#used concession trailers
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When you are buying a New And Used Concession Trailers you have to be careful with the cost of it. In some of the places, there won’t be any additional features in it and they will say you high money. Before you make the final decision take a survey about the ability of the truck and then you can purchase them.
Visit- https://customconcessions.net/about/
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fragile concessions
you don't mind leaving Eddie to his devices in your bedroom as you shower, you don't mind even more when you catch him taking advantage of the opportunity. [masterlist]
pairing: eddie munson x f!reader
tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, voyeurism, pillow humping, invasion of privacy, friends to lovers, handjobs, blowjobs, facesitting, mutual masturbation, light backstory aka porn w some plot, fluffy ending
word count: 4.2k+
a/n: yeah yeah i know i've been gone a long time. hope y'all like this <3
Rifling through your dresser, you’re startled by a knock at the window. You bring the sweater in your hands to your chest instinctively, and step backward as you look through the glass.
Black leather and ring clad hands wiggling a ‘hello’ from outside are more than enough to calm your nerves.
“Morning, Eddie. You’re way early.” You push the curtain out of the way, muscling the old pane open, “Why didn’t you use the front door?”
“I knocked!” He grunts as he climbs over the ledge, clamoring for your forearm when he loses balance.
Your nails sink into the leather sleeve of his jacket, and you cock your head, “You did?”
He looks up at you with a smile, brushing his wrinkled shirt, “No. Just wanted to see your bedroom. You never let me in here I—wow.” He reaches out for the chiffon fabric of your canopy bed, pointing at the cushion of pillows at the head, “Feel like I’m in a palace. Silk pillowcases? Classy.”
The sweater knots into your arms as you cross them, “Weirdo.”
Leaving him to wander, you pull a fresh towel from the hall closet, yelling back, “Well, get comfortable. I still have to shower.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.”
You linger by the adjacent bathroom door, looking halfway over your shoulder to watch him explore.
Eddie runs his knuckles over your belongings like they’re the most delicate objects in the world. Grazing over the rim of dust on your dresser’s edge, he scrapes it off on his jacket with a touch closer to his typical gentility.
He threads the loose corner of your pillow through his fingers, and hops backward onto the comforter, settling into the mattress with a familiarity you aren’t sure he’d earned.
You yell again from the bathroom, door half cracked, “I just washed those.”
He adjusts his legs to hang off the bed, kicking his old sneakers onto the shag rug, “My apologies.” Grabbing a spare pillow to hold over his stomach, he’s half sat up against your headboard, tapping his fingers on the silk.
You can hear him humming from your room as you shower. The softness in his voice when he thinks you can’t hear him always makes you smile. His kindness had a bite to it; if you asked for the shirt off his back, he’d throw it at you.
Sometimes you like to watch him when he thinks he’s safe to shuck off his harsh, protective cloak and just be Eddie. The Eddie that leaves out a can of tuna by the trash for the trailer park cats, or carries the neighbor’s wandering toddler home on his shoulders. These little concessions towards fragility—like the soft hums with your silk pillow in his lap—remind you why he’s in your life.
The bathroom clouds with steam while you settle into the hot water, humming along to his voice, reaching blindly for the shampoo. You shake the bottle over your head and squeeze, only to be hit with a puff of air and a few pathetic pearls of lather. It isn’t even worth it to scrub the remnants in, and you pop out of the shower with a groan, tossing the empty bottle into the sink.
If Eddie were to try and sneak a peek right now, the thick, fluorescent steam would ruin his show. Still, you pull on the robe hanging behind the door. You’re sure you bought new shampoo, sure it must be under the sink, but you freeze before you can even take a look in the cabinet, half kneeling with your fingertips wedged against the wood.
It’s silent in your bedroom.
Eddie’s no longer humming, and when you turn on your toes to peek beyond the door you can just see his silhouette behind the thin canopy.
He’s on your bed as before, pillow over his lap, but now his hips rock up, knuckles white in the silk case.
The cabinet door slips from your fingers, clapping shut, stopping Eddie in his tracks.
He looks to the bathroom, and you dart behind the door.
“You okay?” He yells, obvious strain cut with even more obvious panic.
“Fine! Almost dropped the shampoo!” You shout back, sitting down on the edge of the tub, wringing the string of your robe between your fingers.
You don’t know if you want to look again.
Eddie was always over familiar. Always controlling the situation, the ringleader who branded his group with every rough touch. Fingers hard on your neck, a peanut flicked your way at the bar, judgment in his smile.
All this to keep you—and everyone else—at arm’s length. The clothes, the hair, the rings, they did enough to keep most people away. But the ones who looked past that, they got the neurosis and informality. You know him more than he thinks, more than he allows, and you aren’t against taking that initiative.
Of course you want to look.
This is far deeper than you ever thought you’d get.
Slipping off the edge of the tub, you crawl over to the door, inhaling a big breath of steam, robe damp and sticking to your body.
You feel safe enough sitting on your knees to watch him, enough layers of steam and fabric and poor vision between you and him to keep this mutual intrusion a secret. If you were to argue it, Eddie using your pillow to get off is probably a bigger invasion than you watching him do it, but the shame was the same.
One hand presses the pillow into his pelvis, the other pets along the grain of the smooth fabric, fingers touching down one after the other.
Sometimes Eddie taps you on the head with a ringed knuckle when you’re being smart. This feels like the gentle variant of that.
Though his lips are parted, you can’t hear anything outside the hammer of the shower. A playback of all his dramatic grunts and scoffs loops in your head instead, and you see the way his Adam's apple thrums in his throat with every note of pleasure.
It’s easy to piece together the way he could look behind that hazy chiffon, his chest rising and falling, slow to combat the noise he wants to make. The knee hanging off the bed just peeks out of the canopy, and he pushes up against your pillow using a firmly planted foot. You know the way his tendons move in his hand as he grabs tighter, presses harder.
You make up the sound of his zipper sleeves against the pillow, a soft kind of scratching that could catch at any moment. If you hadn’t seen him now, you would’ve blamed him for being so careless with your stuff later. His name would’ve been the first in your head when you noticed the imperfection.
But everything about right now is perfect.
You can’t say there’s an established attraction, exactly. A curiosity, sure, little question marks in your head every time he calls you pretty with that surface grin. Maybe a dream or two in the years you’ve known him, dreams where he pulled you in from arm’s length. Not romantic, never that, but close and real and earnest.
If this is the closest you get—a voyeur to your own invasion—then you’ll take it for all it’s worth. At least you know he really thinks you’re pretty.
You sit in stunned silence for a minute more before new movement startles you back behind the door, and when you peek again, Eddie has both feet on the bed, his knees pulled toward him, thrusting up harder against the pillow. It’s still slow, but he’s sunken into the deep plush of your comforter, hair blanketing his head. His features are distinct enough, the curve of his open mouth, the valley of his throat, you can carve expressions from familiar topography.
It’s from this position that a weak moan cuts through the pattering water, and—for what you think is the first time—you feel something more than curiosity.
Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and he presses two harsh fingers between his eyebrows, smudging his fingertips across his forehead in what you’re sure is frustration.
You’ve gone past filling the gaps of what you know, the pulpit of your stomach swirling with thoughts of more moans, how it must feel under the rough hew of his jeans, what he’d do if it were you on his lap, and whether he’d accept you there at all.
For all his drama and fire, Eddie couldn’t sit in discomfort. He loved being the discomfort, but if it turned on him he was like a cornered dog.
As you continue to watch him, the swirling in your stomach slips down, and for now a hand between your legs is enough to calm this bud of interest.
The floor is slick under you, steam quick to fill the space of your parted thighs, heat on heat crushed under the just pruning skin of your fingerprint. You sigh, chest stuttering against relief. Slow, concentrated breaths quell any noise you’d want to make as you swirl your middle finger over your clit, Eddie’s moan looping in your brain.
You focus on the line of his figure, the indent he’ll leave in your bed when he gets up and tries to pretend he’d been peacefully laying there the whole time.
Without trying, your brain fills in gaps of space in your time with Eddie. Every time he left a party before you, a quick ‘I’ll wait for you in the van. No rush.’ and a tap on the shoulder. Trips to the 7/11, insistent that he must surprise you with snacks for the session, or each time you lost him in the bar, distracted by drifters who thought a beer or two would get you back home with them.
The memories are tinged now with the sight of his arching back, his parted lips, and that singular moan.
The thoughts carry you as far as they can, and the sight of him behind the curtain even more, but the rhythm of your fingers isn't what you want. It grows as stale as you hope that pillow must be for him, and with a sharp swallow you stand up to turn the shower off.
It takes a minute to gather yourself, roughing your hair with the towel to shake off what nerves you can. You face yourself in the mirror, dewy glass blurring your body into something amorphous. You can contend with this fuzzy figure, gazing over your shoulder to watch it slip past the bathroom door. In your mind’s eye, it’s not you taking this risk, but the reflection. It’s enough to get you into the bedroom.
Eddie has his ankles crossed and an arm behind his head, and he taps his fingers over his stomach as you approach, still roughing your hair as you enter.
“All cleaned up?” He asks, his eyes following you until he’s looking up through his lashes, a quick flick to the space next to him before he meets your eyes again.
You sit where he’d looked, tossing the towel into a laundry basket opposite the bed, “Mhm.”
There’s a long moment of your eyes on his, and he snaps out with a shake of his head, and that stupid grin, “Shit, sorry, you probably want to get dressed, huh?”
As he pushes to sit up, you close the space between you, your mouth just pressing against his. He pulls back with wide eyes that dart around your face, and he keeps a hand on your shoulder to hold you away.
His lips form and abandon several words, but before he can get a noise out, you cut the space, “I saw you.”
He jerks his head back, swallowing hard and looking past you now. More sentences starting and stopping without a thought fully formed.
You feel the hand on you loosen, see him shift in front of you, but there’s no easy way for Eddie to escape the situation.
“It’s okay.” You start reaching over for the hand on your shoulder, and he flinches.
“It’s okay.” You repeat, voice quieter and firmer, and he lets you take his hand, lets you guide it from your shoulder to the pit of your throat, over the drying beads of water between your breasts, and under the plush cotton collar of your robe.
His hand cups around you, rings warm and sticking to your skin, your fingers loosely wrap around his wrist for a moment before he accepts where you’ve left him.
You both let out a slow breath. Eddie’s starts with a hitch, but settles into something calm and certain. He doesn’t meet your eyes yet, they’re trained on the concealed hand, resting dead over your breast.
Placing two fingers under his chin, you coax him to look at you, your thumb brushing under his bottom lip, a few out of place dots of stubble pricking at your skin. You don’t think he could grow a beard if he tried, but random hair sprouts around his jaw from week to week, pimples following if he plucks them too late.
You bring your nose close to his, and he tilts up almost imperceptibly, tongue darting between his lips.
That first kiss was so brief you already can’t remember what he felt like, but the calm heat of his breath on you is steady, warm and inviting, and his eyes glisten as he looks at you.
His palm is heavy under your robe, thumb running back and forth ever so slightly, catching on the natural pull of your skin.
You let your eyelids slip closed, and finally he kisses you.
It isn’t harsh or fast and it doesn’t light your insides up the way your imagination did, but you’re sure you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. His bottom lip trembles for the first second, slick and soft, and you feel the scratch of those loose facial hairs against your chin. The hand beneath your robe squeezes shut, the warm metal of his rings sticking and unsticking with a little sting as he builds confidence in the moment.
The hand he’d kept on the bed comes up to curl over the slope of your neck, and as you lean into him he slides the collar of the robe down past your shoulder. It sits against your bicep, not revealing anything he’s not sure you’d want, but enough to let him kiss down your jaw, spattering over the bare landscape you’ve allowed him.
You slip a hand under the hem of his old t-shirt, pinching at the rolled skin of his abdomen, body curved uncomfortably as he’s half sat up on the bed.
He backs away from kissing when you push him down onto the comforter, both hands grabbing your arms to bring you with. You stay sat on the edge of the bed, torso twisted to follow him as he wants.
“Take off the jacket.” You whisper against his mouth, dragging your lips under his jaw and down his throat. You pull his shirt up and fix your hands on his hips, marking the skin down his chest with nips and long kisses. He struggles to tug the jacket off and can only manage the sleeves, leather crinkling under him as he wriggles under you.
You drag the tip of your tongue over his happy trail, and he watches with quiet interest, fingers gliding over your bare shoulder.
Eddie isn’t wearing anything under his jeans, you can feel the length of his erection stuffed uncomfortably beneath the denim.
“Ohh, please.” He whispers, more breath than anything else.
You hum with a smile, watching him as you unbutton and unzip and tug the bottoms down his thighs.
His hand hovers over the back of your head, nails just touching down along your hair, and he settles for resting it on your back.
He isn’t over or under-endowed, you can comfortably wrap a hand around his base and hold the rest of him in your mouth without strain, but you start with the hand. Dribbling a mouthful of spit over his tip, you slip your fisted hand down the shaft, thumb pressing into the rim of his head. He holds back expletives, syllables drawn out and dying behind his teeth. You’re slow, gliding your hand over his length and watching the wrinkles as he screws his eyes shut and pushes his hand over his forehead, bangs fraying out of place.
His cock thrums under your hand, and you squeeze his thigh as it jerks, quick spasms of enjoyment relieving tension.
You wait until there’s obvious pressure in his chest, until his Adam’s apple is taut against his throat, and he can barely eke out breaths.
Without knowing, he gives you what you want as you swirl your tongue around his tip for the first time. He can’t hold back the languid, whimpering moan that escapes his open mouth, all the air in his lungs expelled with it.
Watery, salty precum slides over your tongue, and you close your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you work down his shaft. Spit pools into your mouth and over your bottom lip, and as your chin brushes the hair at Eddie’s base, you feel sweat and spit drying on the skin.
Eddie’s hesitance falls away as he starts to lose himself, the hand on your back coming up to gently push down your head, not forceful, exactly, but wanting. He whimpers with increased impatience the harder you work him, the hum of your mouth around him an added jolt of pleasure.
You break for a moment to suck marks into the sharp angle of his hip bone, your hand a warm substitute that still pulls beautiful noises from him. He hisses against the kiss, the curve of his belly heaving with full breaths. He has faint marks of muscle definition when he flexes against your touch, but his abdomen rounds with every intake of air, and you press your lips along his pelvic line to feel the way he’s working through your touch.
Kissing the bush of hair around his shaft, you run your thumb over his head, your tongue flat against his base, dragging up to lick away the new dribbles of precum.
He lets your name fall from his lips, and a mewling, strained, “Please…keep going…” with his nails combing over the back of your head.
You take him entirely in your mouth once again, and he ruts up, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow the near-gag, and Eddie’s laughter—tied into an apology— hits your ear, the first instance of that rough-hewn boy you’re used to.
In response you curl your free hand around his balls and give them a light squeeze, clutching them against the base of his shaft to compress the tension he must be feeling. You imagine it’s a tight, coiled pain in his stomach, and it’s your greed more than anything that keeps him from relief.
Eddie wriggles underneath you, his body twitching outside his control, incomplete requests for release dying on his tongue.
What he finally chokes out is an ill timed warning, his orgasm already spilling into your mouth by the time he tells you he’s going to come. It’s warm and salty down your throat, and if it came from anyone else it would be an off-putting sensation that you’d be quick to spit out, but with Eddie paralyzed under you as he finishes, no taste could be sweeter or more satisfying.
You don’t even have time to swipe the sleeve of your robe over your lips before he’s tugging you up to his mouth.
This kiss is harsh and deep and the hand on your head presses you hard into him. His tongue twists over yours, warm and slimy, loud smacks between you with every kiss.
You’ve no choice now but to climb on him, straddling his stomach, his hand coming down to slide the robe entirely off. Your knees nick on the sharp parts of his jacket, but it’s a pale feeling compared to the heat of your bodies and his hands burning into your skin, branding your hip as you grind on him.
“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back with a hand on your cheek, thumb tugging at the bulb of your cheekbone. You’re both flustered and disheveled when your eyes meet, and you feel you could fall forever into the pit of that dark brown. “Sit on my face.” He breathes, kneading at the skin of your ass, gaze trained on your reaction.
“Yeah?” You ask, the throbbing between your thighs ever present as you’ve stilled on him.
He nods, his hand slipping from your cheek to coast down your body and rest on your other hip. They coil underneath your thighs to hold you as you re-situate yourself over him, hovering just above his mouth, a little hesitant to drop your weight on him. This felt somehow more intimate than a blowjob, smothering him with your body, the full potential of your spasms direct and right there on his tongue.
Eddie didn’t care, he forced you down with his arms, and you lurched forward against the headboard, one hand wrapping over the edge, the other a buffer between your forehead and the hardwood.
The pleasure was instant and overwhelming, Eddie’s tongue indistinct in its movement, lips and spit and the tickle of his nose worming their way through your body.
His grip was tight on you, arms wrapped around your thighs, and the soft curl of his hair rustled under your skin. He doesn’t move you over his tongue, but rather keeps you still, tries to stop you wriggling and doing the work yourself. You oblige best you can, holding the headboard tighter, biting down into the skin of your forearm, wanting even now to give him what he wants, to let him help you in whatever way he sees fit. He’s giving you more of himself than you ever imagined he could, and more than anything you just want to languish in this moment for as long as you can.
He hums underneath you, satisfied little hums that rise and fall with his focus.
It’s when you go silent—your breath caught in your chest, moans stuck in your throat—that Eddie starts rocking you over his mouth. The heat in your stomach is unbearable, and you gasp as he guides you back and forth over his tongue, everything below his nose a wet, slobbering mess, just as much from you as it is him. You slip against him with ease, grinding harder and faster, any worry you had about smothering him long gone with the ever-winding spiral of ecstasy that sits in your belly.
Tighter and tighter it curls, the rocking of your hips uneven and desperate now.
Eddie slides his hands as far as he can up your back, combing lines down your skin with his nails, and you wriggle closer to the headboard, so close to the end that every touch is torturous.
You haven’t spent half as long with his head between your thighs as he did with your lips around his cock, but any shame you could possibly feel will come later. You just want the relief, to unfurl and collapse and let him feel you shaking over the knack of his tongue.
You drop entirely onto him, his tongue swirling over the pulsing nub of your clit, and he grabs you as hard as he can, just as needy and wanting.
He groans underneath you, and your vision explodes behind your eyes.
Spasming and shaking, he holds you as you come undone, tilting his head up as the orgasm sends you backward to lay on his chest. He doesn’t stop running his tongue over your clit even as it becomes overwhelming, wanting to capture every last dredge of your climax. He laps up the arousal that wells from you, sucking kisses between your lips.
The euphoria layers in your body like waves of radar, one after the other until you’re begging him to let you go. You can’t quite catch your breath, wheezing as you try to pull air into your lungs, evening out as the radiation of pleasure cools to satisfaction.
You roll off him onto your stomach, resting your head in your arms to look back at with a smile.
He pushes his bangs up and shakes his head with a laugh, “Nuts.” He squeezes your calf.
You both sit in the moment, a comfortable silence between you with his hand resting on your leg.
Silence wasn’t golden in your experience with Eddie thus far. If there wasn’t conversation, there was music; if there wasn’t music, there was his humming. Any quiet with Eddie around was borne out of tension, but now you feel a deep tranquility even as the cool air of the still-open window hits your bare skin.
He runs his fingers gently back and forth, and the both of you let out a content sigh at the same time.
“J—”
“—inx! Ha!” Eddie is a hair faster, and he jiggles your calf in accomplishment before shifting to mirror you on your stomach. He hovers in front of your lips, muscling you over a bit with his shoulder, “Owe me a…kiss?”
You let your head fall into your arms, a kick of giddiness in your stomach, but you come back to meet his lips.
There’s a smile in this kiss, you think maybe there could be more. Kisses, smiles, whatever you can get.
Whatever Eddie can give.
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your 23-24 deeeeeeetroit red wings (at the movies)
moritz: sneaking in and out of theaters for three hours straight so he can see a quarter of every showing for the price of one ticket
jake: fishing out unpopped kernels from between the seats as a snack during the trailers
dylan: using the inner lining of his Raf Simons A/W 2021 men’s double-breasted wool pinstriped coat to smuggle in snacks he got at meijers for his boys
lyon: sitting on the curb outside the movie theater after he got kicked out for making shadow puppet puppies kiss in front of the movie screen
ville: sitting on the curb, patting alex on the shoulder, and telling him that the shadow puppet puppies were cute and funny and everyone liked them
ben: got lost in the bathrooms, confused over if he's meant to be using the air dryers for his hands, or the itchy paper towels, and wondering why did they include both. he's going to be struggling to make this choice for 45 minutes and his hands will still be wet the whole time
fish: haggling at the concessions, thinking he might be able to get a discount on his coke flavored icee if he just asks the cashier really nicely
ghost: went down the wrong side of the theater, hands in his pockets and straight-faced, panicking a bit because he can't find which screening he's actually meant to be sitting in. he is too nervous to ask someone for directions
lucas: at the arcade absolutely decimating small children at the driving games, to the outrage of absolutely no mothers, as they assume he is just another lost toddler
cat: convincing the children in the arcade to start gambling on lucas winning the racing games. they are betting with m&ms and half-melted snowcaps. he is going to be a rich man by the end of the day
klim: shadowboxing the movie projection on the tiny little stage in the front of the theatre because he was worried the movie monster was gonna scare his teammates
jt: in the little back room with the projector....... just hanging out........
robby: doing some sick tricks on the rentable electric scooters in the parking lot. no one is watching
joe: sat down a half hour early to watch the trailers, and is suffering in mortified silence because his reclining seat squeaks every time he pushes the button to make it lean back. he's worried everyone in the theatre can hear the squeaking (they can)
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While we are glad to see that this warning is shown on-screen at the beginning of RENAISSANCE: A FILM BY BEYONCÉ, and while we encourage more warnings like this to be featured, this is also far too late in the process to have seen the first photosensitivity warning. This should be warned about when purchasing a ticket online, arriving at the theater, scanning one's ticket or buying it at the theater, at the concession stand, outside of the auditorium, and during the pre-preview advertisements and at the end of the trailers. This warning only covers the end of the trailers, and hopefully, it gives photosensitive audiences enough time to leave the theater if they need to.
As a side note, the only reason we have not evaluated this film is because it is excluded from AMC A-List.
Image ID: A photo of a large black screen, watermarked by BC Epilepsy Society, with the screen reading: PHOTOSENSITIVITY WARNING: THIS FILM MAY NOT BE SAFE FOR PEOPLE WITH EPILEPSY. SOME LIGHTING IS USED DURING THIS FILM THAT MAY BE DISRUPTIVE TO PEOPLE WHO ARE SENSITIVE TO LIGHT.
#Movie Health Community#Health Warning#Actually Epileptic#Photosensitive Epilepsy#Seizures#Migraines#Motion Sickness#AMC Theaters#RENAISSANCE: A FILM BY BEYONCÉ#December#2023#Blue Ivy Carter#Megan Thee Stallion#Cardi B#Kendrick Lamar#Diana Ross#Jay-Z#Tracee Ellis Ross#Beyoncé
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just hold it tight if it feels right
[this fic is also on ao3]
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“Why is it so fucking busy?” Ronan said, scanning the absolutely packed movie theatre in an effort to track down their seats. “This isn’t even a new release.”
“Shhh,” Gansey hissed, managing to be a lot louder than Ronan had been.
“Don’t shush me, it hasn’t even fucking started yet.”
“I know, I know, but language, Ronan. There could be kids here.”
“Well there shouldn’t be, isn’t this an R-rated movie?”
“Oh, like you’ve never snuck into an R-rated movie before.”
Ronan hadn’t, actually. The only person he would’ve done so with was Gansey, and their tastes in movies very rarely aligned. The only reason they were even here now was because Ronan was restless and Gansey wanted to get him out of the apartment but not on his own – a restless Ronan was often a destructive one, apparently. For all intents and purposes, he was being babysat. “...Have you?”
Gansey waved this away as irrelevant, and then stopped sharply as he found the right aisle, already mostly full. Gansey led the way, whispering apologies as they squeezed past people to reach their own seats, using the light of his phone to check the chair numbers and make sure they had the right ones.
They found them, Gansey checking and then double-checking that they were correct before he let Ronan sit down. He immediately slouched down in the seat, propping his boots up against the back of the seat in front until Gansey glared him into submission. Ronan sighed and crossed his arms, already regretting this. He couldn’t sit still enough for the movies.
The seat on Gansey’s other side was occupied, but Ronan’s was free so far; he hoped it remained that way so he could stretch out a bit. He pulled the empty seat down and then let it go again a few times, the squeak it made as satisfying to him as it was probably annoying to everyone in earshot. He caught the eye of the girl on the other side of said seat, and she gave him a glare that outmatched the one Gansey had given him before, but Ronan just raised an unconcerned eyebrow at her until she scowled and looked away. He did at least stop messing with the seat, though.
The screen came to life with no warning, the accompanying noise making Ronan jolt in surprise. He supposed he’d have to get used to jump-scares for the next couple of hours; it was Friday Fright Night at the movie theatre, in which they showed some back-catalogue horror movie every week. Tonight it was The Descent, a movie Ronan hadn’t seen, but which Matthew had informed him was “scary as balls.” Ronan was generally fine with scary movies, but he’d felt twitchy and off-kilter all day and had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good mix. Maybe some food would be a good idea. He reasoned there would be plenty of general commercials before the trailers started, and elbowed Gansey in the arm. “I’m getting popcorn, you want anything?”
“Ronan, I asked you when we were in the foyer, you said you weren’t hungry.”
“I changed my mind, so sue me,” Ronan said, getting to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said with exaggerated politeness and a cheery grin to the girl who’d scowled at him, and she pulled her feet back with obvious reluctance.
Out in the foyer, Ronan joined the back of the line for the concession stand. A text came through from Gansey – get me gummy bears and a coke please – and Ronan snorted. “Is he five fucking years old?”
The person in front of him in line turned around. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Hey man, I wasn’t talking to you.” Ronan looked up from his phone and immediately lost all train of thought at the sight of the dusty-haired, blue-eyed boy now staring at him. “Holy shit.” Oops.
The guy half-cocked his head to the side, his eyes wary and confused. “What?”
“What?” Ronan repeated, like an idiot. He shook his head. “Nothing.” Oh god. His mouth went dry. He could feel his hands clamming up. And the guy just kept staring at him. Ronan pointed past the weirdly hot stranger. “Hey look, you’re next.”
“Oh.” He turned back around and stepped up to the counter as Ronan waited for the ground to swallow him whole. This didn’t usually happen to him; he had absolutely no idea how to proceed.
Soon enough, the boy was handed his popcorn and drink and left – seeming to very deliberately not look Ronan’s way as he did – and Ronan let out a breath as he walked towards the concession stand. He ordered what Gansey wanted and then the largest size popcorn available, just so it would take them a little longer to do and give him time to sort himself out.
Treats acquired, Ronan headed back to the movie. The screen was still showing regular commercials even though he’d been gone a good few minutes – that was capitalism for you – but at least he hadn’t missed any of the trailers. He liked watching movie trailers because most of them looked like they would be terrible, which greatly appealed to Ronan’s often judgemental nature.
He made his way up the steps, careful not to spill any of his popcorn or Gansey’s drink. He was so distracted by this task that he almost missed the right aisle. There was much grumbling from the others in the aisle when he started squeezing on through to get to his seat, as Ronan was much less polite about it than Gansey had been earlier on. He stepped past the scowling girl again, and the seat beside her was no longer empty. Standing up to let Ronan go by easier was none other than the cute guy from the foyer, now eye to eye with Ronan once again.
He actually did a double-take. “Oh shit, it’s you.”
“Oh shit, it’s me,” the boy agreed solemnly.
“Adam, do you know him?” the girl asked, and if Ronan was that way inclined he could have kissed her for finally providing Ronan with a name. It almost made him regret being so passive aggressive before.
“Nope,” Adam said, and sat back down.
“Well, not yet,” Ronan said, and then sat down himself. “But look at that, we’re neighbours.”
“Lucky me,” Adam said dryly.
Ronan grinned, then turned to Gansey. “Here’s your munchies, Dick.”
“Thanks,” Gansey said, taking them from Ronan. He nodded his head down towards Adam and companion. “Making friends?”
“You know me,” Ronan said, shovelling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Social butterfly.”
He perched his elbow on the very edge of the adjoining armrest and desperately tried to keep himself from looking at Adam. Luckily, the trailers finally started which gave Ronan a handy distraction, but the urge was still there, to see if he looked and Adam looked back.
Despite having been looking forward to them, Ronan barely noticed the trailers. Nothing seemed comically bad enough for him to enjoy, nor did they seem genuinely good enough for him to feel in any way invested. None were as interesting to him as the boy sitting beside him. Ronan had never had his interest piqued in someone so quickly before. He was glad of the popcorn to keep his hands busy, although he really should have gotten a smaller size; he’d hardly made a dent in it and he was already getting sick of it.
After what felt like forever, the lights fully dimmed, signalling the start any second now. “How long is this movie?” Ronan whispered to Gansey.
Gansey shrugged. “Like an hour and a half, I think? A little over, maybe.”
Ninety minutes or so. That wasn’t so bad. Ronan could sit still and be quiet and look straight ahead for ninety minutes.
To be fair, the movie did a decent enough job at drawing him in, enough that he relaxed a little and leaned back in the chair. He picked up the drink from the cupholder on the armrest and took a long sip through the straw.
“That’s uh…that’s mine,” came a quiet voice, and Ronan looked to the left to see Adam staring at him again. Ronan’s eyes darted to and from Adam and the drink in his hand, then he slowly put it back in the cupholder.
“So it is,” he said. He couldn’t believe he’d done that. He didn’t even have a drink.
Thankfully, Adam looked more amused than annoyed, at least sort of; he didn’t exactly smile but there was something in the shape of his eyebrows that seemed to convey humour. And all of a sudden Ronan realised they’d been looking at each other for too long.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and diverted his attention back to the screen.
The Descent, Ronan was finding, was a very claustrophobic movie, seeing as it predominantly took place in a cave system. When the first of the creepy Gollum-like creatures showed up on-screen, Ronan was so on edge that he grabbed what he thought was just going to be a part of the armrest, but actually turned out to be Adam’s hand.
Mortified, he let go immediately, and this time didn’t look to see if Adam had reacted at all. He at least didn’t say anything, and Ronan managed to relax for a little bit until another one of the little bastards jumped out of nowhere and he did it again.
Like the first time, Ronan swiftly let go, but this time thanks to his heart racing from both the jumpscare and the embarrassment, he covered his face with his hands, mumbling, “Jesus H Christ, get it together.”
“Um, are you okay?” Adam whispered.
Ronan gave him a thumbs up without looking his way. “Fuckin’ peachy, thanks for asking.”
“Alright, as long as you’re not having a panic attack.”
Ronan did lift his head now, and gave Adam a sardonic smile. Adam smiled back and shrugged, before looking back at the screen, and Ronan did the same, willing his heart to slow. Now Adam was going to think he was a giant baby who scared easily.
Determined not to accidentally hold Adam’s hand again, Ronan instead put both hands on either side of his bucket of popcorn and held on tight. Of course, this meant that when the next jumpscare happened, Ronan jolted and popcorn went everywhere; all over him, all over Adam and Gansey, and all over the people in the row in front.
Amid copious annoyed groans and hissed “Hey!”s, Ronan said, in a complete monotone, “My bad.”
Still brushing popcorn off himself, Adam snorted a laugh and then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth as if surprised it had happened. He caught Ronan’s gaze and shook his head, the cheer still glinting in his eyes.
He took the bucket of popcorn from Ronan and put it on the floor, then sighed and put his arm on the armrest, palm up. He looked at Ronan meaningfully and then back at the screen.
Ronan stared at Adam’s hand. He felt so sure that this was an invitation, but was momentarily paralysed, because what if it wasn’t? What if he held Adam’s hand but he snatched it away? Then again, he’d already done it twice so far tonight, and he’d been the first to let go both times.
Ronan took a breath. He placed his hand in Adam’s. And immediately, Adam’s hand closed around his.
Gun to his head, Ronan couldn’t have told anyone what happened in the rest of that movie. He was too busy cataloguing everything he could about Adam’s hand to notice anything else; the callouses that suggested some sort of manual labour, the long, almost elegant fingers, the roughness of his knuckles, how both of their hands got clammy after a while and still neither of them let go, not once, not until the credits started to roll.
It was Gansey who brought him out of his reverie. “I swear I’m never going to get popcorn smell out of my clothes,” he said. “Ugh, I think there’s some in my shirt. I need to bounce up and down and make sure it’s all dislodged.”
“Uh huh, you should do that then,” Ronan said, but when he turned back around, Adam and his friend were already gone. They must have been very quick off the mark. Utterly deflated, Ronan got to his feet. He dusted some wayward popcorn out of Gansey’s hair. “C’mon, let’s go.”
On their way back to the foyer, Ronan went to use the bathroom, telling Gansey he’d meet him by the exit. He felt really tired all of a sudden, annoyed he hadn’t had a chance to speak to Adam afterwards, and knowing he was probably never going to run into him again.
He was just washing his hands when Adam walked in. Maybe the universe was paying attention.
“Hi,” Adam said.
“Hi yourself,” Ronan replied, pleased that he’d managed to sound relatively cool and collected instead of the nervous wreck he was.
“Some movie, huh?” Adam made no move towards any of the stalls, which made Ronan think that the only reason he’d come in here was to talk to him, the thought of which made him feel like he might be glowing a little bit.
“Remind me not to go spelunking anytime soon,” he said.
“Will do,” Adam smiled. He ran a hand through his hair. “So listen, is it okay if you tell me your name?”
“You wanna know my name?”
“Well yeah, I can’t keep calling you–” Adam cut himself off very quickly. “I held your hand for like an hour, man, I need a name for you.”
Ronan grinned. “What have you been calling me in your head?”
Adam shook his head. “Look, my name is Adam Parrish. Now you go.”
“Ronan,” he said. “Ronan Lynch.”
Adam nodded. “That’s a very good name.”
“Isn’t it?”
Ronan finished drying his hands and moved towards the door, Adam falling into step beside him as they left the bathroom.
“There’s a sequel to The Descent, you know,” Adam said conversationally.
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah. It’s gonna be next week’s Friday Fright Night,” he shrugged, “if you, I dunno, wanted to go or something?”
Ronan was pretty sure he was being asked out. “Oh, fuck no, can we do something else instead?”
Adam went on a little face journey as he processed what Ronan had said, but then he finally nodded, relieved. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know yet,” Ronan said. “Leave it with me, I’ll figure it out.” He passed Adam his phone. “Here, put your number in there.”
Adam handed it back apologetically. “I don’t have a cellphone.”
“No?”
“But I can use the phone at work.”
“You got a pen?”
Adam did not have a pen, but Ronan knew someone who always did, and hurried over to Gansey to borrow one.
He ignored Gansey’s questions and went back to Adam, grabbing his hand and writing his number on the back of it. “I guess you’re calling me, then.” He finished writing it down, holding onto Adam’s hand just a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
“I guess I am,” Adam said. By now, his friend had drifted over to Gansey, obviously noticing that they were waiting for the same people. Gansey was talking to her very animatedly, and she looked slightly charmed, and also somehow annoyed that she was charmed. Gansey managed to have that effect on an alarming number of people.
“We better go, my friend is probably about to talk your friend into a coma.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s Blue. We were kinda on a date.”
Ronan froze. “You were on a date?”
Adam nodded. He seemed almost as confused by the situation as Ronan was.
Ronan couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but I don’t think it’s going that well.”
“No, I don’t think it is.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s what I get for holding someone else’s hand through most of the movie.”
He didn’t even remotely look torn up about it. And neither, to be fair, did Blue.
“Yeah, you’re not allowed to do that on our date,” Ronan said, and pressed his hand to his chest solemnly. “I’m sensitive.”
Adam smiled. He leaned forward and kissed Ronan on the cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
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Congrats on 2000 followers
🧸- Going to the movies with Steve Harrington
“steve we are already late!” you whine, pulling at his arm.
all he does is wink down at you and keep his feet in place, not moving an inch. you groan and place your forehead onto his bicep.
“you’re being a bit dramatic honey don’t you think? we’ll miss maybe the first five minutes” he assures you, placing a kiss onto your forehead.
“but i like to see the previews! if i don’t watch the trailers it’s like i haven’t really watched the movies”
the two of you step a few places forward in the concession stand. “and i,” he answers, “cannot properly watch a movie without a bag of sour patch kids.”
you rolled your eyes playfully as the two of you got to the counter. steve quickly payed for this sour patch kids (and popcorn for you).
the two of you walked hand and hand to the theatre, steve holding your snack like a real gentleman.
“the popcorn isn’t gonna make up for you making us late you know?” you told him.
he raised an eyebrow at you, “if i remember correctly i wasn’t the only one involved in making us late. i had to basically pull us outta the car love.”
your cheeks heated at the memory and the feeling that had come over you in the car. it wasn’t your fault steve looked so good in that tshirt that you needed to take it off.
you smacked the back of your hand into his chest as the two of you found your seats. “shut up harrington! don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” you whisper yelled.
he smirked, “enjoyed you accosting me in my car? never my love.”
when he handed you the bucket of popcorn you threw a couple of pieces at him, at a loss for a good comeback.
half way through the first ten minutes he leaned closer to your ear, squeezed your hand, and said “i’ll make up for being late after the movie, how’s that sound?”
very very good.
#june’s 2000 celebration#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#st
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Prime Minister Gabriel Attal is expected to give farmers new concessions in an attempt to calm down protests which have squeezed the French capital on Monday.
After protesting farmers blocked eight motorways leading to Paris on Monday, the French government is preparing more concessions to ease tensions.
The farmers have a list of complaints, including that working in agriculture has become too difficult and not lucrative enough.
France's new Prime Minister Gabriel Attal is set to give a speech in France’s lower house of parliament Tuesday, laying out his government's priorities and offering new aid measures to the agricultural sector.
It would be a new test for Attal, now in the first month of his new job, after the pro-agriculture measures he announced last week were deemed insufficient by the farmers. The 34-year-old prime minister has promised more aid measures.
On Monday, protesting farmers encircled Paris with traffic-snarling barricades, using hundreds of lumbering tractors and piles of hay bales to block highways leading into the French capital in a bid to pressure the government over the future of their industry, which has been shaken by the fallout from the war in Ukraine.
A protest that, for the time being, has no end in sight.
"There is total determination," said Arnaud Rousseau, president of the main and powerful agricultural union, the FNSEA, who was received by Attal yesterday afternoon and announced that they were continuing to negotiate with the government.
In an interview on Europe 1 radio, Rousseau said that there needed to be a "change of course" by the government and "symbolic emergency measures". He explained that the impression he had got from the Prime Minister yesterday was that he was "ready to go further on all issues".
The farmers have managed to evade police attempts to stop them, as their declared aim is to block access to the Rungis food market, the largest in Europe, some fifteen kilometres from Paris.
Interior Minister Gérald Darmanin, who has mobilised 15,000 officers in response to the protests, has warned since the weekend that he will not allow this to happen.
However, Darmanin has asked the police not to intervene in the so-called 'siege' blockades of Paris or the rest of the country - where there are several dozen - unless there is a threat to property or people.
Siege of Paris
The blockade of major roads around Paris - which hosts the Summer Olympics in six months - and protests elsewhere in France promised another difficult week for new Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, who has been in office for less than a month.
Protesters said Attal's attempts at pro-agriculture measures last week fell short of their demands that food production be made more lucrative, easier and fairer.
Farmers responded on Monday by deploying convoys of tractors, trailers and even rumbling harvesters in what they called a "siege" of Paris to win more concessions. Some protesters came with supplies of food and water, and tents to stay at the barricades if the government didn't back down.
Transport authorities in the Paris region reported blockages on the A1 motorway north of the city's main international airport, the A4 near the Disneyland theme park east of the capital and other normally busy roads.
"Our aim isn't to inconvenience or ruin the lives of French people," Arnaud Rousseau, president of the influential FNSEA agricultural union, told RTL radio. "Our aim is to put pressure on the government to quickly find solutions to the crisis."
Farmers in neighbouring Belgium have also set up barricades to stop traffic on some major roads, including those leading to the capital, Brussels. Most of the protests are taking place in the French-speaking part of the country.
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youtube
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I just love the concept of Guy Dexter coming into Thomas’s world (the world of Downton Abbey) and just…sitting himself down there and just being. Different from anyone else. And not to be provocative or the subject of Carson’s nightmares, but just because that’s what his life is. He openly says he “doesn’t care about” all of the things that have tied the world of the show together for the past decade, because they’re not relevant to who he is! The world outside of Downton that Thomas got a sense of in the past just shows up and says, “you can leave if you want to. This is something real that life can be built on.”
His first interaction with Thomas—with full character and social context—is so endearing because he is not trying to play a power game or make Thomas uncomfortable, he genuinely is used to interaction in a social world that is entirely different. And while he (very quickly and sincerely I think!) apologizes for the misstep, he makes very few concessions while at Downton, and he makes it clear he has no expectations that Thomas will, either. In fact, he’d prefer it very much if he didn’t.
And from the first trailer, I think the promo played a little with our genre awareness and prejudice to suggest that Guy Dexter was More Likely to be trouble (or at least be a little Wild for the other characters’ taste—even Thomas, whose reaction to Guy was the subject of Much Debate).
When he’s actually notably referred to as nice more than anything else! And it is his general outlook which enables him to offer Thomas something no one else has. There’s nothing threatening when he talks about his life and Thomas coming into it, nothing that doesn’t sound like a welcome change and an invitation for him to be happy and himself.
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I went to the theater today and they had this thing before the trailers like, "thank you for buying our concessions and helping us keep ticket prices down :)" and like, I'll be honest with you man, I specifically wore my 3XL men's big-and-tall sweats that go up to my boobs today for the sole purpose of putting a couple boxes of Goobers I bought from the Dollar Tree at $1.25 a pop for in my secret pockets
#this is a shitpost#thank you for keeping cinema accessible. I will not be paying $4 for a box of junior mints ❤️
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Roles And Responsibilities Of Concession Trailer Builders:
Custom mobile kitchens for various culinary endeavors are the specialty of concession trailer manufacturers. They design and build trailers based on certain menu concepts to ensure the best possible space usage for cooking, storage, and service spaces. By navigating regulatory restrictions, these builders ensure adherence to safety norms and health rules. With their proficiency in design, functionality, and compliance, they craft robust and aesthetically pleasing trailers that let entrepreneurs take their culinary ventures on the road, showcasing their distinctive offers to clients elsewhere. In this post, you will learn about the roles and responsibilities of concession trailer builders.
Superior Handiwork and Creativity
Builders combine creativity and skill to produce aesthetically pleasing and long-lasting trailers. They employ premium materials, durable finishes, and creative designs to ensure endurance and beauty. This artistry draws customers and reflects the character of the business by improving the trailer's visual appeal and branding. This work will produce the best food truck builders.
Constant Assistance and Tailoring
After construction, builders help by advising on upkeep and handling any operational issues. As companies grow, they can meet requirements for customization, such as changing the layout or adding new equipment. This flexibility guarantees the trailer will always meet the expanding company's requirements.
Effectiveness in Space Planning
Trailer builders are experts at packing every nook and cranny for maximum utility and effectiveness. Without sacrificing accessibility or flow, they carefully plan layouts to include room for cooking stations, storage spaces, and service counters. The careful preparation guarantees a smooth operation in the trailer's limited area, increasing productivity. With used concession trailers, budding business owners may get into the mobile food market for less money upfront.
Sustainability and Environmental Aspects
Concerning sustainability, some builders use energy-efficient technology and environmentally friendly materials to address trailer construction. They investigate possibilities for solar panels, energy-efficient equipment, and recyclable materials to comply with eco-friendly standards and satisfy patrons' desires for sustainable dining options.
Bottom Line:
Using their knowledge of design, compliance, artistry, and sustainability, concession trailer builders create mobile culinary experiences that influence the market for mobile food enterprises. If you are interested in becoming a budding entrepreneur, you can search for a food trailer for rent near me.
#concession trailer builders#best food truck builders#used concession trailers#food trailer for rent near me
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More Than A Feeling, Chapter 2
Rated X | Read it here on AO3
Week One- St Joseph, MO
Memorial Day Weekend, 1998
“Okay, folks, come gather around here and we’ll get things started.”
Scully steps forward, joining the half-circle of people who are also here for their first day of work. Besides herself, there are three men: a wiry brown-skinned boy who looks like he’s barely eighteen, a short, pot-bellied white man with a receding hairline, and a tall, handsome dark-haired man with hooded green eyes and a pouty mouth. The woman addressing them is fair-skinned and looks to be in her thirties, soft-bodied with a low brown ponytail. She’s wearing an AC/DC T-shirt and jean shorts that are cut off just above her knees.
“Welcome to More Than a Feeling! My name’s Jean, I’m the lead-man around here. The big-boss is Tami, she owns the show, but I’m next in charge after that. I’ll get you oriented today and then set you up with whoever’s gonna train you for your job. This first week is a trial for you. If you turn out to be a gazoonie, we’ll thank you for your time and send you home with a paycheck. But if you work hard and help us make lots of money, you might get asked to travel with us to the next town. Okay, let’s figure out who’s who here.” Jean flips through the pages of a clipboard, reading off her roster. “Damien Burton,” she asks, looking up at each of the three men.
“That’s me,” the thin man says, holding up one bony hand.
“Good to meet ya, Damian. You’re on games, and Lenny’ll train you. Chris LaCourse?”
The pot bellied man nods but doesn’t speak.
“Chris, you’re gonna ride jock, and Mickey will show you what to do. Luke Michaelson?
“I’m Luke,” the handsome man says, and she resists the urge to look over at him. She knows he’s wearing a white T-shirt and fitted blue jeans, as that’s what he’d been wearing when they parted ways at the Hoover building this morning, ready to meet again as strangers later that day.
“Luke, you’re going to be working with Madge, our camp cook. It’s not rides or games or anything like that, but she needs a new cook to help her get meals out and I saw on your application that you have experience working in kitchens.”
Scully carefully keeps a smirk off of her mouth. Mulder cooking: now there’s an unexpected challenge for this assignment.
“Penelope Kinney,” Jean says next, looking at Scully as she is obviously the only possible Penelope of the group.
“Hi,” Scully says with a small smile.
“You’re on rides, too. You’ll go with Chris and get trained by Mickey.”
Scully nods in acceptance of this, but knows from the research she did to prepare for the case that ride jocks are very rarely female, for good reasons. She wonders why they’d choose to put her in this male-dominated role.
“Alright, follow me and I’ll show you around,” Jean says with a wave of her arm, and the four new recruits trail behind her. “We’re still setting up, obviously,” Jean calls over her shoulder as she leads them across a grassy field dotted with bits of equipment and partially-built booths, “but this will be the midway. This is where your home base will be, Damian, and rides will be over there,” she gestures to her far left, “and concessions are at the back. Luke, the camp cookhouse is over by the boneyard. We’ll go there next.”
“What’s a boneyard?” Damian asks as he steps over an overflowing toolbox.
“Living quarters for the show employees,” Jean answers with a smirk. “They see a lot of action, hence the name. Who all is staying in the bunkhouse?” she asks, glancing back to her new employees.
The three men each raise their hands, but Scully shakes her head.
“You got a trailer, Penelope?” Jean asks, and Scully nods. “Lucky girl! This here is the bunkhouse,” Jean explains as they come to an eighteen-wheel trailer with six doors on each side. “We can house twelve people in each of these, it’s just a little off your check each week. The walls are a bit thin, but it’s your own space with a bed and a mini fridge, and it beats tent camping. Showers are at the back of the trailer, you can use those if yours doesn’t have one, Penelope.”
Jean checks her clipboard and shows the three men their new housing, handing them each a key. She then leads them to a long row of portable outhouses, and Scully grimaces.
“These are the staff donnikers,” Jean says as she gives an affectionate pat to the door of the first outhouse. “I know what you’re thinking, but we keep ‘em clean as a whistle. Those four down at the end with stars on ‘em are for ladies only. Do you know why that is, gentlemen?” She pauses and waits for one of the men to answer, but they each look at each other and shrug. “Because men are fucking disgusting,” Jean supplies, and winks at Scully. “That’s it for staff quarters, let’s get you all started on training.”
They make their way back across the field, booths slowly taking shape as well as half of a small roller coaster. They come to a partially built ride being assembled by a young woman with jet-black hair and an olive complexion, her lips painted ruby red in juxtaposition to her dirty coveralls. She’s being assisted by a broad-shouldered man who sports a frustrated wrinkle in his brow, and the two are shouting over music that emanates from a small boombox sitting on the ground.
“I still don’t get it, Summer. How come they don’t fall over when the ride gets going fast?” the man asks the woman, who rolls her eyes.
“It’s gravity, Carl, I don’t know what to tell you,” Summer says derisively. “Put it together right and it won’t matter how it works, just that it does.”
Jean stops and gestures to the new hires.
“Hey Summer, here’s our fresh meat for the week. This is Summer, she’s the lead ride tech. She fixes shit when it breaks. This is Carl, he stayed on from last week.”
Summer looks over the group and flashes Scully a coy smile. “Welcome to the crew. This is the Gravitron we’re putting together,” she says as she surveys the parts scattered on the ground.
“I still don’t get how it works,” Carl admits sheepishly.
“It’s centrifugal force,” Scully supplies without thinking. “The inertia of an object in motion will always try to move in a straight line, but when that’s impossible, in this case because the riders are held in place by the padded walls of the ride, the inertial force will push them to the outermost reaches of the space they can move within in an attempt to find that straight line.”
There is a long pause, and Scully realizes everyone is staring at her with some mixture of confusion and awe. She feels her cheeks burn and she steals a quick glance at Mulder, who is shaking his head with a smirk.
“I really liked physics in school,” she explains, then looks at the ground.
“What’d you put her on, Jean?” Summer asks.
“Ride jock,” Jean answers. “But I’m guessing you want her?”
Scully lifts her head, surprised that her little slip seems to be going over well, rather than exposing her.
“Hell yeah I do,” Summer says, then turns to Carl. “It’s been real, buddy, but you’re on rides now. Hasta la vista.”
Carl joins the other three men and they continue on towards the other end of the field. Mulder shoots her a quick glance over his shoulder and gives her a nearly imperceptible nod before he disappears behind the wall of a booth.
“I’m Summer, good to meet you,” Summer says with an extended hand. She’s thin, with narrow hips and an ample bust, and is much prettier than Scully would have guessed a carnival worker would be, which she realizes is probably an unfair stereotype.
“Penelope,” Scully returns, taking Summer’s hand, which is delicate but covered in rough calluses.
“Can I call you Penny?” Summer asks hopefully, and Scully nods. Summer flashes her a smile that reveals a single turned-in tooth at the front of her mouth. The little imperfection next to her striking beauty somehow makes her even more attractive. “Alright, Miss Penny the physics buff; let’s put this bitch together. We’ve got twenty-four hours to show time.”
-
Mulder glances once more over his shoulder at Scully as she shakes hands with the surprisingly beautiful ride tech, then loses sight of her.
He’d carefully contained his smile when they met up at the Hoover Building that morning, seeing her in tight-fitting jeans and a baggy Rolling Stones T-shirt, her face bare. He wanted to ask her if these were clothes she owned, or if she’d gone shopping in order to dress the part of her undercover persona, but he was too afraid she’d read his questions as teasing.
Things between them have been concurrently difficult and thrilling as of late. Since her miraculous recovery from the cancer that nearly took her life, he’s tried to show her how much she really means to him. At times it feels like there’s something between them, something more than friendship, but at other times she’s distant or he finds himself pulling away. The risk in exploring those feelings is so great, he fears they may never be willing to take it.
After Chris, Carl, and Damian have been dropped off with their respective trainers, Jean leads Mulder over to a makeshift food truck fashioned from a travel trailer with a pop-up canopy just in front of it. Two men are positioning long picnic tables under the canopy while a stout woman in her sixties directs them.
“Madge!” Jean calls out as they approach, and the older woman turns and squints at them in the mid-morning sun. “Here’s your new cook, Luke. He’s got kitchen experience.”
Mulder hides his grimace behind a smile. He had no hand in completing the application that was submitted on his behalf, and he wonders if the inclusion of a history as a line cook was some sick joke by one of the coordinating agents. It’s not that he’s incapable of cooking, he’s just never found much value in preparing meals for one.
Madge approaches them with a slight limp. Her sun-weathered arms are covered in faded Sailor-Jerry style tattoos and she has a handkerchief tied around her head in the style of a biker. Her oversized T-shirt reads “I’d rather be riding my Harley,” and she extends her hand as she nears, a lopsided smile on her mouth.
“Welcome to the crew, Luke,” she says warmly. “You’re gonna help me keep all these fuckers fed while they run the show.”
Mulder takes her hand and smiles back, finding her immediately likable. “Sounds like an important job. I look forward to it.”
Jean instructs them to spend no more than a couple hours going over the basics, then Mulder can take some time to get settled in his bunk before they start dinner prep. She leaves them, and Madge leads Mulder inside the cook trailer, from which Pink Floyd blares at what strikes him as an unnecessarily loud volume. By the way she moves, favoring her right side, he gathers that she’s suffered a stroke at some point, and as she points out the various storage and prep areas he notices long-faded track marks on her inner arms.
“The best part about working the cook trailer is that you get to make good shit for yourself. You ever had a bacon cheddar jalapeno corn dog?” Madge asks with a gleam in her eye as she leans heavy on the prep counter.
“No, but it sounds amazing,” Mulder says with a genuine smile, and she nods knowingly.
“You just wait, Buddy Boy. You’re gonna get nice and fat this summer,” she says with a maternal pat to his arm.
-
After Summer shows Scully the trailer that houses the tools and equipment she will use to set up and repair rides during the show run, then outfits her with coveralls and a walkie-talkie, they make good progress on setting up the Gravitron before it’s time for Scully to get situated in the boneyard. Summer leads her behind a row of booths and explains that there are areas of the show that are off limits to guests that they can use to get around without being stopped with questions about where the goldfish game or the bathroom is. They pass by a narrow alleyway between booths and Summer gives Scully a mischievous little glance before she beckons her into the alley with a quirk of her head.
“C’mere, I wanna show you something,” Summer says as they run into a dead end where an antique fortune teller machine is situated. “This little baby is my pride and joy,” Summer says as she pats the carefully-maintained wood exterior.
The sign across the top reads Princess Doraldina Tells Past~Present~Future, and boasts that the Queen of Fortune will provide a reading for only five cents. Inside the glass case, a mannequin with long, dark hair, a green dress, and stacked necklaces sits perched with one hand over a crystal ball and the other pointing at a deck of cards spread out on the table before her.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Summer asks, looking back and forth between Scully and Doraldina. “I found her at some fairgrounds back east, abandoned from a longstanding show that closed its doors. They were ready to throw her in the dumpster, but I saved her. I keep her tucked away because I don’t let just anyone get their fortune read,” Summer says as she digs in her pocket for a nickel, “but you seem worthy of a reading from Doraldina.”
Summer holds out her open palm and Scully takes the nickel, figuring that Penelope the carny probably believes in silly things like nickel fortunes. She pops the nickel into the machine and Doraldina comes to life, her head slowly turning back and forth as her chest rises and falls with her breaths, the hand extended above the cards moving right to left as though considering their meaning. After a moment, a slip of paper appears in a slot towards the bottom of the machine, and Scully reaches down to retrieve it.
“What does it say?” Summer asks with unconcealed excitement, and Scully suppresses the roll of her eyes.
She reads the card first to herself, and feels a little flush in response to the message written on it. Summer impatiently steps behind her and reads it over her shoulder.
“True happiness lies on the other side of a leap of faith—if you are willing to risk the fall,” Summer reads, then looks at Scully expectantly. “Does that mean anything to you?” she asks, and Scully stuffs the card into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Uh, no, not really,” she lies.
Summer shrugs. “Maybe it will soon. Sometimes it’s for the future.”
Scully nods noncommittally and Summer leads her back to the main walkway until she can make out the boneyard in the distance.
“I’ll see you at the cook trailer around six,” Summer says as they part ways, and Scully heaves a relieved sigh at having a moment to herself.
“Penelope, was it?” says a familiar voice behind her, and she turns to see Mulder approaching, a dirty apron tied around his waist.
“That’s what they call me,” she says dryly, and he catches up to her as they continue on together.
“Luke,” he says, extending his hand, and she bites her lip to suppress a smile as she shakes it.
“So I gathered,” she replies, deciding that Penny isn’t the kind of girl who instantly trusts handsome strangers she meets at the carnival.
“I like the outfit,” Mulder remarks, giving her a head to toe glance. She finds herself also surveying her outfit, which is smudged with axle grease and dirt.
“Likewise,” she says with a glance at his apron, and he smiles at her. “Do you cook, Luke?” she asks rhetorically, and he shrugs.
“Apparently I do.”
“Should I be concerned? I’d rather not get food poisoning my first day on the job,” she quips, and he shakes his head.
“I think you’ve made an unfair assumption about me, Penelope,” he says, casting her a too-familiar glance that makes her belly tumble.
“I’ve only just met you,” she says flatly, trying to shift the tone of the conversation. “I don’t know enough to assume anything.”
“Well, word on the street is that we’ll get a break around midnight, and I had my eye on that little grassy knoll for a midnight snack,” Mulder says, pointing over to a small grassy hill on the edge of the fairgrounds. “Perhaps if you had a similar hankering around that time, we could get to know each other a bit better over some of my world-renowned cooking.”
Scully feels her cheeks warm at the invitation, though she understands this is simply a way for them to create a time and place to speak privately about the case.
“If I find myself available at that time, perhaps I will,” she replies, her eyes on the ground.
“So, how’d you score a trailer and I’m stuck in the carny frat house?” Mulder asks as they near the boneyard.
“I suppose someone thought it may be unsafe for an unarmed woman to stay in said carny frat house,” she replies, recalling the coordinating agent giving her keys to a Datsun pickup truck with a small vintage trailer attached to it. “Though now seeing that you have an exterior locking door, I’m not sure it makes much of a difference.”
“I think you’ll find it makes a difference when you try to fall asleep tonight, or tomorrow morning, or whenever they let us clock off,” Mulder says as he digs in his pocket for the key Jean gave him. “That thing is like a tin can. We may as well all be in one room.”
“That might actually prove useful,” she offers, and he shoots her a doubtful look.
“Wanna trade?” he says sarcastically, and she gives him a small smile.
“Nah, I think I’m good,” she says, and they each go their separate ways; she to a gravel lot full of trailers, campers, and RVs, and he towards the bunk house.
Her trailer is extremely modest, with a small kitchenette and a table that converts into a bed, but no bathroom. She is very grateful for a more private space than Mulder was afforded, as well as a small cabinet that was outfitted with a key-coded lock in which they can keep case notes and any evidence they locate before they’re able to get it to the local field office. She makes the table up into a bed and lies down, staring at the fabric-covered ceiling as she considers what they know and what they need to find out.
There have been six reports of missing persons, all locally-hired employees of the More Than a Feeling carnival. Some went missing in their first week with the show, while others were brought on to travel and disappeared weeks or months down the line. No bodies have been recovered, and there is no evidence with which to bring charges, nor any suspects. The owner of the carnival, Tami Marksmith, claims to have no information regarding her missing employees. Their bunkhouse rooms were left untouched, their final paychecks uncashed. Some were trouble employees, others not. Absent any leads or any other options, the FBI sent two of their agents undercover to infiltrate the show and try to get to the bottom of what’s happening, which is how she and Mulder have found themselves here.
Scully rolls to her side with a sigh, regretting that this particular moment in time is the one in which they were put on such an assignment, one that means high stress and long hours together, but not as themselves. It’s only recently that she’s come to accept the fact that her feelings for him aren’t entirely platonic, and she’s still actively adjusting to what it means to be his partner and his friend while longing for something more. Add to the mix that he’s playing a part, and she already feels like she doesn’t know which end is up. She unsnaps her coveralls, reaching into her jeans pocket and pulling out the fortune card she got from Summer’s machine.
True happiness lies on the other side of a leap of faith—if you are willing to risk the fall.
She doesn’t believe that a random fortune from a machine holds any meaning, but she can admit that it feels apropos for her relationship with Mulder at the moment. Some days she feels ready to take the leap, but others she is so afraid of the fall that she closes herself off to him and hides behind their working relationship as the reason there can never be more than this. Reaching towards the window, she tucks the fortune between the glass and the frame.
True happiness. She wonders what that even means.
Just before six, Scully makes her way to the cook trailer. Long before she sees it, she hears the din of voices and laughter and the steady thrum of music emanating from under the canopy. As she nears, she sees strings of lights have been strung up between the canopy and trailer, and several long picnic tables are set up both beneath and beside it. Her mouth stretches into a smile when she sees Mulder, still clad in an apron and his white T-shirt, standing before a grill with spatula in hand, his head bobbing along to the music as he serves burgers onto the waiting buns of carnival employees who are lined up holding plates.
“Penny!” Summer calls, waving her over to one of the tables beneath the canopy. Scully sits down beside her, surveying the table to see the familiar faces of Jean, Damian, Chris and Carl, as well as a few people she hasn’t met yet.
“How’s your first day going, Penelope?” Jean asks, and it doesn’t read as a platitude.
“Great so far, I’m learning a lot,” Scully replies, taking the beer Summer offers her and sipping at it. She knows that she needs to fit in with the other employees, which may include some drinking, but she also needs to stay sharp.
“That’s great to hear,” Jean replies jovially, then turns to the woman beside her. “This is Tami, she owns the show.”
Scully recognizes Tami from her photo in the case file. She’s in her forties, short with a curvy hourglass shape under her baggy clothes. Her mahogany skin is peppered with freckles, and her hair worn in a tight afro. Scully takes her hand and Tami meets her eye with a stoic expression.
“You need anything, you let me know,” Tami says. “We take care of our people here.”
Scully gives her a tight-lipped smile and nods, wondering how she is able to make the declaration with such conviction given that several of her employees have gone missing without a trace.
“Thank you,” she replies, taking another sip of her beer.
After everyone’s meals have been served, Mulder takes a seat at the other end of the table and introductions are made while they eat burgers and freshly-made potato salad. Scully retells the story from her undercover profile regarding her need for a fresh start after leaving an abusive marriage, and Mulder puts on an Oscar-worthy performance explaining his propensity for petty theft as a young man, and the way his criminal record has stood in the way of steady employment. The others seem to have varied backgrounds: some are challenged to find traditional employment due to criminal records or inability to meet the expectations of corporate America, while others choose this lifestyle for its varied experiences and opportunity to travel.
“Do you enjoy the work?” Mulder asks a man who was introduced to them as Picker, the resident “juice man” who is in charge of making sure that the electrical needs of the show are met and who is also Summer and Scully’s direct supervisor.
Picker cracks a gummy smile, showing off his crooked, discolored teeth as he runs a hand over his bald head. “Nah, I don’t enjoy it, I fucking love it, man,” he says emphatically. “Every day is something new. Every customer at the show is having the best day of their life. Smiling faces, loud music, good food, and partying with your friends every night? What’s not to like?”
The other members of the crew raise their beers in agreement while the newcomers smile sheepishly, a feeling of excitement crackling around the table.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Jean says, calling the attention of the table as she claps her hands. “This has been real inspirational and shit, but it’s about time to get back to it. We’ve got a little over eighteen hours until showtime, so I hope you newbies are ready to work hard.” Scully catches the affectionate look Tami gives Jean as she commands the attention of the employees. “Something you’ll learn fast is that the time between slough, when we tear down the show, and the jump to the next town to set up and open again is an all-hands-on-deck effort. You won’t be getting much sleep between now and then, but once the doors open we’ll make sure you have time to rest and get ready for the week. Newbies, you can call it at midnight tonight but you’re back on the clock at 6:00am. The doors open at noon tomorrow and we need to be ready. Are we ready to make big money?”
Jean cups her hand around her ear and the staff all shout “Big money!” so loudly Scully flinches.
“Hell yeah!” Tami agrees, and they finish their meal in high spirits before she and Summer get back to work setting up the Music Fest ride.
-
The sun has long since set, the air heavy with dew but still warm from the late spring heat of the day. Mulder makes his way to the grassy hill with two cardboard bowls in hand and waits for Scully. His feet and lower back ache from hours of standing, but through his fatigue he feels the accomplishment of a day of hard work.
He grew immediately fond of Madge, with her gruff affection and her quick wit, and the nickname of “Buddy Boy” she bestowed upon him. While he’s a quick learner, it became clear right away that he didn’t have the experience she was expecting. Despite that, Madge was patient and helpful in her corrections regarding which knife to use and at what temperature to cook the various foods they prepared.
He sees Scully’s small form approaching him in the ambient glow from the flood lights set up around the fairgrounds, and her posture tells him she’s dead on her feet before she’s close enough that he can see the familiar set of her mouth that means she would have liked to have been asleep hours ago. He takes one last look around them to be sure there is no one within earshot, but they agreed only to use their aliases even when they were alone, just in case.
“Hey, sunshine,” he calls to her, and she pushes her mouth into an attempt at a smile.
“Hey,” she replies, dropping down beside him.
She smells like grease, dirt, and sweat, though he finds the smell of a sweaty Scully to be a particularly appealing one. He hands her one of the cardboard bowls and she picks up a fried ball of dough, casting him a questioning look.
“Fried pizza balls,” he explains, popping one in his mouth. “Maybe not your usual fare, but I think you’ve burned more than enough calories to earn it.”
She nods in agreement and takes a bite out of one, then turns to him with a surprised expression. “This is delicious, Mu–Luke,” she says, making a face at her near slip-up.
“Don’t act so surprised,” he teases, bumping her with his shoulder. “So, anything gained today?”
She shakes her head solemnly, swallowing. “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. Summer isn’t setting off any red flags for me, but I haven’t had a good opening to ask her about her past yet. I don’t want to be too eager and make her suspicious.”
“Well you may have already made her suspicious with your knowledge of centrifugal force,” he points out, and she grimaces. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
“I’m going to quote you on that,” she retorts. “What about Madge?”
“She’s been with the show a long time. I think she has a history of addiction, but not too recent that I can tell. I like her,” he says.
“Well,” Scully says on an exhale, “based on the pattern, Chris and Damian are at risk, as well as you and I as the newcomers. So we’ll need to keep an eye on them as well.”
Mulder nods. “It’s only day one, can’t expect much at this point. Should we meet here again tomorrow, at midnight unless a different time makes more sense?”
“Don’t you think that will look strange?” she questions, finishing her last pizza ball and stacking her bowl inside his. “Why would two new employees be so chummy after one day?”
Mulder laughs dismissively. “No, no one will wonder why I’m trying to get you out here alone every night, Sc—Penelope. You heard Jean say why they call it the boneyard, right?”
He can practically feel her blushing, though she characteristically plays it cool.
“Right,” she says levelly. “Well, I’m exhausted. I’m going to go take what is probably the worst shower of my life and go to bed.”
She stands, taking the bowls from him and making her way back towards the boneyard.
“Hey, can I call you Penny, too?” he yells when she is several yards away from him, and she holds one fist up over her head, the thumb cocked in approval.
After his own shower, he settles into his bunk, which is a room only large enough for a twin sized bed, a small counter, and a mini fridge. As he tries to fall asleep around the intermittent peels of laughter, the crackle of radios, and the grunt of someone who is either masturbating or having extremely one-sided sex, he thinks about Scully in her little coveralls, grease streaking her cheek and already caked under her fingernails. There’s not a single version of her he doesn’t find beautiful, he’s found. Not a single presentation of this woman that doesn’t make his heart skip a beat while his hands reach for her of their own volition.
Despite the noise, exhaustion overtakes him and he sleeps, deep and dreamless, until a foghorn sounds outside the door at 6:00am and rouses him for another day on the job.
Tagging @today-in-fic
#the x files#txf#x files fanfic#dana scully#fox mulder#xf fanfic#x files#the x-files#xfiles#case fic#case file#txf fanfic
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Roomette Food Trailer
I love the retro look and Tiffany blue color of this lightweight travel trailer that has been converted into a food trailer selling beer and tacos.
The trailer was located next to the upscale InterContinental Yokohama Pier 8 hotel on Shinko Pier in the Minatomirai waterfront district.
Most travel trailers or food trailers I have seen thus far in Japan tend to be those beautiful, shiny, stainless steel Airstreams. The model in this shot is a Japanese brand of travel trailer called the Roomette Short, which has been designed to have a compact shell to help navigate narrow Japanese streets with a spacious interior that is easily customizable for traveling or for use as a concession stand.
Unfortunately, travel trailers and RVs are exorbitantly expensive and some models require a driver’s license that allows towing or operation of a large vehicle. I have seen brands listed online imported from the U.S. and Germany that were more expensive than a house or condo!!
Fujifilm X100V (23 mm)
① ISO 160 for 1/180 sec. at ƒ/2
② ISO 1000 for 1/160 sec. at ƒ/11
Classic Chrome film simulation
#横浜港#横浜#みなとみらい#都市景観写真#トレーラー#ルーメット#ストリートスナップ#pix4japan#classic chrome#Fujifilm X100V#fujifilm#Japan#Yokohama#Minatomirai#Shinko Pier#Port of Yokohama#Roomette Trailer#cityscape photography#urbanscape photography
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The best burger I ever had was at a high school soccer tournament.
It was from a vender who just had a grill and small table set up. The seasoning in the beef was extraordinary and the cheese a perfectly melted bit of heaven. That burger tasted as if the gods themselves had blessed it. Over the two days of the tournament I consumed no less than twenty of those magnificently delightful burgers. I remember craving another after every one that I finished and struggling with my self control not to rush right over and buy another. I failed miserably and just kept going back for more.
I tell that story as an object lesson not to sleep on those little venders you see set up on roadsides or at your local festivals. Or that food truck you drive by on your way to your next destination. Some of the best food I’ve ever had wasn’t from a brick and mortar restaurant but from those small concession trailers. Those are the people cooking with love. Bringing you a small piece of they’re souls with each plate. They know that every dish they serve may be their only chance to win you over and they care the most about what you are served.
I thank all those little guys that have made me so much great food throughout the years from that cheese burger guy to the concession trailer that used to park outside of Lowes that had the best Italian Sausage sandwiches ever. To Chef Lewis’s Birria Tacos and my BBQ brother DJ Robertson. Keep slinging that food with the love you obviously put into it. It’s the little guys that make the food I remember the most.
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Name: Townes Young
Occupation: Singer/songwriter, frontman of Townes Young and The Long Con
Age: 27
Hometown: Hickman, Kentucky
Being a trailer park kid with big dreams was a family tradition for Cheyenne Willis — that’s why, as soon as she’d cobbled together enough money for a beat-up pick-up truck and a tank of gasoline, she hit the road from Hickman, Kentucky in pursuit of Waylon Young’s tour. She was a massive fan of his music and what it represented — the outlaw spirit, freedom, and a background not unlike what she’d left behind. Sure, Waylon was a major name in country music at that point with a rags-to-riches American Dream story that would enviably be made into a Hollywood biopic one day, but for Cheyenne, she heard herself in his lyrics. The fact that he was a looker didn’t hurt anything either.
Waylon didn’t have groupies, but he did have staff — that’s how Cheyenne managed to swing a gig selling t-shirts on the tour, sneaking away every show to catch at least a song or two. One night, at an after party in the parking lot outside of the Mercury Lounge, they’d locked eyes over a keg and plastic cups, gone back to his bus to cut lines with razor blades, and...you can guess the rest. The ring on his finger didn’t deter Cheyenne, because she was the kind of girl that was convinced that that one night in the middle of Oklahoma would change everything for her.
And it did, but not in the way she’d planned. She’d been a mistake, and so was the positive line on the pregnancy test she took after she couldn’t take the smell of the concession stands a few months later. Waylon — and his publicist — had sent her home, paid for her hospital visits, the rent on her double wide, and out of patient rehab. Six months later, she gave birth to a tow-headed baby she named Townes Waylon Young after his daddy...and two months after that, she was self soothing once again with whatever she could get her hands on.
Townes was almost 3 when she ODed — a neighbor found him wandering between the trailers in a dirty diaper and bare feet, his mother “sleeping” in a lawn chair nearby. After 6 months in foster care, Townes was transferred to a place that looked like a palace to him — the home of his father, where he suddenly had a stepmother who put hot food on the table, a father that pushed him on the swings (whenever he was home), and a brother who laughed at his accent and his nonsense and took him around everywhere he went. Like his father, Townes took to the guitar early and relished getting to watch his father play from backstage whenever his stepmother let him and Wyatt go on tour with him during summer break. When his dad joined his mother in heaven after his own overdose when Townes was 13, Townes was starting to dream of a career in music for himself.
He was a difficult teenager. He was kicked out of two high schools by the time he was sixteen, expelled for multiple instances of fighting, smoking weed, and drinking on school property during school hours. Under his stepmother’s supervision, he started studying for his GED right around the time he recorded his first album at 17...and the first time someone cut a line for him in the studio. Within two years, Townes had earned a reputation as a rowdy but talented musician who made surprisingly quality, thoughtful music about hard times and long nights, girls and good times with the boys. He’d had a successful 26-city tour across the US and a quick 7-city one in Europe. He’d also been arrested twice on drunk and disorderlies, but that only added to his persona, only confirmed that he wasn’t all talk.
With the second album came more acclaim and a second tour...which he was forced to abandon after a DUI arrest and subsequent 2-month stint in prison for punching the officer who’d made the arrest — sure, maybe the judge was trying to send a message with the sentence, there was a wider message being spread around country music: that Townes Young was headed for the same fate as his father.
After he got out of prison, while fans still clambered for new music and another tour, and his label was quick to forgive. Townes ripped out a third album, earning him a slew of Americana award nominations and a third tour. From that point on, Townes was on the road full time, making music and switching area codes almost as fast as he was knocking back beers. Sure, he was blackout on stage most nights and it wasn’t an irregular occurrence for him to forget his own lyrics on stage, but the crowds didn’t seem to mind.
A second DUI arrest — immediately after a show where he gave an impassioned, intoxicated speech about which body part of his the police could suck — didn’t go over as well. He avoided another prison sentence by agreeing to attend an in-patient rehab for 6 months, but that didn’t keep his label from dropping him and a decent number of fans boycotting him. When he got out of rehab just after his 25th birthday, Wyatt brought him home to his stepmother’s house, got him set up with a guitar, and tried to keep him focused on music. And it worked. Within a year, he’d been signed by a smaller label with a reputation for representing cult-loved alternative country acts and set to work on a fourth album. And, more importantly, he was sober.
Still, making an album — and paying back the debts he’d run up after he’d had to cancel his last tour — cost money. Wyatt got him set up on tour once again, dead set on making sure he played every show and stayed sober doing it. Now, Townes is getting back to playing shows with his band, The Long Con, and prompting his newest album, Safety Off, and attempting to at least pretend to try to stay away from the hard stuff...at least when his brother is around.
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Get Some Guy To Fall In Love - Do It When You're
Let's say your last boyfriend cheated on you - not once or twice, but throughout program relationship. Their story was that one non-specific day they awoke and life was somehow different.
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We don't actually know anything! Warner Brothers has kept information of the upcoming film tightly under wraps. Sure, a teaser trailer exists and there are rumors floating around, but what will the storyline actually look like this time around? Just for fun, I am going to piece together a variety of the news that's circulating about Man of Steel. I'll caution you, though, a couple of of this news may shocking!
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Skills for this Teenage, Mutant, and Ninja Turtles are really appreciable, nevertheless, if it comes to modern-day samurai, no one matches the truth and speed of Isao Machii of Japan (presently LA). Practicing the art since age 5, he has reached an excellent that no ordinary human can even imagine. Shot at him a tiny pellet using a BB gun and when called he'll slice it in half, he conditions. He is so fast in reference to his sword that one has in order to consider assistance of high-end slow-motion cameras as he slices pellet into at least two! It is almost impossible with a human eye to register the action, as it all happens at such an incredible speed. This modern-day samurai is really a superhuman, a bit too!
Thankfully, I understand that the God who created me does not tire of my conversations with Your ex to. Top Binh Thuan AZ News In fact, I think He is pleased. Top Bình Thuận AZ 24h Located that I talk to Him via the day and hear Him through many means - His written word - the Bible - and the Living Word - His Son - whose Spirit speaks to mine it becomes dark. The Bible calls this prayer. I call it comfort. I will talk to Him about anything, anywhere, anytime without interrupting His thoughts. 1 who provided me more language protein than my husband actually wants me to chat to Him constantly.
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It is times like this we question why I tolerate the politics of boxing. The straightforward answer is, Enjoy the sport. Appreciate boxing. I love to see great match ups, great fights, and even better match ups next week as a consequence of the outcome of great fights. I grew up in the days of Leonard, Hearns, Duran, Hagler, Tyson, and Holyfield. Hence, I was anticipating the upcoming showdown between Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather Jr. It was all anyone on the inside boxing world was talking about. This fight couldn't be manufactured due to a disagreement between the camps about drug testing prior to planet to see. Ah, the politics and business side of fight. We as boxing fans have a front row seat to the human carnival.
The man could spread giving these samples out over many different months if not the entire year. Once his wife or girlfriend has Binh Thuan Viet Nam let him know what she likes, improve your should keep a note out of which one. Tin Top Binh Thuan AZ 247 Then at anytime that can take his fancy, he could buy her what she likes. At this stage it could possibly be bought within the web.
When I pointed out this to my mentors, they declared that I could simplify plan seems to be by together with the dream mainly because reason or focus for starting a questionable income scheme. A major factor of the dream may be the requirement that your dream give you something which ca not obtain doing what are generally doing currently. Also, they told me, the dream does do not have to be material anyway. Having a new car or home is often a great dream but maybe being famous for your achievement maybe right.
Mostly unknown, sex plays a huge role in relationships. As you are his partner, it can be you to supply him mind-blowing sex. Every man has his regarding fantasies, yours surely has his. Try to find out about them and exploration best in fulfilling both of them. If you are able to do that, He's most likely never appear any other way.
There aren't too many left out there, but there even now a few companies who will ask the teachers to repay a fee to purchase them a employment. If you come across someone like this, say thanks, but see you later.
Association, or where a person get your advice, will be the third principle of achieving your goal. Quite simply, if you like to be successful, take advice from successful those. Many people have a tendency when facing a new idea find advice in the nearest family member, friend or colleague. Unfortunately they rarely consider your own home person however asking could be the least bit qualified of giving advice. Hopes to to look foolish or uninformed which they will gear an opinion, whether accurate or far from being. The truth is many associated with those advice seekers will take the advice of the advice giver even if ever the information is inaccurate.
He was setting the particular agenda and pace for that interaction. That's leading. That's being a males. And within that, he was obtaining a little bit of yin energy (a little little bit the girl).
Top Binh Thuan AZ 24h It means be on your own own. If you are serious about your relationship, pretending to be what close to will create a disaster for you. Relationships are formed judging by notions of compatibility between two people. So, if he feels that the personality is pretense, almost certainly feel deceived and will move clear of you.
Continue. A person have have said hi (and it's clear that he isn't in a rush to elope and take the appropriate steps else (such as open-heart surgery), try your utmost best to remain that conversation. Try and let him do tastes the talking, and you may ask the query. If he does ask you about yourself, keep your responses rich and interesting, but short. It is important that he'll almost certainly talk also (this is important)!
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