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tojisun · 8 months ago

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im shaking in need my god pop star f!reader x hockey player price oh god oh god

EXCLUSIVE: john price (2), goalie for the specgru and a nominee for this year’s vezina, seen holding hands with a budding pop star of the era, five years his junior.

both are seen dining together and walking around downtown after this night's victorious game against the florida shadows. the two seemed to be engrossed in their conversation and are happy with each other.

it is important to note that price had stated two years ago that he was taking himself out of the dating market after divorce with now ex-beau martha castillo, his wife of four years. is he rescinding his statement? when was this relationship formed? did… (subscribe to suns net to read more)

"jesus," john rumbles, his words muffled behind his palm as he sags in his chair. he passes the tablet back to laswell, their manager, and refuses to make eye contact with anyone else in the group.

the team were the first to call him since the incident, the incessant ringing rousing him from his peaceful dream. he stretched his arm out to pluck his phone from the nightstand, careful not to jostle you awake.

in the end, his efforts were futile because your own team reached out to you. unlike the specgru's management team, yours were more prepared for the fiasco, sending threads of emails full of instructions how to deal with the situation.

it's not necessarily a scandal, not with how there were more people reacting in favour of the relationship, but john had always been a private person and he is just not used to how his relationship with you ended up being public just overnight.

it's not your fault, no matter how many times you've told him so. he knew what he was getting into when he pursued you. he told his team, their PR department, and even his parents about what might change. even martha was given a lengthy call, the two of them making arrangements how martha and her new wife could possibly avoid being pulled into the spotlight.

so really, everything's fine. it really is. it's just that you've been ignoring his calls since this all started, running out of his flat with a yelled, "be back!", only to disappear for hours. john is worried.

"lassie’s probably doing work. damage control an' all that—you know how it is in the bizz," johnny says, consoling.

"do you know how the 'bizz' even works, 'tavish?" kyle pipes in.

john hears a choked sound, then an abrupt yelp, before scuffling fills his ears.

great. now his team’s tussling.

“out,” kate’s voice pierces through his thoughts. “you all, out. you’re distracting.”

“but missus!” johnny whines, but he doesn’t get to say any more and john looks up, wanting to see how terrifying kate must have looked like to shut johnny up.

oh, yeah, he thinks. that'd put the fear of god in anyone, alright.

he watches as the team shuffles out, all of them sending him comforting smiles, before he’s left alone with kate and alex. kate sits in front of him. “run it by me again, john. where did she tell you she’d be?"

john licks the back of his teeth, hesitating, but before he can respond, his phone rings. three chirps pass when john was finally able to reach for it, ignoring the bewildered look that alex is giving him—kate, it seems, is not even shocked by how agile john is when it comes to you.

"hello?" he murmurs, turning away from his managers in lieu of privacy. from the reflection of the window, he sees alex look away too, in pretense with john, while kate continues to stare, scrutinizing.

"hi, baby," you chirp with a giggle as if you were not radio silent for four whole hours; the afternoon is about to swell at its peak, the summer sun sweltering from every corner of the city. "i missed you lots."

and just like that, john feels himself relaxing. his shoulders sag in the newfound comfort wafting from within his chest, his bruised lips—he didn't even know he had been biting them in his worry—slipping between his teeth, and his forehead easing from all his frowning.

john feels like he's won another game; like they've defeated the shadows and claimed the cup for themselves already.

"s'alright," he says, a touch softer. "all is well f'r you?"

"all is well," you reply, voice curling like you’re smiling. "i'm gonna do somethin' soon so all i ask is that you trust me, okay?"

"of course," john instantly replies before his mind could even comprehend what you just said. "wait what-"

"okay then. bye!"

the line drops just like that.

"oh god," kate hisses from behind john. john can't quite say he mirrors the sentiment because anything you do is good. everything that you are is bright.

he would trust you with a goal, if he could—you have his heart already, after all.

"holy shit!" mactavish shrieks before a phone is shoved underneath john's face.

he goes cross-eyed, blinded by the blue light for a minute, before he is finally able to push johnny's hand away. he plucks the phone from his friend, grunting when the rest of the squad flank him, heads butting his own as they try to get a glimpse of what was on mactavish's phone.

simon begins to laugh while kyle repeats johnny's words.

john can't blame them. holy shit indeed.

it was a new post from you, in instagram. it was a picture he remembers you asking him to take for you from the night before, all coy as you danced in front of him, both of you ignoring the obvious tent underneath his sweats.

"i want a keepsake," you murmured while batting your eyelashes. "please?"

"it's all yours, if you want," john remembers replying, all parched with his need.

"no," you said with a giggle. "a picture's enough."

"okay," he had said with a croak, his eyes blown wide as desire bloats from the pit of his belly.

so here it is now, posted for everyone's eyes in your account, the product of your seduction—you, sitting on the back your legs, stretching out on the bed, clothed in nothing but his jersey for a top—the bold and white-coloured 2 almost covers your whole back—and a black bikini for a bottom.

his eyes flit to the caption: comfy in his shirt. #letsgospecgru

"holy shit," john rasps out loud this time, his need growing teeth.

keller bursts into the locker room. “your turn to post with her merch.” he throws something at john and it is only his reflexes that allows him to catch it with his hands.

he looks at it—it’s a cream jumper sold during the release of your new album. the material is soft, the embroidery so smooth. the logo, even, is beautiful.

say less, he thought, already slipping out of his practice shirt and into the jumper.

[image]

pricejhn2: her number one fan #newalbum

#john price x reader #john price x f!reader #captain john price #tf 141 #john price #suns #hockey au #LOSING MY MIND THIS IS SO FUNNT #pls let me be delusional bc i would 100% cry if yall @ me with hatred in ur heart </33

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stupittmoran · 1 year ago

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Did you know that Bill Gates' primary residence in Seattle boasts 7 bedrooms, 24 bathrooms, a 60-foot pool with an underwater music system, a 2,500-square-foot gym, a 1,000-square-foot dining room, six kitchens, and a trampoline room with a 20-foot ceiling? And let's not forget the 2,100-square-foot library, a home theater that seats up to 20 guests, and a massive 300-square-foot reception hall with room for 200 guests. And there's also a spacious guesthouse, a garage that fits 23 cars, and an artificial stream stocked with fish.

Depending on the source, its value is estimated at $127 to $170 million. But wait, there's more! Gates also owns homes in Del Mar, California at sea level ($43 million), Indian Wells, California ($12.5 million), Wellington, Florida ($8.7 million), and a ranch in Wyoming ($8.9 million). A fun little tidbit about his Florida property: In 2016, he paid $13.5 million for the neighboring house. Rumor has it he's also bought four other properties on the same street, making him the sole resident of the entire block.

While Bill doesn't own a mega-yacht, he regularly charters them for his vacations. He also has a penchant for spending big on luxury cars, and let's not forget his four private jets. In interviews, he's mentioned that purchasing private jets is his "guilty pleasure."

Now, isn't it ironic that one of the main proponents of reducing our carbon footprint lives like this? With such an expansive estate and luxurious lifestyle, we can't help but wonder how much his own carbon footprint is ballooning.

If the people who are urging us to reduce our carbon footprints are living lives of excess, how can we trust their motivations and the validity of their claims about man-made climate change?

Don't be like Bill!

--Dr. Simon Goddek on Twitter

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mldrgrl · 18 days ago

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La La Land

by: mldrgrl Rating: Teen Pairing: Hanella Summary: Hank gets an offer he can't refuse and brings Stella along.

Never in Hank’s career had one of his novels been so sought after for a film deal. Charlie had been fielding calls on a daily basis from studio execs and some fairly prestigious producers trying to smooth talk their way into buying the rights. Some of the offers were so low it was offensive, but some had been worth listening to their pitch before Hank ultimately shot them down. Charlie just assumed Hank was trying to start a bidding war, but no amount of money could tempt Hank over this book. Maybe for the first time in his life, he felt extremely protective over this piece of work and he wasn’t going to let some studio bastardize his masterpiece, not for all the money in the world.

And then Netflix came calling and their offer to fly him out to LA and hear what they had to say happened to coincide with Stella’s spring break and well, why not take a free trip to the west coast, first class, for some wining and dining on someone else’s dime? Three days and two nights at The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, because what could be more Hollywood than Marilyn Monroe’s former residence? Sure.

Stella was whisked away almost as soon as they arrived. Per the check-in clerk, “your wife has been booked for a spa treatment, Sir, and the studio has sent a car for your meeting.” And with that, fingers were snapped, a bellhop appeared, and Hank went one way, Stella another. Charlie was waiting in the black Escalade that was apparently his ride to the studio.

“Runkle,” Hank said, putting his agent in a headlock to rub his knuckles back and forth over his smooth, bald head.

“Dammit, Hank,” Charlie complained, slapping at Hank’s arm.

“What? It’s not like I’m gonna mess up your hair.” Hank pressed his lips to the top of Charlie’s head before he released him.

“No, but you’ll wrinkle me.” Charlie pushed himself across the car seat, away from Hank, smoothing his tie down his chest.

“Same Runkle, still as tightly clenched as a nun’s twat.”

“This is a big deal, Hank. Netflix has more money than God and they want your book. Maybe they want a whole development deal. I could retire. I could spend the rest of my days sipping mai tais on a lanai in Florida.”

“Florida is where rich assholes go to die, Charlie.”

“Hank, I’m telling you, I think this is big. They fly you out here, they put you up at the Roosevelt, they’re sending private cars, they don’t just do that for a lowball offer.”

“I know how much dollar signs get you hard, Charlie, but try not to nut before we even get to the meeting. Besides, I’m probably not even going to say yes.”

“Ohhhhhh…” Charlie bent his head back and put a hand over his chest. “Hank, you say things like that and it triggers my agita.”

“They’re gonna want to change the ending, which is a nonstarter for me, and they’re gonna want to cast some…some America’s sweetheart like Reese fucking Witherspoon as Miranda, which tells me that they haven’t even read the book at all, they had some intern pass on a synopsis and they don’t give a fuck about the actual material, they just want content. They’re just a fucking content factory shitting out turdburgers that only like five percent of is even watchable.”

“What’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon except you can’t cast Reese Witherspoon in a part that should go to…I don’t know who, but the opposite of Reese Witherspoon.”

“I think you’re really underestimating Reese Witherspoon here, Hank, she’s a fantastic actress, you know she’s an Academy Award winner.”

“Jesus, Runkle, you’re missing the point.”

“Okay, okay.” Charlie put his hands up in surrender. “No Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank closed his eyes. It’d been years since he smoked, but he wanted a cigarette. Every time he came back to LA it was more and more apparent what a hostile, toxic environment it was for him. He didn’t want to go to the meeting anymore, he just wanted to have the driver turn the car around and take him back to Stella. Take him back to New York. He never should have come. It would have been a lot less time consuming to just tell them to fuck off over Zoom.

After they arrived at the studio lot, Hank and Charlie were escorted to the production offices by a young PA whose voice had probably just cracked, but was eager to please. He brought them bottles of water and a tray of snacks which Hank refused and Charlie happily dug into and ripped open a bag of peanuts. The conference room they were left in had a long, sleek table made of solid oak and a view of Sunset Boulevard.

Minutes later, a young woman entered the room through a side door and an entourage of assistants, all women, filed in behind her, all sitting in chairs along one wall as she approached Hank and Charlie. She was tall and angular and looked as though she’d stepped off of the latest cover of Vogue. Her long dark hair was pulled into a slick ponytail and her heels were as sharp as her nails, painted black.

“Eloise Lambert,” she said, extending her hand to Hank. “We appreciate you coming down. Did Paul offer you tea or espresso or is there anything else we can get for you?”

“An espresso sounds nice,” Charlie said.

“You must be the agent,” Eloise said, shifting her handshake to Charlie. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Charles Runkle. Love the set up here. Great production house you’ve got.”

“Settle down, Charlie, they’re supposed to be kissing our asses here, not the other way around.”

Eloise smiled and moved away to take a seat across from the two of them at the short side of the table. One of the assistants slid an espresso in front of Charlie while another slid an ipad in front of Eloise.

“You know I was a PA on A Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” Eloise said, referring to the movie that had been made of Hank’s breakout best seller, God Hates Us All. “It was the first film set I was ever on.”

“Oh?” Hank said, keeping himself as relaxed as possible as visions of sexual harassment charges started dancing in his head.

“And it’s when I vowed that one day I would be an executive producer. It’s criminal how that was adapted. It makes sense to me why you’ve turned down all the other offers for this.”

“I may or may not have punched the director in the dick at a screening, but I got over it, eventually.”

“Todd Carr. Decent guy. Shit director.”

“I take it he’s not on the shortlist for this?”

“I think he’s working on industrials these days.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m going to have Sabrina here take over with the pitch.” Eloise pulled out the empty chair that was next to her and one of the women came over to sit beside her. She was almost a carbon copy of her boss with her dark, slick-backed hair and sharp heels, but she also resembled a child playing dress up.

“Mr. Moody,” Sabrina said, nodding at Hank. “Mr. Runkle. I’m sure the two of you know Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank pressed his lips together and shot his agent a look. Charlie’s eyes were wide, but he kept them forward. Hank felt like kicking him under the table, but refrained.

“Uh, yeah,” Hank said. “I’ve heard of her.”

“It’s not really a secret that her book club has been a major success and that most of her picks have then gone on to be developed from there.”

“Mmhm.”

“We’d like to do something similar, but we want to cultivate a selection that has a bit more…edge, let’s say.”

Hank relaxed a little. “So you’re not looking at Reese for…casting?”

“Casting?” It was Sabrina that tensed now. “That would be a very interesting choice. Is that…is that who you had in mind for Miranda?”

“God, no.”

“Okay, great.” Sabrina nodded and then gestured at someone over her shoulder. “We do have a few choices in mind, if you’d like to take a look.”

“Yeah, sure.”

One of the women gave some papers to Sabrina and then she slid them across the desk to Hank and Charlie. It was a standard breakdown of the characters and the first name on the list under Miranda was Catherine Keener. He could see that. He could even get behind that.

“Okay,” Hank said. “Back to the anti-Witherspoon book club.”

“Not anti, just…alt. Material that might have a bit more grit and that may not always have the neat little happy endings tied up in a bow.”

“So you’re okay with the ending?” Hank asked.

“We’re not trying to give this the A Crazy Little Thing Called Love treatment,” Eloise said. “There’s no reason to not be faithful to the material.”

“Which is why we’d like you to write the scripts,” Sabrina added. “Be the showrunner.”

“Wait, what? Showrunner?”

“Hank would make a great showrunner,” Charlie said. “I think this sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“Shut up, Charlie. What do you mean, showrunner?”

“We’d like to shoot this as a limited series,” Eloise answered. “Eight episodes, possibly ten.”

Hank managed not to fidget through the rest of the pitch as they explained what they wanted from him in terms of scripts, the responsibilities of casting, hiring directors, even the minutiae of costuming and set decoration would fall on his shoulders. The weight of it freaked him out, but the opportunity to maintain creative control over one of his works was enticing. He was suddenly taking this offer very seriously.

“And what about location?” he asked.

“What about it?” Eloise inquired.

“The novel’s set in New York. I’m in New York. I’m not spending eight months in Atlanta or wherever the fuck the tax break du jour is for filming these days.”

“We have relationships with the studios in Queens, not to mention a plethora of east coast based line managers and location scouts to choose from. That won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t know the first fucking thing about running a show.”

“Fortunately, we do.”

Hank felt backed into a corner. He had no good reason not to say no to such a deal. He looked to Charlie, who had the same panic written on his face as that time he’d stupidly thought he could handle a chili dog with sauerkraut from a street vendor on Melrose. His silence was loud.

“There is one other potential offer we’d like to make,” Sabrina said, cutting the tension that suddenly seemed to fill the room. “The daughter in the novel, Paige, she isn’t really part of the story, but she’s mentioned quite often.”

“Yeah.”

“We were thinking that, if this were to be successful, that maybe we could do a second series exploring her perspective.”

“I don’t know that I care to explore Paige’s POV.”

“Not you, necessarily. Isn’t your daughter also a writer?”

“I don’t know that Becca would be interested in Paige’s POV either. You’d have to ask her.”

“Just food for thought,” Eloise said. “A father-daughter created series might make for a potentially interesting gimmick from a marketing perspective.”

“And lucrative,” Charlie suddenly piped up.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Hank said, glaring at Charlie. “He’s got his sights set on a condo in a golf cart community in Florida.”

“Wouldn’t be a very good agent if he wasn’t interested in numbers,” Eloise answered, gesturing over her shoulder at another woman who passed her what Hank recognized as a set of contracts. “I’ll presume you’ll want your lawyer to look things over.”

Charlie immediately started flipping through the pages as soon as the contract was in his hands and Hank stepped on his toes under the table. He stood up, and Eloise stood as well, coming towards him with her hand outstretched.

“I think you’ll find our offer more than satisfactory,” she said, shaking Hank’s hand. “But, if there’s anything we’ve left off the table, I’m sure Mr. Runkle will be in touch to let us know.”

“I am a little disappointed you didn’t even try to hit on me. I thought that’s what all the big Hollywood executives did.”

“My wife probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I did.”

He shrugged. “Neither would mine.”

Hank left the offices in a cloud of quiet dread. Once upon a time he would’ve just signed the contract without giving it much thought as to how he would pull it off, but the older he’d gotten, the more contemplative he’d become, less impulsive. While his agent may have been ready to open a good bottle of champagne, he wasn’t quite there yet. There was only one person’s input that mattered to him.

Wanting to avoid what was sure to be his Charlie’s incessant babbling on the ride back to the hotel, Hank opted to walk. He thought his agent would put up a protest, but Charlie waved to him from the back seat, already on the phone with their lawyer. He watched the Escalade pull away and made his way west on Sunset. The too blue skies and palm trees lining the streets fed into Hank’s already contemplative mood by adding a dose of nostalgia and melancholy.

At Vine Street, Hank turned right, wanting to catch a glimpse of Capitol Records on the way up to Hollywood Boulevard. He casually browsed the walk of fame stars that lined the side street, tallying up how many were dead and gone and were largely forgotten. He had to pull out his phone to take a photo of the star of Richard Dix and set a reminder to himself to search for a wikipedia page later and find out if the man was a porn star or his real name was Dick Dix.

He crossed Hollywood to go stand in front of the famous recording studio building and daydream about what his life might look like if he’d went into music instead. Probably dead. He snapped a photo of the building and texted it to Fish. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he paused as his attention was drawn back to the sidewalk.

“I’m a writer,” he mumbled to himself as he crouched down over the star of Billy Wilder. “But then, nobody’s perfect.”

Hank had made it no secret that a lot of his career had been driven by money and he’d always found it to be a more honest, less vulgar motivator than fame, but secretly, deep down, he’d always admired the real storytellers of the world, the ones driven by passion and need to express. Even more, he’d always admired the ones that could make their art last. He had the soul of a tortured artist, all he was ever lacking was the brain brimming with stories. He took a photo of the star and made no other stops on the rest of the walk to the hotel.

The same check-in clerk from hours before nodded to him as he headed to the elevators. He double-checked the room number written on the keycard holder and punched the number three. A fully-stocked wet bar greeted him beside the door and he called out Stella’s name as he grabbed a glass and looked for the whiskey. His wife emerged from the bedroom door in a plush robe, looking more than freshly showered. Her hair was pulled back, but fluffed. Her face was dewy and her cheeks were pink.

“Netflix spring for the deluxe spa package?” he asked, pouring himself a drink.

“A lovely facial and a wonderful Swedish massage,” she answered.

“Happy ending included?”

“I was waiting for you for that.”

Hank grinned as he took a sip of whiskey and opened up one arm as Stella slipped her arms around his waist. “Good answer,” he murmured, and lowered his glass to kiss her. She licked a drop of whiskey off his bottom lip when he pulled away.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Hank grunted and took one of Stella’s hands, crossing his arm over her chest as he shuffled them out to the main area. He caught a glance of the pool over the balcony view from the wall to wall sliding glass doors as he pulled her down onto the black leather couch. He crossed both feet on the coffee table that looked like it had been carved from driftwood and she put her hand under the side of his jacket to run her hand across his chest.

“They want to give me everything I never knew I even wanted,” he said.

“How very unsatisfying for you.”

He grunted again and took another sip of whiskey before he handed her the glass to sit up and pull his jacket off. She tucked her feet up under her and balanced the glass on her knee as he leaned back and sighed, crossing his feet on the table again and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“They don’t want to change the ending?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Did they share their thoughts on casting?”

“I saw a list.”

“And there was no Reese Witherspoon, I take it?”

He chuckled and then turned his head towards her. “No, they seemed to be spot on with the breakdown. And, they were thinking a limited series format, not a movie.”

“For television?”

“More or less. Eight to ten episodes.”

“Is that preferable?”

“They want me to develop it. Be the showrunner.”

“What does that mean?”

“Write it, cast it, set decorate the fucking thing if I want to, basically be the czar of the show.”

“I see.” She hummed and then her expression turned pensive.

Hank took the glass of whiskey out of Stella’s hand for another drink and then offered it to her. She shook her head so he quickly downed the rest, coughed once from the sting of it and pounded a fist lightly against his sternum. Sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t drink the way he used to. She took the glass from him and put it on the table and then settled next to him again, her hand on his chest.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Is this something you want to do?”

“I’ve never had full creative control over a project before. It’s tempting.”

“Hm.”

She was quiet again. He slumped towards her to nuzzle his face against her neck and closed his eyes as he breathed her in. She smelled like coconut and her skin was warm and slick as he slipped his hand through the gap in her robe to caress her breast. “God, you smell good,” he mumbled. He dragged his bottom lip back and forth across her collarbone and she finally reached up and put her fingers in his hair, scratching her nails up the back of his head how he liked it, but didn’t say anything.

“Tell me what you think I should do, Sherlock.”

“I think it sounds as though you want to say yes, don’t you?”

“I want to know what you think,” he murmured, tipping his chin down and opening his eyes to gaze at her half-exposed breast. He circled his fingertip around her areola in the way he knew she liked, very lightly, counterclockwise. “Be my voice of reason. Talk me out of it, maybe.”

“I would never talk you out of something you want to do.”

“But?”

“What will the timeline of this be like? I have exams approaching and I don’t know how flexible I can be with the time I can take, not like previously when I was in London. If it meant weeks apart…months, even…”

“Mmm say flexible again, but let me get my dick in my hand first.” He pulled back with a smile to let her know he was teasing before she could develop a frown or chastise him for not taking her seriously. She frowned anyway and he began massaging her breast as penance. “Not to worry, Sherlock, I’ve already made it conditional that I wouldn’t even consider agreeing to their offer if they weren’t willing to shoot the show in New York.”

Stella shifted and pulled on Hank’s hair so that he had to tip his head back to look up at her. “Are you telling me they’ve offered to let you write your own show, cast it, direct it, shoot the ser-”

“Don’t forget set decorate the fucking thing if I wanted to,” he interrupted.

“Set decorate the fucking thing, and shoot the series in New York. You who has no experience with any of these things?”

“I thought I was going to have to pinch myself, but no one offered to blow me, so it was pretty obvious it wasn’t a dream.”

“You actually want to do all those things? Be responsible for all of it?”

Hank sobered and sighed as he pulled his hand free from Stella’s robe. “Take the hits if it’s a failure, you mean?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant at all, though it would be something to think about. Trust me, being in charge of a number of people can seem alluring, but it’s also a heavy burden.”

“You don’t think I can carry the load?” He put his hand up and scrunched his face. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

Stella wove her fingers through Hank’s and pressed her palm against his. All he had to do was give her a gentle pull and she lifted up onto her knees. He held onto her as she straddled his thighs and he slouched into the back of the couch. He took her other hand and for a few quiet moments, she stretched her fingers between his as he rubbed circles over the insides of her wrist with his thumbs. She finally twisted her hands free and then brought them to the back of his neck and laced her fingers together.

“This is a massive offer,” she said. “It will mean a lot of time and work and energy.”

“I know that,” he answered, unknotting her robe. Her breasts were bare, but she had plain white cotton panties on. Nothing fancy or lacy, but a view he could still appreciate for the dark shadow of pubic hair through the thin material and the wet spot that hinted at her arousal.

“It’s a huge commitment.”

He let his thumbs drift down and dip into the waistband of her panties. “I think I’m pretty good at commitment,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

“Very, very good,” she whispered, thighs clenching against his legs.

He took a deep breath and moved his hands up her body, over her breasts to her shoulders and back down again. “Do you know who Billy Wilder is, Sherlock?”

“Should I?”

“Golden age of Hollywood filmmaker. Wrote and directed Sunset Boulevard, Some Like it Hot. On his tombstone, he had them put ‘I’m a writer, but then, nobody’s perfect.’”

“Ah, I see.”

Hank cocked his head at her.

“Some Like it Hot,” she said. “Paraphrasing the last line of his own film.”

“Your well of knowledge never ceases to impress.”

“It’s a rather shallow well, I’m afraid, but I do know that one.”

He hummed and ran the flat of his hand down the front of her chest to her navel. “I don’t know what they did to you in that spa, but I don’t think you’ve ever felt so soft.”

“All but the happy ending.”

“Oh yeah, let’s not forget about that.” He made a move to slip his hand back between her legs but she grabbed it and pushed it away.

“Finish your story,” she said.

“And I saw his star on the walk of fame today, the end.” He tried to touch her again, but she pushed him away again and raised her brow. He sighed. “And I saw his star on the walk of fame today and it made me think about how lucky he was to have been able to put his words out there and that we can sit here what, sixty years later, and remember what he wrote.”

“I’ve been snobbish about it in the past,” he continued, “and thought that people who could quote novels were somehow superior to people who could quote movies, but honestly, so what? Someone had to write it first for someone to say. And then someone out there thought it worthy of their grey matter. I have always wondered what it could be like to see something through from page to screen. Not have to complain when they inevitably get it so fucking wrong. So, if Netflix has faith in me, maybe I should have faith in myself and take the chance. No, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I never know what the fuck I’m doing so it’ll just be another day ending in ‘y’.”

Stella’s eyes, dark blue and piercing, softened and lightened. She smiled and her mouth descended onto Hank’s in a firm kiss. He squeaked in surprise and then chuckled. He managed to grasp her hips again and pull her firmly down against his chest.

“My brief affair with an existential crisis turn you on, Sherlock?”

“No, but your commitment does.”

He grinned and then flipped her down to the couch. “Now, then,” he said. “I finished my story. I’d say it’s time for your happy ending.”

“About damn time.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #surprise bitches #someone had to miss them #merry christmas ya filthy animals

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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months ago

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This 1902 Late Queen Anne Victorian in Pensacola, Florida is one of the cutest, cheeriest Victorians I've seen in a long time. Described as an historically significant New Orleans style bohemian, it has 5bds, 3.5ba, $658K.

Except for the large tree outside and new siding, it hasn't changed much.

The sitting room looks lovely. You can tell that the floors are original, too.

Pocket doors are still in between the dining and sitting rooms.

The cute kitchen has the service stairs still intact.

Beachy bath.

Stairs to the 2nd level still have an original newel post.

It's nice and bright up here.

It looks like they made a vanity table out of the fireplace in this room.

This bedroom is nice.

All the bedrooms are so spacious.

Stairs to the 3rd level.

This is definitely a BoHo room.

I can't get over how large the bedrooms are.

Completely remodeled bath with nice blue tile, an industrial sink vanity and bead board walls.

In the finished attic is another bedroom with a great nook.

Nice, private space, and it has a kitchenette.

Nice pool in the back.

Looks like a street of Victorians.

https://www.oldhouses.com/36036

#late queen anne victorian #victorian homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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pepi1989 · 4 months ago

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Can you write about meeting Ben’s family for the first time as a European tennis player :) like maybe just his sister and parents for supper. I’ll let you take creative direction!

A Taste of Home - Ben Shelton

The golden hues of the Florida sunset bathed the Shelton family home in a warm, inviting glow as you arrived. The smell of grilled food and homemade treats mingled with the sound of laughter and chatter coming from within. Tonight was your first dinner with Ben’s family, and the excitement was tinged with a touch of nervousness.

You rang the doorbell, your heart fluttering with anticipation. After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Emma. Her lively, curly hair framed her face as she greeted you with an enthusiastic smile.

“Hey! You must be the one Ben’s been raving about!” she said, stepping aside to let you in. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you!”

You smiled, feeling your nerves ease. “It’s great to finally be here!”

Emma led you into the dining area, where Bryan, was busy putting the finishing touches on dinner. His easygoing demeanor and warm smile immediately made you feel at home. Lisa graceful and welcoming, was setting the table, her eyes sparkling with kindness as she glanced over.

“Welcome! We’re so glad you could join us,” Bryan said, shaking your hand firmly. “Ben’s spoken highly of you. We’re excited to finally meet you.”

“Thank you! I’m thrilled to be here,” you replied, feeling the genuine warmth of their hospitality.

Lisa called everyone to the table, where a delicious spread awaited. The table was adorned with grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a fresh salad. As everyone settled in, Ben sat beside you, his reassuring presence a comforting anchor.

Bryan shared stories from his days as a professional player and his role as a coach for the Gators, his pride evident in every word. Lisa added anecdotes from her own junior tennis days, and you were soon engrossed in their lively conversation.

Emma, ever enthusiastic, turned to you with a playful challenge. “I’ve heard you’re pretty good on the court. How about a match sometime? I promise I’ll go easy on you!”

You laughed, enjoying the friendly competition. “Only if you promise to show me your best moves!”

As the evening progressed, Lisa brought out a homemade pie that filled the room with a sweet, comforting aroma. The conversation turned to light-hearted teasing and shared laughs, and you felt a deep sense of belonging with Ben’s family.

Later, as you prepared to leave, Bryan took a moment to speak with you privately. His eyes were warm and sincere. “You fit in perfectly with us. Ben is fortunate to have you in his life.”

His words made your heart swell with appreciation. As you said your goodbyes and stepped out into the warm Florida night, you knew that this dinner was more than just a meal, it was the start of something meaningful and special with Ben’s family.

With Ben by your side, you walked away from the Shelton home feeling content and embraced, knowing this was just the beginning of many wonderful moments together.

#ben shelton #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x reader #tennis x reader

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firetrucks-fastcars · 1 year ago

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Friendsgiving with the F1 Grid

2.1K words | Logan Sargeant/Oscar Piastri | Logan is sad about missing Thanksgiving with his family in America. Oscar brings Thanksgiving to him

Oscar knew all of Logan’s facial expressions. It came with the territory of being together for so long and friends for even longer. He’d learned to read his boyfriend long ago when they were teammates at Prema and Logan was freshly twenty and terrified to reveal how he felt to anyone. Oscar was exceptionally good at reading people and quickly deciphered all of Logan’s minute facial expressions and could tell what the older boy was feeling in a matter of seconds. Luckily, Logan had gotten better at talking about his feelings over the years and was much more inclined to tell Oscar what was really going on instead swearing everything was fine until “fine” didn’t sound like a real word. So today, when Logan came in from the balcony where he’d been on facetime with his mom and brother, a fake smile plastered on his pretty face, Oscar knew he was upset.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked, placing his phone face down on the table and holding his arms open.

Despite Logan being slightly taller and this position being mildly uncomfortable in the armed dining chair Oscar was sitting in, Logan sat sideways on his lap, resting his head against his shoulder.

“I dunno. It’s dumb.”

“I bet it’s not,” Oscar brushed his blonde waves away from his forehead. “Did your mom or Dalton say something to you?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Loges?”

Oscar knew what it was without asking. Today was Thanksgiving and instead of being in Florida, stuffing his face with food and arguing over football with his brother, Logan was in Abu Dhabi, getting ready for media day.

His mom had called while they were eating breakfast, wanting to speak to Logan before all of their guests arrived for dinner. Dalton had been there too, and Oscar had leaned over to say hello before Logan was excusing himself to the balcony to talk to his family in private. Oscar knew he would be sad when he came back in. Thanksgiving was one of Logan’s favorite holidays and he missed his family desperately at this time of year. Usually his homesickness wasn’t too bad, he’d adapted over the many years he’d been away, but holidays always made him more melancholy than usual.

During their time as teammates, Logan had described American Thanksgiving to him and Fred, telling them about the food and football on the beach with his younger cousins, when it was still warm enough to tackle each other into the water. He told them that even as adults, he and Dalton would stretch out on opposite ends of the L-shaped sectional in their basement and fall into a food coma together while they watched football and Friends reruns away from the chaos of their extended family.

“I just miss home I guess,” Logan finally said. “I never go home for Thanksgiving and usually it’s okay. For some reason this year is just hard.”

“I’m sorry baby. I know you miss your mom and Dalton.”

“I just wish I could be there. I know I’m going home next week and that you’re coming with me, but it isn’t the same. Even Dalton said so.”

“He misses his little brother more than he wants to admit.”

“I miss him. He’s my best friend. Besides you.”

“I know, baby. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.”

“It’s okay, Osc. I know you would if you could.”

“I can have pumpkin pie delivered tonight. Like that year at Prema. We can even watch that Christmas vacation movie you like so much.”

“I made Dalton promise he wouldn’t watch it until I got home. So I won’t watch it without him.”

“We can watch the grinch instead then. I just hate seeing you sad babe.”

“I hate being sad,” Logan sighed. “I’ll get over it. I guess it just hurts more that I’m the only American on the grid. So, no one else gets it. I know it’s been a long season, and everyone misses their families by now. It’s just different for me. No one else even celebrates Thanksgiving. Except for Lance but that doesn’t count.”

Oscar chuckled and kissed his shoulder, “I’ll do whatever I can to make today better.”

“Can you get me out of media? That would help a lot.”

As if on cue, Oscar’s alarm to head downstairs went off.

“No can do, baby. At least we have the press conference together.”

*****

When Lando plopped down on the couch in Oscar’s driver’s room, the younger man didn’t even look up, too busy staring at his phone screen with furrowed brows.

“Earth to Oscar,” Lando said, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “What’s got you so focused?”

“I’m trying to figure out Thanksgiving.”

“Why?”

“Thanksgiving is today, and Logan is really homesick. I wanted to do something special for him.”

“What if we throw him a Thanksgiving dinner?” Lando pondered.

“How in the hell are we going to do that? Americans spend days prepping for this and we’ve got,” Oscar glanced down at his watch. “Six hours.”

“You do realize I’m friends with Max Verstappen, right? We can make anything happen.”

“Would he do that?”

“If we asked him, yeah. He may look like a grump, but he’s got a soft spot for the rookies. Lewis too. I’m sure with their help we could pull something together. I could ask George to get all of the drivers that are available. We could make a fake GPDA meeting or something and have the food set up there.”

��Where are we going to get that much food on this short notice?”

“Worry not Piastri, the Mclaren catering team loves me.”

“You’re seriously going to do all of this? I was just going to order pumpkin pie to our hotel and maybe blow him to make him feel better.”

“You’re my friend Oscar and so is Logan. Plus, he looks like a kicked puppy when he’s sad and I really don’t like it.”

Lando did have a point there.

“We’re gonna throw your boyfriend a Thanksgiving dinner so kickass that he’ll be the one blowing you.”

“Thanks for looking out for my sex life,” Oscar chuckled.

“I do what I can. But remember we share a wall and I already know what your name is. I don’t need to hear Logan moaning it all night.”

“Noted.”

*****

From: George Russel

To: GPDA

“Hello everyone. I’m sorry for the late notice but there will be a mandatory GPDA meeting tonight at 1830 in the FIA building on track. We’ll be discussing matters unresolved from this season and looking ahead to 2024. Please like this message to indicate you have seen it and will be attending. See you then.”

Liked by Max Verstappen, Fernando Alonso, Charles Leclerc, Alex Albon, and 16 others

“Why do you think they called a last-minute meeting?” Logan asked as they trekked through the dark paddock to the FIA building.

“Someone probably had some petty bullshit that they waited until the last race of the season to make a stink about just to be a dick.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m sorry this is cutting into our pumpkin pie and Christmas movie time,” Oscar said, bumping their shoulders together. “I’ll make it up to you when we get back. Maybe this won’t last too long.”

“It’s okay Osc.Thank you for trying to cheer me up today. It means a lot.”

“Hey,” Oscar stopped him and grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him gently. “You’re my favorite person on the planet. I would do anything to see you smile.”

Logan smiled, tucking his head shyly.

“There it is,” Oscar teased, tilting his head up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Now come on, you know how George gets when people are late.”

They climbed the stairs to the entrance and swiped their driver badges to enter the front doors. Oscar led the way down the hallway to the conference room and pushed open the doors.

Logan gasped when he saw, instead of twenty chairs placed neatly in rows and George Russel in front of a podium, eighteen other drivers looking at him with the biggest grins he’d ever seen, and long tables absolutely loaded with food.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Lando cheered as he bounded across the room like an over excited puppy to hug him.

“What?” Logan found himself at a loss for words as he let Lando crush his ribs.

“Oscar said you were sad that you couldn’t be home for Thanksgiving, so we brought Thanksgiving to you,” he explained, pulling away to let him breathe. “Max, Lewis, and George helped us organize and I bribed the Mclaren catering team with golf lessons.”

“From Carlos I hope,” Max teased, appearing over Lando’s shoulder.

“Rude. But yes, from Carlos.”

Max elbowed Lando out of the way and ruffled Logan’s hair, “Happy Thanksgiving Logan.”

“Thank you, Max. And thank you for helping, but how did you pull this off?”

Max shrugged, “Three-time world champion and seven-time world champion. It’s pretty easy to get shit done with that many trophies.”

Lewis appeared next, pulling him into a side hug and giving him a friendly kiss on the temple, “You have some people who really love you brother. You’re lucky.”

“Yeah I am.”

Somehow, Logan found himself seated between Alex and Yuki, plates piled high with food that definitely didn’t fit into their diet plans, letting Yuki chatter away and ask him a million questions about Thanksgiving cuisine. No, he didn't know why there were marshmallows on the sweet potatoes. Yes, he thought it was good. Yes, his mom makes it better than this.

It wasn’t quite the same as beach football with his cousins and couch naps with Dalton, but it was pretty damn good.

At some point, Lewis made them all go around and say what they were thankful for, which Logan usually found cringy and embarrassing but found himself getting a little choked up tonight. He felt tears well up as Max said he was thankful for his cats and sugar free Red Bull but then sat down and squeezed Daniel’s hand discreetly between their chairs. He had to hold back his tears when it was his turn and he stood and looked around the room.

“I’m thankful to be here,” he said honestly. “I’m thankful for the opportunity to get a season in F1 and race alongside all of you.”

He sat down quickly before the tears could start flowing properly and he felt a hand resting on his knee. He looked over at Alex who was smiling at him sincerely.

“It won’t be your last,” he whispered.

“I really hope so.”

Eventually the gathering devolved into chaos when Valtteri suggested drinking games and he had to be reminded that they had free practice sessions the next day and needed to be getting to bed.

“What are we going to do with all of this extra food?” Logan asked.

They had made a large dent in the spread, twenty grown men who didn’t often get to eat unrestricted could really put away some food, but there was still more left that Logan didn’t want to waste.

“Don’t worry,” George assured him. “Lewis found a women and children’s shelter nearby and the team is going to drop all of this off with them first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

Oscar appeared behind him, squeezing his shoulders gently.

“Are you ready to go baby? I think you’re gonna have to roll me back to the hotel.”

Logan chuckled and leaned back into his warmth, “Yeah let's go. Sleep is calling me.”

They said their goodbyes quickly, all the other drivers on a similar page and just as eager to get home and sleep as they were.

They both took a quick shower, taking advantage of the dual shower heads to be efficient and collapsed into bed. Logan’s limbs felt heavy, but he rolled over anyway, fitting his head into the bend of Oscar’s hip where he was propped against the headboard, flipping through TV channels. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and relaxed into the plush mattress as the opening titles of How the Grinch Stole Christmas rolled across the screen.

“Thank you for today, Oscar,” Logan said as they watched Cindy Lou Who interview the citizens of Whoville. “It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I told you; I’d do anything to see you smile.”

“You make me smile.”

“I’m glad.”

Logan turned his head slightly to press a kiss to the thin skin of Oscar’s inner thigh.

“I love you Osc.”

“I love you more. Happy Thanksgiving Loges.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

#formula 1 #formula 1 rpf #f1 #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #loscar #my works #formula 1 fic #logan sargeant fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfiction #loscar fanfiction

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sunny-isles-beach-condos · 1 year ago

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Bentley Residences Sunny Isles Beach: Where Opulence Meets Oceanfront Living

Nestled in the heart of Sunny Isles Beach, Florida, the Bentley Residences stand as a beacon of luxury, offering an unparalleled living experience that seamlessly blends the elegance of Bentley Motors with the serenity of oceanfront living. This exclusive residential enclave is a testament to meticulous craftsmanship, sophisticated design, and the promise of a lifestyle reserved for the discerning few.

Unveiling Bentley Residences

A Legacy of Elegance

Bentley Motors, with a storied history dating back to 1919, has long been synonymous with opulence, precision, and an unwavering commitment to craftsmanship. The extension of the Bentley brand into the realm of real estate is a natural progression, allowing enthusiasts and connoisseurs to immerse themselves in the essence of Bentley's timeless sophistication.

The Dezervator™ Experience

From the moment residents glide into the Dezervator™, Bentley's exclusive vehicular elevator system, a sense of grandeur envelops them. This innovative feature seamlessly combines functionality with luxury, whisking residents to their private havens with an elegance reminiscent of Bentley's iconic vehicles.

Elegance in Every Detail

Residence Features

The Bentley Residences in Sunny Isles Beach redefine luxury living with an array of meticulously crafted features:

Sweeping Views: Floor-to-ceiling windows frame panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean and Intracoastal, bringing the beauty of nature into every residence.

Private Garages: Each residence boasts a private 3 or 4-car garage, accessible via the innovative Dezervator™ system, ensuring a seamless transition from the road to the residence.

Outdoor Living: Oversized balconies and terraces extend the living space outdoors, providing a luxurious setting for relaxation or entertaining.

Gourmet Kitchens: State-of-the-art Gaggenau appliances, including a tall wine cooler and steam and convection ovens, grace the kitchens, catering to the culinary desires of residents.

Masterful Suites: The master suites exude opulence, featuring stone floors, Toto Neorest toilets, freestanding tubs with views, and a sauna, creating a spa-like retreat within the residence.

Beyond Residences: Enriching Environments

Bentley Residences Amenity Program

A collection of over 20,000 square feet of amenities, exquisitely designed by Bentley, elevates the living experience:

Three-Story Lobby: Awe-inspiring and elegant, the lobby offers ocean views, setting the tone for the luxury that awaits within.

Dining Excellence: The lobby bar and restaurant, open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, offer a culinary experience complemented by ocean vistas.

Whiskey Bar and Lounge: Inspired by Bentley's iconic matrix grille, the mezzanine-level whiskey bar and lounge provide a sophisticated space for relaxation.

Cinematic Retreat: The movie theater, designed to mimic the interior of a Bentley car, invites residents to indulge in cinematic pleasures.

Oceanfront Oasis: The lushly-landscaped oceanfront deck features a resort-style heated swimming pool, spa, and poolside food and beverage service, creating a haven of relaxation.

Wellness Haven: From a state-of-the-art fitness center to an outdoor yoga studio with ocean views, Bentley Residences cater to the well-being of residents.

Exclusive Services: 24-hour valet service, security, and multilingual concierge service ensure that every resident's needs are met with the utmost attention.

Your Invitation to Luxury Living

Bentley Residences in Sunny Isles Beach invite those with a passion for sophistication and a penchant for the extraordinary to embark on a journey where every detail is crafted with precision, and every moment is an indulgence. For the best deals and access to pre-construction inventory, contact Katerina, broker at Brosda and Bentley Realtors, at (305) 788-9393. Elevate your lifestyle and embrace the epitome of luxury living with Bentley Residences.

#Bentley #Bentley Residences #Sunny Isles Beach #Sunny Isles Beach Condos #Sunny Isles Beach Condos for sale #Miami Real Estate #Luxury Lifestyle #Luxury Condos #Luxury Living #Luxurious Living

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shefanispeculator · 1 year ago

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Here’s Your First Peek at Blake Shelton’s Las Vegas Honky Tonk Bar

Blake Shelton’s sprawling country bar will offer some of the best views in Las Vegas

by Janna Karel Jan 4, 2024, 1:49pm PST

Janna Karel is the Editor for Eater Vegas.

Blake Shelton’s Ole Red, a sprawling, multi-story bar, dance hall, music venue, and restaurant, opens soon, and when it does, it may offer the best rooftop view of the Las Vegas Strip. Shelton broke ground on Ole Red in January of 2023 in front of the Horseshoe Las Vegas. Since then, construction crews have been building the four-story Tennessee-born restaurant, chefs have been developing a menu with dishes that are exclusive to Las Vegas, and Shelton’s team has been bulking up the roster of musical acts that will perform on stage beneath the 4,500-pound ceiling-mounted tractor.

The roughly 27,000-square-foot country bar has four levels. On the first floor is a stage in front of a 38-foot-tall LED screen that can project images to complement shows or be divided into smaller screens for broadcasting sports and other events. The second and third stories overlook the stage and each floor has a bar at the back and fully modular seating — meaning that each floor can offer traditional restaurant-style tables, lounge-style seating, or even have the furniture cleared away to make room for dancing.

The second floor has a first for Las Vegas — a direct walkway into the honky tonk. The elevated pedestrian walkway stretches from the Bellagio Las Vegas Hotel and Casino side of Las Vegas Boulevard to right inside the bar. Both stories have outdoor balconies, offering views of the Grand Bazaar Shops to the East and the Fountains at Bellagio to the west.

The fourth floor is up on the rooftop and will offer a more exclusive experience. Reservations will be encouraged for evening VIP dining, with semi-private cabanas and lounge seating reserved with table minimums. The rooftop will have regular dining at lunch time, then transition to nightlife service around 9 p.m. every night, with cocktail menus and entertainment unique to the fourth floor.

The view from the center Strip rooftop is panoramic, offering views from the Mandalay Bay at the south end of the Strip to the Mirage at the north end. It’s primed for viewing big events like the Formula One Las Vegas Grand Prix and parades for the Golden Knights or Las Vegas Aces, with more than a mile of visibility in either direction. Ole Red can seat about 670 people, or offer standing room for more than 1,100. It’s a capacity that warrants the facility’s two kitchens.

Rendering of Ole Red.

The menu will have about 17 items from Ole Red’s locations in Tennessee, Florida, and Shelton’s hometown of Tishomingo, Oklahoma. Chef Mark Boor spent months developing a further 17 dishes that will be unique to Las Vegas. There will be appetizers like the Turnin’ Me On loaded tots, which are rounds of house-made crispy tots piled high with truffle salt, bacon, parmesan, herbs, a sweet bourbon onion and tomato jam, and a smoked black bean aioli. Shrimp corn dogs are Boor’s answer to “Vegas-ifying” the corn dog — coating skewers of shrimp in a light and flaky batter, served with three types of aioli. Boor says his favorite dish, and one he expects to be a crowd-pleaser, is the blackberry crispy chicken sliders. The three mini sandwiches are layered with sweet blackberry compote, a tangy whipped goat cheese spread with jalapenos, cabbage, and super crispy chicken on brioche buns.

Leaning into the West Coast-adjacent location, the menu will have a street corn salad with roasted corn and cotija cheese and mahi-mahi tacos with slaw and avocado. The Hell Right burger is 10 ounces of ground short rib, brisket, and chuck with hatch green chiles, pepper jack cheese, and smoked mushrooms — the result a super juicy burger requiring a two-hand grip. And there’s also the Ole Red ribeye, a 20-ounce bone-in ribeye with spiced chipotle butter, horseradish mashed potatoes, and crunchy slaw.

Ole Red Las Vegas and Ryman Hospitality Properties say that this will be the chain’s largest location to date. With a focus on live country music, the bar will predominantly boast a soundtrack of acoustic solo artists during the day, bands in the evening, and even DJs performing after dark. General manager, Ryan Klaasen says that on most days, the restaurant will be organized for lunch service through the afternoon, and then the tables and booths may take on whatever redecorating is needed to accommodate the night’s entertainment.

“I’ve been coming here a long time. I hosted award shows and worked concerts and was a fan and witness to Gwen Stefani’s residency,” Shelton said at an announcement for the bar last January. “And every time I’m here, I want to see some damn country music.” Shelton said he expects that Ole Red will welcome talent from unsigned singers and artists previously featured on The Voice. He’s also pitched a night in which visitors play talent scouts, listening to music from country artists in a venue with concert-quality production.

While Ole Red doesn’t have an opening date yet, it is expected to open within the next few weeks.

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plethoraworldatlas · 5 months ago

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After a doctor suffered a fatal allergic reaction at a Disney World restaurant, Disney is trying to get her widower's wrongful death lawsuit tossed by pointing to the fine print of a Disney+ trial he signed up for years earlier.

Jeffrey Piccolo is representing the estate of his late wife, Kanokporn Tangsuan, a doctor at New York's NYU Langone hospital who died of an allergic reaction while visiting the Florida resort in October.

The couple, along with Piccolo's mother, went to dinner on the night of Oct. 5 at Raglan Road Irish Pub, a restaurant located within a shopping and dining complex called Disney Springs.

Tangsuan was "highly allergic" to dairy and nuts, and they chose that particular restaurant in part because of its promises about accommodating patrons with food allergies, according to the lawsuit filed in a Florida circuit court.

The complaint details the family's repeated conversations with their waiter about Tangsuan's allergies. The family allegedly raised the issue upfront, inquired about the safety of specific menu items, had the server confirm with the chef that they could be made allergen-free and asked for confirmation "several more times" after that.

"When the waiter returned with [Tangsuan's] food, some of the items did not have allergen free flags in them and [Tangsuan] and [Piccolo] once again questioned the waiter who, once again, guaranteed the food being delivered to [Tangsuan] was allergen free," the lawsuit reads.

The three of them ate and then went their separate ways: Piccolo brought the leftovers to their room, while his wife and mother headed for the stores. After about 45 minutes, Tangsuan "began having severe difficulty breathing and collapsed to the floor."

She self-administered an epi-pen, and an observer called 911. The Piccolos, who had tried calling her multiple times, were eventually told she had been rushed to the hospital. They went to meet her and, after a period of waiting, were told that she had died.

"The medical examiner's investigation determined that [Tangsuan's] cause of death was as a result of anaphylaxis due to elevated levels of dairy and nut in her system," according to the lawsuit.

...

He is seeking more than $50,000 in damages and trial by jury "on all issues so triable."

Disney says the case should be handled out of court because Piccolo created a streaming account

Neither Disney Parks nor its lawyer has responded to NPR's request for comment. They have, however, fought back in legal filings.

In late May, Disney's lawyers filed a motion asking the circuit court to order Piccolo to arbitrate the case — with them and a neutral third party in private, as opposed to publicly in court — and to pause the legal proceedings in the meantime.

Arbitration is generally considered a more efficient and cost-effective method of resolving disputes than litigation, and Disney said explicitly in court documents that the "main benefit of arbitration is avoiding heavy litigation costs."

The reason it says Piccolo must be compelled to arbitrate? A clause in the terms and conditions he signed off on when he created a Disney+ account for a monthlong trial in 2019.

...

"The notion that terms agreed to by a consumer when creating a Disney+ free trial account would forever bar that consumer's right to a jury trial in any dispute with any Disney affiliate or subsidiary, is so outrageously unreasonable and unfair as to shock the judicial conscience, and this Court should not enforce such an agreement," they wrote.

#disney #us law #allergies

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give-me-a-movie-camera · 2 years ago

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I was watching I Love Lucy on Pluto TV last night and it completely slipped my mind that yesterday marked Desi Arnaz’s 106th birthday.

His was a classic Riches-to-Rags, Rags-to-Riches Cinderella tale. Desiderio Alberto ‘Desi’ Arnaz y de Acha III was born 2 March 1917 in Santiago de Cuba, Oriente Province, Cuba, the only son of wealthy landowner Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y de Alberni II (a prominent Cuban politician, who, to date, was the youngest mayor of Santiago de Cuba from 1923 to 1932) and his wife, Dolores ‘Lolita’ de Acha y de Socías (one of the most beautiful women in the Caribbean, the daughter of a businessman, one of three founders of Bacardi Rum Limited, the world's largest privately-owned spirits company). Desi was of the small but vastly privileged, upper-class y de Acha, the descendent of Cuban nobility of whose colonial ancestors originated from Santander, Provincia de Cantabria, Cantabria, Spain. (His grandfather, Dr Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y Alberni I, was assigned to the first United States volunteer cavalry in Cuba, the ‘Rough Riders’ under the leadership of ‘Hero of Cuba’ Theodore Roosevelt during the Spanish-American War on 1 July 1898. To legend, they sieged San Juan Hill on horseback, and though the forged conquest did not belong primarily to Roosevelt, for the conflict was an integrated effort between the white volunteer regiment and the 1,250 black Buffalo Soldiers, the famed battle gained Cuba her independence from Spain—a victory for the people, the Cuban people).

At the height of the Cuban Revolution of 1933, Desi and his family were forced to flee their Motherland, leaving their riches behind. Following a brief election, the government collapsed with the removal of President Gerardo Machado y Morales from office in August of 1933. The opposing anarchists seized all political leaders and stripped them of their power. Among them, Desi’s father, imprisoned by the regime, before his brother-in-law, Alberto de Acha, intervened on his behalf, thus making his escape to Miami, where he was to remain in exile. Having lost their holdings to the rebels who confiscated their property (their palatial home, a cattle ranch, two dairy farms, and a vacation villa on a private island in Santiago Bay), his father sent for Desi and his mother, who took refuge in Key West, Monroe, Florida in 1934. When Desi washed upon the shores of the Americas, his father had established an import-export company, where the family of three took up frugal lodgings in the company warehouse and dined on cans of cold beans. Desi came to live in New York City and Los Angeles for about one year, where he tightened his belt for survival and scrambled for employment as a struggling musician. Following an engagement as a guitar player for a Latin-American band at the Roney Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach, and a cursory stint with the Xavier Cugat Orchestra in 1937, he made his Broadway debut in the Rodgers and Hart musical Too Many Girls, where he reprised the role for RKO's major motion picture of the same name in 1940. During the course of filming, he fell head-over-heels for the Apricot Queen, Lucille Désirée Ball. The couple eloped on 30 November 1940 in Greenwich, Fairfield, Connecticut. By 1949, at the age of thirty-two, Desi established himself a renowned nightclub entertainer as conga-playing band leader for the travelling self-titled Cuban orchestra.

Most Hollywood buffs would do well to remember the Power Couple formed by Desilu Productions—a celluloid empire built on the backs of Lucy and Desi’s American Dreams, despite the public scandals and tumultuous marital woes. But at the crowning glory of their golden existence, there are those who neglect Desi's legacy and his reluctant resignation to his fate as the Man Behind the Curtain, to remain in Lucy’s shadow so long as he lived. Lucy, of whose celebrity distinction was of higher standing than her husband’s. Desi, though undoubtedly talented, who was not exempt from the unjust ostracization and societal prejudice that plagued him as a Cuban Spaniard immigrant in racially-charged Hollywood. For those who clutched their pearls at the prospect of Middle American households who might've dismissed acceptance of the world’s first interracial couple on television, Lucy and Desi defied those expectations and dissolved racial barriers in an era dominated by cultural strife. Audiences of all races, colour, and creed came together to shower the Ricardos with adoration and praise, because they came to understand the Ricardos epitomized the human experience, no matter that they didn't reflect the typical post-war domestic demographic. Against all odds, the world fell in love with the All-American Ricardos… white, Hispanic, or otherwise. Lucy and Desi, to be envied by all... America's Sweethearts.

On his 106th birthday, we remember Desi for the pioneer he was, as the Mastermind behind the nation’s most Beloved Redhead.

Behind every great woman lies a greater man.

Perhaps Desi speaks for us all when he declared his everlasting love, in his own words... ‘I Love Lucy was never just a title.’

💓 Happy Heavenly Birthday, Desi. 💓

𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・

#my edit #classic television #old hollywood #1950s #I Love Lucy #p: desi arnaz #p: lucille ball #happy heavenly birthday

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