#my wig shoes and jewelry came in today

[yellobb]

My Halloween costume/first homemade cosplay officially has enough pieces that I feel like it’ll be recognizable and I’m SO EXCITED

[stormtrprinstilettos]

“Maybe I like spoiled brats.” - Roger x (fem) Reader (smut)

(Surprise! Early posting!)

Summary: It’s 1983 and Queen is recording their next album at the studio where you work, and things get a little heated between you and the drummer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

In this “episode”: Reader is Roger’s date to some dinner with the band & label executives, and they have “a talk.”

Word Count: ~5.7k

Warnings: smut, age gap (21 vs. 35), smut, language. 18+ please & thank you

Tagging: @fixedonroger @a19103 @ginabaker1666 @thickthighsandbasicbrowneyes @culturefiendtrashqueen @imaginesandideas @rogertaylorscar @painkiller80

[A/N: Here’s the second place winner! The plot I had in my brain has been somewhat adjusted, given how everyone wants more fluff. But the smut is totally going to still be a thing. This one isn’t too smut heavy, because we need to have a discussion, alright?]

Things were quiet today at the studio. You knew they would be. The guys had some dinner with the label big wigs to go to later tonight, so they used that as their excuse to take the day off. And if they weren’t going to be there, then no one else had to be there, except for you. “Who else will answer the phone?” your boss asked when you asked him if you had to come in today. Sometimes you didn’t mind being the only female that worked here but other times it was annoying because it seemed like your sole purpose in being there was to be some kind of maternal presence, making sure the kids were fed and that all their problems were solved.

You kicked your legs up on the desk, chewing your gum and tapping your pen to the beat of the music playing on the radio, trying not to fall asleep. The phone rang one time in the 7 hours you’ve been here so far, and that was 20 minutes ago and no one was even on the line when you answered. You finished the book you brought with you an hour ago, and if you paced around the floor any more than you already had you’d wear it out. You leaned back in the chair to look at the clock on the wall, looking at it upside down, relieved that you only had to sit here for another 30 minutes. While you were in your awkward position, you hear the door fly open and quickly flip yourself back upright, making yourself lightheaded in the process. Roger is standing there, laughing heartedly as you try to keep your bearings straight. “You alright?” he asks, still laughing, rushing over to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

“Why do you always do that?” you laugh. “You can never just make a normal entrance.”

“Because you’re cute when you get startled,” he chuckles. You roll your eyes at him as he takes a seat on your desk. “Busy day?” he asks with a great amount of sarcasm.

“Oh yeah, real busy,” you reply, matching his sarcasm level. “I chewed through an entire pack of gum, read War and Peace, knitted a blanket, composed a symphony and answered the phone one time.”

“What’s your plan for tonight?” he asked, knowing damn good and well you had nothing planned. When you raised your eyebrow at him, he smirked. “Good, you can come with me to this ridiculous dinner.” You looked at him, puzzled, because this wasn’t just some seedy bar with a dark corner to sit in, or the Santa Monica Pier where you blended with the crowd. This was an actual thing, with people you both knew, and… “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” he nudged you. “If you don’t come I’ll be the only one without a date and I’ll look stupid.”

“Don’t you think people will…” you started to voice your concern, but he held his hand up to stop you.

“I don’t care what people will say or think,” he assured you. “I hear one of these execs has a wife younger than you anyway so…” He looks at you and sees your concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whisper with a smile before clearing your throat. “What time do we leave?”

He starts beaming with joy. “Pick you up at 6.” He jumps up from the desk and looks down at you. “Got anymore gum?”

You shake your head no. “Last piece,” you say as your point to your mouth.

He leans down and gets close to your face. “Give me that one, then.” You giggle and push him back, but he still leans in and gives you a deep, tongued kiss, while the both of you are still laughing, still managing to get your gum. “Thanks,” he says, big grin on his face as he chews the gum loudly to annoy you.

“That’s disgusting, Roger,” you tell him, trying to act like your grossed out, but you’re still laughing. He winks at you and gives you a quick peck and walks out the door.

You’re sitting in your living room getting anxious. After deciding on wearing your black cocktail dress, dazzled up with a few quaint pieces of jewelry, you rushed to finish getting ready, only to be left alone with the million thoughts running rampant in your head for a good half an hour. It felt silly being so nervous – you knew every single inch of his body, and he yours, for God’s sake – but here you were, sitting in the quiet, shaking with nerves. So when the knock on your door came at exactly 5:57, you were startled, just like you always were when he’d show up. You wanted to rush to the door, but you didn’t want to seem too eager, so you calmed yourself down, grabbed your clutch and walked to the door.

There he was, standing in front of you, dressed in a blazer and tie, wearing those damn sunglasses, with a huge smile on his face, leaning on the door frame, looking absolutely gorgeous. “Hey there,” he greeted you. “I’m here for Y/N. Is she here?” he said before grabbing hold of your waist and pulling you close. “If she’s not, you’re pretty, so I guess you’ll do.”

“Shut up,” you giggled as you playfully hit his shoulder and walked out of the door, pushing him back as you closed the door. “Let’s go.” You turned to lock it, and his hands didn’t leave your hips. You slid his hands away as you turned back around. “None of this funny business,” you said jokingly. “I’m a respectable lady.”

“For now,” he said as he lowered his sunglasses and gave you a wink. “I happen to know you have no problem abandoning that respectability.” He holds out his arm for you and walks you outside where you’re greeted by a shiny black limo with the driver standing outside waiting to open the door. “Too much?” he laughed when he saw your face. “It is. But everyone’s waiting so let’s go get this over with so we can finish this night properly.”

“You clean up nicely,” Freddie tells you as you climb in and sit next to him. “Stunning,” he says with a smile and pat on your leg.

“This is Y/N,” Brian says to the lady sitting next to him before turning to you. “This is my wife.”

You shake hands and she smiles. “I’m not used to any of this mess either,” she says with a slight giggle.

The ride to the restaurant was pleasant, mostly spent listening to the guys cracking jokes about each other – especially John, who wasn’t there to defend himself – a completely different vibe than you ever got from them in the studio where they were more business than pleasure. It relaxed you, the lack of tension, and your nerves flew out the window, until the car arrived at the restaurant. Roger got out first, holding his hand out for you to grab as you followed. He could sense your nervousness, especially since you were fidgeting as you walked inside. “Calm down, numpty,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re fine.” You look up at him and he’s giving you a comforting smile, and you give him a thankful one in return.

Dinner was going smoothly, mainly because no one was trying to draw you into a table-wide conversation. Roger would talk to you, of course, and so would the wife of the label executive he told you about earlier in the day. She was a little older then you, not younger like he thought, so it was easy to find common ground.

When he wasn’t eating, Roger kept his hand on your lap, rubbing his thumb on your thigh to keep you relaxed. But when you were waiting for the dessert, he started to move his hand closer and closer to the area between your legs, taunting you and acting like nothing was going on. You were doing a great job keeping your composure, but you were starting to feel yourself shifting in your seat, trying to make him stop. Of course, he didn’t. He was enjoying making you squirm. His hand moved down to your knee before slowly making its way up your dress to your inner thigh, all while you were trying to talk to the exec’s wife sitting across the table from you and while he was talking to John who was sitting next to him. You squeeze your legs together, trapping his hand there, but he still wiggles one of his fingers free, making it graze against your box. You started to softly choke, as did he when he realized you weren’t wearing anything to cover yourself down there. You hurried and grabbed your glass of water to take a sip, smirking as you did, pleased with yourself that you finally startled him. “Excuse yourself,” he whispered in your ear, forcefully. “Now.”

You put your glass down and pat your mouth with your napkin. “Excuse me,” you told the wife as you scoot your chair back. You stand up and put a hand on Roger’s shoulder before walking away.

A few minutes later he joins you in the small hallway that leads to the restrooms with a sneaky grin on his face. “Anyone in there?” he asks as he points to the ladies room door. You shake your head no and bite your bottom lip as he grabs your arm and rushes inside, locking the door behind him. He immediately grabs you and starts savagely kissing you, picking you up and putting you on the counter. “Still a naughty little minx,” he growls as he unhooks his pants and taking his already rock-hard cock out through the opening. You kick your shoes off and rest your heels on the counter where you’re sitting and spread your legs, calling him close to you with your finger before reaching out and grabbing his tie, pulling him close to you. When he reaches you, he doesn’t waste any time getting started, pushing himself inside of you with a force you didn’t suspect. “Need you to be quiet,” he gruntingly whispered in your ear as he darted himself in and out of you rather quickly.

You wrapped one arm around his neck, still holding his tie in the other and nibbled on his ear. It always drove him crazy when you did that. “Need you to fuck me,” you whispered back. Right now, all you were worried about was pleasing him like he had done for you so many times before. Yes, this was amazing and yes, you were getting great pleasure from it, but you knew there was no time to waste making sure you were fully satisfied. He moved his head back to look into your eyes as he raged inside of you before you pulled his tie and drew him into a kiss. “You like feeling me wrapped around your cock, don’t you?” you asked in a raspy whisper as his face was close to yours. He was looking at you pleadingly, and you can tell he was already almost finished. “Cum for me, Roger,” you whispered in his ear. That’s all it took. “I love the way you feel inside me,” you whispered with a tug on his earlobe, talking him through his orgasm.

“You fucking own me, Y/N,” he quietly grunted after he finished. He gazes deep into your eyes as he starts to laugh, keeping it as quiet as he can. “You’re making me absolutely mad,” he whispers through his laugh as he leans in to kiss you. “And we’ve made a fucking mess.” He quickly reaches for some paper towels to wipe everything up.

“Oops,” you giggle when there’s a knock at the door. “Be out in a minute!” you yell before climbing off of the counter. “Now how are we gonna do this?” you whisper to Roger, still giggling.

As he finishes tucking his shirt in and making sure he looks presentable, he smiles a toothy grin and walks to the door. “Like this,” he says before holding the doorknob, much to your shock. He opens the door and sees an older lady standing there, who is absolutely horrified when she sees the two of you walking out holding hands. “Hello, ma’am,” he chirps as he passes her, acting completely oblivious to anything out of the ordinary. You giggle as the two of you walk back to the table as if nothing happened.

“Welcome back,” John smirks at the two of you when you sit down. “We were wondering if you got lost,” he chuckles before leaning to whisper something in Roger’s ear, causing him to blush a little bit.

When it came time to leave, everyone stood outside on the sidewalk saying their goodbyes and you piled back into the limo with everyone who rode there together. Roger took a minute getting in before the driver closed the door and pulled away. Brian and Chrissie were dropped off first, followed by Freddie, leaving you and Roger alone.

“Hope you didn’t think this night was over,” he told you as the door closed after dropping Freddie off. “I’m still not done with you,” he smirked as he pulled you in for a passionate kiss. You looked out of the window, not knowing where you were going. “I’m not bringing you home,” he told you. “Not tonight.” You gave him a smile – a big smile. “You’re all mine until tomorrow at least.” You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. “I can’t wait to get out of this car,” he grunts in your ear as you’re straddled on his lap. “So many things I want to do to you right now.”

“Can he hear us?” You point back to the direction of the driver. Roger shrugs and smirks. “Does it matter?” He shakes his head no, still smirking.

He moves you off his lap and pushes you to lean against the side of the limo. “Open,” he commands, pointing down to your legs. “I’m hungry.” You spread your legs open, and he watches your eyes as he licks his lips and moves down between your legs. You giggle and bite on your thumb as you watch him move down.

He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue then stops. You can hear him giggle too. “Stop being such a fucking tease,” you yell through your own giggles. “You don’t have much time!” He moved quickly, licking, sucking, kissing, taking as much of you in his mouth as he could. “Good boy,” you chuckled, grabbing a handful of his hair and rocking your hips.

You started to moan, making an effort to keep it quiet, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled his mouth away from you and quickly moved two fingers inside. “I know you can be louder than that,” he says.

“Then make me,” you groan as he rams his fingers in and out of you while sucking and licking all over your pussy. “Suck my clit, Roger,” you tell him through bated breath. “You always make me cum when you do that.” He happily obliged, doing exactly what you told him to do. “Fingers,” you mumble, unable to form a complete sentence. “Harder.” He again did as he was told. “That. Just like that. Don’t stop doing that.”

He moves his head back again so he can get a better look at you as you start to cum, smirking devilishly at what he’s doing. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles. “Such a dirty girl.” You grab his hand and push his fingers inside, holding his hand tightly and still as you start to come. “That’s right,” he growls, still chuckling. “Cum for me.”

“My God,” you sigh, your breathing short, still giggling. “That was good.” You reach your hands down and pull him up to you, both smiling uncontrollably, and draw him into a kiss.

He started to kiss and nibble on your neck, making you giggle and take deep but soft breaths. He pulled away quickly, looking out of the window. “Here we are,” he mumbled as the limo pulled into a long driveway. “Hope you don’t mind,” he tells you. “Thought we could use a change of scenery.”

When you walk inside, you take a look around at this “change of scenery,” a quaint house – not too big, not too small – taking in the surroundings as you nose around. “This place yours?” you ask as you look outside though the window.

“For now, yeah,” he says as he takes off his jacket and throws it on a chair at the kitchen table. “I might buy it. Haven’t decided.” He walks up behind you and puts his hands on your hips. “Nice pool, isn’t it?” He leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss on the top of your head.

You turn around to face him. “Yeah, it is,” you smile. “Too bad I didn’t know we were coming here. I could have brought my suit.” You move away and walk to the counter, leaning on it with one hand to you can take off your shoes. “I hate wearing heels. They always make my feet hurt,” you groan as you massage the bottom of your foot.

He walks over to you and grabs your arm, walking you over to the sofa and holding his hand out, inviting you to sit down. He sits next to you and waves his hands for you to rest your feet on his lap. “Don’t tell the guys I’m doing this,” he jokes. “It’ll ruin my reputation.” He starts to gently rub your feet, making them instantly feel worlds better.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you tell him as the two of you exchange soft smiles. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking better of you.” You start to chuckle as he pretends to be offended. “What? I don’t want anyone knowing you’re actually a nice guy!” You make him somewhat perplexed with that statement – you can see it all over his face – so you attempt to do your best to explain. “I thought you’d turn out to be an asshole,” you giggle. “Color me surprised when you actually weren’t one,” you say with a shrug, but he still doesn’t understand what you mean. “I thought the day after that first time you’d treat me like garbage,” you say with your tone turning less humored and more serious.

He started to snigger. “And here I am, a month later, rubbing your feet.” You lean your elbow on the back of the sofa and rest your head in your hand. “Honestly, if you were terrible in bed I probably would have,” he laughed before moving to meet his face with yours. “But you’re not,” he said before giving you a peck on the lips, “and I happen to like you, so I’m going to keep you for as long as I can.” He gives you another quick peck and stands up, starting to take off his tie and unbutton his shirt. “Let’s go swimming,” he tells you with a grin.

You stay where you are on the sofa, watching him take off his shirt and tie, enjoying the show. He throws his shirt at you before walking to the back to get some towels. You hurry and take off your dress and bra and put his shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned. He walks back in, wrapped in a towel at his waist and carrying another, and he grins when he sees you standing there in his shirt. “Well?” you say. “Don’t just stand there,” you giggle as you turn and walk to the back door that leads to the pool. “Hope you don’t have nosy neighbors.” You walk out as he slowly follows, never taking his eyes off you, or letting the grin leave his face. You step down the first few steps into the pool and turn to see where he is. “Are you coming or not?” you ask as you take off the shirt.

“Not yet,” he snickers. “But I will be later.” He takes the towel off and follows you into the water, grabbing you from behind, pulling you close and turning you to face him.

“Excuse me, sir,” you say as you tap him on his mouth. “I came here to swim. Not be accosted.” You giggle as you duck yourself under the water and swim to the other side and poke your head out.

He goes under the water and swims to you, playfully pinching you when he gets close, before popping up. “Why do you toy with me so?” he chuckles as he gives you a kiss, holding your face in his palm.

“Because it’s fun,” you giggle. “And you deserve it.”

“Deserve it?” he asked, laughing. “Why do I deserve it?”

“For every single time you toyed with me.”

“Are you keeping a list or something?” he asked as he started to jokingly poke you.

“That time, I think it was a Wednesday, when you were in the studio licking your lips while staring at me behind the glass, smirking because you knew exactly what you were doing to me.” You hurried and moved away from him. “Or that time when you, John and I went to that bar for a few drinks? When you kept staring at me with those damn eyes, smirking because you knew exactly what you were doing to me.” He moved closer to you, pinning you against the side of the pool, looking down at you with that goddamn irresistible smile of his. “I’ll even go back to when I was…” You stopped and started giggling. “When I was 13.” You rest your elbows on the side of the pool, lifting yourself up slightly and wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you with your legs.

He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips into a tight smile. “How can you possibly blame me for something that happened in…?” He started to do the math in his head and once it dawned on him what year it was when you were 13, he started to shake his head and rub the back of his neck and chuckle. “Wow.” That’s all he could say.

“1975, my very first concert. My dad took me and somehow managed to get us on the front row.” You raise an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Do you have any idea how bad my hormones were raging? It was just cruel, Roger.”

He put his hands down on the side next to your elbows and playfully snarled. “I’m not sorry for any of it,” he growled, leaning down to nibble on your neck and collarbone, making you laugh loudly. “Is that why you didn’t wear panties tonight?” he asked. “To toy with me?”

“Did it work?” you titter. “I think it worked.” He licked his lips and smiled, shaking his head yes, and leaned in to give you a deep, long kiss before softly kissing his way from your lips to your neck.

“Mmm hmm,” he hummed, still kissing your neck, your legs still wrapped around him, gripping him tighter. He raises his head so his eyes can meet yours. “I like this,” he tells you with a soft grin. “Being here with you. Being anywhere with you.” He moves a hand to your hair. “Just being with you,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper back, flashing a troubled smile, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you. “What happens next?” you ask, not sure if you want to know the answer. “After you’re done here. What happens?”

“Whatever we want,” he tells you with a smile. “We aren’t constrained…”

You move your legs that are wrapped around him and hastily swim away, climb out of the pool and wrap yourself in a towel. “Don’t tell me things you think I want to hear, Roger,” you snap. He follows you out of the pool, quickly, and grabs a towel before grabbing you. “Tell me the truth, not some lie to keep me from…”

He pulls you into a kiss, cutting you off from finishing your statement. “How many times do I have to tell you?” he quietly asks. “How many times do I have to tell you that you…”

“That I’m special? That I’m different from all the others? That I actually mean something?” you spew out as you roll your eyes. “I’m not stupid, Roger. I know how this goes.” He holds your arms as you try to push yourself away. “You tell me the things you think I want to hear, keep living this fantasy with me, but then things will happen and I’ll never see you again after you leave.”

“No, that’s not…”

“That’s exactly how it will happen. You may not want it to, but that’s what will happen.”

He starts to laugh and pulls you in for a hug that you don’t want to be in, but he forces you into it anyway. “If you think you already know what’s going to happen, why did you ask me?” He holds your head against his chest, cupping the side of your head in his palm. “If I were 10 years younger, then your words would be true, but I’m done being that person. I’ve done it enough.” His laughing fades away, but he still holds you close. “One day I’m going to make you realize that I’m not lying to you.” Your body relaxes, all tension evaporating, and you realize that you’re being ridiculous. “Come on,” he tells you, letting go of his hug and grabbing your hand and walking to the house. “I have rocky road ice cream in the freezer and that show on the telly you like will be coming on soon.”

And just like that, everything was okay. He remembered your favorite ice cream, he gives the best hugs, and that damn smile. “Roger?” you call, getting his attention, making him stop and turn to you. “When did I tell you that I like rocky road?”

He started to laugh. “You didn’t. I just noticed every time you have ice cream it’s rocky road.” He started walking again, still holding your hand.

“Roger?” you call him again. He stops walking, again, and sits on the chair, pulling you down to sit on his lap. “What really happens next?” Your tone is serious, and he takes the hint that it’s time to be straightforward.

After taking a deep breath, he exhales and wraps his arms around you. “Munich. I have to go to Munich to finish this album.” You nod your head, looking away. “And then the first single will be released, so there’s going to be promotional things to do.” You don’t turn your head back to him as he holds you tighter. “Some videos between all of that. Then a tour…” His voice starts to trail off. You look at him and force a smile, appreciative of the fact that he’s telling you the truth and not some glorified bullshit about how he won’t forget about you. “I’ll be busy, but I will always make time to…” He sees the look in your eyes and his heart starts to sink. “I will always make time for you.” You roll your eyes and start to make a snippy remark, but he hurries and kisses you before you can. “I told you before, I’m not giving you up any time soon, and I mean it.” You turn your head away again, but this time he forces your head to turn back. “Y/N, why is it so hard for you to accept the fact that I am crazy about you?” You open you mouth to speak, but he isn’t done. “I know you know your worth, so it’s not because you don’t think you’re good enough. And I know it’s not because…”

“Because what in the hell can I offer you? I’m just starting my life. I just finished high school three years ago. I don’t even know my own ass from a hole in the ground sometimes. I’m a whiny, spoiled brat most of the time. Before you showed up, the biggest issue I’ve ever had to deal with was learning how to not blow my entire paycheck on clothes so I could eat.” You’re getting annoyed because he’s looking at you with this amused look and you aren’t finding any of this funny, at all. “This isn’t funny, Roger!” you yell. “I can’t take care of myself half the time. I can’t pay my rent without mom and dad’s help. I don’t even know how to boil an egg.”

“Neither do I. We can learn how together,” he laughs. “And maybe I like spoiled brats.”

You’re still annoyed, and now you’re getting testy. “Maybe you just like spoiled brats who suck your dick good.”

“Well, I won’t lie to you, Y/N,” he chuckles, still amused. “You do suck my dick good.”

“Oh, fuck you, Roger,” you groan, trying to stand up so you can walk away dramatically, but he holds you down.

He can’t stop laughing. “You do that good, too.” He pulls you close, your back to his chest. “You’re cute when you get feisty.”

You keep trying to wiggle out of his grasp but he’s winning the battle. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation,” you fuss, trying not to let him know that you find all of this amusing as well. “Can you please be serious?”

He gives you a kiss on your shoulder, still chuckling, and you stop putting up your fight and accept defeat, so he loosens his hold on you. “Stop overthinking everything. Not everything needs a perfectly planned timeline.”

“I’m not asking for a timeline,” you groan. “You can afford to do things on a whim. I can’t.”

“If this is about money, I’ve got plenty of that,” he tells you, not bragging – he’s trying to calm your nerves. “I can help you…”

“No!” you yell, but quickly tone it down. “Not money, not that.” You turn your body on his lap and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “I’m trying to find my place in life. You know yours. I don’t know mine.”

He gives you a soft smile and an equally soft kiss. “Maybe your place is with me.”

“I don’t belong in your world, Roger,” you sigh. “Why don’t you understand that?” He doesn’t understand. He’s looking at you trying to understand why you think that, but he can’t figure it out. “You were meant for the life you have. I’m still trying to figure out what mine is supposed to be.”

“Maybe you’re supposed to be in mine,” he whispers.

You don’t know why, but you’re starting to get frustrated again because it feels like he’s not listening to what you’re saying. You know he’s hearing you, but you don’t think he’s really listening. “We’ve known each other for a month. How can you possibly know…”

He starts to chuckle. “Y/N, I knew almost immediately after meeting you that you were someone special.” You’re giving him a blank stare, and he knows you don’t believe him. He still doesn’t understand why you won’t believe anything he’s telling you. “Is it my profession that’s making this difficult or the age difference?”

“Both,” you whisper. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve met a ton of guys like you.” He raises an eyebrow and starts to smirk. “No, I didn’t have sex with them…” You start to giggle. “With all of them,” you correct yourself. “And one thing I learned right away was that you older guys turn stupid when a younger girl looks your way.”

“Oh, is that so?” he starts to laugh. “Like you young girls don’t get excited by us old guys.” He starts to tickle you and nibble on your neck, making you tear up with laughter. He stops, and looks into your eyes. “Do I treat you like those other old blokes?”

Your face turns serious and you hold a palm to his cheek. “No,” you whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

“I told you last night I’m scared too,” he says. “And it’s because you don’t treat me like those other young girls.” You both started to laugh. “There’s only been a couple of them, by the way. This isn’t a habit of mine.” You roll your eyes, humored by his nervous need to explain himself and stand up, not saying a word and start to walk inside. He’s starts laughing again. “Oh, come on, Y/N. Where are you going?”

“Shower,” you tell him, yelling from over your shoulder. When you get to the door, turn around and look at him. You drop your towel, standing there naked. “If you’re not there in 3 minutes I’m locking the door and you can’t join me.” You smirk as you turn back and walk in, and he shakes his head as he jumps up to run after you.

[part 6>>]

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Twenty-Two

Table of Contents

Past

Without Ainsley, Malcolm stood alone blinking several times to realize the wall in front of him was actually normal. The gutted remains of it ceased to exist. Of course, right? There wasn’t really crusty blood across its wound. He imagined it all. His brain brought it to life because as soon as a thought crept inside, it writhed around too fast skewing his thoughts. His mother complained about his brain because it led him into dark corners and there’d been Tommy, his so-called imaginary friend who warned him: You won’t be safe in Colorado.

“Wait!” Malcolm blurted to nobody in particular, he hoped he was alone but chances of ever being alone at the Overlook Hotel were slim. “It’s downstairs! It’s. . .downstairs. . .”

He’d found the magazine before while digging through the boiler room at some other point. If it wasn’t up here then it’d be down there. He was careful to not leave trails of murder behind in their pretend apartment. His mother would have a fit if she ever found out his sick new obsession. He followed an invisible path to descend into the bowels of the Overlook.

The journey straight into darkness felt as if his insides were bruised. A deep sick feeling inside of him. He saved a little flashlight in his back pocket knowing they’d meet again and again. There was some old song he heard his family play.

Hello Darkness, my old friend.

Now the light didn’t help out a whole lot. A bit of it sliced through the murky darkness. Humidity weighed it down with being so close to the boiler or so Malcolm guessed.

I’ve come to talk with you again.

Before he struck the last, last level he let the flashlight scan its way through the darkness to be sure he was alone. All he needed was to be alone, alone again, alone down here.

Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping.

Ghosts weren’t good company.

Malcolm closed his eyes for a split second once he touched down on the lowest level. He let the absence of sight increase his hearing but only the boiler grumbled. Alone. Alone. Alone again.

And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains.

He made his way over to the boxes full of newspapers and magazines. The stories of murder all compounded into one spot.

Dust floated and danced around him. His knees scraped the floor knocking more up into his face causing his nose to itch and himself to sneeze. Malcolm managed to catch it in the crook of his elbow. When nothing else made a sound, not even a mouse, he returned to the stories in front of him. Except before Malcolm could uncover the story of the family annihilator all over again to prove to Ainsley why her friends weren’t her friends, but instead the ghosts of murdered girls.

Murdered girls couldn’t make good friends.

There wasn’t any sign of the girls though. There wasn’t any sign of the father or the mother. He pried through it only to pause hating the idea falling into his brain at the sight of some old headline. The paper curled with slight decay.

Burglar uses Chloroform: Attacks a Woman in Room 237, Robs Her and Cuts off her Hair

No photo but underneath the article speared its way straight into the story.

According to experts, beautiful hair for wigs can be as valuable as some jewelry.

That imagination struck sending shivers down his spine thinking of how somebody had to find the woman with her hair shorn off and all her items gone. For some reason, he folded the paper and pressed down on its new crease. He squeezed it into his other pocket before returning to his search for those Grady girls.

“Pst.”

Malcolm froze.

He’d read about the crooked woman he found in the basement.

About how she threw all her children from the rooftop and hanged herself down here. They didn’t find her body for weeks. Police searched the town and further for her hoping to arrest her when she’d been falling to pieces beneath them all along.

Malcolm closed his eyes letting his hearing do some seeing. A muffled voice spoke up, it only spoke in gibberish and not quite at him. The gibberish sounded as if something or somebody tumbled over into some distant corner. It shut up and something slid across the floor.

Maybe if Malcolm told himself: It’s just shoes crunching along the ground like how shoes crunch on grave. Wasn’t like there was any gravel for the basement floor. Yet something slid forward brushing dust-up tickling his nose. His elbow caught his sneeze and then he opened his eyes for the first time to greet the fact that he wasn’t ever alone down there. Peering over his arm, he shined the light before him to find. . .nothing.

To be sure, Malcolm scanned the room with his light not seeing anything of interest. He checked each corner accidentally whispering out loud to himself each time, “Alone. Alone. Alone.”

Pst!

But that time around it sounded like the sole of a shoe for sure squeaking across the ground. He went to look over his shoulder to see what was coming.

There wasn’t anything nearby to protect himself and he had no idea if it’d help with a ghost antagonist. Maybe his brain could save him. He had the shining according to Gil and maybe he could shine real bright, brighter than the light in hand.

Only as he turned something grabbed a hold of him. Pressure hoisted him from the ground. His knees scraped the ground as some space came between him and the floor and somebody smothered him. His lungs burned without any oxygen entering them only it was worse when he attempted to breathe cause the burning grew, it seared his lungs, his mouth, and his chest right before the darkness took him.

Burglar uses Chloroform: Attacks a Woman in Room 237, Robs Her and Cuts off her Hair

“MALCOLM!”

Never before had a name sounded so violent. Jessica wielded each letter as if it were its own weapon. A series of knives or axes struck Malcolm. His head ached alongside all of his muscles. He rolled over burying his face into his pillow.

“Malcolm! Don’t you dare! You’ve been like this long enough, it’s time to wake up, get up, and start your day.”

When Malcolm sat up, he came face to face with his mother who put a hand on his forehead. She waited a few seconds and began to nod as if she were a doctor all along. “No more fever!” She backed away from him heading toward the kitchen area, which meant. . .

What?

“Fever?” Malcolm’s voice sounded all raspy. For a second, he feared he’d lost his voice all together. That the word in his brain would never leave. He looked all around. “How-How did I get here?!”

Jessica rolled her eyes. She popped the cork on a bottle of wine. “That’s not very funny, Malcolm, we’ve been here already for what? A month? More?” She began to pour herself a glass. “Seems longer than that.”

“NO!” Malcolm didn’t mean to snap. It did get Jessica to actually stop pouring her glass of wine. “I mean, how did I get here from the boiler room?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The boiler room! I was down in the boiler room! Something attacked me!”

Jessica took one long sip of wine, it seemed to be necessary as if it were her life source. “Malcolm, stop this nonsense before you scare your sister.”

But Malcolm looked all around, he wasn’t even wearing the same clothes but instead was in pajamas. Somebody was in the bathroom, the toilet flushed and water ran. He glanced up noticing Ainsley stood inside. Not that he meant to spy on her. Just her thoughts were so loud as she watched the water run pretending to watch her hands. In the time she stood there pretending, she could’ve just washed them.

Off to the side waited Malcolm’s notebook. He paged through it finding the same page as the day before and started to write 11/12. Only Ainsley leaving the bathroom with faint thoughts of Oh he’s awake disturbed him with the cacophony of Jessica playing out him rolling and rolling and rolling in his bed almost toppling off it for over 24 hours.

“What’s today’s date?” Malcolm blurted.

“November 13th,” said Jessia before taking another long swig of wine.

“Mr. Boots said it’s Friday the 13th, a bad luck day,” Ainsley added.

The day was November 13th and something. . .wasn’t. . .right. . .

11/08: Woke up in library. Thought I went to bed. 11/09: Woke up in ballroom (?). Remember going to bed. Mother said something about taking a pill to sleep better. Don’t remember falling asleep. 11/10: Is it possible to not remember falling asleep but waking up? Feels like haven’t slept for days. Ask somebody about it. 11/11: Woke up in bar, heard music, heard voices. Father found me, we talked, said to talk to him, didn’t hear all the noise. Ask him about it later?

Malcolm held a pencil, it hovered over the page in his notebook while he sat up in his bed. Even with his mother in the kitchen, it felt as if she were hovering around him tweeting like a bird about a fever, fever, fever because somehow he got back there and had a fever?

There was a whole day missing.

11/12: ????

“Malcolm, look at me when I talk to you.” At least Jessica caught his attention. Malcolm poked his teeth with the eraser. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

Malcolm nodded and offered a smile, just for her.

“Do you want any orange juice? Ainsley and I picked it up from town yesterday.”

11/12: ????

“Oh, sure. Yes, please.” Malcolm managed to stay smiling at Jessica even as she turned away. Ainsley stood close by. She peered out of the kitchen at him giggling about something. He rolled his eyes and looked down at his notebook. There wasn’t even a memory around to why he started this, but again it made sense. Nothing stuck and a day was all gone.

11/13: Woke up in bed. Last thing I remember, boiler room. Looking at newspapers. Then nothing. Is there something wrong with me?

[kmelanin]

Prince J/five

A/n~ Hi hiii!! here is the next update!! Ive decided to make this a little longer. So let me know how you like this update!! Enjoy!

Over the next few days, you didn't see Jeongguk as much as you thought you would. Instead you had to prepare for the reveal. You got your fittings done, and then you got your hair pressed and braided up. You've also had to get deep facial cleanses and everything else involved with that. You never knew that things you thought would be fun and exciting was actually tiring.

Ji-Mee told you earlier that one of the main reasons for not seeing Jeongguk, was to practice for the wedding, which was next weekend. You knew that all of this wouldn't hit you until the day of the wedding. Right now, you were nervous about everyone seeing you. But you just keep telling yourself to not care. You remember the words Jeongguk said to you after the photoshoot.

“Remember, that this is your life now. You are one of the top people in hundred of thousands of people. Don't let their judgemental eyes make you feel insecure. You are the future Queen Yn. This is the first of your many very special days. Don't let the town's people bring you down. If they do, I’ll be there to bring you back up.  

There was a knock on the door and you get up and answer. When you opened it, you almost cried. There stood Yoongi in a all black suit. He had a cord going up behind his neck. His hair was black and perfectly placed.

“Hello Miss.” He bows down almost 90 degrees.

“Yoongi, you don't have to do that.” you frown a little.

“Actually, I do have to.” he smiles softly. God you missed him so much.

“Right.”

“I'm here to take you to the Royal Jewel Room.”

“A Royal Jewel Room??” You were surprised at his words, but you knew you shouldn’t be.

“Yes, in there are the top pieces of Jewelry. You will be able to pick the pieces you want to wear today.”

The door to the Jewel Room, was guarded by guards daily. Plus there was three very difficult locks on it. When the guards seen you both come, they quickly unlock it, just in time. As soon as you near the door they were already holding it open. When you walked in, it looked like a jewelry store.

You were beyond surprised at how much was in here. You recognized some of the pieces from past princesses and queens. You had some picture in your cabin from your mother and grandmother times as well.

You kept your dress in your mind as you look for jewelry to wear with it. You honestly had no idea of what you wanted to wear. You turned back to Yoongi.

“You know the dress right? What should I wear?” You whisper looking right into his eyes. The dress was made for this specific event. You of course had some say. It was maroon, which stood out really pretty against your skin. The sleeve were loose around your wrists and they fell longer matching the end of your dress that fell loosely around your feet and on the floor. It was made to fall long even if you had heels on. You chose not too, because no one was going to see them anyways.

Yoongi nods looking away from you and around at the jewelry. He walks over towards the back and opens a drawer. He pulls out a large box and sets it on a empty glass table. It was a dark matte box and it looked too expensive to touch. Your heart was beating really fast as you watched him pull some gloves out of a pack that was on the table before. He put them on and then you watch as he unlocks it and you almost choked on your breath.

Laying there were a set of earrings that were made to go on your whole ear, it went up with diamonds in a leaf pattern.

There was also a simple matching necklace. It was a chain almost, but with the diamond leaves going all around. You instantly fell in love with it. You looked up to Yoongi, and he had the same smirk he always had on when he does this type of stuff.  You smiled back and you quickly nod.

“You always seem to know Yoongi.” You say. He nods agreeing and he locks the box back up. You both walk out and Yoongi hands the box over to one of the guard and in Korean tells them that they were your choice.

One the way back to your room, you both were so caught up in the conversation that you were having that Yoongi walked into your room and smiled throughout the rest of the conversation. He was smiling down at you, his eyes were really soft and it threw you back to that night in your cabin.

Everything was thrown back into reality when Ji-Mee opens and shuts the door. Yoongi looks back and forth between you too fast, with wide and worried eyes.

“Min Yoongi, you are not aloud in here, so why are you?” She asks confused and had a irritated look on her face.

“I-I…”

“It was my fault. I was talking to him. He is my best friend after all, before I came here.” You say saving Yoongi the trouble. Ji-Mee’s eyes widen at the information. Yoongi quickly leaves, shutting the door behind him softly.

“I'm sorry, but I will have to report this to the King.” She says softly making you freak a little.

“No, please don't. How about I tell Jeongguk?” You try to get her to change her mind. But she doesn't say anything. But you get a little hope in you when she sighs.  

“I’ll only agree because I want to be on your good side, and he is your best friend.” She says nodding her head, she keeps her head down.

“Thank you so much.”

“Please, before the next Monday comes, if then I will get in trouble for waiting so long.” You nod quickly at her words and she thanks you and she leaves.

Over the next couple of days you were thinking of how you were going to tell Jeongguk. You really didn't want to but this was the only and best choice, or else Ji-Mee would tell the King.

One Saturday morning, the day of the showing you still haven't decided when to tell him. You had less than 48 hours, and as time went down, your heart sped up.

Tallia was currently doing your hair. Since it was braided up, she easily put on a lace wig that was dark brown and at the tips were frosty. She slicked it all back so your earrings that Yoongi picked for you.

Your eyes went over to the letter that Yoongi had delivered to you last night. It was next to your bed this morning. You recited the words in your head. ‘Tell him, you have to, you and the Prince's trust between you two is more important than me. I can always get a job in town.’

You refused to let him get punished for something you let happen. Something that was your fault.

You stood up after your upper body was done and made up and walked over to Tallia and Ji-Mee who held your dress open ready for you to step in. As you did, your freshly shaved and lotioned legs slide through the soft silk of the dress. You watch in a full body mirror as they brought the sleeves up your arms and gently laid it on your skin. Ji-Mee slid to the back to hook it and zip it together completely pulling the dress up in the right places.

Once you got your shoes on and the finishing touches Ji-Mee and Tallia walked you out of your room and down the hall towards the middle of the castle.

You heards loud music start to play from all over.

“Ah, you have thirty minutes until you are shown Miss.” Ji-Mee smiles and opens the door to a room you will have to wait in until it was time. You nodded and entered the room. What you didn't expect was to see Jeongguk fully dressed in what he was suppose to wear, and staring out of the window. He turned around and takes you in. He doesn't say anything for a moment which made you nervous. But then he smiles and starts to walk toward you. Your eye contact never broke, and you gasped when he got close. He looked so beautiful, and you almost couldn't believe he was right there in front of you. You remembered when he asked you what type of suits you liked. You blushed at the fact that he was wearing your favorite type. He wore it so well.

His hair was styles off to the side a little more. Half back half on his forehead. His hair was curly a little and it stuck up in all of the right places. You noticed that he had one earring in his ear. You looked and seen that it was exactly like yours. He turns his head a little letting you see better. You couldn't help but to notice how sharp his jawline was. You wanted to place a nice little mark there, just to mess up the perfectness.

“You look so beautiful.” he mumbles looking at you from the floor, up. You felt your cheeks heat up at his words. But then it hit you. Suddenly a wave of guilt hit you and you aren't sure why you felt like so for such a simple innocent thing.

“Jeongguk…” You say, changing the mood suddenly making him look down at you confused. “What would happen if a Guard goes into your or my bedroom?” You add his room, so he wouldn't catch up so quickly.

He frowns at the random question but he answers anyways.

“Guards aren't allowed in any bedroom unless there's danger. Only maids can enter within the staff. So if one is caught, they breaks a Royal rule. They would be fired and thrown in the jail downstairs until we say he can leave.” He pauses tilting his head a little.”Why?”

His words threw you way off, you didn't expect him to say such a bad punishment. You didn't answer right away which had him thinking.

“Did you catch someone? Who?” Jeongguk getting serious all of a sudden, but that made you worry even more.

“Promise me you won't get mad.” You mumble, your heart was beating crazy, you couldn't let Yoongi get thrown in a cage. He frowns but nods anyways coming a little closer.

“Um, well. One of your guards is my best friend… and I didn't know…” You trailed off not knowing what to say, you were looking down, hanging your head.

But a wave of red hit Jeongguk. He grabs your face and lifts it to look him dead in the eyes.

“Who was it?” He asks so emotionless, but you can see it in his eyes. He was angry and he wasn't going to be nice. You couldn't tell him, why did you have to say anything right now? “No Jeongguk, you're mad. I can't let him be punished for something that was my fault.” You say almost pleading to him to change his mind. He lets go of his face and backs up a little. He prodes at his cheek with his tongue.

“He broke a Royal rule YN.”

“If you throw him in jail, I'm going with.” You say looking at him dead in his eyes. You weren't going to let Yoongi go throw it alone. Jeongguk’s eyes went wide, not expecting your words. You watch him as he looks away clenching his jaw.

“Was he just your best friend?” He asks slowly trying not to sound to mad. His question through you off. You hesitated to answer, because you didn't know how. Jeongguk’s eyes snapped over to you and he laughs a little.

“Wah, this is crazy. I have to save someone’s ass that had their hands on you.” He almost scoffs and sighs still laughing to show how much it wasn't funny.

“It wasn't like that. We kissed…” you said and your eyes connect with Jeongguk’s again, his eyes turned darker. “...But it was before the Ball.” You point out, making sure that he knew it didn't happen in the room.

His face was dark as he looked at you. He turned back towards you and walked towards you. His walk made your heart speed up and you started to back. That didn't help anything though, it only caused him to walk fast and back you up against the wall.

“So these-” He pulls at your lower lip. “-precious lips have been tainted by one of my very -i mean…” He chuckles slightly. “...by one of our very own staff.” He leans down closer to your face. Your breathing was out of control and he made your body weak.

“You are so lucky we have only a few minutes until we walk out, or else i'd make sure that they only lips you remember on your body are mine.” His forehead laid on yours and his hands pulled your hips right into his. “Mhmm, good thing people can only see us from the waist up.” He mumbles bringing his head down into your neck. You frowned in confusion at his words, until he pushed himself against you more and you felt him. His was hard as a brick, You felt it go down your thigh a little more than you thought it would.

But then in a blink of an eye he was gone away from your body. Your eyes opened, you didn't even notice they were closed.

“During this time, I was suppose to tell you, that I will take you on a couple dates before the wedding. Since it will be aired we will have to be used to kissing so it seems perfect on tv. You know not awkward. So after this, tonight will be our first one.” He finishes and as soon as he does there was a knock on the door. Someone letting us know it was time.

[hesitate9]

Instagram

Ch 13

yourusername: Oldy! h_styles

liked by louist91, liampayne, zayn, niallhoran, h_styles, iamsebastianstan, scarlettjohanson, lizziebeth, anthonymackie and 8.9m more

h_styles: Why don’t you tell the world that I can’t use snapchat.

yourusername: I just did.

h_styles:🙄🙄

iamsebastianstan: LOL!!!

anthonymackie: Haha

louist91: Me and Niall tried so hard to make him understand he just doesn’t

onedirection4ever: ONE D REUNION!!!

lizziebeth: I thought you went blonde?

yourusername: That was just a wig

scarlettjohanson: That means no more BLONDE SQUAD!?

yourusername: I’m sorry no

scarlettjohanson: Its okay

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

iamsebastianstan: Picnic now on Broadway.

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comments have been disabled.

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AVENGERS AND SINGER ASSEMBLE!

Captain America: Congrats Seb!

Anthony Mackie: First Time on Broadway right?

Bucky Barnes: No. Second

Tony Stark: What was the first one?

Bucky Barnes: Talk Radio 2007

Wanda Maximoff: WOW!

Natasha Romanoff: That’s so cool.

Y/N: Congrats babe!

Bruce Banner: Congrats Sebastian!!!

Bucky Barnes: Thank You guys

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Texts Between You and Sebastian

Donut🍩🍩:

Congrats babe!

Seabear🐻🐻:

Thanks

Donut🍩🍩:

Where are you?

Seabear🐻🐻:

At my home

Donut🍩🍩:

Get ready. I’m picking you up in a hour. Wear something fancy

Seabear🐻🐻:

Why?

Donut🍩🍩:

I’m taking you on a date/celebration dinner. Just the two of us.

Seabear🐻🐻:

What color will you be wearing?

Donut🍩🍩:

You wanna match?

Seabear🐻🐻: 

Yup. I want the whole world to be jealous of us.

Donut🍩🍩:

Just wear black.

Seabear🐻🐻:

Ok. Love you

Donut🍩🍩:

Love you too

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Real Life

 I wore a black floor length dress with a low cut with red heels. I had my hair open and I straightened it. I put on neutral make up my, neck was bare of an jewelry. I had round earrings on  a silver bracelet and a red ring. I held a black LV clutch. I put my phone in it, my credit card, my car keys, a black sharpie a lipstick and a pepper spray.

I saw the time and  it had been half and hour since I texted Seb. I went down to my garage and sat in my matte black Lamborghini Aventador.

I sat in the car and drove to a flower shop and picked up a rose bouquet. I then put the flowers on the passengers seat and drove to Sebastian’s house. I got to his house in 15 minutes and I still had 5 minutes to spare. Knowing Sebastian I knew he would need all the time he could get so I waited in the car for 5 minutes and then I went up to his house and rang the bell. A few seconds later he opened the door and I stood there in awe.

He wore an all black suit with a black tie and shoes. 

“Ehm” I heard someone clear their throat and I came out of my trance

“I look good?” He asked smirking probably seeing how flustered I am.

“Y-Yeah” I stuttered

“These are for you” I said handing him the flowers

“Thanks” Sebastian said blushing and I smiled

“You look beautiful” He said and I blushed

“Thank You” I said

“Come on.” I said and we went towards are car

“I’m driving” Sebastian said

“No. You are doing nothing today.” I said and sat in the drivers seat.

Bucky pouted and sat in the passenger’s seat

I looked at him and saw him pouting like a kid. I lent over to him and gave him soft kiss on his pout and then pulled back. I looked at him and saw him smiling and shook my head smiling. I drove to the restaurant and when we reached there. We got out of the car and I hand the keys over the valet. We went inside and were greeted by a waitress.

“Hi, Do you have a reservation here?” She asked eyeing Sebastian up and down

“Yes. We do under L/N” I said and linked my arm with Sebastian’s and smiled at the waitress. I didn’t dare look at him cause I knew he would be looking at me and smirking. 

“Yes. It’s right here” She said picked up two menus and led us to our table

“I’ll be back with the water” She said and left us

“So...” Sebastian said

“So?” I asked

“You were jealous” He said

“No. The grilled chicken looks good. I’ll have that. What do you want?” I said changing the topic

He looked at me with a knowing look in his eyes and  looked at the menu. His eyes landed on a dish and his eyes widened and he smiled brightly. 

“Looks like you found something you like” I said and he smiled

“Here is your water” She said

“I hope you’ve decided what you two would like” She said 

“Yes. I would like a grilled chicken and he would like a....” I said looking at Sebastian asking him to order

“I would like a  Varse la Cluj” He said 

“Okay. Your orders would be right out” She said winking at Seb

“I would like to order one more thing” I said

“And what would that be?” She asked looking at me with a sickly sweet smile.

“Yes. I would like to order a new waiter preferably a male” I said looking at her sarcastically smiling

“Sure” She said and I smirked

“Not Jealous. Huh?” Seb said

“Oh shut up” I said and Sebastian laughed we talked a bit while our food came. When it came we ate it enjoying our food, talking and laughing. As for the bill we had a full on staring contest on who would pay and guess who won. me!

I paid with a smile on my face while Sebastian sulked.

“Oh! cheer up” I said and we went home.

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yourusername: Okay. Why? iamsebastianstan

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anthonymackie: my oh my SEBASTIAN STAN!

iamsebastianstan:😈😈😈😈😈😈

sebbyforever: K!LL ME!!!!

rdj: Woah!

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<<Ch 12

Ch 14>>

taglist: @chaashni

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[wildseedculturalgroup]

SIR Rebekkah Holylove : A Funk Lesson in Solitude

At sixteen Luther Vandross founded and served as the official president of a famous diva’s fan club. I can see him now, watching her seasoned shoulder bounce and measuring the funk in the black church two-step she makes across soul music platforms. He’s standing stage left, holding onto the curtain for balance. He’s lip syncing every song, calculating the mastery of her diction and phrasing. He’s studying her like a text; setting the stage for his own practice—one that would place him at microphones behind David Bowie, Chaka Khan, Barbra Streisand, Bette Midler and Donna Summer. He was Twenty Feet from Stardom and rising. Luther Vandross, the teenage boy, understood how Patricia Holt-Edwards from Philadelphia, became the legendary kick-your-shoes-off and snatch-your-own-wig when the tension builds between audience, music and voice; Luther Vandross presided over the fan club of Queen Motha Patti Labelle.

Strange things happen when an artist is moved to a new depth by another; we become fanatical about the fantastical beings who place us deeper into the abyss of craft. The management of details of who these artists are and how they come to being becomes a rite of passage. We obsess over the decisions they make to bring an album to fruition and take pride in knowing all things, from the major to the mundane; collaborations, music video direction, hair color, shoe size, inspiration behind the lyrics.  We fancy ourselves experts of our muses. And when it comes to black music, the stakes are higher—people stay questioning our responses to the brilliance of black artists; reading them as tribal reactions, as opposed to a focused study of mastery. But no. I’m from the school of Luther—committed to scholarship, research questions and methodology when pursuing the legends.

 There’s a strong chance that I became the unofficial president of Joi’s fan club twenty-five years ago. For twenty-five years, I’ve paid attention to her musical movement. Today, I feel confident that if asked to build a theoretical framework around the genius of her crunk-funk sound, I’d have my fucking PhD. Dr. DJ Lynnée Denise.

She’s a beast.

Joi occupies space in the lineage of artists who thrive across genre lines. How is that possible? Ask Prince, Ask Aretha, Ask Nina. Ask Stevie. Black people live hyphenated lives, so it’s fair to say our musicians embody and shift the context of what DuBois called “Double Consciousness,” musical cross pollination made available to the Souls of Black Folk. 

The three of us—Joi, DuBois and myself—have something in common: Nashville.

I saw Joi for the first time while I was sitting in the living room with a group of artists I met during my freshmen year at Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee. She was in a straightjacket hanging on a meat hook in a blue lit walk-in meat refrigerator squirming with hopes of being released. The video was for the song “Sunshine in the Rain,” her first single. I’ve not turned away since.

DuBois graduated from Fisk in 1888, 109 years before me. Joi is the daughter of legendary NFL football player Joe Gilliam. She was a legacy student at the historically black public university Tennessee State on Nashville’s Jefferson Street. The intersections of our lives and the black excellence it carries spans centuries.

The artists in the room knew who she was and dismissed my awe with, “oh that’s Joi.” I was in her hometown. She was their hero. “Joi from down here” they said with regional pride from blunt stained lips, “she been on that different shit for years.” I took that to mean Joi was ahead of her time and an inspiration to the folks who watched her take shape.

I copped her debut album The Pendulum Vibe (1993) and listened to it nonstop for a good year. It filled the void created by LaFace’s TLC and the Sean Puffy girl group hip-hop soul phase. Don’t get me wrong, I fucked with Mary J Blige from day one and still do, but had real questions about the war on originality that was creeping into the black musical lexicon in a Bad Boy kinda way.

The Pendulum Vibe, ironically produced by the mind behind TLC—Dallas Austin, was a game changer, a call to arms for folks looking for sophisticated melodies and enough lyrical depth to drown in. Songs like Fatal Lovesick Journey had me pondering co-dependent relationships while puffing Black & Milds and drinking Alizé. There was well-placed wailing, playful and unapologetic sexual confidence and a genre defying southern rooted sound. Anti-formulaic, the music from this album spoke to my heart and gave me hope that Black America had something to compare to the brilliant UK Soul coming out of London and coming from my speakers. Though raunchier in her approach, Joi was in the Mica Paris and Caron Wheeler category for me. My ears recognized her as a kindred spirit. After the fiftieth listen of the Pendulum Vibe I sat myself down and said with all honesty, "this a bad bitch and the masses ain’t gon’ understand," hence her long-term relationship with the abstract term, the underground.

I'm torn.

Ever since I can remember I’ve been one of those people who rolls my eyes when I hear my favorite song from a new album I'm spending time with being played on the radio. I'm suspicious of what becomes widely accepted; afraid to see the artists I love hand over their authenticity to the police of mediocrity guarding the door of pop music in America. And yeah, everybody gotta eat, but why eating gotta equate to contractual agreements that alter your purpose? Prince’s decision to pen the word slave on his face in the 90s gave us an idea of what can happen when sitting down at the negotiating table with corporations who measure your worth by your marketability to an underdeveloped and musically ahistorical masses. I wanted to keep Joi underground where she was protected from the fuckery—following her own north star to musical freedom.

Her performances embodied all the funkiness my little soul had been waiting for at a time when black radio was pinned under the thumb of payola. She’s cut from the same cloth as Hendrix. Betty Davis. Vanity. One minute she gives you seasoned performer on a FunkJazzKafe stage alongside Too Short; then range and multi-dimensionality on stage with FishBone and De La Soul the next. Embedded in her vocal chords is a deep knowledge of Funkentelechy and Parliamentarian Cosmology, a heavy load of legacy to carry, but she’s bout it and lives inside the mashup.

Between 1996 and 2006, Joi recorded three more studio albums Amoeba Cleansing Syndrome (1997), a highly desired cult classic shelved before release due to the collapse of Universal Records.  It can now be purchased through her website, a gift for fans who were diggin’ through the crates in search of a copy. She produced the next two albums Star Kitty’s Revenge (2002) and Tennessee Slim is the Bomb (2006) independently.

Joi had a major hand in shaping the Atlanta Dungeon Family/Organized Noize sound; she sang background on Goodie Mob’s classic first album Soul Food; she worked closely with many artists, among them George Clinton, Sleepy Brown, Big Krit, 2 Chainz, Queen Latifah, and Tricky from London; she collaborated with Raphael Sadiq’s on his Lucy Pearl project; she joined Outkast on their final tour in 2014; and became a backing vocal for D’Angelo during his Black Messiah Tour in 2015. And still, with curriculum vitaé in hand, Joi found time to help, as she would say, “wipe down,” a few aspiring singers through her artist development business.

Upon moving to Los Angeles, after a twenty-year stint in Atlanta, she sat her ass down in a studio and pulled diamonds from a year of solitude to create a new gem of an album. S.I.R. Rebekkah Holylove. But don’t call it a comeback.

There’s a white-supremacist-mean-spirited-anti-intellectual-creamsicle-looking-fuckboy in the white house. I applaud anyone who can navigate this political shit show and turn away from social media long enough to concentrate on their respective practices. I live for the kind of high art that can offer the world a break from this reality fiction, and for these reasons and more Joi came through.  The journey of the album begins with three words that pushes us to the other side.

“Bitch I’m Free”

S.I.R. Rebekkah Holylove is what happens when anticipation meets expectations. Noteworthy is that this album, too, was produced independently in the spirit of Prince. He was one of the first artists to sell an album exclusively through a website because “Record company people are shady.”

Living liner notes are positioned between each track giving us poetic reflections that contextualize the song that follows or precedes it. Everything we need to move through the world of this album is provided, including a video for “Stare at Me” produced by Bruce Coles (Passerine Productions) and a cinematic vignette directed by Rahsaan Patterson. 

Joi’s is the only voice on the album. Don’t be fooled into thinking that there are three fellow bad bitches in the studio making it happen. It’s just her. She writes all the album’s lyrics, arranges all its vocals, and produces some of the tracks. She uses very little of the vocal compressor, an effect that most contemporary singers rely on, creating distance between authenticity and the voices you think you love.

I had a chance to spend some time with Joi in her studio, a live/work space she calls “The Funky Jewelry Box.” Inspirational posters and album covers drape the walls from Dolly Pardon to Led Zepplin and Natalie Cole to Minnie Ripperton. It’s an incubator for critical artistic thought up in there.

As I settled and began to think about questions that would unlock the door to the mysteries of this project, she was unwrapping a detox products from Dr. Sebi. “It’s a perfect time to fast,” she says, while removing the bubble wrap from a dark brown bottle of bodily goodness. She’s sitting at her recording station in an electric blue velvet cushioned vintage chair, “a rare find from a spot in LA,” she brags “undiscovered by hipsters and still affordable in its dealings.” The chair is perfect for the matriarchal themed nature of this album. Above her is a classic studio microphone that looks committed to its job and familiar with the racy nature of her spirit. There’s an intimacy between the two. We agree to listen to the album. She presses play and guides me through the sonic journey—joint in hand, ears on guard.

 “Ruler,” the album’s opening track sets an important tone. It’s a theme song straight out of The Wiz; a Glinda the Good witch anthem for women who understand the magic they walk with; Not Black Girl Magic, but Black Magic Women and their dominion over the proverbial Oz. Mind the distinction. Produced by Brook D’ Leux, Joi describes the song as a “declaration and celebration of the historical facts, a firm reminder of the greatness of women.” It’s a timely tune given the national dialogue concerning the crumbling of patriarchal-powered privilege. At the same time “Ruler” avoids being reactionary and trendy, there are no hashtags connected to this reckoning. The chorus is a command: “It's a never-ending, pitch black, goddess situation/Pussy power, life giving, matriarchy, salvation.” Period.

Joi takes the lead production credit in the song “Berlin,” and invites us inside the mind of a wanderluster fantasizing about a life alongside the people of Germany. While many artists fixate on cities like Paris and London, Joi paints a different kind of dance with a country rarely explored as a destination for aspiring Black American expatriates. “I’m on my way to Berlin, I hear it’s my kind of town.” She places herself under the light of a Berlin moon drinking a vintage glass of wine, but like a true gypsy spirit never commits to the place. “I want to call it home sometimes.” The song was written while Joi was getting her bearings in California. She uses the lyrics to negotiate a plan of action giving herself two years to make it happen, and when it does, the people of Berlin will know she’s arrived as an ATLien “Givin the Deutschland something they’ve never seen…High Priestess Funk Supreme.” Bopping her head from the blue chair she says “Berlin is one of my landing pads on the planet, it’s still on my mind and manifesting itself. The song is a call out to a future site.”

Joi’s racy songs have a long-standing history. On previous albums “Narcissica Cutie Pie” (Pendulum Vibe), explores sexual fluidity and bright dark fantasies about the spectrum of desire, while songs like “Lick” (Star Kitty’s Revenge) and “Dirty Mind” (Amoeba Cleansing Syndrome) help us hold the power of sex as a powerful tool that embodies Uses of the Erotic.  Sir Rebekah HolyLove builds on Joi’s collection of sex positive cantatas with “The Edge” produced and arranged by Joi with additional editing by Brook D’ Leux. A bass heavy funk monster that promises listeners a key to cities where “We can fuck until the dawn, making love til cherries gone”. I mean, yeah you’re married boo, but this is a acomplicated situation, the song implies. Cheating could become an option if good dick [or fill in the blank] is involved, and not many of us are willing to share that kind of ethical vulnerability on wax. And I don’t mean no disrespect to your official union, she asserts, but “you fuck me right and you’re mine tonight.” We never once forget that Joi is a human being dealing with the most undesirable and the most pleasurably outrageous scenarios that life asks us to consider; infidelity, heartbreak, orgasmic accomplishments. But the appeal is that she’s aware of the costs; “I’m standing on the edge with you/so if I jump will I fall or fly?”

In the song “Kush,” Featuring 2 Chainz and produced by Joi and Organized Noize we get another low bass banger. This time about a woman and her healing smokable herb, and what it means to pass one with a person you know good-and-well you’ll be taking home that night. Smoking as a form of foreplay is under-discussed. High sex deserves a love song and she delivers.

Far from insane to the membrane Cypress Hill or Snoop Dog indo smoke antics, we get reminded of the overlooked relationship that women have with a strain of weed that finds home in our exhale. Both Joi and Rihanna manage to pull off their relationships to weed well. It’s tastefully performative, radically unladylike and part of the pleasure in her solitude.

“Kingless” is a soundtrack for heart work and not surprisingly, the last song. Reflective and heavy with confession, admission and surrender. Produced by Joi, it gives us space to imagine what it might feel like to return home alone with all your matriarchal musings, global adventures and funk fantasies without a mate to share it with.  What does partnership look like for a rooted rock star? How does confidence read to potential companions who may or may not have received the necessary training one might need to be the queen’s match? Nevertheless, the desire (without desperation) to walk through the world with a lover is palpable. “Kingless” is the album’s only song that can be categorized as a ballad, should you feel compelled to pin it down to a style. But I heard it as a place of departure, a new turn on an old road. A shift in the spirit of the project, a bookend to a shelf of emotional intelligence in song. And she asks very simply who can match my royalty? My peer in love? My friend? Her answer; “Not a prince half grown”.

The song “Stare at Me” produced by Joi and Brook D’ Leau enjoyed an early release as a music video, but it strikes an important chord. I hear the song as a public health announcement about the egoist and narcissist nature of social media. She describes the song’s intent as representing “The multi-layeredness of wanting to be seen and of wanting to be left the fuck alone, also wanting to control the way you’re seen.” Social Media has created a kind of “hand-held seduction, hijacking my point of view.” Everybody’s watching she says “and I wish I didn’t care, I want to care less, but I want to be on your mind.” The video and the music do the song justice, there’s a visual narrative reinforcing selfie culture and the unwillingness to think through the nuances of big issues that’s shaping how we all relate. Instead, we get our opinions “hijacked” and find ourselves following the wave of the crowd. Musically, “Stare at Me” is so well constructed. The pauses and spaces, the kick drums and lyrics that dance through the bars.

 S.I.R. Rebekkah Holylove is a tribute to an album culture long forgotten. With the push for iTunes singles and music streaming culture, the intimate relating of album between artist and audience has been compromised. The album also holds its own up against a culture that produces albums at a rate impossible to enjoy, I’ll be listening to S.I.R. Rebekkah Holylove for years to come and “The Pendulum Vibe” brought me here.  Joi says she drew from various experiences to produce this album and she’s continued to work on other major projects (both in television and music), without compromising the integrity of her solo work. In her words “I have one of the most peaceful lives than anyone I know, but I recognize that solitude and peace is something I earned and it was necessary for this particular juncture.” 

Writing this piece felt like that time when Patti Labelle, and a fully established Grammy awarded Luther Vandross, shared a stage one glorious night in 1985. It’s that moment when student, fan, and gatekeeper of the musical masters graduate into a league of their own with a platform to articulate the many ways they’ve been shaped, artists marked by the legends.  And because Joi’s work has been canonized by a global community my work to unpack her work is really a citational practice. S.I.R. Rebekkah Holylove, is on a Black Atlantic continuum—a fantastic voyage will be had.  

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 13.02.18 lb

aaj mauka bhi hai, dastoor bhi hai, mood bhi hai, aur episode ka title bhi encouraging lag raha hai, toh here goes!

(chorni @rihanahere ko meri special waali hello. the hex of the day is that i hope that your favorite shoes are ruined! rot in peace, loser! mwah! 😚😚😚)

shivaay’s celebrating being back in his bedroom by doing his faaaaaaaavt thing.... 😏😏😏

no, not sexing up his wife. spending an inordinate amount of effort on his hair. 😐😐😐

this poor bedroom though. it’s never seen any sex in it. how many girls have come and gone; mallika was in his bed one night, tia used to regularly come hang out and give him massages, and now he’s been married for 18+ months; par majaaaal hai ki this man uses his bedroom for what it’s supposed to be used for. 😔😔😔😔😔

LMAO SHE JUST CAME AND FUCKING SHOVED HIM OUTTA THE WAY AND WAS LIKE “THIS MY BRUSH, BITCH” AND SNATCHED IT AWAY. oh man, how the mighty have fallen. 😂😂😂

oh snappppppppp, baalon ko insult. mehenga padega. 😬😬😬

yup. baagad billa is back to his old ways.

UGH LITERALLY ALL ANYONE WANTS FROM YOU TWO IS TO SEX. JUST DO IT OR GTFO MY SCREEN. 😤😤😤

ok fuck me, this smile got to me. fuckkkkk. i hate myself for still occassionally swooning for this garbage man. 😭😭😭

oh ho, kasme-vaade of “kabhiiiiii doooor nahi jayenge” are being given. should be fun when he decides fuck all that!!!! and fucking shoots her in the chest! 🙃🙃🙃

FUCKING YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS GET TO IT KIDS 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽 *BOW CHICKA WOW WOW*

OMFG DADI FUCK YOU WHY AREN’T YOU FUCKING DEAD YET?!?!?!!?!? JUST LET THEM FUCK IN PEACE, LORD. 😡😡😡

lel, anika and her lame excuses. girl, just tell her that yeah you were about to make out with the hubs and could she piss off, please and thanks. 🙄🙄🙄

how many bloody khaandaani haars do these ppl have? ugh, rich ppl.

one: allllll of this jewelry is fug as hell and so not anika’s style. she’s gonna shove it in the back of a wardrobe the second she gets a chance. 🙄🙄🙄 two: don’t be playing sexy hawaa sounds and o jaana and all. i wanna see them make out against the wardrobe. don’t try to placate me with this pg 13 garbage. 😤😤😤

ok won’t deny, heart went little bit awwww at his soft and adoring stare (fuck my stupid heart. it’ll never learn. 😪😪😪)

also lol, body double alert! the one hugging dadi isn’t surbhi, whoever that is, has straight hair, while surbhi has curls in the scene. and whoever surbhi’s hugging has a ratchet-ass dadi wig on.

LMAO YUP, ANIKA GOT RID OF ALLLLLLL THE KHAANDAANI CRAP AND PUT ON HER FASHION STREET KE 100 RS WAALE JHUMKE AND CHOODIYAAN THE SECOND DADI TURNED HER BACK. 😆😆😆

wait, tia’s still pretending to be blind? how the f did she get the tapes to shivaay if she’s still keeping up this schtick? 🤔🤔🤔

also, someone please give navina more clothes? i feel like i’ve seen this skirt 3 times already in the last month. 😑😑😑

tia be barsaoing duas on her otp. oh tia baby. mat jao. the moment your back is turned he’s gonna try and kill her. (again.) 😫😫😫

at least take my girl with ya! 😣😣😣

LOL THIS NONSENSE BATWAARA WAALA LINE IS STILL HERE 😂😂😂

ok shivaay, there’s 10 million OTHER things that you’re ACTUALLY guilty of. how about you take accountability of those, instead of taking on random shit that you have nothing to do with. when i say it’s all or nothing with this man, it’s truly ALLL OR NOTHING. lord. 🙄🙄🙄

jfc, jhanvi. hadh hoti hai irritating hone ki. i liked you better when you were an alcoholic who didn’t give a fuck. 😒😒😒

i’m not really a fan of pinky when she gets all shouty like this, but mummeh be dropping 100% truth bombs today. 😌😌😌

lol shivaay be like FUCK THIS NOISE, I’M OUT!!!!! 😂😂😂

yeah the kadwaahat is BECAUSE you’re all living under one roof. that shit don’t work no more, son. get different houses and you’ll be able to stand each other. 😕😕😕

man i blame dadi for like 85% of shivaay’s fuckd-up-ness with her expectation on him to fix everything all the fucking time. first off, he is just ONE man, ffs. and he handles his brothers and their lives already. why not hold fucking tej and shakti accountable for SOMETHING??? 😡😡😡

LMAO THE THOUGHT OF SHIVAAY SITTING AND READING THE RAMCHARITRAMANAS IS MAKING ME LOL SO HARD. AS IF!!!! 😂😂😂

LOL LOOK AT HIS FACE, IT’S LITERALLY LIKE DADI SRSLY WTF AM I SUPP TO DO WITH THIS, DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING FROM THIS CENTURY TO HELP ME OUT????? LIKE SOMETHING PUBLISHED BY HBR? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

hahahahahahah shivaay being maryaada purshottom. sureeeeeeee. 😆😆😆😆😆

oh shit. bhaiyya be using his stern voice. omRu spring to feet immediately. 😐😐😐

haaaaye, om back in his half-ponytail look to commemorate DBO day. hottttttie. 😍😍😍

(he needs a haircut tho. the hair’s getting a little toooo long.)

LMAO WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS MUSIC??????

man i hate the hindi version of this song so much. the telugu original is a fucking banger (it is my #1 all-time favt. telugu song. i don’t know/understand telugu, but phonetically know all the lyrics to this, and you best believe that i scream-sing them every time it comes on) and allu arjun, him of the rubber-band bones, killllllllllls it with his dance moves. fucking salman khan not only just took and ruined the song, BUT ALSO DISRESPECTS THE SHEER DANCABILITY OF IT, BY JUST STANDING THERE AND SHUFFLING HIS HANDS AROUND IN HIS POCKETS LIKE A FUCKING ROADSIDE PERVERT. 😒😒😒😒😒

sorry not sorry for the rant. this song just reaalllllllllllllly steams my clams. 😡😡😡

LOLOLOLOL OBROS DOING POCHAA. 😂😂😂

ugh fuck fucking bhavya. it’s like it’s july/aug ‘17 all over again and my hatred for her is alllllll back. SHE IS AS GHUSAAAYA HUA IN THIS SHOW AS THAT RAMCHARITRAMANAS INTO SHIVAAY’S HANDS. 😠😠😠

same, girl. #same.

lmaoooooo omRu’s reaction at jhanvi exhorting them to “ask” tej. inhone aaj tak kuch tej se poocha hai, jo aaj poochenge????

damnnnnnnn, every time om gets all righteously angry, i get sooooo hot for him. mmmhmmmm, yas honey, tell off your stupidass mom. 🤤🤤🤤

dude, nehalaxmi’s evil/reaction faces are the fucking best. these split second shots are giving me so much life, i can’t even.... 😍😍😍

matlab kaunse industrial waale paint se marble pe lakeer banaayi hui hai, be? kabse ghise jaa rahe hai aur jaaa hi nahi raha. 😐😐😐

ouff. finally done.

dat tadi waala pocha-throwing by all of them tho. 😎😎😎

haaaaaaye, my boys. bohut dino baad aisa feel aaya hai. 😭😭😭

oh god ab yeh kaun hai manhoos?

oh god shaadi ke card. fuck this nonsense shaadi. someone make this stupid rudra complete a bloody bachelor’s degree first!!!!!!!!! 😠😠😠

what? WHAT? why the face getting utraa hua?

OOOOOH, IT HAS TEJ’S NAME ON IT?

"ismein mistake hai. yeh invitation mere bhai ki taraf se jayega.”

yaaaaaaas son! 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

om’s tiny approving smile tho. ouff, my heart. he’s looking too handsome today. that blue is realllllly working on him. 😍😍😍😍😍😍

OMG FUCKKKKK OFFFFFFF JHANVIIIIIII.

“kyun? jab baap ke saare farz bhai adaa kar raha hai, toh baap ki jagah bhai ka naam likhwaane se kya faraq padta hai?”

hahahahahahahahahaha om’s reaction at jhanvi’s “aur tumhaare papa ka kya? unki khushi koi maayne nahi rakhti??”

boy be rolling his eyes so hard, he practically saw into the past and the future simultaneously. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

“mera IQ kam hai lekin ek baat main bhi jaanta hoon; ki sirf janam dene se koi baap nahi ban jaata.”

DAAAAAAAYUM CHILD! YOU TELL HER! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

lol fuck off tej no one wants you here. 🙄🙄🙄

these two be like yikessss what have we married into. 😬😬😬

bhavya, you still have the chance. gtfo while the door is still open.

OM’S TURN TO TALK. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! IT’S SMACKDOWNNNNNNNNN TIMEEEEEEEE, COZ MY BOIIIIII HERE IS SICK. AND. TIRED. OF HIS PARENTALS’ BS. TAKE IT AWAYYYYYY SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

shivaay be in the middle of this like

GOD SHIVAAY WHY ARE YOU FOREVER LOOKING TO REDEEM TEJ????? HE’S THE FUCKING WORST. HONESTLY. 😣😣😣

om’s reactions today are just A++++++ and i’ll have to gif alllll of them. 😂😂😂😂

no for real, my man, beat some sense into shivaay already. 🙄🙄🙄

wow, shivaay’s actually taking anika along on one of his little missions? ��😯😯

anika’s nonsense overconfidence ever since she married into this fam the second time realllllly annoys me. like shivaay se bhi zyaada guroor she has these days. about what, god only knows. 😒😒😒

does it bother no one else how easily distracted shivaay gets when driving? like every single time i’ve seen this man drive, i’m constantly chanting EYES ON ROAD EYES ON ROAD EYES ON THE FUCKING ROAD 😫😫😫

UM SHIVAAY...? 😶😶😶

OH SHIT HE’S GONNA PULL A SALLU AND RUN HIM OVER! 😯😯😯

aaaaand.....

ok i’m actually more worried about the car ki haalat after 8 foot, 300 kilo of pure muscle-mass waala veer hit it, than veer’s wellbeing. 🙈🙈🙈

anika’s split second of pure rage waala look at shivaay tho. lolololol. it’s ~~screaming omfg why are you such a sociopath?!??! 😂😂😂

LMAO AFTER RUNNING HIM OVER, HE’S ASKING HIM “KAHIN LAGI TOH NAHI....? OMG VEER TUM MUMBAI MEIN? THAT’S GREAT!!!!!” AS IF BUTTER WOULDN’T MELT IN HIS MOUTH HAHAHAHA 😂😂😂😂

fuck, sometimes asshole!shivaay really has his moments. 😆😆😆

anika is like fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck this is nooooot goood

she’s right. because when this one makes ☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽 THIS ☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽 face, it’s never good.

(she should know. she’s seen him make it a lot AT HER.)

“mujhe yaqeen hai; humaari khaatirdaari kabhi bhool nahi payenge aap!”

i am kinda lovingggg seeing shivaay in his shark singh oberoi mode after a longgggggg time. 😈😈😈

lolololol.

anika, girl, do you not know your husband even a little bit????? 🙄🙄🙄

so happy that after FOR-EV-ERRRRRRRR, shivaay’s energies are being constructively put to use to fuck up someone who actually deserves it.

i think the last time i enjoyed so much was when he beat the everloving crap outta ranveer. remember that? like when gauri had to physically throw herself onto shivaay to stop him from killing ranveer? oh mannnn, that was the bestttttttttttt! *happily sighs* 😊😊😊

meanwhile veer here be like bitch i’m desi wolverine and these bones be reinforced with adamantium.

ohnoe. he’s completely ok. already! 😯😯😯

ok ngl i was a little charmed by veer’s wink. 😍😍😍 why can’t someone give this dude a role where he’s a good guy? he looks really cute with his irl wife, someone cast them together in something happy and fluffy!

oh ho shivaay ka overconfidence. bhaari padegaaaaa. like, literally. coz look at veer’s size. ouff yaaaaar. 😫😫😫

and ffs, could someone please update omru about this ASAP, so they know to come provide backup!!!!! 😣😣😣

[ellanainthetardis]

Here comes the briiiiide!

[FF] or [ao3]

26. Thirty Weeks (2)

Effie reverently ran her hand on the white fabric, soothing imaginary creases from the fabric, while Lyssandra finished adjusting the lacing at the back. The dress was simple enough. The bustier was finely crafted out of lace and crepe, there were enticing spirals and arabesques on the fabric. It was fitted under her breasts with a large blue ribbon with a darling bow on her right side. The lower part flooded to the floor, ornate at the back with a line of blue buttons in the direct prolongation of her spine.

It would have been pointless and rather ridiculous to try to hide how pregnant she was and she rather liked how the dress flooded around her stomach, neither hugging it nor flaunting it but not trying to make it disappear either. It was comfortable too, which was always a plus, and it was long enough to hide that she wouldn’t be wearing heels – she would have but her feet were far too swollen.

Her hair was tied up in a fancy bun of curls that were threatening to stumble down her neck. Strands brushed against her nape at the merest movement and she knew Haymitch would love it. No question asked.

She was wearing more make-up than usual but she had been very specific in what she wanted and Lyssa had been good enough to follow her instructions to the letter and it looked exactly like she had pictured it. It wasn’t too… Capitol.

“All done.” Lyssa declared, tugging a little on the bustier to make sure it was secure. She smiled at her in the mirror mounted on the wardrobe door. “You look lovely, darling.”

Effie smiled back, pleased with the result.

From all the dresses they had brought along, this one had been an instant favorite. It was often said that a woman knew her wedding dress at first glance. Well… For her it had certainly been true. The moment her eyes had fallen on the dress, she had been adamant she wanted that one. Even if her mother would have preferred for her to choose one of the fancier cream-colored ones – getting married in white when you were almost eight months pregnant was apparently not done.

Her fingers were shaking a little where they rested on either side of her stomach and she wondered how Haymitch was faring over at Katniss and Peeta’s. She had no doubt they would manage to make him presentable – if only because she had left strict instructions to Peeta to supervise the whole thing, not trusting Johanna in the slightest – but she was curious about his state of mind. If she was nervous…

“We can still make a run for it.” Lyssandra suggested, only half joking. “You could be back in the Capitol by tomorrow morning.”

The thought was not only unappealing, it was terrifying.

“I love him.” she said softly, instinctively stroking her bare finger. She would wear a wedding band soon.

“I know you do but, darling…” Lyssa hesitated, her face crumpling. “Are you certain? A hundred percent certain? This District… I do not know how you can bear to live here. A whole life of this… Effie…”

“I do not expect you to understand but I love this life.” she cut her sister off firmly, then she softened a little, blinking back tears she blamed her hormones for. “I know we had our differences…”

“Not today.” Lyssandra refused straight out, waving a dismissive hand. She hesitated a second and then sighed. “And truly… I have made my peace with what happened during the war. My new boyfriend… Leo… He is very good with the children and… he makes me happy. I honestly did not think I could be this happy again.”

Effie’s smile was sincere and she pressed her sister’s hand. “I am happy for you.”

“So am I for you.” Lyssa said, equally sincerely, reaching for her stomach and dropping her hand at the last possible moment, probably not wanting to risk staining it. “Alright now. Enough of this.” Her sister beamed. “Now. You have something blue…” She pointed to the ribbon around her waist before taking off her pearl earrings and putting them on Effie without asking first. “Those were Grandmother’s and they are my favorite so I expect them back. It should do for something old and borrowed…”

“Only missing something new.” Effie grinned, pleased that her sister had remembered. She didn’t think that tradition had made it to the Districts. Katniss and Annie had made no mention of it when they had declared they would wait for them downstairs while Lyssa, as maid of honor, helped Effie into her dress.

“Aren’t we just?” her sister teased, a spark of mischief in her eyes. She left Effie in front of the mirror to pull something out of her purse. It was a rectangular box, wrapped in silver paper with a pink ribbon coiled around it. Lyssa handed it to her with an amused smile. “Whatever this is, it should do the trick.”

“Whatever this is?” Effie repeated, confused, turning the box around in her hands. “Isn’t it from you?”

“I am only the messenger, I am afraid.” her sister chuckled. “Haymitch gave it to me this morning. I am to pass it along.”

“Haymitch?” Now that was puzzling. Haymitch didn’t really do gifts or romantic gestures. The present was too well wrapped for him to have done it, which meant it either came from a shop or he had enlisted someone’s help to do it. Knowing Haymitch like she did, she was betting on the former.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Lyssa prompted, looking rather excited by the mystery. For a second, Effie felt as if they were little girls again, snooping around their mother’s room, trying wigs and shoes they weren’t allowed to touch.

She carefully undid the ribbon and placed it aside for safekeeping before doing the same with the silver wrapping paper. She almost dropped the card. It was a simple piece of paper folded in four and his handwriting was atrocious as ever.

Should have told you it was a nice dress.

See you later, sweetheart.

H.

The velvet box was red and she was certain it came from the only jewelry shop in Twelve. They mostly did custom orders and so she was eager when she propped the lid open, curious and confused by the message.

Right until she caught sight of the necklace, at least.

It was… Lovely wasn’t enough of a word to describe it.

The butterfly was chiseled to look like it was flying, the four sapphires filled the four wings, and it was absolutely exquisite. There was no way they could have designed and crafted it in a week, it must have been ordered a long time ago.

She had had no idea he even remembered that butterfly dress… But maybe it wasn’t just about the dress… Butterflies… Symbol of hope and rebirth… There and gone in a moment… So fragile and yet so beautiful… The dress had been one of Portia’s best work. Cinna wasn’t the only one who could wrought metaphors into his designs.  

“Help me?” she whispered, barely glancing at Lyssa, too much in awe of her new piece of jewelry.

The rigid silver spirals supporting the butterfly made it even more special, she realized the wings were articulated and would move with her every movement. It wasn’t made to simply dangle, it was a masterpiece. Once the necklace was on, the butterfly rested on her collarbone, catching the light, making it look as if it was a real breathing thing. Every time she took a breath, the wings moved. The effect was dazzling.

The sapphires matched the blue of the ribbon almost perfectly.

“Well…” Lyssa commented. “He certainly cares about you.”

She didn’t need such expensive gifts to know that but gestures of this kind were so rare that she could only grin wide. “Let’s go. I want to get married.”

Her nervousness was completely gone.

Both Katniss and Annie stood up and abandoned their cups of tea when Effie walked in the kitchen – making an effort not to waddle too much – and fussed over her like bridesmaids should fuss over the bride. Katniss was going out of her way to not be her sullen self and Effie appreciated that even more.

“Is that from Haymitch?” the girl asked, pointing at the necklace, while Annie and Lyssa made sure her bouquet wouldn’t drip all over her dress.

Effie brushed her fingers against the butterfly, the silver had warmed at the contact of her skin and she couldn’t help a dreamy smile. “How did you know?”

“I saw sketches.” Katniss shrugged. “He asked Peeta to help him with the design.”

So it was custom made.

“Thank him for me, will you?” Her lips were starting to hurt from how hard she was grinning. “It is lovely.”

“Better be.” the girl scoffed. “Haymitch made him draw a hundred of butterflies before he decided on one.”

It pleased her that he had put so much thoughts into this. She hadn’t been expecting it and it made the surprise even sweeter.

Katniss and Lyssa forced her to sit down because it wasn’t quite time to go yet – Haymitch and the guests were supposed to arrive at the Justice Building first – and she was pacing, impatient and eager all at once.

She was the first one in her coat when it was finally time – a white fur coat that made her look like a polar bear, that might have been a polar bear once,  that her mother had given her as a wedding present. She hadn’t wanted a wedding dress with sleeves but it was out of the question for her to walk around the District in late February in a bustier dress. Her bridesmaids all seemed amused by her impatience, even Katniss.

Getting from the house to the car her father had insisted on renting for her was difficult, mostly because she refused to stain or wet her dress but she didn’t want to bundled it either, so it took a lot of work on Katniss and Annie’s part to take her from point A to point B.

She held Katniss’ hand tight during the car drive, to the girl’s fond annoyance. Katniss allowed it though, probably because she could see the nervousness creeping back. Effie was working on her breathing, trying to keep it even and deep like all the books about pregnancy recommended it.

The Square was swarming with people and she didn’t understand what was going on because it wasn’t market day and it was never that busy otherwise.

“Oh no…” Lyssa lamented, catching up a second before her.

To be fair though, it had been years since Effie had been forced to face something like that.

She felt Katniss and Annie tensing, both brought back to dark times, and she barely had time to brace herself before the car’s door was brutally opened and Peeta’s upper body appeared, blocking most of the view, a frown on his face.

“We’re going to take each of you inside in turns.” the boy declared. “Effie, you will go last, okay? Haymitch is furious.”

Furious would be a mild term for it, she was ready to believe. Seething would be a better one. She tried to hide her face behind her bouquet but the car was besieged with journalists, flashes blinded her and she felt her heart starting to race in her chest. Katniss was the first one to leave the car, tucked against Peeta’s side.

“Was it Mother’s doing?” she asked, in a cold voice.

It would have been just like Elindra to warn the press.

The publicity, the five minutes of fame it would have allowed her, the benefits she thought her daughters could derive from it…

“I do not think so.” Lyssa hesitated, sounding genuinely thrown. She reached out and squeezed her hand. “She has truly been committed to minding bridges… I do not think she would do this today of all days. I really do not.”

“They always find out.” Annie piped in, rocking a little on herself. “That’s what Finnick used to say. The monster is hungry. The monster…”

“Feed the monster.” Effie whispered, rubbing her face and immediately regretting it.

By the time Peeta came back to escort Annie inside, Lyssa had already helped her correct that mistake. Her make-up once again perfect, she let out a deep sigh.

“Haymitch must hate this.” she commented.

“They cannot enter the Victors’ Village, can they?” Lyssa worried, rubbing her knuckles. “You will be safe soon.”

“Will I?” she hummed. “They will never stop. We will always be who we are.”

Just as she had been telling Haymitch all along…

She rubbed her stomach and let out another sigh. “I do not intend to be ushered inside like a criminal who feels compelled to hide. Not on my wedding day.” She squeezed her sister’s hand. “Will you come with me?”

Lyssa glanced at the crowd outside, never having been one for this kind of things. Her sister had been famous in her own right before the war, first for her modeling years then for being one of the wealthiest woman in the Capitol, but she had never really liked the pump that came with it. When Effie had thrived in the spotlights, Lyssa had always preferred the quiet shadows. It had always been very ironical because Lyssa could not go anywhere without attracting attention.

“I am not sure it is wise.” her sister pointed out.

“It is not.” she confirmed. “But I am done hiding.”

She opened the car’s door to a myriad of flashes. They seemed taken aback when she stepped out, her chin high, an automatic smile slipping on her lips, reflex from a life long gone. There weren’t only journalists, she realized quickly, but also bystanders, former fans perhaps… It was quite a crowd and she immediately felt dizzy, all the more so when it closed on her.

Miss Trinket, is this a publicity stunt?

Miss Trinket, did you really kill a man?

Miss Trinket, are you still pregnant?

Miss Trinket, how far along are you?

Is Haymitch the father?

What will you call the child?

Miss Trinket, are the rumors true and are you being a surrogate for the Mellarks?

Are you marrying Haymitch because of the pregnancy?

Do you regret your actions as an escort?

Is it true you were assaulted because of…

“Either I am still pregnant or I got really fat without my noticing.” she declared, answering the only question she knew how to tackle with a dazzling smile, placing a hand on her stomach. It warranted a few laughs but the journalists were now silent, jutting mics and cameras closer, eager to catch her every word. “Haymitch and I are amazed by the interest you have showed us recently.” she said, carefully choosing her phrasing. “However, we are not public figures anymore and we would appreciate it greatly if you would respect our privacy, if not for us then for our child. We are very ordinary people with a very boring life… Certainly, there are people more worthy of attention elsewhere?”

Are you getting married because you’re pregnant?

The question fused from afar, anonymous in the crowd that was pressing her against the car. Lyssa was clinging to her hand, a silent figure of support.

“We are getting married because we love each other and we wish to do thing properly.” she answered firmly.

Do your family approve the match? Are you and Lyssandra Flavershym on speaking terms again?

“We fully support my sister as we always did.” Lyssa retorted. “Our personal relationship has known high and low points and I am sure every siblings in Panem can relate to that.”

Do you understand why flaunting your wedding and pregnancy can disturb some people?

“I did not flaunt anything.” Effie retorted. “We are having a private ceremony and we otherwise keep to ourselves. We have asked repeatedly for privacy and…”

Is it a boy or a girl?

“Effie, what you are trying to do is very noble but it is of no use.” Lyssa whispered, close to her ear. “They won’t go away.”

She knew that.

She had been a master at PR after all. But she wished… She wished…

It wasn’t Peeta who made his way through the crowd but Haymitch and he wasn’t self-conscious about shoving people out of the way. He looked both worried and disapproving when he reached her, automatically placing a hand on her stomach – something that triggered a lot of flashes.

“They’re airing this live.” he growled with a dark glare around. “I’m gonna kill Plutarch.”

“It is how the game is played.” she sighed. “You cannot blame him.”

Mr Abernathy, are you marrying Effie because of the pregnancy?

Haymitch, what do you make of the claims that marrying an escort is a disgrace for a victor?

Did you really get pardoned because you were Haymitch’s lover, Effie?

“Peacekeepers are on their way.” he declared to the crowd. “So let us through.”

He tugged her forward, shielding her with his body as he pushed people aside and guided her to the Justice Building. All their guests plus the mayor were waiting in the hall, looking either peeved, annoyed or worried.

“Are you alright, my dears?” her father immediately asked, grabbing Lyssa’s shoulder but keeping his eyes on Effie. She shed her coat as if nothing of import had happened and handed it to Annie.

“We are fine, Father.” her sister offered.

“It wasn’t me.” Elindra pleaded, clasping Effie’s hand. “Your victor thought… It wasn’t me…”

“Everyone was sure you would get hitched eventually anyway.” Johanna grumbled.

“It does not matter.” Effie declared, clapping her hand once. “Nobody will ruin my wedding day. We are behind schedule. Let’s all get to our place, shall we?”

She was approved by a joyful bark and she looked down to smile at the puppy whose leash Bryden was proudly holding. Snowball’s blue bow-tie looked so cute…

“You are so very dashing, my pretty baby…” she cooed. “Perhaps it is you I should marry.”

The puppy barked again, struggling against the leash to get to her, but Elindra ushered everyone inside before he could manage.

“Haymitch!” her mother snapped, once everyone but her father had left the hall to gather in the room reserved for weddings.

“Coming.” he snarled right back, prompting Elindra to huff and disappear inside. He glanced at Tadius but her father was doing a very good job of admiring the ornate ceiling and pretending not to be there. “Should have waited inside the car for the boy.” he accused in a low angry voice. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“I am the bride and I intend to enjoy my day.” she countered. “I hoped an official statement would calm things down. Besides, I knew you would rescue me. You always do.”

He pursed his lips in irritation. “You’re pregnant and…”

“Am I? It escaped my notice.” she deadpanned before shaking her head. “Let’s not argue right before we get married, Haymitch.”

Some of his annoyance seemed to melt and his mouth twitched. “We argue all the time. I’d worry the day we stop, sweetheart.”

“Point.” she conceded. “Nevertheless, I think today is eventful enough without adding to it, wouldn’t you say?”

He shrugged but he was smirking now. “Nice dress, by the way.”

“Finally you learned how to compliment a lady” she teased, brushing her fingers against the butterfly on her collarbone. “Thank you for this. I love it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward as always when he was caught in a show of feelings.

“Was saving it for the birth.” he admitted. “But… Today seems like the right time.”

“It is perfect.” she grinned, raising on tip toe to press a kiss on his lips. She kept it chaste, mainly because her father was standing only a few feet away but she hoped he caught the promise of later in her eyes.

“Let’s get this over with.” he snorted, as she rubbed his mouth with her thumb to take off the traces of lipsticks she had just left.

“After you.” she teased, pointing at the double doors.

He caught her wrist and pressed a kiss on her pulse point. “See you inside, sweetheart.”

“If I do not run.” she teased.

“If you run, I’ll come after you.” he shrugged matter-of-factly, a twinkle in his eyes. “The state you’re in though… Won’t be hard to catch up.”

“Awful man, reminding me I am huge on my wedding day.” she chuckled.

“Maybe if you roll down the street…” he mocked as a parting word.

She rolled her eyes at his back and turned to her father, holding out her arm.  “Shall we?”

Tadius was clearly trying to suppress his smile but he briefly bowed at her in compliance and took her arm, gently guiding her toward the room. “I must say I am happy you did not pick a boring one.”

“Haymitch is never boring, that is for sure.” she agreed easily. If she hadn’t been carrying a bouquet, she might have rubbed her stomach. “Father, you should know… We agreed on a name. We are calling him Aidan.”

“Aidan Abernathy.” Tadius repeated with an obvious proud smile. Effie couldn’t remember him ever looking at him with so much pride. “That is a fine strong name.” He leaned in to hesitantly peck her cheek. “Thank you, darling. You please an old man.”

She hadn’t done it primly to please her father but it was a nice bonus. Aidan was the first name they both agreed on and the search had been too difficult so far to simply dismiss that. Besides, it really was a good name and she liked it.

With a squeeze of her arm, Tadius reminded her they should keep walking and they finally stepped inside the room dedicated to weddings. It wasn’t big but with so few people inside, it looked huge and empty.

Effie didn’t mind.

The ceremony passed in a flash.

Weddings at a Justice Building were the same everywhere in Panem, saved for very few special circumstances, they tended not to be emotional or moving. Effie remembered smiling a lot, mainly at Haymitch, a bit bothered by the violent kicking of the baby. They exchanged I dos and signed the papers, quickly followed by their witnesses: Johanna, Peeta, Lyssa and Katniss. Then they exchanged the rings – a plain white gold band for him and a wrought white gold band with a shiny diamond for her. Everyone clapped. Snowball barked his heart’s content. They kissed.

She felt a bit dazzled when Haymitch guided her out of the room. They had to cross the crowd outside to the car once more but Peacekeepers had arrived and it was a little more manageable.

“You’re okay?” he worried, once they were in the car and it was moving toward the Village.

“I will feel better once I have eaten something.” she winced, rubbing her stomach soothingly. “I am a bit dizzy.”

“Too much excitement.” He made a face, guilt written all over his features. “It was too much. I shouldn’t have insisted for…”

“Haymitch, if you say you somehow, for any reason including my pregnancy, regret marrying me I will push you out of the car while it is still moving.” she warned.

His lips twitched but he relaxed a little, pressing a kiss on her collarbone, right over the butterfly. “You’re really beautiful.”

“Flattery won’t get you off the hook.” she retorted but she was smiling and she didn’t resist when he kissed her for real.

They were so busy kissing she almost missed the moment when they passed the Village’s gates. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they were safe from unwanted attention now though. No one from the press would risk entering it. It had been established since the end of the war that the Village was the Mockingjay’s haven and that anyone caught trespassing would get hurt. Badly. Nobody had ever tried. Plutarch was good at making this rule stick anyway.  

They were the first one back in the house and she estimated that it would take a good fifteen minutes for the others to come back by foot. Still kissing, they gravitated toward the living-room and the comfortable couch.

“You think we have time for a quickie?” he mumbled against her lips, letting his left hand wander to her breast.

She didn’t know how he could still want her when she looked like a cow but she wasn’t going to complain.

“Usually I would say yes.” she chuckled. “But given how long it took me to fit in the dress… It would perhaps be wiser to wait until later.”

He pouted, clearly disappointed, but didn’t insist.

It had been the right call because the wedding party showed up only ten minutes later. Everyone was very excited and the children were making a lot of noise. They were having a dinner in the dining room to celebrate – a room she usually only enter to clean because they took all their meals in the kitchen and she wondered if they couldn’t do something else with it since they hardly ever received people and she couldn’t see that changing in the near future. Effie and Haymitch kept to sparkling apple juice but she caught the longing glances he was giving the bottles of champagne and she wished Elindra had listened to her when she had said no alcohol.

He never touched any though.

Mostly he held her hand under the table, out of sight, and rubbed his thumb on her knuckles, often playing with her brand new wedding ring.

It was a lively party that went on well into the evening, there was a lot of laughter and very few snide comments from her mother. Everyone cheered and clapped when they revealed the baby’s name… All in all, it was a success.

Effie was still happy when it came to an end.

Saying goodnight to everyone took a long time. The children were the last to go. Katniss treated her to a rare hug and Peeta kissed her cheek with a bright happy smile.

“I left the bread in the kitchen.” the boy told Haymitch when he hugged him goodbye.

Effie wandered to the living-room, leaving the details of the Toasting to him. There were no real rules about it. Public or private was left to the couple’s choice – and given that the official wedding had been public, she hadn’t been surprised when he had requested this part to be private. She was drifting off on the couch, Snowball curled up next to her, when Haymitch placed his hand on her shoulder.

She startled a little but immediately gave him a soft smile. “My apologies. I am more tired than I thought.”

“We can do this tomorrow if you want to sleep…” he frowned, concerned. “You should get some rest.”

“I will be fine.” she promised, guiding his hand to her stomach. “He isn’t even kicking for once.”

“Must be asleep.” he supposed, reverently kissing the bump. “Good boy for not kicking Mama too much.”

She ran her fingers in Haymitch’s hair, absentmindedly trying to put some order in it. He had lost the jacket long ago and his waistcoat was now open over a white shirt which had the first four buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. That was how she liked him best and she was suddenly a lot less tired.

“You are really dashing tonight.” she purred.

He smirked at her, recognizing her tone for what it was, grey eyes sparkling. “Toasting first, sweetheart.”

“If we must.” she grinned.

He had everything ready and he helped her sit down on the floor in front of the fireplace – something she argued might not have been a good idea because who knew how they would get her up again. Snowball lifted his head to see what they were doing then jumped to investigate further when he realized food was involved. He eventually went to his own bed, not quite interested by the bread. Munching on his purple stuffed monkey was much more satisfying, it seemed.

They built the fire together, as was the custom and then shared the bread. Haymitch went first, making sure the piece of toast was golden and crispy before blowing on it to cool it down a little.

“We’re not doing vows.” he muttered, bringing it to her mouth. “But… Look… I’m gonna protect you and the shrimp with everything I’ve got. As long as I have a breath in my body, I’ll keep you safe. I’m never gonna abandon you. Ever. ‘Cause you’re my family. You’ve been my family for a long time, Effie, and I…” He made a face. “I love you. Now, eat the damn toast.”

She dutifully took a bite, trying not to smile too obviously but failing.

“Such a way with words, Haymitch…” she teased. He rolled his eyes at her but helped her not burn her piece of toast. It was still on the charred side when she took it out from over the fire. “We said no vows but I still vow to love you. Always.” She smiled fondly when he took a huge bite of the toast and munched on it. She brushed her thumb against his lips to catch crumbs. “Husband.” she whispered because it was tradition, the only part of the Toasting she was familiar with.

“Wife.” he answered immediately, with so much pride that she felt her heart ready to burst with warmth.

“Take me to bed, Mr Abernathy.” she demanded with a grin.

“Sure thing, Mrs Abernathy.” he snorted, clearly humoring her, leaning in for a kiss.

With such a good start, she was certain she was going to love  being Mrs Abernathy.

Here’s a pic of the dress I chose for Effie:

[conflictandscotchblog]

ishouldhavehad10ofyou - a blog by KLC

Friday, August 03, 2012

18 years ago at 5:04 a.m., my mom died. I remember it clearly. The night before, I was in

her hospital room. It was a Saturday night. I fed her dinner. I chose her menu every day.

It was spaghetti. My mom loved spaghetti. She was actually eating, which was a first. I

was feeding her. I had her napkin all tucked into her gown and when it fell, I reached over

her to put the napkin back and she started kissing my right cheek. “Ok, OKKK. I get it.

You love me.” We were actually making plans to take her home, complete with a hospital

bed at home. That secretly terrified me as I knew I would be the one at my parents’ house

alone. Even though I had taken care of her both at home and at the hospital since

Christmas, she was somewhat mobile when at home. I fed her and helped her in and out

of the tub (Have you seen that scene from the movie “One True Thing” with Meryl Streep

in the bathtub with her daughter Renee Zellweger ? = my life), but the thought of a

hospital bed in our living room seemed odd. Of course the cost would be astronomical

and I turned on the tv and said, “Don’t worry. I bought a lottery ticket and they are about

to call out the numbers. I got this taken care of.” [We obviously did not win, but it

lightened the mood for a second.]

 I was then joined at the hospital by my dad, my Uncle Jack and my Aunt Vicki. She was

doing fine and putting on make-up, her wig and painting her nails when this pain in her

legs hit her half way through painting her nails. She told me to finish her nails (through

the cries) and I said “NOW?” and she said, “No, for the funeral.” “You are being silly.” It

was the only time I heard her cry out in pain. Her room was a suite (what I guess to be

now as the death suite – what they give to patients who are about to die: big screen tv

(rare back then), sofa, recliner, a private bath and her bed). I was sitting on the sofa

facing her bed and she screamed out “I love you Kellie. I love you Kellie. I love you

Kellie.” Those were her last words. We had just witnessed her last surge. It seems to a

non-medical person that cancer patients are on the verge of death (as she was in ICU)

and then make a huge comeback, only to die soon thereafter. They never tell you that

part. So, they come in and do some things to her that I won’t tell you and give her a pain

shot. She was out.

 They actually said to us, someone should stay tonight and my Dad and I simultaneously

said “I will”. Still, it did not occur to me it was her final night. My dad and mom never told

my brother and I she was dying. For four months, we had no clue while Colin lived in

NYC and my dad traveled for work. She said to me one day, “I should have had 10 of

you.” Sometimes I write that on a post it and put it on my computer in my office at work. It

makes me feel loved. When I feel down or I am going through struggles (more on that

later), I think of what my mom went through and say to myself: “People dying of cancer

would love to have my problem.”

 I asked the nurses to please give her a pain shot consistently because I was not

witnessing the cries I had seen earlier again. I slept on the sofa bed, my dad in the

recliner next to me. My mom had on a plastic oxygen mask and every time she would

take it off, this horrible siren would go off. My dad and I took turns getting up and putting it

back on. This went on about every hour. The last time my dad got up he was baby talking

her, “Keep the mask on Schulzie [he called her Schulz after Charles Schulz, the illustrator

of Peanuts, because she was such a tiny peanut]. I wuv you so much.” The last time she

pulled off the mask at about 4am, it was my turn. I got up. I was irritated and tired and I

said to her, “Look, these are your options. You can keep the mask on and stay with the

daughter that loves you or you can keep the mask off and visit Jesus. Which is it going to

be?” She looked at me and tugged on my hair, which was then in a short bob, and the

mask went back on. “Good choice,” I said.

 An hour later, my dad and I awoke to nurse Dee Dee in the room. Her vitals were

dropping. We jolted up and my dad grabbed me and said, “Say a prayer, this is it.” I did

as I was told and said a prayer. Then we heard over the hospital page system, “Code

blue room 922, Code blue room 922″. That was my mom’s room. It was weird to hear

them calling my mom’s room after I had been hearing other people’s rooms for months.

 They started to usher Dad and I into the hall and the nurse asked me what she could do.

I said, “If she opens her eyes, come and get us.” I did not want her to die alone.

As we entered the hallway, the sleepy, empty hospital on an early Sunday morning

suddenly had everyone in scrubs running toward my mom’s room. Ah, but she had a

living will. So they wheeled the crash cart out and my dad went to the pay phone right

down the hall. This is 1994-no cell phones. We could see her room door from the phone.

My dad called, I think, Uncle Jack (his brother) and basically sat on the phone with him

saying over and over, “God, I think this is it.” Then, the scrubs started walking out of my

mom’s room slowly, one by one, heads down. Nurse Dee Dee came out to me with tears

in her eyes and said, “I am so sorry.” My dad was still on the phone. Uncle Jack and Aunt

Vicki were on their way. I remember actually feeling bad for Dee Dee – as if we ruined her

day. While they unhooked my mom from everything, they ushered us into a small wooden

room with her respiratory therapist and some other medical personnel with a telephone. I

still remember what I was wearing. Red long sleeve shirt, jeans and beat up brown

loafers my friend Trish gave to me. My dad called Colin first in NYC. As we all sat silently

in that room, my dad said “Answer the phone, Colin” each time it rang. I don’t know what

Dad said but he handed the phone to me and I said, “You don’t know what it is like to be

here.” Colin said, “You don’t know what it is like NOT to be there.” Then my dad called my

mom’s brother Uncle Rich and that is when he broke down. My dad loved Rich like a

brother, who died suddenly a year later (which crushed my dad – he still carries his

funeral card in his wallet). I went to another pay phone and called my sorority house –

Mulligan’s room – and Deirdre’s apartment. I left them both messages that my mom had

died and if they could let everyone know I would appreciate it. [It is those very same

wonderful sorority sisters and friends that have loved and supported me then and now

with my current struggles, even going so far as surprising me with an ipad so I can write,

thus, the blog...]

 When I returned to my dad, he and I got to go in with Mom. Just the three of us. I then

remembered two things my mom said. Remove my jewelry so the undertaker does not

steal it. I put her necklace on me and kept it there for years -never taking it off. Her

wedding rings had been previously cut off due to the swelling from chemo. I removed her

earrings and put them in my change purse where one remains today. I then recalled what

she told me the night before. She asked me to finish painting her nails for the funeral.

That was my mom. Big on clean nails, clean shoes and haircuts. So, Dad held her fingers

and hands while I painted her nails. If nothing else, she did not want to have her nails half

done.

Uncle Jack and Aunt Vicki arrived and I remember driving back to my parents’ house to

clean it up. I was actually mowing and planting flowers within four (4) hours of my mom

dying so our house did not look like white trash with relatives arriving. Then I heard a

door slam. “Col?” It was my brother. “Helloooo, Miss Green Jeans.” I have no idea how

he made it home so fast from NYC but he said he walked up to the counter at the airport,

said, “My mom died. Get me on the next plane.” He was home. I then went to my home,

my sorority house, and sat in my room “The Zoo” with my sisters telling them this very

story, followed by pizza and beer at Street Scene and pool at Polo’s.

 I still miss her, especially now that we are having a hard time after 9 years of not

conceiving and over three years of failed adoption. I always wanted to name our child

after my mom. I was thinking Schulz as a middle name. I hope I can one day. She was

human and she made mistakes, but she totally redeemed herself in my late teens and

early 20’s. Just when she became my best friend, I lost her. I also remember everything

my friends did for me, my family and my mom. 18 years later, I am grateful and can still

remember the contributions and sacrifices you all made to be there for us. Like my mom,

your good deeds will never be forgotten (including the overwhelming generosity of the

recent ipad gift after my miscarriage so I could write again).

 When you have to go to a funeral, please remember this. 18 years later, I remember who

was NOT there just as much as who WAS there. It means a lot to be there for your

friends and family during a loss – whether that be the loss of a mother in 1994 or a

miscarriage I had a month ago. As my dad said, “Funerals are not convenient for

anyone.” And when you think you have problems, say what I always do to myself. People

dying of cancer would love to have your problem(s). xoxo (aka “socks”, according to my

spellcheck) :)

Photo added by Conflict and Scotch

Photo by DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash

[dragnews]

A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal

The British royal family has long been a source of public fascination, captivating mere mortals in Britain and beyond with a passion for all things Windsor.

Toss a wedding into the mix — specifically one so storybook as the coming nuptials of Prince Harry and his American fiancée, Meghan Markle, on May 19 — and the excitement swells: Where will Meghan shop in London? Where will Harry buy her jewelry? Is there a favorite perfume, chocolate or hat-maker (which raises the question: will Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, offer her new sister-in-law, an actress and former model, a crash course in headpiece etiquette?)

Paparazzi can only capture so much. Another way to gain insight into the predilections of the royal family is by examining the brands that hold the royal warrant — the top-of-the-line British purveyors that have earned the royal family’s seal of approval.

Royal warrants, which have been issued by the British royal family since the 15th century, are a mark of distinction for companies who have provided goods and services for at least five years to Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip or Prince Charles. Suppliers range from silversmiths, champagne houses, perfumers and shoemakers to agricultural crop sprayers and biscuit brands. There are currently about 800 royal warrant holders throughout Britain.

Vetting is fierce. If approved (most applicants are not), the company snags the ultimate endorsement: the honor of displaying the royal coat of arms, along with the prestigious “by appointment” legend alongside the company logo, a practice that can be traced to the reign of Elizabeth I.

With the help of a royal warrant road map, tourists can effectively shop the royal family’s go-to brands, centuries-old companies that represent top quality, heritage and craftsmanship. A guide to the warrants offers something for everyone. The brands are not only for people who can afford to buy a $5,000 bespoke suit without batting an eye, but includes purveyors of cheese, tea, books and grooming products. The road map is an opportunity to scoop up meaningful souvenirs without spending a fortune.

Companies with the royal warrant are so well respected that at least two fashionable hotels, the Beaumont and Hotel Cafe Royal, are offering royal wedding packages that feature walking tours to some of these esteemed businesses.

While nobody can predict the shopping habits of Meghan and Harry, history suggests where they might shop — at purveyors holding the royal warrant.

Royal Grocers and Provisions Merchants Royal Tea Merchants and Grocers 181 Piccadilly London fortnumandmason.com

Founded in 1707 by Hugh Mason, a grocer, and William Fortnum, a royal footman to Queen Anne, Fortnum & Mason became a purveyor of tea and fine food credited with transforming Britain’s culinary landscape by introducing classics like the Scotch egg, a hard-boiled egg encased in sausage meat and dusted with fried breadcrumbs. In the process, they popularized the luxury picnic hamper with ready-to-eat provisions and expanding the consumption of tea beyond the aristocracy.

In the 1920s, sports, cutting edge fashion, interior design and an expedition department (Fortnum’s provisioned the first expedition to Mount Everest) were added to the mix effectively creating a department store. Since its inception, the company has served 12 monarchs with continuous royal warrants. Today, it holds two warrants;Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles.

Tea and the accompanying delicacies — biscuits, preserves, specialty honey, chocolate — are still the company’s foundation. Surprisingly, a classic hamper costs less than buying products separately. The Mini Huntsman Basket (a keepsake wicker hamper filled with specialties like Assam Superb tea, rose and violet cream chocolates, marmalade and Florentine biscuits) is an excellent souvenir. Or, you can splurge on a formal afternoon tea at the storied Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon. The company archivist, Dr. Andrea Tanner, leads a Delicious History tour every second Thursday at 11 a.m.

Royal Cheesemonger 93 Jermyn Street London paxtonandwhitfield.co.uk

The pungent aroma of orange-skinned, washed-rind cheese (Stinking Bishop, anyone?) is the calling card of this shop, established in 1797. Its bounty of artisanal cheeses (mostly British) supplies grand hotels, top restaurants, discerning Londoners and, of course, the palace with top drawer dairy products. Queen Victoria granted Paxton & Whitfield its first warrant as cheesemonger to the Royal Household in 1850. The brand has held onto this honor with subsequent warrants issued by King Edward VII, King George V, King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother and the Prince of Wales. New this year is an Academy of Cheese, a daylong tutorial for cheese enthusiasts. Tip: Go hungry and ask the cheese stewards for samples of esoteric products like the Fleur de Maquis, a Corsican ewe cheese encased in rosemary and juniper berries.

Royal Hospitality Services 15 Beeston Place London thegoring.com

The Goring, which is steps from Buckingham Palace, was where Kate Middleton (and her entire family) chose to spend the night before her wedding to William. It also served as the preferred perch for royalty during the coronations of George VI in 1937 and Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, and is an unofficial luxury annex for visiting dignitaries.

In the age of minimalist, feels-like-anywhere design, as classic hotels are swallowed up by corporate behemoths, it’s inspiring to stay at a century-old property still owned and operated by the family that built it. The Goring revels in its Britishness. The Michelin-starred Dining Room (that, naturally, showcases British classics like Eggs Drumkilbo, an egg, prawn and lobster dish favored by the late Queen Mother) was designed by interiors heavyweight David Linley, nephew of Queen Elizabeth II. The grand rooms and lobby were recently refurbished by the country’s top artisans to inject a rich, undeniably feels-like-London charm; bespoke furnishings by the respected manufacturer Manborne, Fromental’s exquisite hand-gilded wallpaper, as well as colorful Gainsborough Silk wall coverings and curtains.

Instead of run-of-the-mill butlers, there are red-liveried footmen, a detail that could read as tacky if not for the splendid surroundings and royal family legacy.

In 2013, The Goring was the first and only hotel to be granted a royal warrant from Queen Elizabeth II. If you can’t afford a stay, stop in for afternoon tea (in the lounge where the Queen has held her Christmas lunch) or a cocktail in the glamorous crimson-hued bar.

Royal Hairdressers 71 St James’s St. London truefittandhill.co.uk

William Francis Truefitt started out as court wig maker to King George III, before setting up shop in 1805 to offer luxury barbery services (first wig-making and styling — a time-consuming affair), and later, haircuts to London’s gentry. The pairing of pampering hot towel wet shave with the air of a gentlemen’s club (services always came with a shoe shine) attracted high society, namely Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, Beau Brummell, Charles Dickens, Sir Winston Churchill and the royal family.

In 1875, hair “preparations” were introduced, leading the way to shaving accessories (the old school silvertip badger hair brush, razor and stand make a stylish souvenir), fragrance and skin products, all crafted in Britain. Today, the traditional shave and other services (still complete with complimentary shoe shine) are performed by barbers nattily attired in white shirt with monogrammed waistcoat and tie. The company has had nine consecutive royal warrants and currently holds one from Prince Philip.

Royal Booksellers 187 Piccadilly London hatchards.co.uk

What began in 1797 as a literary coffee house producing political pamphlets and publications spotlighting social issues of the day is London’s oldest bookseller. The shop’s welcome-to-my townhouse charm — elegant wood paneling, tucked-away fireplaces and a wooden spiral staircase — is underscored by staff-curated tables loaded with selections from well-known and more esoteric British scribes like P.G. Wodehouse, Nancy Mitford, Evelyn Waugh, Agatha Christie and Kingsley Amis. Check the schedule for book signings; high profile artists (recently, Julian Barnes) are often on the docket.

On top of buying a book (the shop is well-known for autographed hardbacks and first editions bound in leather with decorative William Morris endpapers), bibliophiles can sign on for Hatchards’s monthly subscription service which can be delivered anywhere in the world. Hatchards gained its first royal warrant in the 18th century from Queen Charlotte, wife of George II and continues to hold all three warrants from Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip and Prince Charles.

Royal Purveyors of Chocolates 14 Princes Arcade London prestat.co.uk

This century-old chocolatier’s quirky heritage has amassed a cult following. The actor John Gielgud, Cher, Tina Turner and Paul McCartney have nipped in to sample pâte de fruit “fruity babes” and ginger hunks while the 19th- and early-20th-century French actress Sarah Bernhardt commissioned a specialty inverted violet crème in 1910, a Prestat classic known to have been the Queen Mother’s favorite flavor. One famous relationship was with the novelist Roald Dahl whose passion for Prestat truffles landed Prestat a starring role in his novel “My Uncle Oswald” and is said to have inspired the children’s book, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Truffles (William and Kate served them at their wedding) are best-sellers. The boozy “Popping Pink Prosecco,” a tangy Yuzu sake and London gin (that dramatically fizzes in the mouth) are newer incarnations, while the classic Marc de Champagne (using the founder Antoine Dufour’s original recipe from 1895) is still in demand. The shop is closed for renovation and is scheduled to reopen May 14.

Royal Hatters 6 St. James’s Street London lockhatters.co.uk

Since 1676, Lock & Co. Hatters has created toppers for royals and aristocracy. The business designed the bicorne hat, the de rigueur military accouterment of the time, worn by Admiral Lord Nelson in the Battle of Trafalgar, invented the bowler, popularized the fedora and tweed newsboy, and have remained the go-to for top hats (Sir Winston Churchill wore one to his wedding in 1908) through the present day. It’s still a family-run business operating from the same four-story building since 1759.

In 1993, Lock introduced women’s high fashion millinery (statement head pieces are a popular trend in Britain; the Duchess of Cambridge frequently sports Lock’s designs to formal occasions) though classic designs remain best-sellers.

As in the past, customers’ heads are measured with a Victorian-looking contraption called a conformateur; purchases come in a hand-cut, paper-and-card hatbox, a souvenir in and of itself. The firm holds two royal warrants: Prince Philip and Prince Charles. Lock partnered with the jeweler Garrard & Co, also the holder of a royal warrant, to fit George IV’s crown to Queen Elizabeth II’s head for her 1953 coronation, relining the interior with ermine and purple velvet.

Royal Livery Tailors 15 Savile Row London henrypoole.com

A military tailoring outfit begun during the Napoleonic Wars evolved into the court tailor to Queen Victoria in 1869, producing the palace’s livery, or official uniform. After meeting and then outfitting Queen Victoria’s son, the Prince of Wales (known as Bertie), Poole’s popularity soared.

This relationship produced modern black-tie dress. In 1865, tired of fussy white-tie evening dress with coattails, the fashionable Bertie asked Poole to design a more informal ensemble — “a short silk smoking jacket with silk collar and cuffs, lined silk; a pair of trousers to match” — for entertaining at his country home in Sandringham. This look would later come to be known as the tuxedo.

Poole was also Savile Row’s founding tailor. The firm’s bespoke suiting (the process requires three fittings and between 80 to 120 hours of hand stitching) attracted an international clientele, Czar Alexander II of Russia, Sir Winston Churchill, Charles de Gaulle, J.P. Morgan, William Randolph Hearst, Frank Lloyd Wright, among others. The merchant has served each monarch since Queen Victoria which has translated into Poole’s livery and other garments being worn at every coronation, jubilee and royal wedding since the merchant was issued the first warrant in 1869. Sartorial buffs can book a visit to the archive room where leather-bound books detailing every client since 1846 are stored.

Royal Perfumers Royal Manufacturers of Toilet Preparations 89 Jermyn Street, St. James’s London florislondon.com

Floris is an independent, family-run business, and operates from the Jermyn Street premises where it was founded in 1730. Originally a barber, but also trained in perfumery, Juan Famenias Floris introduced a zesty lime unisex fragrance in the late 18th century that became an instant hit, offering both an uplifting perfume and an olfactory tool to combat the stench of London’s sewage-strewn streets. Soon, classic floral scents — rose, lily of the valley, violet, stephanotis — were sold alongside grooming products, bespoke fragrances concocted for wealthy clients in the shop’s cellar. While most royal warrant holders are hush-hush about their customers, Floris has a small museum in the back of the shop with letters and archived receipts from various palaces and high-wattage clientele like Sir Winston Churchill (Special No. 127 and Stephanotis, both of which are still available), Ian Fleming (No. 89; Fleming also mentions Floris in the James Bond novels “Moonraker,” “Diamonds are Forever” and “Dr. No,” Marilyn Monroe (Rose Geranium) and Queen Elizabeth II. Floris received its first royal warrant from King George IV in 1820.

Royal Jewellers, Goldsmiths and Silversmiths 24 Albemarle Street London garrard.com

Established in 1735, The House of Garrard, which also functioned as silversmiths, received its first royal commission from Frederick, Prince of Wales (a black ebony teapot handle) that same year. Queen Victoria appointed Garrard as Crown Jewelers in 1843 and the house has served every monarch since then, crafting five crowns (still worn for state occasions) which can be viewed at the Tower of London Jewel House, a dazzling exhibit of royal regalia, including the Crown Jewels, where tourists are transported through displays by way of a moving walkway).

On top of countless royal commissions, Garrard is known for exquisite tiaras, including the Cambridge Lover’s Knot, a headpiece of 19 diamond-encrusted arches framing large drop-shaped pearls that has been passed down from Queen Mary to Queen Elizabeth II and lent to Princess Diana, and recently worn by the Duchess of Cambridge, in addition to the “Girls of Britain and Ireland tiara,” the spiky diadem with a band of round and lozenge-shaped diamonds frequently worn by Queen Elizabeth II and featured on British bank notes.

Today’s collections are understated, inspired by regal heritage but designed for contemporary life. You can visit the Queen Mary salon upstairs (by appointment) to view paintings of the royal crowns and try on a few imitation tiaras from the royal collection.

Amy Tara Koch, based in Chicago, writes about travel, style, food and parenting.

The post A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2I1NQFH via Today News

[cleopatrarps]

A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal

The British royal family has long been a source of public fascination, captivating mere mortals in Britain and beyond with a passion for all things Windsor.

Toss a wedding into the mix — specifically one so storybook as the coming nuptials of Prince Harry and his American fiancée, Meghan Markle, on May 19 — and the excitement swells: Where will Meghan shop in London? Where will Harry buy her jewelry? Is there a favorite perfume, chocolate or hat-maker (which raises the question: will Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, offer her new sister-in-law, an actress and former model, a crash course in headpiece etiquette?)

Paparazzi can only capture so much. Another way to gain insight into the predilections of the royal family is by examining the brands that hold the royal warrant — the top-of-the-line British purveyors that have earned the royal family’s seal of approval.

Royal warrants, which have been issued by the British royal family since the 15th century, are a mark of distinction for companies who have provided goods and services for at least five years to Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip or Prince Charles. Suppliers range from silversmiths, champagne houses, perfumers and shoemakers to agricultural crop sprayers and biscuit brands. There are currently about 800 royal warrant holders throughout Britain.

Vetting is fierce. If approved (most applicants are not), the company snags the ultimate endorsement: the honor of displaying the royal coat of arms, along with the prestigious “by appointment” legend alongside the company logo, a practice that can be traced to the reign of Elizabeth I.

With the help of a royal warrant road map, tourists can effectively shop the royal family’s go-to brands, centuries-old companies that represent top quality, heritage and craftsmanship. A guide to the warrants offers something for everyone. The brands are not only for people who can afford to buy a $5,000 bespoke suit without batting an eye, but includes purveyors of cheese, tea, books and grooming products. The road map is an opportunity to scoop up meaningful souvenirs without spending a fortune.

Companies with the royal warrant are so well respected that at least two fashionable hotels, the Beaumont and Hotel Cafe Royal, are offering royal wedding packages that feature walking tours to some of these esteemed businesses.

While nobody can predict the shopping habits of Meghan and Harry, history suggests where they might shop — at purveyors holding the royal warrant.

Royal Grocers and Provisions Merchants Royal Tea Merchants and Grocers 181 Piccadilly London fortnumandmason.com

Founded in 1707 by Hugh Mason, a grocer, and William Fortnum, a royal footman to Queen Anne, Fortnum & Mason became a purveyor of tea and fine food credited with transforming Britain’s culinary landscape by introducing classics like the Scotch egg, a hard-boiled egg encased in sausage meat and dusted with fried breadcrumbs. In the process, they popularized the luxury picnic hamper with ready-to-eat provisions and expanding the consumption of tea beyond the aristocracy.

In the 1920s, sports, cutting edge fashion, interior design and an expedition department (Fortnum’s provisioned the first expedition to Mount Everest) were added to the mix effectively creating a department store. Since its inception, the company has served 12 monarchs with continuous royal warrants. Today, it holds two warrants;Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles.

Tea and the accompanying delicacies — biscuits, preserves, specialty honey, chocolate — are still the company’s foundation. Surprisingly, a classic hamper costs less than buying products separately. The Mini Huntsman Basket (a keepsake wicker hamper filled with specialties like Assam Superb tea, rose and violet cream chocolates, marmalade and Florentine biscuits) is an excellent souvenir. Or, you can splurge on a formal afternoon tea at the storied Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon. The company archivist, Dr. Andrea Tanner, leads a Delicious History tour every second Thursday at 11 a.m.

Royal Cheesemonger 93 Jermyn Street London paxtonandwhitfield.co.uk

The pungent aroma of orange-skinned, washed-rind cheese (Stinking Bishop, anyone?) is the calling card of this shop, established in 1797. Its bounty of artisanal cheeses (mostly British) supplies grand hotels, top restaurants, discerning Londoners and, of course, the palace with top drawer dairy products. Queen Victoria granted Paxton & Whitfield its first warrant as cheesemonger to the Royal Household in 1850. The brand has held onto this honor with subsequent warrants issued by King Edward VII, King George V, King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother and the Prince of Wales. New this year is an Academy of Cheese, a daylong tutorial for cheese enthusiasts. Tip: Go hungry and ask the cheese stewards for samples of esoteric products like the Fleur de Maquis, a Corsican ewe cheese encased in rosemary and juniper berries.

Royal Hospitality Services 15 Beeston Place London thegoring.com

The Goring, which is steps from Buckingham Palace, was where Kate Middleton (and her entire family) chose to spend the night before her wedding to William. It also served as the preferred perch for royalty during the coronations of George VI in 1937 and Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, and is an unofficial luxury annex for visiting dignitaries.

In the age of minimalist, feels-like-anywhere design, as classic hotels are swallowed up by corporate behemoths, it’s inspiring to stay at a century-old property still owned and operated by the family that built it. The Goring revels in its Britishness. The Michelin-starred Dining Room (that, naturally, showcases British classics like Eggs Drumkilbo, an egg, prawn and lobster dish favored by the late Queen Mother) was designed by interiors heavyweight David Linley, nephew of Queen Elizabeth II. The grand rooms and lobby were recently refurbished by the country’s top artisans to inject a rich, undeniably feels-like-London charm; bespoke furnishings by the respected manufacturer Manborne, Fromental’s exquisite hand-gilded wallpaper, as well as colorful Gainsborough Silk wall coverings and curtains.

Instead of run-of-the-mill butlers, there are red-liveried footmen, a detail that could read as tacky if not for the splendid surroundings and royal family legacy.

In 2013, The Goring was the first and only hotel to be granted a royal warrant from Queen Elizabeth II. If you can’t afford a stay, stop in for afternoon tea (in the lounge where the Queen has held her Christmas lunch) or a cocktail in the glamorous crimson-hued bar.

Royal Hairdressers 71 St James’s St. London truefittandhill.co.uk

William Francis Truefitt started out as court wig maker to King George III, before setting up shop in 1805 to offer luxury barbery services (first wig-making and styling — a time-consuming affair), and later, haircuts to London’s gentry. The pairing of pampering hot towel wet shave with the air of a gentlemen’s club (services always came with a shoe shine) attracted high society, namely Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, Beau Brummell, Charles Dickens, Sir Winston Churchill and the royal family.

In 1875, hair “preparations” were introduced, leading the way to shaving accessories (the old school silvertip badger hair brush, razor and stand make a stylish souvenir), fragrance and skin products, all crafted in Britain. Today, the traditional shave and other services (still complete with complimentary shoe shine) are performed by barbers nattily attired in white shirt with monogrammed waistcoat and tie. The company has had nine consecutive royal warrants and currently holds one from Prince Philip.

Royal Booksellers 187 Piccadilly London hatchards.co.uk

What began in 1797 as a literary coffee house producing political pamphlets and publications spotlighting social issues of the day is London’s oldest bookseller. The shop’s welcome-to-my townhouse charm — elegant wood paneling, tucked-away fireplaces and a wooden spiral staircase — is underscored by staff-curated tables loaded with selections from well-known and more esoteric British scribes like P.G. Wodehouse, Nancy Mitford, Evelyn Waugh, Agatha Christie and Kingsley Amis. Check the schedule for book signings; high profile artists (recently, Julian Barnes) are often on the docket.

On top of buying a book (the shop is well-known for autographed hardbacks and first editions bound in leather with decorative William Morris endpapers), bibliophiles can sign on for Hatchards’s monthly subscription service which can be delivered anywhere in the world. Hatchards gained its first royal warrant in the 18th century from Queen Charlotte, wife of George II and continues to hold all three warrants from Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip and Prince Charles.

Royal Purveyors of Chocolates 14 Princes Arcade London prestat.co.uk

This century-old chocolatier’s quirky heritage has amassed a cult following. The actor John Gielgud, Cher, Tina Turner and Paul McCartney have nipped in to sample pâte de fruit “fruity babes” and ginger hunks while the 19th- and early-20th-century French actress Sarah Bernhardt commissioned a specialty inverted violet crème in 1910, a Prestat classic known to have been the Queen Mother’s favorite flavor. One famous relationship was with the novelist Roald Dahl whose passion for Prestat truffles landed Prestat a starring role in his novel “My Uncle Oswald” and is said to have inspired the children’s book, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Truffles (William and Kate served them at their wedding) are best-sellers. The boozy “Popping Pink Prosecco,” a tangy Yuzu sake and London gin (that dramatically fizzes in the mouth) are newer incarnations, while the classic Marc de Champagne (using the founder Antoine Dufour’s original recipe from 1895) is still in demand. The shop is closed for renovation and is scheduled to reopen May 14.

Royal Hatters 6 St. James’s Street London lockhatters.co.uk

Since 1676, Lock & Co. Hatters has created toppers for royals and aristocracy. The business designed the bicorne hat, the de rigueur military accouterment of the time, worn by Admiral Lord Nelson in the Battle of Trafalgar, invented the bowler, popularized the fedora and tweed newsboy, and have remained the go-to for top hats (Sir Winston Churchill wore one to his wedding in 1908) through the present day. It’s still a family-run business operating from the same four-story building since 1759.

In 1993, Lock introduced women’s high fashion millinery (statement head pieces are a popular trend in Britain; the Duchess of Cambridge frequently sports Lock’s designs to formal occasions) though classic designs remain best-sellers.

As in the past, customers’ heads are measured with a Victorian-looking contraption called a conformateur; purchases come in a hand-cut, paper-and-card hatbox, a souvenir in and of itself. The firm holds two royal warrants: Prince Philip and Prince Charles. Lock partnered with the jeweler Garrard & Co, also the holder of a royal warrant, to fit George IV’s crown to Queen Elizabeth II’s head for her 1953 coronation, relining the interior with ermine and purple velvet.

Royal Livery Tailors 15 Savile Row London henrypoole.com

A military tailoring outfit begun during the Napoleonic Wars evolved into the court tailor to Queen Victoria in 1869, producing the palace’s livery, or official uniform. After meeting and then outfitting Queen Victoria’s son, the Prince of Wales (known as Bertie), Poole’s popularity soared.

This relationship produced modern black-tie dress. In 1865, tired of fussy white-tie evening dress with coattails, the fashionable Bertie asked Poole to design a more informal ensemble — “a short silk smoking jacket with silk collar and cuffs, lined silk; a pair of trousers to match” — for entertaining at his country home in Sandringham. This look would later come to be known as the tuxedo.

Poole was also Savile Row’s founding tailor. The firm’s bespoke suiting (the process requires three fittings and between 80 to 120 hours of hand stitching) attracted an international clientele, Czar Alexander II of Russia, Sir Winston Churchill, Charles de Gaulle, J.P. Morgan, William Randolph Hearst, Frank Lloyd Wright, among others. The merchant has served each monarch since Queen Victoria which has translated into Poole’s livery and other garments being worn at every coronation, jubilee and royal wedding since the merchant was issued the first warrant in 1869. Sartorial buffs can book a visit to the archive room where leather-bound books detailing every client since 1846 are stored.

Royal Perfumers Royal Manufacturers of Toilet Preparations 89 Jermyn Street, St. James’s London florislondon.com

Floris is an independent, family-run business, and operates from the Jermyn Street premises where it was founded in 1730. Originally a barber, but also trained in perfumery, Juan Famenias Floris introduced a zesty lime unisex fragrance in the late 18th century that became an instant hit, offering both an uplifting perfume and an olfactory tool to combat the stench of London’s sewage-strewn streets. Soon, classic floral scents — rose, lily of the valley, violet, stephanotis — were sold alongside grooming products, bespoke fragrances concocted for wealthy clients in the shop’s cellar. While most royal warrant holders are hush-hush about their customers, Floris has a small museum in the back of the shop with letters and archived receipts from various palaces and high-wattage clientele like Sir Winston Churchill (Special No. 127 and Stephanotis, both of which are still available), Ian Fleming (No. 89; Fleming also mentions Floris in the James Bond novels “Moonraker,” “Diamonds are Forever” and “Dr. No,” Marilyn Monroe (Rose Geranium) and Queen Elizabeth II. Floris received its first royal warrant from King George IV in 1820.

Royal Jewellers, Goldsmiths and Silversmiths 24 Albemarle Street London garrard.com

Established in 1735, The House of Garrard, which also functioned as silversmiths, received its first royal commission from Frederick, Prince of Wales (a black ebony teapot handle) that same year. Queen Victoria appointed Garrard as Crown Jewelers in 1843 and the house has served every monarch since then, crafting five crowns (still worn for state occasions) which can be viewed at the Tower of London Jewel House, a dazzling exhibit of royal regalia, including the Crown Jewels, where tourists are transported through displays by way of a moving walkway).

On top of countless royal commissions, Garrard is known for exquisite tiaras, including the Cambridge Lover’s Knot, a headpiece of 19 diamond-encrusted arches framing large drop-shaped pearls that has been passed down from Queen Mary to Queen Elizabeth II and lent to Princess Diana, and recently worn by the Duchess of Cambridge, in addition to the “Girls of Britain and Ireland tiara,” the spiky diadem with a band of round and lozenge-shaped diamonds frequently worn by Queen Elizabeth II and featured on British bank notes.

Today’s collections are understated, inspired by regal heritage but designed for contemporary life. You can visit the Queen Mary salon upstairs (by appointment) to view paintings of the royal crowns and try on a few imitation tiaras from the royal collection.

Amy Tara Koch, based in Chicago, writes about travel, style, food and parenting.

The post A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2I1NQFH via News of World

[dani-qrt]

A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal

The British royal family has long been a source of public fascination, captivating mere mortals in Britain and beyond with a passion for all things Windsor.

Toss a wedding into the mix — specifically one so storybook as the coming nuptials of Prince Harry and his American fiancée, Meghan Markle, on May 19 — and the excitement swells: Where will Meghan shop in London? Where will Harry buy her jewelry? Is there a favorite perfume, chocolate or hat-maker (which raises the question: will Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, offer her new sister-in-law, an actress and former model, a crash course in headpiece etiquette?)

Paparazzi can only capture so much. Another way to gain insight into the predilections of the royal family is by examining the brands that hold the royal warrant — the top-of-the-line British purveyors that have earned the royal family’s seal of approval.

Royal warrants, which have been issued by the British royal family since the 15th century, are a mark of distinction for companies who have provided goods and services for at least five years to Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip or Prince Charles. Suppliers range from silversmiths, champagne houses, perfumers and shoemakers to agricultural crop sprayers and biscuit brands. There are currently about 800 royal warrant holders throughout Britain.

Vetting is fierce. If approved (most applicants are not), the company snags the ultimate endorsement: the honor of displaying the royal coat of arms, along with the prestigious “by appointment” legend alongside the company logo, a practice that can be traced to the reign of Elizabeth I.

With the help of a royal warrant road map, tourists can effectively shop the royal family’s go-to brands, centuries-old companies that represent top quality, heritage and craftsmanship. A guide to the warrants offers something for everyone. The brands are not only for people who can afford to buy a $5,000 bespoke suit without batting an eye, but includes purveyors of cheese, tea, books and grooming products. The road map is an opportunity to scoop up meaningful souvenirs without spending a fortune.

Companies with the royal warrant are so well respected that at least two fashionable hotels, the Beaumont and Hotel Cafe Royal, are offering royal wedding packages that feature walking tours to some of these esteemed businesses.

While nobody can predict the shopping habits of Meghan and Harry, history suggests where they might shop — at purveyors holding the royal warrant.

Royal Grocers and Provisions Merchants Royal Tea Merchants and Grocers 181 Piccadilly London fortnumandmason.com

Founded in 1707 by Hugh Mason, a grocer, and William Fortnum, a royal footman to Queen Anne, Fortnum & Mason became a purveyor of tea and fine food credited with transforming Britain’s culinary landscape by introducing classics like the Scotch egg, a hard-boiled egg encased in sausage meat and dusted with fried breadcrumbs. In the process, they popularized the luxury picnic hamper with ready-to-eat provisions and expanding the consumption of tea beyond the aristocracy.

In the 1920s, sports, cutting edge fashion, interior design and an expedition department (Fortnum’s provisioned the first expedition to Mount Everest) were added to the mix effectively creating a department store. Since its inception, the company has served 12 monarchs with continuous royal warrants. Today, it holds two warrants;Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles.

Tea and the accompanying delicacies — biscuits, preserves, specialty honey, chocolate — are still the company’s foundation. Surprisingly, a classic hamper costs less than buying products separately. The Mini Huntsman Basket (a keepsake wicker hamper filled with specialties like Assam Superb tea, rose and violet cream chocolates, marmalade and Florentine biscuits) is an excellent souvenir. Or, you can splurge on a formal afternoon tea at the storied Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon. The company archivist, Dr. Andrea Tanner, leads a Delicious History tour every second Thursday at 11 a.m.

Royal Cheesemonger 93 Jermyn Street London paxtonandwhitfield.co.uk

The pungent aroma of orange-skinned, washed-rind cheese (Stinking Bishop, anyone?) is the calling card of this shop, established in 1797. Its bounty of artisanal cheeses (mostly British) supplies grand hotels, top restaurants, discerning Londoners and, of course, the palace with top drawer dairy products. Queen Victoria granted Paxton & Whitfield its first warrant as cheesemonger to the Royal Household in 1850. The brand has held onto this honor with subsequent warrants issued by King Edward VII, King George V, King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother and the Prince of Wales. New this year is an Academy of Cheese, a daylong tutorial for cheese enthusiasts. Tip: Go hungry and ask the cheese stewards for samples of esoteric products like the Fleur de Maquis, a Corsican ewe cheese encased in rosemary and juniper berries.

Royal Hospitality Services 15 Beeston Place London thegoring.com

The Goring, which is steps from Buckingham Palace, was where Kate Middleton (and her entire family) chose to spend the night before her wedding to William. It also served as the preferred perch for royalty during the coronations of George VI in 1937 and Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, and is an unofficial luxury annex for visiting dignitaries.

In the age of minimalist, feels-like-anywhere design, as classic hotels are swallowed up by corporate behemoths, it’s inspiring to stay at a century-old property still owned and operated by the family that built it. The Goring revels in its Britishness. The Michelin-starred Dining Room (that, naturally, showcases British classics like Eggs Drumkilbo, an egg, prawn and lobster dish favored by the late Queen Mother) was designed by interiors heavyweight David Linley, nephew of Queen Elizabeth II. The grand rooms and lobby were recently refurbished by the country’s top artisans to inject a rich, undeniably feels-like-London charm; bespoke furnishings by the respected manufacturer Manborne, Fromental’s exquisite hand-gilded wallpaper, as well as colorful Gainsborough Silk wall coverings and curtains.

Instead of run-of-the-mill butlers, there are red-liveried footmen, a detail that could read as tacky if not for the splendid surroundings and royal family legacy.

In 2013, The Goring was the first and only hotel to be granted a royal warrant from Queen Elizabeth II. If you can’t afford a stay, stop in for afternoon tea (in the lounge where the Queen has held her Christmas lunch) or a cocktail in the glamorous crimson-hued bar.

Royal Hairdressers 71 St James’s St. London truefittandhill.co.uk

William Francis Truefitt started out as court wig maker to King George III, before setting up shop in 1805 to offer luxury barbery services (first wig-making and styling — a time-consuming affair), and later, haircuts to London’s gentry. The pairing of pampering hot towel wet shave with the air of a gentlemen’s club (services always came with a shoe shine) attracted high society, namely Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, Beau Brummell, Charles Dickens, Sir Winston Churchill and the royal family.

In 1875, hair “preparations” were introduced, leading the way to shaving accessories (the old school silvertip badger hair brush, razor and stand make a stylish souvenir), fragrance and skin products, all crafted in Britain. Today, the traditional shave and other services (still complete with complimentary shoe shine) are performed by barbers nattily attired in white shirt with monogrammed waistcoat and tie. The company has had nine consecutive royal warrants and currently holds one from Prince Philip.

Royal Booksellers 187 Piccadilly London hatchards.co.uk

What began in 1797 as a literary coffee house producing political pamphlets and publications spotlighting social issues of the day is London’s oldest bookseller. The shop’s welcome-to-my townhouse charm — elegant wood paneling, tucked-away fireplaces and a wooden spiral staircase — is underscored by staff-curated tables loaded with selections from well-known and more esoteric British scribes like P.G. Wodehouse, Nancy Mitford, Evelyn Waugh, Agatha Christie and Kingsley Amis. Check the schedule for book signings; high profile artists (recently, Julian Barnes) are often on the docket.

On top of buying a book (the shop is well-known for autographed hardbacks and first editions bound in leather with decorative William Morris endpapers), bibliophiles can sign on for Hatchards’s monthly subscription service which can be delivered anywhere in the world. Hatchards gained its first royal warrant in the 18th century from Queen Charlotte, wife of George II and continues to hold all three warrants from Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip and Prince Charles.

Royal Purveyors of Chocolates 14 Princes Arcade London prestat.co.uk

This century-old chocolatier’s quirky heritage has amassed a cult following. The actor John Gielgud, Cher, Tina Turner and Paul McCartney have nipped in to sample pâte de fruit “fruity babes” and ginger hunks while the 19th- and early-20th-century French actress Sarah Bernhardt commissioned a specialty inverted violet crème in 1910, a Prestat classic known to have been the Queen Mother’s favorite flavor. One famous relationship was with the novelist Roald Dahl whose passion for Prestat truffles landed Prestat a starring role in his novel “My Uncle Oswald” and is said to have inspired the children’s book, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Truffles (William and Kate served them at their wedding) are best-sellers. The boozy “Popping Pink Prosecco,” a tangy Yuzu sake and London gin (that dramatically fizzes in the mouth) are newer incarnations, while the classic Marc de Champagne (using the founder Antoine Dufour’s original recipe from 1895) is still in demand. The shop is closed for renovation and is scheduled to reopen May 14.

Royal Hatters 6 St. James’s Street London lockhatters.co.uk

Since 1676, Lock & Co. Hatters has created toppers for royals and aristocracy. The business designed the bicorne hat, the de rigueur military accouterment of the time, worn by Admiral Lord Nelson in the Battle of Trafalgar, invented the bowler, popularized the fedora and tweed newsboy, and have remained the go-to for top hats (Sir Winston Churchill wore one to his wedding in 1908) through the present day. It’s still a family-run business operating from the same four-story building since 1759.

In 1993, Lock introduced women’s high fashion millinery (statement head pieces are a popular trend in Britain; the Duchess of Cambridge frequently sports Lock’s designs to formal occasions) though classic designs remain best-sellers.

As in the past, customers’ heads are measured with a Victorian-looking contraption called a conformateur; purchases come in a hand-cut, paper-and-card hatbox, a souvenir in and of itself. The firm holds two royal warrants: Prince Philip and Prince Charles. Lock partnered with the jeweler Garrard & Co, also the holder of a royal warrant, to fit George IV’s crown to Queen Elizabeth II’s head for her 1953 coronation, relining the interior with ermine and purple velvet.

Royal Livery Tailors 15 Savile Row London henrypoole.com

A military tailoring outfit begun during the Napoleonic Wars evolved into the court tailor to Queen Victoria in 1869, producing the palace’s livery, or official uniform. After meeting and then outfitting Queen Victoria’s son, the Prince of Wales (known as Bertie), Poole’s popularity soared.

This relationship produced modern black-tie dress. In 1865, tired of fussy white-tie evening dress with coattails, the fashionable Bertie asked Poole to design a more informal ensemble — “a short silk smoking jacket with silk collar and cuffs, lined silk; a pair of trousers to match” — for entertaining at his country home in Sandringham. This look would later come to be known as the tuxedo.

Poole was also Savile Row’s founding tailor. The firm’s bespoke suiting (the process requires three fittings and between 80 to 120 hours of hand stitching) attracted an international clientele, Czar Alexander II of Russia, Sir Winston Churchill, Charles de Gaulle, J.P. Morgan, William Randolph Hearst, Frank Lloyd Wright, among others. The merchant has served each monarch since Queen Victoria which has translated into Poole’s livery and other garments being worn at every coronation, jubilee and royal wedding since the merchant was issued the first warrant in 1869. Sartorial buffs can book a visit to the archive room where leather-bound books detailing every client since 1846 are stored.

Royal Perfumers Royal Manufacturers of Toilet Preparations 89 Jermyn Street, St. James’s London florislondon.com

Floris is an independent, family-run business, and operates from the Jermyn Street premises where it was founded in 1730. Originally a barber, but also trained in perfumery, Juan Famenias Floris introduced a zesty lime unisex fragrance in the late 18th century that became an instant hit, offering both an uplifting perfume and an olfactory tool to combat the stench of London’s sewage-strewn streets. Soon, classic floral scents — rose, lily of the valley, violet, stephanotis — were sold alongside grooming products, bespoke fragrances concocted for wealthy clients in the shop’s cellar. While most royal warrant holders are hush-hush about their customers, Floris has a small museum in the back of the shop with letters and archived receipts from various palaces and high-wattage clientele like Sir Winston Churchill (Special No. 127 and Stephanotis, both of which are still available), Ian Fleming (No. 89; Fleming also mentions Floris in the James Bond novels “Moonraker,” “Diamonds are Forever” and “Dr. No,” Marilyn Monroe (Rose Geranium) and Queen Elizabeth II. Floris received its first royal warrant from King George IV in 1820.

Royal Jewellers, Goldsmiths and Silversmiths 24 Albemarle Street London garrard.com

Established in 1735, The House of Garrard, which also functioned as silversmiths, received its first royal commission from Frederick, Prince of Wales (a black ebony teapot handle) that same year. Queen Victoria appointed Garrard as Crown Jewelers in 1843 and the house has served every monarch since then, crafting five crowns (still worn for state occasions) which can be viewed at the Tower of London Jewel House, a dazzling exhibit of royal regalia, including the Crown Jewels, where tourists are transported through displays by way of a moving walkway).

On top of countless royal commissions, Garrard is known for exquisite tiaras, including the Cambridge Lover’s Knot, a headpiece of 19 diamond-encrusted arches framing large drop-shaped pearls that has been passed down from Queen Mary to Queen Elizabeth II and lent to Princess Diana, and recently worn by the Duchess of Cambridge, in addition to the “Girls of Britain and Ireland tiara,” the spiky diadem with a band of round and lozenge-shaped diamonds frequently worn by Queen Elizabeth II and featured on British bank notes.

Today’s collections are understated, inspired by regal heritage but designed for contemporary life. You can visit the Queen Mary salon upstairs (by appointment) to view paintings of the royal crowns and try on a few imitation tiaras from the royal collection.

Amy Tara Koch, based in Chicago, writes about travel, style, food and parenting.

The post A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2I1NQFH via Online News

[newestbalance]

A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal

The British royal family has long been a source of public fascination, captivating mere mortals in Britain and beyond with a passion for all things Windsor.

Toss a wedding into the mix — specifically one so storybook as the coming nuptials of Prince Harry and his American fiancée, Meghan Markle, on May 19 — and the excitement swells: Where will Meghan shop in London? Where will Harry buy her jewelry? Is there a favorite perfume, chocolate or hat-maker (which raises the question: will Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, offer her new sister-in-law, an actress and former model, a crash course in headpiece etiquette?)

Paparazzi can only capture so much. Another way to gain insight into the predilections of the royal family is by examining the brands that hold the royal warrant — the top-of-the-line British purveyors that have earned the royal family’s seal of approval.

Royal warrants, which have been issued by the British royal family since the 15th century, are a mark of distinction for companies who have provided goods and services for at least five years to Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip or Prince Charles. Suppliers range from silversmiths, champagne houses, perfumers and shoemakers to agricultural crop sprayers and biscuit brands. There are currently about 800 royal warrant holders throughout Britain.

Vetting is fierce. If approved (most applicants are not), the company snags the ultimate endorsement: the honor of displaying the royal coat of arms, along with the prestigious “by appointment” legend alongside the company logo, a practice that can be traced to the reign of Elizabeth I.

With the help of a royal warrant road map, tourists can effectively shop the royal family’s go-to brands, centuries-old companies that represent top quality, heritage and craftsmanship. A guide to the warrants offers something for everyone. The brands are not only for people who can afford to buy a $5,000 bespoke suit without batting an eye, but includes purveyors of cheese, tea, books and grooming products. The road map is an opportunity to scoop up meaningful souvenirs without spending a fortune.

Companies with the royal warrant are so well respected that at least two fashionable hotels, the Beaumont and Hotel Cafe Royal, are offering royal wedding packages that feature walking tours to some of these esteemed businesses.

While nobody can predict the shopping habits of Meghan and Harry, history suggests where they might shop — at purveyors holding the royal warrant.

Royal Grocers and Provisions Merchants Royal Tea Merchants and Grocers 181 Piccadilly London fortnumandmason.com

Founded in 1707 by Hugh Mason, a grocer, and William Fortnum, a royal footman to Queen Anne, Fortnum & Mason became a purveyor of tea and fine food credited with transforming Britain’s culinary landscape by introducing classics like the Scotch egg, a hard-boiled egg encased in sausage meat and dusted with fried breadcrumbs. In the process, they popularized the luxury picnic hamper with ready-to-eat provisions and expanding the consumption of tea beyond the aristocracy.

In the 1920s, sports, cutting edge fashion, interior design and an expedition department (Fortnum’s provisioned the first expedition to Mount Everest) were added to the mix effectively creating a department store. Since its inception, the company has served 12 monarchs with continuous royal warrants. Today, it holds two warrants;Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles.

Tea and the accompanying delicacies — biscuits, preserves, specialty honey, chocolate — are still the company’s foundation. Surprisingly, a classic hamper costs less than buying products separately. The Mini Huntsman Basket (a keepsake wicker hamper filled with specialties like Assam Superb tea, rose and violet cream chocolates, marmalade and Florentine biscuits) is an excellent souvenir. Or, you can splurge on a formal afternoon tea at the storied Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon. The company archivist, Dr. Andrea Tanner, leads a Delicious History tour every second Thursday at 11 a.m.

Royal Cheesemonger 93 Jermyn Street London paxtonandwhitfield.co.uk

The pungent aroma of orange-skinned, washed-rind cheese (Stinking Bishop, anyone?) is the calling card of this shop, established in 1797. Its bounty of artisanal cheeses (mostly British) supplies grand hotels, top restaurants, discerning Londoners and, of course, the palace with top drawer dairy products. Queen Victoria granted Paxton & Whitfield its first warrant as cheesemonger to the Royal Household in 1850. The brand has held onto this honor with subsequent warrants issued by King Edward VII, King George V, King George VI, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother and the Prince of Wales. New this year is an Academy of Cheese, a daylong tutorial for cheese enthusiasts. Tip: Go hungry and ask the cheese stewards for samples of esoteric products like the Fleur de Maquis, a Corsican ewe cheese encased in rosemary and juniper berries.

Royal Hospitality Services 15 Beeston Place London thegoring.com

The Goring, which is steps from Buckingham Palace, was where Kate Middleton (and her entire family) chose to spend the night before her wedding to William. It also served as the preferred perch for royalty during the coronations of George VI in 1937 and Queen Elizabeth II in 1953, and is an unofficial luxury annex for visiting dignitaries.

In the age of minimalist, feels-like-anywhere design, as classic hotels are swallowed up by corporate behemoths, it’s inspiring to stay at a century-old property still owned and operated by the family that built it. The Goring revels in its Britishness. The Michelin-starred Dining Room (that, naturally, showcases British classics like Eggs Drumkilbo, an egg, prawn and lobster dish favored by the late Queen Mother) was designed by interiors heavyweight David Linley, nephew of Queen Elizabeth II. The grand rooms and lobby were recently refurbished by the country’s top artisans to inject a rich, undeniably feels-like-London charm; bespoke furnishings by the respected manufacturer Manborne, Fromental’s exquisite hand-gilded wallpaper, as well as colorful Gainsborough Silk wall coverings and curtains.

Instead of run-of-the-mill butlers, there are red-liveried footmen, a detail that could read as tacky if not for the splendid surroundings and royal family legacy.

In 2013, The Goring was the first and only hotel to be granted a royal warrant from Queen Elizabeth II. If you can’t afford a stay, stop in for afternoon tea (in the lounge where the Queen has held her Christmas lunch) or a cocktail in the glamorous crimson-hued bar.

Royal Hairdressers 71 St James’s St. London truefittandhill.co.uk

William Francis Truefitt started out as court wig maker to King George III, before setting up shop in 1805 to offer luxury barbery services (first wig-making and styling — a time-consuming affair), and later, haircuts to London’s gentry. The pairing of pampering hot towel wet shave with the air of a gentlemen’s club (services always came with a shoe shine) attracted high society, namely Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, Beau Brummell, Charles Dickens, Sir Winston Churchill and the royal family.

In 1875, hair “preparations” were introduced, leading the way to shaving accessories (the old school silvertip badger hair brush, razor and stand make a stylish souvenir), fragrance and skin products, all crafted in Britain. Today, the traditional shave and other services (still complete with complimentary shoe shine) are performed by barbers nattily attired in white shirt with monogrammed waistcoat and tie. The company has had nine consecutive royal warrants and currently holds one from Prince Philip.

Royal Booksellers 187 Piccadilly London hatchards.co.uk

What began in 1797 as a literary coffee house producing political pamphlets and publications spotlighting social issues of the day is London’s oldest bookseller. The shop’s welcome-to-my townhouse charm — elegant wood paneling, tucked-away fireplaces and a wooden spiral staircase — is underscored by staff-curated tables loaded with selections from well-known and more esoteric British scribes like P.G. Wodehouse, Nancy Mitford, Evelyn Waugh, Agatha Christie and Kingsley Amis. Check the schedule for book signings; high profile artists (recently, Julian Barnes) are often on the docket.

On top of buying a book (the shop is well-known for autographed hardbacks and first editions bound in leather with decorative William Morris endpapers), bibliophiles can sign on for Hatchards’s monthly subscription service which can be delivered anywhere in the world. Hatchards gained its first royal warrant in the 18th century from Queen Charlotte, wife of George II and continues to hold all three warrants from Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Philip and Prince Charles.

Royal Purveyors of Chocolates 14 Princes Arcade London prestat.co.uk

This century-old chocolatier’s quirky heritage has amassed a cult following. The actor John Gielgud, Cher, Tina Turner and Paul McCartney have nipped in to sample pâte de fruit “fruity babes” and ginger hunks while the 19th- and early-20th-century French actress Sarah Bernhardt commissioned a specialty inverted violet crème in 1910, a Prestat classic known to have been the Queen Mother’s favorite flavor. One famous relationship was with the novelist Roald Dahl whose passion for Prestat truffles landed Prestat a starring role in his novel “My Uncle Oswald” and is said to have inspired the children’s book, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

Truffles (William and Kate served them at their wedding) are best-sellers. The boozy “Popping Pink Prosecco,” a tangy Yuzu sake and London gin (that dramatically fizzes in the mouth) are newer incarnations, while the classic Marc de Champagne (using the founder Antoine Dufour’s original recipe from 1895) is still in demand. The shop is closed for renovation and is scheduled to reopen May 14.

Royal Hatters 6 St. James’s Street London lockhatters.co.uk

Since 1676, Lock & Co. Hatters has created toppers for royals and aristocracy. The business designed the bicorne hat, the de rigueur military accouterment of the time, worn by Admiral Lord Nelson in the Battle of Trafalgar, invented the bowler, popularized the fedora and tweed newsboy, and have remained the go-to for top hats (Sir Winston Churchill wore one to his wedding in 1908) through the present day. It’s still a family-run business operating from the same four-story building since 1759.

In 1993, Lock introduced women’s high fashion millinery (statement head pieces are a popular trend in Britain; the Duchess of Cambridge frequently sports Lock’s designs to formal occasions) though classic designs remain best-sellers.

As in the past, customers’ heads are measured with a Victorian-looking contraption called a conformateur; purchases come in a hand-cut, paper-and-card hatbox, a souvenir in and of itself. The firm holds two royal warrants: Prince Philip and Prince Charles. Lock partnered with the jeweler Garrard & Co, also the holder of a royal warrant, to fit George IV’s crown to Queen Elizabeth II’s head for her 1953 coronation, relining the interior with ermine and purple velvet.

Royal Livery Tailors 15 Savile Row London henrypoole.com

A military tailoring outfit begun during the Napoleonic Wars evolved into the court tailor to Queen Victoria in 1869, producing the palace’s livery, or official uniform. After meeting and then outfitting Queen Victoria’s son, the Prince of Wales (known as Bertie), Poole’s popularity soared.

This relationship produced modern black-tie dress. In 1865, tired of fussy white-tie evening dress with coattails, the fashionable Bertie asked Poole to design a more informal ensemble — “a short silk smoking jacket with silk collar and cuffs, lined silk; a pair of trousers to match” — for entertaining at his country home in Sandringham. This look would later come to be known as the tuxedo.

Poole was also Savile Row’s founding tailor. The firm’s bespoke suiting (the process requires three fittings and between 80 to 120 hours of hand stitching) attracted an international clientele, Czar Alexander II of Russia, Sir Winston Churchill, Charles de Gaulle, J.P. Morgan, William Randolph Hearst, Frank Lloyd Wright, among others. The merchant has served each monarch since Queen Victoria which has translated into Poole’s livery and other garments being worn at every coronation, jubilee and royal wedding since the merchant was issued the first warrant in 1869. Sartorial buffs can book a visit to the archive room where leather-bound books detailing every client since 1846 are stored.

Royal Perfumers Royal Manufacturers of Toilet Preparations 89 Jermyn Street, St. James’s London florislondon.com

Floris is an independent, family-run business, and operates from the Jermyn Street premises where it was founded in 1730. Originally a barber, but also trained in perfumery, Juan Famenias Floris introduced a zesty lime unisex fragrance in the late 18th century that became an instant hit, offering both an uplifting perfume and an olfactory tool to combat the stench of London’s sewage-strewn streets. Soon, classic floral scents — rose, lily of the valley, violet, stephanotis — were sold alongside grooming products, bespoke fragrances concocted for wealthy clients in the shop’s cellar. While most royal warrant holders are hush-hush about their customers, Floris has a small museum in the back of the shop with letters and archived receipts from various palaces and high-wattage clientele like Sir Winston Churchill (Special No. 127 and Stephanotis, both of which are still available), Ian Fleming (No. 89; Fleming also mentions Floris in the James Bond novels “Moonraker,” “Diamonds are Forever” and “Dr. No,” Marilyn Monroe (Rose Geranium) and Queen Elizabeth II. Floris received its first royal warrant from King George IV in 1820.

Royal Jewellers, Goldsmiths and Silversmiths 24 Albemarle Street London garrard.com

Established in 1735, The House of Garrard, which also functioned as silversmiths, received its first royal commission from Frederick, Prince of Wales (a black ebony teapot handle) that same year. Queen Victoria appointed Garrard as Crown Jewelers in 1843 and the house has served every monarch since then, crafting five crowns (still worn for state occasions) which can be viewed at the Tower of London Jewel House, a dazzling exhibit of royal regalia, including the Crown Jewels, where tourists are transported through displays by way of a moving walkway).

On top of countless royal commissions, Garrard is known for exquisite tiaras, including the Cambridge Lover’s Knot, a headpiece of 19 diamond-encrusted arches framing large drop-shaped pearls that has been passed down from Queen Mary to Queen Elizabeth II and lent to Princess Diana, and recently worn by the Duchess of Cambridge, in addition to the “Girls of Britain and Ireland tiara,” the spiky diadem with a band of round and lozenge-shaped diamonds frequently worn by Queen Elizabeth II and featured on British bank notes.

Today’s collections are understated, inspired by regal heritage but designed for contemporary life. You can visit the Queen Mary salon upstairs (by appointment) to view paintings of the royal crowns and try on a few imitation tiaras from the royal collection.

Amy Tara Koch, based in Chicago, writes about travel, style, food and parenting.

The post A Road Map to Shopping Like a Royal appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2I1NQFH via Everyday News

[elwhitestone-blog]

...and My Link of Knitwear to Crossdressing

I have had a fetish for knitwear since before I was in school, but my desire to cross dress has only recently developed quickly. Throughout my time in school, I had become blind to wearing men's and women's knitwear, because it was the knitwear and the feel of the yarn that was catching my attention, not the "sex" of the garment.  Over time, it just became natural to me that, because I liked softer and fuzzier fabrics like mohair and angora, that those items were more easily found in women's. Sweaters, gloves, scarves, socks - all easier to satisfy my fetish with women's variations of the garment, but it didn't come across to me as cross dressing.

I met my wife right after college, and we worked together.. That story, along with breaking the news to her of my fetish will come later.  Cross dressing started right around that time, when I realized that certain women's garments were absolutely more comfortable than their men's equivalents, and in some cases, looked better on me.  At first it was simple things, like a pair of athletic nylon pants.  I really enjoyed the additional room in the seat for me, as well as the flare of the legs.  I remember liking a women's down vest too - as it came with a fur hood and I just liked it better.  At the time, it didn't seem like too much, and I again was in complete denial about actually cross dressing - I just liked some clothes in women's more than men's. It was more controlled  at the time because I was afraid to order too much from women's shops and have it delivered as my wife wasn't fully on board...but that didn't matter for long...

Along comes eBay - and the opening of a world of limitless types and styles of fashion, all able to be sent to me anonymously, in boxes that my wife just thought were me supplying my knitwear fetish (again, which she was OK with to an extent). Every once in a while I would order a sweater that she considered to feminine, and it wasn't often because I tried to limit myself to more unisex styles and colors.  The benefit of eBay was how things sometimes were bought in bundles (I wanted a sweater, but it came with pants).  Well - I collected that "stuff" in containers with the intent of selling them back, and somehow in that mix I ended up trying all the stuff on.  Some things weren't to my taste (I didn't really case for panties, bras, skirts, and dresses), but other things were immediately a turn on.  Discovering women's stretch jeans was one type that changed my perception, along with some types of tops like cowls and boat necks. The styles were just SO comfortable and actually looked OK on me.  Couple this with another developing fetish (more on that later too) and I was in heaven. I quickly started to focus on women's jeans and bought up dozens of styles and sizes to learn what I was in women's sizing.  At the time, boot cut and flare jeans were "in" and I LOVED them.  The material stretched and was so comfortable - and the excuse I gave my wife (as she does the laundry that really wasn't an excuse) - these jeans were more comfortable because of some weight I had gained.  I was in a women's plus sizes and she actually was fine with this!  eBay quickly became a daily shopping addiction for me, and this didn't help my cross dressing.  I began to wear women's shirts under my sweaters (crewnecks, boat necks, turtlenecks, hoodies) and I soon began to amass a wardrobe of "equivalent" clothes that matched my men's clothes.  When space became an issue, I chose to get rid of the men's clothes. As of today for example, I would say I own 95% of my sweaters in women's, and 60% of my casual shirts in women's.   Most isn't noticeable when I wear them, but others are not (to be honest, I only have begun to wear the breadth of my sweater collection in public).

With this shift in wearing different types of clothing, I began to notice more fashion on women and like it.  I was in denial for a long time not wanting specific things of women's and avoided - shoes, night clothes, athletic wear, leggings, panties, etc. Part of me today is still in denial (I still don't like high heels, but I like block heels but won't wear them out). I currently have no desire to "look" like a girl (wig, etc), but other parts of me have grown to like what I didn't like only 5 years ago.  I LOVE leggings, I will wear panties when I really want to feel like I am wearing  "full" women's outfit, and I have some women's shoes now and love wearing them.   I still work at a formal professional company and dress in men's "business casual" but I have a "persona" on the weekends and other  times.  I wear different (women's) deodorant, body lotion, and perfume on weekends now, mainly because I like the smell on me, and I like the way it makes my clothes smell. My wife isn't too happy about this yet, but she is coming around as the scent isn't too girly or flowery - it just works well with my skin.  I don't wear much for jewelry, but I have been experimenting with a necklace here or there, or multiple rings on odd fingers just because it feels "wrong" and thus I like it.

Summary - cross dressing was something that hit me and I didn't realize it.  I lived through many years without noticing a want to specifically wear women's clothes to the present where I seek out this clothing intentionally.  I still don't want to "look" too feminine (no skirts, dresses, high heels) yet, but I don't want to fully deny this yet as my evolution into cross dressing seems to be still evolving.  Presently, there are more clothes (in my opinion) that either by materials, design, or style, that I say are more comfortable on me, look better on me, or are just "right" on me than the male's counterpart.