#prosecco hills

[alessandro-accebbi]

Prosecco Hills, Conegliano - Valdobbiadene, Treviso, Veneto, Italy 🇮🇹 UNESCO World Heritage 🥂🍾

[alwayswonderingandwandering]

gravel road

[choke-me-joey]

I'm torn between 19 and 23 with Joseph Quinn 😅👀 Is it possible to do them both in one or as two separate ones?

Ask and you shall receive! Sorry this turned out longer than I anticipated but....drunk sex, hello???????

19. Mm, you're so wet. Did I do this to you, baby? Is this all for me?

23. I'm gonna fuck you so good the whole damn neighbourhood will know my name by the time I'm done with you.

Joseph Quinn x reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, rpf (don't like don't read), established relationship, drunk but consensual sex, slight PDA, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap ur willy), creampie

Hoe-vember masterlist

You and Joe should have gone home about 10 drinks ago. He had to show up for London Film and Comic Con tomorrow, but he didn't care. That bastard rarely ever had hangovers. You swore you got hangovers for the both of you.

But right now, that wasn't really on your mind. It was one of your mutual friend's birthdays, and a rare occasion that Joe wasn't out of the county, so bar and club hopping in London it was. It was 11.30 on a fucking Thursday and you were admittedly off your tits on too much Prosecco and gin, but your boyfriend was here with you, looking fucking delicious in a simple shirt and jeans, the top buttons of the shirt undone and the chain that you got him for your 1 year anniversary dangling around his neck.

You could just eat him up. And apparently he could do the same to you. He was currently over the other side of the club, chatting to Wesley and a couple of other mates, eyeing you over the rim of his glass, a dirty smile on his face.

You'd noticed a change in his demeanor since you'd gone public. You'd both agreed in the beginning to keep it discreet whenever you were out together, but now you'd officially confirmed your relationship of 3 years to the press, Joe was not shy about showing his affection in public. He'd barely been able to keep his hands off you all night, enjoying the fact that he could enjoy a night out with you and his friends and not have to worry the next morning about leaked photos.

"Look at you, eye-fucking each other across the dance floor." Your friend, the birthday girl, sidled up to you, sipping her drink with a smug look on her face. "And all because of little old me playing Cupid."

"Zara, we literally knew each other in school," you laughed, rolling your eyes. You giggle as Joe flashes you another smirk and does a goofy dance move, rolling his hips.

"Yes, and you fancied each other for years and were both too wimpy to do anything about it! If it hadn't had been for my Halloween party, you never would have been off your face on vodka jelly and never would have had the balls to snog him!" Zara slurs her words, sloshing her drink around. "So y'welcome."

"Thank you Zara." You sigh, shaking your head and smiling. The Hills by The Weeknd starts to play, and Zara shrieks, gleefully clapping. "For fucks sake."

"The exact song you snogged him to!" She is absolutely wasted, gesturing to Wesley that she wants to dance with him. "Oi, Charlie, birthday girl wants a dance!" She darts off, dragging your friend Charlie away from the group of lads. Joe shoots you a shit eating grin, placing his empty glass down on the bar as he approaches you, taking your empty glass from you too.

"Don't even mention it," you glare at him, laughing, as he walks backwards onto the dance floor, dragging you by your hands, his sobriety well and truly gone as he wiggles his hips in time to the music. He pulls you close to him, placing his hands on your ass, much like that very night you first kissed him, actually. You wrap your arms around his neck. "Shut up."

"What was it you said to me? Something about wondering if your lipgloss actually tasted like cherries, or was it just a scam?" Joe teases, and you bury your head in his neck, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Shut uuuuup," you groan, grinning like a drunken fool as you pull away, your bodies grinding together on the dance floor. "You fell for it though!"

"Of course I did, babe, I fancied you for like 10 years!" Joe's also slurring his words. "Plus, the nurse costume was very sexy. Couldn't resist. Didn't taste like cherries though."

"Well, Quinn, wanna tell me if my lipgloss tonight tastes like peach? Or is it another scam?" You flirt, looking up at him through your lashes, grinding your hips against his to the beat. He groans, his head tilting back slightly before he leans down to kiss you. It starts out as soft, but as the chorus kicks in, Joe's tongue slips into your mouth and you moan. He smirks, knowing nobody else can hear you over the thumping bass of the song.

You kiss him, slow and dirty, the alcohol in both of your systems making you feel dizzy and giddy, almost as if you were drunk off of each other. He pulls away, his lips shining with your gloss. He licks his lips. "Definitely not peach. Guess you'll just have to keep getting me to taste all these flavoured lipglosses until we find a good one." He flirts, grinding his crotch against yours and you shiver feeling the slight bulge that was starting to form there. You pull him in for another kiss, nibbling at his full bottom lip. He groans, hand coming down to squeeze your ass.

"I've got something else you can taste." You grin and he laughs, shocked by your boldness. "Wanna go home?"

"I've wanted to go home before we even left," Joe chuckles. That was true; as soon as he'd seen your outfit for the night he'd almost managed to convince you to stay in and not leave your bedroom all night, but you'd been firm, insisting you couldn't miss your friend's birthday as it was such a bloody ballache to arrange in the first place.

You grinned, dragging Zara off of Charlie for 2 seconds to let her know you were leaving. She makes a crude shagging joke before giving you and Joe a hug, promising you she will meet up with you next week for lunch, and wishing Joe good luck for the weekend.

You and Joe stumble out into the night air, London feeling especially sticky on this July evening. It's like you're bloody teenagers again, unable to take your hands off of each other. Joe spots a secluded alleyway and grins. You follow his eyeline.

Oh.

This is a bad idea, but oh.

He doesn't even wait for you to acknowledge it, before dragging you down the dimly lit alley, shoving you against the wall and kissing you once more, hiking your leg up around his waist, his hand clutching your bum cheek. Your arms are once again around his neck, and you use the angle he had you at to grind against him once more.

"Joe," you gasp as his mouth leaves yours and travels down to your neck, licking and sucking at your pulse point. His hand that wasn't holding you up manages to find its way into your jeans, and he strokes your clit through your underwear, making you shiver.

"Mm, you're so wet. Did I do this to you, baby? Is this all for me?" He teases you, his mouth still on your neck. "Does doing this in public really turn you on that much?"

"You turn me on that much," you whisper, mirroring his actions and palming his cock through his jeans. "This all for me?"

"Always been f'you." Joe brushes his nose against yours, removing his hand from your pants and sucking the finger that had been touching you into his mouth.

*

After managing to get back home without throwing him down on the path and riding him, you'd finally gotten Joe right where you wanted him - naked, and on top of you. Although he wasn't inside you yet, the two of you just laid there, holding each other, kissing, running your hands over each other's bodies.

Joe was teasing you though, every so often nudging the head of his cock into your pussy and then pulling back, chuckling when you whined and tried to wrap your legs around him to hold him in place.

"Something you want, baby?"

"Joe, please!" You whimper, trying to keep your voice down. You had neighbours after all. He reaches inbetween you and rubs slow circles on your clit, making your back arch.

"Oh no, baby, don't hide those pretty noises from me. You know I wanna hear you."

"Joe, babe, I can't! Everyone in the building will hear!" You hiss, but a moan escapes you as he suddenly pushes his entire length into you, taking you by surprise. "Oh god, Joe!"

"That's right, beautiful. Say my name." Joe growls, dragging his cock out and placing a pillow under your hips. He slides back in, the new angle making you cry out sharply. "Sod the building, I'm gonna fuck you so good the whole damn neighbourhood will know my name by the time I'm done with you."

You mewl, finger nails digging into his back. He hitches your legs up over his shoulders, holding on to your thighs for leverage.

Every single stroke of his cock hits your g-spot, and with a few swipes of his fingers over your clit, Joe has you cumming around his cock, screaming his name, the alcohol and the pure ecstasy coursing through your veins had you throwing all fucks out of the window, so to speak. Something about drunk sex just made everything feel so much more raw, so primal.

Joe lets you ride out your high, before flipping you over on to your stomach, the pillow still under your hips, arching your back.

"Fuck," he grunts as he slides back into you again, his hands gripping your hip bones as you scramble to get a hold of the sheets beneath you.

"Oh god, oh, Joe!"

"Louder." He hisses, a sharp slap landing on your ass.

"Joe! Joe! Fuck, yes, Joe!" You're practically sobbing with pleasure now, every single nerve ending on fire as he splits you apart on his cock. Before you realise it, you're cumming again. "Joe, oh my god, I'm cumming! Cum inside me, Joe, fuck, give it to me!"

"Shit, yeah, Y/N, gonna make me cum so hard-fuck, fuck, fuck!"

With a particularly loud moan, Joe pushes his cock inside you as deep as he can, his dick twitching as it spurts rope after rope of cum deep inside you. He pants; it must have been a strong one, your name leaving his lips like a prayer. When he's done, he rolls off you, flopping down onto the bed.

"I think we owe the neighbourhood an apology." You giggle, your face flushing with embarrassment at how loud you'd been.

"When you sound like that babe, they owe me a thank you." Joe grins, and you pull him into another sloppy kiss.

[vasiktomis]

TripAdvisor's Top 10 Things To Do In Volterra, Tuscany (18+)

Part 1 | Next Part

Pairing: Aro/F!Reader(No use of y/n). Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~3000. Warnings: Pretty tame beginnings tbh but future warnings for Stalking, Toxic relationships and power imbalances, Blood and gore, Devious little fruity men, and Reader-insert being a terrible enough person that it sort of balances it all out?? Idk. Yes there will be weird vampire sex. Read it on Ao3 Here!

__________________________________

It’s in early Summer that you meet him for the first time. 

One sentence typed and re-written with two pages to fill and three proseccos nursed over some amount of hours. A hot afternoon is well on its way to becoming a balmy night, and daytime family shoppers along the tight, sloping roads in Volterra have condensed into young adults seeking whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of rolling hills and old brick- oh, that’s not a bad line.

Rapping the enter key, you make room for the statement. 

Whatever might come close to resembling nightlife amidst alfresco dining areas and tall views of-

A pang of revulsion hits.

Fuck it. It’s shit. 

You slam on the backspace, offsetting just a little of the temptation to hurl your laptop over the retaining wall and onto the road below. 

“Top-up?”

Panic jolts down your spine at the black suit of a hospitality worker in your periphery. You haven’t bought anything since the sun was up. Not since the first prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the second prosecco, and the complimentary bread basket, and the third prosecco, and the humiliating explanation that a family-run business simply cannot keep giving you any more of Nonna’s war-time era bread baskets.

It’s not your fault that no one’s come along to pick up the tab of a pretty tourist tonight. Alcohol’s usually pretty cheap when some cashed-up slob in linen intends to use it to leverage against you later in the night. It’s getting ridiculous out here. It’s been hours, and not only have you gotten a solid zero words into your article — you’ve been squatting here with the nicest view in Volterra for long enough that you fear the staff and your fellow patrons have begun to make assumptions about you. 

You have no money left.

They can’t know you have no money left.

You offer up a smile. “Just water, please.”

You’re met with a pained reflection of the look. Maybe yours is just as sad. They leave with a hurried nod, too busy serving every other table to have time to bother with your bullshit. Maybe you should just order something. Drop a precious thirty on a four-ingredient carbonara that’ll either have you hungry again in an hour or shitting your guts out for the next twenty-four. Wasteful spending, either way. There’s only a few hundred euros left, and you can’t afford to keep doing this.

Rolling hills. Just write something about rolling fucking hills and go back to the airbnb. 

Your fingers poise over the keyboard. 

“Mi scusi—“

“Just water’s fine.” You nearly snap. 

“Oh, you speak English.”

Another black suit in your periphery. Another wave of shame. You look up again, and the well-pressed suit standing before you smiles a mildly manic, overly familiar smile. “Good evening. I’m dreadfully sorry to ask, but would you mind moving on?”

He’s exceptionally pale, you observe. Perfect teeth. Wonderful hair that reminds you of some kind of animal.  

Your brow furrows. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes. That’s fine. No harm done.” The man’s already turned away from you, clicking at the boy who had yet to fetch your water. “Un'altra sedia. Per favore-“

“I’m not done sitting here.” You say.

That smile on his face strains. Just a little. 

“Well, you see,” He offers, “I like to sit here — as well as my company, and you’ve been here for—“ the smile tightens further, and you rejoice in your judgement. He feels entitled to this spot. This is his seat you’re in. 

He’s just as much of a dick about this as you are. 

“Four hours — and this is an exceptional spot to view the end of the sunset at this time of year.”

What a fucking prick. What sweet vindication. 

“Yeah.” You agree, not budging. “It seems like it.”

“Is she gone, yet?” 

Another suit approaches. This time blonde. Younger. Early-twenties perhaps, as opposed to your original assailant’s early-forties. There’s a scowl fixed to his face, exacerbated by a scoff when his gaze finds you still seated. 

 You don’t even give him the time of day, turning back to the brunette. “I’m working. You’re distracting me. I might’ve been gone already if you weren’t bothering me.”

“Oh please.” He lets out a breath of laughter. “You haven’t made a keystroke in over twenty minutes.”

“It’s called incubating.”

“A charming term for a nothing activity. Please move.”

“No.”

“You’re drawing attention.” Now it’s a hiss. 

“Good. Let me finish my article.”

Maybe if you act distressed enough, you’ll get a free pity meal.

“God.” The blonde snarls, snapping his attention behind him, to where a small pod of similarly dressed, similarly toneless people have arrived. “Forget it, Aro. We’re missing it.”

The brunette’s head whips around, as does yours, to catch the last sliver of sun disappearing behind the hills, only the reddest of remnants remaining of its aura on the horizon. Your argument carried you through the entirety of a sunset, and the man — Aro — purses his lips into that same tight smile. Over his shoulder, the blonde retreats, muttering under his breath and merging with the herd.

Seemingly victorious, your fingers hover over the keyboard again, and Aro leans down, not quite in your space. Just close enough for you to find yourself captivated by those filed-straight teeth again.

“A word to the wise —“ He says, tone hushed, pressing a hand to the table. Fingers inches from yours. “That was the Summer solstice drawing to a close, and you made us miss it-“

“I think you took care of that one yourself, actually."

He leans closer. “You’ve drawn enough eyes to protect yourself until the locals forget this, but some of us — my friend Caius, especially — are very fond of our evening routine; and some of us can hold a grudge. You’d do well to move on before the week’s end.”

You’d be happy to punch him if you weren’t thinking so hard about that free meal, so instead, you opt to flash a smile of your own. “You’d do well to eat my ass.”

There’s a pause. A tick of his brow. A tiny twitch at a corner of his mouth. Filmy eyes bore into yours, flickering minutely to your throat.

“Buonanotte. Do try to become at least conversational in Italian.” Aro’s gaze flits to the bare centimetres between your hands. He makes a point to withdraw it across the table, slowly. Like it would simply be beneath him to touch you. “What’s the saying? When in Rome?”

Then, he’s turning. Taking his leave. Shrouded in black cloth the moment he passes into his crowd of gothic friends.

Your gaze lingers on the retreating group. A subtle glance is afforded in your direction from one of the men in his company. Tall. Far too solemn for such an exciting night. 

A young man at a neighbouring table leans over to you, and you’ve spent so long looking at milky white faces at you’re nearly blinded by the hue of his sunburned face. “Ravers.” He comments. American. “Don’t mind ‘em. Probably gonna go take horse tranqs in some warehouse.”

Horse. That’s what you were trying to think of. His hair reminded you of a horse. 

“I am sorry for the commotion.” The hospitality worker returns. A glass of tap water is set down before you. “Could I offer you dinner on the house?”

…

Victory. 

You crack a grin up at your server. “Hey, what’s buonanotte mean?”

__________________________________

For such a compact place, you do not run into Aro again. Nor any of the grimly dressed people that had been in his company. 

Over the weeks spanning your stay, tourists come and go, but many of the faces in Volterra remain the same. Permanent residents remain static and likely have been so for generations. Mornings, recently, have held you in increasingly high regard; your refusal to leave their cramped community with each new brief wave of visitors bringing familiarity usually only reserved for years-old neighbours. Now you're no less annoying than a particularly entitled local.

None of whom, curiously, show any traits of albinism. Funny, considering you’d had a run in with at least half a dozen in a single night. 

“Are you now living here?” A busboy asks in the evening, passing your table (god, you love claiming that) on his way to clean another. You like this one. He’s gotten into a habit of sneaking an extra biscotti onto your saucer when you order. “How is your article?”

“It’s…” The look on your face tells enough to warrant a laugh.

“I have a cousin in Florence. Single.” He explains. “He would take one look at you and fall in love. You can marry him. Take his money. His car? Three wheels. Loser. You can do what ever you want if you marry him.”

“I’ll think about it.” You assure him, turning back to your laptop.

Huh.

Odd.

There’s a smear of black in your periphery again. 

That hasn’t happened since-

Your gaze snaps upward, meeting the eye of the rude bastard who’d made a martyr of you in front of the restaurant. Same phoney smile still plastered on his face. Something surges in your chest — fight instinct activating, readying you rip out a hunk of his hair should the situation call for it. 

You open your mouth. Preparing a scathing slew of words.

“Oh, hi.”

Aro — you recall — doesn’t reply. Not until he plucks a chair from a nearby table and sets it down across from you. At your table. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t apologise. He just sits and watches you with his pleasant expression and his milky eyes and his horse hair. His wake wafts old paper and lint; like community library, or a darkroom, or a basement. 

Your skin runs cold. Oh fuck, is he actually making good on that threat from the other night?

“Buona—“ A gesture is extended to you. 

“—sera?”

“Very good.” He affirms with a too-animated grin. Like you’re a toddler. Bit patronising. “Going native, are you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Caffè in the evening, just like the locals do it. And you’ve been here every night for the better part of three weeks. One might say you were squatting.”

He’s been watching you. 

He’s wearing an identical suit to the one he wore last you’d encountered him. 

He’s a weirdo. You should find another stranger to cling to. Pretend to go home with them to discourage him from following more of your routine—

“Funny. I haven’t seen you.” You reply, bluntly. 

A micro expression must give your thoughts away, because his eyebrows shoot up in mock-surprise. “Oh? Oh. My friends have mentioned seeing you. I hope you don’t mind — we tend to keep an eye out for people who cross our paths. Small circles and what have you.” 

“That’s fair. You did threaten me last time we met.”

“Water under the bridge.” Aro dismisses. “Gossip gets around. People notice you staying.”

Your caution doesn’t dissipate. “Insular but curious?”

His smile widens. “Exactly! I’m Aro."

“I know. I heard one of your friends say it.” You reply, before giving your own name.

“I know.” Aro mirrors, and then fails to follow-up. Then, he moves to stand from his seat, pausing to consider something. “Care to walk with me?” 

“Give me a minute. I’m working.” 

An outright lie. You commit to typing gibberish for several minutes before closing the device and packing it away. All the while, he watches you like he’s watching a fish in a bowl.

“Upfront?” You say, standing, and he follows suit. “I carry a box cutter.”

“Wonderful.”

“Also, I choose where we go.”

He tips steepled fingers in a mockery of a bow. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Cramped as the little city may be, it’s surprisingly much harder to navigate when you’re trying to remain in the most well-lit spots. Conversation speeds up and slows with your meandering and Aro’s occasional interjection, all the while keeping a good bit of distance between you while you walk. His hands remain clasped in front of him, where you can see them. Making a show that he means you no harm. 

He probably won’t murder you tonight, you decide. 

You learn that he’s quite fond of history. That his friends are much the same. Even the ones that are very clearly children have a passion for preserving the arts and maintaining what Aro defines as ’cultural customs’.

It all sounds vague enough to be a little fucking hinky, but there’s a degree of relief that washes over you when Aro assures you they’re not funded by the Catholic church. 

He’s also a bit pretty, and you’re humble enough to admit that your brain goes smooth when you’re confronted with pretty. 

“So what is it you’ve been trying to write all week?” He eventually asks, gaze flickering to the laptop folded under your arms.

“That’s the issue.” You admit. “I haven’t really found my muse.”

“You just write about anything?” He presses.

You snort. “Wouldn’t that be nice. Right now I’m giving travel writing a whirl. Saved up a while after I finished my degree, but the longer I’m out here, the more I’m starting to realise student loans can’t really be paid off in stories.”

“Is it the stories upsetting you?” Aro frowns. “Or the loans?”

“It’s kind of fucking hard to feel inspired when all you’ve got in savings is the plane ticket home.”

“That explains all those free meals you’ve been charming everyone into.”

The heat returns to your face. He’s really been keeping an eye on you.

“Yeah — I’ve, uh—“ You keep your gaze front and centre on the road. “Sort of run out of money.”

Aro considers that for a moment. His steps slow. Then stop.

“Then, would you like a job?” He asks. 

Your brow furrows, thoughts already flicking through every possible trafficking scenario and how to stage a rebuttal, and his hand raises in defence just as you open your mouth. “You would be working with a few young friends of mine.”

You think about that. “Oh, yeah. Very…varied sense of fashion.”

“Heidi’s dress sense is the most modern of us, I assure you. She leads our public outreach, but she’s a single point of contact.” Aro explains, trailing off into thoughtful contemplation. “I like to pride myself on the diversity of our group, but things don’t move as slowly as they once did, and the internet is becoming too big a sandbox for just one voice to be heard so much lately. Perhaps you could lend a hand.”

All of Aro’s words up until that pitch have sounded pretty organic in comparison. That whole thing was rehearsed, for certain. 

“I don’t buy it.”

“Would you, if you had an allowance?”

”Well, yeah. That’s sort of what a job is.” You frown. For an apparently wealthy man, he's not great with employment terminology.

“You’d be compensated more than fairly.” He persists. “Most of us are volunteers, but if it helps put food on our tables, I’d be curious to see how successful you might be.”

He’s got you by the balls with this whole money thing, you won’t lie. It makes it hard to say no.

“What do you and those other two do, then?” You ask, referring to the men he had stuck to his side on your last meeting. Scraping through whatever you can amidst the glamour of his offer just to find something to poke holes in.

“We boss everyone around.”

Once it’s adequately clear that you’re not amused, Aro pivots, resuming his pace. “Marcus is in charge of relations. Caius keeps everyone in line, and I oversee the structure of everything we do.” He expands. “I do a lot of travelling. Talent scouting, recruitment. We’re globally spread. It’s…busy work, keeping track of everyone.”

“Sounds like you don’t have middle management.” You comment. “Why not hire me for that?”

That earns you a chuckle.

”It’s not perfect, but it’s preferable that olive branches are extended personally.”

”So you’re middle management.”

“In less grand terms, you could say I’m intuitive.” Aro explains, lingering for you for fall back into step. When you stop again, he does too. “I’m quite good at reading people.”

“An empath, are we?” You ask drily, turning your attention over the retaining wall at blackened country hills.

He doesn’t pick up on it. “How kind of you to say. No —“ He extends a well-manicured hand to you, keeping respectable distance. Just enough to demonstrate that this is an offer. Not an order. 

He’d look like kind of a jerk if you left him hanging, so you relent and offer your own.

“If I touch you, I can see your thoughts.”

Your hand stops just short of his, pulling away just as he reaches for you. “Sorry. I’m not into the whole street art thing.”

“Not to worry.” Aro assures, outstretching his fingers until the tendons flex over his knuckles. “I’d never commit such an act without your consent.”

“Yeah. I already fell for a a bracelet scam in Barcelona.” You insist. “Once bitten, twice shy. Maybe another time.”

Aro observes you for a long moment. He’s been doing a lot of that, tonight. 

“Perhaps another time.” He agrees, and the beat he takes doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s not used to being denied.

“You’re not rescinding the job offer for that, are you?” You frown.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re friends now.” Aro replies. “Besides; if anything, if you’re sitting in my office I won’t have to worry about you taking my favourite seat outside.”

You squint at him. Unblinking. He only gives you patience in return.

“I’ll get you in contact with one of my colleagues, and one day, you’ll let me perform my party trick for you. Sound agreement?”

It’s all just a little too good to be true, and a little too weird to be charming. You attempt a sympathetic look, but it feels more like an outright wince. “I’m sorry, it’s gonna have to be a no.”

Aro’s lips purse. His fingers lock together at his front, knuckles pressing while he thinks. 

Then, he regards you with a split-second point of his finger. A final bid.

”I’ll pay for your dinner tonight.”

…

Sold.

[gatheringbones]

genuine question: how do you stand the loneliness? i'm in my mid 20s and ive never been loved in a way that didnt hurt. i dont want to have to run after ppl begging for the smallest scrap of affection anymore but i keep turning up ppl who, even though they are interested in me and seem generally decent, arent ready to lower their walls and let me in, so its either that or nothing, and im so fucking lonely. i try to bury myself in work and going out as much as i can, but sometimes it hits me, and i dont know how to stand it anymore. i just want to be able to be kind to someone and treat them with all the love and affection i have, and not have to guard myself at the same time or be afraid of them or feel like i can never be sure with them. i think you've been lonely like that for a long time, too, and i dont have anyone who understands. i know the only advice you can give is probably "endure and continue to have self respect", but i dont know how to do that without also becoming small, and sad, and worn out from all the loneliness. if there's anything you can think of that helped you get through it, please tell me--i dont want to burden or overwhelm you, but i dont know what to do anymore, and like i said, you seem like you've survived a couple of those sorts of droughts and i dont have anyone else to talk to about this

so on those first few early dates with c when she was either driving an hour up north or I was taking the bus two hours down to see her, I was so rattled by the experience of building intimacy with someone else that I couldn’t really think of what we ought to do with each other on our dates. In the end I decided: we would just do what I ordinarily did to build intimacy with myself, which meant taking lots of long walks all over residential seattle. and I’d been living there for over ten years at that point, getting around either by walking or by bus. before that I’d lived in the sticks. before that I’d lived in the part of the sticks that wasn’t connected to the power grid. my earliest memories are long lonely walks. long lonely walks were my primary coping mechanism for debilitating post traumatic stress and survivor’s guilt. and with c it was wild because. it was exactly like going on these walks with myself, only I was more of myself and these walks were more of what they were. what’s more the internal map of the city I had built in my feet over a decade was suddenly of use. all of the time and neurons I had put into building it were relevant to the present situation.

i packed a backpack once. water and a cheeseboard with a little cheese knife and a can of prosecco and a can of kirin for c and lots of little cheeses and salamis and fruits and veggies and chocolate almonds. And I took c on a long meandering walk that I knew from memory; fremont to the crown hill cemetery to the stairs leading down to golden gardens to the beach at sunset. all places I’d been by myself and taken my friends to before. places I’d taken myself to after packing myself a snack and bringing my journal and quite literally staring across the water at a home that would kill me if I ever returned to it. all that time mattered. the time I had spent in that place making those friendships and mourning that life and building that intimacy with myself and the city mattered.

All the years before— giving, giving, gifts to those who could not care, would not give back. How well we made a feast together. Those years of waste were over.

[adamlouisvanlandingham]

We have a collection of whiskey wine and quality cigars such as Weller, Pappy,Staggir, George T Stagg,E.H Taylor, Jack Daniel,Blanton's, Seagram's 7 Crown,Evan Williams, Southern Comfort, Black Velvet,Kentucky Owl,Henry McKenna,Macallan,Crown Royal,Jameson,etc, Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec, Merlot, Pinot noir, Shiraz, Grenache,Rioja, Blossom Hill, Champagne,Echo falls, Mionetto prosecco doc treviso brut nv, Prosecco, Cabernet Franc, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Chianti, Dom Pérignon, Heppington chardonnay, Tempranillo, Yellow Tail.

and Bolivian cigar , Cohiba Cigar, Fuentes Fuentes OpusX , Arturo Fuentes,David off,Padrón,Liga Privada,Romeo y Juliette,My father, Rocky Patel.

https://t.me/tastywhiskieswinesandcigars

cigar cigars cigarlife cigaraficionado cigarporn botl cigarsociety cigaroftheday cigarlover cigarsmoker cigarlifestyle sotl cigarworld cigarsnob smoke cigarphotography habanos cigarsofinstagram cigarboss tobacco smoking cigarculture cigarians nowsmoking cigartime cigarlounge cohiba whiskey cigarsmoking cigarnation united states germany canada australia newzealand finland Switzerland Spain Belgium Europe netherlands finland united kingdom luxembourg bahrain italy whiskey whisky bourbon scotch whiskeygram cocktails singlemalt vodka drinks whiskylover beer bourbonwhiskey whiskeylover whiskygram bar bourbongram whiskyporn gin scotchwhisky alcohol rum wine cheers whiskeyporn cigar liquor jackdaniels tequila cocktail drink

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

2023 Christmas rundown

We are back home now after a week away at my parents in the Lake District for Christmas. I can say it has been 100% genuinely lovely. The circumstances are not all great - my dad is in the middle of chemotherapy and despite being very stoical, is definitely being affected by pain and side effects, and my mum is clearly worried about everything. Despite that, we managed to keep up with all our traditional Christmas activities. Having no small children with us meant that we really could just relax and rest together.

On Christmas Eve, we traditionally go to the pantomime in the morning and then to my sister’s for a meal and general drinking and merriment in the evening. H hates the panto as he’s always terrified he’ll get pulled up on stage, so he stayed at home with my dad, but the girls and I, my mum, my sister, hubby and two nephews all went. Then we all went out in the evening.

Christmas Day started with a 9am parkrun for some of us, then home for croissants and Buck’s Fizz. We did some present opening - we are that family that go round opening one gift at a time and admiring each others so it takes a while. We had to break off for Christmas dinner prep - we had the traditional enormous roast turkey with all the trimmings and 7 different vegetables. It was incredible. My sister and family came round for the Christmas dinner and then we did some more present opening. We all took Prosecco induced naps about 7pm and woke revitalised and played a board game called Cascadia.

Boxing Day we always go for a walk up our local hill and then come home and sit in front of the fire for the rest of the day.

Over the next few days, I basically did my knitting, completed a jigsaw, went for a couple of runs, and read my book. One evening we watched an Agatha Christie two part TV programme, Murder is Easy. It was all so relaxing and easy. I’d bought the Lego tiny plants set, and we spent an hour or so all making a plant each. Even my dad joined in which I hadn’t expected, as his fingers are very clumsy these days, but he was determined to get a plant built, and he did. My dad is more child-like and gentle in this phase of life and I feel relaxed around him and even protective of him. I’m so thankful for talking through all the painful stuff over the years in therapy, because it doesn’t feel like it’s tripping me up now.

Having no children in foster placement with us made it so restful - one of the very few Christmases over the last 21 years with no small children (our own or our foster children). I’m so glad we have taken this time for a fostering break.

[jazzynook]

Wanderlust: road trip stopover in Tennessee

Me and Paige kicked off our Dirty South road trip with a stay at The Hopestead, a historic bed & breakfast that felt like a hidden gem. Nestled deep in the Tennessee woods, about 90 minutes from Nashville, this charming place sprawls over 47 acres of rolling hills. We arrived late in the evening, the sky draped in a starry blanket, and were greeted by the cutest welcoming committee—two delightful dogs, a pair of darling cats, and a playful litter of kittens.

Vanessa and Michael, our warm-hearted hosts, welcomed us and despite our late arrival, they gave us a cozy tour of the house. We spent the rest of the evening lounging on the backyard deck with a glass of prosecco while our new feline friends weaved around our legs and even nibbled on my toes 😅 The starry sky offered a breathtaking glimpse of the Milky Way.

The next morning, the heat of the sultry air and thick humidity greeted me like an old uncle with a slap on the back. Before breakfast was served, I perched on the porch's rocking chair, and listened to the sound of the cicadas. I meandered through the farmhouse's grounds, where horses nibbled at the dewy grass and when I walked back inside the house, I was so charmed by the vintage tunes Vanessa played while cooking. Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me,” filled the entire first floor with a nostalgic warmth.

At breakfast, we shared stories with Michael and Vanessa, learning about their journey of restoring the house and their new life as empty nesters. They also recommended we attend a live radio show at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, and I've added it to the list for next time! Of course I couldn't visit Nashville for the first time and not visit the National Museum of African American Music. But more on that later…

After savoring Vanessa's homemade breakfast, I nestled under the generous shade of the lush magnolia tree to call my mom and share our safe arrival at this peaceful haven I was grateful to have found.

Our furry friends continued to shower us with affection and charmed us from our arrival to our final morning, though they seemed less enamored with the couple who arrived the day after us 🤷🏾‍♀️

The Hopestead, with its blend of comfort, nature, and warm hospitality, left an unforgettable mark on our hearts.

c. August 2024

[galina]

Remember a month ago, when we were stood on the steps of the town hall in Marylebone together, throwing confetti and enjoying the shelter of a surprise big red bus. When we collectively put on a rainbow array of snappy suits, fabulous fits, dreamy dresses, and dazzled the city commuters around us. Remember when you choked up in the ceremony and it broke all of our friends who just were trying to hold it together. I heard a single tissue had to be split across a whole row as a life raft. And Jem reading the poem they had written for us which made me start up all over again. And ending out going down the pub like any old day. 

Remember your smile and you holding your hand up with an imaginary camera, mouthing ‘remember this one’.

Remember when we took the party cross-country and shared around tiny bottles of prosecco and Tunnock’s on the train as it sped past fields and hills and towns and god knows what else. When we took the unremarkable small town chain hotel by storm in our numbers (“there are a lot of you” the receptionist said to us when we checked in). 

When we basked in candlelight and that gorgeous string trio. And the photo booth that took a photo just a few seconds after you thought it had and made the funniest candids. Smudged lipstick and a warm arm around you.

Oh – who could forget that moment with the brass band, and how we partied into the early hours. How family and friends and strangers came together and had the best night ever (quickly followed by the best hangover ever). And breakfast the next morning, and the hair of the dog, and seeing our town the day after: for us, it really seemed like it might be a little brighter than usual, a little more air in the air, a little more sun in the sun. And I saw sugar cubes everywhere. 

For weeks we’ve been unable to stop reminiscing about what was undoubtedly one of the most fun and love-filled weekends we’ve had in our lives. Remembering and laughing with friends about all the shining, unreal, wonderful moments, I feel so happy and lucky to still be here when in the past I never imagined any of this kind of love. Just had to dump it all out here, sincere and lovesick as it is. 

[ayliamc]

Italia

Day 3 - Lemons: on the coast!

Steps walked: 11,682

Flights climbed: 4

Vehicles ridden: 3

Points of interest visited: 1

Lemons spotted: mostly ceramic and embroidered

We woke up and made ourselves breakfast with the rolls and fruit and jam available at our hotel (along with some vegan cheese we bought yesterday). Then we had an hour to kill before walking to Carol’s* hotel and meeting up with her and her group to take cars to Positano. So we napped.

A little before 11, we joined Carol et al aboard taxis that took us on the 45 minute drive. As soon as I sat down, facing the back, in the center of the car, I knew I was going to feel sick. So as rude as it likely made me seem to those I was facing, I focused on nothing but breathing as we wound through narrow coastal roads, slowing and accelerating with each bend.

A note here on Italian drivers: they have all the audacity of an overconfident Atlanta driver but with actual skill. Regardless of the size of the road or the size of the vehicle, they will weave in and out of pedestrians, traffic, and buildings and I have yet to witness an accident. All the while, they’ll be tailgating you or passing you and in true Hannibal Lector style, their heart rate never seems to exceed 60. I see nothing but relaxed and passive faces despite the aggressiveness of their maneuvering.

Positano is a city on the Amalfi coast with expensive shops lining the street which serves as both a sidewalk and road for drivers. Every other shop features lemon embroidered linen clothes, lemon ceramic sculptures, or limoncello.

I resisted! Aided in part by the cost of anything of interest.

We had some beautiful views and got some lunch at a pizza place where I had a marinara “pizza”, and in an attempt to make it more than just dough and marinara sauce, I added cherry tomatoes. It was fine. We meandered up and down the hill, dodging cars and Vespas and other tourists, got a nice view, but were otherwise pretty much done with Positano a couple hours before our car came back to pick us up. We got smoothies at a cafe to kill time and chatted with Carol before I braced myself for the drive back to Sorrento. I was successful in not being sick both times, but felt like shit for the duration of the trips.

In Sorrento we took a cab into the city square and ate at a big tourist friendly restaurant that had a vegan menu. They gave us complimentary helpings of Prosecco while we waited for a table to be ready for us, Dan and I happily ordered a pesto fusilli with tofu dish, and they also brought us small tastings of what I think was a cherry amaretto that went down very easily.

We had a great time, but Dan and I were ready for an early night because we have a long day ahead of us. So we walked the half hour trip back to our hotel and turned in.

*Carol is Dan’s mom, my mother in law. I was brutally scolded for not including that information earlier for anyone who may not know.

[distopea]

Strawberry, wine glass, 8 ball for Gabe for shipping meme

@technobratx

shipping meme ooc (let’s say I don’t accept anymore, I have waaay too many to honor)

🍓 – Does your muse find any foods particularly sexy or romantic? Do they have any known aphrodisiacs that get them in the mood? Are they into food-play?

No really, or particularly. Gabriele wouldn’t be sensitive to someone eating a bowl of pasta right in front of his nose while playing with the slurping sound, he doesn’t associate these two elements together. He wouldn’t be shattered to see whipped cream suddenly displayed at the corner of someone’s mouth, even less being aroused if they suddenly decide to oddly eat bananas to turn him on. 

What he can find appealing though... is the mood around the meal. An attitude while eating the food, the settings, a deep conversation, knees bumping under the tables, brushing, the flirting coming with it... Then, it’s another game, but not quite linked to the food itself but rather the moment. 

He’s not into food play. He likes it dirty, but not that kind of dirty. 

🍷 – Describe an ideal date for your muse.

A motorcycle ride by the Riviera of Sicilia, under the song of the cicadas, the sunset reflecting on the water. He would take his date to the upper hills to have a perfect view on the Mediterranean sea, with a bottle of old age Prosecco and antipasti, chatting, arguing, flirting, kissing and undressing, until the two of them would forget that they either want to eat or to drink. 

But that was his ideal date when he was twenty or so. A ridiculous old dream from a Sicilian boy who thought that life would be easy and bloodless. Now, he doesn’t date really often nor think about it. 

🎱 – Does your muse believe in serendipity or fate, when it comes to relationships and love? Do they have good or bad luck in relationships? What have they done to try to turn bad luck around?

He doesn’t believe that he brings either luck or bad luck in his relationships, he just thinks that he doesn’t work well with them and avoids them. Gabriele thinks that some people are naturally good at human relationships, it’s a talent that is often unseen or denied. Some people will always have the right words or the correct settings to prevail hurtful situations, and some well, they just don’t and it’s definitely his case. 

Gabriele is rough, brutal in his words, snapping, judgmental but also passionate, loyal AND unfortunately, possessive. His emotions are bottled up but popping out when they are not supposed to. He has a good grip on himself, but intimacy might be dangerous and he doesn’t like to lose his facade. He only trusts in his ability to eventually push himself away from a relationship rather than dwelling in something he finds too complicated. 

[alessandro-accebbi]

Prosecco hills, RUA DI FELETTO, Conegliano, Treviso, Italy 🇮🇹 🍾 🥂

Photo by Francesco Galifi

[alwayswonderingandwandering]

vineyard

[urbancycling-it]

Domani seconda edizione di NOVA Eroica Prosecco Hills. Partenza e arrivo a Susegana (TV) nella tenuta Borgoluce.

@novaeroica #gravel

[furlantravelfashionblogger]

Tra dolci colline e immersa nel verde di Col San Martino: è la deliziosa Chiesa di San Vigilio in provincia di Treviso. ⛪

Con la sua torre campanaria, la Chiesa domina dall’alto il paesaggio delle Colline del Prosecco. È possibile raggiungerla tramite un percorso molto semplice, adatto a tutti, tra i vigneti immersi in una tranquilla atmosfera.

Among rolling hills and immersed in the greenery of Col San Martino, you'll find the lovely Church of San Vigilio in the province of Treviso. ⛪

With its bell tower, the Church dominates the landscape of the Prosecco Hills from above. It can be reached via a very simple route, suitable for everyone, among the peaceful atmosphere of the vineyards.

📸By IG @angelo.bressan.61

http://ow.ly/Kxnq50Ml89b

📍Farra di Soligo | Treviso

#visitveneto

[michelleplayswithfire]

Jupiter restaurant hosts a winning 'Hell's Kitchen' four-course meal

Enjoy 'Hell's Kitchen' Season 9 winning four-course meal recreation and wine pairing

Eddie Ritz Palm Beach Post

If you love the drama and pressure of the show "Hell's Kitchen" and are curious to know just what a chef Gordon Ramsay-approved, season-winning meal tastes like, now is your chance.

"Hell's Kitchen" season 9 winner and The Jupiter Grill executive chef Paul Niedermann will be recreating his winning meal on Sept. 19 and 26 at the waterfront restaurant in Harbourside Place.

This four-course meal and wine pairing begins with olive oil-poached shrimp featuring jalapeño, red onion, roasted garlic, lemon, and fine herbs, paired with Maschio “Cavalieri” Prosecco from Valdobbiadene, Italy. Pan-roasted diver scallops with corn emulsion, picked bell pepper salad, and smoked paprika aioli are next and paired with a Grgich Hills Fume Blanc from Napa Valley, California. For the main, Beef Wellington will be served with Yukon potato purée, roasted carrots, and a sauce bordelaise, which will be enjoyed with E. Guigal, Crozes-Hermitage from France. Finish off the evening with a delectable banana polenta cake topped with dark chocolate ganache with honey roasted peanuts and vanilla bean gelato. This delicious, delicate dessert pairs perfectly with Jackson Triggs Vidal Icewine, “Reserve” from Niagara Peninsula, Canada.

Niedermann is excited to recreate the winning dish and to share it with guests at The Jupiter Grill. "Being on the show is a big draw and I want (diners) to experience what got me here," he said. “Diners will get to enjoy each course that I presented to judges during that fateful season and experience exactly what they did.”

The chance to sit down for the meal is a rare opportunity. The contest-winning meal isn't on the menu full time at The Jupiter Grill because "it's a pretty labor-intensive dish," but also because by only doing it once in a long while it keeps "the 'wow' factor" going.

Besides his "Hell's Kitchen" season nine-winning dish, Niedermann said he enjoys all varieties of food, but noted specifically that "I love a good bowl of pasta, a Sunday gravy." In addition to eating it, he loves taking pasta and getting wildly creative with it. "Making different flavors of pasta, like a saffron, vanilla pasta" is a passion, he said. That particular variety went well with seafood.

Though he's a classically-trained, contest-winning chef, who has worked at the Biltmore in Coral Gables and the Ritz Carlton in Fort Lauderdale, Niedermann said he's no food snob. "I love food from a Michelin Star dinner, to a hot dog cart outside Home Depot."

Niedermann said he doesn't keep in regular touch with Gordon Ramsay, but they will send the occasional email to each other.

Wondering what Ramsey is like in real life compared to his intimidating, on-air persona? Niedermann described him as "one of the nicest guys I've ever met" adding that the celebrity is "incredibly interested in other people."

Niedermann doesn't have another television appearance lined up and said, "if there was an opportunity I'd be interested, but it would have to really peak my interest."

Until then, the best way to get a glimpse into that world of competitive cuisine is to dine on a winning meal. Or at least head out to where a winning chef is behind the menu.

“We are much more than just a destination for fine dining. Exclusive events such as Chef Niedermann’s Hell’s Kitchen Final Meal illustrate our commitment to connecting with our community,” says Dave Magrogan, CEO/Founder of The Jupiter Grill. “We invite everyone to come visit us!”

Jupiter Grill hosts a winning "Hell's Kitchen" four-course meal

What: "Hell's Kitchen" Season 9 winning four-course meal recreation and wine pairing

Where: The Jupiter Grill, 149 Soundings Ave., Jupiter

When: 7 p.m. Thursday, Sept. 19 (sold out) and 26

Cost: $125, reservations required, seating limited

Information: thejupitergrill.com; 561-768-9582