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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

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you got a fetish for my love, i push you out and you come right back

summary: the softest man in the world is in love

warnings: nick is a warning. how dare he. smut. smoking (but we’re trying to get him to stop). some of that daddy shit bc ugh, that beard.

word count: around 5,320

pairing: nick vaughan x reader

a/n: let me tell you, it is weird writing nick one second, the softest, sweetest man, and then switching over to ransom, aka satan.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

The man with his back to you turned around, arching an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

You brought your hands up to your waist, looking as confident as you could possibly make yourself look. You didn’t have a mirror on you, but you would bet it wasn’t very convincing. “Um, second-hand smoke. Third-hand smoke. Not to mention what it could do to you.”

Moving closer, he took another brief drag. “And what’s that?”

You huffed. Really? You were going to reach way back into your 8th-grade health class memories for that. “Lung disease, it can cause cancer, like, everywhere, heart disease—”

“But you’re already taking care of my heart, angel.”

You fell silent at that, frowning.

He continued to close the gap between you. “What else?”

“It’s bad for your skin,” you asserted, tone firm despite how close he was getting. “Causes wrinkles.”

“That so?”

You nodded, refusing to step back as he stopped mere inches before you. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re my father.”

He smirked, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. Boots that were far too expensive to be stepping on cigarettes with. Hell, he shouldn’t even have been outside with them. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Your gaze moved off to the side and finally, you stepped away to create some distance. ‘You said you were going to stop, Nick.”

“I know, I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m being serious, okay? People die—”

He moved back in front of you and took your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze up to his. “I’m working on it.”

“If you really care about me, you’ll stop.”

“I’m gonna stop,” he promised. “Soon. Come on, don’t give me those eyes.”

He loved your eyes. He had to have told you about a hundred times by now, claimed he liked the innocence in them that never seemed to die out. No matter how many times he took you up to his hotel room and fucked you in every filthy way he could think of. Sure, it was pretty sick sometimes, but he always touched you so softly, whispered the sweetest things to you, and held you afterward.

Your eyes could make him do just about anything, he would often declare. Except, apparently, stop smoking.

“Come on, I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, pulling out of his hold. “You’re only sorry you got caught.”

“No, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“And don’t be sorry to just me, be sorry to yourself. I think you need healthy lungs for your music career, right?”

He lifted his eyebrows, still amused at how serious you were being. No one in New York took smoking seriously.

“Also, you ever stop and think about what would happen to me if you weren’t here?” That was a little on the sneaky side. You knew that there was the overall scenario of you being lonely, but he would soon start to think about how that would mean you would be with other people.

He scoffed, feigning calmness. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to, either.”

You didn’t need to hear it, you knew he could connect the dots. “You are forcing me to.”

“Angel, what’s all this about?” he wondered. “Why are you being such a brat?”

“I’m not being a brat,” you immediately protested. Even though you knew he didn’t mind, there was just something in you that twisted at the thought of being bratty. You were not trying to be argumentative even, you were just worried.

“You want daddy to spank you?”

You looked around with wide eyes. Not that anyone in New York had the time or interest to listen to anyone else’s conversations, but still, this was private. “Nick.”

He tsked. “Nick?”

You sighed, casting a look around. “There are too many people here.”

He chuckled. “No one’s listening, angel.”

“I’m not being bratty,” you muttered. “I’m just concerned about you. Since when is that a crime?”

He smiled, reaching his hand out for you. You didn’t waste any time nearly wrapping your entire body around his arm. “What do you want?”

You were not getting away this time, he was also in a mood. Evidently, since he usually spoiled you to the point of letting you get away with “misbehaving” if you apologized or feigned discomfort.

“Take me upstairs, daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper, but it thrilled him to no end that he’d managed to get you to call him that outside of the absolute comfort of the bedroom.

Nick liked you feeling safe with him. He’d never met a more trusting soul, someone almost naive. However, it had taken him a long fucking time to get that sincere trust from you. He picked up on the body language, the things you wouldn’t say. That was why he could give the date for the night you finally let him fuck you with the lights on, the night you finally stayed with him until morning, the night you finally gave him your number because he had convinced you to sneak away from your dad to meet him at the hotel and you had to get back home but you still wanted to talk to him. He could give the date for the first morning you woke up and put on one of his shirts, the morning you let him eat you out for the first time, the morning you let him fuck you against the hotel window.

He wrapped his arms around you and started to lead you inside. It had been almost a year now and you were obsessed with Nick. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he was kind and gentle, but also passionate and sometimes a little rough when he knew you wanted him to be. It was never mindless, hard fucking. Even when he made it hurt, he held you so close, so tight, his eyes would remain on yours the whole time. He would wipe away your tears and continue bucking his hips. He would whisper to you, coo at you, and make you fall apart until you were so exhausted you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

You were pretty sure you were in love with him. He would be the first. Sure, there was your first boyfriend who you had wanted to be your first for everything. He’d given you a promise ring and told you that he wanted to wait until you were his wife. That one didn’t end well. Your third boyfriend, you thought that one was real. You’d had sex with him, and then he completely disappeared. To this day, you had no idea where he was. But you knew now, those things you’d felt for them, they were so small, so weak. What you felt for Nick was consuming, you felt like every inch of you belonged to him, like you were made for him.

In the elevator, with an elderly couple, an older man, and a party of four younger women that looked like they were on their way to a club, Nick had his lips to your ear. “Angel, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re crying. You know I love those sounds you make and the look you give me when you just can’t take anymore. When your beautiful, little cunt is used and aching and dripping with my cum. But that’s only after I have you on the bed, wet, squirming, begging daddy to make you feel good.”

You felt like you were on fire. If anyone heard, you would be mortified, you would never be able to leave your house again. Things like this were supposed to be private, between the people who were doing it. Nick had the audacity to make some of it almost public. You would admit that there was the tiniest bit of thrill, but most of it was fear and panic.

He touched the side of your face and you startled a little, one of your hands coming up to settle over his forearm. “Jesus, you’re beautiful and so fucking…innocent.”

You were not innocent. You weren’t even sure what he meant by that. Ever. When he said it, you were confused each time.

“The thought of your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock, trying to take all you can because you’re so good to me, those eyes staring up at me…”

You swallowed thickly, eyes moving to the elevator buttons. How many more god damn floors were there? The elevator stopped again seconds later, and the elderly couple got out. Fewer people but you still didn’t feel any less nervous.

“Afterward, your sweet, tight pussy will be dripping. You know how wet you get after you suck my cock.”

Embarrassingly wet. He was fascinated the first time you’d done it, then he laid you out on the bed and when he made the discovery, he ate you out until you could barely remember what year it was.

“Then I’m gonna have you on top of me, angel. You’re so good at it, I swear you were made just to ride my cock. Remember what you were begging me for last time?”

You remembered and instantly felt your skin burning all over again.

“Maybe I’ll fuck your—”

The elevator stopped on your floor and you rushed out. The group of girls was also getting out, creating some time for you to get away from Nick and breathe. He was always intense, and he never stopped pushing you. You didn’t necessarily hate it. Really, you knew you liked it, but you could never admit that to him, his behavior would just get worse.

He found you with your back pressed against the door, waiting patiently for him. He’d been staying here for several months; he had the same room because he’d wanted to give you a key. For emergencies, he claimed. If you ever needed a place to get away, even if he wasn’t home. It had only happened a few times, he wouldn’t say a word when he would find you bundled up in his bed. He would just join you under the sheets and make you come several times, at least.

He set his hands on your hips and you looked up to him. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

You woke up that morning just knowing. You were in love with Nick and you were terrified. You didn’t want to be in love, not with him. With his music career taking off, he couldn’t want something serious. You figured this was just him wasting time. When he was an established name, he would go out and find himself a proper partner. It wasn’t you, this shy, small thing with no backbone, terrible parents, and no solid plans for your future.

But why ruin a good thing? You wanted to let it last while you could. You smiled at him and shook your head. “Nothing, really. I missed you.”

He smiled back. “I missed you, too.”

You didn’t live in New York with your father, but you had been visiting a lot more frequently. Your father was thrilled about it, thrilled enough not to want to question it. Your mother took it as an insult and didn’t ask a single question about why. It was honestly the perfect crime.

It had only been three weeks since you’d last been with Nick, you were allowing for less time to pass in between the nights you spent with him. You once went a month and a half, how unimaginable that felt—you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. You would go crazy without him being able to touch you for six weeks.

“You could stay,” he pointed out. “Here. With me.”

You scoffed. “No, I can’t.”

“You could apply to NYU, I’m sure you’ll get in. You could start building your life over here. If not with me, why not live with your dad?”

This was getting serious and you were worried this conversation would wreck everything. Nick thought he wanted something, but only because he was scared. You didn’t want to uproot your entire life for something fleeting.

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight,” you said quietly.

“Okay. But we will. Later.”

You nodded—a lie. You wouldn’t even be with him much longer. You had breakfast you’re your dad and then you would be on a flight back to your mother’s. “Yeah.”

Smiling, he asked, “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

You shrugged. “I don’t want to talk.”

He hummed. “No? You don’t have more scolding to do?”

“I can wait,” you teased. Your eyes flit to either side just to make sure no one was around. “But right now, I just want you to touch me.”

He bent down just slightly to pick you up by your thighs. You eagerly wrapped yourself around him and pressed your lips to his, kissing him like it’d been years.

He struggled to open the door, but you didn’t seem to mind that you could get caught at any moment, you seemed completely distracted by him. That was his goal, make your time here so good that eventually, you just wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Finally, he managed to get you inside the room. You had it all memorized, even with your eyes closed you knew exactly where he always was. He was leading you down the hallway, past the kitchen and the living area, to the door at the end of the walkway. Past the bathroom, past the dresser full of sheet music and records.

He laid you out on the bed delicately, pulling away so he could stare at you. You moved to pull your skirt up, but he caught your hands in his. “Not yet.”

He started at your feet. He pulled off your shoes and began kissing your calves, a touch that felt so distant through your tights.

You whined. “Daddy.”

“You’re going to be patient, angel.”

And that was that. You never argued with him, rarely disobeyed. You were perfect, you were good. You were, as he so fondly called you, an angel that did everything she was supposed to do. Not just for him, but for everyone. He knew that about you, knew that you never liked to make trouble for anyone. Even your dad, who had been almost completely absent during your childhood, off chasing his current wife. Even your mother, who was mean, unsupportive, and childish. You were sweet as could be, well-behaved, soft-spoken, bright-eyed, and glowing. He thought you were perfect.

Biting your lip, paying close attention to how much you were moving, you watched in near silence as he continued to press his lips up your legs. As soon as his eyes flickered up to yours, your heart was pounding. There was a lot about Nick that you just didn’t understand.

You could look at yourself in the mirror and understand why people thought you were pretty, but of course, you did not think as highly of yourself as Nick thought of you. Alternatively, he could not do the same. He could not understand why you liked looking at him in the mornings, why you liked to trace his features with your fingers, why you spent so much time just kissing his face whenever you got the chance. You were baffled that he could look like that and not know what he did to people.

He blushed a lot. When you accidentally told him, the first time, that you thought he was beautiful—never again would you drink wine with him—and now, all the deliberate times after that. Because unintentional or not, you meant it and you wanted him to know. When you would take him in your mouth and he had his hands at his sides, leaving you to control everything, and when you took so much of him that you would gag and choke, he was permanently flushed. When he played for you, forget it.

He was at the hemline of your skirt and started pushing it up, kissing at the insides of your thighs. You bit down harder on your lip as he continued up, up, up until he kissed your pussy. Over tights and your panties, it was still good enough that you shuddered. You could feel his beard, some random hairs managing to poke into the open spots of your tights. It was a feeling that reminded you of being home, not with either of your parents now, but when they were still together in your first home. Nick was comfort and security, he was warmth and so much raw emotion.

You brought one hand up to press your fingers to your lips. You were so wet that you could feel the material against you was damp. He always knew how to do that to you, how to get you so wanting. And the neighbors always knew when you were there, they would play music because you were so embarrassingly loud, not that he was ever considerate about that. You just wanted to pretend you had some dignity, at least for a while.

He kissed across your thigh and up the side of your hip, back across until he could kiss down the opposite side. You remembered you used to hate when he would do this, when there wasn’t a part of you that he wouldn’t at least devote a moment of attention to. You didn’t hate it now, you noticed it made you a lot more confident. You didn’t care how tight a skirt was around your hips or that a skirt was so short that everyone could see your thighs touching. It wasn’t even his goal and it wasn’t dependent on his interest in you at all, but you knew he was the cause.

You often wondered if he looked at everyone like this. It really hadn’t been long, but sometimes you swore he might feel the same about you. You’d always wrote it off as your age, but how would someone his age honestly fall in love with you? And if he wasn’t, why the hell did he look at you the way he did?

“How many lives have you ruined?”

His eyebrows rose and he pulled his mouth away from you. “I’m sorry?”

“You look at me like that, you kiss me like that—”

“Like what?”

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, you weren’t sure how to put it into words. The last thing you wanted to do was accuse him of acting or pretending. That was one of the few boundary lines with Nick that was quickly established—he didn’t like analysis of his emotions. They were his own and he didn’t want anyone to presume that they knew them better than him. You truly didn’t mind. You’d come from a toxic environment of men who would sooner die than cry and couldn’t healthily express their anger if the world depended on it. “You know like what.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He leaned back down, kissing either knee once. “But I won’t make you, I want you to want to say it.”

First time he’d ever taken that route. He teased you a lot, like challenging your views. And he liked those rare times you could challenge his. You’d both talked and talked until you managed to get to this place where you were both completely comfortable with what you were. He had to compromise on how casual this could seem at times, and you had to compromise on how obscenely intimate it was to you sometimes. And though you both compromised, it was still hard to see the other’s point of view. What was he so scared of with ‘casual’? You, on the other hand, dreaded falling for someone who couldn’t reciprocate.

He reached for your tights and slowly pulled them down. Again, he moved to where he was exposing skin and scattered kisses all over you. He deliberately got as close to your pussy as he could without ever touching you, several times, and enjoyed that you gasped and shivered each time.

He didn’t pull your underwear out of his way before he finally kissed you there. He went on like this, curious to see just how much you could take. You tried not to ask for more, to feed into his ego, and you succeeded for several minutes. You could feel his tongue and his lips, the texture of your panties was slight stimulation, but as time went on, you craved him more.

When you finally broke, your eyes were filled with tears, your hands were shaking as you reached for him, and you couldn’t form a single coherent word. Instead of pulling your panties down and eating your pussy, he moved up your body and removed your sweater and your bra. Again, he was kissing you all over, but you could hardly focus on anything other than your throbbing pussy.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

He moved his mouth up until he could kiss your lips. He settled down on the bed beside you and pulled away, sitting you up a little. You took his cue and shifted up on the bed until you could rest on the headboard.

You watched as his hand reached for you, holding your breath until he was sliding one finger into you. “Fuck, daddy.” Your hips bucked almost immediately, silently begging for more. He added a second finger and you turned to hide your face against his chest.

He curled his fingers slowly, focusing on the sounds you made, the way your body would tense and shudder, and soon enough, he’d found that blissful spot that he knew made you see stars.

You clumsily reached for his pants, taking far too long to get your hands on his thick cock. You felt yourself get so much wetter, remembering just how big he felt inside you. Not that you were experienced when he’d found you, but taking his cock had been so delightfully painful and you kind of liked that he was the first man really stretching you out like that.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the side of your face. “Watch my fingers, angel, watch me fuck you with them.”

You turned down, paying attention to how they moved, and the wet sounds from your pussy. You slowly moved your hand along his cock, wanting—but too shy to ask for—him to cover your body with his cum. He preferred finishing inside you, he liked letting it drip out of you and then filling you back up all over again.

When your breaths turned shorter and your moans became louder, he knew you were so close. He moved his fingers faster, brought his thumb down to your clit. Your whole body was shaking, and he could feel how desperate you were because your hand around him tightened.

“You wanna come, angel?”

“Please, daddy,” you blurted out. “Please, please make me come.”

He pulled your hand off his cock and kissed you when you made a noise of protest. His opposite hand never even faltered as he explained, “Daddy’s coming inside you. Keep begging.”

“Please, I want to come, daddy. I want to come on your fingers, I want you to get me wet enough so my tight, little pussy can take your huge cock.”

“What a filthy mouth, angel. Where’d you learn to talk like that? Been watching the videos I’ve been sending you?”

“Yes, daddy. I watch every single one and I touch myself, thinking about how much I miss you inside me.”

“You have no idea how much I miss having your pussy wrapped around me when you’re gone.”

You finished with a sharp cry, using your free hand to try to push his touch away, but he was so much stronger than you. Add to the fact that you really didn’t want him to stop, if you could stay there in bed with him, feeling that for the rest of your life, you would.

You almost instantly rolled over on top of him, kissing him as you moved up his body until you were straddling him. He set his hands on your hips, holding you steady as you slid down on him. As you adjusted, he let his hands wander to your breasts. You were still shaking, panting, trying to come down from your high but you were addicted to pleasing Nick.

You rolled your hips, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You needed to see him naked, coming here without seeing all of him would be an absolute waste. He helped you get the shirt off after a moment and your hands roamed all over his torso.

He took your hips again, using his hold on you to pick up the pace just a little. You let your head fall back, he would want to watch your body anyway. You brought your arms back and rested your hands on the mattress around his legs. He had to fuck you just a little harder from this angle to see your breasts move with every thrust, but you were okay with that.

You always knew when he was close because his fingers would dig into your skin and he always did everything he could to get as close to you as he possibly could. This time, he sat up and pulled you up so your chest was flush against his. You continued bouncing up and down on his cock, mewling and whimpering because you knew he loved those sounds.

“Are you close, daddy?”

“Yeah, angel, keep going just like that.”

“Tell me when you’re really close.”

He faltered for just a second, processing your odd request, but did not argue.

You set your hands to his face, dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, tongues, moaning obscenely for one another. As he was distracted, you unwound his arms from your back and held them flat on the mattress by his forearms.

“I’m close,” he informed after turning his head just slightly, breathing heavily on your skin. “I’m so fucking close.”

You started moving quickly, pulling off of him and crawling back down the bed. He was stunned silent until you bent down and took his wet cock, messy from your pussy, in your mouth. You’d only just closed your lips around him when both of his hands settled on the back of your head to hold you down. He only needed to jerk his hips up a few times before he was filling your mouth.

He kept you there until his high had drifted away, and you never once complained. You swallowed the cum that you could, but some of his had slipped out of your mouth, and sucked softly until he let you up.

As soon as you were sitting up, he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on top of him. Still trying to catch his breath, it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go for quite some time. Because no one would expect Nick to want to cuddle after sex.

And because his brain was not functioning at its best, he was simultaneously attempting to kick off his pants and pull the sheets over the two of you. But you weren’t there to be unsupportive, you simply laid on his chest and tried not to laugh.

After he’d managed it, which had to have taken about five minutes, he turned off the lamp on the bedside table and stretched over to do the same on the other side. He once again wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. “Fuck, I love you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so all you did was lay there. He didn’t miss a beat, he just started running one of his hands through your hair and then nothing. Not another word.

Fuck.

You only woke up because Nick was moving around so much. As quiet as he tried to be and as softly as he tried to move out from under you, he always failed at it. When he realized he’d woken you up again, he froze.

You grabbed one of the pillows and yanked it over his face as you climbed out of bed. You didn’t want to have to get up because that meant that you would soon have to leave. You grabbed your phone out of your bag on the way to the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed. Nick loved seeing you walk around the room naked, and that was why you always ignored that nervous nagging feeling that told you to cover up.

“Sorry,” he called out.

You didn’t respond.

After you brushed your teeth, you opened the door. You heard him moving around the bedroom as you were performing your simple morning skincare routine. He always did that, just waited until you were done so he could get in. He liked making you watch in the mirror.

And right on cue, Nick entered the bathroom, stopping just inches behind you. You didn’t turn, you merely watched him in the mirror and waited. He wrapped his arms around you, and you noticed the single red rose he was holding. He started at your lips, letting the flower trail down, then over your nipples, and down just above your navel.

You shivered when he pulled it away, offering it to you. With a smile you were looking down to hide, you took the rose from him.

He kissed the side of your face, arms wrapping loosely around your waist He pressed one hand to your stomach, and you were reminded of how much you loved his stupid hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I know it was…a lot.”

Yeah, it was. You’d built it up in your mind as some terrifying thing that you would never want to hear, especially from him, but when he said it, it just wasn’t like that. When he said it, it made you feel safe. It made you feel loved. “But did you mean it?”

“Only if you’re not going to run away.”

You finally looked up in the mirror, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I won’t.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“And maybe I love you back.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you confirmed. “And maybe I’m even considering staying.”

He perked up at that, turning you around quickly to face him. “Tell me what I need to do or say and I will.”

You brought the rose up and set it to his lips, smirking again.

He narrowed his eyes.

All you did was shrug. “Not sure yet, but you have all day to convince me.”

“I thought you were leaving today.”

You set the rose down on the counter. “Changed my mind.”

He was beaming as he picked you up and sat you on the counter. “That means you’ve already decided to stay.”

“I never said that.”

“I’m not letting you leave. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile. “I have to go home, you know…and pack.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled. “Probably a good idea to let my mom meet my daddy.”

“Please don’t make those jokes in front of your parents.”

You snorted. “Oh, now you want to be a gentleman?”

“Always am, angel. Open your legs and I’ll prove it.” He spread your thighs wider as he got down to his knees. He pulled you to the edge of the counter and with his eyes on yours, he took your pussy with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “But this means you have to stop smoking.”

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you. “Now, seriously?”

You buried both hands in his hair and pulled him back in.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @kleohoneyao3 @cevans-fics @gotnofucks

#nick vaughan x reader #my writing

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sgt-paul · 4 years

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Paul McCartney Is Still Trying to Figure Out Love – The New York Times Magazine

By David Marchese, Nov. 29, 2020

Paul McCartney, like the rest of us, this year found himself with an unexpected amount of time stuck indoors. Unlike the rest of us — or most of us, anyway — he used that time to record a new album. The pandemic-induced circumstances of its creation may mark “McCartney III” as an outlier in the former Beatle’s catalog, but as its title suggests, it does have precedents: Like “McCartney” (1970) and “McCartney II” (1980), the album, out Dec. 18, was primarily recorded by McCartney alone, with him playing nearly all the instruments and handling all the production. “At no point,” McCartney said, “did I think: I’m making an album. I’d better be serious. This was more like: You’re locked down. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Which was a gas, as always. “What I’m amazed with,” McCartney explained, “is that I’m not fed up with music. Because, strictly speaking, I should have gotten bored years ago.”

It seems to me that working on music by yourself, as you did on the new album, might allow for some insights about what you do and how you do it. So are there aspects of “McCartney III” that represent creative growth to you?

The idea of growing and adding more arrows to your bow is nice, but I’m not sure if I’m interested in it. The thing is, when I look back to “Yesterday,” which was written when I was 21 or something, there’s me talking like a 90-year-old: “Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be.” Things like that and “Eleanor Rigby” have a kind of wisdom. You would naturally think, OK, as I get older I’m going to get deeper, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think it’s a fact of life that personalities don’t change much. Throughout your life, there you are.

Is there anything different about the nature of your musical gift today at 78 than in 1980 or 1970 or when you first started writing songs?

It’s the story that you’re telling. That changes. When I first said to John, “I’ve written a few songs,” they were simple. My first song was called “I Lost My Little Girl” — four chords. Then we went into the next phase of songwriting, which was talking to our fans. Those were songs like “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me.” Then came a rich vein as we got more mature, with things like “Let It Be,” “The Long and Winding Road.” But basically I think it’s all the same, and you get lucky sometimes. Like, “Let It Be” came from a dream where my mother had said that phrase. “Yesterday” came from a dream of a melody. I’m a great believer in dreams. I’m a great rememberer of dreams.

What’s the last interesting dream you had?

Last night’s was pretty good.

What was it?

It was of a sexual nature, so I’m not sure it’s good for the Kids section. Pretty cool, though. Very interesting, dreams of a sexual nature when you’re married. Because your married head is in the dream saying: “Don’t do this. Don’t go here.” And just to let you know, I didn’t. It was still a good dream.

You know, I was conscious of not mentioning the Beatles early in this interview, and you’ve already mentioned them a few times. So let me ask you: The band broke up 50 years ago. You were in it for roughly 10 years. When you’re not doing interviews or playing concerts, how central to your own story of your life are those 10 years from half a century ago?

Very. It was a great group. That’s commonly acknowledged.

Generally speaking.

[Laughs.] It’s like your high school memories — those are my Beatles memories. This is the danger: At a dinner party, I am liable to tell stories about my life, and people already know them. I can see everyone stifling a yawn. But the Beatles are inescapable. My daughter Mary will send me a photo or a text a few times a week: “There you were on an advert” or “I heard you on the radio.” The thing that amazes me now, because of my venerable age, is that I will be with, like, one of New York’s finest dermatologists, and he will be a rabid Beatles fan. All of that amazes me. We were trying to get known, we were trying to do good work and we did it. So to me, it’s all happy memories.

“McCartney III” will come out very close to the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. Has your processing of what happened to him changed over the years?

It’s difficult for me to think about. I rerun the scenario in my head. Very emotional. So much so that I can’t really think about it. It kind of implodes. What can you think about that besides anger, sorrow? Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can’t get over the senseless act. I can’t think about it. I’m sure it’s some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it. Having said that, of course I do think about it, and it’s horrible. You do things to help yourself out of it. I did an interview with Sean, his son. That was nice — to talk about how cool John was and fill in little gaps in his knowledge. So it’s little things that I am able to do, but I know that none of them can get over the hill and make it OK. But you know, after he was killed, he was taken to Frank Campbell’s funeral parlor in New York. I’m often passing that. I never pass it without saying: “All right, John. Hi, John.”

And how about your perspective on the work you did together? Has that changed?

I always thought it was good. I still think it’s good. Sometimes I had to reassure him that it was good. I remember one time he said to me: “What are they going to think of me when I’m dead? Am I going to be remembered?” I felt like the older brother, even though he was older than me. I said: “John, listen to me. You are going to be so remembered. You are so [expletive] great that there’s no way that this disappears.” I guess that was a moment of insecurity on his part. He straightened me up on other occasions. It was a great collaboration. I can’t think of any better collaboration, and there have been millions. I feel very lucky. We happened upon each other in Liverpool through a friend of mine, Ivan Vaughan. Ivan said, “I think you’d like this mate of mine.” Everyone’s lives have magic, but that guy putting me and John together and then George getting on a bus — an awful lot of coincidences had to happen to make the Beatles.

People always ask you about John. I’ve noticed they rarely ask about George, who of course also died relatively young.

John is probably the one in the group you would remember, but the circumstances of his death were particularly harrowing. When you die horrifically, you’re remembered more. But I like your point, which is: What about George? I often think of George because he was my little buddy. I was thinking the other day of my hitchhiking bursts. This was before the Beatles. I suddenly was keen on hitchhiking, so I sold this idea to George and then John.

I know this memory. You and George hitchhiked to Paignton.

Yeah, Exeter and Paignton. We did that, and then I also hitchhiked with John. He and I got as far as Paris. What I was thinking about was — it’s interesting how I was the instigator. Neither of them came to me and said, “Should we go hitchhiking?” It was me, like, “I’ve got this great idea.”

Why is that interesting?

My theory is that attitude followed us into our recording career. Everyone was hanging out in the sticks, and I used to ring them up and say, “Guys, it’s time for an album.” Then we’d all come in, and they’d all be grumbling. “He’s making us work.” We used to laugh about it. So the same way I instigated the hitchhiking holidays, I would put forward ideas like, “It’s time to make an album.” I don’t remember Ringo, George or John ever ringing me up and saying that.

How strange is it to share an idle recollection from your youth, as you just did with that hitchhiking story, and then have the person to whom you’re sharing it — in this case, me — know the memory? It seems as though it would be weird.

It’s quite annoying, David. It’s like people at dinner yawning when I’m telling stories. This keeps happening to me.

I even know the details. You and George slept on the beach.

That’s right.

Some Salvation Army girls kept you warm.

Yes.

Then at some point you sat on a car battery and zapped your ass?

That was George who did that! I have a very clear recollection. He showed me the scar. Let’s set the record straight: It was George’s ass, and it was a burn the exact shape of a zip from his jeans.

Do you remember the last thing George said to you?

We said silly things. We were in New York before he went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. And I remember he was getting a bit annoyed at having to travel all the time — chasing a cure. He’d gone to Geneva to see what they could do. Then he came to a special clinic in New York to see what they could do. Then the thought was to go to L.A. and see what they could do. He was sort of getting a bit, “Can’t we just stay in one place?” And I said: “Yes, Speke Hall. Let’s go to Speke Hall.” That was one of the last things we said to each other, knowing that he would be the only person in the room who would know what Speke Hall was. You probably know what the hell it is.

Yep.

I can’t amaze you with anything! Anyway, the nice thing for me when I was holding George’s hands, he looked at me, and there was a smile.

How many good Beatles stories are there left to tell that haven’t been told?

There are millions. Sometimes the reason is that they’re too private, and I don’t want to go gossiping. But the main stories do get told and told again.

Can you think of one now that you haven’t told before?

Hmm. I will rake through the embers. Oh, I’ll tell you one! I thought of one this morning. It’s pretty good. I don’t think I’ve told it. You’re going to have to say in the article, “I forced this out of him,” because it’s a bit telling-out-of-school.

I am hereby twisting your arm.

So when we did the album “Abbey Road,” the photographer was set up and taking the pictures that ended up as the album cover. Linda was also there taking incidental pictures. She has some that are of us — I think it was all four of us — sitting on the steps of Abbey Road studios, taking a break from the session, and I’m in quite earnest conversation with John. This morning I thought, I remember why. John’s accountants had rung my accountants and said: “Someone’s got to tell John he’s got to fill in his tax returns. He’s not doing it.” So I was trying to say to him, “Listen, man, you’ve got to do this.” I was trying to give him the sensible advice on not getting busted for not doing your taxes. That’s why I looked so earnest. I don’t think I’ve told that story before.

Tax filings — that’s some deep arcana.

I have dredged the barrel.

I know that your goal with making music is to do something that pleases yourself. What’s most pleasing to you on the new album?

I’m very happy with “Women and Wives.” I’ve been reading a book about Lead Belly. I was looking at his life and thinking about the blues scene of that day. I love that tone of voice and energy and style. So I was sitting at my piano, and I’m thinking about Huddie Ledbetter, and I started noodling around in the key of D minor, and this thing came to me. “Hear me women and wives” — in a vocal tone like what I imagine a blues singer might make. I was taking clues from Lead Belly, from the universe, from blues. And why I’m pleased with it is because the lyrics are pretty good advice. It’s advice I wouldn’t mind getting myself.

There’s a song on “McCartney III,” “Pretty Boys,” that is kind of unusual for you in how the music is sort of unassuming but the lyrics have an almost sinister edge. What inspired that one?

I’ll tell you exactly. I’ve been photographed by many photographers through the years. And when you get down to London, doing sessions with people like David Bailey, they can get pretty energetic in the studio. It’s like “Blow-Up,” [the director Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1966 film thriller about a fashion photographer, thought to be loosely based on David Bailey] you know? “Give it to me! [Expletive] the lens!” And it’s like: “What? No, I’m not going to.” But I understand why they’re doing that. They’re that kind of artist. So you allow it. Certain photographers — they tend to be very good photographers, by the way — can be totally out of line in the studio. So “Pretty Boys” is about male models. And going around New York or London, you see the lines of bicycles for hire. It struck me that they’re like models, there to be used. It’s most unfortunate.

“Lavatory Lil” is another song I was curious about. That’s quite a title.

“Lavatory Lil” is a parody of someone I didn’t like. Someone I was working with who turned out to be a bit of a baddie. I thought things were great; it turned nasty. So I made up the character Lavatory Lil and remembered some of the things that had gone on and put them in the song. I don’t need to be more specific than that. I will never divulge who it was.

I have another bigger-picture question. In your experience, how is the love in a marriage different at different stages of your life and in different marriages?

I don’t think it’s different. It’s always a splendid puzzle. Even though I write love songs, I don’t think I know what’s going on. It would be great if it was smooth and wonderful all the time, but you get pockets of that, and sometimes it’s — you could be annoying. To Nancy I’m pretty complex, with everything I’ve been through.

In what ways?

I’m some poor working-class kid from Liverpool. I’ve done music all my life. I’ve had huge success, and people often try to do what I want, so you get a false feeling of omnipotence. All that together makes a complex person. We’re all complex. Well, maybe I’m more complex than other people because of coming from poverty.

And how do you think about money these days?

It has obviously changed. What has stayed the same is the central core. When I was in Liverpool as a kid, I used to listen to people’s conversations. I remember a couple of women going on about money: “Ah, me and my husband, we’re always arguing about money.” And I remember thinking very consciously, “OK, I’ll solve that; I will try to get money.” That set me off on the “Let’s not have too many problems with money” trail. What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder?

I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

Something that has been a constant for you musically is your ability to keep coming up with melodies. It’s there on the new album — the melodies all flow. Is your facility for writing a catchy melody ever an obstacle to getting the songs to be more than just catchy? Because a good tune by itself is not always enough to make a good song. “Bip Bop” would be an example of that. Do you know what I’m saying?

No, I know. “Bip Bop” is not lyrically stunning. I was always embarrassed about that song. Literally, it goes, “Bip Bop / take your bottom dollar.” It’s inconsequential. But I mentioned that to a friend, a producer, a few years ago, and he said, “That’s my favorite song of yours.” So you don’t know what people like. It’s enough if I like it and enjoyed putting it on record and don’t particularly want to think of any more lyrics. I don’t want to sweat it. Sometimes maybe it would be better if I sweated it. Once or twice I tried to sweat it, and I hated it. It’s like, What are you doing this for?

Sixty-something years into writing songs, do you feel any closer to knowing where melodies come from?

No. There is something with my ability to write music that I don’t think I’m necessarily responsible for. It just seems to come easier to me — touch wood — than it does to some people. That’s it. I’m a fortunate man.

#paul mccartney #old paul #grandpaul #*m #(the start of the interview was pretty worrying (with him bringing up yesterday like after 5 seconds) but actually?#it turned out to be a decent one)#favourite bit hands down paul's dirty dreams. DUDE... he cannot keep it in his pants even when he is in his dreams #well actually he said he did but lmao #but yeah many other great bits. ''i'm a keeper'' ... loved that one #the complex man rant #and the john and george bits #him being the instigator #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this guy :)

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

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omg can u write a second part to that secret rowaelin / aelins birthday party one shot, I NEED to know how that continues.. and maybe another one shot from when they realised that they're not actual just fuckbuddys but in love ahhhh I love this AU and u writing is so GOOD

I’m so glad you like it!! I was planning on writing the Halloween scene, so I feel like this will end up being a small AU maybe? Like I’ll write the main parts of their story? Who knows. But I will definitely post the Halloween scene and the scene from when things changed... For now, here’s how explaining to their friends went

This is the part one. You really need to read it to understand what’s going on in this scene.

Birthday revelations

Aelin was frozen.

She was staring wide eyed at all of her friends standing in her living room. Their faces were the picture of astonishment and disbelief. She knew she should go up to them and explain everything but this isn’t how she had planned it out, so she merely snuggled closer to Rowan, his arms tightening around her.

They were so fucked.

“What the actual fuck?” Lysandra said, her voice a mix of perplexity and slight betrayal. “You two… But.. How? When?”

“Aelin, you fucking snake.” Manon said, but Aelin could see the humor gleaming on her eyes and that her smile was genuine. She seemed like the only one not completely pissed. Even Elide looked a little betrayed.

“Bro, you’re banging my cousin?” Aedion’s face contorted with disgust when he looked at Aelin’s bare legs and undoubtedly saw the handprints. Vaughan gave him a slap on the back of his head.

“Aedion, please.” Yrene said, her voice calm but her face a mask of shock as everyone else. “Let them recompose themselves. They obviously weren’t expecting us.”

“What are you all doing here?” Rowan finally said, even though it was obvious what they were doing here.

“What are we doing here? What are you doing here, Rowan?” Fenrys replied, crossing his arms. When Rowan opened his mouth again, Fen raised a hand dramatically. “Don’t answer that truthfully. I don’t want details.”

Aelin’s cheeks were on fire, and Rowan’s arms hugged her a little more tightly.

“Can you guys it down so we can explain?” She said, her voice steady despite how fast her heart was beating.

She didn’t want it to be like this, neither did Rowan. They wanted to sit them all down and explain everything on their terms. Rowan wanted to talk privately with Aedion, and Aelin sure as hell didn’t want Lysandra feeling as if she didn’t trust her. And now they had waited too long and everything went to shit.

Each one of their friends found a place to sit. Manon was sitting on Dorian’s lap, Yrene and Chaol by their side on the sofa. Nehemia and Asterin were on the loveseat, Nehemia’s arm tucking Asterin close. Fenrys and Connall each sat on one of the loveseat’s armrest, Vaughan standing behind Connall.

Lorcan, Gavriel, Sartaq, Nesryn, Borte and Ren took up the chairs by the table. Lorcan pulled a stiff Elide to sit on his lap, whispering something in her ear that made her relax a little.

Lysandra and Aedion remained where they were, arms crossed.

Rowan nudged Aelin forward and they approached everyone. He sat down on an armchair, taking Aelin with him. She could have sworn Aedion flinched at that.

Rowan started to make soothing circles on her thigh, and she held one of his hands with both of hers, sweeping her fingers over his knuckles. Despite it all, Rowan seemed calm. He was lazily leaning on the armchair, completely content to hold his girlfriend on his lap, play with her thigh and tell all of her friends and her cousin how he had been sleeping with her behind their backs.

“So, you guys are banging.” Asterin broke the silence.

Borte snorted. “Obviously. The girl looks like she just got railed, so unless they play some very wild type of boardgames in her room while in the dark, yes, they are banging.”

“Borte, for the love of god.” Nesryn murmured at the same time Sartaq said, “Borte, shut the fuck up.”

Rowan sighed, deeply and suffering. “Yes, we are…”

“Banging.” Nehemia added.

“Can we please stop using the word ‘bang’?” Chaol muttered.

“Pardon.” Nehemia looked at him impatiently. “Fucking, then.”

Chaol rolled his eyes and Aelin couldn’t help but snort.

“How?” Dorian asked, his voice dripping disbelief. After Lys, Dorian was probably the person who heard Aelin complaining about Rowan the most.

Despite herself, Aelin found herself saying, “You want to know how we fuck?”

Rowan, Vaughan, Manon and Asterin were the only ones that laughed.

“I thought you hated each other.” Fen said, his brows furrowing.

“They did. I remember High School junior Aelin running after Rowan with a knife with the full intent of killing him.” Connall looked at his brother. “Unless they’re together since then and that was some type of kink.”

“Please, I don’t want to know Aelin’s kinks.” Ren looked pained.

“Please, I don’t want to know about Rowan’s kinks either.” Lorcan added, but his voice was full of humor. The asshole must have been finding this whole situation hilarious.

“Stop using Aelin, Rowan and kinks in the same sentence for the love of god.” Aedion pleaded.

“Let them explain.” Gavriel, always the voice of reason, interrupted.

“It started on Halloween.” She started only to be then interrupted by Aedion.

“You guys have been together for six months and told no one?” His eyes widened. “Oh my god. It was when I told Lin to stay in the apartment, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and we haven’t been together for six months.” Aelin could feel Rowan losing his patience as he explained their situation. “We slept together six months ago, but it wasn’t anything important. It was just sex then.”

“But not anymore?” Elide asked, her voice low. Something glinted on her eyes.

“That’s impossible. A relationship between them is unbelievable.” Chaol snorted and Aelin felt Rowan’s hand tightening on her leg.

“No.” Aelin shrugged, losing her patience just like Rowan. She could understand them feeling hurt because neither Aelin nor Rowan had told them anything, but acting like her relationship with Rowan was wrong made her stomach turn. “We fucked around a bit. Months, actually. We couldn’t stand each other when we weren’t fucking in the beginning, it was honestly just sex. We didn’t feel like telling anyone because once it ended, we didn’t want things to get awkward. We didn’t want the jokes, or suggestions that we should just date. It was easy and simple and telling other people would make it too real.”

Surprisingly, Lorcan, Nesryn and Connall nodded. Fenrys relaxed, and even Borte was smiling at them the way Manon had since the beginning.

“Lys and Aedion had just started dating then, and they spent most nights in our apartment, so I would come here to see Ace. In the first few nights I would arrive, we would fuck and I would leave. Slowly I started coming earlier and we would eat something. I would spend the night and we would grab breakfast together. We became friends.” Rowan shrugged.

“So you two are fuck buddies?” Ren asked.

“No, things changed two months ago after an… incident.” Aelin said and Rowan squeezed her thigh. Aelin didn’t have to look back to know he was fighting a smile. “But then we didn’t know how to tell you guys that we had been fucking for four months and told no one. Ro thought it was better for the two of us to just sit down and tell everyone at once.”

“Ace thought it would be better if she talked to the girls and I talked to the guys.” Rowan finished for her. The tension from her body had vanished, and she was completely resting her back against Rowan’s chest.

“We discussed it for a month and decided to go with Ro’s idea. But then spring break came and everyone went off to somewhere else. We decided to tell when everyone was back. We were going to do it this week after my birthday but you guys came here today.”

“So, basically, you guys have been together for six months. One way or another.” Vaughan asked and Aelin and Rowan nodded.

“Hum, good for you.” Manon said, looking at Aelin. Nehemia, Yrene and Asterin nodded, a small smile playing on their lips.

“Is that why you almost kicked me out of here earlier?” Lys asked, genuinely curious. She didn’t look as pissed as she had in the beginning.

“No. I didn’t even know Ro was coming until I opened the door an hour ago.” She sat up, crossing her legs. Rowan shifted slightly to accommodate her on his lap, his hands now on her hips. “I just didn’t want you to ditch a night with your boyfriend to stay home with me.”

Lys nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. Aelin didn’t fool herself in thinking that Lys wasn’t hurt about her silence, but it was good to know her best friend wasn’t majorly pissed.

“So he’s your boyfriend?” Aedion asked her, but his eyes were on Rowan.

Rowan’s voice was hard when he replied for her. “Yes.”

The room was silent until Manon started laughing. And then Yrene, Nehemia and Asterin. Borte and Nesryn cackled, and Lys and Elide shared a knowing smile. The men only grunted.

“Pay up, assholes.” Elide said.

“What?” Rowan and Aelin said in unison.

“Sophomore year of High School Elide said the two of you would end up together at some point. The tension would just build up to a point that the two of you would either cut all ties or would fuck.” Lorcan grunted, taking out his wallet. “The girls agreed with her. The men said you guys would simply start ignoring each other after college. We bet a hundred and fifty each. We would get the money and split so it’s equal to everyone in each team.”

Aelin’s jaw fell. Rowan sat up then, eyes narrowing. “You have a bet of six years on us?”

“Yes.” Elide replied, happily. “And although me and Ms. Galathynius over there will have a chat about your relationship later, I can’t say I’m sad about going home tonight a hundred and eighty seven bucks richer.”

“You have a bet of six years on whether or not we would bang?” Rowan repeated, dumbfounded.

“I thought we agreed to stop using the word bang.” Chaol said.

“Yeah, bro, it’s fuck.” Connall nodded solemnly as he handed his money to Asterin.

“And who says we only have one?” Manon chirped, counting the money Dorian had painfully given to her.

“I hate every single one of you.” Aelin grunted, resting against Rowan’s chest again. She could feel his body shaking with laughter and had to bite her own lip to fight a smile.

“You hate me? I’m a hundred and fifty poorer and my best friend is banging my cousin. This can’t get worse.”

“You’ll have to see them together every day now. And when Aelin spends the night on your apartment or Rowan isn’t home, you’ll know exactly what’s happening.” Fenrys said, his tone helpful.

Aedion merely groaned.

Aelin turned and gave Rowan a quick kiss, getting up to talk to the girls privately. Rowan gave her ass a playful slap, and she heard Aedion groan again. One look at Rowan and he was smiling like a fiend.

Oh he was going to have fun torturing Aedion.

Aelin spent the rest of the night apologizing for her silence and telling her friends what the last six months had been like. She had a feeling Rowan was doing the same with the guys, but probably with a lot less detail if Aedion hadn’t thrown up on the floor yet.

“You’ll have to make up for it.” Elide said, but she didn’t seem pissed. “We understand why you didn’t tell us, but it still hurts a bit.”

“True.” Lys said as the others nodded.

“I know and I’m so sorry. You guys have no idea how many times I wanted to talk to one of you about Rowan or about something I was insecure about, especially when I started falling for him.” The girls smiled softly at that, even Manon. “But it wasn’t my decision alone, and I couldn’t go up to Ro and say ‘hey, would you mind if I told the girls about us fucking because I think I’m falling hard for you and don’t really know how to proceed?’”

Nesryn snorted, and Yrene put an arm around Aelin. “So you really like him, huh.”

Aelin looked over to Rowan. He was smiling at something Fenrys had said and that had left Aedion scowling. “Yeah, I do.” She said softly.

“This is so strange.” Borte murmured to Asterin.

“So…” Nehemia started, and her tone made Aelin snap her eyes back to her friends.

They were all smiling in a scary way.

“Now that we’ve got the forgiveness part out of the way…” Elide continued.

Aelin’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“How’s the sex?” Lysandra finished and despite herself, Aelin felt her cheeks heating. All the girls laughed at that.

“Good.” She answered, then smiled. “Like really fucking amazing. Best lay of my life.”

“We agree with Fenrys and we do not want details but…” Manon said. “You can be more specific.”

All the women nodded eagerly and Aelin laughed.

She quickly looked at Rowan before telling her friends exactly how Rowan had discovered every bit of her body and soul in the last six months.

She told them of the fighting. The befriending. The falling.

She told them how she was still falling, head first into the L-word zone.

She told them how she couldn’t be happier she was falling.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan

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elentiyawhitethorn · 4 years

Text

Sneaking Around | Chapter Twelve

Lysandra’s POV

Lysandra was not giving up. There was no way Aelin was going to reveal her boyfriend before Lys caught them, that she would make certain of. Aelin was smart, very smart. But Lysandra was smarter.

Their office building was not a particularly large one. Not that it wasn’t still many, many people, but she would take all the help she could get.

The bar wouldn’t have fit everybody; they must have only invited certain departments or something; Lysandra couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered; Lys had the guest list.

The bar was rather sizable. It had been reserved for the night, and dozens of people had attended. Only half were men (thank the Gods Aelin wasn’t bi) and these men were then narrowed down.

Aedion had been crossed off the list of course, being Aelin’s brother. The twins and Rowan were with Lys when Aelin got her alibi checked, so there was no way it could be them. Snooping had found one employee on vacation during a time she knew Aelin was at the mystery man’s place.

Lysandra was methodical and believed in exhausting all possibilities, but she was getting desperate. She decided to eliminate the men in a known relationship. She doubted Aelin would carry on with a cheater, and she certainly wouldn’t bring him to a party as her date.

Elide was the receptionist; despite her sweet nature, she knew all the gossip. Lys had coerced her into coming over last night, the only person to show up to her gathering. They had used Elide’s pool of knowledge to eliminate Chaol, Aelin’s ex who was now dating someone named Yrene; Nox, dating some girl whose name they didn’t know; and Ress, newly engaged.

The list being significantly smaller than when it was first made, Lysandra then called all the remaining men and questined them while Elide tried to muffle her giggling in the background.

Laying in bed the next morning, Lysandra thought of those conversations.

“Hello Tern, it’s Lysandra from security. It’s been so long since we’ve talked, and I was just wondering what plans you have for the holidays.”

A dozen phone calls later, Lysandra was stumped. Why? Because every single one of them was going to their parents’.

Yes, they might have lied. But if that was the case, she couldn’t trust a single conversation. She had gone over every possibility with Elide and they had agreed: it was time for a stakeout.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Elide asked, sitting next to Lysandra in the latter’s car in Aelin’s parking lot the night after yesterday’s meeting.

Lys rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. We agree we need to find out who it is. So close to the party - and to you leaving for your parents’ place with Lorcan - lists just aren’t going to cut it anymore. I honestly wish I’d done this sooner. And if you’re going to have doubts, walk home and I’ll do it myself.”

“No, no, I’ll stay.” When Lysandra grinned at Elide, El elaborated, “Just to keep matters in control if you insist on doing it even if I leave.”

“If you say so.” Lys knew Elide just had to find out almost as much as she did, and her paltry excuses weren’t cutting it.

“Um. What now? Do you even know?”

Lysandra giggled. “I work in security. Of course I know.”

“Does the security department usually involve themselves in stakeouts?”

“Well, no, but... It can’t be too hard to figure it out. We just sit. And watch. And wait.”

Elide frowned. “I have to pee.”

A sigh from Lysandra. “There’s a gas station down the street if it’s an emergency. Otherwise, suck it up.”

“If Aelin’s car isn’t here, why are we expecting her boyfriend to show up?”

“She might have a change of clothes or whatever, but even so, Aelin can’t stay there forever. She might come back, whether it’s to stay or pick something up or whatever. If the dude isn’t with her, we’ll follow her when she leaves again.”

“Do you do that in the security department too?” asked Elide with a smirk. Who knew sweet El was even capable of smirking?

“Shut up. Job or no, I am a pro. I watch true crime.”

Elide giggled. “You’re so weird.”

“What, it’s good. And let’s be honest, we’ve been waiting for ten minutes and we’re both bored out of our minds. Let’s try to figure out the situation.”

Before Elide could ask what she was talking about, Lys pulled out her phone and pressed Ansel’s contact. She put the phone on speaker so Elide could hear as it rung.

“Hi Lys. What’s up?”

“Hey Ansel. I’ve been watching reality TV for three hours and I need a good gossip. I’m assuming you won’t tell me about MM?”

“MM?”

“Mystery Man. My new moniker for him.”

“Oh. No, certainly not. I will say, though, that Fenrys just left and last night Aelin and MM came to watch a movie with us.”

Elide gasped and Lys elbowed her. “Is that so? How was it?”

Ansel laughed. “If was fine for the most part. They made out for, like, ten straight minutes though. Either they wanted to annoy me or they’re the horniest couple I’ve met. Or maybe both.”

Lysandra frowned. “I can’t believe I wasn’t there. You and Fen really watched a movie with them?” Before Ansel could reply, Lys continued. “She’s at his place now, I’m guessing?”

“Where else?” Ansel sounded exasperated. “I don’t see her on weekends. I might not even see her until after Christmas now. I’m not much better, though. I’ve spent the last few days with Fenrys.”

Trying to steer the conversation back on track, Lysandra said, “She’ll be there for a while, I’m guessing?”

“I have no clue. Actually, wait, I think she’s coming sometime tonight to get her laptop. She wants to get some work done and she forgot it.” Interesting. “I hope you’re not considering a stakeout,” Ansel teasingly said. “We were worrying about that last night. Oh, wait, I hope I didn’t just give you any ideas.”

Lysandra laughed. “I not desperate enough for a stakeout just yet. Gods, that would be so boring.” Elide covered her mouth, probably to avoid laughing.

The two good-naturedly chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up.

“So,” said Lys. “Aelin’s coming tonight. We are very lucky people.”

“Yes we are. Shit, I really have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Lysandra dug out some dollar bills and handed them to Elide. “Get some snacks while you’re at it. I’m starving. I feel so stupid for forgetting food. That’s the number one rule of having a stakeout.”

One hour later, Lysandra was just nearing the bottom of a Cheetos bag when a familiar car pulled into the parking lot.

“Duck,” Lys whispered to Elide.

Elide complied, and then asked, “Why are we whispering?”

“It’s cooler. Okay, I don’t see anyone else in the car. It’s hard to tell because it’s so dark, but yeah, just Aelin. So we wait until she drives off and then we follow.”

“I feel like this is illegal,” commented Elide.

“It might be.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Lysandra smiled wickedly. “I haven’t felt so exhilarated in years. We need to do this more often.”

Elide giggled at this. “I feel like some sort of private detective.”

Just then, Aelin emerged from the staircase. Lysandra waited until she had driven a fair distance before pulling out after her. The dark was advantageous in that Aelin wouldn’t see them well.

They soon pulled up at a different parking lot. There was something about this place that Lysandra recognized, but in the dark it was impossible to tell.

“Is it just me, or is this place familiar?” Elide wondered.

“You’ve just voiced my own thoughts. Maybe we’ll realize what it is when it’s light.”

“Um, are we going to be here that long?”

“We can’t just follow her in.”

“Why not?”

Lysandra frowned. “I want to see that smirk wiped off her face when she thinks she’s won but realizes we already knew. That requires more patience than barging in there. Anyways, we’ve lost her, and we can’t very well knock on every door.”

“Why not?”

“Stop asking questions. We just can’t.”

A sigh from Elide. “Pass me the gummy bears.”

They stayed up all night. Telling stories, pinching each other, whatever it took. Lysandra even ran down to another gas station and grabbed some coffees.

Lysandra was telling a particularly ghastly story about Lorcan, and Elide was gasping about her boyfriend’s uncouth behavior, when Lysandra spotted a figure out of the corner of her eye.

People had been walking by all morning (dawn had just passed), so Lys wasn’t expecting it to be anyone important. But what she saw had her dropping her jaw. “Holy. Fucking. Gods.”

“What?” Elide turned and gasped. “Ohmigosh ohmigosh ohmigosh-”

Lysandra clapped a hand over Elide’s mouth. “Hush. They’ll hear.”

She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture. Of Aelin with her tongue jammed down Rowan Whitethorn’s throat and his hand on her ass. Holy hell. Another picture as they broke apart, where both faces were clearly visible.

Elide appeared to be trying not to scream. “But. I can’t. They hate each other!”

“Apparently not anymore,” was Lysandra’s dry reply.

Rowan reached for Aelin’s arm and walked with her to his own car. Maybe out to one of the cafes Aelin liked to frequent.

Lys and Elide had been very lucky that Aelin had gone home last night, and now that she and MM - Rowan - were going out somewhere now. And that they had decide to make out right in the line of Lysandra’s phone camera. Yes, they had been very lucky indeed.

“Now what?” asked Elide, seeming to have calmed down.

“Now we swear everyone to secrecy and tell them, just to spite those two-faced worms. Rowan went to my first meeting, you know. A spy, no doubt.”

“We tell everybody?”

Lysandra thought for a minute. “Well, Ansel and Fenrys already know, not to mention they might tattle. I suppose I’ll take mercy on Aelin and let her tell Aedion herself. I want to see Manon’s reaction at the party, so we’ll leave her out of it. Vaughan already left for the holidays, so he’ll have to find out later. Lorcan, Gavriel, and Connall we’ll tell though.”

“Okay.”

The three men were called and told they needed to come to Lysandra’s apartment immediately. They were all instructed not to tell anyone of their whereabouts.

Gathered in Lys’ small living room not too much later, Lorcan said, “Alright, do I really need to ask you ladies why we’re here?”

Elide smiled. “We have news.”

“But,” Lys intervened, “None of you may share this information with anyone. Not a single soul.”

“Why?” asked Connall.

“Just swear it,” Elide commanded.

Lysandra added with a smirk, “On your lives.”

They all rolled their eyes, but swore to stay quiet.

“We know who Aelin’s been sneaking around with,” Elide dramatically announced.

The men had various reactions: Connall gasped, Lorcan smirked, and Gavriel sighed. “Do I even want to know how you’ve come about this information?” asked Gav.

“No, you most certainly do not,” Lys replied. Then she pulled out her phone and showed them the first picture of Aelin and Rowan making out. The angle wasn’t as good as what Lys and Elide had been able to see, so the only distinguishable feature was the hair. While typically silver, Rowan’s hair had caught the light, making it more blonde-like. That did little to narrow down the suspects. They still couldn’t tell who Aelin was with.

“Um, very exciting, but who exactly is that?” questioned Connall.

Wordlessly, Lysandra swiped the screen, moving on to the photo of Aelin and Rowan pulling back and looking at each other.

Shocked expressions graced all of their faces. “What the freakin’ hell. What the holy fucking shit. What the-”

Lorcan was interrupted from his tirade by Gavriel, who just said, “Wow.”

Connall started to laugh darkly. “Those fucking assholes. I’m going to beat the shit out of them. And my brother. Shit, my brother knew?”

Elide smiled. “Yes, I’m afraid both Fenrys and Ansel were aware. They even watched a movie with the two of them a couple days ago.”

“Traitorous pieces of shit. You know, I think I’m content to watch this play out. Aedion doesn’t know?” Connall asked.

“No,” answered Lys with a smile on her face. “And don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll fill you all in on the details of the party. I can’t wait.”

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #my writing

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pitterpatterpot · 6 years

Text

A Lion’s Pride - Chapter Five

“Come on Gavriel!” Fenrys scowls, following him down the hall. “Why won’t you go drinking with us? It’ll be fun, I swear!”

So many pleads just like this one have been begged over the years, some occasionally satisfied and others left hanging dry. However, Gavriel knows that Fenrys has been craving companionship, with Aelin so busy lately and with Aedion strangely retreating to his friends and staying out late (something that gives him the strange urge to give Aedion a certain time he has to be home by, if only Aedion wouldn’t kill him for it). Fenrys is lacking in people to drink and party with. Perhaps, just maybe, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Gavriel to spend some time with the younger fae. It would be nice to go out for a night, and he can always read in the morning.

Sighing, Gavriel shakes his head, futilely holding on to a few complaints. “Fenrys, it’s already late and we’ve had dinner…”

“Exactly!” Fenrys argues. “We have food in our stomach to soak up the ale! Come on, Rowan might be coming as well. If Vaughan and Lorcan were here then they would come!”

“Vaughan?” Gavriel frowns. “Where has he gone?”

“To the wild men again. He seems to have been adopted by them; we might have to steal him back but I’m pretty sure he’s become attached.”

“We’re not stealing him back,” Gavriel sighs. “Fine, I’ll come.”

“Oh, thank the gods!” Fenrys grins, clasping his arm. “About time!”

~~~

Aedion shouldn’t be thinking these things.

Cold snow, so cold and falling and layering his skin but its painted red, red not white why is it red-

-thump-

Not when he’s at a bar with Kyllian and the others.

Dark rooms, dark chains, dark figures constantly opening the doors, pulling on his chains, his collar-

-thump-

But they’re gone. Why are they not here? When did they leave? Right; an hour ago, when they left for the night. It was too late, and they asked if he wanted to come, but the drink was settling in his stomach so warmly and his head is rarely this empty.

The bruises are so dark. Dark bruises, white snow, tanned hands and red blood and it’s all so much-

-thump-

But usually things are so much quieter like this. It’s annoying how the colours, the sounds, race through his head when they’re not supposed to. He needs to get back to the castle, but it’s so satisfying to keep drowning the liquid fire that burns his mind to the point where some of the worries melt away. Not all of them, not the flashes that he’s never been able to hold back, but present day worries become an afterthought, thank the gods.

Or fuck the gods, more like it. They can burn the hell of whatever dimension they came from considering the crap they put them all through.

He stares down at the cup cradled in his hands, the amber liquid gleaming in the light. Could he make it home now, if he wanted? Lysandra knew he was going out, that he could be out all night with his men, so she wouldn’t be worried. Aelin is probably with Rowan, doing things with each other that Aedion really doesn’t want to think about when it comes to his cousin that’s practically his sister (not that their smirks hide much). Vaughan’s visiting the wild men again, Lorcan is with Elide, Fenrys is probably doing lord knows what and Gavriel said he’d stay the night in (reading the Laical books, they’ve been going through them together so they can then talk about them).

So. He may be dragging his own ass home for the night. Either that or asking if he can stay in one of the upper rooms. That’ll be a fun, drunk discussion to have.

“You want another?”

He’s still worrying, so the word ‘yes’ slips past his lips without his mind keeping track of it. It’s all the things he’s trying to forget that keep flashing in his mind and behind his lids. At least he’s tucked into a small alcove at a private table, away from the bright lights and bar surrounded by crowds. He’ll just keep going a little longer, just a bit, until his mind finally slows.

~~~

“You’ll enjoy this place,” Fenrys promises Gavriel. “Aedion comes here with his men, and brought me here a few times. The drinks are better then you’d think.”

Gavriel frowns. “Why would I think they’re bad?”

“Because Aedion likes them,” Fenrys grins. “Come on, you’ll like it and gods know there are some pretty ladies there.”

Gavriel sighs loudly through his nose. “Are you planning to go home with a female tonight?”

Fenrys throws him a rakish grin.

“This is why Rowan decided not to come, isn’t it?” Gavriel sighs.

“I may not go home with anyone,” Fenrys shrugs, dark eyes glancing to Gavriel. “Besides, it’s no fun to go out alone.”

“Alright,” Gavriel can’t help but smiling. “Let’s go.”

They head towards the end of the street, where lights shine through the windows of the stone building.

~~~

The pyres burnt so bright. So bright and so yellow and red blood dripped peach skin fried to black twisted flakes-

-thump-

Nearly sobbing, Aedion lowers his head onto his arms crossed on the table, his half-filled glass in front of him ignored. It’s not just colours now, but screams and the roar of fire that pierce his mind, that cut through the fog like arrows pierce their way through flesh.

-the feeling of being crushed against snow, the floorboards, the soft fabrics, unable to stand with the bodily weights always pushing him down-

-thump-

Without hesitation he tips his head back, swallowing the rest of the ale.

~~~

“See?” Fenrys laughs, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s. “Told you you’d like it!”

Roaring with laughter, Gavriel can’t help but agree. It’s lively, filled with colours and bright energy. The band that plays is fantastic, their music fast placed yet not so loud that it overtakes the entire tavern. The bartenders are kind and chatty, yet so busy that all three of them fly form one side of the bar to the other.

“This is fun,” Gavriel admits, raising his glass to his friend before swallowing a mouthful.

“Remember-“ Fenrys has to pause, snorting out laughter. “Do you remember when we went to the Valet Mountains?”

Gavriel can’t help it; he tips his head back and booms, unable to contain it just from the pure thought of that place alone. Fenrys himself collapses into laughter, falling against Gavriel’s side, his eyes watering at the memory.

“Rowan-“ Gavriel gasps for breath, “Rowan flew into three trees-“

“It was just one after the other!” Fenrys howls. “And Lorcan and Vaughan, they, they followed him!”

“They should have stayed on the ground!” Gavriel chokes out, nearly collapsing. “I mean, why would they even try to fly after that much alcohol?”

“I don’t know!” Fenrys collapses further, shoulders heaving. “Land creatures for the win!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” Gavriel grins, “but there’s a female in the corner that appears to be interested in your. Dark hair and eyes.”

Fenrys flicks his eyes to the woman and, to Gavriel’s surprise, looks away with little interest.

“I thought you were aiming to have company of the female sorts tonight?” Gavriel raises a brow.

“I think I’d prefer someone with lighter colouring,” Fenrys mutters, looking away.

Of course. He’s a fool for not noticing. The dark hair and eyes; Gavriel should have noticed, should have guessed that it’d bring back bad memories. So he scans the bar instead, continues to chat with Fenrys and pretend that the lull in conversation never occurred.

“Ah,” Fenrys’ eyes spark in interest, his gaze tracking to the corner of the room. “There’s something that sparks interest.”

Gavriel doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Fenrys is looking at the red haired female that been glancing at Fenrys all night. He smiles, giving Fenrys a grin, fully aware of how the night may play out with the way Fenrys is teetering on the edge of uncertainty. A rare look, for him.

“Well?” Gavriel urges. “Go over there.”

“I think I will,” Fenrys grins. “What about you?”

“I’m fine,” Gavriel laughs. “Go on ahead. I’ll just finish this drink and head home.”

“You’re still on your first drink,” Fenrys raises his brows.

“Yet I’ve had plenty of conversation,” Gavriel raises his glass in salute. “Go on; I’ll take care of myself.”

He watches Fenrys duck towards the female, laughing as he flirts ridiculously with her until she takes his hand and leads him out into the night. He finishes his drink, standing and walking towards the door himself to leave. But then he catches a scent that makes his instincts perk, something in his chest spark in recognition.

Blood. My blood.

Children for fae are so rare and precious that his instincts sing in delight every time he catches scent, or hears, or even sees his son. The very notion that there is someone who carries his blood causes them to purr. Immediately he swerves, smiling, heading towards the corner, tucked table to where his instincts lead him towards.

~~~

It’s tearing through his throat, tearing it tearing it tearing it as it digs its claws into his cords trying to escape-

-thump-

-escape escape escape the iron chains the collar around his neck digging in in in until drips turns the white ice dark-

-thump-

-the snow is red it’s red but it’s supposed to be white why isn’t it white why is there just so much red-

-thump-

-scared scared scared so scared he can’t stop can’t stop his heart can’t control his lungs-

-thump-

-the room is so dark and so small and it’s just another cage the keys the keys-

-thump-

-he curls up again he has to because they keep coming in again and again and it hurts and someone help help help help-

~~~

“Aedion?” Gavriel blinks at his son, hesitantly approaching him, Aedion’s head buried in his folded arms.

His son doesn’t answer, Aedion’s eyes fluttering open to peak at his father. To his surprise a drunken smile spreads across Aedion’s face, wide and bright like a child’s would be, even with his eyes shining. He lurches forward and wraps his arms around Gavriel’s neck, tipping to the side in the booth he’s in. Gavriel immediately slides in next to him, wrapping his arms around Aedion to keep him from falling and sprawling over the side. Aedion just keeps laughing against Gavriel, leaning into his touch.

“Hey!” Aedion grins at his father. “What’re you doing here?”

“I came with Fenrys,” Gavriel answers slowly, looking around the empty booth. “I though you were with Kyllian?”

“I was!”

“Where is he?” Gavriel slowly moves the cup away from his son.

“He left,” Aedion doesn’t seem to notice his drink sliding away, grinning cheerily. “Is Fenrys here? Hi, Fenrys!”

“No, no, Aedion,” Gavriel shushes him, glancing around, “Fenrys is gone.”

It shocks him how quickly tears spring in Aedion’s eyes. “He’s dead?”

“No, Aedion,” Gavriel soothes him, keeping his voice low and steady. “He went home. Why don’t I take you home?”

Aedion smiles widely, about to answer, but then freezes, and something flickers in his eyes. “I…”

“Come on,” Gavriel pulls gently on Aedion to stand.

His son stays seated, shuddering for a moment. “Hurts…”

At that Gavriel freezes, leaning in close. “Are you alright? What hurts?”

As if breaking from a trance his son grins at him once again. “Are you a kitty cat? You never just walk around as a lion. If I were a lion I would.”

“Aedion,” Gavriel assesses his son, the empty table and glass, and the way his son looks at everything with unsteady vision. “How were you planning to get home?”

“Wasn’t,” Aedion smiles proudly, pointing towards the ceiling.

Hesitating, Gavriel picks his next words carefully, fear shooting up his spine at his sons vulnerable state. “Aedion, have people... have people tried to get you to sleep with them?”

This time the sadness creeps across Aedion’s face at a slower pace. “I-I’m not a whore.”

“No, Aedion, I wasn’t-“

“I’m not,” Aedion’s face crumbles in a way that breaks Gavriel’s heart as his son tugs at his sleeve, voice turning desperate. “I’m not. I’m not now I promise, Gavriel. I never- I-I never-“

“I know,” Gavriel immediately rubs Aedion’s hand between his own as soon as he sees the rising of breaths. “I know, cub, I know. Do you have a room here?”

Slowly, apprehensively, Aedion nods, then looks at Gavriel, his eyes heavy and forlorn. “Please don’t take it.”

“Take your room?” Gavriel’s brows bunch; why would Aedion think he’d steal his place for the night?

“They’d do that,” Aedion mutters, the unfocused look returning to his eyes. “They would have keys, keys, and the locks were on the outside so they’d turn my rooms into cages... they’d just come in, unlock it with their keys then lock again when leaving...”

Bile rises in Gavriel’s throat at the words, at Aedion lost expression as if he’s trapped in some nighttime past.

“We’ll get the key, and you can keep it,” Gavriel promises quietly, Aedion resting against his side as he holds him close. “And if the lock doesn’t work I’ll guard us, and I’ll even turn into a lion.”

Aedion looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Aedion.”

“Promise?” His son asks, determined, face serious as he tugs on Gavriel’s shirt. “Promise.”

“I promise I’ll make sure nothing hurts us,” Gavriel gently pulls Aedion’s hand away. “Ready for bed?”

“No,” Aedion frown, voice surprisingly flat and steady. “I want another drink.”

Freezing, Gavriel blinks at him. “Why?”

He can’t really think of anything else to say. The fluxing emotions, the unsteady movements; surely even Aedion is aware that enough is enough.

“Because,” Aedion sniffs, relaxing against his father. “If I drink a little, I’m a sad drunk. If I drink more, I’m happier. I don’t want to be sadder.”

Gavriel always latches onto the certain words his son uses, constantly realising the truths and lies that Aedion manages to weave together in plain sight. He says nightmares will never ‘happen’ again, that he’s ‘happier,’ not ‘happy,’ and ‘sadder’ instead of just ‘sad.’ The twisted vocabulary makes his chest ache at all that could be implied.

“Come on,” Gavriel stands, supporting Aedion. “We’ll get the key and go to the room.”

“I have it,” Aedion pulls the sliver of metal clumsily from his pocket.

“Alright,” Gavriel knows better then to try to take the key.

He leads Aedion up the stairs, but not before swiping a bottle of water before he does so. He resists the urge to take the key from Aedion’s hands, instead waiting patiently as it takes his son at least five minutes to open the door. Then Aedion locks it behind him. And Gavriel watched as his son checks to see whether or not he can open it again, whether or not it’s just locked to those on the outside. Gavriel watches the tension drain from his sons shoulders at the satisfactory click.

The room is small, the bed pressed against one wall and the couch the other, barely a meters worth of space between them. The very fact however that the tavern rents out rooms at all shows what good wealth it’s in, certainly by the clean quality of the room.

“Drink this,” Gavriel hands his son the bottle, hands stretched out to help or catch if need be (he may have practice thanks to a few of the cadre members).

To his surprise Aedion tips his head back and drink four big gulps of water with practiced ease, sighing as he lowers the bottle, still swaying on his feet.

“Good,” Gavriel gently pries the bottle from Aedion’s hands. “Now, time to lay down and-“

“I got this from a battle,” Aedion lifts his shirt, pointing to a scar on his hip. “Where’d you get that one?”

Gavriel swallows thickly at the retched scar, flexing his hand where Aedion points to, his own scar smaller in comparison. “I was attacked by assassins in a jungle.”

“A jungle?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me!” Aedion grins brightly. “Please? This battle is from when I managed to get up to the commander and threw a spear at him but his friend caught me in the side!”

Trying to swallow, feeling nauseous himself, Gavriel shakes his head. “That’s a good story. I got mine when searching for treasure.”

“Treasure?” Aedion’s eyes light up. “Buries treasure?”

“Yes,” Gavriel helps him move to around the bed, sorting through things. “Buried treasure, where we found a map on a temple side. Rowan, Fenrys and I searched and searched until we found it, and it set off a trap.”

“A trap?” Aedion’s eyes stay bright, and he clings to every word.

Gavriel huffs our a breath, very nearly laughing as he sorts with the sheets. “Aedion, I promise, as soon as you’re sober in the morning I’ll tell you the entire story. I swear. And I’ll tell you the story for other scars too.”

That seems to please his son greatly, who smiles and climbs under the covers. He settles there, watching Gavriel with devoted attention, the light from the lamp reflected in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Aedion,” Gavriel turns out the light, grabs a blanket and sets himself up on the narrow couch.

��Is that comfy?” Aedion asks, voice light and inquisitive.

“Not really,” Gavriel admits, trying to find some way to keep his legs from hanging off the edge.

“There’s room,” Aedion mentions.

Gabriel pauses at his sons offer. “Aedion, answer me honestly; do you think you’d panic, if I slept next to you?”

“No,” Aedion answers with such surety in his drunken state that it throws Gavriel off. “I know how you smell, so it’ll be alright. Like how I know how Kyllian, Aelin and Lysandra all smell and look. I don’t panic if I sleep with them.”

Of course, it makes some sense that the instinctual part of Aedion’s mind would use peoples scents as to label them as threats, as needs to panic. If he recognises the scents as friendly then there’s no reason to attacks or be afraid.

“Are you sure?” Gavriel asks again, worried about crossing some kind of line with non-drunk Aedion.

“Gods! Yes,” annoyance leaks into Aedion’s voice, and Gavriel nearly sighs in relief at how his son sounds so close to his old self. “I’ll feel bad if you don’t. But you can’t come in as a lion. Unless you want to, because lions are amazing.”

Fighting back a smile, Gavriel lies down. “Alright, Aedion.”

“So fluffy. I bet your fur is soft like Lysandra’s. But she’s probably softer.”

Gavriel snorts, something that surprises him as much as it surprises Aedion, Gavriel just able to make out his son in the dark. But then a happy grin appears on Aedion’s face as if he’s made some accomplishments he’s quite proud of.

“Go to sleep, Aedion,” Gavriel shakes his head, still smiling. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“That sounds bad,” Aedion mumbles, burrowing into the blankets for what Gavriel guesses is warmth. “Sorry I ruined your night.”

Reaching out a hand, Gavriel gives Aedion’s hair a pat, his drunken son allowing it with clear glee. “I’m not mad, I was going to go home. Now try to sleep, alright? And I put a bucket next to the bed.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright.”

They lay still, barely even the quiet hum of the street outside reaching them. The patrons downstairs can be heard, certainly, but its muted enough that Gavriel has little trouble blocking out the sound. His eye lids begin to droop, soothed by the lack of immediate danger in the dark room and knowing that his son is right besides him to be protected if needed. So sleep curls its fingers around him, sinking its nail deep into his bones, the alluring toxin helping to shut his eyes.

Until a rhythmic thumping noise starts on the other side of the wall.

Gavriel himself groans, the sound of the bed and thumping louder then the actual cries of the female and male. “Gods, at this time of night...”

He debates pounding on the wall, or just trying to ignore it as he sits up. Looking down he notices Aedion shoving the covers up over his head, eyes screwed shut, a sound between a whimper and sob forcing itself from his lips. Well, now Gavriel really does want to turn into his lion form and roar at people. (And honestly it’s the middle of the night and the walls are obviously thin. You’d think they’d have some consideration for other patrons. It just angers him further).

“Hey,” Gavriel hunkers down, placing his head back on the pillow to look at Aedion, gently shushing him, keeping his voice light. “Hello, Aedion. It’s alright-“

“I hate it so fucking much,” Aedion gasps, hands clenching the pillow, eyes still shut. “I hate the fucking thumping so much-“

Wrapping his arms around his son Gavriel holds Aedion as a few sobs slip out, Aedion clearly trying to choke back the tears even as he clutches at Gavriel, his nails nearly digging in.

“I hate the thumping,” Aedion trembles viciously, body shacking. “Always the thumping. I hate that sound.”

And then Gavriel hears the repeat of the words uttered in Rosamel, the ones he was always so scared to bring up to his son lest it sparked a memory.

“I don’t want to anymore. Help me.”

Pulling in a shaky breath Gavriel clutches his son closer, gathering Aedion in his arms and bowing over him as if to protect him from the noise. Quietly, Aedion sobs, pressing himself firmly against Gavriel as if to try to block out the noise. The thumping grows louder in crescendo, and Gavriel allows a snarl to escape at the heaving, shuffling gasp of breath it pulls from his son, who’s eyes are here but not here.

“It’s alright,” Gavriel mumbles in Aedion’s hair. “It’s alright.”

But he knows. He knows that Aedion is no longer present with him, that the sound has dragged him back into some past memory. He sees the moment when his son returns from it, the moment where Aedion breaks and no longer contains his sobs of panic and despair. Throwing away all formality Gavriel loosens his grip on Aedion, sits up, and bangs heavily on the wall above the head board. Immediately the sounds stop. With it Aedion’s gasping and crying is the only sound heard, Gavriel holding him close in a vain attempt to calm him. Dropping down again Gavriel prepares to talk to Aedion, to try to calm him from whatever memory he was suddenly thrown back into- And the sounds starts again. This time Gavriel growls viciously, the sound raising in volume until it rips through the room and hopefully the walls. He knows it did as the sound stops once again, this time frantic whispers of fear taking place. A quiet satisfaction fills him, and he waits an extra minute to see if they’ll resume. They don’t

“It’s alright,” Gavriel whispers, gathering Aedion in his arms as his son continues to bury himself in Gavriel’s hold. “You don’t have to do anything, Aedion. Alright? I’m here. You’re fine.”

He continues to pat Aedion’s hair, his son slowly calming.

“I’m alright,” Aedion mumbles, wiping at his eyes and pulling away, sobering.

“What was it?” Gavriel asks quietly. “What did you see?”

Aedion says nothing.

~~~

Cold cold cold cold-

-thump-

-but the pyres are so hot-

-thumb-

-the red in hot but the white is cold and why is white turning red-

-thump-

-everything just hurts hurts hurts so much-

~~~

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Aedion mutters, turning away.

Gavriel waits for a moment, contemplating in the silence. Not now, this isn’t the time. This isn’t the time for him to pry, not when Aedion is still drunk, only brought down from his high by the remembrance of a traumatic event triggered by a sound. Gavriel doesn’t want to think about the sound. Doesn’t want to think about why that’d be a trigger.

“Alright,” he whispers instead, not reaching out to touch his son, in fact preparing t leave the bed altogether. “Drink water if you need it, and remember that the bucket is there. If you have any trouble breathing tell me, and if you can’t then try to turn on your side.”

He hears Aedion’s breath hitch as he rises from the bed and moves to the couch. He doesn’t dwell on it, doesn’t question it not wishing to force his son to explain whether or not it was a sound of fear or loss.

Sleep is cruel. Its fingers do not curl into him, dragging him down into the depths of slumber. It takes Aedion, someone who its keeps captivated in nightmares, first. It soothes his breathing until it’s all Gavriel tries to focus on, the sound of his son’s breaths and beating hearts. Sleep eludes Gavriel for the longest of times, leaving him staring at the ceiling, his own heart stuck in his throat.

~~~

The fucking headaches.

Aedion always forgets about the fucking head aches.

Strangely enough the nausea has never been too much of a-

twisting to the side he hurls, his stomach heaving itself out through his throat into the bucket left by the side of the bed. He’s dimly aware of a hand rubbing his back, helping hold the bucket close, but he’s too focused on loosing everything as it burns its way through his throat. With every heave his head aches as if a needle spears it. Gods, he hasn’t been this hung over since he first started drinking and had no idea how to handle his alcohol. What did he do last night?

The questions only grow as Gavriel, his father, moves the bucket away once he’s done so the smell doesn’t encourage another bout of vomiting.

So he was drunk out of his mind, he’s in his usual room above the tavern, and for some reason his father is here as he throws his guts up.

Strangely enough, this isn’t too out of place in the pattern of his life.

“Drink,” Gavriel hands him a bottle, Aedion immediately trusting that it isn’t some kind of drug or alcohol and taking a swig.

“What…” he winces at his raw throat, looking around the room. “What happened?”

Gavriel releases a long breath, still rubbing Aedion’s back. “I went out with Fenrys last night, and I found you here drunk out of your mind.”

There’s a tinge of authority in that, as well as something that gives Aedion the apprehensive feeling that he may be in for a lecture. Wincing, he turns away from Gavriel, then winces at the sunlight streaming in through the gossamer curtains. He fights against the want to lie back down and bury his head under the covers.

Bury under the covers…

“Do you remember anything about last night?” Gavriel asks, voice dry and arms crossed.

Hesitating, Aedion glances at his father. “I had a tad too much to drink with Kyllian and the others and decided to stay the night while they left?”

“Yes,” Gavriel’s answer makes him relax, “except for the fact that Kyllian and the other’s weren’t there, and you told me you kept drinking long after they left.”

Stiffening, Aedion glances towards Gavriel then away again.

“Not to mention,” Gavriel continues in the same flat tone, “that you’ve been staying out late about once a week or so lately.”

Aedion takes another swig of water, glad for it washing away the foul taste in his mouth.

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice turns commanding, leaving no room for bullshit or contradiction, “have you been drinking yourself into stupors once a week?”

It becomes a lot harder to swallow. “No.”

“Aedion.”

“No!” Aedion scowls, arguing back. “I’m not. Last night was just a bad night…”

“So you dealt with it by drinking?” Gavriel pushes, clearly not ready to move on from the topic at hand.

Aedion’s about to answer, he really is, but he ends up heaving. In a flash Gavriel is handing him the empty bucket, and Aedion curls over it as he retches.

“No,” Aedion says again once he’s done, gripping the bucket in his hands. “Last night I just… I don’t know, it was worse then usual and drinking just made it…”

“Worse,” Gavriel growls. “It made it worse, Aedion.”

“But, I don’t remember it,” Aedion points out. “That’s not worse, that’s better. And you didn’t have to stay the night.”

The look that Gavriel sends him clearly states that yes, he did. “You can’t keep drinking like you did last night.”

“I never drink like I did last night.”

“You’re worrying us with how late you come home,” Gavriel frowns. “Not only that but you don’t even stay with Kyllian and your men like you tell us.” “I do!” Aedion places his head in a hand, the ache only encouraging the agitation. “Last night was just worse than usual!”

“I know,” Gavriel rubs at his face.

The way his father says it makes Aedion pause, looking over to Gavriel. His father appears tired, but not only that. No, Aedion knows what it looks like when there are invisible weights dragging a male down, hanging onto his mind and introducing exhaustion in a new form.

“What did I do, last night?” Aedion swallows. “I- Was it bad?”

“No,” Gavriel’s slow answer does nothing to placate him, “nothing bad yourself. You were just… triggered, I think, by a sound. You were heavily intoxicated, and tired and not to mention obviously already struggling, but you panicked deeply.”

Swallowing thickly, Aedion looks away. Shit, maybe he should try to remember things, if he’s going around showing weakness and vulnerability like that. If the wrong person talked to him at the wrong time, if they learnt what they could use to bring him to his knees-

“Aedion,” Gavriel leans forward, voice a steady warmth, “remember what I said. I’d rather you talk to anyone, me or otherwise, about how you’re feeling before you begin to drown and feel the need to scream.”

Good gods. “Did I scream last night?”

“No,” Gavriel pauses. “Well, you did yell ‘hi, Fenrys,’ but that was about it.”

“Fenrys was there?”

“No, he went out earlier, but you thought he was still there and wanted to greet him.”

His head aches. Aedion takes another swig of water, trying to push back the ache and worse-than-usual dehydration.

“We can’t just let this go, Aedion,” Gavriel pushes onwards. “We need to talk about this.”

“It was one night!” Aedion finally relinquishes the words. “One rutting night of trying something different to see if it would work for fucking once! But it didn’t alright? I know that now. Experiment over.”

“The very fact that you thought drinking yourself into oblivion would be considered a coping method-“

“I didn’t!” Aedion holds back on growling, knowing that the other male won’t retaliate and disliking the idea of being the first to do such a thing. “I just went out to get drunk!”

“That’s not good!”

“I’m twenty-four years old! And didn’t you ever do anything like this when you were my age, or didn’t the others? Isn’t this hypocrisy?” Aedion snaps back.

“It’s not hypocrisy, it’s parenting!” Gavriel argues, and they both sit back suddenly at the words as if the fight has now been drained from them both.

Aedion stares at his knees, unsure of what to say in retaliation, instead focusing on steadying his stomach as he thinks. What can he say to that? That he doesn’t want Gavriel ‘parenting’ him? That he wants him to stop, and go away? He can’t, because then he can’t take it back because he’ll have to prove being wrong. Damn, he may be proving Chaol right, that bastard.

But Gavriel dragged his drunk ass out of the tavern and up into the room, then cared for Aedion when he apparently became panicked thanks to some kind of noise, and made sure that he didn’t choke to death on his own vomit.

His father is one of the best males that he’s ever had involved in his life.

Or in his life at all.

“It was irresponsible,” Aedion admits. “I’m sorry.”

He can feel Gavriel’s shock, his start more then enough to cradle guilt in Aedion’s gut at the fact that he was so shocked. Gavriel leans in a little closer, nearly pressing against Aedion’s side, clasping his hands and contemplating his response.

“Thank you,” Gavriel finally breaks the silence. “I understand that as a young adult you’ll probably do things such as this in your life, but I just hope that you’ll try to stay safe as you do so, and not use it as some sort of last-minute coping mechanism.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Aedion swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just went out drinking as usual, but then they all started to leave, and the thoughts wouldn’t stop so I figured that since I was already so far gone…”

“Continuing to drink just because you’re already drunk isn’t a good idea,” Gavriel resists putting his head in his hands. “Just promise me, Aedion, that if you ever find yourself far gone you’ll try to turn to people instead of alcohol.”

“I will, I usually do,” Aedion promises, trying to unclench his hands, using them to smooth down his hands. “I just… Thank you for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry for any trouble that I caused.”

“Just please don’t get black-out drunk.”

“I won’t.”

“And tell me, or anyone, if you’re going out drinking.”

“I will.”

“And please be back by one.”

“That’s a little early if I’m out with the men.”

“One. Or I’ll assume you’re dead.”

Snorting a laugh, Aedion nods. “One, unless I think we’ll be staying the night, in which case I’ll tell someone.”

“Good,” Gavriel sags with obvious relief. “Do you feel well enough to walk back?”

The retching in the bucket is enough of an answer. Aedion pulls back once he’s done, wincing, and closes his eyes.

“Did… did you tell me about a scar or something?”

“Oh, right. So it was about two hundred years ago…”

#tog #aedion #gavriel #fenrys #nightlife

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playcious · 10 months

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Finding Value: An All-Inclusive Handbook for Reasonably Priced Birthday Celebrations in Vaughan

Celebrating a birthday is a special occasion, but it doesn't have to break the bank. If you're looking for ways to host an affordable yet memorable birthday party in Vaughan, you're in the right place. From budget-friendly venues to creative DIY ideas, this guide will help you plan a celebration that's both cost-effective and enjoyable.

Research affordable venues:

When it comes to hosting a birthday party in Vaughan, the venue plays a significant role. Start your search by exploring local community centers, parks, and recreational spaces. These venues often offer affordable rental rates and provide a charming backdrop for your celebration. Additionally, consider booking venues during off-peak hours or on weekdays to take advantage of lower prices.

Consider outdoor celebrations:

Embrace the natural beauty of Vaughan by organizing an outdoor birthday party. Parks and picnic areas are excellent choices, offering a cost-effective solution with built-in entertainment for your guests. Bring along games, sports equipment, or even a themed picnic to make the most of the outdoor setting. Not only will this save you money, but it will also create a unique and memorable experience for everyone involved.

DIY Decorations and Party Supplies:

Put your creative skills to the test by making your own decorations and party supplies. Consider crafting personalized banners, table centerpieces, and party favors. Not only does this add a personal touch to your celebration, but it also helps you cut down on costs. Visit local craft stores for affordable materials and get the entire family involved in the DIY process.

Opt for potluck or DIY catering:

One of the major expenses of a birthday party is often the catering. Instead of splurging on a professional catering service, opt for a potluck-style gathering where each guest contributes a dish. Alternatively, consider preparing simple and delicious DIY snacks and finger foods. This not only reduces the overall cost but also allows you to tailor the menu to suit the preferences of the birthday person and their guests.

Explore budget-friendly entertainment options:

Entertainment is a key element of any birthday party, but it doesn't have to come with a hefty price tag. Look for local artists, musicians, or entertainers who may offer their services at reasonable rates. Another budget-friendly option is to create a playlist of the birthday person's favorite songs and have a DIY dance party. Consider interactive games and activities that require minimal investment but ensure maximum enjoyment for all attendees.

Utilize online discounts and coupons:

In the digital age, finding discounts and coupons for various services has become easier than ever. Explore online platforms that offer deals on party supplies, decorations, and even venue rentals. Websites like Groupon or local event planning forums often feature exclusive discounts that can significantly lower your overall expenses. Take advantage of these digital resources to unlock cost-effective options for your Vaughan birthday party.

Plan in advance for cost savings:

Procrastination can lead to unnecessary expenses. By planning your Vaughan birthday party well in advance, you have the opportunity to shop for deals, compare prices, and take advantage of early-bird discounts. Booking venues, entertainment, and other services ahead of time can help you secure the best rates and avoid last-minute expenses.

Utilize community resources:

Vaughan is a community-rich city with various resources that can contribute to your affordable birthday celebration. Check with local community centers, libraries, and schools for potential venue options or collaborative opportunities. Some community spaces may offer discounted rates for residents, making them ideal choices for a budget-friendly birthday bash.

Throwing an affordable birthday party in Vaughan is not only achievable but can also be a rewarding and enjoyable experience. By researching budget-friendly venues, embracing outdoor celebrations, incorporating DIY elements, and taking advantage of online discounts, you can create a memorable celebration without breaking the bank. Remember, the essence of a great birthday party lies in the joy shared with friends and family, not necessarily in the cost of the celebration. Use this guide to plan a celebration that focuses on meaningful moments and shared experiences, making it a birthday to remember for all the right reasons.

#play places in vaughan #playgrounds in vaughan #private party rooms vaughan

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hazeltonmanor · 1 month

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Events Hall Vaughan: The Ideal Venue for Your Next Celebration

When it comes to hosting memorable events, finding the right venue is crucial. In Vaughan, one standout option is the Events Hall Vaughan, a premier location that offers a blend of elegance, versatility, and exceptional service. Whether you’re planning a wedding, corporate event, or private party, this venue provides everything you need to make your occasion truly special.

An Elegant and Versatile Space

Events Hall Vaughan is renowned for its sophisticated design and versatile event spaces. The venue boasts a range of rooms and configurations to suit various types of gatherings. From grand ballrooms that can accommodate large crowds to intimate spaces perfect for smaller events, the hall offers flexibility to meet your specific needs.

The architectural design of the hall combines modern aesthetics with classic elegance. High ceilings, stylish lighting fixtures, and tasteful decor create an ambiance that enhances any event. Whether you’re envisioning a formal affair or a relaxed celebration, the venue’s versatile design allows for a seamless transition between different event styles.

Exceptional Amenities and Services

One of the standout features of Events Hall Vaughan is its comprehensive range of amenities. The venue is equipped with state-of-the-art audiovisual technology, ensuring that your presentations, speeches, or entertainment are delivered with the highest quality. Additionally, the spacious dance floor and comfortable seating arrangements contribute to a pleasant and enjoyable experience for your guests.

The on-site catering services are another highlight. The venue offers a variety of menu options, from gourmet plated dinners to elaborate buffet spreads. The culinary team works closely with you to customize the menu according to your preferences and dietary needs, ensuring that every dish meets the highest standards of taste and presentation.

A Dedicated Team for Unmatched Service

At Events Hall Vaughan, exceptional service is a priority. The venue’s dedicated event planning team is committed to making your celebration as smooth and stress-free as possible. From the initial consultation to the final details, the team provides personalized support and expert guidance to help you bring your vision to life.

The staff at Events Hall Vaughan is known for their professionalism and attention to detail. They work diligently to ensure that every aspect of your event is handled with care, from setting up the venue to coordinating with vendors. Their expertise and dedication contribute to a seamless event experience, allowing you to focus on enjoying the occasion.

Convenience and Accessibility

The location of Events Hall Vaughan adds to its appeal. Situated in a central area, the venue is easily accessible for guests coming from various parts of the region. Ample parking is available, ensuring that your guests can arrive with ease. The venue’s convenient location also makes it a practical choice for both local and out-of-town guests.

Creating Lasting Memories

Choosing Events Hall Vaughan means opting for a venue that enhances every aspect of your event. The combination of elegant design, exceptional amenities, and outstanding service creates an environment where memories are made. Whether you’re celebrating a wedding, milestone birthday, or corporate achievement, the venue provides a backdrop that makes every moment special.

In conclusion, Events Hall Vaughan is an excellent choice for those seeking a versatile and elegant venue for their next celebration. With its sophisticated design, top-notch amenities, and dedicated service team, the hall ensures that your event is not only successful but also unforgettable. From grand celebrations to intimate gatherings, Events Hall Vaughan offers everything you need to create an exceptional experience. For more details visit our website: www.hazeltonmanor.com

#Banquet Hall Vaughan #Reception Hall #Wedding Hall Vaughan #Wedding Venue #Wedding Reception Venues #Wedding Banquet Halls #Banquet Room Vaughan #Wedding Reception Halls #Banquet House #The Manor Wedding Venue #Banquet Halls In Vaughan #Events Hall Vaughan #The Manor Banquet Hall #Vaughan Wedding Venues #Halls In Vaughan

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mamondae-blog · 7 years

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Shannon Gitte Diaz

Bibliography Entry:

Publication date: 1999

Publisher: ST MARTINS PRESS

Author: Michael Cunningham

Genre: Literary Fiction

Retrieved from http://www.powells.com/book/the-hours-9780312243029/18-0

Introduction:

Michael Cunningham was raised in Los Angeles and lives in New York City. He is the author of the novels A Home at the End of the World (Picador) and Flesh and Blood. His work has appeared in The New Yorker and Best American Short Stories, and he is the recipient of a Whiting Writer's Award. The Hours was a New York Times Bestseller, and was chosen as a Best Book of 1998 by The New York Times, Los Angeles Times, and Publishers Weekly. It won the 1999 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the 1999 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction, and was later made into an Oscar-winning 2002 movie of the same name starring Nicole Kidman, Meryl Streep and Julianne Moore.

Summary:

After opening on a melancholy note with Virginia Woolf's willful death by drowning, The Hours branches out into three interconnected plotlines.

In one plotline, Clarissa Vaughan—a middle-aged book editor living in 1990s New York—gets ready to throw a party. A beloved friend of hers is about to be awarded a distinguished literary prize, and Clarissa is arranging a private celebration where he'll be congratulated by supporters and close personal friends. Clarissa's friend Richard Brown is dying from HIV/AIDS-related illnesses, and when Clarissa checks in on him in the late morning, she can tell that he's having one of his bad days. When she comes back later to help him get dressed for the party, things take a tragic turn: Richard slides himself out of a fifth-story window and is killed. Rather than throwing a party for Richard, Clarissa now finds herself making arrangements for his funeral. In the last hours of the evening, she collects Richard's elderly mother, Laura Brown, and offers her a late-night meal.

In another plotline, that same Laura Brown is still a young woman living in a sunny, pristine suburb of Los Angeles. She wakes on the morning of her husband's birthday and eventually musters up the energy to get out of bed and face the day. Throughout the morning, Laura and her three-year-old son, Richie, make a birthday cake together. It doesn't turn out as Laura hoped, and after receiving an unexpected visit from a neighbor, Laura dumps the cake in the garbage and starts again. In the afternoon, Laura leaves Richie with a neighbor for a few hours so that she can "run some errands," by which we mean she steals away for a few hours so that she can enjoy some rare time alone. Laura checks herself into a hotel, then curls up to read Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway. Back at home that evening; Laura presides over her husband's birthday dinner. Later, once Richie is asleep, she and her husband get ready to head to bed. As Laura fiddles around in the bathroom, she thinks about how easy it would be to swallow a fatal number of sleeping pills and slip away from her life.

In the novel's third plotline, Virginia Woolf wakes up with an idea for the first line of a novel. After getting some coffee and checking in with her husband, she spends the morning drafting the first pages of the book that will eventually become Mrs. Dalloway. In the afternoon, Virginia takes a walk and ponders her heroine's fate. Back at home, she lends a hand in the printing room, where her husband, Leonard, is preparing another book for publication. Virginia is expecting a visit from her sister, niece, and nephews, and soon the clan arrives. The children have found an injured bird in the yard, and before they all come inside, Virginia helps them to make a little deathbed for the creature. In the early evening, after her extended family members are gone, Virginia slips outside for another walk. She heads toward the train station with a half-baked plan to run off to London for a few hours. She buys a ticket, and then decides to walk around the block while she waits for the next train to arrive. As she does, she sees Leonard coming toward her. Playing it cool, she keeps her plans to herself and walks home. Back at home, as bedtime approaches, Virginia makes a final decision about her novel. Instead of killing off her heroine, Mrs. Dalloway, she decides that "a deranged poet, a visionary" will die instead.

Critical Analysis:

It was indeed that this novel was a great novel of all time as it was a recipient of a lot of award. After reading the summary of the said novel, the curiosity of mine upon how this novel was considered as the novel of all time and how this novel was a recipient of a lot of award in America has been answered as the technicality of the author, how great the interconnection was presented in every plotline. One story with three interconnected plotlines is quite a tricky thing to use considering the great outcome and sacrificing your name in one novel is an enormous thing to be noted. The story gives a lot of moral lessons as it tackles a lot of social issue such as the LGBT and also the HIV/AIDS victim. The story had this moral lesson to those writers who didn’t have this chance to be a productive in their field of expertise because of lack of confidence. The novel is very technical in a way that the author used a plot twist and a surprise thingy to his reader. This story will tell how great Michael Cunningman is and how talented he is in the field of literary writing.

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wiremagazine · 5 years

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DESTINATIONS: PRIDE JOURNEY: ASPEN GAY SKI WEEK

By Joey Amato | Photos by Lukas Volk

For years I’ve heard about Aspen Gay Ski Week, but it wasn’t until this year that I decided to take the journey out to Colorado to experience the event for myself. Now in its 43rd year, Aspen Gay Ski Week attracts guests from around the country, and possibly around the world.

For most, there are two ways to get to Aspen. The first is to fly to Denver and then take a connecting regional jet or drive four hours through beautiful Rocky Mountain terrain. My guest and I decided the drive would be fun, plus we would get a chance to spend some time in Denver. After speaking with the locals, I would actually recommend this route because it will help your body adjust to the altitude. Altitude sickness is definitely a thing, so don’t take the warnings lightly. Drink lots of water throughout your stay and watch your alcohol intake. One drink equals about three in the mountains.

Spend a night at the historic Hotel Oxford in Denver, which I was excited to find out is also a haunted hotel. It is the oldest hotel in the city and a ghost is said to maintain residency in one of the rooms. The upscale property boasts a wonderful Bourbon Happy Hour every evening in which guests get a chance to sample a variety of wonderful bourbons. Connected to the hotel is Urban Farmer, a restaurant that serves brunch every day of the week. How can you go wrong? If you are really hungry, order the Mile-High Omelet. Or, try the Chestnut-Banana Breakfast Bowl served with muesli, clementine, strawberry, and an almond brown sugar crunch if you are in the mood for something a bit lighter.

If you only have one day to explore Denver, it will be hard to squeeze in all the must-see sights but if you have time, head to the Denver Botanic Gardens or Denver Art Museum, which during my visit hosted a sold-out Claude Monet exhibition featuring more than 120 paintings spanning Monet’s entire career. If you just want to see some highlights, order an eTuk (electric Tuk Tuk) to whisk you around the city. Stop for dinner at El Five, one of the city’s newest dining establishments. The restaurant has a beautiful view of downtown so try to get a table by the wall of windows. Order a few tapas for the table to share, or if you are in the mood for something a bit heartier, try one of El Five’s paella options. After dinner, head to Capitol Hill, the epicenter of LGBTQ nightlife. Remember, don’t go too wild because the drive to Aspen is long and a bit tricky depending on the weather. Party with the locals at Tracks, Charlie’s, X Bar or Triangle.

The road to Gay Ski Week in Aspen could be quite adventurous. You never really know what the weather will be, and it could turn on a dime in the mountains. Luckily, we were met with clear skies on both our drives to and from Aspen, but the Friday during our stay saw 10 inches of snowfall and shut down of major roads into the city, stranding some revelers for hours. Even Olympic medalist Gus Kenworthy was no match for the winter storm. He was scheduled to appear at Four Mountain Sports but was delayed over an hour due to the harsh conditions.

I had never been to Aspen before and wasn’t sure what to expect. As you drive along I-70, twisting through the steep mountain peaks and tunnels, you begin to envision what the ski town will look like. Aspen is an old mining town, founded in the 1870s and its deep history can still be seen today in some beautifully preserved buildings. As you wander around the narrow streets, you can see old mixed with new, evident by the contemporary design of the Aspen Art Museum. Even the glamorous boutiques like Chanel, Gucci and Dior are housed in historic buildings, which add to the city’s mystique.

The Limelight Hotel Aspen is ground zero for all things Gay Ski Week including a daily activity known as Après Ski, which loosely translates into after ski drinks and conversation with friends. Even non-guests of the hotel would gather daily in the lobby for this Aspen tradition. Limelight is located in the heart of the city and a few blocks from the base of Aspen Mountain. The hotel offers a complimentary buffet breakfast as well as a shuttle service, making your stay even more enjoyable since you won’t need a car or rideshare. Our room at Limelight was nothing short of magnificent. The Cathedral Suite features a full kitchen, dining and living room complete with a wall of windows offering breathtaking views of the mountains.

Aspen Gay Ski Week events change on a daily basis. In the evening we arrived, many boutiques and art galleries stayed open late for Aspen’s Fashion & Art Night Out. The following night featured a comedy show with Julie Goldman and Alec Mapa held at Belly Up, followed by a dance party at the venue. However, one of the most anticipated events of the week is the Downhill Costume Competition, where teams of skiers dress up in a theme and ski down Aspen mountain. I can’t even ski in regular attire, but some of the outfits ranged from Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers to Olivia Newton John-inspired costumes with the team performing to her hit “Physical” on stage, after skiing down the mountain. The event was hosted by Sister Helen Holy, quite simply one of the funniest, quick-witted drag queens I have ever seen. Sister Helen had the crowd roaring with laughter throughout the entire event, which happened to be during that storm I mentioned earlier. The snow made for an even more magical afternoon.

What gay event would be complete without some dance parties? Later in the evening, head to Top of the Mountain for The White Party. With the temperature hovering in the single digits, we boarded a gondola and headed to the top of Aspen mountain. The ride takes about 15 minutes to ascend to the 11,000-foot summit, sometimes in pitch black conditions. It was both exciting and scary at the same time as there were moments when you literally couldn’t see a foot in front of you. Once you arrive at the Sundeck, you are greeted with hosts serving well-needed Champagne and DJ Blacklow spinning, as hundreds of revelers, dressed mostly in white, dance the night away. The crowd was one of the most diverse crowds I’ve seen in a while. Gay, straight. Male, female. Young, old. It didn’t matter. Everyone was there to have a good time and a party in the sky.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the fact that Aspen is quite expensive. It is a town visited by the super-rich, so keep that in mind before you go. A meal at one of the town’s fabulous restaurants like Pinons or Acquolina can easily set you back $100 per person if you order a drink with dinner. There are some less expensive options but just be prepared to spend a bit more than anticipated.

I mentioned my lack of skiing ability earlier, so I decided I needed some lessons before heading out on the slopes. You can book private or semi-private lessons through the Aspen Snowmass website and I highly recommend you do so if you are a novice skier. Our instructor, Pat Vaughan was wonderful and very patient with me and my lack of hand-eye coordination. I only fell a few times and slightly bruised my knee but all in all, it was a successful experience.

Aspen Gay Ski Week comes to a close with their infamous pool party, held at Aspen Recreational Center. This year’s party was hosted by Tito’s Vodka, Suerte Tequila, and Bud Light. and as you can imagine, was filled with guys wearing as little clothing as possible. In all, the week was a wonderful experience, one that people come back to enjoy year after year. I reconnected with old friends and made some new friends along the way. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for 2021. Enjoy the journey!

Joey Amato is the publisher of Pride Journeys, a website dedicated to LGBTQ travel. Joey has spent over a decade in LGBTQ media and public relations and currently resides in Indianapolis, Indiana. He can be reached at [email protected]

This was originally published in Wire Magazine Issue 6.2020

#wire magazine #wiremag.com #wire #miami #miami beach #south beach #sobe #fort lauderdale #wynwood #wilton manors #gay #lgbt #glbt #destinations #aspen gay ski week

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invincible-selfxmade-punk · 7 years

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Christmas

Christmas has never been the greatest of times. When I was a small child and the world revolved around me, it was great. All our relatives would pile into my Mimi’s rundown little house on highway 80 (which I never understood was the worst side of town until I was way into adulthood). There was more food than I can even remember, and all my 9 uncles would play with me b/c they had not seen me all year. It was fun and wonderful and my older cousins would get crazy, expensive electronic games like Merlin or Coleco Football that I could watch them play but not touch.

Then my mom and Mimi died w/in a year of each other and suddenly I was being tossed around between my druggie sisters who lived in squalor, filthy, roach-ridden houses or dark shag carpets that smelled of urine and cigarettes and strange, scary boyfriends. I look back at these times and can’t believe I was never raped. When I got a little older I could beg off and spend some of the holidays with friends but Christmas Day was invariably spent in my room, alone with nothing but a cassette boombox and a picture window view of our frozen backyard. hen Dad died a week before Christmas and after that, I vowed never to be cooped up for Christmas again. For the next 8 years I spent it alone, on the road, driving to Dallas or Austin. Later I would spend it working, once I got a job at a theater where I worked every single holiday for 8 years. Then I was married and at the mercy of my husband and his drug habit. Some years were good, somewhere bad. One year he wanted a $75 video game I could not afford. I told him over and over I could not afford it and he seemed to think I would sacrifice a week’s worth of food, gas or rent to buy it for him. When I bought him a biography of his favorite musician instead, he kicked me out of my house, the apartment I paid rent and utilities on. I had no money, no gas in my car, nothing to eat. I had nowhere to go and was too ashamed to call up anyone I worked with to say “Hey my husband just threw e out, can I stay with you?”

I ended up in a 24-hour laundromat. It was well lit, warm, had a tv on to CNN and I had enough money to buy a soda from the machine and that was my Christmas dinner. Aside from my Dad dying, that was the worst Christmas of my life. I’ve done grand things for Christmas, like going to b & b’s out in the woods, I’ve thrown parties at my house, I’ve gone to see my sister who surprised me with tickets to see Charlie Sexton and the ARC Angels, Christmas Eve, a sold-out show that she bought scalped tickets just for me....Back when I was not too anxious to walk into places all alone. It was the first time I had seen him play live after being in love with him for 5 years. It was like having a private audience with the Pope. As I walked out, i looked up to the sky to give thanks to God that i had not killed myself all those times I had wanted to Just as I did this, a snow began to fall. It was like my world went from black and white to color and I knew then I was going to be alright.

I’ve spent many Christmases working, spent two Christmases on the road, driving KCS rail crews back home so they could be with their families and neglecting my own. I’ve gone to lavish Christmas parties, crashed Christmas parties of people I did not know, had bonfires on the beach for the winter solstice, spent several holidays at the grave of Stevie Ray Vaughan, my hero at the time, and I suppose still my hero now. By this time next week, I will be alone again I have no idea what I will do, what I will eat, but I know I’ll be alone and that’s okay. There are certainly worse things. Some of which I have lived through.

#writing #poem #spilled ink #prose #text #words #creative writing #free verse #thoughts #Christmas #then and now #good and bad #Texas #life #Dallas #Austin

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viewittoronto · 6 years

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Master Bedrooms for rent in Woodbridge, Vaughan | Room Rentals & Roommates | Markham / York Region

Brand New luxury Gorgeous Town House in Woodbridge, Vaughan (North West Corner of Weston Rd & Mackenzie Dr.), Looking for single FEMALE roommates only in their 20-40, no smokers, no pets, no parties. — Minutes to Hwy 400, 407, 401, Vaughan Subway Station (TTC VMC Station), Wonderland, Vaughan Mills Shopping (Walmart, Freshco ect), Restaurants — Close to York University, Humber college — Available immediately — All included: hydro, internet (Fibe 300)

(1) Second master bedroom with 4 pieces private bathroom inside of the room, on ground floor. $850. (first 4 pics) (2) Two second bedroom share one 4 pieces bathroom on second floor. $750 each. (last 6 pics) The actually rooms are much better than my pictures, not really good at taking pictures. Please email me if you are interested! Thanks If the ad is up, it’s available

The post Master Bedrooms for rent in Woodbridge, Vaughan | Room Rentals & Roommates | Markham / York Region appeared first on Viewit.

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#real estate in canada #toronto

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gizedcom · 4 years

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Visit UK spots that inspired famous composers, from the Malvern Hills to the Suffolk coast

The British countryside is woven through with home-grown classical music, from symphonies inspired by the Scottish islands to Sir Harrison Birtwistle’s chamber composition that references a prehistoric mound in Wiltshire.

And exploring the areas which influenced a composer’s finest work, or visiting museums which celebrate their legacy, makes for an inspiring break.

British composers might not have the exuberance of Italian ones, nor the fame of Bach or Mozart, but if there’s one thing that unites them it’s that their music is tied to the landscape around them. This can range from the sound of birdsong, a blustery Suffolk day or even, in the case of Gustav Holst when he wrote The Planets, the clear night skies.

Inspirational: Black Pear Tours has a self-guided, five-night Elgar walking tour through the Severn Valley and surrounding hills, visiting Malvern and Worcester

Sir Edward Elgar, perhaps Britain’s most famous composer, wrote the Pomp And Circumstance Marches as well as the music for Land Of Hope And Glory. Visit The Firs (nationaltrust.org.uk/the-firs), his birthplace in Worcester, and it’s soon clear how much the countryside meant to him, especially the soft green hills where he grew up and continued to live near for much of his life.

Elgar composed the Enigma Variations in Malvern in 1898, each one a musical portrait of a friend and inspired by the magnificent landscape. A keen cyclist and walker, he wrote The Apostles after cycling to the beautifully still Longdon Marsh, today a nature reserve and haven for birdwatchers.

And while staying at Spetchley Park Gardens, as a guest of the owner when it was privately owned, Elgar penned part of his choral masterpiece, The Dream Of Gerontius. The little-known 30-acre garden, three miles east of Worcester, is a Victorian delight, remains largely unaltered and contains one of the country’s biggest private collections of peonies (spetchleygardens.co.uk).

The dining area at The Cottage In The Wood hotel in Malvern Wells, which has a sense of Edwardian generosity

If you want a relaxing stay nearby, The Cottage In The Wood hotel in Malvern Wells has a sense of Edwardian generosity and spectacular views, especially in its 1919 restaurant. B&B costs from £109 (cottageinthewood.co.uk).

To dig a little deeper, Black Pear Tours has a self-guided, five-night Elgar walking tour through the Severn Valley and surrounding hills, visiting Malvern and Worcester. The price starts at £415pp and covers maps, B&B accommodation and luggage transportation between hotels (blackpearwalkingtours.com/the-walks/elgar-trail).

Elgar was also a regular guest at Long White Cloud, a house close to the Thames in Bray which is now part of the luxurious Monkey Island hotel (monkeyislandestate.co.uk). It was here that he worked on his Violin Concerto.

Not every Elgar haunt is so grand. On the Isle of Wight you can stay in Bermuda House, a Victorian villa in Ventnor where he honeymooned with wife Alice (ventnorselfcatering.co.uk/bermuda-house).

London has a special classical musical landscape of its own. Baroque composer George Frideric Handel left his native Germany and lived here for more than 40 years, becoming a British citizen (he’s buried in Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey, alongside Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens). And, like Elgar, he had a strong connection with the Thames.

His Water Music, still wonderfully cheerful and party-minded, was written for a pageant on the river in 1717 where musicians performed while bobbing around on a boat. His Music For The Royal Fireworks was first performed in Green Park in 1749 flanked by a recently built Buckingham Palace.

Sir Edward Elgar, perhaps Britain’s most famous composer

Handel’s home in Mayfair’s Brook Street also comes with a plaque to Jimi Hendrix, who spent a year living next door. The two very different musicians also share a museum (handelhendrix.org).

Just around the corner from the designer shops of Bond Street, the museum celebrates both with small but very popular concerts of Handel’s chamber music and also jam sessions, Hendrix-style. Until audiences can enjoy live concerts again, they are being filmed and can be found on the museum’s website.

Also on Brook Street, Claridge’s has history and comfortable double rooms costing from £660 a night (www.claridges.co.uk).

There’s something particularly magical about hearing a piece of music in the place it was first designed to be performed, and Britain’s churches and cathedrals will be for ever intertwined with such an experience, even in more modern cathedrals – Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem was commissioned for the opening of the newly consecrated Coventry Cathedral in 1962.

Next year, Martin Randall Travel has a trip to Oxford that focuses on Divine Office, a series of psalms and hymns written to be performed at certain times of the day.

Held over four days in a variety of colleges, including Magdalen and Christ Church, there’s strong emphasis on British composers, ranging from Thomas Tallis and Henry Purcell through to Britten and modern works. Prices start at £2,580pp including accommodation, breakfasts and some dinners (martinrandall.com/divine-office).

Many of Britain’s oldest stately homes nurtured the talent of English composers. Cliveden House – now a luxury hotel – saw the first performance of Rule, Britannia! in 1740 when Frederick, George III’s eldest son, lived there. Room-only from £445 (clivedenhouse.co.uk).

These days, patronage operates in different ways. Glyndebourne (glyndebourne.com) and Garsington Opera (garsingtonopera.org) are just two historic organisations that started in stately homes.

As well as staging classic operas, both commission new compositions that play to music fans who come to take in culture amid meadows and formal gardens. This year the season has been disrupted but operas can be viewed online, and at 5pm today you can watch the premiere of Rossini’s The Barber Of Seville from Glyndebourne on YouTube.

Cliveden House – now a luxury hotel – saw the first performance of Rule, Britannia! in 1740 when Frederick, George III’s eldest son, lived there

Ralph Vaughan Williams devoted his life to collecting English folk tunes before they were lost, and used them as a basis for lyrical classical music, from the glorious The Lark Ascending to the more mournful Norfolk Rhapsody and In The Fen Country.

He grew up at the 17th Century mansion Leith Hill Place in Surrey, now owned by the National Trust. There are some glorious walks that allow you to follow in his footsteps. Even if you can’t guarantee hearing a lark these days, you can really get a sense of the peaceful, nature-filled landscape that Vaughan Williams grew up in (nationaltrust.org.uk/leith-hill/trails/leith-hill-woodland-walk).

With eight acres of protected landscape, including a river, the rather special Wotton House Country Estate Hotel, which dates from the 16th Century, is a ten-minute drive from Leith Hill Place. Room-only from £110 (wottonhouse.co.uk).

Benjamin Britten was born in Lowestoft in 1913 but spent most of his life down the Suffolk coast in Aldeburgh, working on operas such as Peter Grimes, Billy Budd and The Turn Of The Screw.

Sound sculpture: The Scallop on Aldeburgh beach, dedicated to Suffolk-born Benjamin Britten

His home, the Red House (brittenpears.org/visit), full of hip 1960s furnishings and his purpose-built Composition room, is open to the public. Visitors are welcome to picnic in the classic cottage garden, but venture outside this protected zone and you’re on the starker, moodier North Sea coast that suddenly makes sense of the Sea Interludes in Peter Grimes.

Full Aldeburgh immersion can be had by staying at the seafront Brudenell Hotel, a mile from the Scallop, Maggi Hambling’s controversial four-metre-high steel sculpture dedicated to Britten. Doubles from £150, including breakfast (brudenellhotel.co.uk).

Britain’s composers tend to leave festivals as one of their legacies. Britten set up the Aldeburgh Festival in 1948, starting as a few concerts in the nearby Jubilee Hall. It is now held in Snape Maltings (snapemaltings.co.uk) – a venue converted from a barley warehouse which is on the banks of the River Alde and surrounded by fields.

The Aldeburgh Festival has been cancelled this year, but some of its archives are now online so it’s more accessible than ever. It’s due to host the festival again in 2021.

Three Choirs Festival, which runs each year at Worcester, Gloucester and Hereford cathedrals (3choirs.org) is most closely associated with Elgar but has also featured work composed by Sir Arthur Sullivan, whose favourite collaborations were with the dramatist W. S. Gilbert, resulting in The Pirates Of Penzance and The Mikado.

Felix Mendelssohn visited Staffa (pictured) in 1829 – and wrote an overture inspired by it first performed in 1833 in Berlin

Fingal’s Cave was written by Felix Mendelssohn about Staffa, an uninhabited island in the Inner Hebrides, when he visited it in 1829. Queen Victoria’s favourite composer, he dedicated his Scottish Symphony to her.

And this tradition of Scottish scenery inspiring music continued into the 20th Century. Composer and conductor Sir Peter Maxwell Davies lived in the Orkney Islands for more than 40 years, using the location to inspire operas – most joyously with An Orkney Wedding With Sunrise, depicting the aftermath of a riotous wedding.

If ever there was a year to enjoy the remote beauty of the Orkneys, it’s 2020.

The Storehouse restaurant with rooms makes a perfect base, with doubles costing from £110 including breakfast (thestorehouserestaurantwithrooms.co.uk).

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wineanddinosaur · 5 years

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Coastal Views and Killer Brews: Six of the Best Beachy Beercation Destinations

Those eager to spend time gazing into the surf with a cooler full of beers have plenty of options in the summer months. The best beach beercation destinations aren’t limited to the east and west coasts of America, either; there are little beach towns with craft beer scenes all over the interior of the country, too.

So whether you’re headed north, south, east, west, or somewhere in the middle, there’s a beachy beer scene for you. Here are six of our favorites.

Rehoboth Beach, DE

Credit: RevBeer.com

Rehoboth Beach is home to a vibrant LBGTQ+ scene, picturesque boardwalk, and longtime independent beer advocate Dogfish Head. The OG brewpub, Dogfish Brewings & Eats, on Rehoboth’s main drag, has a killer draft list that includes cellared offerings as well as craft cocktails. Throughout the summer there’s music — and this reporter once spied co-owner Sam Caligione inconspicuously busting a move, 75-Minute IPA in hand. Head out to the production facility a short drive away in Milton for rarities and draft-only stylings, not to mention one of the more entertaining brewery tours in the country.

Or, take a day to visit Dewey Beer Company in nearby Dewey Beach, where the main draw is crushable fruited sours that go down a little too smoothly in the sun. Stop in Revelation Craft Brewing to try Mother in Law IPA, brewed with Cascade hops grown by, you guessed it, the brewmaster’s mother in law.

Head back to the shore for a dozen oysters and a small but world-class beer list at Henlopen City Oyster House. For a deep draft list, hit up Rehoboth Beach Ale House, but make sure to save room for Thrashers fries later in the evening. They’ll surely absorb some of the booze.

Traverse City, MI

Credit: MonkeyFistBrewingCo.com

Traverse City, Mich., offers spectacular views of Lake Michigan and family-friendly activities like fishing and hiking. It’s also home to an underrated beer scene. Visit the 7 Monks Taproom for a great selection of Belgian beers and a Michigan-heavy tap list that includes current favorites like Old Nation and Wax Wings as well as classic Wolverine State beers from Bell’s and Short’s.

Tuck into wood-fired pizzas in a restored train depot at the Filling Station; it recently collaborated with Pipeworks for a double IPA called Train vs Unicorn. At Right Brain Brewery, enjoy GABF medal winner Mangalitsa Pig Porter (it’s made with real pig’s heads). If experimental beers aren’t your thing, Right Brain has a number of other styles, from hop-forward to cream ales to malty to Belgians.

Closest to the water, check out Monkey Fist Brewing Company for lighter options like Watermelon Rebellion and GW’s Little White Lie Belgian witbier, and then head up to Sunset Beach and watch the boats come in.

New England Seacoast

Credit: TributaryBrewingCompany.com

Start at North Beach in North Hampton, N.H., to get away from the tourist crowds, then head north along Route 1A, one of the prettier drives in the state. Pop into The Beach Plum for a hefty lobster roll (it’s BYOB).

From Portsmouth, N.H., to Portland, Me., there are a number of world-class breweries. And if you’re heading to Cape Cod, we’ve got you covered.

Working north from Portsmouth, check out the city’s namesake brewery before heading to Tributary Brewery in Kittery, Me., home of Mott the Lesser (formerly Kate the Great), the legendary Russian imperial stout by Tod Mott. Go to Barreled Souls Brewing Company in Saco for superlative local, high-gravity, barrel-aged pastry stouts. If you’re still hungry and want a slight detour, The Clam Shack in Kennebunk is the best lobster roll on the planet, plus they have Allagash White on tap; and Mast Landing Brewing Company in Westbrook for trendy, hop-forward styles (don’t sleep on the peanut butter milk stout, though).

And, of course, no trip to the beer Mecca of Portland, Me., is complete without brewery trips to Allagash Brewing Company and Oxbow Brewing. Stop for a nightcap at Novare Res, the world-famous beer bar.

Duluth, MN

Credit: BlackListBeer.com

Thoughts of Minnesota likely include images of snow, hockey, and Prince, but the shores of Lake Superior also have a robust beer scene. Stop by Bent Paddle Brewing for Black, a black lager, and its cousin, Cold Press Black, made with locally roasted coffee. You won’t find any singular style dominating the taps at the wonderfully diverse Blacklist Artisan Ales, Hoops Brewing, and Canal Park Brewing, making them great places to try a variety of local specialties like Belgian strong ales at Blacklist, a Wood Smoked Wheat at Hoops, and old-school West Coast IPA at Canal Park.

Saddle up to the extensive tap list at 7 West Taphouse and grab a few beers to go for a stroll down the Lake Walk. Or, you can set down by the Fountain of the Wind and take in the enormity of the lake.

Bonus points for heading over to the Wisconsin side of Lake to Superior and visiting Earth Rider Brewery. Its North Tower, an English Oatmeal Stout, may be the best beer on the lake.

Eastern Long Island, NY

Credit: GreenportHarborBrewing.com

Once upon a time, Eastern Long Island drinking culture was limited to overpriced bars or Gatsby-esque private parties. While you can certainly still find plenty of places offering $15 Tito’s-and-sodas and mandatory valet parking, there are now lots of other, more democratic scenes for discerning drinkers.

On the North Fork, enjoy a Beehave Summer Ale and chill outside playing Jenga at Greenport Harbor Brewing. Grab your cooler and kayak and head out to Emerson Park for a peaceful afternoon on the wide sandy beaches on Hog Neck Bay.

If you’re heading out to Montauk, the easternmost stretch on the island, stop in to the Montauk Brewing Company tasting room for perfect post-surf-lesson session beers. Or fill your cooler with Montauk Summer Ale or a Blue Point Brewing Shore Thing (brewed with pilsner malt and sea salt) to go out striper fishing.

“The beer scene on the East End has evolved over the past few years,” said Montauk co-founder Vaughan Cutillo. “More and more local bars and restaurants are looking to carry a variety of local beers, and we are thrilled to be a part of that movement.”

San Diego, CA

Credit: FallBrewingCompany.com

San Diego is the ultimate beach-beer scene. Brewers here helped launch what is now a countrywide craft beer resurgence, and, well, have you seen those pristine beaches? Typically, San Diego beer pilgrims are directed to Miramar for AleSmith and Societe, North Park for Modern Times and Fall Brewing, and places closest to the Pacific. All are absolutely worth your time.

There are other spots in San Diego worth trying, too. Head to Pizza Port in Solana Beach for pizza or literally anything from the munchies menu and wash it down with Swami’s, the classic IPA that put this place on the map. For your to-go needs, there’s a Bottlecraft location less than a mile south. Down south and further into the heart of San Diego in La Jolla is Karl Strauss, selling everything from hoppy lagers to IPAs to English ales. Best of all, it’s just a five-minute walk from La Jolla Cove.

Keep heading south and hit up Crushed in Pacific Beach for one of the best tap lists by the beach. Coronado Brewing Tasting Room is just 10 minutes by car (the OG spot in Coronado is a little farther away). And, in Ocean Beach, there’s Mike Hess Brewing and Belching Beaver, among others.

The article Coastal Views and Killer Brews: Six of the Best Beachy Beercation Destinations appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/6-best-beer-beach-destinations-2019/

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