#With OUR QUEEN OF TENNIS IN THE STANDS

[inkher0]

I hate the Corporate side, but I still want there to be an Olympics. There is nothing more viscerally satisfying than my country being The Best At Sports. You can actually pluck any American from their home, give them a ball, and completely wipe the fucking floor with their most professional European

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 4 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), our favorite toxic relationship is back.

Word Count: 6.1k

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

This one can stand on its own, but I recommend reading the rest :)

His favorite toy- Part 4:

"What are you doing here?" I tried to sound composed. My heart couldn't stop racing at a speed I never wanted it to beat again. A speed reserved for one person only. And no matter how many years passed or how out of place he would seem in my world, Art Donaldson entered my life like he was the boss. Like he was paying my salary. With exaggerated confidence and an aura that made me blush. A smile that made my lips tremble.

I was painfully aware that my mascara was smudged after a too-long day, and that I had taken my shirt out of my skirt after lunch. Painfully aware that I had taken off my shoes an hour ago because pacing around the room in heels made it hard to think. Painfully aware that he was seeing me in all my flaws now. Years after the last time we met, and he was just as smug.

"I was in the area, and Patrick mentioned something about you working around here..." he said, as if everything in that sentence made sense. As if the fact that I stayed in touch with Patrick made sense. I nodded, trying to somehow control this ridiculous situation. I'm not supposed to react this chaotically to Art Donaldson. I'm 28. I'm not a 19-year-old girl. I do morning meditations. I drink green smoothies and ginger shots. I'm a fucking queen. But I don't feel particularly royal when I remember the coffee stain on my shirt, or the half-eaten avocado sandwich I bought from the café downstairs. It was awful. Both the sandwich and the café. I’m pretty sure the regular barista hates me because once I corrected one of my orders. Ever since, he's been out to get me. It’s a nightmare. I've considered changing jobs more times than I'd like to admit because of it.

"That sounds... completely normal," I mumbled, and he chuckled in response. One of his legs found its natural place over the other, and his fingers played with one of his billion rings in a disturbingly nonchalant way. "Is a tennis player supposed to have that many rings?" I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, knowing how stupid it sounded. Hating myself a little for how stupid it sounded. "I don’t play with them, and they’re beautiful," he shrugged. "They’re ridiculous," I rolled my eyes, trying to recover from this topic of conversation. "Yours is ridiculous," he shot back playfully, looking directly at my ring. At the small diamond (Art probably thinks it’s too small- well, fuck him).

"Oh, this?" I asked, and now we were both looking at it. I liked it until about three seconds ago. Until he walked into the room and stared at it like it was filled with snake venom. It felt like it weighed as much as my entire body. It felt like it was burning my hand from the inside. My blood boiled beneath it, reminding me that all my plans just went to hell. A reminder that I was crazy to even try making plans. "It’s pretty, delicate," I could hear the mockery in his tone. No matter how many years passed, I would always recognize every nuance in his voice. Every rise and fall in octaves. Every unnecessary affectation. He smiled the way he did when he tried to get under my skin—five minutes hadn’t passed, and he’d already succeeded. How embarrassing. What a failure as a person. A failure as a woman. A failure to feminism. Sitting in my office with a coffee stain on my shirt, while my ex from college critiques my choices like some kind of fraudulent fortune-teller. Like God sent him to help me make some life-changing decision.

"Why are you here?" I asked again, trying to maintain control and not snap at him. After all, we hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade. What good would it do to lash out at him? What would it accomplish to tell him about the therapy sessions, about the years I didn’t believe anything good was coming my way at all? About the fact that because of him, I didn’t believe I could ever be anyone’s first choice. "Why did you stay in touch with Patrick?" he asked, and for a moment, it sounded like his tough mask cracked. Like his defenses crumbled and his heart was laid bare. Like we were 20 again, and he was holding my face, explaining how scared he was to let me go.

"He insisted," I shrugged. The day after that party, Tashi's accident happened. Some would call it karma, but I’d say it was just bad luck. Because even though she hurt me without even knowing my name, I never wanted her career to end before it even began. And everyone was sad that day—Patrick, because he felt guilty, Tashi, because her knee twisted in the air, and Art, because he lost a friend and the girl who forgave him for all his bullshit. Aka me. But he won what really mattered. He got Tashi. Patrick found me that day in the library, refusing to wallow in my own misery, and somehow, he managed to entwine his miserable life with mine. He managed to secure a spot on my couch from time to time. He managed to impress me with lame jokes about his pathetic life, or maybe about mine.

And life didn’t turn out the way I planned. I didn’t discover a cure for cancer or make it to space by age 25. My apartment was crappy. So fucking crappy. But there were funny moments, and I only occasionally followed Art’s career. I only followed his love life when his face and Tashi’s were plastered on billboards. That could never have been me. It would never have worked. It wasn’t meant to be, I’d tell myself every time I was filled with self-pity. Every time I worked a temporary job selling skincare products or transcribing lectures for students. Every time I felt lost. I knew he wouldn’t have settled for someone like me in the long run.

He and Patrick made up two years ago, which was ironic. Because what’s the point of maintaining my friendship with Patrick if not to have at least one person in my life who understands the pain of knowing Art Donaldson? Of knowing that once, he was a part of your life, and it felt amazing. Almost unreal. Almost spiritual. But they made up, and Patrick promised me he wouldn’t talk about me with the smug bastard sitting in front of me right now. He promised and didn’t keep it. Well, here’s someone who’s never eating pasta at the restaurant near my place on my dime ever again.

"He insisted?" Art looked amused, and I just shrugged again in response. I knew he wanted more details, but I wanted him to take a headfirst dive into a volcano. Desires are ridiculous. "He insisted," I repeated, and this time he laughed. Actually laughed. "It's like you two have a contract not to tell me anything. How am I supposed to work with that?" He spoke as if we’d been friends for years. As if there hadn’t been a rupture, a break, and devastation. As if I didn’t have the image of him leaving me at that party seared into my brain. As if my heart hadn’t shattered into pieces because of him more times than I could count.

"I want you to handle my money," he suddenly said. "Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if he'd lost a lobe of his brain. "You're a financial advisor, right? Be my financial advisor," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, all while glancing at the pathetic office I was sitting in. "You don’t want me to be your financial advisor, Art," I almost snorted in disbelief. "You haven’t spoken to me in ten years, and now you know what I want?" he asked, allowing himself to raise an eyebrow in return. "This is a big firm; I can recommend someone who’d be happy to take you on," I tried to fake a smile. "I'll go to your boss and tell him I’m willing to let only you handle my account, and that you’re refusing. I’m sure he’d be thrilled. I Googled him—Albert looks like a guy who’d love to lose a wealthy client," and I saw that spark in his eyes. Challenging. Almost childish. The kind that said, 'Let’s see what you do. You’ll lose.'

"That’s a terrible idea," I declared. "Keeping in touch with Patrick and not me is a terrible idea. Managing my investments will give you some good money," he said, gesturing with his hands, and for the first time, I realized how big his hands were. "Are you bored with your life, Donaldson?" I asked, trying to figure out what I was dealing with here. "Come on, Peaches, you have to admit you missed me, at least a little." And for a change, his smile was genuine. He looked like every word I said could hurt him. "Like I miss my appendix," I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. "I’m looking forward to working with you." He suddenly stood up and extended his hand for a handshake, as if that wasn’t utterly ridiculous. "I’m looking forward to it like a deer looks forward to being eaten by a lion. It’s on my wish list," I said, and he just laughed again. A laugh that was too real. The kind that made tears gather in his eyes.

An hour after he left my dingy office, my heart was still racing at an unreasonable pace. The kind that made me wonder if there was a defibrillator in the building. I tried to remember if I shook his hand at the end of the meeting. I couldn’t. . . . As he left your office, Art felt like he does after a long tennis match. One that he won. A thought detached from reality, but he allowed himself those kinds of thoughts now. He was a new person. He believed in victories before they even happened. And seeing you after so many years in real life, not in blurry Facebook pictures, felt like a victory. You hadn’t changed much. The years had even given you a more sophisticated look—subtle yet full of curves. Your eyes still looked at him with that same spark. With a glimmer of something he could never quite put his finger on. But he wanted to conquer it. He wanted to win.

When Patrick and he reconnected, it was alongside the problems that only began in his relationship with Tashi. Alongside Lily’s birth, alongside the intrusive thoughts that had plagued him all his life, he wondered if it was a mistake. But Patrick was Patrick, and when he insisted on something, he got his way. And for Patrick, he and Art had to reconnect. So they did. Slowly, gradually. He wasn’t his best friend anymore, of course. But sometimes Art thought he was his only friend. Which was strange, because he was always surrounded by people. Tashi was supposed to be his best friend, but she never was. She made it clear more than once that it was a ridiculous notion.

One night, as he and Patrick were having beers at some sketchy bar, Patrick casually mentioned that you and he were good friends. Art looked at him as if he’d fallen from the moon. He wanted to punch him. He hadn’t expected that. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and knocked all the air out of his lungs. Patrick got over Tashi and settled for you? You weren’t supposed to be a compromise. Art wouldn’t allow that. He’d go to war if he had to. He had no grounds for such a war, but you were too good to settle for Patrick. You were too good to settle for anyone, really.

He quickly realized that things between you and Patrick were platonic. Or at least that’s what the guy sitting across from him kept repeating, but Art wasn’t fully convinced. Everything was too mysterious. Patrick kept too much information to himself. He didn’t share anything with Art about your life, and the more Patrick kept things hidden, the more obsessed Art became.

And it wasn’t weird that he checked if you’d posted a new status on Facebook almost as often as he checked if his infant daughter needed anything. It wasn’t weird that he searched for you on Instagram. It wasn’t weird that he looked through the profiles of all 67 people you followed and hated most of them. Because you didn’t follow him, and millions of people did. You could have followed, and he wouldn’t have even noticed—allegedly.

"She got engaged," Patrick said one day, throwing it into the air as if he were talking about his grocery list. Art stared at him, blinking, trying to process the information. Who’s the person responsible for this? Who’s the person who took you away, and why do you think he deserves forever with you? What kind of thought is that—that someone else deserves forever with you? That someone gets to have a picnic in the park with you. To pick you up for dates. To share a house with you. There’s someone who’s going to be the father of your kids. Who picked out a ring for you. Who’s going to make sure your dreams come true. Art doesn’t know what your dreams are. But he doesn’t want to think about it.

"Is he a good guy?" Art knew that was what he was supposed to ask. That’s what social norms demanded. "I’ve sat with them a few times when they were together. He’s kind and funny, and I think he loves her," Patrick shrugged, as if that’s all it takes to be with you. "Well, I’m happy for her," Art took a gulp of whiskey, too big, letting the drink burn its way down his throat. Patrick looked at him like he didn’t believe him. His problem, Art thought. Let him believe whatever he wants.

That night, Art opened your Instagram while Tashi was asleep. There wasn’t a picture of a ring or a tag of some guy. Tashi got annoyed because of the phone light. Art apologized.

That was almost six months ago. Since then, his life had changed because he and Tashi decided to keep their relationship strictly professional. It was for both of their benefit, though he wasn’t entirely sure how much it benefited him. He was still learning how to function without her. He was still learning how to communicate effectively. He was still trying to bridge the dissonance that came with going home to an empty house, yet navigating press conferences as if he were happily married.

In two weeks, even that charade would end. And he wasn’t sure what he was even fighting for. Because they weren’t truly happy. And you were in his thoughts enough for it to count as emotional cheating if he were married. So he let Tashi go. He was much less broken than he had imagined he would be without her.

'I’m looking forward to working with you.' -Art- He couldn’t resist sending the message. Maybe ten at night was too late. Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe your fiancé was with you, trying to love you. Maybe Art was intruding.

He didn’t particularly care if he was. . . . "I’m going to kill you," I said into the phone, hearing Patrick's rolling laughter. "You're exaggerating—" he began, trying to save his ass. "We had one rule! Just one, Patrick!" I found myself pacing the bedroom while Alec worked in the living room. This was the day after the meeting with Art Donaldson. "He lives in New York and he’s divorced. I felt like a jerk not telling him where you work when he asked so nicely," Patrick’s voice sounded genuine. "He's not divorced," I rolled my eyes. I would know if Art were divorced. His and Tashi's faces are plastered all over this stinking city.

"They’re finalizing things in about a week and a half. There will be a press conference and everything. It’s going to be a big deal," he said, as if it were common knowledge. As if I should already know this. "Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. That wasn’t cool," he added, and I could hear him biting into something, probably an apple. "We’re supposed to be a team. You can’t prioritize Art Donaldson’s interests over mine. I fed you when you were half-homeless," I declared. "I still prioritize your interests, drama queen," he continued speaking lightly, as if I had no reason to feel like my world was crumbling. "How is this prioritizing my interests? I’m going to manage his money. I’m going to handle his investments, Patrick. I’m going to see his stupid face every time he wants, as part of my job. Because of you! This is your fault!" I found myself stopping for a moment in the room, almost stomping my foot in frustration. Years of self-work going down the drain.

"Everything okay, Bunny?" I heard Alec's voice from the living room. "Yeah, I’m just talking to Patrick," I replied, steadying my voice into something more composed and responsible. So he’d keep thinking I had my life together. "Tell him 'hi,'" Alec said, and I could only guess he’d put his headphones back on. "Well, hi," I rolled my eyes, returning to the conversation with the chief idiot. "I’m sorry," Patrick mumbled after a few seconds of silence, and I hung up, sprawling on the bed like a starfish. He didn’t sound sorry.

I sat down next to Alec on the couch, wearing just my bra and panties with an open button-down shirt over it. Sexy enough for any stranger peeking through the window. A teenage boy's wet dream. I’m on fire. He kept staring at his screen, ignoring my existence. I started placing small kisses along his neck, trying to set the mood. Trying to seal the deal. Trying not to think about the one-who-shall-not-be-named. Trying to be a good woman. Trying to conquer feminism with mediocre sex, just like Alec and I know how to deliver. "I really have to finish this, Bunny," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, making me sigh, lean back, and roll my eyes. "How long will it take?" I asked. "You’ll probably be asleep by then. Watch an episode of your favorite show instead," he said without looking at me. "Can we talk about the wedding?" I tried another angle. "If I don’t have time to make love to you, I definitely don’t have time to plan the wedding," he said, slipping those hideous—massive—headphones back on, ending the conversation. I kind of hated that he never said "fuck" or "have sex" or even used the word "sex" in general. He always treated it like I was Princess Diana. I am clearly not Princess Diana. Sometimes I wonder if he even wants to marry me at all. It’s been over six months since he proposed, and he’s been dodging setting a date since practically the same day. It’s very frustrating. I need to meditate.

"Bunny," he suddenly said, and I looked at him expectantly while he removed his headphones after I’d already started heading to the bedroom, "you have a stain on your shirt." He quickly put his headphones back on, eyes glued to the screen. At least the soup I had for lunch managed to fuck me today. . . . "You can't just show up here," I said as I tried to finish chewing the terrible sandwich I’d chosen today. I think it had mold. "If you had answered my messages, we could’ve scheduled something without me showing up at your office." Art looked good. So fucking good. It was frustrating. Today was the day I decided to skip the contacts and wear glasses. God hates me. But on the other hand, God was trying to help me—making sure Art Donaldson never gets attracted to me. God is on my side. I knew she was a feminist.

"What do you want?" I mumbled in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t leave until he said whatever he came to say so we could all move on with our lives. "To talk business," he smiled from ear to ear. "I'm eating right now, come back in half an hour," I replied, "or better yet, schedule a meeting like a rational human being." I continued pressing my point. "Better idea, let's go grab lunch and talk business over food." He looked at me like a dad who just told his little girl what her next hour is going to look like. "Sorry, I can't—" "Art Donaldson! When I got your email, I couldn't believe it," Albert burst into my office excitedly. Sure, let’s invite everyone. Apparently, there’s free cookies being handed out. All are welcome.

Art kept wearing his unbearable poster smile while Albert went on and on about tennis and how much he loved Rafael Nadal. Albert is clearly a man with vast general knowledge. "She treating you right?" Albert asked Art as if they were best friends, and now they both stared at me while all I wanted was to finish my food-poisoning sandwich in peace. "She just agreed to join me for lunch to talk about my money," Art said, and if looks could kill, Art Donaldson would’ve had a stroke right there and disappeared from our lives as suddenly as he appeared. But no, looks don’t kill, and feminist God apparently isn’t on my side anymore because now I’m sitting across from this asshole at a diner. I ordered a burger because I knew he’d never allow himself to eat one and would whine for hours about how he wants to eat a burger every day but can’t.

"I hope that's okay," I smiled one of the fakest smiles I could muster, blinking as I took a bite of the slab of meat in front of me. "Mmm, it's amazing," I sighed, watching for a moment as he stared at me, mouth half-open, eyes sparkling. "You're cruel," he stated after shaking his head, as if shaking off urges. He looked different with short hair. I always told him he needed to cut it because it kept falling into his eyes, but his curls had a youthful playfulness that was clearly missing now. He looked defeated.

"So, what did you want to talk about? What are you looking to invest in?" I tried to focus on the reason behind this ridiculous meal while Art stole a fry from my plate and picked at the sad grilled chicken he had ordered. Maybe I should stop making those satisfied sounds when I eat. "You," he said, biting his lip like a kid who let a curse word slip in front of his mom. Testing boundaries. Watching as I rolled my eyes. "I'm not going to let you waste my time, Donaldson," and we both knew I wasn’t just talking about business. Because honestly? Fuck business. Art didn’t seem like someone who was planning to disappear from my life anytime soon. He had shown up too determined for that to happen. "I have no intention of wasting your time, Peaches," he smiled, leaning back, relaxing a little after we established this basic ground rule. He continued stealing my food.

"So, tell me about him," he suddenly said after insisting I order an enormous ice cream that was supposed to be just for me. Every time his spoon got closer, mine heroically fought it off. "Who?" I asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream and leaving it in my mouth for a few seconds. His gaze immediately locked on my ring. "We're not that kind of friends, Donaldson," I said, watching as he inched his spoon toward my ice cream, and I quickly blocked him. No chance. "So what kind of friends are we?" he asked, smiling, looking half at me and half at our spoons, still battling each other. "I don't know," I sighed a little, finally lowering my spoon in defeat. There’s no point in fighting. It’s truly a lost cause.

The more Art Donaldson entered my life, the more Alec distanced himself from it. Art did it in a quiet way, almost eerily so. It started with deep conversations about financial investments he wanted to make. About charity events he wanted to be part of. A foundation he wanted to establish. He talked about his money as if it made sense to be this rich at his age. As if he and I were on the same level in terms of lifestyle. He never once acted condescending about it, even though I expected him to. Even though I had prepared arguments in advance. He never once asked why I didn’t continue in academia or why I gave up on medicine. He didn’t poke at that wound. Even though he could have. Even though it would’ve been easy.

It continued with stupid messages in the middle of the day about how he was hungry, tired, or wanted to go home. Messages about seeing a guy dressed as a bear in the middle of the street. Fucking New York. He’d ask questions about my day. Ask what I ate. If I ate. If I was drinking enough water. Never anything too deep. Never out of nosy curiosity. If I forgot who he was, I might’ve thought he cared about me. I know, it’s unbelievable.

One time, he called me at seven in the evening, talking such nonsense that I wondered if he was drunk. I wondered out loud, of course, because I’m not 19, and I’m not afraid to tell Art Donaldson what I think. He wasn’t drunk. He made dinner and decided to call. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Said it, and then went on about his day. About Lily. About how she was adjusting to splitting her time between his place and Tashi’s. He talked about Patrick and told me what he was cooking. It was domestic. Like I was a part of his life. Weird.

Alec and I were in the middle of a fight that made me wonder if I was mentally strong enough not to throw the vase that was sitting on the dresser. Not at him. I’m not violent. On the floor, to make a point. “Do you even want to marry me?” I suddenly asked. Because at that point, I no longer knew what was happening. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. “Of course I wa-” “To who the hell is it obvious? Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask me about a wedding date almost a year later, and I change the subject?!” I cut him off. “Every time I try to bring it up, you’d rather talk about light fixtures or that time we randomly had an hour-long conversation about types of doors.” I reminded him of some of the truly bizarre moments we’ve had recently. “We do need to replace the door.” I shot him a look that should’ve made it clear that if he kept going with that sentence, I was breaking the vase on the floor.

“Why don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” I suddenly asked. Almost defeated after too much yelling. “What? Bunny-” he blushed. The question was too brutal for him. Too raw for his delicate soul, which couldn’t handle talking about sex. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve fucked since you proposed,” I said it as bluntly as I could, enjoying his discomfort. “We don’t have to make love every day,” he mumbled. Last time I checked, to make love, there has to be love. I threw the vase. Alec left the house. . . . ‘You’re not at work.’ – A –

‘How is it that we’re back to you not answering me?’ – A –

‘Did you secretly get married over the weekend?’ – A –

‘Seriously, get back to me. It’s about the charity event.’ – A –

The bitter truth was that I was busy wallowing in the current failure of my life- Alec. I binge-watched all the seasons of The O.C. in three days and ate more ice cream than should be legal. But I didn’t feel the pain in my bones the way you’re supposed to when ending what was supposed to be the relationship. I’d once hurt more over losing someone who loved me less.

‘Are you okay? You’ve got our mutual friend worried.’ – P – He talked about Art like he was a spy. ‘Hey, could you stop being an idiot for a second and just answer to say you’re alive?’ – P –

‘I’m calling the fire department to check your apartment.’ – P –

‘This is concerning.’ – P –

‘I’ll call your mom. She’d love to hear from me after that time I burped in her face.’ – P –

‘I broke up with Alec.’ – (Y/N)–

‘You’re not going to die alone.’ – P –

‘I know you think you will, but you won’t.’ – P –

‘You can’t know that.’ – (Y/N) –

‘You’re an idiot.’ – P –

‘Are you okay?’ – P –

‘I mean, obviously you’re not okay, but... are you okay?’ – P –

‘I’m okay.’ –(Y/N)–

When I walked into the hall where Art Donaldson’s charity event for kids with muscular dystrophy, was being held, eyes didn’t turn toward me like they do in the movies. Everyone was too busy with their conversations and stroking each other’s egos. From the side, it almost looked homoerotic—the gentle touches on shoulders and the occasional pats. Almost sexy. Maybe I was seeing sex in things that weren’t sexy because my ex refused to touch me with more resolve than an ant carrying food that weighed more than its body. “You made it,” Art’s voice came from behind me. “You’re sharp,” I shot back as I turned to him, taking one of the champagne glasses he offered. “Is Patrick here too?” I asked. “No, he couldn’t come. He signed up for a Challenger in Malibu,” he replied, his eyes unapologetically scanning me. I felt completely exposed under his penetrating gaze. “So random,” I mumbled. Art’s hand gently pulled me by the waist, bringing me close to him while keeping his hand exactly where it was. I almost let confusion show on my face, but he introduced me to the man who had come over to talk to him, never taking his eyes—or his hand—off me. Not during the next conversation, or the next one, either. He presented us as a strange package deal. If someone wanted to talk to him, they had to talk to me too. Maybe he hoped it would drive people away. It didn’t. "Want to step outside for some air?" he whispered in my ear. After spending most of the evening standing so close to each other, it felt strange to pull away now that no one else was around. "Sure, why not." I shrugged, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Before stepping out, we each grabbed a glass of wine. "You raised a lot of money," I remarked, trying to break the ice. "You disappeared on me," he shot back, not bothering with small talk. "I’ve been busy." I shrugged again. "Where’s your ring?" he asked. "You’re obsessed with my hands, Donaldson," I said, unsure how to respond to this level of bluntness after being in a relationship with someone who was too scared to talk to me for years. "It’s not relevant anymore," I added, as his gaze didn’t allow me to dodge the question. "Good, it was ugly," he stated, stopping in his tracks, making me stop too and turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. His expression was challenging again, with that playful spark, inviting a debate. "It wasn’t ugly," I rolled my eyes. "It was pathetic, Peaches. You know you deserve better," he declared, leaving no room for argument.

And somehow, he was so close. Close enough that his breath, smelling of mint gum and wine, blended with mine. "I’m not looking for a rebound," I murmured. "Neither am I," his usual smug smile was gone. There was no trace of it. He looked hazy. Almost captive. "What are you looking for?" I dared to ask. "You," he replied. It was a good answer.

After an excruciatingly long hour and twenty minutes, during which I had two more glasses of wine, and Art spoke into the microphone—stopping me from downing a third—we arrived at his house. It looked a bit like a modern palace. "How is it that you live here?" I mused aloud, and his mouth found my neck as he chuckled. "What, this old thing?" he mumbled, his kisses as sharp as his words. "Don’t leave marks, Donaldson. We’re adults," I managed to say as I kicked off my heels, and he unzipped my dress.

"I want to do this from the moment you walked into the room today. Fuck, you’re so hot," he growled. It was throaty and masculine, almost animalistic. His eyes scanned me like a smoke detector picking up a cigarette. Within seconds, I found myself on the most comfortable couch I had ever been on. His lips traveled over me as if he was painting a map, as if he remembered all the sensitive points on my body. "I missed her," he said, giving a small bite to my right nipple, glancing at my face as I let out a moan. "her too," he added, moving to the left one. "Art, I need you." I tried to make it clear to him that I couldn't handle the teasing right now. That he should save it for another time. For someone else. For something else. I need him inside me.

"Peaches, have some patien—" he started, continuing to place deadly kisses on various areas of my body. "Art, just fuck me. Okay?" I almost pleaded, my voice lower than usual, filled with an inexplicable need. He looked at me for half a minute and nodded. "Okay baby, I got you," he said. And within seconds, his boxers were on the floor, and my panties disappeared too. He was inside me as if this was his home, as if he belonged there. "Fuck. Art. Thank you, there," I felt stupid, but I couldn't control it. I needed him so badly. I needed someone to fill the empty space. That Art Donaldson would fill the empty space.

He moved at a chaotic pace, almost as if he was trying to prove he could give me exactly what I wanted. What I needed. And he was right. I came after a few minutes, during which his cock filled me perfectly, and his lips found mine and refused to let go. He wrapped me from every direction and came right after I did.

"It's like we're teenagers," I muttered, and he laughed. "I usually last longer," he stated, not getting up, his body weight feeling almost comfortable on top of me. It was almost nice to breathe heavily. "So do I," I retorted. His hand drew little shapes on my shoulder. "Let's go to sleep," he decided, standing up slowly, reaching out his hand and pulling me toward him. Not forgetting to give me another kiss on the lips, a small one. As if it had happened a million times before. As if it were a routine.

"Your bed should be illegal, Donaldson," I said after he tossed a soft T-shirt he had in his closet over me. He lay down beside me, laughing. "I can't believe you're here. I was afraid it wouldn't happen," he said, with a seriousness that felt profound. "How long have you been thinking about this?" I tried to sound amused. "Since the moment I stepped into your office," his honesty was both terrifying and comforting. No one had talked to me so openly in a while. "probably before that" he added. "You can't waste my time, Art," I replied, looking up to catch his gaze. . . . Art took a moment to nod. He already had a ring for you. Even before you broke up with that idiot, he had bought the ring. He didn't know where life would lead you. He just knew he was going to spend every free moment proving to you that he loved you enough not to waste your time. Not when you were his favorite person.

How are we doing guys?!?!?!?! Can't wait to hear from you. That's my chance to remind y'all that English is not my first language and I might have some grammar issues. love you all, hope it was a good addition to the story <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[pinkicyheart]

fromis_9 + ideal dates

a/n: fluff, no gendered terms, mentions of kissing. first post omg!

saerom ˖ ࣪⭑ pottery class. saerom would love picking out inspo on pinterest with you on the days leading up to the date. you guys would do a matching mug set; her with a green mug and you with a red one (christmas themed ^^). she's so sneaky the way she reaches over you and puts her hands on yours under the guise of trying to help mold the clay.

hayoung ˖ ࣪⭑ making a song with you. you wanted to write a song as a gift for your friend, and what better place to make one than with the queen of songwriting herself! she would be so attentive in listening to what kind of song you want, and so so patient when you don't understand a part of the song making process.

gyuri ˖ ࣪⭑ going to a tennis game! it's summer, and what better way to celebrate than going to a game! you get in the spirit all the way from the comfort of the cool bleachers. you both settle on a team to support and are quickly absorbed in the game. gyuri's sure to make you feel better with ice cream after your team loses.

jiwon ˖ ࣪⭑ mini golf. a dose of healthy competition never hurt anyone! you've never played before, so jiwon has the advantage in this game. not to worry! to keep it fair, she'll give you some pointers and help you perfect your form. she eventually (secretly) throws the game to let you win, because your cheerful face of victory was all she was looking for.

jisun ˖ ࣪⭑ gym date! you two are wearing matching workout sets, you in pink and her in black. you start out your workout with some stretches, (jisun would hate to see you sore), and you get to work on some cardio. seeing jisun all sweaty and hot leaves you dizzy, so jisun elects to have a water break. jisun can't tell if it's the endorphins from the workout, but you look prettier than usual.

seoyeon ˖ ࣪⭑ ikea date. this might be a bit unusual but seoyeon loves walking around in ikea with you. she loves the food court and seeing the sets and imagining living in a room like that with you one day. your eyes twinkle under the show lights and seoyeon can't tell what's sweeter; the sight of you or the ice cream she's currently enjoying.

chaeyoung ˖ ࣪⭑ night walk. honestly chae seems like the type to enjoy simpler dates. she just wants to appreciate the time you have together with no bells and whistles. she loves being pushed on the swing, feeling the wind in her hair, while you two have a conversation about the past, present and future.

nagyung ˖ ࣪⭑ gaming cafe. as we all know, nakko is our resident gamer. she'd love to take you to one of her favorite gaming spots and teach you all things gaming. she'd order a huge bowl of ramen for you to share, and she'd get right to business. she'd start out playing fortnite with you to get you started and would carry you well throughout the game. she'd totally reward you with a kiss for winning.

jiheon ˖ ࣪⭑ photo booth. even though you were originally planning on going to an arcade, jiheon spotted a photo booth stand and pulled you in! she already finds you beautiful, but when you ask for some mascara and lip gloss to touch up your makeup, there's no way she'd refuse. you take a couple of silly shots, and a surprise cheek kiss (from your end) that really pulled the set of photos together.

[simshousewindsor]

COMPANY OF MEN

[The Queens Private Office, Buckingsims Palace]

Martin: Here is the document I noted needing your signature, ma'am.

Queen Katherine: Oh, yes. Thank you, Martin.

Queen Katherine: How is the Prince consorts tour going?

Martin: His, um, royal engagements have been wonderful, ma'am.

Queen Katherine: ...and his non-royal engagements?

Martin: Apparently, Cmd Eldridge sent a rather detailed email correspondent about their first three days of the tour to Cmd Crawley, who read it aloud during their lunch club -

Queen Katherine: "BOYS club"

Martin: - on yesterday. Witnesses say it was a rather salacious recap, ma'am.

Queen Katherine: I see.

Martin: The Dukes of Kent and Norfolk should be here for lunch shortly. Your final dress fitting for the Duke of Norfolks ball is rescheduled for tomorrow at 2pm.

Queen Katherine: (somber) Thank you, Martin.

- - - - - LATER - - - - -

[The Queens Private Dining Room]

Lord Hardy: The invasion has been a disaster, the UN General Assembly is in chaos, as are the Americreeks. Thus our Prime Minister has had no option but to declare an immediate ceasefire and retreat.

Queen Katherine: Without taking back the Strait of Sims Canal.

Prince Louis: It's all been for nothing?

Lord Hardy: That's why I'm here. It appears far worse than nothing.

Lord Hardy: Keller has poorly managed the economy and the drain on our currency reserves has been so ruinous we could now face a volatile market and recession.

Prince Louis: (sighs)

Lord Hardy: The Philemon Affair is just as bad. He was called to a House of Commons debate on Philemon's resignation on November 5th.

Lord Hardy: It is no exaggeration to say this has been the worst week for the country since 2008. The peace and consensus left by your dear father has gone, and our reputation for decency and integrity, especially in matters of foreign policy, has been shattered.

Queen Katherine: What can I do?

Lord Hardy: As sovereign, you can ask the Prime Minister to step down.

(Alfred enters)

Queen Katherine: General Elections are in less than a year, why can't we let the Windenburg sims decide? (to Alfred) Yes?

Alfred: The Prince consort is on the phone, Your Majesty.

Queen Katherine: (stands) Oh! Sorry, please excuse me.

Lord Hardy: Absolutely.

Prince Louis: It's an absolute travesty. Keller should resign. He can't even manage his own cabinet. He already lost his Science MP, now he's about to lose his Energy MP less than a year before election.

Lord Hardy: Most newspapers considered the extent of these defections significant, and several forecast that he should resign. He's too prideful, though. He'd rather hold on to power, and lose the election, than resign.

Prince Louis: (angry) This should not be allowed!

- - - - - LATER - - - - -

[The Private Secretary's Office]

Lorenzo: (knock on door) Sir, do you have a minute?

Martin: Come in.

Lorenzo: There are speculations that Mrs. Eldridge is seeking a divorce.

Martin: Speculations?

Lorenzo: My sister-in-law had lunch yesterday with her aunt who played tennis last weekend with the wife of Mrs Eldridge's attorney.

Martin: That's half of Easton!

Martin: That's unfortunate. It'll be hard to contain. Wait, what are her reasons for divorce?

Lorenzo: Neglect, and infidelity. She has no concrete evidence but is actively making noise and asking questions. She knows of the lunch club, and found out about the letter.

Martin: The wife of the Prince consorts Private Secretary seeking divorce on grounds of infidelity is bound to cause assumption about the integrity of the royal marriage. The press will think that whatever Cmd Eldridge has done, so has the Prince consort. This could jeopardize the entire monarchy.

Martin: Keep an eye on this for me, will you?

Lorenzo: Yes sir.

Martin: A close eye.

Previous | Beginning | Next

[misiwrites]

Mayblade Day 13

proceed to pretend it hasn't been 2 weeks without updates

[previous: chapter 1 & 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | chapter 10 | chapter 11 | chapter 12]

CHAPTER 13 prompt: royalty characters: hiromi, emily, giancarlo, ralf, johnny, olivier, king, queen, brooklyn, yuriy + barthez soldat pairings: olivier/giancarlo

One day while looking for the oddly covert entry to the school kitchens during helper duty, Hiromi discovered a strange door in one of the basement floor corridors. It was fancy, a robust oak door with paneling and a golden handle, an elaborate carving in the middle in the shape of a knight, the chess piece. She tried the handle on a whim only to find the door locked.

“That’s the chess club,” Emily told her afterwards. “But they’re weird. I don’t recommend trying that one out.”

But, as usual, Hiromi’s curiosity had already been awakened. Besides, she had always enjoyed strategy games like chess, go, and mahjong and wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to check out something she actually was interested in, as opposed to all this other gunk she wasn’t, like tennis and circus.

So she headed over once classes were done with. Maybe she’d get lucky and find someone at the club room. Finding the strange door again took a while, but eventually she raised a hand to knock on the fanciful oak paneling.

To her surprise, it soon opened – an inch, anyway. Someone glanced at her through the slim crack of the door; it was an old man, peering down at her from above. Her eyes got stuck in the silvery moustache leering over her as she looked back at him.

“Entry is forbidden from non-members,” the man said and promptly slammed the door on her face.

Hiromi stood frozen in place, staring. Wait, what? What was this old man doing at the school? He’d appeared to have been wearing a suit, though she didn’t get a good look on such short notice.

She knocked again. This time the door remained shut. Not a peep from inside. A minute later, she backed away in resignation.

But someone was approaching the scene down the corridor. Hiromi turned to see – not Max this time, which would have been notably strange in this situation, but another chaotic blue-eyed, fair-haired blond she’d come across recently. It was the Casanova, strolling at a leisurely pace towards the door with his hands in his pockets.

Hiromi had no time to think. She stooped on a level any self-respecting girl never ought to and assumed the demeanor of a damsel in distress. She laced her fingers together and hoped to be making a decently Bambi-eyed impression as she turned to face Giancarlo. Good thing she’d chosen to wear a short skirt today.

As she batted her eyelashes at Giancarlo who’d only just noticed her, he gave her a face of slight alarm, perhaps due to the odd nature of their previous encounter.

“Heeey,” she chirped. “So glad to see you. I’m in a bit of trouble here…”

“Oh!” He lowered his shoulders, dropping the wary act at once. It took him approximately half a second to switch gears to his usual flirty self. “Yeah, I am. What are you looking for, little lamb?”

“I wanted to check out the chess club, but some horrible old man told me to get lost.” She brushed a subtle finger by the corner of her eye, lower lip twitching. “It was s-so rude. All I wanted was to see what the club is like because I like chess. I got scared…”

Giancarlo was exactly as simple a guy as he appeared to be: he was in chivalry mode immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry – that must have been our butler, he can be such a jerk. Of course you can check out the club if you want to. Come on, let’s go together.”

Hiromi swallowed her urge to retch at Giancarlo placing a hand on her waist and guiding her back towards the dark and dramatic door. And why the fuck would a chess club have a butler?

Giancarlo had a key to the door and opened it with perfect ease. The first thing he did was scold the old man standing by the door in his tuxedo. “Johann, I heard you were rude to this young lady who only wished to come see how our honorable club operates! That was shameful of you. The lady is my guest and welcome here any time.”

Hiromi wasn’t listening to his cheesy mumbo jumbo. She eyed the strange room unlike anything she’d seen elsewhere at the school; it had the appearance of a classic Victorian study. Lots of dramatic dark wood, a fireplace, large paintings on the walls. A dark red carpet covered the entire floor. Several wooden tables were scattered here and there, equipped with expensive-looking chess sets, most sitting vacantly atop the round tables. Only two of the tables were occupied, both of which had two players sitting opposite each other on dark leather seats, and a third person observing on the side. The ones closer to the door, Hiromi recognized: one of the players was Johnny McGregor, the student council member, and the other a guy whom she knew to work in the school library often and, for all she could recall, now saw outside the library for the first time. The third wheel scrutinizing their game from a sofa with a hand raised to his chin was Olivier.

The other pair of players in the back of the room, Hiromi didn’t know. But the third person following their game, sitting with his back towards her, was none other than Brooklyn. This trio paid no attention to her and Giancarlo entering the room.

The other three, however, did. They all turned to stare at them with unmasked contempt.

“What the hell?” asked Johnny, scoffing. “What’s this random lass doing here?”

“I literally just said she’s my guest,” Giancarlo said, scoffing. “You wanker. What’s so bad about having more girls interested in our club?”

“Bollocks. More like more girls interested in you. Who's the wanker here?”

It wasn’t Johnny, though, who looked the iffiest man present. Hiromi was immediately aware of how Olivier was positively glaring daggers at her across the room.

Giancarlo was obviously unbothered by Johnny’s remarks. One filthy hand still on her, he waved the other around to show off the room. “Welcome to our private club! Only the most special people in this school get to ever see it, so consider yourself lucky, Miss… uh…”

“Tachibana,” she uttered.

“Yes.” Making no effort to repeat or learn her name, he then introduced the other members present. Apparently it was Ralf Jürgens, the librarian (who, after an initial foul look her way, remained focused on the game throughout this exchange), who had arranged this old storage room to be renovated for the club’s use. The two people she didn’t yet know, Giancarlo introduced as King and Queen from 2-A. She did wonder how and why they would be called like this, as they obviously weren’t their real names, but didn’t have enough interest to follow up by asking about it. Perhaps it was some kind of strange chess-themed live roleplay they had going on here.

After the introductions, what mild attention was paid to Hiromi evaporated completely. Giancarlo finally withdrew his hand and moved over to sit next to Olivier on the sofa, casually throwing that same hand over his shoulder instead. Olivier made a point to cast Hiromi a smug look while pulling the other guy’s hand tighter around himself, as if she in any shape or form gave a shit about this.

Everyone present seemed like a jerk, perhaps with the exception of Brooklyn. Not that she knew him much either. Why was he here, anyway? Hadn’t he just been at the circus club? And the wushu club as well. Had she seen him at the kendo club too...?

For whatever reason that she couldn’t justify to herself, Hiromi remained watching Ralf and Johnny’s chess match, which turned out to be more of a sitting match. Ralf had been pondering his next move ever since she entered the room and had yet to decide it at this point. Giancarlo and Olivier were nested on the sofa, apparently so engrossed in each other that Giancarlo no longer remembered the existence of his “guest”; whatever this weird dynamic between the two guys was, Hiromi couldn’t wrap her poor brain around it. And Johnny, who sat lazily back in his leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, appeared perpetually distracted by the pair at the other end of the room and didn’t give a rat’s ass about Ralf taking his sweet time.

Hiromi glanced over at the table occupied by King, Queen, and Brooklyn. The regally named couple was the opposite of Ralf and Johnny: their game was fast-paced and timed with both slapping a clock set next to the checkered board in turns. They were dressed in identical white uniforms and bore some uncanny likeness to each other; if it weren’t for the fact that King was black and Queen white (on the board they played the opposite), they could have been twins. Playing this high-paced game of chess in complete silence and perfect sync, it was another strange duo to add to Hiromi's school findings.

About five minutes later, Ralf finally made his move on the board. He switched the positions of his black queen and rook. And Johnny didn’t even notice it, eyes still glued to the other table across the room.

Ralf, who sat back and folded his arms over his chest, turned to look at Hiromi. He frowned.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

She decided to take her leave.

Hiromi paced a strip of bright green, impeccably mowed grass of the Bey High sports grounds back and forth. Emily was taking longer than usual with tennis practice, and she was getting hungry. They had plans to go grab some early dinner together and maybe do a little card reading on the side, as it had been a while since their last session together. Besides, Hiromi was dying to complain about the chess club to Emily; she’d been waiting for so long by now, her thoughts were inevitably starting to circle around speculating what the bizarre relationship between Olivier Bohringer and Giancarlo Tornatore was, despite repeatedly telling herself she couldn’t have cared less about these rich boys and their odd relations and chocolate bar rituals.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Come on! Come on!” a voice echoed – one that, to her confusion, was not her own.

Hiromi stopped pacing and turned to look out into the stadium. There was a small group of people practicing sprinting. It must have been the track & field club, she thought first – but could have been other students training for the upcoming sports day, too. Hiromi didn’t have enough motivation to do so herself despite the fact that, with a bit of training, she might have done decently in a couple of sports. Knowing how many students were involved in the insanely competitive clubs, her “decent” wouldn’t carry far in the sports day qualifiers.

There was a band of five people repeatedly sprinting down a 100-meter strip of the track. After observing two iterations of this, she could already tell that two of them were far ahead of the pack speed-wise. Both had wild hair sticking up like a pair of demon horns, one a redhead, the other with a blend of blonde and brunette hair.

Then, while watching the other three make their way to the goal line, she realized that one of them was Brooklyn. Whom she’d not too long ago seen at the chess club. Hiromi knit her brows together, staring at his tracksuit-clad figure now slowing down to catch his breath at the end of the track. When had he ever had the time to get here? Hiromi hadn't seen him leave with her.

While Brooklyn and the redhead remained solitary after the performane, the other three quickly gathered together and moved over to the side of the track. Only then Hiromi noticed a sole spectator they now collectively approached, it was Mathilda holding out bottles of water for them. Perhaps she was there timing their runs, a team manager of sorts.

That was when Emily startled the life out of Hiromi by slamming a hand on her shoulder from behind. “Boo!”

“Oh, my fucking god. Don’t do that ever again or I’ll give you a right hook next time. And what took you so long? It’s almost half past already.”

“We had a, well, thing for the enhancement program. Didn’t I tell you?”

No, Emily had not mentioned anything such. “Do you know who those people flocking to Mathilda over there are?” Hiromi then asked, pointing at the track where said scene was still playing out.

After a brief observation pause, Emily told her they were Mathilda’s classmates. “Ah, the weirdo battalion. That’s Claude, Aaron, and Miguel. Totally insufferable. They worship the ground under her feet – they seem to think she’s their princess, or something equally dumb.”

“What, really? Three guys simultaneously?” Mathilda never seemed like the type wooing guys left and right.

“Yeah, I know. Some people are too popular for their own good. And that one,” Emily suddenly pointed at the redhead on the track, “is the Blitzkrieg Boys boss. Or I think he’s the boss.”

Hiromi turned to look at the boy who, rightfully so, was currently standing with his hands on his hips and evidently glaring at the three chivalrous knights still too busy pampering Mathilda to get on with the practice once more. The guy looked unassuming enough from far away. “He looks kind of normal.”

“But is another nutcase. I heard he got suspended on the first week of his first year for bringing a gun to class. Anyway, let’s get going – I need a burger or several.”

“Is that appropriate for your diet?”

“It is today. I’m starving.”

[birdsthatsingaftermidnight]

Of course we're watching the coronation.

We're watching it in our own way, though, and currently we're making up traditions. 

"And, of course, the footmen accompanying the carriage, will be mentally preparing for the final 800 meters of the Mall, where by tradition they will engage in a race with the Household Cavalry - the loser to be executed to get things underway in the manner of that great leader, Ghenghis Kahn.

And the footmen, of course, returning to their old titles since leaving the European Union, when they were, of course, Thirty Centimeter Men, of course."

- - - -

Huw Edwards: "Prince Andrew, making a rare public appearance."

Me: "Oh go on, Huw.  Say why."

He did not, much to my disappointment.

- - - -

"Once they pass the Cenotaph, the queen will, of course, change coaches, where the traditional Race to Westminster Abbey will begin.  She will be in the golden coach, the one without suspension, as the king gets first choice of coach. The competition is, of course, fierce, as whoever arrives first gets to call dibs on being the sovereign."

- - - -

"And there we see the Duke of Norfolk wearing the traditional Coronation Trousers and, as is the custom, nothing else.  He wears them on his head, in honour of "Bonkers Norfolk" who, at the coronation of James I, with only breaches on his head and his ribbon of the Garter attached to his left nipple, leapt in front of Queen Anne and her Ladies-in-Waiting whilst shouting, "hello ladies, would you like to see my impression of a windmill?!"  He will of course be tackled in the traditional manner by several members of the choir whilst the Household Guards stare straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with anyone at all."

- - - -

Huw Edwards: "The king has chosen to wear the Robes of State."

Me: "Has he? What a genuine surprise!"

- - - -

"And as King Charles III arrives, the doors are slammed in Camilla's face by boxers hired by the king himself in honour of that time George IV continued to be a petty prick to his own wife."

- - - -

Huw Edwards: "And there, the Cross of Canterbury..."

Archbishop of Canterbury: "I CAN'T BELIEVE I'VE SQUEEZED MYSELF IN HERE IT'S STANDING ROOM ONLY! I ALSO CAN'T BELIEVE THAT ASSHOLE, THE BISHOP OF WESTMINSTER, IS DOING THE GREETING! ROYAL PECULIAR MY ARSE!  AND ANY CHOIRBOY GOING FLAT WILL BE SHOT! I AM SO CROSS!"

- - - -

King: "In His name and following His example, I come not to be served but to serve."

<produces tennis racket>

- - - -

Bass: <sings Kyrie Eleison, arms folded in front of him>

Me: "There's a man who doesn't know what to do with his hands.  Either that or he's been told not to wave them in case he hits a peer."

Spouse: "You can't trust basses.  He's been discreetly handcuffed."

- - - -

"And, of course, there are some mysteries that remain unexplained.  Like why the Archbishop of Canterbury has the face of a bushbaby on the front of his robes."

- - - -

Archbishop of Canterbury, paraphrased: "Do you promise you're a protestant?

King: "Yes." <points at Boris Johnson> "Get him!"

Huw Edwards, over the sounds of the scuffle: "A deviation from tradition, not because Boris Johnson is a Catholic, of course, but because he really gets on the king's nerves."

- - - -

Huw Edwards: "There will be many rods and scepters used in the ceremony, but the king will eventually be handed his own, inscribed with the words "Bad Mother-Fucker" because, of course, when you absolutely have to reign over everyone in the room, you should accept no substitutes."

- - - -

Can you claim leadership of the Conservatives by right of combat? Because Rishi's right there and Penny Mordaunt's got a sword...

- - - -

Huw Edwards: "And having decapitated her opponent, Penny Maudant stands and patiently awaits the Quickening."

- - - -

I'd love it if, as he's talking about duty to society, the vulnerable, and the sick, the Archbishop of Canterbury was looking, directly and without blinking, at the Prime Minister.

- - - -

Zadok the Priest is a cracking piece of music.

- - - -

When the screens are removed the king's not going to be there.  There'll be a gasp, and he'll appear at the back of the Abbey to rapturous applause.

- - - -

Spouse: "He's sloped off for a smoke. 'It's incense. Rothmann's incense. Mmmmm.'"

- - - -

THEY'D BETTER BE PUTTING THAT STONE BACK WHEN THEY'RE DONE

It's not like the English don't have their own rock at Kingston anyway!

- - - -

"He receives the Jewelled Sword +2, which is, of course, +4 vs Scots, but that gets glossed over these days."

- - - -

"The regalia, of course, will be returned to Ricky's Pawn Brokers where, later, a Beefeater will nip down and redeem the lot for the traditional hundred and twenty quid in order to return them to the Tower treasurey."

- - - -

"The Archbishop, deviating from the traditional words, forgets his lines and shouts, 'it's magic hat time, bitches!'"

- - - -

"And we come to the crown, where all claimants will try to take it in a NO DQs, PINS COUNT ANYWHERE, ALTERS, LADDERS AND THRONES, CROWN-ONNA-POLE MATCH!"

- - - -

OMG the Archbishop woggled the crown about as he put it on Charles so it wouldn't fall off! 

That might be the best bit!

- - - -

Me: "It's a bit odd that the Archbishop is having to check his notes to say the blessing. It's only what he says at the end of every service he's ever led."

Spouse: "He almost said 'it's magic hat time, bitches!' He has to be sure!"

- - - -

This singer isn't handcuffed. 

Obviously more trustworthy.

- - - -

"WAIT A MINUTE! That's not the Archbishop of Canterbury! That...that's Dick Dastardly! And this Abbey's... IT'S MADE OF CARDBOARD! We've been had!"

<cuts to Dick Dastardly, crown on his head but still in the Bush Baby Cope, tying the king to a train track whilst Muttley sniggers>

- - - -

...it sounds a bit like boss fight music is happening... any minute now a Sith Lord is going to appear.

- - - -

It's fair to say we're enjoying the coronation the way we enjoy Eurovision.  With great sincerity, genuinely and honestly,  but not necessarily in the manner that the organisers were hoping for.

- - - -

Spouse: "If he takes any longer leaving, they'll have to turn around and crown William!"

Me: "He can only move one square at a time now!"

- - - -

Spouse: "It does look for all the world like he's holding a thermal detonator."

Me: "It's in case Prince Andrew tries to get too close."

[cyarskj1899]

POLITICS

No Speaker of the House Yet, But Here's Who We'd Nominate to Fill the Void

The Speaker doesn't have to be a member of Congress (like, who knew?) So we decided to nominate a few of our own: Beyoncé, Common, Al Sharpton and more.

By

Jessica Washington

PublishedYesterday 5:40PM

Comments (7)

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Republicans are hard at work doing their favorite activity, making it impossible to do any governing. For the first time in 100 years, a nominee from the party in power failed to win the initial floor vote. (Congrats on the biggest failure of the century, Representative Kevin McCarthy).

Until they can come to an agreement, the House is at a complete standstill. But while the Republicans were spending their time squabbling, over at the Root, we decided to find a solution.

Fun fact, anyone can be elected as Speaker of the House regardless even if they’re not a member of congress.

So in the interest of helping democracy function and having a few laughs, here are The Rootnominees for Speaker of the House.

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Queen Bé for Speaker

Obviously we can’t have a conversation about leadership without talking about the queen herself, Beyoncé. Sure, she has zero political experience, but I’d vote for her over McCarthy in a heartbeat.

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Megan Thee Stallion

She may not have any track record in politics, but this original Hot Girl, is tough enough for any challenge. She’d be dog walking the entire chamber in no time, and we’d love to see a speaker who can lay down the law and the beats.

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Meghan Markle

The princess of our hearts managed to shake one of the oldest monarchies to its core just be existing. We’re pretty sure she could take on the U.S. Congress without breaking a sweat. And if they try to bully her, well, we know this duchess has Netflix on speed dial.

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Common Takes Congress

Not to be crude, but the photo kind of speaks for itself. But seriously, looks aside, Common has been talking about issues in the Black community for decades with eloquence and poise. Congress could certainly use a touch of his soothing wit, even if his nomination would make Fox News explode.

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Serena Williams

If you’ve ever seen Serena Williams body the competition at a tennis match, then you know the members of congress stand no chance against her. She’s fiery, she’s passionate, and honestly that killer serve alone wins her my vote.

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Rev. Al Sharpton

This one is a no-brainer. Reverend Al Sharpton has been a civil rights icon since way before I’ve been alive. He loves to talk (so being speaker should be pretty easy). Get this man a gavel cause he’s certainly got our vote.

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Keke Palmer

Who can forget the time Keke Palmer absolutely destroyed the central Republican villain of the early 2000s. But seriously, if she can unintentionally destroy Dick Cheney’s ego, imagine what she could do to the rest of the party if she was actually trying. All I’m going to say is that Ms. Keke P absolutely has my vote.

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Oprah Winfrey

Has Oprah Winfrey earned some major side-eye from us over the years, sure. (**Cough Cough** Dr. Oz). But no one can deny that Oprah knows how to bring folks together. In a divided Congress, Oprah might be the only person capable of uniting the country.

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Shannon Sharpe

This one is just a pure chaos pick. Do I know anything about how Shannon Sharpe will be as a leader? No, but wouldn’t it be wild watching Republicans try to deal with this man on a daily basis, 100 percent. And for that reason, he’s got my vote.

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Jayson Tatum

Promise we’re not just picking people because they’re handsome. Jayson Tatum happens to be a phenomenal leader of the Boston Celtics, and I think that says something about his ability to lead Congress. And yes, we wouldn’t mind looking at him for the next four years.

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Vice President Kamala Harris

Nominating Vice President Kamala Harris for Speaker of the House wouldn’t really make any sense (she’s got her hands full). But you have to admit, having someone competent in the role would be pretty nice.

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Former-First Lady Michelle Obama

I mean come-on haven’t we earned seeing Michelle Obama in a leadership position? Mostly, it would really piss of conservatives, and I’m honestly here for that too.

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Lou Bega

Mambo No. 5 stole my heart as a child, and now I want to help Lou Bega steal the speaker’s gavel. From what I can tell he hasn’t done a ton since his major hit, so he’s probably free to take over Congress.

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Loni Love

If you’ve ever seen Loni Love talk, you know she can command a room (ask anyone who saw her host the Root 100). All we need is to give this talk show host a gavel, and I’m sure she’d solve Congress in a heartbeat.

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Representative Hakeem Jeffries

Y’all know I had to throw someone serious onto the list. While Republicans floundered, Democrats unanimously voted to elect Rep. Hakeem Jeffries as House Speaker, making him the first Black politician to lead either party. Jeffries was also the first person since 2007 to unanimously win the support of their party for leadership. Democrats don’t hold the majority, so it’s highly unlikely that Jeffries will be Speaker (although not technically against the rules). But there was no way to make this list without at least giving the New York Representative an honorable mention.

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Sent from my iPhone

[sheraayasher]

❝ ABOUT ME ❞

hi, i go by zoya trivedi, nice to meet ya!

i use the pronouns: she/her.

sun sign: capricorn, rising sign: taurus, moon sign: libra

i love watching sports, i love listening to music, i love coffee and chai, i hate flowers and halloween. 

feminist • the cool aunt • slytherin (but also hufflepuff) • hades, poseidon, apollo • candor, dauntless, erudite •

grishaverse ; mcu ; harry potter ; dead poets society ; peaky blinders ; narnia chronicles ; divergent series ; friends ; mom ; how i met your mother ; wonder woman ; tangled ; aladdin ; johnny english series ; encanto ; mulan ; the maze runner series ; percy jackson series ; the kane chronicles ; murder on the orient express ; pride and prejudice ; sherlock ; enola holmes ; little women (2019) ; agatha christie’s poirot ; the office ; stand up comedies ;

total siyapaa ; zindagi na milegi doobara ; golmaal ; dil dhakane do ; gully boy ; ye jaawani hai deewani ; padosan ; badla ; ittefaq (2017) ; dangal ; welcome ; detective byomkesh bakshy ; chhichhore ; baby ; naam shabana ; m.s. dhoni ; 3 idiots ; nh10 ; raazi ; uri: the surgical strike ; andhadun ; baadhi ho ; tare zaamen par ; an action hero ; mard ko kabhi dard nahi hota ; padmavat ; bajirao mastani ; gangubai kathiawadi ; article 15 ; pathan ; rocky aur rani ki prem kahani ; singham ; phir hera feri ; ponniyin selvan 1 & 2 ; chennai express ; dear zindagi ; jaane tu ya jaane na ; baahubali series ; piku ; qarib qarib single ; hindi medium ; welcome ; hera pheri ; phir hera pheri ; de dhana dhan ; singh is king ; chashme baddoor ;

doom at your service ; law school ; shooting stars ; it's okay not to be okay ; happiness ; our beloved summer ; vincenzo ; adult trainee ; extraordinary attorney woo ; so i married an anti-fan ; a business proposal ; descendents of the sun ; twinkling watermelon ; hometown cha cha cha ; run on ; gaus electronics ; heartbeat ;

seventeen ; stray kids ; p1harmony ; (g)-idle ; kiss of life ; everglow ; epik high ; ateez ; xikers ; aespa ; mamamoo ; blackpink ; bts ; tomorrow x together ; lee youngji ; kard ; xg ; xdinary heroes ; IU ; nct ; purple kiss ; dreamcatcher ; itzy ; nmixx ; victor ma ;

one direction ; liam payne ; niall horan ; zayn malik ; louis tomlinson ; harry styles ; taylor swift ; selena gomez ; shawn mendes ; camila cabello ; little mix ; ashe ; olivia rodrigo ; ariana grande ; hozier ; arctic monkeys ; 5 seconds of summer ; the score ; AC/DC ; queen ; the beatles ; blur ; ABBA ; billie eilish ; ed sheeran ; bruno mars ; finneas ; valerie broussard ; lewis capaldi ; ben barnes ; hannah bahng ;

usha uthup ; mohammad rafi ; kishore kumar ; manna dey ; mukesh ; lata mangeshkar ; asha bhosle ; sachin-jigar ; shankar-eshaan-loy ; salim-sulaiman ; ajay-atul ; vishal-shekhar ; sonu nigam ; shreya ghoshal ; rahat fateh ali khan ; jagjit singh ; kailash kher ; amit trivedi ; a.r. rahman ; s.d. burman ; anuv jain ; aditya a ; ali sethi ; coke studio ; divine ; kri$na ; when chai met toast ; yashraj mukhate ; ritviz ; the local train ; havi ;

aagatha christie ; james dashner ; trevor noah ; amish tripathi ; devdutt pattanaik ; holly jackson ; leigh bardugo ; mirza ghalib ; mahmoud darwish ; gulzar ;

badminton ; cricket ; volleyball ; throwball ; football ; tennis ; olympics ; commonwealth ;

tom and jerry ; takeshi's castle ; suppandi ; oggy and the cockroaches ; doraemon ; shinchan ; richie-rich ; oswald ; noddy ; pink panther ;

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[may-attempts-to-write]

Prologue

I woke up sweating, agitated. I blinked a couple of times and then I grabbed my phone, located under the pillow. It was almost five AM, too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. I sighed, tossing the device to the other side of the queen sized bed.

  It happened again. I dreamed about her, for the fourth time this week. We went to the park, that little square near our house. It was summer, I think, the sun was shining brightly and dyed everything a golden tone. She ran ahead of me, laughing as her light brown hair fluttered behind her, turning to look at me and encouraging me to quicken my pace. "C'mon darling! Come! “she said, fixing her soft eyes on mine. They always told me I had my mother's eyes, and I never knew how to respond. I almost reached her, but she rushed onto the street, a scream arose from the laughter. My mother was lying on the cement, crushed by the wheels of a truck. I saw her brains scattered, the eyeballs protruding from the skull. All the neighbors came out of their houses, pointed their cell phone cameras at the scene, and then directed them at my face. A couple approached me, they asked me where my father was, I didn't know what to answer.

  I stared at the ceiling for a while, deciding what the hell I would do next. It was a Saturday, so I had the whole day free, which meant only one thing: I was going out with friends. Actually, friend in singular. I have more than one, I'm not a loser, but they are quite different from each other and rarely hang out.

  I got out of bed, as I took off the sheets I remembered that I should have changed them a week ago. They didn't smell bad; I could do it tomorrow. I didn't care about the state of the bedding, but I did care about my hair. No one would come to my room with the sole purpose of checking my (poor) hygiene, on the other hand, having long hair as a man makes me stand out quite a bit. I get bullied enough without being called “greasy” too.

  After taking a shower and eating breakfast, I wrote to Kevin, my best friend.

   “Do you want to come in the afternoon? I have something to show you, you're going to fall on your ass! “

 It was still quite early; he was probably asleep. Although he is the most responsible person I know, he doesn't have this obsession with getting up early every day, he needs plenty of sleep.

  I heard a couple of footsteps approaching the kitchen, shit. Quickly, I took the half-drunk glass of juice and walked quietly towards the stairs, his voice indicated that it was already late.

  "Good morning," greeted my father, or as I like to call him, Dr. Dead Fetus Head. Obviously I don't use that nickname in front of him, at least not after that incident.

  “Hello,” I responded quietly, calculating the remaining steps to get out of there.

 “Do you have plans for today?”

Oh, now he wants to play the role of “present father”. I tried to hide a giggle, a crooked grimace appeared on my face. I turned to look at him, and as usual, I didn't think before speaking.

  “Since when are you interested in what I do?”

 He closed his eyelids, frustrated. It gave me an adrenaline rush to argue with him, to make him uncomfortable. It was the least I could do, I hated knowing that he emerged unscathed from all the family dramas while my mother was abandoned, exiled.

 "Oh, I see you want to start the day off badly" he said, keeping his voice calm “. Do what you want, I don't care.”

 With that said, I started to go down the stairs towards the basement. In the distance, he shouted “I'm going to play tennis with Roger, don't burn the house down!"

Yeah, sure, I wasn’t that stupid. I moved deeper into the basement, my refuge from the world. Years ago I took that space, after she left. I hung posters of all the bands I had heard up until then, and added other decorations as time went by.

 Sitting on a beanbag, I looked at the wallpapered walls as if they were sacred paintings. Because that's what they represented, gods. Men who raised their voices, stomped their feet and created a kingdom of power, darkness, rebellion, etc. for all the marginalized. By doing so, by transporting us with their music into that space where one can feel unattainable, they became gods.

 I always felt a comforting heaviness in my chest when I admired those images, seeing the strength of those men awakened something in me that was difficult for me to name. I decided to call it for what it probably was: admiration, venerating certain role models. What else could it be?

 I glanced at my favorite guitar, an idea flashing through my mind and leaving my fingertips electrified. I grabbed the instrument, plugged it into the amps, and started playing. I left the volume at seventy percent, loud enough to bother my father, but not so loud that he would run down from the kitchen in his bathrobe and insult me.

 I spent the rest of the morning rehearsing a new song, “Machinery of Torment.” Days ago I was trying to define what chords I would use for the verses, nothing sounded good enough.

[freshshenanigans]

I really like this phenomenon!

To add on to this, part of the creepiness in such situations is because it's the concept of something that sharply stands out against the norm, as in, it's the opposite of what you expect to see.

A spot of order/neatness/precision in an area full of chaos/disarray is immediately attention-grabbing because that spot doesn't fit. What makes it creepy or off-putting is the context around that situation. To point out a non-horror example, there's a scene in Brave where all of the clans have started brawling. Just about everything and everyone is chaotically jumping and fighting in the scene, so when Queen Elinor calmly stands and slowly walks through the floor, she stands out.

Other ways this phenomenon can be achieved:

Something disorganized in an otherwise clean area. It's the opposite of a spot of order in chaos. This one is often seen in thrillers and mysteries. It could be things like a spilled drink dripping on the floor in a spotless kitchen, a spot of blood on a tennis shoe, or even a lipstick stain on a shirt.

A single point of stillness surrounded by constant movement, or it's opposite, a single point of movement in a sea of stillness. It's one person standing deathly still against a crowd of moving people. It's a person suddenly entering a room where everyone is sitting; it's also that quick flicker you almost catch at the edge of your vision in a room you know you are alone in.

A moment of quiet when before there was constant noise, and it's opposite, a burst of noise when before there was silence. It's the all encompassing quiet after a shrill scream with only your heartbeat for company, the ringing silence in the dark after hearing the elevator screaming and crash to the ground with people inside. It's the slow creak of a door opening in the room you are hiding in as terror makes your breathing harsher and louder. It's the jumpscare in every horror and thriller film.

It's the moment of contact with something you never expected to connect. It's the eyes in the photo meeting yours, it's the breath of air on your neck in a windowless room, it's looking back and realizing there's something off about your shadow.

It's movements that don't match or fit what they should. It's a body slowly shuffling towards you and the quick jerking motions of something coming towards you. It's the slow turn of a head looking at you, but it's also the neck-snapping speed of a head turn: both make you pause or even freeze as you take notice. It's something that should be on four legs standing up on two to run towards you, and it's a person barreling after you on arms and legs (and possibly upside down). It's Dracula crawling down a building like a lizard when you know that humans can't do that.

I love this phenomenon so much. It's a form of juxtaposition, and when used correctly, it disquiets, it heightens tensions, and best of all, it plays on something we all naturally have. Our brains catch/focus on things that don't fit what we expect, and it's often done so quickly and subconsciously that we don't always realize we're doing it. When we start playing with how we can make use of that is when a lot of fun storytelling things happen.

Random, but a really handy way to make things seem creepy or wrong in horror is to make them incongruously neat or clean:

In the middle of a horrific battlefield, you find one corpse laid aside neatly, straightened and arranged, its arms crossed neatly across its chest

As you walk through the garden, you gradually realise that the oddness you’ve been noticing about the trees is that they are all perfectly symmetrical

As you move through the abandoned house, you realise that suddenly that there’s no dust in this room, no dirt or cobwebs

You hear hideous noises coming from behind a locked door, screams and pleas, and visceral sounds of violence. When you manage to break down the door, there is no one there, and the room is perfectly spotless

In the middle of a horrific battlefield, a hollow full of churned mud and blood, you find five corpses cleanly dismembered, each set of limbs or parts neatly laid out in their own little row

You witness a murder, a brutal, grisly killing that carpets the area in blood. When you return in a blind panic with the authorities, the scene is completely clean, and no amount of examination can find even a drop of blood

You run through the night and the woods with a comrade, pulling each other through leaves and twigs and mud as you scramble desperately towards freedom. When you finally emerge from the forest, in the grey light of dawn, you turn to your companion in relief, and notice that their clothes are somehow perfectly clean

You hand a glass of water to your suspect, talking casually the whole while, and watch with satisfaction as they take it in their bare hand and take a drink. There’ll be a decent set of prints to run from that later. Except there isn’t. There are no prints at all. As if nothing ever touched the glass

You browse idly through your host’s catalogue, and stop, and pay much more attention, when you realise that several items on a dry list of acquisitions are ones you’ve seen before, and it slowly dawns on you that each neat little object and number in this neat little book are things that belong (belonged?) to people you know

Neatness, particularly incongruous neatness, neatness where you expect violence or imperfection or abandonment, or neatness that you belatedly realise was hiding violence, or neatness that is imposed over violence, is incredibly scary. Because neatness is not a natural thing. Neatness requires some active force to have come through and made it so. Neatness implies that the world around you is being arranged, maybe to hide things, to disguise things, to make you doubt your senses, or else simply according to something else’s desires. Neatness is active and artificial. Neatness puts things, maybe even people, into neat little boxes according to something else’s ideals, and that’s terrifying as well. Being objectified. Being asked to fit categories that you’re not sure you can fit, and wondering what will happen to the bits of you that don’t.

Neatness, essentially, says that something else is here. Neatness where there should be chaos says that either something came and changed things, or that what you’re seeing now or what you saw then is not real. Neatness alongside violence says that something came through here for whom violence did not mean the same thing as it does to you.

Neatness, in the right context, in the right place, can be very, very scary

And fun

[brodydalle-archive]

INTERVIEW: MUSICIAN BRODY DALLE, FORMERLY OF THE DISTILLERS AND SPINNERETTE

The newly-solo artist talks Cyndi Lauper, Swedish pancakes and coffee

The newly-solo artist talks Cyndi Lauper, Swedish pancakes and coffee

First record you ever bought Cyndi Lauper’s She’s So Unusual.

Last extravagant purchase you made My ‘Stand and Deliver’ studded leather jacket.

First film you saw that really moved you Betty Blue changed my life. I saw the uncut three-hour director’s cut when I was 17. It blew my mind. I saw The Exorcist at my babysitter’s when I was five and then every horror movie in the video store by the time I was eight, which led to seances with Scrabble pieces and a glass upside down.

Last lie you told I told my son Ryder that the Easter bunny hops around and hides chocolate eggs for kids to find and maybe a toy firetruck too.

First movie you ever went on a date to Bowling for Columbine with Joshua [Homme, her husband and lead singer of Queens of the Stone Age]. The whole experience was extremely intense.

Last time you cried On tour in Australia a couple of times – I was overwhelmed and exhausted.

First thing you do when you’ve got time off work Spend time with my kids and my husband, or if I’m on tour, go for a run.

Last great meal you cooked I made my kids Swedish pancakes this morning. It’s my momma-in-law’s recipe but I got ’em down pretty good. They’re freaking delicious. Served with strawberries, bacon and maple syrup.

First crush Bill Murray in Ghostbusters.

Last book you read Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer.

First great piece of advice you were given My grandmother told me she doesn’t believe the saying ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. She told me you get out and make it again. I loved that.

Last time you were star struck I don’t.

First thing you’d do if you ran the country Delete Monsanto.

Last meal on earth – what would it be? My dad’s spaghetti bolognese. My mum’s salad, chicken wings and sticky date cake. My nanna’s custard.

First song you’ll sing at karaoke Madonna – ‘Holiday’.

Last time you exploited your position to get something I’m not that famous.

First time you realised you were famous When paparazzi took photos of me in London when The Distillers were at the peak of our career.

Last time someone criticised your work Who cares?

First three words your friends would use to describe you My husband said ‘Sexy, badass and stubborn’.

Last time you made an impulse buy and regretted it Yesterday, Ralph Lauren wedges for Coachella, toe crushers.

First concert you ever attended Cyndi Lauper at the Melbourne tennis center. My dad took me – it was incredible.

Last time you bought someone flowers My girlfriend Amaryllis – she had had a bad day and I wanted to cheer her up.

First object you’d save from your burning home Photos.

Last funny thing you saw online Mark Gormley – ‘Without You’.

First job McDonald’s – you can’t wash that smell off your skin.

Last person you fantasised about My husband.

First word you spoke Mum.

Last crime you committed I stole a bunch of chocolate bars from a milk bar in Melbourne years ago.

First song at your (potential) wedding ‘Let’s Dance’ – David Bowie.

Last song at your funeral ‘Sleepwalk’ by Santo and Johnny.

First person you’d thank in an award acceptance speech Brandy Blake.

Last thing you recommended to someone Psychiatric evaluation.

First thing you think of when you wake up in the morning My French press coffee maker.

Last thing you think of before you go to sleep My French press coffee maker.

SOURCE

[zebransofficial]

Celebrate Mother's Day with Stunning Jewellery Gifts from Zebrans

Mother's Day is just around the corner, and it's the perfect time to show appreciation for the special women in our lives. What better way to express love and gratitude than with timeless jewelry pieces? At Zebrans, we offer a captivating collection of green choker jewelry, artificial jewellery, pendant necklaces, stainless steel jewellery, ad jewellery, and bangles, ensuring you find the perfect gift for your beloved mother. Let's explore our exquisite selection and make this Mother's Day truly memorable.

1. Green Choker Jewellery: Elevate your mother's style with our stunning green choker jewellery collection. From elegant emerald accents to vibrant jade hues, these pieces add a touch of sophistication to any outfit. Whether she prefers classic designs or modern twists, our green choker jewellery is sure to make her feel cherished and stylish.

2. Artificial Jewellery: Our artificial jewellery range offers a blend of elegance and affordability. Crafted with precision and attention to detail, these pieces mimic the look and feel of genuine gemstones and metals. Treat your mother to exquisite earrings, bracelets, or statement necklaces from our artificial jewellery collection and watch her eyes light up with joy.

3. Pendant Necklaces: Symbolize your endless love and appreciation with our exquisite pendant necklaces. Each piece is delicately crafted to capture the essence of motherhood, featuring intricate designs and meaningful symbols. Whether it's a heart-shaped pendant or a personalized birthstone necklace, our pendant collection is the perfect way to commemorate this special day.

4. Stainless Steel Jewellery: For mothers who value durability and versatility, our stainless steel jewellery is the ideal choice. Crafted from high-quality stainless steel, these pieces offer long-lasting shine and resistance to tarnishing. From sleek bracelets to minimalist earrings, our stainless steel collection combines style and durability for the modern mom.

5. Ad Jewellery: Make a statement with our bold and glamorous ad jewellery collection. Perfect for mothers who love to stand out from the crowd, these pieces feature dazzling crystals and eye-catching designs. Whether it's a sparkling cocktail ring or a glamorous tennis bracelet, our ad jewellery is sure to make her feel like a queen on Mother's Day.

6. Bangles: Add a touch of elegance to your mother's wrist with our bangles. Available in a variety of designs and finishes, our bangles complement any style and occasion. Whether she prefers sleek metallic bangles or vibrant enamel accents, our collection offers something for every taste.

This Mother's Day, celebrate the extraordinary women in your life with timeless jewelry gifts from Zebrans. From green choker jewelry to stainless steel pieces, our exquisite collection is designed to make every mom feel cherished and adored. Shop now and make this Mother's Day one she'll never forget.

[eviesessays]

3. What is one of your favorite trips that you've taken? What made it great?

Being born at the end of the Depression in a small village in Canada just south of the tundra would not seem to give one travel aspirations. We did not even have television to inspire us. But aspire I did.  I longed to see the exotic places pictured in National Geographic. I wanted to see a real castle and visit places where people looked, dressed and spoke differently than we did.

  This penchant to see things that were new to me came early. My mother took my two brothers and I to Winnipeg to visit her oldest sister, my aunt, Caroline Sitter.  I saw a sight I will always remember.  The novelty was a neon sign which we had never seen, and this one moved.  It had three little pigs jumping into a can of Klik, Canada’s equivalent to Spam.  We loved that sign and marveled at such ingenuity. I was ready to see the rest of the world.

We had many vacations to Canada to visit family.  On one trip to Sioux Lookout for Christmas our car froze and we spent most of the next day dealing with the car.  My first trip abroad was to Germany..My second husband was an Air Force officer and we were able to fly free when space was available..Just before Easter of 1974 we flew to Germany.  We rented a car.  We visited castles on the Rhine and experienced the autobon..at speeds that terrified us.  We flew on to Madrid, Spain and while attempting to visit the presidential palace we found ourselves adrift in the middle of a Good Friday procession in a very Catholic country.  It was an experience.  We went North to Segovia to see a great aquaduct still in use.  We visited Queen Isabella’s castle from where she bid Columbus “Goodbye”. Peter who was 10 at the time remembered the old lady dressed all in black.  She had a long nose with a wart on the end.  She sold trinkets outside the palace wall.  When we returned home  and Peter’s friend David asked what he saw in Europe Peter told him about this woman. We went on to Malaga where we picked fresh oranges off the tree.  We went on to Fuengirola where we swam on the Costa del Sol.  It was April and we welcomed the warmth.

When Jaylyn was in College she did a semester in the South of England. I paid her a visit during that time and we spent a couple days in London experiencing the pigeons in Trafalger Square, and Harrods where we could afford only the smallest treasures. We watched the guard change at Buckingham palace.  We took the train to Stonehenge and absorbed the mystery of that place. We returned to Salisbury for the end of evensong. The young choir boys  all in their robes with Elizabethan collars looked angelic. We visited Bath and went to a puppet show there.  

In 1988 I took a solo trip to Scotland and England. I had not planned to go alone but shortly before our planned trip my husband revealed to me that he had been having a long standing affair with a “friend” from our church in Bedford with whom he frequently played tennis..I decided to go alone to Scotland and decide what to do about my marital situation when I returned.  I was visiting a cousin of my first husband.  The family  had always stayed in touch with me and the children after our divorce. The cousin I was visiting, Maurice Paterson and his wife Avril had visited us in Warner. Maurice showed me the houses in Glasgow once occupied by relatives now long deceased. We took a trip North with his Mother,  aunt Nancy Paterson to visit places the early Joss family lived and worked.  An uncle, Peter Joss, and his wife Leslie, took me to Edinburgh and a visit to the castle. I had bought a Brit rail pass and proceeded to head across England. I went to York and visited the cathedral there .  Restorations had just been completed. I visited Oxford and went down to Penzance.  I made my way back to London for a bit more sightseeing.  I went to St Pauls  and Westminster Abby.  There I stood where kings  and queens and heads of state had also stood. I flew home. Along my travels I considered the state of my marriage and the knowledge that i could not overlook such a betrayal.  I would, and did divorce Philip Miller Pahl

    .

My neighbors in Warner, Janet and Spence Danby had a villa in the Praia de Salema in Portugal.  They spent winters there. We were good friends and Janet invited me to visit.  I made the trip in Spring when all the olive trees were at the end of their bloom and the earth was covered in their fallen blossoms referred to as Algarve snow.  We visited Sintra.  We watched fishermen sit on small rock ledges and reel in large fish without falling. They were lowered to their ledges by rope and a very trusted friend I presume.  We watched the fishermen in Lagos bringing their catch to the market on the shore.We hiked daily and sipped very good but inexpensive wine in the evening. It was a beautiful time.

My first trip to Tuscany was with friends from Warner.  Our hotel was within easy walking distance to the National Gallery, the Uffizzi, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, the market, the Ponte Vecchio and the train station.  I saw Michaelangelo’s ,”David” at the National Gallery,  Titian’s, “Birth of Dawn” was at the Uffizzi.  There seemed to be an endless number of great paintings there. We took a bus tour to Sienna, a  town of many steeples competing to be the highest. The narrow cobblestone streets were used for an annual horse race which seemed like madness incarnate to me. My friend, Fran and I took the train to Arezzo, the birthplace of Guido, who in 990 invented the musical scale.  We went to Pisa with its incredibly leaning tower..  Years later when Hillary graduated from High School, I did this same trip with her.  This time she persuaded me to climb every step to the top of the dome of the Cathedral de Santa Maria del Fiore.  It was her first trip to Europe and she too loved Florence. In Feosole we witnessed a vigorous conversation between a policeman and an Italian woman double parked outside a bakery.  We could not understand what was said but no neon lights were necessary to understand the meaning of the event.

My next adventures was again with Fran Brown, a realtor from Warner and a neighbor couple .. We were on our way the the French Riviera. I was the only one of the four of us who had our drivers license with us.  I was designated. The hotels in Nice on the beach were impressive but the beach was not the sand to which we are accustomed. It was pebbles,  loose pebbles difficult to navigate. It was March and we came with no plans to be swimming.  We decided to visit Monaco.  It was a series of switchbacks to get there and the same in reverse to get out. I was more than ready to be in the countryside.  We drove to Aix en Provence..I walked to the atelier of Paul Cezanne and his famous still life with the blue tablecloth and bowl of onions was set just as it is in his famous painting. I trust someone changes the onions at regular intervals. My most favorite part of that trip was our trek through Avignon and Arles.  In Avignon we sang the song we learned in eighth grade French class, “Sur la ponte, D’Avignon”. Van Gogh painted 187 paintings in Arles.  His art lives on there in many ways.  Our hotel room was decorated like his four room yellow house in Arles.  The house was bombed in WWII but the replica is accurate. Coffee shops have his influence in their cups and napkins.The yellow of his fields, haystacks and house were evident everywhere. Arles was worth the whole trip.

As I had done for Hillary I planned to take Anne to Europe for her High School graduation gift but her Mom took her to Paris and Switzerland so my trip came much after the fact.  In 2012 AAA offered a 10 day vacation in Ireland for a set price.  We received a booklet listing all the participating Bed and Breakfast establishments and we made our plans with all our reservations confirmed before we left.  We flew to Dublin and were transported to our hotel downtown which was lovely.  We toured Guinness Beer and for our participation were treated to a pint.  Anne had hers and mine.  I have not one taste bud that can tolerate beer no matter how good or famous it is claimed to be.  We were to pick up our car the next morning.  This was our first, but only glitch in the entire trip.  Since neither Anne nor I had driven a standard shift for years I did order an automatic shift.  We were given (with profuse apologies) a standard shift Opal.with no instructions.  We hopped to a start and I drove about 6 blocks to find a place to make a u turn with this vehicle.  I could not drive on the “wrong” side of the road on streets that seemed  too narrow for two bicycles to safely pass.  We went back to the car rental and the Irish man oozing Irish charm from every pore.  He would now set us up with a,” lovely car”, and with a grand flourish of papers and charm he set down the paperwork and keys to a new Jaguar.  Anne was thrilled.  I was consumed with the dread of debtors prison if we harmed this car.  We were on our way.  I drove to Cork.  Anne drove the rest of the trip.. She loved it and did a fine job.  We visited Waterford and watched the glassblowers and etchers.  We went on to the Dingle Peninsula.  People everywhere were kind, helpful and very friendly.  Meals were hardy and huge.  We frequently laughed at the enormous servings.Our B&B’s were always clean and some were very elegant.  We drove along the Hills of Moher.  The rich, lush greenness is everywhere.  We joined the cue but only watched as others contorted their bodies in order to kiss the Blarney Stone.   We drove on roads we shared with sheep and cows.  We ferried across Galway  Bay and drove on to Kylemore Castle.  It continued at that time to be occupied by Benedictines.  They are unbelievable gardeners.Every blade of grass and every petal and bough was in its proper place.  We visited ruins of very old churches .  We saw more Ankh crosses  than we thought existed.  We were making our way to our B&B near the airport..  We both admitted to feeling sad that it was coming to its end. It is a most beautiful country. and we both hoped very much that we would be back one day. Ireland has been a most favorite trip but I have to admit that there are many exotic and wonderful places I’ve never seen and like Ireland, I cannot fathom the beauty until I experience it.

It is not possible to compare one vacation trip to another.  They all have their individual history, charm and mystique. Dbrovnik, Croatia was one of those places. We swam in the Adriatic Sea. Our hotel was just outside the ancient wall The old city within the wall had cobblestone streets.  The antiquity of the place was slightly disturbed by the presence of modern movie equipment filming the TV show, “Game of Thrones”.  It was all interesting.  The shop keepers were very helpful and friendly.  We walked the entire length of the wall,  It was high above the sea and obviously very advantageous to interfere with any threat from the sea.  We visited Montenegro and saw salt being retrieved from the sea.  Montenegro also has a great wall  that predates that of China.. We went  to Mostar in Bosnia Herzegovina and there I saw more minarets than I will likely see for the rest of my life. We saw men walking into the mosques while the women knelt on the concrete outside with their faces to the ground.  Mostar is known for its iconic arched bridge, Stari Most, a reconstructed arched bridge.  We were accosted by beggars as we crossed the bridge who felt free to slap us if we did not give them money.  Our group was turned out of one restaurant because one woman in our group was wearing a sundress and her shoulders were bare.  I was glad to have experienced that place but  also very happy to be away from there and safely back in Croatia..  Dubrovnk was a great trip and given my age and infirmities, it will have been my last trip overseas.

Aside from my travels in Europe, I loved the Virgin Islands and Bermuda .  The Canadian Rockies remain one of my favorite destinations.I made one trip with Anne, Diggs and Jaylyn..  I returned to the Rockies with Pete, Jenn and Kalote before Kalote was even walking.. Pete, Kalote and I returned when Kalote was older.  I made the trip once with Kip and Bobbie. The mountains are magnificent.  The greenness of Lake Louise is unforgettable.. On one trip as we left the parking lot we heard eery unfinished strains of, “:Amazing Grace” .  As we approached the lake we could clearly see an older gentleman in lederhosen giving tips to a visitor on playing an alpine horn surrounded by mountains.  I have photographed Kalote as a baby and in later years with Takakah Falls in the background.  We have stopped on the highway for rock slides to be cleared and to allow the ring horned sheep pass in droves.  We have had elk grazing at our motel window in Banff.  Anne,Diggs, Jaylyn and I rode the gondola to the top of Sulphur Moubtain.    I have driven through the Frazier Canyon. in British Columbia and  have visited the Maritime  provinces on the other end of Canada.  i have returned to Sioux Lookout and Thunder Bay for class reunions. I have traveled in the United States . I have never needed any provocation to travel and have found something to enjoy and admire everywhere I visited .

To choose one travel  experience over another as a favorite is an impossible exercise.  They cannot be compared. Each enlarges ones experience of life.  Each arouses a curiosity about something  or some place previously unexplored. Every adventure has the potential to allow us to see a broader picture, to think a new way, to align our views in new order.. Then again, it may just be that three little pigs jumping into a can of Klik provoke those curiosities that make you want to see and experience what you have not known before .

[downtoearthmarkets]

Although this week is primarily dominated by back-to-school for many New Yorkers, there’s another main event transpiring in these parts over the weekend: the U.S. Open Tennis Championships men’s and women’s singles finals! One of four Grand Slam tennis tournaments globally, over 700,000 racket ball fans will flock to Queens to watch the games this year. While they are being treated to the spectacle of fast-paced, adrenalin-pumping tennis, they can also indulge in a dizzying array of chef-prepared dishes, cocktails and classic sporting event snacks. In fact, it is well known that the world-class food offerings are a secondary draw in attracting ticket sales for the Open! 

But don’t worry if you aren’t one of the lucky ticket holders to this weekend’s center court finals. We have the skinny on how to create the iconic refreshment of the Open — as well as those of the three other Grand Slams — using fresh, locally grown ingredients sourced from the farmers market. So, get ready to sit back and enjoy the televised games and their signature food and drinks all from the comfort of your own couch. 

1. US Open: Honey Deuce Cocktail Essentially an adult version of pink lemonade, Honey Deuce has been the official drink of the U.S. Open for nearly two decades. The centerpiece of this trademark cocktail is its honeydew melon ball skewer that perfectly replicates neon green tennis balls and transports you straight to the spectator stands. It’s peak melon season in the farmers markets right now, which means you shouldn’t have any problem selecting a perfectly ripe melon to use in this recipe: 

Ingredients (Yield: 6-8 servings) • 1 farmers market honeydew melon  • 3 cups store-bought or homemade lemonade  • 1½ cups vodka  • ½ cup raspberry liqueur, such as Chambord  • ¼ cup fresh lemon juice (from 1 to 2 lemons)  • Ice

1. Use a melon baller or mini ice cream scoop to shape the honeydew into balls. Freeze until ready to serve.  2. Combine lemonade, vodka, raspberry liqueur and lemon juice in a pitcher. Stir and refrigerate until chilled.  3. Fill highball or old-fashioned glasses with ice. Stir pitcher once more and divide it among the glasses. 4. Thread 2-3 melon balls onto a swizzle stick or cocktail skewer and immerse in the drink or place across the top. 

2. Wimbledon: Strawberries and Cream Eating strawberries and cream for Wimbledon is the famously authentic way to enjoy Britain’s biggest tennis event of the year. The tradition originated in the early 1500s under Henry VIII, who would serve the dish to guests watching tennis being played at his Hampton Court palace. It became inextricably linked to the game and has gone on to become a symbol of one of the world's greatest tennis showcases with 192,000 portions of strawberries and cream served each year during the 2-week tournament.   While strawberries are not as abundant in the farmers market this time of year as they are in spring, you may still find some at the stands of our specialty fruit growers, who plant a wide variety of strawberries to ensure they can harvest berries throughout the warm weather months. If not, raspberries are back in season and make a great substitute. To whip up a dish of this sweet Wimbledon delicacy, simply remove the strawberry’s leaves and core as necessary. Place hulled strawberries in a petite dish and pour unwhipped, unsweetened heavy cream on top. Serve with a (silver) spoon. 

3. French Open: Baguette Sandwiches In a decidedly novel cultural and sporting event approach, spectators are allowed to bring their own food to the French Open, also known as the Roland-Garros. In fact, it is not an uncommon sight to see Parisians tucking into full picnics within the stadium grounds. Of course, the classic and very French ham & cheese sandwich makes a regular appearance in the stands: 

Ingredients (Serves 4) 1 Wave Hill Breads French baguette  3 tablespoons butter, softened at room temperature  3 tablespoons Dijon mustard  8 ounces Goode and Local by Don Rodrigo sliced ham  8 ounces thinly sliced gruyere cheese  10 Pickle Licious cornichons, thinly sliced lengthwise 

Instructions: Halve the baguette lengthwise. Spread one side with butter and the other with mustard. Layer the ham, cheese, and cornichons on the bottom half of the baguette. Close the sandwich and cut crosswise into four equal portions while pressing down lightly. Serve immediately.  4. Australian Open: Peach Melbourne While Wimbledon has its strawberries and cream, the Australian Open has its Peach Melbourne. A play on traditional Peach Melba, this Aussie tennis classic is simply vanilla ice cream topped with pureed peaches and freeze-dried raspberries. It’s super easy to replicate at home as ripe peaches and fresh raspberries are abundant in the farmers market right now plus, last time I checked, vanilla ice cream is still a widely popular flavor. 

So don your tennis whites to get fully into the spirit and enjoy these signature Grand Slam recipes while watching the big games this weekend. Tennis (and treats), anyone?

[grandstrandvacationsandrentals]

Pelicans Watch 303 (Upgraded 3 Bdrm/2 & 1/2 Bath) Oceanfront-3rd Floor**Elevator

Pelicans Watch 303 (Upgraded 3 Bdrm/2 & 1/2 Bath) Oceanfront-3rd Floor**Elevator

Pelicans Watch is situated on Myrtle Beach’s acclaimed Shore Drive and provides accommodations for your family vacation or romantic weekend at the beach. This third-floor, oceanfront unit sleeps 8 comfortably with 2 queen-sized beds, two twin beds, and a sleeper sofa. (Sorry, no pets please.) Amenities at Pelican's Watch include an oceanfront pool and sun deck surrounded by attractive landscaping. Choose your comfortable three-bedroom, 2.5-bathroom unit based on its oceanfront, oceanside, or Shore Drive location. Pelican's Watch is close to the area's famed "Restaurant Row", golf courses, excellent shopping, and numerous entertainment and amusements. Guests can also take advantage of water sports, enjoyable night life, and fishing at the nearby Apache Pier. Enjoy the beauty of South Carolina's Grand Strand from our facility. Two cable TV's and two non cable. Limit two parking spaces per unit.

For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: vacation beach rentals myrtle beach sc, condos on shore drive myrtle beach sc, guest cottages myrtle beach, blue water resort myrtle beach, vacation rental agencies & vacation rentals on the ocean.

Please feel free to visit us at: https://www.grandstrandvacationsandrentals.com/

  Arcadian 15-B (2 Bdrm/2 Bath) Oceanfront

Arcadian II offers two and three bedroom condos, each with two bathrooms. You'll spend leisure filled vacation days lounging by our oceanfront swimming pool, playing an action packed game on our tennis courts, or enjoying the pleasures of the beach just steps from your door. Amenities include oceanfront balconies overlooking the Atlantic, on-site security, wireless internet, cable television, fully equipped kitchens, pay washer/dryer on each floor, wall-to-wall carpet, elevators, and ample parking. Although Arcadian II is away from the crowds, we are less than five minutes from great golf at several popular golf courses, great dining at the famous restaurant row, plus other Grand Strand attractions. Address: 10100 Beach Club Drive Myrtle Beach 29572. We rent to families and groups age 25 and older.

G-61 Guest Cottage (4 Bdrm/3 Bath)

Our Guest Cottages are perfect vacation spots for families, a large group of friends or golfers. Located off of Shore Drive in the heart of Myrtle Beach's entertainment and dining areas. Just a short walk to the beach and close to restaurants, ice cream, mini golf and shopping. Cottage 61, is a spacious and comfortable, stand alone four bedroom-three bathroom cottage that has an open living-area concept and provides plenty of space to enjoy being together in one house. This cottage sleeps 10 people with two queen beds, one full bed, two twin beds, and a queen-sized sleeper sofa. The cottage has a fully equipped kitchen, washer/dryer, come with standard amenities such as central heat / air conditioning, cable television, and Wi-Fi. Additional features include four TV's, one VCR, one DVD, one CD player, covered parking underneath and a community pool.

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For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: vacation beach rentals myrtle beach sc, condos on shore drive myrtle beach sc, guest cottages myrtle beach, blue water resort myrtle beach, vacation rental agencies & vacation rentals on the ocean.

Please feel free to visit us at: https://www.grandstrandvacationsandrentals.com/

[sugar-petals]

a major astrological event is ahead: LION’S GATE (August 8th)! here’s what to know about it with some more interesting facts.

NAMING. it’s called that way since it always happens during leo season and roughly functions as the gate of the first half of the year to the second. in other words, it’s the ‘portal’ of our calendar.

THE SKY. astronomically, the earth aligns with the star system of sirius during those days. it’s visible at sunrise so we basically have ‘two suns’ which is called a heliacal rising. in the meantime, the much theorized-about orion’s belt stands directly above the three giza pyramids which looks just marvelous. there are several perseid meteor showers, too.

NUMBERS. it’s the classic double cipher 8/8 date. the 8, besides being the infinity sign and the month of leo, symbolizes power, upgrade, and wealth in numerology. it makes sense how many affluent and political buildings have two lions at their portal and powerful companies sport the lion symbol. 

COUNTRIES. and it’s on countless banners & flags! these countries will be influenced the most by lion’s gate: Fiji, Finland (state flag), Montenegro, England, Scotland (royal banner), Paraguay (reverse side), Spain, Sri Lanka. Something big will go down in Hollywood, too: leo’s astrological house is the 5th which represents entertainment!

ARCHEOLOGY. there is an actual majestic lion’s gate with two statues respectively located in hattusa, turkey, and also a smaller one in mycenae, greece. HD pictures linked.

NATAL CHARTS. if you have any planets in leo, they’ll snap into fruition these days. see what house leo falls into, this area in life will blossom. your sun sign and 5th house will also be in the focus.

CELEBS. famous people born august 8 are tennis player roger federer, singer shawn mendes, youtuber corpse husband, the drag queen kim chi, k-pop stars choi seungcheol (group: seventeen) xiaojun (group: wayv) and younghoon (group: the boyz). so, you’ll hear from them these days.

WITCHY. it is said that you can spot increased synchronicities, repeating numbers, prophetic dreams, and opportunities to manifest faster during that time. leo as the sun’s domicile means: big energy boost.

MATERIALS. associated with sirius are beryl crystals and mugwort. in the animal world, it represents the tongue of the snake. the perseid meteors are said to dance on perseus’ blade so the sword and knife is an important artifact these days.

CONJUNCTION. sun conjunct sirius represents success in business, blossoming fantasy, honor, renown, guardianship (a good gate always has a guard!), fame, money, and the color gold. the co-animal is the dog because sirius is part of Canis Major.