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[stealthmanagementgroup]

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[mommydearestella]

DOES ANYONE KNOW IF ANY OF THE SUSPECTED ABUSERS HAVE TIES TO HOTEL MANAGEMENT COMPANIES THAT COULD ENABLE THEM TO BROADCAST PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE OR NOISE TORTURE THROUGH THE HOTELS INTERIOR SPEAKERS?

IF YES, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME OR POST DIRECTLY ONTO THIS BLOG.

[angelic-sturniolos111]

“I’m on live right now…” 🔴

You and Chris have been secretly dating for months and have been making your best efforts to hide your relationship from the internet. You want to surprise your boyfriend by visiting him during tour. Internet fame, poor timing, and Nick’s big mouth end up exposing the truth between you and Chris.

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

reader is a small influencer, and best friends with Nick

warnings: cursing, some angst

author’s note: currently working on “Matt’s Teammate” pt. 2 so checkout pt. 1 if you haven’t already!

You haven’t seen Chris in about two months since tour started, and you were really missing him. He always made sure to shoot you cute texts during the day, call you nearly every morning, and FaceTime at night after the shows. Still, he was busy, and you could tell tour and being away from you was a lot for him to be juggling at once.

You had started a YouTube channel about two years back, and really just documented your life. Somehow, your weekly life updates seemed to gain popularity, and soon you had nearly 200k subscribers. That’s when you were contacted by Z Star Digital, a company dedicated to young and upcoming content creators. You flew out to LA to meet with a team of professionals who offered you a contract with their company that you accepted, and that same week you attended your first Z Star Digital event to get exposed to the other creators in the franchise. You met Nick early on at the start of the event before meeting Matt or Chris. You had been following the triplets for a while, and they were just about to hit 1m subscribers. Nick hit it off with you instantly, and the two of you were attached at the hip the entire event. You and Nick became friends after this night, and hung out every time you were in LA (which also meant you were hanging out with his brothers). It took Chris a long time to ask you out which was agonizing considering you had been crushing on him before the two of you even met. Before making anything official you two had a long talk about your feelings for one another, and how you could make your dating life as private as possible. That was ten months ago, and you’ve both managed to not expose your relationship to the media. Not yet, at least.

With Nick’s help you managed to fly out to Florida to see Chris in his last few shows of the tour. Chris was in the lead, and you wanted to see his last few shows to hopefully be there if he won. You wanted to keep your visit a secret from Chris to surprise him (which also meant keeping it a secret from Matt because he’s awful at keeping secrets and somehow would’ve 100% told Chris you were coming). So you and Nick had been sneakily texting and calling back and forth getting you from the airport to their hotel.

Hey I’m downstairs but I don’t have a key to get up the elevator. Can you please swing by the lobby and bring me up? Thx 💞 You text Nick. Heart nearly thumping out of your chest from excitement.

Yeah ofc give me two minutes!

Chris’s POV:

“My Uber Eats is here I’m gonna run downstairs and get it be right back.” Nick says getting up to leave the room.

“K. Chris do you need the shower right now or can I hop in?” Matt asks.

“Nah man it’s all yours I showered before the show today.” [if ykyk 🤪]

Nick leaves, and Matt goes to shower, leaving me by myself. I pick up my phone to FaceTime Y/N, and it gets declined straight away. Weird. Maybe she’s showering too— which in that case I wish she WOULD answer. I opened Instagram and decided to start a live stream to give fans some updates on tour, and maybe steal some of Nick’s food for the camera. Before I even started talking there were a couple thousand fans viewing the live.

“Sup guys! Just wanted to come on here and give you some updates. Team Orange is in the lead, and if Matt win’s these next two Florida shows we’ll be tied and have to hold a tie-breaker. That’s pretty exciting actually I’d love for that to happen. Uhh yeah so Tril is gonna be on tour soon so go follow him and check that out. I’ll probably—”

“YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND HAS ARRIVEDDDD!” Nick sings as he bursts through the door with Y/N trailing behind him. My heart skips a beat and my jaw drops.

“I’m on live right now…” was the only thing I managed to say. Nick and Y/N’s mouths were now agape with mine. I snatch my phone and swipe out of Instagram as fast as I can ending the live.

Y/N’s POV:

“Shit Chris I’m sorry. Maybe no one caught me saying that…”

“Nick are you fucking stupid? You sang that shit at the top of your lungs and I had twelve thousand people watching! God damnit Nick, what the fuck?” Chris screams at Nick. Keeping our relationship private is sacred to Chris, and telling the fandom he has a girlfriend has always been one of his biggest fears.

“Don’t yell at me like that! It’s not like I knew you were on live?! I was trying to be a good brother by surprising you with your girlfriend— who is standing right here by the way and didn’t come all the way here to watch us freaking argue!” Nick retorts as he moves aside letting Chris get a full look at me.

“Umm. Surprise?” I say shyly. This is definitely not the reunion I pictured in my head. Chris let’s out a deep sigh and his shoulders relax.

“Nick’s right. I’m really so happy you’re here I needed to see you…” Chris says as he wraps his arms tightly around me, and I do the same in return. He leaves light kisses all over my cheeks and forehead. “I missed you so much baby.”

“I missed you more my love.” I say in return. I can see the concerned and defeated look on his face as I pull away from our hug. “Look, we were going to tell your fans eventually. I’m honestly surprised we went this long without spilling the news. We’ll navigate through this together and figure something out, okay love?” Chris’s eyes soften as he looks down at me.

“You’re right. I know you’re right… I love you.” He says sincerely planting a sweet, soft kiss on my lips.

“I love you too, Chris.”

The cute moment you were sharing with your boyfriend was interrupted by the sound of a sliding glass door. You turn to see Matt coming out of the bathroom in a robe.

“What the hell is with all the yelling? I was in there for like six minutes and— oh shit! Hey Y/N!” Matt says excitingly as he looks up to see you.

“Hey Matt.” You laugh, knowing he is completely out of the loop right now.

Matt walks over to his nightstand and picks up his phone, a confused look on his face once the screen lights up as he sees how many notifications he’s gotten. He looks concentrated as he scrolls through his phone for a moment.

YOU’RE GIRLFRIEND HAS ARRIVVEDDD!

I’m on live right now…

You hear the recording play through Matt’s phone, and his jaw drops too.

“Ohhhhh shit. Nick you’re a fucking moron.” Matt says and Nick throws his hands up in the air in defeat making the four of you laugh.

**********

Hope you enjoyed this one! I wrote this when I couldn’t sleep and I haven’t proofread any of this just yet so my apologies for any errors lol.

- Kay 🩶

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three | part four

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. CH4: You work up the guts to call him, Eddie drags you out on a date, and the looming shadow of an unknown photographer follows you around. [14k]

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension ish, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing, nudes MDNI

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Dora’s Convenience, Florida, February 1991 

The air here smells like sulphur. 

After spending the last four and a half days in Canada, Florida is a shock. The air is warm and thick and the smells are less than pretty —hot baked seaweed floats in on the sea, and the groundwater carries a naturally occurring bacteria that prompts a scent that you can't say you care for— but the people are kind. 

Perhaps too long alone with only Morgan, Ananya, and your tour manager, Angel, for company has made you biassed, but so far everyone's been incredibly sweet. Hotel attendants, venue staff, a batch of shiny new techies; all smiling, happy, and willing to help. You haven't carried your own bag since the plane touched down. 

Florida is hellishly humid. You miss the freezing bite of cold that accompanied you everywhere in Toronto. You long for a gust of wind that has no smell. 

"Come on, wonderboy," Morgan says, tapping her uncharacteristic sneaker into your ankle. 

You savour the last blessed seconds of the store's open freezer before closing the door with a brokenhearted frown. The effects of the cold and the clean smell dissipate near immediately, leaving you uncomfortable once again. Morgan continues on without waiting for you, a basket heavy in the crook of her arm. She's got enough glass soda bottles for everybody, yet you doubt she's in a sharing mood. You double back to grab one for you and another for Ananya, winding between aisles and wondering how people can eat half of the stuff on display when the weather is this hot. It feels unlivable. 

At the front wall behind plexiglass and an unhappy cashier there's a TV playing Madonna, chirpy pop lyrics clearly not working any wonders. 

His long hair shifts against his shoulder with the artificial breeze. He looks a little like Eddie, you think unwittingly, pretty in an unexaggerated way, his eyes big but not brown. You nibble on your lip and put the coke bottles down by Morgan's basket. 

"You can go wait in the car," Angel says. Morgan's already left, happy for Angel to foot the bill and carry her things. 

You shake your head. You don't mind waiting with her and the car is stifling in the heat. Better to linger in the open air.

The TV fades from Madonna to Guns 'N' Roses. You tilt your head to one side wistfully. No offence meant to your not-boyfriend, but half the rockstars on TV look like Eddie. With the picture small and blurry and up as high as it is on the wall mount, they could swap him out for Slash and you'd be none the wiser. Maybe not half the rockstars, actually —bleaching is all the rage right now, a contrast to Eddie's dark head of hair. You wonder if you'd still want Eddie to press you up against bathroom walls if he were blonde. 

Probably. 

You're thinking of Eddie less than you worried you would. Things are hectic beyond words, and most spare moments are spent showering, eating, or trying to sleep. Sleeping on the bus was difficult at first due to the tight quarters and loud noise, but you're at a point of exhaustion where Morgan's ranting might as well be a lullaby. The rap of Ananya's sticks against the bench in front of her or her compulsive thigh slapping fades away when you've been awake for eighteen hours straight. 

You're in good spirits tonight at the promise of a double bed in your own room. A tiny room, you'd been told, but your own. Privacy feels like a myth lately; you're ravenous for some alone time to do whatever you want without judgement.

You're toying with the idea of asking Angel how you could maybe possibly get into contact with Eddie. You honestly don't have a clue in the world where he is, what state or country. He could be in Alaska and you'd be none the wiser. Where Godless follow locations where they know they'll have full venues, like the Midwest, Canada, and smaller shows in the 'worldwide' branch of their tour later in the year, Corroded Coffin are hitting every venue that's open. 

You can't deny it any longer. There's no point, and now you're on good terms you see little worth in pretending Corroded Coffin aren't wildly more popular than Godless. You aren't saying better. But beyond subjectivity is the cold hard truth: Eddie's band are charting high.  

Godless' new album is doing better than anyone on your team really expected it to, but, while you're unsure of the inner working politics, you know that the sales team were 'positive' rather than ecstatic. You can't fucking imagine how stuffed the vaults are about to become over at Rollerboy. If they skewed themselves in the right light they could be up there with Van Halen in a year or two. Not that they will, who knows? What you understand about the band is limited to the feel of Eddie's hands and Jamison's quiet rejection. 

Point is, Corroded Coffin's new album is about to come out, and it's going to do well, and as far as you know their tour is a sell-out dream. 

The cashier bags Morgan's overstuffed basket and moves onto your cokes. Your eyes slide to the magazine stand in front of the checkout. 

Exclusive Conversation with Rising Stars of Rock: Corroded Coffin. 

You grab it up and try to add it to your stuff inconspicuously, which means you couldn't make it more obvious. Angel snorts. 

"Can I escape ridicule for one day?" you ask. 

"The ridiculous deserve ridicule." Angel eyes the total and cracks open the touring purse. "You don't need a rockstar boyfriend." 

"I'm ridiculous?" you ask wryly. 

"Yeah, babe. You and the girls," —she hands over a pretty wad of cash with a keep-the-change nod and grabs the brown paper bags— "might not be the next Aerosmith, but that means jack shit. You guys are awesome, not just 'cause you're my responsibility. I've seen it. I've seen you guys. And I know you hate talking about being a girl band, but you are a girl band–" 

You groan. Of course you are. Pretending gender doesn't play into it would be silly. But it gives you a migraine whenever you think about it, so you try not to. 

"You guys could be as big as The Bangles. Especially if you stopped wasting time on silly boys," she furthers. Ouch. 

Angel steps out into the sunshine. You follow, shielding your eyes as you look for the car, a pretty red Mercedes-Benz with all the windows rolled down. 

"The Bangles," you repeat, genuinely surprised by her comparison. "The only thing we have in common with them is that we're girls." 

"You know what else you could have in common with them? Mansions and early retirement. Hey, Hazy Shade of Winter was actually good. You should try something like that." 

"Uh-huh," you say. 

"Hey!" Morgan shouts, shoulders out the passenger side window. "Could you guys at least pretend you have somewhere to be? We aren't all social rejects. A sense of urgency, if you will!" 

"Walk slower," Angel mutters. "Ooh, I've dropped my contact. You know, the ones I've miraculously started wearing?" 

"Oh no," you giggle, kneeling down to feel for it. You must be rather overdramatic about it, incurring Morgan's whining wrath. 

You find Angel's very real contact and return to the car. Morgan drones about her throat and how it's reacting to the constantly changing weather, and then swaps tactics when nobody is quite as pitying as she would've liked to complain about Ananya's "antisocial behaviour". 

Ananya has taken to listening to her Walkman non-stop while not on stage. Bad for her hearing, good for her mental health, you imagine. It came about after a missing wad of cash and has yet to see an end. You resent and revere Ananya's determination, jealous that she's escaping Morgan's frankly horrendous behaviour, amazed that she has the willpower.

The more you know Morgan, the less you’ve felt you could love her. It might be cruel to recognise that. She demeans your style, pokes fun at your body, and worst of all, she takes the piss out of your constant dedication to the music you make. 

Proud isn't the right word when describing the relationship you have with making music. You aren't proud of yourself for anything. You'd pictured a sort of satisfaction in getting to this point, now that you're a real musician in a famous band with sweetheart fans and the occasional acclaim. You should feel proud of yourself, but you don't. 

You'd felt relief, and now the agony of clinging to it. 

Worse is that this could all be different. If you were prettier, someone Morgan approved of. If you were smarter, and could garner Ananya's interest. Feeling like an outsider in the extreme that you do can't be good for you, but there's no quick fix. The only time it goes away is when you're on stage playing music for a thousand outsiders. 

Or when you're with Eddie. 

As you stupidly told him. 

What good will it do, telling a boy how you feel? When he's off map, surrounded by people who think he's great and women who won't stop telling him so. Maybe boys, too. You can't get a read on him. 

Naive as it was to tell him– whatever it was that you told him. I don't feel sick when I'm with you. How romantic. Naive as it was, you don't totally regret it. He'd sought you out at your show to take you to dinner and suddenly he's cutting the sleeves off of your t-shirt in a family owned pizza place and kissing your neck all slow and smooth like it's the only place in the world he wanted to be. His hand at your waist, and the way he stopped when you got quiet. His hug. That might be what you miss most. Boy's got a world-class smile that gives dizzying, sickly kisses but what you want to feel most is the weight of his arms around you. You want him to hold you steady. 

People suck. Eddie sucks. He was mean and then he was sweet and now he's just not here. 

You want to see him again.

What a sickening revelation. Anxiety pricks your fingers, pins and needles shooting down the lengths of your arms from your skipping heart. You stick your head as far as you dare to out of the window, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea. 

If it barks like a dog, and it heels like a dog… 

You grip the door. 

You miss him, and it's terrifying. He can be cruel. You can be cruel too, but you'd been at his fucking mercy. He'd looked at you and he'd known exactly what to say that was gonna mess you up. He has a talent for it. You hate this, and you know now you won't sleep until you're sure things are okay between you, though there's no reason anything would've changed since the last time you saw him. What kind of pathetic does that make you? 

It would be nice to hear his voice. The Eddie who dotes on you. Eddie under all his layers. You don't want him fucked on bad ice again, but the version of him you'd met that night makes you smile as you recall it. Wide eyes, quiet but honest. 

I sent you flowers, because… because those girls are mean to you, he'd rambled, slouched on the stairs, slightly too heavy for you to help him up. And I didn't like seeing you fall over. I wanted you to feel better. I don't know anything about girls... Did you like the flowers?

The Mercedes-Benz rolls up beside The Blue Lily Club, its name taken from what it used to be, presently a hotel. It has all the trimmings of a music venue, big windows and wood, but indoors it couldn't be more plush. 

Ananya holds a hand out for her room key at the front desk and doesn't speak a word. She's kind enough to smile at the chauffeur who'd helped carry your bags inside. 

"It doesn't usually look this nice in here, don't get used to luxury," Angel warns. "They're redecorating."

You trail behind her, dragging your suitcase over hardwood floors. The wheels click click click. "We'll come here again?" 

"Next time we're in Clearwater. S'where we stayed last time. You hadn't bumped up yet." 

"Was it this hot when you were here?" You rub your hand across a clammy cheek. "It feels like summer."

Angel smiles. "You think it's hot now, try a week here in May. I usually don't remember different tour dates but that was hell on Earth. Air conditioning broke in one of the buses into Jacksonville. Holy shit." 

Angel divulges her evening plans for ice cold cocktails in the hotel bar and invites you along. You decline outside of your hotel room, "I'll probably sleep." 

She nods. "Nice. Catch up on what you missed." 

She gets a couple of steps further down the hall toward her own room when you admit defeat. 

"Hey, Angel?" You pull at the neckline of your t-shirt. "You, uh, wouldn't know how I could get somebody's number? Someone from Rollerboy?" 

"From Rollerboy, huh?" she asks, knowing exactly who you want to talk to. Fuck the techie who saw you and Eddie leaving, and fuck Morgan for spreading it around. 

You push your bottom lip against the edges of your top teeth and drag until the delicate skin there hurts. 

"I'll see what I can do," she says. 

Twenty minutes later you have a phone number for his hotel and instructions on how to actually get through their privacy wall. You perch on the edge of your white bed and stare at the phone, like wanting to talk to him will make it ring. You reach for it, hesitate, and reach for it again. 

You dial the number one rotation at a time and wait for it to pick up. 

"Four Seasons Houston, Samantha speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?" 

You choke on air. Four Seasons? What kind of money are these losers on? 

"Hi, I'm hoping to be put through to one of your guests, an Eddie Munson? Room 146?" 

"And is he expecting your call?" 

"No, ma'am." 

"Who's calling?" 

"Y/N." You consider giving your second name. Does Eddie even know your second name? You suppose he could've seen it in one of the magazines, but that's doubtful. 

"Hold please."

You think about hanging up, but you've given your name. If Eddie's there and he's willing to talk to you and you hang up, he'll still know it was you calling. Is that worse? The embarrassment of chickening out versus the endless mortifying possibilities of what you might say when he answers, if he answers, oh fuck– 

"Transferring now." 

You hold your breath. 

The phone clicks twice. 

"Hi?" 

"Hey," you say quickly. You inhale, intending on– on what? Your panic is palpable.

"Hi," he says again, something warm in his voice. "Y/N? My Y/N, or a fan who knows just what to say to get my number?" 

You go a bit blind. "Your Y/N." 

"Hey. How's Florida?" 

You sit back in bed and kick off your shoes. The phone shakes in your hand. This is more nerve-wracking than any conversation you've had beforehand, and it's in the small talk stages. It should be easy, you wanted to talk to him, but this is the first time you've sought him out ever. It shows your hand.

"Hot. Really hot. The receptionist, uh, said it isn't usually like this early in the year. Yeah, it's hot." 

"It's not so bad here, considering." He sounds unlike himself. You've heard him flirting, almost torturous, and you've heard him mad. You've heard him drunk, high, offended, salacious, smug, and soft. None of those memories align. "Hey," he says, confusing you even worse, "why're you calling? Is everything okay?"

You hold the phone up in the air and twist to smash your face into the huge hotel pillows. They're gloriously cold and nowhere near enough to cool the open flame that is your flushing face. 

"Nothing's wrong, I'm sorry," you say weakly, pulling the receiver back to your ear, head craned awkwardly so you don't smother it. "I was– I was thinking about you," —holy fucking fuck— "uh, 'cause I saw you in Lastick Magazine." 

You can still save it. 

"Who'd you have to blow for that one?" you ask. 

Wrong. 

"Loser!" he cheers. Your heart sinks, but he goes on, "You gave me a heart attack, I thought something happened!" 

"No, nothing happened," you say. If you were on better footing you'd make a sly joke about big scary Eddie worrying about you. 

"Okay, good." 

You smile, tugging at the sheer, cornflower blue fabric of your skirt as you think, He sounds happy to hear from me.

"How's Houston?" 

"Babe, you wouldn't fucking believe it. They got us posted up in some four star skyscraper. Two mini fridges. Two. It's insanity, I'm basically royalty here." 

You look around your small room. "Ah, but do you have a damp splodge on the ceiling shaped like the letter W?" you ask.

"They musta forgot to put it in the welcome basket." 

You laugh suddenly, startled at his good humour. It's like it's been hooked out of your chest on fishing wire, an ugly garbling sound that infects him down the line.

"Shit, I think I was starting to forget what you sound like," Eddie says. 

You know exactly what he means. 

You won't tell him, though. Your heart is racing again as it did in the car; he's being lovely like you're friends, like you're more than that, and you love it but it scares you shitless. Boys do this kind of stuff, right? Say pretty things, kiss you like you're something treasured, and one day they stop answering your calls. Vet you through to their assistant, and piggy bank your affections by acting like you're still something the next time you see them in person. 

Eddie kissed the top of your arm the last time you saw him. If he acts like you're just friends when you see him next, you're gonna scalp him. Or self admit. 

"I meant to ask you about something before I left," he says, bridging a mildly awkward silence with a dip into flirting bravado, "but you were all over me, you know? Didn't have time to ask." 

"Yeah? That's not how I remember it." 

"No accounting for stupidity." You can hear his smile. "Can I ask, or are you gonna talk over me again?" 

"I should hang up on you." 

"After all the trouble you went to to reach me," he sympathises. 

"Tell me how the dial tone sounds next time." 

"Alright! Jesus, you're pushy. What I wanted to ask is, you're in Oklahoma in a month.”

“Where’s the question?”

“You suck. Fine, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m in Oklahoma next month, and you’ll be there at the same time, and I know some of your shirts still have sleeves which is lame and very 1989 of you. I could maybe take some time out of my busy schedule and help you with it. Consider it my charitable act of the year.”

You want to see him. He can’t know it. You don’t want to play games with him, and you don’t wanna get messed around. He can’t have all the power. 

“I don’t know, Munson… I’m pretty busy, ‘n’ I kinda like my sleeves.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

He snorts. “Shit, fine. We’ll leave your sleeves alone. Maybe we could–”

“Are you listening to Loggins and Messina?” you ask suddenly, phone pressed so hard to your ear you know it’ll leave a mark. 

“What?” he scoffs. “No, of course not.”

The music gets quieter, but you know what you heard. “You are! That’s Thinking Of You, I’d know it anywhere!”

“So what if I am?”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you say, not really thinking about how it sounds. “I love that song, it’s so sweet. I thought you were this big scary jerk but it turns out you’re just as soft as the rest of us. Turn it up, I wanna listen.”

Eddie doesn’t argue with you. He turns it up. 

“What is that? It’s too clean to be on the radio. Don’t tell me you’re carrying a Loggins and Messina record around with you, please don’t, because I’d really have to tell someone about it.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna drag your reputation through the mud, Munson.”

Your too-big smile slowly fades when he doesn’t joke back. Was that too far? He can’t possibly think that you’re being serious — as if. You don’t have the power, influence, or connections to touch his reputation, let alone drag it. Your lips part as you hesitate to correct yourself, uncurling where you’d been comfortable on the bed.

Eddie finally puts you out of your misery. 

“Did you hear that?” he asks. 

“No? What was it?”

“That was me crying out in terror. You didn’t hear it?”

“That’s not even funny,” you complain. “I'm not the only one. You realise they’re calling you a womaniser in Lastick, right?” You grab your copy of the magazine from the end of the bed and splay it open, flicking through pages until you find his article. “‘Heartthrob guitarist Eddie Munson is barely entering his mid-20’s, but his masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike,’” you read, letting the magazine flop back flat. 

“Did they really say ‘masterful fingering’?” he asks. 

You smile at the sound of his laughter. “You pig. What’s funny about that, Munson?"

“Uh…”

“I’m messing with you. Mastery aside, you’re missing the point. They described you as a heartthrob in the third biggest music magazine in intercontinental America. Like, someone went to college for four years, worked their way up the corporate ladder, blood, sweat and tears included, to call you a heartthrob, and they didn’t lose their job.”

“Right, right. The point is that you think I’m ugly.”

“The point is that I have proof you’re…” You think about the point. You want to ruin his reputation as a heartthrob by telling everyone he listens to romantic soft rock. Because that makes sense.  

“You have proof that I’m not just a heartthrob, I’m sensitive.” He sounds so fucking smug. “Making me even more of a heartthrob.”

You frown, taking the article back into your hands. “Oh, right! ‘His masterful fingering has captivated the hearts of young women and pro musicians alike, but is Munson the sweetheart he seems? Insider information hints that this young musician is spending less time making music and more time womanising the elite bachelorettes of Palm Springs.”

You blink. Your reading had become less smug as it went, and by the time you’ve finished you’ve the beginnings of a pit forming in your stomach. His alleged womanising had felt funny a moment ago. Why does it bother you now?

Because you’ve been confronted with the good. His laugh. His love songs. And you’re realising he isn’t as in your reach as you’d thought. 

Eddie snorts. There’s a sound like he’s rubbing the receiver against bedsheets, and you wait apprehensively for him to speak. 

“Sorry, I was turning the lights off. That’s a bit fucking rich. Who’s their inside source, Pinocchio the real boy? I was in Palm Springs for two days, and you saw me, I was fucked the entire time.” He has no clue how much you’d needed him to say that. “Maybe someone saw us together, you could pass for one of those pretty rich girls easy.” He also doesn’t know how much of an affect his easy compliments have on you, apparently. “I don’t know how someone could look at me and describe my behaviour as womanising. Pathetic, sure.”

There’s a hard edge to his voice. He made you feel better, even if he doesn’t know it. You don’t mind doing the same.  

“You were sweet,” you argue mildly. “You were. You asked me how I was, and when you saw I was wearing heels you sat down in the middle of the staircase and made me sit with you.”

“You don’t usually wear heels.”

“Morgan says–” Eddie groans. “What?”

“Morgan says a lot of dumb shit, is what she says,” Eddie grouches. “Forgive me but she’s a fucking loser.”

You feel oddly protective of her for a moment, “She’s the opposite.”

“No, but her attitude ruins everything she has going for her. She’s talented, she’s the next Nicks when she sings that one song, Heartbreak House? She impresses me, but she’s fucking mean, sweetheart. You know she’s mean.”

“I guess,” you mumble, scratching the seam of your pants with your fingernail, not sure why you're defending her. “Aren't we all?”

Another patch of silence. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, we can all be pretty mean.”

“That’s the business, right?” you ask, knowing it isn't true. 

“I think… we all have a propensity for cruelty when we feel pinned, and that…” He clears his throat. “Trying to make it when the scene is this competitive can feel like a looming hand. Just waiting to pluck you off of your pedestal.”

You laugh weirdly, all strangled breathlessness. “Easy to see who writes the lyrics.”

“Fuck you. You know what I mean.”

You do. Morgan’s probably trying her best, in the same way that you’re doing yours, balancing friendship and music and fame and a high-pressure job with little room for slip-ups. And now Eddie. Maybe Morgan has an Eddie somewhere, some larger than life loverboy with a penchant for sharpness and sweetness simultaneously.

“I want to tell you something,” Eddie says. 

“Oh, gross. You can’t just say that, now I’m panicking,” you admit, sitting up in bed, knuckles aching at the tight grip you have on the phone. “It’s something normal, right? Or not normal. Did you get some unfortunately transmitted disease or something?”

“Unfortunately,” he quotes. “That’s funny. Definitely didn’t, the last person I touched was you.” It’s heart-rending, until he adds, “Apart from your fleas, I’m clean. And I’m trying to tell you something slightly serious, so if you could keep any allusions of disease to yourself for a minute, I’d appreciate that.”

“Okay, sure. Tell me something.”

There’s a small sound. Maybe he’s licked his lips, or changed positions. “When I… when we had that fight, in the Prover Theatre. I just want you to know that I regret how I treated you. I wish I could take it back, and… I wish I had the guts to tell you in person, but I don’t. Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not how I want to be, and I need you to know that you’re right about me, I’m a loser, but I’m the kind of loser who wants to take you out to dinner and knock my soda in my lap or try to kiss you too soon, not the kind of loser who leaves you hanging.” He laughs like you had, like it’s being dragged out of him, and you realise that Eddie Munson is panicking on the other side. “Shit, can I take some of that back? I’m cool, I swear.”

You smile hard, your cheeks aching. “No, you can’t take it back.”

“Fine. I’m a loser.”

“For the record,” you say, “you did kiss me way too soon.”

He laughs roughly, a sound half threat and half promise. “You annoy me so much. When you get to Oklahoma I’m gonna make sure you know it.”

A curl of warmth unfurls deep in your stomach. You have the good sense not to ask what he means by that.

-

Cowboy Cadaver, Oklahoma, March 1991

Eddie finds that he hates having an almost-girlfriend. In his head, in his chest, you're his girl. He doesn’t know how to explain himself beyond that. It’s this feeling like heat, like light, like the kiss of a sunbeam on a cold day warming his skin. And it’s the blessed breeze in a heatwave, it’s ice on an ache, it’s the feeling of your skin, your pulse under his touch. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder —it grabs wanting by the neck and squeezes all the air out. If he doesn’t get to see you soon he’s gonna lose it. 

He tried explaining it to Wayne down the phone, because he’s being a good nephew now and actually calling, but he couldn’t take himself seriously, all those cheesy metaphors like chewed cud in his mouth waiting to be swallowed and yacked back up. He said, “Does it always feel like this?”

And Wayne sort of laughed, a derisive snort to seal the deal, and said, “Eds, you ain’t the first kid to fall for a girl.”

Which isn’t what he asked, but he reckons Wayne was telling him Yes, it always feels like this. Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love before. He’d wanted to kiss that guy on the track team junior year so badly it kept him awake at night, and he was sweet on the soft bartender when he bussed at the Hideout to the point where the entire kitchen staff started calling him ‘squirty cream’ on account of how whipped he was, but Eddie can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

He blames himself, thinking you were right after all – he did kiss you too soon. And for the wrong reasons. Now he knows what it feels like, knows what sound you make when you like it, how was he ever supposed to move past that? Your arm under his lips, or your hair against his cheek as he tried to hug the bone-deep dread out of your system, a faucet drip drip dripping by your thigh. He can’t remember what you smell like anymore, only that you smelled good, and he gets that this’ll be the nature of whatever relationship you two manage to cradle for a long while; he’d never ask you to follow him, and he thinks you’d rather die than do anything similar. 

Still, he’s starting to offer up whatever it is whoever it is that’s looking down on him will take to get a quick hit. Sweetheart for his face in the curve of your neck, five seconds to breathe in the smell of your subtle perfume. It’s extreme, but Eddie’s feeling extreme right now. Every minute that you’re late winds the wanting coil tighter. 

He doesn’t have anyone with him to tell him to get real. He pictures it instead, Jamison in the chair opposite, grimacing at the cider sticky table between them and the state of Eddie’s patheticness clearly displayed. Stop bouncing your leg, fuckhead. She said she’d meet you here, didn’t she? 

He’s going over what-ifs when you appear. You’re wearing a sweatshirt that says ‘I visited the Great Wall,’ with a helpful picture overtop and jeans without rips. He’d be upset at the lack of skin if he couldn’t see the shapes of your thighs so clearly. He’s a sucker for them. 

Better are your hands. No, better is your smile, because he knows you more than he should already and he knows what your smile means. You’re happy to see him, and you don’t want him to know it. 

He hasn’t practised this part. Shock horror, he’s been too confident in his head yet again and assumed he’d know what to do when he saw you, but he doesn’t, God, he doesn’t have a clue. Can he kiss you? Hug you? It’s feeling like neither. You slide into the booth chair opposite and your shoe bumps his.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Yeah, hi. Holy fuck.”

“What?” you ask, head whipping back to look the way you came.

“No, nothing, I just forgot how pretty you are. It’s kind of shocking up close. You know they called you ‘homespun’ in Lastick?”

“Fucker,” you say, not a hint of malice in it as you deflate in front of him. 

“Mm. Nice sweatshirt. How was it? The Great Wall?”

“I don’t know, I got this at Goodwill.” You both pause, a synchronised, silently agreed upon ceasefire to take the other in. You look more than pretty, really, ‘cos he was fucking with you when he said it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, it is, you’re lovely when you smile and you’re smiling like he’s just told you he got a lucky scratcher and he’s giving you the winnings. “You look happy,” you say. 

“Ditto.”

You grab at the collar of your sweatshirt. “Sorry, this is awkward, I don't know why.”

Eddie’s surprised at your honesty, not because you aren’t an honest person, but maybe because he’s used to skirting around the issue with you. There’s a mutual attitude that anything unsaid is untrue, and lately you’ve both said a ton of stuff you can't take back. He’s sorry, he wants to see you. You feel better when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing considering how little time you’ve spent together, and Eddie wants to change that. Hence dinner here in a blowout with floors that grab at your shoes and cigarette ash caked in the salt and pepper holders. The likelihood of an interruption is small. 

“It’s fine,” he says faux confidently, while his heart is thudding against his Adam's apple. “I know how to fix it.”

Eddie reaches down under the table for the rumpled jansport he’d brought with him and pulls out two gifts. They aren’t wrapped, even though that would’ve been more romantic. He hadn’t found the time. He places them in front of you without ceremony, a chocolate rose in plastic wrap and a CD from that Indiana band you like, signed and sealed. 

“What…” you mumble, picking up the CD with an adorably awed pout. “How’d you get this?”

“Asked around.” A lot. It was shameful. 

Unfortunately for him, there’s a little more awkwardness to cut through, the shame of vulnerability or the realisation that you’re both standing on the precipice of something shiny and new. Suddenly, every word feels important. He has to make it clear that he’s repentant, and desperate, but only for you. 

“Do you like it?” he asks.

You immediately nod, two tight dips of your chin as your thumb rubs over the plastic wrap irreverently. Your eyes are slightly widened, your pupils like dimes. “Eddie, I didn’t bring you anything.”

He leans back against the cool leather seat. “You didn’t have to. I’m just happy to see you.”

You stand up, and he thinks Oh thank fuck, you’re sitting on the bench beside him, you’re gonna kiss him saccharine sweet on the cheek like the darling girl that you are. His hand lands unabashedly atop the curve of your hip as you settle down beside him, his heart like the pull cord on a chainsaw that keeps skipping, your impending kiss the roar of the engine as it wakes. 

Your hand touches his thigh. You’ve the chocolate rose in hand, a shy smile on your lips. 

“Will you share it with me?”

He comes up short. Yeah, a kiss would be nice, but this is good too. 

Dramatics aside (dramatics being the kinder word, because Eddie doesn’t feel dramatic at all, and that’s genuinely worse), he’s missed you without metaphor. Something in him relaxes as you unpackage the rose and snap it up. You offer him a carved leaf as you nibble on the stem. The awkwardness begins to fade, at least on his end, though that might be down to his lingering hand behind your back, not touching you but close enough. 

“I told everyone I was going window shopping,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you meet his eyes. 

“They believe you?”

“Nope. They know you’re here.”

“Mine were the same,” Eddie comforts, reaching for the flower of your rose to break it apart. He holds some up to see if you’ll let him feed you. You wrinkle your nose at him and laugh. He laughs back. “Open up.”

“No,” you say, laughing through your nose as he presses a petal to your lip. Your jaw softens as you lean back, and it’s a sight to see, your eyes lit with amusement and your lips pressed tightly closed. 

He doesn’t wanna push his luck. He puts the chocolate petal in your hand and leans back to chew through his own, happy to watch you through half-lidded eyes. His squinting makes you squirm, until you figure out his angle and give him a playful glare. 

It's swiftly interrupted by a big yawn. “I’m so tired,” you say, rubbing your eye with a sore looking hand. 

“Your hands are fucked,” he says. It’s no wonder that you’re tired. You never stop. Even when the guitar pick’s fallen between strings. “That’s a bad one.”

He takes your hand in his to rub his thumb over the pad of your index finger, where the whorl of your fingerprint is cut decisively down the middle and scabbing over. The skin around it is mottled. His thumbnail scratches down the side of your finger gently as he looks it over. There’s nothing he can do to make it better. 

“You know they invented picks for a reason,” he says. 

Your middle and marriage fingers rest lightly against the meat of his thumb. Your pinky fits in the slight dip of his palm, its tip at the the bisection of hills at the bottom of his palm. Your nails aren’t long, but you’ve painted them an unassuming, translucent blue. He pushes his thumb into your fingers so they curl toward your own palm and slowly, you cover his thumb with yours. It’s a weird angle to hold hands, but he doesn’t mind. Like you can read his thoughts, you turn your hand into his, but then you must change your mind. You pull it out of his hold and face toward the table again, away from him, your forearms pushed together. You lean back with a tired moan. It turns his heart. 

“I like shows, but I don’t like touring,” you say. “I think we should get to pick a venue and that’s it, that’s where we play. The fans can come to us.”

“The fans,” Eddie repeats. 

He’s not trying to make fun of you. It’s weird to say something like that aloud and know that it’s true. You have fans. You both do. People like your music enough to come and see you play. 

And you both like playing music enough to subject yourself to borderline torturous conditions. Packing yourselves up like parcels delivered from one stage to another. 

“I bet Madonna loves touring,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“They aren’t making her live in a ten by two box sixteen hours a day,” he says. 

“Don’t do math,” you plead, your head dipped back and drifting toward his arm. “I really am tired.”

“You could’ve cancelled. Not that I wanted you to.” He softens his voice, his best approximation of a caring boyfriend, though he’s never been one before. 

“I didn’t want to cancel…”

“You need me to take you home?” he asks, concerned as you let your head drop on his shoulder.

“Can I just sit here a while?”

“Sure. Anything. Uh…” He wraps his arm around your shoulder. 

Eddie would be content if you fell asleep but you fight your fatigue, and he’s glad for it when you move into easy conversation. This part he can do. Over the phone, he's told you about Wayne and growing up, and about stuff he doesn’t think he’s told anyone before, not secret so much as mundanities that no one ever wanted to listen to. He sticks to mundane things for now. Like the phone calls between you both (new, occasional, but always too long), he talks until he runs out of things to say, and even then he drags it out to a painful threshold.

Somehow, some way, you lay your head on his shoulder and keep it there for a while, and you tell him about your nightmare tour and all the fighting. Morgan’s not speaking to you, Ananya’s not speaking to anyone. She has a pair of headphones that she keeps on morning noon and night, sometimes during soundcheck, where she adamantly refuses to participate. 

“Ananya used to be okay,” you say, nearly whispering like you’re worried you’ll get caught telling him secrets. “But she’s just as bad as Morgan now. They’re still fighting about Morgan’s– Okay, don’t tell anybody, but Morgan does a lot of coke–”

“Is that a secret?” Eddie asks. 

He’s not being condescending, it’s just that half the people you see on MTV have a bad coke problem and Morgan is often on MTV.

“No, but she stole money out of Ananya’s purse at a party when we were first touring ‘cos she didn’t have a dime to her name, it’s pretty bad. I didn’t tell you on the phone ‘cos I was worried someone was listening to us.”

Eddie blanches. “You think people were listening to us?” He said some brave things to you last time, a cheeky promise wrapped up in platitudes. 

“I mean, no? But the secretaries can listen on the line in some places, ‘n’ you were staying in all those skyscrapers. It’s not, like, a thing. Morgan swears she was gonna pay it back. Anya got mad, ‘n’ Morgan implied that any money in Anya’s purse was money she made.”

“I see.”

You lift your head slightly. “Please don’t tell anyone. They’d kill me if they knew I told you.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. “My lips are sealed.” He eyes your pretty mouth, your face as close as it is. “Well, mostly sealed. Ooh, you could buy my silence.”

“How does one go about that?” you ask quietly, knowing exactly how, he’s sure.

Eddie gives you the softest kiss he can manage, hiding his nervousness well. He grabs your upper arm, and grab isn't the right word but it’s the only word that makes any sense given the quickness of his movement; he's leaning in and he needs to be touching you first, steady himself. You smile into his lips. 

“That’s not gonna be enough,” he says as you pull away. You startle him by leaning in again quickly, your lips parted a fraction and hot against his as your hand stretches out across his chest. 

He’d intended to stay chaste with you. He's trying to rescue the head-first plunge that was his handful of confessions, make your possible relationship one that works, but he can't help himself. He takes it slow, admittedly, but slow kisses become long, and he turns lax at the feeling of your fingertips over his heart. 

Eddie pulls away when he can make himself, cupping your face in his hand in an effort to communicate how much he wants to be kissing you still. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why? Do I taste bad?” you ask. You have a shiny mouth. 

“You taste like chocolate. I just figured I should buy you a drink before somebody else does.”

“Eddie,” you say, leaning into his palm ever so slightly, “there's no one else here.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Who names a bar ‘Cowboy Cadaver’?”

Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile. 

“Your band is called Corroded Coffin.”

“And it’s a good name.” He pecks you quickly. “Yes?”

Your answering hum tickles. 

“Why do I feel like we aren't supposed to be doing this?” you ask, second hand joining your first on his chest. 

“Because we’re meeting in secret?” he suggests, covering your hands with one of his. “Or mild secrecy. We aren't subtle.”

“You're not subtle.”

“No,” he agrees, and forgive him but he’s feeling positively sunny and sounds it.

“This is okay, though? We both want this?” you ask. 

“I-” No more running away. No more casual cruelty. “I definitely want this.”

You grin, leaning up in a move that surprises him as your arms wrap around his neck, his hair under your arms. You smile sheepishly before ducking your face under his, the tip of your nose crushed to the soft part beneath his jaw. He has a grin all his own as he grasps your back. Eddie kisses the side of your head, any skin he can reach, three times in quick succession, and feels an acute sense of relief. There’s something final about it like a puzzle piece clicking into place that explains the photograph, or the snap of a finishing line against his stomach. He's suddenly pin-sharp ecstatic, and he shows it with a rough squeeze. 

“You smell really nice,” he praises, his nose by your hair. 

“That’s pervy, I think.”

“I’m trying to be nice,” he says. 

He can hear even to himself how brazen he sounds, that awful flirtation he can't help from enacting with you now he knows you like this. He wants to impress, and he wants to be honest at the same time. He wants to be himself. It’s getting easier. 

“Nice isn’t a word I’d associate with you,” you say, but you sit back to meet his eyes and amend, “That’s not true. You can be lovely.” 

You give him a look that can only be described as loving. It’s pure affection, and if he weren't sitting he’d have fallen over from how it makes him feel. You lean forward until the top part of your face is on his cheek, your eyelashes twitching like a butterfly’s wing. 

“Thank you for the presents. You didn't have to get me anything," you say. 

He looks behind your head to the bar around you both. He's been so distracted by your looming presence, your arrival, and now having you in his arms, he hadn't noticed the patrons milling in as happy hour draws nearer. There’s a couple of older men at the bar, and one looks unseeing toward your public display. It makes him uneasy.

“You're welcome," he says. "We have an audience." 

You follow his gaze over your shoulder and promptly untuck yourself from his embrace when you see the bar isn't as empty as you'd thought. There’s no time for heartbreak —you weave your fingers with his and hide them between your thighs, a small smile playing on your lips. 

Eddie could get used to this. 

—

Marriott Dean Music Store, Oklahoma, (still) March 1991

There’s a black and white Gibson Les Paul hanging on the wall. It caught Eddie’s eye as soon as you arrived, and while you have no use for it (and your Fender bass's gonna jinx you if you touch an instrument that isn't her, you just know it), you kinda wanna feel it for yourself. 

“See the headstock? The line wrapped around the bottom?” Eddie says under his breath. 

There's a storehand standing behind the small counter not too far from your position near the entrance. 

You nod carefully. “Yeah?”

“Relacquered. And conveniently not mentioned on the price tag. It might be a new one, sometimes they crack backward from the pressure of the strings.”

You glance between Eddie, his pale face and a new crop of sun-wrought freckles, and the ‘like new’ label on the guitar. An ‘87 standard has no need for lies, it’s not as if the price difference between it and the new ‘91 is overlarge. 

“Are you looking for something new?” you ask. 

If Eddie functions anything like you do, he’ll have his own hardware but won’t hesitate to borrow from a well-packed bank of state-of-the-art instruments that follows the tour. He might even change instrument mid set. He won't need something new, but need and want are estranged. 

“Nah,” he says, nudging you gently away from the guitar display. His hand ghosts your elbow, like he might steer you around. “I have a Rich Warlock, you seen those? I got a new one last year ‘n’ the output level for the bridge pickup is giving me grief, but I’m not an asshole. I could sit down and fix it myself, but…”

You brush aside a beaded curtain and take a short step down into the store, where a wealth of CD’s, cassettes and vinyls are packed in rows on tables. There’s an older man flicking through records, but beside that the room is empty. A big yellow sticker faded from the sun warns of CCTV. 

“You’re too busy,” you finish. 

“I'm way too busy.”

There's a calmness to being with him here you hadn't expected. It's like lying on the stairs with him all over again, but he's missing that awful far off look to his eyes, he's tip top shape: Eddie Munson is sober. He said it like it's no big deal, and maybe it isn't, but you squeezed his hand anyways because you figure you'd want someone to feel proud of you if you stopped. You don't have a problem, just every dalliance with recreational substances is a chance at something worse. He should feel good about what he's doing. 

Especially when you understand the feeling that drives you there in the first place. The insane stress of wanting to prove that you're worth something, and the feeling like lukewarm water dripping down your spine when you're standing in the middle of a room, in the middle of a crowd, and you realise you could disappear and nobody would know until the next show. That confrontation of how small your life has become, through your own mediation and everything else. 

You'd give anything to escape that feeling. Some nights, you do. 

You told yourself you'd play it cool. What happened between you and Eddie, what's happening, it's muddled. You remember the profound hurt feeling of his final blow, and you hold it up against how you're feeling now as his fingertips coast down your arm, a thoughtless touch as he stands beside you to give his opinions on the box of records in front. He's nice. He's more nice than not. You wanted to squeeze his hand and you had, cool girl facade on the back burner. 

Maybe you're the one who was cruel. You think back to how it all went down. The details grow fuzzier in the distance, but you know you hurt him like he hurt you. And unlike him, you can't remember having said sorry. 

You turn your head and find his face remarkably close to your own. He doesn't flinch nor move, only smiles at the weight of your gaze and flicks to the next vinyl. 

"I'm sorry," you say, awkward but earnest. You don't give yourself the time to chicken out. 

You can't stand thinking you might have hurt him now. Even if he hurt you worse. The guilt of hurting anybody at all feels heavy, worse because it's you. 

"For what?" he asks.

"For what I said. At the theatre. And for walking away at Monsters of Rock." 

"I walked away," he says, confused. "I pretty much ran. Not my finest moment." 

"No, at the store." 

Recognition crosses his features. He smiles rather weirdly, inclining his head close enough to kiss you. 

"You didn't have to listen to me. I respect that. You know that, right? You don't have to listen just 'cos someone has something to say." His brows crease inward. "I hate what I said to you at the theatre. And I felt guilty about it. You make me so mad, and I'm childish and I can't deal with that. But it's not your fault. You don't deserve a lashing every time I have one to give."

Eddie tilts his head to the left. "Sorry," he adds. "Don't try to make me feel better– don't, I can see it on your face. It's not why I said it." 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then pulls back to see if it's worked. You're smiling. He takes it for a win.  

"I'm a big girl," you say after a short second of staring at him, the ridge of his nose and the curls silhouetting his slight hint of cheekbone. "I don't need you to take all of the blame." 

"Ah, but I'm selfish. I want it all." He shrugs. "Better luck next time." 

"Nerd." 

"Loser." 

He goes back to the records with a smile. You look at it a little longer, allowed and aggrieved at once. He shouldn't be that pretty. 

You watch his hands, hoping he'll give himself away and falter. A gift deserves a gift. CD's aren't cheap. You could buy him a vinyl. He must have a player of some sort, considering his Loggins and Messina habit. 

"Think they'll have your new LP?" he asks. 

"They'll have yours." 

Eddie shakes his head. "I'm not asking about mine." 

"They won't have it here, this place is tiny. City stores are the only place I've seen any of our stuff," you say.

"Well, you guys are plastered. I saw the cover on the side of a bus in Pasadena." 

You gawp at him. "You did not." 

"I did! Think I don't know that ugly font by now? Godless in huge black and white letters. It's a bad name, by the way," he ribs. 

"What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't there when they chose it." 

Eddie shrugs, the toned muscle of his arms shifting beneath the fabric of his shirt. It might've been black once upon a time, but the merchandise he sports now is a washed out grey. You put your hand over the curve of his bicep because you want to, and pleasure simmers when he doesn't move away. 

"If it were me," he says, in a tone of voice that spells irksome teasing a mile off, "and the name were that bad, I'd go on strike. Refuse to play. That'll make them fix it, while you still have time." 

"I'm sure you could get away with that," you say. 

"You don't think you would?" 

"I'm not really tenured." 

"Ah, but who could say no to such a pretty face," he praises, pushing the box of records away from himself. "Shit, guess we better go ask for a test run on that Les Paul. This is all… questionable." 

"You're gonna serenade me?" you ask, returning his teasing. 

"You're gonna serenade me. I know you know your way around a rhythm guitar. You're holding out on me," he says, knocking your elbows together. 

You love this. All these familiar touches. Like a moth to a flame, you follow him back up into the main storefront and sit beside him on top of a crate, cradling the Les Paul like a baby you're terrified of dropping. Even with tour money you couldn't pay for it now. At the end, sure. But you doubt the manager would take an IOU. 

"What do I play?" you ask. 

"Anything." 

"That's not helpful." 

"Something fun," he says. 

Your fingers slide up the fretboard to an E flat. You bite your lip. "I'm in bass mode." It's automatic. You'd immediately set yourself up for a baseline. 

Baseline to riff for rhythm guitar is easy enough. E flat becomes E flat major. G becomes G minor. 

"Pentatonics," Eddie whispers when you hesitate. 

"You really aren't helpful," you laugh. "This is hard." 

"I'm telling people you said that." 

You mess around until you have the basis of a simple riff down, hoping you'll impress him. He shouldn't be impressed, you've seen him play things a thousand times more complicated in person, but he beams as you work your way through a verse and then an impromptu chorus. 

"Is that fucking Blondie?" he asks. 

"No." 

"It so is! Hanging On the Telephone, everyone knows that song." 

"And everyone knows it's a cover. I'm doing The Nerves version, obviously." 

You smile at each other until he cracks. "Obviously," he concedes. "Do the rest." 

"Like I'm your dog," you say, a joke that brushes too close to home. 

You fumble over the strings, gaze resolute on the body of the guitar rather than his face. 

You don't care that he said it —you care that he knows he said it. It doesn't make sense in so little words, but the feeling is contrite. It doesn't allow for sensical explanation. 

The humiliation of being seen is worse than a spurned insult thrown haphazard at your feet. His insult isn't as bad as your reaction to it. The fact that he knows it upset you. That's the worst part. 

It's embarrassing because he was right. Of course it is. And it doesn't get better, because you're still the same. Still running back after every kick. No matter the leg.  

You play him the rest of the song. Or rather, your best approximation. It's incredibly difficult to play by ear and you haven't heard the song in a while. When the guitar sounds more like a transparent translation of the lyrics than the actual meat of the instrumentals you give up, picking at the strings and listening to the individual tuning of each once. Eddie doesn't speak. Each second of his silence grows worse, your throat dry as the Sahara and horrifyingly thick. Why isn't he talking? 

His hand covers your shoulder. Fingers in a row across the slight dip of it, thumb rubbing reassuringly into your shoulder blade. "You're so fucking talented," he says quietly, his voice just above your ear. "I hope you know that." 

"I got lucky," you say, shaking your head. 

"No, you worked hard. There's a difference." 

His hand slides over the hill of your upper arm. Eddie gives you a gentle shake. You let your head flop into the crook of his neck. His hair tickles your forehead, but he smells so good you stay longer than you should. 

"Play me something," you say, trying to sound less morose than you feel. 

Whether he hears your emotion or not, he pats your arm and sits up. You hand over the guitar, and Eddie props the body over his thigh and runs his fingers up the fretboard, feeling the craftsmanship appreciatively despite his earlier disapproval. 

"What do you wanna hear?" he asks. 

"What do you know?" 

"God, I know everything. You should know that." 

"Well, you can't play anything too impressive, you'll draw attention." 

He nods very seriously at your sarcasm. He's immediately more at home than you'd been with it, and his hands look like they have a mind of their own. He plays a tight riff you recognise from one of their songs that is, to your horror, a warm up. He turns the amp down, and before you know it he's elbow deep in a complication of chords that might genuinely have you sweating if it were you rather than him. He does it like it's nothing. A walk in the park, and one he so clearly takes pleasure in. His eyes light up, the kind of look he's had before when he's made you laugh, or something a little milder than the electricity of his rough stageside kiss. 

You're in awe. 

He fucks up somewhere and laughs. A sweet giggle. 

"S'what I get for trying to show off." 

He plucks a string sharply. Hair's falling in his eyes, nearly hiding the sheepish curve of his lips. You see it, and adore it, and don't know what you're supposed to do about that. 

"I'll get him to put this away before I break it and we can get something to eat," he says, looking up from the guitar.

"It's weird to be with you. Without anything in the way," you say before you can stop yourself. 

You're glad you've said it when he raises his eyebrows. "Super weird. No more excuses. Wanna get freaky in the employee bathroom?" He laughs at his own joke. "It feels right, though," he adds warmly, before sincerity gets too much and he looks away. 

He gives the store employee back the Les Paul for its case and swings his backpack over one arm. He holds the other one out, wriggling his fingers so you know it isn't optional. You'd have tried it if he didn't offer. 

You hold hands out of the store and onto the street, busy but not crowded, and try to think of what you're supposed to say. You're in the soul of Tulsa, rather than the heart —you and Eddie decided to meet somewhere far enough from the city centre as to miss anyone who'd know who you are (or, more accurately, know who he is). You're not the kind of musicians who get papped often, or ever. Morgan's snow exposé was opportunistic, and Eddie was on the news for his epic destruction of property, but beside that it's purposeful photoshoots or moot. But this, this thing, whatever it is, it isn't for anybody else. You don't want anyone knowing quite yet. If Morgan found out you'd probably chuck up from the anxiety of what she'd do, some 'well-meaning' sabotage. Contrary to what she'd said in the past, how you should pick up the phone if Eddie calls, you know how she functions. Jealousy, or maybe some unjust belief that she deserves every ounce of lust or affection or attention, would absolutely wreck her. She doesn't like you enough to let you have this. You know it. 

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks. 

The sunlight makes him paler than usual. Pasty skin, dark dark hair, he'd be a vampire if his hand weren't warm in yours. You tighten your grip. 

"I think I'm not half as cool as I want to be." 

He licks his lips. "You're cool." 

You lift your chin to look at the sky, the wind moving over your hair gently. You trust Eddie enough to let him pull you out of harm's way. At least, you think you do. 

"I'm worried about people finding out about us." 

"Us?" Eddie asks. Horror surges. It's smothered as quickly as it comes by your hand swung in his, and his pleased little smile as he says, "There's an us." 

It's useless to pretend otherwise. And if it makes him that happy, you're thrilled. Genuinely. 

"Would it be so terrible?" Less sun and more apprehension, Eddie fails at bravado. "If people knew about your smoking hot plaything?" 

"You're not my plaything, you're– not my plaything," you stammer. 

"Bummer for me. I think I'd be into it." 

He guides you around a fire hydrant and across a short gap in the sidewalk. You have no idea where he's leading you. It's sunny enough that you don't complain. 

"I don't want people to know about us because– because I barely know about us, and, um– I'm sorry, this is the opposite of attractive." 

"How many compliments do you want?" he asks seriously, "'Cause I have a couple locked and loaded." 

"Let's go back to when you didn't like me." 

"Who cares how attractive you are? Not that you're not. But I don't want you to not tell me things because it's not hot. What kind of relationship would that turn into? Superficial, who wants that?" He stops swinging your hand abruptly, and to your pleasure, his cheeks are pink. "Do you want that?" 

"No," you mumble. 

"Oh. Good." 

"What kind of relationship do you want?" you ask. 

"A nice one." He does his fucking ridiculous giggle again and you could kiss him right here in the street. "You're ruining my reputation. I used to be respectable. Now I'm a bigger loser than before, and people are gonna clock on." 

"They've clocked on." 

"Cruel!" he says, delighted. 

"I…" You look anywhere but his face. His hand is so, so heavy. "You really don't care if I'm honest?" 

"I want you to be honest. We're not seventeen. I know girls do all the same gross stuff that boys do, babe." 

"What do you think I'm about to say?" You laugh. 

"Something really disgusting from the way you're freezing up." 

The breeze kisses at your cheeks. A stray leaf falls from the tree to your left and twists through the air, dancing in circles until it stops at your feet. You step over it gingerly. 

"Eddie, I just want you to know what you're getting into–" 

"What am I getting into?" 

"I'm not– I'm–" You struggle for words. There's no dictionary for how you feel. There's so much stuff wrong with you and he can't know any of it. You're stupid and lazy and bad at the things you're good at. You're tired, and sick, and you can't seem to get things right. You love sincerely and it's hardly ever enough. "I don't really know why you want this." 

He speaks with lips barely parted, mumbling but somehow unafraid. "I don't really know why I wouldn't want this." 

Eddie turns the corner and pulls you with him. An empty sidewalk beckons, white and stretching long down the boulevard. He pulls your joined hands up into the air and guides you into a slow twirl. 

"I think you're beautiful. You impress me, and you make me wanna write bad songs," he says, rubbing his thumb over your fingers. "What am I saying? I can't write a bad song. It's impossible. Especially if they're about you." 

"But I don't get that, we don't get along." 

"What do you call this?" he asks.

You come to a stop. There's a coffee shop to your right with huge open windows. Warm yellow light pours out into the slowly darkening sky. 

"I do want this," you say, worried you're giving him the wrong idea. He visibly relaxes at your statement, his grip on your hand strengthening once again. "I do," you continue, "whatever this is, I meant what I said, you know. You… make everything quiet for me. And I think you're–" Beautiful, you should say. "You're Lastick's heartthrob, everybody wants you. I like you." 

"I'd hope so," he says, pulling you toward him, his second hand vying for yours. He tugs you right up against him, face lit with cocky happiness. 

You hold your breath. His lashes are super long at the corners, emphasising the deep dark brown that lines his pupils and the gentler bark that surrounds it. He lays a hand against your cheek, encouraging your head up to his. He isn't soft with you like he'd been at the bar, but he isn't mean. You like how sure he is as he pulls you in, as he presses his lips to yours. Your eyes shutter closed with the pressure. 

"I don't care if everybody wants me," he says, and kisses you again, your noses smushed together. "That's not true, anyway," —he laughs quietly into your open mouth, his breath warm as it fans over your lips and tongue— "and if it were," —he kisses you a third time, his head tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction like he can't wait long enough to line up with you— "it wouldn't change what I want." 

You have to take a breather if only to let your brain catch up with what he's saying. 

"Okay," you breathe. 

He pulls your still joined hands to his heart. "Yeah? I'm not trying to freak you out 'n' go too heavy. I know I'm on thin ice." 

"You're not on thin ice." 

"I should be." 

Maybe. "You're not." You glance down the sidewalk to make sure your public display (you're becoming those people, apparently) isn't in someone's way. Thankfully, there's nobody around. "Sorry. This has been a really nice day, and I'm ruining it." 

"Date," he corrects. "It's a date, and it's great, and you haven't ruined a thing. We're gonna get dinner and talk about music and Gareth's disgusting bunk and you can feel however you want to feel, long as it's within arms reach. Yeah?" 

"Yeah, okay," you say. You manage a firm nod. 

A date. Maybe you're a fool who doesn't deserve him for an almost-boyfriend. If you keep getting in your own way, you'll definitely be one. 

"What's for dinner?" you ask. 

Eddie smiles. 

—

Colo Do Amante Hotel, April 1991

"Do you think you'll ever move away from glam metal?" 

Eddie looks up from the notebook in his lap. He licks his lip to give himself more time to answer, searching for the right thing to say to you. The more time you spend together, the more he wants to say the right thing, and the more sure he feels that there isn't a wrong thing. 

You are, quite simply, a wonder. A love. 

He shouldn't be here. Eddie's playing a show tomorrow night halfway across the country. If even one thing goes wrong with his red-eye, he's fucked. Someone from Rollerboy will murder him, and he'll deserve it. But he's here, because he wanted to see you and miraculously you wanted to see him. A late night phone call from one hotel room to another, his quiet confession. 

"I miss you," he'd said. 

You'd hesitated for half a second, if that. "Come and see me, then." 

So he ditched the bus, got a cab, flew out with his rockstar money and crawled into your bed. You haven't slept together, only laid with one another talking about how much being a musician sucks and how awful you both are for complaining. You'll relax around him now, and he thinks more about seeing you again than he does your muddled past, and he knows that counts for something. 

"Do I think I'll move away from glam metal?" he repeats, thoughts not strictly yours. 

He's trying to write about how you look now before you move, before he can forget it. Your figure curled up yet limp beside him, your hand on his stomach and your shirt climbing up the hill of your hip, the pudge of your stomach peaking out. You're wearing something much more showy than the last time he saw you, having done press a couple hours before his arrival and with no will to change. Your tights are dark and floral lace, stretched over sweet thighs vaguely hidden by your black skirt. For all the leg on show he can't see a hint of your top half before your neck. You're layered in fabrics. He loves it, you look awesome, and you'd been amazingly flustered when he told you.

Careful not to smudge your glittery make up, he'd tried to kiss you in the lobby. You'd nearly squeaked, grabbing him by the arm to pull him to the elevator bank. 

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have you seen yourself today? Actually? You're fucking killer." 

You'd shushed him and clicked the wrong floor button. He pretended not to notice when you corrected yourself. 

Most of the makeup is gone now, kissed off and the rest washed away, but your lashes are still lengthened and they look it as you prop yourself up by his hip and ask, "Well?" 

"No," he says honestly. There's always room to grow, and music changes with time and with an evolving scene, but Corroded Coffin are famous for how they sound now. "I love how we sound… Do you think you'll ever move into glam metal?" 

"Is there any room?" 

"No, but when has that ever stopped anyone?" 

He folds his pen between the leaves of his notebook and chucks it toward his bag in the corner of your room. You shift yourself, not quite sitting up as you pull off your sheer long sleeve and the regular long sleeve beneath it, exposing your arms and your chest to his view. He hadn't been expecting a tank top beneath. 

He whistles. Can't help himself. 

You dive to hide your face in the sheets, one arm tucked uncomfortably under your weight and across your chest, the other sliding away from his navel. "Shut up," you murmur. 

"Sorry. You're just pretty." 

"Didn't say that before I got my tits out, I notice." 

He laughs at your grumbling and leans down to talk softly. "Ah, but I did, didn't I? Told you you were 'fucking pretty' but maybe you didn't hear me, you were kissing me so hard–" 

You reach blindly for his face and push him away from you, not half as roughly as you could. 

He's messing with you. It's his prerogative. 

Being your almost boyfriend comes with privileges, like being privy to how you're feeling. Once unbeknownst to Eddie and probably everyone in your life, you're not a very happy person. He could guess why, he's not blind, but thinking it and knowing it are two different ponds. You don't say much about it, embarrassed by or maybe unable to verbalise how you're feeling beyond, "I'm tired of everything today," and, "Sorry, I'm just worried." 

About what? he'd asked. 

You'd nibbled your lip. Everything. Nothing worth saying out loud.

He'd make jokes anyhow, but he makes more of them when he thinks you're feeling down. Teasing you is a surefire trick to distract you from all the stuff you can't handle. 

It's piling on, he knows. Morgan on the news again, shirtless in a public club, your startled face in the background. You'd been poked fun at by TV hosts and journalists alike. Nothing cruel, but making you the butt of a joke nonetheless. Then there was Ananya's continued selective mutism, disagreements over stage blocking, your ever-present employment anxiety, your very first hate letter disguised as a love note, and, to Eddie's surprise, radio silence from your friend Dornie. 

He didn't like Dornie to begin with. Now he hates him. 

"Don't push me away," he whines. 

"Don't make fun of me." 

"But you look lovely when you're mad." He grins at you where you're glaring, only your eyes and brows visible in your position. "Exactly like that." 

"Lovely," you say. He can hear in your voice how the mock fight you'd started has sputtered out. You sound genuine again, a little raspy with oncoming fatigue. 

"You don't like that word?" 

You lay flat on your back. Head on the pillows, hands to your collar and fingers picking at one another, you look down at them and away from him and Eddie can't stand losing your attention. He ushers away his notebook on the sheets and climbs toward you on knees. He checks your face as he positions himself between your legs. You smile. He smiles back. He thinks maybe this is what you secretly wanted him to do. 

"You like Status Quo?" you ask. 

He smiles and lets his weight press down on you, not paying much attention to what goes where, only the feeling of being on top of you, this close, and being allowed. "Yeah?" 

"Showaddywaddy?" 

"Beg your pardon?" he jokes. 

"Let's go for a little walk," you sing under your breath. 

"Yeah. I liked that song." He sings, "I wanna tell you, that I love ya." You nod happily. 

"Queen?" you ask, quieter still. 

"Don't ask stupid questions." 

"It's weird that we managed to find each other," you say. "Though everything. You had to like all that music, we had to want this bad, we had to be born at the same time, in the same scenes, and we had to go to the same stupid party." 

He hangs his head. "I was in a mood." 

"You were. I figured you were an asshole, you know?" 

Eddie takes a deep, deep breath. "I remember." 

"I was… pathetic," you say softly, letting your hands drop flat to your chest. You change your mind, tuck a curl behind his ear. "I was desperate, your friend Jamison… it doesn't matter. I don't know what I'm trying to say." 

"There's a difference between pathetic and lonely. You tried to make friends, and I was being a dick because–" He sucks the inside of his cheek. 

"'Cos you tried to talk to me and I made fun of your court case?" you ask, self-deprecating. 

"Because you didn't know me." 

You poke his cheek gently. "That mattered that much to you?" 

"Sweetheart, we met before." 

Eddie watches you hear him, and spots the resistance to what he's suggesting. He needles his arms under your waist to feel the breadth of your back in his palms, close enough to kiss you, but wanting to hear what you have to say about it more. 

"We did," he says. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I think about a year before we met at the party, we met at the airport. You weren't in Godless, you weren't even a tech yet, you were on your way to meet the tour in New York. We met, and we talked about music, and I told you to come and meet me if you ever found yourself in the same place."

You'll put me on a list? you'd asked, charmed by his wanting to see you, as impossible as it may have seemed then.

I'll put you on the list. 

"When I saw you," he says, eyes on the curve of your bottom lip, "I was hoping you'd come to see me, but you didn't remember me, I could tell straight away, and I– I'd gotten so used to people saying yes to me that I got more pissed than I should've. I feel like a loser, telling you now, but–" But it meant something, meeting you before. It meant something. 

"We did meet," you say, voice like a line of spider web weighed down, and abruptly plinking back up. "You gave me a sticker. I dropped it down a storm drain straight off the plane." 

He nods encouragingly, "I gave you a Corroded Coffin sticker–" 

"With a rose in the background," you interrupt.  

"Yeah. You remember? You had those huge can headphones and your guitar was falling apart, and I told you about Sweetheart 'cos she was still pretty impressive at the time. You didn't have time to try her before boarding, so…" 

"So you said I could give her a try the next time we saw each other." 

Eddie bites his lip. "Yeah." 

Your breath is noticeably quickened, your gaze snapping onto his face. Recollection lights your eyes, and then, like he'd so desperately wanted to see months ago when he wandered into you of all people at a sticky, snow-loaded party, you smile at him. Like you missed him. Like you can't believe your luck. 

"Well, hey, stranger," you whisper, your thumb rubbing along his bottom lip, fingers tucked neatly behind his ear. "I remember you." 

"You took your time," he says. 

"You could've said something," you say, chin dipping to your chest. "How did you remember me after that long?"  

He's trying not to get broken up with before he's officially your boyfriend; he wants to say, You're hard to forget, but he refrains. 

He leans in for a silky, soft kiss. "Immaculate memory," he says in the slice of time your lips aren't touching, a second gap as he turns his head to better kiss your top lip. 

"Is there anything you can't do?" you indulge. 

"Can't get this one really beautiful thing to let me take her photo," he says. 

You giggle and push him away. "'Cos I know what kind of picture you want, Eddie!" 

"I already told you that's not true, dirty photos are an epidemic I've yet to feed into." He's a man, not a Saint —he'd fucking love a dirty photo, but he really does just want a Polaroid for his wallet. "How about we both have a Polaroid of each other? So you don't forget me?" 

Guilt lines your smile. "I'm sorry," you say, dragging him down for a kiss. "Sorry, sorry. I won't forget you again, Munson…" You rub his cheek with your thumb. "If I let you take a photo, will you forgive me?" 

You're already forgiven. "Three photos." 

"Deal." 

"Should've asked for five." 

"You could've asked for the full cartridge and a dirty one and I might've said yes. I can't believe we met before.." 

Eddie rests his nose on your cheek, eyes closed, already trying to remember how many photos there are left on his camera. "I don't want a picture of your tits because you feel guilty, babe." He laughs as he talks, then, the joke feels that good to say, "I want one because you have the most amazing, killer, gorgeous pair of–" 

You screech to cover his bold compliments and whack his chest playfully. "Get off of me, you freak! Get off, get off, get off." 

Eddie flips onto his back, chuckling. 

"How would you even know?" you ask, slipping off of the bed with a little thump and down by your suitcase. You chuck your shitty Polaroid Spectra onto the sheets by his arm and rifle around for a foil sealed cartridge. "You've barely seen them." 

Like past Eddie, this Eddie still wants to fuck you stupid, but he also really isn't interested in intiating anything before you're ready. He's hoping you'll make the first move, and maybe soon, but watching the tip of your tongue breach your lips as you climb on your knees to fiddle with the Spectra, he's not really thinking about sex. 

"I've seen them," he disagrees. 

"You have not." 

"Have too." 

"Have not." 

"I'm seeing them right now." 

You look down at your chest. The tank top you're wearing isn't especially scandalous, Eddie just loves your shape. 

"Okay," you say, shyness creeping into your voice and stature, your shoulders bunching up toward your neck a touch, "if I say something and it's too weird, you can tell me no. Please tell me no." 

He shakes his head gently when you don't add anything else. "What?" he asks. 

"Do you really want a dirty photo? You could take one. I wouldn't mind," you say. 

Your voice drops to a murmur with the last two words. Eddie hikes up on his elbows, smile curling and appling his cheeks. "You don't still feel bad about forgetting lil ole me?" 

"Of course I do, but it's not why I'm offering. I really like you, Eddie. I want to do things other couples do." 

Earnestness has you sounding your best: your voice has always been one of his very favourite things about you. Your voice, your smile, your passion (maybe that one most of all). When you talk as you are now, without anything in the way, he thinks he might be at his most infatuated. 

"I really like you," he says, reaching out to steal your hand from the camera. "What I want most is one with your smile, get me? One I can flash at the boys while I'm away, brag about you." 

"I thought we weren't telling anyone," you say gently. 

"Not for now. I'll need it eventually, right?" 

You beam at him. "Right." 

You pick up your camera and aim it at his face. He knows how he must look, his hair frizzy from hours on a small plane, lips sore from kissing you, ridiculously happy. Now you know everything about him he'd been purposefully hiding. All the bad in all of the good, and all the good in all of the bad. He can't wait to tell you the rest. 

The flash blinds him for a split second, and your camera chugs as it ejects the photo. You drop it on the sheets and you and Eddie crane your heads together, foreheads kissing while the image appears. 

"That's a good one, right?" he asks. Upside down, he's not sure.

"It's really perfect," you say. 

Eddie lifts your chin for another silken kiss. 

"Listen," he says as he breaks away, his lips tingling, heart in his throat. "Can I be your boyfriend?" 

He hadn't meant to ask like that. 

You nod slowly, then quickly, trying uselessly to tamp an ecstatic smile as you paw at his arms. Eddie pulls you back up onto the bed and you make camp in his lamp, hands in his hair and lips like an undulating wave against his. He kisses you until he can't think.

—

The photographer standing outside of the Colo De Amante is cold, fingertips frostbitten and nose like ice, but it's worth it for the photo he gets. Eddie Munson peeling out of the hotel in the late night when he's supposed to be in a different state, hair banded out of his face, giving the photographer a great view of his pleased features. 

The camera clicks. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! please reblog if you have the time!! i love them being all loveydovey but im excited for the drama to start again

[mechaknight-98]

Gathering CEDH edition Birds of Paradise

Author’s note: Optimization furthers as I try to sharpen the story.

stroll up to our rendezvous fashionably late, but the guys greet me with raised eyebrows and a mix of surprise and concern.

"Um, we've got a bit of a situation," Connor blurts out.

"Yeah, we need you to watch our backs," Dexter adds, his tone urgent.

"Alright, spill the beans before we dive into this," I reply, trying to keep my cool despite the unexpected turn of events.

Following the uproarious success of the "Fearless Kkura" episode, Connor and Dexter found themselves fielding calls from various companies eager to tap into their expertise with idols. Amidst the flood of emails, Connor's phone buzzes with a call from Jennifer Huh.

"Yo, Jenny, what's crackin'?" Connor answers, brimming with excitement.

"Hey, so don't freak out, but I sorta RSVPed you and me for a gala in Florida," Jennifer confesses.

"Why? You know I'm not a fan of those formal shindigs," Connor retorts.

"Well, Chaewon and Kkura had tight schedules, Kazuha's chilling in Japan, and Eunchae's practically a baby," Jennifer explains.

"Fair point... Before I reluctantly agree, what's this gala all about?" Connor inquires, wary of Jennifer's sudden enthusiasm for fancy affairs.

"Oh, it's a Tricell Charity Gala, honoring survivors of bio-terrorist attacks. My family made it out alive thanks to Tricell's aid during a crisis in New Jersey," Jennifer elaborates.

Connor sighs, attempting to mask his inner turmoil, but Jennifer, being Jennifer, picks up on his unease like a shark scenting blood in the water.

"Ah, that sigh. I know that sigh. That's the 'please don't make me do this' sigh," Jennifer remarks, her intuition sharp as ever.

"I'm not sure, Jen. Sounds like walking into a danger zone," Connor hesitates.

"What're you not telling me?" Jennifer presses, sensing there's more to the story.

"Oh, what the heck. Count me in," Connor concedes, against his better judgment.

Arriving a day ahead of schedule to meet Yunjin, Connor is taken aback by the absence of a welcoming committee as she approaches my rental. She envelops him in a warm hug.

"Hey, Connor! How's it hanging?" she chirps, eyeing my choice of wheels with a playful smirk. "Wow, you really diggin' that truck, huh?"

He offers a sheepish nod, managing a grin. "Doing alright, and yeah, I'm quite fond of it. Hungry?"

Yunjin nods eagerly, and the duo hops into the rental, heading for a quaint café nearby.

En route, Connor turns to Jennifer. "So, Jen, while we're here, I need to catch up with my sister and mom," Connor started, hinting at his plans.

"Oh, I'll tag along," Jennifer chimes in.

"That's not what I had in mind," Connor points out.

"Too bad, I'm crashing the party," Jennifer declares, flashing a mischievous grin. He groans in defeat as we pull up to a cozy Creole café just a stone's throw from the hotel and airport. Over a meal, Yunjin broaches the topic of His beef with Tricell.

He tenses up momentarily but then decides that honesty is the best policy. Taking a cue from Dexter's/My playbook, and he dives into oversharing mode. "Well, I lost both my folks to the T-virus outbreak back in '98, masterminded by Tricell's former bigwig, Albert Wesker. His son, Alexander, also cost me my adopted older brother. So, yeah, I've got a bone to pick with Umbrella, Tricell, and the Weskers. But hey, they're supposedly turning over a new leaf, right? If not, I'll happily take 'em down again."

"So, you and Dexter both have a score to settle with the Wesker clan?" Jennifer probes, surprising him with her insight.

"Wait, how'd you know that? Dex never mentioned anything about it," Connor replies, taken aback.

"Well, Kkura spilled the beans. Apparently, Eunbi spilled the tea after her second date with Dex," Jennifer reveals.

"Eunbi and Dex?" Connor exclaims, connecting the dots.

"Yeah, Kkura played matchmaker after your stint on 'Fearless Kkura' together," Jennifer confirms.

"That explains a lot," Connor muses, reflecting on Dexter's recent trips to Korea.

"Indeed. They make quite the adorable couple," Jennifer adds, steering the conversation back to romance. "Speaking of which, are you still chasing after Giselle... I mean Aeri?"

"Nah, she's not into guys like me," Connor confesses.

"Really now?"

"Okay, let me rephrase that: I don't think she's into me like that."

"Ah, gotcha. Maybe she can sense that you're taken?" Jennifer teases, her disappointment palpable.

"Cut it out, Jen," Connor chirps, rolling my eyes.

"Why? Don't you like me?" Jennifer pouts, her expression genuinely crestfallen.

"Yeah, but c'mon, you're the fabulous Ms. Starlet herself, Yunjin Jennifer Huh. I'm just plain ol' Connor Sun-Won Young," Connor quips.

"Wait, is 'Sun-Won' your middle name?" Jennifer probes further.

"Not the point, but no, it's actually Connor. Sun-Won's my middle name, but it's easier for most folks to say," Connor explains.

"Got it. From now on, you're Sunny," Jennifer declares, earning an exaggerated groan from me.

"Anyway, Dex had a run-in with a Wesker during his college days. There was an outbreak at his school, and let's just say it didn't end well," Jennifer divulges, catching Connor off guard.

"I wish he'd told me about that," Connor admits, feeling a pang of hurt.

Connor nods in acknowledgment. After they finish their meal, Connor escorts Yunjin to her hotel to help her with her luggage. As he bids farewell, confusion clouds her expression. "Hey, where are you off to?" she wonders aloud.

"To visit my mom, then back to my hotel room," Connor replies hesitantly.

"Uh, why?" Yunjin probes, cornering him.

"Your manager made it clear that while you're here, you're to be 'untouched,'" Connor responds.

Yunjin laughs, "Um, how about no?" she says, grabbing him by his necklace. Tilting her head as she inspects it, she remarks, "Oh, this is nice. It suits you. Is it new?"

"No, I just got it back," Connor answers.

"Well, it looks good on you. Silver suits you," Yunjin compliments as she pulls Connor onto the bed. As they both gaze up at the ceiling, an awkward silence descends.

"So, have you asked Aeri out yet?" Jen's voice breaks the silence.

Connor turns to her and responds, "She laughed and said she sees me as an older brother."

Jen stifles a chuckle before saying, "You, an older brother? Oh, I'm so sorry. Come here, hug Noona to make it all better." Connor accepts her hug but scowls at her use of "Noona."

"Noona? Where did that come from? I'm older than you," Connor retorts.

She squints at him, "No, you're not?" Connor groans, pulling out his ID to prove his point. Yunjin smirks, "Huh, I guess you are my oppa then. Sorry, Oppa. That explains why Aeri was calling you that now. I thought she liked you."

"It's no big deal," Connor responds.

"I just thought because you're such a teddy bear that you were younger than Chae and I," Jen rebuts.

"Nope. I'm a year older than Kkura, to be exact, six months. But I digress," Connor says matter-of-factly.

Connor gets up and begins the process of heading to his mom's place. Jennifer is all smiles as she also gets up with him. They get into his car and drive to Miami, where his mother resides. Upon arriving, Connor begins to get cold feet, his hands shaking visibly. Jennifer notices this and smiles reassuringly at him as they both step out of the car. Connor approaches his mom's door and knocks, the house remaining quiet until it opens.

"Oh, Baruuk, how good to see you," Connor's sister, Valkyr, says to him. Connor offers a weak smile.

"Is Mom home?" he asks.

"Yeah, but are you sure you want to talk to her?" Valkyr inquires.

"Yeah, I have some stuff I'd like to tell her," Connor affirms.

"Okay, but wait, who's this pretty young lady behind you?" Valkyr asks.

"Oh, hi, I'm Jen, his girlfriend," Jennifer introduces herself.

Connor shoots Jen a look, to which she just smiles back at him. Valkyr observes their interaction and laughs, "Well, Ms. Jen, can I talk to you while my little Ruuk goes to our mom?" Valkyr asks, and Jen nods. This gives Connor the freedom to head back to his mom, who is in the backyard.

Mrs. LesProux had known since his arrival that Connor was going to show up. Call it mother's intuition. What she didn't know was the reason behind his visit.

"Hey, Mom," Connor says upon entering the backyard. His mother, a tall, statuesque woman, stands facing the morning light.

"Hello, Little cub. I'm surprised to see you," she says coldly.

"I didn't expect to be back, but here I am... You know, I've done some thinking, and I finally have an answer for you."

"Oh, really? And what is that? Do you still hate me for taking you from your birth parents? Do you still seek revenge?" Mrs. LesProux questions.

"No, I said those things in anger and resentment because I couldn't have a normal life. But that was never your fault," Connor apologizes.

Mrs. LesProux turns to her adopted son, seeing his remorse. She gets closer to him, "Wait, so you're not angry anymore?" she asks skeptically.

"No... I can't be, really. In this time away from this life, I realized I'm not built for war," Connor admits.

"Oh, then what are you built for?" Mrs. LesProux asks, intrigued.

"Diplomacy and art. But I appreciate what you did for me because, as you've said numerous times, fate had other plans," Connor answers.

Mrs. LesProux chuckles at her son's response. "That's a surprising answer."

"Why so?" Connor inquires.

"To forge peace, one must know war," Mrs. LesProux replies.

"Yes, and you've taught me war. The time I've spent with Dexter, or as you call him, the fool, has brought me peace, and I needed that," Connor adds.

"Well, then I guess I may have been harsh in my judgment of him. Especially after learning about him," Mrs. LesProux asserts.

Connor looks at his mom, confused. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"He was in love with that Wesker girl a few years back, and according to my sources, she betrayed him when he tried to purge all records of that event," Mrs. LesProux explains.

"That explains why he never talks about it," Connor realizes.

"I assume it's a sore spot. Speaking of pretty, who's that girl talking to Valkyr?" Mrs. LesProux asks, redirecting the conversation.

"Oh, that's Jennifer. She's a friend," Connor reassures.

"Really? She doesn't look at you like you're just a friend," Mrs. LesProux observes.

"How do you figure that?" Connor asks.

"I've seen the look of love, Baruuk, and believe me, she has it," Mrs. LesProux states.

"Well, then I'll keep that in mind," Connor says, falling silent. Mrs. LesProux smiles at her son's bashfulness.

She goes to hug him, "Still my shy and humble little boy, I see. I should have known that bringing you into the fold was a mistake. But that being said, I think you've grown into a fine young man."

"Thanks, Voruna," Connor says to his mom.

"You're welcome, Baruuk," Mrs. LesProux replies. "So what will you do now?" she asks.

"I'm going to the Tricell Gala tomorrow with Jennifer as her plus one," Connor answers.

"Oh, well, then we shall see each other again then," Mrs. LesProux says.

"Okay," Connor says.

After that, Connor walks back with his mom to the living room, where Valkyr and Jennifer are engaged in conversation. Mrs. LesProux scrutinizes Jennifer for a moment before asking, "What are your intentions with my son?"

Yunjin blushes at the question, as does Connor before Valkyr gives them an out.

"Come on, Mom, can't you see they're blushing? Baruuk, Jen, leave before you get more embarrassed," Valkyr says, ushering the couple out. They then drive back to the hotel, and Jen starts to become sleepier, likely due to the effects of the flight. Once they're back in her hotel room, she cuddles with Connor.

"So, you've met my mom and sister. What did you think?" Connor asks.

"I'm still surprised. You're so manly and gentlemanly, but your mom and Valkyr are very cold," Jen replies plainly.

"Well, that's because of my older brother, Atlas. He taught me a lot of the manners stuff. You would've loved him. He was tall, kind, and..." Before Connor could finish his sentence, Jen asks what happened to Atlas. "He was the brother who died because of Alexander Wesker," Connor answers.

Jen nods, “Oh... learning new things about you every day.” She falls silent after that. Connor notices she hasn’t broken the hug after 30 minutes, and then he hears her breathing become rhythmic as she falls asleep. Eventually, the calming sound of her breathing lulls Connor to sleep as well. He wakes up from his nap when Jen’s alarm goes off, blaring "No Return." As he attempts to get up, he is struck by his arm being very asleep. Realizing this, he tries to remedy it. As Jen wakes up to his movements, she laughs excitedly, watching as Connor tries to wake his sleeping arm up

"So, where to next?" Connor says, attempting to push his emotions aside. Seeing an out, Yunjin replies, "Oh, we're meeting with Winter and Hosang before they just flew in, so we're all getting dinner together." Connor nods and follows her as she changes her jacket to something lighter, as the morning cool has burned off into a humid heat more common to Florida. He looks away, trying not to see her exposed.

Jen smiles at Connor and says, "You know you don't have to look away while I change."

"Um, yes I do," Connor rebukes.

"You're so cute when you're bashful," Jen teases, laughing while watching him still trying to get his arm awake again. After a few minutes, he succeeds, and he gets up, now having his arm almost back to normal. They get into their rental truck and drive to the airport again. Winter and Hosang are surprised when Connor picks them up.

"Oh hi, Yunjin… and Connor," Hosang says in surprise to see Connor and Yunjin together.

Connor waves as they put their bags in the truck bed. Winter and Hosang both begin to whisper in Korean. They’re quiet enough to not hear every word. Connor turns to them when he hears "American," and both he and Jen scowl suspiciously.

"What?" Winter says innocently.

"What was that about? 'They are so American?'" Jen says.

Hosang laughs and says, "Well, looks like we were caught. Winter and I were just talking about how you two look so American together. (He gestures to the truck) It's so funny how you are both so American and so not American." Connor watches as Jen rolls her eyes before she goes back to face him with a smile and drives the couple to their hotel.

While on the way in, Jen asks, “Hey, how did you guys get the okay from SM to date?”

Hosang answers, “Um, so we haven't, so if you could keep it on the down-low, that would be great.” Jen’s eyes go wide, and she nods in understanding. She smiles and says, “Your secret is safe with us. Isn’t it, Connor?”

Teasingly, Connor says, “Absolutely not. I need compensation for Giselle putting me in the brother zone, and a dating scandal for her group sounds like a fat payday. So two birds, one stone.” They look at Connor for a moment, thinking he is serious, but when they see his face change, they all break into a smile.

“You had us worried for a minute,” Winter says, and Connor laughs.

While helping them, Hosang comes to Connor and asks, “I know you were joking about the Aeri thing, but are you sure you’re okay?” Connor shrugs.

“I can’t do anything about it, so why would I care? As my friend Dexter says, 'Time keeps moving forward, so will I.' I’ll just work my hardest and then move on,” Connor says to Hosang, who nods.

“Ah, the good old keep moving forward,” Hosang says, and Connor nods. After he helps the couple into their room, Connor, Jen, Winter, and Hosang all get back into the car and drive to the restaurant where they will be eating for the night. They arrive at the small Cuban spot that Jen found (spotted earlier on the way in) and all file in. Jen smiles as Connor and her walk in, and she grabs his arm, linking with hers and smiling brighter. Connor smiles back, her dark hair bouncing as she walks with him. A wave of calm washes over Connor as he sits with her. She feels... pleasant around her in a way Connor is unfamiliar with and not used to.

After the waiter takes the drink and appetizer orders, Hosang asks Connor the fated question.

“So how did you meet Aeri Uchinaga, Mr. Connor?”

Connor looks around and then to Winter, who smirks. “Tell him then, Magic Man," she teases.

“Well, long story short. I play MTG to deal with some PTSD issues I had in the past. So naturally, I played MTGA, where I met Scorpion’s love-00. I beat this person. This person sends me a Discord message, and we begin an online friendship. That friendship eventually led to me meeting this person, who turned out to be the illustrious Giselle of Aespa.” Jen smiles as Connor tells his story.

When Connor got to the part about PTSD, Winter looked at Connor in surprise. After he finishes his tale, she pries a little into that. “You mentioned PTSD… um, Connor, are you okay?” You shrug.

“Yeah, just some bad stuff happened while before I got into college. MTG helped me get out of that bad place, but it also made it worse because I became obsessed. Overall, I think I am good though now,” Winter squints as she stares at Connor. He could see the worry on her face. He smiles to allay her worry. After all, they didn’t need to be bothered with his tales of misery. After Connor finishes talking, his food arrives, and while he eats, he swears he sees Voruna. When his friends catch him spacing out looking for her, they quickly bring him back. Connor smiles at them as they all get back to eating and enjoying their company.

When Connor goes to pay, the waiter says, “Oh, your meal was already paid for by Karena LesProux. She left the message, 'For my lost cub who is found again.'” Everyone looks weirdly at the waiter, except Connor, who knows who that is and what that means. He smirks casually, then eases into the seat and says to everyone, “Wow, that is so weird but cool. A free meal.” They all look at Connor weirdly at first, but then it’s put past them. After that, Connor takes Winter and Hosang back to their hotel and says their goodbyes until tomorrow.

Winter stops for a moment before going in to talk to Connor. She gets him out of earshot of the others and says, “I heard about your situation with Giselle, don't be too mad at her. She’s just got a lot going on.” Connor smirks, then says (while looking at Yunjin), "I think I will be fine," and waves as they leave.

He goes to drop Jen off, and as he attempts to leave, she says, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

Connor sees the anxiety in her eyes, and all he can say is, “Sure,” so he follows her. The couple (I know they aren't technically a couple yet, but at this point like come on) fall asleep. They take turns using the shower and getting ready for the night. After finishing, the two cuddle in the bed. It’s awkward at first until she says, “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t bite.” Her eyes are bright and happy. Her smile is innocent and inviting.

Connor says to her, “This isn’t very hot girl of you.”

She laughs and responds, “Maybe I want to be a soft girl for the night.” Connor laughs content and Jen hugs him tight. The couple falls asleep roughly around the same time. At 4 am though, Connor wakes up. He gets up to leave, but Jen, still partially asleep, says, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.” Connor looks at her confused. She looks so lonely, so afraid. It was a far cry from the confident star who lives for the stage.

“What’s wrong, Jen?” Connor asks. When he doesn't hear from her, he looks at her worried but clearly sees she is still half asleep.

“I feel so isolated, and you make me feel connected. Idol life it’s great, but there’s too much pressure, too rigid. I want someone who’s fluid and goes with the flow. I live in fear every day that because of who I am and my background everything is going to collapse on me. I want someone by my side who is strong and confident yet gentle and reassuring. So please stay with me,” Jen says. Also, remember that Jen said all of this while still half asleep and probably wouldn’t remember it. Connor breathes in and out before going back to lie next to her. He hugs her tight, intent on helping her feel better. As he drifts off, his mind settles in a familiar place. Stars litter the endless void.

When Connor opens his eyes, he is greeted by Jen’s smiling face. She is elated that he stayed with her. The next thing he hears is his phone ringing. It’s Dexter.

As Connor recounted I nodded and then Dexter started speaking to me as well. following the pause at Dexter's call Dexter starts speaking.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Foxx Nolte's "Hidden History of Walt Disney World"

NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

No one writes about Disney theme parks like Foxx Nolte; no one rises above the trivia and goes beyond the mere sleuthing of historical facts, no one nails the essence of what makes these parks work – and fail.

I first encountered Nolte through her blog, Passport to Dreams Old and New, where her writing transformed the way I viewed the project of these giant, elaborate built environments. It was through articles like this one – about the sightlines from bathrooms! – that I came to truly understand what design criticism means:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-awkward-transitions-of-disneyland.html

While her work on queue design transformed how I thought about waiting, scarce-goods allocation, and the psychology of anticipation and desire:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2010/12/third-queue.html

But I really knew her for a kindred spirit when I read her masterful analysis of the historical context and enduring power of the Haunted Mansion:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2010/05/history-and-haunted-mansion.html

A decade after that Haunted Mansion post, Nolte published the definitive history of the Haunted Mansions, Boundless Realm, the very best book ever written on the subject:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/09/boundless-realm/#fuxxfur

This year, Nolte came back with another short, smart, endlessly fascinating history of Disney World, Hidden History of Walt Disney World:

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/products/9781467156189

There are many histories of Walt Disney World, but none are quite like this. Nolte – who worked at the park for many years – combines her insider's view with her deep historical knowledge and yields up a "hidden history" that will forever change how I look at the built environment and the natural landscape it sits atop.

The path to Walt Disney World – an entertainment juggernaut that occupies a landmass twice the size of Manhattan – was anything but smooth. Its original design – Walt's design – barely survived groundbreaking, dying with Walt himself. Walt's successor, his brother Roy, used the occasion of Walt's death to assert his long-contested dominance over the park, drastically scaling back Walt's ambition for a bizarre residential/utopian community and replacing it with a kind of deluxe Disneyland with the idea of limiting the company's financial risk by re-creating a pre-existing, sure thing money-maker.

But Roy died within a few years of Walt, and the company transitioned from a family business to a managerial one, its direction set by executives who weren't named "Disney." These managers were just as flawed as the Disney brothers, but in much different ways (one long-serving CEO insisted that Disney should stay out of the hotel business, leaving billions on the table for contractors and third parties.

Of course, all of this is happening in Florida, and many of Nolte's funniest, juciest stories play Walt, then Roy, then various CEOs and execs off of flamboyant locals straight out of a Carl Hiaasen novel. In Nolte's capable hands, the many acres of Disney property come alive with the ghosts of Florida eccentrics and conmen who play against the deeply weird Disney brothers and their baffled corporate successors.

The history of Walt Disney World is also a history of the American narrative from the 1960s to the turn of the millennium, especially once Epcot enters the picture and Disney sets out to market itself as a futuristic mirror to America and the world. There's a doomed plan to lead the nation in the provision of an airport for the largely hypothetical short runway aircraft that never materialized, the Disney company's love-hate affair with Florida's orange growers, and the geopolitics of installing a permanent World's Fair, just as World's Fairs were disappearing from the world stage.

With Disney in disarray, corporate raiders smelled blood, and the company found itself on the brink of leveraged buyout hell, triggering another change in corporate leadership with the arrival of Michael Eisner. Nolte's portrait of Eisner is far more nuanced than the presentation in rival histories, surfacing his many forgotten gaffes – but also giving him credit where it was due. When the dust settles on the Eisner era, Disney has more theme parks in one place than can possibly be justified – in an America where workers get almost no paid vacation days, building more theme parks does not extend visitors' stays. It only adds to the expense of keeping those guests entertained during those brief, flitting visits.

The Disney empire is rooted in contradictions. The Disney brothers cordially loathed one another and the company split into "Walt people" and "Roy people" who schemed against one another in secret and sometimes even erupted into open conflict. There's something Hegelian about the Walt/Roy split: Walt went bust trying to run a creative empire that ignored the financials, and fled the ashes of his first venture to work with Roy in California. Roy disciplined Walt with financial rigor, often to excess. When the company emerged from WWII with its outside shareholders in charge, Roy became their champion and Walt's tormentor, with the ability to exercise a firm veto when he couldn't win the day through moral suasion.

Walt sought escape from his brother, proposing a series of ill-starred ventures that eventually became Disneyland. First, he proposed that he would transform his backyard ride 'em train-set into a public attraction that he would personally oversee, so that he wouldn't have to go to the office and let his brother boss him around. Then he proposed buying a locomotive and fitting out a train of railcars with exhibits promoting Disney movies, which he, personally, would drive around America, far from his brother.

Finally, he hit on Disneyland, poaching the company's best animators for a separate firm that Roy was eventually forced to buy from Walt in order to bring it back into the corporate fold. These power struggles, in which Roy first took orders from Walt, before turning the tables, only to have them turned again, culminated in the uneasy detente that characterized the era from Disneyland's opening to Walt's death.

Working with his brother may have made Walt miserable, but he evidently saw the benefit in this Hegelian dialectic, because he became infamous for putting together creative teams who were forever at each other's throats. The storied Sherman Brothers – Disney's star songwriting team – barely tolerated each other. The titans of early Imagineering were often at odds, and Walt took seemingly sadistic glee in forcing artists who disliked one another to work on joint projects.

In focusing on the conflicts between different corporate managers, outside suppliers, and the gloriously flamboyant weirdos of Florida, Nolte's history of Disney World transcends amusing anaecdotes and tittle-tattle – rather, it illustrates how the creative sparks thrown off by people smashing into each other sometimes created towering blazes of glory that burn to this day.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/15/disnefried/#dialectics

[absolutebl]

Ranking Every Restaurant Based BL

As of August 2024. Shows not yet finished by that date are not on this list. Otherwise, features any BL set in the restaurant & beverage industry (that I've watched). I did not include the home cook domestic BLs on this list (like Our Dining Table).

1 To My Star

Korea 2021 Viki

10/10

Hwang Da Seul directing this show about a neurotic actor (actual puppy) who takes refuge with a grumpy chef resulting in sparks, cooking lessons, and LOVE! It’s is a touch quirky to get into, but utterly charming once it hits its stride. This is the ultimate grumpy/sunshine pairing plus the most appealing light-filled kitchen of our dreams. I adore this show so much. Limited use of BL tropes makes this feel more of a sweet contemporary gay romance between an actor plagued by scandal and the grumpy chef who adopts him, but the gentleness will appeal to fans of the BL genre.

2 What Zabb Man!

Thai 2022 YouTube

8/10

Star Hunter's WZM was better than we had any right to expect, with decent pacing and a foodie theme threaded through the narrative as both love language and plot driver. Basically CEO falls in love with a street vendor’s food, recruits him to work in his hotel, falls in love with him, and that’s just the beginning. Class struggles! Kitchen drama! Papaya pounding (not a euphemism)! Chef poaching (not literally)! Spicy scenes (yes both kinds)! It’s all so delicious.

3 DNA Says Love You

Taiwan 2022 Gaga

8/10

Okay it's only in a cafe about 1/2 the time but it is the main setting if not the plot. DNA deserves extra marks for an upbeat approach to a queer story arc that other shows have systemically mishandled with sadness (in the guise of realism). There is a twist, which I found predictable, but knowing what would happen didn't spoil this show. The leads are luminous and engaging, and it’s full of queer found family representation and an unexpected amount of domesticity, plus it’s Taiwan, so the kisses are great. The first few eps are rough going but have patience, it's worth it I promise! The second half is really special and life/love affirming - and the end is big-grin charming.

4 The Tasty Florida

Korea 2021 Viki https://www.viki.com/tv/38119c-the-tasty-florida

8/10

Not really a love triangle featuring the prettiest men ever to be grouped together outside of K-pop, honestly the visuals are ridiculous, there’s a story, it has to do with food, whatever, they so pretty. I have a weakness for this BL and it's entirely Speed's fault.

5 My Day

Pinoy 2020 YouTube

8/10

The set up on this one is enemies (also boss/employee) and they don’t like each other to start. But that gets resolved pretty quickly. And then they are some of the cutest, hottest, and best boyfriends ever. This is an under-appreciated BL, IMHO. It's also more set in the office of a food creation company, but there is a lot about food.

6 My Tooth Your Love

Taiwan 2023 Viki

8/10

Earnest dentist hottie with sad eyes who worries too much is smitten by an adorable sunshine neurotic bar owner with serious anxiety issues. They fall madly in love while courting each other with food, plushies, and naps. Then, shocker, talk about their feelings and try to actually sort out their problems so they can have an adult relationship. Bonus crumbs = 18 year old poor little rich kid in mad crush with a much older man. I really enjoyed this show, it had a unique premise, killer dialogue, there was a solid lead pair with charmg chemistry, soft flirtation, delightful smiling kisses, and stinkingly cute domesticity. All that said, I wasn’t wild about some of the darker themes it explored, even though it did a good job with them. And while the sides were adorable, they were underused. In the land of May/December, baby boy kabedon is my kryptonite! Why so little of it? (Kabedon is My Krytonite = also the name of my indie band’s first single.)

7 All the Liquors

Korea 2023 Viki & Gaga

8/10

A pretty classic foodie set KBL that managed to distinguish itself from others in this category by having a particularly satisfying final episode centered around found family. Sunshine sweetie soju rep gets involved with a shy introvert chef who doesn’t drink. This has a somewhat uneven plot and ridiculous central conceit (much in the way of Tasty Florida), but if you are looking for a restaurant BL with Korea’s signature softness, then this is a great option. FYI I may identify with our baby party boy hedonist more than any other BL lead ever presented.

8 Although I Love You and You - Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

Japan 2024 Gaga

8/10

The promise of this show, younger cook courts older divorced office worker, should have been my catnip. I mean if someone pitched this to me in an elevator I would have downloaded it by the second storey. Unfortunately, it did not exactly fulfil that promise, not in the way I'd hoped. Did I still enjoy the ride? Yes, but I feel a little let down.

9 Ocean Likes Me

Korea 2022 Viki https://www.viki.com/tv/38367c-ocean-likes-me

8/10

Stars Kpop’s best known out gay singer, Holland & Han Gi Chan (Where Your Eyes Linger). Noodle shop! Broken dreams! This is a solid little KBL, with a good premise and cast. Manic pixie dream boy can get old fast but when contrasted with awkward grumpy chef? It’s a tasty combo that elevates both ingredients. Holland is a charming screen presence - baby boy is HYPNotiC. And while I wasn’t entirely sold on the chemistry, these two did give us some very good kisses and sweet domesticity. I grinned through most episodes and I didn’t even mind the standard KBL 1 year separation at the end because it felt so true to the characters. Is this Korea's first out gay actor in a BL? I think it might be.

10 My Sweet Dear

Korea 2021 Viki

8/10

I liked this one a lot better than most. Strict professional rivals (chefs) in a very enemies to lovers BL - to the point where we mistrust the sincerity of the seme because he’s so very in it to win. I kinda like that, because kitchens are hotbeds of drama, and I like a seme with some sinister edge. But be warned, it means the whole romance comes off as a little disingenuous.

11 You Are Ma Boy

Vietnam 2021 YouTube

7/10

The leads in this drama crackle on screen together and I kinda adore them. No one has seen this BL, and you should really give it a try. Is there angst? Nope even what could have been angst (a gay idol) doesn’t materialize, it’s just cuties in a cafe confusing each other with cat & mouse games. The side het couple is a touch disturbing, tho.

12 My Lascivious Boss

Vietnam 2021 YouTube

7/10

While it did have pacing issues and some questionable content at the beginning, MLB’s unabashed queerness carried it though and ultimately elevated it with camp. It never felt like mockery or punching down, it felt joyful, and very new wave BL. It’s as if Vietnam is starting a process of handing out HEAs to all the letters of LGBTQ+ in BL style - I love this look for them.

13 Pure Vanilla

Singapore 2023 microfilm Gaga

7/10

It’s very sweet. Bit awkward acting. I love seeing real tats. I wish Singapore would give us a full proper BL.

14 La Cuisine

Thai 2022 Gaga

7/10

A sweet and somewhat pure show, and like the Thai desserts it features, perhaps requires too much patience for a layperson. Because of the pacing and the focus on a bad girl character, I did dock it. But if you like stuff in the Oxygen vein, then this show is for you, and far better than most Thai BL pulps. That said, I suspect that I enjoyed it more than many would.

15 My Universe - Lucky Love

Thai 2023 iQIYI

7/10

A boy suffering heartbreak is asked to look after a friend's restaurant, and meets a young chef whose food brings on a relationship. I enjoyed this 2 part installment, it’s a bit of a sad sack recovery SAGA, but the acting is genuine, the couple believable, and the story felt particularly queer to me. It was really quite charming.

16 Cooking Crush

Thai 2024 YouTube

7/10

1/3 of this is a sweet romance about a student doctor falling in love with a student chef, and the rest of it is utter dross. Look the OffGun bits were GREAT. In fact, I think they’re better AS A PAIR in this show than in any of their other BLs. And I'm a hard sell on any OffGun being better here than PickRome. Saying that, how can I review a show where I could only tolerate 1/3 of it? Because I didn’t like any other aspect of this show, no other pairs and no other plots. That gives me: 9/10 for the OffGun bits, 5/10 for everything else. Frankly, it probably should be an 8 but I gotta go with my gut and it's UPSET about this so 7/10. Sorry boys. It’s GMMTV’s fault. Your heart was in this show, mine wasn’t.

17 Love in Translation

Thai 2023 iQIYI

6/10

A sweet little pulp about a Thai boy with a crush on a Chinese influencer who ends up in a business relationship with her ex-bf. This show had truly great chemistry between the leads, cute found family with good rep, and an exciting (if silly) ending that almost, but didn't quite, make up for how incredibly annoying the main character was in the first half. Gotta say the make-out scene in the convenience store is one of the greatest in Thai BL history, but I can't like a show where I dislike the main character to such a degree, sorry DouOffroad I intend to enjoy your next offering.

18 Please Tell Me So

Korea 2021 microfilm YouTube

Cute barista (played by Han Hyun Jun star of Love Class) has a crush on his customer, musters up the courage to ask him out.

19 Love Advisor

Thai 2021 microfilm YouTube

6/10

Set in a cafe but not about cafe workers, this is an actor’s piece, more like a one act stage performance about friends to lovers and miscommunication.

20 VIP Only

Taiwan 2024 Gaga

6/10

A sweet if aimless story about a writer and a chef finding love via noodles, fake dating, and family challenges. If it had a tighter script and a shorter run, more like a KBL this might’ve been quite special. But it didn’t and it lost me too many times.

21 609 Bedtime Story

Thai 2023 WeTV

6/10

Okay it's sometiems set in a club but that's not really part of the... plot. An interesting time slip concept and a great set up ultimately disappointed. It opened strong, on one of my favourite under appreciated Thai actors: Plustor (as Vee) in a side bartender romance with younger bisexual king, Games. Unfortunately, it went downhill from there. OhmFluke’s solid chemistry and romantically soft kisses were ill served by a reformed rake meets rich-kid cheater pairing. While it was nice to see Ohm play a part with more animated facial expressions, his was the only character that remained consistent. All in all, this was a confusing show about disloyalty and parallel worlds that never made sense or stayed true to its characters. A promising start, confusing middle, and disappointing end. I don’t say this lightly, but Oh My Sunshine Night is better, and OhmFuke deserve better than either.

22 Bake Me Please

Thai 2023 Gaga

6/10

A lackluster story about a group of bakers coping with (mostly) a shoddy script that could not be saved by either the beauty nor the talent of the actors involved. It suffered for lack of narrative backbone and so did I.

23 Bite Me

Thai 2021 Viki

6/10 (yeah I'mm surprise too, I thought I gave this a 5)

Thailand gave us Korean style slowly simmering ultra soft and sweet BL only at a Thai length so the pacing was… not good. Slower than molasses and full of insane subtext, long gazes, missing dialogue, abrupt mood swings, and one very pretty kiss. It curdled around episode 8, the sauce split, and there was no saving it. It did have some of the best food porn I’ve seen in my life, and I watch cooking shows regularly. It was beautiful, the leads were decent, it should have right up my alley, and yet… it left me with a feeling of disaffected ennui - bland and boring and unsatisfying. 11 courses of tasty tasty pacing issues.

24 One Last Order

Korea 2019 microfilm Gaga

5/10

Extremely hot cafe customer has to figure out which of the cutie baristas has a crush on him and sends hime poetry.

25 Craving You

Taiwan 2020 Viki

5/10

Honestly, I haven't rewatched this since it aired and I maybe might cut it more slack now. About a jerk of a cook with a crush on a musician and having to make a cake for a gay wedding.

26 Coffee Melody

Thai 2022 Viki

5/10

Stars Pavel (my love) as a cafe owner (Forth in 2 Moons 2) and Benz as a composer (Call it What You Want). This should have been my kind of BL - on the fluffy end of the spectrum plus honestly queer. Unfortunately, the slow pacing, manufactured angst, odd secondary story arcs, and a selfishly immature unlikeable wet dishcloth main character, meant its flaws outweighed its charm. Jean (flame on snark fairy) is ME, I love him so much but in the end neither he nor Pavel in an apron could save this show for me. It’s not bad. It’s not good either. Ultimately so forgettable I’ve probably already forgotten it. There is also a Coffee Melody holiday special.

27 Evening Cafe

Thai 2021 YouTube

5/10

Cafe setting with no heat and no kisses (almost Chinese in this regard), but a decent lead pair. About a boy who works in a cafe and the new employee who has a crush on him. That’s it, whole story.

28 Love Area: Part 1

Thai 2021 Gaga

5/10

It ended on a cliffhanger and I'm still annoyed by it. But it is somewhat set at a restaurant.

29 Love Next Door 2

Thai 2014 Gaga

4/10

One of Thailand’s early very high heat pieces, it’s odd, but sexy I guess? Some unexpectedly decent queer rep at the cafe including femme characters getting screen time and HEAs. Part one from 2013 has the same high heat content and feature the same lead character (and actor) early on in his queer journey, discovering he is gay with the sex worker next door, but isn't as good nor is it relevant to this story. Which, unfortunately, also isn't very good.

30 The Promise

Thai 2023 WeTV

4/10

Although well acted this show dragged a too simple premise out into the ultimate manipulative miscommunication repeats of idiotic "why don’t you just TALK!?” Phu & Nan are childhood bffs through college (almost lovers) until Phu disappears. After looking/waiting for him, Nan gives up and self isolates, and the actual story takes place 10 years later. Phu’s “reason” and inability to say it out loud makes the whole show just frustrating, squandering good chemistry, and a stellar cast of multiple faen fatals (whose personalities would’ve made them better boyfriends). Seriously do not bother. What a damn waste of talent, time, and electronic bandwidth. Fatally flawed.

31 Love Area: Part 2

Thai 2022 Gaga

3/10

It wasn't as boring as Bite Me, but it wasn’t actually good, either. This started out as Thailand tackles love triangles pulp style, but in part 2 lockdown changed everything. Valen & Kaitoon dropped some great kisses but traded off crazy hair and makeup in a scene-by-scene whiplash that was clearly pickups done months after lockdown, and the second lead vanished. It was... surreal. Side dishes jumped up screen time but tackled mental health... badly. A fantastic new queer side character was randomly introduced, June, who was the best thing to happen to BL linguistics in 2022 but had nothing to do with the rest of the cast, show, or plot. What a mess. In the end, I didn’t know what I was watching, and neither did it.

32 Cafe In Love

Thai 2023 grey

3/10

A café setting featuring 3 couples with a great queer fam but held together by tropes and sexual-harassment, surrounded by dubious consent and statutory rape. Avoid.

33 I Am Your King 2

Thai 2019 grey

3/10

Early love triangle BL about a cafe boy caught between two brothers, mostly not good because the wrong brother wins. Has no connection to the original I Am Your King.

34 Senior Love Me

Thai 2023 YouTube

3/10

Pulp cafe, nothing happens, not even a BL

35 Jealousy is My Guest

Korea 2016 microfilm Gaga

2/10

Just very very odd and kinda deadly.

I also have 3 unrated DNFs in this sub genre:

Accomplishment of Fudanshi Bartender AKA Fudanshi Bartender no Tashinami - Japan 2022

My Story - Pinoy 2023

About Us but Not About Us 0 Pinoy 2022

Restaurant & beverage is my favourite possible setting for a BL. I'm extremely disappointed that the BL world hasn't produced more that I truly love. I'm not demanding 10/10 but I could use some 9/10s.

Side eyes Thailand and Japan.

(source)

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson's 35-hour marathons in Chile: the singer who revived pop fanaticism

Fans crowded at the airport, the hotel, the radio and the stadium; the four stops that the British artist had on his fleeting return to the country last April. On May 24, he returns to perform his fourth solo show after filling the Movistar Arena three times in 2022, and expectations are high. What does the artist have who came to think that he would be nothing without One Direction and today he moves masses? Those who witnessed his last visit decipher it.

By Dove Couple, 16 May 2024

If it weren't for the teenagers of the 60s, -in part- The Beatles would not be the legend they are today. That so-called "uncontrolled fanaticism" resulted in a single word: Beatlemania. The girls were called hysterical, however they were the first people to see the potential of John, Paul, George and Ringo.

FIRST STOP: SANTIAGO AIRPORT

On the night of April 3, the performer stepped on Chile for the third time, the first approach with his fans was at Santiago Airport, who waited anxiously for him after his flash visit was surprisingly confirmed to promote his May 24 show at the La Florida Bicentennial Stadium.

At 32 years old, the Briton already had experience in our territory, he had tried success in 2014, when he came as a member of One Direction with some very young Zayn, Liam, Harry and Niall. The group filled the National Stadium twice.

"Since their last three shows at Movistar Arena in 2022, the girls have been asking when the new tour begins, and the expectation is to see Louis' growth on stage," Rodrigo Ostolaza, Representative in Chile of the BMG label, and in charge of marketing and promotion, told La Cuarta.

Tomlinson greeted kindly those who were waiting for him, but visibly tired, he went straight to the Mandarin Hotel - where there was another group of young people shouting his name - that was his "home" for the about 35 hours he stayed in the country.

SECOND STOP: RADIO LOS40

The next day, he had scheduled a visit to Los40 radio, where he spoke live with the host Martina Orrego and answered the questions asked by the followers who won a contest to meet him. While others crowded on the outskirts of the Iberoamericana building.

"It was something that didn't happen a long time ago, but in a way I expected it, he is an artist who has an important fan, his audience has accompanied him in the development of his career, so I found it very exciting," Orrego confided to us.

The co-director of Los40 and creator of the program Mujeres Que Suenan, said that one of the most entertaining things "was to have the fans on the radio and that they could share more closely with him. It's something that happens so rarely and they were wonderful, they behaved super well."

THIRD STOP: HOTEL MANDARÍN

Back at the hotel, Louis had a press round with various media, including La Cuarta.

"What he provokes is something super unique and special, he is an artist very close to his fans and concerned about his environment, that the person who interviews him or talks to him is comfortable or comfortable," Rafaella Fornazzari, Media Manager of DG Media, in charge of the concert, told us.

The return of the star had the production company until the wee hours of the morning enlisting details. "Louis' visit was a nice challenge, it's been a long time since an international artist in this category came to promote a tour, we had to work together with the entire region where he will be performing with his 'Faith in the Future World Tour'," Rafaella added.

FOURTH STOP: BICENTENARY STADIUM

Indeed, his fleeting passage through South America included Brazil, Chile and Argentina; and in all these countries he visited the venues where he would appear. In which he took advantage of playing football for a while, recalling his past as a Doncaster Rovers footballer. And yes, he took the luxury of scoring a goal.

There he also had a meet and greet with followers, but the fans who were waiting outside the venue did not run with the same luck, they only saw him for a couple of seconds through the van that took him out of the place. Even so, they were happy.

THE SECRET OF SUCCESS

The expectations of the May 24 show are very high. "It comes with a new album and that immediately translates into a different show than those of 2022. In addition, it has the challenge of a larger capacity enclosure," Fornazzari revealed. "He is a very committed artist and involved with his career, he likes to deliver the best," he added.

For his part, Rodrigo Ostolaza hopes: "To see the Bicentennial Stadium full, he brought as a drag what was the One Direction phenomenon and those concerts they did at the National Stadium. It always moved a lot of people, and that lasted over time."

For Ostolaza, what happened in April reminded him of the visit to Chile of the RBD Mexicans, at the peak of his career: "We took them to Mekano and it was also crazy, a little what happened to Louis." Martina Orrego says that the effervescence that was lived can be assimilated to contemporary phenomena such as K-pop.

And the performer, who at some point thought he could not continue without One Direction, today has two successful albums - "Walls" and "Faith in the Future" - countless triumphs and a loyal community that he loves, protects and defends.

Unlike other singers, he does not charge for meet and greet, the events are always competitive, his lyrics go deep but he does not release so many commercial songs - as in his boyband time - that they can easily enter the radios, that's why the challenge of moving the masses is greater; on the other hand, fashion or social networks are not his strength, his thing is the live shows and the charts, where he goes up with his pop rock sound.

So, what is his secret? Beyond talent and charisma, he is a recognized worker, he finished a tour and immediately started another; and above all, he is close, simple and connected with people. Records sharing distly with your followers abound on the Internet.

"The successful boybands after a break have had their members as soloists. The 1Ds were the new generation of the good and beautiful that pop delivered, now Louis is the soloist who remains in contact with his fans," Fornazzari concluded.

Louis Tomlinson will perform at the La Florida Bicentennial Stadium on May 24. The latest tickets are still available through Ticketmaster.cl

[leviathan-supersystem]

@traveling-spartan @priveetru

gonna be responding to this in a separate post because i've already left two comments on the post this was in reply to and i suspect that the OP already would consider that two too many.

at any rate:

Government regulation causes monopolies more often than it combats them.

[...]

It's why big corps like Disney lobby for said regulation in the first place, it crushes all their smaller competitors for them.

for what it's worth the data doesn't seem to be backing this up. if both these claims were true, you'd expect to see a multitude of pieces of regulation that disney supported, and few if any pieces of regulation that disney opposed, but this quick overview of some of disney world's political spending on florida trend [x] doesn't show that. now admittedly this is just the partial info for the disney world division in florida specifically, and not a general overview of all their political spending, so if anyone has more complete data i'd be interested to hear it. that said, i think it's a decent slice of data to start with.

in fairness, here we can find one notable example of disney lobbying for regulation- namely when they funded efforts to support Amendment 3, which would have prevented any more large casino chains from opening in florida, so that disney world could avoid competing with major casino chains like Genting and Las Vegas Sands. and, to be fair, as noted in the article this was a pretty major driver of campaign spending.

however, A: this was primarily aimed at combating rival megacorps, not combating small businesses, (and naturally the casino megacorps disney was fighting were spending their lobbying money to combat said regulation) and B: this was the only time in the article we see disney fighting for regulation rather than against. examples in the article of disney lobbying against regulation include:

By virtue of its size and economic importance, Disney has always been an influential voice in state politics. But the company had found itself on the losing end in a series of lobbying battles — among them, a fight with the National Rifle Association about whether employees could bring guns to work.

this is an important example of how regulation of private enterprise is sometimes necessary to preserve our fundamental rights- if disney can say employees can't bring guns to work even if they keep them in their parked car, what's to stop landlords from saying tenets can't bring guns in their apartment? if you value the right to bear arms, you should understand why sometimes the power of private enterprise over employees and customers must sometimes be curbed.

Disney also battled with personal-injury attorneys about whether parents could sign away the liability rights of their children and with counties and hotel chains about how online travel companies should be taxed.

[...]

Disney’s 2018 spending included $1 million on Amendment 2, which keeps a tax cap in place that limits increases in the taxable value of commercial and other non-homestead property from rising more than 10% per year. Records show Disney was by far the largest donor to a Florida Chamber of Commerce-backed political committee used to promote the amendment. The cap saved Disney more than $6 million last year alone through reduced property tax payments to Orange County and the South Florida Water Management District.

[...]

As prominent as Disney has made itself on the campaign trail, lawmakers who have worked with the company say it still tries hard to maintain a low profile while lobbying — to avoid having its brand linked with potentially controversial public policies. Disney, for example, has exerted “significant influence” on the Legislature to not pass a law requiring employers to use the e-Verify system to ensure they aren’t employing undocumented workers, says former Senate President Don Gaetz, a Republican from Okaloosa County.

[...]

Cloaked or not, the company enjoyed a number of successes in the 2019 legislative session. Late in the session, as lawmakers finalized a broad tax package, Disney — working through the Florida Retail Federation — persuaded lawmakers to add an extra sales-tax break that will help big retailers who order too much inventory and wind up not selling it all. Retailers generally don’t have to pay sales tax when they order inventory because they are planning to resell it to consumers. The sale to consumers is the transaction that’s supposed to be taxed. But retailers must pay the tax on whatever they don’t sell, since they have become the end user of the product. Disney has for years donated its leftover inventory to charities. So the company persuaded the Legislature to create a sales tax exemption for the leftover inventory that goes to charity. Economists expect the new tax break will save retailers about $5 million a year. Disney won’t say how much it expects to save itself. Disney also worked quietly to reshape a bill, which it objected to in 2018, that would have exposed hotel operators to civil lawsuits if they failed to do enough to prevent human trafficking.

i'll leave it for the reader to consider why disney would want to combat regulation which might cause them to be held accountable for facilitating human trafficking.

Disney even won some changes in state rules for how tourist venues manage all the stuff — from hats to strollers to phones — that visitors lose or leave behind. Generally, businesses are supposed to alert law enforcement and must hold on to lost property for 90 days before they can dispose of it. But that has become cumbersome for Disney — and for Universal Orlando, Central Florida’s other big theme-park resort — which must devote lots of warehouse space simply to holding lost-and-found items. Disney helped write a bill establishing new rules for theme parks, hotels and some other commercial venues that requires them to hold the property for just 30 days and then donate it directly to charity.

looking outside the article to other examples of disney's political lobbying, we find them lobbying against minimum wage laws [x]

Five years ago, on Nov. 6, 2018, the city’s voters approved Measure L, which mandated that “area resort workers” — Disneyland employees, basically — must be paid a living wage if the parent company receives city subsidies. The Walt Disney Company, which at the time was paying some of its workers the state-mandated $11 an hour minimum, fought the measure bitterly, and the ordinance spent most of the next five years kicking around the state court system as a class-action lawsuit sought to force the company to comply. Only in late October, when the California Supreme Court declined to hear Disney’s final appeal, did Measure L become settled city law.

we can also find disney lobbying against heat safety regulations (and against raises to the minimum wage at the same time, a twofer) [x]

House Bill 433 prohibits local governments from passing legislation that protects workers from extreme heat and laws requiring companies to raise the minimum wage beyond the state’s current $12 an hour. But now, we’re learning more about how this bill was passed and the role that Disney World played in helping to remove basic protections from outdoor workers, including cast members. According to Jason Garcia of Seeking Rents, the Florida Chamber of Commerce and Associated Industries of Florida donated more than $2 million to mostly Republican legislatures and another $1 million to the Florida Republican Party. The two lobbying groups expected House Bill 433 to become law for those donations.

[...]

Local government officials in South Florida were considering passing heat protections after the death of migrant farm workers of heat stroke. These laws would have prohibited work in extreme Florida heat and mandatory water breaks for workers. The possibility of these laws stopping work became dangerous to businesses in Florida, which would have had to shut down in extreme heat. Thus, donations to politicians were made to get this bill passed.

[...]

The law was wildly unpopular, with hundreds of civic groups opposing it. That outrage nearly killed the bill. However, according to Garcia, with just one day left in the legislative session, lobbyists sent texts to lawmakers to ensure the bill’s passage.

so what can we see from all this? first, that there are more pieces of regulation that large businesses lobby against than regulations that they lobby for, so the claim that businesses are the primary force behind pushing regulation is patently false and B: when businesses do support regulation in order to pursue their financial interests, this is mainly in order to combat rival large corporations, not small businesses. because fundamentally large businesses don't have to worry that much about competition from small businesses, because fundamentally small businesses can't compete. a small business would have had to expand to the point of being a large corporation long before it would be something disney would have to worry about "competing" with instead of just buying out or ignoring entirely. you think that a megacorp like disney is worried about competition from a little mom and pop shop? get real.

Fines for breaking the rules, for example, always disproportionately affect small businesses where large corporations either have enough money to pay those fines and be unaffected by them, or have the legal teams to get around them.

a few responses to this. the first is, so what? laws against murder, rape, assault, etc are all easier for the rich to dodge, and yet we don't decide murder should be legal. the solution to that imbalance is to be more serious about holding rich people accountable for these crimes, or for fine-related punishment to scale the fine to income, not to get rid of the laws altogether. if a regulation outlaws genuinely abusive or harmful behavior from a company, the way that small companies can avoid that fine is by simply not engaging in abusive or harmful behavior.

secondly, plenty of regulations nonetheless have specific exemptions for small businesses anyway. for example

In general, if your business is under $50 million in annual sales and your fuel or additive has traditional chemistry, then you are exempt from the health effects testing requirements. If you have non-traditional chemistry and are under $10 million in annual sales, you are exempt from some of the testing. EPA staff can discuss testing requirements.

[x]

or for another example:

The Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act requires packaged foods and dietary supplements to bear nutrition labeling unless they qualify for an exemption (A complete description of the requirements). One exemption, for low-volume products, applies if the person claiming the exemption employs fewer than an average of 100 full-time equivalent employees and fewer than 100,000 units of that product are sold in the United States in a 12-month period. To qualify for this exemption the person must file a notice annually with FDA. Note that low volume products that bear nutrition claims do not qualify for an exemption of this type. Another type of exemption applies to retailers with annual gross sales of not more than $500,000, or with annual gross sales of foods or dietary supplements to consumers of not more than $50,000. For these exemptions, a notice does not need to be filed with the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). On May 7, 2007, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) launched a new web-based submission process for small businesses to file an annual notice of exemption from the nutrition labeling requirements. The new process will make it easier for businesses to update their information. In addition, firms eligible for the exemption will receive an electronic reminder when it is time to resubmit their nutrition labeling small business exemption notice.

[x]

or yet another:

Manufacturers of consumer products covered by the Department of Energy (DOE) standards with annual gross revenues not exceeding $8 million from all its operations, including the manufacture and sale of covered products, for the 12-month period preceding the date of application, may apply for a temporary exemption from all or part of an energy or water conservation standard. (42 U.S.C. 6295 (t))

[x]

so, no, regulations are not a sinister trick of large corporations to crush small business, because if they were they wouldn't specifically exempt small businesses.

does this mean that @priveetru was right? are regulations an important part of maintaining ideal market conditions and thus creating Real Capitalism, which is Good?

also no.

first, it's all "real capitalism". more regulated, less regulated, it's still Real Capitalism. and as demonstrated by the things going on around us, right now, real capitalism is Bad.

as @traveling-spartan pointed out, large corporations can simply afford to pay or dodge any fees for breaking regulation (though overall they would prefer not to have to, hence why they usually fight against regulation) and small businesses are often exempt from regulations in the first place. so who do regulations actually prevent from economic malfeasance?

nobody. not a soul. they're a completely ineffective bandaid on a bazooka wound which accomplishes nothing.

regulated or unregulated, all market economies tend towards consolidation. on a long enough timeline, all small businesses either are successful enough to become large businesses, are unsuccessful enough to go out of business, or are average enough to get bought out. it's an inevitable part of capitalism as it actually exists, and no matter what fantasy you chase after of a hypothetical, imaginary, impossible "real" capitalism, whether this fantasy is laissez-faire or tightly regulated, you will never escape that reality.

if you want to solve the problem, you can't keep chasing after an imaginary "real capitalism". instead you need to move past capitalism altogether. if you want to address the fact that bill gates and other billionaires are monopolizing farmland and therefore gaining control over our very subsistence, the solution to that isn't to sit around praying to the invisible hand of the free market to save us, and it's also not begging and pleading the existing bourgeoisie state to Le Heckin Tax The Billionaires. the real solution is for regular working class people like us to rise up and take back what is rightfully ours, and create a new state that actually serves the needs of the working people and not just the owning class.

[thatrickmcginnis]

SAM RIVERS, Toronto 1989

That Sam Rivers was born just over a hundred years ago is a reminder that the avant-garde tradition in jazz is an old one. The son of a gospel singer, the Oklahoma-born Rivers moved to Boston where he studied at the Conservatory, which helped build his command of music theory and composition that would make him stand out in his career. Briefly a member of Miles' Davis legendary quintet, he recorded his first album for Blue Note Records in 1964, working as a sideman on albums by Blue Note artists such as Tony Williams, Andrew Hill and Larry Young. His work would often straddle bebop and free jazz, and he would perform and record with influential artists such as Anthony Braxton, Dave Holland and Cecil Taylor. In the '70s he and his wife Beatrice opened their NYC loft to performances, and Studio Rivbea became the most famous of the venues in the city's "loft scene".

I met and photographed saxophonist and flautist Sam Rivers when he came through town with Dizzy Gillespie's Big Band - the trumpeter hadn't been part of the jazz avant-garde for many years, but he frequently hired musicians like Rivers for his band. (Latin jazz trumpet star Arturo Sandoval was also in Gillespie's band when I saw them at Berlin, a club in midtown Toronto.) The perk with playing with Gillespie is that touring conditions were more than decent, and after I talked Rivers into doing a shoot with me, he told me to meet him at the old Sutton Place, a luxury hotel downtown where I did a lot of shooting, as it was the home of the film festival and frequently used to put up big stars by the movie and record companies.

I found a decent spot for my shoot with Sam Rivers in the mezzanine lobby of the Sutton Place, where an antique couch had been placed in front of a big tapestry. (The spot would become a favorite one for shoots.) The light wasn't brilliant but I put high speed Kodak film in my camera and managed to elicit a good range of expressions from Rivers as I coaxed him through our brief but - in hindsight - very productive portrait session. My live photos of Rivers playing in Dizzy Gillespie's band weren't as successful, as the spotlights were mostly on Dizzy and Rivers stuck to his spot downstage from the bebop star. Rivers and his wife moved their Studio Rivbea performing space to Florida in the '90s, where he was able to put together a larger band, and his private recordings have been mined to produce a series of records documenting his work at Studio Rivbea. Sam Rivers died of pneumonia in Florida in December of 2011.

[deke-rivers-1957]

Mike Windgren's Rank

Disclaimer: For my tier list I’m basing this off of a one on one fight with no weapons and no outside interference. If a character has to rely on a weapon they’re ranked lower. If a character has to fight more than one person at a time, I’d look at it on a case by case basis. Age, size and general background are factors that will be taken into consideration. Since a lot of those details are going to be up to interpretation as these are characters and not real people, feel free to share your own thoughts.

There are some context clues we get about when this movie takes place. For instance there's the fact that Mike's parents live in Tampa, Florida. Tampa experienced a significant amount of growth in both population and economically between the 1950s-1960s. Acapulco also experienced a significant amount of growth to the point where foreign countries started investing into the city. With a rise in tourism, Acapulco had the ability to invest in fancy hotels and beach resorts. And then there's the circus including the flying trapeze. While circuses that heavily involved animal acts and "freak shows" were starting to decrease in popularity, family owned circuses still had success by focusing on human performances like acrobatic stunts in the 1960s. What causes me to think this is late 1962/early 1963 is the small pink Jeep toy on the receptionist's desk. That toy was made by Tonka and was released in 1962. Since Tonka was an American company it isn't hard to assume it took some time for Mexico to have them.

Even though Mike is clearly old enough to legally buy alcohol and work out of the country, we don't have that many clues on his age. We can only guess based the physical prowess that's necessary for a trapeze act. While it isn't out of the question for middle aged trapeze artists to exist, it's not a secret that being a professional trapeze artist is age-sensitive. It's also been shown by scientific studies and by sports statistics that athletic performance in men tend to decrease once they're past 30. Since Mike's accident involving the death of his brother was never labeled as an age related issue, we can assume that Mike is below the age of 30. Mike having to physically hold the weight of another grown man with just his wrists means he's essentially a powerlifter which requires a combination of elastic yet well developed muscles and tendons. This is why at an Olympic level athletes hit their peak at 25. Given that Elvis himself was 28 at the time of filming, we can assume Mike is that age as well since he would still be in his peak years.

This is actually a great example of a fight that fits into the rules I established above. Mike threw a punch and Moreno reacted with a punch in return. No one interfered and no one used a weapon. We actually get a clear winner because Mike managed to cause Moreno a significant injury that made him unable to fight. It's actually realistic for Moreno to break something in his forearm due to the fall after being knocked over a set of furniture. Even though he was falling at a weird angle, he would still have that instinct most if not all humans have to use his hands to brace his fall which would therefore increase the risk of forearm/wrist injuries.

You can assume Mike and Moreno are equal since a diver has to be a strong swimmer and climber. Since Mike was able to win fair and square, this would give him a showing. I say fair and square because Moreno had just as much of a chance to injure Mike under the same circumstances.

Mike's physical appearance indicates that he has well formed, lean muscles in his arms. If he has the strength to consistently support the weight of a fully grown man with really nothing but his arms, he must be strong. However, in his only fight against Moreno he basically won because of luck. Moreno is basically a strong, yet otherwise average man.

Because I consider them to be evenly matched, that would mean Mike is also a strong, yet otherwise average man. Can he win fights against stronger opponents? Possibly since again, anyone can get a lucky hit in regardless of their actual skill level. Therefore, I would put him in B tier since we have no canon information to suggest he has the professional military or fight training characters in A tier would.

Tagging: @butler-trouble, @eapep, @elvismylove04, @somethingaboutelvis, @ssinnerplazahotel,

@callieselvisobsessed and @theelvisprincess.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

If you were offered the same job, like hotel registration in general, but as far away from Florida as possible, would you take it?

If by "as far away" you mean "on Earth," then no, because I rather like living on land instead of at sea 1000 miles off the coast of Perth, Australia.

Honest answer, maybe. I don't think I could ever work for a big chain, because I hate company culture so fucking much. I have a lot of freedom at the little Mom and Pop motel I work at now, and I'd have to give that up if I got a job at a Marriott or Holiday Inn. The job itself is easy, it's just the clientele I hate with a burnimg passion; check out my tag "all tourists are bastards" for the greatest hits.

My boss doesn't care what I do or say as long as I get the job done. No uniform, no fake smile, no manager breathing down my neck. She understands that the customer is often wrong, and doesn't take shit from anyone. If someone complains about something beyond our control, she takes my side and tells them to suck it up or leave.

The absolute greatest part about my current job is that I'm not expected to do anything between customers. Sure, every now and then my boss will give me chores, but that only happens as they're needed

If FedEx drops off a package for a customer, I walk it to their room

If a customer smears their sweaty hands all over the office door, I clean it

If the brochure display runs low, I fill it

But that's all just part of the job. My boss never just finds shit for me to do to fill time. If there's nothing to do, I can go on my phone or read a book or draw, and she doesn't care. I have plenty of downtime, and it does wonders for my mental health. No other hotel on Earth would allow me such a privilege because most front desks are in a public communal area where I'd have to put on my Customer Service Face™ at all times, while the office door at my current job is locked 24/7 with a big neon PLEASE RING DOORBELL FOR SERVICE sign hung up at eye level. I don't have to stand all day, I only have to get up when they buzz so I can open the door for them from the inside. There's no stool at the desk, I stand for every customer, but once they leave I can go to the back room and sit in a recliner (though I'm not allowed to recline it; still comfy)

No Best Western manager would ever let me cuss out a customer who started shit. My boss lets me defend myself, and I appreciate that more than anything. Customers are liars, and she knows it. I love, love, LOVE when they start arguing with me and ask to speak with my manager, only for her to tell them exactly what I did, verbatim. Hell, it's gotten to the point that I offer to get her involved from the start, "oh, you don't like what I telling you? Do you want to speak with my boss, the owner?" We don't need their business, this place has been a community cornerstone for decades, no amount of entitled asshole reviews will ever tank it.

If I could find a nice Mom and Pop place somewhere up north, and if I could establish a mutually respectful relationship with the owner, I'd take the job in a heartbeat, but every time I google a state I want to move to I get met with dozens of horror stories telling me that it's not all it's cracked up to be. Everyone hates where they live, that's a given, but to someone living in Weimar Germany (almost Nazi), those places look like paradise in comparison. Oregon, Washington state, Vermont, Massachusetts, they seem like beacons of hope to lil ole naive me. Ideally I want to move to New Zealand, but that's beyond my budget (and probably always will be). Nowhere is safe from crazy, but some places are more tolerable.

[piratical-princess]

This is just personal whining but I need to let some stuff out.

Our house slowly flooded because the previous owners installed a pipe wrong. Mold everywhere. Now our bedroom floor is gone, bathroom is gone, kitchen is gone. Everything is in boxes. Luckily, insurance is helping pay, but I am the one who deals with them so it's on me to make the phone calls and send the emails and take photos of everything and make sure the contractors are on board and schedule appointments. Meanwhile, we are both using the Murder Bathroom, so named because it looks like a prison cell only much much much smaller, and there is no sink so we are washing hands and dishes in the shower. The gent doing the rebuilding on our house just told us he couldn't start work till the insurance company sends him payment, which could take two weeks, and then it's two weeks for him to get the work done, give or take. My baby is due in seven weeks.

Also, being pregnant, I'm fighting every day with my shitty health insurance company, and my doctor's office who does not want to work with my insurance company, and trying to get my application for Medicaid to go through but they are making me jump through every hoop, be on hold for hours, go to local offices and wait as their system crashes, accuse me of not reporting my pregnancy on the application because they simply didn't read it, then gave me forms for my employer to fill out which, because my employer is a paranoid lunatic, he is reading every line with his lawyer a hundred times before he will sign something as simple as a form proving that I am employed, and acknowledging that I soon will not be.

And speaking of my employer, because he is a sexist dick, he will not provide maternity leave, and when I told him I was pregnant his first response was that I should look for a different job before I start to show, even though I have been faithfully working for him for five and a half years. Then, he began fighting with me because he wanted to add a bunch of physical labor heavy shit to my duties and I told him I can't because, you know, pregnant, and he accused me of coasting because he simply did not want to hire anyone to replace our last kennel tech and expected me to pick it up in spite of having my manager duties and being super hugely pregnant, so now it's just a given that I will not be returning to work once I have the baby.

On top of all that, I have gestational diabetes due to this baby, so I can't eat any sugars or breads or pastas but because of other pregnancy risks I also can't eat lunchmeat or beef or eggs that isn't cooked to death or anything else I can think of besides carrots and lettuce, but because I don't have a kitchen, I can't cook or prep anything healthy. I also have carpal tunnel in both wrists, also pregnancy related, and can't pick up so much as my dumb cat without shooting pain. Then there's the pain from standing, and also the pain from sitting, but I can't lie down too much either.

And - which should be good news - I was accepted into the largest comic convention in Florida that should hopefully bring in a good amount of money to help with the joblessness and the baby, but it is HUGE, busy, at a venue two hours away, and mere weeks before my due date, so now I have to book a hotel, go through the box city that is our house to get all my art stuff ready to go, research hospitals near the convention center in case the kid comes unexpectedly, and order hundreds of dollars in supplies.

Oh and my bank account got hacked into for the third time.

If anyone read all this, thank you and I'm sorry. It just helps to write it all out. I just want to be excited to have a baby, and spend time getting ready to have him in our lives, but our lives have been such a gigantic screaming mess. I have never been so stressed. Sometimes I do not have it in me to be a sturdy oak tree.

[newstfionline]

Friday, May 26, 2023

Expect big crowds for the summer travel season—and big prices, too (AP) The unofficial start of the summer travel season is here. The number of people going through U.S. airports hit pandemic-era highs last weekend, and those records are almost certain to be broken over the Memorial Day holiday. AAA predicts that 37 million Americans will drive at least 50 miles (80 kilometers) from home this weekend, an increase of more than 2 million from Memorial Day last year. With more travel comes more expense. The average rate for a U.S. hotel room last week was $157 a night, up from $150 in the same week last year, according to hotel data provider STR. And the average daily rate for other short-term rentals such as Airbnb and Vrbo rose to $316 last month, up 1.4% from a year ago, according to AirDNA, which tracks the industry.

DeSantis Declares (1440) Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis (R) made his long-anticipated jump into the 2024 presidential race yesterday, making the announcement in a livestreamed conversation with Twitter CEO Elon Musk. DeSantis has positioned his campaign as focused on conservative populism with an emphasis on effective governing and joins a field of seven other candidates seeking the Republican nomination.

ChatGPT maker OpenAI calls for AI regulation, warning of ‘existential risk’ (Washington Post) The leaders of OpenAI, the creator of viral chatbot ChatGPT, are calling for the regulation of “superintelligence” and artificial intelligence systems, suggesting an equivalent to the world’s nuclear watchdog would help reduce the “existential risk” posed by the technology. In a statement published on the company website this week, co-founders Greg Brockman and Ilya Sutskever, as well as CEO Sam Altman, argued that an international regulator would eventually become necessary to “inspect systems, require audits, test for compliance with safety standards, (and) place restrictions on degrees of deployment and levels of security.” They made a comparison with nuclear energy as another example of a technology with the “possibility of existential risk,” raising the need for an authority similar in nature to the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), the world’s nuclear watchdog. The OpenAI team wrote, “In terms of both potential upsides and downsides, superintelligence will be more powerful than other technologies humanity has had to contend with in the past. We can have a dramatically more prosperous future; but we have to manage risk to get there.”

Fuel shortages slam Cuba’s countryside (AP) Rosa López, a 59-year-old housewife, lit a charcoal stove to boil sweet potatoes and prepare scrambled eggs for her grandchildren. The gas cylinders she normally uses to cook her meals have not been available for almost two months in Mariel, a port town west of Havana. Not far from there, on the highway to Pinar del Río and under a scorching sun, Ramón Victores spent one week waiting in line at a gas station, hoping to fuel up the 1952 red Chevrolet he uses for work, moving produce from one town to another. Cuba’s most recent fuel shortage has crippled an already fragile economy, but it is hitting rural villages particularly hard, with residents resorting to coal fires to cook their food, scrambling to find transport to take them to work and spending days—and nights—at the gas station waiting to fuel up. With food and medications already in short supply amid an economy that was severely hurt by the COVID-19 pandemic, the end of the country’s two-currency system and a tightening of U.S. sanctions, the lack of fuel and cooking gas is perceived by many Cubans in the island’s countryside as the last straw.

As Protesters Die, a Nation’s Security Forces Face Little Scrutiny (NYT) In the adobe house she built with her husband in a small village in Peru, Antonia Huillca pulled out a stack of documents that once represented a glimmer of hope. They were part of an investigation into the death of her husband, Quintino Cereceda, who left one morning in 2016 to join a protest against a new copper mine and never returned. Ms. Huillca can’t read, but she can identify a photo of her husband’s body, a bullet wound to his forehead; the question-and-answer format in which police officers describe firing live ammunition as protesters threw rocks; the logo of the mining company sending convoys of trucks over unpaved roads, sparking protests among villagers fed up with the dust. But today, the investigation has gone cold. “All these years and no justice,” Ms. Huillca, a 51-year-old Quechua farmer, said. “It’s as if we don’t exist.” For years, scores of similar cases in Peru have met a familiar fate: Investigations into the killing of unarmed civilians at protests where security forces were deployed, most of them in poor Indigenous and rural areas, are opened when they attract headlines, only to be closed quietly later, with officials often citing a lack of evidence. Now, the unusually high death toll during antigovernment demonstrations after the removal of the country’s president last year has put accusations of abuse by security officials in the global spotlight, raising questions about why so many previous killings remain unsolved.

Immigration to Britain reaches record high in 2022 (AP) The number of people moving to Britain reached a record high of more than 600,000 in 2022, government figures showed Thursday. The statistics office said the record level was due to a “series of unprecedented world events throughout 2022 and the lifting of restrictions following the coronavirus pandemic.” As well as people coming to Britain to work, the figure includes tens of thousands of international students and almost 200,000 people who have arrived under special programs for people fleeing war in Ukraine and China’s clampdown in Hong Kong. The high figure will renew debate about Britain’s departure from the European Union, which was motivated in part by the arrival of hundreds of thousands of people from across Europe in the years before the 2016 Brexit referendum.

Europe Faces a Food Shock (WSJ) Fresh out of an energy crisis, Europeans are facing a food-price explosion that is changing diets and forcing consumers across the region to tighten their belts—literally. This is happening even though inflation as a whole is falling thanks to lower energy prices. New data on Wednesday showed inflation in the U.K. fell sharply in April as energy prices cooled, following a similar pattern around Europe and in the U.S. But food prices were 19.3% higher than a year earlier. The continued surge in food prices has caught central bankers off guard and pressured governments to come to the rescue.

Prigozhin’s warning (Washington Post) Fresh off his claim of victory in capturing the Ukrainian city of Bakhmut, Russian mercenary boss Yevgeniy Prigozhin warned that Moscow’s brutal war could plunge Russia into turmoil similar to the 1917 revolution unless its detached, wealthy elite become more directly committed to the conflict. In a lengthy interview with Konstantin Dolgov, a political operative and pro-war blogger, Prigozhin, the founder and leader of the Wagner mercenary group, also asserted that the war had backfired spectacularly by failing to “demilitarize” Ukraine, one of President Vladimir Putin’s stated aims of the invasion. He also called for totalitarian policies. “We are in a situation where we can simply lose Russia,” Prigozhin said, using an expletive to hammer his point. “We must introduce martial law. We unfortunately … must announce new waves of mobilization; we must put everyone who is capable to work on increasing the production of ammunition,” he said. “Russia needs to live like North Korea for a few years, so to say, close the borders … and work hard.” Instead of demilitarization, he said, the invasion turned “Ukraine’s army into one of the most powerful in the world” and Ukrainians into “a nation known to the entire world.”

Turkish voters weigh final decision on next president (AP) Two opposing visions for Turkey’s future are on the ballot when voters return to the polls Sunday for a runoff presidential election that will decide between an increasingly authoritarian incumbent and a challenger who has pledged to restore democracy. President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, a populist and polarizing leader who has ruled Turkey for 20 years, is well positioned to win after falling just short of victory in the first round of balloting on May 14. He was the top finisher even as the country reels from sky-high inflation and the effects of a devastating earthquake in February. Kemal Kilicdaroglu, the leader of Turkey’s pro-secular main opposition party and a six-party alliance, has campaigned on a promise to undo Erdogan’s authoritarian tilt. The 74-year-old former bureaucrat has described the runoff as a referendum on the direction of the strategically located NATO country, which is at the crossroads of Europe and Asia and has a key say over the alliance’s expansion. “This is an existential struggle. Turkey will either be dragged into darkness or light,” Kilicdaroglu said. “This is more than an election. It has turned into a referendum.”

Beijing can’t take a joke (Foreign Policy) A Chinese comedian’s mild joke about the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) last week led to a $1.9 million fine for his entertainment company. Li Haoshi, a stand-up comedian known as “House” onstage, joked that watching his dogs chase a squirrel reminded him of the PLA slogan “Fight to win!” Beijing authorities intervened after audio was shared on social media, fining the company that represents Li and confiscating the profits of weekend shows. Li is now under investigation for insulting the PLA and causing “bad social impact.” Around the same time, China suspended the Weibo and Bilibili accounts of a popular British Malaysian comedian after he made a joke about Chinese surveillance. One of the reasons that Chinese censorship has become so petty is that years of crackdowns under Xi quashed most dissident content years ago. The authorities must now go after the inconsequential to justify their own existence.

South Korea, US troops to hold massive live-fire drills near border with North Korea (AP) The South Korean and U.S. militaries were set to begin massive live-fire drills near the border with North Korea on Thursday, despite the North’s warning that it won’t tolerate what it calls such a hostile invasion rehearsal on its doorstep. Thursday’s drills, the first of the allies’ five rounds of firing exercises until mid-June, mark 70 years since the establishment of the military alliance between Seoul and Washington. North Korea has typically reacted to such major South Korean-U.S. exercises with missile and other weapons tests. Since the start of 2022, North Korea has test-launched more than 100 missiles but none since it fired a solid-fuel intercontinental ballistic missile in mid-April. North Korea has argued its torrid pace of tests was meant to respond to the expanded military drills between the U.S. and South Korea, but observers say the North aims to advance its weapons development then wrest greater concessions from its rivals in eventual diplomacy.

What about those who can’t flee fighting in Sudan? (AP) Mahmoud almost never leaves his small apartment in east Khartoum. Electricity has been out for most of the past month, so he swelters in the summer heat. When he does venture out to find food, he leaves his mobile phone behind because of looters in the street. Otherwise, he hunkers down in fear, worried that an artillery shell could burst into his home. Since the conflict broke out last month, more than 1.3 million people have fled their homes to escape Sudan’s fighting, going elsewhere in the country or across the borders. But Mahmoud and millions of others remain trapped in Khartoum and its sister cities of Bahri and Omdurman, unable to leave the central battleground between Sudan’s military and the Rapid Support Forces paramilitary. For them, every day is a struggle to find food, get water and charge their phones when electricity is cut off. All the while, they must avoid the fighters and criminals in the streets who rob and brutalize pedestrians, loot shops and storm into homes to steal whatever of value they can find.

Paralysis Breakthrough (1440) Swiss neuroscientists have successfully utilized a brain-spine interface to enable a paralyzed man to walk using his thoughts, according to a study released yesterday. The breakthrough development expands on recent innovations using spinal implants to generate movement in patients with immobilizing spinal injuries. Gert-Jan Oskam, a Dutch 40-year-old who was paralyzed 12 years ago, received two brain implants and one on his spine, creating a so-called “digital bridge” across the injured nerves. A portable computer decodes his brain’s electrical signals and relays them to a spinal pulse generator, resulting in the perception that his lower body movements are voluntary. Combined with regular therapy, the procedure allows Oskam to walk and climb stairs with a natural gait aided by a walker, at times without the digital bridge activated. The procedure further opens the possibility for victims of paralysis to regain control of their legs, with researchers hoping to reduce the size and invasiveness of the implants.

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

Things I have seen via SM in Florida:

All of the plane tickets have been jacked up to an insane degree

Same with all AirBnBs where the evacuated people are going. No word on hotels & motels but a lot are probs prebooked & the rest are probably expensive af

Forget public transport, the US has shit PT as it is but if you manage to get on a bus out it'd probs be 1 backpack & no animals allowed.

No petrol anywhere. If your car needs gas, you're fucked it doesn't matter how rich you are no one has any.

Minimum 4 hour traffic jams of people who can leave. Probably averaging about an extra 6 hours to get away

Companies telling their workers if they're not at work they're fired. & cuz this is the US that means no healthcare, & probs getting stiffed on the last pay cheque as well.

Things I know about evacuations in general:

There are disabled people who physically cannot leave their own homes & haven't in years.

Many ways to evacuate force you to leave pets at home no matter how small the animal is. I'm already seeing people online seeing videos of animals being found after the waters receed & shaming the people who left their pets not even asking if they had a choice (or even if the person stayed w their animal & is now dead)

Many people simply do not have access to any way to evacuate. No car? No access to a car? Youre fucked.

I'm not in the path of any hurricanes but I am in a country that suffers from both insane wildfires & floods & need to have a plan to evacuate.

I'm lucky that I have a car, I can drive. 3 of the 5 people in my house have cars. We also have 2 cats. But because we have cars we can load everyone up & then just drive until we can come back.

Lots of people are not so lucky.

We do have a reasonable public transport system but you can't bring pets on the bus.

& if the trains are down (which could happen with the danger of fires) then you might not be able to bring pets.

The governments need to set up a system to help their people. It shouldn't be on the individual to try & get themself out cuz that's how we get the 4-8 hour traffic jams.

Imagine if all those cars could be replaced by government issues buses?

This week it is Florida, but the same applies.