#of course- as evidenced by that he's doing that exact same pushing away again- that questioning didn't last

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #95

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (22)

all parts here

-

“Is it ok if we don’t invite anyone over?” 

The two of you had eaten your fill but there was so much extra food that you felt a little guilty about your question. Allowing yourself to bring your walls down around Matt alone was hard enough, introducing his friends into the mix would be too much at once. 

You knew them all and no one would treat your poorly or anything like that, but the suspicions about the two of you they probably already had would be confirmed. You were smart enough to know that both Matt and yourself had been acting weird around each other lately, so there was no way no one else noticed. 

“Of course, will you help me pack up the extra stuff? Only what you want though, we’re about to fill your fridge.”

“Matt, really? I don’t need all this.”

“I know, but I want to make sure you remember tonight and leftovers will help.” 

The two of you put the food into containers and walked them to your apartment in near silence. It was awkward as hell, the only sound being your key turning in the lock and footsteps as you both stepped inside. 

“Onyx!”

Matt set the containers he had on your counter and rushed over to pick up the purring cat. Onyx nuzzled his head against Matt’s neck and settled happily in his arms, more than content with being loved on. Thank fuck for him though, because you had no idea how to break the tension that had followed you from the hall and into your apartment.

“I kind of forget he exists sometimes but then I see him again and remember how good of friends we are.”

“He’s going to be good friends with everyone who treats him like that,” you waved your hand in Matt’s direction, “I’m going to put this stuff away.” 

As far as dates went, this one hadn’t been too bad. Matt had gone out of his way to get more food than would ever be necessary, you had normal conversations while you ate and there was even some laughter. Guilt was eating at you a little bit for keeping the others away but Matt didn’t seem to be bothered. 

“Well, I guess this is it?”

The awkward silence returned as soon as you spoke and Matt set Onyx down on the couch. 

“What? No, this isn’t the end of the date. Come on back up, I still have stuff planned.” 

Locking your door behind you, you let Matt lead you back to his apartment. His body language was kind of weird, and it seemed like he was going to make an attempt to grab your hand, thought better of it, and instantly pulled away, opting instead to stay about a foot ahead of you. Neither of you spoke on the elevator ride up or the walk to his door.

“Matt this is really awkward, I can’t even lie.” 

The standard expression on his face shifted into a smile as he unlocked the door and ushered you inside. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not good at dates. I don’t go on them very often.” 

“You usually skip the soft part and go straight to sex, right?”

He definitely didn’t expect that, as evidenced by his wide eyes and red cheeks. When he didn’t respond, you laughed it off, “that was a mostly a joke, because you do have a reputation. Even though we’re just now doing whatever we’re doing, I’ve been here a while.”

“I always forget that.” 

“It’s easy to do. You’re a professional hockey player, I’m somebody’s assistant. Had we not been forced to be roommates on, interestingly, the only roadie I’ve had to attend, I wouldn’t be here right now. You would continue to avoid me unless you had to talk to me, which would be short and rude and maybe include an insult, and I would continue to tolerate it to keep my job.”

*

It was not what he wanted to hear on what was supposed to be a date that was supposed to be the start of something good, but there it was. He had treated her poorly for years and to hear that she would still be continuing to deal with it today if things hadn’t changed was heartbreaking. He felt like his head was being slammed against the ice a thousand times at the sound of just a simple statement. 

It hurt even worse because he knew she was right. They would be in the same exact place they had always been in and he would have completely missed out on an opportunity to meet someone who now meant so much to him, he couldn’t see himself without her. 

“I don’t know what to say, sorry isn’t enough. I’ve been horrible to you for no reason at all for a long time and I don’t have any excuses as for why. I’m so fucking sorry, I really am. The fact that you had to deal with my abuse all this time, just to keep your paycheck, makes me sick to my stomach.”

“I wouldn’t call it abuse, exactly. Everyone’s got a mean coworker.”

“I made you sleep on the floor, I made you cry, I created a toxic work environment for you for two years and you couldn’t do anything about it. You wouldn’t call that abuse?”

He dropped to the couch and watched her shoulders sag and heard her sigh. 

“Matt, look, I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty by saying that. I was just making an observation at how different the circumstances could be had the chips not fallen the way they did.” 

He knew that wasn’t her intention, but it didn’t matter. He’d fucked up so much with her and he couldn’t believe she was even there in the first place.

“I don’t deserve you. I want you but I don’t deserve you and you should take the job in Philadelphia.”

*

What had you done? A lighthearted date that had started with takeout and casual conversation had spiraled into a torrential downpour. He was just begging you not to leave and inappropriately kissing you in the hallway at work and now he was telling to accept the job? What the fuck?

“Can we just stop this? Can we go back to whatever you had planned before I opened my mouth and said some dumb shit? Dates are supposed to be fun, this isn’t fun.” 

Matt was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, you didn’t think he was crying but when he raised his head and met your gaze, his eyes were rimmed red and puffy. 

“Why are you?! Oh my god!” 

You nearly ran to sit down next to him and threw your arms around his shoulders. He didn’t push you away, but he wasn’t trying to hug you back.

“People have to deal with bullshit all the time at work, even you, most hated player in the league. You don’t seem to let it get to you, I didn’t either. The hotel room was rough, yes, but clearly I got over it. I’m here right now aren’t I? You think I would want anything to do with you if I was still upset?”

You eased away from him as he rubbed his face and ran his hands through his curls. 

“Jesus, I really am terrible at dates. Crying on one is a first though.”

The tension lessened a little and you stood up from beside him, walking over to the window to take in the view of the city.

“I’m sorry I made you come to some realizations you weren’t ready to face, or maybe didn’t even know existed but I promise that the man here now is not the same one I had to share a shitty hotel mattress with.” 

“You mean this one is worse?”

You both chuckled at his half hearted joke and this time, the silence hanging between the two of you was peaceful.

“I didn’t mean what I said before.”

“That you don’t deserve me? Or that I should go to Philly?”

“I meant half of it, I definitely don’t deserve you, but I don’t want you to take the job with the Flyers.”

“I know.” 

“Which part of that are you referring to?” 

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

He joined you by the window and the two of you stood next to each other in silence for a few minutes, both focusing on the view below you and not the confusing mix of emotions dancing around in your heads. 

“I’ve gotta be honest, Matt, I’m really tired.”

“You’re probably not willing to sleep here, are you?” 

“Not tonight. Tonight has been way too heavy for us to have a fucking sleepover.”

You gently punched his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. 

“Can we try again?”

“Of course, we can absolutely try again.” 

“I’m sorry for crying, holy fuck, that is so fucking embarrassing, shit.” 

“Shut up, Tkachuk, I like a man that isn’t afraid to show his feelings.” 

Matt walked you over to his door and pulled you into another tight hug, asking if he could walk you back to yours. Despite his best efforts, you went home alone. 

[melisa-may-taylor72]

QUEEN BEFORE QUEEN

THE 1960s RECORDINGS

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

PART 1:

BRIAN MAY, 1984 & THE LEFT HANDED MARRIAGE

JOHN S. STUART AND ANDY DAVIS DIG DEEP TO UNCOVER THE PREVIOUSLY UNDOCUMENTED AUDIO LEGACY OF ONE OF THE WORLD’S MOST CHERISHED BANDS.

This month the beginning and end of Queen come together like the cosy ending of a contrived Hollywood drama. While fans wait with bated breath for the band’s final album, “Made In Heaven" — completed by Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor with the aid of Freddie Mercury’s last demos — author Mark Hodkinson launches a new book in which, in greater detail than has ever been attempted before, delves into the pre-fame histories of Queen’s musical antecedents.

With previously unpublished photographs of Roger Taylor's the Reaction, John Deacon’s the Opposítion and even more impressively, Freddie Mercury’s Sour Milk Sea, ‘Queen The Early Years’ is a treat fans have waited too long to read. Coincidentally, six months ago, we commissioned Queen historian, John S. Stuart, to research the definitive article on the band’s pre-fame recordings, and as you’ll see, the results complement Hodkinson’s broader picture with hitherto undocumented details of Queen's 60s recordings.

We've touched on Larry Lurex and Smile before, of course, but the vinyl output of those two acts barely scratches the surface, so to speak: literally hours and hours of privately- recorded material of Freddie, Brian, John and Roger survive to this day — as evidenced by the recent discovery of the Reaction’s ‘In The Midnight Hour’ acetate ( see RC 191). So, while the rest of the world comes to terms with the fact that Queen’s recording career is effectively at an end, we unravel the untold history of four individuals' first tentative steps in front of the microphone, beginning with the 1960′s exploits of Brian May. Next month, we’ll embrace Smile, and John, Roger and Freddie's hidden amateur recordings; but first, 1984 and the Left Handed Marriage.

1984

Around late August, or early September 1963, as the Beatles celebrated the birth of Beatlemania with sessions for their “With The Beatles” LP at EMI’s Abbey Road Studios in North London, another rock legend was developing just around the geographical corner. In a semi-detached house in Feltham, Middlesex, electronics engineer Harold May began an 18-month task, helping his sixteen-year-...[ ]

[ ]...old son, Brian, to construct the world's most famous home-made guitar, the ‘Red Special'. In the mean time, Brian would have to be con­tent with thrashing away at the small Spanish acoustic his parents had bought him for his seventh birthday. (Brian evidently mislaid this childhood guitar shortly afterwards; and didn't see it again until 1991, when at a ‘reunion’ of former members of 1984, his schoolfriend and first musical collaborator, Dave Dilloway, returned it to him. Brian was so thrilled, that he featured the guitar in the video for Queen’s “Headlong" single).

By 1964, Brian and Dave Dilloway were already recording amateur duets together, and by linking up their two reel-to-reel tape docks, they discovered that they could lay down guitars on one machine, and perhaps bass, percussion and sometimes vocals on the other. Although the technique was crude, and despite the occasional disaster, the effect was often surprisingly good. One of the earliest tapes from these primitive recording sessions survives to this day, and features Brian belting out Bo Diddley’s eponymous R&B standard, "Bo Diddley".

“This is a mono quarter-inch, reel-to-reel I found buried among various other oddments from the era”,  recalls Dave Dilloway. “It certanly dates from before the formation of 1984. It was recorded in Brian’s back room in Feltham, with Brian on lead vocals and guitar, and myself on bass and drums. The track is basic, but Brian’s vocals are clear and recognisable. The guitar playing is fairly basic as well, but competent, without any real solos as such”.

“ This is the only tape in my collection of those double-track recordings. I’m unsure whether Brian himself has retained the tapes we made at the time, but I believe he usually ended up with the finished versions, so he may still heve them somewhere.”

 The duo also recorded four-track instru­mental cover versions of several Shadows tunes — “Apache”, “FBI”, "Wonderful Land” and "The Rise  And Fall Of Fingel Blunt” — as well as “Rambunkshush”, which they learned from the Shadows’ American counterparts, The Ventures.  Also on the same tape is their reading of Chet Atkins' “Windy And Warm".

 Yet another reel reveals an attempt at Cliff Richard’s "Bachelor Boy", on which Brian, once again, takes the lead vocal. Dave Dilloway's theory is probably correctt; May is known to have a meticulously catalogued personal collection of Queen (and pre-Queen) recordings and memorabilia, which almost certanlly contains unfathomable reels of similar early material.

In the autumn of 1964, Brian and Dave formed a rapidly-evolving band, through which many schoolmates passed, but which eventually settled with a line-up of bassist John 'Jag' Garnham, drummer Richard Thompson, and harmonica-playing vocalist Tim Staffell. After rejecting names such as the Mind Boggles and Bob Chappy & the Beetles, the quintet named themselves after George Orwell’s futuristic novel ‘1984’. Their look was far from sci-fi, however, and they happily adopted the classic, clean-cut beat- group look of the day: jackets, or in Brian's case a cardigan, and narrow trousers; and beat boots. Tim Staffell even acquired that year’s fashion accessory, a pork-pie hat.

The band rehearsed regularly at Chase Bridge Primary School Hall in Twickenham (located next to the rugby ground), and on the 28th October 1964, gave their first public performance at the nearby St. Mary’s Church Hall. It is believed that either one of the rehearsals, or the gig itself, was recorded, but unfortunately, no tape of this debut, perform­ance has survived the years. Although 1984 recorded almost all of their live concerts for their own critical appraisal, to save on the expense of new tape they often wiped over old reels once they’d listened to them. Nevertheless, evidence of Brian May playing live does survive from this period, and the earliest example dates from an unknown gig (Shepperton Rowing Club is the favoured consensus), recorded in late 1965. This wasn’t a 1984 performance, but rather an ad-hoc trio comprising Brian May on bass and vocals, Pete ‘Woolly’ Hammerton (a school friend of Brian’s) on guitar and vocals, and 1984's Richard Thompson on drums. The tape reveals the trio turning in versions of Martha & the Vandellas’ “Dancing In The Street", the Beatles' “Eight Days A Week”, “I’m Taking Her Home” — a song by the group Woolly later joined, the Others — and a brave attempt at the Who’s "My Generation".

The Others comprised older boys from Hampton School, who in October 1964 had issued a single of their abrasive reading of Bo Diddley’s “Oh Yeah", backed by “I’m Taking Her Home", on Fontana (TF 501). “That was good!" claims singer, Tim Staffell. “I’ve still got that record buried somewhere deep in my mind — I remember the singer, Paul Stewart's voice and the quality of the guitar sound. The Others were a pretty significant influence. Maybe not in terms of the music, more in the sense that they were already doing it, which proved it was possible."

As evidenced by the photograph included in this feature, the Others clearly had attitude, something which 1984, or Tim Staffell at least, could only aspire to “If I had tried to push 1984 in any direction," reveals Tim, “then that would have been it. Without hearing any of these tapes of our band — and I didn't even know they existed! — l’d say we probably sounded a lot safer than the Others. Mind you, they were different to us. Their guitar style was very much inspired by American R&B, whereas Brian’s never was. Brian was a unique guitar player: he was able to extemporise a much more original way than most guitar players could. I hope he’ll forgive me for saying so, but I never perceived him as having the dangerous image which was necessary at the time — the cardigan says it all!.

LIGHTWEIGHT

“In retrospect, 1984 was lightweight, a bit fluffy”  concedes Tim. “It was impossible not to be naively ambitious — that was part and parcel of it — and the primary motivation to do it was what we saw in the media as the end results of success. But I guess we were realistic about it — we were at school, after all. Also there was a good deal of pressure in the 60s from our parents, and the conser­vative generation, to conform."

Although a version of “I’m Taking Her Home” by 1984 was captured live on the Shepperton tape, and Brian occasionally guested with the Others on stage, it's worth stating once and for all that — despite the persistent rumours — he definitely doesn’t feature on "Oh Yeah".  In fact, Pete ‘Woolly' Hammerton doesn't even play on the record — he only joined the band formally later on.

In the autumn of 1965, leaving Hampton Grammar with no fewer than four 'A' Levels and ten ‘O’ levels, Brian enrolled at Imperial College in Kensington, London, to read physics and infra-red astronomy. Before breaking up for the Christmas holidays that year, he played the first in a series of gigs with 1984 at the college, a tradition he continued later with Smile, and in their formative days with Queen. Although the exact date of the event has long since been forgotten, a very poor- quality tape still exists of 1984‘s college debut. The set was a typical one, comprising the group’s broad blend of pop, R&B and soul covers, and included the following songs: “Cool Jerk" (originally by the Capitols), ‘Respect" (Otis Redding), "My Girl" (the Temptations), “Shake" (Sam Cooke), “Stepping Stone" (the Monkees), “You Keep Me Hanging On" (the Supremes), “Whatcha Gonna Do Ahout it" ( Small Faces), “Substitute” (the Who), “How Can It Be” (the B-side of the Birds’ final single, “No Good Without You Baby”), “Danc­ing In The Street", “Dream" (Everly Brothers) and the Small Faces’ "Sha La La La Lee".

“Our repertoire was a little too eclectic to have developed into any particular style” reckons Tim Staffell. “But the Small Faces were quite influential. When we were at school, the songs were dredged from all sorts of areas. I’d always liked rhythm’n’blues. Brian’s input would have been Beatles-orientated, Dave’s as well. Richard Thompson would have been more into R&B, and Jag didn't really have an agenda as far as songs were concerned. Because of the nature of the material we covered, our approach to the gigs was almost schoollboy cabaret. 1984 was not a dangerous, moody rock band! Which may have something to do with the way Queen evolved."

1984 oponed 1966 with a couple of gigs at the Thames Rowing CIub in Putney; and once again, a tape recorder was set up to document the group’s progress. Two reels from January that year exist: the first is dated the 15th, and features “Im A Loser” (the Beatles), “I Wish You Would" ( the Yardbirds), “I Feel Fine" (the Beatles), “Little Egypt" (the Coasters), "Lucille” (Little Richard), “Too Much Monkey Business" (Chuck Berry), "I Got My Mojo Working” (Muddy Waters), "WalkingThe Dog” ( Rufus Thomas) and “Heart Full Of Soul" (the Yardbirds).

The second, dated two weeks later (29th January), demonstrates the great variety and confidence of a band which consistently renewed its repertoire. The show began with Jimmy Reed’s  “Bright Lights, Big City", moving into the Cookies' “Chains" (popularised by the Beatles), “Walking The Dog", “Lucille", “Our Little Rendezvous" (Chuck Berry), “Jack O’ Diamonds" (Blind Lemon... (cont)

(cont) Jefferson, popularised by Lonnie Donegan), “I’ve Got My Mojo Working”, “Little Egypt" and Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man”. The band’s finale was a versión of Sonny Boy Williamson’s "Bye Bye Bird".

For an amateur band with little real pretension towards stardom, or even a serious attempt at securing a recording contract, a staggering amount of live 1984 material has been preserved on tape. Dave Dilloway, for instance, is the guardian of a seven-inch reel-to-reel, which he says reveals either a very long performance or a compilation of various unknown dates.

Either way, the tape is divided into five distinct sections, which might make tedious reading, but is an invaluable reference: 1) “Route 66", (unknown instrumental), “I’m Taking Her Home", “Too Much Monkey Business’, “Yesterday" (featuring Brian May on lead vocals), “Walking The Dog", and “ Lucille"; 2) “Little Rendezvous", "Keep On Running”, “I Feel Fine”, “Walking The Dog”, “Jack O’ Diamonds", “High Heeled Sneakers", “I Want To Hold Your Hand", “I Got My Mojo Working*, and “I Should Have Known Better”; 3) “Little Rendezvous", “Jump Back Baby Jump Back", “I Feel Fine”, “Bye Bye Bird", “Little Egypt", “Crazy House". “Lucille”, “Oh Yeah”, “Heatwave”, “Too Much Monkey Business", “I Should Have Known Better", and “I Got My Mojo Working"; 4) “My Generation", “Little Egypt", “Dancing In The Street", “Whatcha Gonna Do About It", “I’m A Man", “Heatwave", “Lucille", and “Bye Bye Bird"; and 5) “Heart Full Of Soul", “Too Much Monkey Business”, “Something’s Got A Hold On Me", “Keep On Running", “My Generation", "Tired Of Waiting", “Bright Lights. Big City" and “Happy Hendrick’s Polka".

“These are all domestic quality, single microphone recordings of early-era 1984", reveals Dave Dilloway. “It's mostly bluesy material, with some soul and Beatles songs. While the quality is basic, the sound is intelligible, although there isn’t a large amount of identifiable Brian guitarwork. That came later in the band's history, when we included covers of Crearn and Hendrix. Brian's solo vocals on 'Yesterday' (on the first segment) are quite clear, however."

For much of 1966, the band carried on in a similar vein — Brian's and the others' college work permitting, of course. For Brian May and his unsigned, Twickenham-based covers band, the highlight of the following year, 1967, was undoubtedly the gig he secured via through his contacts at the college — supporting Jimi Hendrix at Imperial. The date was 13th May, the day after the release of Hendrix's debut, “Are You Experienced". Brian May idolised Hendrix to such an extent that he'd been nicknamed “Brimi" — a combination of the two guitarists' names—so although 1984 had seen him perform before, it goes without saying they were thrilled when backstage, they actually bumped into the ascending star as they filed past his dressing-room. It’s a familar story, but it's one worth repeating: Jimi enquired memorably, “Which way’s the stage, man?*.

BLOSSOMED

1984's act had certainly blossomed by this point. Their attire was now obligatory Swinging London — or Swinging Middlesex — fare: frilly shirts, Regency jackets, striped hipsters secured with a white belt, and hairtyles extending inexorably over the ears, and indeed the eyes. “Somewhere along the line, there was an external influence there", says Tim Staffell. “There was someone calling the shots. I don’t think all that was self-motivated. It’s something I’ve never been comfortable with, which explains why I split away from it early on — certainly from Smile onwards — because it was going that way; as indeed it ended up with Queen. It's fair enough, but that sort of flamboyance is just not me. I look fairly uncomfortable in the picture of the band from that period. My idea of a rock musician is one with hair down his back, a dirty pair of Levi's on, looking at the floor, thoroughly unconcerned with the visual and external trappings, playing the most extraordinary virtuoso guitar. That was my attitude."

Back in February 1967, Brian’s local paper, the ‘Middlesex Chronicle’ caught up with the band, and captured Tim Staffell in an equally decisive mood; although here, he was more enthusiastic about the latest trend. "Psychodelic music is certainly here to stay”~he claimed. "It makes more of music than mere sound, it makes it a whole and complete art form." Dave Dilloway, who also handled the group's light show, added: “We use everything in our act, including things like shaving foam, and plastic bricks we throw around”.

The ‘Chronicle’ was obviously impressed, and its reporter had this to say about a per­formance by what it called “one of the most foward-looking groups today". “Standards, like ‘Heatwave' receive a very original treatment, mostly due to the sounds that Brian coaxes out of his guitar. Jazz chords and electronic sounds add feeling and nuance to numbers that are often churned out wholesale. Using two bass drums for a fuller sound, Richard's drumming, combined with the full bass riffs of Dave and the steady (rhythm guitar) work of John, provides a firm basis for experiments in sound — an opportunity which is not wasted."

“To be quite honest with you, there’s more substance in the literary content there, than in the musical," laughs Tim Staffell. "If some­one genuinely thought that, then I'm surprised! Brian might have used a fuzz-box. but generally, it was au naturel. I remember in the Smile days, somebody wrote about ‘humming chords of wonder’, referring to my bass playing. The reality of it was that sometimes I did try and play chords on the bass guitar, which might have come out as a deep-throated roar, but actually sounded like a load of crap!"

“We did use to tickle about with a few lights, suggests Dave Dilloway, “but being a local band, money was tight and there wasn’t a fortune to spend on the band." As to 1984's psychodelic sound, Dave adds: “Brian did use a bit of fuzz, yes, and Pink Floyd influences and a bit of screaming guitar. He’d actually built a fuzz box into his guitar, which was fairly unique for the day, but typical Brian. If you look carefully at recent pictures of his “Red Special” you can see the fuzz switch taped over."

In September 1967, no doubt boosted by their praise — sincere or not — in the local press, the continuing evidence of their per­formance tapes and their recent Hendrix support slot, 1984 entered the local beats of a battle-of-the-bands competition at the Top...[ ]

...[ ] Rank Club in Croydon, just south of London. Effectively a promotion for Scotch tape, en­trance to the contest could only be secured via a demo recorded on a Scotch reel. 1984’s effort duly arrived in the form of a two-track master, featuring covers of Marvin Gaye's “Ain’t That Peculiar?" and the Everly Brothers’ “Crying ln The Rain" (on stage, both tracks were usually enhanced by characteristic Brian May guitar solos, but conservatism prevailed, and they were absent in this instance). A copy of this recording still survives, carefully guarded by the custodian of the 1984 archive. “This tape is a quarter-inch, mono reel-to-reel," re­calIs Dave Dilloway. “Tim took lead vocals on 'Ain't That Peculiar?’, and Tim and Brian duetted on ’Crying ln The Rain’. Brian's vocal style and tone can be clearly discerned, if one knows his voice. The songs were recorded in single takes, using a single microphone fed directly to the recorder. There was no mix facility so it has a ‘live' feel, a very good clean sound”. 

The mix was achieved using the old fashioned technique of microphone position and relative volume levels of the amplified Instruments. “As far as I am aware, only the one (master) copy of this tape exists.”

As has been well-documented, after two sets at the competition (one of which saw Brian, Dave, John Garnham and drummer Richard Thompson acting as the back-up band for a singer called Lisa Perez), 1984 won the contest, and walked away with a reel of blank tape (Scotch, of course) and an album each on the CBS label. (Tim took the top prize, Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sounds Of Silence", Brian had to make do with a Barbra Streisand LP, and Dave Dilloway became the proud owner of an album by Irish bandleader Tommy Makem!). More importantly, their demo tape was forwarded to the CBS A&R department for the national showdown, although, clearly, they didn’t win.

True to form, 1984's performance that evening was committed to tape — for an unpublished review by ‘Melody’ Maker, no less — but was probably erased shortly afterwards. The twenty-minute set consisted of the Everlys’ "So Sad", Hendrix’s “Stone Free”, Buddy Knox’s “She’s Gone" and Eddie Floyd's “Knock On Wood". After the gig, the band were invited by a visiting promotor to participate in the all-night gala event which has since gone down as one of the key gigs of the London underground scene: Christmas On Earth Continued, at London's Olympia Theatre, on December 23rd 1967. 1984 was the lowest pro­file act at this decidedly high-profile event, and after Jimi Hendrix, Traffic, Pink Floyd, the Herd, and Tyrannosaurus Rex had all taken to the stage, they only got to perform their humble set of covers at 5 o’clock in the morning. When Brian finally plugged in his ‘Red Special’, 1984 played a thirty-minute set to a very small, and less than enthusiastic, audience.

Also from 1967, and of far more interest, is 1984′s professionally-recorded Thames Television demo tape. During his first-year of study at Twickenham Technical College, Dave Dilloway had made friends with a number of technicians, or trainee technicians, at the Teddington-based ITV company which served the London area. The station had recently invested in new recording equipment, and rather than hire professional musicians at the usual union rate, in a set up similar to the first Queen sessions at the De Lane Lea studios, 1984 were let loose in the studio to record at their leisure. Dave Dilloway's carefully preserved tape still plays perfectly, and includes the following songs: "Hold On I’m Corning", “Knock On Wood“, “NSU", *How Can It Be”, two early run-throughs of the original May/ Staffell composition “Step On Me” (which eventually became the B- side to Smile's “Earth"), “Purple Haze", “Our Love Is Driftin* ”, and medleys of “Remember”/”Sweet Wine" and “Get Out My Life Woman”/ ”Satisfaction". The session ended with a run-through of "My Girl”.

AMALGAM

"What an extraordinary amalgam!" declares Tim Staffell today. “There’s Tamla, Cream, Hendrix, Lee Dorsey . . ‘Our Love Is Driftin' we’d have heard by Paul Butterfield. I’d forgotten there was such a large soul component in 1984!".

Dave Dilloway has the technical details: “This tape is the most re­cent, best and most representative of 1984 that I'm aware of. It is mono, but since it was made on good quality TV studio equipment and was carried out along the lines of a proper studio recording, with separately-mixed microphones for each source, it is remarkably good quality for its age. The material, except for ‘Step On Me', is aII cover versions, but as it dates from the late 1984 era, Brian’s playing is more prominent and effective, with his own style starting to show through. All the performances are competent — particularly Tim’s vocals and Brian's guitar; although the mix is a little heavy on John's rhythm guitar for some reason, probably the ‘ear’ of the recording engineer at the time. All tracks were laid down in one take, i.e., no overdubbing at all, so the sound is predominantly simple, as per our live versions."

And that was 1984′s swansong. In the spring of 1968, shortly afler the Thames recording, mainly due to the pressures of infrequent meetings and university studies — coupled with increasing musical differences — 1984 scaled down their operations drastically. Brian May left the band, and Tim Staffell took over on lead guitar for a while. A little later, Tim himself quit, leaving Dave Dilloway, John Garnham and Richard Thompson to rebuild the group, which soldiered on into the 70′s, content merely to play for fun. They all conceded that 1984 had been a good, solid, and popular local band, but that it didn’t have the necessary spark or originality to transform into a great one.

The Left Handed Marriage

ln the summer of 1965, in another corner of Hampton Grammar School, Brian May’s old friend Bill Richards (who had been a fleeting, early member of 1984 before it acquired its futuristic name), and his colleagues Jenny Hill (née Rusbridge), Henry Deval and Terry Goulds, formed a folk-rock band called the Left-Handed Marriage, named after an archaic form of marrying beneath oneself. By January 1967, the quartet had progressed to the point where they had issued their own privately-pressed album, “On The Right Side Of The Left Handed Marriage", which ran to just fifty copies (and, incidentally, has since acquired cult status among collectors, with a £600 price tag to match).

Although naturally familiar with the al­bum, Brian May as yet had not been involved with the band. That changed in March 1967, after Bill signed a twelve-month contract with EMI's music publishing company Ardmore & Beechwood — a deal secured through the efforts of Brian Henderson, a former member of Edinburgh beat outfit the Mark Five, and more recently, the bassist in Patrick Campbell- Lyons' 60′s psychodelic band, Nirvana. Bill approached Brian to help him create a “fuller" sound for the Left Handed Marriage, with a request to provide guitar and backing vocals on some recording sessions.

On the understanding that the project wouldn’t interfere with his commitment to 1984, Brian agreed. On 4th April 1967, he joined Jenny, Henry, Terry and Bill in AMC Sound, an amateur studio in Manor Road, Twickenham, to record four songs: “Give Me Time” (later changed to “I Need Time"), "She Was Once My Friend", “Sugar Lump Girl” and “Yours Sincerely” (which was basically “Give Me Time" backwards, with new lyrics pinched from the Russian author Pushkin).

The songs were all cleanly-recorded, melodic atempts at 1967 pop (despite the Left Handed Marriage's later classification, there's little actual folk music in evidence). “She Was Once My Friend" is the pick of the bunch, thanks to its Kinks-like structure — complete with Bill Richard's/ Ray Davies-soundalike vocal and, albeit way down in the mix, flashes of that distinctive Brian May 'Red Special’ guitar sound. Acetates of the AMC EP were cut, and the idea had been to release the songs as a commercial EP.  Instead, the set merely became the Left Handed Marriage’s first demo for their publishers, although it did lead to the offer to record at a more professional session — at EMI’s prestigious Abbey Road studios.

The Abbey Road session took place on 28th June 1967, when Left Handed Marriage were joined by Brian and 1984′s Dave Dilloway, who was drafted in to play bass. Two further tracks were cut: the reworked “I Need Time",...[ ]

...[ ] and a new song called “Appointment". At this stage, there was more talk of issuing a record, this time a single, and a release date of August was even discussed. This never materialised either, and again 7″ acetates are all that remain.

Although Ardmore & Beechwood were pleased with the results, they still thought the Left Handed Marriage could improve their sound even further, and on 31st July 1967, they booked the band into another studio, this time Regent Sound in central London. As Dave Dilloway was not available, another friend, John Frankel, was called upon to play bass and piano. The eight-track Regent Sound ma­chine was something of a technological marvel, and the session was flawlessly recorded, resulting in new versions of “I Need Time”, “She Was Once My Friend" (which also remixed and edited for the abandoned single), and "Appointment".

Despite the studio quality of the tape, Ardmore & Beechwood failed to place the songs with a record label, and like so many groups before and since, the Left Handed Marriage quietly disappeared from view. It was left to frontman Bill Richards belatedly to issue the fruits of this last session, when in February 1993, he tagged the three Regent Sound recordings — the final mix of “I Need Time”, the abridged version of “She Was Once A Friend Of Mine” and the final mix of “Appointment” — onto the end of “Crazy Chain”, a CD recorded by the reformed Left Handed Marriage, which itself was prompted by collector's interest in the group’s original 1967 LP,  “The Right Hand Side Of...” . Most of the master tapes for the LHM recordings featuring Brian May have Iong since disappeared along with the Regent Sound studio, and (with the exception of "She Was Once My Friend") the Richards/May collaborations on the CD were digitally remastered from acetates.

RECORD COLLECTOR Nº 195, NOVEMBER 1995

➡NEXT: ROGER TAYLOR’S REACTION 

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[collecting-stories]

Say It - Tommy Shelby

A/N: Title inspired by Maggie Roger’s ‘Say It’ cause that’s what I was listening to when I wrote this. It was really really difficult to get back into Tommy Shelby’s mindset so I apologize if this feels a little less fluid than some of my other work. 

Requested: Could I request a Tommy/John Shelby imagine (whatever you’re feeling!) where the reader is his secretary and gets pregnant but is nervous to tell him/gets threatened or something and he finds out and it ends all happy?

///

You paced the room, hands twisting your skirt as you waited for Tommy to arrive at work. You had begun working for the Shelby’s almost a year ago as a secretary, first for all of the brothers but then primarily for Tommy. There was a natural attraction between the two of you, or so you told yourself the first night that you worked late and he kissed you. The relationship that followed was not a relationship at all, instead it was simply an agreement of the physical nature. Tommy was ever the business man, even during your trysts. Despite that, and the arrangement that the two of you had come to early on in your companionship, you would have been lying to say that you didn’t develop some feelings toward Tommy.  

Though inconvenient, feelings were repressible. You could pretend that your heart didn’t beat erratically when he got close to you and that goosebumps didn’t erupt on your skin when he touched you. It helped, almost, that he offered you no kind words to hint at love or care. Instead your love was unrequited, real and effervescent but unrequited all the same. Still, unrequited love could be pushed to the side and locked away when it hurt to much to think about. What could not be pushed to the side was a baby.  

When you discovered that you were pregnant you had cried, for hours that felt like days, trying to convince yourself that this news would not change things between you and Tommy but you knew that it had to. You assumed this meeting, the one that you were waiting for him to arrive for, would be the last time that you would see him. Surely he would send you away. Maybe with a few pounds to help your journey but you wouldn’t be welcome in Small Heath any longer. You had been imagining it in your mind since you got the news.  

The feeling of someone gently gripping your elbow caught you from your mind, making you turn to the owner of the hand as they spoke, “what are you doing here?” Tommy stood before you, looking as handsome as usual. You wished that you had some way to capture the way he looked at this exact moment.  

“I need to speak with you, urgently.” You replied, uneasy settling in your voice.  

“Of course,” Tommy nodded, a flicker of something crossing his face before he was looking at you again, stoic and business-like. “Here.” He guided you into the office where, though seen, those that had already arrived at the betting shop wouldn’t be able to hear you.  

“I’m,” you paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, “I’m taking my leave.”

“What?” There was a clear tone of surprise in Tommy’s voice when he spoke, something you had never heard before. He was never surprised by things, or very rarely if he was. You had never witnessed it. “Has something happened?”

You paused. How could you tell him? Yes something had happened. He had happened. Snuck up on you when you weren’t even aware and now you couldn’t imagine a life without him. Though you could not imagine him wanting a life with you, not a proper one. That was the worst part of all this, that you knew you had to leave even though you did not want to.

“I just...need a change of,” You looked out to the few men who were counting and doing other menial tasks they had been assigned in the shop, “scenery.”

“When do you leave?”

“I...haven’t settled all the arrangements yet, I just wanted you to be the first to know.” You had no. idea when you were leaving. Hopefully, if you were lucky, it would be soon. The sooner the better. You couldn’t go to a doctor in Small Heath, it was bad enough you’d gone to one to tell you that you were pregnant. If word got to the Shelby’s there was no telling what might happen.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?”

You could think of a plethora of ways that Tommy could convince you to stay in Small Heath. He could tell you that these feelings you had were not one sided, that he too thought of you when apart. He could tell you that he wanted to have a life with you. A real one, where he wasn’t simply your boss and you his secretary. He could walk down the street with you, take you to the Garrison, have you round for tea, tell you how much he valued the time you gave to him. But none of that was a reality that you would ever exist in. Tommy was a business man through and through, this was just another one of his transactions.  

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, feeling more emotional than you wanted to during this odd break-up, though not more emotional than you actually were. There was no version of this interaction that ended in a way that was better, that didn’t threaten you with tears. You were saying goodbye, very likely forever because how could you ever face Tommy again. Maybe, you figured when you had laid awake thinking of this, you would move to Camp Hill or somewhere like that. Far enough, hopefully, that he wouldn’t ever find you. Not that you suspected he would look.

You spared the time to say goodbye to Arthur and John and Finn, hugging the youngest Shelby as tight as possible. Didn’t it feel oddly like you were saying goodbye to your family.  

-

Just as you had told Tommy, you had no immediate plans to leave Small Heath, or even Birmingham. Despite the job with the Shelby’s you had little money left for spending once you took out the amount intended to help your family. That spending money you’d foolishly used on frivolous things like new dresses, as though one of them might catch Tommy’s eye. None had, not the way you wanted, and now you were without the funds to move far enough away to be rid of the Shelbys for good.  

It was because of this error in preparation that Tommy was able to find after news finally found him in the Garrison, two days after you announced your leave. He was nursing a whiskey and a cigarette, listening to Arthur recount in great detail something they had all been present for, when one of the men who worked for him found them. His face was ashen, eyes skittish as he observed the three Shelbys before him. A tall man, one who had fought in the Great War with them and who Tommy knew to be more soldier than man, shook like a leaf as he told them what his wife had told him by way of a neighbor.  

“She says she saw ‘er in the Irish part...down near the Black Dog...they’s say that a doctor down there checks the uh...if a whore thinks she might be-”

Tommy’s frown changed from indifference to anger, the clipped tone doing more to hint at his feelings than any words could, “she’s not a-”

“Course not Mr. Shelby, I didn’t mean...” he stuttered, wringing his hat in his hands, “all I meant was, it’s a doctor that takes care a, problems, ladies have.”

The frown changed again, his expression becoming passive as he stood from his chair. “You’re certain?” He asked.  

“Yes sir, certain.”

Whatever Arthur and John knew about their brother’s indiscretions they had never said, though Arthur’s mischievous grin at Tommy’s quick exit was proof enough that they knew and that they approved. Tommy gave little thought to it, or none at all, his mind racing as he made his way to your tenement. He knew that you were still in Small Heath, Ada had told him that she had seen you around just a day before. You had avoided her but she had still seen you and when she reported the news back to Tommy, casually, as if his heart didn’t depend on the information, he had almost gone to your rooms then.  

It was late when the man had come into the Garrison and later still when Tommy arrived outside the door of your room. Far to late for a proper visitor and even later than he had ever been with you before. He had never let himself stray passed the early evening, afraid that anything later would encourage deeper feelings between the two of you. Feelings that he knew he already possessed.  

He knocked hastily, more of a desperate bang than anything else. There was a distinct sound of movement in the room and he listened as you approached the door. He stepped back, schooling his expression once more into a man who was unbothered by the emotions of the world around him. Untrue, as evidenced by the racing of his heart, but he was an expert at faking it.  

You swung the door open and your eyes widen at the sight of Tommy standing there in the small hallway, looking ever the business man. So out of place that you almost thought you might have fallen asleep in the midst of your packing and dreamt him into your room. But the sting that followed the pinch you gave to your forearm was proof enough that you were very much awake and Tommy was very much in front of you.  

“Tommy,” all intelligible words flew from your brain as you waved him into your room, closing the door and managing a soft, “tea?”  

He nodded. Now that he was here he wasn’t sure exactly how he planned to go about this. He knew you were home, knew you hadn’t left Small Heath, and yet when you opened the door he lost any thought of how to proceed. How did he tell you that he heard that you might be pregnant? And. that the thought of that being a possibility had sparked something in him that he hadn’t fathomed wanting, not even in years before.  

“What are you, well, what brings you here?” You asked, the focus of pouring tea a good enough distraction that you were able to find the words to speak. Though still a thousand reasons for his presence ran through your head.

He caressed his pocket watch, the cool of the silver settling him, “One of the blinders said they saw you in the Irish parts...is it true? That you went to see a doctor there?”  

“I can explain,” you began but he held up a hand for you to stop speaking.

“I only need you to explain why you didn’t tell me.” He replied.

“To spare myself the humiliation.”

“Humiliation?” The frown he wore was one of hurt and confusion.  

“Tommy I-” you took a breath, trying to calm yourself. You had never actually spoken the words aloud to yourself and the thought of them, of the reality of it all, was daunting to you. “Tommy, I’m pregnant. And unwed. And you’re my boss.”

“Did you not think I would do whatever you asked of me to ensure your staying, above all else?” Tommy asked, setting his cup of tea on the mantle, “it has been a long time since I considered myself simply as your employer.”

“Truly?”  

“I’m not as good at,” Tommy paused, in a way to let himself let go of his composure, if only for the moment, “John has far more experience with the emotional side of things but it was never my intention for you to think that our time together meant nothing. If you wish to be wed we will. I would ask for little else in my life.”

“I certainly always hoped for your words and actions to coincide but I never thought you would ever look at me as someone to share a life with.” You replied, honestly. You had shut yourself off to the possibility that he could love you, or even feel anything for you, so long ago that hearing him say that he did made your heart feel like it was erupting.  

“Haven’t we been doing just that?” He asked. Evenings spent between the two of you had always been alight with intimacy, even if you weren’t explicitly anything to each other. But then, you had always thought of him as yours and hearing him say that he had always thought of you the same was a gift.  

“It won’t be the same as before...being with each other. And it’ll change even more with a baby.” You mentioned, almost as if you were offering him a way to back out of the whole situation. He could still turn and walk out the door and you would be left half-packed wondering how far you could make it on the money you had.

-

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[of-nodus-tollens]

Those Who Matter

Summary: Tony may not have the best childhood, but that does not mean he is without people who matter. (An AU look back at the people in Tony's life who made a difference).

Word Count: 5892 | Rating: General | Pairings: None | AO3

A/N: This is me getting back into fanfiction to deal. This was written a while ago but I’m starting to expand on it so posting on here to hopefully force me to type up four notebooks worth of stories. This is a self-indulgent fic - Lucy is my OC and my way of exploring the mcu. Not beta’d so apologies for grammatical errors.

.

.

Tony was 4 when he believed achievements was the way to gain his father’s affection. So he built his first circuit board, using scraps from his father’s discarded pile. If he found the wires and mechanics were easier to comprehend than the nuances of human interaction, he was too young to understand it. The times Howard had taken the time to talk to him were about work and Captain America’s achievements, so Tony thought it was time he did something his father would be proud of… but Howard barely glanced at the complex mechanism before brushing Tony away, failing to see the heartbreak in his child’s eyes or the smoldering heap in the garden the day after.

~*~

The Starks’ were busy people unless you are a child, in which case you get left behind a lot. With his parents' absence, Tony found solace in the only adult who would listen to him - Jarvis. And it wasn’t because it was his job, as he seemed genuinely interested in what Tony said and does, helping him with his projects. Plus it helped that he treated him like an adult, despite offering him milk and cookies.

~*~

Tony was two months shy of his seventh birthday when he built a V8 motorbike engine. Impressed and awed, Jarvis helped him put together the outer body, painting it royal blue with gold accents. On the day of his birthday, Jarvis presented him with a helmet with matching colours and allowed him to ride it in the sizable driveway on the condition it is only to be used under his watchful eye and out of sight of his father, to which Tony readily agreed.

~*~

School had never been Tony’s strong suit, not because he’s not intelligent but because it bored him to tears. He was mouthy, proud, and wore his arrogance as an armour when the looks and whispers came his way. He’s different, his mind constantly on the run while everyone menders behind. It’s exhausting and lonely. So he talked to himself, to his work, to the familiar doorway as he is ushered out of his father’s presence, to the bland smile on his mother’s face… maybe someday, someone will talk back.

~*~

Maria Stark was not your conventional mother. Then again, the Starks are not your typical family. She’s a socialite who balances out her husband’s brashness and arrogance with politeness and diplomacy. And while the public was surprised by Howard’s move to settle, Maria was the partner he needed to keep him steadfast. The perfect wife, a struggling mother. She at least tries, even when she least wanted to and there’s no doubt she cares, asking after her son even as she wearily toes off her heels at the door. She listens but forgets, humming her response in lieu of answering questions and employed material possessions in place of emotional support.

~*~

Tony ran away from home when he was ten, having been told for the umpteenth time how useless and selfish he is by his father. A whisky bottle thrown in his general direction aided his decision. It wasn’t planned and he was hardly prepared, as evidenced by his lack of shoes but that was the last thing on his mind. He was certain he would not be missed when a car pulled up next to him on the dark, empty road. The passenger door popped open.

Aunt Peggy was one of the few people that Tony respected, so he clambered into the car while she waited silently behind the wheel. Tony waited expectantly for the lecture as she drove but it never came. Instead of home, she drove to a diner where the bright lights chased away the darkness. Aunt Peggy bought a banana split for him and a cup of coffee for herself. This was not what he expected, sitting in a rag-tag diner in the middle of the night, with muddied feet and blood-shot eyes.

“Stop staring, it’s unbecoming.”

Tony snapped his eyes away and started slowly into his ice-cream. Half-way through, Aunt Peggy helped herself to some too.

“Aren’t you going to yell at me?” Tony finally demanded.

Aunt Peggy raised an eyebrow, looking almost offended. “And what will that achieve?”

“Just tell me what I already know, that I’m a waste of time and space, that I’ll never be like Captain America and that I’ll amount to nothing.”

Aunt Peggy finished off her spoonful before setting down her spoon and dabbing her lips with a napkin. She planted her hands before her and fixed him with a hard look. “Anthony Edward Stark, I will only say this once so listen carefully. Just because your father is an idiot, does not mean you get to be one too. He may have many problems but you are not one of them, no matter what he says. Stand up and be brilliant. If you let people continue to tell you what you are, you will not get anywhere. We need to be our own heroes and not imprints of someone else. Do I make myself clear?”

Her expression left no room for argument. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Now it’s quite late. Let’s get you home.”

Once home, Aunt Peggy left Tony in Jarvis’ capable hands, turning down his proffered cup of England’s finest in favour of “business to attend to”. Sharp steps found its way to Howard's office, the snap of the door, then the dulcet tone of her voice echoed through the mansion.

“So yelling does help.” Tony quipped when Aunt Peggy stepped out of her father’s study an hour later.

“Only when the recipient does not listen,” she replied, smoothing down her blouse and entirely unruffled.

“Thank you, Aunt Peggy.” It was heartfelt and sincere. Tony ran off before Aunt Peggy can respond.

~*~

Lucy is a mass of black curls, sharp edges, perpetual scowls and invisible scars. She is the result of Howard’s past indiscretions, a secret hidden in plain sight, a responsibility shoved onto others as a form of goodwill, for the Jarvis’ had always wanted a child.

(Tony wondered if he would be in the same position if not for his mother).

He was sworn to secrecy - the family’s reputation and business on the line. If the request came from anyone but his mother, he was not sure he would have agreed. As it is, he was amazed he was allowed to spend part of his summer vacation with the Jarvis’.

His intentions were not entirely innocent - part curiosity and part vindictiveness at finding proof to put a hole in his father’s holier-than-thou image.

The Jarvis’ live on a ranch (Maria Stark’s family ranch to be exact), a dream of Ana’s since childhood, complete with horses and stables and more green space than Tony knew what to do with. But the Jarvis’ put him to good use, fixing equipment and improving the machinery. It was good to feel useful and appreciated as Ana fussed over him.

Unsurprisingly, Lucy resented his presence, going out of her way to stay out of his way. Admittedly, Tony might have laid on his Stark-ness a little thick, showing off in an effort to ensure he would not be another passerby. It never occurred to him that she would be jealous, not for being him or the fact that he’s a Stark, but of his relationship with the Jarvis’.

Tony has never hit a girl before but that was before Lucy tackled him and then they were brawling in the hay and god knows what else, fists and hay flying, the horses' protests adding to the cacophony of their incoherent yells.

It ended in a splash of cold water, both literally and metaphorically, when Tony saw Jarvis’ face and realised he may have failed one of the few people who cared about him.

They were separated and tended to - bruises and scratches and what will be an impressive shiner on Tony’s face. There was confusion and anger and disappointment too but… “You have never and will never fail me, Tony. I know your heart and that is what matters.”

Tony remained quiet, unsure if this comment would be whipped away at a moment’s notice or safe to use as a balm to soothe the cracks in his heart. But Jarvis’ hand on his shoulder told him this was his to keep.

There was a new calm in the air now the storm has passed. Tony wasn’t sure what was said to Lucy for she was now civil and her glares had dulled around the edges.

It probably helped that Tony has stopped pushing her buttons.

Howard showed up two weeks short of his stay. Things must not have gone well at the meet for he was particularly ferocious with Tony. It was nothing he hasn’t heard before, a tape played so frequently on repeat that Tony had it carved behind his eyelids. Maybe because it was the disruption to the peace that Tony had found here but he bit back, words of hurt and anger flung as weapons.

Lucy found him sitting on the barrels behind the barn, fuming at the open fields. She had a rifle slung across her back and another in her hands which she wordlessly held out to him.

Tony blinked. “Are we going to have a battle to the death?”

He was graced with an eye roll. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“If you’re going to be difficult, I’ve got better things to do.”

He jumped off the barrel with all the vitality of a 13-year-old and took the proffered weapon. She led him to the outer fields where cans lined a crooked fence before giving him a thorough drill on firearm safety and showing him the basics on operating the gun (filled with blanks of course). A quick demonstration showed off her prowess. Tony hit the fence and the air several times before he tagged his target with a satisfactory clang. He grinned.

“Not bad, kid.”

“I’m only 2 years younger than you.”

“Not bad, brat.” She took another can down. “But brats don’t deserve to be treated so poorly.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” A beer bottle flew backwards.

“That’s why we’re here, and why I’m probably going to have my head handed to me if we get found.”

“The Jarvis’... your parents, they’re cool.”

There was a pause in which Tony waited for Lucy to accept the olive branch he was offering - an apology and acknowledgement.

“They are. You’re welcome to borrow them once in a while, but you gotta return them at the end of the day.”

Tony smirked. “Deal.”

(They did get caught but Tony took full responsibility. They were let off the hook with full night duties and knowing looks.)

~*~

Having a nanny at 14 is still a sore point for Tony. Not only that, but she’s also a small-time thief, taking items from the household and snooping around, constantly trying to get into Howard’s study to no avail.

Even worse, Tony is now stuck with her for 3 days whilst his parents visit Germany on a business trip.

He was woken up on the second night by a tapping on his window and Lucy hanging off his window ledge.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, then “How did you get here?”

“Helping a lad in distress. I heard about your nanny troubles.”

Tony groaned. This is about as flattering as it can get. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Lucy had a plan. It took the rest of the night to set it up and half of the next day snooping around and ensuring Lucy wouldn’t be found (“I took a break from a sleepover. They were wasting perfectly good cucumbers.”)

The end result had the nanny screaming from the house, babbling something about ghosts and a haunted house.

Back inside the house, or more specifically, Howard’s study, an empty television crackled merrily, an illusion still in effect. Lucy peered out from her hiding spot on the balcony, while Tony sat on the floor in his ghostly apparition get-up, a big grin on his face.

(Tony denied all knowledge of what happened as his father questioned him, claiming he was in bed and yes, his study has always been locked and no, he has not seen any ghosts, there are no such things.)

~*~

MIT came knocking and Tony received an early acceptance into one of the most prestigious schools where his intelligence was appreciated by his peers, rather than scoffed at.

Still, he kept his guard up, learning from an early age that appearances are deceiving, The Stark name carried a certain grandeur and value, and with it jealousy and those who seek to use it for their own gain.

So he kept up an easy facade of sarcasm and humour, building his charisma and charm. He partied (and drank where he could) and still passed everything with flying colours.

~*~

Honestly, he should have learnt by now that his confidence will get him into trouble. Being the youngest and the smartest can rub people the wrong way, especially for those who enjoy a certain stature.

He had been attempting to keep his drinking to a minimum by keeping busy but there was only so much he can do before the emptiness around him spurs him out, lest he even tries to call home.

The local watering hole was never short of people and before he could change his mind, Tony was enveloped in a group that he pretty sure despised him. But it seems alcohol changes much of that as they pushed more and more drinks onto him until he started agreeing to the most obscene things like making a cocktail explosion.

If he weren’t so drunk, he would have felt the solid presence behind his back before the voice spoke. And even then, it was like a delayed transmission to his brain as he struggled to stop the room spinning.

“Kid, are you alright? Are these guys bothering you?”

“Not a kid,” Tony mumbled.

“If you’re here visiting someone, I can take you to them.”

Tony shook his head which was a very bad, not good idea.

“Dude, relax, he’s with us.” one of the guys laughed.

“He shouldn’t be here.”

The voice grew louder. “You want to know who shouldn’t be here? You and your kind.”

More words were traded and a scuffle ensued. Tony's inebriated mind processed everything in slow motion.

“Hey, back off!” It took a moment for Tony to realise that those words came from him and he was suddenly standing, but the ground refused to stay still.

(Decades later, during his best man’s speech, Rhodey will fondly recall the moment that a very drunk Tony knocked himself out in an attempt to defend him. But the way Tony remembers it, was that Rhodey had his back first.)

~*~

It seemed like the unlikeliest of friendships - the straight-laced duty-bound future colonel, with a smart-ass, crazy, rich playboy. But Rhodey never judged, he took Tony the way he is and went with it, occasionally steering him back in the relatively right direction.

And Tony found, between Rhodey and Lucy, school was actually quite enjoyable, if not for educational purposes.

~*~

Rhodey and Lucy’s initial meeting was far from ideal.

Living only an (in)convenient 10 minutes away from Tony at Tufts University, Lucy became Tony’s designated driver by default. He should not be drinking, of that everyone agrees but unless there is someone tethered to him, his actions were his own. So Lucy did the next best thing and made sure someone was there for him on the condition that nights like this only occurs once a month. More often than not, she would show up in her pyjamas, study notes in hand and Twizzler in mouth as she bundled Tony into her vehicle.

So after one of those nights in which Tony managed to convince Rhodey to take a break after midterms, Tony woke up to his head being blown apart by the scream of death. Apparently, opera is a very good form of torture.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

By the time the request was heeded, Tony was sure blood was leaking from his ears.

“It’s not, but given how I might not even pass my exam at this point, I may not be the best person to ask.”

How passive aggressive, Tony thought.

“You know you’re speaking out loud right? And I have full control of the music.”

Tony groaned, peeling one gummy eye open to see Lucy sitting cross-legged on the bed, chewing lazily upon her favourite confectinary, “Goose, have mercy.”

“Is this going to be a thing now? Having your honey bear tag along?”

“I’m not his honey bear,” Rhodey mumbled from beside him.

“I’ve got photographic evidence,” she sounded entirely too gleeful for Tony’s liking as she waved said evidence before him. Closer inspection of the Polaroid revealed him and Rhody entwined with one another on their current mattress.

“Looks like she’s outed us, honey buns.”

“I hate you,” Rhodey groaned, then directed his unfocused gaze to Lucy, “And I don’t know you but I hate you too.”

“Now that’s what you call gratitude. You guys better hope I pass this exam or this picture is going public.”

She nudged Tony with her foot on her way out. “Water and aspirin are on the bedside table and you better be gone before I get back. Apparently, I’m getting enough action on the rumour mill without adding another person to the mix.”

“Help me out here, I’m not sure whether I should be disgusted or pleased for you.”

The answering slam of the door was unnecessarily ferocious.

“You have the most wonderful friends, Stark.” Rhodey commented.

“Don’t be jealous. You’re still my favourite, platypus.”

~*~

Tony unveiled DUM-EE at the MIT Robot Design competition, his first limited-awareness artificial intelligent robot with the personality of a gambolling puppy, eager to help but damned if it does.

It almost strangles Rhodey in its attempt to help him with his tie and ends up spilling white wine on Lucy in its enthusiasm to get her a drink.

“It’s fine, I’ve had worse things spilt on me before,” Lucy said as she wiped herself down. “Besides, it was just trying to help.”

She blinked as DUM-EE’s singular claw wrapped around her wrist and tugged it up and down. “What’s it doing?”

“DUM-EE’s saying thank-you,” Tony translated.

“Aw, you’re cute,” Lucy patted the robot.

“Hey, no, it’s not meant to be cute,” Tony intervened.

“Especially after it tried to kill me,” Rhodey added.

"Well I think he's sweet," Lucy laughed as DUM-EE swung her wrist happily.

"You would," Tony grumbled good-naturally while Rhodey struggled with the knot his tie had turned into.

Almost everyone showed up, including Jarvis and Ana. Everyone that is except his parents. Tony really shouldn’t have expected any less, but it still stung, the childish part of him hoping to hear some sort of approval. He brushed away the tightness in his chest and focussed on the people there with him.

He won first place and he tried to feel happy about it.

~*~

“Build something of value before asking me to waste my time,” was his father’s response when Tony had the very bad idea to call home.

He then proceeded with an even worse idea of mixing alcohol with sleeping tablets, and the next thing he remembers is waking up to the steady beep of a machine and a red-eyed Lucy, looking both relieved and extremely pissed off.

“Have you been crying?” he asked, only it came out as more of a croak.

She did a quick preliminary check before being satisfied enough to say, “You are a complete shithead. Try that stunt again and I will kill you myself.”

Tony wanted to point out that the point of being a doctor is not to kill people, but Lucy had already stormed out.

“I ditto what she said,” Rhodey spoke from his spot in the corner, looking tired.

“Not fair,” Tony pouted, “I’m sick and need looking after, not to be ganged up on.”

Rhodey gave him a wane smile, “She’s a spitfire that one. No way will I be getting on her bad side. Almost came to blows with your old man.”

Tony was about to make a joke when the rest of the sentence registered, “Wait, what with my father?”

“Dropped some truth bombs.” Rhody looked sombre. “Not really my place to talk about it. Best to talk to her.”

Tony debated the best way to get the story out of Rhodes when his best friend got up and stretched, eyeing the doorway where a nurse is being waylaid by Jarvis. “Looks like visiting hour is over for us. You going to be okay, Tones?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Rhodey looked sceptical but clapped Tony on the shoulder, “I'll be around if you need anything.”

Jarvis came in after Rhodey’s departure, eyes sad as he took Tony in, straightening the cover out of habit as he took the seat next to him. “You gave everyone quite a scare.”

“Obviously, not everyone.”

Jarvis acknowledged that comment with a tilt of his head. “Your father was here while you were asleep but something unexpected came up.”

“Lucy.”

“Among other things.”

“I’m sorry, Jarvis,” Tony was not one to apologise easily or at all, having been told that it was a weakness by his father. But with Jarvis, he has lost count of the number of times he has apologised and yet, it always seems inadequate.

And without fail, Jarvis responds the same way, “You are forgiven, Master Tony,” and the shame in Tony deepens all the more.

“Just promise me you will cease this unhealthy behaviour. You will do well to remember that you have those who care about your well-being.”

“I know, Jarvis. I’ll try.”

Jarvis smiled kindly, “That’s all I ask.”

~*~

It seems the Stark men are not known for their timing. By the time Tony has completely stopped caring for what his father thought of him, Howard was trying to reach out to him, claiming there are things Tony needs to know, needs to be shown but Tony hardly cared for any of that now. It’s easier not to care than to open himself up to ridicule again. Never let people see how you really feel, wasn’t that another life lesson Howard imparted to him?

“You must hate him,” Tony stated.

It was Thanksgiving. Lucy had invited both him and Rhodey to the Jarvis’ where they had finished off an interesting Hungarian feast made by Ana and now sat around a bonfire, drinking hot chocolate and roasting marshmallows.

It was nice and homely and Tony wished this was how home is.

Lucy glanced in the direction Rhodey had gone to retrieve more refreshments. He may know about the family secret but it’s not something she is comfortable talking about, even with Tony.

“To be honest, I’m pretty indifferent to him bar a couple of things.”

“He abandoned you.” Tony pointed out.

“He did, and I think we can all agree it was a shitty thing to do, but look at what I received instead,” she gestured towards the house where they can see Jarvis and Ana dancing in the living room, unaware of their audience.

“I’m not a fan of his work and I hate the way he treats you,” she absently picks at the grass at her feet. “But Jarvis has always said that family is what you choose it to be, so you know…” she gave an offhand shrug.

Tony gave a sly smile. “Careful Goose, it almost sounds like you care.”

“I will Nerf you in the ass.”

“I’ll sic Rhodey on you.”

“I’m not your bodyguard.” Rhodey retorted, settling himself down with a pack of drinks.

“Then why do I have you around?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question?”

“You’re a glutton for punishment, we both are.” Lucy shook her head sadly.

“Here, here.” Rhodey’s bottle met hers with a clink of solidarity.

“Jarvis, I’m being ganged up on!” Tony protested, as his friends sniggered next to him.

~*~

Maria Stark was not unobservant to the divide between the two most important people in her life. The problem is she doesn’t know how to resolve it other than being the buffer; to keep the fire from spreading too widely. Tony appreciated the efforts, futile as they may be and he hated how it seem to hurt her.

“Talk to him,” she requested one day, eyes pleading in an attempt to salvage whatever moment they have left of Christmas, and Tony wished it was something as simple as him taking the first step… but it was always him and he was tired of being burnt.

“Have a good trip,” he said instead. “Love you, mum.”

Maria smiled sadly at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he turned away to avoid the look of disappointment in her eyes.

Afterwards, he only wished he walked through the fire instead.

~*~

He doesn’t remember much of the funeral, just a blur of white noise and touches from acquaintances and strangers. Rhodey was deployed somewhere (despite his best efforts to get back) and Lucy couldn’t attend for obvious reasons. Jarvis and Ana hovered close by and it was their presence which grounded him.

Lucy snuck into his room during the wake, where Tony had already retired to his bed, the tie long discarded, the buzz in his head refusing to go away. She laid down beside him, hand wrapped around his wrist. They watched the sun’s ray crawl across the ceiling until the darkness swallowed it whole and the noises faded away.

~*~

Tragedy followed in quick succession when Ana’s health took a turn for the worst and passed away shortly after. Jarvis followed in her wake. The doctors said it was old age, but those who know Jarvis understood it was from a broken heart.

The funeral was small and intimate, rather than crawling with corporate friends. Many were unsure how to approach Lucy, who is an unknown in their mind - present but unaccounted for. Instead, they offered their condolences to Tony, whose grief was hidden behind sunglasses and dulled by alcohol.

He was unsure how to offer comfort the way Lucy had to him - what does he say? What does he do? Why does he feel so inadequate? He drinks as he ponders each question until everything blurs away and the action becomes routine. There were missed calls and unopened letters and knocks on the door that goes unanswered.

That was until the day he was rudely woken up by a rush of ice water. By the time he had finished spluttering his indignation, a garbage bag was thrust into his face by a very unimpressed Peggy Carter.

Bags of accumulated bottles and cans were thrown out, surfaces wiped clean and the windows thrown open, chasing away the stench of a month’s worth of self-pity. By the time he stepped out of the shower, Tony was feeling somewhat human.

The strangest vision hit him when he followed his nose to the kitchen and found Aunt Peggy, regal and intimidating as ever in her older years, cooking him a full English breakfast.

“Stop gaping and eat.”

And eat he did. Tony was famished as he unashamedly polished off the contents of the plate in record time, no doubt demonstrating his ability as an adult to look after himself.

Silence descended when he settled his cutlery, waiting for the lecture that was sure to come. But Aunt Peggy continued to sip her tea as she perused the morning’s paper.

With a sense of deja vu and feeling very much twelve again, Tony said, “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

“Would it help?” she turned a page. For all his mouthiness, Tony just shrugged.

“You know what is wrong with the picture here. This is to ensure you start fixing it,” she levelled him with a firm but kind gaze. “Grief should enhance your purpose, not dull it. Now, you would be glad to hear that short of kicking your door in, purely due to the distance I suspect, Colonel Rhodes has successfully filled your answering machine to capacity with some rather colourful messages. There are also some earlier letters from him, accompanied by some rather crude drawings, courtesy of Dr Ogden.”

Tony’s spirits lifted for the first time in a month, which must have shown on his face for Aunt Peggy said, “You are not without people who care about you, Anthony. It is not something to be taken lightly.”

“And before you ask,” Aunt Peggy went on. “Your privacy was invaded for security reasons. Your father made many enemies and they would find this an opportune moment not to be missed.”

“Actually, I was going to ask how you knew about Lucy,”

“I worked closely with your father for many years. Mr. Jarvis too, who was my ‘sidekick’ for a while. His words, not mine.” she added unnecessarily with a small smile. “He was my confidante and I his. So yes, I know about Lucy.”

Shame welled up in Tony as it occurred to him that he wasn’t the only person to have lost someone he cared for.

“All is not lost, Anthony. If you want to prove your father wrong, make your own mistakes, don’t tread in his footsteps. Stop living like a Neanderthal, mend your bridges, and use that intelligence under all that belligerence.”

~*~

Admittedly, Tony still had a lot to learn about mending bridges. Calling was a lot harder than apology gifts. Same with home visits. He just can’t seem to make that reach. Shame and fear continued to tighten his chest.

The decision was taken out of his hand when he received a phone call from Metro-General hospital. He arrived in a daze, positive that he had broken half a dozen traffic laws but uncaring in the least.

He was directed to a room where he was pulled up short by Rhodey’s presence, looking calm and collected. Approaching footsteps preceded a harried-looking Lucy, who took one look at the occupants of the room (eyes resting on Tony for a moment longer), glanced back down at the pager in her hand and asked, “How the hell is this a 911?”

Rhodey crossed the room and locked the door with a click. When he turned around, he had pulled himself to his full height and even without his dress uniform, his stance commanded authority and respect. It was impressive, if not at all imposing.

“You two are going to be quiet and let me talk because this has gone on for long enough.”

Lucy groaned. “I really don’t need another lecture.”

At Rhodey’s look, she sighed, lifted both hands in surrender and leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t know if this is a Stark family trait but you two should know better. You,” he pointed at Lucy, “need to stop running away. And you,” he turned to Tony, “need to stop throwing money at problems to make them disappear. You two need to talk and we’re not leaving here until you do because as emotionally stunted as you guys are, I’m not going to sit by and let this crash and burn.”

Tony was scrutinising Rhodey in what he thought was a subtle way, “You’re mad at me,” and the fact that he seemed resigned like it proved him right, made Rhodey’s chest hurt, even if he was pissed off. But he had to remind himself that Tony had spent his short life being proven he was a disappointment to the person who mattered the most to him and expected everyone to do the same.

“I’m upset,” he acknowledged and Tony nodded expectantly, “because you expect me to walk away and not care as if our friendship doesn’t matter. You’re an ass but you’re my ass and that won’t stop me from punching your face if you make a flippant remark right now because I don’t need it. You’ve made your feelings about me clear but I’ll be damned if you two sink too.”

It was more than Rhodey had expected to say but it’s out in the open. At least it won’t be a complete waste of his requested leave of duty.

“It does matter, Rhodey. Our friendship,” Tony clarified, hesitant and uncertain. “I’m just not so good with the whole - “ he gestured aimlessly.

“They’re called feelings, Tony.” Rhodey supplied, amused despite himself.

Tony made a face. “Is that what it is? Yuck.”

“Glad to see age hasn’t affected your maturity.”

“I’m a dick and that probably won’t change but I’ll try to do better,” Tony promised.

“Okay.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, "Okay?"

"Okay." Rhodey reaffirms.

A shrill beep interrupted the moment and they both turned to Lucy, who glanced at her pager before pocketing it. Somewhere between Tony and Rhodey’s heart to heart, she had deposited herself on the floor, cross-legged.

“Goose?”

She shook her head even as she avoided his gaze, “No, you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

“I tried to get in touch with you,” Tony thought of the time he hovered outside her apartment building, working up the courage to knock.

“She went AWOL.” Rhodey provided, tone non-accusatory, just a simple fact.

“I was travelling.” Lucy snapped. “Whose side are you on?”

“Just trying to mend bridges here,” Rhodey said calmly.

“You can only mend something if it was there to begin with.”

Ouch.

Glances were exchanged between the guys and Lucy’s ire grew to expand the hurt in her heart, the one she refused to acknowledge as she traversed unknown terrains in an effort to escape what she thought she knew. And as much of a genius as Tony is, it occurred to him he knew nothing at all if he only just realised what must have been going through Lucy’s mind. He crouched down before her.

“I’m sorry Luce, I didn’t mean to leave you. I just didn’t know how to help you the way you helped me.” I didn’t want to leave a damaged boy for you to look after.

There was a sniffle, “Goddamnit, Tony, I just needed you by my side. Not your money or your status, just you.” Her eyes were wet as she finally looked at him. “But you weren’t there even when I reached out. So yeah, I ran because it’s easier than being unwanted. And now you’re making me cry and you just really suck.”

Tony reached out tentatively to grasp her wrist, the way she use to comfort him. “I know I do and I know it’s a bit late to say this but you’re not unwanted. I’m here if you’re crazy enough to want me around and I promise I won’t leave, no matter how annoying you are.”

A wet laugh escapes Lucy. “I’ll hold you to that.”

(Later, Lucy would drag herself back to her shoebox apartment, eyes blurred with exhaustion and proceeded to throw herself onto the couch, only to scream with terror at the bodies that were already on there, as well as the box of cold pizza. The next morning found Tony and Rhodey with bright pink toenails - a sign their relationship has returned to normal.)

[theonetruenorth]

3x03 Coda: What lies beneath

(Not beta-read yet, so please excuse my mistakes and bad grammar.)

Magnus found him on the balcony, holding a glass of wine, looking at the city and its thousands of lights. The cheerful, peaceful mood from before seemed to be completely gone, as evidenced by the tense line of Alec’s shoulders, or the way his fingers were wrapped tightly around the fragile stem of his wine glass. Magnus knew, of course, what it was all about, and his heart went out to his boyfriend. Alec definitely did not deserve yet another thing working against him, not when he was already so stressed out.

Magnus closed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around Alec’s waist, happy with the way Alec leaned into him in response, trusting and eager for his touch.

“I don’t even know what she tried to accomplish with this dinner. Was it an apology? An explanation? Or maybe just her version of a goodbye letter?” Alec’s voice broke a little at the end, his gaze still wandering over the New York’s nightscape. It was no secret that de-runed Shadowhunters weren’t allowed to stay in touch with their families.

“Maybe all of the above,” Magnus said, gently. “I think that, most of all, she just wanted to see her children.”

Alec stayed silent for a moment and Magnus let him be, let him gather his thoughts.

“She said it is just,” Alec sighed. “That she deserves everything that the Clave threw at her. She’s not even trying to save her own skin.”

“Maybe that’s what she believes she needs to do to.”

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.” Alec finally tore his eyes away from the city and looked at him. His eyes were filled with anger and passion, the exact kind of mix that made people stop and listen to him every time he barked orders at them. “How can she make up for her crimes if they banish her instead of letting her do better? The truth is that the Clave needs a scapegoat after Malachi. So they found one and she’s just letting them do whatever they want with her. Magnus, I have never known my mother to back away from a fight.”

“I believe she just doesn’t want to cause any more trouble to you,” Magnus said, carefully weighing his words. “Not when the Clave is already unhappy with you for being with a warlock and turning down the position on the Council.”

“She already did everything they asked of her for two decades. She even pushed away Jace, who is just as much of a son to her as I am, because of Valentine. If they really wanted to punish her, they would have done it right after the Uprising. But the truth is, if the Circle had succeeded, they wouldn’t be punished at all. The Clave would praise them for getting rid of the Downworlders instead. It was only because of their failure that they were reprimanded at all. And now they are just covering their own asses.”

“The Clave being a bigoted bunch of hypocrites? Who would have thought?” Magnus laughed quietly.

“I guess I knew all of this before, but it never hit quite as close home as this,” Alec sighed once more. He then turned towards Magnus and took the warlock’s hand in his. “So… I am going to do something that’s probably all kinds of stupid.”

Magnus only gave him a wry, expectant look.

“If my mother is not going to fight for herself, I am going to do it for her. It doesn’t matter if she wants me to or not. I’m not going to let her sacrifice herself for me. Even if that means I am going to lose my job.”

“She’s your mother. I wouldn’t expect any less of you,” Magnus said with a small smile. “But darling, this sounds as if you plan to start a revolution. Going against the Clave is not going to be an easy task. Are you sure you and your family are ready for what might happen?”

Alec was quiet for a moment or two, before leaning down slightly and pressing a kiss against Magnus’ lips. He lingered there for a long while before pulling back. His eyes were filled with the same kind of determination Magnus had seen in him dozens of times before. It was the look of a man on a mission and Magnus knew then, without the shadow of a doubt, that soon their world was going to be shaken up again, this time because of Alec. Because the Clave had tried to take just one thing too many away from him and he had finally said ‘enough’.

“We’re Lightwoods. We break noses and we accept the consequences.”

[tysonrunningfox]

Tired, Hungry, and Chiefly

This chapter is my pride and joy.  You think you’ve seen Eret be bad at women?  No you haven’t, he peaks here.  Wait, no he doesn’t, there’s that time he’s gonna super awkwardly bring up marriage at a bad time but whatever. And the poor boy can’t be trusted with his little mini stoick thing he’s got going on.  Someone help him.  The baby boy.  

Tumblr | AO3

“Is it broken?”  I feel stupid asking the question as I stare at the dam Sven wants help with.  I’ve never looked at a dam for this long before, of course I understand the basic idea of it, that it stops water from flowing and makes a pool that we can draw from more easily, as evidenced by the channel taking water down the hill to the fire suppression system.  But there’s also water trickling through the front of it, a smaller stream than the one uphill, sure, but isn’t it supposed to stop the water?  

“No,” Sven shakes his head, “we just need a bigger reservoir behind it, the chief gave permission for a secondary channel down by the hanger in case of fire and when we try to fill both,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t work.”  

“Ok…” I sigh, “dumb question, but why don’t we just stop all of the water coming through it?  Can’t we grab this water.”  I dip my toe in the trickle through the front of the rocks and Sven looks at me like I’m stupid.  

“If we fully dam the creek and get more rain than we expect, that’s a flood for sure.”  

“But wouldn’t it just go the new way you tell it to?”  I point at the diverted channel and Sven shakes his head, obviously frustrated.  

“Well, no, it’d flood the dry riverbed and eventually the North fields and the village itself, most likely.”  

“So we can’t do that.”

“No.”  

“What exactly do you need again?”  I rub my forehead like that’ll make it think faster or de-clutter the thoughts that are already there.  I’ve been on my own with this stuff for a week and a half now but it feels like a lifetime, or at least like I have a lifetime worth of everyone else’s problems jamming up my brain.  Bang nudges my hand and I pat his nose.  

“You ok, chief?”  

“Acting Chief,” I correct, because the opposite of what people say almost always sounds better. Acting Chief sounds ineffective when I don’t know what to do but Chief sounds like I should know what to do. There’s no winning with it really. “Just a headache.  I’m fine.  It’ll be better when we figure this out, so what exactly do you need? Again?  Again again?  Sorry.”

“We need the pool behind the dam to be bigger.”  Sven speaks slowly in a way that would usually offend me, but it’s about all I can keep up with right now.  “So conventionally, that means we need to make the dam wider and taller, but I don’t know what rock to use and we can’t spare the dragons to go off island for it.”

“Right,” I look around like I keep forgetting to, the absence of wild gronckles fluttering around more ominous than it should be.  “What kind of rock do you need?”  

“Any of the bedrock around here works best.  Big pieces,” he holds his arms out wide to tell me how big, “are good, but I’ve used them all.”  

“Big pieces…”  I think to myself for a minute, but I’m apparently too tired to be contented in thinking about a list of places I’ve seen the biggest, hardest rocks and my mind tries to wander.  The chief would know the answer, if he were saying anything other than the blandest small talk I’ve ever had to suffer through. Fishlegs might know, Hel, Rolf might now and I should probably check in on the dragon catalog anyway.  That’s just another thing that got pushed aside in all of this, that and the fact I haven’t talked to Fuse about our plan in weeks. Fuse…Fuse!  “Oh!  Fuse Thorston is about to blow out that wall at the edge of the wood bin, by the new dock, I wonder if there’s a way to make it crumble into big enough pieces for this.”

“That’s an idea,” Sven shrugs, and in some ways I like talking to him more than other people, because he tells me when my ideas are stupid instead of just taking pity on the young, frazzled Acting Chief and letting me get away with being wrong. “I’ve used a lot of her rubble before, it’s usually a little small but it’ll do.”  

“I’ll ask her if there’s any way to make it bigger.”  I swing onto Bang, “and I’ll let you know what she says.”  

“We need this by the end of summer!”  He calls the deadline after me like I’m not stressed enough about it and I steer Bang a little higher than is really necessary, closing my eyes as we cut through a cloud and cold water condenses on my face.  My beard’s getting long again, just on the cusp of annoying, and I make a note to shave it later, you know, if I have a single instant at home and awake enough to remember.  

The easiest way to avoid Aurelia and the chief’s sad, dead eyes is to get home late and wake up early. Unfortunately, there’s more than enough to do to fill pretty much all of that time, so that means I don’t see Stoick or Mom either.  And maybe that’s something I’m avoiding too, because at this point I’ve left her alone with this far too long if she isn’t as ok as she’s been acting.  I hate that somehow, I’m at this point where I’m in a position to doubt what my mom tells me, to read into it more than she might want me to.  

But she’s been ok. She’s been keeping up with the house, Stormfly’s saddle is shiny and her axe found its way back inside after spending a couple days in the demolished trunk out front.  Maybe she’s doing what I’m doing and keeping busy to avoid thinking about anything and maybe that’s all anyone can do sometimes.  

I land at the edge of the square, pointed towards the Thorston house and walking quickly enough to avoid any reasonable interruption, but when someone grabs my hand with an irrationally strong grip and crows in my ear, I know it’s not reasonable.  

“Oh, Eret, I just need to ask you for the quickest favor!”  It’s Mrs. Ack, her wrinkled arms almost mystically strong as she hooks her elbow through mine and reaches up to pinch me on the cheek.  Or she tries, I think she gets mostly beard because of her height and slumped back and the fact that there’s not much unbearded cheek at the moment.  It hurts anyway and I rub my face when she lets go.  

“I’m a little busy right now, Mrs. Ack.”  

“It’s really the smallest favor,” she drags me towards the farm stand on the other side of the square and I look almost wistfully over my shoulder at the barely visible roof line of Fuse’s shed.  It’s quiet there.  I bet if I asked, she’d let me hide for half an hour.  I wonder if she’d mind if I took a nap, honestly.  “I was just thinking to myself how I’d bought too much heavy food when I saw you landing just nearby.”  She squeezes my arm the way she pinched my face, “you just remind me so much of your grandfather.”  

“Stoick the Vast was known for his food carrying abilities?”  I laugh and try to loosen her grip on my arm, but it’s pointless. I’ve learned that in the last couple of weeks.  Vikings are stubborn and cutthroat and can’t fathom being wrong, but when it comes to Viking women, that’s all a horrible understatement.  And it gets worse with age, for me to tell a woman over eighty that I don’t want my cheek pinched at this exact instant is essentially an act of war.  

“He was always so ready to help.”  Mrs. Ack has no visible problem picking up a basket and setting it in my arms and before I can start walking towards her house, her arm is back through mine even though she’s dragging me more than she appears to need help walking.  

This is the part of being even acting chief that I wasn’t prepared for.  When I was helping the chief out, I usually had a directive, I was doing one small thing to completion to the best of my abilities.  But when I’m alone out here, I’m always being pulled a million ways at once, and it seems like the strongest pulls, literally when considering Mrs. Ack’s fingers digging into my arm, come from the least important places.  

But I don’t exactly resent the few smaller errands I end up with a day, the grocery carrying is new but there’s always a terror in Mrs. Ericson’s tree or a yak in Mrs. Jorgenson’s house that they end up wanting help with.  And they usually feed me and try to coerce me to stay for tea and even though they’re pushier than most of their husbands, they’re generally more complimentary on the kind of job I’m doing and at this point, I’ll take what I can get. If my praise is coming in the form of Mrs. Hoarkson shoving her homemade apple bread into my mouth and commenting on how I can’t keep growing if I’m running myself into the ground, at least I’m both full and tired.  

“I’ll take that back,” Mrs. Ack drops my arm and nimbly plucks the basket from my hands with one arm, setting it inside her house on the floor and shushing an old Nadder that whines when disrupted from its nap in front of the fire.  “Do you have time to come in for a cup of tea?  I have leftover pie from last night and if I may say, you’re looking too skinny, chief.  You can’t spend so much time taking care of all of us that you forget to eat.”  She pats my face again and I laugh.  

“I’m just skinny, Mrs. Ack, unfortunately no amount of pie is going to change that.”  I take a step back and avoid another cheek pinch, if only narrowly.  “And maybe some other time.  I’ve got a lot to do today—”

“Can I at least send it with you?”  She walks further into her house and starts wrapping up something in waxed parchment. Her husband grunts about giving away all the food and she shushes him.  “It’s just Eret, Sigurd, if he doesn’t slow down and have some pie he’s going to blow away the next time he takes off!”  

“I’m really fine.”  I take a step back from the door but she practically sprints after me, shoving the food into my hand and patting my arm.

“Come by any time, chief, we’ve always got an extra seat at the table since our Burpa moved in with her son last year.”  

“Thanks.”  I’m probably not going to take her up on that, but at the same time it’s nice to know I have some option to be very well fed even if tensions get too high at home.  “Have a good rest of your day.”  

She squeezes my arm before letting go and I hear her chewing out her husband interspersed with brief seconds of praise that I try and take in while they last, because if I let them sink in maybe it’ll be a cushion the next time someone directly calls me stupid or naïve or laughs when I try to tell them to do something.  I unwrap the pie almost immediately, eating it as I walk back across the square towards the Thorston house.  

“I thought Mrs. Ack was going to lock you up inside her house and never let you out.”  Someone appears beside me fast enough to startle and I drop my pie, barely catching it in the other hand and crushing it slightly.

It’s Ruffnut and when she looks at my clumsiness with vague disgust, it makes her look more like Fuse and less at the same time.  Mostly it makes me miss Fuse’s fond annoyance at my antics, even though it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen her.  

“She seems convinced she can feed me out of my skinny phase,” I look down at myself, the bony lines of my ribs practically visible through the shirt that’s somehow tight on my shoulders and loose everywhere else.  Maybe it’s a holdover from when Mom was…incapacitated and the chief was getting someone else to do all the laundry.  It must have shrunk and then stretched funny.  “I told her it’s not a phase.  What can I do for you, Mrs. Ingerman?”  

“Oh come off of that,” she rolls her eyes, “I wiped your butt.  It’s Ruffnut, whether you’re some fancy chief or not.”  

“Acting Chief.”  

“Yeah, you are acting like a chief but I’m not going to hold it against you.”  

“Do you need something?” I shove the slightly crushed pie in my mouth and almost choke on a crumb, coughing after I manage to force it down.  

“I was just checking that you’re actually that clueless,” she shakes her head, “and not letting yaks into the Jorgenson house just to check up on the misses.”  

“That was so weird,” I laugh, “it left really willingly too.  Which was good because I know about as much about livestock as I do about—”

“Women?”  She raises an eyebrow and everything about the way she’s looking at me makes me uncomfortable.  It’s like she’s both on my side and against it and I have no way of knowing which way she’s facing at any exact instant.  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”  

“I was going to say being chief but, I mean—”

“Women works better.” She rolls her eyes and shifts her basket to her other hip. She looks young like Mom, but in a different way, like she stole it from other people’s youth by teasing them until they willingly handed it over.  “Don’t let some grandma pinch your arm off before my niece comes to terms with how clueless she is, alright?”  

“I uh…” I frown, “I’m going to go talk to Fuse now if she needs help with something.  Not that I usually have more clues than she does, but—”

“That’s gotta be the Astrid part, right?”  She’s talking through me more than at me and I get that all too familiar feeling that everyone knows something I don’t.  “Hiccup figured it out eventually and it wasn’t as obvious.”  

“You’re being super cryptic and not helpful at all…”  

“Odin, that’s always weird,” she shakes her head and sighs at me like I’ve caused her great personal distress.  “When you do the…the talking thing, like that.  Ugh.  Anyway, I’m not going to ruin the surprise for anyone, so I’ll see you around. Also, just in case you didn’t know, Terrors don’t actually get stuck in trees.  They can fly, just, by the way.”  

“I know terrors can fly,” I call after her but she doesn’t stop, a fact I’m frankly glad about because I wasn’t enjoying that conversation.  “But I did think that one was weird,” I mutter to myself, licking a spot of filling off of my thumb and feeling oddly like I’m being watched. It’s probably Mom, probably ready to jump out and tell me off for my manners, because even chiefs can’t escape those.  

Right before I turn to walk up to the Thorston place, I spot Hotgut out of the corner of  my eye, landing hard in front of the forge, belly probably full of something heavy and explosive.  Fuse slides off of her and I change direction, clicking when Bang doesn’t follow immediately.  He’s been sluggish too, well, that and clingy to Mom any second I let him out of my sight.

Smitelout drops whatever she’s doing, literally, and leans over the window to talk to Fuse.  Fuse has one of those wrinkled drawings and Smitelout frowns at it, trying to smooth it on the windowsill.  

“Ok, but how does blowing up an island help anything?”  Smitelout asks at full volume right as I get there and I shush her, earning a spectacularly dirty look.  

“There’s a thermal vent under the island that it seems like the dragons are trying to get to.”  Fuse explains casually, voice low, and I hope she’s not still dwelling over Aurelia.  I hope this isn’t fake confidence, because that’s not something she’s ever supposed to have.  

“How could you know that?” Smitelout scoffs at an appropriate volume and I lean in slightly like my back could possibly shelter anything we’re doing.  The drawing is just a shell, thankfully, nothing that’d give it away as anything out of the ordinary.  

“We found some old drawings that said that island wasn’t there a few hundred years ago and now the sick dragons keep diving into the volcano—”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Let’s blow the bitch then.”  

“We’re trying,” Fuse rubs her temple, dirty bandage on her first finger stretching halfway up her nail. Her fingertip leaves a dot of soot behind next to a freckle and I don’t believe she’s ever been clueless in her life. “That’s what that baffle you worked on is for, it’s a directional amplifier and I can’t get it quite right yet. We need something really big to get a vertical fracture that’ll actually opens something up—”

“And that’s your shit,” Smitelout cuts her off and I glare at her, “and the twerp likes hearing about it, apparently, weird flirting, again—”

“Can you just help without all the commentary?”  The arm closest to Fuse feels hot, like I can tell she’s uncomfortable, like bringing up flirting makes it worse for no reason that makes sense.  Maybe it’s because it’s Smitelout and because Aurelia just did what she did, maybe Fuse feels weird trusting someone who’s clearly delusional.  

I can’t say I don’t share that fear.  

“You need six of these?” Smitelout looks at the drawing again, “I assume you can’t pay, given that this is some kind of secret…”  

“How much do you want?” Fuse rolls her eyes and I shake my head, leaning my elbow on the counter.  

“It’s Smitelout,” I scoff, “the answer is probably your house, your shed, everything in your shed—”

“I’ll do it for free if you go away, Twerp.”  Smitelout looks smug, like she pulled one over on me and I sigh.  

“I think I might be able to manage that,” I push off of the counter and look at Fuse, half frozen for a second as I dig for something in the mess of my short term memory.  “I had to talk to you about something.”  

“What is it?”  

“I don’t remember,” I laugh, “it’s been a day.  I think your aunt might have threatened me.”  

“Which Aunt?”  She frowns and I didn’t know she had more than one.

“Which do you think?”

“Oh my gods, go flirt somewhere else,” Smitelout bellows, smacking her hammer against her anvil like she can spook us away like wild Terrors, “you’re scaring away customers.”

“Nope, just your personality, Lout.”  I start walking with Fuse anyway, unsure if I should address the flirt comments or not. “I don’t know why she finds the idea of me flirting so funny. Like yeah, it would probably be a disaster, but that seems to be the only thing she can find to make fun of.  Which…come on,” I gesture to myself and wish I hadn’t said anything.  She glances at me like I’m crazy, cheeks suddenly red like she’s thinking about making the quietest escape possible and I scratch the back of my neck, “uhh, that thing I had to talk to you about though.  What was it?  I know this…”

“How would I know what it is?”  She frowns, eyebrows knit together and how did Smitelout think we were flirting? She’s looking at me like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever seen.  

“I know you don’t know.” I smack my forehead a couple of times with the heel of my hand, “I swear, I get why the chief carries a notebook around all the time now, how am I supposed to keep everything straight?”  

“Maybe get a notebook.”

“Super helpful, Fuse, I hadn’t thought of that.”  I gripe, and I keep going back to the flirting comment, because it’s so stupid and disruptive because I know I have something real to talk to her about and now I can’t think of it.  “Wait! I remember.  Sven needs rocks to shore up a dam and I asked you to go ahead and column the corner of that wall and I was wondering if there’s any way you could like…leave bigger sized rubble when you take it down so that we don’t have to find dragons that can search for stone off island.”  

“How big?”  She slows down, dragging her feet slightly as that practical engine lights up behind her eyes.  I hold my arms out and accidentally bump her in the arm but she doesn’t notice or if she does, she doesn’t care because Smitelout is an idiot above all things.  

Some things remain the same, at least.  

“About like…eh, maybe? I think a bit bigger or smaller would be fine, but we don’t want like…pebbles.”  I sigh, “I’m not being descriptive enough, am I?”  

“No, I get what you’re saying.”  She bites her lip, snaggletooth peeking out slightly as she narrows her eyes, counting something only she can see.  “Maybe some smaller charges at the top and bottom spaced a little wider than that. There’s always going to be that vaporization bubble but if I could try and get sort of a grid on it…”  

“Vaporization bubble?”

“Some of the rock vaporizes if it’s close enough to the bomb.”  She grins, her eyes lighting up like I just told her she could blow something entirely new up.  I’m glad she’s looking better, like she’s not dwelling on Aurelia, and I’m really hoping the Mrs. Ack’s of the island hold off long enough that I can ask her about it.

“That’s awesome.”  

“Right?”  She laughs before falling serious for just another moment, “and I can try it, I mean, no promises.  I’ve never tried to control rubble size before except, you know, making it smaller than could fall on someone and kill them but…I’ll try it. I’ll let you know when he could expect it to be done when I figure that out.”  

“Thanks,” I laugh, “did you know that you make things really easy?  There’s more arguing in carrying old Mrs. Ack’s groceries than in getting you to do something crazy and impossible.”  

“It’s not impossible,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know if I’ll get it right the first time but if building materials are a thing we’re looking to optimize—”

“Something crazy then.”

“They’re not very big charges—”

“Ok, there we go, there’s the Viking stubbornness.”  I laugh and she doesn’t seem sure if she should laugh with me.  It’s frustrating, because I can’t tell if that’s just Fuse being Fuse or if she’s still upset and I wish I were funny enough to draw that line a little more clearly because all that’s left for me to do is ask, and that feels like ruining probably the only pleasant conversation I might get to have today.  But it’s the right thing to do and as I’m becoming a boring slave to that idea, I sigh and try to figure out how I can best get this over with quickly.  “Also, just…how are you doing?”  

“Why are you saying that so significantly?”  

“Because I should have just asked how you’re feeling about the whole Aurelia thing and I’m an idiot.” I sigh, trying to read her face as the question sinks in.  

She thinks about it a little longer than she usually does and shrugs, “I’m not happy.”  

“I’ll talk to her again when I see her, alright?”  

“If you’ve already talked to her, I doubt you’d have anything new to say for trying it again.”

“Not everyone’s brain works as fast as yours, Fuse, I’m frequently left coming up with excellent come backs days to weeks after a conversation actually ends, so I’d be willing to bet I’d surprise myself.”  I can feel myself talking funny, not funny like I’m trying to sound like someone else, just…odd.  It’s like I want her to correct me, to tell me that I’m smart or something, which is kind of a failed attempt from the start in a conversation where I couldn’t remember an important conversation from three hours ago.  “I won’t though, if you don’t want me to or—”

“You’re checking in on me.” She stops and cocks her head, braid falling over her shoulder.  It’s tangled and only holding onto what seems like about half her hair at this point, the rest tucked behind her ear and sticking to the front of her vest.  

“You were upset.”  

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, not directly, but…I still care when you’re upset.  You’re my friend.  One of my best friends, really.”  

She halfway smiles, brows still furrowed like she’s waiting for me to say something else and unlock a last, mystery piece of some puzzle.  

“What?”  I wipe my beard, “do I have pie on my face?”

“Thanks,” she grins, slow and quiet like her smiles ever are and I feel better for opening my mouth, for once.  I don’t have to worry how she’s feeling because I know.  “And no pie, you’re clean.”  

“Thanks,” I say because that feels like a compliment even though it’s not, really, unless I’m someone who doesn’t believe in myself to get food into my mouth without messing it up. Which, fair, but not necessarily encouraging.  

“Eret,” my mom appears beside me and rests her hand on my shoulder and I jump like she just caught me doing something wrong.  I turn to look at her and she’s giving Fuse a pointed look and I step out from under her hand.  

“What?  What’s up?”  

She raises her eyebrows at me and looks at Fuse again like it’s something she can’t say in front of her and I almost blurt out that I tell Fuse everything anyway, but that’s volunteering her for something without asking first and with my family involved? Well, it could be bad.  

“Can I come find you later?” I ask her and she looks between me and my mom, shrugging.  

“Sure, I’ll let you know what I come up with.”  

“Yeah,” I nod, “good. Thanks for, you know, making it easy and stuff.”  

“Sure…” She lingers for a second, glancing at my mom before deciding not to say anything else.  

“What?”  I turn back to my mom, trying not to let a sudden flash of irritation creep its way into my voice.  “Is something wrong?”  

“Don’t you have some work to be doing?”  She raises an eyebrow like she knows something I haven’t told her and I look over my shoulder like Arvid or Aurelia is going to be lurking there, armed with something they promised not to share when we were on better terms.  

“Like what?  Do you need something?”  

“You volunteered for this, Eret—”

“What are you talking about?”  I gesture after Fuse, “I was just talking to her about the wood bin, she’s doing something the chief asked her to before—well, he asked her to and then Sven needs rock for some dam and I was asking if she could, I don’t know, help me out with that and she said she could.”  

“And Smitelout—”

“She was overcharging Fuse for the special thing I’m asking her to do,” I half lie, “I fixed it.”  

“And Mrs. Ack—”

“Come on, Mom, you’re going to say I’ve been goofing off with Mrs. Ack?”  I roll my eyes, “she asked for my help with carrying something, I’m just trying to help people which, last time I checked, is the gist of my job.”  

She stares at me for a second like she’s looking for a lie and I scratch my face, taking a step back and looking over my shoulder for Fuse.  Maybe I should have asked about that nap in her shed, because I’m about that exhausted at this point.  

“Can Fuse do it?”  

“Can Fuse do what?”  

“Whatever you asked her to do.”  Mom raises an eyebrow, “because you were asking her to do something, right?”  

“Oh, yeah, she’s going to try.  Apparently it’s going to vaporize some rock but—”

“That’s encouraging.” She sounds angry in a way that almost means something and I wonder what I’ve missed at home while avoiding it as much as possible.  

“I thought it was kind of cool, honestly.”  I mime my hands blowing apart and make a sound like what I’d imagine vaporizing rock would sound like.  Kind of a whoosh.  “Just…as a concept.  Just…boom and the rock is gone.  And the crowd goes wild…”  

She’s unimpressed.  

She purses her lips at me and crosses her arms.  

“Have you told Sven that Fuse is working on it?”  

“Well, no, because she just finished telling me that she could do it.”  I gesture up the hill where Fuse went, “and then you interrupted the end of our conversation and that brings us up to the present.”  

“Is that an attitude?”

“Is trying really hard to be cooperative even though you’re interrogating me for no reason an attitude?” My voice cracks slightly and I clear my throat.  “Because if so, yes, this is an attitude.”  

“I like this attitude. It’s good.  Keep it up.”  She nods at me and I fidget slightly under the odd weight of her gaze, like she’s trying to scan my brain for something I missed.  

“I’m just trying to keep things together.”  I shrug, “I’m probably messing everything up but…”  

“Go talk to Sven, maybe make sure he has a secondary plan in case Fuse can’t do what she thinks she can.”

I cross my arms, “the secondary plan is send dragons off island to search for stone.”  That’s a challenge I hate posing, I hate wanting her to say something other than I know she will.  

“Well, what’s wrong with that plan?”  

“Lack of dragons, Mom. That’s one question I do know the answer to.”  

She frowns but I’ve hit the one subject she won’t argue with me about because like everyone else I’ve tried to talk to, she’s not willing to admit I have a point because somehow, that magically might make it right.  I don’t think it works that way but Hel, I could be wrong.  Maybe if I found some optimism I could turn this whole thing around. Maybe Acting Chief means the kind of power everyone wants it to be.  

“Fine.  Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?”  

I shrug, “I don’t know, Mrs. Ack did invite me—”

“You should come home for dinner.  Stoick hasn’t seen you in days.”  

“He hasn’t seen Bang in days, you mean.”  

“Well,” she tugs on the tight shoulder seam of my shirt and frowns, “you two are kind of a package deal so…”  

“I’ll be home.”  I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.  

“Good.  I’ve got new clothes for you.”  

“Fine.”  I take a step back and she looks almost hurt, “I mean thanks. I’m sure they’re good.”  

“See you at home.”  

[thedramaticfanatic]

My thoughts on the “I Love You Scene” and Afterwards

This entire post is basically going to be an in-depth analysis of the scene, and why I believe that not only is it finally a verbal confirmation of how Molly feels for Sherlock, but also a confirmation of how Sherlock feels for Molly. I believe that he truly does love her. And I will explain why. I will warn you in advance that this is going to be a very, very long post, but I want to thoroughly explain why I believe this. So if you can hang on until the end, I promise I’ll try to make it worth your while.

First off, I’ll begin with Eurus discussing the third test (I’m quoting directly from the episode, I keep pausing it while typing to make sure I get it completely accurate).

E: “Coffin. Problem: someone is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days not lived, so may words unsaid, et cetera, et cetera…”

As soon as Eurus gives the word, Sherlock begins his deductions, examining the coffin and wasting no time whatsoever. He’s clearly in his element, two seconds away from going full out (what I like to call) Trippy Deduction Mode- and then, Mycroft breaks in with this:

M: “Yes, very good, Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid.”

Then Sherlock looks at the lid, and his expression, his expression when he sees the words “I LOVE YOU” on that lid says EVERYTHING. Absolutely everything. He knows, in less than a second, in less than a milosecond, as soon as he reads the words, who it is.

Sherlock knows that coffin is meant for Molly Hooper, and neither Mycroft nor John have any clue.

Sherlock Holmes steps back from the lid, and almost staggers back to the coffin, clinging to it and staring into it with an expression of pure horror while John and Mycroft try to guess. John’s first guess is, of course, Irene Adler (and I’ll go into that in a little bit), and Sherlock dismisses that idea completely, doesn’t even give it a second thought. In fact, he dismisses it as ‘ridiculous’, and I believe he does this for two reasons. One, the coffin is clearly not the style that The Woman would pick out for herself. It’s not made of marble and gold, for one thing (haha, terrible joke, but I’m kind of serious), and for a second thing, Irene Adler is not his weakness. She’s his intellectual match (almost; she’s very sharp, but not as sharp as Sherlock, but I would say her understanding of human nature which Sherlock lacks does give her enough of an edge that his advantage over her is rather slight), and certainly he finds her attrative and he is attracted to her, but she is not his weakness. He likes her, but he doesn’t love her. She’s fun for him, like unstable fireworks. My opinion, of course.

But no, the coffin is for Molly Hooper. Listen to the way he describes her; he says “Unmarried, pratical about death, alone.” When he was trying to deduce earlier, without a name or a face, he says the exact same things, but the words are hurried, they’re facts, they’re just descriptions of a random figure. But when he says them about Molly, it’s like each word is another nail in the coffin right in front of them.

Then Eurus turns the screen on, and we see cameras in Molly’s kitchen. We see Molly moving around. Sherlock’s eyes are glued to the screen, they never leave it. Until Eurus says “Make her say it”. And once again, Sherlock’s face says everything.

He knows, in that moment, that in order to save Molly’s life, he has to shatter her. He has to break her. He has to rip her heart open, and let it bleed. He has to do it to save her, and as Eurus calls Molly, he visibly begins to brace himself to do it. The call progresses, Molly doesn’t pick up. Sherlock clearly becomes quite agitated.

The scene cuts to Molly. She sighs and picks up the phone. I want everyone to pay special attention to what’s going on on Sherlock’s end before she answers. His head is bowed, pressed against the barrel of the gun. He’s shifting back and forth. He is clearly, visibly, upset. And when he hears her voice, he lifts up his head and his eyes are clear and wide, almost unbeliving. He’s relieved, quite obviously so.

He starts talking to Molly. He’s still anxious, but trying to hide it. He seems borderline desperate, but holding it together. Even so, this is hard for him. He knows he’s going to hurt her.

He tells her what to say. She’s about to hang up. Sherlock aboslutely loses it at this point. He doesn’t stop trying to hide his fear, he is incapable of doing so. He cannot keep himself from reacting at the thought of her hanging up, and him losing his chance to save her. He BEGS her. He’s said in previous episodes he’s never begged for anything, but he begs her not to leave.

Sherlock makes himself calm down at Eurus’ warning (and note that John and Mycroft are barely keeping it together themselves in the back). But he’s shaken, he’s breathing hard, he’s trembling slightly. But as soon as Molly says “I’m not an experiment,” he breaks down again, the emotions flood back, and he’s trying desperately to keep her there.

She says she can’t say it. He asks her why. She says “You know why.” Sherlock says, “No, I don’t know why.”

At this point, right here, Sherlock is lying. He’s clearly lying. He undoubtedly knows that she loves him, as evidenced not only in the last season when they discussed her engagement over chips, but when he saw the “I LOVE YOU” on the coffin. He knows Molly Hooper loves him. But he has to make her say it, has to save her, so he pushes her, trying to get her to admit it. Moriarty’s videos aren’t really helping to keep him calm, either. Then she says “Because it’s true.” And there’s something in his face when she says that, something that’s suddenly vulnerable, and soft. And suddenly when he speaks to her, his voice is quiet and gentle. And I think this is partially because he wants her to say it, and also partially because he actually feels something when she says it. When she says that, and he becomes still, it’s like a peace has suddenly come over him. It’s like something has suddenly clicked into place for him, and his composure is back.

Until she demands that he say it first, and to say it like he means it.

I want to point out here he once again loses his composure. He’s flustered, taken aback. He did not expect this. But he takes a moment, and says “I… I love you.” He goes from his eyes closed, trying to form the words, to looking up at the screen and saying it.

And then. after a moment, he says it again. He says “I love you,” while looking at the screen, while looking at Molly, his gaze not wavering.

He says “I love you.”

And this time, he means it. This time, it’s real. This time, he knows it’s real and he means it, and that’s why he says it in a voice of almost wonder, of surprise. Of awe. Sherlock Holmes has told Molly Hooper that he loves her, and he truly does, and he didn’t know it until just that moment.

Now, I will take you back to just one episode before, though it’s been stated several times before that- Molly Hooper can see Sherlock. She can really see him. She can see through his bullshit, through his lies, through his posturing. She knows, when he says it, that he is not lying.

Molly Hooper knows that when Sherlock Holmes tells her that he loves her, he truly does. And that is why, at this moment of complete and utter vulnerablitly, she can tell him that she loves him back.

The seconds in-between him saying he loves her and her saying she loves him are actually quite delicious to me, because Sherlock is now the one who is waiting for her. His distress is almost palpable at this moment, it was so beautifully done. And when she finally says it, it looks like he almost collapses in relief.

And THEN comes the real punch to the gut. It was all a trick. Sherlock didn’t win. Eurus reveals that he destroyed Molly Hooper’s heart for nothing. She thinks Sherlock Holmes has just played an elaborate, horrible, experimental trick on her, and she’s been humiliated by the man that she loves. By the man who, at this point, I am completely convinced, loves her.

And then we come to the coffin scene. Mycroft and John are about to walk out the door, they seem surprised that Sherlock isn’t following and confused by what he’s doing.

But Sherlock places the lid on the coffin, and stares at it. Then he says “No. No!” and goes to town on it with his bare hands, screaming at it and tearing it to pieces. The coffin that was meant for Molly Hooper, the One Who Mattered Most, The One Who Counted, The Woman Who Loves Him. Some have said that the destruction of the coffin is because Sherlock is angry that despite years of trying to avoid love, Sherlock has fallen for her just the same. Some have said that it’s because he can’t stand the idea of Molly lying dead in that coffin, lying there dead right after he’s realized he loves her. I’ve read a few people saying it was just pure frustration that he did it. The first two, I can see both being very possible, and I personally think it’s a combination of the two. The last one, I don’t buy.

Remember that this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, in all his cases, has never, ever, ever, EVER lost his cool the way he did when he found out he’d destroyed Molly Hooper for nothing. Not John having bombs strapped to him, not discovering that a woman he cared about was actually alive, not him jumping off a roof and lying to his friends about it, not having his best friend’s wife shoot him in the chest, not seeing a man kill himself in front of him, and not seeing a woman shot and three men dropped to their deaths just minutes before. He was the one who kept Mycroft and John calm. He was the one who kept everyone together. But it was Molly Hooper, Molly Hooper’s love, and Molly Hooper’s potential death, that brought him low.

Also keep in mind that right after this, Sherlock has to choose between shooting his best friend or his brother, and he stays calm during that. Then he has to save his best friend from drowing, and he stays relativly calm during that. He keeps his head on. He doesn’t panic completely.

The only time IN THE ENTIRE SERIES OF THE SHOW where Sherlock Holmes has lost his shit (pardon my language) is when it comes to MOLLY HOOPER.

And yes, we don’t know what happened between Sherlock and Molly after Eurus was re-captured to reconcile them, and we don’t know if their relationship is now romantic or platonic. Chances are, we may never know, especially if this is the last season and given that neither writers like to comment on romance. But I thoroughly believe, especially after this episode, that Sherlock is in love with Molly Hooper. And I personally choose to believe that they’re happy, and even though it’s not confirmed in-show, that they’re happy together.

So, there’s why I think that Sherlock loves Molly. Feel free to agree or disagree, but this is my belief and my reasons why I believe it. Thank you for reading this whole long thing, and have a wonderful evening/day, depending on where you are.

[vegas-glitz]

The False Economic system of the Hospitality Field in Oaxaca, Mexico

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Tourism is suffering in the southern Mexico colonial metropolis of Oaxaca, and has been considering the fact that the civil unrest of 2006. By 2008 it experienced begun to pick up, until eventually the swine flue scare, the US economic crisis, and the damaging push heaped on by journalists reporting the drug wars, by and massive restricted to a few of port towns and metropolitan areas near the American border, virtually 1,000 miles away. With tourism the principal business in Oaxaca, why in 2011 are new automobile dealerships executing a brisk business enterprise, is higher stop dwelling development booming, and is the upper middle course continuing to or else invest like mad?

Lodge and guest dwelling proprietors complain that revenues are the worst they've been considering that 2007, still conspicuous usage carries on. Certainly, occupancy in resorts, mattress & breakfasts and other lodgings is down, and most dining places which have typically catered to a predominantly vacationer adhering to are in a important financial slump - but of course all those with a healthier Oaxacan clientele continue on to crank out very good income.

1 tenable concept is that outdated revenue is driving the economy in the hospitality sector - a phony financial system. Extra typically than not the proprietors of hotels and places to eat very own the authentic estate upon which their corporations are situated, outright without encumbrances (ie home finance loan cost-free). The other prevalent state of affairs is for these small business homeowners to be leasing from their family members and in tricky economic occasions hire is deferred or outright forgiven.

It's the exception instead than the rule to face a business enterprise in the hospitality market in Oaxaca making mortgage payments, or spending current market rent to a non - relative 3rd bash. Revenues are merely not coming in to services either variety of credit card debt payment.

So with non - existent, forgiven, or deferred credit card debt hooked up to authentic estate, all that remains to be paid out by these in the hospitality market are labor expenditures which stay stagnant, and cost of elements for resale (crafts, outfits and widgets in shops, and perishables and dry goods in dining places).

A several illustrations support the thesis:

• At the finish of 2010, a downtown visitor residence with a number of lodging units closed its doorway soon after eight several years of operation. The operator experienced been paying out industry current market. Her other business enterprise interests experienced been holding it afloat. All the other proprietors in her accommodations affiliation have remained open for small business. But not a single other establishment is shelling out a house loan or fair market rent to a non - relative third get together.

• A mom and son every single owned a restaurant in Oaxaca. The mother's was in a large vacationer zone, the son's fewer so but with a solid regional clientele. The mom's was rented from a non - relevant third celebration, and the son's was owned outright, inherited from his father. The mom experienced to close up shop after 15 several years because of rent improves, with inadequate profits to include charges and choose property a bit for herself. The son's restaurant stays open up. He carries on to appreciate his toys.

• A Oaxacan operated a resort and a crafts shop. The former was owned outright, by the loved ones, and the latter was rented in a high targeted visitors downtown location. As a consequence of the 2006 civil conflict he shut the craft retail store. The hotel stays open up.

• An aged Oaxacan lady of Spanish stock owns a few huge, effectively - regarded Oaxaca hotels, every run by 1 of her children. She complains about soft tourism, but the family members is undertaking additional than just great, by any sensible evaluation.

• A downtown Oaxaca cafe never did just take off, even with numerous decades of making an attempt, together with at least one particular wholesale menu alter. It catered to visitors. It kept open up, nonetheless. Finally it changed to an Italian restaurant. ...Oaxacans appears to gravitate towards fantastic Italian food items, far more so than worldwide visitors. The assets is owned by the proprietor's mother and father. Experienced it not been for the character of the possession of the serious estate, by all reasonable estimations and dependent on simple economics, the restaurant would have closed a yr right after opening.

Of study course there are exceptions, but just about every is primarily based on precise, one of a kind situation. As soon as their person states of affairs are examined, it gets to be apparent that functions are not inconsistent with the wide premise. For case in point, there are a several massive hotels on leased areas, which continue to fork out current market rent and other charges. It is suggested that there are two most important motives:

1. They are owned by chains with significant financial backing these types of that they can conveniently include a several gentle decades. They're in it for the extended haul if revenue don't materialize as expected, it can be taken in stride inside of the context of the broader photo, tax incentives, and many others.

2. Their use of intense rate level marketing appeals to European charter teams and other unique fascination trips (ie Elder Hostel). They can pay for to provide attractively priced offers since of quantity and 3-star accouterments. At the other close, there seems to be much a lot less negative press outside of Canada and the US, and in any event overseas tour operators do not look to have the exact same legal responsibility issues. Alternatively, gain motive keeps them actively offering.

There are other similarly valid explanations for the phenomenon of conspicuous intake in this phony economy, which without a doubt is evidenced in other sectors of Oaxacan company and entrepreneurialism (ie jewellers, quickly food chains, accounting and regulation offices in the private sector, and owners or franchisees of department and specialty suppliers these kinds of as Sears, Sam's, Fbricas de Francia and Workplace Depot):

• Politicians and increased degree civil servants surface to get paid fairly very well.

• Income is staying brought into Oaxaca from elsewhere in the state, and a lot more substantially from Canada, the US and further more overseas, to purchase and maintain organizations so that traditional borrowing and credit card debt refinancing is not demanded.

• There are enterprises which have resources of product and major product sales outside the house of Oaxaca, but income however flows into the pockets of their Oaxaca resident house owners (ie plantsations of coffee, cacao and other crops and their derivatives, produced in other Mexican states and in nations in the course of Central & South The us).

In downtown Oaxaca there is a important total of key, unoccupied serious estate, giving more evidence of the bogus economic system, or in this circumstance an inert financial development phenomenon. Residence entrepreneurs of significant financial indicates (ie the outdated money people), somewhat than hire for what the current market will bear, either allow for their buildings to continue being empty and deteriorate, or, squeeze best greenback out of renters, only to acquire again the destinations when these retail visionaries eventually recognize that they cannot provider the financial debt involved with their leases. They are unable to contend with these in distinctly different monetary situations - these kinds of as individuals in the hospitality business who have succeeded, for good reasons illustrated higher than, in which other people have failed.

Notwithstanding government data, most believe that that inflation proceeds at about 8 - 10 % for every annum. The value of items needed to support the hospitality field will proceed to climb, and finally wages will have to creep up in order for Oaxacan people to endure. This will set a strain on small business homeowners, and start out depleting their means - unless tourism improves. If it doesn't, and resort and cafe homeowners get started boosting their selling prices in an exertion to continue on to keep their life, travellers will quit visiting Oaxaca completely. There are far too quite a few other spots in the earth which offer you culturally wealthy holidays at acceptable, aggressive rates - and without the media to make vacationers feel two times.

Supply by Alvin Starkman

[mrmichaelchadler]

KVIFF 2018: Closing Night, Barry Levinson and Four More Highlights

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the visage of Miloš Forman once again radiated from the stage in the Grand Hall of Hotel Thermal, only this time, it was projected on a screen. As part of the elegant closing ceremony for the 53rd Karlovy Vary International Film Festival held on July 7th, an In Memoriam segment was screened that mixed Hollywood icons with giants of Czech cinema. Forman, who passed away on April 13th at age 86, served as a bridge between both worlds, and it was only appropriate that his segment in the montage was saved for last. The audience applauded throughout the entirety of the clip, showcasing the famous final moments of Forman’s Oscar-winning classic, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” where Chief Bromden pulls off a crowd-pleasing escape. Yet the cheers morphed into an aching silence, as footage materialized of the filmmaker accepting KVIFF’s highest honor—the Crystal Globe for Outstanding Artistic Contribution to World Cinema—in the exact same theater 21 years ago. There’s no question that the presence of Forman’s spirit was palpably felt throughout the evening. Though Robert Pattinson received the most media attention while accepting the President’s Award, it was a fellow honoree, veteran Czech actor Jaromír Hanzlík, who earned the most rapturous ovation of the ceremony. 

The past week has left me feeling drained and exhilarated, and I wish it could’ve gone on for at least a week longer, if only so that I could find time to see more of the winning films. The Grand Prix went to Radu Jude’s Romanian drama, “I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians,” a film that juror Mark Cousins hailed for “pointing a finger at the people who are rewriting history.” 33-year-old Olmo Omerzu, one of my very favorite modern Czech filmmakers, earned a richly deserved Best Director prize for his latest triumph, “Winter Flies,” which I reviewed in my second dispatch. “Sueño Florianópolis,” a family road movie from Argentinian director Ana Katz, took home a Special Jury Prize as well as the Best Actress accolade for its lead, Mercedes Moran, who ended her speech by calling for the legalization of abortion in her home country. Other big prizes of the night were given to Moshe Folkenflik, Best Actor winner for the Israeli film, “Redemption,” and Elizaveta Stishova’s Kyrgyzstani/Russian co-production, “Suleiman Mountain,” Grand Prix winner in the East of the West competition. Yet perhaps most potent of all was the recipient of the top prize in the documentary competition—a picture that is destined to galvanize American audiences as midterm elections inch ever closer on the calendar.

“Putin’s Witnesses” is the latest amazement from director Vitaly Mansky, whose penchant for keeping the camera rolling has served him remarkably well over the years. His 2015 film, “Under the Sun,” contrasts scenes crafted for propaganda purposes by the North Korean government with moments of unscripted truth. His new film has similar origins—the footage was originally captured for the purposes of Vladimir Putin’s electioneering, intensified by the sudden retirement of Russian president Boris Yeltsin on New Year’s Eve of 1999. What immediately sets Putin apart from a crude blowhard like Trump is the cool-headed, persuasive nature of his public persona. He comes across as a reasonable human being, granting Mansky and his camera jaw-dropping access, while willingly engaging in the filmmaker’s spirited debates. Yeltsin mistakenly thinks the newly elected Putin will fight against totalitarianism while ensuring the freedom of the media. Instead, as evidenced in numerous onscreen conversations, Putin intended to exploit the nostalgia of the populace by guiding it backwards through history toward a revived Soviet nationalism. A string of bombings further fuel Putin’s agenda, causing citizens to vote with their heart rather than delve too deep beneath the surface of the candidate’s promises or omissions (such as his never-addressed economic plan). It’s not long afterward that TV journalists will be censored for speaking out against Putin, while those less lucky will simply be bumped off. “Tacit concern,” as defined by Mansky, is what turns witnesses into accomplices, and the director reveals himself to be one of the most crucial witnesses of all. 

Ranking high among the other gems I caught at KVIFF is Alonso Ruizpalacios’ “Museum,” a Mexican heist film that is so much more entertaining and thoughtful than I had expected it to be. It’s also a huge upgrade from the naggingly dull “Ocean’s 8,” and not just in terms of how it utilizes museum locations. Having just serenaded the world with the tear-jerking tune, “Remember Me,” in Pixar’s great and regrettably timely “Coco,” Gael García Bernal turns in another splendid performance as Juan, a determined young man who goes to extreme lengths in order to remind others about the importance of history. Inspired by a real-life burglary of epic proportions, the screenplay by Ruizpalacios and Manuel Alcalá (which earned a Silver Bear at Berlinale) is narrated by Benjamin (Leonardo Ortizigris), the friend Juan recruits to help steal priceless Mayan and Mesoamerican artifacts from the National Museum of Anthropology. Though’s Juan’s motivations occasionally seem no less empty-headed than those of the kids in “American Animals,” at one point claiming that he’s simply tired of “waiting for something to happen” in his life, his true purpose stems from the betrayal he felt at a young age from watching these precious items stolen from the land where they originated. Cinematographer Damian Garcia creates compositions worthy of Hitchcock—the actual heist sequence is hold-your-breath suspenseful—and the filmmakers continuously succeed at what Juan had always strived to do: they exceed expectations at every turn. 

Guaranteed to be more polarizing with audiences is the latest dizzying spectacle from Gaspar Noé, the visionary French provocateur who routinely pushes the envelope on what viewers can withstand before fleeing from the theater. With the exception of his 2009 masterpiece, “Enter the Void,” Noé’s films are comprised of overwhelmingly visceral moments strung through a narrative that is less-than-memorable. In the case of “Climax,” perhaps the first picture in his career that is proving to somewhat of a crowd-pleaser, the first half is so deliriously enjoyable that one hopes the second half—where everything inevitably goes to hell—will never arrive. After a series of talking head interviews with young dancers, which materialize on a television screen surrounded stacks of prophetic VHS tapes (including “Suspiria” and “Labyrinth Man,” a.k.a. the original title of “Eraserhead”), the film dives headfirst into a group dance number so spectacular in its frenzied choreography and swirling camerawork (kudos again to Noé’s irreplaceable DP, Benoît Debie) that the Grand Hall erupted in applause. Think the opening sequence in “La La Land” if the lyrics had been “Another Day of Drugs.” Yet once the sangria at this all-night dance party becomes spiked with LSD, the film becomes considerably less interesting, as the kids stumble through a murky labyrinth while tearing each other apart. Still, Noé never reaches the explicit levels of sex and violence that defined his earlier pictures, thus making this one his most accessible to date. 

If any intriguing line could be drawn between “Climax” and “Cold War,” the latest black-and-white marvel from Polish master Pawel Pawlikowski, it is the frequent insertion of black frames throughout the narrative. Whereas Noé uses a black screen to separate shots that are meant to resemble seamless blocks of unbroken time, Pawlikowski cuts to black whenever his narrative skips over a chasm of time in order to arrive at the next pivotal moment in the torrid romance between a musician, Wiktor (Tomasz Kot), and a singer, Zula (Joanna Kulig). In a tale that spans fifteen years and multiple countries, Pawlikowski beautifully illustrates how, as one character observes, time doesn’t matter when one is in love. When this pair gets together, it’s as if the years they spent apart have faded into the ether. Zula is a fascinating character prone to making bold decisions, including one that has proven to define her life. When prodded on why she nearly killed her father, Zula explains, “He mistook me for my mother, and I used a knife to show him the difference.” Though “Cold War” doesn’t quite have the emotional impact of Pawlikowski’s 2014 Oscar winner, “Ida,” it is every bit as exquisite a showcase for cinematographer Lukasz Zal, filling the 4:3 aspect ratio with a painterly level of detail, culminating with an impeccably timed gust of wind. Yet my favorite scene of all is when Zula dances at a bar to “Rock Around the Clock,” prompting the woman seated next to me to start dancing in her seat. Only a few evenings beforehand, I was at the same venue—the gorgeous Neo-Baroque Municipal Theatre—watching Tim Robbins and The Rogues Gallery Band bring down the house with a two-and-a-half hour Fourth of July concert. Their final song was “Hang On Sloopy,” another golden oldie that brought the entire theater to their feet singing. It was a euphoric experience that easily topped any fireworks display I’ve attended. 

Last but not least, I must share a few highlights from this past weekend’s press conference with Barry Levinson, another of this year’s Crystal Globe honorees. The film for which he earned the Academy Award for Best Director, 1988’s “Rain Man,” became the surprise winner of KVIFF’s Právo audience award, thanks to its thirtieth anniversary screening at the festival. Of course, before I knew Levinson as an accomplished director, I knew him as the deranged bellhop who stabbed Mel Brooks in the shower with a rolled-up newspaper in 1977’s uproarious Hitchcock parody, “High Anxiety.” I couldn’t resist asking Levinson about this scene, and he was only too happy to discuss it.

“I was one of three writers who worked with Mel Brooks on the film, and we would throw ideas around,” Levinson told me. “Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t. At one point, I started talking about Bernard Herrmann’s music for the shower scene in ‘Psycho’—‘EEE! EEE! EEE!’ I started putting lines to it and went, ‘HERE! HERE! HERE!’ The idea simply came from me imitating the music. And Mel said, ‘That’s so insane—if we do that, you’ve got to play the bellhop.’ That is how that scene came about. Not long ago, I was going through security on my way to Los Angeles, and I was just about to step through before realizing that I had my key in my pocket. I got my key and put it on the conveyer belt, but the agent said that I could come through with it. I said, ‘But my key is metal and it’ll beep,’ and he said, ‘No, just come through.’ So I stepped through, it beeps, and he immediately said, ‘Get into the machine.’ He told me where to put my feet for the full-body scan, and then he leans in and says, ‘I loved you in ‘High Anxiety.’ Hands up over your head!’”

Levinson’s latest film, “Paterno,” which premiered on HBO in April, also screened at KVIFF, and stars Al Pacino as the celebrated college football coach whose life and reputation are forever tarnished by the repercussions of denial. The sex scandals that have shaken the foundations of Hollywood and Michigan State University are reflected in the self-serving steps that enabled Jerry Sandusky to abuse students at Penn State. 

“Paterno became the winningest coach in the history of college football on a Saturday afternoon,” said Levinson. “Eight days later, the scandal broke. Immediately, he’s under pressure and finds himself fired. Then he learns that he has cancer and will die within months. That happens within a two-week period, and it seemed like an interesting place to start the film. I thought the film should open with him getting into an MRI machine, so basically the whole movie is a remembrance of what occurred beforehand. An MRI machine scans your body layer by layer by layer, and in the film, it is sort of scanning his life layer by layer by layer. While he is in that MRI machine, all of these things that have happened in that time frame are flashing through his head. That became our visual approach.”

Set to premiere on HBO this week is “Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind,” a documentary about the comedy icon who received his first Oscar-nomination for Levinson’s 1987 classic, “Good Morning, Vietnam.” Levinson’s press conference reached its emotional peak at the very end, as the filmmaker paid tribute to Williams. 

“He was an extraordinary character who was always filled with a certain degree of insecurities,” said Levinson. “At the time we were going to do ‘Good Morning, Vietnam,’ he had done three or four films, and none of them had been successful, so he felt the pressure that this may be his last chance. My feeling was that he was astoundingly funny and interested in everything. That aspect played out and was very influential in ‘Good Morning.’ We were shooting with the Vietnamese in a classroom, and Robin was the teacher. We did the scene and I didn’t think it worked particularly well. It didn’t feel real. The Vietnamese couldn’t do the lines that were written and it didn’t fit together right in my ear. So during the break, I’m wondering what in the world I have to do because I can’t make the Vietnamese real people. There had never been a movie at that time and I’m not sure there’s been one since that just dealt with the Vietnamese people. We only saw them during wartime, running around in the jungle. But these are people who do normal things—they eat, they go to school, they go out in the evening, they go to the movies and they have a life as people. The scene I had written did not feel real to me."

"I was wandering around outside of the building, and I see Robin talking to the Vietnamese. They were all laughing together. The Vietnamese would say something, and then Robin would try to say something back, and he’d get a laugh. The genius of Robin was that he could communicate with people, even when they didn’t quite understand what he was saying. I watched him with the Vietnamese, and I thought, ‘This is real. Why don’t we put that in the movie?’ When we were going back to film, I said to Robin, ‘Let’s forget about all the dialogue because it’s never going to work that way. Let’s just take the plot points—what’s important in this scene—and then just start talking to them like you were talking to them over there. Let’s just start to communicate with them, and you can guide them toward some of the lines that are necessary. I’m not even going to slate it. I’ll give hand cues to the cameras, the cameras will roll and we’ll just do it that way. They will never know that we are even filming.’"

"So for all of the scenes with the Vietnamese, not only in the classroom, but wherever we went, that is the way we did it. The Vietnamese never knew what was being filmed at any given time, and when we did the softball game at the end, I didn’t even tell the Vietnamese how to play the game. When you watch the movie, you’ll notice that there are two MPs who I told, ‘If you see that they are doing something wrong, like running to the wrong base, just go over and tell them that they gotta go here, like a traffic cop. Just tell them where to go. The confusion of not knowing how to play the game will be part of it, and it will be more fun than just playing the game.’ All of those scenes really gave us a chance to understand the people, and I think that was the key to the movie. It is also what defines Robin Williams. He wanted to understand people, and knew how to connect with them.”

from All Content https://ift.tt/2ujRSiW

[steroidusr]

golden sun (chaos mode hack) part 4: Isaac cannot resist.

so now that sand dollar lady is in place, we can push the statue on the tile (and strike a pose) but safely this time

yes, that certainly is what just took place

how exactly are you going to--

aaaaand he's gone

AM I SUPPOSED TO "WAIT OVER THERE" OR "HANDLE THE REST”

(man look at those tiles in the middle, that is some really nice pixel art)

this is the slowest lp in the world

wooo

things i thought was weird about this game when i was 11: kraden saying "Sol" and "Luna" instead of "the sun" and "the moon" i mean obviously i knew that that's what "sol" and "luna" mean, but he's saying them like people's names ("a picture of Luna")?? there doesnt... really seem to be a reason for this? i dont remember the sun and moon being referred to like that anywhere else in the game

by the way, what exactly is supposed to be happening with that laser? it's coming up from the floor, but... hitting the wall

????? 2d video game overworld perspective is really weird tbh

LET ME LEVEL GRIND, KRADEN

so if you touch the wall (or talk to it, depending on what you think the A button does) a portal appears

...which lifts you up and voips you away. but stays open. GOOD THING THERE ARENT ANY THIEVES FOLLOWING US OR ANYTHING

...and we end up here. (the portal also appears to have shrunk isaac's sprite a bit. wh...oops...?)

(fyi: for some reason this game's world is flat. so he does actually literally mean "the end of the world".) (...and "endless water", since it all falls off the edge but doesnt run out. dont ask me how that works. maybe it's like a fountain?)

....humans are made of fire?????????

kraden: "as i have told you many times--" (tells us again anyway)

jfc he's starting to sound like my dad also you absolutely couldve fit that last part into one text box, come ON

i really, really wish i could capture these emoji word balloons because

kraden: ❤️ jenna: 😟

YES. "MANY TIMES", IN FACT.

GARET WHY

so after telling us how powerful and dangerous these stones are... and how with just one you could conquer the entire world... and how it would be REALLY BAD if they were to fall into the wrong hands... 

...kraden wants us to bring them over here for him to examine. ok

all of them. all four of them. im pretty sure this is exactly why no one is allowed in here.

OKAY THANK YOU KRADEN

[each time you take a star, there’s a short earthquake, and more pillars rise up out of the water. this allows you access to the next star.]

UH, TAKING THAT CAUSED A SMALL EARTHQUAKE, THIS IS PROBABLY A BAD IDEA

CANT YOU JUST EXAMINE ONE, ISNT THAT GOOD ENOUGH

YOURE NOT HELPING

three hours and we're still stuck in the fucking prologue. fortunately we're almost done, probably

incidentally, did you know you can change the color of the text boxes in this game?

.... i cant make it the same color as steroidusr :(

anyway back to collecting these extremely dangerous world-destroying artifacts for funsies

UH-OH! NOBODY SAW THIS TWIST COMING

(i figured out how to cap all those adorable little emoji balloons, thanks to the miracle of save states. youre welcome.)

im pretty sure we'd have to hop through here to get to the last one, but....

unlike us, who only meant to simply borrow all of them at once, which surely would have no repercussions

how dare you overhear the plans we were loudly discussing nearby your house! ...and to you, at your house. wait what

hey it's the third dude who was with them who we only know about through optional and easily-missable conversations

...i just realized saturos has a blue undercut. too bad they dont have blogs in weyard.....

what if we just... gently put all the stars back. golden sun solved

so, uh.... if youre gonna have a dramatic "i thought you were dead" reveal you probably shouldnt have it this early in the game

like this is clearly meant to be an emotional scene, but we never got any time to actually, like... get attached to felix? which couldve still worked if we'd gotten time for Green Mask Guy to develop instead, and establish him as our enemy, or something then, plot twist, he was jenna's brother all along! ... which would work even better if we kept jenna around and she didnt get kidnapped like, have them kidnap garet or something, idk, jenna's a fire adept too so she could easily fill that party role anyway this way the Big Reveal would have way much more impact, and--

oh ok

yes, we definitely shouldve let garet get kidnapped instead

oh right, there's a fourth one too. alex does almost nothing of value through the entire game, yet somehow by the end he's the most important character ever, despite still having done almost nothing of value. he's also in the third game. he's still useless.

what do you mean "oh great", you were just about to hand them over anyway

are you guys, like, allergic to these things??? like you cant hold them yourselves if theyre not in bags????

YOU CAN FLY. YOU ARE FLYING RIGHT NOW. NO, I DONT UNDERSTAND!!!!

also, yes, the only way to the mars star is through here. so until we got it, they were planning to "hide", out in the open, in a place we would soon be walking through, right in front of the path we'd be coming to that place through

you guys couldnt have, like, waited back in the sanctum to ambush us or something? no? no. of course not.

WELL, YES,

also, shockingly, that star is never actually getting to that merry band of thieves. sorry for spoiling such an amazing twist.

--where it will stay, taking up an inventory slot, useless, for the entire game.

fun fact: golden sun, like the first generation of pokemon games, has no key item slot. we all remember how that went in engreen... also, each character has a separate inventory, which other characters cant access. so if, for example,  you have four herbs, you can either stack them all in one character's inventory, or spread them out among everyone. if you want to save inventory space, the first option seems the most reasonable... until the guy holding all the herbs dies in battle.

................i miss etrian odyssey

oh also the cave is collapsing now and we're all going to die

(does a thing) uh-oh! that fucked everything up! how could this happen! (does exact same thing three years later) uh-oh! that fucked everyth

WHO'S THAT POKEMON?

:(

anyway this guy's important, and he saves us later, but also tries to get us killed by a dragon for some reason?

he also blinks more than any documented living creature in the universe, as evidenced by these screencaps

how the fuck are you planning to get the mars star then

YEAH NO KIDDING

WELL WE DEFINITELY WILL BE IF WE KEEP STANDING AROUND TALKING ABOUT IT

THAT'S WHAT IM TRYING TO TELL HIM

hey, you know what a good place for this text box would be? right up there, completely obscuring the fucking speaker "uh, there's plenty of space there in the bottom corner--" "RIGHT. UP. THERE."

oh man ok alright here it comes

i fucking love golden sun

If the Elemental Stars ignite the flames of the four lighthouses, that power will be released. As long as the four lighthouses remain unlit...

im not sure why he's leaving out the part about the world eroding and inevitably being destroyed if alchemy doesnt get released? (minor details, i guess)

"seriously, there arent any characters over there at all, we could easily--" "COVER THAT FUCKER UP"

so he teleports us back to the sanctum. what a nice floating roc--

garet youre kind of a dick

i guess all the monsters evacuated, because no battles are happening. goodbye, experience points....

(there's an eruption. the mountain is erupting. youll have to take our word for it.)

"multiple times, actually. those googly-eye mushrooms are vicious"

WHY ARE THEY JUST CASUALLY STROLLING OUT OF AN EXTREMELY DANGEROUS ERUPTING VOLCANO

I CHOSE "YES” AS A JOKE BUT THEY ACTUALLY START TO CASUALLY STROLL RIGHT BACK UP

mom will you please stop being such a negative nancy

im not sure garet "what's an ocean" lastname even realizes other towns exist

The elemental lighthouses will loose that power upon the world. Once the power of the gems has been released, the whole world will...

i see the wise one is omitting that one li'l detail about alchemy actually being a good thing again

"the entire world could be completely destroyed" "darn :///"

"we cant wait around for someone to save us. isaac, go save us"

well, it's been quite a ride, but that's it for golden sun! if you enjoyed this livetweet, make sure to like, comment and fol--

-----siiiiigh.

we're fucked.

"SWEET JESUS GARET THAT'S NOT AN ORANGE, YOURE EATING THE MARS STAR"

anyway isaac's mom is disowning her son until he saves the world or whatever, but not before having this delivered to him

JUST LEAVE, GET OUT OF HERE