#just a bottle of like... barefoot pink moscato | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad.

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really.

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself.

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Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4 who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

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“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her.

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault.

For deciding that they were going to have a party.

On New Year’s Eve.

Like complete cliches.

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine.

Her phone made another noise.

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was.

Whatever, honestly.

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over.

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird.

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special.

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly.

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home.

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps.

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were.

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor.

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad.

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing.

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed.

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend.

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?”

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

She’d give them five stars.

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?”

Her face was very warm.

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work.

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly.

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame.

“I don’t care.”

All things considered.

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it.

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went.

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet.

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat.

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download.

She should have waited until she was on wifi.

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship.

He was her friend.

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent.

Or any of the utilities.

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago.

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.

At least the end of her love life.

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door.

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already.

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though.

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least.

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure.

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged.

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on.

That didn’t make her feel any better.

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry.

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable.

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed.

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly.

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important.

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway.

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list.

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked.

She couldn’t cook.

She tried.

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music.

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven.

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded.

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so.

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help.

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector.

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice.

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music.

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything.

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least.

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor.

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway.

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen.

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot.

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?”

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later.

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called.

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly.

Distractingly.

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it.

Or there had been.

She’d eaten them.

Her mouth felt a little numb.

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter.

Killian’s. Not Graham’s.

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did.

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded.

He shrugged.

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over.

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar.

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular.

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious.

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever.

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark.

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now.

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now.

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk.

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart.

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually.

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham.

She was the worst.

David played hockey when he was a kid.

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous.

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex.

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays.

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then.

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so.

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over.

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon.

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them.

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer.

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about.

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could.

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive.

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt.

He didn’t move his hands.

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer.

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers.

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate.

She never did find out where her pancreas was.

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt.

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier.

“How did you figure it out?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive fic a thon 2k20 #this ended up much longer than i thought #so really the perfect way to end the year #thanks for reading internet #i think you're all swell

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nishihiroto · 3 years

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Hi!! 🌅🍺🎃🌁

LEAH hello so happy to see you here!! 🌞

🌅a little bit of both - i don’t mind the mornings that much as long as i can have coffee, and i like nighttime because that’s usually when i get to watch tv/youtube content and just relax. i don’t really wake up super early or go to bed super late!

🍺non-alcoholic drink - iced coffee/cold brew. i also like lemonade and soda! alcoholic drink - i’m not a big drinker, but i like white wine! but one summer i drank exclusively barefoot pink moscato out of the bottle and that went pretty well for me.

🎃answered here!

🌁i’m really from the suburbs, i wouldn’t really call it the city or the country. i’ve lived in cities ever since i went to college.

#thanks for asking ✨#ask game

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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i know (rajila) - queenraja

A/N: please don’t ask me to describe what this is i wrote it at 5am this morning with no sleep, didn’t sleep until i finished 2k of angst, and there’s been no edit. basically, raja & manila current day at some sort of event ft. angst bc i am That Bitch.

this is my second (2nd) time writing rpf & my first time writing in the drag race fandom, so please be kind. i only started watching drag race last week, so i’m definitely not the expert, but i have binged tons of content. please let me know what you think & leave some feedback, i’d really appreciate it!

content warning!!! angst like whoa, explicit language, mentions of anorexia & self harm, just general some darker depression themes ( aka i project what’s new )

love, ant <3

“Fuck!”

Sworn to a frustrated reflection, staring blankly back at her in the mirror, and, unfortunately, overheard by a passing Manila in the hall. Her footsteps went unheard on the cement ground despite their loud echoing, which stilled quickly at the outburst, pausing just beyond the doorway to peak in and see what had caused it.

The culprit? A shaking hand, bearing the weight of a mascara wand that had slipped and missed, and stabbed just down below, where cheekbones gave way to softer skin, darker skin where sleepless nights pooled.

Raja bore her teeth together, and shoved hair- grey, she reminded herself- out of her face as she bent over, closer to the mirror, close enough that breath could fog, taking a napkin to begin to scrub. Here, the foundation didn’t cover wrinkles, pressed from years of smiling and crying and laughing- mostly crying. So close, she could see the way fat seemed to cling to her bones, underneath her jaw that was becoming less and less defined, and she’d fucked up the contour on her stupid crooked nose and-

“You’re going to make yourself bleed.” Raja froze, tissue hovered just over her cheek from where she’d been wiping, and while she didn’t move, she dared to flick her eyes up to where Manila entered now, revealing her hiding place.

There was no response, just a silence that hung for a moment, and Raja couldn’t figure why. It could’ve been a joke. Easily, she could’ve cracked a smile at her old friend, and stood up, and greeted her. Manila was fully dressed; a 50’s polka dot hoop skirt, as put together as always, and not a stitch out of place. They had hours to go until the filming started, and yet, she looked ready to pounce in front of the audience in a heartbeat. Raja exhaled, looked back to the tissue, which had successfully pilled up with balls of mascara, foundation, paper from the rubbing.

“You don’t go through this many years of drag without getting thick skin,” she responded, trying for a joke at least, still facing the mirror.

“I mean, look how red you’ve made your skin,” Manila ignored her, speaking quietly, coming to her side. They weren’t touching, but they could’ve been. Manila’s perfectly manicured nails hovered just above a thin, tattoo’d arm, as if asking her to oblige, her eyes not leaving Raja’s face for a second.

Raja straightened her back slightly, eyes focused again on the mirror, on Manila’s face, so perfect, watching her. Giving her the time of day. It sank so deep in her chest, past her heart, past her ribs, that for a moment, she thought she could barely breathe, she might choke on it. Her own nails, black and chipped, a bit, clutched tighter at the tissue in her hand.

“It’s alright,” she assured, just over a whisper. “I just forgot what I was doing for a second.”

Raja didn’t know what she was arguing against. That she hadn’t done it on purpose? Did Manila believe that? That she had wanted to-? One flick up at Manila’s face in the mirror, at painted brows that had furrowed down, and Raja knew the answer. Manila’s hand made the rest of the painstaking journey down to Raja’s skin, and her palm was so warm, so soothing, so comforting.

Raja forced another exhale out. Well, she hadn’t, had she? There was no reason to be worried, was there?

“Sit down,” Manila gestured decisively to the stool, tucked away under the dressing room counter with her other hand, and then ventured a smile. “Let’s get your face finished, girl. You can’t go out looking like that.”

“I can-“

“Sit down.” And it wasn’t an option, anymore.

Raja’s eyebrows arched high, and she nodded, breaking away from the solace of Manila’s presence just long enough to drag the stool out, and sit, obediently in front of her, waiting. Manila didn’t even hesitate, leaning in with all the poise and practice of a professional, foundation cream gliding over the area that Raja had scrubbed away. For a moment, Raja let herself relax, let her eyes close patiently; but shoulders remained tight, and upright, and elegance of a model, someone who was always a model.

After a heartbeat, as she turned to cap the foundation cream, Manila spoke: “So, you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re gonna talk about it.”

She began to sponge away at Raja’s face, gentle, firm. Raja hardly even managed a sigh, that constricted feeling returning, swelling up in her throat, in her chest. Lucky she had her eyes closed.

She knew she shouldn’t let her face break, not while Manila was working; she knew she shouldn’t let even a sign of anything pull through. It was unprofessional, it was selfish, it was stupid. Her eyebrows still pinched together, though, to keep everything together, like duct tape on a dam. Immediately, that feeling began to burn, and she felt it strangle in her voice as she said, again: “No.”

Movements stopped on her face; it was unprofessional to move, she thought, she was a model, she knew she shouldn’t have broken, she shouldn’t have ruined it. Instead she felt fingers move tenderly to her jawline, a startling feeling that nearly made her jump.

“Raja, hey,” Manila’s voice came through again, so quiet, so soft, so… so worried. Raja didn’t open her eyes, feeling the tightness only worsen. It was selfish to make Manila- her friend- worry about her, to do all this. She was a winner, wasn’t she? She was supposed to do all this on her own, she shouldn’t need help, she shouldn’t need anything. Manila tried again, her voice even softer, fingers lifting Raja’s face up- and she didn’t know she’d even dropped it down. “Hey, look at me.”

For a moment, she couldn’t. She was too afraid of letting the tears spill through if she did, and then they would have to start over again- no, wait. That was stupid, to assume that Manila would even still want to help her. She would have to start over again. She was afraid of opening her eyes and seeing nothing but frustration, but anger at her actions.

But that pleading voice fought through, a cutting knife that told her not to disappoint, not to upset Manila. She blinked open dark eyes, shining bright from tears she tried, and failed, to fight away. And there was Manila, looking down at her with all the adoration, and patience, and worry in the world. “Hey,” Manila repeated, breathed, her hand not leaving Raja’s face for even a second.

They weren’t supposed to do this. Manila was quirky, and funny, and out of the box, and loud, and annoying, but never in a bad way. Raja was out of this world, and introverted, but extroverted, and every contradiction, and eccentric. They didn’t do serious. Not even when they were a bottle and a half deep into Barefoot Pink Moscato on a Wednesday night. Not ever. Yet here she was, crying practically in Manila’s arms for no reason that she could fathom, and Manila was standing for it.

“I’m sorry,” she managed as soon as she could, the feeling of tears looking underneath her chin, just above her Adam’s apple.

“No.”

“But I am-“ Manila cut her off by kneeling before her- and, oh, God, Raja could only think of her look, how she needed to be careful about the dress, please don’t tear it- moving her hands to rest on Raja’s stocking-covered knees, instead, as light as a butterfly.

“Girl.” Manila gave a little shake of her head, then, as if throwing away that idea, and spoke again, much gentler. “Raja. You have nothing to be sorry for. You never do.”

It felt, then, like a truck had slammed into her, and Raja was still catching her breath; if she had it, she would’ve argued back, but Manila wasn’t done.

“You don’t owe anyone else anything else. You already proved yourself by winning,” Raja’s mouth opened but Manila held up a finger to silence her, “No, listen to me. You’ve proved yourself once and you’ve proved yourself a thousand times after that. You don’t owe anyone anything of yourself. The only person you owe an apology to is yourself. You’re the only one still judging you. Everyone else here-“

She stopped, then, letting her lips part into a smile. “Everyone else here who matters, that is, already knows who you are, and what you can do. They don’t care, Raja.” Her hands came up to Raja’s arms, then, as if begging, pleading. “They don’t care.”

Silence sat over them, like an overcast cloud as Raja tried to swallow all of her friend’s words back, only managing a desperate: “Manila…”

But Manila stood to full height, then, hand resting on Raja’s head, her words even more distressed. “Let yourself rest, Raja, please. Please.“

Delicate, polished fingers moved, naturally, almost, through Raja’s hair, long strands parting as she moved from temple to the base of her neck. As if instinctively, Raja couldn’t help but be drawn forward, as if intuitively pulled towards Manila’s presence, towards her touch. It felt more like a command in a second, and before Raja could protest, she was being pulled into a hug, pressed into soft fabric of Manila’s dress, just above her belly buttons, both of her firm arms wrapped around Raja’s head. “Manila, the makeup,” she whispered, into the dark warmth, her shoulders still stiff, still tense, and not letting up for a second. “Your dress-” “Shut up,” came the tight response, and for a second, past her own tears, and past her own simmering doubts, if Raja listened carefully enough, she might have heard the slight crack in Manila’s voice. “I don’t care about my dress.” Her lips came down to Raja’s scalp, bent over her in a protective stance. For a moment, just a brush, just a taste of a kiss pressed over Raja’s skin. Her fingers continued to stroke through, up and down her neck, the base of her skull, responding to every shudder of a sob that wracked through her body. But you should, Raja’s head ached. We go on stage in an hour, in front of hundreds of people, you should care. The dress matters, I don’t.

“I care about you,” Manila continued, spoken against her skin, sighed like a prayer, a silent longing; perhaps if she said it with enough power, enough conviction, enough love, it could be believed. I don’t, Raja retaliated. Manila didn’t let up, not letting go of her for a second, holding all of the pieces of Raja inside of her slender arms and holding her tight, together. “I care about you. Not about my stupid dress, or makeup getting on it, or if your mascara isn’t perfect, or if you cry in front of me. I don’t care about that. Only about you. I…”

It became evident for the first time that Raja was not the only one crying. Manila took in a hitched breath, struggling for a moment past her ribs to gather up the breath to continue, swallowing hard and fighting through it. She spoke when Raja felt her own words stolen away, blinking into the fabric of her stomach, her face hot and wet and refusing to release everything for even a moment. “Raja, I,” that same hesitation clenched in her chest again, and this time Raja felt it, pulling back with tear raw cheeks to meet a reflection, Manila’s face wearing the same anguish, the same desperation.

The weight of the situation began to sink over them, years of friendship inflating to fill the tiny space between them, and with all the strength that she could muster, Raja moved one thumb up, swiping away one black-stained tear from Manila’s cheek, swiping it away with the twitch of a smile over her unpainted lips. Manila’s touch faded from her hair, sliding to her shoulders, to her elbows as Raja’s arms reached up to Manila’s face instead, framing contoured cheekbones. Tears slipped over the back of her hands, as she stroked the apple of Manila’s cheeks.

Raja nodded, wordless for a moment as she fished out the ability to speak from the pit of her chest, deep within her heart. “I know.” Manila’s tears twisted into a laugh, tightening on her elbows. “Do you?”

Another nod, another wipe of tears still flowing. She hardly even noticed her own, their shining, red-lined eyes meeting in the middle as she breathed in, and out, and spoke:

“I love you, too.”

#rpdr fanfiction #raja gemini #manila luzon #rajila #angst #hurt/comfort #queenraja #tw mentions of eating disorder #tw mentions of self harm #concrit welcome #but if there's any grammatical mistakes don't tell me I'm an English major I just wrote this on my phone at 5 am oKAY #submission

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list-me-the-reasons-why · 6 years

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Tagged by @the-rain-transformed

Copy this and fill in your own answers. Then tag some people to learn more about them.

• Favorite smell - There’s a perfume I like to wear called “Kalimantan” but I also like John Varvatos “Artisan Blu.” For room smells, I like lemon scents because they smell clean.

• First job - Meat clerk, I was on night duty so I usually wound up closing for the night (by myself) and cleaning out/filling in the fish “pier” alongside taking out the meat for the night. Sometimes customers would request that I skin the fish or cut them into steaks, so that was a lot of fun. There was always a lot to do and I was always busy, but I quit because of college and a few other (personal) reasons.

• Zodiac sign - Pisces

• Favorite pizza - I like ham and pineapple, but only if it’s a specific ham (cubed) and the sauce isn’t sour. Otherwise, my favorite would be anything with a rising crust

• Favorite dog - The one that looks like a horse face, or the really small one that I think is a mixed breed involving a Pom.

• Favorite foot attire - Steve Madden shoes are always good-- I like to wear platform heels or simple toms. I think they look cute

• Favorite roller coaster - I don’t really go to amusement parks so I haven’t gone on enough roller coasters to say I have a favorite. I do like that gravity ride at festivals, though ^^ I think it’s called “Zero Gravity”? I’m not sure

• Favorite candy - ......... all of them, at least the ones that I can eat (and the ones being stolen from my room). Right now the grocery store has a sale on the seasonal candy, and the one I’ve been eating the most is Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites. They were 10/$10 right near the taffy station

• Favorite ice cream - Ube ice cream or cotton candy right now. I used to like the green tea flavor that this sushi restaurant would have homemade, but I haven’t found anything to compare since.

• Pet peeves - When people don’t use their turn signal before merging in between the 2-3 seconds of space separating me and the car in front of me >.> I like it even less when the same people go above the speed limit and change lanes just so they can go faster (and I dislike it the most when those people change lanes to get ahead every fifteen seconds). That puts everyone else at risk for accident no matter how confident you are as a driver. You can’t predict accidents or when other aggressive drivers are on the same road as you-- I’m going to start honking whenever I see that from now on. It’s pretty rude :/

• What are you listening to right now - I’m not listening to music, but I am watching a Persona 3 LP on youtube right now

• Color of your vehicle - It’s my mom’s vehicle, but it’s silver

• Color of eyes - brown

• Favorite holiday - uhhhhhh I guess the summer holidays because that’s when the grocery store has its candy sales for the one candy I really like (they don’t stock it otherwise), also there are festivals and farmer’s markets, so I have a lot of fun during the summer

• Night owl or day person - Both! Feels good to sleep, but I don’t actually like sleeping for personal reasons. I’d rather be awake doing stuff and then napping as needed. Because I’m responsible for driving my sister and letting mom back in the house after her overnight shift at the hospital, right now I’m more of a morning person but here I am posting this at midnight ._.

• Fave day of week - I think it’d be Friday, I don’t really have a preference

• Tattoos - none!

• Like to cook - Is this asking if I like to cook or what I like to cook? Yes I can cook, usually I’m the one putting dinner on the table for my grandma and sisters

• Beer or wine or neither - (Skip if you’re not 21 or are underage for your country) I like the Pink Moscato by Barefoot. It’s not the regular one-- the one I like has peach/raspberry notes so it’s sweeter. I usually don’t drink, but they come in small, maybe 12oz bottles that are good when you refrigerate them. I got them for 4 in a pack for 4.99 at the store. I actually sat down and had time to enjoy one a few hours ago (it’s only enough for a little buzz) If I get any alcohol recommendations I’ll try them if I have time to drink :u

• Can you drive a manual transmission - I would learn how to drive any car before taking the road test, tbh. Yes I can drive manual

• Favorite color - light blue or white/silver or pink

• Do you like vegetables - Yes

• Do you wear glasses - Yes, but I need to get a new pair soon bc I’m having trouble with long-distance. I always end up getting Ralph Lauren brand for some reason

• Favorite season - Probably between Spring and Summer. I like looking at Sunshowers and I’m more likely to see them at that time. I also do a lot of gardening, so hopefully this year will be good for harvests.

Thanks for tagging me! I tag @sydgul9 , @trin-nya , @bullet-shot-hero , @erbear411 , @st-stephano , @rainingdragons , @taiketsuenmi (I don’t think I’ve tagged some of these people before so I hope this isn’t unwelcome lol)

I’d tag more but I think the other people I was gonna tag have already been tagged through other taggers, so I’ll stop here so no one gets repeat notifs :v

#I don't think I've ever tagged some of the above people #but I hope that's okay? since I've interacted with some of you guys #tag meme #these were fun ^^

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solsarin · 3 years

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what percent alcohol is barefoot sweet red wine

Hello dear friends, thank you for choosing us. In this post on the solsarin site, we will talk about “ what percent alcohol is barefoot sweet red wine “. Stay with us. Thank you for your choice.

Barefoot Sweet Red wine

Barefoot Sweet Red wine comes from Barefoot Cellars in Modesto, California.

In this review of Barefoot Sweet Red wine we’ll go over the price, alcohol content, taste and more of this very sweet red wine.

The wine I tasted did not have a vintage on the bottle. It was labeled as a Red Wine Blend.

Per Barefoot Cellars, Jennifer Well is the winemaker and she joined Barefoot Cellars in 1995.

Speaking of serving it chilled, the bottle says you should refrigerate this wine after opening.

Barefoot Sweet Red Wine Review

In the glass, this wine is light garnet in color. A pretty good amount of light shines through, leaving dancing red lights under the glass.

The wine appears quite thin with no apparent legs at the outset.

Very little alcohol was noted in the aroma. I would describe the aroma as raspberry candy with cherry mixed in.

Barefoot Sweet Red Wine alcohol content 10.5% per the bottle.

As the name suggests, this wine is sweet in flavor. It’s actually extremely sweet. Similar to Beringer White Zinfandel in terms of sweetness.

The flavor is a combination of raspberry, strawberry and pomegranate. Truthfully it’s a sugar bomb and you’ll find no dryness in this wine at all.

The wine has a delicate syrupy mouthfeel. Very slight tannins noted on the palate.

Barefoot Sweet Red’s finish was medium to long. Given the abundance of sweetness, I was surprised the finish wasn’t longer.

I found Barefoot Sweet Red to be too sweet for my tastes. And, it might be good for someone who really really likes their wine sweet.

Barefoot Sweet Red wine price $10.99.

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Barefoot Sweet Red Wine – Honest Wine Review

Jan 26, 2015 · Barefoot Sweet Red Wine alcohol content 10.5% per the bottle. As the name suggests, this wine is sweet in flavor. It’s actually extremely sweet. Similar to Beringer White Zinfandel in terms of sweetness. The flavor is a combination of raspberry, strawberry and pomegranate.

Barefoot Sweet Red Blend Wine – 750ml Bottle : Target

Barefoot Sweet Red Blend Red Wine features explosive notes of sweet raspberries, ripe plums and juicy cherries. Offering a delicious combination of Zinfandel, Pinot Noir, Barbera, Grenache and Petite Sirah, this Barefoot wine offers a smooth, soft finish. This California wine is best served chilled.Brand: Barefoot.

The Guide To The Alcohol Content in Every Type of Wine …

A higher ABV wine will taste warmer and bolder; almost like a slight burning sensation on your palate.

What Barefoot Wine has the highest alcohol content?

Jun 29, 2020 · Wine tends to vary between 10.5 percent to 14.9 percent per bottle. Hard alcohol varies between 25 to 90 percent. Higher ABV gets you drunk faster. Rate of consumption: Take two people and make each drink four beers of 4.5 percent ABV.

As a point of reference, most red wines have an alcohol content of about 10-12% ABV.

A Guide to Finding Sweet Red Wines – The Spruce Eats

In table wines, the lower the alcohol content, the higher the residual sugar content and the sweeter the wine. There are exceptions to this …

Barefoot Sweet Red Wine – 1.5L Bottle Reviews 2021

Barefoot Sweet Red Wine – 1.5L Bottle. by Barefoot #12 in Red Wine (1,720) Leave a Review. Description. Light, lively, and always refreshing, Barefoot Rosa Red Blend wine is perfect for sharing with friends on warm summer evenings. Rosa Red Blend is nice and fruity with hints of juicy berries and strawberry jam. Floral and spice notes perfectly …

Barefoot Stays Sweet with Fruitscato – Beverage Media Group

Line-priced with the other Barefoot bottles, there will be extensive promotion—colorful in-store displays, social media campaigns, Youtube videos, ads on Hulu, billboards, and some …

Learn About Alcohol Content in Wine: Highest to Lowest ABV …

Nov 08, 2020 · From bubbly pink Brachetto d’Acqui at 6% alcohol to powerful Amarone which tips the scales at 15% alcohol or higher, alcohol content is an essential element of wine for its intoxicating effects. Without alcohol, wine would just be simple grape juice.

Wine: From the Lightest to the Strongest Wine Folly

Nov 23, 2015 · Well, simply put it has 20% alcohol by volume (ABV). Let’s take a look at alcohol levels are in wine from the lightest to the strongest. Truth be told, alcohol content in wine ranges wildly from as low as 5.5% to 23% ABV.

Did you find the information you are interested in about What Percent Alcohol Is Barefoot Sweet Red Wine?

We hope you have found all the information you are interested in on What Percent Alcohol Is Barefoot Sweet Red Wine.

Results from sister projects

Poems of Charles Baudelaire/The Soul of Winethe soul of wine: “Man, unto thee, dear disinherited, I sing a song of love and light divine— Prisoned in glass beneath my seals of red. “I know thou

What kind of wine is barefoot sweet red?

Barefoot Sweet Red

Blend

Red Wine

features explosive notes of

sweet

raspberries, ripe plums and juicy cherries. Offering a delicious combination of Zinfandel, Pinot Noir, Barbera, Grenache and Petite Sirah, this

Barefoot wine

offers a smooth, soft finish. This California

wine

is best served chilled.

Best Sweet Wine With High Alcohol Content

Obelisco Cabernet Sauvignon II Nefer. 4 out of 5 stars. …

Graham’s Six Grapes. 4.4 out of 5 stars. …

Sunstruck Sweet Red Wine. 3.5 out of 5 stars. …

Quady Essensia Orange Muscat. …

Liquid Popsicle Sweet Red Blend. …

B Lovely Gewurztraminer. …

Big Sipper Sweet Red. …

Bellini Rosso Tavola Torciglioni.

Is Barefoot wine any good? Whatever your preferences,

Barefoot

is a tasty and cheap option for all occasions.WHY IS MOSCATO SO POPULAR?

In the last decade, Moscato wine has surged in popularity. Multiple music artists dipped their toes into the wine market through their songs, so it’s easy to see why the drink’s popularity spread like wildfire.

In 2011, companies making the delicious, frizzante dessert wine saw drastic sales growth. In 2012, Moscato wine overtook Sauvignon Blanc as the third most-sold wine in the United States.

Between 2012 and 2013, wine lovers began looking beyond fancier traditional varietals and made Moscato their wine of choice. And why wouldn’t they? Moscato is easy and fun to drink. This love caused sales to grow by 19 percent year-over-year. The drink’s meteoric rise tapered off afterward, and in 2016, Moscato fell to the 13th most popular wine by sales volume. Despite the step down, Moscato still accounts for a six percent share of the total market, according to Wines & Vines.

WineQuotes about wine, an alcoholic beverage made from the fermentation of unmodified grape juice. Wine is thought to have originated in present day Georgia.Bartending/Alcohol/WineSemillon can be drunk dry or sweet. Pinot Grigio Overview In the pure sense, Rosé wine is made in the same way as red wine but with minimal, often only.resource :

wikipedia

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thestarkalypse · 7 years

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Drunkalypse S7 E2: 9 or so things

Episode 2 season 7, it happened, we’re here now, me with you, you with me, what a magical time in our lives.

Follow me on Twitter at @starkalypse that's where I drunk live tweet the show and I’m trying to get to a 1,000 followers….

I was editing this like “goddamn why the fuck am I cursing so much this week” and then I remembered that I was joined this week by an old friend, so stalwart and true, a friend that makes me deranged and so hype about life.

That’s right y’all I got all up in a bottle of Barefoot pink moscato!!!!!

Cursing like a sailor this week, prob appropriate with this pirate nonsense like idek

I usually don’t write that much about Dany scenes but fuck it, let’s dance:

Dany starts stepping to Varys like he should never ever have switched sides in his high risk career as a gossip mongerer. Bitch, nah.

She is getting all Trumptastic with this blind allegiance shit. Damn, girl, we all pick a different horse sometimes. Like when you have a horse and then you’re like “oh shit, that horse only runs sideways, he’s not really feeling this whole competition thing, also he’s crazy and murders Northern lords in the throneroom” you can’t hate someone for picking a different horse

More importantly, does she realize that almost every single person in her posse played for at least one other team, as recently as two episodes ago in the finale when flop witch Melly Sanders was still kicking it in the North before she got exiled by Jon Snow

It was like one of those conversations where you’re like “oh, shit got real” like it was Real Housewives: Westeros, but not like the ones on YouTube, like the actual ones where they flip fucking tables and pretend they got invited to the White House but goddamn it, Michaela, you did not get invited and everyone knows it!

Missandei is slaying with that translation of PtwP ohhhhhh shit WORG are you watching this, a not-white woman telling you about your book shit

Watch Dany’s face, is she not a little pressed that Jon is killing it in the North and everyone likes him

“Tell Jon Snow that his queen invites him to come to Dragonstone” girl bye and he is not bending shit unless it is his neck before he brings his head up and shakes out his majestic mane of curls

2. A TARGARYEN CANNOT BE TRUSTED

Jon, king of the north, has been invited all the way to Dragonstone, an area in which he has no allies or armies, by way of an invitation written by Tyrion, of whom neither he or Sansa can apparently verify the handwriting of and can’t be 100% sure wasn’t written under duress. And in the letter Dany straight up tells him he’s subject to her.

But Jon, being Jon, is going to walk into it totally blind. A queen with three dragons who will crush all of her opponents. He thinks it’s a great idea to go in person instead of sending an emissary. And honestly, I expect nothing less from him.

HEY REMEMBER HOW CATELYN “HAD” TO GO TO KINGS LANDING IN PERSON AND NOTHING EVENTFUL HAPPENED ON THE JOURNEY

Part of the reason he is going is because he and Davos literally just fucking figured out that dragons are fire machines lawdT

If you think about it, if anyone is going to persuade Dany to give them dragons and dragonglass it’s the owner of the most glorious hair in Planetos

I like how Jon is standing there in that scene with the northerners, wasting everyone’s time like he’s not going to do exactly what he wants to do…….Oh, Jon……….

Jon puts Sansa in charge, as it should have been the whole time tbh #QueenintheNorth

(Do you think Dany’s dragons will ~know he’s a Targ. Too bad they don’t have DNA and can’t do a Westerosi “Who’s the Father” because Maury in Westeros would be funny as fuck)

OF COURSE JON HAS HIS HAIR PULLED BACK WHEN HE MEETS DAENERYS IN THE PREVIEW WTF JON

3. Is Jon Snow going to have to choke a bitch?

GODDAMNIT LITTLEFINGER

GET THE FUCK OUT

NO1CURR

We all want Jon Snow to like us but you need to calm the fuck down, Petyr. You probably shouldn’t bring up the crush you have on his younger sister.

How exactly do you spell the way Littlefinger says Sansa

Sansa

Sahnsaaaa

Sonsahhh

Saaaahnza

I loved your mother, Saaaaansa

Cersei’s on that propaganda shit. Stone cold messaging on Dany, she’s goes hard like Fox News.

Who is this Dick[on] Tarly character and how is he relevant

Is a dragon going to eat Cersei tho

Oh my god this Hobbit shit right here with the dragon bolts but lbr the GoT dragons will never be as sassy or fabulous as Smaug

5. Samwell Tarly, MD

WHERE IS THE YELLOW PIRATE SHIRT OMGGGGG

And then I noticed he fucking does have it but it’s dirty as fuck does Oldtown not have a single dry-cleaner

IF THE SHIRT IS LOST THEN WESTEROS IS DOOMED

Sam tries an experimental technique on Jorah that’s mostly just really big tweezers pulling his flesh off. It’s like nightmare versions of those Proactive commercials that come on at 3 a.m. when you wake up from dozing off during SNL

Sam ships Jorah and Dany, wants to heal him so they can reunite

“I’m going to rip off your skin then give you some really great lotion” no Cerave can save that shit, Samwise Tarlgee

This is the weirdest fucking scene to have zero music to

6. THAT TRANSITION DOE

Hot Pie, true hero of Westeros, probably Azor Ahai, tells Arya that Jon is alive, and she has less emotional response than a Cylon, like a Number Six who doesn’t get out that much.

She casually steals food in front of her meant for someone else like the very best of drunks

Hightails it the fuckkkkkk out of there when she hears about Jonno

Runs into Nymeria, asks her to join the adventure, Nymeria’s like “hard pass.”

CLAPBACK FOR THE MYRCELLA POISONING I SAID GOTDAM

Fucked Ellaria’s shit up

8. AL GREEN UP IN THIS BITCH

Barack and Michelle get the fuck together

LEEEEEEEEEETS LETS GET TOGEEEETHEEEEER LOVING YOU WHEEEETHER (WHEEETHER) TIMES ARE GOOOD OR BAAAAAAAD HAPPYYYYY OR SAAAAAAD WHOA WHOA

If anyone on that show deserves some loving it’s Missandei

9. I would drunk text Euron

When I was drunk a few days ago I definitely offered to give the Euron actor a “tour xx” of DC if he ever came into town on Twitter, because I was drunk so the thirst was real.

Fucking Euron

Captain Boomerang

I mean

Fuck

This Black Pearl shit HOW DID YOU BUILD THOSE FUCKING BOATS THOUGH

Goddamn fucking Greyjoy bath salts those offbrand motherfuckers throwing the Gr8est Armada Ever together in like 2 weeks

Stop fucking tweeting me how boss Euron is those are Oberyn Martell’s kids step the fuck off

I can’t

I can;t

Bye

Jesus fucking Christ

It’s like………..you could give them a mercy kill so we can quickly block any memories of them but even the way they go out is fucking lame

They’re not going to kill Tyene or Ellaria because- calling this- they’re going to drag them back to KL and Cersei is going to kill at least Tyene, if not Ellaria, boom.

Theon is swimming, may bump into Gendry rowing around

FRANKLY I CANNOT BE ASKED this week. Jon better not put up with Dany’s shit next Sunday

#game of thrones #euron greyjoy #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #stormborn

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creationsofagingergirl · 7 years

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Reviewing Barefoot Pink Moscato

I don’t know anything about wine like terminology and shit. I just know that I’ve bought certain wines because the bottle looked cool or the name sounded interesting, or I’ve bought them based on recommendations from alcoholic friends. Barefoot is something that I tried based on recommendation. I don’t really know the proof although most of the wine that I’ve drank has been around 13-14%.

I don’t really buy wine based on proof. I buy the biggest bottle of whatever kind I want and I assume that it will do the job. Barefoot does the job. It’s probably my favorite wine. Most wines that I’ve tried have tasted like MD20/20, but this tastes like a carbonated pink lemonade although with an obvious alcohol tinge to it. It costs around $12 a bottle here, but it’s worth the money.

I would rate this wine 5 out of 5 stars. It tastes good. It’s not too expensive, and it does the job.

#cheap wine #review #alcohol review #bum wine #barefoot wine #pink moscato

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taerrorize · 7 years

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what does champagne taste like to someone trying it for the first time

Okay man listen,,,,I had a pink moscato champagne tonight,,,,tastes like goodness and sweet and just good.

Brute champagne is gross because it’s dry and I’m a sweet kind of person so I prefer an asti champagne because I like sweet things

But basically,,,,it’s just bubbly and fizzy and lowkey makes u burp if u drink it too fast. But it’s good dude I highly recommend. Let me know what u think okay???

Also tonight I had a pink moscato barefoot champagne so not too expensive I think idk my sister gave it to me because she doesn’t like sweet champagne and I shit u not I drank the entire fucking bottle oh my god

#anon #also first time I had champagne I was??? 16??? it was Okay but not Great #work ur way up buddy #start with a Stella Rosa because those wines are carbonated but they're not Champagne okay

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imnoexpertblog · 5 years

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Cheers!

6/22/18

The food blog for the week will actually consist of drinks. Cheers to the freakin’ weekend!

Something You Can Buy

My new obsession is White Claw. White Claw is a canned hard seltzer drink. It’s super low carb and low calorie. That was why I initially had it. I went into it with little expectation because I don’t like sparkling waters or seltzer, but holy man! I tried it for the first time at Badger State Brewing Co. that I wrote about in my first blog Let's Eat (I actually tried it THAT day, too). The first one I ever had was Black Cherry. I looooved it. Since then, I bought six-pack of it for myself since then. Baby and I went out somewhere a couple weeks ago and I got to try the Ruby Grapefruit one. I was expecting to really enjoy that one because I love grapefruit everything. It turns out I liked the Black Cherry more. That shocked me because I don’t like cherry anything. Next, I got to try the Natural Lime after a day of modeling and filming. Again, to my surprise, I loved the lime! I don’t usually get down with anything lime either. This line of drinks was really giving me some new flavor perspective. I finally tasted to newest flavor, Raspberry a couple weekends ago. It was good! I know I like the Ruby Grapefruit the least, but it is still good. I think I like the Black Cherry and Lime the best. The Lime tastes like a freeze-pop to me when its super cold. They are extra refreshing and don’t cause gut-rot like flavored beers and ciders do. There are variety packs so you can try ‘em all right away! They are my new obsession. For cost, I’ve seen the six-packs range from $7.99 to $9.99 depending on the store. A variety 12-pack ranges from $12.99 to $13.99 that I’ve seen in this area. I usually don’t buy alcohol so I always find it expensive, but I think this stuff is delicious and worth the money.

Something You Can Make

Moscato Punch. I’ve made this for gatherings with ladies; Pure Romance parties, Mother’s Day brunches, just hanging out in the sun, etc. It’s so easy and tastes great. For this, all you need is a 750 ml bottle of Moscato (I prefer Barefoot), a bottle of Simply Pink Lemonade, half a liter of Sprite, and a container of raspberries and maybe a lemon. Freezing your berries and slices of lemon is a good idea to keep it colder without watering it down. If you want, you can put various berries to the side so people can decide which ones and how many they want. This is a fun and fruity drink that everyone loves. Lemonade, wine, bubbles, and berries. What else do you need?! Quick, pretty cheap, easy, and tasty as heck.

Something I Haven’t Had Yet

Red Bull Mimosas. Prosecco and Yellow Edition Red Bull (tropical flavored). My friend who helped me pack this week, Ryan, just took a trip out to California and he was talking about this place he went to dinner. The staff there was so nice and they talked for quite a while, which ended up ending in the staff inviting Ryan and his friend to brunch the next day. They told the guys about these great mimosas they serve with the tropical Yellow Edition Red Bull. How yummy does that sound? I’m very tempted to make these myself after work one of these days!

Something For the Kids

My life now involves a small child every other week so now I am always thinking ways I never did before. I never had to think “I probably shouldn’t leave these scissors out on the counter” or “Is the bubble-bath we have kid-friendly?” I talked about our adult drinks, and now here’s something for the wee ones! When I was little and all the adults would drink wine or champagne and have fancy glasses, my grandma would always give my cousins and I some grape juice mixed with Sprite in these mini wine glasses to feel included and just as fancy. She would tell me those were my “juice spritzers.” It’s incredibly easy and honestly delicious. That was what we had up until the Welch’s Sparkling Juices were out around the holidays. It’s a great substitute for Welch’s Sparkling Juices for the rest of the year.

Important End-Note

Talking about alcohol, I want to say please drink responsibly. I don’t drink much at all, maybe a drink or two at a time. And I am rarely drunk. Addictive behavior runs in my family and I find alcohol to be a dangerous thing to play with in that case. Even without that being an issue, alcohol can be risky. It’s never been something I relied on after a stressful day or something I need to have in order to enjoy myself. I hope you can say the same. However, it is a really large part of the Wisconsin culture and it’s difficult to avoid. I’m not someone who is completely against it. But. It’s not healthy, leads to potentially dangerous situations, and it’s expensive. That is why I please ask you to be responsible and exercise moderation! Like I said, I have an occasional drink but I never drive and I am always being as safe as I can be. Please do the same when drinking!

Have a safe and fun weekend! I’ll talk to you all next week.

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journeytoherwings · 7 years

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It’s my 20th birthday! :)

I’ve been reflecting on the past four years of my life and I wrote this letter ♥

To the girl who wished she was dead on her sixteenth birthday,

Maybe you didn’t blow out of the candles hard enough or you forgot to close your eyes when you made your wish, but maybe, just maybe, it’s not your time yet. You’re sixteen. You’ve only been alive 16 years or 192 months or 834 weeks or 5,840 days. In the scheme of things, that’s nothing. The world still needs you, dear. There are also so many beautiful moments and experiences and people that you would have missed out on if you wish came true.

You would have never gone to HOBY and felt truly loved and accepted for the first time.

You would have never cried until you laughed and laughed until you cried with 500 strangers across the world at the World Leadership Congress.

You would have never seen your sister stand on the bima and read from the Torah at her Bat-Mitzvah.

You would have never dyed the tips of your hair blonde (even though you look much better as a brunette).

You would have never gotten your license and experienced the liberating feel of driving 70 down the highway with music blasting in your car.

You would have never discovered the abandoned playground in the neighborhood across the street where you found solace and peace when you needed it most.

You would have never become a nanny for the cutest three year old who always made you smile.

You would have never celebrated Thanksgivikkuah and joked with your sister that you could be millionaires if you created a turkey shaped menorah together.

You would have never organized a toy drive at your school that was so successful that you were featured on the local news.

You would have never run out into the snow in your pjs and make snow angels when school was canceled for a week.

You would have never seen the light in the preschoolers’ eyes when you made rainbow cupcakes for your preschool internship.

You would have never eaten at four different icecream places in the same week with your sister for your ‘Tour-de-Icecream’

You would have never received a grant from United Way to create art books for children with Art with a Heart

You would have never turned seventeen.

You would have never popped a bottle of champagne with your sister and drank sour wine directly from the bottle.

You would have never worn a Cinderella ball gown to prom and twirled around like a princess.

You would have never received the Schmidt Award which recognized all of your service you have completed throughout high school.

You would have never gone back to HOBY Indiana as a junior counselor and made connections with your group members that would still last to this day.

You would have never gone to California and realized that San Francisco would be your future home.

You would have never swung from a trapeze and feel the wind in your hair as you jumped off the ledge.

You would have never seen The Fray in concert and cried when they played Be Still, the long you listened to every single night before going to bed.

You would have never received the President’s Volunteer Service Award (two years in a row).

You would have never gone to the Student Diversity Leadership Conference and be surrounded with thousands of students who were just as passionate about equality as you were.

You would have never felt the joy of your first college acceptance and feeling hopeful for once.

You would have never traveled to Greece and seen the Acropolis, Delphi, Olympia, Mycenea, Hydra, or the Temple of Posideon.

You would have never run into the Medditeranean Sea barefoot and danced in the sand in because you were so happy.

You would have never turned eighteen.

You would have never traveled to the Caymen Islands.

You would have never received screamed into the phone when you found out you were a Hunt Scholar at SMU.

You would have never attended an Art with a Heart gala as junior board president at the Ritz.

You would have never gone to prom with your sister during senior year.

You would have never graduated from high school with highest honors and actually felt proud of yourself as you received your diploma.

You would have never gone skydiving and felt the biggest adrenaline rush of your life.

You would have never gone back to HOBY as a Special Assistant and continued to make memories at HOBY Indiana.

You would have never seen Ed Sheeran in concert and screamed the lyrics to You Need Me I Don’t Need You with my sister.

You would have never attended freshman orientation or moved into your first dorm room.

You would have never gone to Taos and whitewater rafted, hiked, and stargazed with your Hunt family.

You would have never gone boulevarding and cheered at football games with your new friends.

You would have never dressed up like a pirate just to get free donuts with a girl from your gym class.

You would have never marched in the Dallas pride parade and felt so much solidarity as people cheered as you walked by.

You would have never seen the biggest fireworks in your life for SMU’s centennial homecoming celebration.

You would have never played sand volleyball and come back from a game smiling and covered in sand.

You would have never graduated from Emerging Leaders, a program that made you feel safe and like your voice mattered.

You would have never seen SMU light up during Celebration of Lights while you sipped your hot chocolate.

You would have never made honor roll in college.

You would have never run home to Gamma Phi Beta on bid day and received your pink jersey.

You would have never met Sarah Kay or seen her perform her spoken word poetry live at a Tate Lecture.

You would have never attended Gamma Phi formals and actually begin to feel beautiful.

You would have never had big/little and received the best big and twin you could have asked for.

You would have never gone on your first Alternative Breaks trip to St. Louis and found your calling.

You would have never turned nineteen.

You would have never celebrated Holi and thrown colored powder through the air without a care in the world.

You would have never participated in Sing Song and danced and sang onstage at McFarlin Auditorium.

You would have never volunteered with Girls on the Run and seen the joy on little girls’ faces when we sprayed their hair bright pink or purple with temporary hair dye.

You would have never been published in SMU Criteria for your essay about microaggressions on college campuses.

You would have never studied abroad in London and traveled to Scotland, Wales, Stonehendge, Oxford, Cambridge, and Amsterdam.

You would have never climbed to the top of a waterfall at Isle of the Skye and drank fresh stream water.

You would have never screamed with your roommate as you saw the Queen of England pass in her town car.

You would have never volunteered at WLC on Team Alumni and giggled as we made jokes in our walkie talkies.

You would have never learned what warm fuzzies were and felt so loved with each strand of yarn that was placed on your necklace.

You would have never woken up at 5:00am to see the sunrise over Lake Michigan with your HOBY family.

You would have never gone to Taos for the second time and stargazed with your Hunt family until 4:00am and having deep conversations about life.

You would have never gone to Lake Hubbard with your Gamma Phi sisters and felt the warm sun hit your face.

You would have never attended Mustang Intersections and met SMU students who were as passionate about intersectionality as you were.

You would have never drank peach moscato at a Halloween party with your Gamma Phi sisters.

You would have never gone to see The Fray in concert for a second time – by yourself and felt such a sense of freedom and joy.

You would have never been Dance Marathon Team Captain and attended your first 12 hour dance marathon.

You would have never been at your first friend’s wedding with everyone in your Hunt family drinking sangria and dancing together.

You would have never explored the secret apartment of Dallas hall at midnight during finals week.

You would have never surprised your sister with over 150 love letters from around the world.

You would have never put your first ornament on a Christmas tree at your friend’s house while Christmas cookies baked in the oven.

You would have never began working in your psychology research lab as a research assistant.

You would have never crafted for Gamma Phi big little and run to the stage to hug your little during reveal.

You would have never seen Brandon Stanton speak at a Tate Lecture and felt so incredibly inspired.

You would have never seen your sister be accepted into her dream college and be overjoyed with pride.

You would have never met Wendy Davis at the Women’s Symposium.

You would have never gone back to St. Louis on an Alternative Break and instantly bonded with all of the participants from deep conversations about religion to making spaghetti at 11:00pm.

You would have never climbed to the Armstrong cupola and watched the sunrise while sitting on the roof.

You would have never turned twenty.

Or thirty. Or forty. Or fifty. Or sixty. Or seventy. Or eighty. Or ninety. Or one hundred.

If all of this can happen within four years, imagine all of the amazing things that can happen during the rest of your life. But you have to stay alive to see it. ♥

#personal #birthday #writing #prose

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bharatiyamedia-blog · 5 years

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How Millennials' Wine Preferences Are Totally different From Boomers

http://tinyurl.com/y39zvhkn Carlo Rossi jugs of wine have all the time been a success with boomers however dismissed by millennials. So E. & J. Gallo did one thing about it. Late in 2017, the world’s largest family-owned vineyard debuted Carlo Rossi in 750-milliliter bottles—the primary time it ever bought the model in that format—as a result of low-priced bulk wine didn’t resonate with millennials. E. & J. Gallo additionally shifted the types of wine towards trendier Pink Moscato Sangria and Fiesta Sangria and away from Outdated World wines like Burgundy and Chianti. “The following era needs flavorful wine,” says Stephanie Gallo, E. & J. Gallo’s chief advertising officer. “We’re evolving our model to enchantment to them.” Individuals between the ages of 21 and 34—a gaggle that features some Technology Z however is generally millennial—buy solely 10% of wine bought at retail shops however account for 17% of the shopping for inhabitants, Nielsen knowledge exhibits. “This is a matter for the wine class,” says Danny Brager, senior vice chairman of Nielsen’s beverage alcohol apply. “The heartland of wine is boomers and seniors.” Boomers are chargeable for the largest growth period in wine gross sales in U.S. historical past. As they aged into maturity, wine appeared fancy, particularly in contrast with low-calorie beers and a budget stuff liquor makers had been promoting. This demographic additionally benefited from a wholesome financial system, giving them the buying energy to purchase costly wines. However cost-conscious millennials are nonetheless bruised from the 2008 monetary disaster and are delaying buying homes, getting married, and, sure, even the leap to purchasing wonderful wines. On a per-serving foundation, wine is dearer than beer and spirits. That makes it robust for millennials to abdomen a $30 bottle of wine with roughly 5 servings (and oxidizes), whereas a equally priced bottle of Maker’s Mark serves 25 and has a protracted shelf life. Recently, wine has been damage by stiffer competitors from craft brewers and new threats like hashish and nonalcoholic drinks. However the largest downside is the resurgent liquor business. Beer’s market share within the U.S. complete beverage alcohol market has ebbed from 56% in 1999 to 45.5% final 12 months, in response to data from spirits business advocate the Distilled Spirits Council. Liquor makers have captured 9.1 proportion factors of beer’s share losses, versus simply 1.four for wine. “Spirits have executed a fairly good job of pivoting and watching tendencies,” Brager says. E. & J. Gallo sells three manufacturers in cans: Apothic, Darkish Horse, and Barefoot Spritzers. Amongst types, millennials favor Pinot Noir, Moscato, sparking wines, and naturally, rosé. However they’re shunning Chardonnay, White Zinfandel, and properly, just about all the things else. Winemakers want a fast turnaround as a result of by 2027, millennials are projected to surpass Gen X as the biggest fine-wine-consuming demographic. “What I really like about millennials is that they don’t view wine as a proper beverage however as an off-the-cuff social beverage,” Gallo says. Gallo needs winemakers to maneuver away from elitist wine advertising. She additionally believes the business might do a greater job advertising and making wines for a extra various inhabitants. E. & J. Gallo has made some strides with millennials, scoring a notable hit with the purple mix Apothic. It additionally sells three manufacturers in cans: Apothic, Darkish Horse, and Barefoot Spritzers. That has opened up new distribution alternatives, as canned wines might be extra simply bought at sports activities stadiums, out of doors live performance venues, and seashore events. Sebastian and Colleen Hardy, cofounders of Dwelling Roots Wine & Co. in Rochester, N.Y. Dwelling Roots After all, millennials aren’t simply sufficiently old to be consuming wine—they make it too. “Wine might be intimidating,” says Colleen Hardy, who cofounded Dwelling Roots Wine & Co. along with her Australian husband, Sebastian, each millennials. “However I do suppose our era is curious, and we wish to attempt new issues and know concerning the folks behind our merchandise.” Dwelling Roots is an “city vineyard.” It takes grapes grown within the Finger Lakes area to a warehouse in Rochester, N.Y., the place they’re pressed in a vineyard inside metropolis limits. Although lacking the sweeping winery views, Dwelling Roots has a tasting room that’s extra accessible to city millennials who’ve moved again into town. And whereas wine stays the core focus, Dwelling Roots collaborates with different native alcoholic beverage firms to generate buzz. The vineyard labored with Fifth Body Brewing on a New England IPA brewed with the vineyard’s Pinot Gris juice. Down the highway, it hopes to work with Black Button Distilling on a brandy. Hampton Water founder Jesse Bongiovi and his father, Jon Bon Jovi. Hampton Water, like most rosés, targets millennials. The model’s title evokes the Hamptons life-style, however at $25 per bottle, it’s cheaper than jetting off to the fashionable New York seashores. “In case you are 25 and stroll right into a liquor retailer and you will spend $80 on wine, you higher know you’ll prefer it,” says Hampton Water founder Jesse Bongiovi. “I believe that’s the place the rosé class has set itself aside. You will get a very good bottle for about $20.” Each Hardy and Bongiovi say social media is essential to growing loyalty for his or her manufacturers. Dwelling Roots claims 61% of their Instagram followers are below the age of 35. Hampton Water makes use of social media, particularly Instagram Tales, to have interaction with followers and showcase the folks behind the model. (It might assist that Bongiovi is the son of legendary rocker Jon Bon Jovi.) “Wine has obtained all of the attributes {that a} millennial needs: They need craft, they need readability of components,” says Rob McMillan, government vice chairman and founding father of Silicon Valley Financial institution Wine Division. “It’s on the desk if we begin to promote it.” Extra must-read tales from Fortune: —Alcohol-free bars caught on within the U.S. and U.Ok. However can they go international? —Why champagne manufacturers are partnering with art fairs —A new style of winemaking might take sherry mainstream —Prepackaged sangria is having a second this summer season —Take heed to our new audio briefing, Fortune 500 Daily Follow Fortune on Flipboard to remain up-to-date on the most recent information and evaluation. Source link

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