

It escalates from there.

On their return from their stint in 1969, smelling like pot and incense and sweat , he'd returned to the locker room with wet hair and a towel around his waist to find most of his 60s-era clothing gone. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time, figured the eggheads collected it as part of mission artifacts and they were folded and labeled in a storage vault somewhere.

Except when he gets topside and walks towards his truck, ready for a cold beer to ease the ache of time travel, he sees Captain Carter astride a rumbling beast of a motorcycle clad in a suspiciously familiar leather jacket. Where it had been snug on him in the 60s, it swamps her form. Something low in his gut twists at the sight of seeing her wearing his clothes--however brief a time they were his. And the sight of her now--leather jacket and long legs and looking entirely too tempting and dangerous--is enough to make him question every fraternization reg in the book.

He slid his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and twirled his keys around his finger, aiming for nonchalant as he made his way towards her, raising his voice over the rumble of her engine. "Nice jacket you got there, Carter."

There was only a flash of chagrin on her face before she shrugged, fingers plucking at the soft, worn leather. "Vintage is in these days, sir. And, well, it doesn't get more vintage than this."

"Hey," he said sharply. "Easy with the vintage. Some of us were around when that jacket was new."

She ducked her head, biting back a smile. "Yes, sir."

(He should report her for removal of property of the Stargate program, but he's always been a pretty firm believer that rules are generally meant to be broken and she really, really does look good in that jacket. He steps back and watches her go, revving her engine and disappearing around the corner with a backwards glance at her stunned CO.)

On P3X-229, he finds the front pocket of his pack suspiciously light and Major Carter covered in his favorite brand of sunscreen--the kind that smelled just a little bit like coconuts and bananas that the Air Force refused to spring the extra couple bucks for. When he stepped into her personal space and gave a dramatic sniff, she had the gumption to raise an eyebrow at him, chin jutting defiantly as if daring him to say something.

(He made sure to pack an extra tube in his pack for her next time. It was more protective than the standard issue crap and maybe it did a little something to him to know that he was doing this for her--his fair-skinned Major who started burning exactly sixty-one minutes in the sun. The fact that she smelled like summers at the cabin didn't hurt either.)

On her first real trip to the cabin--after Pete and Kerry and all the things they left unsaid finally said--she sits beside him on the dock of his cabin, cold beer in her hand and smelling of his own personal brand of sunscreen (this time given freely and applied in messy swipes of his hands over her shoulders and neck). She stretches out leisurely and presses her bare thigh against his, the contact of skin sticky in the heat. He squeezes her knee and leans over to brush his lips over her rapidly freckling shoulder.

"You should go inside, Carter. You're mottling like a banana."

She gave him an unimpressed smile. "A banana? Real nice." Another brush of his lips against her skin had her relenting, melting against his side. "A few more minutes and then we'll both go in."

"This is not a negotiation, Sam," he argued, voice dropping the teasing tone and instead replacing it with concern. Old habits die hard. "You're going to burn and you'll be miserable and then--"

But Sam is two steps ahead--when isn't she?--and curls her fingers against his jaw and lifts his mouth to hers, kissing him softly, hungrily. She tastes of sun and salt and all thoughts of going inside disappear with each brush of her tongue against his, each soft searching press of her lips. No matter how many galaxies he travels to or planets he explores, each kiss and touch from Samantha Carter is the only adrenaline rush he needs.

As he presses forward, shifts in his chair to get closer, his fishing rod clattering to the dock so he can get his hand between her legs and the other in her hair, he feels a sudden pull and then she's gone from his arms.

He blinks stupidly for a minute until his lust-filled gaze clears and he sees Samantha Carter sitting in front of him looking deliciously self-satisfied and his favorite olive green cap--the one he was wearing until about five seconds ago--perched atop her head, her blonde hair curling beneath the brim.

She beams at him. "Ten more minutes," she counters, her tongue peeking out from behind her teeth in a too-wide, mischievous smile.

He huffs, faux-annoyance coloring his tone as he reaches for his favorite hat on his favorite person. "Give that back, you kleptomaniac."

But she dodges out of reach, laughing and pulling the bill of his hat--now her hat--further down on her head. "No," she argues.

He could argue, he thinks, reach over and scoop her up and throw her in the empty lake or carry her back to the cabin and strip her of every piece of clothing she has except for his baseball cap (and actually, yeah, he'll put a pin in that). Instead, he leans back in his chair and watches her and realizes he's forgotten one last count of theft against her:

She stole his heart.

#and the award for cheesiest dumbest ending goes toooooooooooo #sg1fic #sam x jack #sg1 fic #stargate sg1 #samantha carter #jack o'neill

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blackestnight · 2 years

Text

2: warp and weft

Prompt: Bolt

Word count: 1284

Set pre-Stormblood, inspired by a conversation with @aethernoise back when I was making piles and piles of Borel wallpaper.

Hanami gets a rather rude reminder of the fact that, although he is a nice man, Aymeric is like, disgustingly rich.

The invitation to join him on a tour of the wine cellar had mostly been issued in jest—he’d never seen Hanami partake of anything stronger than small beer, and while he owned a handful of exceptionally fine vintages the room itself wasn’t that interesting, particularly to one who wouldn’t drink the contents. She’d answered him entirely seriously, however, a quiet I would like that, and Aymeric had managed to scrape together his composure enough to offer her his arm on the stairs.

The cellar was a long, narrow space, lit with wall sconces and boasting a tall table parallel to the wall holding most of the bottles, as well as a cabinet for glassware. He had, admittedly, been unsure initially of what sort of tour to give, and had resorted to pointing out the handful of bottles left from his mother’s family land, before the Calamity had buried their vineyard under ice. Hanami had canted her head, her ponytail swinging free of her collar, and mentioned that the label was pretty even though she couldn’t read it; from there they had made a game of examining the bottles with the farthest-flung origins he could find and trying to decipher the writing. (He had, apparently, completely butchered the Dalmascan tongue, which sent Hanami into a coughing fit; he found her scorn far preferable to the flicker of melancholy that had overtaken her when she’d found a single bottle of Doman rice wine, the date marking it as older than the Imperial occupation.)

The back of the long room was dedicated mostly to the newer, or cheaper, wines, as well as racks for storing household items and heirlooms that required the same darkness and cool temperatures as the drinks; Aymeric’s own eyes skipped over the plain shelves, accustomed as he was to their presence (and inventory, which to his knowledge hadn’t changed in his lifetime), but his hunt for a Gridanian brew with a rather amusing depiction of Nophica on the label was interrupted when Hanami made a questioning noise and headed straight for a rack of fabric rolls.

“What are these?” she asked, ducking around a shelf of old silver sets. The rack was mounted just high enough off the ground that, after a moment’s hesitation, she rested her foot on the bottom (empty) row of a neighboring set of shelves to grant her a slight boost in height, which was so charming that Aymeric had to remind himself to answer her question.

"Excess wall coverings for the first floor, I think," he said—though as the rolls were wrapped in tissue paper he wasn't completely sure. Grafant kept a careful count of every item stored in the cellar and its use in any future renovations to the house, but Aymeric couldn't remember any such work being done while he had lived in the Manor, and had to rely on guesswork and half-remembered snatches of overheard conversation. “In case the need should arise to patch them.”

She hummed an affirmative, and—with a glance back at him, as if waiting for a protest, and a flick of her tail for balance—leaned over and pinched the top corner of one of the paper-wrapped rolls between two careful fingers and her thumb. The tissue crinkled quietly at her touch, and she moved incredibly slowly as she pulled aside the covering just enough to peer at the fabric underneath, at which point she wheezed and hissed, “Aymeric, what the fuck.”

Aymeric blinked.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, already making his way closer, his hunt for the Gridanian wine abandoned.

“Why are you keeping this in your basement?” she said. As he drew closer he could see just how wide her eyes had gone, brilliant in the dim light of the cellar, her face a perfect mask of shock and some tiny amount of worry. “Do you—have any idea what this is?”

He felt a momentary flash of panic as he drew alongside her, envisioning—he couldn’t even imagine what would garner such a reaction from her of all people; lurid tapestries, maybe, depicting any number of unsavory acts. But when he brushed a gentle warning hand at her back and craned his neck to peer at the exposed fabric, it was, in fact, a perfect match for the walls upstairs, a relatively inoffensive (or so he’d thought) shield-and-wings pattern reminiscent of the Borel crest.

“I…don’t catch your meaning,” he admitted, as she flipped the fabric to reveal its opposite side: this time with the pattern reversed, a blue crest on a silver field, which he’d never seen before but thought quite lovely.

“This is—shit,” Hanami breathed, apparently even more distressed by the fabric’s reverse. “I thought the stuff upstairs was paper. This color blue? I have seen silk like this before, once in my life, and it was on a robe taken from Doma castle. Do you know how expensive this is?”

Aymeric shifted his weight—he knew damask itself was a costly weave, which was why the Borel ancestor who had commissioned it had only used it in the rooms most likely to be subject to public scrutiny, but he couldn’t speak to the fabrics used to make it; he was fairly sure it incorporated silk and satin both, but the specifics were beyond his knowledge of textiles. (He did feel somewhat justified in his ignorance, as it was, in fact, wallpaper, and he’d become inured to its presence by the time he could speak in full sentences.) “I must defer to your expertise in this matter,” he told her.

She twisted to glance up at him, her brows pinched around the little scales on her forehead, but when she looked back to the fabric he could see her shock beginning to ease into something gentler. She flipped the corner again to display the more familiar side—careful, Aymeric noted, to only let her fingers touch the paper, and not the silk. “My family was—wealthy, I think you would say? Before the Empire. My mama had some very nice wall hangings hidden away. Nothing like this. Not even we could afford it. This much rhea silk…this is what you would pay a ransom for a king with.”

Wonder, he decided. The look softening the heavy lines of her brow was wonder.

He felt himself smile at that while he turned over several possible responses in his mind. Tempting as it was to press her for more recollections—she so rarely spoke of her homeland, and this was the first fascinating glimpse she had ever given him of her life before the Empire; he’d had no idea that she came from a family of means, especially given that she preferred to act the rough-and-ready adventurer—but he was loath to replace her fascination with uncomfortable memories, so instead he said, “Thank you for sharing your knowledge. I didn’t appreciate its value before now.”

Hanami looked up at him once more, her fascination lingering just for a moment, the lamplight and the glow of her eyes painting her in gold and delicate blue sublime enough to rival any emperor’s silk—before she clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes, though her hand was still careful when she tucked the silk back into place and secured the paper wrappings.

“In your basement,” she muttered again, disgusted. “Like a can of fucking paint. I hate you right now. Just a little.”

But when she hopped down from her perch on the shelf, her tail brushed against his calf, and her fingers brushed his arm; he could only laugh as he followed her away from the racks, and as she let him place his hand at her back once more to steady her on the stairs, he assumed himself forgiven.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite 2022 #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #aymeric de borel #ishgardian interior walls also use holy water. what the fuck is wrong with them.#writing - mine

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kindnessisweakness2 · 2 years

Text

Perfect Chaos - Part 8

Pulling up to the cabin shocked Ez and Angel instantly. It was fucking huge and not what they were expecting at all. The modern building stood tall in front of acres of green woodland. On the left side of the building there was a large lake with a small dock. A large garden area overlooked the beautiful view, with large sofas and a fire pit. Riley slid off of Angels bike and took her helmet off as she made her way towards the keypad. Quickly typing in the numbers, she stepped back as the large black gates opened and waved at Coco to drive through. "This isn't like any cabin I've ever been to." Ez smiled at Riley as she met them by the front door. Smiling wide at him, Riley finally felt safe with the gates closed behind her. This was her dad's cabin and his security system was second to none. She always used to joke that he was preparing for the purge to come true. "Lets go in through the garage. You can put your bikes inside." Leading them towards the right side of the house, she stopped outside a large grey rolling door. Entering another code the door started to lift and the 3 boys eyes widened like kids in a candy store. The garage was huge with various tools lining the walls. But the best bit was the 3 vintage Harley Davidson Motorcycles parked in the corner. Instantly the lads made their way over and admired the bikes. "You ride?" Coco questioned Riley. Shaking her head she laughed. "No. They were my dad's. I promised I'd never get rid of them. This cabin was my dad's. He left it to me when he died. I can't bring myself to get rid of his things." Quickly changing the subject, she headed towards the door that lead into the kitchen of the cabin. “Lina, I’ll leave you to show the boys their rooms. The usual rules. Dads old room and office is out of bounds. Help yourself to anything, the fridge will be stocked and your beds made up. Maria and the kids only left last night, she was kind enough to set everything up for me.” Lina furrowed her brows in confusion as she took a step towards her best friend. “Wait, your not gonna stay with us? We can have drinks by the lake like we used to.” Lina’s hopeful look quickly faded to disappointment as Riley shook her head. “Sorry. I really wasnt kidding about all the work i have to do. Ill be in my room if anyone needs me!” And with that she disappeared through the kitchen and down the hall. Letting out a loud sigh, Lina turned to the boys. “Come on. Ill give you the tour.”

3 Hours later and Riley was still locked away in her room. Angel was clearly restless. Everyone could see it on his face as they sat around the fire pit with drinks in hand. His beer had now gone warm and the label had been obsessively picked off. “If you want her that bad just go to her.” Ez grinned as Angel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, your brothers right. Shes not even eaten yet. She gets lost in her work you know.” Lina smiled at Angel trying to encourage him to pull her best friend out of work mode. “What is she even working on in there?” Coco questioned. Lina rolled her eyes shook her head. “You really never listen to me do you?” Coco grinned at his frustrated woman “I do. Just every time you move your perfect lips i think of something else.” Lina couldnt help but smile. Half lovely, Half pervy. Definitley a Coco comment. Turning to the others she couldnt wipe the smile from her face. “ So you know she’s a doctor? Well shes running her own private practice giving people free health care. Anyone who cant pay their medical bills she helps them. She sees other people too, the ones who can afford to pay do and the ones who struggle, she takes care of it. She’s finally got a meeting with the Mayor next week to petition the local council to give her funding to help the people of Santo Padre. She’s trying to show them that people dont have to die or struggle for their health. That there is a way to help them.” Angel’s chest filled with pride at his woman. She was so clever. So caring. “But she does too much and she doesnt know until too late.” Pride quickly moved to worry as Angel leaned forward in his chair. Lina didnt even have to wait for his question before she quickly started to explain. “She never says no. Like currently shes got this whole free health care thing going on. But shes also agreed to write 2 Articles for the medical journal, One about cardiology and another about her recent research into Fetal Substance Syndrome and the effects during and post pregnancy. Then on top of that she has her normal shifts at the hospital, alongside seeing her appointments for the private clinc and shes even trying to sign herself up for a rotation on the pediatric ward because she wants to learn as much as she can. And when you add everything on with Jake, i really dont understand how she hasnt had a mental break down yet.” Ez widened his eyes at the revelation. “Fuck, thats alot. I dont think i could even handle that and ive got a great memory.” Angel shook his head and shushed his brother. “Why doesnt her family help? She said the other night shes a fuck up. What bullshit. Shes amazing.” Lina sighed and took a swig of her beer. “Its not that simple with her family. Shes the oldest sister. They put so much pressure on her to be perfect you dont understand. We grew up together i watched it all. The diets her mom used to force her on. The comparing to her sister constant. Being told shes never good enough. She wanted to sing. Shes fucking brilliant. Her mom put her down every chance she got so she followed her dad into medicine. Dont get me wrong shes fucking great at what she does, but her voice. fuck she couldve gone far. She writes too. Never sings her own songs anymore tho. its a shame.” Lina shook her head. “No the only one she was close to was her dad and he died of Cancer years ago. Riley cared for him till the end. God, ive never seen her so broken. She was so ill. I was so glad he left her this cabin tho. She spent every summer and every christmas here. Maria, the lady she mentioned earlier, she was another nurse who helped her care for her dad. Known her for years. She lets her and family stay here whenever they want. She see’s it as a way to say thank you for all her help. They have a great relationship and are still close now. Dinners, Cook outs, she even goes to Maria’s kids birthdays. Maria and the kids are like her only family left.” Leaning back in his chair, Angel looked to Ez. It was quiet for a minute as everyone digested the information. “No.” Angel broke the silence. “She has us. She has club. Fuck Jake. She’s my girl. Him hurting her ends here.” Standing up, Angel made his way into the cabin and headed straight to Riley’s room.

Knocking on the door, Angel knew he had to take care of her. Fuck he loved her more than anything. And he knew how stupid it probably sounded as they’ve not even been together long at all. Well if you can call their arrangement together that is, but he would lie down in the goddamn road infront of a bus before he would let anyone or anything hurt this girl again. When no response came from inside Angel opened the door and couldnt help the smile that spread across his face. There she was, lay on the bed on her stomach, headphones on typing away. Textbooks and paper surrounded her. In that moment Angel couldnt help but stand there and admire her. She really was perfect. An oversized T-shirt barely fell to the tops of her thighs and her bright fluffy socks bunched around her ankles. The feeling of being watched made her panic and fling her headphones off sitting up. Relief washed over her instantly as she saw who it was. Smiling at him as she sat back on the bed, Riley gathered her papers up into a pile. “Sorry its a mess in here. Do you need something?” She asked as she moved from the bed to place her papers and books in a neat pile on her desk. Stepping further into the room, Angel wrapped his arms around her from behind gently. “I need you to take care of yourself. You haven’t came out of the room since we got here. Come eat?” Riley stayed quiet as her head fell back onto Angel’s shoulder. She didnt know how he did it but he calmed the noise in her head. Made her feel safe. Made her feel like she could finally take a propper breath. “I’m ok.” Angel placed a kiss on her neck. The view of the red marks making anger rise in his chest again. He’ll kill Jake when he gets his hands on him. Thats something he will promise. “You dont have to pretend with me.” He spoke quietly as he pressed a kiss to her neck again. “Don’t go back to him.” He kissed the shell of her ear as he almost begged her. “Please. I cant stand the thought of him hurting you again. You can stay with me. Ill protect you, baby.” Riley turned in his arms and lifted her head to look up at the man who wormed his way into her heart so quickly. She knew he would protect her, but her reluctance to agree came from her wanting to protect him. She knew what Jake was capable of and she would never let Angel get hurt because of her. But as she looked at him she knew she had no choice.

She was going to have to tell him everything. It was the only way to protect him.

#angel reyes #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagine #Mayans MC #angel x reader #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fic

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