#Latest Direct Selling News

[directsellingnow]

Dynamic Support Systems Ltd द्वारा बिजनेस बिल्डिंग सेमिनार का सफल समापन; 120 से ज्यादा लोग रहे शामिल

Dynamic Support Systems Ltd: हाल ही में डायनामिक सपोर्ट सिस्टम और टर्सेल हर्ब्स ने कटक में एक बेहद सफल बिजनेस बिल्डिंग सेमिनार आयोजित करने के लिए हाथ मिलाया, जिसमें 120 से ज्यादा उत्साही लोग शामिल रहे। इस दौरान डायनेमिक सपोर्ट सिस्टम के संस्थापक Dr Hemanta Paikray, सहित डीएसएस के टॉप लीडर श्री Subhrajit Singh और श्री Pradipta Panda खासतौर पर मौजूद रहे। इस कार्यक्रम ने लीडर्स को एक साथ आने, अपने…

[aphrogeneias]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 — uniform

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: ex-cheerleader!reader. handjob. penetrative sex. semi-public sex.

It was always the skirts that did it for him.

Not the ponytails, not the sparkly pom poms, not even the acrobatics. It was the small skirts that had his eyes wandering, following long legs and pretty thighs along the hallways of his former high school. His friends used to make fun of him, tell him how stupid he looked pining over the cheerleaders who would never even look his way.

Eddie used to tell them he wasn't pining, he was merely just… looking, for lack of a better word. He wasn't thinking about them, the little skirts in green and yellow swishing around soft looking thighs, when he was alone later, under the shower. Of course not.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he saw you — his favorite customer, wearing a red, white and black cheerleader uniform. You were in the corner of the room, chatting with your local college friends, sipping on a plastic cup. Hair in a high ponytail tied with a neat red bow, as red as the fake blood sprinkled on your body.

He might have choked a little on his beer, but he didn't pay much attention to it, concentrating it all on you. Not until Jeff elbows him on the ribs, scoffing at his friend. "Man, you're gonna catch flies with that mouth hanging open."

"Shut up." Eddie grumbled, looking away from you and back at his friends. "Do you think she saw?"

"You're not exactly subtle, Ed." Gareth points out. The younger boy turned to your group of friends and waved, and as Eddie did the same, he noticed you waving back.

Burying the urge to smother Gareth in his sleep, he managed a rather strained smile, and a three finger wave in your direction. He saw you hide your giggle behind your hand, and all of his worries faded away for a second. It must have been your pretty smile, barely concealed by a delicate hand, or the mixture of glitter and fake blood on your skin, making you glint in the dark. Either way, he decided that he didn't want to look away, not really.

As his friends engaged back in conversation with each other, and your friends remained entertained with whatever was the subject between them, your eyes met yet again. You gave him a discreet nod of your head, pointing to the glass doors that led to the backyard of the house. Eddie nodded back, and waited for you to go first before following you closely.

Eddie had met you when he decided to expand his side business after he graduated. No longer wanting to associate with the high school kids, no matter how well some of them would pay him with their daddy's money, he went for the college students next. Lingering around their parties, taking a stroll through the campus with his ever trusty lunchbox on days off of work.

It was on one of these strolls that he met you — clumsily sitting in front of him at a picnic table that resembled his old selling spot, dropping your bag on the table and asking him for a rolled joint because you were terrible at rolling, and you'd even pay extra if needed.

He decided that, from that moment on, you wouldn't have to roll your own joints ever again.

There was just something about you, something that Eddie couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was how comfortable you made him feel, how easy the conversation flowed between you. How you would always rant about your day or infodump on the latest subject that caught your interest in class, or the last book you were reading. It was like you didn't mind that Eddie was virtually a stranger, you just accepted him in your life with open arms, and he did the same.

You started walking a thin line between merely a business relationship, and an actual friendship. Eddie started never letting you pay, telling you that your company was more than enough reward. After that, you came up with more creative ways to thank him. A mixtape, freshly baked sprinkle cookies, a new bracelet, black nail polish.

He wondered if he asked for a kiss as payment you'd give it to him.

Through the small crowd in the living room to the small back porch, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over your form from behind. The way your skirt moved side to side when you walked, in perfect sync with your hips. The back of your legs, the curve of your neck. It made his heart race, and his hands ache to touch.

Finally, you both passed through the doors, — you first, Eddie making sure to slide the door behind him close — breathing in the cool night air. The outside of the house was empty except for the two of you, and the neighbor's cat waltzing around the top of the fence.

"Got the good stuff, Munson?"

You were smiling as you sat down on an old, beat down couch to the left of the porch. He tried not to make it obvious he was staring at the way your thighs spread out as you sat, looking good enough to bite into. Instead, he looked down and fished out the smokes carton from the pocket of his leather jacket, and smirked right back at you.

"For you? Always."

That night, neither of you spoke much as you shared a spliff between the two of you. The silence was not awkward, nor was it uncomfortable. It was just the two of you and the chill October air, and the shitty music that came from the inside of the party.

While he took the last drag, you scooted closer to him, bringing your arm to the back of the couch. "I noticed you looking, you know."

Holding his breath, he asked, "What?"

"At me, silly. I noticed you looking at me the whole night."

Your voice was pure honey, but there was a malice in your eyes Eddie had never seen before. Swallowing hard, he shifted on his seat, incidentally closing the distance between you. "It's just that, uh… You look really pretty tonight. Not that you don't look pretty any other day," he panics, disgusting it with a flare of his hands, "but you look especially beautiful tonight."

"It's the outfit, isn't it? Never would have thought you had a thing for cheerleaders, Eds. Would have told you I used to be one way sooner if I'd known."

"This was yours?" His eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head.

"Yeah. All the way through high school. It was fun while it lasted."

He hummed, but on the inside, Eddie wanted to scream. "Whoa, sweetheart. Gotta show me your moves one of these days."

"I could show you a few right now."

You got impossibly closer, your face inches from his own. Instead of kissing him like he expected you to do, you took one of his hands and placed it on your waist, not breaking eye contact with him. "You can touch me if you want to, Eddie. It's okay, I want you to."

He sat up straighter, grabbing your waist earnestly now. "Can I kiss you, baby?"

With your nod as confirmation, he did. He kissed you long and deep, stealing the breath away from both of you. He tastes you on his tongue, smoke and cheap vodka lingering there, as you straddled his hips, pretty pleated skirt flaring around your hips.

Hands wandering over layers, mouths wandering over skin. Eddie kissed every spot he could find, from your mouth to your neck, sucking and biting bruises that knew would still be there in the morning. He squeezed your boobs through your tight top, massaging them in his rough hands, making you moan in his mouth. He drank each strangled moan, each sigh, fueling his want for you.

Your hands soon found the buckle of his belt, expertly opening it, and palming him through his boxers. He could almost feel embarrassed over how hard he already was, but he could sense that you were equally as eager, applying pressure on his cock, running your nails through the length of it just to feel him shiver under your ministrations.

You didn't break the kiss as you pulled him out of his underwear, stroking him slowly, pumping his cock with your hand, running your thumb over the head of it, slicking him with his own precum. Eddie bit your bottom lip to stay quiet, making you look at him through hooded eyes. "Feeling good, handsome?"

"Too good. Too fucking good to be true."

You chuckled, low and sexy. "It is true. It's all for you."

As you kept stroking and squeezing him in your hand, moving your thumb from the sensitive underside to the head, and down again, making his hips jerked and thrusted into your grip, he kept kissing you, pouring all of his adoration into it, sucking on your tongue, bruising your lips with his own.

A chill ran down his spine with a particular tug of your hand on his cock. At the feeling of it, Eddie put a hand on your wrist, stopping you. "Angel, I'm not gonna last long if you keep doing this."

"But I wanna make you cum, Eds." You pouted, looking down at him.

"You can make me cum inside of this perfect pussy, how about that?"

"I think I like that more, too."

Without warning, you pulled yourself up, standing in front of him. As if you were putting on a show, you bent down at the waist, and slowly removed your panties from under your skirt, tossing on the couch right next to him, and mounted him again. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you? Was that your plan all along?"

"I don't know. Is it working?"

This time, he grabbed your hips and helped you align yourself above his cock, rubbing his head along your entrance and letting it catch on your clit a couple of times before you sat yourself on him, taking him in slowly, accommodating the stretch inside of you.

It was heaven, right there, under that tiny cheerleader skirt.

"Trust me. It's working really damn well."

You lost yourselves in that moment, moving your hips in sync. Eddie was hypnotized by the way you bounced on him, each slide of your slick, warm pussy went straight through his whole body, making him hold tightly onto you, wrapping his arms around you.

All he could hear was your heavy breathing, your little whimpers better than the music that muffled his own stubborn moans that made their way out of his gaping mouth. He felt you squeeze him with your cunt as you pulled his hair, hips growing more and more reckless with each movement, signaling that you were close.

Eddie started to fuck up into you, making you bounce harder on his lap. He felt the way you lost balance, holding onto his shoulders and shutting your eyes hard.

"It's okay, pretty girl. You can let go. I'm right here with you, you can cum for me." He pleaded, "Please? Cum with me."

You came almost at the same time, squeezing each other's bodies, trying hard not to make too much noise. While you rode out your orgasms, Eddie left kisses all over your shoulder, to your neck, to the side of your face. A last kiss on your cheek, on the side where you were hiding your face on his neck.

"We should get out of here before someone catches us."

Your voice tickled the sensitive skin of his neck, and he ran his hand over your back. You were still joined under your skirt, his cock growing soft inside of you, but still terribly warm. "Your place or mine?"

You raised your face from its hiding place, and pushed a strand of his wild hair behind his ear. "Wherever we don't have to keep quiet like this."

"My place it is."

[thelightsandtheroses]

everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[octuscle]

My professor is such a pain in the ass! I tried turning him into an average dumb college frat guy, but it’s not working!

Whew! Indeed, your professor is a tough nut to crack. He's as stiff as if he'd swallowed a stick. On time like a Swiss watch. And the strictest teacher imaginable. I'll see what I can do. Time is pressing, it's Friday and the exam period starts on Monday.

07:30. Your professor's shiny Volvo rolls into the faculty parking lot. He's always on time to the second. His suit may be cheap, but it's immaculate. And he walks into the staff room with his hair perfectly parted. No one notices the small tattoo on his forearm.

When he arrives at your lecture, it's like a sensation: he's not wearing polished Oxfords, he's wearing sneakers. Pretty cool, pretty expensive sneakers. And WHITE socks! He's never been seen wearing anything like that before. And you swear his stomach is flatter. Normally his jacket always conceals a tummy bulge. But now his silhouette is perfectly slim. Unfortunately, it doesn't change anything about his lecture. He's way too fast, firing his questions like a sniper in the direction of the students who weren't paying attention. He's a pain in the ass, and that hasn't changed yet.

During the lunch break, the professor is seen wearing jeans for the first time. Pretty crisp fitting jeans. He really has a tight ass. And damn: Does he actually have a beard shadow? Normally he's always perfectly shaved. You're sitting in the canteen with your bruhs when he approaches you and asks "All gud, bruhs? can one of you give me uh fag? I must have forgotten mine at home…" You are far too surprised not to give him a cigarette. "You're such uh lifesaver, dude," says your professor and asks what you're up to this weekend. You tell him about your plans to go to the sports bar, work out in the gym and maybe take a trip to the beach on Sunday. "Sick thing" replies the professor. "See you around, bruhs!" He leaves you with your mouths hanging open.

The professor leaves the parking lot in his open-top Mustang with loud hip-hop music and screeching tires. You grin broadly. Your plan seems to be working. You are sure of it when you meet the next day at the gym. Your professor has a cool haircut, a stylish beard and looks like he's a regular at the tattoo parlor. You greet each other with a fist bump. And when he takes off his sweaty T-shirt after two hours, you say goodbye with a chest bump. Damn, this guy has a killer body.

On the beach, your prof disappears from time to time with random people and goes to the trunk of his Mustang. Shit, he's selling drugs. Hashish or apparently steroids and other stuff. And at sunset you see him lying on his towel smoking pot while one of the musclemen from the gym massages his nipples. Fuck, the boner in his surfer shorts is impressive. You're very pleased with yourself. You don't need to be afraid of tomorrow. It's a good thing you didn't waste the weekend studying.

Hot picture, you think to yourself on Monday morning when you see your professor's latest post on Instagram. And then you read the caption: "Sicc training 2 start the new wk. Now let's go kicc sum student ass. I luv it when i c the airheads sweating over my exam questions"

Pic found @marechais

[ellaa-writes]

inspired by this, enjoy :) (unedited)

the bell above the door alerted you to someone entering you small little studio. It was right in the heart of downtown, use to be a bake shop. The smell of fresh bread still can be smelled if you pressed your nose up against the wall. You wiped at your furrowed brow, taking a step back to look at your latest painting. It was all wrong, you couldn't get the shading right. You abandoned your pallet and brush on the stool next to you, making sure you didn't have paint on your face as you walked to the front.

Usually Horace man's the front but he just stepped out for a smoke, leaving you alone in the studio for the next 15 mins. As you emerged from the back you looked around the small space. Not only do you sell original art work but you also sell local art work as well. It was hard to miss him, with the way he towered over everything around him. His back was turned to you and you thanked the heavens it was. You never hesitated to great someone before, your hands started to shake with nerves before you clenched them closed.

His back rippled before he turned his head back in your direction. You smiled quickly, rubbing the sweat from your palms onto your painters apron.

"Hi, sorry for the wait. Is there anything I could do for you.. Sir?" the sir came out hesitantly and nearly a whisper. His green eyes narrowed at you, taking in your form. They traveled down to your waist and back up, locking onto your own. His face softened as he flashed a smile.

"I'm in town for the weekend, thought I'd take a walk around before I saw a sign for an art studio. Do you run this place?" his voice had a thick accent but you were still able to understand him.

"Oh no, that would be Horace. He just stepped out for a minute. I just work in the back most of the time." you spoke lowly, coming around the counter to stand in front of him.

His eyes lit up at the full sight of you, your shoes were covered in many different colors on paint, fresh and old blending together. The warmth in his eyes shifted to something you couldn't quiet make out, but it did make the hairs on your arm stand straight as a small shudder rippled through your body.

"Could you tell me about this piece?" you had to step forward more has he was blocking the painting he was referring to. As it came into veiw and you could feel the heat radiating off his body the closer you got.

It was of the lake, with the mountains in the back. A soft glow from the stars bouncing off the calm waters. You painted in about 3 years ago, took you weeks too but mostly because it was mid December when you decided to trek out to the lakeshore. The black rocks surrounding the lake weren't kind to your feet those days.

"Um... sorry what was the question?" and this was exactly way you stayed in the back. You always struggled to communicate with others.

"The painting, is the artist still around?" he asked as his eyes scanned other paintings.

"Oh yes she is." you shifted from him, you need some distance to think properly. You walked over to a stack of painting, rummaging through them.

"Is it possible I could speak to... Her?" unbeknownst to you his eyes were trained in your backside. Watching as you bent over to look through the stack of painting before finding the one you were looking for.

"Sorry, speak to who?" you asked as you set the new painting next to the one he was looking at.

"The artist who made this." he pointed at the landscape in front of him.

"Oh, well. Your already speaking to her." you avoided his eyes as you looked over the twin paintings. "This one here" you pointed to the new one. "Was painted part summer, same area but different season." looking at the pink sky reflecting off of the water. You could still feel the warm breeze flowing around you.

"They are beautiful, the brush strokes ever so slight. Makes the water come alive." his voice was right behind you, you could feel his breath fanning against your ear as he leaned down to take a better look at them both.

"You have a real talent. How long have you been painting?" the bell dinged again as Horace came in, the slight smell of tobacco filling the space. You shoot him a glance as he takes in the giant.

"Sorry, didn't hear this damn bell. Been meaning to get it upgraded." Horace crossed the space and gave you a get back to work look.

"It was nice meeting you, uh-" you couldn't recall if he told you his name or not. "König, please call me König." his smile didn't quiet reach his eyes but it was big and gummy. You left the two men to make small talk. Horace was ways good at selling, even better at getting more than the asking price.

You focused back on your discarded painting. Standing back from it, looking at it like a lost map. The sound of low muffled voices wafted in, the sound of Horace too happy of a voice and the ding of the cash register. His footsteps entered into your space as he grabbed a packing box and slipped back out.

The chime of the door altering you to the departure of Mr. König.

After you finished up what you could, the sun setting behind the mountains. You gathered your belongings, slipping your purse over your shoulders.

"Horace?" you called out to the older man, and he rounded the corner to bid you far well. "Here" he reached out his hand, a small black card rested between his pointer and middle finger. "What's this?" you asked. Grabbing it and looking at the gold text.

Art Dealer

"Sold those two painting for well above the worth they are. Finally getting my moneys worth outta ya." Horace was a rough man, having taken over his father's operation begrudgingly.

"See you tomorrow!" you called out as he disappeared from view. The walk back to your small cottage wasn't far, and at this time of year the air before dusk was crisp.

You walked along the side walk, unknowingly being tailed by a sleek black car.

[detailtilted]

NEW Enhanced Edition - CHICON 2009 - J2 Breakfast

Direct link to video. Link to YouTube channel. (13 videos available.)

My latest video is up. 82% of the footage came from the video AgtSpooky sent me. Her video was already on YouTube, but not properly credited to her. I used a few other sources that are credited in my video description.

This video won't look as good as my others, for reasons I've already explained in typically wordy fashion in another post, but I do think it's still quite an improvement versus what's previously been available on YouTube. There are, as usual, some funny moments! I hope you'll find it to be worth watching.

My next video will be the main J2 panel. This is when they first started doing completely combined panels instead of having a combination of solo and joint panels. My turnaround time on the next video will be much slower than it has been up to this point. This is both because the next video will be twice as long as most of my other videos, and also because I have some personal chaos (buying a house/selling a house/moving) that will eat into a lot of my spare time over the next month and a half.

I'll be even less active on Tumblr than usual while this is going on. Whatever spare time I manage to find will probably be dedicated toward video editing rather than social media. If you don't hear much from me over the next month or two, it's definitely not because I've lost interest in my project or the fandom.

Before/after comparison photos...

In addition to these images, there's a 32-second comparison video in this post (the same post I linked to above). The original videos had very heavy flashes which I reduced in the enhanced version, and a screen shot can't demonstrate how big of a difference that makes.

A recap for anyone not familiar with this project…

In December 2023, I started this project to enhance old convention videos. I'm upscaling the videos and making other visual improvements, adding extra content to clarify various references, and adding good color-coded subtitles so you can better understand the sometimes-chaotic audio.

My goal is to publish the best, most complete, and most watchable versions of these older convention panels yet seen, but this is only possible thanks to the fans who captured the footage in the first place and were generous enough to share it with other fans. My video descriptions on YouTube will always credit my sources.

If you have any old convention videos you'd be willing to contribute to this project, please message me! I can also be reached at DetailTilted@gmail.com. Even if your videos are on YouTube, the original files, if you still have them, may upscale much better. If I can get them to upscale, I'd happily send the upscaled files back to you for your own collection whether I use them or not.

[mariacallous]

Nearly four years ago, the Department of Homeland Security stated for the first time that domestic violent extremists, rather than foreign terrorists, had become “the most persistent and lethal threat” to the United States. The F.B.I.’s director later told a congressional committee that the primary threat came from adherents to “some kind of white-supremacist-type ideology.” When Joe Biden took office, shortly after the attack on the Capitol, he directed staff to draft the first-ever “National Strategy for Countering Domestic Terrorism,” which promised “a comprehensive approach to addressing the threat while safeguarding bedrock American civil rights and civil liberties.” But, in the intervening time, have we become any safer? In a riveting narrative from this week’s issue, David D. Kirkpatrick explores:

The limits that law-enforcement agencies face in going after potential homegrown terrorists, and how a growing number of amateur investigators and vigilantes—who make use of the latest technology and operate without the “protections, training, or restraints that come with a badge”—have stepped into the void.

How far-right groups often operate as multilevel-marketing schemes, in which members are incentivized to sell branded materials to an ever-growing number of recruits, effectively paying for their operations by amassing new members—even those who aren’t yet “fashed out,” meaning fully fascist.

Why the F.B.I. is reluctant to categorize extremists with terms such as “far right” or “white nationalist,” using instead much broader categories such as “domestic violent extremism,” “racially or ethnically motivated violent extremism,” and “anti-government or anti-authority violent extremism.”

The story of an operator with the code name Vincent Washington who infiltrated a white-nationalist organization called Patriot Front, and offered the trove of information he obtained to an online publication called Unicorn Riot, rather than to the police.

[anobjectshowguy]

I could spout for hours and hours about how great II 16 was and how much it subverted my expectations but for now, I want to focus on MePhone X in particular.

I made a post here in January (before anyone knew anything about MePhone X) about how the MePhones’ continued to become more robotic and lost their autonomy as they went up in generation. I also talked about how I hoped that MePhone X could be saved from Meeple by his old brothers. Even after seeing episode 16 I still kinda hope for his redemption. I also believe that there is (obviously) way more evidence of Cobs’s cruelty that he directs at his creations (even if we don’t see anything on screen happen with his latest models).

From what we can see from the little presentation of MePhone X is that he has some advanced technology abilities, like being able to turn invisible or suck the lifeforce that MePhone 4 gave the contestants out of their bodies, returning them to their normal state. He’s going to be a big threat for sure. Cobs gave him the ability to turn invisible so he somewhat trusts MePhone X to not turn on him or run away, which is interesting and kinda breaks my previous theory.

However, in the episode, MePhone 3GS says that Cobs will only accept things that are perfect, and Cobs talks about how his new creations are less and less popular and that people are less likely to buy them. Cobs is failing to sell anything recent and MePhone X is recent tech meaning that MePhone X is already partly a failure, even if he hadn’t done anything yet. And that’s not even talking about Cobs’s constantinfantilization of MePhone 4 in the episode, which who knows if he does that to anyone else.

I don’t know if AE is planning to do another MePhone 5 situation where the two phones confront each other and have a big fight and the “evil” one dies. However, from what I personally gathered from the end of season three was that MePhone 4 seemed like he was going to try and do something new when it came to the Meeple products he encounters.

I mean, He gave Walkie-talkie a second chance, even after knowing that she was a Meeple product sent there to kill him. Maybe it was because she never really went after the contestants, but there was also the conversation on the volcano where MePhone 4 acknowledged that Cobs was always going to try to replace things and make new things even though they weren’t needed and try to control his creation to get an outcome he wanted.

I know this is such a long rambling post that seems to be about nothing but I still don’t know if I could stomach X being killed or being seen as evil. Especially based on the information given about being one of Cobs’s creations and how he controls them. But again, if that’s what AE wants to do, I am not gonna sit here and complain. It’s definitely interesting. Here’s to my stupid ass happy ending heart hoping that X can be redeemed or something like that lol.

[hroscek]

🛒Dottore shopping headcanons🧾

"Wouldn't it be funny if Dottore went to a grocery store?" - me 2 minutes before I started writing this

Another incredibly silly concept from me, your humble Dottore content deliverer. Not really an AU, but definitely taking massive liberties when it comes to stretching canon. Probably quite ooc as well.

Warnings: mention of death

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Dottore hadn't gone shopping in ages, not since he joined the Fatui. He never liked people and their mundane activities, preferring to stay inside working on his latest project. Groceries and food preparation had been delegated to his staff and the occasional segment as a punishment so he never really saw a need to even think about it.

That changed when he was sent on a covert mission to a wealthy mansion in Fontaine. His job was to infiltrate the household of a prominent scholar who posed a risk of uncovering the operation in Sumeru. The best way to do so was under the guise of being part of the staff. When he was satisfied his appearance was adequately concealed Dottore signed up for the only position that was available in such short notice: the kitchen inventory assistant.

As his new manager explained his job would be to handle the shopping and delivering of ingredients needed by the cooks. In his endless confidence Dottore almost burst out laughing when he heard his duties. "A delivery boy? Me? The 2nd of the eleven Fatui harbingers? This will be too easy" he thought to himself. Oh how wrong he was.

On his first day he set out for the local market with a shopping list in hand, his mind preoccupied with plans of ending his employer. His contemplation was cut short by the sheer loudness of the crowded market. Children wailed for their parents to buy them sweets, merchants bargained over every last coin and groups of people engaged in lively conversation. Any other extrovert person would find the scene quite endearing, a truly fine display of the friendly culture of Fontaine. But this is Dottore we're talking about so his hatred grew every second he was forced to be there.

The first item on his list was fish for the main course of lunch. He gathered whatever patience was left and walked to the first fish stall. Seeing the glossy eyes of the fish in their dozens unnerved him, despite the centuries spent working with cadavers. He was about to point to a fish he deemed adequate when an older lady kindly pointed out it's eyes had gone cloudy (how he managed to find the only week old fish in a city surrounded by water is anyone's guess). He awkwardly thanked her and left in a hurry without buying a fish. He's sure the cooks will figure something out.

Next he headed for the vegetable stand to look for tomatoes. Without bothering to check for quality he started loading the bag as quickly as he could, hoping to get it over with as soon as he could. The seller, clocking the poor guy as a newbie quoted nearly triple the fair price and Dottore paid without questioning or even thinking to haggle (it's a tomato, how much could it cost? 500 mora?)

Almost done with the grocery run (and his patience) Dottore scanned the flower stands looking for Marcottes. He circled the market around 3 times before a amused shopkeep asked what he was looking for. "ᴹᵃʳᶜᵒᵗᵗᵉˢ." he answered, hoping that the earth beneath him sunk and got him out of this hellish situation (awkward social interaction). The seller giggled "Sorry, no one's selling marcottes this week. There's a supply chain issue with the florists on strike, haven't you heard?" Dottore turned and nearly ran in the other direction without a second word, completely forgetting the mint he was also supposed to buy.

Utterly humiliated Dottore decided to ditch any plans of infiltrating quietly and stormed to the manor, killing the scholar and his family. He'll let someone else figure out the coverup. And so he returned to his dim laboratory, vowing never to go shopping again.

Pantalone still makes fun of him for the tomatoes to this day.

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Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of posts today, I'm working on a longer fanfiction so I haven't been able to focus on these shorter posts. Will try and finish it within the next day or so, but in the meanwhile enjoy whatever this is. Also you if you figure out what the dish he was shopping for was I'll write whatever topic of headcanon you want, just comment or send a message.

[insanityclause]

EXCLUSIVE: Tom Hiddleston (Thor franchise) and Mark Hamill (Star Wars) are set to star in new Stephen King adaptation The Life Of Chuck, which will be a hot package at the upcoming Cannes market.

Doctor Sleep and The Haunting Of Hill House helmer Mike Flanagan is directing, scripting and producing for Intrepid Pictures alongside fellow producer Trevor Macy.

FilmNation will handle international sales with WME Independent handling domestic.

Based on the short story from King’s 2020 anthology If It Bleeds, The Life of Chuck is three separate stories linked to tell the biography of Charles Krantz in reverse, beginning with his death from a brain tumour at 39 and ending with his childhood in a supposedly haunted house.

The script, which was adapted prior to the WGA strike, has been in the works for several months with Hiddleston set to play the title character and Hamill joining for the role of Albie.

According to the production, the genre project will draw tonally from Stand By Me, The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile.

Golden Globe and Olivier winner Hiddleston is best known for Thor, Avengers and TV series The Night Manager, as well as stage projects such as Betrayal and Hamlet for Ken Branagh.

Hamill is best known for his portrayal of Luke Skywalker in the original Star Wars movies and reprised his role in both the sequels as well as the second season of The Mandalorian and season one of The Book of Boba Fett. He recently appeared in Netflix’s Sandman and will star in Intrepid and Netflix’s House Of Usher, which will air later this year.

Stephen King, aka ‘The King Of Horror’, is among the all-time best-selling authors. Among his books and short stories to have been adapted into hit movies are Carrie, The Shining, Pet Sematary, It, Stand By Me, The Running Man, The Shawshank Redemption, and The Green Mile.

This is the latest project to join a bumper Cannes market slate for FilmNation. Also on the lineup are Amy Adams-Paul Rudd comedy The Invite, Dave Bautista action-thriller The Cooler, and Andrew Garfield project Voyagers, among others.

Hiddleston is represented by UTA (US), Hamilton Hodell (UK), and Johnson Shapiro Slewett & Kole; Hamill is represented by Gersh and Kleinberg Lange Cuddy & Carlo; Flanagan, Macy and Intrepid are represented by WME, with VanderKloot Law also representing Flanagan and Reder & Feig handling Macy.

[montimer]

Can I request goofy evil scientist!reader x joker headcanons?

Like the reader is still quite a beginner in being a villain and is not that good. More seen as a joke villain rather then a threat, they just mainly rob banks, steal stuff, the normal cartoony villain shenanigans. They also have a goofy evil laugh.

And I wanna see how the joker will think of that (idk how to phrase it)

Idk really, sorry (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠)

Sure sure!

Joker x scientist!reader

Gn!reader, reader is a beginner villain

A new villain in gotham. A new pain in the butt for the police. And a new soon to be obsession for our prince of crime.

You are a beginner and for whatever reason you turned to the evil side, you want to make others suffer for it. And their wallets

You begin with simply robbery. Your weapon is either a gun or some toxin, maybe both.

Gotham didn't fail to notice how clumsy and new you were. The other villains just ignored you for the most part. But not him.

Back at the asylum, joker was watching the big tv from one of the rooms. Thats when he noticed you. You looked so different, so unique, so silly! Now you got his attention. The tv showed ur latest crime. And a clip too.

There you were, a bit far away from the camera. He almost got up from his seat to take a better look until- he heard ur laugh. It was so goofy but evil like. It made him crack up. His smile widened upon seeing you. He wanted to know you better, and more about you.

He randomly showed up at your crime. You think hes here to steal before you can. He tells you "You gotta catch me to earn these sweets" he waves the pearls in his hand. You run towards him and he giggles to himself as he watches you chase him.

"Hahahaha! You got this, keep up dear!" He just runs too fast, you can't catch up

You're getting annoyed and choose to stop in your track. "Ah whatever its just some pearls" you turn back to see what else to steal.

He stops too as he notices that you aren't chasing him anymore. He puffs and scolds you. You just ignore him until you hear something. O-oh. Its the cops

He motions his hands for you to run with him and in your hurry you decide to go with him.

Hardly but the two of you escape.

You pant as you stare up at him. "Y-you! Cuz of you i could barley focus, now we only got that stupid necklace.." you stare at it. He giggles as you angrily look up at him.

"You're so cute when your angry, i like ya sweets. Oh, heres your pretty lil necklace" before you could object he put the necklace full of pearls around you.

"Consider it a gift!"

Oh now your mad. "It was mine to begin with! Plus its not for wearing, this thing cost-" he put his fingers to your mouth to shush you up.

"Shhh, ofc its for wearing. You wouldn't sell a gift now would you?" You give him a tired look.

He smiles and pets your head.

"Good good. Well would you look at the time? I gotta slip! See you around!" He bows and waves as he runs to the other direction.

You just watch him until he disappears, he seemed to like that since he took one last look back. Oh well, maybe next time you'll succeed. Wait..did he said see you around? Oh god no

[directsellingnow]

Direct Selling Latest News: 'यस वी विल लीडरशिप' वर्कशॉप का VLCC वेलसाइंस और My 1 Million Smile टीम के साथ सफल आयोजन

Direct Selling Latest News: भारत के कई प्रतिष्ठित स्थानों पर वर्कशॉप के सफल आयोजन के बाद, 11 और 12 अगस्त को ‘यस वी विल’ लीडरशिप वर्कशॉप का 2-दिवसीय आयोजन जिम कॉर्बेट के लग्जरी फाइव-स्टार रिजॉर्ट में VLCC वेलसाइंस और My 1 Million Smiles टीम के साथ हुआ। Direct Selling Latest News In Hindi कार्यक्रम के पहले दिन कंपनी की प्रेसिडेंट डायमंड, श्रीमती संगीता भंडारी ने वर्कशॉप को बहुत ऊर्जा और उत्साह के…

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 6 ("DECIDING IN YOUR YOUTH / ON THE POLICY OF TRUTH") EDITION

In segment 2/4 of this latest episode of Only Friends, Boston let us know what year the show's mind is on.

Some stuff was percolating around this time, some of it majorly important, and other stuff important maybe only to someone like myself, a baby born in the 1980s and raised in the 1990s who happens to have a thing for 20th-century British electronic rock.

In February 1997, the infamous "The One With The Morning After" episode of Friends came out -- when Rachel discovers that Ross had slept with someone else when, "WE WERE ON A BREAK!"

In September 1997, Linda Tripp begins recording her conversations with a White House intern, Monica Lewinsky, about Lewinsky's affair with the U.S. president of the time, Bill Clinton.

In January 1998, the first public news of the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal comes out.

And in 1998, one of my favorite songs ever, "Policy of Truth," is released by one of the greatest bands of all time, Depeche Mode (ya feel me, Sand?). I thought a lot about this song, about the meaning of truth in the hands of young folks, and I thought a LOT about politics, during this episode.

It's just time to pay the price / For not listening to advice / And deciding in your youth / On the policy of truth

Truth, Bill, Monica, cheating, Friends. It's a lot. To me, this episode dealt with politics, with the nature of what "truth" means, what truth means when it is created and/or revealed at a particular point in time, and how young people begin to learn about the correlation between truth and consequences in safe, unsafe, and enduring ways.

We meet Boston's dad, shown above. We see he's got a flavor about him. He's quite casual with his son ("Ton, you dipshit!"). He's borrowing help from his son's friend for campaign materials (ooookay, lol, where is your campaign manager), while smoochin' on a Scotch.

What are campaign materials? Campaign materials -- posters, mailers, policies, commercials, etc. -- are the selling of an image. A political campaign is not quite about truth. A political campaign is a selling of a story that candidates want voters to buy with their votes. It's reality....-ish. It's a kind of truth that is ultimately selective and marketed to a particular voting audience that will hopefully allow that candidate to win and gain power.

There was someone else playing a political game, until his game crumbled. Top was playing a political game.

Before Mew blew Top's shit UP (Mew would have made Linda Tripp proud, goddamn), Top thought his political game was selling. He thought his IMAGE was selling. He thought his secret about his sex with Boston, while him and Top had reset and were not officially boyfriends again ("we were on a break"), was safe.

We saw Top's true nature come out time and time again, to Boston, to Nick, to Sand. We saw his aggressiveness and his confidence, his assuredness about his success as a top-tier man, directed to everyone EXCEPT Mew, with whom Top had to play a different game -- a game of touch-and-go, a game of restraint, a game of change, and certainly a game of withholding and/or manipulating certain truths about himself (Top) in order to continue to win Mew's heart. Before the in-bed blow-up at the end of the episode, Top even planted a guilt trip on Mew -- digging into Mew's continued distrust of Top by asking Mew to PLEASE consider everything that Top had changed for Mew.

Someone else was called out for playing a dishonest political game. Boston calls out Ray for not being honest about his feelings for Mew. Boston says to Ray, as Ray looks on in shock, below:

In this scene, I realized something. The only person NOT playing a game of deception at this point is Boston. Boston -- while an absolute jerk and asshole -- KNOWS he is these things. He doesn't fight off allegations that he is "nasty." He knows what he likes. He is honest about how he acts. He is truthful to his feelings. He is a jerk -- but he doesn't lie. (Or at least, he hasn't lied, yet.) He happens to keep secrets and withhold truths, but he hasn't distorted his image to try to fool anyone -- the way that Top has, the way that Ray has. He is utterly direct about his intentions with Nick, and he leaves it up to Nick to deal with his (Boston's) brutal honesty.

(Before I unwind on Boston to bring together these thoughts on sex, politics, and truth, I want to note that we had two instances of advice from GROWN-UPS -- from the quartet's business professor, and from Sand's mom -- that playing with friendship, work, love, and business, can result in awkward consequences. Finally, we begin to see a creep of the grown-up Greek chorus offering its thoughts on the antics of this group of aloof students who are almost Seinfeld-ian in their disdain of how they may hurt each other, others, and even themselves with their behaviors. This group has decided right now, in its youth, on its policies of truth. And Seinfeld, along with Friends, was the aloof epitome of the 1990s.)

The reason why I interjected that thought on grown-ups and consequences here is that both Boston and Ray had different takes on "truth" in this episode than Top. Like I said: Top has an image that he had been selling to Mew until the very end of the episode.

Boston and Ray, on the other hand, have relationships with truth in which they are unaware of the consequences of their almost thoughtless honesty (and in Ray's case, his simultaneous dishonesty). What do I mean by that?

As I mentioned before: Boston isn't deceitful. He's just brutal. Boston is brutally honest about his feelings and intentions -- and he doesn't realize that people like Nick, or Gap (DRAKE) may interpret sex, and feelings that might come from or after sex, differently than him. And those different feelings, from different people, will almost always have consequences of a kind that Boston is clearly not prepared to deal with. The biological urge that many have to be close or clingy after sex? The implication that if you have sex with someone, that you might automatically be “dating”? The theory that maaaaannny people have that sex is a way INTO a relationship (and not the other way around)? All of these notions need communication. I posit that Boston’s been VERY clear in his communication that he is NOT into ANYTHING related to a relationship—but he’s not aware that others do not think like him, and that WILL have consequences for him.

Ray, in that drunk and high performance of a lifetime at YOLO (cc @liyazaki LOLLLLL), thinks that he's saving his friends with a round of truth-telling. By being so blind to the feelings of others -- and, really, to ignore the rights and privacy of others to deal with their own truths on their own time -- Ray BLASTS past any of consequences that he might face, and that his friends may face, as he reveals their secrets, one by one.

@lurkingshan noted in one of her meta posts yesterday that Mew punched Ray at the bar in part to control the release of the truth of Top cheating on Mew, to leave that little bit out, so that Mew could have his own "gotcha" moment later at home with Top.

You know what that was? That was politics, baby. That was a HELL of a power move, for Mew to literally PUNCH someone out of his way, so that Mew could clinch a win for himself -- vis à vis a brutal truth that very clearly hurt and impacted him, either through his love for Top, and/or through embarrassment for his own reputation, as Shan notes.

I'm gonna tie this ALL together in just a moment -- but I want to make one very last note about the truth and a character. Sand runs to Ray in the parking lot after Ray's blow-up. Sand admits his feelings to Ray. Ray pushes him away and gets behind the wheel. And Sand hops on his bike and follows Ray.

At this point in the series, I posit that Sand knows exactly what he is getting into. (I'm SMDH about it, but he knows what he's getting into, god fucking damn it, SAND, baka.)

He's NOT deceiving himself. He's being honest with his feelings, like Boston is -- but, unlike Boston, I believe Sand is very fully aware of the consequences that his feelings may lead him to face. Remember that Sand is not a part of the original aloof quartet. He's not one with the liars, like Cheum and Ray. He's not one with Boston, who doesn't think ahead. He's not one with Mew, who is insecure, conniving, and now potentially vengeful. Sand, the goddamn romantic, is caught beneath a landslide on a champagne supernova with his feelings, and will clearly ride them out, with intention. (I want to SHAKE HIS DAMN SHOULDERS, but anyway.) (GMMTV, why do you have to play First like this. I just finished Not Me. You took the anarchy outta my boy. Now he’s blubbering for another problematic dude. Can we just. Let. First. I dunno. Anyway.)

So.... whew. What of all of this?

I take this episode as one that says:

Truth is what you make of truth. Truth -- whether it's the presentable truth, the not-totally-complete truth, the whole and unedited truth, or in the words of Californians, your own truth -- will have consequences when it is revealed. And a huge part of maturity is in one's handling of those revelations when they are made.

When you are young, you don't have the benefit of years and years of time and life to recognize that your actions may have consequences, some that are fleeting, some that will last a lifetime. A huge point of one's young adulthood is how you are shaped by the consequences of your actions and your decisions -- and by seeing how your actions affect other people, either intentionally or unintentionally.

Sex and politics rarely, if ever, mix well. For Boston's dad.... what will be revealed about Boston is not gonna be good for his campaign. And Boston's own life may well be impacted for a good chunk of his lifetime.

But, more than anything else, this theme of politics that I saw in this episode reflected for me -- of course, as always -- a kind of ephemerality in this series. You know why?

Politics, unless it is INCREDIBLY corrupt, always has term limits. Unless you're Putin or Mugabe: power unto a leader, or a group of leaders, will almost always come to an end.

The image will fade. The rhetoric will wither out.

The politics will always change -- because people always change, ideas always change.

HOWEVER. The consequences of one's actions in politics may last a lifetime, or lifetimes. If you REALLY fuck up? You’ll be known for that for your life.

The OF quartet is heading into a dalliance between impermanence and permanence, as well as with consequences that their aloofness has not prepared them for, and it's bound to be devastating. Many of them tried to play games in this episode. Almost all of them are unaware that these games will have long-lasting effects. Some of them (like Nick and Sand) are still playing games. And these games, these risks, are bound to end in many of them ending up as losers.

The following rule is NOT ephemeral — it is a permanent truth: in politics, there will ALWAYS be losers. That is always the case, and will always be the case. There are going to be a lot of losers by the time this show ends.

(EPHEMERALITY SQUAD, HAPPY SUNDAY! Thanks for tagging me in your meta yesterday! @ranchthoughts @chickenstrangers @slayerkitty @twig-tea @clara-maybe-ontheroad @distant-screaming @lurkingshan @neuroticbookworm)

[artistsfuneral]

The Road to Kaer Morhen - p.1

Whereas the country of Kaedwen was a bit infamous for its unforgiving winters, people rarely talked about the summers in the north. If anyone had cared enough to ask, Jaskier would've happily stated that the summertime up in the mountains was just as character-strong as it's opposing season. A weird statement for the bard, since Jaskier tended to call summer his favorite season, but unlike the norm it wasn't the steadily rising temperatures that were bothering him. It was the light.

After many years of travel his body had become accustomed to wake with the spreading brightness of a new day and rest when the sun hid behind the horizon. It was an incredibly useful habit that allowed him to get the most out of each beautiful summer day and catch up on rest as well as rightfully sleep through every single one of Marx' morning lectures during winter at Oxenfurt. Problematic about this was, that the kaedweni summer sun had yet to understand that Jaskier needed at least seven hours of his beauty sleep. To think clearly and to keep his impulses in check, because who was he trying to fool – he always looked pretty no matter the circumstances.

The part with the impulse control was the hardest one, he mused as he took a bite of the glazed sweet roll he had not intended to be his breakfast but enjoyed none the less. Due to the lack of shutters on the windows of his temporary bedroom, he had been awake dreadfully early and left the inn at the same time the owner of the bakery across the street had opened his doors and windows. The baker turned out to be a very charming man that had not only taken pity on Jaskier's oh so grim situation and spent the morning listening to the bard's idle chatter, but had also gifted him not one but two of the heavenly sweet rolls because 'they came out too crooked to sell'. Jaskier had thanked the baker by kissing him on the cheek and left once the first tired customer knocked against the door.

Licking the white sugar glaze from his fingertips, Jaskier strolled towards the town's daily marked were the vendors set up all kinds of stalls. From farmers and butchers to tailors and leather workers, Jaskier was sure he could make out almost every major profession which was absolutely perfect given this was the last big town he'd travel through before finding his way to Kaer Morhen. Or at least trying to do so.

It wasn't like Geralt had ever taken him to his wondrous witcher winter home before, or given him a map for that matter. Geralt had only asked him once, which felt like a lifetime ago, if he'd like to spend a winter at Kaer Morhen. Back then Jaskier, much younger and always so caught up in his own affairs, had listened to Geralt's bland description of a more crusty than rustic, crumbling and freezing fortress and had gently told the other man that he very much appreciated the thought but was fond of all of his toes and rather spent his winters in Oxenfurt. After a long moment of contemplated thinking Geralt had then told him that Jaskier, should he ever find himself in honest trouble, would find his safety at Kaer Morhen. That is, should he ever manage to find the keep, which certainly wasn't guaranteed given the fact that Geralt had never given him any true directions. What he had memorized instead was a list of obscure waypoints, like 'the big mossy rock', the 'jumping tree branch' or 'the cliff that looked like a raccoon'.

The bard could only hope that if he made it to the gates, the grandmaster of the keep would count being wanted by the entirety of the nilfgaardian army, the Redanian Secret Service essentially telling him he was on his own, his flat at Oxenfurt being broken into and an assassination attempt almost succeeding whilst he was playing at the Baron of Yspaden's name day, as 'troublesome enough' to let him stay. Especially since the latest incident had him storming out of Yspaden in such a hurry that he hadn't had time to change out his packs. As a result he was walking around the kaedweni landscape in his best court apparel which – if his unexpected travel companion, who was still peacefully asleep at the inn, was to believed – made him look like a peacock in a chicken coop. Trying to blend in with the rest was comically impossible, so Jaskier had straight out given up on that and instead done what he did best. He let his hair grow out, called himself Dandelion the Poet, performed his new songs even louder and strutted around the world like he owned it. Until now it had worked perfectly well. He just needed to spent the rest of his coin at the market for some might-come-in-handy supplies, collect his friend and would be on his way towards the rocky wilderness where nobody would dare to follow him.

Should be simple enough, shouldn't it?

The current problem being that Jaskier had no idea what those supplies should be and his coin was already limited from buying all the usual essentials for traveling. Looking around his eyes caught various things that seemed like good possibilities. Like a long roll of rope for example, Geralt always insisted on carrying rope with them in case one needed to secure something, say, a still bleeding monster head to a poor horse or a bard to a tree to keep him from following the witcher on a hunt. A second coat was always an advantage, especially since his companion at the inn didn't have one, but then again it was summer and the days and night were warm enough. Additional food wouldn't be a bad choice either, dried meat and fruits wrapped in beeswax sheets could last a while and if carefully portioned keep them from going hungry on days, but Jaskier was quite proud of his foraging skills and cooking usually wasn't a problem for him. He sighed and looked around further. A sister of the nearby temple was selling blessed charms to be placed on the little shrines of Melitele that could be found at almost every crossroad. The little parchment packages with herbs would be a good idea but Jaskier also incredibly fancied the the beautifully crafted hat with it's wide brim and ornate feather.

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Hi there! I'm so excited for this!!! ❤ and as always

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[changingplumbob]

Villareal: Chapter 6, Part 9

Camera time!!!

Luna (mummy) and Devin (mama) use some German and Italian. Schnucki (German) Sweetie but doesn’t have an exact translation

Devin: Here we are! Pirates of the Aegean 1

Rudolphus: Have they still not settled on a title

Devin: If they have it wasn’t on my latest script

Rudolphus: Come on, best get to make up, it’s going to be a big one

Devin: What do you mean

Rudolphus: *chuckles* I’m not going to ruin the surprise

Devin heads in, drafting up a quick simstagram post using film emojis followed by a pirate flag. Her followers know she’s doing a film that involves pirates but they’ve been able to keep the plot under wraps. Hopefully people can be surprised in the theatre.

Rudolphus: Now make sure you hold still

Devin: When do I not hold still

Rudolphus: Anytime your phone buzzes

Devin: I promise, I’ll be a statue

Rudolphus: Good because these scars are finicky

Devin goes to respond but Rudolphus shushes her. There’s nothing to do but sit still and let him work his magic. When he finishes he steps back and smiles

Rudolphus: Perfect if I do say so myself. Now where did they put that wig

Devin looks in the mirror as he moves away and is amazed at how he’s blended the scars into the rest of her make up, making her look like she has indeed been in swordfights before. When Rudolphus is finished she thanks him and heads to wardrobe.

Emily: Woah, were you attacked by a dire chinchilla

Devin: Nope, looks convincing right

Emily: Maybe but they wouldn’t be able to sell it without my costume. Come, you know the drill

Devin stands on the podium and hold still while Emily rechecks all her measurements and confirms the costume will still fit. Then it’s off with the sunglasses and on with the dress

Devin: I like this, the corset is cute

Emily: It’s a waspie

Devin: Oh okay, waspie. Selfie for luck?

Emily: You are incorrigible

Heading out Devin spots a familiar face milling amongst the actors, her friend and ZBB director Norah.

Devin: Norah! What ae you doing here? I thought you’d be busy penning next season

Norah: Devin darling! I’m already finished, the scripts are at the printers, you should get yours tomorrow. For now, focus on this. Levi may be directing but I’m going to be in the editing suite

Devin: So keep up standards, got it

As Norah hustles off to check in with some producers Devin and Tadelech take a final chance to run their lines. Accents check, we’re good to go!

Looking around Devin spots Levi in his normal spot, the directors chair.

Devin: Do we actually have a title

Levi: Still workshopping. I’m thinking Pirates of the Aegean: Treasures of Aarbyville. Let them know right from the off we have plans for sequels

Devin: I can’t lie, a regular movie would be great

Levi: For all of us. Go up there and give it your best

Devin: Sir yes sir!

Levi: Remember, you’re the captain!

Finding her way on to the stage Devin wonders whose idea it was to shoot in fake rain. Why couldn’t it just be added in post? Nevermind, no time to worry, get in character. Captain Jane Swallow, in charge of the Dire Chinchilla, pirate extraordinaire.

Devin finishes her vocal warm ups just as Tadelech gets in position. Time to rock and roll!

ACTION

Devin: Biggs, me loyal first mate, where’s the rum

Tadelech: No rum captain

Devin: Why is the rum gone? Nevermind, we don’t need it

Tadelech: Captain?

Devin: Come, let us toast to new adventures

Tadelech: With what captain?

Devin: We have goat’s milk here do we not? To the crew of the Dire Chinchilla

Tadelech: To the-

Devin: Wait, cannon fire!

CUT

Devin takes another quick selfie, she is loving this hat!

Devin: She sells seashells by the seashore

Tadelech: Splish, splash, splosh went the dog in the wash

ACTION

Devin: Biggs! Why are you not at your post

Tadelech: The place for a first mate is by her captain’s side

Devin: I have to tell you Biggs, there’s no guarantee we will survive this

Tadelech: I have yet to see Captain Jane Swallow fail

Devin: This is not the time to flirt

Tadelech: But if I don’t say it now-

Devin: We will get through this, I’ll make sure

Tadelech: There’s the captain I love

Devin dips Tadelech into a kiss and congratulates herself on not dropping the taller woman.

CUT

Devin: Nailed it

Tadelech: I hope so. This rain is not doing my hair any favours

Devin makes her way to the wheel and checks how easily it turns to get an idea of how to make it look realistic.

ACTION

Devin throws herself into the scene. It’s always strange doing a scene without a partner, just you alone to sell it. Luckily behind the camera Levi is yelling instructions of where to look and how to look. Before long Devin feels like her movements have become more natural and she has fun with it visualising holding the ship steady in turbulent waters.

CUT

Devin: Mina, you look…

Mina: How did they wear these wigs honestly

ACTION

Devin: I know this is not the trip you booked, but you are not who you pretended to be

Mina: I – of course I am! I… I forgot my line

The pair burst into giggles.

Levi: CUT! Focus actors, focus!

Mina: *through laughter* sorry Levi

Levi: *sighs* let’s do the fight scene, maybe that will clear up the giggles

Devin: *giggling* Yep, yep. Deep breath, focus

ACTION

Mina and Devin perform the perfectly chorepgraphed fight without any hiccups or giggles. Filming continues but when Levi shouts the final CUT the cast and crew feel like they’re given a star performance.

Devin returns home with her surprise, costumes! She convinced Emily to let her have some original test outfits that were ultimately abandoned, and she picked up some stuff for the toddlers to. While the grown ups get to be pirates Alfred is a crocodile and Rilian is a sea monster. The lounge is full of laughter and chaos as the pirates try to move from couch to couch, or safe ship to safe ship, without getting eaten by the water creatures. In the end the pirates launch a tickle attack on the toddlers and a tie is declared. As they set up for a photo Luna whispers a thank you to her wife, Devin always seems to have a plan to life her spirits. Next step, dinner.

Devin: We have classic Italian Meatballs for your eating pleasure tonight

Alfred: YAY

Luna: Rilian, you’re going to eat them aren’t you

Rilian sticks his tongue out and Joey laughs.

Devin: Come on caro, I made them extra excellent. Try a bite

Rilian: Hmm, Mama help me eat?

Devin: You can pick up your food but how about I sit beside and help cut

Rilian nods and the family sit down. Things are quiet for a while as they all eat but before long the grown ups are catching up on each others days and the toddlers are saying nonsense to each other.

Joey: And that’s when I said- Rilian I saw that

All eyes turn to the youngest toddler who is shifting nervously in his seat. He doesn’t seem keen to talk. Luna and Devin look around for what happened.

Joey: Don’t you want to say what happened

Rilian shakes his head but it’s too late, Luna has spotted the problem.

Luna: Schnucki, did you push some of your dinner on the floor

Rilian: NO

Devin: It got on the floor all by itself

Rilian: *blubbering* Not me

Luna: Rilian, your Mama worked hard to make dinner. We don’t just toss excellent food on the floor

Rilian continues to pout but doesn’t offer any explanation.

Devin: Bedtime I think

The women get the toddlers out of their seats but their moods don’t improve on the ground.

Luna: Did you two have naps today

Alfred: No Mummy, daycare was busy

The grown ups sigh collectively.

Devin: So we’ve been awake for 14 hours without naps, brilliant

Rilian: Mama help me potty?

Devin: I guess I shouldn’t push for please in these conditions

Luna: *scooping up Alfred* nope, they won’t take it in

Devin: Come bambinos, potty then bed

Previous ... Next

[chalkrevelations]

if you don't want to talk about this further, just ignore this of course, but have you seen pond's fucking instagram post about build? (without saying his name of course) i know automatic translations can be wonky, but overall, he is making it all about himself and his feelings, STILL "both sides" the whole thing, and throws in a "watch the new ep of our show" (you know... the one they took away from build) at the end. the audacity that man has is just beyond comprehension. i truly hope karma will do its thing and ruin the company and that man's life.

Hi, Anon. I. Hm.

I went back and forth a couple of times on whether I actually did want to respond to this. I have a lot of feelings and opinions about Pond and about BOC under his direction that I’ve rarely spoken about so publicly (although I have some suspicions, for Reasons, that some things I’ve said in semi-private spaces have been spread further than those spaces). I'm very aware that I'm at a cultural and linguistic disadvantage when I try to evaluate anything about Pond or BOC and that I'm therefore working with limited information. But I don’t think it’s a big secret I’m not a fan of Pond’s. From what I’ve seen, I think his behavior has been deeply problematic and unethical, and not just in relationship to Build’s situation - although the way he’s tried to portray himself as peacemaker during this whole debacle with Poi has certainly only exacerbated my negative impression. The best I can give him is that maybe he’s unaware of his own unctuous self-centeredness? So, while it would be gross and skeevy that he would 1) make something as serious as this all about himself and his own feelings, and 2) use it as a mercenary chance to flog his latest BOC property despite the fact that property no longer has anything to do with Build, I wouldn't be surprised by it.

Personally, I'm sorry that I gave him and his company the benefit of the doubt for as long as I did. Like many other people, I bought into the “big happy family” fan service for a while, before eventually accepting that it was just as much fan service as any branded pair, so, mea culpa on that front, right? But I think too many people didn’t and haven’t realized or accepted that, and that Build in particular has paid an out-sized price for it - including when people have put the blame on him for the cracks in the facade, especially in misplaced anger and outrage over the “leaked” DMs that threatened the happy found-family narrative BOC was selling and that fans want(ed) to believe.

I think Pond and BOC have been very good at manipulating fan sentiment into believing their self-imposed Hero Edit and self-promotion as industry disrupter, despite evidence to the contrary that goes back as far as the filming of KPTS, when Poi and Yok got away with sexually and otherwise harassing multiple cast members, including a teenaged Barcode. It extends through leveraging Barcode’s and other cast members' emotional response to Jeff’s departure to provide a show for a live concert audience, and forward to a reality show in which a bunch of young wannabe actors were pressured into exposing their worst moments, on television, for prurient viewer interest. Setting up Apo, of all people, to hawk skin lightener was a terrible thing to do and makes everyone involved a worse human being.

So, no, I wouldn't find this latest skeevy behavior surprising. I don’t know what Build’s hopes and plans are, as far as regaining a domestic career, and he's always seemed, publicly at least, to be far more forgiving of Pond than I would be in his position. I don't know if that's personal, cultural, or professionally rooted. But I personally hope Build has enough resources to allow him to avoid getting involved with Pond again, given the way Pond and BOC have treated him – from folding to a ginned-up harassment campaign so that Build was kept out of the public eye precisely when VP was airing/trending (funny, that), through leaving him to twist in the wind from the time of Poi’s first salvo of plagiarism accusations - which BOC apparently couldn’t be bothered to respond to, even though it was one of their properties at issue - to Pond standing around for a year and a half with his hands in the air like a bystander while Nong Poi publicly curbstomped someone who Pond claimed was a friend and part of his work "family," before sad-facing for the press about how hurtful it was that Build decided to leave the “family” that had publicly damnatio memoriae’d him.

Anyway, that's really more time and emotional spoons than I want to spend on Pond or his company - tbqh, they're one reason I'm semi-hiatusing at this point - so I'm likely done talking about them after this. But as usual, once I start, I talk forever, so here this is.