#[beats john with a lead pipe]

[greatshell-rider]

my favorite parts of nona. under a read more cuz long and i do some yelling

[image id: Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole short life. It made her nearly afraid to die. “Nobody locks me up anywhere,” said Kiriona. /end id]

@ everyone calling gideon a bitch/jerk/”oh no she’s mean now”/”apparently reading her through her own/harrow’s eyes made her look better” YEAH NO SHIT SHE’S MEAN. EVERYTHING THAT IS HER SELF HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM HER. NOT EVEN HER BODY IS HER OWN. FUCK OFF LET HER BE ANGRY SHE HAS BEEN IN HELL FOR 3-4 MONTHS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW LONG. SHUT UP ! you bitches and your romanticzied mental illnesses don’t know what depression does to a bitch gAH

she is the saddest girl in the whole entire world let her have a MOMENT (while i writhe on the ground in throes of agony over my girl)

[image id: She reached out—she touched the side of the Prince’s face — they both recoiled. Kiriona Gaia recovered first. “You always said I’d come back in a box, Aiglamene,” she said lightly. “They killed you,” said Aiglamene. “Crime of opportunity,” said the corpse prince. And: “Don’t tell Crux — I absolutely, positively cannot give him the fucking satisfaction.” Aiglamene shoved her square in the chest, with the palm of one gloved hand; Kiriona tottered a little and wheezed, “Don’t — that’s where my heart used to be,” but the old soldier’s gaze had already fallen upon Nona. Nona cringed back in Pyrrha’s arms, because the expression was as bad as every single time Camilla had caught her putting a mouthful of chewed-up food in the potted plant or elsewhere. She could read this very old, very furious soldier like a book: the woman was angry, and blamed her. Kiriona Gaia could read her too, because she insinuated herself between them, and said coolly — “It’s not her, Captain — it’s only her body.” Over the Prince’s shoulder, Aiglamene looked at Nona, long and suspiciously, then she sighed, and wheeled around, and said: “Get inside. Now. Complete the gate,” she told a few of the other robed people. /end id]

THEY KILLED YOU. THAT’S WHERE MY HEART USED TO BE. (ianthe’s slap (a full lyctor’s slap) didn’t make gideon even flinch but aiglamene’s shove makes her wheeze) aiglamene knowing who to blame. her FURY. gideon putting her body between aiglamene and nona. THEY BOTH RECOILED (aiglamene from her cold corpse skin, gideon unable to bear her touch when she didn’t react even to nona kissing her)

[image id: ��But maybe we shouldn’t,” she said, holding the eyelids to that little slit — watching the onscreen scribbles flash urgently on the truck glass, watching the widening white crack, watching the river water pound itself back into the place where it wanted to be even if the River itself didn’t. “If we end here, it’ll be just like . . . a bad dream, won’t it? And maybe we’ll wake up somewhere else. I know we won’t,” she explained, “but we don’t have to know that . . . maybe if we all go, it’ll be quick.” Paul looked at her, with those dark grey-brown pupils widening, slightly. “Nona,” they said, “Noodle’s in the back.” The middle thoughts surged. The slit widened all the way. “Oh my God,” she said, in a panic. “I forgot about Noodle.” The windshield cracked all the way across the middle. Paul leant their full weight on the accelerator. Nona drove the truck home. /end id]

what you can’t do for your people, friends and family, you can do for your little beast. yeah muir gets it

[image id: “Camilla, we did it right, didn’t we?” Palamedes said, and now Nona knew he wasn’t speaking to anyone else in the universe. “We had something very nearly perfect . . . the perfect friendship, the perfect love. I cannot imagine reaching the end of this life and having any regrets, so long as I had been allowed to experience being your adept.” [/end id]

burst into fucking tears at this part so it’s a good thing none of my roommates were home lmao. THEY DID IT RIGHT. the sheer care and utter devotion. no regrets, as long as he got to be her adept. WEEPING

[loveharlow]

FOUR - HOT 'N COLD

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS; [5k] A day spent in the springs ends with a fleeting moment in a hot tub between two "best friends" that may be the start of something new or the beginning of the end of their nearly year long situation-ship.

CHAPTER WARNING(S); swearing, mutual pining, mild angst, mentions of food, little bit of pope x kie drama, a couple OC's I randomly added for shits and giggles

A/N; Okayyy so we finally got a little bit of confrontation and I feel like this chapter deserves a moodboard as well (or two...). SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO PROOFREAD THIS TWICE

PSA; School is starting back up for me so the chapters will be moving a bit slower :/. Not too much, but still.

series masterlist jj masterlist

“IS THIS SPOT OKAY?” SARAH ASKED. She’d stopped in the tall-grass littered area marked “picnics” on the wooden sign we’d passed. I studied the area with a hand over my eyes, shielding them from the harsh sun that was beating down on us since this morning.

I was between the impromptu line we’d been walking in since we’d arrived at the springs, Sarah and Kiara in front of me while John B, Pope and JJ trailed towards the end. 

Kie nodded, her bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows lifted in acceptance. “I think this is fine. Plus, we’re a fair distance from everything else.” She was right. We stood about equal distance from each of the activities, not that it mattered. Canoeing to the right, the waters that were safe to swim in to the left, and some kind of free-play zone in front of us — people playing volleyball, racing and some simply lounging in the area where the grass was sparse and revealed more sand.

Sarah nodded and set down the picnic basket, the rest of us plopping down on the ground in a makeshift circle and unloading the contents of the woven basket. 

“What is all this shit? I thought you brought food. Y’know, mini burgers ‘n shit.” John B criticized as he examined the food we’d pulled out of the basket — chocolate covered strawberries, mini club sandwiches, cans of soda.

“It’s a picnic, you moron. Not a three-course meal.” Kie snapped back, eliciting an eye roll from the brunette boy. 

“Besides, we probably don’t want to eat much right now anyway. We’re going to be swimming and stuff.” I added, cracking open a can of soda — the cold metal can already cooling off my body from the mere touch.

I was sitting next to Kie as she opened up one of the plastic containers holding a sandwich, Pope and John B next to her while JJ and Sarah were sitting to my left. I sipped on the carbonated drink as my eyes scanned the area.

It was pretty and pleasing to the eyes. Tall trees with beautiful hanging leaves — similar to willow trees, tall grass surrounding us, water and sand further out as people canoed, swam, and just had a great time overall. It was the perfect day for something like this — sunny and extremely hot.

We didn’t actually have plans today, for the record. But we decided to find something to do, seeing as it was our, what? Fourth day here? It seemed too early for a lazy day. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Pope piped up, mouth full of grapes. Everyone looked at me, seeing as I had mentioned earlier that I had seen this particular attraction online before and knew a few of the activities we could engage in.

I shrugged nonchalantly, reaching for one of the triangle-cut sandwiches. “I thought we’d go canoeing first. None of us have done it before and it seems to be the leading attraction here.”

“I’m all in. As long as our personal tour guide is recommending it.” JJ joked. It provoked a small smile from me but it didn’t reach my eyes. 

I was still reeling from the events of yesterday. Him wiping the sauce from the corner of my mouth, the eye contact…and the abrupt cut-off. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t know what he was doing — JJ was avoiding confrontation, something he did all too well. I’m not an idiot. And neither is he. We were more than friends, that much was clear. And if JJ knew me at all, and he knows me better than almost anyone, he would know that I want answers as to what we are. I need them. 

So, yeah. I was distancing myself from him a bit since the day started. Did he notice? Most likely. But maybe it was about time I started thinking less about why JJ was avoiding me and more about moving on and letting this whole fling-but-not-a-fling thing go. It wasn’t healthy for either of us and I don’t know how he felt but I felt ignored and played with in a sense. I don’t know how much longer I can continue to be friends with him and act like there was nothing there. Because it seemed like he’d keep this game up forever and I didn’t sign up for that.

JJ gave a confused expression at my lack of response but I averted my eyes elsewhere. “Well,” Kie chipped in. “-If we’re going canoeing we might as well hurry. The workers mentioned there’s a limited number of canoes so if we get there too late we’ll have to wait for another party to return.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, finishing off their sodas and snacks and stripping off their shirts and bottoms — revealing our bikinis and swim trunks underneath. The lack of clothing brought a welcomed cool to our slightly sweaty bodies as we folded our clothes and set them on the blanket to head off in the direction of the small boats. 

ARRIVING AT THE EDGE OF THE WATER WHERE THE CANOES WERE, AN EMPLOYEE APPROACHED OUR GROUP WITH A BRIGHT SMILE. She was a beautiful dark-skinned girl with dark brown shoulder length hair that was bouncing with tight curls — a bright smile and wide-brown eyes adorning her round face. She was glowing under the sun as she waltzed over to us in a one-piece sporting the springs logo on the front.

“Hi there.” She stopped in front of us, fiddling with the blue whistle that was attached to a lanyard around her neck. “First time here?”. We all nodded in response. “Okay, great. Awesome. Uh- so unfortunately, we are all out of three-seaters so we only have two-seater canoes but on the bright side-” She surveyed our small group, her eyes lingering on Pope a little longer. “It looks like there’s an even number of you. So if you don’t mind, you can pair up and I can go retrieve the canoes for you.” She suggested.

We told her that was fine and she turned around to start dragging the canoes closer to the edge of the lake. I nudged Pope’s shoulder and he whipped his head around quickly.

“I think a certain cute lifeguard likes you.” The boy scoffed and ran a hand over his head, avoiding eye contact with me.

“No way.” He shook his head, staring at the girl as she struggled to drag the canoes by herself. “She’s like- wayy out of my league. I mean, she’s hot.”

I rolled my eyes and moved to stand behind him as the rest of our friends chatter mindlessly behind us. “First of all, stop selling yourself short.” I reprimanded, pulling his ear. “You’re attractive, Pope. And smart. You’re...a little awkward but we love you all the same,” He rolled his eyes at my teasing. “And plus, that hot girl over there, who by the way could use a helping hand with those canoes, gave you the most obvious heart eyes eyes known to man. So, stop standing here self-deprecating and help that hot employee bring our canoes over.”

“Oh, no. I can’t-” He protested as I pushed him farther towards the struggling girl. “Y/n…”

“Hey!” I called out in the direction of the girl who looked around our age. “My friend, Pope here, can help you out if you need a hand.”

She smiled, a slight blush rushing to her face. “Yeah, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you,” She tucked a strand of her curls behind her ears, sticking a hand out in Pope’s direction — who was, admittedly, standing awkwardly as if he had no clue what to do with his body. “I’m Mallory.”

Pope smiled back and shook her hand. “Pope.” He shut his eyes tightly in mild embarrassment. “But you already knew that…” She giggled and Pope cracked an eye open, surprised she didn’t immediately lose interest at his lack of laid-backness, and smiled at her before helping her move the canoes over to us, me making my way back to the group as they were now staring at me in bewilderment.

"What?"

“Did you just set Pope up?” Kiara asked, arms crossed over her chest — she was trying her best to hide a look of annoyance but it was shining through in the slightest of ways. 

“Uh, yeah? Don’t act like we didn’t see her eye him up and down.” Everyone, except for Kie, nodded in agreement while John B and JJ muttered things like ‘finally’ and ‘that’s my boy’. 

“They got the boats in the water. Might as well head over there.” Kie spoke shortly, walking over and away from us. What’s up with her?

“Wait, what about the pairs-”

“Already got it settled, gorgeous. You’re with me.” JJ winked before walking past me. 

Great. Just great. I should’ve known.

AFTER MALLORY, THE SWEET EMPLOYEE, HAD EXPLAINED EVERYTHING TO US, WE GOT IN THE WATER. She had instructed us not to go past the bright red bowies set out in the water and that the canoe ride was purely for scenic value — no “horseplay”. JJ and I were behind the other two canoes that held the rest of our group — John B and Sarah in the middle, annoying his girlfriend by poking her with the paddle while Pope and Kie led the way, making idle conversation. It sparked a question in my mind.

“Is Kie alright?”

JJ turned to me, continuing to paddle lightly. “What do you mean?”

“She seemed kind of ticked off when I brought up Pope and the girl hitting it off.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

JJ shook his head and chuckled lowly, tilting his head back up to flip the hair out of his face. “Kie still has a thing for Pope.” My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped open slightly.

“Wh- she broke things off with him.”

“And now she regrets it.

I sighed and let my shoulders fall. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have pushed him to make a move.”

“Why?”

“Well because, now Kie is probably pissed at me and I feel like a shitty friend.”

JJ shrugged and looked me in the eyes. “So? That’s not on you. We’re adults now. If Kie is pissed it’s no one’s fault but hers. She can’t expect him to wait forever. She has to toughen up or he’s going to move on.”

I laughed at this, a bit bitterly in all honesty, and turned away from him to look at the water as we continued to paddle and take in the scenery. He’s one to talk, I thought. JJ had basically voiced my own troubles, our troubles, vicariously through Pope and Kiara. If he could read them like a book with no problem, why was he struggling to do so with me? I practically had it written in sharpie on my forehead; “I am hopelessly in love with JJ Maybank.” If having your heart on your sleeve was a real, physical thing, mine was stapled to my bare wrist.

I felt a broad hand on my shoulder and returned my gaze to the blonde beside me who now held a look of concern. “Hey, you alright? You went silent on me.”

“I’m fine.” I replied, being short with him. I was being petty, I know. He doesn’t even know that I’m upset and if he does he has no clue why. But I just can’t bring myself to care thinking about all the times JJ has made me feel that exact same feeling — confusion.

“Y/n,”

“I’m fine, JJ.” I snapped at him a bit. Taking a deep breath, I met his eyes. “Sorry, J. I didn’t mean to- I just thought about something. Don’t worry about it.” I sent him a reassuring smile. Nudging my head forward in the direction of our friends who were now more than a few feet ahead of us, I spoke once more, “C’mon. We’re too far behind.”

He nodded but the look in his eyes was hesitant. I felt like everything was coming to the surface and I don’t know how much more time we have to play this game of back and forth before I fly off the handle.

AFTER WE WERE DONE WITH CANOEING, WE HEADED OVER TO THE SWIM AREA. It was a beautiful lake and if you were able to swim back far enough, you could reach the soft, trickling waterfall — that was apparently a popular photo site for visitors Mallory claimed, the girl stuck with us after informing us that her shift was over and Pope invited her to hang out with us before she had to leave. 

It was cooling down but the water still held a nice warmth to it from the sun that was present earlier in the day.

We've been having a great time so far. Everyone seemed to hit it off with Mallory and to top things off, she was attending the same college as me. As the day dwindled and we fooled around in the glistening body of water, the people surrounding us decreased by the minute — soon leaving only us in the water as any remaining guests sat on the grass. 

I noticed Kie had drifted away from the group, brows pinched close together as she was lost in her thoughts when I waded up to her, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the water. “I’m trying to be.”

I sighed and wound one of my arms around her shoulders. “‘M sorry, Kie. I wish you would’ve told me you still had a thing for him.”

Her head lifted from my shoulder swiftly as her eyes went huge, before squinting at me. “How did you- I am never telling JJ anything ever again.” She grumbled under her breath, head falling to my shoulder once again as we waded slowly.

“He has a point, though. If what he said to you was anything like what he said to me, then he’s right. You shooed him off, Kie. He wanted you, badly. You can’t be mad that he’s moving on or at least trying to.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, well maybe JJ should take a page out of his own book.” I winced at her harsh tone, knowing the jab was directed at me in a sense as well. She sighed and squeezed my hand that was draped over her shoulders. “Sorry. That was rude.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. You’re right. I mean, it was still kind of rude but I get it.”

“You are too. Right, I mean. I don’t even think I’m in love with him or anything like you are with JJ. But I did genuinely like Pope at some point. I guess it’s hard to see someone make him smile so easily in less than an hour than how I tried to for weeks.”

“At least you’re self-aware.” I joked, both of us giggling. “But I’ll have you know that I think you and Mallory would hit it off really well. She’s part of this beach clean-up program and there’s some open spots.”

I felt the brown-haired girl smile against my shoulder, lifting her head up, my arm slipping from her shoulders. She shook herself off and took a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m Pope’s friend. And I need to act like it. I’m happy for him.” She smiled genuinely, small but genuine.

I held my arm out for her to hook her own through mine, which she did with a bright smile causing one to break out on my own face. We made our way back over to the group where they were all still caught up in a conversation and getting to know Mallory, Kie unraveling her arm from mine and joining in. 

“What’d you say to her?” A gravelly voice spoke from behind me, startling me. I twirled around to find JJ looking down at me — shirtless and hair hanging over his face while his signature shark tooth necklace dangling in front of his toned chest.

“Nothing, really. Basically what you told me. That she has to pretty much let him move on and for her to do the same.” JJ smiled at me admiringly and slung one toned arm over my frame.

“When did you become so wise?” The boy teased as he lightly shook me back and forth in a playful manner.

I forced out a small laugh. “When I started to relate to Kie more than I thought I could.” I mumbled.

His playful smile dropped a bit and his eyebrows pulled themselves together. “What do you mean by that?” Looking up at him, I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders under the weight of his arm.

“Nothing.” He raised a curious brow as if to ask ‘really?’ and I plastered a smile on my cheeks. “I mean it. Honestly.”

“If you say so...” He still looked ambivalent but he let it go. 

“Guys?” Sarah spoke amidst the group of us, standing closer to the shore with a group of 3 girls standing behind her. None of us had even noticed that she’d drifted off. “You up for a game of volleyball before we hit the road? These girls need more people to play with.”

“Count me in.” Kie piped up. “Y/n, you coming? Three-on-three?”

I shrugged and pulled my lips into a thin line. “Why not?” I replied, slipping from under the blonde’s hold and facing him. “Duty calls.” He laughed before jokingly shooing me off. Averting my gaze to Mallory, she was chatting with Pope and I didn't know if I should interrupt but I didn’t want her to feel excluded. “Mallory-” She stopped talking, waiting for me to speak as she made contact with my eyes. “You wanna join? You can be our ref.” I taunted in a friendly manner, wiggling my eyebrows and shaking my shoulders.

She laughed out loud, throwing her head back slightly but shook her head ‘no’. “I think I’m gonna chill here until I have to go. Thanks, though.” I smiled and nodded shortly in her direction before waddling out of the water beside Kie.

We followed Sarah and the other group of girls to the volleyball net that was set in the middle of the sandy plane near the water’s edge, the trio turning to face ours. The girl on the far right broke the silence first — she had bone-straight blonde hair that was pulled back into a low-ponytail and she was significantly shorter than the two girls beside her. 

“I’m Olivia. This-” She pointed to the girl beside her in the middle with similar features to her own — fair skin and blonde hair that was noticeably shorter, enough that it just barely reached her shoulders. “-is Amelia. My older sister. And that-” She craned her neck to look at the girl at the end of the line — jet black hair and olive-toned skin. “-is Mariana. My sister’s best friend and my biggest pain in the ass.”

Mariana rolled her eyes and waved at us. “That is so not true. That little shit is gonna miss me and her sister both when we’re off at college for the next four years.” 

My friends and I smiled at their dynamic. “I’m Y/n.” I voiced, gesturing for the two girls on either side of me. “This Kiara and this is Sarah, my best friends.” We waved in return and got the game going.

They turned out to be really nice girls and Kie and Mariana seemed to be hitting it off and Sarah had even realized she had met Olivia and Amelia before when she went on a business trip with Ward one time. 

The only down-side was that they kicked our asses — Olivia’s one hell of a volleyball player and Amelia’s the one who taught her all she knows. She’s going to college on a sports scholarship. 

The sun had completely set at this point, just now realizing we’d been out practically all day. We were sweaty, damp and smelled like lake water but the day had been a success for the most part.

Sarah and I had bid farewell and separated from the other trio of girls, while Kiara and Mariana were chatting animatedly as Sarah and I stood off to the side and waited for her before a pair of hands came down on my shoulders rather aggressively and a loud “rah!” was heard from behind me.

Whipping around like a kid caught stealing candy, my eyebrows turned downwards and my lips pulled together. “JJ!” I screeched, shoving him back a few inches as he had a grin on his face while John B and Pope stood behind him laughing along, dripping water onto the sand, I assume Mallory had left. “You scared the shit out of me.” I grumbled.

Just then, Kie came bounding back to our group as Mariana returned to her own and bid farewell with a wave. Looking at Kie, I noticed a blush on her cheeks and a small piece of paper she was trying to conceal in her hand, but I’d ask about it later.

“Ready?” Sarah asked, everyone nodding and rushing back over to our spot where all of our belongings remained. We slipped on our shirts and shorts and made our way out of the spring and to the parking lot where the car was. Once inside, Sarah started the car and we were on our way.

WE’D GOTTEN BACK TO THE HOUSE SAFELY AND EVERYONE SPLIT UP TO GO SHOWER AND GO TO SLEEP. We’d tired out from the sun and running around all day.

I was about to head upstairs to hop in the shower and head off to bed. That was, until a hand on my forearm stopped me, craning my neck to find JJ staring up at me from his place at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m gonna get in the hot tub for a minute. Care to join me?” He suggested. I was contemplating it. It sounded nice, in all honesty. We hadn’t touched the hot tub since we got here and having the powerful jets and hot water hit my body before a real shower and going to bed sounded appealing. 

“Lead the way.”

JJ AND I HAD BEEN SITTING IN THE HOT TUB FOR ABOUT TEN MINUTES. Talking about anything and everything and just reveling in the warmth of the bubbling water. It’d gone silent a couple minutes ago, both of our heads thrown back in ecstasy.

“What’s up with you?”

Lifting my head to look straight ahead at him, I tilted my head to the side in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

“You just...seemed zoned out today. Like in the canoe, I asked if you were alright like twice and you said it was nothing but I don’t buy it.” He reminded. “Talk to me.” The boy urged.

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“It really is nothing, JJ.”

“I call bull. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Would he please just drop this? I’ve been holding it together for the most part all day.

“Because nothing is wrong. Why are you so adamant that there is?”

“Because I know you. There’s clearly something going on-” Just fucking drop it-

“Why do you care so much?” I snapped. JJ’s neck reeled back at my harsh tone, a deep look of concern etched on his features as he moved from his place against the side of the hot tub to stand right in front of me, his tall and hot frame towering over mine.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly, his hand trailing over my waist under the water, making his touch one-thousand times hotter. “I didn’t mean to push you. I’ve just been worried ‘s all.”

I sighed. “And I appreciate, JJ, I really do. But I really don’t want to talk. Not now, anyway.” I replied gently, too focused on his presence and how the distance between us, or lack of, was making my heart beat out of my chest.

He wants to know what’s wrong? This. This is what’s wrong. How he makes me feel, how he knows he makes me feel.

Silence fell over us as his hand caressed the curve of my hip and the other came to cradle the other side, pulling me up to stand in the small pool of water as well. We stood chest to chest, his eyes glued to mine as everything else faded from my peripheral and I could only see him.

My own hands came up to rest on his chest. Pull away, I thought to myself. But it was too late. It was over for me the second he licked his lips and leant down to crash his own against mine.

And I was making the same mistake I made almost a year ago. The same mistake I made every time this happened. I was kissing my best friend without a care in the world for who saw or what it meant but I knew the second we pulled away that this feeling — the euphoria in my heart and the butterflies in my stomach — it would all fade away. It would all vanish and so would he.

So, I savored this moment because I knew, somewhere deep down I knew, that this, wouldn’t be happening for a while. And it would be because of me. Because even as I stood here — JJ’s tongue down my throat, my hands forming tight fists in his hair and his grip on my waist tightening by the second, I could hear the snapping of my heart strings in my ears and my brain yelling at me to stop whatever this was. To stop hurting myself by letting him hurt me time and time again.

I was the first to pull away, out of breath and head dipping down to stare at the small waves of water between us. I knew it was coming when his hands fell from my waist and he was stepping back. I didn’t even look up as I heard the water splashing, signaling he had exited the tub.

I just stood there — in the middle of the hot tub with swollen lips, the muscle memory of his touch on my hips, and hot tears brimming in my eyes at the realization that he was going to pretend like this never happened…again.

“I’m, uh- I’m getting kind of tired. Think I’m gonna head inside.” 

“JJ…” I spoke, voice shaking slightly as I still made no move to look at him. Hearing his feet pat against the concrete as he walked towards the sliding door.

“I’ll meet you inside-”

“When will you just admit it?” I snarled with a humorless laugh as I felt the first tear escape, trailing down my cheek. That was when I heard him stop in tracks, the atmosphere so silent that I could hear the drops of water that were falling from his body hit the ground.

So silent, I could hear the nervous gulp he took before speaking. “Admit what?”

That was when I found the courage to look up at him, my eyes red and one lone tear streak on my face. He was staring at me but his gaze didn’t reach my eyes and he was clutching his towel in his hand for dear life. “Don’t act like you don’t know. This whole cat-and-mouse game is getting really old, JJ, and it’s no fun when you don’t even know which role you’re playing.” I voiced my thoughts harshly and I stepped out of the hot tub, snatching my towel from the deck chair and moving past him to pull the sliding door open myself.

I didn’t look back as I made my way up the stairs, hearing him swear under his breath, to our shared room and into the bathroom to shower. By the time I got out, he was already in bed facing away from me. He probably showered elsewhere just to avoid brushing past me. I threw my clothes into the hamper and climbed in, facing away from him and letting my thoughts wander. Wander to how we got here in the first place…

“Heyy, gorgeous.” JJ slurred, beer in hand as he stumbled toward me. When his frame collided with mine, I could barely support him considering I was intoxicated myself. So I shimmied my shoulders to get him off of me.

We were standing by a tree, away from the core of the party, thrown by us at The Chateau, to celebrate our senior year. JJ and I leaned against the thick bark, both drunk and giggly.

“Why are you over here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you be-” I took another sip from my red solo cup. “-with a touron or something.” I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye, I think. 

“I’d rather be over here with you.” He spoke dazingly, turning to view me from the side before I turned to look at him as well. “Y’know you look, like, really pretty tonight. ‘M not sure if that’s a weird thing to say.” 

I blushed and tried to nudge him, missing by a few inches and merely brushing his elbow. “Shut up.” I muttered.

“No. ‘M being so serious.” He chuckled. “I always think you look pretty.” He was staring at me like he’d never seen me before, this starry look in his eyes before he was leaning forward and smushing his lips against mine — the taste of alcohol and fruit lingering around in the kiss.

I don’t remember everything from that night, but I remember the kiss. And the next morning, when we all woke up scattered around the Chateau, JJ and I had agreed that it was a drunken kiss, a one-time thing.

And that would’ve been fine had it been true. But it wasn’t. It happened again. And again when we were sober. And again. And again. And somewhere down the line I had ended up falling in love with my best friend. And when I went to talk about it, he’d find any and every way to avoid it.

We’d run out of excuses. And I was ready to face that fact — the fact that we weren’t just friends.

But he wasn’t.

He still isn’t. And I don’t know if he ever will be.

A/N: Not gonna lie, this chapter overall was not my fav so far but the ending does something to me and I'm the one who wrote it😭

taglist (please use my inbox to be added, just ask:)); @totallynotkaibiased

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[thenationaltreasuregazette]

The 2003 Script, Act 1

Welcome! To the long-awaited deep dive on the 2003 script.

This will be the beginning of a series recapping the major differences, and similarities, between the 2003 script and the final film.

To refresh your memory, on ye olde internet you can find an earlier version of the National Treasure script from April 2003, and it is a wild ride. In a previous post, I looked at where it falls in the chain of development, who was involved, and how to understand this script as a production artifact.

The short version: it’s about 80% there.

The major beats are clear

All the characters exist in recognizable form

Nicolas Cage signed on as the lead one month later

All the major creative voices had gotten their fingers in the pie by this point

And yet as recognizable as this is as National Treasure, it’s a version of National Treasure from another dimension.

I’d like to go through it, summarize the major differences, and see what we can uncover.

→ I should also note that I basically agree with all of the changes that were made between this script and the final film. All of them serve to tighten and enhance the story, make the characters more nuanced, and make the story more subtle and rich. That’s not to say that this script shouldn’t have existed—just the opposite. I think this version needed to exist in order to get the creative team to the final film. I’m glad this isn’t the film that was shot, but I love this as a window into the process.

ACT 1

FADE IN:

No Baby Ben yet; we jump right into the legend of the treasure.

→ It’s longer and more detailed, including the fact that Andrew Jackson already knew Charles Carroll’s story about the treasure and didn’t believe it.

The story is being told by JOHN ADAMS GATES, who’s in a nursing home, not in his attic, to YOUNG BEN.

Ben shows his treasure hunting potential by suggesting that Charlotte could be an anagram, then promises more directly that he’ll find Charlotte. PATRICK is just as disgruntled as in the final.

CUT TO:

It’s just BEN and RILEY in the snowcat, named The Endeavor. Ben is in his

(late 20s, strong family resemblance.)

Riley is

(25, unkempt)

They’re searching with ground penetrating radar, get a hit, and discover the figurehead’s face in the ice. Then they radio base camp for Ian and the gang to join them.

We learn that Riley is the one who convinced Ian to fund the expedition.

→ My sense in the final film is that Ben and Ian brought Riley in together, and Riley was the last to join.

Shaw thinks the find is too small to be the ship they’re looking for, and Ben explains that it’s tilted, hence the smaller footprint.

But don’t worry, they won’t have to dig it out because...

...the Charlotte is trapped in an air pocket/ice cave.

The Ben, Ian, then Riley repel down into the cave.

Ben tricks Ian into searching the hold, and Riley into searching the berthing quarters while he searches the Captain’s Cabin.

→ Ben’s cleverness is emphasized a lot more early on in this version. He’s both able to think outside the box (as with the tilted ship) and able to manipulate people, including Ian, to get what he wants. Honestly I think he comes off as kind of a jackass. He's more like the Ben we see in Book of Secrets—a self-righteous know-it-all.

Under the Captain's desk, Ben finds a trap door that leads to the storeroom full of gunpowder. The Captain guarding one barrel, the meerschaum pipe, and the first riddle remain the same.

It’s different dialogue, but Ben works out the clue in a similar manner, minus the comedic stylings of Riley and Shaw found in the final.

Ian draws a gun with a literal, “Oh, you didn’t bring one of these?”

IAN Oh, you didn't bring one of these?

→ I'm not kidding he actually says this.

After the same stunt Ben pulls with the flare, only this time with a lighter, Ian opens fire on Ben and Riley.

→ In this version, Shaw is not in this scene to be Ian’s muscle. I think that was an important distinction the final film made, that Shaw does the dirty work and Ian stays one step removed. It differentiates their character functions and it helps Ian feel more intelligent and slick. He’s not just a wealthy thug, he’s the puppet master who pulls other people’s strings. I think that sets him up to be a more formidable antagonist, and a better foil for Ben.

Rather than riding out the explosion in the smugglers hold, Ben and Riley have to break down the hold door and use a harpoon gun to break out of the ice cave since Ian and Co pulled up the ropes.

All the while, Riley is complaining that he should have taken the job at Intel.

RILEY Intel offered me a job with my own cubicle. BEN Do we have to go over this every expedition? RILEY Until I get rich, yes. Ben wheels the harpoon around and aims it at Riley's head. BEN Fine. Now, duck!

They jump into the Endeavor just before the Charlotte blows…

…and go flying off a GLACIAL CLIFF.

Don’t worry, it floats.

→ This sequence gives you a taste of the level of action that will be present throughout the script (which is something a good opening should do.) By comparison, the final National Treasure feels fairly (and I recognize that this seems insane to say but...) mundane. I know that seems wild, cuz the premise of the movie is still ridiculous, but there was a significant toning-down of the action between versions, and I think that was the right choice. In this script, everything is so heightened that stealing the Declaration of Independence doesn’t seem like so big of a deal. Everything is a big deal. Everything is a daring, dangerous action scene. By toning down the action elsewhere, 1. we save budget, and that probably had a lot to do with these choices. But also 2. the story is able to put more contrast between both the life Ben normally lives and his decision to steal the Declaration, and between his belief in the treasure and everyone else’s reality. When everything is already James Bond levels of action for everyone, is a heist really that surprising?

Washington D.C.

Ben and Riley view the Declaration at the National Archives. They also see Ian and Shaw casing the place.

→ There's no "If Ian tries to steal it...." We know for certain that he's planning to. It sounds like that should add tension but it actually doesn't. More on that in part 2.

Back at Ben’s apartment, Ben gives a pocket watch he found on The Charlotte to his LANDLADY, who laments that he can’t keep a girlfriend.

→ While I like this moment showing that Ben is thoughtful (and also kind of pathetic if his landlady is the only one he as to give gifts like this to), I think the choice to isolate him further in the final film is the stronger one. He has literally no one he can turn to other than Riley and his dad.

For more about Ben as a loner and the changes to his character from the 2003 script to the film, see here.

At the Library of Congress, Ben lays out his plan of how he thinks Ian is going to steal the Declaration. They haven’t tried to tell anyone at the FBI, National Archives, or anywhere else yet.

In this version, it takes two minutes for the Declaration to be lowered into its vault, and that’s when its most vulnerable. Ben suspects Ian will create some external chaos that will force the Declaration to be lowered automatically when the guards aren’t there. No Preservation Room required (or mentioned.)

Riley is not trying to talk Ben out of anything, because Ben doesn’t reveal he’s thinking of stealing it himself until part way through this scene.

When he does, Riley is like “nuh-uh” and proposes an alternative.

That’s when the meeting with ABIGAIL happens and Riley does the talking because Ben will "make the whole thing sound crazy."

RILEY No, this is my idea. You’ll try to make it sound crazy.

SIDEBAR ON RILEY - He is by far the character who is most different here than in the final film. Let's do a separate article to unpack that.

ABIGAIL, by the way, is

bookishly beautiful, 26.

She and Riley go back and forth for a bit while Ben is distracted with Abigail’s GW button collection. Then Ben jumps in to spar with Abigail on historical knowledge (she doesn’t miss a beat). She makes the crack about Bigfoot, and realizes they’re treasure hunters.

Abigail is much more direct in telling the guys what she thinks of them:

ABIGAIL We have a very sophisticated security system designed to stop crazy people like yourselves from getting near it.

When they leave, Ben gives fake names for both him and Riley: Paul Brown and Tom Jeffries. In the hallway after the meeting, Ben explains that the fake names are to buy time when the feds start investigating the theft.

He’s also wiping his hands with a handkerchief, because he ALREADY HAD THE UV INK on his hands to shake Abigail’s hand at the meeting.

RILEY You knew we were going to do this all along, didn't you? BEN I was hoping she would believe us so we wouldn't have to.

→ Even if he thought it was a longshot, I like it so much better that in the final movie Ben is looking to Abigail as his last chance before making a desperate decision, not as a formality that he has to get through before he can do what he already wants to do (steal the Declaration.) And for their relationship, it’s important to me that they’re in that meeting on equal footing. He doesn’t already have UV ink on his hands because he’s already planning to screw her over. Like yikes. In that version, they should not end up together because none of the trust-building that’s so key to their relationship is actually real.

There’s also more emphasis placed on how the Declaration will always be in danger until the treasure is found. It's less about only stopping Ian and more about ensuring no one has a reason to ever think about stealing it again.

→ So let’s talk about dominoes. All the major dominoes that exist in the final film exist here, but in a slightly different order. And again, I think the changes made from this script to the final helped to strengthen the story considerably. In this script, Ian threatens to steal the Declaration, Ben reveals he’s already planning to steal it instead, and Riley attempts to make the theft unnecessary by talking to Abigail. Ben doesn’t believe this will work, and he’s already putting the pieces of his heist in motion. In the finished movie, Ian threatens to steal the Declaration, and Ben exhausts every avenue to stop him without getting involved himself. It’s his decision to talk to Abigail, and she’s his last hope. It’s only after she refuses that we see Ben make the decision to steal the Declaration himself. In the 2003 script, Ben seems like he was already ready and willing to steal the Declaration of Independence. He jumps right in. It’s not a hard choice for him to make, and in fact, he seems like he kind of wants to do it. Like he was just waiting for an excuse. He doesn’t try any other options first, and in the one alternative plan that Riley makes him try, he has so little faith that it will work that he’s already putting his heist in motion before that attempt is even done. Hell, we don't even see him make the decision on screen. That paints Ben as self-righteous and a little too gung-ho about this whole heist business. Here he doesn’t seem like a treasure protector; he seems a lot like Ian actually—someone willing to do anything for the quest with very little provocation. In the final film, Ben is pushed into stealing it by exhausting every other option first. We see the institutional walls he keeps running into, which are absent in the 2003 script. We understand that this was his last resort. It also makes his interaction with Abigail feel more genuine. He’s actually trying to connect with her, and taking the lead to defend his own theory rather than letting Riley do it. Then, once he’s decided to steal it, that’s when we go to the Library of Congress so Riley can try to talk him out of it. In the film, Ben is presented as someone who wanted any other option first, but then once he gets backed into a corner, his conviction is set and he won’t be deterred. That’s someone we can root for! That’s an underdog who nobody believes, and who is willing to put his freedom on the line for something he cares about! He and Riley also have multiple discussions about whether Ben should do this, and what it means if he does or doesn’t. In short, it feels like a momentous decision, because Ben has to be pushed repeatedly before he makes it, then spends multiple scenes digesting it and discussing if it’s even possible. In the script, he seems like a guy who decided to steal the Declaration almost as quickly as Ian did, and who will only half-heartedly consider other possibilities. He comes on screen already having a plan, and he doesn’t seem to think it will be that hard. In this version it does not feel like a momentous decision, and that’s a lot less sympathetic.

→ Next time, Act 2!

[mirthlxss]

Off to the races

Chapter 11: Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!”

master list

price x oc, series.

a03: pricescigar, Off to the races is posted in full.

taglist:  @deadbranch , @jxvipike, @smoggyfogbottom, and very very big thank you to @bubuslutty for beta reading this!!! She has lots of amazing writing on her page so make sure to check that out too!

warnings: alcohol.

a/n: "Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn't you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?" - Margaret Atwood.

“Let them try.”

“They already have, Simon, and succeeded.” Price bites out, barely keeping himself from chewing out the end of his cigar. “Need I remind you of the mess we’re in now?  Little miss smart ass is down the hall and I sure as hell don’t remember taking on new recruits.” 

“Sure.” Ghost leans back in his usual chair, pupils void of any discernible emotion, palm flat against the round meeting table they all sat around. “Did say I’d take care of it, you said no.” Pointed, the thrum of Ghost’s matter-of-fact tone only made the Captain twitch more.

“Can’t just kill a civilian.” 

A beat passed between them, the air felt stale. Both knew what hung over them, the resounding answer that welled in Simon’s throat, he’d keep quiet but his general distaste was evident. What makes this different to all of Price’s sacrifices? 

The Captain had made split-second choices before, left a man to demolition to save the greater group. To save Garrick. The one real mistake Simon had made in years and it nearly cost him his life, seeing Lily flit about the hallways of their base and hearing her cackle echo around only served as a living reminder of what he’d done. A living, breathing reminder that he had fucked up. She berated him with her presence. 

What was worse, he could still hear her panic. The shrill stutter of a feminine voice, the shaking grasp on his soon-to-be corpse, the pressure on his wound. Simon wasn’t fully conscious after the attack but he was sentient enough to feel her there, the fearful attempts of ushering his sopping blood back into his body did not go unnoticed. He loathed her for it. Why not finish the job? Why follow him here? He was the spectre and yet, she haunted him. 

“Makarov has clearly found his way into the system, someone amongst us has supplied the ultra-nationalists with information, otherwise the races incident would not have happened. This we know.” Price leered over the ancient laptop in front of him, several photos and reports splayed across its screen, a never-ending scroll of nuisances, fires he’d have to put out. 

“Captain?” Soap piqued, tired of trying to get Ghost’s attention, most of the meeting he’d spent nudging the other beneath the table, only now piping up as the Lieutenant clearly wasn’t in the mood to entertain him. Price rose a brow, wordlessly answering the sergeant. 

“Had a funny feeling about the intelligence lads we disposed of.” Gut instinct, it had saved each one of them more than enough times, the general churn of dread that grasped at the sides of one's stomach often spelt out the answers long before any real evidence did. 

“One was Russian.” Kyle pointed out, walking round the table to hover beside the Captain, waiting for permission to take over the computer, pulling up the profiles of the past intelligence team, signalling out one man in particular. 

“Pavel.” Venomous, drastic rumble. 

John looked upon the screen with distaste, the same slimy boy that had taken so much pleasure in unearthing Lilith’s photos, the same child that felt so sure in sharing them. “You think he’s capable?” 

“Cannae’ see why not, squealed like pig when we smashed him in, wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been sniffing around the ultras” Soap shrugged, distinctly remembering the high-pitched yells and bloodied snorts. 

“Just cos’ he sounds like a pig, don’ make him one.” Ghost grumbles, distinctly uninterested in chasing up a stale lead. Not when Makarov had gotten so close already. 

“I don’t mind playing butcher.” Gaz offered himself up, looking down at Price ardently. He’d tried his best to conceal the pang of urgency in his proposal, quietly wanting to bestow another heavy-handed gravel of justice atop of Pavel’s stunted head. Ultras or not. 

“Steady Kyle, this is delicate now, if they got the better of Ghost you can’t just expect to waltz in alone.” 

Garrick rocked back on the heels of his boots, hands now firmly planted on either side of his hips, clutching at his belt with a tight-lipped frown. “Doesn’t it make you suspicious how fast they got all that data? I mean, the sheer amount of it as well, we’ve had targets before and it’s taken ages for a data mine.” 

“It’s not like she’s taken any care in protecting herself.” Simon scorned. 

“Even so, if the Russians wanted to know if Shepard had any soldiers out, they’d be pushing for intel quick.” Kyle kept to his point, not fully ready to look Ghost in the eye but still addressing the room. 

Worn, crinkled, distinctly unorganised.

It had presided in her dreams, her nightmares, in every waking moment since she’d come across this wretched thing, the ledger from hell had loomed over her like the end of days. Much to the Captain’s glee, Lilith had naturally fallen into the mess of numbers like it was her duty, only truly taking time away to awkwardly run after the team in early morning P.T., suitably embarrassing herself with each exercise. 

The unruly accounting itched at her more than anything else, felt like mites burrowing down into her psyche, gnawing at the only parts of her brain she really knew how to use. The hours of the day spent buried in the financing felt a lot like university, harked back to her usual days spent holed up in the library, buzzing off of numerous coffees and whatever freebie pastries the societies would try and entice naive students in with. 

Weighted clunks and taps resonated from her steady typing, eyes scanning from screen to paper as she straightened out another accounting statement, the first couple took a lot longer. Lily had a tendency to fixate on the detail, and this book contained many. More and more insight into their world, handhelds and airstrikes, who knew you could pay for such things? Who knew Captain Price even had the connections to do so? 

Obviously, everyone but her. 

The ledger felt like her bible, deciphering the scriptures would lead her through, tell her how to navigate the scathing desert of the 141. She’d repent, sooner or later, to whom she did not know. That felt irrelevant when she was knee-deep in holy water, wading toward the north star. A mirage no doubt, she’d wake soon, find herself stuck in sand. 

The symphony of work halted as another joined the choir, Lily craned her head back, swivelling quickly in her seat as she took in Ghost’s figure filling up her doorway. 

“Got no survival instincts.” Statement dry, Price’s apostles weren’t known for embellishment. He’d been lingering behind her for minutes. 

“God forbid I’m not looking over my shoulder every second.” Caustic comment flew from her as she swiftly returned to the screen, her rapid typing ranking up in hostility with each pointed jab of a key.  

He hovered, glowering down at her hunched position, suspicious of the resolution shown toward some stupid ledger. “Why’d you try stop the bleeding.” 

A question, it was unnatural for him, and so it was barked out as a statement. Rough and demanding, if he was a stray he’d have been put down long ago. Her fingers twitched over the keyboard, hesitant now, shoulders scrunched toward her neck, instinctively covering her jugular. 

“I don’t know.” She breathed out steadily “It just happened.” 

Her back twinged, his unyielding glare boring into her from behind, unwavering pools of darkness consuming each crumb of information she’d unwittingly give to him, every twitch and shift of her body analysed. His lack of response dragged the strain out for much longer than she cared to bear, tiptoes slowly angling her to move around in the chair to face him once more.  

His jaw ticks at her subtle mocking, molars grinding slowly as he chewed through what he’d say. She stares through him like the lieutenant before her was nothing more than numbers, columns on another page she’d itch to organise, decipher and file under ‘completed’. Ghost looks at her much the same, though his dentition of ‘completed’ varied vastly. 

“There’s a delivery for you out front.” 

“Hallelujah, finally, that must be my hanging shoelaces!” 

Clink!

Ruby red swirled around the glasses, liberal pours nearly spilling over as they toasted for the fourth time. Squinty-eyed and wine-flushed, Lily pooled over the carpet whilst Johnny and Kyle lolled haphazardly on her bed, all airy giggles and smiles. 

“Can’t believe Cap’in actually got you everything you asked for.” Another choked laugh leaves Johnny as he rolls onto his front, eyeing up the mess they’d all made unpacking her boxes and packages. Plastic wrapping covered every inch of the floor, kids on Christmas day, it was carnage. Amplified cries carried down the hallway despite her door being closed, over-excited cheers and shouts shaking from the room with each rip of cardboard. 

“I was half joking about most of what I wrote down!” She cackled, unabashed delight clear as the woman gripped her wine in one hand and a pile of new products in the other, practically vibrating as she couldn’t even hold it all, most of the items had been spread around the room, small heaps surrounding the boys as they continued to ogle. 

“What’s this one for?” Kyle held out a black tube, he’d let himself lean into the fever that Soap and Lilith seemed to share whilst unpacking everything. The Brit had to soothe himself at first, loudly proclaiming that he’d stick to watching, that he’d grab a beer soon and leave them to it. 

“That’s mascara, it makes your lashes longer and just, ten times nicer-“ She shuffled toward the bed and took it from him, twisting the wand out and showing him. 

“It’s no fair you didn’t even really want all this.” Soap whined, picking up the package the tube had come from and emptying the rest out onto the bed. “Share?” His pitched query came with a hopeful yet cheeky grin, obviously enamoured with the plethora of shiny new things. 

“I did really want this stuff, just never actually believed he’d get it, was just tryna’ piss John off.” Lily took a heavy swig from her glass, letting the chalky liquid coat her tongue before she swallowed harshly. “I actually feel sort of guilty…” 

Kyle surged forward, shaking his head adamantly, the hard swinging motion making him dizzy for a moment. “Think he’s the one feeling guilty.” 

He suppressed the urge to hiccup, the yen to protect his masculinity faded pretty soon after he’d been roped into the first glass of wine. Soon after that, it felt strangely uplifting to play along, sit cross-legged and paw over products. It helped that Soap was here, though the other seemed so natural, Kyle had always been slightly jealous of Johnny. He fit in everywhere and got on with everyone. Even now, laid across the bed with one of Lily’s new bras clasped over his pyjama shirt, beckoning her over so he could see the mascara. 

It seemed like some abstract rocky-horror slumber party. He was partially thankful just to be involved, used to watching Soap and Ghost saunter off to do whatever they do together, he’d often find himself trailing along after Price like a lost dog. 

Admittedly, despite how deeply selfish he knew it was, the soldier enjoyed visiting Lily in the hospital. A twisted sense of appreciation sprouted from her captivity, enclosed and wanting people on her side. He was happy to oblige, enjoyed the reciprocated companionship even if it was shrouded in exceptional circumstance.   

“Don’t gotta be guilty if you share huh hen, then it’s good for team morale.” Soap balanced his glass precariously on his chest once he flipped onto his back, scooting so his head hung off the bed as Lilith instructed him to close his eyes, both broke into another round of hilarity without a beat, barely able to keep still or serious for a second as she hovered over him with the mascara brandished like a weapon. They had all gotten through quite a bit of wine. Kyle knew better, knew better than to glare at his teammate for getting on with someone. 

But he was drunk, and determined to keep just this one friend. Just this once, he’d be first.

“Do me, do me-“ Kyle almost threw himself down onto the floor, fumbling down with a loud thud before he positioned himself, eyes screwed shut with determination. The flurry only spurred the two on further, howling with laughter as Kyle kept his eyes shut, inching closer and closer to Lilith, drunkenly shimming around. 

“Come here you silly sod.” She guided his head onto her lap, softly coaxing the man to relax his eyes enough so his lashes wouldn’t fold up, delicately drawing the wand through them. “Keep still.” Her voice dropped to a whisper in concentration, he lay smug, happy for the attention. 

“There, now open!” 

It felt slightly heavy on his waterline, almost akin to when their tactical paint clung to his eyes despite several face washes. Eyes flickered from Lily’s face peering down at him then at Soap’s. 

“I think it’s very pretty.” Johnny hummed, nodding down at him.

“You have lovely long lashes, boys always get the nicest lashes, it's unfair.” Lilith peered closer, admiring the way his seemed to curl with the product. Kyle felt strangely timid, the alcohol diluting his usual reactions, quick to open the capillaries in his cheeks to make way for a deep dusting of rouge. It forced him to shrink into her lap, frowning slightly at how vulnerable he felt, the emotion bubbling over so quickly it flustered him. Wanting for some kind of reprieve, the soldier jumped topics, drunken alarms of his disposition drowning out the sound of sense. 

“You’re gonna have a hard time packing all this up by tomorrow.” He drawled, sitting up from her lap and pointedly ignoring the wide-eyed look from Soap. Lily tensed, her body crookedly bent in the shape of a question mark as she cemented into position, eyes drawing forth the same query in which her body folded. The soft lull of music carried on in the background, cushioning the steely silence between the three. 

You and me, always forever. 

Clawing digits centred themselves around the milky column of her wrist, brown eyes doughy with a needy sense of amicable obligation, Kyle preened over the implications of him being so advantageous as to warn Lily of the change. A clear way to solidify his position. 

We can stay alone together.

“By tomorrow?” She lingered, his fingers pulsed around her in anticipation. Johnny faded into the background, his disgruntled whispers to quieten his comrade falling upon death ears. 

“Going away, all of us, chasing a pig back to its pen.” 

[cappurrccino]

Maltober Day 7: Knowledge Revealed

Solving a mystery was… intoxicating, really. 

John had loved it, even as a passenger in Arthur’s head, and found he loved it doubly so now that he had his own body. Before, it had, admittedly, felt a little like cheating — using Arthur’s eyes and his verbalized thoughts and whatever bled between their minds.

But now… now, the things he solved and the conclusions he reached were all his own.

And now he was going to use them to beat Arthur at this damn game for once.

“Yes… YES! Colonel Mustard in the study with the lead pipe! I knew it!”

[ also on AO3 ]

(also i know Clue wasn't released until almost 1950, but shh)

[ashley-slashley]

the idea of beating john tyler into a bloody pulp with a lead pipe with the writ by black sabbath blaring in the background is really appealing to me

[cypress-punk]

RIP to Nona the Ninth, 6 months old. Hope John Gaius gets beaten with a lead pipe for the rest of eternity and every time he tries to utter a dad joke or do his "uwu i didn't want to kick off a nuclear war or kill the earth but I had to cause everyone was so meeeeeaaan to me" act another pipe joins the beating.

[zalrb]

Re: SOA

So recently I read some criticism from supposed “real bikers/mc members” (who knows if that’s actually true) who were critical of Gemma’s character because according to them “a woman would never have that much power in an mc.” Now obviously since you’re not a member of an mc you can’t say if that’s definitively true or not but are there moments with Gemma that stick out to you where you could see someone being like “yeah a woman would never have that much power”? More specifically do you think the concept of a “Queen Biker” exists at least in the way the show frames it?

I've seen that criticism before and I never understood it tbh because I was like, what do they mean? Do they mean that a woman would never take up that much space in a mc member's personal life because that's where Gemma wields her power because that's the only space where she can. For instance, she has no say about whether or not Jax goes nomad, it's not up to her. Jax put in the request and the club voted on it, she's not in there voting with them. So what does she do? She tells him and Clay about being attacked to influence Jax's decision. So are they then saying that an MC wouldn't go to war with a rival over something like what happened to Gemma? I don't buy that because even with an incredibly misogynistic culture, it woudn't necessarily be about Gemma, but it would be about answering the massive disrespect levelled against the president/one of the founding members of SOA, I feel like that would require an answer.

When Gemma starts acting as if she's a patched member, she's put in her place and it's usually violently. When she finds out about the drugs and confronts Clay about it, he is like you're an old lady shut the fuck up and that tension eventually leads to him beating the shit out of her. Granted, that's supposed to show how far gone Clay is but even in the earlier seasons, Gemma acts more like a confidant rather than a partner who helps influence where the club is going to go. Like, she knows that Clay killed Lowell's dad, she knows that Clay killed Donna and she keeps those secrets along with Tig but she doesn't have power on where they get their pipe line or whether or not they go to war with the Mayans or the Niners. Even when Tara expresses concerns to Jax about Gemma not letting him leave he says she's just an old lady, she's not a patched member. So what does Gemma try to do? Manipulate him personally with John's letters. And that still doesn't work. He stays because of the club not because of Gemma's power.

So I'm just like, idk they act as if she's in church voting on shit.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #3:

Fairport Convention's Angel Delight

This album has never looked promising. John, Paul and George didn't break up and then let Ringo call himself The Beatles; Lou, Cale, Sterling and Mo didn't want what's his name to make a record and claim it was by the Velvet Undergound. And Dave Swarbrick had about as much of a right to lead Fairport Convention in 1970 as Lepidus had to lead the Roman Empire in 48 BCE. Right?

Well, let's dive back into the dollar bin and find out.

A year earlier, when Sandy Denny left Fairport to form Fotheringay with her loser boyfriend and Ashley Hutchinson beat his own retreat to assemble the first and greatest incarnation of Steeleye Span, there was still plenty to love about Fairport Convention. Richard Thompson, the band's gawky genius, was writing increasingly uncanny and harrowing songs. Now Be Thankful and Farewell, Farewell are so good that it seems like the band's pimply medieval apprentice had snuck off with the spell books and everyone's maidenhead. He was even learning, reluctantly, to sing.

What's more, the band's producer, Joe Boyd, was still firmly in the mix. Boyd had already played a role in many of the greatest records from the whole wonderful era, from The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter to Five Leaves Left. Thompson and Boyd made the band still vital.

What's even more, Fairport had already shown it could weather change. Two lead singers had already come and gone prior to Denny decamping. And, just before she left, they turned a fatal car crash into Liege and Leif, the founding, and greatest, record in the history of Folk Rock.

But in 1971, after a solid and occasionally brilliant 5th record and a (retrospectively anyway) historic tour of the US that saw Fairport blowing away Linda Ronstadt before inviting her on stage to play whatever she wanted with them, Thompson followed his muse right out of the convention's Full House and left Swarb in charge. Boyd was no fool; he hightailed it out of there as well. Dave Swarbrick, a homely but masterful fiddle player hooked on "diet pills" (as in Speed), was now the front man of one of the greatest rock bands in history. Uh-oh.

The cover for the next record, Angel Delight, is fitting: there they are, (see above), the lads left behind by everyone important, grinning savant-like midst the remains of a burnt out house. The joke is apt but discouraging: see here, the cover declares, the losers left behind in the wreckage.

And just take a look at these hobbits !

Seriously, doesn't this look like a Multiverse alternative of Aragorn (that's Thompson, in the middle) with Tolkien's plucky halflings? Moving right to left we've got the drummer, Dave Mattacks, standing in for Merry: Mattacks is the awkward, moody one in the fellowship with a forever kink in his neck, too shy to take off his looking glasses or his granddad's coat. Next up it's Dave Pegg, oddly tall for a hobbit, whose grandfather, legend has it, once rode a horse.

Beside Aragorn/Thompson we've got Swarb himself. Forever enveloped pipe smoke, he's a merry trickster whose sideburns run all the way down his four foot frame to his giant, hairy feet.

Finally, there's Simon Nicol at furthest left. After Thompson leaves he's the only guy not named Dave in the band, and they all lived together! Just imagine the conversation at dinner.

Nicol, looking up from his kippers on toast: "Dave?"

All three Daves, eagerly: "Yes Simon?"

Nicol: "Never feckin' mind."

Though Nicol was the only founding member left at this point, he was just 20, a young Took still not old enough for pipe weed. Clearly he's the only guy in the band with a chance of one day getting himself an elf wife.

Without Thompson, Denny, Boyd, Hutchings or even Ian Matthews, there's none of Frodo's constipational anxiety, let alone Gandalf's enormous eyebrows, left to be found in this band. If there's a ring of power to protect they've already lost it.

But drop the needle on side 1 and Angel Delight sounds instantly promising. Swarb's has clearly learned to sing and we bounce along merrily to the opening track, Lord Marlborough. Perhaps these hobbits know the way to Mordor after all!

Don't get too excited. Track 2, Sir William Gower, finds them playing like Fatty Bolger. The song surely records the exploits of yet another British miscreant, war hero or goofball but it's hard to care when the noodling melody sounds like the band is sitting in an 80's middle school circle at midnight, crank calling confused old ladies who happen to answer the seven digit meandering melodies the boys are making up on their parents' push-button phone. Swarb calls out the numbers while the other boys cackle and chase: 7! 8! 3! 4568! "Hello!" Swarb hollers into the phone. "Sorry to call so late mam.  May I speak with a Sir William Gower please?  What's that now? Wrong number? Well, what about a Mr. Head?  First name Dick?"

The boys may fall over laughing but the song is a plodding bummer. So let's skip ahead to some greatness. Wizard of the Worldly Game isn't a dollar store tabletop Harry Potter knock off for 2-4 players that currently ranks last on Board Game Geek. It's a downright magestic song. Youtube contains zero tracks from this entire album (perhaps Muggles are forbidden to hear Angels Delight unless they brave the dollar bin) so I can't play it for you here. But it's lovely, with Swarb's tenor rising from tender to belting as the boys emerge from their respective holes on Bagshot Row to encircle him in stately harmony. Nicol is no Thompson on the electric guitar, but he knows it, and his solos here are patient and wonderful.

Journeyman's Grace, one of several songs co-written by Thompson before his departure, wraps up side 1 and it's a barnburner, with lyrics that are as oddly captivating and ineffable as anything Thompson would go on to write in his prestigious career:

Leave my weary flesh and bone to a circle made of stone Take me to the mountains for my pleasure. And if the dead man won't depart, drive a stake into his heart And let me ere deliver him his leisure.

The band hands the song's lead vocals back and forth like a hot tater, and listen to Swarb on the final chorus, hitting a high note and holding on like a puffed up Disney rooster.

Let's wrap up this visit to the dollar bin with a concert performance of the song from this era. Watch Swarb shuffle! Turns out the guy's yet another Fairport genius, and the band is in good hands after all.

[octoberrust02]

My RAW: 1/8/24

RAW Theme: Life Of Agony - Method of Groove

CM Punk In Ring Promo

CM Punk sits cross legged in the middle of the ring as the crowd goes nuts for him. He hadn't even said a word yet, but the crowd still loved that he was there. Finally, once the crowd settled down. Punk began to speak.

"You all have heard that I am entering the Royal Rumble Match this year. Well this afternoon, they did the Entrant lottery for the match. And it must have been my lucky day. Because the number I drew was twenty seven. Depending on who you ask, this is the luckiest number in the Rumble. Many superstars have have gotten this number and won the match. Big John Studd, Yokozuna, Bret The Hitman Hart, and Stone Cold Steve Austin. I plan to join those four men, win the Royal Rumble, main event Wrestlemania, and become World Heavywe-"

Suddenly, Seth Rollins's music hits and Seth enters the ring. But before Seth can even say a word, Punk cuts him off.

"What the hell do you want now, Seth? Are you here to pitch a baby fit about me again? Or are you here to gloat about how you're best world champion there will ever be?"

"Neither." Seth Rollins said, "I just came to introduce to you and the WWE Universe a few friends of mine."

Suddenly, three masked men jump the barricade and rush the ring, beating CM Punk down with lead pipes. One of the men had a scrappy yet toned build, another one of them was stocky and powerful, and the third one was tall and lean. Once Punk was lying on the mat beaten. The three unmasked themselves. Two of them were NXT stars Nathan Frazer and Bron Breakker, and the third was a newcomer. Nobody in the audience seemed to know who he was, but he certainly had an unnerving presence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," Seth yelled, "I present to you, Nathan Frazer, Bron Breakker, and Leon Gaudet. We are... THE VISION."

Match 1: Non Title Match: Katana Chance and Kayden Carter vs Alba Fyre and Isla Dawn

The previous Friday on Smackdown, Alba Fyre and Isla Dawn were granted a rare opportunity. If they can beat the current tag team champions on Raw in a non title match, they will get a rematch against them for the titles at the Royal Rumble.

To the surprise of many people watching, the team of Kayden Carter and Katana Chance seemed completely overmatched against the Unholy Union. As Alba Fyre beats Katana Chance down at ringside, Isla, when ref is distracted by the outside ruckus, spews her mist in the face of Kayden Carter before hitting her with the Final Cut and pinning her for thr three count. The now new number one contenders seem particularly dominant against the champs. Can they keep this dominance going?

Match 2: Chelsea Green vs Candice LeRae

This match is relatively short. Candice actually has the upper hand for most of it, but Chelsea's partner, Piper Niven, placed brass knuckles in the corner of the ring, which Chelsea grabbed and hit Candice in the face with it, knocking her out cold. Chelsea quickly disposed of the knuckles as she pinned Candice to win.

However, as Chelsea and Piper were celebrating, the arena went dark, and a message appeared on the titantron.

"CHELSEA. YOU LEFT ME BEHIND. I WILL LEAVE YOU BROKEN."

Nikki Cross Backstage Promo

Byron Saxton is backstage with an "entranced" Nikki Cross.

"I'm here backstage with Nikki Cross," Byron said, "Now Nikki, if you can hear me, what is your plan going into this fatal four way match? How do you plan on becoming number one contender for the Women's World title?"

Nikki stood silent for a second before, suddenly, she had snapped out of her trance. Either that, or she grew tired of acting "entranced" and dropped it on the spot.

"I can't do this anymore," Nikki said, "I can't waste my time any longer. Earlier today, someone came up to me, a very important man in wrestling's history, a man who helped business evolve and become what it is today. He told me, 'Nikki, what you're doing now isn't working. This is not getting you anywhere. And if it does get you anywhere, it'll be even lower than where you are now. If you really want to move up and stay up, you're gonna have to take what you want, instead of waiting for it to come to you.' And I realized that he was right. He was absolutely right. With Triple H, they always say to give it time, or to be patient. I'm tired of being patient! I'm in my mid thirties! I don't have time to be patient. From now on, I am taking what I want as soon as I decide I want it. And I've decided I WANT the women's world championship. And I. Want. It. NOW. I want remind everyone that I am the White Chocolate Cheesecake of Sports Entertainment. I want to remind everyone that I am the best wrestler in the galaxy."

Match 3: Intercontinental Championship Number One Contender Battle Royal

A short battle royal with bodies flying everywhere. Many wrestlers are thrown out as quickly as possible. In the blink of an eye, there is only three wrestlers left. Dominik Mysterio, Otis, and Jinder Mahal. The two heels decided work together to eliminate the much bigger Otis and they both picked him and threw him out. Now it was down to Dominik and Jinder. Jinder attempted to irish whip Dominik to the ropes, but this was revered with Dominik's own irish whip, which sent Jinder flying over the top rope.

Dominik was so proud of himself. He won the battle royal and was now number one contender for the Intercontinental Championship. And he didnt even need help from any of the other members of the Judgment Day. However, his expression of joy and pride quickly turned into an expression of pure dread when he realized who has to face for the title at the Royal Rumble.

Match 4: Number One Contender Fatal Four Way Match for the Women's World Championship: Becky Lynch vs Ivy Nile vs Nia Jax vs Nikki Cross

Rhea Ripley has joined the commentary team for this match. While Becky Lynch and Ivy Nile wrestle in the ring, the brawl between Nikki Cross and Nia Jax spills out to the outside area. Nikki lands repeated strikes onto Nia's legs, eventually getting the much larger woman down on one knee. Since this match has no disqualifications, Nikki pulls out a chair from under the ring and begins to wail on Nia with it. Nikki wouldn't stop even for a second. Even Rhea seemed surprised by Nikki's new found drive and aggression.

Nikki finally stopped when it appeared that Nia was now unconscious. Meanwhile, Becky was setting Ivy up for a Manhandle Slam. Once she landed it, she was about to make the pin. But before she could, Nikki ran into the ring, yelling "MOVE!" As she shoved Becky away, causing her to roll to the outside. Nikki made the pin. 1... 2... 3... She was the new number one contender for the Women's World Championship. She did exactly what she said she would do earlier. With a performance like this, Nikki could possibly prove to be Rhea's greatest challenge yet.

Match 5: Bronson Reed vs Finn Balor

Drew McIntyre appeared at ringside with the rest of the Judgment Day. Perhaps he was trying to join their family. Or so it seemed.

This match was fairly competitive. Finn using his speed and athleticism and Bronson using his size and strength. Eventually, Bronson gets the upper hand and is seemingly about to have the match won. Seeing this, Drew slides into the ring. As he does this, Bronson sees Drew and smiles. He knows something is up. Bronson seems to know something that nobody else does. Suddenly, Drew charges at Finn and hits him with the Claymore. Damian and Dominik both rush the ring to try and fight for Finn but they are both beaten down by Drew and Bronson. As Rhea rushes out to the ring, she is ambushed by her new challenger, Nikki Cross, who is armed with a steel chair. She joined Drew and Bronson in the ring. All three of them spread their arms out in the same stance. Then the arena goes dark again, and a theme song plays.

Out comes the man called Raven. The mastermind behind this beatdown. The man who brought the three in the ring together. It seems that yet another faction has emerged on the Raw roster. Raven, Drew McIntyre, Bronson Reed, and Nikki Cross all stand together in the ring as the show fades to black.

[bobafett]

in terms of understated conversations that do make me want to tear john winchester apart with my teeth, the one in s1 where he tells sam that when sam and dean were born, he started college funds for them which he then later spent on ammo is.... boy, is it up there.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I am in fact a Hobbit (in all but size). I like gardens, trees and unmechanised farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking; I like and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humour (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much.

- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Tolkien Letters

Tolkien wrote the following in a letter to a fan, Deborah Webster, in 1958. Many have taken this to cement the view that Tolkien was especially averse to the French Language, and indeed things French in general (especially food). Indeed various biographers and interpreters have tried to suggest some specific reason why this should be the case: why Tolkien should have developed such an extraordinary characteristic. But truth be told I don’t think there is a specific reason necessary, beyond that Tolkien was a normal, patriotic Englishman; among whom such an aversion is normal and unremarkable even if he was an Oxford don.

Some hold the view that the ordinary Englishman has 'always' had a thing against the French; and this was only amplified by having them as 'allies' in both 20th century world wars. Aversion to the French was as common among World War I and II veterans as was an admiration-of, and friendliness-towards, the Germans. I’m not really sure this is quite true if one reads the correspondence of first world war soldiers fighting in France. Historians have been re-appraising this tired trope for some time now. Still, others point out that a pervasive (but mostly unspoken) dislike of Frenchness is just normal among the English lower classes; including the non-professional middle class, from which Tolkien emerged. There are many reasons for it - for example the Norman Conquest imported a French-speaking ruling class, leading on to centuries of cultural division, destruction and oppression. And France was an old (often primary) military enemy and political threat (or rival) for many centuries up to Napoleon Bonaparte. The backbone of the British Army who fought against the French has always been, so the argument goes, the working class.

I think a more convincing reason for Tolkien’s aversion to French ideas and the culture they sprung forth from than the French as an individuals or a nation. As a professor of literature versed in several languages, he understood the importance of French upon the English language but a part of him didn’t like that. Tolkien always hated that William the Bastard bested King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066, because it prevented a full flourishing of Anglo-Saxon culture and allowed French to "pollute" the language.

I suspect at the real heart of Tolkien’s visceral dislike was the association between France and political and social radicalism generally starting from the very idea of the French Revolution and one that gutted religion from the heart of French society in the name of liberty, equality, and fraternity.

These ideas could be traced down from the 18th Century English radicals like John Wilkes and Charles James Fox down to the modern day socialism of the early 20th Century and the rise of Marxism across Europe from the ashes of the first world war, particularly in Russia of course. Those who find it strange or sinister that Tolkien was French averse are mostly upper middle class and/or progressive bourgeois English - for whom to be Francophile ("the food, the fashion, the sheer style") is a natural as their complementary (and more visceral) despising of Englishness. This description covers nearly all of those people who would be inclined to publish books about Tolkien. ...Or else they are Americans; who just don't get Europeans and our tribal tiffs. ...Or they may instead be Scottish or Irish; for whom the French have always gleefully served as just another stick with which to beat the English. And I say this as someone who has an Anglo-Scots father. What is perhaps surprising is that Tolkien qua Oxford Professor did not adopt the Francophilia of his new tribe in academia. But Tolkien's retaining of natural, patriotic, 'common folk' Englishness, was a sign of that same integrity that made him the genius he was.

[teawaffles]

The Adventures of John: Chapter 4, Part 2

TW // Mention of abuse

Also, a note for language.

Without even an opportunity for Laura to resist, Sherlock pulled his hand out — and revealed a gorgeous necklace. It wasn’t as if John could remember that necklace itself, but from its elegant sparkle, he judged that it’d been one of the items from their flat.

The despair on Laura’s face only deepened. Beside her, the detective spoke.

“This was stolen from my flat. Since the jewellery was in such a mess, you probably thought it wouldn’t look amiss if just one piece went missing — but that was naive of you,” he said. “Because I have a full grasp of everything that was put there.”

When Laura arrived at their flat, Sherlock had made a show of being indifferent to her request, while making sure that she had taken one of the stolen goods.

To have fully comprehended that chaos — John marvelled at the strength of Sherlock’s memory. During the conversation in the flat, he had persisted in looking out the window, away from Laura: that must’ve been to create a deliberate opening, and test if the girl would help herself to the pile.

Laura had stolen a piece of jewellery from their apartment. Moreover, she’d made up the request to find Dolly. Inevitably, from the two points above, it followed that her goal from the start had been to steal the jewellery. Hence, it formed definite proof that she was one of the thieves’ accomplices.

Confronted by that irreversible reality, Laura was stunned. As for the man, his eyes went bloodshot from anger.

“Y-You’ve gotta be kidding me, you good-for-nothing……. I told you to do it without exposing us—”

Hearing that, Sherlock piped up in a cool voice.

“Shall I take that as a confession? Though, there is still the argument that this kid Laura here is just another one of you vagrants, and you guys have nothing to do with the ring of thieves.”

The man spat on the ground.

“Hmph, I’ve no interest flogging that argument anymore. ——Let’s settle this the fast way.”

Saying that, he drew a small revolver from his pocket, and levelled it at Sherlock. Following suit, a few men among the group also whipped out knives and guns. The remaining crowd cried out softly in fear.

“If we dispatch the both of you right here, the truth’ll remain buried, eh?”

At that unsettling line, his armed accomplices also broke into twisted smiles.

But despite being held at gunpoint, Sherlock seemed particularly unmoved. He observed their actions, and narrated his own view.

“From the looks of it, you lot are the ringleaders, while the rest seem to have been threatened into compliance.”

“Yeah: with just a little bit of a beating, they’ll do anything we ask,” the man smirked.

But Sherlock was calm as he replied.

“From that, I gather not all of you are friends. And seeing how you resort to violence to settle things right away: you’re probably a hoodlum accustomed to crime, aren’t ya?”

“Hoodlum? You’re not wrong, but call us a group of clever thieves if you can. After all, I’ve skilfully manipulated these scum and carried out some brilliant thefts.”

Drunk on his own accomplishments, the man threw a glance at Laura. She hadn’t budged from where she stood; protecting her head, she cowered on the ground in sheer terror. From that, one could easily imagine what maltreatment she and the others had suffered at the hands of these thugs.

His heart filled with rage, John glared at the man.

“That means you forced them to commit crimes, didn’t you?”

“Call it making effective use of them, Doctor Watson,” he drawled. “These people all live on a pittance of a daily income. No one would care if they’re gone. I’ve given them a rather fine job until now, but this time, she just had to screw up. ——As I thought, brats are useless after all!”

“……I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He shouted at Laura, and she repeated that apology over and over as she sobbed.

“You……”

“John, you’re right to be angry, but please calm down.”

At the unforgivable sight before him, the detective’s assistant had balled his hands into fists, but Sherlock persuaded him to keep his cool.

“Ah…… Sorry to get back to the topic, but let me give you some clarity on this case.”

“Huh?”

As before, Sherlock’s demeanour lacked any sort of tension, and his opponent frowned. But the detective paid no heed to that as he continued.

“To sum up the story thus far: the bunch of louts brandishing their weapons here are the ringleaders behind the thefts, and the other vagrants and street merchants were forcibly…… ‘used’, if I were to borrow your words?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You could say that they’re all expendables to be exploited as I please. To have so skilfully manipulated them — I bet my abilities rival those of that rumoured ‘Lord of Crime’ or something.”

“……Well.”

At that name, Sherlock’s eye twitched. But he showed no further reaction than that as he replied.

“In other words, to you guys, their names and faces aren’t even worth remembering?”

“That’s an odd way to put it, but exactly. They’re all disposable — do you really think I can remember all of them? ……That said, how long are you gonna keep prattling on like that? I don’t know if you’re just trying to buy time, but it’s time for you to die.”

Running out of patience, the man broke off their conversation, and moved to pull the trigger: fully intending to shoot the detective and his assistant.

However, Sherlock’s smile remained bold as ever.

“——That’s it then. I’ve gotten your word.”

That instant, John couldn’t believe his eyes.

Among the crowd of vagrants, the ones who were shrouded in hoods — separate from the ringleaders — were now aiming guns at the criminals.

“……Huh?”

“——Don’t move.”

One of the mysterious figures commanded sternly, keeping his gun trained on the lead criminal. Stunned by this sudden development, the man complied; and with his other hand, the figure slowly drew back his hood.

“……Inspector Lestrade?”

Out of sheer astonishment, John murmured the person's name.

The man in the hood, was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Facing the lead criminal, he spoke in a determined voice.

“From the conversation earlier, it’s clear that you have threatened the poor and coerced them into crime. I’ll hear the details at the station. Don’t even think about resisting.”

Then, the other figures removed their hoods and revealed their faces. One after the other, they confiscated the weapons from the stunned hoodlums. Though they weren’t wearing uniforms, from their practised actions, it was clear that they were police officers.

“W-What the devil is going on……?”

Tonight had been a night of many surprises for this detective. John was yet unable to wrap his head around the situation, and once again, he asked himself a question he’d thought about countless times today.

“Everything’s exactly as you’ve witnessed, John. When I identified this place, I contacted Lestrade at the same time, then got the officers to disguise themselves as tramps and hide among the crowd.”

“But why?”

“If I’d just called in the Yard as usual, we wouldn’t have been able to identify the ringleaders among this large a crowd.”

Sherlock stated that conclusion in brief, then began to explain.

“As I thought about the thieves’ actions, I judged that there was probably a mastermind separate from the ones committing the actual crimes, who was controlling them from behind the scenes. Hence, there was a need to identify this mastermind; but even if the Yard were to round up the entire group of vagrants, like what that ruffian told me earlier, they could just say that they had no relation to the ring of thieves — and that would be the end of it. Moreover, it still wasn’t clear who the ringleaders were, and the ring members who were being threatened would’ve likely been warned not to blab. So, in order to smoke out the ringleaders and elicit a confession, I added a bit of an act.”

Then, the detective looked at Lestrade, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“——Well, about the disguises: I’d thought about where the police squad could hide themselves, and decided it would be better for them to mingle with the crowd, so they wouldn’t have to sneak about all weirdly.”

“W-Wha— What a stupid……”

Upon hearing the truth, the man’s earlier triumphant attitude had devolved into a disgraceful, incredulous one. This time, Sherlock laughed out loud.

“Sure, you can make people follow you, but you’ll also have to keep tabs on them properly. In the first place, when this location was discovered, didn’t it occur to you that I would call in the Yard? You can pretend to be a mastermind, but with your lack of foresight, even the Lord of Crime would laugh.”

“S……Shite.”

“Oi, watch what you say from here on. It’ll be used as evidence against you in court.”

Lestrade warned the man as he clapped him in irons; accepting his defeat, he hung his head bitterly. For a villain who’d exploited people in poverty, and boasted of rivalling the Lord of Crime: it was a downright dreadful ending.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“I’ll always be in your debt, Holmes. And the same goes for you, Dr Watson.”

As he watched the arrested criminals being taken away, Lestrade thanked the detective duo.

However, in contrast to the inspector’s earnest attitude, Sherlock put a hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter.

“Lestrade. Sorry for saying this when you’re being so serious, but…… you looked surprisingly good as a tramp.”

“H-Hey! That’s rude, Sherlock!”

“By Jove, Sherlock……”

John chided the detective, and Lestrade let out an astonished sigh.

“……Anyway, I’m grateful for your help in resolving this case.”

“Yeah, let me know when you have another interesting mystery next time.”

After that simple exchange, the inspector left to join the other police officers.

Then, Laura — the central figure from today — and an old woman from among the vagrants walked over to them.

“——U-Um, Dr Watson.”

The girl stood right before John. She bit her lip, and sank into a deep bow.

“I’m so sorry for tricking you!”

Laura blurted that out in a loud voice. Then, the old woman also bowed solemnly.

Met with their sincere apologies, John spoke up in a kind voice.

“It’s alright. You had no choice — all of you were being threatened.”

“B-But…… I……”

“Don’t worry about it. In any case, won’t it be tough for you all from here on?”

With a start, Laura realised what he meant, and dropped her gaze. Though they had been coerced into thievery, it was still a fact that they had broken the law. Hence, in order to furnish the details to the Yard, all of them would be taken in for questioning.

The atmosphere turned slightly gloomy, and Sherlock piped up.

“You don’t have to be so serious about it, y’know. Seeing as all of you had been forced into those crimes, the Yard’ll treat you more leniently.”

“Y-You’re right.”

John knew that Sherlock was deliberately being optimistic, in an effort not to worry them both. Hence, though it was a little awkward, John agreed with him.

Perhaps the matter wasn’t as simple as Sherlock had described, but the events from now on would be out of their hands entirely. Hoping that Lestrade would speak well in their defence, John changed the topic somewhat forcibly.

“……By the way, is this lady a relative of yours?”

Hearing that, Laura brightened up, and introduced the old woman.

“Yes, she’s my grandmother; we’ve been making a living together selling food.”

“Truly, please accept my sincere apologies for what happened.”

Hearing the old woman’s husky voice, John finally understood the awkward exchange he had witnessed between them at the park. Seeing as they were family, it was only natural for Laura to be more relaxed around her; moreover, the old woman’s faltering tone had surely been due to her guilt at deceiving him.

John nodded in understanding. Then, Laura took out a small pouch.

“That and this…… Here’s the full amount we’ve taken from you, Dr Watson. Please accept it.”

“Ah, I see. I’d forgotten all about the money. Thank you.”

John was about to reach for the pouch, when all of a sudden, a thought struck him — and he stopped.

“……Um, is something the matter?”

Seeing him freeze up, Laura tilted her head. Then, John withdrew his hand, and instead held up the bag full of items he’d bought from the street merchants.

“‘Taken’? What’re you saying? I bought these of my own accord. I can’t see any issues with them, so I’ve no intention of getting a refund.”

“……Eh?”

“Isn’t that right? I negotiated properly with the merchants in the parks, and bought these items as a customer. There was no trickery at all.”

John asserted that proudly, and beside him, he heard Sherlock chuckle.

Of course, what John said was by no means a show of bravado that he hadn’t been tricked. Laura had been moved by his kindness throughout the day; in an instant, she sensed the emotions imbued in his words. But even so, she knitted her brows, looking troubled.

“Still, I really should return this to you.”

She then offered him the pouch again, but John gently pushed it away.

“Laura, in all honesty, the walnuts your grandmother sold me were delicious. For products that good, it’s only right that I pay a fair price for them.”

His smile was full of warmth as he continued.

“If I happen to see your stall again, I’ll be sure to buy from you.”

“Dr Watson……”

This time, Laura did not press the matter.

She held the pouch as if it were a treasure, and her face brimmed with smiles.

“——Alright. When we see each other again, I’ll be sure to prepare lots of walnuts for you.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

Then, John bade goodbye to Laura and her grandmother; and with his “loot” in hand, he left the scene with Sherlock.

[steveyockey]

it’s 1948 and me and my coterie of twelve rowdy bulldykes buy tickets to a matinee showing of the new hitchcock film with a single quarter. I walk out and launch into a discussion of the homosexual antics of killing your former harvard classmate with your male roommate. someone in the group claims insider knowledge of john dall’s sexual proclivities and we start riffing on what kind of shenanigans were axed by higher ups in order to comply with the motion picture production code. the woman I love who will soon leave me to start a lavender farm in oregon that is to become host to a separatist commune in twenty odd years is about to go off on why subtext is the only realm of representation she will ever trust and how disgusting it would be to watch a rich cherry grove lesbian smirk at her from the screen when farley granger emerges from the adjoining ally. he assures us that the movie is not a glorification of queercoded villains when no one has brought up any such accusations and tells us he hopes the malicious queenery of his co-lead did not prevent us from enjoying the show. after a beat of surprised silence my best friend who has wrestled a cop out of hauling her into his cruiser and could snap this actor like a twig pipes up, “granger you fucking pansy, try telling someone who gives a shit” and he immediately begins crying

[route22ny]

Visitors to the McKeesport Regional History and Heritage Center are encouraged upon arrival to enter a corridor and enjoy a ‘walk through time.’ The corridor, lined with outlandish fashions and records taped to the walls, features exhibits on McKeesport’s former department stores, its now shuttered daily newspaper, and a former landmark hotel. Perhaps atypically for a former steel town, the images featured focus not on smokestacks or furnaces, but on McKeesport’s former central business district, and the pleasant Boomer memories of post-Second World War prosperity.

McKeesport today bears little resemblance to the city commemorated in its history museum. It’s no longer the nation’s leading producer of steel pipes, nor the commercial and industrial center of the Mon Valley Region, but rather a small suburban community on Pittsburgh’s periphery. The city’s poverty rate is more than double the state and Pittsburgh metro levels, at more than thirty-one percent, with forty-nine percent of children under the age of eighteen living in poverty. Its median home value, $48,000, is a quarter of the state’s and a third of the rest of the Pittsburgh metro. Twenty percent of housing units are vacant, and half the population moved between 2000 and 2014. In 2019, a national trade association for the home security industry ranked McKeesport America’s fourth-most dangerous city.

The story of what happened to McKeesport, like so many places in the Rust Belt, is a story of the relationships between labor and industry, of the collective power of communities to shape their circumstances, and of the forces that conspire to keep this power at bay. Its history is shaped by two ‘Great Depressions’—first, the one everybody knows about, in the 1930s, and again in the 1970s and 80s, when the oil crisis led to a downturn in steel production and a tremendous loss of jobs and industry (cumulative job losses since the mid-1970s are estimated at 175,000).

The Mon Valley and the community of McKeesport never recovered from that second crisis. This contrasts sharply with the first, when organized labor succeeded, albeit briefly, in securing for steel industry workers the wages, benefits, and job security that had so long been denied them by U.S. Steel and its local political allies. That hard-won prosperity and security would ultimately last only two decades before a combination of factors conspired to undermine and overwhelm what was once the beating heart of the American steel industry—but it carries important lessons for those who hope to rebuild thriving communities in the Rust Belt.

Well into the third decade of the twentieth century, working conditions in the large industrial concerns that defined the McKeesport community bordered on intolerable. Most workers toiled for excessively long hours in dangerous conditions for pitiful wages. Discipline in the mills could be enforced with beatings or firing without cause. Complaints could result in losing one’s job, as could sickness or even an injury incurred while at work; in 1910, in more than half of the workplace accidents resulting in injury or death in Pittsburgh, the employer bore absolutely no responsibility whatsoever. There was no recourse outside of organizing, and even that brought with it serious challenges. In Pittsburgh specifically, union organizers were harassed and beaten by Pinkerton detectives working for the major steel companies, and meeting halls were closed by the Board of Health for unsanitary conditions. (Duquesne mayor James Crawford famously boasted that Jesus Christ himself couldn’t hold a union meeting in his town.)

Engraving of the manufacture of steel tubing pipe mills at the National Tube Works, as printed in Scientific America, McKeesport, PA, 1897. American Stock Archive/Archive Photos/Getty Images.

Though the American steel worker had secured a modicum of job security and a reprieve from this brutal exploitation during the First World War, at the war’s conclusion the steel industry sought its own ‘return to normalcy’ and an elimination of all the benefits that had been gained to keep the industry running. The Great Steel Strike of 1919 demonstrated that there was considerable labor unrest in the immediate aftermath of the First World War.

McKeesport was at the center of considerable labor organizing during the 1920s and 1930s. This was the era of the Red Scare, and anti-union sentiment was widespread. Phil McGuigan, a McKeesport worker, recalled that private detectives spied on employees to prevent unionizing. McGuigan also remembered an informal system of patronage was the primary means for gaining employment, and that Mayor George Lysle forbade the renting of halls for union meeting purposes. In 1923, several members of the Workers’ Party were fined for holding an outdoor meeting on private property after being denied the right to rent a hall for the same purpose. After the meeting, McKeesport’s major employers went about dismissing “…all employees who were known to have attended the meeting or to have been identified in any way with it or the Workers’ Party.”

McKeesport resident Junious Brown, interviewed in 1983 by the McKeesport Oral History Project, recalled that the steel mills of the Mon Valley largely fell silent during the Great Depression, noting that McKeesport’s primary employer, National Tube, ceased operation during the Great Depression, as did the nearby Duquesne Works. Nearly all the locals interviewed for the said that jobs, food, and money were all in short supply, but that most people didn’t leave their homes or the community unless they were forced out. Those interviewed, Brown included, spoke in glowing terms about the union movement, which helped the citizens of the Mon Valley weather the storm of widespread economic collapse.

Labor organizers, including communists, were known for taking direct action to help people in trouble. Rocky Doratio, who was active with the Unemployment Council (UC) movement prevalent in the Mon Valley at the time, said when peoples’ utilities were shut off, UC members would “go around turning the gas on; water and electric too,” and that UC’s membership would show up in force in case one of their members were threatened with eviction. Similar tactics were employed to ensure the prompt distribution of welfare checks. (Joseph Odorcich, who became vice president of the Steelworkers’ Union in the 1980s, told interviewers: “I said in the ‘30s we were that close to going communist. One of the reasons was, in those days they were the only ones who would help you. If the company shut off the gas, the commies come in at night and turned it back on.”)

Several of the interviewees related how social solidarity during the Great Depression knocked down interracial and inter-ethnic barriers that had been previously exploited by major employers and the political class alike. Junious Brown recalled that the unions improved his job prospects, such that he and other Black people were no longer limited to “…the hardest, dirtiest jobs.” Andrew Jakomas, who served three terms as mayor of McKeesport from 1953 to 1965, recalled McKeesport during the Depression was a multi-ethnic melting pot, but that politically the city was a “closed corporation” where “ethnics and Blacks” had no chance of holding political office. Jakomas summarized the general support of citizens for the various federal government ‘make-work’ initiatives of the New Deal, stating that “…we all became Democrats with Roosevelt.”

As McKeesport native and veteran labor reporter John P. Hoerr relates, the ‘good old days’ of working in the steel mills was in the post-World War II period, when organized labor had secured a good deal for the working man. The postwar period witnessed considerable labor action on the part of the United Steelworkers (USW), which contrasts sharply with the stereotypical image of postwar domestic tranquility and social conservatism. In fact, in the fifteen years that followed the Second World War the USW went on strike five times (in 1946, 1949, 1952, 1956 and 1959), the last of which involved more than half a million workers and lasted 116 days.

The steel industry employed about eighty thousand people in the late 1940s, with most of the jobs concentrated in the Mon Valley. While the majority of principle employers were involved in steel (and U.S. Steel was without question the dominant employer in and around McKeesport), the city had a sufficiently diversified economy that it had emerged into a regional center and not merely a mill town. Despite this economic diversity, and despite increased labor activism that led to the formation of the United Steelworkers, U.S. Steel remained both locally and nationally dominant, such that major changes to the industry were bound to have a serious and negative ‘trickle down’ effect on mill-dependent communities and the various industries involved in steel.

In 1947, the Taft-Hartley Act, one of the most sweeping pieces of anti-union legislation in U.S. history, was passed over the veto of Harry Truman. Among the act’s various provisions was the right for states to pass ‘right to work’ legislation, which outlawed “closed shop” union organizing and allowed non-union workers to hire in—a major blow for union power, and perhaps the singular aspect that secured bipartisan support from the ‘Dixiecrats’ and curtailed union organizing in the South.

By the middle of the century, as the economic foundation of the Mon Valley was being hollowed out, so too was its urban environment. Whole sections of the city, including much of its antique affordable housing stock, was razed to make way for large-scale urban renewal projects that never materialized, and the land was ultimately handed over to the steel firms. Population displacement was motivated first by a desire to ‘clean up the slums’ and ‘reduce crime,’ but ultimately served to provide inexpensive land to massive corporations. While communities across the country wiped the slate clean of urban neighborhoods, they were simultaneously losing residents and their tax bases to new suburbs.

The racial characteristics of McKeesport were also changing, with the Black population representing about twenty-one percent of the total by 1971 (it’s about thirty-six percent today). After the city desegregated public housing in April of 1971, white people began distributing thousands of crude racist pamphlets. Anti-Black racism in McKeesport and the Mon Valley Region was not limited to the distribution of pamphlets or lethargy in the integration of public housing, however; Black people generally had few options for employment and fewer still for advancement, and were first to be laid off from the mills.

By the time of the second oil crisis, in 1979, a global recession was brewing and analysts started warning of the possibility of an oil glut. By 1981, the American economy was in full recession, and demand for American steel, like McKeesport’s tubes and pipes, was plummeting. The company laid off more than six thousand workers in the Mon Valley by November of that year. The following month, it used $6.3 billion in federal aid to purchase Marathon Oil as part of an economic diversification strategy meant to satisfy the interests of shareholders; steelworkers complained the funds should have been used to upgrade mills to make steel products more internationally competitive.

More than five hundred companies declared bankruptcy in America during one week in June 1982, with more than fifty thousand businesses failing across the county in that fiscal year. Unemployment in the Pittsburgh Metropolitan Area reached nearly sixteen percent in 1983, with 168,000 people seeking work. Though the rate declined to under eight percent by the end of 1986, in mill towns the numbers often exceeded twenty percent in terms of real unemployment. Research from the University of Pittsburgh’s School of Social Work revealed that between 1981 and 1986, in one out of three Mon Valley households, at least one member had been jobless for a year or more.

McKeesport, Pennsylvania. Photo via Flickr (creative commons).

In October of 1986, twenty-two thousand USW members walked off the job as negotiations broke down; the strike would last six months. When the strike ended in February of 1987, the 189 remaining employees who reported back to work at McKeesport’s National Tube Works were told their plant, in operation continuously since the 1870s, would not re-open. Twenty-one employees were retained to conclude the last shipments and assist in stripping the plant of its remaining useful technology and equipment. (U.S. Steel would transfer its tube and pipe operations to Fairfield, Alabama, where union organizing was more difficult.)

By 1986, population loss had left five hundred abandoned homes throughout McKeesport and over half a million dollars lost in tax income. Young people had been moving out in droves for some time; seventy-four percent of the 1986 graduating class of Duquesne High reported they would leave the Mon Valley for better opportunities elsewhere. Public services, from police and firefighters to street cleaners and public works employees, were cut in communities large and small throughout the region. Though McKeesport would experience a brief resurgence of activism in an effort to save the community in the mid-late 1980s, their efforts were largely unsuccessful. With the loss of the economic foundation of the region, those who could afford to move elsewhere did so, and the population of McKeesport continued to shrink and grow older.

It’s hard to be hopeful walking past the endless rows of abandoned storefronts and the crumbling buildings of McKeesport’s once bustling downtown, and yet, a century ago, at a time in which nearly all hope had been lost, the people of this city secured for themselves a new and better deal. Though McKeesport transitioned from a bustling regional commercial and industrial center to a declining residential suburb over the course of the last century, there may yet be a stable foundation for renewal.

The community that remains occupies land once reserved for the local elites, stretched along Eden Park Boulevard and focused on the few remaining community institutions, such as the local high school, Renziehausen Park, and the churches that proudly boast of their ethnic heritage—Polish, Ukrainian, Hungarian. Down the hill, toward what was once McKeesport’s central business district, is an abundance of open lots and derelict buildings. Racial divisions seem to remain, with the upper part of the community noticeably whiter and better off than the segment that lives down the hill; McKeesport’s Black population has increased substantially over the past decade, like the other communities of the Mon Valley, as Black people are displaced from Pittsburgh’s gentrifying urban neighborhoods.

In the Mon Valley, the organization of municipalities still reflects the preferences of U.S. Steel from more than a century ago. Communities remain disconnected from one another, despite geographic proximity and near socio-economic uniformity; McKeesport is only about twelve miles from downtown Pittsburgh, but the drive can take as long as forty-five minutes. This planning was often deliberate, as major industrial concerns like U.S. Steel simply didn’t want their employees mixing with the employees of other mills for fear they may unionize.

Politicians often say there are no simple solutions for what to do with America’s devastated industrial cities, but the beleaguered citizens of these communities are under no illusion that easy solutions exist. Despite baked-in divisions, the workers of the 1930s found common cause, and learned, as did working people across the country, that the power of the industrial bosses was largely an illusion. It was easy to stop evictions when masses of people showed up to stare down the sheriff, and relatively simple to turn the utilities back on with the help of the neighborhood electrician or plumber. The likelihood of police violence and suppression fell with every new person attending an outdoor rally right in the middle of town. Churches and schools, street corners and shops became the venues for impromptu meetings, discreet sharing of information, and the ever-increasing organizing web.

Residents of today can take a powerful lesson from McKeesport’s first Great Depression. The strength of the town in the twentieth century was built on an infrastructure of connection and organizing across differences—geographic and otherwise—and offers a compelling blueprint for rebuilding strong Rust Belt communities in the future. The steel mills may not be coming back to the valley, but that’s no matter–they weren’t really what brought these communities together in the first place. ■

The author, Taylor C. Noakes, is an independent journalist and public historian currently based in Pittsburgh. He is a graduate of Duquesne University’s MA Public History program and is currently working on preservation and rehabilitation projects for a Pittsburgh-based architectural firm.

***

Belt Magazine is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. To support more independent writing and journalism made by and for the Rust Belt and greater Midwest, make a donation to Belt Magazine, or become a member starting at just $5 a month.

[free-pancakes]

Kiss the Drummer

Summary: a LeviHan Jazz!AU

Levi, a talented trumpet player famous in the jazz clubs of New York, is struggling with his instrument and feels burnt out—he wonders if he chose the right path in life.

The bassist of his quintet, an old friend named Erwin, invites a quirky new drummer to play with them, who brings a new spark into Levi’s life.

Notes:  Drum "chops” describe a drummer's technical ability, including a large vocabulary of licks, and how freely they express themselves on the instrument. BPM = beats per minute Songs: Giant Steps - John Coltrane

sorry this AU fic is pure self-indulgence and has become much longer than originally intended lol

crossposted to AO3

CHAPTER 1

He licked his lips and pushed them readily against the smooth, silver mouthpiece, ready to hit the first note of the song, Giant Steps. He suppressed his desire to grumble at yet another fast swing tune.

He stared out into the audience, peering at the people sitting around the tables of the club. Their faces were slightly lit from the reflection of the stage lights, wearing expressions of both excitement and anticipation. “Just another night of the same old thing,” Levi thought to himself, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh, one only he could hear. His stance conveyed confidence, but his eyes spelled apathy.

He heard snaps on 2 and 4 marking their starting tempo at 289 bpm and Levi quickly puffed warm air into his trumpet.

“One… two… one two three four—“

——

Levi wiped down his trumpet, carefully cleaning the beautiful brass after yet another great performance. He gently placed it in his case, and looked up at himself in the dressing room mirror. He stared blankly at his reflection, noting the tinge of purple beneath his eyes—he knew his body was aching for sleep. It had been restless upon restless night for the past year or so, and he wasn’t completely sure why. He looked down at his trumpet case with both affection and disdain. Maybe... he just wasn’t meant to do this for this long.

He didn’t hate playing, but the truth was, he had simply been good at it all of his life. Quite gifted at it, one would say, and thus he passively let it lead him to success. It was just what it was. He was good at jazz, he was good at trumpet. Naturally he studied it at a top university for jazz performance and joined this famous quintet, and naturally he worked hard to improve his skills. But as any routine would, practice and rehearsals became monotonous, grunt work.

While lost in thought, his eyes trailed over to his small, neat pile of math textbooks at the edge of the dresser.

If anything, he did enjoy jazz theory. It was just math, anyway—circle of fifths, cadence patterns, fancy scales—it all just added up and broke down for any message or feeling you wanted to convey with a melody for your solo, and those tools were simply available in your brain to make it happen—tools to play some straight dirty solos that make you smirk satisfactorily when listening. To Levi, it just made sense, to a lot of other people, he was called “genius”. But after years and years of this, he was burning out and he was quite aware of that. He felt like he was losing his edge, and he was just a machine clunking out music most nights of the week. Again he thought, maybe he just wasn’t meant to do this forever. But what else would pay the bills?

Shaking his head, he let his jumbled thoughts fall away momentarily. He picked up a textbook, and leafed through the pages. He clicked open a ballpoint pen and began adding to his lesson plan for one of his students, a young girl named Sasha. Honestly, she seemed utterly hopeless with math at times, but he was determined to help her at least pass her algebra class. Her little friend Connie on the other hand…well that’s a story for another day, he thought, and chuckled softly to himself. If anything, he did enjoy his side job as a math tutor for the local school system. He didn’t really need the extra pocket money, but something compelled him to keep up with it.

As he jotted down notes, muffled noise of cheering and commotion rocked against the door. Tonight’s gig was Nile’s last performance with them, as he was moving out to the west coast to play with another group and accept a teaching position somewhere out there. Levi didn’t care much for his drumming or his personality for that matter, so he wasn’t particularly sad to see him go, nor was he keen on joining the celebration out in the bar. He yawned and continued finish up writing his lesson plan, as he knew he’d probably have to drive his drunk colleagues home.

——

“Levi! I’m gonna miss you buddy!” Nile exclaimed as he aggressively ruffled Levi’s hair, causing the cowlick he spent every morning trying to gel down to stick straight up embarrassingly at the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… good luck Nile.” He shoved him and Mike into a cab, as they lived in the same apartment complex. He turned back into the bar to Erwin smiling drunkenly and Nanaba knocked out cold, sleeping soundly as she sat with her head down on a table. Levi grumbled and picked up Nanaba’s saxophone case to haul into the trunk of his car. He returned to pick up Nanaba and carried her on his back, and Erwin walked with them to Levi’s car.

“Hey Levi, Our new drummer is flying in tomorrow. I told her I’d come and pick her up from the airport at 7am.”

Levi looked Erwin up and down with a look of disgust. “In that sorry state, Eyebrows? Tch, go sleep off the hangover tonight, I can go to the airport. What’s her name and what does she look like?”

“Her name’s Hange. She has messy brown hair usually worn up in a ponytail, wears tortoise clubmaster glasses and well… honestly you can’t miss her, I’m sure you’ll find her right away.”

“Okay. So why’d we need to bring in a completely new drummer anyway? Couldn’t we have just brought in Moblit?”

“Ah you know his style doesn’t fit ours as well, plus he’s doing well with his band right now. Don’t worry, Hange and I played together all 4 years of college together, she’s got chops. Plus, I think Hange will probably bring in the change we need. Your playing’s gone a bit stale... hasn’t it, Levi?”

“Stale?! Pfft you’re just drunk,” Levi muttered, irritated as Erwin raised his eyebrows at him. They arrived at their apartment complex and Levi begrudgingly unlocked the car doors, gently woke Nanaba, and the three of them walked up to their floor. Erwin fumbled with his keys, and Levi snatched it out of his hands, frustrated at how long it was taking him. Erwin chuckled, and Levi scrunched up his nose at the stench of alcohol in his breath. As soon as the door opened, Nanaba immediately ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

“I got her,” Erwin laughed. “Go to bed, Levi, you’re the one getting up early. Flight info’s next to the door.”

Levi nodded, turned into his room, and plopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, and wondered how much longer he’d keep playing, or more like, how soon he’d quit. If this Hange person was as annoying as Nile, well… he probably wouldn’t hold out much longer.

——

Levi stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes peeled for this Hange person. He looked at his watch—“Maybe she was still waiting on her luggage,” he thought. He walked over to the small cafe to his left, and waited in line, squinting for any decent teas on the menu. Before he could decide, he suddenly heard a small yelp, and something shoved right into his chest, feeling piping hot coffee running down his white, longsleeve shirt. Before he could yell obscenities at the moron who just ruined one of his favorite shirts, he was met with frantic apologizes.

“I’m so so sorry! Oh my goodness it was a complete accident, can I get you a drink to make up for it? Man I am so clumsy...oh! Maybe you can wear one of my shirts I have here, free of charge! Or I could just—“

He looked up in the middle of incessant rambling to see the culprit—a tall brunette, hair messily tied up in a bun, wearing tortoise clubmaster glasses, and a bright yellow coat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Levi thought to himself. He looked down to see a large black cymbal case and a stick bag with yarn mallets and drumsticks poking out of it.

—I could just buy you a new shirt! Oh, how bout—“

Levi was livid—this clown was potentially going to be playing gigs with them over the next year? The coffee stained fabric was sticking uncomfortably to his skin and he felt the biggest headache coming on—all this pain just from one person. He reached up and gently placed his hand over her mouth to physically stop her chattering.

“Is your name, Hange?”

She nodded, Levi’s hand still covering her mouth.

“You’re Erwin’s friend?”

She nodded again, her eyes lighting up at the name, Levi feeling her lips forming a smile under his palm.

“Okay, I’m taking you back to our apartment.”

Levi reached for her bags to carry them, but was interrupted.

“Wait—the least I can do is give you the extra shirt I have in my backpack so you can change out of your soiled one,” she said softly. She reached in her bag, and pulled out the shirt and Levi felt his eye twitch in annoyance at the words printed on its front. He sighed, and debated sitting in his wet shirt, but it seemed like he didn’t have much choice—he’d have to wear it.

——

Levi blinked his eyes open. He felt oddly rested, but one thing was strange—he was sitting up, and he felt something unusually heavy on his shoulder.

“What the—“

He looked to the side and saw a mess of brown hair immediately to his right, heard the soft sound of snoring, and felt… something wet on his arm? He looked down and grimaced. “Drool. She’s drooling. On my goddamn arm.”

He looked around for some kind of napkin. He didn’t remember falling asleep, let alone letting this absolute stranger curl up against him. How in the world did he let his guard down this far?

He stared blankly at Hange and thought, “What a mess—what was Erwin thinking? We’ve known each other for less than 5 hours, and she seems to have already made herself right at home. I haven’t even confirmed whether she was good enough to play with us, yet.” He tried to shift out from underneath Hange, but before he could wriggle is way out—

“Kiss the drummer?”

Erwin and Nanaba stood before Levi, both with hair in a complete mess, having just woken up from sleeping off their hangovers. Smirking and holding back laughter, they stared at the scene—Levi wearing an oversized t-shirt with the words “Kiss the Drummer” in bold letters plastered across his chest, along with Hange sleeping quite cozily on his shoulder, her glasses held gently between his fingers. Levi tried covering up the words and scowled at his two friends.

“Laugh it up,” he muttered. “What is this, Erwin? She’s clearly made herself at home already—and we haven’t even gotten to play together yet.”

“Relax, Levi, she’s a great musician. And look, she likes you!”

Levi grimaced at Hange draped over his shoulder.

“Hmph, I still have to hear her play and have my opinion considered. We all get a vote yknow…”

Over their hushed voices, Hange shifted groggily towards all of them and rubbed her eyes. “Erwin?”

Hange’s eyes lit up immediately in recognition, shoving Levi back further into the couch as she jumped up to wrap Erwin in her embrace, excited to finally be reunited with her friend after so many years.

After a few minutes of catching up, Erwin smiled brightly. “Yes, we can take you around the city a bit. Rehearsal’s not til this evening anyway—we did have a gig lined up last minute for the middle of this week if you were comfortable with that, Hange.”

“Of course I’d be down to do that! I—“

“Oi. Like I said, we still vote if you get to play with our group officially. Don’t be late to rehearsal tonight.” Levi then slowly stood up and walked quietly towards his room.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being strict about our technical audition policy,’ Erwin reassured. He and Nanaba quickly darted for their rooms to ready themselves to take Hange sightseeing for a little while and introduce her to the city, leaving her standing alone in the middle of their living room. Her eyes trailed after Levi, curious about his calm yet sad energy. She felt that she saw through that aura, noticing every little kind gesture he made towards her from the time they met at the airport to the moment they fell asleep on the couch. Hange was determined to get him to show that side of himself a little more. As he turned to grab the door behind him, she smiled at him, and was quickly met with a scowl and the slam of his bedroom door in her face. Seemed it might take some more effort to get through to him than she originally thought.