#Stance Socks Australia

[concretelines-blog1]

[thedistantdusk]

Expectations

For the Hinny Christmas Fest, so kindly organized by @fightfortherightsofhouseelves​! Got this one in just under the wire! :D Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts​ and @kmi-kmi​ for giving it a look over for me! Rated a soft T for references to sex. On AO3. 

________

Molly Weasley is a lot of things. But she’s not an idiot. 

Even if she hadn’t once been a teen in the throes of a serious relationship on the heels of a war (which, incidentally, she was), she did raise seven children. Seven Gryffindor children. Seven Gryffindor children who, by default, have each thought themselves far more competent at sneaking around than they truly are.

As such, she’s fairly certain of when Harry and Ginny became... intimate... this summer. Not that she wants the details. Her interest is limited to ensuring that her daughter — that all of her children, Harry and Hermione most definitely included — are well-informed on the inherent risks of what they’re doing. The knowledge of their intimacy was just one of those things that even the most oblivious of parents would have found impossible to ignore. In the span of two days, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny went from “taking long walks in the garden” to feigning yawns and calling it an early night at 7 PM. Besides, Ron and Hermione had already been to Australia by themselves; only a moron would truly believe their nights were strictly filled with knitting caps for house elves. 

And as has been said before, Molly is a lot of things... but she’s not a bloody idiot. She knows some might expect her to maintain a puritanical stance on sex (as if she hadn’t birthed seven children of her own). She knows some might have disagreed with her stance on letting things unfold as they did. But as she’s learned over the past year, happiness — true happiness — is hard to find. 

After months of thinking she’d never see happiness on her children’s faces again, she first spotted it in Ginny’s eyes last May. Back then, it was a creeping, hesitant sort of look... the type that dipped its toes in the waters of joy for a split-second before retreating like a frightened doe. 

But as the weeks progress, she sees it more and more often — and not just in Ginny’s eyes. She sees happiness in the lazy quirk of Harry’s lips as Ginny takes his hand beneath the table. She sees it in the bobbing of Ron’s Adam’s Apple as Hermione descends the stairs in a sundress. She sees it in the way Hermione let a sandal dangle from her toe as she tilts her chin towards the sun.

By now, the four of them have coupled up properly, just as she suspected they would. It was in equal parts charming and bittersweet, but Molly knows better than anyone that there’s nothing quite like a war to rearrange one’s priorities. 

And when she considers all of that, plus the fact that certain fractals of darkness will never truly leave them (just as they’ll never truly leave her)... who would she have been, really, to snatch such joy away?

So, yes, Molly spends the summer fully aware they’re intimate beneath her roof. But after the plague of chaos and confusion and uncertainty and fear that followed their family for close to a year, she honestly prefers them beneath her roof then in a tent somewhere, filled with cat piss and loneliness. 

However — and Molly admits this part makes her a bit cheeky — she does enjoy the unnecessary pageantry they go to over the summer to conceal what they’re doing. The four of them actually think they’re good at hiding it, even as Harry rakes his eyes over Ginny’s... erm... back. Even as she Hermione parades around the kitchen in Ron’s old jumper. Even as she hears, each night, as Ginny’s feet land in the attic as Ron’s land in Ginny’s room. Alas, the whole thing is too hilarious and contrived for her to spoil, so she simply doesn’t. 

But then the girls return to school after a summer that’s both agonizingly long and tenderly fleeting. Harry and Ron find a flat together and enter training. What remains of their lives returns to normal, even though Molly feels she’ll always be picking up the piece of a puzzle that can’t be solved. 

She keeps herself busy as fall turns to winter, though. She volunteers with Ministry relief efforts. She writes to Ginny often. She makes an effort to try harder with Fleur, to rebuild her relationship with Percy, to assist George if she can, to stay close with her husband. She knows her life will forever be separated into two parts: before and after. She knows that the remainder of her days will contain a deep-seated longing that tinges her world with shades of gray. This is a unique type of pain, she knows… the sort of pain only a mother can feel. The sort of pain that takes her breath away if she lets it. 

But she also knows the best way to keep moving is to maintain the traditions that made them a family in the first place. 

So she sticks to holiday routines as Christmas approaches. Waking early. Cleaning the house. Decorating with tinsel and paper chains. Preparing for everyone’s arrival. Christmas will never be the same… not without him. But if only for George’s sake, Molly knows she needs to try. 

She suggests that Harry spend the night on Christmas Eve, just so he isn’t alone; she assumes (correctly) that they haven’t quite got the nerve to ask if Ginny can spend the night at the flat instead. By now, Harry is essentially an overnight Christmas fixture anyway; even when they do get up the nerve to ask, Molly expects he’ll continue to stay over. Or so she hopes so, anyway. The alternative still makes her feel a bit broken, but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

So when Harry, Ron, and Ginny head upstairs after a night of festivities on Christmas Eve, Molly assumes they’ll be back to their old tricks. Hermione’s spending the night with her parents, but it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if she apparates in. After all, they think they’ve got a foolproof plan that’ll last through everyone’s departure from school. Announcing she’s been aware of this plan the whole time would only spoil things… and Molly doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Not this year. 

After a half-sleepless night, Molly rises early on Christmas Day. She continues to stick to routines, to never deviate from what she can control; today is a day that could be especially miserable, if she lets it. So when she emerges from the toilet at half past seven, she doesn’t expect to see anyone in the cold, dark corridor. From the amount everyone drank last night, she assumed their switching-bedrooms routine would be pushed back, just a bit. 

Then again, it’s not just anyone she sees in the corridor, his foot poised on the step leading to the attic. 

It’s Harry. 

Sleep-tousled, disheveled Harry — and as much as it makes her cringe to admit, he does look… more relaxed. 

At least until they make eye contact. 

For the life of her, Molly’s never seen anyone transform so quickly from chuffed to terrified. Any hint of relaxation slides from his face, his back going rigid. Harry freezes, stock-still, his white-socked foot still poised on the step, his eyes filled with the sort of blinding terror she hasn’t seen in seven months. If it weren’t for that, really, she’d find the whole thing humorous. But seeing as how she’d rather not see that look on his face again, she opts to take pity on him. 

After a bit of gentle prodding, that is. 

“Harry, dear,” Molly says softly; she’s certain Ginny’s still asleep, but it’s best not to chance it. “Wherever are you going so early in the morning?”

Harry swallows and awkwardly moves his jaw like he’s forgotten how to speak. “I’m, erm,” he starts, his voice torn between graveled with sleep and high-pitched with terror. “I’m… going to the toilet?”

Molly can’t help the smirk that crawls to her lips as she nods to her left. “You’ve just missed it, dear.”

Shit. 

Harry doesn’t say the word, but it’s written across his face, plain as day. He shifts his weight, his face blanching even more; she can almost see the wheels spin in his head as he thinks of another excuse. 

“I’ve… erm. Sleepwalked?” 

Molly’s smirk broadens to a full-on grin as she crosses her arms over her chest. Is that how he’s going to play it? In that case, she’ll keep up the ruse, too. 

“Oh? What an unfortunate affliction!” she exclaims, hoping she’s masking her amusement with feigned concern. “You’ll need to see a healer, Harry. How have you managed to make it down such steep steps in the first place? It’s remarkable you’ve stayed safe so far! In future, I really think—“

But when Harry cuts her off, it’s not with another excuse; it’s with a remark that’s hasty and blurted, but ringing with truth. He just blinks, sets his jaw, and gives her with an expression so endearing, so honest, that it makes her entire Christmas. 

“—I’m going to marry her, Mrs. Weasley,” he interrupts, removing his foot from the step as he turns to face her… and right in front of her face, the hollow fear in his eyes fades into sharp nobility. 

He draws a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, even as Molly’s head spins, even as her heart leaps to her throat, even as his words breathe more life into her soul than she’s felt in months. 

“So I’m sorry if this”— he gestures to Ginny’s room— “is weird. Really, I am. But please, believe me when I say I’ll do the right—”

But Molly has no idea if he says another word. She’s even too taken aback to correct him on the Mrs. Weasley bit. Because she can’t stand another bloody second of Harry having to justify himself… not when she’s thrilled that he’s in her life. That he’s in Ginny’s life. That he’s saved their lives. 

Not when he’s just confirmed what she’s always hoped and dreamed for: that he would truly, properly join their family. 

She’s not even aware of her feet running towards him, of the delighted squeal from her mouth as tears of joy stream down her face. All she feels is Harry relaxing against her shoulder, his arm awkwardly patting her on the back, even as she continues to jump and shriek.

“Not erm… anytime too soon?” he manages, through her hysterics. “I just didn’t want you to think—”

Oh, please! 

Molly pulls away from the hug with a sharp glare. “Harry,” she says firmly. “Of all the things I’ve thought about you, doing the wrong thing never even crossed my mind. So I’ll hear none of that. I just…” She trails off, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be so serious so fast! But of course I’m happy, dear. So happy!”

Harry gives her a fervent nod and a smile… and unless she’s very much mistaken, she can see the hint of a tear in his eye too as she pulls him in for another hug.

Marry her.

He’s going to marry her! Harry Potter is going to marry her daughter! He’s going to stand at the altar, his green eyes brimming, the cause of his scar a distant memory. Molly can envision Ginny in white, her red hair gorgeous in contrast, her face split into a smile she can’t contain. Or maybe none of that will happen. Right now, Molly doesn’t really care. All she knows is that they’re to be married... and the thought alone is absolutely beautiful, isn’t it? That something so lovely could come from a year so dreadful?

In truth, Molly did expect this — eventually. After all, she spent months observing how Harry looks at Ginny. She’s seen the softness in his eyes and the protectiveness in his jaw. It’s clear he loves her; Molly just never expected she’d be given permission to properly call him her son in the same year she lost one. 

And as she cries and hugs him, Molly is happy for two things: that her family will soon be even bigger and happier than she’d ever hoped... and that her daughter (approximately ten meters away) has always been a very heavy sleeper.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

��A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[ricciardo3fanpage]

It came to our attention it's September 11th in Australia already and the socks are online right NOW!! Go get yours asap because some sizes are already SOLD OUT 😱 Get it girl, get it!!! Gee, Gee, Gee, Oi, Oi, Oi!!! #danielricciardo #stance #socks #honeybadger #fierce #australia #GoGoRicciardo #collab #getthemnow #soldout #exclusive (bij Stance Lovers) https://www.instagram.com/p/B2Ph_JwotgK/?igshid=1ce18ezrbu74g

[chiefmauskateer]

Live blogging Eurovision not live

I ended up staying 12 hours at a board game thing so I missed Eurovision.

1. Eurgh this opening nonsense.

2. Hah, Heathrow drones

3. I would buy Malta's song for my car playlist. Good for her going for first and doing well.

4. These postcard things are so weird

5. Good lord her skin-to-dress transition is as as smooth as a cartoon drawing. O.o

6. I don't think Albania will break the curse of slot 2.

7. I think that is an illusion neckline? I am finding this woman's chest overly fascinating. 🤔 #whysosmooth #sounmoving

8. Will I like it Graham? Will I? Oh no. Maybe I will. I apologise for questioning you. Oh BLESS little Czech Republic singer's I'm-posh-trying-to-sound-cool English accent. This makes good noises for sitting in bars and stuff you know?

9. Yeah.. there is a reason the UK pay to skip the semis though isn't there, Graham?

10. Omg is Germany singing from the position of the UK? I hope so. I quite like their song - not necessarily their voices. I wish I should bob along to music like that and look as cool. 🙁

11. I am trying to remember whether Russia does well with public votes. Oh Graham implied they do. Oh. A ballad? Yay. I hope this build up actually builds. Ok mirrors.

12. 😲 The reflection moved itself! Lol shower door.

13. Visually very good Russia. Well done. The song is nice and edgy too. Great voice.

14. Omg I recognised Gautier from Big in France 🤣

15. "FLYING! WE ALL HOPE TO DO TO FLY!" "Let's fly! Yes!" - the penny dropped at that moment.

16. I got bored of Denmark and went to talk to my husband about Albania's illusion neckline. Now it is a man telling me to say Na na na. It is lovely and camp. Just missing some oomph vocally.

17. I didn't know Macedonia was split somehow? #whyishouldpayattentiontothenews

18. You have got me ready for this song Graham, I had better like it.

19. Good voice. I can tell from the dress - unless she tears the skirt away - that this will be a long number. 😐 Yep. Too repetitive for me. You let me down Graham.

20. Omg yes! He is a disappointing Jeff Goldblum, I just didn't want to say it first.

21. Sweden helped cowrite our song? Is that an indication of whether I will like theirs or evidence of sabotage? 🤣

22. Sabotage.

23. He could serenade me. 😘 He is fucking gorgeous.

24. Oooooo that wink! Take me now.

25. Michael Rice. Oh dear even his name sounds a bit naff. Despite Tim Rice being awesome.

26. Slovenia are wearing white. Love the late-90s/00s pop vibes. I don't think that guitar is making any sound though. Is this song about how she loves the lead guitarist of a band but he is too aloof and she is just a sweet naive fangirl? Just going by the fact this is not a duet and she doesn't take her eyes off him except when she closes them with quiet emotion.

24. Oh no I needed a bigger kiss than that for that song.

25. West Wickham? That is the village next to my home village! Woo tiny shout-out!

26. Standing up costume? Excellent.

27. Oh my. Has she any circulation in her legs? Maybe they work like flight socks.

28. Husband came in to tell me about UK sex workers from what he learned from PhilosophyTube and then she took off the jacket. 😆

28. She has such teeny hips.

29. Ok. So is the Netherlands the one that sparks joy or the one that did not? #mariekondomemespoilers

30. The vocals for the chorus is potentially sparking joy but I need it to build through the verses too.

31. Greece sounds like I do when I have my tooth guard in.

32. Just sing in your own languages. That is what is awesome about variety.

33. Good song though. Just not sure about the squawking and screeching between things?

34. Must be hard for Graham, knowing what each act is like already, praying for something amazingly good or amazingly bad to happen live.

35. Ah Israel is recycling Russia's mirror panels.

36. Bleurgh he does NOT have a good voice Graham. It is all throaty and weird. I don't understand what he is doing with his air. I don't think he is singing at a comfortable pitch either.

37. Oh I see it is because he actually cried? No wonder his voice wasn't working properly.

38. Norway's postcard already makes me fills me with hope. Ooo obscure language? Awesome.

39. Very cool. Love it. About time we had uplifting. Omg the dude with the obscure language job is hilariously brilliant. Oh yes! I love it. The subtitles can't cope hah. I would buy this one too. 💙 Love the origami spirit animals

40. Michael is the most British looking lad tho isn't he? Going for Will Young vocal stylings. The song is ok... Just doesn't have the Welly it needs to do really well. Hah there is the Swedish act's writing influence.

41. Awww what a sweet boy hah.

42. "If you win tonight will you come back?" "Hahahaha.... Ha... *Definite hesitation and inner tears*" "SAY YES" "OH! YES! 😬"

43. ICELAND. "Put granny in the hall and a blanket over the budgy cage" 🤣 omg. What is this? 😂 He is dressed like a dremora from Oblivion. Sing/shouts like one too. 😂

44. My meniere's would not cope if I was in the studio for this song. The strobes are even affecting how they look on screen.

45. "Iceland. They have very long winters. I would be angry too."

46. It is always weird when singers' eyes follow the camera panning sideways.

47. Ooo this chorus has promise. Camp and build it up Estonia. Do it.

48. No not like that.

49. Where does that guitar come from and go too?!

50. "She is just 16 years old. It's good to get some things over with early. Get on with the rest of your life". Yikes.

51. Just wear fitted trousers. More comfy than this boots and give the same visual effect. 🤷

51. I am always really uncomfortable with young teen stars singing about sexytimes like that. 😬

52. Azerbaijan usually pulls out a good one. Ok a good beat. Laser robots! 🤖 awesome a heartbreak song. The sort you can remix for clubs or have in the background of shops and hair salons.

53. Alexander McQueen robots?! Pricey

54. Graham: France has entertained. Diverse dancers is cool. Shame about the song.

55. Oh yes. I agree from a musical stance but visually brilliant and definitely a crowd pleaser despite the lack of bite to the tune and vocals.

56. I mean Graham. Look and listen to the vibe had gone for. That is why he went for the docks.

57. This would be good for Zumba.

58. Serbia's postcard music is fun. Hope it translates into the performance. Oh now I have to look at her dress. Oh. Yes. I see what you mean. Serbia's postcard music did NOT translate into the performance. 😑

59. That small bit of air guitar could have gone somewhere far cooler. 🙄 Instead we got a tiny bit of guitar and back to the way of the song with swirly galaxy effects.

60. Nice Swiss man is nice to look at. Song has a promising vibe too. Woo sex pop song.

61. Another goodun for Zumba.

62. Well done Australia! What a great performance 👏👏

63. "if Australia win it will still be hosted in Europe" - ok but is Tel Aviv in Europe?

64. Spain is fun.

65. Right. I don't know yet who won... Hm. I think Sweden, Spain, Russia and Australia stand a good chance from the audience vote.

I think I would have voted Sweden. And Cyprus, actually. And Australia. And Norway.

Basically spent quite a bit of money. 🤐

[lovesarah-xo]

A few weeks ago my friends and I organised a small OTT High tea for international lolita day since I was unable to go to my Comms meet due to work commitments 😞 I decided to step away from my usual stance of “WEAR ALL THE PINK!” and put together this princessy outfit with crystal dream carnival. * Outfit rundown: Dress, socks and headbow: crystal dream carnival set by Angelic Pretty Shoes: Vivienne Westwood Wig: off brand Blouse: Angelic Pretty Overskirt: borrowed from a different BTSSB dress * The one thing that always bothered me about this dress is that when I bought it, the seller wasn’t very clear that she no longer had the purple over skirt that made this the “tiered” version, but I didn’t find out until the dress arrived. Have you ever received anything in the mail that was missing parts or not as described? What did you do about it? * #angelicpretty #crystaldreamcarnival #sweetlolita #highteaparty #viviennewestwood (at Adelaide, South Australia)

[herdustisverypretty]

would you rather (autumn edition)

Tagged by @kelandry5​

I APPRECIATE THE TAG A LOT BUT I AM BOTH AUSTRALIAN AND PAGAN SOO UHHHH 

WE’LL SEE HOW THIS GOES! MAY OR MAY NOT BE HUMOROUS AND/OR OFFENSIVE. 

go apple picking vs go on a hay ride - apple picking as in like... picking apples off trees? or is this another way to say apple bobbing? cause i know what that is lmao that’s originally a pagan tradition associated with samhain. no clue what a hay ride is tho. I’M GONNA SAY NEITHER?????

scary vs sweet - in regards to what?????

sweaters jumpers vs boots

socks vs mittens - mittens are like... gloves with no fingers rite??? not fingerless gloves but like. i’m not explaining this well am i. 

bonfires vs football - ok wait i’ve gotta look this up, cause i am always getting confused between uk vs us vs aus football. OK ITS GRIDIRON. i mean i knew that was a thing but is that all you have in america??? those shoulder pads man... so tacky. so uh, neither, cause i’m hella scared of fire. I LIVE IN AUSTRALIA. THE RISK OF DEATH BY BUSHFIRE IS LITERALLY HERE AT ALL TIMES

trick or treating vs watching scary movies - we don’t rlly trick or treat in australia. i think this year we got one small group of kids. they rang the doorbell twice in quick succession and i was like “well if i was gonna open the door and smile and say ‘soz kids we don’t have anything’ I SURE AIN’T NOW” *ignored and blocked*

apple pie vs pumpkin pie - is pumpkin pie even a thing in australia? i don’t think i’ve ever heard it mentioned outside of spn. why do y’all gotta stick pumpkin in everything?

halloween vs thanksgiving - lol. i mean first, halloween is a commercialised/americanised/christianised theft of samhain (which i celebrate in may due to being in the southern hemisphere) (tho do not take this as my condemning and/or disapproving of halloween exactly - it’s a complicated situation), and second, i have a native american friend so i really am not supportive of thanksgiving anyway. also you know once an american my mum follows on instagram asked her how australians celebrate thanksgiving. lmao. 

bake pie vs bake cookies - uhh, pie isn’t rlly a thing in australia? i don’t think i’ve ever eaten a dessert pie that wasn’t a supermarket-bought frozen nanna’s apple pie. and i don’t even really like apple pie anyway.......

rain vs fog

black cats vs owls

ghosts vs wizards (look ghosts are fine, just dont fuckin do a seance ever)

harry potter vs halloweentown - at first i thought halloweentown referred to the halloween world in nightmare before christmas. but no, apparently it’s its own thing. who woulda thunk it

go hiking vs sleep in - what the fuck? do all americans go hiking in autumn?? uhh? WHY??????? i thought everyone on tumblr mutually hated exercise or is that just me

cinnamon vs nutmeg

reading vs writing

hot chocolate vs tea

live in a cabin in a forest vs 24/7 autumn - umm??? this is a weird one. i...i don’t understand the reasoning for choosing such totally unrelated things????? however, i would pick 24/7 autumn, because this spring has already gotten to 35+ degree days. no thanks!

candy apples vs caramel apples - ..there’s a difference? are these also different to toffee apples? cause i think i had one of those in the 90s at christmas once? it was weird. to quote river tam, i very much had the thought of “my food is problematic.” (and she remains the only person who can say that word) 

blankets vs pillows

roasted marshmallows vs roasted chestnuts - i’m a vegetarian so i’m not meant to eat marshmallows (no real loss there) and i don’t think i’ve ever even seen a chestnut in a store so?????

coffee vs apple cider - are these only meant to be consumed in autumn in america or smth? i feel like you’re lying to me. cause i know starbucks is a thing. as for apple cider, well, my sister and mother usually pick that as their drink of choice at family gatherings all year round soo??? again is this something that is only consumed in autumn in america? like eggnog at christmas? pretty sure we don’t have that too. and if we do, i don’t think anyone buys it. side note but what actually IS eggnog??? does it actually have eggs in it cause thats kinda... icky.. or is that just a name? 

red leaves vs orange leaves

braids vs bows - uhh?? they’re?? both nice??? *still confused by america*

scented candles vs the smell of freshly baked goods

carve pumpkins vs make pumpkin pie - again, we don’t do this. also fun fact! the original act of carving what are now known as jack’o’lanterns originated with pagan beliefs that carving turnips (pumpkins are native to america) with scary faces and displaying them in windows would help to scare away the demons and pixies and faeries that came out on samhain to cause mischief and eat children n shit. 

pumpkin spice lattes vs chai lattes - i’ve only ever had a chai latte once, and it wasn’t even mine, it was my friend’s from mcdonalds and i just had a sip. but it was nice! also gdi america stop putting pumpkins in everything!!! you’re as bad as me putting salted caramel flavour in everything (at least salted caramel is actually nice????). also i’ve heard starbucks pumpkin spice lattes aren’t even good anyway???? and that it’s not even pumpkin, but artificial flavouring. i think i will pass. 

coats vs oversized sweaters jumpers

beanies vs berets

candy corn vs peanut butter cups - yeah we don’t really have either of those either

s’mores vs apple crisp - NO IDEA what an apple crisp is but i’ve eaten s’mores pop tarts (ya i know they have gelatin sue me. mostly i just don’t like marshmallows. also i really like pop tarts.) and they were good so uh yeah. 

jump into a pile of leaves vs swing on a tire swing

corn maze vs haunted house - corn maze... i’m gonna assume that’s going into a corn field that’s been cut to be shaped like a maze??? why would you willingly go in that? you’re asking to be murdered. or abducted by aliens. ok i retract my previous statement. definitely go in that. 

bob for apples vs visit a pumpkin patch - ok obviously the previous apple picking then refers to ACTUALLY picking apples off trees. none of these sound appealing. 

whipped cream on hot chocolate vs marshmallows on hot chocolate - i don’t like cream in general, and we already know my stance on marshmallows: gross powdery little demons. 

WELL THAT WAS FUN. basically me just either dissing american culture or straight up not knowing what it means. glad we did that. 

i will now proceed to tag some americans. @6ubble-gum @humanitys-shortest-soldier 

actually i think thats all the americans i know. well i hope you enjoy seeing an australian witch being thoroughly confused by american autumn/halloween culture

[jfbuckley]

A shocking defeat for England, utterly unpardonable.

Much has been said about the brilliance of Steve Smith’s batting and England’s inability to get him out. Fair enough, he is clearly the best batsman in the world and he is in scintillating form. England are by no means the only team that can’t get him out: he is a world beating batsman, I take my hat off to him.

What I take serious issue with is England’s very strange decision to go into this test match with only 10 players. I just cannot understand the logic of playing Janderson when his fitness was severely in doubt. He’s 37 years old and it takes more time to recover when you get older, even if you’re super fit to start with. He’s broken down twice this summer whilst playing for Lancs, and in retrospect I’d like to bet that he wasn’t really properly recovered when he came back from the first injury. I think that playing him in this match has been one of the biggest mistakes in sporting history, similar to appointing David Moyes to manage United.

Fair enough, there’s no guarantee that Janderson could have got Smith out: but at his best, he’d be our best chance. This is precisely where the selectors failed. They just gambled, “hoped for the best” and were punished severely. Maybe Archer wasn’t fit either, but there must have been someone available: as it is, Smith cruised to two big hundreds with virtually no opposition.

Other problems are piling up for England, and unless they pull their socks up, they are heading for a very heavy series defeat. Roy is a brilliant one day player, but I don’t think he has a clue about the longer form. Moeen Ali has clearly lost his mojo and needs to be given a long holiday. Denly doesn’t seem good enough. Barstow seems tired and washed out. Root’s batting seems to be struggling with the demands of captaincy. Buttler seems jaded and I think he’d benefit from a few lower key games with Lancs. Broad, like Janderson, is getting towards the end of his career.

The one bit of good news is that Burns settled in well with a good, Boycott paced century: I’m withholding judgement on him though, because I fear that with his strange stance at the crease, the Aussies will soon work him out.

I’m probably way out with these thoughts. I fully expect famous cricket pundits to pull my analysis to pieces, and if they are correct, I will give acknowledgement where it’s due. For the moment though, we are 1-0 down and unfortunately I think it will get worse.

[concretelines-blog1]

[ketan-wagh121-blog]

Golf Socks Market Segmentation, Parameters and Prospects 2019 to 2025 Market Research Report

Global Golf Socks Industry

New Study On “2019-2025 Golf Socks Market Global Key Player, Demand, Growth, Opportunities and Analysis Forecast” Added to Wise Guy Reports Database

The global Golf Socks market is valued at million US$ in 2018 and will reach million US$ by the end of 2025, growing at a CAGR of during 2019-2025. The objectives of this study are to define, segment, and project the size of the Golf Socks market based on company, product type, end user and key regions.

This report studies the global market size of Golf Socks in key regions like North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Central & South America and Middle East & Africa, focuses on the consumption of Golf Socks in these regions. This research report categorizes the global Golf Socks market by top players/brands, region, type and end user. This report also studies the global Golf Socks market status, competition landscape, market share, growth rate, future trends, market drivers, opportunities and challenges, sales channels and distributors.

The following manufacturers are covered in this report, with sales, revenue, market share for each company: FootJoy Walter Hagen Under Armour Oakley Adidas Gold Toe Nike ECCO Lady Hagen Puma PGA Travis Mathew Swiftwick Stance

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Market size by Product Stockings Short Socks Market size by End User Men Women

Market size by Region North America United States Canada Mexico Asia-Pacific China India Japan South Korea Australia Indonesia Singapore Malaysia Philippines Thailand Vietnam Europe Germany France UK Italy Spain Russia Central & South America Brazil Rest of Central & South America Middle East & Africa GCC Countries Turkey Egypt South Africa

The study objectives of this report are: To study and analyze the global Golf Socks market size (value & volume) by company, key regions, products and end user, breakdown data from 2014 to 2018, and forecast to 2025. To understand the structure of Golf Socks market by identifying its various subsegments. To share detailed information about the key factors influencing the growth of the market (growth potential, opportunities, drivers, industry-specific challenges and risks). Focuses on the key global Golf Socks companies, to define, describe and analyze the sales volume, value, market share, market competition landscape and recent development. To project the value and sales volume of Golf Socks submarkets, with respect to key regions. To analyze competitive developments such as expansions, agreements, new product launches, and acquisitions in the market.

For Detailed Reading Please visit WiseGuy Reports @      https://www.wiseguyreports.com/reports/3640992-global-golf-socks-market-insights-forecast-to-2025

Some Major Points from Table of content:

1 Study Coverage 1.1 Golf Socks Product 1.2 Market Segments 1.3 Key Manufacturers Covered 1.4 Market by Type 1.4.1 Global Golf Socks Market Size Growth Rate by Product 1.4.2 Stockings 1.4.3 Short Socks 1.5 Market by End User 1.5.1 Global Golf Socks Market Size Growth Rate by End User 1.5.2 Men 1.5.3 Women 1.6 Study Objectives 1.7 Years Considered

2 Executive Summary 2.1 Global Golf Socks Market Size 2.1.1 Global Golf Socks Revenue 2014-2025 2.1.2 Global Golf Socks Sales 2014-2025 2.2 Golf Socks Growth Rate by Regions 2.2.1 Global Golf Socks Sales by Regions 2.2.2 Global Golf Socks Revenue by Regions

3 Breakdown Data by Manufacturers 3.1 Golf Socks Sales by Manufacturers 3.1.1 Golf Socks Sales by Manufacturers 3.1.2 Golf Socks Sales Market Share by Manufacturers 3.1.3 Global Golf Socks Market Concentration Ratio (CR5 and HHI) 3.2 Golf Socks Revenue by Manufacturers 3.2.1 Golf Socks Revenue by Manufacturers (2014-2019) 3.2.2 Golf Socks Revenue Share by Manufacturers (2014-2019) 3.3 Golf Socks Price by Manufacturers 3.4 Golf Socks Manufacturing Base Distribution, Product Types 3.4.1 Golf Socks Manufacturers Manufacturing Base Distribution, Headquarters 3.4.2 Manufacturers Golf Socks Product Type 3.4.3 Date of International Manufacturers Enter into Golf Socks Market 3.5 Manufacturers Mergers & Acquisitions, Expansion Plans

4 Breakdown Data by Product 4.1 Global Golf Socks Sales by Product 4.2 Global Golf Socks Revenue by Product 4.3 Golf Socks Price by Product

5 Breakdown Data by End User 5.1 Overview 5.2 Global Golf Socks Breakdown Data by End User

6 North America 6.1 North America Golf Socks by Countries 6.1.1 North America Golf Socks Sales by Countries 6.1.2 North America Golf Socks Revenue by Countries 6.1.3 United States 6.1.4 Canada 6.1.5 Mexico 6.2 North America Golf Socks by Product 6.3 North America Golf Socks by End User

7 Europe 7.1 Europe Golf Socks by Countries 7.1.1 Europe Golf Socks Sales by Countries 7.1.2 Europe Golf Socks Revenue by Countries 7.1.3 Germany 7.1.4 France 7.1.5 UK 7.1.6 Italy 7.1.7 Russia 7.2 Europe Golf Socks by Product 7.3 Europe Golf Socks by End User

8 Asia Pacific 8.1 Asia Pacific Golf Socks by Countries 8.1.1 Asia Pacific Golf Socks Sales by Countries 8.1.2 Asia Pacific Golf Socks Revenue by Countries 8.1.3 China 8.1.4 Japan 8.1.5 Korea 8.1.6 India 8.1.7 Australia 8.1.8 Indonesia 8.1.9 Malaysia 8.1.10 Philippines 8.1.11 Thailand 8.1.12 Vietnam 8.1.13 Singapore 8.2 Asia Pacific Golf Socks by Product 8.3 Asia Pacific Golf Socks by End User

9 Central & South America 9.1 Central & South America Golf Socks by Countries 9.1.1 Central & South America Golf Socks Sales by Countries 9.1.2 Central & South America Golf Socks Revenue by Countries 9.1.3 Brazil 9.2 Central & South America Golf Socks by Product 9.3 Central & South America Golf Socks by End User

10 Middle East and Africa 10.1 Middle East and Africa Golf Socks by Countries 10.1.1 Middle East and Africa Golf Socks Sales by Countries 10.1.2 Middle East and Africa Golf Socks Revenue by Countries 10.1.3 GCC Countries 10.1.4 Turkey 10.1.5 Egypt 10.1.6 South Africa 10.2 Middle East and Africa Golf Socks by Product 10.3 Middle East and Africa Golf Socks by End User

11 Company Profiles 11.1 FootJoy 11.1.1 FootJoy Company Details 11.1.2 Company Business Overview 11.1.3 FootJoy Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.1.4 FootJoy Golf Socks Products Offered 11.1.5 FootJoy Recent Development 11.2 Walter Hagen 11.2.1 Walter Hagen Company Details 11.2.2 Company Business Overview 11.2.3 Walter Hagen Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.2.4 Walter Hagen Golf Socks Products Offered 11.2.5 Walter Hagen Recent Development 11.3 Under Armour 11.3.1 Under Armour Company Details 11.3.2 Company Business Overview 11.3.Under Armour Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.3.4 Under Armour Golf Socks Products Offered 11.3.5 Under Armour Recent Development 11.4 Oakley 11.4.1 Oakley Company Details 11.4.2 Company Business Overview 11.4.3 Oakley Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.4.4 Oakley Golf Socks Products Offered 11.4.5 Oakley Recent Development 11.5 Adidas 11.5.1 Adidas Company Details 11.5.2 Company Business Overview 11.5.3 Adidas Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.5.4 Adidas Golf Socks Products Offered 11.5.5 Adidas Recent Development 11.6 Gold Toe 11.6.1 Gold Toe Company Details 11.6.2 Company Business Overview 11.6.3 Gold Toe Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.6.4 Gold Toe Golf Socks Products Offered 11.6.5 Gold Toe Recent Development 11.7 Nike 11.7.1 Nike Company Details 11.7.2 Company Business Overview 11.7.3 Nike Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.7.4 Nike Golf Socks Products Offered 11.7.5 Nike Recent Development 11.8 ECCO 11.8.1 ECCO Company Details 11.8.2 Company Business Overview 11.8.3 ECCO Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.8.4 ECCO Golf Socks Products Offered 11.8.5 ECCO Recent Development 11.9 Lady Hagen 11.9.1 Lady Hagen Company Details 11.9.2 Company Business Overview 11.9.3 Lady Hagen Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.9.4 Lady Hagen Golf Socks Products Offered 11.9.5 Lady Hagen Recent Development 11.10 Puma 11.10.1 Puma Company Details 11.10.2 Company Business Overview 11.10.3 Puma Golf Socks Sales, Revenue and Gross Margin (2014-2019) 11.10.4 Puma Golf Socks Products Offered 11.10.5 Puma Recent Development 11.11 PGA 11.12 Travis Mathew 11.13 Swiftwick 11.14 Stance

Continued….

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About Us Wise Guy Reports is part of the Wise Guy Consultants Pvt. Ltd. and offers premium progressive statistical surveying, market research reports, analysis & forecast data for industries and governments around the globe. Wise Guy Reports understand how essential statistical surveying information is for your organization or association. Therefore, we have associated with the top publishers and research firms all specialized in specific domains, ensuring you will receive the most reliable and up to date research data available.

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[blair5869-blog]

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[justabitofnatter-blog]

Tampon Tax- The Bloody Truth of the Matter.

  While I’m well aware I’m not the first one harping on about the tampon tax in Australia, I thought I’d add my two cents worth on the matter. Here’s an article I wrote in uni some weeks ago. It’s definitely not perfect ( actually it’s quite heavily flawed,) but I think it’s food for thought.

Pitt Street mall is a shoppers’ paradise, but beyond the luxury brands, hides a secret  - the homeless.

Tanya Horner knows too well of the harsh reality for women living rough.

Taking a drag from her unfiltered cigarette, she says “It’s not safe or easy being a female on the street.”

“Guys try to harass you, they chuck sexual things at you ... - I’ll pay ten bucks for a good time… And you know during that time of the month you find yourself having to choose between buying tampons or shoving socks or toilet paper down your undies.”

Tanya’s menstrual cycle places her in a monthly crisis situation. This is the reality for homeless women. Since a Howard government bill in 2000, sanitary items have been subject to a 10 per cent “luxury product” GST tariff.

She is dressed in a thin black track suit - the same she was wearing two days ago. She pulls a blue and white blanket over her legs and places a red biscuit tin at her feet.

At 24 years old, Tanya fled her father’s violence just six months ago.

“My dad, he's got bipolar and schizophrenia. He's not on the right medications - I couldn’t take his crap anymore.” she says.

Tanya has had to learn to survive sleeping rough.

“A lot of guys try to take my money and stuff . That's why I sit near cameras.”

“I have to rake up enough here for backpackers. Otherwise, I stay at Central station. It's scary, especially on a weekend, there's a lot more violent people. Gotta sleep close to the police station.”  

Besides theft and accommodation Tanya has another worry.

When asked how she deals with her periods on the street, she lowers her voice in discomfort.

“A lot of people don’t realise it's something I need.  The cheapest packet of pads you can get is $5. And you have to get a few packets, you can't just buy one,” she says.

“I’ve had to use socks but I rarely let myself get down to that. I make sure I have the money to buy them, even if it means sacrificing accommodation.”

The taxation on sanitary items has detrimental effects on homeless women including health implications, but ultimately the denial of hygiene and dignity.

There has been much contention surrounding the issue in parliament. In a statement, Tanya Plibersek said: “Labor is leading the way to abolish this tax on sanitary items.”

Minister for Health, Greg Hunt did not provide comment.

However, products such as sunscreen, nicotine patches, and condoms remain exempt from GST due to their disease preventing status.

Dr Mary Stewart, of NSW Family Planning says lack of access to these products may impact  the reproductive health of homeless women.

“Women resort to provisional sanitary products, or use products far too long. This causes dermatological conditions, bacterial infections like urinary tract infections and in serious cases, Toxic Shock Syndrome which can be fatal.” she says.

Melissa Kang, from Youth Health Services Western Sydney Local Health District believes the GST is valueless “It is beyond my comprehension as to why there ever was a GST placed on sanitary products.” She says.

“It's an sign of discrimination against people who mestruate. It’s the most basic  human right in our modern affluent society.”

By ‘people’, Kang is referring to the invisible victims of tampon tax, the estimated 51% LGBT+  homeless youth in Australia.

“Trans-men become stressed when they menstruate. Medical and surgical intervention are an option that aren’t available for homeless youth, so it’s another struggle for them”.

Grass roots organisations like ‘Share the Dignity’ are calling for action. The organisation, which began in 2009, provides sanitary products to disadvantaged women across Australia. Founder Rochelle Courtenay, says “It is barbaric that we are having this archaic sexist conversation in 2018.”

On June 18,  Ms Courtenay will join senators to present a signed petition to Parliament.

“We’ll all be there in Canberra, on the lawns of Parliament house in solidarity while all of our signatures are presented and this bill is asked to be passed.” she says.

Noni Cragg, a co-founder of ‘The Rough Period’, an organisation which collects donations to provide sanitary products to homeless people, claims the tax debate stems from society’s taboo around menstruation.

“Society wants to deny our biology, the government wants to ignore female biology. There is something that happens to us each month that doesn’t happen to men.” she says.

Tanya's gaze drifts to her feet as she admits to going hungry for female hygiene products.

“Sometimes you have to make the decision between those or food. I try to sit here to make extra,  in the cold so I can make enough for the both.” She says

“It just makes you feel like you’re not human.”

This was a pretty heart breaking story to write. I spoke to quite a few women such as Tanya, many of whom where too ashamed to speak of the matter, or didn’t wish to be written about despite acknowleging the disadvantage they experinece as a result of the pricing of menstrual products. Their shame is also testiment to the fact that this issue is still, in 2018, so taboo.

What’s more this issue is a worldwide matter. We are, however, seeing a postive shift in the right direction, with India, a traditionally conservative society axing the tax earlier this year. 

I really encorage ya’ll to follow the issue. We’ve  made some process, as last month the Senate voted to omit the tax. However, given the Coaltion government’s stance on the issue, the chances of the bill passing in the house of reps are pretty slim.

Check out this ABC article: 

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-06-18/tampon-tax-to-stay-despite-senate-voting-to-remove-it/9879382

Also, if you can, I’d highly recomend supporting organisations such as “Share the Dignity” and “The Rough Period”. The work that they are doing is truly incredible.  I’ve linked both their websites below so please check them out!

https://www.sharethedignity.com.au/

https://www.theroughperiod.org/

Pictured:  Illustration not my original (I’m awful at drawing)- full credit to the economic times ( link: https://bit.ly/2vcYPTA)

[diamondozenagency]

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[backwoodsbeautyqueen021494]

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[amtushinfosolutionspage]

NBA Summer Vacation Watch: Western Conference Edition

No doubt you were starting to panic about where you were going to get your NBA summer vacation news from. All the signs were there: clammy hands, general malaise, the inexorable urge to always be swimming, your skin paling as if winter had set in and the color was seeping from your skin, even though it’s still the beginning of August. Well, rest easy and put those cutoffs back on, friend, because NBA Summer Vacation Watch (SVW) is back.

We pick up at the obvious yin to the last edition’s yang, the Western Conference. But I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news: the NBA’s Western Conference is terrible at summer vacations. I mean really bad. For a supposed juggernaut and the alleged superior conference, you’d think these guys might understand the concept of work hard, play harder. Alas, the majority of the golden West’s All-Stars appear to be allergic to saying adios to the gym and aloha to an ocean sunset. I know no such allergy, so I soldier on.

Kevin Durant

Might as well start as strong as possible: Durant went to India! Technically this was a work trip but I’ll let it slide, mostly because Kevin Durant deserves to do the funny pose of looking serious while pretending to pluck up the palace from a distance. There’s something to be said about the entire UNESCO World Heritage site being under construction, like the scaffolding around the Western Conference as it strains to have a good time, but that has nothing to do with Durant and does not belong here.

Rating: According to the UNESCO rating system, Durant has saved his conference’s SVW status from ‘Delisted’ to ‘In Danger’—bonus for the protective slippers complementing Kevin’s shoes.

Russell Westbrook

You can always count on Russell! The Brodie, a new dad, went to Cabo with his family. Please scroll through so as to drink in his bucket hat on a boat, his ability to get a quick game of two-ball pickup in without making it “a thing,” and pockets-out swim trunks, because he is so relaxed. Hashtag WhyNot.

Rating: An elevated Cabo experience with nary a Señor Frog’s in sight.

JaVale McGee

JaVale may very well be in his own living room here but I could have sworn it was the OR, for how my heart exploded!!!

Rating: Cardiac arrest!

DeAndre Jordan

A tarp-off DeAndre partied with Diplo—an automatic deficit—but my friend ran into him a few days ago in Venice Beach and said he was nice. He also had a lot of bracelets on, a sure signal that he’s got his mind in the game (summer vacation).

Rating: Dubstep over a Jimmy Buffett song.

Nick Young

Swaggy P met a dolphin and wasn’t into it but gave it another shot in the spirit of summer vacation and cetacean relations.

Rating: Couple rapid clicks and a few shrill squeaks.

Paul George

Remember Paul George, back at the beginning of the summer in the first edition of NBA SVW, fishing alone? Our dude certainly chilled right out as soon as the ink on his OKC contract started to dry. Amsterdam, Ibiza—I like this because it shows me Paul has friends but I love this because, in his own words, he’s become “one hell of a jeu de boules player now.”

Rating: Euro Trece seems chill.

Karl Anthony Townes

The big KAT met some kittens!

Rating: Two lil’ lions and a timber wolf—we basically bought a zoo.

Dirk Nowitzki

Can someone tell Dirk there are actual new bikes now that are made to look just like the one he’s clearly stolen from an old farm shed? And that they can be properly sized to his body?

Rating: A case of sore knees or a possession of stolen property case.

Andre Iguodala

Golf is a boring way to spend any time off, let alone summer vacation, but I’m taking what I can get here because Andre is barefoot in sand with some water up to his ankles.

Rating: A double bogey on a poor substitute for a beach.

C.J. McCollum

C.J. watered a hole in Johannesburg and looked very happy about it.

No, C.J. helped to build houses in his downtime around the NBA Africa game and shows us that sometimes it’s important to use your downtime to help others, even if the rest of your conference colleagues are completely blowing their summers.

Rating: Heaven just now confirmed they are missing one angel.

Marc Gasol

Oh, interesting, all the Brothers Gasol topless and water-adjacent but with a convenient crop so we can never know if they are wearing socks or not, as is their wont.

Rating: I’m going to go ahead and guarantee this a six dripping wet tubesocks out of six.

Troy Daniels

Troy Daniels caught a big fish on his birthday, maybe the biggest fish. This is a great opportunity for my longstanding nickname for Troy to finally catch on: “The Not Really Old Man and the Deep Three.”

Rating: One point for every shade of blue you can count on Troy and his helpers, double points for his double-width bucket hat, tripled by the fact that it’s his birthday, so roughly a rating of 84—the water temperature of Playa Del Carmen in August.

Patty Mills

As loyal readers know, we’ve already leaned heavily on Patty Mills this vacation season and will clearly continue to need to do so as long as the majority of the Western Conference cast stays lousy at summer vacation. Patty is simply incredible at summer vacation. If he keeps this up, he might even single-handedly reverse my stance on Australia and going there.

Rating: Throw another gigantic, ancient crustacean on the barbie, brumby. We’re all comin’ to Oz!

NBA Summer Vacation Watch: Western Conference Edition syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

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NBA Summer Vacation Watch: Western Conference Edition

No doubt you were starting to panic about where you were going to get your NBA summer vacation news from. All the signs were there: clammy hands, general malaise, the inexorable urge to always be swimming, your skin paling as if winter had set in and the color was seeping from your skin, even though it's still the beginning of August. Well, rest easy and put those cutoffs back on, friend, because NBA Summer Vacation Watch (SVW) is back.

We pick up at the obvious yin to the last edition's yang, the Western Conference. But I'm afraid I've got some bad news: the NBA's Western Conference is terrible at summer vacations. I mean really bad. For a supposed juggernaut and the alleged superior conference, you'd think these guys might understand the concept of work hard, play harder. Alas, the majority of the golden West's All-Stars appear to be allergic to saying adios to the gym and aloha to an ocean sunset. I know no such allergy, so I soldier on.

Kevin Durant

Might as well start as strong as possible: Durant went to India! Technically this was a work trip but I'll let it slide, mostly because Kevin Durant deserves to do the funny pose of looking serious while pretending to pluck up the palace from a distance. There's something to be said about the entire UNESCO World Heritage site being under construction, like the scaffolding around the Western Conference as it strains to have a good time, but that has nothing to do with Durant and does not belong here.

Rating: According to the UNESCO rating system, Durant has saved his conference's SVW status from 'Delisted' to 'In Danger'—bonus for the protective slippers complementing Kevin's shoes.

Russell Westbrook

You can always count on Russell! The Brodie, a new dad, went to Cabo with his family. Please scroll through so as to drink in his bucket hat on a boat, his ability to get a quick game of two-ball pickup in without making it "a thing," and pockets-out swim trunks, because he is so relaxed. Hashtag WhyNot.

Rating: An elevated Cabo experience with nary a Señor Frog's in sight.

JaVale McGee

JaVale may very well be in his own living room here but I could have sworn it was the OR, for how my heart exploded!!!

Rating: Cardiac arrest!

DeAndre Jordan

A tarp-off DeAndre partied with Diplo—an automatic deficit—but my friend ran into him a few days ago in Venice Beach and said he was nice. He also had a lot of bracelets on, a sure signal that he's got his mind in the game (summer vacation).

Rating: Dubstep over a Jimmy Buffett song.

Nick Young

Swaggy P met a dolphin and wasn't into it but gave it another shot in the spirit of summer vacation and cetacean relations.

Rating: Couple rapid clicks and a few shrill squeaks.

Paul George

Remember Paul George, back at the beginning of the summer in the first edition of NBA SVW, fishing alone? Our dude certainly chilled right out as soon as the ink on his OKC contract started to dry. Amsterdam, Ibiza—I like this because it shows me Paul has friends but I love this because, in his own words, he's become "one hell of a jeu de boules player now."

Rating: Euro Trece seems chill.

Karl Anthony Townes

The big KAT met some kittens!

Rating: Two lil' lions and a timber wolf—we basically bought a zoo.

Dirk Nowitzki

Can someone tell Dirk there are actual new bikes now that are made to look just like the one he's clearly stolen from an old farm shed? And that they can be properly sized to his body?

Rating: A case of sore knees or a possession of stolen property case.

Andre Iguodala

Golf is a boring way to spend any time off, let alone summer vacation, but I'm taking what I can get here because Andre is barefoot in sand with some water up to his ankles.

Rating: A double bogey on a poor substitute for a beach.

C.J. McCollum

C.J. watered a hole in Johannesburg and looked very happy about it.

No, C.J. helped to build houses in his downtime around the NBA Africa game and shows us that sometimes it's important to use your downtime to help others, even if the rest of your conference colleagues are completely blowing their summers.

Rating: Heaven just now confirmed they are missing one angel.

Marc Gasol

Oh, interesting, all the Brothers Gasol topless and water-adjacent but with a convenient crop so we can never know if they are wearing socks or not, as is their wont.

Rating: I'm going to go ahead and guarantee this a six dripping wet tubesocks out of six.

Troy Daniels

Troy Daniels caught a big fish on his birthday, maybe the biggest fish. This is a great opportunity for my longstanding nickname for Troy to finally catch on: "The Not Really Old Man and the Deep Three."

Rating: One point for every shade of blue you can count on Troy and his helpers, double points for his double-width bucket hat, tripled by the fact that it's his birthday, so roughly a rating of 84—the water temperature of Playa Del Carmen in August.

Patty Mills

As loyal readers know, we've already leaned heavily on Patty Mills this vacation season and will clearly continue to need to do so as long as the majority of the Western Conference cast stays lousy at summer vacation. Patty is simply incredible at summer vacation. If he keeps this up, he might even single-handedly reverse my stance on Australia and going there.

Rating: Throw another gigantic, ancient crustacean on the barbie, brumby. We're all comin' to Oz!

NBA Summer Vacation Watch: Western Conference Edition published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv