#Dewar PR

[yauchfilms]

fever pitch ✢ connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem!reader 

warnings: fluff!, mentions of vomiting, this is a sick fic!!!, swearing, connor being down bad

summary: connor comes to pick up y/n for their first date. he wasn’t expecting to spend the evening playing nurse…..

word count: 2.3k

author's note: based tightly on one of my favorite scenes in cinema, from the greatest film of all time. 

connor grasps tightly onto the bouquet of flowers he had thrown together earlier in the evening from his weekly trader joe’s run: baby’s breath and daisies haphazardly wrapped in yesterday’s edition of the star tribune that he so graciously “borrowed” from the pr office this morning. nervously bringing his closed fist to the door, he sends it; three curt knocks hitting the front door to your apartment. 

he waits a beat, hearing nothing but what he swears is a loud, ominous groan. perplexed, he knocks again. 

“hey, it’s, uh, it’s connor? kaylee and du- uh, brandon’s friend,” he calls out, not entirely sure that he’s even speaking to anyone. 

suddenly, the handle turns, and he’s met with you – pale, chapped, hair a sweaty, matted mess and totally unlike what you looked like in the photos that his teammate’s girlfriend had showed him last week when she decided you two needed to grab a drink together. 

“oh my god,” you utter, “come back; i’ll call you tomorrow. i’m so sorry, i’m so fucking sick.”

you attempt to close the door, trying to retreat back into the comfort of your apartment to stake your claim back on the toilet bowl, when suddenly an arm is blocking your path.

“wait, wait! what kind of sick? are you- are you in pain?” connor probes, a look of genuine concern washing over him. his blue-gray eyes meet with yours, pleading with you, and suddenly, the amount of guilt in your mind increases tenfold. 

“i- i ate at this new place for lunch, and i think –” you muster, and suddenly a wave of nausea overtakes you once again, and you sprint your way back to the safety of your bathroom, leaving your date at the door once again. 

“are you faking it? because, you know, we don’t have to really do this. we can lie and tell kaylee we went out, if you want,” you hear connor call out to you, him still not daring to cross the threshold. 

you don’t respond, your head too busy shoved into the toilet, trying to empty out the contents of your stomach. you plead to anyone you can to save yourself from this torment – your mom, god, any higher power at this point. 

you hear footsteps suddenly approaching, and you let out another groan. he really won’t take the hint, will he?

suddenly, there’s a knock on the open bathroom door. 

“so, uh, do you wanna call a raincheck on this? i can come back tomorrow if you’re not busy,” he calls to you, his head finally peeking into the bathroom. you can’t believe he’s seeing you like this, as you let out another heave into the bowl. all you can do is groan again.

a few moments pass, and you finally feel a wave of reprieve, sitting back on your heels.

somehow, he’s still standing there, leaning against the doorframe.  

he stuck it out for this long; surely he could be of help in your time of need?

“please stay,” you whisper, voice barely audible in the echoing bathroom. 

suddenly, he’s by your side, helping you up off the ground. steadying your grip on his arm, his opposite hand skirting your waist, not daring to roam anywhere unwanted. he looks around for a trashcan, unable to locate one in your bathroom. he grabs the closest thing he can find – an empty, cloth laundry bag tucked into a metal basket. normally you would complain, but all you want in this moment is your bed. 

he leads you out of the en suite and back into your bedroom, being careful as to not move too quickly or suddenly.

“that’s it, almost there,” he soothes, not quite in your ear, but close enough to where the words feel comforting. 

he leads you to your bed, attempting to prop your weakened body up against the side of it. 

“that’s it; right there,” he mutters, almost to himself. turning quickly, he lets go, and you immediately flop back onto the bed.

“oh fuck!” he exclaims, quickly moving to catch onto you. all you can do is wince at the impact. 

he runs a soothing hand over your aching head. 

“shhh,” he coos, grabbing one of your pillows. he tells you to lift up, and soon he’s placing the pillow under your head. you look back up at him, babbling incoherently about the embarrassment of the situation. but if he heard it, he chose to ignore it. 

he stands back up, smoothing out the jeans he’s wearing. 

“do you have any pajamas?” he asks, and you realise that you’re still in the outfit you had planned on wearing out tonight.

“top drawer,” you manage to get out, pointing lazily towards your dresser across the room. 

he gets a move on, sauntering over to the dresser, clapping his hands together as if creating a game plan in his head. his concern, coupled with his ability to keep the situation light, made you feel at ease. 

opening the drawer, he spots an old, ratty minnesota wild t-shirt, a shirt that has obviously been a sleep staple for years.

he lets out a small giggle, holding it up to show it off to you.

“you know, i think i could get you some cleaner ones; i’m kind of a big deal around here,” he says, a smile appearing across his face. 

you chuckle to yourself. it’s the first time you have felt any semblance of normalcy since the feeling in your stomach first appeared. 

your eyes meet again, and he closes the drawer with the shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. 

putting the clothes down next to you, he grabs your arms and places them around his neck. you rest your chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, a soft, yet manly scent that makes you feel at ease. 

“i’m so sorry about this again,” you whine into his ear. rubbing your back, he assures you that you have nothing to be sorry about. 

suddenly, you’re standing up, chests pressed tightly against each other. you pause to really take in his features – reddish hair tousled loosely against his forehead, freckles lining the bridge of his nose. looking down to meet your eyes, he brings a hand up to push back the hair caked to your forehead from sweat.

“i’m gonna help you change, if that’s okay. i promise i won’t look.”

all you can do is nod your head. 

his hands fall to your waist, lightly gripping the bottom hem of the top you’re wearing. it’s in that moment that you forgot that you had forgone a bra today, suddenly feeling exposed, but honestly not even caring at this point. 

he lifts the material over your head and lets out a deep sigh.

“okay, i looked. sorry. they’re nice,” he confesses, and all you can do is laugh at the absurdity of the moment. picking the t-shirt from the bed, he tucks it over your head, guiding your arms through the holes. at this point, you are more than aware that you could dress yourself, but there’s something about the intimacy of it all that you find exhilarating. 

next to go is your jeans, the long t-shirt fortunately covering your lower half. you unbutton them yourself, so as not to take things too far too soon. you hold his shoulders to help you stand up, the soft muscle under his shirt making your mind race. he brings the shorts up your legs, his fingers trailing up ever-so-gently your thighs. if you weren’t so ill right now, you might just jump his bones. 

“feel better?” he asks, waiting for your approval. you give him a quick nod, signaling to him that you’re ready for bed. you look back behind you, ready to crawl up on the bed yourself, when suddenly, his arm is scooping under your thigh, and he has you in his arms. you could have walked there yourself, but you must admit, this is kind of nice. 

lowering you to the bed, you hear him mutter, “hey, it’s gonna be okay; there’s nothing left to throw up; i promise!” there’s a sweetness and sincerity to his voice that makes you melt. 

“and if you do, you got your hamper right here,” he continues, and you know he’s being serious, but you can’t help but laugh. 

he gives your hand a squeeze, and you reciprocate, his touch feeling oddly calming to you. he looks around the room for a second, unsure of his next move, until he walks out of your bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. within minutes, you fall asleep. 

you had assumed connor had left. there was no more reason for him to stay, right? so when you wake up to the sound of shuffling in your room, you’re caught by surprise. connor walks toward you, placing a bottle of gatorade on your bedside table. he leans down, pushing a loose piece of hair from your face. you know you must look like a mess.

“hey, drink this when you feel like it, baby,” he whispers. baby. hm. you liked how he said that. it must’ve been a force of habit for him, but you wouldn’t complain. 

his calming touch sends you back to sleep almost immediately, you whispering your thanks to him as you drift off.

suddenly, you’re awake again, but you swear you’re still dreaming because you look into your bathroom, and there he is, on his hands and knees, scrubbing your toilet. there’s no way any of this is real, and you think to yourself that you just might have to propose when you’re coherent enough. 

the next morning, you wake up, feeling significantly better than the night before. you quickly retreat to the shower, washing away the sweat and filth that coated your body, and thinking about the absolute fever dream that was last night. slipping into your bathrobe, you brush your teeth to rid the last bits of funk from your palette. 

walking into your living room, you fully expect to find yourself alone, but instead, there connor is, asleep on your couch, cuddled up with your dog, ernie. you smile to yourself, clearing your throat. ernie scrambles off the couch, and connor bolts awake. 

“oh my god, i’m so fucking sorry,” he exclaims, embarrassment settling across his face. 

“no, no, it’s okay, i just wasn’t expecting you to actually stay,” you respond, the smile on your face never wavering. 

he gets up off the couch fully, sauntering over to you. you’re now finally standing face to face, both of you fully coherent. you can see him taking you in, his breath hitching. you look him over, fully realizing just how attractive he is. you take his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“you didn’t have to stay, but you did. that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. thanks for cleaning the bathroom by the way.”

“yeah, it’s no- it’s no problem. i couldn’t let myself leave you like this. i would’ve been kicking myself if i knew you had gotten worse if you were all alone,” he replies. 

“there’s more gatorade in the fridge, by the way. it was 3 for $6 at the bodega and i figured you should probably continue stocking up on those electrolytes, you know,” he continues, a shy blush stretching across his cheeks. 

“wow, you would think you’re some kind of professional athlete or something,” you jest, and his face breaks into a mischievous grin. 

“yeah, i’ve picked up a thing or two, i guess,” he retorts.

“well, connor, i definitely think i owe you a better date. do you want to go get breakfast?” you ask, silently praying that you hadn't turned him off with the awkwardness of the night before. 

he pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time, a wince escaping his lips.

“unfortunately, i’ve got practice in an hour, so i don’t think i can do breakfast. if you give me a few hours, though, i can swing back by and we can grab lunch around 2? if that works for you?”

you nod your head in agreement, and boldly, you wrap your hands around his neck. his hands find comfort on your hips, fingers toying with the belt of your robe. 

“you know, as far as first dates go, this was definitely the most interesting one i’ve had,” you smirk, and he looks down at you, eyes lingering towards your lips. 

“oh is that right?” he teases, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. “can i kiss you?” he mumbles, the nervousness in his voice evident. 

“i did just brush my teeth…” you trail off, your face settling into his hand. 

he leans down, placing a chaste, yet sweet kiss to your lips. you chase him, deepening it, melting into his touch. it was silly, making out with a boy you just met in your living room, after he spent the night cleaning up your vomit. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

suddenly, you’re interrupted by the sound of his phone pinging. 

“oh shit, i forgot i’m supposed to be picking dewey up for practice this morning,” he sighs, not wanting to sour the moment.

“it’s okay, you go. you know where to find me when you’re done,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your voice. 

he gathers up his things, heading towards the door, giving ernie a pat on the head on his way out. you stop him before he leaves, planting one last kiss to his lips, before he’s fully out the door and walking down the hall with a quick “see you later”. you close the door behind you, finally noticing the bouquet of flowers he had left on the catch-all by the door. you let out another deep sigh.

yeah. you were screwed. 

[cavedwellermusic]

NEW CDM PODCAST EPISODE OUT NOW!!!

We sit down with Curtis Dewar and Aliyah Daye of C Squared Music and the Heavy Business Podcast. We discuss music PR and the broader music industry, going into detail on what bands should do in order to be successful in today's highly digital world. We also discuss Aliyah's band Shield of Wings, their journey so far and what they've done to find success. We also discuss the dos and don'ts of social media, fan and critic interaction best practice, and live show etiquette, along with a number of other topics.

Spotify:

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[princeofdreamsworld]

Prologue

Vasco Borden, forty-nine, tugged at the lapels of his suit and straightened his tie as he walked down the plush carpeted hallway. He wasn't used to wearing a suit, though he had had this one, in navy, specially tailored to minimize the muscular bulk of his body. Borden was big, six-four, two-forty, an ex-football player who work as a private investigator and fugitive-recovery specialist. And right now, Vasco was following his man, a thirty-year-old balding post doc, a fugitive from Micro Proteonomics of Cambridge, Mass., as he headed right for the main room of the conference. The Bio Change 2006 Conference, enthusiastically entitled "Make It Happen Now!" was being held at the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas. The two thousand attendees represented all sorts of biotech workers, including investors, H R officers who hired scientists, technology transfer officers, C E Os, and intellectual property attorneys. In one way or another, nearly every biotech company in America was represented here. It was the perfect place for the fugitive to meet his contact. The fugitive looked like a dink; he had an innocent face and a little soul patch on his chin; he slouched when he walked and gave the impression of timidity and ineptitude. But the fact was, he'd made off with twelve transgenic embryos In a cryogenic dewar and transported them across country to this conference, where he intended to turn them over to whomever he was working for. It wouldn't be the first time a post doc got tired of working on salary. Or the last. The fugitive went over to the check-in table to get his conference card to drape around his head. Vasco hung by the entrance, slipping his own card over his head. He'd come prepared for this. He pretended to look at the event roster. The big speeches were all in the main ballroom. Seminars were scheduled for such topics as "Fine-Tune Your Recruiting Process," and "Winning Strategies to Keep Research Talent," Executive and Equity Compensation," " Corporate Governance and the S E C," Patent Office Trends," and " Investors Angels : Boon or Curse?" and, finally, "Trade Secrets Piracy: Protect Yourself Now!" Much of Vasco's work involved high-tech firms. He had been to these conferences before. Either they were about science or business. This one was business. The fugitive, whose name was Eddie Tolman, walked past him into the ballroom. Vasco followed. Tolman went down a few rows and dropped into a seat with no one nearby. Vasco slipped into the row behind and sat a little to one side. The Tolman kid checked his cell phone for text messages, then seemed to relax, and looked up to listen to the speech. Vasco wondered why.

The man at the podium was one of the famous venture capitalists in California, a legend in high-tech investment, Jack B. Watson. Watson's face was blown up large on the screen behind him, his trademark suntan and striking good looks magnified to fill the room. Watson was a young-looking fifty-two, assiduously cultivated his reputation as a capitalists with a conscience. That appellation had carried him though succession of ruthless business deals: all the media ever showed were his appearances at charter schools, or handing out scholarships for underprivileged kids.

But in this room, Vasco knew, Watson's reputation for tough deal making would be foremost in everyone's mind. He wondered if Watson was ruthless enough to acquire a dozen transgenic embryos by illicit means. He probably was.

However, at the moment, Watson was cheerleading: "Biotechnology is booming. We are poised to see the greatest growth of any industry since computer thirty years ago. The largest biotech company, Amgen, in Los Angeles, employs seven thousand people. Federal grants to universities exceed four billion a year on campuses from New York to San Francisco, Boston to Miami. Venture capitalists invest in biotech companies at a rate of five billion a year. The lure of magnificent cures made possible by stem cells, cytokines, and proteonomics are drawing the brightest talent to the field. And with a global population growing older by the minute, our future is brighter than ever. And that's not all!"

"We've reached the point where we can stick it to Big Pharma--and we will. Those massive, bloated companies need us and they know it. They need genes, they need technology. They’re the past. We're the future. We're where the money is!"

That drew huge applause. Vasco shifted his bulk in his seat. The audience was applauding, even though they knew that this son of a b*ch would cut their company to pieces in a second if it suited his bottom line.

"Of course, we face obstacles to our progress. Some people--however, well intentioned they think they are--choose to stand in the way of human betterment. They don't want the paralyzed to walk, the cancer patient to thrive, the sick child to live and play. These people have their reasons for objecting. Religious, ethical, or even 'practical.' But whatever their reasons, they are on the side of death. And they will not triumph!"

More thunderous applause. Vasco glanced at the fugitive, Tolman. The kid was checking his phone again. Evidently waiting for a message. And waiting impatiently.

Did that mean the contact was late?

That was sure to make Tolman nervous. Beause somewhere, Vasco knew, this kid had stashed a stainless steel thermos of liquid nitrogen that held the embryos. It wasn't in the kid's room. Vasco had already searched it. And five days had passed since Tolman left Cambridge. The coolant wouldn't last forever. and if the embryos thawed, they would be worthless. So unless Tolman had a way to top up his L N 2, by now he must be anxious to retrieve his container, and it over to his buyer.

It had happen soon. Within an hour, Vasco was sure of it.

"Of course, people will try to obstruct progress," Watson said, from the podium. "Even our best companies find themselves embroiled in pointless, unproductive litigation. One of my startups, Bio Gen, in Los Angeles, is in court right now because some guy named Burnet thinks he doesn't need to honor the contracts he himself signed. Because now he's change his mind. Burnet is trying to block medical progress unless we pay him. An extortionist whose daughter is the lawers handling the for him. Keeping it in the family." Watson smiled.

"But we will win the Burnet case. Because progress cannot be stopped!"

At that, Watson threw both hands up in the air, waving to the audience as applause filled the room. He almost acts like a candidate, Vasco thought. Is this what Watson was aiming for? The guy certainly had enough money to get elected. Being rich was essential in America politics these days. Pretty soon he looked over, and saw that the Tolman kid was gone. The seat was empty.

Sh*t!

"Progress is our mission, our sacred calling," Watson cried. " Progress to vanquish disease! Progress to halt aging, banish dementia, extend life! A life free of disease, decay, pain, and fear! The great dream of humanity--made real at last"

Vasco Borden wasn't listening. He heading down the row toward the side aisle, scanning the exit doors. A couple of people leaving nobody looking like Tolman. The guy couldn't have gotten away, there was--He looked back just in time to see Tolman moving slowly up the center aisle. The kid was looking at his cell phone again. "Sixty billion this year. Two hundred next year. Five hundred billion in five years! That is the future of our industry, and that is the prospect we bring to all mankind!"

The crowd suddenly rose to its feet, giving Waston a standing ovation, and for a moment Vasco could no longer see Tolman at all.

But only for a moment--now Tolman was making for center exist. Vasco turned away, slipping through the side door and out into the lobby, just as Tolman came blinking into the bright lobby light. Tolman glanced at his watch and headed down the far corridor, past big glass windows that looked out on the red bricked campanile of San Morco, re-created by the Venetian hotel and lit brilliantly at night. He was going toward the swimming pool area, or perhaps the courtyard. This time of night those spaces would be crowded. Vasco stayed close. This was it, he thought. In the ballroom, Jack Watson paced and forth, smiling and waving to cheering crowd. "Thank you, that's very kind, thank you..." ducking his head a little each time he said it. Just the right amount of modesty. Rich Diehl snorted in disgust as he watched. Diehl was backstage, taking it all in on a little black-and-white monitor. Diehl was the thirty-four-year-old CEOS of biotech Research, a struggling startup in Los Angeles, and this performance by his most important outside investor filled him with unease. Because Diehl knew that despite the cheerleading, and the press releases with smiling black kids, at the end of the day, Jack Watson was a true basted. As someone put it, "The son of a b*tch." Diehl had accepted funding from Waston with the greatest reluctance. He wished he didn't need it. Diehl ' s wife was wealthy, and he had started BioGen with her money.

His first venture as CEO had been to bid on a cell line being licenced by UCLA. It was the so-called Burnet cell line, developed from a man named Frank Burnet, whose body produced powerful cancer-fighting chemicals called cytokines. Diehl hadn't really expected to land the licence, but he did, and suddenly he faced the prospect of gearing up for FDA approval for clinical trials. The cost of clinical trials started at a million dollars, and went rapidly to ten million a pop, not counting downstream costs and after-marketing expenses. He could no longer rely solely on his wife's money. He needed outside financing. That was when he discovered just how risky venture capitalists considered cytokines to be. Many cytokines, such as interleukins, had taken years to come to market. And many others were known to be dangerous, even deadly, to patients. And then Frank Burnet had bought a lawsuit, casting doubt on BioGen's ownership of the cell line. Diehl had trouble getting investors to even meet with him. In the end, he had to accept smiling, suntanned Jack Watson. But Watson, Diehl knew, wanted nothing less than to take over BioGen and throw Rick Diehl out on his ass. "Jack! Fantastic speech! Fantastic! " Rick extended his hand as Watson came backstage at last. "Yeah. Glad you like it." Watson didn't shake his hand. Instead, he unclipped his wireless transmitter and dropped it in Diehl's palm.

"Take care of this, Rick." "Sure Jack." "Your wife here?" "No, Karen couldn't make it." Diehl shrugged. "Things with the kids." "I'm sorry she missed this speech," Watson said.

"I'll see she get the DVD," Diehl said. "But we got the bad news out there," Watson said.

"That's the point. Everybody now knows there's a lawsuit, they know Burnet is a bad guy, and they know we're on top of it. That's the important thing. The company's now perfectly positioned." Diehl said, "Is that why you agreed to give the speech?" Watson started at him.

"You think I want to come to Vegas? Christ." He unclipped the microphone, handed it to Diehl. " Take care of this, too." "Sure Jack." And Jack Watson turned and walked away from him without another word.

Rick Diehl shivered. Thank God for Karen's money, he thought. Beause without it, he'd be doomed. Passing through the arches of the Doge's Palace, Vasco Borden moved into the courtyard, following his fugitive, Eddie Tolman, though the nighttime crowd. He heard his earpiece crackle. That would be his assistant, Dolly, in another part of the hotel. He touched his ear. "Go," he said. "Baldy boy Tolman has reserved some entertainment."

"Is that right?"

"That's right, he-"

"Hold on," Vasco said. "Just hold that thought." Up ahead, he was seeing something he could not believe. From the right side of the courtyard, he saw Jack B. Watson, accompanied by a beautiful, slinky, dark-haired woman, merging with the crowd. Watson was famous for always being accompanied by gorgeous weman . They all worked for him, they were all smart, and they were all stunning.

The woman didn't suprise Vasco. What suprised him was that Jack Watson was heading directly toward Eddie Tolman, the fugitive. That made no sense at all. Even if Tolman were doing a deal with Watson, the famous investor would never meet him face-to-face. And certainly never in public. But there they were, on a collision course in the crowded Venetian courtyard, right before his eyes.

What the hell? He couldn't believe it was going to happen. But then the slinky woman stumbled a bit, and stopped. She was wearing a short skintight dress and heels. She leaned on Watson's shoulder, bent her knee, showing plenty of leg, and inspected her shoe.

She adjusted her heel strap, stood up again, and smiled at Watson. And Vasco glanced away from them and saw that Tolman was gone.

But now Watson and the woman crossed Vasco's own path, passing so close to him that he could small her perfume, and he heard Watson murmured something to her, and she squeezed his arm and put her head on his shoulder as they walk. The romantic couple.

Was all that an accident? Had it happened on porpoise? Had they made him? He pressed his earpiece.

"Dolly I lost him."

"No prob. I got him." He glanced up. She was on the second floor, watching everything below. "Was that Jack Watson that just walked by?"

"Yeah. I thought maybe. . ."

"No, no," Dolly said. "I can't imagine Watson's involved in this. Not his style. I mean, Baldy boy is heading for his room because he has an appointment. That's what I was telling you. He got some entertainment." "Namely?" "Russian girl. Apparently he likes only Russian. Tall ones." "Anybody we know?" "No, but I have a little information. and I got in his suite." "How'd you do that.?" He was smiling. "Let's just say Venetian security isn't what it use to be. Cheaper, too."

Irina Katayeva, twenty-two, knocked on the door. In left hand she held a bottle of wine, encased in a velvet gift bag with drawstrings at the top. A guy about thirty answered the door, smiled. He wasn't attractive.

"Are you Eddie?"

"That's right. Come on in."

"I brought this for you, from the hotel safe."

She handed him the wine. Watching all this on his little handheld video monitor, Vasco said, "She gave it to him inthe hallway. Where it would be seen on the security monitor. Why didn't she wait until she was inthe room?"

"Maybe she was told to it thatway," Dolly said.

"She must be six feet. What do we know about her?"

"Good English. Four years in this country. Studying at the university."

"Works at the hotel?"

"No."

"So, non-pro?" Vasco said.

"This is Nevada," Dolly said.

On the monitor, the Russian girl went into the room and the door closed. Vasco turned the dial on his video monitor, picked up one of the inside cameras. The kid had a big suite, close to two thousand square feet, done in the Venetian style. The girl nodded and smiled.

"Nice. Nice room."

"Yeah. So, you want a drink?"

She shook her head. "I don't really have time." She reached behind her back and unzipped the dress, left it hanging from her shoulder. She turned around, pretending to be puzzled, allowing him to see her bare back all the way down to her buttocks. "Wich way is the bedroom?"

"This way, baby."

As they went into the bedroom, Vasco again turned the dial. He saw the bedroom just as she was saying, "I don'tknow anything about your business, and I don't want to know. Business is so boring." She let the dress fall. She stepped out of it and layed down on the bed, naked now except for her hight heels. She kicked them off. "I don'tthink you need a drink," She said. "And I know I don't."

Tolman threw himself on her, landing with a kind of thud. she grunted and tried to smile. "Easy, boy." He was panting, gasping. He reached for her hair, to caress her. "Leave the hair alone," she said. She twisted away. "Just lie down," she said. "and let me make you happy."

"Aw, hell," Vasco said, staring at the tiny screen. "Do you believe that? He ain't even a minuteman. When a woman looks like that, you'd think--"

"Never mind," Dolly said, over the headset. "She getting dressed now."

"So she is," he said. "And rather hurriedly, too."

"She's supposed to give him half an hour. And if he paid her, I didn't see it."

"Me neither. But he's getting dressed, too."

"Something's up," Dolly said. "She's walking out the door."

Vasco thumbed the tuner, trying to change to a different camera. All he got was static. "I can't see sh*t."

"She's leaving. He's still there. No, wait. . . he's leaving, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And he's taking the wine bottle with him.

"Okay," Vasco said. "And where's he going with it?"

Frozen embryos in liquid nitrogen were transported in a special stainless steel thermos lined with borosilicate glass called a dewar. Dewars were mostly big affairs,

(Not yet finished.)

[ever-metal-rick-19-blog]

Ever Metal interview with Indie Rock band FireWalkWithMe

[kthynes]

the caller you have reached (chris evans x reader)

pairing: chris evans x fem!reader

summary: chris was trying to drunkenly call the woman he loved and wanted to get back with but instead he reaches you, a shrink.

warning: swearing (sailor level), brief mentions of mental health

**IMPORTANT disclaimer: I won't be dabbling into the hard hitting topics of mental health in this short only because I'm not a certified health professional and so I can't be providing a written, unbiased, often characterized diagnosis towards any sort of mental health disorder because really, those types of sensitivities need proper care and output. With that being said, I do want to emphasize the notions of seeking help and not being afraid to seek help when needed. It's hard, but we all fight a battle and no battle is big or small or better or worse.

If my followers or readers do feel the need to privately chat with me, I'm here and I can you lend you an ear. Otherwise let's be kind and uplift another while we can. No harm in doing good and being better, that's for sure!

-end rant-

This short is dedicated to the following lovelies:

@princess-evans-addict

@mrs-djokovic

@slut-for-chris-evans

@saltyflowermakertaco

@bitchyslut99

@patzammit

@itskikiyooo

@maximeevansblog

Being a working adult is dreadful but the work you do is the most fulfilling kind of anarchy. You are a therapist, you work to heal and you work together with people who willingly reach out to you and your facility of care. There is that balance, the altering nuances in between that allows you to do what you do best. You advocate for good prosperity of mental health and accolade of teachable moments that fosters a safe space for your clients, not patients, but the people who deserve to be heard and not be medically categorized.

Your salubrious passion keeps you grounded. In your lifetime, you've seen the imperial impacts of poor mental health and it has been a detrimental drive in how you retreat and give back to a small found community.

"Okay." You exhale to yourself while leafing through another client chart. You're working off the clock, stuck in the renaissance of your homey office space while the outside world turns pitch black.

In the appropriate fields you jot down important takeaways from your last sit in session with heavy concertation and reasoning, you try to congregate a treatment plan all before you cellphone cries for you in venturous fashion.

"Hello?" You answer without checking the caller ID, tucking the device between your ear and shoulder so that way you could work and talk.

"Jenny!" The man boisterously shouts. "Jenny baby please talk to me! Let me make it up to you, let's just do this right, please. I'm fucked up here."

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number." You infringe sounding like the posh, automated answering machine lady.

"Oh what the fuck Jenny — oh cah'mon don't do that, don't be like that baby." You re-verify a local number and it doesn't belong to anyone you know of. So you wonder who this man is but choose not to press further instead you tell him what is right from the knowing wrong.

"I'm not Jenny."

"Seriously?" He yells, forcing you to hold the phone away from your ear. "That can't be... This is—" He recites the number that is similar to yours but the last two digits are off.

"You got 42, not 53." It's an easy mistake to recall, a swipe of a drunken thumb could've mixed that up, so this time around, you're forgiving. Not that it happens often.

"Oh no. That's—" The mystery man trails, something about his voice discerns you, it's familiar but in a hindbrain way that you can't put a finger on. "Fuuuuuuuck."

"Wait hold on, hold up, is this Jenny's assistant, Nina?" You exhale sharply sometimes it takes more than one try and a side of convincing to get your point across and your passiveness was certainly to blame.

"No I'm not her assistant either."

"Then who the hell are you?" He exasperates. You make the snide mistake of telling him your name and he buffers for a bit.

"Oh. So you really aren't anyone of my concern then?"

"No." You mildly retort. "I wouldn't want to be anyways."

"Okay well I'm not sorry then because I'm here trying to reach my girlfriend and I can't get to her because I have you on the line being a smartass." With that accent of his you can tell he's a patriotic Bostonian. One of your own kind and that furloughs your need to engage in this mindless drivel, it wouldn't get you or him anywhere. At least that's what you tell yourself before shutting him down.

"Well then maybe you should learn to listen first, how about that?" You snap, dropping your pen before you note down angry nonsense into your actual work.

"Hey nowwww!" He yells as if he's trying to be Hank Kinsley.

"It's clear that you're drunk."

He brushes you off on the other end, enigmatic in what he wants you to know. "This is Chris Evans, you're talking to Chris-motherfucking-Evans, you hear?"

"I do now." You say tersely.

"Good." He huffs. "Good... Cause you know I'm in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and this is what I get. This is what I seemingly deserve, god you women I swear..."

Your face changes. You don't agree to be a lending ear but somehow Chris forces you to hear him out.

"I told her Y/N. I TOLD her that I wasn't ready to take the next step but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be with her. And now she throws it back in my face by getting with some other guy she once dated back in high school. And somehow, I'm supposed to be ok with it and move on, as she tells me. How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?"

"I, um, I don't know what to tell you." You sigh somberly.

"Of course you don't!" His Boston twang begins to nerve you as there some remitting frequency of it. Hearing him obnoxiously go off, reminds you of all your shrewd New England exes who were his exact counterpart when soused. A ludicrous memory that you relive again with time and perfect harmony.

"Listen lady all I'm saying is that I fucked up. I know I did alright? I mean it doesn't take much denominational math and the plot of Lost in Translation to get that. I get it!"

Jesus. You whisper the lords name in vain as you lean your forehead against the palm of your hand while your elbow rested on top of the desk.

"So, let me get this straight, you think yelling at a random woman will help get further?" You question a little acutely for his liking.

"I don't know but it sure as hell takes off the heat, sweetheart." Something about a man calling you sweetheart grinds your gears and now your molars.

"Okay, alright, let's talk." You begin, sitting up a bit and tearing out a blank page from your memo pad; you were doing a late night consultation, a small hash out.

"Schuwaaaaa." Chris enunciates the word sure and to much of his mayhem, he’s sprawled out on the curbside, somewhere in the nowhere land of L.A. He contented but also upset and you were simply crashing his little pity party.

"What is it that you want from Jenny?" You professionally prod. "How about we start there."

"Wooooah, what is that we're doing here?” Chris gets mildly defensive with you. “I dunno you like that. If we're gonna talk then you'll have to get through my publicist first because right now I plead the fifth.”

You exhale a deep and fulsome breath. No one troubles you like him. It's sanctimoniously unnerving.

"I'm a shrink, my job isn’t meant to incriminate my clients well-being, or anyone else’s for that matter.” You address calmly. “So, if you do require some solicited advice then we can keep this call under strict confidence. You have my word, Mr. Evans and the paperwork that will follow shortly after this call.”

Silence. There is some shocking silence which is brief before you're catapulted with disbelief and more cackles. "Holy mother fucking shit. You're kidding me?"

"I can run you by my credentials if you’d like?” You mention stiffly.

"God I’ve reached a cuckoo hotline!" Wrong. That's a horrible thing to say and you'd think a man like him would've been more sensitive about his choice of words, inebriated or not.

"Far from it."

"Tell me something, alright? How many grown, adult men come crying to you?" Chris is edging with curiosity even though his eyes are betrayingly reddened after crying into a bottle of Dewars 18. He doesn't make that known to you and you never cared to ask.

"Enough to know that they cry." You simply state.

"Huh. So this is just another Tuesday for you then.” Chris scoff, the bottle making it to his lips and then swishing back down again.

"Comes with the territory except I don't tolerate drunkenness." You motely add. "Can you keep the bottle aside for the time being? Just until we're done here."

"That's understandable and oh yeah sure, sure, I won't touch it." You can hear the glass bottle 'clink' when coming into contact with the pavement.

"Now tell me about Jenny." You softly inquire.

"What do you wanna know? How we fuck or how we met?" Chris giggles like a naughty school yard boy.

"How did you two meet?" You slam the words urgently, nearly spelling out the cause.

"Oh! Oh. We met on the job." Chris chuckles punitively.

"Okay and did you guys connect instantly or was there a slow build up?" You involuntarily took notes for any PR rep of his that wanted solid evidence that would preside this call, cover your bases and your poor ass along with it.

"Instantly. Our chemistry read was off the charts." He explains with a slight hiccup. "Sorry."

"Great. So it was more so a work relationship that later grew into something more correct?"

"Pretty much."

"So when did you start developing feelings for her?"

"Um I'd say..." Chris tucks his chin, burps and then excuses himself before continuing. "Just before we wrapped up filming. But then I think somewhere in between all that I realized that she was my kind of girl, my... better half."

"And what made you come to that realization?"

"Well for one she has this infectious laugh that would have you laughing with her, there's that sound of beauty and pureness to it. And then with that, there were all the little things she'd do for me that made me think, like damn she's the one, she's it for me and that for better or for worse, I'd need her more than she'd ever need me."

Chris gets sad and you feel for him. Your pen stops moving when you were about to prescribe him some mind memory exercises. He was human. Humans hurt. Humans make mistakes. Humans stray but they also love. That's all Chris did. He loved with all of his heart to not expect the same love in return.

"You know Chris, we don't always get the love we deserve and sometimes its sucks. Sometimes you wanna kick it back with a bottle of Dewars 18 and shake your fists in the air." Chris quietly perks up at your choice of alcohol that you didn't know he was forcefully downing. He fashions a small half smile that you don't see but hear faintly. "But there's also a time and a place and things happen, people come apart, people get together, people do people and there's that fine line of letting life run its uneven course."

"I mean you sometimes have to not be okay to be okay again and I know that from my many years of helpful healing. It gets okay, never fully better and I think that's just how it is. You acknowledge your pain, your trauma and then you go on while being mindful of that transition."

"Wow."

"Hey, um, look, I actually have to get going. But if you can, just down the rest of that bottle and get yourself home."

"Are you sure?" Chris gawks.

"I mean you were already halfway through and it's not like I can physically stop you, right? And besides this is what I'm prescribing to you. I want you to acknowledge your pain, drink away your sorrows and then smash that bottle so you can be relieved from that trauma and hurt. After that you need to fix up and start new, have a mature conversation with her, if you can and then have your feet hitting the ground again. Don't fall into the routine of heartbreak even if it becomes too hard, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." You sniff and start to put things away. "I know you're a good guy Chris, from how you are on TV and in interviews, I'm amazed by how articulate you are. You have the right mindset so I have no doubts that you'll fall back in any way. But if you do, please don't hesitate to reach out, I might have to hand you off to another cohort but nonetheless it can be worked out even if it does feel like you might be sparring on your own. You'll get the help you need."

"Great, thanks." Chris responds in his conscious state of thought. He feels pathetic with himself and that doesn't have you galling over the fact, instead you let him be.

"Do you need me to order you an Uber? Cab? Call a friend for ya?" You laugh easily and Chris hears it clearly, smiling in return.

"An Uber would be nice. I'll try to share you my location."

"Sure, on me and that'd be great."

"Thanks."

"No problem... And your ride should be here in two minutes, just look out for Raul in black Elantra." You inform him after checking your phone.

"Nice."

"You have a goodnight now Chris."

"You too." The line cuts and you're given a piece of your life back. You gather your belongings, flip off the light switch and make your way home. There's some truth and some brokenness in every situation. You knew Chris was going to be OK even if he didn't consult you afterwards. For you, there was no need. He's a smart man and he proves this over a prolonged period of time when he finally finds himself back on the market and then eventually in a relationship with a faceless and very loving woman from his own hometown.

He was finally happy, making you serendipitously glad that you were the caller he had reached.

[doomedandstoned]

The Law of Attraction and What It Means to Your Band

~Bacon's Blog~

Photograph by Randy J Byrd

I’ve been talking with clients a lot lately about the law of attraction, but I’m realizing that it sounds a little bit woo-woo to those not in the know. The law of attraction, in case you weren’t aware, is essentially the idea that if you put out good energy and positive vibes then that will come back onto you. I know it sounds crazy, but it works.

I wanted to break down the ways it can impact your life, in terms of relationships being built, opportunities that you get, and then of course what the long term impacts are. And yes, it will be in the context of band stuff, but most of what I’m about to talk about can apply anywhere in life.

Relationships

This is the place where the law of attraction can be really exciting. Here’s why. Real recognizes real. That simple. If you’re real and hustling and doing stuff with your band, then other people will want to come do stuff with you and you will meet the other hustlers with stuff going on in your scene. Meanwhile if you’re a complainer who does nothing, people won’t want to help you.

Have you ever noticed how all the people who are actively doing things in your scene seem to be friends? Yeah, there’s a reason for that -- because they all are working hard to elevate each other. There’s no gatekeeping, it’s just that you aren’t doing enough to really be a part of their club.

Opportunities

Once you start to build up good relationships then you get good opportunities. Again, you get what you put out. So if you show that you are actively working to get more opportunities and expand your band, then people are going to want to collaborate and give you even more opportunities. It’s really that simple.

Once you get the ball rolling and consistently show that you’re not just sitting around at home being emo, you’re going to seriously grow. I don’t think people understand the power of this. I, as a guy with some influence in the biz, want to give opportunities to people who will actually act on them. Not someone who will complain it’s too hard.

Long-Term Effects

This is where it gets interesting. There’s something tied into the law of attraction called the flywheel effect. It’s essentially the idea that once you get the ball rolling, things will start to just pick up to the point that you can’t stop expanding and getting new opportunities.

The problem, of course, is that you need to start getting something done so that you can get the ball rolling. The first step is the hardest. That’s why you use the law of attraction. You start reaching out and engaging with the people you want to be connected with and then slowly they will start to turn around and connect with you.

So hopefully that makes sense. The law of attraction isn’t magic. It’s just people wanting to collaborate with other real ass motherfuckers. It’s fed by the fact that if you show you hustle when given opportunities, you will get more. Then eventually that will turn into a veritable monster of a band!

Matt Bacon (IG: mattbacon666) with Dropout Media is a consultant, A&R man, and journalist specializing in the world of heavy metal. You can read other articles in the series by clicking the "Bacon's Blog" hashtag below. Matt can also be heard on the Dumb & Dumbest podcast, which he co-hosts with Curtis Dewar of Dewar PR.

[planetmosh]

Lindsay Schoolcraft nominated for Juno Award for solo album "Martyr"

Internationally acclaimed recording artist Lindsay Schoolcraft has been nominated for the 2020 JUNO Awards (the Canadian equivalent of the Grammy Awards) for her debut album Martyr, which released on October 7th via her newly founded and totally DIY label, Cyber Proxy.

  LINDSAY SCHOOLCRAFT NOMINATED FOR JUNO AWARD

Internationally acclaimed recording artist Lindsay Schoolcraft has been nominated for the 2020 JUNO Awards (the Canadian equivalent of the Grammy Awards) for her debut album Martyr, which released on October 7th via her newly founded and totally DIY label, Cyber Proxy. Martyr is nominated for the Metal/Hard Music Album Of The Year along with…

[gbhbl]

Band Interview: Suicide Forest

Band Interview: Suicide Forest

Games, Brrraaains & A Head-Banging Life are very proud to bring you an interview with black metal band, Suicide Forest!

1. How did you get started as a band?

Suicide Forest is a one man depressive black metal project that officially started in 2016 after years of writing and performing in other projects. Live performances began soon after the release of the first demo. Performers have included…

[thatswhywemusyc]

WHY WE MUSYC: Mark Angel Brandt

Music is an expression of emotion. What can be more fulfilling than embracing these emotions - wide-ranging as they are - on a daily basis? Like many people, I found music at a dark time in my life, and cannot imagine a moment without it. I started Broken Amp to share this passion for music, and forge a community of people with ears and minds open to hear and discuss music - particularly the dark and heavy. So, let’s talk music

Mark Angel Brandt has had many accomplishments in the music industry. He worked as  heavy music PR at Dewar PR, founded Broken Amp as a heavy music journalism website, and co-ran Smash The Mic podcast (which is currently on hiatus). He also worked to publish Decompression Magazine and London Metal Monthly, and freelanced for Metal Hammer, ThisIsNotAScene, The Monolith, MetalRecusants, and many others.

Bio by Laura Hahn

Get connected:

Mark Angel Brandt: Twitter

Broken Amp: Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr | Patreon

[csrgood]

Bacardi in the UAE Raises the Bar as First Spirits Company in the Middle East To Be Great Place To Work-Certified™

Celebrating moments that matter is what Bacardi Limited, the world's largest privately held spirits company, does best. For the team at Bacardi in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), there's added cause for celebration. It recently became the first spirits company in the Middle East to be certified by Great Place to Work®, the global authority on workplace culture, employee experience, and leadership behaviors. Bacardi ranked amongst the top 20 in the 'Best Workplaces in the Middle East 2020' list and was #6 of the 30 companies chosen as 'Best Workplaces UAE.' No small feat, this recognition, and high ranking reflect the company's commitment to cultivating a work environment that's nurturing, entrepreneurial, empowering, and infused with fun. The company also focuses on fostering a future-forward mindset that has led to Bacardi gaining the #16 spot on the 2020 Best Workplaces list for Millennials across the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries

In a region where most workplaces tend to have a more traditional outlook, family-owned Bacardi is known for its progressive culture and for encouraging diversity of thought in its people. In the UAE, where the team consists of 49 people with 16 different nationalities, regular cultural celebrations within the company allow the team to build deeper connections and a better understanding of and respect for each other's heritage and viewpoints.

The Great Place to Work® Trust Index © Survey© results show that company employees rated Bacardi in the UAE above 90% on the dimensions of credibility, pride, and camaraderie, based on the organization's high level of communication, display of integrity, and culture of collaboration and hospitality.

"At Bacardi, we encourage growth with a purpose and believe in empowering our people to build their legacy, not just at work but also beyond. We're a culture-first company and being certified as a Great Place to Work truly validates the incredible values we continue to build as an organization," says Vijay Subramaniam, Regional President Bacardi – Asia, Middle East, and Africa. "With such a diverse workforce from different geographies, genders, and generations, our constant endeavor is to instill our cultural pillars of Fearless, Family and Founders in everything we do. It has been immensely gratifying to see the results and know that our people regard Bacardi as a company that genuinely cares for its people."

As the COVID-19 pandemic struck, the company became an early adopter of working from home, continuing to find ways to nurture the connection with its people. In the UAE, the team worked with speed and agility to create additional development-focused seminars, increased communication lines, and provide resources to support its employees' mental and physical well-being. With many offices in the UAE re-opening last month, Bacardi employees were given the flexibility to decide if coming to the office or continuing working from home, based on what was best for them. On-site attendance at the Bacardi office is currently limited and sanitization, social distancing measures, and mandatory mask guidelines have been implemented per government guidelines. 

"We congratulate Bacardi in the UAE on becoming the first spirits company in the Middle East to be certified as a great workplace and for excelling in all five dimensions of the Great Place to Work® Model - Credibility, Respect, Fairness, Pride and Camaraderie," said Dr. Michael Burchell, Chief Executive Officer, Great Place to Work Middle East.

Other Bacardi Great Place to Work® Certifications:

Culture of Care and Camaraderie Makes Bacardi USA, Inc. Great Place to Work-Certified™ for Third Year in a Row

About Bacardi in the UAE

Bacardi in the United Arab Emirates (UAE) serves as the regional hub for the company’s Asia, Middle East, and Africa business and is part of family-owned Bacardi Limited. Headquartered in Bermuda, Bacardi Limited is the world’s largest privately held spirits company. In Asia, Middle East, and Africa, Bacardi  boasts a portfolio of some of the most recognized and top-selling spirits brands in the world, including BACARDÍ® rum, GREY GOOSE® vodka, PATRÓN® tequila, DEWAR'S ® Blended Scotch Whisky, BOMBAY SAPPHIRE® gin, MARTINI vermouth, and sparkling wines and other leading and emerging brands. Visit www.bacardilimited.com or follow us on Twitter, LinkedIn, or Instagram.

About Great Place to Work® Great Place to Work® is the global authority on workplace culture. Since 1992, they have surveyed more than 100 million employees around the world and used those deep insights to define what makes a great workplace: trust. Great Place to Work helps organizations quantify their culture and produce better business results by creating a high-trust work experience for all employees. Emprising®, their culture management platform, empowers leaders with the surveys, real-time reporting, and insights they need to make data-driven people decisions. Their unparalleled benchmark data is used to recognize Great Place to Work-Certified™ companies and the Best Workplaces™ in the US and more than 60 countries, including the 100 Best Companies to Work For® and World’s Best list published annually in Fortune. Everything they do is driven by the mission to build a better world by helping every organization become a Great Place to Work For All™.

To learn more, visit greatplacetowork.com, listen to the podcast Better by Great Place to Work, and read “A Great Place to Work for All.” Join the community on LinkedIn, Twitter, and Instagram.

CONTACT

Anjala Gulati

agulati@bacardi.com

Manager, PR AMEA and Digital Marketing MEA

source: https://www.csrwire.com/press_releases/45803-Bacardi-in-the-UAE-Raises-the-Bar-as-First-Spirits-Company-in-the-Middle-East-To-Be-Great-Place-To-Work-Certified-?tracking_source=rss

[rhianna]

AuthorPerrin, Alice, 1867-1934 IllustratorMills, J. Dewar TitleThe Woman in the Bazaar LanguageEnglish LoC ClassPR: Language and Literatures: English literature SubjectIndia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction SubjectBritish -- India -- Fiction CategoryText EBook-No.61272 Release DateJan 30, 2020 Copyright StatusPublic domain in the USA.

Captain Coventry had just returned from India, and the glamour of the East was still upon him--the East that is so very different to look back upon when a man's whole service need not be spent in exile. Just now he was on short leave, and his regiment--an English line regiment--would be returning home in two years' time. India, to him, was yet a pleasant quarter of the globe that meant sport (his passion) well within his means, cheaper comfort, cheaper living, amusements that were welcome to his outdoor tastes, not to speak of soldiering experiences of the finest next to active service. He was on a visit to his widowed mother and his spinster sister, who lived in the little country town lying at the base of the hills that jutted out like monstrous knuckles over the Severn Valley; and feeling slightly bored, in need of exercise, of movement, he had hired a horse and was exploring Cotswold villages on morning rides.  [5]

[djbatato]

Miércoles de Whiskey Dewar’s White Label... $5.00 Dewar’s 12 years... $6.00 Dewar’s 15 years... $7.00 Visítanos! #apoyalolocal (at Perez's Sport Bar Cidra, PR) https://www.instagram.com/djbatato/p/Bvxa9tVge29NleVrwNhuHXaCpUdyus2A-IqowQ0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=qf5t5m1a8235

[ghostcultmagazine]

Master Marketing for Your Band with The 14 Day Social Media Challenge

Master Marketing for Your Band with The 14 Day Social Media Challenge

Time for another Music Marketing Challenge, co-sponsored by Ghost Cult Magazine! The 13 Day PR Challenge is led by music industry experts and working musicians in the business! We will cover lessons on all the areas of social media from the major networks, how to optimize what you already have, and how to get more followers, creating content, and even how to successfully use ads on social media.…

[ever-metal-rick-19-blog]

Ever Metal interview with Fort Myers based Rock N Roll band The Electric Mud

[doomedandstoned]

Fighting Back Against Trolls!

~Bacon's Blog~

Photograph by Randy J Byrd

Going up against trolls is a really hard task in the music business. It’s something that I think we all need to deal with at some point, because that’s just sort of the brutal nature of the internet. I wanted to help you with this as it’s something that I think throws a lot of people off, especially early in their music careers.

The thing is, you have to see trolls for what they are and furthermore you need to realize that the best way to kill trolls is with kindness or making fun of yourself. Remember, engaging anger with anger is going to just make you shoot yourself in the foot.

Realizing What Trolls Are

Trolls are sad. Really simple as that. They don’t have some grand design, they’re just lonely assholes with nothing better to do. Seriously, think about what life must be like for some of these people. They’re going on the internet to make fun of random people they don’t even know so they can feel good about themselves.

When you are armed with this information, it becomes a lot easier to handle trolls and deal with their stupidity. I think this perspective really helps folks understand how to deal with them. It becomes more of a matter of pity than anything else at that point.

Killing Trolls With Kindness

One of the keys with trolls is to kill them with kindness. One of my favorite tactics is to act like the trolls comment was actually a compliment. So if they say, "I hope you die because of your horrible music!" then you could reply something like, "Oh, so I can make good music in heaven? Righteous!"

I know it sounds silly, but so often when you turn the other cheek trolls don’t even know what to do and generally just go and leave you alone. It really helps to make things a little bit easier to deal with. I know it’s not always easy in the moment, but trust me above all you do not want to engage trolls with anger. This just leads to further frustration.

Why You Don’t Fight Fire With Fire

Look, most people understand trolls are just random losers from around the internet. They aren’t clever and they don’t have anything going on. If you go in and engage with those people then you are getting dragged down to their level. That’s exactly what they want so they can beat you over the head with their anger.

Don’t give other people this power over you. It gives them free real estate inside your head. Don’t try to troll back because they don’t care, trust me. Instead, just focus on sharing the love and realizing that trolls are just losers who you can’t really do anything about other than say a kind word and try to help be a little less crap.

Anyway, dealing with trolls is an art form. It’s not always self-evident and does require a bit of trial and error. Ultimately, you just gotta realize how sad trolls are, kill them with kindness, and make sure you never get down to their level which is how they win.

Doomed & Stoned · Doomed Discussions: NEGATIVITY

Matt Bacon (IG: mattbacon666) with Dropout Media is a consultant, A&R man, and journalist specializing in the world of heavy metal. You can read other articles in the series by clicking the "Bacon's Blog" hashtag below. Matt can also be heard on the Dumb & Dumbest podcast, which he co-hosts with Curtis Dewar of Dewar PR.