#Dr. Pinot

[wine-porn]

Jenkins Plot

This is that girl’s sweat you tasted you’ll never forget. This is that week at the lake with your more energeteic parents–younger than you are now–where the sand and campfire and clear mountain water between your toes makes you wonder how they kept it all together and will never end. This is that paragraph you re-wound because it insulted your vocabulary with juxtapositions you never dreamed…

[thescarletfang]

SPINNING OUT [part one]

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~4.7k

Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it just works better in 3 parts! This is part one - the other two parts are outlined! First time really writing a multi-chapter fic, eeeep.

Part Two out now!

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, no smut in this part but eventual smut. Eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49). If I missed anything, let me know!

NOW

It starts again because of an accident. 

You’re driving home from work and you’re the kind of bone-deep tired that settles inside of you like lead. Your chest feels heavy and your shoulders ache. You grip the steering wheel, blinking bleary eyes to try and stay focused on the road. 

You dream of home. Stepping out of your heels. A glass of pinot noir in your favorite long-stemmed glass. You dream of putting the day behind you; of closing the tab on all the clients you saw today. All the words you offered them, and the space you held between your body and theirs; your mind is tired. It is fulfilled, yes - as it always is. You know being a therapist is your calling, and you’ve never been more grateful for work than you are at this particular time in your life. 

But you’re…exhausted. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night. Likely in the before. Before your home was cold and lonely. Before everything felt so fucking hard. Before you slept alone in your bed and only brewed one cup of coffee and only made enough food for you.

You just want to rest. 

More than that? You’d like to hide. Your brain is all static and fuzz. It’s flipping its channels at a rapid pace and you’ve lost the remote. You think about the Xanax you have at home and think maybe tonight is the night you take one. 

You just crave peace. 

Everything changes in the span of a breath.

There is the screeching of metal-on-metal, your driver’s side door crunching in on itself. Your neck feels like it snaps. Your airbag deploys and then all you can feel is pain.

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You feel like you can no longer breathe. You try breathing, you try opening your eyes but everything feels blurred, like you’ve taken your fingers and smeared the paint that makes up your vision. 

You cannot see. You cannot feel anything other than a burning pain that goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. 

You think you might be dead. You think of him, for just a moment. 

You do not know how much time passes.

In the ambulance, through the fog and haze of it all, as you lie on the gurney with your head, neck and limbs secure, you beg them to take you to a different hospital, anywhere but the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center because if you go there you’ll see him and you just fucking can’t. 

They ignore your pleas and they tell you to hang on. They tell you a drunk driver slammed into you and t-boned your car. You can barely process anything they are telling you and you feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness. 

A nap. A nap would be so good right now.

They ask you to keep your eyes open but you screw them up tight. It’s too bright in the ambulance and you don’t recognize these voices. 

You can’t see him. Not like this. Not after everything. 

You’re fading, feeling yourself pulled under the current of a dark blankness and then the gurney is being taken out of the back of the ambulance. You keep thinking not like this, not like this, like it’s a broken record in your head and you’re desperate to get to the next track.

You understand that your gurney is moving quickly and you know, despite really being aware, that they’ve taken you to PTMC. The doors slide open and there’s so much noise but your ears are buzzing and ringing. 

Everything feels far away. 

You catch snippets of dialogue in the trauma bay. “Unidentified 38-year-old female. MVA. Somewhat responsive. Severe blood loss. Possible lung puncture, difficulty breathing.” 

Then Robby’s face is above you and his brown eyes grow wide, rounding at the ages as he sees it’s you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” and then he barks an order at someone else and you manage to grab his sleeve. He turns back to you. 

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raspy as he wheels you quickly into the trauma bay. “Just fucking hang on, okay?”

“Don’t tell him,” you rasp. “Robby, please, don’t—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath but it feels like you’re drowning. Blood splatters out of your lips. “Don’t tell Jack—”

A heartbroken look flickers across Robby’s face but then you gasp and you can’t finish your sentence because everything goes black. 

* * * 

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong. 

* * * 

BEFORE

It’s Robby who sets the two of you up in the first place.

Robby went to high school with your older brother. While back then, you were the baby sister always trying to play with the big boys (literally, you were two and Robby and your brother were 17), the two of you reconnected when you became a licensed therapist and moved into the city. Despite being fifteen years your senior, Robby became a good friend. 

The two of you tried dating – briefly – but after a few dates, you realized you were much better off as friends. It always felt forced, too platonic, and you were honestly relieved when you both confessed that the romance wasn’t there. 

“I just can’t kiss someone who I knew when they were a toddler,” Robby told you bashfully, face beet red, after you’d both pulled away from a rather lackluster kiss. You hadn’t even been offended; you’d just laughed and called him an old pervert.

He’s been a best friend ever since.

You’re grabbing a coffee with Robby before his shift and your first client of the day when you finish complaining about your latest string of bad dates. 

“He venmo requested me when I got home.”

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee. “No.” 

You laugh, nodding and playing with the plastic lid of your cup. “Yes! You know what? It’s on me for agreeing to go out with a guy who still lives in his mom’s basement. I am grown enough to admit that that’s on me.” 

“Jesus,” Robby mutters. “What a dick.” 

“I think I’m done. I’m too old.” You know you’re being dramatic, but it’s so easy to bitch to Robby. “You’d think being a therapist I’d be able to spot emotionally intelligent men, but I can’t. Can’t even find someone who’s in therapy himself.” 

Robby snorts into his coffee and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ old maid.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow. “I know a guy in therapy.”

You purse your lips, studying Robby as you sit at the little cafe table in the coffee shop. “Oh yeah? He an ER doctor too?”

Robby smirks. “Yeah, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I can’t do that again.”

Robby laughs, holds a hand to his heart like you’ve wounded him. “Ouch. Was it that bad?” 

You grin, bumping his coffee cup with your own. “Yes, it was that bad. Even if we–yanno, had actually been into each other in a real way, your schedule is atrocious. ER doctors are walking zombies. I can’t date another one!”

Robby studies you in that quiet way of his that makes you feel like he’s seeing through whatever bullshit you’re spouting. 

“His name’s Jack Abbot. He’s an attending on the night shift. He’s in his 40s, was a medic in the army.” Robby pauses. “He’s a good man.”

You take a moment and absorb the information. “Is he even looking to date?”

Robby grins, draining the last of his coffee. “When he meets you, yeah, I think he will be.”

* * * 

Falling in love with Jack Abbot starts out slow and then happens all at once. 

You meet for the first time at a little bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re nervous. If you were being honest, you didn’t think Robby’s colleague would be interested in a blind date. But you’d gotten a text from an unknown number that read, “Hey, this is Jack Abbot, Robby’s better half. Would it be okay if I called you? Not a great texter.” 

He’d called a minute after you said that was fine and the deep gravel of his voice had warmed you down to your toes. Robby had shown you a picture of him, the two of them at some hospital fundraiser gala a year or two back, and yeah, he was fucking handsome. Thick, gray curls. Broad shoulders. Crooked smile. 

Apparently, he hadn’t been opposed to whatever picture Robby had shown him of you, because you found yourself talking on the phone with Dr. Jack Abbot for over two hours that first phone call. The conversation flowed easily, winding between work and family and it began to sketch the shape of you to each other. 

It’d been natural. Scarily so, if you were honest with yourself. 

You’re still nervous to meet him in person. That phone call was a few nights ago, and your hands tremble a little as you open the door to the bar. You run your hands down the fabric of your little dress – a casual, first date number that makes you feel sexy and like yourself all at once – as you walk into the bar. Your eyes scan for a moment. 

Your heart is thumping. 

This feels weighted in a way that other first dates haven’t. This person is in Robby’s orbit, which automatically makes you trust him. 

Your eyes meet across the room and it feels like a little lock sliding into place. You’re taken aback by the feeling.

He’s standing at the corner of the bar, casually leaning against it, hands in his pockets and Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. The salt-and-pepper curls look even better than in the picture you saw, and your fingers itch to run through them. He’s in nice jeans, a black sweater, expensive as fuck looking Nikes, and he’s…well, he’s staring at you in a way that nearly makes you stumble mid-step. 

“Hi,” you breathe when you’re in front of him. Jack’s smile is a little crooked and it’s so charming you feel flustered.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds just like it did on the phone: warm and raspy. “It’s really nice to meet you—uh, in person.” Oh my god, he’s so cute. He seems nervous and oddly, it sets you at ease.

You smile at him and fiddle with the strap of your purse. “It’s also nice to meet you in person.” Jesus, you sound like a robot. 

But Jack grins again and it makes him look boyish. 

“I’ll be honest,” Jack tells you, and he steps a little closer. His scent wafts over to you - like clean, fresh soap - and it’s very nice. “I uh…I haven’t been set up in awhile. I’m a little rusty.” 

You laugh. “Rusty’s okay with me.” You pause. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. The bar’s that low?”

You purse your lips. “In the ground.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving breath and shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t live in my ma’s basement.” 

You grin and he grins back crookedly and it’s so nice. He asks you what you’re drinking and after you both have your choice in hand - a pinot noir for you, a whisky on the rocks for him - you find a little table. The bar is one of your favorites, a charming little place with low lighting and a relaxed crowd. 

You’re once again surprised by how natural it all feels. You pick up right where you left off on the phone, and you’re grateful that Jack seems to enjoy talking. You’ve been on plenty of dates with men who can’t carry a conversation or seem physically incapable of asking you a single question about yourself, so this? 

This is just…lovely. 

The candlelight dances across Jack’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the gray stubble. You…simply cannot stop looking at him. And he cannot seem to stop looking at you; you may not know him well yet, but an hour in his presence and you realize this man loves eye contact. He’s unafraid to hold it, and it keeps you grounded and in your body in a way that is calming to your anxiety. 

You find out Jack grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, that he’s a born and raised Steelers fan. You learn more about his time as a combat medic (you’d touched on it on the phone). You learn that he prefers the night shift, that it calms and quiets his mind. You learn that he’s been seeing his current therapist for two years after his previous one retired. You learn that he’s the oldest of four kids and has three younger sisters. A bunch of nieces and nephews that he — adorably — shows you on his phone. 

He learns that you’re prone to anxiety attacks. That you’ve wanted to be a therapist since high school. You tell him about your friendship with Robby and he laughs when you tell him about your ill-fated attempt at dating. He learns that you want to travel more, dream of going back to Sorrento, Italy and sipping limoncello while the briny sea breeze of the marina plays across your face. He learns about your family, and how much you love them. 

A lull in the conversation as you sip your wine and he studies you. You blush, looking into your glass.

“What?” you ask out of the side of your mouth. When you look back up at him, you notice he has a dimple in his cheeks when he grins. 

“I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” is what he says. Your heart thrums once, twice, a thudding in your chest.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t blink when he stares at you. “Easy.”

You smile at him and he lets out a breath like that smile is what he’s been waiting for. 

“I uh, I should tell you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been married before. My wife passed ten years ago.” His jaw clenches once, twice. “I never know how to uh, bring it up.” He clears his throat. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Thank you for telling me,” you say softly, genuinely. And you mean it. 

He looks at you then like he’s a little surprised. “You didn’t say, ‘sorry for your loss.’”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. Do you want me to?”

His cheeks dimple when he gives you a small, gentle smile. “Fuck no. I’m just…everyone says ‘sorry for your loss.’” 

“It is an unthinkable thing to lose a partner, a thing that forever changes your entire chemistry as a human being,” you tell him. “And I hate that it happened to you. And I’m very thankful that you told me.” 

Jack taps his thumb against his whisky glass, and seems to study the melting ice within it. “She’s—she was the best person I ever met. She made me better. I think about her all the time.” He adds roughly, “I hope she’s proud’a me.” 

You resist the urge to take this man’s hand in your own. Your fingers itch for it, but you don’t want to assume he’s okay with that, especially during such a vulnerable moment. You sit in his words for a moment, letting them rest between you. 

“I’m so glad you had her. That you still have her, in a lot of ways, I’m sure.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he lets out a breath and when he looks up at you, his eyes glisten a bit. 

“This what it’s like dating a therapist? You always say the right thing?”

You bark out a laugh because you can’t help it. “God, if I always said the right thing, I’d be a shitty therapist. I tend to believe you learn by failing and fucking up.” Your cheeks warm as he continues to look at you. “And this isn’t dating. This is our first date.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? First and last?”

You bite your lip and his eyes track the motion. He swallows. “That what you want? First and last?”

“Hell no,” he says immediately, voice so sure that it warms your entire body. The glisten in his eyes has given way to a brightness and you think, I like this.

I like you.

“Good,” you tell him, draining the last of your wine. “Me either.”

* * * 

You get tacos from the taco truck around the corner, and in between bites of carne asada and tinga de pollo, Jack tells you about work at PTMC.

“I like the teaching aspect of it,” he tells you after taking a sip of his water. You sit at a little folding table in the parking lot where the truck is set up. “I didn’t think I’d like that part, but as cheesy as it sounds, I think it’s part of what I’m meant to do.”

You’re smiling as you say, “I see why you and Robby are friends.” 

Jack barks out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

You swallow the last bite of your taco, lick the salsa from your fingertips. Jack’s eyes linger on the movement and you feel a buzz in your blood. 

“You both can’t help but lead. It’s in your DNA.” You pause. “It’s how I know you’re a good doctor and I just met you.”

“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You keep talkin’ like that and my ego’s gonna get too big to fit through the trauma bay.”

You grin and he grins back and you feel silly and light and…happy. 

“I wanna see you again,” Jack tells you. It’s so straightforward that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“You’re seeing me right now,” you say to deflect from the nerves you’re feeling. 

Jack shrugs. 

“Not enough,” he says and you think you might actually swoon. “I like schedules. You wanna see me again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m off in three days and I wanna make you dinner at my place. Would that be okay?”

You try to contain your excitement, to play it cool. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought you were rusty at the whole dating thing,” you tell him. His eyes flash with something you want to name as mischief. 

Jack rubs his scruffy jaw. He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. “You make me wanna be good at it.”

You think your smile may be so bright that it outshines the streetlight above. 

“Dinner at your place in three days sounds perfect.” 

* * * 

There’s an energy between you that wasn’t there earlier in the night as Jack walks you home. You can feel it. It’s heavy and pulsing and it makes you feel untethered in a way that is intoxicating. 

Your hands brush as you walk down the quiet, dark street. Shoulders swaying into each other. You can feel the heat of Jack’s body, how close he’s walking. You clock that he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, that his eyes scan your surroundings, like he’s making sure he’s aware of everything going on.

The two of you don’t speak much as you walk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…anticipatory. It feels like you’re on the precipice of something and whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine something very important. 

You reach your duplex, a sweet little place with night-blooming jasmine bushes that have been there since you moved in several years ago. You stop at the gate and turn to him. He stops walking, hands in his pockets as his eyes hold yours. 

You both don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at each other and it’s comforting to know that you can exist with this man, just as you are. 

“This is me,” you say after a moment and it makes laughter bubble out of both of you. He grins boyishly, the apples of his cheeks pushing upward. A chorus of cute cute cute chants in your brain.

“Yeah, I figured,” he teases. “Unless you’re in the habit of just stopping in front of random people’s houses.”

“You don’t know me,” you tease back. 

Jack steps closer to you and you look up at him. He’s not really tall but he’s taller than you and his entire presence is so broad and commanding that you feel swept into it. 

“Hopin’ to change that, though.” His voice has a husk to it. “If you’ll let me.”

You take in a breath as he studies you like he’s trying to memorize your face. 

“Yeah, Abbot,” you say, your own voice soft. “I’ll let you.”

He huffs out a breath, hazel eyes clear. “Yeah?” 

His right hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek for a tender moment. You nod as he leans down. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, right before his lips meet yours. 

It’s the best first kiss you’ve ever had. 

Light at first, both of you learning one another’s mouths. Jack’s other hand comes to your face and he’s cradling your head like it’s something precious, like it’s something to be cherished. You step closer to him, your own hands fisting the front of his sweater and pulling him closer. 

When your tongue traces his bottom lip, Jack groans and it lights you up from your scalp to your toes. 

He opens his mouth immediately, his tongue licking into you and you’re on fire. 

You’re in your thirties and you’re making out with this man with a mop of silver curls and it’s so heady that you feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking kisses before the porch light comes on and you’re found out. 

You don’t know how much time passes, just that when you both break apart you’re equally short of breath. You’re seconds from inviting him up to your place which is not your typical first date move but that’s simply because nobody’s been worth it before. He grins down at you, lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and plays with a loose strand of hair framing your face. He rubs it between his fingers, then tucks it behind your ear. 

“Three days. My place. Dinner,” he says, voice husky and wrecked and you smile up at him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. 

“Can’t wait.”

Later that night, when you’re in bed about to drift off, you get a text from Robby, asking how the date had gone. You respond with a simple thumbs up, knowing it’ll piss him off. He returns your text with ????????? and you snort. You put him out of your misery with your response: It was wonderful. He is wonderful. Seeing him in a few days. Robby sends back a thumbs up in retaliation, which in return makes you annoyed and then you engage in a battle of emojis (middle finger, gun, skull, etc.) until your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Jack Abbot: Had an amazing time tonight and can’t wait to see you again. Sweet dreams.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you think maybe—just maybe—this is the start of a real good thing.

There’s no way you can know that in four years you’ll be separated from Jack and fighting for your life in a cold, dark hospital room.

[danaens]

SEX AND GOTHAM CITY

EPISODE 2

SILK DRESSES, OLD SCARS… and casual sex

I stumble back from another disorienting Saturday night, the kind where you wake up genuinely grateful you did. The evening was a blur of too many Cosmos and one charming guy named Henry, whose skin smelled like Dior Sauvage and who gave off strong I want to sleep with you energy.

And that’s when I start to wonder: is casual sex still a right… or, in Gotham, has it become a calculated risk, with a survival rate?

In a city where turning the corner might get you killed, the bed of a stranger becomes either a grave… or a cradle of protection from the world outside.

And let’s be honest: here, danger doesn’t discriminate. You could fall into the arms of a sex-addicted maniac, or a nymphomaniac with a taste for bondage and taxidermy.

In doubt, I sacrifice myself, for research purposes, obviously, and end up tangled in the sheets with Mister Henry. Sheets that, fittingly, smell of odd fantasies.

He’s a political activist. Forty something. A fellow journalist who fills columns ranting about how Batman is a fascist and the enemy of democracy. God… maybe being tied up and sodomized would’ve been more fun.

Between one moan and the next… between his gasps of "Justice belongs to the people, not just one tyrant!"…I survive. Unfortunately.

⭒⋆🍸⭒⋆

Henry Fontana, 43, Journalist and Activist, Gotham Gazette: "I don’t do casual sex that often. I don’t just go with anyone. I like interesting women... the ones who can hold a conversation."

(Which doesn’t matter, because he does all the talking)

Cecilia Burleigh, 23, Architecture Student, AUG: "Casual sex scares me. I mean, it excites me too, the idea of sleeping with someone who only wants you for that, but also terrifies me. My friends have all ended up in… weird situations."

Lydia Child, 23, Architecture Student, AUG (Cecilia’s friend): "I had a friend-with-benefits thing. Then he fell in love with me, and that was the end of it. With strangers though? One guy once took me to his basement and said he had a kidnapping fetish. He was supposed to be the one kidnapped..."

Dr. Ralph Farnham, 36, Physician at Blackgate: "I have sex every day... sometimes I don’t even pay attention to the face."

Silver St. Cloud: "For me, casual sex is the only kind I have with men. That’s how they should be taken, on top, or when you’re bent over. If there are feelings involved, taking it from behind stops being pleasure and starts being pain."

⭒⋆🍸⭒⋆

As I write this all down, I feel a strange sense of contradiction bubbling up.

I’ve spent years working the streets, met more men than I care to count, and now that it's not work but pleasure, I’m… afraid?

Tonight, the Wayne Foundation is hosting one of those classic “charity” events, where the only charity is the open bar. For my friends and me, it’s Christmas in heels: silk gowns, bad botox, and unlimited Pinot Grigio. Silver is, of course, front and center, clipboard in hand, like the prom queen she never stopped being.

But this year’s invite includes a chilling clause: "Guests are requested to attend with a companion.”

Translated from Gothamesque: if you're single, stay home.

Apparently, Gotham’s elite isn’t ready for “single empowerment.”

Sunday morning. The only mass I attend religiously is brunch at Vesper’s. Her apartment is peak minimalist-chic: cream-colored walls, nude female art, and black fig candles that scream expensive.

Silver dives into the scrambled eggs. "They only write that for show" she says between sips of mimosa, in that voice that sounds like she knows everything and judges nothing. "You don’t have to bring a man."

"Well, I’m tired of the formality" I reply. "Why assume I need a plus-one just to walk through the door? This isn’t a gala, it’s a secret society initiation."

Barbara, naturally sarcastic, chimes in with a smirk: "It’s all a ploy. They’re scouting who’s got the genes for fashionable heirs."

I burst out laughing. So hard I spill coffee on my new blouse. Goodbye, vintage Armani-from-a-street-market.

"Bianca!" Vesper gasps, like I’ve just cursed in church. "I actually think it’s cute" she continues, dreamy-eyed. "Assuming everyone has a ‘someone’... it’s kind of romantic."

Silver looks at her like she just suggested reviving the corset. "Honey, half the women those men bring are escorts picked up between Crime Alley and Park Row." She glances at me."And no offense to the escorts. But there’s nothing romantic going on here."

"I met a lawyer the other day" Vesper says, all conspiratorial. "His name is Harvey."

Barbara raises an eyebrow. "Harvey Dent? He’s fifteen years older than you and has double the personalities."

"So what?" Vesper replies. "He invited me to the gala. He’s sweet."

"Again with the dynasty concept..." I mutter, dabbing coffee off my blouse, wondering if baking soda can fix regret.

The day I decide to write about casual sex, I realize that in Gotham, it’s not just a fear, it’s a taboo. At least for the upper crust, who still want you fake, married, and smiling.

⭒⋆🍸⭒⋆

For the gala, I choose a white satin dress and my trusty Afghan jacket. I feel like Penny Lane in a sea of fake James Bonds and bleached-blonde Vesper Lynds.

Cosmo number three. My girls are scattered across the social jungle, probably flirting with predators in tailored tuxedos. I look around. Silver’s right: the escorts are everywhere. And yes, I recognize a few. Gotham is a handkerchief, small, sparkly, and full of gunpowder.

"So drinking’s a vice now?" A voice behind me. Male, familiar..I turn around. It’s him, the guy I ran into the other day.

"I wasn’t drunk" I say, which isn’t a total lie. "I was... dazed. Nothing’s a vice if you do it with awareness."

He laughs. Dangerous smile. This time, in a black suit that looks guilty on purpose. "So you’re Bianca. The girl who writes about sex. Didn’t recognize you last time." He smirks. "Read your article. The one about vigilantes. It's funny."

"You think vigilantes are funny?"

"No. But you are."

"You should be complimenting my looks, not making me feel like a stand-up clown."

He laughs again. He has a cut on his lip, and that smile,it’s honest. Like it’s the first one in years. "Making someone laugh is a gift. Clowns don’t have it. They just piss me off."

I smile back. It’s somewhere between hard and soft. But only his eyes seem soft. The rest? It’s all armor. He doesn’t smell like Dior or Versace. He smells like tobacco and masculinity, heavy, gritty, real.

"I’m Jason, by the way. Jason Todd" he says, not warmly, but definitely with intent.

"And I’m Bianca Bradshaw. But you already knew that. You look out of place." (It’s the classic line we all say at these parties.)

"I’m family. But still out of place. You? You seem comfortable."

"Comfortable, but not family." I answer honestly. I’ve adapted here, but this world? It’s not like where i came from.

"What are you writing about now?" he asks, bold as ever.

"Casual sex. And how dangerous it is. You know, for a woman, the idea of wanting to sleep with someone but being terrified he’s a psycho..."

He sips his bourbon. "Gotham’s dangerous for everyone."

And there it is,the awkward pause. I’m probably being too shallow. I am charismatic, but I say stupid things. And for once, I don’t know why I’m second-guessing myself. Jason’s interesting. He could be another test subject for my article. But he’s not easy. Getting under his covers seems harder than getting in his head.

Another guy calls out to him, slightly shorter, friendlier, but with those same Gotham-tough eyes.

And just like that… Jason disappears.

⭒⋆🍸⭒⋆

Maybe unlike other women, I'm not afraid of casual sex, I'm afraid of feelings. Whether they are positive or not. I'm afraid of when I'm not the one putting the cards on the table, but there's someone else who mixes them.

So I ask myself

In Gotham is more dangerous casual sex or having feelings for someone?

I hope you like this episode, let me know <3 In the next ones I'll try to delve into the other girls too!! I really enjoy writing, I hope you also read.

[that-girl-from-nicu]

Another (!) whatsapp thread. This time it's the morning after the night out.

Dr Robbys Sad Boi bitches 🐶

Mel: hi everyone! I was so happy to see you all last night! That place has great tea 😀😀😀😀

Trinity: bitch why are you so loud in TEXT. Fuck.

Robby: language, Santos

Trinity: sorry DrDaddy

Jack: DrDaddy? JFC what are you folk running there during the daylight, a fucking brothel?

Mel: daddy? But Robby doesn't have kids?

Robby: only you lot. All my unwanted stepkids.

You: simmer down. How's your head this morning Cassie?

Cassie: I made errors in judgement.

Samira: too many mojitos?

Cassie: nope. Well yes. But there's a strange man naked in my bed.

Victoria: curly hair?

Cassie: what? No?

Victoria: good 🤨

You: pics or it didn't happen

Whittaker: anyone know how to get Pinot out of a white shirt?

Trinity: just wear black dude. The clothes have repeatedly spoken and you're not listening.

Whittaker: it wasn't even my Pinot! I was drinking spritzers

Jack: of course you were 🤦‍♂️

You: you had an early night, Jacky boy. You left before eleven.

Robby: eleven? At night? How old ARE you, Jack?

Jack: how about you count the rings on my fucking stump and tell ME, Fruitcake.

Robby: stop right there. Only Myrna gets to call me that. It's a thing we've got.

You: that's only moderately concerning, but I'm glad you've found someone your own age 😘

Dana: he HAS seen her vagina.

Victoria: I heard bats came out lolz

Robby: HIPAA violations for days.

Samira: I can't walk right

Jack: you're welcome.

Samira: don't flatter yourself, I'm hungover.

Robby: and Jack's HUNG. Same/same.

Dana: and you'd know that how...?

Jack: because I can balance perfectly without one of my legs. Figure it out.

You: woof

Mel: you've got good balance then! Excellent vestibular system!

Trinity: he's talking about having a third leg, King. Wink wink.

Mel: oh my heavens.

-----

Michael rolled over to you in bed, weary eyed.

"Pitt crew are hectic. NICU could never!" You clutched at imaginary pearls

"Yep. My circus. My fucking monkeys", he rubbed his face with a slight laugh.

"I guess if they're you're stepkids, they're mine too?" You raised an eyebrow toward Michael.

"It would seem that way".

"Fuck". You both laughed.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Guardian Angel

Chapter 7: Pinot's Palette

Summary: Your recovery is coming along nicely and it’s finally time for your first official date with Wanda. You go to great lengths to ensure that it is perfect. 

Warnings: Mentions of injuries.

Word Count: 5k

A/N: This has been my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you enjoy! 

Guardian Angel Masterlist

The gentle chime of your phone broke your focus from the gripping novel in your hand. Glancing at the screen, you were met with the latest reminder in your schedule - the second follow-up appointment with Helen. A sense of dread washed over you as you realized that you were still unable to walk, making the journey to the Med Bay in your wheelchair a daunting challenge as usual. Adding to the difficulty, your left arm remained in a sling, magnifying your reliance on the newfound friends helping you with even the simplest tasks around the compound. The constant need for assistance left you weary, but you held onto hope for positive news today. It had been over a month since the accident, and you yearned to return to work as soon as possible.

Wanda had taken Billy and Tommy to soccer practice, leaving you all alone. Luckily, Natasha stepped in and offered to accompany you to your appointment. Standing with her arms crossed, she reluctantly observed as you attempted to persuade her that you could manage without her help. You demonstrated how you maneuvered the wheelchair with your right hand and relied on gravity to propel yourself forward.

Natasha entertained your demonstration for only ten seconds before her patience wore thin. She seized the wheelchair handles and began propelling you down the hall. Annoyed, you muttered but let Natasha take charge.

Nat called, 'Beep, beep,' as she rolled into the Med Bay.

"Y/N, everything's ready for you," a nurse announced.

Nat offered, "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"Absolutely," you replied as the nurse began to wheel you away.

You had grown accustomed to the routine. Every time, you would undergo X-rays and an MRI to assess your progress. Luckily, Med Bay provided instant test results, which you deeply appreciated. Shortly after, a gentle knock was on the door, and Dr. Cho entered the room.

“Hey, Y/N,” she greeted you as she sat beside the hologram interface and pulled up your patient file. "How are you feeling today?”

You sighed, feeling a bit worn out. This week has been a challenge. The soreness on my left side, both in my stomach and chest, persists, but I've noticed that my headaches are becoming less frequent.

"The discomfort you're feeling on your left side is totally normal after the splenectomy and the procedure on your punctured lung. It's expected that you may have some residual and referred pain for a while. And hey, remember to take it easy on the screen time while you're still dealing with concussion symptoms," Helen said, arching an eyebrow with a knowing look.

“Don’t worry,” Nat interrupted. “We’ll make sure she stays off the screens.”

Your recovery is progressing very well," remarked Helen as she reviewed the MRI images. She pointed at the screen, explaining, "The cradle has significantly accelerated the healing process following your surgery. As you can see, there is very little scar tissue and no inflammation around your abdomen or chest. This is exactly the kind of progress we were hoping for.”

You were grateful for Helen's positive and composed attitude. From the moment you were wheeled into her operating room, she has been by your side through every stage of this journey. Her support has been invaluable to you over the past month.

So, that was the good news," she said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "But do you want to hear the great news?

“That wasn’t the great news?” You inquired.

“Your fractured ankle has healed remarkably well in the past month. This means you're ready to say goodbye to the wheelchair," Helen said with a smile, displaying the before-and-after X-ray images. "Instead, we'll have you fitted with a walking boot for the next couple of weeks. You can take it off at night, and if all goes according to plan, you can bid farewell to the boot and your sling in just two weeks.”

Phew," you breathed out, running a hand over your face, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Helen, I can't thank you enough for this.

"If everything goes smoothly, I can see you returning to work in approximately a month," she remarked.

*^~^*

As you and Natasha stepped off the elevator and entered the lounge room, you couldn't help but be struck by the sensation of walking. It had been long since you could walk freely, and you made a mental note to never take that simple act for granted again. Finding a comfortable spot on the sofa, you reached for your phone to check for any missed calls from Wanda. After your open and honest conversation about your feelings, you found it difficult to go long without speaking to the redhead.

Nat's hand swiftly reaches out from behind and snatches your phone. "Nope," she declared with a mischievous grin.

“Hey!” You shouted.

“Remember what Helen said - no screens while you're still experiencing concussion symptoms.”

Come on, Nat," you said, grabbing your phone. "I'm feeling fine at the moment. Wanda was supposed to call me after my appointment, and I really don't want to miss it.”

“I will hold onto your phone and let you know if she calls,” she said, holding it above her head.

Rising to your feet, you used your uninjured arm to reach for your phone.

"Maria heads up!" Natasha called to her girlfriend as she burst into the room.

The Deputy Director skillfully snatched the phone just before it could collide with her face.

"Please, I'm begging you, just give me my phone," you pleaded.

"Wow, look at you standing up! That's fantastic," Maria exclaimed.

"Thank you, Maria. May I have my phone as a reward?" You eagerly asked.

She gazed beyond you towards Natasha, who defiantly shook her head.

"Sorry, y/n," she was just about to throw your phone back to Nat when it suddenly started ringing.

Maria's smile widened as she held up your phone, Wanda's name lighting up on the screen.

"GIMMEE!" You shouted as Maria tossed it over your head to Nat. 

Natasha was quick to answer the phone and switched over to the speakerphone.

"Hey, Wands," she said, resting her head in her hand while leaning on the counter.

Nat?" Wanda asked nervously. "Why are you answering y/n's phone? Is she okay?

"She's fine. Helen advised her to take a break from screens for a while due to lingering concussion symptoms,” Natasha explained.

"Y/N is still having concussion symptoms?! We FaceTimed for an hour last night, and she didn’t mention a thing,” Wanda groaned. “You tell her that we will have a long discussion about following Helen’s orders after I drop the boys off at soccer practice.”

"Don't worry, she'll get the message," Natasha replied confidently.

Thanks, Nat," Wanda replied. "I should be there in about 20 minutes.”

Natasha ended the call with a quick "Okay, bye," and swiftly stashed her phone in the back pocket of her black tactical pants. With a sly smile, she turned to face you. "You could certainly try to come and take it," she taunted, "but just a word of warning: I've dispatched Hydra agents in less time than it'd take me to push you over."

You grumbled and trudged back to the sofa, the widow following closely behind.

That's more like it," Natasha said, affectionately patting the top of your head. "How about a delicious peanut butter sandwich?

"Sure, with chocolate milk?" You inquired with a sheepish grin.

"Oh my God, what are you, eight?" Nat exasperated.

"Says the superhero offering me a peanut butter sandwich,” you countered.

Maria snickered as she plopped down next to you on the couch. “She’s got you there, babe.”

"Fine," Natasha muttered as she turned on her heels and made her way back into the kitchen.

As Maria smiled, she remarked, "So, you and Wanda," causing you to turn red at mentioning her name. "That’s wonderful," she said, patting you on the shoulder. Then she smirked and called out, "Hey, watch this. Nat! Y/N wants marshmallow fluff on her peanut butter sandwich."

"Hell no! Do I look like I work at the Candy Bar?" Natasha hollered from the kitchen.

You both dissolved into laughter on the couch.

*^~^*

You were enjoying our lunch with Natasha and Maria in the kitchen when suddenly, FRIDAY interrupted.

"Ms. Y/L/N, Ms. Maximoff is on her way up."

Taking another sip of your chocolate milk, you say, “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“Get ready," Natasha whispered to Maria, "this is going to be amazing.”

The elevator doors slid open, and all eyes turned to the common area. "Alright, where is she?"

"In here!" you called out, standing up and taking physical inventory just before Wanda entered the kitchen.

"Put the phone down and turn off the TV now, because—" Wanda suddenly halted when she saw you standing there.

"Wow, you're... you're standing," she said, her shock apparent in her voice.

"Just two more weeks with the walking boot and the sling, and then I'll be back on my feet," you said with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Wanda stood still, her eyes filled with emotion, before she suddenly broke into a broad smile and dashed towards you. "This is amazing, y/n. I am thrilled for you," she exclaimed, enfolding you in a warm and heartfelt embrace.

You let out a small grunt as she unintentionally squeezed your left side.

“I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, stepping back abruptly. "Are you okay?”

"I'm doing okay. I'm just feeling tender on this side, but I'll be alright," you reassured.

Wanda's fingertips traced a delicate path along your side, her gaze locking with yours before drifting down to your lips. You felt the tender intention behind her gentle kiss as she leaned closer.

Maria's voice shattered the intimate moment: "Well, that was anticlimactic.

Wanda exclaimed, 'Nat, Maria, when did you get here?'

"Oh my God," Natasha exclaimed, clearly exasperated. She swiftly reached into her back pocket, grasped your phone, and handed it to Wanda with a look of disbelief. With an amused expression, Maria subtly raised her eyebrows and flashed you a knowing smile as she strolled after Nat out of the room.

*^~^*

You lay propped up on Wanda's bed. You didn't change any of the decor, but the simple addition of your favorite books and fluffy blanket made her room feel more like home to you. Truthfully, you relished the opportunity to learn more about Wanda as you took in the intricacies of her favorite things meticulously placed with care around the space. Wanda traced shapes on your arm as she rested her head in your lap.

"That painting is stunning," you remarked, gazing at the breathtaking landscape above her armoire.

It's the Valley of Sokovia," Wanda said, tilting her head to meet your gaze. "My grandmother Katerina was an extraordinary painter. Before the war tore our country apart, she captured the beauty of Sokovia in her paintings. She used to tell me that each stroke of her brush was a whisper of her soul, a tale of vibrant hues and unwavering optimism.

"Every day I've spent here, I've admired it. It's gorgeous," you exclaimed.

"It was on my grandparents' wall forever. It felt like it spoke directly to my soul in a language I knew at birth. I wanted so much to paint like my grandma when I was a little girl, but Pietro and I had to grow up quickly, and suddenly, learning to paint didn't seem so important anymore," Wanda said, fidgeting with her hands. "After they passed, my mother hung the painting in mine and Pietro's bedroom to remind us that our home was beautiful. Not just a war-torn country forgotten by the rest of the world."

Your expression softened as you heard her story. “I'm sorry you had to grow up under those circumstances.”

Wanda released a heavy sigh, her thoughts drifting back to the past. "Despite the chaos, there were moments of pure joy and happiness that I hold dear. Playing with Pietro, the scent of our mother's homemade Paprikash. The evenings spent watching classic American sitcoms with our father to brush up on our English."

You listened to Wanda reminisce so vividly that you could almost see the memories dancing in the reflection of her eyes. 

“They were simple yet beautiful moments that instilled a sense of gratitude in me. They remind me of all the blessings I have in my life—my health, newfound family, and adorable boys. She hesitated for a moment before adding, "And you."

You looked down at Wanda, who was staring up at you and couldn't help but smile.

"I agree. The little things make all the difference," you whispered, gently running your fingers through her hair. "I've been thinking... we haven't had our first proper date yet, and I would love to take you out this weekend," you said, looking down at Wanda nestled in your lap. "If you're up for it, of course," you quickly added shyly.

"You're so cute," Wanda said, reaching up and caressing your cheek. "That is something I would very much like to do."

Your stomach erupted with a jumble of butterflies. "Alright, don't worry, I've got this covered. How about Saturday? Does Saturday work for you?" you asked excitedly, unable to contain your happiness.

“Great," Wanda said with a smile. "With Billy and Tommy having a sleepover at a friend's place, I'm all yours. What do you have in mind?”

“Hmm, I think you'll have to wait and see," you smirked. "I want it to be a surprise.

*^~^*

"Help me!" you yelled as you barged into Yelena's room.

I would advise you to exercise caution before shouting that particular phrase in this building," Yelena responded calmly. Without looking up, the blonde focused on polishing her widow bites. "You might find yourself facing an assortment of weapons aimed at you, candy maker.

“Yelena, I could use your advice," she said.

“Is that so?” Putting down her widow bite and raising an eyebrow at you. “Well, it just so happens that I am excellent with the advice.”

Kate burst into the room, bow in hand and arrow drawn, Carol by her side, her hands glowing with a mysterious blue light. "What happened?!" she exclaimed, eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger.

You tried to duck a potential shot, but you still didn’t have your balance and proceeded to fall back on your butt. 

Yelena smirked, saying, "See what I mean?"

Jesus!" Your heart was racing. "Don't worry, everything is fine. I just needed Yelena's advice on something.

Kate let out a sigh of disappointment as she lowered her bow.

“We’ll just go then,” Carol declared.

“Wait, you can stay too," you said eagerly. "I could use all the help I can get.

Kate circled back to Yelena's bed, and Carol kindly assisted you in getting up onto the couch with her.

“Wanda and I have our first official date this weekend, and I was wondering," you began.

Wow, that is so exciting!" Kate exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement. "Where exactly are you planning to take her? It must be somewhere absolutely incredible, don't you think? After all, it has to be impressive to leave an impression on someone like the Scarlet Witch. That's a pretty high bar to meet. Are you feeling anxious about it? What do you have in mind for the occasion?”

You blinked a couple of times, trying to process everything Kate had just said. It hit you like a ton of bricks.

I can't believe I agreed to this. What was I thinking? I have no idea what I'm doing. She deserves someone better than me. I should tell her I need to cancel," you mumbled as the blonde widow stood up and slowly approached where you were. "What excuse should I use? Maybe I could say... Ouch!”

Yelena had playfully delivered a gentle slap across your face.

"Why did you do that?!" You touch your cheek in shock.

You seemed to be in a downward spiral. It's fair to say that it all started because of Kate Bishop," she said, shooting an accusatory look at the young archer. "Believe me when I tell you this, Y/N. Wanda's life perspective has significantly transformed in the past year. Her top priority now is her boys, and everything else comes second. So, by bringing you into her world, she must care about you. Trust your instincts because she'll appreciate anything you plan as long as you're together.

Wanda is a sentimental person," Carol remarked. "She would appreciate a thoughtfully planned date that holds special meaning.

"Sentimental and meaningful," you contemplated as the gears slowly churn in your mind.

Thanks a bunch, guys. This was helpful,” you exclaimed as you slowly got up from the sofa. “I'll catch you later.”

*^~^*

Nat's voice rang out as she threw punch after punch, "You're supposed to be resting!"

You shouted from the side of the ring, 'I was! I need your advice!'

The widow skillfully evaded her opponent's incoming punch, swiftly pivoted, and seized his arm, exerting just enough force to bring him to his knees. With efficient precision, she deftly pinned him to the mat.

"Take a breather, Bennett," she said, tousling the trainee agent's hair as she got up and walked over to you. "What's on your mind?" Stepping out of the ring, she wiped her face with a towel.

“Wanda and I are going on our first proper date this weekend, and I was hoping you could give me some insight into what she would appreciate.” You asked.

Ah," she said, taking a refreshing sip from her water bottle. "Wanda values thoughtfulness. It might sound a bit vague, but it's the truth. Just demonstrate that you're tuned in to her.”

*^~^*

The vintage Racing Green Aston Martin pulled up to Wanda's house right at 7:00 pm. Initially, you had planned to drive over to pick her up personally, but Helen and Bruce were adamant that you should prioritize your recovery and avoid any unnecessary strain. And so, you ended up seated in the luxurious back of Stark's 1959 Racing Green Aston Martin, feeling the supple leather and breathing in the scent of the fine craftsmanship.

"Pepper, I can't thank you enough for volunteering to be our designated driver tonight," you exclaimed gratefully.

"Not a problem at all! We're thrilled to be able to contribute to your special evening," Pepper responded.

"Not to mention, your destination is just a stone's throw away from one of our absolute favorite restaurants," Tony said from the front seat.

You reached for the solitary red rose beside you and inhaled deeply.

"You can do it, Willy Wonka!" Tony cheered.

You stepped out of the car with a dismissive roll of your eyes in response to his pet name for you. As you made your way up the intricately adorned concrete pathway to her front door, a flutter of nervousness danced in your stomach. Upon reaching the porch, you stole a quick glance back at Tony and Pepper, who smiled and flashed a thumbs-up in your direction.

You stood on the doorstep, taking one last deep breath to calm your nerves. As you pressed the doorbell, the sound echoed through the quiet hallway, signaling your arrival. A few moments passed, and then you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. You swiftly adjusted your suede coat, ensuring every fold and seam was in place, and ran a hand through your hair to present yourself as confidently as possible. Just then, the door swung open, and Wanda stood, her warm smile putting you at ease.

"Hi," she whispered, her cheeks rosy as she looked at you.

"Wow, you look stunning," you exclaimed, admiring her presence.

Her red hair was styled in an updo bun, with a few loose strands falling down the sides of her face. She completed the look with a white peasant blouse, light-wash jeans, and brown boots.

"I appreciate it. I was uncertain about this because you kept the destination a secret. All you said was that it's a casual date night..." her voice trailed off as she donned a stylish rust-colored corduroy jacket.

You handed her the rose, saying, “It's perfect.”

"Thank you, Y/N, this is lovely," Wanda exclaimed.

"I wanted to buy you a big bouquet, but I didn't want you to carry it around or take a break to put it in water," you rambled.

She echoed your words, saying, 'It's perfect!'

As you both stepped off the porch, you extended your hand to her.

She glanced down at you and let out a giggle. "Looks like I should be lending you a hand, sweetheart. You're down to just two working limbs."

"I believe in chivalry," you declared with a charming smile directed at the lovely redhead.

You strolled over to the car and graciously held the door open for Wanda. As she smoothly slid into the seat, you followed closely behind.

"Hey Wanda, it's great to see you," Pepper greeted warmly.

"It’s great to see you too. Thank you so much for driving us tonight," Wanda replied.

Alright, everyone, let's get moving," Tony declared. "I want to remind you all to keep your hands, legs, feet, and arms safely inside the car at all times.”

*^~^*

The car rolled to a stop at the intersection of Washington Street and Chester Avenue.

"Alright. Have a blast, you two," Tony smirked.

Pepper chimed in, "We'll pick you up later.”

"Thanks once more for the ride," you said. Have a wonderful time at dinner!

As the car drove off, you took Wanda's hand in yours. She met your gaze with a smile.

"Wanda couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "So, are you finally going to tell me where we're going?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

As you strolled down the sidewalk, hand in hand, you sang, "You'll see," before you halted in front of a charming shop.

As Wanda gazed up at the storefront, it shimmered with twinkling fairy lights, and she couldn't help but be drawn to the sign that read:

Pinot's Palette

"What's this, Y/N?" inquired the redhead.

"You said you always wanted to learn to paint like your grandmother. I thought you might like to start tonight," you explained. "I signed us up for a 45-minute Paint and Sip class. They give you step-by-step instructions on painting a beautiful picture, and there's wine and appetizers. I thought it could be fun," you trailed off shyly.

Wanda was at a loss for words, "I don't know what to say, I- this is so thoughtful, Y/N. Truly," she stammered.

"Shall we?" you asked, opening the door for her.

As soon as you walked in, a friendly, tall brunette with stylish glasses greeted you with a warm smile. "Hello and welcome to Pinot's Palette! I'm Sarah, and I'll be your instructor tonight. Your class will begin in about 20 minutes, but in the meantime, feel free to grab a glass of wine and enjoy some delicious appetizers."

Wanda exclaimed, "This place is adorable!"

"Absolutely," you responded, taking in the cozy and inviting atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various paintings from previous classes, each telling its unique story.

Wanda carefully poured a generous amount of Pinot Noir into each glass, its rich aroma filling the room. You swirled the glass, watching the deep red liquid dance, before finally bringing it to your lips for a sip.

"Mmm, this is delicious," you exclaimed.

Definitely on the dryer side. This wine has a medium body with bright acidity," Wanda remarked, carefully allowing the wine to breathe before taking another delightful sip. "I can sense the silky tannins, and subtle hints of raspberries, cherries, and vanilla. It's a beautiful medley of flavors.

You were left in awe. "Wow, that was incredibly sexy. How did you become such a wine expert?"

"You don't know everything about me yet," Wanda teased with a smirk before strolling over to the food spread.

You trailed behind her like an adoring puppy, captivated by her every move.

*^~^*

“Hey there, fellow art enthusiasts!” Sarah greeted. “Get ready for an awesome Saturday Night Sip and Paint class. We're diving into the serene beauty of a full-moon lake scene tonight. Let's unleash our creativity and make some magic happen!”

As Sarah guided the class, Wanda and you attentively observed her every move. You were relieved that my non-dominant arm was the one in the sling, allowing me to participate in the painting session.

Beginning with mixing the perfect tints for your art pieces, you struggled to get it just right. Your colors were uneven and messy, while Wanda effortlessly achieved solid and smooth results.

Feeling frustrated, you mutter, "This shouldn't be this difficult. I mix chocolate for a living; I should be able to mix paint." As you glance up, you catch Wanda giggling at your struggles.

"Are you getting a kick out of this?" You inquired.

“Just a little bit,” Wanda smirked.

You find it impossible to resist the chance to bring a smile to her face. You reach into the white paint on your palette and whimsically touch Wanda's nose, leaving a small white dot. She gazes at you with a blend of astonishment and delight.

"Y/N, stop it. You're going to get us in trouble," she whispered.

"Okay, but seriously, you look adorable," you muttered.

*^~^*

“Wow, your backgrounds are amazing!" Sarah exclaimed as she walked by and admired what you and Wanda had painted. "Oh, Wanda, I love how you added a touch of Prussian blue in the corners. It gives the painting so much depth!”

The radiant redhead glowed with pride as you flashed her a grin. The two of you had such a good time that you wished it would never end.

That looks gorgeous," you remarked. "And it happens to be my favorite color.

“Is it?” The redhead inquired.

"I've always been captivated by the depth of a bold blue," as you gently rinse your brush in the clear water glass.

“Any particular reason?” Wanda asked.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders. “It’s tranquil and calm. Two things that I’ve tried to bring more of into my life over the years.”

The redhead took a thoughtful sip of her wine, nodding in understanding. "I completely get where you're coming from," she said. "After a chaotic year, I promised myself only to have people and things around me that bring a sense of calm and peace.

You nodded in understanding as Sarah grabbed the attention of the class again.

“Alright, everyone. We will add the moon to our paintings. It’s straightforward: Everyone picks up a spare paper plate,” holding one up. “Then, trace around the edge like this to make a circle.”

You watched as Wanda traced her moon. Her tongue adorably poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. 

“There we go!” She said to herself.

She looked over at you, still sitting with your paper plate in your one good hand, looking down at your sling. 

“Oh, I’m sorry y/n. Here, let me help you.” Wanda said, as she reached for your plate.

“It’s okay, Wanda. I got it,” you replied.

You put down the plate, picked up your small brush, and dipped it in the off-white paint. In one fluid motion, you painted a perfect circle. 

Wanda was shocked. “Wow, that was smooth. How did you do that?”

“When you work in a sweet shop and you make a living scooping ice cream or frosting cupcakes all day, it bodes well if you can make a perfect circle,” you giggled. 

“Hmm, I see,” lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. “I wonder what other hidden talents you’re keeping from me.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Wiggling your eyebrows and taking a sip of your wine.

After you added the silhouette of the pine trees to your paintings and the reflections and ripples in the water, you were on to the final touch of adding stars and a comet to the sky. 

You dipped your fan brush in the white paint and flicked it toward the canvas to create a random star pattern. Picking up your liner brush, you added a comet to your sky. Everyone signed and dated their paintings. You added a small heart in the corner of your canvas to serve as a reminder of your first date with Wanda. You looked over at the redhead to see that she was adding a second comet into her sky. 

“Two comets? Now that is a miracle,” you said.

“One for Billy and one for Tommy,” Wanda explained. “They’re my miracles.”

“They certainly are,” kissing her cheek as she finished her painting. “I hope I get to meet them someday.”

“I think you will,” smiling at you. 

After class, everyone had a photo taken with their finished painting. You both held them up proudly as Sarah used Wanda’s phone to take the picture. 

“Thank you so much, Sarah. We had a wonderful time,” you said, hugging the young woman.

“Yes, I’m going to tell all my friends about this place. It was wonderful,” Wanda added.

“It was my pleasure. You two come back anytime,” Sarah said.

*^~^*

As you left the shop and stepped into the cold night air, you quickly sent a text to Pepper to let her know that you were finished. She responded promptly, telling you that they had just paid the bill and would be there shortly.

"Tony and Pepper will be here in a few minutes. Shall we sit?" you asked, gesturing to a green metal bench a few yards away.

"Sure. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still need to take it easy just because we’re out and about tonight,” Wanda said, leading you to the bench.

You sat down next to her and took in her profile, feeling a surge of affection. You had always felt that Wanda was different, not just because she was one of Earth’s mightiest heroes, but because she was sweet and genuine. You couldn’t wait to see where your journey together would take you. Wanda looked over at you, sensing that you were staring.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asked.

"Yes, I'm just so happy to be here with you,” you said softly.

"Me too,” loose strands of her red hair blowing in the soft night wind.

Slowly, you leaned in and kissed her, feeling her warmth and love. Your stomach exploded with joy at Wanda's touch. Suddenly, the sound of a car horn broke you from your reverie as Tony pulled up beside you and rolled down the window.

"Excuse me, hi. I'm looking for a witch and a candy maker for a live-action Hansel and Gretel," Tony joked.

"You're an idiot," Wanda deadpanned, sliding into the backseat next to you.

"No funny business in the backseat, you two," Tony warned as he pulled away from the curb.

“How was the painting class?” Pepper asked.

“It was wonderful,” Wanda said, holding up her painting.

"You painted that? Wanda, that is gorgeous!" Pepper exclaimed.

"She's a natural," you said, stroking her hand with your thumb.

"You flatter me,” Wanda blushed.

“It’s true,” you insisted. “Your grandmother would be proud.”

Wanda blushed at your compliment as you leaned over and kissed her cheek.

*^~^*

Tony slowed to a stop in front of the redhead’s house. You stepped out of the car and walked the her to the front door, clutching her painting and the single red rose you gifted her. She unlocked the door and set the painting and rose down just inside the entryway.

"I had an amazing time tonight, y/n. It was so special, I couldn't ask for anything more," Wanda said, smiling at you.

"Me too, it was wonderful. I asked everyone for advice because I wanted our first date to be perfect. Then I remembered the story you told me about your grandmother’s painting, and I knew-" You were cut off by Wanda's lips on yours. The kiss was filled with passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment.

As you pulled apart, her hand trailed down your cheek and she smiled, biting down on her lower lip. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, y/n."

"Okay. Goodnight, Wanda," you said, watching her walk inside and close the door behind her.

You turned around to see Tony and Pepper ducking down in their seats, pretending they weren't watching you from the car. "Subtle," you said, sliding into the backseat and shutting the car door.

“We didn’t say anything,” Tony said, holding his hands up in defense.

Once you arrived back at the compound, you immediately got into your pajamas and removed your walking boot. You were exhausted from the excitement of the night, but it was worth it. As you snuggled into your covers, your phone dinged. You opened the notification to see the picture Sarah took of you and Wanda holding up your paintings. Wanda had texted you: "I had a great time tonight. Every moment with you is a work of art."

You blushed profusely as you read her text before sending back your reply: "I have a beautiful muse. 

Placing your phone on back on your nightstand, you laid back down. Adjusting your sling, you placed your good hand behind your head and stared up at the darkness of the ceiling, lost for words. You couldn't believe that Wanda Maximoff had left you speechless. It was the first of many times she would do so.

[psyphigirl]

Story from last night :D Good things are happening to me (TLDR at bottom)

I was invited to a party by a guy I had met once, who then had to cancel. I thought it was gonna be teenagers dancing to loud music but it was a bunch 40-50 y/o gay men drinking wine and talking about the upholstry (in all seriousness the host was so wonderfully kind to me). And I felt super out of place because I brought Smice and placed it next to the Pinot Noir

I started talking to the two other people there who looked my age who were also vaguely unfamiliar with everyone and a little uncomfortable, and they invited me to another party across town.

There were so many cool trans ppl there! Proud of their scars and alt style and gender non-conformity! And I said to one of them how nice it was to be surrounded by proper trannies and he just laughed and told me thats what every new member to the group says (I was so happy to be so welcomed !!)

Then we went to a club then back to someone's gaff. I think I've found an irl crowd I properly belong to >v<

TL;DR - After years of being one of the only t-slurs I know I've finally found a community !! I'm so happy >v<

[vineforabuck]

Thomas Stopfer Zeigelt

2019 Thomas Stopfer Zweigelt a 15-dollar bargain 

Zweigelt is one of those obscure Vitis vinifera varieties that gets passed by in favor of its more famous parents, Blaufränkisch and St. Laurent. Yet this hybrid reveals notes similar to a good Pinot Noir, providing the same light-bodied texture but with more peppery notes. 

History of the Grape

Zweigelt is a hybrid grape created in 1922 by the controversial Austrian entomologist Friedrich Zweigelt. While a brillant viticulture specialist, Dr. Zweigelt is personally steeped in deep controversy as a strong German nationlist he enthusiastically embraced Nazism joining the Austrian branch of the NSDP and remained a loyal Nazi even after the party was banned. In 1938 Austria was annexed by Nazi Germany and Zweigelt was appointed as director of Klosterneuburg State School of Viticulture, Fruit Growing and Horticulture. Zweigelt was an Reich official of Nazi Germany and represented them at the international viticulture congress in 1939. Even with the collapse of Nazism in 1945 Zweigelt was stubborn in his beliefs, he was held in detention till 1948 until Austrian president Karl Renner pardoned him. He would fade away into obscurity, dying in 1964. 

Taste Profile 

Despite the sordid reputation and history of its creator, this wine has much to offer. The Thomas Stopfer Zweigelt opens with a fresh aroma of red fruit and pepper. On the palate, it is light-bodied with low tannins. However, it still opens with the bright fruity flavors and earthiness that this variety is known for. Further flavors of raspberry and cinnamon, along with notes of chocolate and pepper, open up as this wine gets a chance to air . Overall, this is a fine example of an obscure grape, and despite being a little light is an excellent bargain. 

I give this wine a solid 72/100

Vine for a Buck 

Deckers, Daniel. Friedrich Zweigelt (1888-1964), 14 Nov. 2022, https://doi.org/10.7767/9783205216452. 

[tinseltownevents]

OKTOBERFEST

FRISCO'S FOOD TRUCK & BAR TUESDAY, 10.29 12PM - 9PM

Post tweets, gif chat starters, open paras/f2f.

Please tag EVERYTHING ttownhw24.

Please @tinseltownevents​ for all gif chat starters and open paras/f2f.

Participation is NOT mandatory.

ACTIVITIES

Gingerbread heart decorating

Flunkyball - German drinking game

Learn popular Oktoberfest dances

Kegelbahn - 9 pin bowling

Schnauzer Strut Dog Parade

Masskrugstemmen – stein holding contest

Hammerschlagen – hammer striking game

Log sawing – lumberjack competition

Keg rolling/throwing

Stein racing

Pretzel-eating contest

Oktoberfest trivia game

German spelling bee

Cornhole 

Bucketball - Giant beer pong

The Chicken Dance

Yodeling 

MUSIC

Indy Polkamotion

The German Band

Final Say

Underground Prophets

SHOPPING

The Gift and Souvenir Shop

Souvenir kiosk in the middle of the festival.

German gifts, souvenir T-shirts, flowered headbands, and authentic German-made beer steins available.

FOOD

GERMAN DINNER

Frikadellen (German-style Hamburger patty) with Mashed Potatoes, Jaeger Sauce, German Baked Beans & Cabbage Salad 

Stuffed Cabbage Roll with Spaetzle, Jaeger Sauce, Red Cabbage & Sauerkraut 

Kassler (Smoked Pork Chop) with German Potato Salad, German Baked Beans & Cabbage Salad 

Goulash with Pasta, Red Cabbage & Sauerkraut

Pork Schnitzel with (or without) Jaeger sauce

3 sausage plate with choice of Bratwurst, Knackwurst, and/or Weisswurst

German Meatloaf with rich Mushroom gravy 

Königsberger Klopse (German version of Swedish meatballs in a creamy sauce) 

*All entrées will be served with mashed potatoes, and our traditional red cabbage and sauerkraut. As well as bread and butter.

IMBISS (Snack Booth)

Bratwurst or Weisswurst on pretzel bun

Kielbasa on a Stick

French Fries

Chicken Tenders

Corn Nuggets

Smoked Chicken plate

Half Rack of Baby Back Ribs

DESSERT BOOTH

Blackforest Cake

German Chocolate Cake

Apple Strudel

Caramel Apple Pie

Pumkin Pie

Pumpkin Cheesecake

Coffee

Tea

BEVERAGES

GERMAN BEERS

Ayinger Bavarian Pilsner – 5.3% ABV

Ayinger Celebrator – Doppelbock, 6.7%

Bitburger – German Pilsner, 4.8%

Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest – Märzen, 5.8%

König Ludwig Weissbier Hell – Bavarian Wheat, 5.1%

Köstriger Schwarzbier – Black lager, 4.8%

Paulaner Hefe-Weizen – Wheat, 5.5%

Paulaner Oktoberfest – Märzen, 5.0%

Spaten Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier – Golden wheat, 5.0%

Spaten Lager – Munich helles lager, 5.2%

Spaten Oktoberfest – Märzen, 5.9%

Warsteiner Dunkel – Dark lager, 4.9%

Warsteiner Premium Verum – German pilsner, 4.8%

AUSTRIAN

Stiegl Goldbräu – Golden lager, 5.0%

Stiegl Radler – mixed with grapefruit juice, 2.5%

LOCAL CRAFT

Faubourg Brewing LeidenSteiner – Märzen, 5.5% ABV

Notch Holy Roller – Hazy IPA, 6.3%

Notch Oktoberfest – Märzen, 6.5%

East Regiment Paradise Park – American lager, 4.5%

Bent Water Raspberry Berliner Weisse Sour – Wheat with raspberry, 4.5%

Bent Water Who Dat Golden Ale – 5.0%

DOMESTIC

Budweiser Light – American light lager, 4.2%

Sierra Nevada Oktoberfest (collaboration with Bitburger) – Märzen, 4.6%

Yuengling Oktoberfest – Märzen, 5.4%

NONALCOHOLIC

St. Pauli’s

​WHITE WINE

Fritz Zimmer Maestro Riesling – Germany

Schmitt Söhne Liebfraumilch – Germany

Villa Wolf Pinot Gris – Germany

Chateau St. Michelle Gewürztraminer – Washington, USA

Decoy Chardonnay – California, USA

RED WINE

Villa Wolf Donfelder – Germany

Villa Wolf Pinot Noir – Germany

Lenz Moser Blaufränkisch  –Austria

Joel Gott Cabernet Sauvignon – California, USA

SPARKLING

Dr. Loosen Sparkling Riesling – Germany

SCHNAPPS FRUIT

Schonauer Apfel (Apple)

Echte Kroatzbeere Blackberry Liqueur

Kleiner Feigling (Fig)

Kammer Obstler (Fruits)

Schladerer Kirschwasser Cherry Brandy

Schladerer Edel-Kirsch Cherry Liqueur

Schladerer Himbeer Raspberry Liqueur

Schladerer Himbeergeist Raspberry Brandy

Schladerer Williams-Birne Pear Brandy

Silvovica (Plum)

HERBAL

Goldwasser Herbal Liqueur

Jager

Killepitsch

Kuemmerling

HONEY, CHOCOLATE, SPICES

Bärenjäger Honey and Bourbon

Bärenjäger Honey Liqueur

Bismarck Vodka

Fireball 

Gold Bar Chocolate

Goldschläger 

Rum Chata 

Rumplemintz 

Taaka Coconut

Van Gogh Chocolate Vodka

SODA BOOTH

Coke

Diet Code

Sprite

Barq’s Root Beer

PowerAde

Water

OTHER BOOTHS

Large, soft Bavarian-style Pretzels, warm from the oven

Flammkuchen (German variation of pizza with white, creamy sauce)

German cheeses from St. James Cheese Company

Popcorn

Pickles​

Decorated Oktoberfest Cookies

Ice Cream

Bavarian Roasted Nuts​

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Eavesdropper

Aditee was a wonderfully good listener. All of her dearest friends told her so, as did her vast extended family - and even her lovers, although they contrived to find in her a dozen other minor faults to compensate. But it was particularly the opinion of Doctor Jesuthasan at the new medicine house on Broad Street, which she had visited the Wednesday morning last - a diagnosis, in truth, which bestowed more weight upon that view, adorning it in authority and draping it in the finer robes of fact.

She had arrived seeking a cure to her chronic headaches, and found only the insufferable thrumming of his medical machinery: infernal devices which sought to preserve life, as far as Aditee understood, but only at the cost of all she recognised as peace. She had suffered tests and examinations, each only deepening her symptoms in severity - pinching the bridge of her nose and massaging her scalp against the pain, rendered reliant on her own treatments to counteract the doctor's search for one which he might call his own.

The problem was with her ears, he had finally proclaimed, speaking loudly to command his dominance over that background noise, as one might call a misbehaving dog to heel, to wrestle with the hum of the electrical lighting and knocking of the pipes, but needlessly so, as if she wouldn't hear even a whisper from across the hall. There was nothing wrong with them, he confirmed, with the joy of a man who has relieved himself of any further responsibility. They simply worked too well.

For most people, the ear was a malformed curl of cartilage, a conch shell which could barely hold the music of the tides, but on Aditee they were precision instruments; marvels of the modern age, devices of a specification not yet known by mankind's fledgling science, and perhaps familiar only those champions of the wild, the wax moth and the pipistrelle, the atlas of the bottlenose and homing pigeon's weather vane.

She could hear everything, regardless of intent, and in fact disregarding her most strenuous efforts to make things otherwise. Eaves were dropped like breadcrumbs everywhere she went, and Aditee was followed by the squawking of distant squirrels and the whistling of half-hearted gales, snatches of conversation which grasped at her mind as she raced on through the marketplace, an endless procession of footsteps and birdsong and laughter that seemed to mock her even as she fled.

It was the queerest thing, to march to the beat of one's own heartbeat, without the need of Dr Jesuthasan's stethoscope; to be keenly aware of the creaking of one's joints; to hear the rush of blood to each and every muscle group, an orchestra of organs all complaining in concert, even the glistening of her tears when it all became too much, which was true more often than not.

It was a stage of perpetual agony, she tried to explain, over the doctor's far-too effusive praise. The body was not built to survive such clarity, in the way that a diet of pure oxygen overwhelms the lungs, and children are warned against direct sight of the sun. A mind was not meant to hold three conversations at once! It overflowed, like a wine glass filled thrice over with pinot noir, champagne and chardonnay, like a paragraph confused with one too many metaphors.

But Dr Jesuthasan would not be deterred, his own hearing clearly lacking any comprehension of her quiet, pained protests, too deafened by the volume of his own bilious thoughts, an eruption of discovery to rival Archimedes. Such perfection, he announced, had henceforth been found only on the pages of textbooks, cross-section diagrams and theoretical script, but never in practice, where the grit of reality so consistently found its way into the oil of design.

Having surpassed science, he proclaimed her as a work of art - as if it had been the Mona Lisa's ears that tracked her patrons around the room, if she had been troubled with them at all, beneath her veil of auburn curls; as if Botticelli's Venus, whose ears were also not shown, despite the lack of modesty elsewhere, had emerged atop pinna and helix as opposed to scallop shell; as if Monet's muse had held an ear in place of parasol; as if Vermeer had shed the pearl and let the flesh take centre-stage, for even there, at the heart of his masterpiece, the curve was partially concealed.

Aditee tried to take her lead from those heroines of oil and canvas: to hide her own ears beneath hair and headscarf, to muffle them with muslin cloth and cotton wool; to pack them with strings and ceiling wax, a rich stuffing of soft French cheese and tapenade - and even to fill their whorls with paint, a forest-green gouache she'd acquired during her own youthful dalliance with the medium, though she had always much preferred the solitude of distant landscapes.

But ultimately, instead, she learnt far more from the artists, who enjoyed a visual world without sound. They painted her the way, the dead leading the deafened, as she read of Gauguin's use of morphine and laudanum to numb his pain, his death confirmed by chewing on his face; Picasso's distortion of faces and legacy of suicide; the gangrene of Manet's foot, requiring amputation; but most of all the example of Van Gogh, who had severed his own left ear.

Aditee followed his lead, only delaying to ensure that it was cut clean off, and coming back for the right one as well. After that, she had no further need for art, for the silent world had already become a hundred times more beautiful: she no longer had to hear the chitter of aphids in the rosebush, the bursting of woodlice in the hearth. She could simply enjoy their warmth, their perfume, in the same fashion as everybody else.

When she visited Doctor Jesuthasan after the act, needing his help to patch up the wounds, she didn't even have to endure his admonishments - let alone his initial shocked squeals. Broad Street had fallen quiet, with a new grace in the way that people softly walked on padded soles, their carriages now gliding noiselessly like swans upon a placid lake. He might fuss over the blood and mess, but there was really no more pain - the world had been the disease, pouring into an open wound, and, cursed with his inaction, she had been forced to cauterise it for herself.

She might have been a masterpiece, before - as he had said, and now mourned slashes in that canvas. But she was better now.

[nwbeerguide]

Press Release

NEW YORK ... Today, DIAGEO unveils its Spirited Xchange Special Releases Scotch Whisky Collection celebrating the journey of Scotch, countries and cultures around the world.

Experience the full interactive Multichannel News Release here: https://www.multivu.com/players/English/9221151-diageo-spirited-xchange-special-releases-scotch-whisky-collection/

The Special Releases collection is an annual collection of eight rare and collectible Single Malts carefully selected by Master Blender Dr. Stuart Morrison, to celebrate each distillery's unique characteristics and DIAGEO's robust portfolio united together in quality Scotch making.

The incredible collection of unexplored flavors fuses together unique casks showcasing different crafts and finishes that honor local cultures, delighting Scotch whisky enthusiasts and connoisseurs alike.

"This year, we're proudly revealing our new series of distillery-first expressions: Spirited Xchange Special Releases 2023. For me, Spirited Xchange is about identifying and celebrating the ideas, flavors, and tastes that surround us each day and inspire our curiosity to create. This collection has given us the opportunity to roam freely through our vast portfolio and experiment with old and new cask types, including various wine and local spirits casks to create eight one-of-a-kind expressions that we've never imagined before." Master Blender, Dr. Stuart Morrison

Spirited Xchange comes to life through intricate and alluring pack designs, illustrated by eight artists across the globe - each one dedicated to the beloved distilleries and the spirits in the collection, creating a powerful storytelling moment.

The artworks are visual tasting notes, placing the expression at the centre of the experience and exploring the flavors that emerge from the local spirit casks:

Lagavulin 'The Ink of Legends', finished in a masterful combination of Don Julio Añejo tequila casks, honors the ancient art of tattooing while Lagavulin's renowned smokiness, rich with bright herbs and juicy plums, is complimented by a lasting finish. SRP: $170

Mortlach 'The Katana's Edge', finished in ex-Kanosuke Japanese whisky and ex-Pinot Noir casks, is illustrated with a golden gleam that represents the flash of umami that cuts through the ripe, fruity sweetness of this stunning expression. SRP: $280

Inspired by Scotch's global journey of discovery, this year's collection also explores a variety of ages and spirits characters, delivering new depth of complexity and capturing the essence of cultural exchange through unique layers of flavor:

The Singleton 'The Silken Gown', finished in rich Chardonnay de Bourgogne French Oak casks, brims with warm toffee and rippling layers of buttery golden fruit, characterized by textures of a luminous and enchanting silk gown. SRP: $135

Talisker 'The Wild Explorador', finished in a combination of White, Tawny and Ruby Port Casks, celebrates the sea with currents of spice and waves of dark fruit, finished with a splash of sea salt, embodied by an iconic Portuguese vessel. SRP: $135

Roseisle distillery is proud to join the Special Releases collection for the first time with its first public release: 'The Origami Kite', etched with sweet vanilla notes and a touch of molasses. SRP: $150

Glenkinchie 'The Floral Treasure' 27 Year Old expression is one of its most mature bottlings to date, carrying lush floral aromas and sweet flavours resembling a Spring morning. SRP: $400

Oban 'The Soul of Calypso' epitomizes the essence of the vivid energy of Caribbean culture with vibrant flavors of tropical fruit mango and sugar cane emerging from the Caribbean pot still rum casks. SRP: $140

Clynelish 'The Jazz Crescendo' is a dulcet symphony of vanilla spice and smooth caramel notes, flowing from its exclusive maturation in ex-bourbon American Oak casks. SRP: $200

The 2023 Special Releases collection became available in limited quantities from select spirits retailers in the U.S. and on Malts.com starting 1st October 2023.

DIAGEO encourages those who are 21+ to drink responsibly. More information on the 2023 Special Releases Collection can be found at https://www.malts.com/en-row/products/collections/special-releases-2023.

...

nstagram @LagavulinWhisky @ObanWhisky @Talisker @SingletonUS @Mortlach_Whisky @Clynelish.Distillery @Glenkinchie.Distillery @Diageorareandexceptional

Facebook @Lagavulin @Oban @Talisker @TheSingletonUS @Clynelish

We kindly ask that you adhere to FTC/TTB Guidelines so if you choose to share on social, please use DIAGEO, New York, NY. Enjoy Responsibly. Do not forward to anyone under 21.

#SpiritedXchange #SpecialReleases2023

About DIAGEO DIAGEO is a global leader in beverage alcohol with an outstanding collection of brands including Johnnie Walker, Crown Royal, Bulleit and Buchanan's whiskies, Smirnoff, Cîroc and Ketel One vodkas, Casamigos, DeLeon and Don Julio tequilas, Captain Morgan, Baileys, Tanqueray and Guinness. DIAGEO is listed on both the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE: DEO) and the London Stock Exchange (LSE: DGE) and their products are sold in more than 180 countries around the world. For more information about Diageo, their people, brands, and performance, visit www.diageo.com. Visit Diageo's global responsible drinking resource, www.DRINKiQ.com, for information, initiatives, and ways to share best practice. Follow our Twitter and Instagram for news and information about Diageo North America: @Diageo_NA.

SOURCE DIAGEO

[spintaxi]

HOW WORKING FROM HOME SAVED AMERICA...

REMOTE BLISS: HOW WORKING FROM HOME SAVED AMERICA FROM SLACKS, SANDRA, AND SADNESS

By the SpinTaxi Institute for Advanced Cubicle Abandonment Studies “I got fired from a remote job for ‘excessive sarcasm.’ I was like, ‘Oh really? Wow. That’s shocking. I guess I'll just cry into my brunch mimosa.’” -- Amy Schumer

Scientists Discover Remote Work Is Basically a Miracle Wrapped in Sweatpants

After four grueling years of coffee-fueled Zoom sessions, tracking thousands of employees across industries, scientists at the Institute for Remote Work Optimization (IRWO) released a 400-page report this week with a blazingly obvious conclusion: Working from home makes people happier. Funded by a $6.3 million federal grant and a $40 Starbucks gift card from someone’s grandma, the study confirms what millions already intuited during the Great Couch Migration of 2020: if you let humans work in their natural habitat—next to a fridge and under a weighted blanket—they thrive. “We finally have the data,” declared Dr. Randall Blurt, lead researcher and former regional manager of a printer company. “Remote work increases productivity, improves mental health, and completely eliminates awkward elevator small talk. Also, people have stopped plotting elaborate revenge against co-workers who steal their yogurt.”

No Pants, No Problem

Among the study’s key findings: a whopping 92% of respondents reported “feeling seen” when asked if they were currently wearing pajama bottoms during meetings. “Dress codes were a lie,” said Sandra B., a former HR consultant turned TikTok oracle. “I spent years pretending to enjoy heels. Now I just slap on a blouse, slide into fuzzy socks, and deliver quarterly projections from a La-Z-Boy recliner while holding a glass of Pinot Grigio.” Economists have even coined the term ‘Business on Top, Apocalypse Below’, referring to the popular Zoomwear phenomenon where professionals pair formal tops with chaos pants—shorts, boxers, or a single rogue leg warmer that survived a 2011 college dance party.

Pets Become Middle Management

One of the study’s more surprising insights: domestic animals are now unofficial coworkers. “I can’t believe how much I respect my cat’s feedback,” said Trevor Jenkins, a fintech analyst. “Whenever I pitch a bad idea, Mr. Mittens vomits on the keyboard. It’s like performance review day, every day.” A survey of 1,200 remote workers found that: 58% consult their pet before sending risky emails 17% have changed Slack profile photos to pictures of their pets wearing glasses 6% admitted their pets now have LinkedIn profiles “I’ve seen Beagles that give better TED Talks than some of our VPs,” said an anonymous tech recruiter. “At least the Beagles are house-trained.”

Office Small Talk Becomes Endangered Species

The IRWO report mourns a fading cultural phenomenon: the art of forced small talk about absolutely nothing. Once a staple of hallway life, it is now only practiced by retirees and lonely UPS drivers. “I haven’t heard anyone say, ‘Looks like rain!’ in 18 months,” said one wistful survey participant. “It used to be annoying. Now… it’s folklore.” A memorial was held last Thursday for the watercooler at Deloitte Houston. A wreath of Post-it notes was left behind. A small card read: “Thanks for all the overheard passive aggression.”

Fridges Demand Union Representation

With the average remote worker visiting the refrigerator 12.4 times per hour, fridges nationwide are experiencing stress fractures, door fatigue, and existential despair. “I didn’t sign up for this,” said one emotionally shattered GE SmartFridge in Dallas, which claims it developed lactose intolerance from sheer exposure. Industry watchdogs warn that “thinking snacks” are on the rise and fridges may soon demand overtime pay. One fridge even filed a lawsuit alleging emotional distress and wrongful groping.

Formal Reports Confirm Sandra Was the Problem All Along

One of the breakthrough elements of the study involved analyzing workplace happiness after subtracting Sandra Energy—defined as unsolicited opinions, unsolicited photos of engagement rings, and unsolicited birthday card signings. “Turns out when Sandra doesn’t corner you in the break room to ask about your weekend plans,” said Blurt, “people become 32% more likely to experience inner peace.” Multiple respondents also reported a drop in cortisol levels after not being forced to eat cake in dim conference rooms with passive-aggressive “Happy Retirement, Bob” banners.

Microwave Named “Most Valuable Appliance”

In traditional offices, coffee machines were worshipped. But in the remote era, the microwave reigns supreme. “She never judges me,” said Amelia Tran, a freelance marketing strategist. “Whether it’s pizza from 2 days ago or vegan lasagna I clearly lied about making from scratch—she’s always there.” Microwaves now rank as the #1 “Coworker I Trust Most With My Secrets”, followed closely by: Houseplants (especially ones named Susan) Mugs shaped like sloths A dog named Bark Twain who “always listens, never interrupts”

Internet Woes Become the Great Equalizer

Where once workplace hierarchy was determined by job title and office size, remote work has replaced power structures with bandwidth drama. One project manager lost authority after yelling, “CAN YOU HEAR ME?” 34 times during a budget meeting. Another exec was demoted (socially, not officially) after their screen froze on a frame where they looked like they were mid-seizure while quoting Sun Tzu.

Children and Partners Become Accidental Interns

With offices collapsing into households, coworkers have been replaced by babies, spouses, and one guy’s grandpa who just really wanted to see what Excel looked like. In a poll of 500 remote homes: 24% of children have appeared in a presentation 13% of spouses have whispered, “Don’t say that!” mid-call 8% of households report having accidentally submitted a report that included a grocery list, Paw Patrol lyrics, or the phrase “kill Chad softly”

Mental Health Improves, Except for Ring Lights

While the remote work lifestyle has improved anxiety and burnout rates across industries, ring lights are reaching the breaking point. “These devices were meant to light up the occasional influencer,” explained Dr. Marianne Waxler of the Consumer Tech Burnout Coalition. “Now they’re expected to polish up accountants at 9 a.m., therapists by noon, and ESL teachers in six time zones.” One ring light, exhausted and unplugged in Brooklyn, reportedly left a handwritten note: “I just wanted to be a lamp. I didn’t sign up for this glare-based tyranny.”

Conference Calls Officially Replaced by Interpretive Mime

In an effort to avoid actual dialogue, teams have embraced new communication methods including: Emoji-only responses “Thumbs up” reactions replacing emotional feedback Interpretive mime during video glitches “I conveyed our Q4 vision using only jazz hands and a badly drawn pie chart,” said Angela, a product designer. “It was our most productive meeting to date.”

What the Funny People Are Saying

Jerry Seinfeld: “Working from home is great until you realize you’ve spent three years at a desk made of laundry baskets next to a plant named Kevin.” Ron White: “I don’t work from home. I drink from home. The job part just gets in the way.” Ali Wong: “My toddler barged into a Zoom call, screamed ‘I pooped!’ and honestly? It was still more relevant than most team updates.” Trevor Noah: “Remote work taught us you don’t need a suit to be professional. Just a shirt and a willingness to lie about your connection cutting out.” Chris Rock: “Only in America do we need a $6 million study to realize people don’t like Karen from HR breathing down their neck.”

Corporate America Struggles to Cope

Despite the overwhelming data supporting remote happiness, some executives remain skeptical. “I just don’t understand how productivity can increase when people aren’t forced to make eye contact in an open-plan nightmare,” muttered Gregson Farnsworth III, CEO of OfficeMart, a company that sells nothing but cubicle walls and judgment. In retaliation, companies are experimenting with hybrid models, such as: “Mandatory Monday Misery”—one required day in-office to justify the lease “Zoom, But With Eye Contact”—where employees must stare directly into their cameras for 45 minutes “Bring Your Boss to Breakfast”—a poorly received idea involving toast, trauma, and trust falls

The Rise of the Faux Office

To combat remote impostor syndrome, a cottage industry has emerged offering fake office backgrounds, synthetic keyboard clicks, and pre-recorded coughs. One company, CubicleFX, offers a $29/month package that includes: Ambient copier noise Looped hallway footsteps A Slack bot that randomly sends: “Hey, do you have a sec?”

Zoom Fatigue Turns into Zoom Delusion

Zoom fatigue has now evolved into Zoom Delusion—a syndrome where individuals believe they’ve actually bonded with coworkers they’ve never physically met. Symptoms include: Referring to Jeff in Idaho as your “work husband” Sending apology emails for not laughing at someone’s laggy joke Developing crushes based solely on voice and calendar invites

Final Conclusion: Stay Home, America

The IRWO’s final recommendation is a simple one: stay home if you can. It saves fuel, nerves, and thousands of lives formerly lost to microwave burrito explosions in shared breakroom microwaves. “We used to build cities around work,” said Dr. Blurt in a TEDx talk delivered from his bathtub. “Now we build work around couches, quiet kids, and pants with drawstrings.” He paused, adjusted his webcam, and added, “Also, Sandra's not here. So yeah—we're good.”   Disclaimer: This article is a collaborative work of satire authored by the oldest tenured professor in New Jersey and a philosophy major turned dairy farmer with Wi-Fi. The subject matter is intended for humor, not HR policy. If you identify as Sandra, we see you—and we love you—from a respectful digital distance.

What The Funny People Are Saying...

Jerry Seinfeld:“Working from home is like being in a witness protection program—except instead of running from the mob, you’re hiding from Janet in Accounting.” Ron White:“I told my wife I was working from home. She said, ‘Great, now I can supervise.’ I said, ‘Darlin’, I quit the bar to get less harassment.’” Ali Wong:“Remote work is amazing. I haven’t worn a bra in three years. I wore one last week and my body said, ‘WHO HURT YOU?!’” Chris Rock:“You ever notice your boss thinks you’re lazy because you’re not in an office? Like stress only counts when fluorescent lights are involved!” Bill Burr:“Everyone's like, ‘I miss office culture!’ What culture? Microwaving fish? Passive-aggressive Post-it notes? Get the hell outta here.” Trevor Noah:“My internet went out mid-meeting, and everyone thought I was making a statement. I was like, ‘Yes, this was an artistic protest against PowerPoint.’” Sarah Silverman:“My dog walks into my Zoom calls like he owns the company. And honestly, he's more qualified than half the VPs.” Tig Notaro:“I finally cleaned my home office. Found three mugs, one sock, and my will to live. Neatly filed under ‘Maybe Later.’” Kevin Hart:“You think working from home is easy? Try giving a presentation with your kid screaming ‘I POOPED’ in the background. That’s a TED Talk—Toddler Explosive Disaster.”

Scientists Have Been Studying Remote Work for Four Years and Have Reached a Very Clear Conclusion

Working From Home Makes Us Happier... The Farmingdale Observer 1. Scientists spent four years proving what every pajama-clad employee with a cat already knew: happiness increases 200% when you don’t have to wear pants. 2. The “clear conclusion” cost $6 million in grants and involved multiple PhDs—but your Aunt Judy figured it out in 2020 after discovering Zoom could be muted. 3. Remote work reduces stress, boosts productivity, and has led to an 800% spike in novelty coffee mugs that say, “I’m not wearing pants.” 4. Office “small talk” is now entirely optional—introverts report a 93% decrease in unnecessary conversations about Sandra’s new haircut. 5. The only “commute” now is from the bed to the couch—and even that feels like a long-distance relationship some mornings. 6. Scientists noted a sharp drop in “casual Friday” enthusiasm, because every day is now Casual Existential Dread Friday. 7. Pets are the new middle managers—they interrupt meetings, demand snacks, and stare at you like you’re underperforming. 8. 1 in 3 remote workers now believe their microwave is their most supportive coworker. 9. Instead of “watercooler talk,” employees now bond over shared Wi-Fi issues, echoing cries of “Can you hear me now?” across the nation. 10. Dress code compliance now includes “formal neck, chaos waist”—blazers on top, SpongeBob boxers below. 11. 87% of home offices are technically just a laptop balancing on a stack of Amazon boxes next to a sink. 12. Working from home has revealed that most meetings could’ve been avoided entirely if Jeff from accounting just read the email. 13. People are finally using their expensive degrees—to strategically angle their webcam to hide the laundry pile. 14. Mental health improved across the board, except for one tragic demographic: ring lights, which are now burnt out and overworked. 15. The only downside researchers found: fridges across America have suffered burnout from being visited 12 times an hour for “thinking snacks.” Read the full article

[wine-porn]

Martaella McFly

They don’t call him Dr. Pinot for nothin. Rich and delicious in the nose, a ackground of bitter mineral steely and vegetal: gunpowder fluff on ripe decadence–or maybe the opposite. Layers of licorice and rust on juice rather tart in bouquet but built on leathery pillows of smoky grandeur. Isn’t Pinot wonderful? It’s not sharp and acidic in the mouth: rather capitalizing on RRV luxury throughout…

[cleverhottubmiracle]

“Pachamama,” said our guide, Orlando Condori. He tilted his glass, pouring some blush-colored wine onto the parched sand.“Si, la Pachamama!” said everyone else, doing the same.They looked at me.“Pachamama!” I said as I poured half my drink into the earth. I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it, but I did it.It was a shame. I’d been enjoying the rosé. Then again, it wasn’t the worst idea — I was lightheaded. So lightheaded that I had to sit back down.“That’s not the wine,” said Niki Barbery-Bleyleben, a conservation ambassador for Prometa, an environmental organization focused on sustainability and community resilience. “That’s the altitude.” We were at 3,500 meters, or about 11,000 feet.We were at a table set out on a plateau overlooking the Cordillera de Sama Biological Reserve in the southern part of Bolivia. We were in the high desert, the bright sun high overhead, with a view of — everything. From our perch we could see down the expanse of the Cordillera de Sama Mountain range. Between us and what appeared to be the ends of the earth: sparse, empty, dust-colored land, a glittering lagoon with its flamboyance of flamingos and so much sky I had to crane my neck to find its edges.The reserve is in the province of Tarija, an agricultural region tucked into the corner of Bolivia bordering Paraguay and Argentina. Tarija, which is also the name of the city inside the province, isn’t big — only about 14,000 square miles, making it a click larger than Maryland. But its topography is amazingly varied: forests, deserts, lakes, mountains, sun, rain, snow. It has pumas, alpacas and llamas, plus three kinds of flamingos. This is Bolivian wine country — a collection of a half dozen of the best little-known wineries in the world surrounded by vast, untouched wilderness. Throw in a five-star resort and a celebrity wedding, and Tarija could be Tuscany.With a side of magic.“We are very spiritual in Bolivia,” said Dr. Barbery, who has a Ph. D. in social policy. “We are rooted in various Indigenous traditions that date back centuries. Andean cosmovision says you walk toward your past — it’s what is known, and therefore, lies ahead of you; your future is behind you because it is something you cannot see.”That cosmovision explains the wine pouring. “Pachamama” is a word offering gratitude in the Quechua and Aymara languages, which originated with the Indigenous people of the Andes.“It is a way of thanking Mother Earth,” explained Dr. Barbery as we loaded our gear into the back of the pickup for the two-hour drive back to the town of Tarija, walking slowly to avoid head rushes.Winemaking at altitudeMy friend Lisa and I had come to explore Tarija’s wine country with Dr. Barbery and her friend Julie. It turns out, if you know what you’re doing, altitude is a key ingredient to winemaking. “High altitude wines are trendy now,” said Jurgen Kohlberg, the owner of the Bodega Tayna, a biodynamic vineyard just outside the city of Tarija. The star of Mr. Kohlberg’s vineyard is pinot noir — one of the highest altitude pinot noirs in the world.We were at 2,100 meters, almost 7,000 feet — and that wasn’t the only challenge.“There’s no soil,” he said, as we walked through his vineyard. In fact, the ground was made up of tiny rocks called “lajas.”Mr. Kohlberg, a slight man with a white beard, has lofty ambitions. “My goal is to make the best pinot noir in the world,” he said, explaining that he only harvests “at night in complete silence. It’s very magical, no?”We went back to our mini hacienda, Casa Tinto, on the other side of town, thinking of Mr. Kohlberg and his quiet magical harvest. Not surprisingly he only makes about 2,000 bottles per year.The next morning, after breakfast of black Bolivian coffee called Takesi and avocado toast, we walked through town to pick up a few handmade woven things to bring home. Later, it was time to visit Campos de Solana, maybe the most boldfaced vineyard in the area. Manicured pathways, lavender bushes, front doors 20 feet tall — Campos de Solana could intimidate the bougiest of Tuscan wineries.“We shouldn’t have viticulture here. New Zealand, South Africa, Patagonia are on the southern belt at about 33 degrees,” said Luis Pablo Granier, the general manager, referring to the latitudes at which those countries are found. “Spain, France, Italy are the northern belt. We are at 21 degrees in Tarija so wine makes no sense.” In other words, this latitude is usually too hot for winemaking. “But because of the altitude we can produce even though we shouldn’t be able to.”Like most wineries in Bolivia, the vineyards at Campos de Solana also produce a liquor called Singani (in their case, under the label Casa Real). Because it is distilled from wine, Singani is often compared to cognac or pisco but to true believers, it is in a class by itself.“I felt as though I stumbled upon this gem that nobody knew about,” said the filmmaker Steven Soderbergh when we spoke on Zoom. In 2007, Mr. Soderbergh partly filmed the movie “Che” in Bolivia. “When I was first given the Casa Real Singani, there was a three-stage experience. It’s very floral and I’m not used to a spirit having such a nose on it. Then you taste it and it’s very complex. And when you swallowed it, there was no burn. It just vanished. I was like, ‘I’ve got to call vodka and say I’ve met somebody.’”According to its Denominación de Origen or DO, Singani must be made from the Muscat of Alexandria grapes and can only be produced in certain regions in Bolivia above 1,600 meters.“When the Spanish colonized Bolivia, they brought wine,” Franz Molina of the Bodega Kuhlmann winery later explained. “But it spoiled when they reached the coast so they had to distill the wine. That became Singani. It was a way of preserving wine.”Mr. Soderbergh was so taken with the drink that in 2008, he partnered with Casa Real, and created Singani 63 (Mr. Soderbergh was born in 1963), the first Singani imported to the United States.“I think there’s an incredibly inaccurate belief on the part of people who’ve never been to Bolivia, that it is somehow unsophisticated,” Mr. Soderbergh said. “There’s an incredibly vibrant food and drink culture. You get there, and you realize they have everything.”Wine, gastronomy and Neil ArmstrongA few days into our trip, we set out to have everything.Lunch at Atmósfera, the restaurant at Kohlberg Winery, was an outdoor affair. We sat at a table under the bough of a mulberry tree overlooking the acres of rich green vineyards. In the distance, birdsong.Our group had grown to 10 — members of the Kohlberg family, friends, cousins, a wine executive or two. You could be forgiven for thinking every Bolivian knows someone who is friends with a cousin or neighbor. It’s a small place.We started with homemade bread with wine butter.“Out of respect for the planet we use everything,” said the chef, Pablo Cassab, who had walked over to introduce his food. “Nothing goes to waste. If we peel a carrot, we dry the peel and turn it into carrot powder.”“The gastronomic route in Bolivia goes through La Paz,” he said, referring to the country’s capital. “But as people learn about wine, they are beginning to learn about food. That leads to Tarija.”Then, the next course: grilled artichoke, fried broccoli florets with crispy onions resting on a purée of white beans. A moment later, a new wine: Stelar, a white made from Ugni grapes, the oldest vines at the vineyard. Stelar comes with its own party trick: the label changes color with the temperature.As sunlight dimmed, the air grew heavy, the bacchanal came to an end. We got back in the truck as fat, deliberate rain drops pelted the windshield.It was surprisingly chilly out as we headed into the town of Tarija for a stop at Tajzara, a tiny shop not much larger than a walk-in closet packed with hand-knit sweaters. A few alpaca shawls and llama wraps later, we walked to Diabla, a high end women’s boutique with Incan-inspired necklaces, cocktail dresses, woven bracelets, and a small atelier in back where each garment was made.At yet another lunch we were told a story often repeated in Bolivia. It is said that the American astronaut Neil Armstrong saw the country’s Uyuni salt flat, at 4,000 square miles the world’s largest, from the moon and was so taken by its beauty that he vowed to someday visit. (He later did, with his family.)Like Armstrong before me, I was surprised by Bolivia. So much of the culture seemed unlikely. It has grapes that shouldn’t grow; gastronomy to rival the best in South America but much less known; rocky, punishing terrain supporting robust agriculture. This pocket of land populated by llamas and flamingos and history is both closer to the heavens and deeply connected to its roots. Source link

[norajworld]

“Pachamama,” said our guide, Orlando Condori. He tilted his glass, pouring some blush-colored wine onto the parched sand.“Si, la Pachamama!” said everyone else, doing the same.They looked at me.“Pachamama!” I said as I poured half my drink into the earth. I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it, but I did it.It was a shame. I’d been enjoying the rosé. Then again, it wasn’t the worst idea — I was lightheaded. So lightheaded that I had to sit back down.“That’s not the wine,” said Niki Barbery-Bleyleben, a conservation ambassador for Prometa, an environmental organization focused on sustainability and community resilience. “That’s the altitude.” We were at 3,500 meters, or about 11,000 feet.We were at a table set out on a plateau overlooking the Cordillera de Sama Biological Reserve in the southern part of Bolivia. We were in the high desert, the bright sun high overhead, with a view of — everything. From our perch we could see down the expanse of the Cordillera de Sama Mountain range. Between us and what appeared to be the ends of the earth: sparse, empty, dust-colored land, a glittering lagoon with its flamboyance of flamingos and so much sky I had to crane my neck to find its edges.The reserve is in the province of Tarija, an agricultural region tucked into the corner of Bolivia bordering Paraguay and Argentina. Tarija, which is also the name of the city inside the province, isn’t big — only about 14,000 square miles, making it a click larger than Maryland. But its topography is amazingly varied: forests, deserts, lakes, mountains, sun, rain, snow. It has pumas, alpacas and llamas, plus three kinds of flamingos. This is Bolivian wine country — a collection of a half dozen of the best little-known wineries in the world surrounded by vast, untouched wilderness. Throw in a five-star resort and a celebrity wedding, and Tarija could be Tuscany.With a side of magic.“We are very spiritual in Bolivia,” said Dr. Barbery, who has a Ph. D. in social policy. “We are rooted in various Indigenous traditions that date back centuries. Andean cosmovision says you walk toward your past — it’s what is known, and therefore, lies ahead of you; your future is behind you because it is something you cannot see.”That cosmovision explains the wine pouring. “Pachamama” is a word offering gratitude in the Quechua and Aymara languages, which originated with the Indigenous people of the Andes.“It is a way of thanking Mother Earth,” explained Dr. Barbery as we loaded our gear into the back of the pickup for the two-hour drive back to the town of Tarija, walking slowly to avoid head rushes.Winemaking at altitudeMy friend Lisa and I had come to explore Tarija’s wine country with Dr. Barbery and her friend Julie. It turns out, if you know what you’re doing, altitude is a key ingredient to winemaking. “High altitude wines are trendy now,” said Jurgen Kohlberg, the owner of the Bodega Tayna, a biodynamic vineyard just outside the city of Tarija. The star of Mr. Kohlberg’s vineyard is pinot noir — one of the highest altitude pinot noirs in the world.We were at 2,100 meters, almost 7,000 feet — and that wasn’t the only challenge.“There’s no soil,” he said, as we walked through his vineyard. In fact, the ground was made up of tiny rocks called “lajas.”Mr. Kohlberg, a slight man with a white beard, has lofty ambitions. “My goal is to make the best pinot noir in the world,” he said, explaining that he only harvests “at night in complete silence. It’s very magical, no?”We went back to our mini hacienda, Casa Tinto, on the other side of town, thinking of Mr. Kohlberg and his quiet magical harvest. Not surprisingly he only makes about 2,000 bottles per year.The next morning, after breakfast of black Bolivian coffee called Takesi and avocado toast, we walked through town to pick up a few handmade woven things to bring home. Later, it was time to visit Campos de Solana, maybe the most boldfaced vineyard in the area. Manicured pathways, lavender bushes, front doors 20 feet tall — Campos de Solana could intimidate the bougiest of Tuscan wineries.“We shouldn’t have viticulture here. New Zealand, South Africa, Patagonia are on the southern belt at about 33 degrees,” said Luis Pablo Granier, the general manager, referring to the latitudes at which those countries are found. “Spain, France, Italy are the northern belt. We are at 21 degrees in Tarija so wine makes no sense.” In other words, this latitude is usually too hot for winemaking. “But because of the altitude we can produce even though we shouldn’t be able to.”Like most wineries in Bolivia, the vineyards at Campos de Solana also produce a liquor called Singani (in their case, under the label Casa Real). Because it is distilled from wine, Singani is often compared to cognac or pisco but to true believers, it is in a class by itself.“I felt as though I stumbled upon this gem that nobody knew about,” said the filmmaker Steven Soderbergh when we spoke on Zoom. In 2007, Mr. Soderbergh partly filmed the movie “Che” in Bolivia. “When I was first given the Casa Real Singani, there was a three-stage experience. It’s very floral and I’m not used to a spirit having such a nose on it. Then you taste it and it’s very complex. And when you swallowed it, there was no burn. It just vanished. I was like, ‘I’ve got to call vodka and say I’ve met somebody.’”According to its Denominación de Origen or DO, Singani must be made from the Muscat of Alexandria grapes and can only be produced in certain regions in Bolivia above 1,600 meters.“When the Spanish colonized Bolivia, they brought wine,” Franz Molina of the Bodega Kuhlmann winery later explained. “But it spoiled when they reached the coast so they had to distill the wine. That became Singani. It was a way of preserving wine.”Mr. Soderbergh was so taken with the drink that in 2008, he partnered with Casa Real, and created Singani 63 (Mr. Soderbergh was born in 1963), the first Singani imported to the United States.“I think there’s an incredibly inaccurate belief on the part of people who’ve never been to Bolivia, that it is somehow unsophisticated,” Mr. Soderbergh said. “There’s an incredibly vibrant food and drink culture. You get there, and you realize they have everything.”Wine, gastronomy and Neil ArmstrongA few days into our trip, we set out to have everything.Lunch at Atmósfera, the restaurant at Kohlberg Winery, was an outdoor affair. We sat at a table under the bough of a mulberry tree overlooking the acres of rich green vineyards. In the distance, birdsong.Our group had grown to 10 — members of the Kohlberg family, friends, cousins, a wine executive or two. You could be forgiven for thinking every Bolivian knows someone who is friends with a cousin or neighbor. It’s a small place.We started with homemade bread with wine butter.“Out of respect for the planet we use everything,” said the chef, Pablo Cassab, who had walked over to introduce his food. “Nothing goes to waste. If we peel a carrot, we dry the peel and turn it into carrot powder.”“The gastronomic route in Bolivia goes through La Paz,” he said, referring to the country’s capital. “But as people learn about wine, they are beginning to learn about food. That leads to Tarija.”Then, the next course: grilled artichoke, fried broccoli florets with crispy onions resting on a purée of white beans. A moment later, a new wine: Stelar, a white made from Ugni grapes, the oldest vines at the vineyard. Stelar comes with its own party trick: the label changes color with the temperature.As sunlight dimmed, the air grew heavy, the bacchanal came to an end. We got back in the truck as fat, deliberate rain drops pelted the windshield.It was surprisingly chilly out as we headed into the town of Tarija for a stop at Tajzara, a tiny shop not much larger than a walk-in closet packed with hand-knit sweaters. A few alpaca shawls and llama wraps later, we walked to Diabla, a high end women’s boutique with Incan-inspired necklaces, cocktail dresses, woven bracelets, and a small atelier in back where each garment was made.At yet another lunch we were told a story often repeated in Bolivia. It is said that the American astronaut Neil Armstrong saw the country’s Uyuni salt flat, at 4,000 square miles the world’s largest, from the moon and was so taken by its beauty that he vowed to someday visit. (He later did, with his family.)Like Armstrong before me, I was surprised by Bolivia. So much of the culture seemed unlikely. It has grapes that shouldn’t grow; gastronomy to rival the best in South America but much less known; rocky, punishing terrain supporting robust agriculture. This pocket of land populated by llamas and flamingos and history is both closer to the heavens and deeply connected to its roots. Source link

[chilimili212]

“Pachamama,” said our guide, Orlando Condori. He tilted his glass, pouring some blush-colored wine onto the parched sand.“Si, la Pachamama!” said everyone else, doing the same.They looked at me.“Pachamama!” I said as I poured half my drink into the earth. I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it, but I did it.It was a shame. I’d been enjoying the rosé. Then again, it wasn’t the worst idea — I was lightheaded. So lightheaded that I had to sit back down.“That’s not the wine,” said Niki Barbery-Bleyleben, a conservation ambassador for Prometa, an environmental organization focused on sustainability and community resilience. “That’s the altitude.” We were at 3,500 meters, or about 11,000 feet.We were at a table set out on a plateau overlooking the Cordillera de Sama Biological Reserve in the southern part of Bolivia. We were in the high desert, the bright sun high overhead, with a view of — everything. From our perch we could see down the expanse of the Cordillera de Sama Mountain range. Between us and what appeared to be the ends of the earth: sparse, empty, dust-colored land, a glittering lagoon with its flamboyance of flamingos and so much sky I had to crane my neck to find its edges.The reserve is in the province of Tarija, an agricultural region tucked into the corner of Bolivia bordering Paraguay and Argentina. Tarija, which is also the name of the city inside the province, isn’t big — only about 14,000 square miles, making it a click larger than Maryland. But its topography is amazingly varied: forests, deserts, lakes, mountains, sun, rain, snow. It has pumas, alpacas and llamas, plus three kinds of flamingos. This is Bolivian wine country — a collection of a half dozen of the best little-known wineries in the world surrounded by vast, untouched wilderness. Throw in a five-star resort and a celebrity wedding, and Tarija could be Tuscany.With a side of magic.“We are very spiritual in Bolivia,” said Dr. Barbery, who has a Ph. D. in social policy. “We are rooted in various Indigenous traditions that date back centuries. Andean cosmovision says you walk toward your past — it’s what is known, and therefore, lies ahead of you; your future is behind you because it is something you cannot see.”That cosmovision explains the wine pouring. “Pachamama” is a word offering gratitude in the Quechua and Aymara languages, which originated with the Indigenous people of the Andes.“It is a way of thanking Mother Earth,” explained Dr. Barbery as we loaded our gear into the back of the pickup for the two-hour drive back to the town of Tarija, walking slowly to avoid head rushes.Winemaking at altitudeMy friend Lisa and I had come to explore Tarija’s wine country with Dr. Barbery and her friend Julie. It turns out, if you know what you’re doing, altitude is a key ingredient to winemaking. “High altitude wines are trendy now,” said Jurgen Kohlberg, the owner of the Bodega Tayna, a biodynamic vineyard just outside the city of Tarija. The star of Mr. Kohlberg’s vineyard is pinot noir — one of the highest altitude pinot noirs in the world.We were at 2,100 meters, almost 7,000 feet — and that wasn’t the only challenge.“There’s no soil,” he said, as we walked through his vineyard. In fact, the ground was made up of tiny rocks called “lajas.”Mr. Kohlberg, a slight man with a white beard, has lofty ambitions. “My goal is to make the best pinot noir in the world,” he said, explaining that he only harvests “at night in complete silence. It’s very magical, no?”We went back to our mini hacienda, Casa Tinto, on the other side of town, thinking of Mr. Kohlberg and his quiet magical harvest. Not surprisingly he only makes about 2,000 bottles per year.The next morning, after breakfast of black Bolivian coffee called Takesi and avocado toast, we walked through town to pick up a few handmade woven things to bring home. Later, it was time to visit Campos de Solana, maybe the most boldfaced vineyard in the area. Manicured pathways, lavender bushes, front doors 20 feet tall — Campos de Solana could intimidate the bougiest of Tuscan wineries.“We shouldn’t have viticulture here. New Zealand, South Africa, Patagonia are on the southern belt at about 33 degrees,” said Luis Pablo Granier, the general manager, referring to the latitudes at which those countries are found. “Spain, France, Italy are the northern belt. We are at 21 degrees in Tarija so wine makes no sense.” In other words, this latitude is usually too hot for winemaking. “But because of the altitude we can produce even though we shouldn’t be able to.”Like most wineries in Bolivia, the vineyards at Campos de Solana also produce a liquor called Singani (in their case, under the label Casa Real). Because it is distilled from wine, Singani is often compared to cognac or pisco but to true believers, it is in a class by itself.“I felt as though I stumbled upon this gem that nobody knew about,” said the filmmaker Steven Soderbergh when we spoke on Zoom. In 2007, Mr. Soderbergh partly filmed the movie “Che” in Bolivia. “When I was first given the Casa Real Singani, there was a three-stage experience. It’s very floral and I’m not used to a spirit having such a nose on it. Then you taste it and it’s very complex. And when you swallowed it, there was no burn. It just vanished. I was like, ‘I’ve got to call vodka and say I’ve met somebody.’”According to its Denominación de Origen or DO, Singani must be made from the Muscat of Alexandria grapes and can only be produced in certain regions in Bolivia above 1,600 meters.“When the Spanish colonized Bolivia, they brought wine,” Franz Molina of the Bodega Kuhlmann winery later explained. “But it spoiled when they reached the coast so they had to distill the wine. That became Singani. It was a way of preserving wine.”Mr. Soderbergh was so taken with the drink that in 2008, he partnered with Casa Real, and created Singani 63 (Mr. Soderbergh was born in 1963), the first Singani imported to the United States.“I think there’s an incredibly inaccurate belief on the part of people who’ve never been to Bolivia, that it is somehow unsophisticated,” Mr. Soderbergh said. “There’s an incredibly vibrant food and drink culture. You get there, and you realize they have everything.”Wine, gastronomy and Neil ArmstrongA few days into our trip, we set out to have everything.Lunch at Atmósfera, the restaurant at Kohlberg Winery, was an outdoor affair. We sat at a table under the bough of a mulberry tree overlooking the acres of rich green vineyards. In the distance, birdsong.Our group had grown to 10 — members of the Kohlberg family, friends, cousins, a wine executive or two. You could be forgiven for thinking every Bolivian knows someone who is friends with a cousin or neighbor. It’s a small place.We started with homemade bread with wine butter.“Out of respect for the planet we use everything,” said the chef, Pablo Cassab, who had walked over to introduce his food. “Nothing goes to waste. If we peel a carrot, we dry the peel and turn it into carrot powder.”“The gastronomic route in Bolivia goes through La Paz,” he said, referring to the country’s capital. “But as people learn about wine, they are beginning to learn about food. That leads to Tarija.”Then, the next course: grilled artichoke, fried broccoli florets with crispy onions resting on a purée of white beans. A moment later, a new wine: Stelar, a white made from Ugni grapes, the oldest vines at the vineyard. Stelar comes with its own party trick: the label changes color with the temperature.As sunlight dimmed, the air grew heavy, the bacchanal came to an end. We got back in the truck as fat, deliberate rain drops pelted the windshield.It was surprisingly chilly out as we headed into the town of Tarija for a stop at Tajzara, a tiny shop not much larger than a walk-in closet packed with hand-knit sweaters. A few alpaca shawls and llama wraps later, we walked to Diabla, a high end women’s boutique with Incan-inspired necklaces, cocktail dresses, woven bracelets, and a small atelier in back where each garment was made.At yet another lunch we were told a story often repeated in Bolivia. It is said that the American astronaut Neil Armstrong saw the country’s Uyuni salt flat, at 4,000 square miles the world’s largest, from the moon and was so taken by its beauty that he vowed to someday visit. (He later did, with his family.)Like Armstrong before me, I was surprised by Bolivia. So much of the culture seemed unlikely. It has grapes that shouldn’t grow; gastronomy to rival the best in South America but much less known; rocky, punishing terrain supporting robust agriculture. This pocket of land populated by llamas and flamingos and history is both closer to the heavens and deeply connected to its roots. Source link

[x-t3r]

Day 11 Pinot Noir

(yes i know I'm very consistent)

I'm going to start cathing up with the ones i didn't do ealier

(also i suck at drawing hands)

Au lore stuff:

He/Him

Au name: Palus

He's a robot showstar made by Red (Code red by Dr. Phonics) to entertain the people of paradise (simmilar to Mettaton from Undertale) he can also be used in many other ways such as magic or advertising

Frequently gets hacked by Giz (gizabyte) to annoy Red

Link to the song: https://youtu.be/OAoUYmicqXo?si=oZ7fe1_t5n0uvp_p