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#kentucky straight bourbon whiskey

bourbontrend · 1 month

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Discover the art of bourbon like never before with our latest review on Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey by New Riff Distilling. Dive into a world where tradition meets innovation, and find out why this 8-Year-Old bourbon is making waves in the heart of bourbon country. Taste the future of Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, one sip at a time. #BourbonTrend #KentuckyStraightBourbonWhiskey

#Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey #bottled-in-bond #mashbill #aging process

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thewhiskyphiles · 1 year

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Evan Williams White Label

Evan Williams White Label Bottled in Bond 100 proof Kentucky Straight Bourbon whiskey review

Evan Williams White Label Bottled in Bond 100 proof Kentucky Straight Bourbon whiskey 1. What they say Evan Williams Bottled-in-Bond is aged under government supervision and meeting the exact requirements for a Bottled-in-Bond Bourbon. It has all the kick you expect—but still goes down smooth. https://evanwilliams.com/bottled-in-bond-bourbon?cta=bottled-in-bond 2. Official tasting…

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#50% ABV #83 points #American Oak Cask #£35 #Bourbon #Evan Williams #Heaven Hill #heaven Hill Distillery #Kentucky #Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey #NAS #OB #USA #White Label

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goodspiritsnewsat · 19 days

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GSN Review: High & Wicked Cask Strength Bourbon and Rye

High n’ Wicked has released its first cask strength rye and its newest cask strength bourbon offering of its flagship rye and bourbon whiskeys. High n’ Wicked Kentucky Straight Rye Whiskey uses a five-year aged sour mash and a mash bill of 91% rye and 9% malted barley. Although rye whiskeys only require a minimum of 51% rye and can be difficult to work with especially at such a high percentage,…

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#High n’ Wicked Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey #High n’ Wicked Kentucky Straight Rye Whiskey

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chadwick211 · 1 year

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Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and it’s time to start thinking of what special gift you can give your sweetheart! Whether they love whiskey, vodka, or champagne, Sendgifts has a list of the top liquor gift ideas for Valentine’s Day that will surely make your partner swoon.

Sendgifts is a one of the best online liquor stores in USA. It too offers fastest liquor delivery service just next to your door. Whatever your budget or taste, we’ve has got you covered with the best Valentine’s Day liquor gifts. So raise a glass to love this Valentine’s Day!

Read on to discover the best liquor gift ideas for Valentine’s Day that will show how much you care!

Top Liquor Gift Ideas for Valentine’s Day Whether you’re looking for something classic or creative, these liquor gifts will surely impress your loved one and make them feel extra special on Valentine’s Day. These limited edition liquors are often handmade and offer a one-of-a-kind taste that your sweetheart is sure to love.

Dom Perignon Gift Basket

Our Dom Perignon gift sets are full of surprises and magic. This baskets are the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day! Our gift specialists only build your basket when your order it, and no baskets leave our store until they are perfect. We can even insert a custom gift message.

Dom Perignon Gift Basket Features:

This basket comes with one bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne and an assortment of:

Capelin Caviar Carrs Table Water Crackers Gourmet Cheese Spread Helen Grace Chocolate Truffle Royal Edinburgh Short Bread English breakfast Tea Pistachios

The bottles are traditionally shaped and have an antique label. The chocolates are put in a beautiful and unique gift box, decorated with ribbons on the top. Both these products paired together form an elegant gift basket that you can buy for your loved ones!

Apple Ciroc Basket

Apple Ciroc is a rich tasting, award-winning spirit made with vodka distilled five times from fine French grapes, finished in a tailor-made copper pot still in Southern France. This spirit is masterfully infused with a distinctive blend of green apple and other natural flavors, resulting in a taste experience that is lusciously different and elegantly smooth. Simply mix with fresh lemon and cranberry juices and pour over ice for an Apple CIROC & Cranberry Cocktail.

CIROC was named one of the World’s Best-Selling Vodkas at the 2020 Drinks International awards. Includes one 70 proof 750 mL bottle of CIROC Apple. Please drink responsibly.

Masterfully infused with green apple and other natural flavors Made with vodka distilled five times from fine French grapes Finished in a tailor-made copper pot still in Southern France Perfect as a gift or for any celebration Gluten-free

Baileys Irish Cream

Baileys is the most popular Irish Cream Liqueur around the globe and has been awarded more medals at the San Francisco World Spirits Competition than any of its competitors. With its distinct velvety texture, it is a perfect combination of smooth cream and whiskey. Enjoy on its own, over ice or in your favorite coffee. And if you are looking for more ways to indulge, from gooey Baileys Irish Cream Cheesecake to classy Baileys Espresso Martini, Baileys recipes hit the sweet spot every time

Find the main Baileys products available to purchase online at sendgifts.com.

Product Description

ABV: 17%

Type: Premium Spirits

Variety: Irish Cream Liqueur

Brand: Baileys Irish Cream Liqueur

Country: United Kingdom

Region: Ireland

Tasting Notes

Nose: A unique blend of fresh Irish dairy cream, finest spirits, Irish whiskey, sugar, and chocolate flavor. On first sip, some of the 100 components are released onto the taste buds. Then as the temperature of the liquid rises in the mouth, it causes even more to be released. What results is a harmony of flavors, released around a luxuriant mouth-feel. Quite literally, Baileys melts in the mouth.

Palate: A blend of smooth Irish cream and triple-distilled Irish whiskey. Rich chocolate and vanilla flavors. The velvety texture and perfect combination of cream and whiskey delight the senses.

How to Enjoy Best: Great on its own or serve over ice cream for a sophisticated twist.

Yellowstone Select Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey

Yellowstone Select Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey is a delicate fusion of flavors from seventh-generation distillers. This straight bourbon features a handpicked blend of 4- and 7-year-old bourbons, for an exclusive small-batch whiskey that honors its deep family origins.

A masterful fusion of flavors from seventh-generation distillers, Paul and Steve Beam. It features a hand-picked blend of sweet, spicy, and smoky bourbons, each selected to give this exclusive whiskey a taste that celebrates its deep, family origins.

Product Description

Category: Bourbon

Region: United States, Kentucky

Brand: Yellowstone

Alcohol/vol: 46.5%

Proof: 93.00

Tasting Notes

Appearance: Deep, golden chestnut.

Nose: Rye spice with soft leathered cherries.

Palate: Smoked caramel.

Finish: Smoky oak & brown sugar finish.

Hennessy Pure White Cognac

Hennessy Pure White Cognac is a light and fruity cognac designed for easy drinking on the rocks. Its main characteristic is that it can be enjoyed in many ways. Light and round, it combines perfectly with deliciously fresh aromas with a young and clean taste. This makes Hennessy White the perfect cognac to drink neat, on the rocks, or in a cocktail.

verything about Hennessy Pure White screams contemporary class. Enjoy Hennessy White, one of the most unique, unusual, and unbelievably sophisticated spirits in circulation.

Product Description

Brand: Hennessy

Country: France

Region: Cognac

Size: 70CL

ABV: 40%

Tasting Notes

Eye: Bright golden straw color, light honey.

Nose: Subtly floral and fruity.

Palate: Fruity, young, well-rounded, and extremely smooth. Sweet aftertaste.

For more information visit our website: https://www.sendgifts.com/

#yellowstone select kentucky straight bourbon whiskey

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moondirti · 1 year

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give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in.

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home.

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else.

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry.

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar.

You’re glad you’d left that life behind.

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass.

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks.

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead.

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.”

You pour him a glass regardless.

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh.

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him.

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down.

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home.

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them.

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood.

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition.

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres.

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace.

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces.

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for.

“They’re alright.”

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm.

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up.

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head.

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer.

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause:

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost.

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment.

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral.

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says.

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway.

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you.

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs.

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles.

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything.

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back – was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign.

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any.

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips.

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?”

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him.

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up.

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time.

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain.

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth.

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base.

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head.

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring.

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it.

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster.

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you.

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in.

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair.

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust.

“Go ahead.” You coax.

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement.

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain.

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh.

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact.

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you.

“A-Ah! Simon, y–”

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.”

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood.

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing.

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you.

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple.

He slowly removes the mask.

The balaclava follows soon after.

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow.

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid.

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man.

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him.

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

permanent taglist: @saintbedelia @tusk89 @cactuswaterscactusfields @lexloon

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join my taglist!

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lackadaisycats · 1 year

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So I was wondering since the Lackadaisy gang clearly didn’t care for the Canadian Whisky, would they have preferred some straight Kentucky bourbon instead

Certainly. The complication, of course, was that (legitimately produced) Kentucky bourbon would not have been especially available during National Prohibition.

If you were extremely well connected, you might get your hands on some medicinal whiskey - the only sort that was being produced legally by a distiller in the US during that time period. More likely, you'd get something masquerading as Kentucky bourbon while technically being someone's backyard moonshine. At worst, you might get some mystery concoction cut with methyl alcohol.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #q&a

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mylarena · 1 year

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EVERYBODY shut the fuck up. coffee shop barista au. soap is a barista and this one guy comes in at the same time on the dot every day and orders the same thing every time. (its straight black coffee with so much added caffeine that soap thinks it could kill a horse.) the man is like, 6′4″ and built like a brick house. soap is a pretty big guy himself, but god does he makes him look tiny.

his hair is blond, light enough that in some lighting it looks nearly silver. it seems to be a mess constantly- wavy locks that curl around the tips of his ears, fringe just long enough to partially cover one of his eyes. just long enough that someone could reach up and tuck it behind his ear. and soap wants to, if not just to get to feel his hair- it looks so fucking soft and smooth and soap wonders what his hair care routine is. (because surely you cant get hair that good without putting work into it, right?)

his upper face is littered with scars; over the bridge of his nose, across his cheeks, under his eye. theres probably more, but anytime he shows up he has a face mask on, one with some dumb skeleton design on it that would probably look stupid on anyone else, but somehow he makes it work.

and his eyes- god, his eyes. his left eye is a brilliant shade of blue with a shock of green at the bottom, something soap has never seen before. the two colors seem to clash and meld together all at once, an enchanting phenomenon that soap wants to study. his right eye is a deep, gorgeous chocolate brown, swirled with a lighter caramel tone that brightens his eye but makes his gaze no less intense. anytime he locks eyes with soap, he loses his breath- hes never seen someone so fucking beautiful in his entire life.

his voice is low and gravelly, a deep, accented rumble that soap swears to god he can feel in his bones. the man doesnt mince his words, but every time he does speak soap can feel himself shiver. he hopes it isnt visible.

the only name he gives for his order is ghost. that isnt enough for soap. he wants his first name- his real name, a name he can place to the beautiful face that lurks in his mind. (and in his sketchbooks.)

so he tries to pry it out of the man. he offers his own name first, john mactavish, but ghost doesnt give him his own name, instead opting nod and hum. he takes to calling soap ‘johnny’, something that soap has notably refused to let anyone call him, no matter how close they are. he allows ghost to call him it, finding the heat it spreads through his body pleasant and welcoming it. gaz, his fellow barista, is disgruntled when he finds out that soap is letting someone call him johnny when he was firmly denied the permission to do so himself.

every day soap asks for a name for the coffee, hoping that one day he’ll slip and tell him, but he never does. its always ghost, you know this, johnny. he keeps trying despite the ineffectiveness.

sometimes he throws out guesses. over time they get increasingly ridiculous, trying to get a huff or a snort out of the man when he looks at his cup. whatever name he chooses is accompanied by some shitty dad joke- one time ghost had told one that was god awful, but soap could see the glee in his eyes when he groaned and complained. he sees ghost look at the writing everytime he hands over the drink, and he adores the amusement he sees dancing in his gaze at the jokes, so he keeps it up.

their banter shifts from friendly teasing to flirting constantly- oftentimes mid-conversation. sometimes its soap who does it, (”the maaask... take it off?” “show my face?” “yes.” “no.” “are you ugly?” “quite the opposite.” “i doubt that.”) and other times its ghost. (”you like tequila?” “could use one right about now.” “id murder for a whiskey.” “you mean scotch?” “i drink bourbon.” “like a good ol’ boy...” “... i love kentucky.” “yer out o’ yer mind, ghost.” “thats for sure.”)

(gaz is this fucking close to complaining to price about the sexual tension around them. if he has to deal with soap making eyes at this customer for one more fucking minute he thinks hes going to snap.)

#myposting #mydrabbles #soaptag #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghost/soap #soap/ghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #btw ghost doesnt even like coffee that much he just really liked the look on soaps face when he first ordered some #overly caffeinated beverage so he kept doing it and its too late to change his order now #he was just really tired that day so he got the coffee. soap made a cute face and ghost decided he wanted to see it again so he came back #the next day and ordered it again #feel free to expand on this or anything bc i ran out of ideas

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bourbontrend · 2 months

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Discover the magic behind Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey with New Riff Distilling's latest revelation! 🥃 Dive into an exquisite blend of tradition and innovation, and get the inside scoop on what makes their 8-Year-Old Bourbon a must-try for enthusiasts. Ready for a taste of excellence? 🌟 #BourbonLover #NewRiffRevelation

#Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey #age tradition #craftsmanship #flavor profile

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thewhiskyphiles · 1 year

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Woodford Reserve Double Oaked

Woodford Reserve Barrel Finished Select Double Oaked Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey Review

Woodford Reserve Barrel Finished Select Double Oaked 1. What they say An innovative approach to twice-barreled bourbon creates the rich and colorful flavor of Woodford Reserve Double Oaked. Uniquely matured in separate, charred oak barrels – the second barrel deeply toasted before a light charring – extracts additional soft, sweet oak…

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#45.2% ABV #84 points #American Oak Cask #£60 #Bourbon #Kentucky #Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey #NAS #OB #USA #Woodford Reserve #Woodford Reserve Distillery #Woodford Reserve Double Oaked

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yeyinde · 1 year

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I want your opinion on the cod boys, what's everyone's favorite drinks? Who's snobby about it and who will drink literally anything as long as it gets them drunk. Which one is a wine snob and which one drinks straight vodka ??

i love this so much, op!!

Ghost: drinks Bourbon, likes it neat (room temp, and nothing else) in a glass. would probably drink Lucky Seven Spirits "The Jokester" 6 Year Old Bourbon Whiskey or Wild Turkey 81 Proof Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. might enjoy a pint of Guinness. doesn't really drink much else. dislikes tequila.

Price: scotch, likes it neat with a little bit of water on the second sip, and a pint. would probably drink Johnnie Walker's Red Label (occasionally splurges during the holidays and buys himself the coveted and rare Blue Label; the ones in his possession are prized. if he ever offers you a glass of this, know you're special to him) or Ballantine's Finest Blended Scotch Whisky. His favourite pint would either be Peroni or San Miguel. a bit of a snob in the sense that he won't drink anything else. hates vodka. don't even ask him to drink any.

Soap: whisky, scotch, and pints. He isn't too picky and will drink whatever he feels like when he's out. would probably drink the Famous Grouse, or Crown Royal Canadian Whisky (even though his Scottish friends rib him for being a traitor). he would drink what is on tap if they didn't have scotch ale. dislikes gin.

Gaz: wants to like beer, but he just doesn't. prefers mixed drinks, especially vodka. likes sherry, too. a little bit of a sherry snob and despite what he says, only goes to this one tapas in Spain for the sole fact they serve the best sherry. will drink whatever gets him drunk, but is learning on how to refine his palate under Price's tutelage. and the fact that the man is never too far away from glass of scotch. enjoys Gonzalez Byass Apóstoles Sherry 30 Years or Don Benigno Cream Sherry. for mixed drinks enjoys vodka cranberry, Pimm's, Sherry negroni. his most coveted drink is NV Fernando de Castilla Singular Oloroso Sherry.

Alejandro: a snob when it comes to tequila. he only drinks extra añejo. he drinks a glass with his dinner and does it the proper way: small sips, neat. he always has a bottle of Siete Leguas D’Antaño extra añejo and Maestro Tequilero tequila añejo classico on hand. drinks Mexican wine as well. MD Vinos – Cabernet Sauvignon (red) and La Cetto – Sierra Blanc Sauvignon Blanc (white). his most coveted drinks are Tears of Llorona Extra Añejo and Don Julio Ultima Reserva.

Rodolfo: he doesn't drink it straight too often, and prefers cervezas or mixed drinks. enjoys Michelada, wine, beer, and tequila. would drink Monte Xanic – Grenache Rosé Wine, Indio or Bohemia (beer), Jose Cuervo Reposado (tequila), and Cantaritos made with Milagro Silver. enjoys the holidays the most when he can buy Noche Buena.

#this was a lot of fun!#i did so much research on drinks lmao #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #cod headcanons #cod mw #cod mw headcanons #gaz headcanons #ghost headcanons #price headcanons #soap headcanons #Alejandro headcanons #rodolfo headcanons

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peashooter85 · 2 years

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Whiskey Review Time--- Thistle Finch Rye

Recently I tried and did a short review on a really bad whiskey, in fact I don't think it can be called whiskey as it was a non-alcoholic imitation. So to offset that abomination, I thought I would do a review of some good whiskey. Thistle Finch Distillery is a small craft micro-distillery located in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I stopped there on my way to vacation in Stone Harbor, New Jersey and after sampling purchased a few bottles. They have a lot of different products; vodka, gin, rye, and bourbon. I tried their coffee rye, the bourbon, and the straight rye. The coffee rye wasn't that great but I don't really like coffee, the bourbon was meh, but the straight rye, one sip and I knew it was something special.

Long before Kentucky even existed Pennsylvania was the whiskey capital of the United States and the rye capital of the world. In particular the area around Pittsburgh was the largest whiskey producer in the new world, and whiskey ran so deep in the blood of Pennsylvania that when the Federal government attempted to impose a whiskey tax, the region rose up in a rebellion that could be only quelled by an army personally led by George Washington. PA maintained this dominance over whiskey production until prohibition in 1920, which resulted in the near collapse of the whiskey industry. After prohibition Kentucky became the whiskey capital of the US and rye generally fell out of favor. Now rye is making a comeback and PA distilleries are bringing back old fashioned Pennsylvania rye.

Thistlefinch rye uses a mash bill of 60% rye, 30% wheat, and 10% malted barley. They claim 90% of the grains used for their whiskey is locally sourced. The whiskey is aged in oak barrels for at least two years. Final product has an alcohol content of 45% and costs $47 for a 750 ml bottle.

The whiskey has a light oaky aroma, most likely from the oak it was aged in. As well it has a very floral aroma, like fresh flowers. On sampling I noticed it tastes very floral with a hint of citrus, like a light zest of orange. It also tastes very bready, like fresh whole wheat or rye bread. It is mildly sweet, slightly bitter, slight oak flavor. On finishing I get a nice crisp peppery punch in the mouth, white pepper to be more precise, not overwhelming but still a nice little surprise. There is little raw alcohol burn. It is a very light whiskey despite having a very thick body and being very flavorful. Finally it leaves a very refreshing aftertaste, like floral citrusy wintergreen. This after taste will linger in your mouth for a hour or two after drinking and is very delightful.

Looking at older reviews I have found a lot of mediocre and some bad reviews. But over time I've noticed the reviews improve more and more which leads me to believe that they are just hitting their stride and becoming experts in their craft. I personally rate their rye 4.4 stars out of 5. I'm especially impressed because this is a very small distillery located in a little hole in the wall place in Lancaster, PA. I hope they improve their rye even more, I wish them much success, and every time I go to the beach I'm gonna stop there to pick up a few bottles. If you like whiskey in general and rye in particular, and you are passing through the Lancaster area, I recommended you stop and see for yourself.

#whiskey #whisky #rye #lancaster

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goodspiritsnewsat · 2 months

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GSN Review: Heaven Hill Heritage Collection 18-Year-Old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey

The 2024 release of the Heaven Hill Heritage Collection is an 18-year-old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. Bottled without chill filtering, this 120 proof Whiskey showcases a Bourbon mashbill of 78% corn, 10% rye and 12% malted barley. As noted on the label for added transparency, this year’s release consists of 133 barrels that were produced in December 2005 and aged on the third floor of…

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#Heaven Hill Heritage Collection 18-Year-Old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey

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bottlebrief · 5 months

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Blue Run Kentucky Straight Whiskey: A Symphony of Distinctive Flavors and Heritage - Whiskey Review

Rating 5/10 (Rating System) Introduction Blue Run Kentucky Straight Whiskey is a coveted spirit known for its exceptional quality and distinctive flavor profile. Crafted with precision and expertise, this whiskey embodies the essence of Kentucky’s rich distilling tradition. Eye Rich amber hue, reminiscent of polished mahogany, with glimmers of golden brilliance dancing within the…