#kym gets salty

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Look all you anons filling up my inbox with all your bad takes - I am not here for you to come throw abuse and bad takes at. If you all choose to jump to the worst conclusion you can possibly come up with then have at it - on your own blog - don't come to my inbox and the inboxes of others who see things differently and want to enjoy the show for what it is. You don't have the right to do so and its never ok. take a moment and think about whether or not you would go up to a random person on the street and say some of the things you've been filling my inbox with - to that random persons face?? No? well why do you think it's ok to to that to a random person on the internet?

The answer is that it s not ok, its never ok. I'm all for healthy debate and totally down with people having different opinions to me but the way so any of you feel entitled to just use anon to be nasty because I don't share the same infantile panic as you is frankly disturbing.

You've clearly made up your minds and just want to make others as miserable as you are well all i'm going to be doing from here on out is blocking you your views and trolling won't be getting any air from me

sayonara!!!

[princessmisery666]

Cuffed

Summary: Dean has to rescue Sam and Y/N from a compromising position.

Warnings: smut, Sam Winchester being obscenely hot and a puppy dog at the same time, banter, crack-ish maybe.

W/C: 1.2k

Rating: E (explicit - 18+)

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, fem!reader.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: This scene was on an episode of 9-1-1 (season 1 episode 9), and I thought it would be fun to write with Sam and Dean.

Betas: there's smut so you know I had to ask Lisa - @cockslut-padalecki // and I don't feel like something is finished unless Kym checks it over @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: canva. Dividers: @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Sam Winchester // Main

Smut from the offset so fic under the cut....

Cuffed

The rush of adrenaline when the giant of a man gives you complete control is like nothing else.

You're straddling Sam, and it's challenging to forgo foreplay and not just sink down onto his thick cock. The urge to feel him stretch you wide and deep is hard to resist. Instead, you concentrate on his tongue in your mouth and his deft fingers sliding in and out of you with ease. He chases your mouth as you pull back, smirking down at him. The salty tang of him is strong on your tongue, and the soft, blissful set of his features is a thing of beauty.

The elixir of him is thick in your mouth, and he licks the tang from your lips. “Hhmm, I love the taste of me on you.”

He pulls his fingers from inside you, the wetness dragging up your stomach as he frees his hand from your panties. The emptiness makes you whine. He runs his index finger over his lips as if applying balm, then plunges the digits into his mouth. Humming around his fingers, he tries to sit up.

He gets halfway before you push down on his shoulders, “nuh-uh,” you tut, “not tonight, baby, I’m in charge, remember.”

He huffs as he drops back down onto the pillow. “But I want you to fuck my face until you can’t hold yourself up, then I’m gonna keep going until you can’t form words anymore.”

The obscene words mixed with the puppy dog eyes should be a felony. You have to stop yourself from groaning needily and giving in to him. It’s a pledge Sam can more than deliver on, a promise he regularly keeps. This man will be your undoing, sweet as sugar but deviant beyond human comprehension sometimes.

“I will ride your face,” you promise, kissing him as you lift his arm up to the metal headboard and slip the handcuff around his left wrist. “But only if you do as you're told first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and wets his lips in anticipation. You kiss him again and feel the other cuff wrap around your wrist, but before you can pull away to tell him to stop, Sam clicks it in place.

“No!” you panic.

“What?” he asks, concern etched in his brow. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” you tell him quickly, “but you just cuffed us both to the bed, and the key is over there.” You point to the dresser across the room.

It’s at least ten feet away, a trail of your clothes leading the path to where you left your bag of tricks. There’s no way either of you will be able to reach it.

“Shit.”

The options aren’t limited. They are none existent. There was nothing within easy reach to use to pick the lock. The only item available was Sam’s phone on the nightstand.

“I’m not calling Dean,” Sam says flatly for maybe the tenth time.

“He’s two doors away,” you counter. “It’s either call Dean, or we wait for housekeeping to show up in, oh, I don’t know, fourteen hours?”

“I can probably break this,” Sam says, wrapping both hands around the metal bar of the headboard and jiggling it. The bed shakes, but it's obvious the thing is well built and won’t budge.

“Sam, we have to call Dean.”

“I’d rather chew my arm off.”

You laugh but know he’s probably half-serious. You’ll never hear the end of this if you get the eldest Winchester involved. But what other options do you have?

“I’m calling him,” you decide and grab the phone from the nightstand.

It takes half a minute for Dean to answer, and you hope you’re not interrupting him with a woman. He needs to blow off steam as much as you and Sam do.

“This better not be a butt dial,” answers Dean over the distinct noise of a crowded bar.

“Not a butt dial,” you say with a grimace. Hearing his voice, you realize how much you and Sam will suffer for this. Maybe you should have waited for housekeeping.

“Y/N? Everything okay? Where’s Sam?”

“We’re fine, but we…um… we need your help.”

“Help?” Dean asks, and you can tell from his voice he’s already speed walking out of wherever he is. “What kind of help?”

“We’re not in any danger,” you assure him. “We just need a hand. Can you come back to the motel?”

The noise of the bar disappears, and the wind muffles his voice, but you hear him, “On my way.”

It’s less than ten minutes before the rumble of the Impala’s engine signals your rescue, and Sam spends the entire time grumbling around a scowl.

With his one free hand, Sam pulls the sheets up around you to cover your modesty, though you still have your panties and bra on, and just as Dean bangs on the door, he yanks a pillow over himself to shield his naked form.

“Sam, Y/N,” Dean calls out. “You guys in there?”

“Come in!” He turns the handle, but it's locked, so you shout, “you’re gonna have to pick it.”

“What the hell is going on?” Dean mumbles, but seconds later, you hear him jimmying the lock. One and a half excruciatingly embarrassing minutes pass before Dean finally opens the door.

He crosses the threshold but then stops. “What the…” Dean starts, a flirty smile curling his lips as he takes in your compromising position of kneeling beside Sam. “I knew you two were into some kinky shit, but if you wanted a threesome, you just had to ask,” he says, and his fingers go to his belt buckle.

“Dean!” Sam warns, pointing at the dresser, “just get the key.”

Dean looks to the bag, then back to the two of you twice before he bends at the waist and bursts into a fit of laughter.

“I told you calling him was a bad idea,” Sam gripes.

Dean snorts and coughs barks of laughter; his ribs must ache before he’s finished.

“Are you done?” you ask when there's a break in his chuckling.

“I thought,” Dean begins, “I don’t know what I thought. You called me for help with this?”

“We just need the key.”

“You called me to walk across the room to get you the key?” he guffaws, rummaging in the bag to find the keys. His shoulders shake with compressed laughter as he approaches, “let me just unlock you then.”

“Woo there, boy,” you say, palm held high to halt him as he gets to the side of the bed. “Did I ask you to uncuff us?” Dean cocks his brow but has no words, so you continue, “just put it right there, where I can reach.”

“Seriously?” Dean snickers.

“Hhmm-uh,” you wink, “We’re good. You can go.”

“Ooo, okay,” he says, nodding approvingly as he places the key on the nightstand. “Damn, get it, girl.” he laughs again, turning away and going back to the bag that held the key. He picks it up and carries it toward the bed. “Let me just bring this over here in case you two wanna get kinky with the knives or somethin’,” he teases and drops the bag beside the bed.

“Oh Jesus, get out of here!” Sam yells.

“Oh wait,” Dean says as if remembering something important. In a flash, he fishes his phone from his pocket and turns to put himself in the shot for a selfie. “That’s one for the family album.”

Sam throws the pillow he was using to cover himself at Dean, but he dodges around it as he makes a break for the door.

“Remember, kids,” Dean shakes a finger over his shoulder, “safety first.”

You and Sam shout at the same time, “get out!”

Master Lists: Sam Winchester // Main

[phykios]

honesty and promise me part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Ah, the age old question: what to get for the guy who has everything and also when you’re trying make up for the fact that you actually missed his birthday entirely while spending as little money as possible?

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Percy asks as they wait their turn to disembark. “I haven’t been to Staten Island in ages.”

Annabeth has never been at all. She knows there’s a handful of Greek revival buildings in the Historic District, but she’s never had a car to get there, or the stomach to get on the ferry. Percy had practically climbed onto the bow, his own personal reenactment of Titanic, arms thrown out to the wind, while Annabeth attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Having spectacularly flamed out last week in Philadelphia, she can’t let Percy’s birthday go without some sort of commemoration. The Staten Island Ferry is just part one. “All in due time,” she says, checking her phone for directions. They still have a bus they need to board, and Annabeth is getting sweaty in her leather jacket. Thank God Percy volunteered to carry the backpack with all their gear; otherwise, when this jacket comes off, it’s going to smell worse than his tights at the end of a long day.

Like a magnet, his gaze is glued to the strips of the bay he can spot through the bus windows, his head resting on his chin, a soft, serene smile lifting his lips. All the tightness, all the stress he’s held in his shoulders the last few times she’s seen him, it melts away at the sharp, salty tang of rust and sea air which suffuses every corner. She doesn’t even mind that he isn’t looking at her. 

Hand in hand, finally, they get off the bus, and walk to the overlook. Slinging the backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down at his feet, eyes fixed on the strip of shoreline which can be seen, even all the way over here. “What is that?” he breathes, shielding his eyes against the glint of the sun on the water.

“That,” says Annabeth, “is the Staten Island ship graveyard.”

Still stewing in her guilt over how she missed his birthday--despite the fact that he didn’t even tell her--Annabeth decided to swallow her pride and ask for help. It took an inordinate number of coffee orders and one instance of her actually getting down on her knees and begging, pleading to their long friendship together and swearing that Annabeth would never use this information for evil, but she had finally wheedled the secret out of Thalia: Percy’s greatest love, after the ballet, was sailing. Ship construction, naval battles, maritime history, they were, according to Thalia, the only things which could entice Percy to actually set down the tights and “get some frickin’ sunshine for once in his life.” Annabeth hadn’t believed her, until Thalia had dug up an old photo which had never been posted to his socials--and Annabeth had certainly scoured them for long enough, she would have recognized it had she seen it before--of Percy, on a glittering, jewel-like sea, a rope wrapped around his fist as he leaned over the side of a sailboat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a graceless, unrestrained joy. 

“Back in the eighties, there used to be over four hundred ships down there,” Annabeth says, coming up beside him. “A lot of it’s been scrapped or sold, but there are still maybe a hundred or so boats, including the USS PC-1264, one of the--”

“One of the two predominantly African American crewed Navy ships from World War II,” he interrupts, eyes light. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Annabeth grins, unzipping her jacket. The midday sun beats down on them, the air sticky and heavy, and she needs this thing off, pronto. “And, there’s a ship that was supposedly the command post for the General Slocum disaster.” Not that she really knows what that is.

He whirls around. “The Abram S. Hewitt is there? Holy sh--”

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out. 

Part two of his present was the ship graveyard. Part three is the outfit.

Annabeth, one hand on her hip, slings her jacket over her shoulder with the other, the leather hot against her bare skin. She has chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, wearing nothing but her nicest pair of black jeans with the thick suspenders and a shiny, red bra. And yes, she had Thalia touch up her hair, five inches of curls lopped off on one side, undercut sharp and severe. 

“I thought we could have a picnic here,” she says, a smile curling her lips without her permission. “Then, if you want, we could do some light trespassing? See the ships up close?”

Percy swallows. He breathes in through his nose, shuddering. “Sure,” he whispers, hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Dropping to the ground like a rock, studiously not checking her out, Percy unpacks their picnic, laying out the blanket, something blue, old, but soft Annabeth had knitted in a fit of pre-finals’ anxiety in college. Annabeth had hinted the night before that he should make them some food, as no one could make a grilled cheese like Percy, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to buy them some prepackaged, tasteless garbage. 

Percy’s sandwiches, just like the man himself, are stacked: thick, sourdough slices (which she suspects he made himself), bacon, turkey, apple, tomato, lettuce, avocado, mayo for her but none for him. She’d always been under the impression that dancers needed to watch what they ate, endlessly in pursuit of some unattainable ideal of beauty. Nope. Percy eats everything and anything he can get his hands on, high carb and high protein and high everything else. It makes sense, she guesses, for someone who basically has to bench their own body weight daily. Every inch of him is tailored for power and velocity, to propel him out of the grasp of gravity--rabbit food just isn’t going to cut it here. 

Munching down, he maneuvers himself into a number of splits and stretches, unable to give up his routine for a single day. “When I was probably thirteen or fourteen,” he says, halfway through a tirade of reminiscence, “my dad took me and Triton and Kym to Cyprus, for some family bonding time.” He rolls his eyes. “You can probably imagine how well that went. Most of that trip was… well, Cyprus was definitely the best part. We went to Kyrenia Castle, which has this amazing museum that holds one of the oldest known ships in the world. Like, this thing was operational during the lifetime of Alexander the Great, and it sank about a mile away from the harbor.” He takes a heroic bite, chewing with his lips firmly shut.

“Cool.”

He swallows. “Very cool. I love really old ships, but you can imagine how few of those are still left, and not just because we haven’t found them.”

Annabeth feels her neck heating up, despite the shade they sit in. “Well, I hope these ones are old enough for you.”

“Oh, these are incredible--don’t get me wrong! I had no idea there was anything like this so close to home. Who needs Cyprus when you have Staten Island?” He grins, placing his sandwich down, throwing his arms in a stretch.

“I know it isn’t Tokyo or Moscow or anything…” she trails off, self-conscious even as she doesn’t actually ask the question that’s on her mind. 

Shamefully, she has found that she still thinks about what Will had said at his apartment over a month ago at this point: Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous. But if she actually asks, it will make her look like some totally jealous girlfriend or something, like she honestly cares about Percy’s past sexual conquests.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. 

He’s just led a really interesting life, and she wishes she could relate. That’s all. 

“It’s not,” he agrees, bending his back with an audible pop. “It’s better.” 

“Really? A little ship graveyard is better than the sites of Tokyo?”

“I didn’t see any sites in Tokyo,” he said. “Mostly just Mittie’s hotel room.”

“Mittie?”

Percy looks at his sandwich, suddenly very interested in the crust. 

“She’s someone important, then?” 

Silence. 

Annabeth laughs to break the tension. “Okay, I'll bite--who’s Mittie? Another model?” 

Taking a small bite of sandwich, he chews, methodical and deliberate. He swallows, clearing his throat. “Margherita Savoy.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Princess Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia.” 

Her mouth drops open a little. “A princess?”

Percy shrugs. “Technically. The throne of Sardinia doesn’t exist anymore, obviously, but she’s big into the money and the titles and stuff.”

A princess. A fucking princess. “But she lets you call her Mittie.”

He looks a little constipated. “She didn’t… until she took me to Tokyo.” 

“Oh,” she says. Because what else is there to say? She’s certainly no princess. 

“She was nice,” Percy says, softly. “You know, eventually. Once we got to know each other.”

Her phone is hot in her pocket, like it’s preemptively searching Google for pictures of Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia, downloading them all so Annabeth can scribble all over her face like a bad high school movie. “A pretender?” She scoffs, exaggeratedly, her fists tight against the grass. “Talk to me when you get a real princess.” 

His ears go red. “Um…” 

No way. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Eugenie was just kinda pissed when Triton broke up with her, and so she just thought that we’d have some fun.” 

“Oh my god.” She says, looking at him in something like horror. And telling herself at least it wasn’t her distant cousin Madeleine. 

“It was only for like a week or two,” Percy protests. “We went to a club in Berlin she knew Triton liked to go to so he would see us and get annoyed.” 

“A princess dated you because she was pissed at your brother?”

“Only twice,” he says, casual, like any of this is normal and not absolutely insane. “Eleonore is one of Kym’s friends. And she’s technically, like, an archduchess, not a princess. But I don’t know. A couple of his other girlfriends wanted to get back at him, and I was in Europe and available, so we just…” He trails off. She can hear the ellipsis, hanging hot and heavy over them, each dot dropping like a stone. What is this, fucking Mamma Mia? 

“When was the last time this happened?” she asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Um… not since the week after Frank left, I think. Mittie wanted to go to Bora Bora but she didn’t want to go alone, you know?” 

“No, I meant,” she pushes through as her stomach flutters, tight and uncomfortable, “girls using you to get back at your brother.” 

His face falls, just a bit. “Oh. Last year, I guess.”

“Who was she?” And where is she so Annabeth can punt her off a building?

“Calypso Atlas.” He sighs, wistful, with more reverence than he had given any of the princesses, and Annabeth’s stomach flops, different from the flutter. Painful this time. “She actually liked me.” 

“Everyone likes you,” she says, faintly. Maybe wearing the leather jacket is giving her heatstroke.

“You know, they really don’t. Not how it counts, anyway.” He picks at a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Most of the girls who wanted to use me to get back at Triton only did it because they knew how much he liked to bitch about me--the ‘half-breed bastard.’” He rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh. “And even Kym’s friends didn’t actually like me. Like, yeah, they’d fly me all over with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. Mittie and I were on and off for years, and she gets photographed constantly. I’m not in any of them.”

Annabeth thinks she might actually be sick. 

But he doesn’t stop. “It wasn’t so bad when they went around saying that I was a dancer with the Paris Opera, because I was, and I was proud of it. But it wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t like with Frank, whose family does have a ton of money, but who only ever dated me because he liked me.” He picks another blade of grass, tearing it between his fingers. “Calypso, though. She was different.” And he smiles, a little.

“How?”

That smile grows wider. “She just called me one day, out of the blue, and very publicly asked me to be her date to Milan Fashion Week after she and Triton broke up and he immediately turned around and got engaged. She was super up front about it, didn’t try to sleep with me or anything, even though I know she was friends with some people and probably heard about my various talents.” 

She knows exactly which talents he means. He winks at Annabeth, ironic and self-conscious, and she forces out a little laugh, as though the idea of him going down on someone else is charming. 

“But then we actually had a good time together, and a few weeks later, she called me up again, and again, and again, until eventually she introduced me to her father--which was a hell of an experience, let me tell you. The Atlas family puts the Olympianides family to shame as far as dysfunction goes. But it was nice, in its own way; if I’d ever asked Mittie to introduce me to her dad, she’d have laughed in my face.” 

“Sounds like you were pretty serious,” Annabeth manages.

“That was the problem.” He looks away, towards the sea. Always towards the sea. “She wanted to leave Paris, travel the world. And she wanted me to go with her.” 

“To leave the Paris Opera?”

“To leave ballet entirely. I just…” He holds the silence for a moment, lost in the fog of reminiscence, the mist of possible futures long since dissipated. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. So, in March, she went to Dubai, and I started making calls back to New York.”

“You broke up with her this year?”

“She broke up with me,” he clarifies, turning back to her. “It was all very romantic. I always left my comp at the box office for her. She didn’t come to my show, but she showed up at the stage door the day before she was set to leave, telling me that she had an extra ticket with my name on it. I turned her down.” And then he looks her in the eye as he says, “I don’t regret it at all.” 

She swallows, her face flushing, tongue numb as she searches desperately for something to say to that. “Atlas, you said her family was? It sounds familiar.” 

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of Zoe Atlas,” Percy says, easing off for the moment. “You probably know about her because she and Thalia were archenemies in boarding school. Or maybe girlfriends? I have yet to get a straight answer.” Annabeth’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Thalia, in boarding school? What? “But I like Zoe. She’s an activist, and absolutely hates her father. Like I said, there’s a lot of dysfunction. And she came to my first show way back when, and she wasn’t even weird when I dated her sister when we ran into each other in Paris. So that was nice.” 

“She went to your first show?” What in God’s name is up with these one-percenter families? It’s like they all overlap in one big incestuous slurry. And as the daughter of the Chases and the Pallases, she tries not to think where she might fit into that. 

“Thalia brought her. Her first not-date. It was Thalia’s first ballet ever, too. It… it meant a lot.”

“What show was it?”

He smiles, wistful. “The Nutcracker. I was one of the kids at Clara’s party. Most scared I’ve ever been. When I got out backstage after intermission, Thalia was waiting for me with my mom. She punched my shoulder, called me ‘Kelp Head,’ and told me I did great. Then I hugged her,” he says, snickering. “She punched me again.”

Annabeth laughs, huffing through her nose. “Good to see some things never change.”

“That’s our Thalia for you--looking out for everyone, even when it kills her inside.” He glances at her pointedly.

It’s her turn to share. 

Annabeth’s mouth is dry, like sandpaper.

She grabs her backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil. Beside her, Percy sighs, deflating a little.

Annabeth flips open a new page, and starts drawing. 

Each sketch delivers a challenge: bringing order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony. Sometimes, buildings spring to life on the page, fully formed. Sometimes the page stays blank, an empty pencil.

Pencil to paper. Letting whatever wants to come out, come out. “My mom invited me to lunch one day,” she says. Her eyes follow the line of her pencil, ninety degree angles and symmetrical shapes. “I had moved to New York like six months before. Single girl, in the big city, to follow her dreams.” She’d gone to boarding school in New York before that, but it wasn’t the same as picking out her apartment and taking the train to the Manhattan skyscraper her office was held in. Sometimes she’d walk down the street, feeling like she was smack dab in the middle of Sex and the City, which she and Piper use to watch in secret, huddled under the covers in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. “Unfortunately, my mom didn’t love my dreams.”

“She didn’t approve of anarchist architecture?”

Annabeth’s laugh is hollow. “She thought I should have been charting some new path in business for a woman. But not in a feminist way. In, like, a capitalist way. But architecture was not really negotiable for me. And once that became clear, she had her own expectations about that, too.” 

Annabeth has always been a prideful know-it-all. If all her mother had wanted from her was ambition, they probably could have made it work. Annabeth wanted to reshape the skyline, she wanted her name on buildings that would last and impress. 

But even Annabeth couldn’t do that in six months. 

“She wanted the best schools, the best companies, the best projects.” She sighs. “I was lucky to find a job in New York that wasn’t just carrying coffee.” She had gotten a bigger offer from a more well-known firm where she had interned one summer, but it had been for an assistantship, heavy on the assistant. Her eventual Junior Architect label hadn’t been great, but it had been something, being a rising star at a smaller firm. It seemed like a good fit. “I did not make my mother proud. I… she lived in New York, and I lived with my dad all over.” 

Percy frowns. “Your mom didn’t have custody of you?”

“My mom didn’t want custody of me,” she laughs, bitter. God, it feels weird to tell someone else this. Piper and Leo and Luke knew, obviously, but they had witnessed it all firsthand. Telling someone else, out of the blue… Well, Percy had divulged his tragic backstory without complaint. It’s only fair that she does as well. “I mean, my dad didn’t either. But when it became clear my mom wasn’t an option, well, there we were. He stepped up as best he could. That wasn’t always a lot, but when compared to my mother, he seems like a perfectly involved parent.” 

“Are you trying to make my parental situation seem more reasonable?” 

“Is it working?”

“If you ever meet my dad, we can compare notes.” He shudders at the thought, playfully. “So, what happened with your mom?”

“She made her displeasure known.” Annabeth sighs again, shading a corner. “I mean, she’s always made her displeasure known. I wasn’t getting good enough grades, I wasn’t in the right activities, I wasn’t going to get into the right school, yadda yadda yadda. But for a long time… I don’t know, it at least seemed like she was worried about me.” She thinks of the Eta party, of the man in the brown suit, tutting about Athena Pallas’s druggie daughter, and scowls. “My mother has always had an all or nothing outlook. If I wasn’t the best, I might as well be nothing. But the thing was, this time I thought I was making real progress. And when she invited me to lunch after six months in the same city, I thought she would see that.” 

She had not. Because to Athena Pallas, having a daughter who was an architect instead of an executive Vice-President on her way to CEO, having a daughter at a small but growing architecture firm instead of the best one in the country, was like having a daughter who was drunk in a gutter somewhere. 

And Annabeth had realized as much that lunch. 

All her work was never going to earn her mother’s love.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what work had been her’s and what had been her mother’s ambitions. 

She’d started crying. In the cafe and right now, on Staten Island, with Percy. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her arm. “Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He reaches over and wraps an arm around her, gently, rubbing her shoulder, and she more or less crumples into his side. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Her arm, still free, keeps moving. The drawing takes a shape that she can’t quite name yet. A tree, maybe, in a box. A window to another world, possibly. She spills tears on the paper.

“She disowned me.” Her thin line trembles, before righting itself. “I ran out of there. I stumbled into the first tattoo parlor that didn’t smell like piss, and got my owl done.” She brandishes her left arm, the grey shape blurry and faded against her elbow. She had had a stuffed owl as a little girl, her protector against the spiders in the closet. “I cut off my hair, got my eyebrow pierced, found a club, and just… had a rough couple of days. Got really really drunk that night.” Like, too drunk. Crying on the floor of a filthy bathroom drunk. “Thalia found me under the bathroom sink, took me back to her place, helped me kick the hangover the next day, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth says. And most of the time, she isn’t. She wipes her eyes, smudged makeup getting smudger.

“Your mom sounds like she sucks.”

“She does.”

“What about your dad?”

She sniffs. “What about him?”

“You just haven’t really mentioned him. What’s he like?”

Shrugging, she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a history professor.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“I mean, do you like him?”

She shrugs again. “Sure.” There was a lot to like about Frederick Chase. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Mouth in a sympathetic twist, he brushes the curls from her eyes, a gesture so sweet it makes her heart pound. “You should call him,” he says. “I’m sure he misses you.”

Her phone burns in her pocket, heavy with the weight of unread texts. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” he asks.

“Please,” she blurts out, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “God, please. Let’s go back to your cute backstory. Tell me more about your first ballet. I want to hear all about the time you were in the Nutcracker.”

Percy fishes out a napkin from somewhere, handing it to her. Grateful, she blows her nose into it, wet and disgusting. “I hate to tell you this,” he says, “But I have been in the Nutcracker, like, fifteen times.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “It's the big moneymaker. Have you ever seen it?”

“It's a holiday classic,” she scoffs, a little wetly. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

He snorts. “Like, for real, or the recorded one they play on Netflix with Macaulay Culkin?” 

“I've seen it live! My dad lived in San Francisco when I was in high school. They have a fancy ballet there.” She’d seen it as a little kid in NYC, she thought, too. Maybe when her parents were still married, or her mother was still willing to take her for Christmas. 

“Would you be willing to see it again?”

“Like, for real,” she parrots back at him, “or the recorded one they play on Netflix?”

“Ha ha. I mean for real.”

“I mean… maybe if they switched things up a bit.” 

“It's a classic!” He protests. “I mean, it isn’t like we do the Balanchine everywhere, every time. But… it's a classic.” 

“I’m sure the dancing is fine.” Annabeth says. She remembers going with Luke in Boston and thinking it was nice, but also hoping Luke would kiss her at the end of the night, so she hadn’t really paid attention. “But they get to design a land of magic and sweets and fairies, and every time the costumes and the sets are just, like, pink glitter and white gauze mixed with weird racial stereotypes. There’s no imagination.” 

“Well, okay then.” There’s something in his smile, in the turn of his head that she can’t quite identify. “What would you do?” he challenges.

She holds his gaze for a moment, looking into those eyes that almost reflect the color of the sea around them. Her eyes feel a little puffy still, but he doesn’t look away. Then, without breaking away, she flips open a new page in her sketchbook. 

“Space,” she says. “It needs space.”

“Outer?”

“Negative. Lots of space for dancers to move around.” Her pencil scratches over the paper, familiar blocky shapes springing to life. Doric fluted columns split the wings, because of course. “It’s Christmas, so we want color: no sterile, snowy landscape. We know it’s all frozen over--we don’t need to see it again. Obligatory Christmas tree here,” she sketches a crude triangle off to one side, approximately along the golden ratio, “and a big fireplace in the center, preferably a functional one.”

“You know there was this dancer in the nineteenth century that died because her costume caught fire, yeah?”

Annabeth tilts her head, capitulating. “Fair point. We’ll raise it up on a pedestal, keep it out of the way.” She draws a little platform beneath it. “But color is key.” Up above, she draws a pediment crowning the proscenium. She scribbles in the empty space, a placeholder. “Everyone knows the story, so you lay it out up here, episodes merging into each other from start to finish.”

Percy peers down at her page, his chin perilously close to resting on her shoulder. She can’t draw like that. “Kind of reminds me of the Parthenon.”

“You’ve been?”

He nods, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Couple of times. I thought you said you wanted color, though. The Parthenon’s all white, isn’t it?”

“Not originally,” she says. “Do they not explain that on the tours?” 

“Um…” Sheepish, he looks away. “I, uh, I’m not always great at listening.”

God. It’s so endearing. What the hell. She kisses him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushes lightly. “Me either.” He is so fucking handsome. “But no, the original Parthenon, all those white statues, they were painted. Ergo, color.” 

He blinks, momentarily stunned. “Wouldn’t--uh, wouldn’t that distract from the dancers? People would just be staring at the ceiling.”

“Then… it’s only lit up before and after the show. During the show, you turn the lights down, bring the focus back down onto the stage.” She considered it. Something she’d worked on for a production once, a fashion show Piper had done at Pratt. “Or, you set it up so the colors are mostly lights. Lights that shine through during the snowflake dance and when Clara rides off with the prince. But then you also get the white for the frosted look. But, they’re still too pink, so I don’t think some color variety is bad.”

“So, not to kill your vibe,” Percy says, pulling back a bit, “but I gotta say, I don’t see how this is that different from the billion other Nutcrackers out there.”

She glares, lips pursed. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. Dick. “The set is only half the problem,” she says. “You'd need to redesign the costumes, too.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come see my show in December, and then you can tell me all about how you’d fix it.”

“Me and every tourist in New York at Christmas time?”

He nods, like he was expecting it. “Then come to my current one. September isn’t Christmas, so it’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“I don’t know,” she grimaces, sketching a star in the corner of the page. “I don’t really think I’d fit--'' Fit in with those people like the ones from the Eta awards, who thought not being her mother’s lackey was the same as being in rehab.

“Annabeth.” Percy takes her drawing hand, lifting it off the page entirely. The pencil is caught between them, an ineffectual barrier to the sweet, rubbing thumb on the mound of her palm. “I want you to come to my show. I’ll leave you a ticket. No one will care what you look like, I promise.” He stares at her, baby seal eyes in full effect.

Fuck.

“As long as you leave me a ticket,” she says, weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford a good seat.” The lie slips out, easy as anything. She can’t help it.

He smiles, soft and warm and way too inviting. “And in the meantime,” he says, softly, you can come with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. It’ll be just my mom, Paul, and my sister. They’d love to meet you.”

“I can’t,” she replies, immediately, almost without thinking. “I’ve got--I’ve got work to do.”

She doesn’t. But boys don’t bring girls like Annabeth home anymore. She isn’t meant to settle down. She’s meant for grimy bars and ship yards. She'll leave it to the princesses to be brought home.

He deflates, just the slightest bit. If she hadn’t had so much up and personal time with his naked chest and the movement of his shoulders, she probably would have missed it. “Maybe next time, then?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not entirely certain if she means to follow through. “Maybe next time.”

[acidrefluxsingapore]

Heartburn: A Common Health Problem in Today's World

What is Heartburn? Heartburn is an uneasy sensation in the stomach or behind the breastbone. It is caused when the acids in the stomach flow back to the pipe, which carries food to the stomach (esophagus). If it becomes severe, then one has to go for surgeries. Heartburn surgery in Singapore provides one of the best treatments in the world. Symptoms of Heartburn • A burning pain in the chest usually occurs after eating, which may also occur at night. • The pain gets worse if you bend over or lie down. • Bitter or acidic taste in the mouth. • Difficulty in swallowing. • Sour, salty, or acidic taste in the back of your throat. What causes Heartburn? Heartburn is caused because of many different things which are a part of your daily life. Certain habits like eating a large meal, eating too close to bedtime, having high-stress levels, etc. Certain foods and drinks may also occur heartburn in some people, for example- • Onions • Citrus Fruits • High Fat Foods • Tomatoes • Alcohol Your lifestyle habits also play a part in heartburn. Some lifestyle habits which can trigger heartburn are – • Overweight • Smoking • Having a high-stress level Treatment of Heartburn Heartburn can be treated at home by doing medications and changing lifestyle habits to lead a healthy life. Occasional heartburn is common, but if you have frequent heartburn with severe pain, you must consult a doctor for a diagnosis. Heartburn treatment in Singapore is one of the best in the world. Medications for heartburn also include Antacids and acid blockers. Antacids reduce the number of stomach acids, relieving your heartburn. Although there are some side effects of Antacids like- Constipation, Diarrhea, stomach cramps, etc.

Acid blockers reduce the production of the stomach, relieving heartburn, acid indigestion, and stomachache. Some minor side effects of acid blockers are- headache, dizziness, and diarrhea. How to prevent Heartburn? Some significant precautions you need to keep to stay away from heartburn to lead a healthier life are- • Change your lifestyle and make a balanced diet routine. • Not going to bed with a full stomach. Eat meals at least three to four hours before you sleep. This reduces the chance of getting heartburn at night. • Avoiding overeating. Try to have small meals after some time gap instead of having a large meal at once. • Eating at a slow pace prevents heartburn. • Maintain a healthy weight to avoid heartburn. • Planning to do some exercise regularly to avoid heartburn. Wait for at least two hours after having a meal, or else you may get heartburn. Drink plenty of water. It helps in the digestion of food and prevents dehydration. • Try to wear loose-fitting dresses. • Avoid smoking and drinking alcohol. • Avoid certain foods which trigger your heartburn. To conclude There are many medical companies with heartburn specialists for heartburn surgery in Singapore. So, if you are looking for one, then KYM SURGERY is one of the best options for heartburn treatment in Singapore. If you are facing any kind of heartburns, then contact us immediately through our website https://acidreflux.com.sg/.

[wtflife01]

Is Isa paying people to kiss her ass all the time? Other wags are always criticized for posing for that creep Illman or commenting on wags pages, but Isa seems to get away with everything. Why is she treated differently? I used to like her as she seemed very low key, but she is as attention seeking as all the others lately // why so salty? kelly honey, is that you? 😂 i’m not a fan of any of the wags, but how is isa seeking attention? everyone knows she’s carlos’ gf and for obvious reasons she’s going to get more attention and followers, but she’s not making carlos her whole personality, unlike wags like charlotte and kelly. even sandra who’s doing paddock shoots 24/7 and constantly posting nicholas has a job and is a model. isa is a fashion journalist and is now working with scalpers by her own merit imo. maybe carlos’ fame has helped her, but i don’t see her using him for clout.

and speaking of scalpers the only item she seemed to be wearing of them today was the shoes she's usually in scalpers head to toe, neither did the photographers mention scalpers, like we have had before Kym Illman and Mark Sutton basically doing ads for some wags,

[tripile]

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills

There’s no doubt the fine art of winemaking, and its enjoyment, has been perfected by winemakers at Bird In Hand Winery.

Located in the stunning Adelaide Hills, the winemakers have preceded their nationally renowned reputation with a solid international following of loyal connoisseurs.

THE WINERY

Named after the Bird in Hand gold mine, which operated on the land in the 1800s, the winery prospers from rich red soil on the estate surrounded by beautiful Australian gum trees. Founded by South Australian Andrew Nugent whose grandparents were farmers, his pathway began at agricultural college later going on to work on vineyards and olive groves as an apprentice. It was in 1997 when Nugent and his father bought a run-down dairy farm in the Adelaide Hills with 80 acres of land, and where the Bird in Hand legacy began. “What I love about winemaking is the aspirational side. The combination of agriculture, science and art – the ability to be creative while pursuing quality and excellence” states Nugent.

Art, design, travel and hospitality are intrinsically linked at Bird in Hand. An outdoor area in their Adelaide Hills premises hosts various live music concerts and Summer events and collaborations with London’s Serpentine Galleries and fashion designers such as Dion Lee and Henry Holland see Bird in Hand bottles becoming collectables.

THE GALLERY RESTAURANT

With a farm-to-table approach, the menu at The Gallery represents the best of local, South Australian produce. Marbled tomatoes, eggplant and zucchini – which we dined with on during our ‘Joy Flight’ 6 course meal – were hand-picked that morning from the garden just outside the restaurant window.

The English-style garden is overseen by Susie, Andrew Nugent’s wife, a passionate gardener supplying the restaurant with freshly picked produce. Gathered in the morning and presented on plates at lunchtime and dinner, it’s impossible to experience fresher ingredients. These too, like the vineyards, benefit from their location and surrounding environment. Chickens lay fresh eggs, whilst fruits and vegetables – such as apple, pear, quince and fig – are blessed by the sun to encourage immense flavours and colours. 

A stand-out dish for us was the Kingfish sashimi ponzu with pickled onion, togarashi and toasted nori. Not only an example of how internationally-minded the chefs are (using a traditional Japanese seven-spice mix) but how well these ingredients translated to an Australian experience. On first bite of the sashimi it is like taking a dip in the ocean – the cool, salty sea water a pleasant experience blended with the fleshy, soft texture of the fish – then surprisingly getting stung by a jellyfish (when the spices kick in abruptly) to find yourself seeking aid in the Bird in Hand 2018 Riesling as you rest back on the shore. We only suggest that this dish and wine paring be served individually, highlighting it as an experience to enjoy on its own before the other dishes. 

The Bird in Hand Honeysuckle Riesling is another standout wine, paired with their intermediate dish of lemon and honeysuckle Riesling sorbet to cleanse the palate. Cleverly put together, the Honeysuckle Riesling sorbet is topped with a sprinkle of matcha and frieze-dried mandarin, which effortlessly melts in the mouth. The selected details at The Gallery are key to the restaurant experience.

CELLAR DOOR

When visiting the Bird in Hand Cellar Door, guests experience more than just a wine tasting. Staff are just as passionate as the Nugent family, educated on every element of the winemaking process. Wines can be tasted not only in the Cellar Door, but also in the Barrel Hall, the outdoor courtyard overlooking the vineyards or in The Gallery restaurant next door. Tutored tastings are available, with guests able to experience wines you can’t drink anywhere else. This includes late releases and carefully-cellared museum selections. 

Bird in Hand’s respect for tradition is paired with a modern approach: red grapes are fermented in wooden French wine barrels, whilst their white grapes are distilled in steel ensuring a crisp, smooth taste. Pinot Noir, Shiraz, Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay grapes are planted in their vineyards, and overseen by head winemaker Kym Milne.

ART COLLECTION

On the drive up to the vineyard, a kinetic artwork by artist Rudi Jass greets visitors from a distance. Upon arrival, their rusting steel facades are evident with their textures and tones complimenting their surrounding environment. 

On the winery grounds, commissioned works by Bird in Hand can be found strategically placed to surprise and delight. The ’Circle of Love’ sculpture by New York-based artist Paul Gerben is amongst Bird in Hand’s collection as is the steel sculpture by Greg Johns overlooking the winery lake. Melbourne-based artist Lucas Grogan’s site-specific mural adorns a building facade which is also home to two-centuries old restored Moroccan doors. Culture and history are everywhere on the premises. Nugent explains, “From family, farming and science, to art and creativity, everything links together. Artisan winemaking provides us the seamless connections through the artistic genres, culminating in the experience of making people happy”.

From an old dairy farm to a world-class winery housing international and Australian art, hard work and dedication has paid off for Bird in Hand. They’ve set the bar high for neighbouring wineries but ultimately their internationally focused communications it benefits everyone, placing South Australian wines at the very forefront of a culture celebrating craftsmanship and a lifestyle based on enjoyment and good taste. 

http://www.birdinhand.com.au/

Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills 150 Pfeiffer Road,  Woodside, Adelaide Hills SOUTH AUSTRALIA

This article comes in cross-collaboration with our friends at Champ Travel

(All images by Meaghan Coles courtesy of Bird in Hand Winery

The post Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills appeared first on Melting Butter.

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills published first on https://oceandreamblog.tumblr.com/

[outsidespaceblog]

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills

There’s no doubt the fine art of winemaking, and its enjoyment, has been perfected by winemakers at Bird In Hand Winery.

Located in the stunning Adelaide Hills, the winemakers have preceded their nationally renowned reputation with a solid international following of loyal connoisseurs.

THE WINERY

Named after the Bird in Hand gold mine, which operated on the land in the 1800s, the winery prospers from rich red soil on the estate surrounded by beautiful Australian gum trees. Founded by South Australian Andrew Nugent whose grandparents were farmers, his pathway began at agricultural college later going on to work on vineyards and olive groves as an apprentice. It was in 1997 when Nugent and his father bought a run-down dairy farm in the Adelaide Hills with 80 acres of land, and where the Bird in Hand legacy began. “What I love about winemaking is the aspirational side. The combination of agriculture, science and art – the ability to be creative while pursuing quality and excellence” states Nugent.

Art, design, travel and hospitality are intrinsically linked at Bird in Hand. An outdoor area in their Adelaide Hills premises hosts various live music concerts and Summer events and collaborations with London’s Serpentine Galleries and fashion designers such as Dion Lee and Henry Holland see Bird in Hand bottles becoming collectables.

THE GALLERY RESTAURANT

With a farm-to-table approach, the menu at The Gallery represents the best of local, South Australian produce. Marbled tomatoes, eggplant and zucchini – which we dined with on during our ‘Joy Flight’ 6 course meal – were hand-picked that morning from the garden just outside the restaurant window.

The English-style garden is overseen by Susie, Andrew Nugent’s wife, a passionate gardener supplying the restaurant with freshly picked produce. Gathered in the morning and presented on plates at lunchtime and dinner, it’s impossible to experience fresher ingredients. These too, like the vineyards, benefit from their location and surrounding environment. Chickens lay fresh eggs, whilst fruits and vegetables – such as apple, pear, quince and fig – are blessed by the sun to encourage immense flavours and colours. 

A stand-out dish for us was the Kingfish sashimi ponzu with pickled onion, togarashi and toasted nori. Not only an example of how internationally-minded the chefs are (using a traditional Japanese seven-spice mix) but how well these ingredients translated to an Australian experience. On first bite of the sashimi it is like taking a dip in the ocean – the cool, salty sea water a pleasant experience blended with the fleshy, soft texture of the fish – then surprisingly getting stung by a jellyfish (when the spices kick in abruptly) to find yourself seeking aid in the Bird in Hand 2018 Riesling as you rest back on the shore. We only suggest that this dish and wine paring be served individually, highlighting it as an experience to enjoy on its own before the other dishes. 

The Bird in Hand Honeysuckle Riesling is another standout wine, paired with their intermediate dish of lemon and honeysuckle Riesling sorbet to cleanse the palate. Cleverly put together, the Honeysuckle Riesling sorbet is topped with a sprinkle of matcha and frieze-dried mandarin, which effortlessly melts in the mouth. The selected details at The Gallery are key to the restaurant experience.

CELLAR DOOR

When visiting the Bird in Hand Cellar Door, guests experience more than just a wine tasting. Staff are just as passionate as the Nugent family, educated on every element of the winemaking process. Wines can be tasted not only in the Cellar Door, but also in the Barrel Hall, the outdoor courtyard overlooking the vineyards or in The Gallery restaurant next door. Tutored tastings are available, with guests able to experience wines you can’t drink anywhere else. This includes late releases and carefully-cellared museum selections. 

Bird in Hand’s respect for tradition is paired with a modern approach: red grapes are fermented in wooden French wine barrels, whilst their white grapes are distilled in steel ensuring a crisp, smooth taste. Pinot Noir, Shiraz, Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay grapes are planted in their vineyards, and overseen by head winemaker Kym Milne.

ART COLLECTION

On the drive up to the vineyard, a kinetic artwork by artist Rudi Jass greets visitors from a distance. Upon arrival, their rusting steel facades are evident with their textures and tones complimenting their surrounding environment. 

On the winery grounds, commissioned works by Bird in Hand can be found strategically placed to surprise and delight. The ’Circle of Love’ sculpture by New York-based artist Paul Gerben is amongst Bird in Hand’s collection as is the steel sculpture by Greg Johns overlooking the winery lake. Melbourne-based artist Lucas Grogan’s site-specific mural adorns a building facade which is also home to two-centuries old restored Moroccan doors. Culture and history are everywhere on the premises. Nugent explains, “From family, farming and science, to art and creativity, everything links together. Artisan winemaking provides us the seamless connections through the artistic genres, culminating in the experience of making people happy”.

From an old dairy farm to a world-class winery housing international and Australian art, hard work and dedication has paid off for Bird in Hand. They’ve set the bar high for neighbouring wineries but ultimately their internationally focused communications it benefits everyone, placing South Australian wines at the very forefront of a culture celebrating craftsmanship and a lifestyle based on enjoyment and good taste. 

http://www.birdinhand.com.au/

Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills 150 Pfeiffer Road,  Woodside, Adelaide Hills SOUTH AUSTRALIA

This article comes in cross-collaboration with our friends at Champ Travel

(All images by Meaghan Coles courtesy of Bird in Hand Winery

The post Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills appeared first on Melting Butter.

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills published first on https://whartonstravel.tumblr.com/

[comfsy]

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills

There’s no doubt the fine art of winemaking, and its enjoyment, has been perfected by winemakers at Bird In Hand Winery.

Located in the stunning Adelaide Hills, the winemakers have preceded their nationally renowned reputation with a solid international following of loyal connoisseurs.

THE WINERY

Named after the Bird in Hand gold mine, which operated on the land in the 1800s, the winery prospers from rich red soil on the estate surrounded by beautiful Australian gum trees. Founded by South Australian Andrew Nugent whose grandparents were farmers, his pathway began at agricultural college later going on to work on vineyards and olive groves as an apprentice. It was in 1997 when Nugent and his father bought a run-down dairy farm in the Adelaide Hills with 80 acres of land, and where the Bird in Hand legacy began. “What I love about winemaking is the aspirational side. The combination of agriculture, science and art – the ability to be creative while pursuing quality and excellence” states Nugent.

Art, design, travel and hospitality are intrinsically linked at Bird in Hand. An outdoor area in their Adelaide Hills premises hosts various live music concerts and Summer events and collaborations with London’s Serpentine Galleries and fashion designers such as Dion Lee and Henry Holland see Bird in Hand bottles becoming collectables.

THE GALLERY RESTAURANT

With a farm-to-table approach, the menu at The Gallery represents the best of local, South Australian produce. Marbled tomatoes, eggplant and zucchini – which we dined with on during our ‘Joy Flight’ 6 course meal – were hand-picked that morning from the garden just outside the restaurant window.

The English-style garden is overseen by Susie, Andrew Nugent’s wife, a passionate gardener supplying the restaurant with freshly picked produce. Gathered in the morning and presented on plates at lunchtime and dinner, it’s impossible to experience fresher ingredients. These too, like the vineyards, benefit from their location and surrounding environment. Chickens lay fresh eggs, whilst fruits and vegetables – such as apple, pear, quince and fig – are blessed by the sun to encourage immense flavours and colours. 

A stand-out dish for us was the Kingfish sashimi ponzu with pickled onion, togarashi and toasted nori. Not only an example of how internationally-minded the chefs are (using a traditional Japanese seven-spice mix) but how well these ingredients translated to an Australian experience. On first bite of the sashimi it is like taking a dip in the ocean – the cool, salty sea water a pleasant experience blended with the fleshy, soft texture of the fish – then surprisingly getting stung by a jellyfish (when the spices kick in abruptly) to find yourself seeking aid in the Bird in Hand 2018 Riesling as you rest back on the shore. We only suggest that this dish and wine paring be served individually, highlighting it as an experience to enjoy on its own before the other dishes. 

The Bird in Hand Honeysuckle Riesling is another standout wine, paired with their intermediate dish of lemon and honeysuckle Riesling sorbet to cleanse the palate. Cleverly put together, the Honeysuckle Riesling sorbet is topped with a sprinkle of matcha and frieze-dried mandarin, which effortlessly melts in the mouth. The selected details at The Gallery are key to the restaurant experience.

CELLAR DOOR

When visiting the Bird in Hand Cellar Door, guests experience more than just a wine tasting. Staff are just as passionate as the Nugent family, educated on every element of the winemaking process. Wines can be tasted not only in the Cellar Door, but also in the Barrel Hall, the outdoor courtyard overlooking the vineyards or in The Gallery restaurant next door. Tutored tastings are available, with guests able to experience wines you can’t drink anywhere else. This includes late releases and carefully-cellared museum selections. 

Bird in Hand’s respect for tradition is paired with a modern approach: red grapes are fermented in wooden French wine barrels, whilst their white grapes are distilled in steel ensuring a crisp, smooth taste. Pinot Noir, Shiraz, Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay grapes are planted in their vineyards, and overseen by head winemaker Kym Milne.

ART COLLECTION

On the drive up to the vineyard, a kinetic artwork by artist Rudi Jass greets visitors from a distance. Upon arrival, their rusting steel facades are evident with their textures and tones complimenting their surrounding environment. 

On the winery grounds, commissioned works by Bird in Hand can be found strategically placed to surprise and delight. The ’Circle of Love’ sculpture by New York-based artist Paul Gerben is amongst Bird in Hand’s collection as is the steel sculpture by Greg Johns overlooking the winery lake. Melbourne-based artist Lucas Grogan’s site-specific mural adorns a building facade which is also home to two-centuries old restored Moroccan doors. Culture and history are everywhere on the premises. Nugent explains, “From family, farming and science, to art and creativity, everything links together. Artisan winemaking provides us the seamless connections through the artistic genres, culminating in the experience of making people happy”.

From an old dairy farm to a world-class winery housing international and Australian art, hard work and dedication has paid off for Bird in Hand. They’ve set the bar high for neighbouring wineries but ultimately their internationally focused communications it benefits everyone, placing South Australian wines at the very forefront of a culture celebrating craftsmanship and a lifestyle based on enjoyment and good taste. 

http://www.birdinhand.com.au/

Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills 150 Pfeiffer Road,  Woodside, Adelaide Hills SOUTH AUSTRALIA

This article comes in cross-collaboration with our friends at Champ Travel

(All images by Meaghan Coles courtesy of Bird in Hand Winery

The post Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills appeared first on Melting Butter.

Wine Find: Bird in Hand Winery Adelaide Hills published first on https://takebreaktravel.tumblr.com/

[blog-babyllamabeard-posts-blog]

Birdsville races 2017: Kym Healy’s incredible journey

Birdsville races 2017: Kym Healy’s incredible journey

Horse Racing: Winx wins her 19th straight race in amazing fashion at Randwick.

Friday racing at the 135th Birdsville Races organised by the Birdsville Race Club Inc. 2017 Birdsville Outback Races. Photo by Salty Dingo

GETTING a horse to Birdsville can be a hazardous exercise, but for Kym Healy it’s just another destination on an eventful outback journey.

No one in racing spends…

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I wasn't trying to say you talked about Tommy in a negative light. I just know most of the colour theory always seems to point to Buddie in general.

I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I've been a follower for a long time 😕

Hey Nonnie

No hurt feelings here - I’m touched you’re a long time follower and I hope you continue following my little blog - I’ve had a bit of a flood of negativity in my inbox tonight about a whole variety of things and I’m tired so was probably a bit more salty than I would’ve been otherwise - sorry you got caught up in that - not my intention - more just me drawing battle lines I guess 😬

As for my focus on buddie - I am a buddie shipper so while I do try to maintain some level of perspective it’s pretty hard to stop when all things seem to point to buddie - and they do exciting things with the costumes!!!

Anyway - I hope you have a wonderful day/ evening/night - whatever time it is where you are! And here is a cat among the flowers to cleanse and make you smile 💜💜💜

[stagefoureddiediaz]

If Buck and Tommy don't break up. Will you do positive colour theory on them?

Hey Nonnie

I wasn’t aware I wasn’t doing positive colour theory on them already!!!!

I’ve spoken at length about the colours buck is wearing are positive for him - from the use of the light blue and it’s relation to his search for happiness, to the use of a shirt similar to the one from the start of season 6 - when he chose to be happy with himself before jumping into a new relationship again.

As for Tommy - we’ve had like 3 costumes this far and they’re all versions of Eddie’s costumes - and playing into the fact that he is visually being shown to be similar to Eddie - in the same vein as the script is doing verbally!

Not sure how that’s me being negative towards them from a colour theory or costume perspective!

I can only talk about what the costume department choose to put them in - and if Tommy sticks around then I will keep talking about his costumes and the colours and how that related to the scenes they are worn in - good and bad - as I do for all the characters.

It’s my blog and my meta posts so it’s mine to do with as I please - I give you my opinions on the costumes and colour theory - I’ve never claimed them to be the definitive ones or even the correct ones - they are MY interpretation based on what I’m seeing - many of my opinions have been proven to be correct. But I am also wrong from time to time - I’m not perfect and I’m not working on the show. Other people may see something different and that is their prerogative - and they can talk about it on their own blogs as is their right. And you have the power to chose not to read what I wrote if you don’t like it - I do it for me not for others - if people enjoy it then that’s wonderful, but I’m fed up of people thinking they can demand something from me or that I will pander to their wants and needs - I’m not going to on my own blog because it is mine - don’t like something - block and move on - it really is freeing I can assure you!!

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I really do enjoy your costume metas, they are so fascinating truly. But sometimes I read them and things sound like SUCH a stretch and over-analysis- like how people joke about English teachers will ask ‘but WHY was the scarf red?’ and the author would just shrug and say ‘because I wanted it to be red, there’s no hidden meaning’ yknow? Like i don’t think THAT much thought goes into it. Yes definitely a lot does, a lot of thought goes into costuming, I just don’t think like, the direction of stripes on Christopher’s shirt in one 30 second scene indicates anything.

Backhanded compliment/insult much Nonnie!!!

I hate to tell you this but they really do put that much thought into things in the world of film and television. I've worked in the industry - I worked in costume departments on many different films and shows and I can assure you nothing makes it on to screen without purpose.

The use of colour to convey meaning is very very deliberate and has a lot of history - both from a clothing perspective, but also from a lighting, set a prop perspective. The whole point is to convey additional information visually. Its very different from writing a book - where yes, its very likely an author will just pick a colour for a colours sake - but that is why very often you see different colours used from the text in film adaptations - because the film needs to convey emotions etc visually because it cannot use words to do the same thing in the way a book does.

And if you don't want to believe me then look at Aisha's lives, or the q&a sessions various wardrobe people from the show have done - they have all said that everything is intentional and that colour choices are deliberate. In the past I've commissioned specific logos, prints or patterns for clothing - just to get important information across - I've had clothes dyed so that I have the right shade of a colour so that it gets the right information across - literally nothing appears on screen that isn't adding to the narrative.

Of course there is room for interpretation - colours have more than one meaning attached to them, and I have never ever implied or said outright that my interpretation is the only one or the correct one. its entirely probable that I've placed incorrect interpretations onto costumes -I'm not in that specific wardrobe department so I can never be sure. thats the nature of the beast.

By all means keep on insulting me and the hard work I put in to sharing my knowledge with you, I can take it - I don't do it for you I do it for me because I get enjoyment out of it, but please don't diminish the incredibly hard and detailed work that departments such as wardrobe, set and props do to tell the story visually and support the text and subtext of a piece of media - its frankly insulting to them - they're among the hardest working departments and often some of the worst paid - they do this for love so you can bet they put everything into it.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

with one hour to go I am keeping expectations firmly in checked a small part of me honestly thinks what we have seen from the sneak peak is the only eddie emotional moment we will get in the episode. IDK the lack of Eddie in stills is concerning.

Nonnie

I don't really know what to say to you - the lack of Eddie in the stills isn't concerning me one jot - we're either getting an Eddie who goes M.I.A because he can't deal with his emotions and so we won't see him much - in which case that is very loud about how its affecting him. sometimes the absence of something is louder than the presence of something

Or we're not getting any because any Eddie scenes are too revealing and the show is intentionally keeping them from us. I have no doubt that anything Eddie we get will be incredibly important and don't forget we haven't had any Hen stills either - and Buck and Hen have been shown as being close this season too.

Either way its a good thing and not a cause for concern. The show is about found family - its more than just buddie and we know that we're going to get good content about all the firefam and the intersectionality of their lives - how they are a more important family than Bucks blood family (Maddie excepting of course) . this whole thing is about Buck figuring out that he has family - a family who love him, who aren't connected to him by blood, who love him anyway. Eddie and Chris are a huge part of that - the show wouldn't have gone down the will route if that wasn't the case.

So by all means keep your expectations low - thats your prerogative, but i'm going to be over here living my best life about it all and enjoying more than just the Buddie of it all because while thats important to me - it is not the only thing thats important - I want to see my firefam being a family